The Schoolmaster of Alton. A tale, etc

Preface

. A wedding, under circumstances quite as extraordinary, and nearly similar to those related in the following pages, actually occurred. The reader is referred to the autobiography of Mrs. Delany, by Lady Lanover.

Chapter I. Two Visits

A bright March day had given place to one of those gusty, shadowy, chilling evenings, which seem to be the peculiar characteristic of early spring ; it would be still light for two hours longer, but the beauty of the day was over, the leafless trees shook their boughs in the wind. Piles of dark clouds overspread the horizon, and up the winding turnpike road which led from the village of Alton to VOL. I. B the cathedral town of St. Jude's, there drove a white cloud of that March dust which is said to be equal in value to a king's ransom. The thatched cottages, which formed the village of Alton, were mostly of one story, with a window on each side of the entrance ; few of them were in good repair, some of the doors hung half off their hinges, some of the windows were stuffed with brown paper to keep out the rain and the March winds.

The pieces of garden plot round some of them, however, were neatly kept, though as yet a few cabbage leaves were the only signs of vegetation they presented ; the reader will perceive that these cottages were not in the possession of what is termed a good landlord. An old man stood leaning over the broken gate of one of these dwellings, smoking a long clay pipe ; he was not a very clean old man, his corderoy gaiters were torn and soiled ; his thick shoes were white with dust ; his thick hair was white with time or trouble ; he had pleasant blue eyes, and at the time we treat of, his face wore a contented expression, but whether that was simply the effect of the soothing pipe, or was the habitual look he carried, it was difficult to judge. There was a pig grunting in the sty, hard at hand ; this was a neighbour's pig, and was only separated from the smoker by a half ruined hedge, an odour which the fastidious would not have rejoiced in, must have been wafted to the nostrils of the old fellow at the gate ; but either he was not particular as to a smell or two, or else the tobacco smoke counteracted the effect produced by this mem ber of the swinish multitude.

Presently there came in sight a gentleman in black, with long coat tails, a white cravat,' an umbrella under his arm, neatly packed into a shining leather case, white cuffs, turned down very far over his coat sleeves, black kid gloves, and well-polished boots ; the smoker touched his hat to this person, who was returning the salute, and hurrying on, when sud denly seeming to alter his mind, he came to a B stop, and said rather sharply, " How's your wife to-day ?" " Her beant no better, sir," said the man, putting his pipe on a ledge of the gate, and scratching his head. " I'll see her," said the clergyman, stepping forward; the old man let him pass in, and then followed him slowly. It was a darksome hovel, that, with little light, no pure air, and yet much draft ; on the clay floor lay pots and broken dishes, and everything bore the stamp of poverty, dirt, and disorder ; there was a bed in one corner, and on this bed lay an old withered woman, groaning with pain, and coughing at inter vals; she half raised her head when the clergyman entered, and made some feeble attempt at salute.

" Well, how are you ?" said the clergyman, in a loud, cheerful voice. " I'm a'most as bad as I can be, to be alive," gasped the sufferer. " Oh, my ; ah me " — a long groan. " Have you seen the doctor ?" asked the clergyman. " I seed him last night. Ah, me." Again a long groan of pain. " What did he say ?" " He sed as he'd trv to get me into the Fermery." " What does he think is the matter with j ou ?" " It's the brownkite — it will kill me !" " The bronchitis ?" said the clergyman. " Ah," from the sufferer. " Could you bear my reading you a chapter in the Bible?" "No, I don't particler feel as if I cared about it, sir !" " But it is very sad," said the clergyman, producing a pocket Testament, and turning over the leaves, "at your age, and on the brink of the grave." " Ah, well, I reckon they'll let me alone there ; I a had a power o' trouble here ; they can't do no worse to me there nur I've had here, that's sartin."

" Shocking, Mrs. Kite ! have you never heard of the lake of brimstone, where the worm dieth not, and — " " Hold yer noise !" said the sick woman, passionately and loudly ; " don't come bother ing in poor folks' ouses, with yer brimstone ; yer never gave us the parings of yer nails since yer com to Alton." The clergyman shut his book. " You are very ill," he said, mildly ; "you ought to see a doctor again ; your brain is excited." " It aint. I'm as right in the ed as yerself. I don't want no forgiveness for all the things I ever done, cept one, and that I hae sworn never to tell to man nor woman." " Good evening," said the clergyman, and he walked out of the cottage. " Your wife is in a sad state," said he. " Ah, I hope they'll get her into the Fermery." " She is in a sad state of mind. She re fuses to hear the Bible read."

" She always was very much set agin it, said old Kite, scratching his head. " You should talk to her !" " Well, you see, sir, she allays ad the best edd piece of the two. She talks me down. She won't believe as we, as ave ad so much ardships here, will be sent to burn for ever after us dies." " Neither need you, if you believe and repent." " I hant ad much to repent, as I knows on," said Kite. " I never robbed no one ; I never killed nobody. I never ran after the women, when I was a young man ; I sometimes get a drop of ale too much, but I reckon the squire himsell does that oftener nur I do. I don't see as I'm no worse nur others." " You are born in sin : all of us are born in sin," said the clergyman, " and unless we repent, we shall be damned !" " Ah, well," said Kite, fingering his pipe, " if we was born in sin, I don't see as we can elp oursells — that aint our faults, I rekon."

" I have no time, now," said the clergyman, " to convince you, but I must call again. Good night, Kite ; may you be brought to a better frame of mind !" The clergyman moved on, looking sad and stern, the hardness and unbelief of the suffering wretches he had left weighed on his mind during the remainder of his walk. The trees by the road-side swayed their branches wildly, the wind whistled in his ears, the blood-red sun was sinking in the west behind a ploughed field, which rose up against the sky, the white dust went driving down the road before him, and he followed in its train mechanically ; at last he turned off, and took the path across some fields, which led towards a little rustic church, with a moss-grown tower, and a barn-like building beside it, which was the village school-house.

When the clergyman came up to this place, he turned once more aside up a little lane, which led him to a red brick cottage, two stories high, with a neat old-fashioned garden in front, and high borders of box round the flower beds ; he went and knocked at the door of this house, and asked of the neat, middle-aged woman, who opened it, " if her lodger was in?" " Yes, sir ; he's in his room," and she showed the clergyman into a tidy little room, with a clean, threadbare Kidderminster carpet on the floor, and scanty drab moreen curtains to the windows ; there was no fire in the grate ; presently there walked into this room the young man whom the clergyman had come to see, and the clergyman, who was a superficial observer, was surprised at the ap pearance of his new schoolmaster, who was to make his first entry into the village school room the next morning, the twenty-fifth of March.

"Mr. Cruize?" said the clergyman, inquiringly. " Yes, sir. Martin Cruize is my name ; take a chair?" He was slightly awkward, was Martin Cruize, more than slightly nervous, far from E handsome, with masses of rough, dark hair, a pale— almost sallow complexion, roughly hewn features, something almost heavy in the expression of the face, with its massive lower jaw, until he raised his deep grey eyes full upon you from under his dark, strongly marked eyebrows ; then with their flash came intelligence into the young face, for he was young — not more than twenty-two — and when he pushed back the tangled hair, you became amazed at the brow, massive as the jaw ; here was a strong nature, force, both intellec tual and physical was stamped upon every feature of the face, expressed itself in every giant limb, for he was cast in the mould of a Hercules, and stood towering above his pa tron, the vicar of Alton.

" I must give you a few hints, Mr. Cruize. I am sorry to say morality and religion are at a low ebb in this parish ; it will take years of labour to effect anything like reform. You have scarcely fifty scholars in your school, although it is the only one for three parishes. The children are ill-bred in the extreme, and will not bear the least correction; brutally as they are treated at home, they will not brook a touch from the master's cane. I think it right to warn you of these things. You will have great responsibilities — no life so arduous as that of an instructor of youth ; much will depend upon yourself. You have been educa cated at the training College?" "Yes." " You have passed your examination with great credit, I hear." Martin Cruize smiled a little. "You have perhaps studied other things than the mere routine you are expected to re quire r " Study," said Martin Cruize, " has been my great pleasure."

" I am glad to hear that ; you will be kept from much evil if you make books your chief companions." " I scarcely see what other companions I could possibly have here," said the schoolmaster. The clergyman then took occasion to notice the dress of his underling ; it was plain and old to shabbiness, though perfectly clean. " You are a Londoner, I presume ?" " I am from Cumberland." " Have you any relations ?" Martin Cruize began to think the clergy man very inquisitive ; he had yet to learn that the Rev. F. Yardly was an inveterate gossip, and rather fond of finding out everything about everybody. " I have a mother, sir." " Is that all ?" "Yes." " She might live with you," said Mr. Yardly. " Scarcely on forty pounds a-year !" " But this is a cheap country place." " My mother would never stay a week in a country place like this."

" Oh, she has some private means of her own, then, I suppose ?" " No," said the schoolmaster, " she is in a situation," and he paused with a half smile, waiting for the vicar's next question, which his instincts told him would be as to what situation his mother filled, but somehow the vicar did not like to ask that question, and so the schoolmaster told him himself. " She is what is called ' companion to an old bedridden lady ' at Brixton, and she receives a salary of equal value to mine, for she gets forty pounds a-year." " Indeed ! Well, really it — perhaps I ought not to make the remark I am about to make, Mr. Cruize, but it seems to me you are, you ought to be, rather superior to the situation you have come to fill." " Thank you, sir," said Martin Cruize, so coldly that the clergyman felt quite abashed.

" I am surely not mistaken," said he, apolo getically ; " unfortunate circumstances have doubtless reduced your family?" "No, sir," interrupted the schoolmaster, and a flush came into his pale face. " My family is nothing. I am neither more nor less than the Alton schoolmaster. I cannot claim one grand relation. My mother is of lowly birth, and may think herself fortunate to find herself placed as she is." " In that case," said Mr. Yardly, " you may likewise think yourself fortunate ! " " No, sir ; I think myself neither better nor worse off than I have always expected. I only used that phrase as other people ; the world generally would use it. I do not think myself or my mother fortunate at all." " Ah," said Mr. Yardly, " I fear I detect the seeds of discontent in that speech. Mr. Cruize, we are all apt to think our own crosses the heaviest, are we not ?"

" I suppose we are," said the schoolmaster, " but I am not the least discontented." The clergyman looked puzzled. " And you think yourself unfortunate ?" A half roguish light shone for an instant in the young man's grey eye as he answered "Yes, sir." He was beginning to detect in fact the real littleness of soul that lay under the outer crust of sanctity in the poor, prying vicar, and he was amused at him. " I hardly can understand what you mean," said Mr. Yardly, rising to go. " By the bye, Mr. Cruize, you will be punctual, at nine the school opens. Good evening." He held out his hand, and the other shook it, and then Mr. Yardly walked out into the wild March evening.

Chapter II. Ella

Two months later on. The spring has awakened in all its power, in all its verdure, its fresh intoxicating beauty is making itself felt ; it is growing day by day ; it is a living poem ; a delicious reality ; far in the distance the woods are standing out in green relief against the pure blue ether; the hedges are literally wreathed in snowy hawthorn bloom. " The primrose stars" are gleaming here and there in the grass ; one or two white butterflies are dipping into the flower cups ; the hum of insects, the rustling of foliage, the singing of birds, the falling of water, form a sweet cadence, a wild music which speaks to the hearts of some, to the senses of most. Alton Hall looks bright on this bright spring day. The unshaven lawn in front of the entrance, " put up for grass," is frosted with the petals of the daisy, though not yet spangled with the gold of the buttercup ; the flower garden is a blaze with tulips, rhododen drons, guelder roses, and laburnums, the golden chains of which hang down and sweep the turf.

Alton Hall was a handsome old house, with large oriel-shaped windows opening on to the lawn. In a room, with just the window we have indicated, there was spread a very in viting breakfast ; there was a noble ham at one end, at the other stood the tea service of old-fashioned Dresden china ; there was a white vase of Bohemian glass in the centre of the table, filled with flowers, not hot-house plants, but fresh lovely children of the spring time, such as grew in the garden ; but human creature there was none, this might have been a repast spread for the fairies ; however, the handsome French clock on the chimney piece sounded musically the hour of eight, and as its last chime died away, a young girl sprang into the room, she went up to the flowers, lifted the vase to inhale their perfume, gave a loud sniff of satisfaction, then set down the glass in a hurry, and made a slop on the white table cloth, then she waltzed to the window, and out upon the lawn, went to the laburnum tree, and bung on by the branches, swinging at a foot's height from the ground, and whistling at the same time a gay opera au very sweetly.

Presently a voice called her, " Come, Ella, breakfast;" she jumped down and ran into the room. " I'm your game," said the young lady. She sat down and began to cut the ham. " Will you have a slice, papa ?' " Yes, if you please." "A bit of that fat?" " No, thank you." Mr. Thorpe began to cut himself some bread. " Have you made the tea, Ella ?" " Not I, by Jove." " Make it then, please, at once ; I have business this morning, there, I will ring for the hot water." In a few minutes more the pair were feeding. Mr. Thorpe was a very handsome man, in the prime of life, that is, he had very beautiful features, and a delicate complexion ; he was tall and gentlemanly, but he was too thin for his years ; his voice had a harsh timbre ; his forehead was high and narrow, his lips thin ; his manner was singularly dry and cold ; he scarcely spoke during the time of breakfast ; at last he rose to go.

" The Kilrudereys are coming to-day, are they not, Ella ?" " Yes, papa." " Send the carriage to meet the train at five, and tell your mother to order dinner precisely at half-past six." " Yes, papa." He went out. Ella sprang upon the lawn again with renewed vigour ; she climbed over the park palings, and began to wade in the mowing grass ; she went down far in the park, to where a cluster of trees was waving their branches invitingly; the ground was spangled with primroses, and blue campanulas ; she threw herself on the grass, and leaned her graceful head against the tree. She was so dark that she had no dread that the beautiful sunshine which glanced through the swaying branches, and fell in bright eddying streams on her face and throat, would rob her of the delicacy of her beauty ; and yet Ella was beautiful, it was not too large a word to apply to the slight young creature; she had jet black hair, glossy and fine, wreathed round her head, in numerous plaits ; a brow clear and open ; delicately marked eyebrows ; large hazel eyes, fringed with singularly long eye lashes ; a nose and mouth beautiful, each in their way, though not cut precisely after the Grecian model ; the complexion was a deep pure brown, touched into colour on the smooth cheeks, colour neither carmine nor brilliant, but only a faint glowing of the rich quick blood through the transparent skin.

The expression of this volatile creature's countenance was, at this moment, more than pensive, it was even sorrowful, the eyes looked almost sternly into vacancy ; the lips were slightly compressed. Presently she started suddenly to her feet, and ran forward a few paces, and she began to shout to somebody on the other side of the hedge — " Holloa ! holloa !" cried Ella, there was somebody walking through the high thick mowing grass in the meadow below. The person hearing himself called, approached the hedge hur riedly. Ella sprang forwards, she saw a tall young man rather shabbily dressed, who took off his cap respectfully. " You have no right in that field, that's mowing grass, nobody is allowed to walk in it," said Ella, in a dictatorial manner. " The curate lost a purse here last night," said the young man, colouring up, " and I am looking for it."

" The curate had no business there," retorted Ella, who never changed colour once, "it's Mr. Thorpe's field." " The curate came newly last night, he took the wrong turn, and lost his way, and his purse into the bargain, and he had five pounds in it, Miss Thorpe." " What an overwhalming loss," said Ella, laughing. " To him, it probably is," returned the young man gravely. " Poor wretch," said Ella, tossing her head, " however, if you think you can find the purse, you may look for it, but I expect it will be time thrown away — where did he drop it ?" " He does not know, he crossed the field after dark." " Well, I'll come, and have a search," and Ella stepped over the stile, and began to walk along the field, looking on the ground. " It's no good," said she, at length stopping short, and wheeling round, so as to face Martin Cruize, who followed in her steps.

" You had much better go back, or you'll be late for school. You are the schoolmaster, aren't you," she added, with a bright pleasant smile. " Yes, Miss Thorpe." " I thought I knew you, but look here," and she held towards him an exquisitely chased mite of a gold watch, "it's nine o'clock, you are late already." Martin drew out a large pinchbeck frightful looking turnip. " It wants five minutes by me," said he, " I shall lock once more under the hedge, Miss Thorpe, if you will allow me.'' "It's not I," said Ella carelessly, beginning to get over the stile, " It's Mr. Thorpe's field. I have nothing to do with it." Martin Cruize did not look again for the curate's purse, until the graceful figure of the young girl was out of sight, and then he began to look steadily on the ground, but he found nothing, and finally, after one more glance at the ugly turnip, he walked slowly out of the field.

Chapter III. The Kilrudereys

Dinner over, and the ladies were as sembled in the pretty drawing-room at Alton Hall ; it overlooked the lake, and commanded an extensive view of rich woodland scenery; the sun was setting gor geously behind the tree tops, the sky was blazing with bright colours and gold, and the rosy light came into the elegant room and danced on the white ground of the carpet. The Miss Kilrudereys were beautiful in the widest sense of the word ; they were very much alike ; they had golden hair, violet- VOL. I. C coloured eyes, dark eye-brows, Grecian features, and complexions of mingled carmine and snow ; then they were dressed with ex quisite taste in mauve silk brocade; and on their white necks and arms they wore rich ornaments of gold. Ella was standing by the piano, turning over music ; she was dressed simply in white, her dark unique piquant style of beauty contrasted admirably with the Hebe-like charms of the Miss Kilrudereys.

They were a beautiful trio. " Bobbie," said she, addressing the youngest sister by her pet name, " won't you sing ?" and the beautiful Bobbie approached the instru ment, and treated her sister and her friend to an Italian canzonetta, executed in the very best style, for she had learned entirely abroad, and from the first masters. " Here," said Bobbie, when she had finished, " don't ask me to sing any more, until you have sung yourself." " I am not going to sing, so don't think it," returned Ella, throwing herself into an arm chair, " I wish it was winter, and that we were going to have a skate on the lake." The Miss Kilrudereys laughed and said, " What a child you are, Ella," and Ella shut her eyes, clasped her arms round her knees, and began to rock herself to and fro on her seat. " I tell you what," said she at length, " I've come to the conclusion that things in general are dreadfully slow, I wish the house would take fire, or something."

The Miss Kilrudereys laughed louder than before, and one of them said, " You wicked little thing." " Well," s-aid Ella, " all I know is, I find existence on the whole a failure and a humbug, and I should be glad if somebody would kindly point out a more pleasant mode of living — I'd follow it." " What a compliment to us, Ella," said Bob bie Kilruderey, " when we have come here on purpose to see you, I suppose you find us bores, don't you ?" c " You, oh dear, no," said Ella, with the same charming frank smile she had given to a certain humble acquaintance of ours in the morning. " You know how delighted I am to have you here. It's a pleasure to look at you, if nothing else. You know I adore pretty people, and hate ugly ones." "I can't bear people for my part," said Miss Kilruderey, " unless they have some thing in them.

I can stand ugly people if they are clever, but ugly people and stupid, oh 1" and she gave a little shudder. " You see," said Ella, getting up and walk ing to the window, " I'm only nineteen, and I am perfectly blase with everything. I've been in London two seasons. I've danced at all the balls; I've flirted; I've ridden in Rotten-row ; I've dined at everybody's ; I've refused two offers. I've fallen in love, and out again, and now positively there seems nothing left to do." " What a career of dissipation," said Bobbie Kilruderey ; " you dreadful child !" "I did not know you had been in love, Ella," said Miss Kilruderey. " Who was it with ?" " With a young officer in the Guards," said Ella, " a most desperate attachment I assure you, I quite lost my appetite for four days." " And what brought it to an end ?"

"My appetite?" " No, you horrid little thing," said Miss Kilruderey, striking her with her fan, " you know what I mean." "Oh! the love," said Ella; "well, it simply wouldn't do, he only had his pay, which wouldn't have kept me in ball dresses." " You little heartless puss," said Bobbie, " you will be caught some day. I don't be lieve you know at all what love is." " Don't I ?" said Ella, " you should have seen me suffering under the effects of Captain Markhem's withering scorn, after I told him I liked love, but not in a cottage with low ceilings, and no hot house and stables attached. You should have seen me cry that night," and Ella shook her head waggishly. " I can't fancy marriage for money," said Miss Kilruderey seriously. "Can't you?" whined Ella, mocking her tone, "how very disinterested and loving we are to throw away our golden hair and blue eyes on some poor wretch of a curate, or cornet.

I believe you, my boy," and Ella shut one eye wickedly. " Ella, you are incorrigible " Yes," said Ella, " I'm not the least ladylike, that's the one thing I'm not, but every thing else I am, I believe, by turns. ' Every thing by turns and nothing long.' Shall we go for a ride this evening ? We have no gentlemen to escort us, there isn't such a thing for miles round this neighbour hood ; but the man servant will come, that will do." " You forget, Ella, we only left London to-day, we are tired." " I don't know what that is," said Ella. " I've risen at five, ridden ten miles before breakfast, gone to an archery meeting aster, and stood all day in the hot sun, and then I've gone to a ball in the evening and danced till six o'clock, and the next day I felt fresher and better than ever. I should like to feel tired just to know what it was like."

Thus, in the smallest of small talk, the three beauties whiled away the time until the entrance of coffee and candles was followed by that of the gentlemen.

Chapter IV. The Leslies

On that same evening that Miss Thorpe was expressing her weariness of things in general to the Miss Kilrudereys, the young schoolmaster of Alton was taking a solitary ramble through the green lanes, that wind among the meadows and cornfields surrounding the vil lage. There were banks on each side of him, whose living green was starred all over with primroses. Elms entwined their branches above his head, every now and then an open ing would disclose the wooded prospect, the thatched hamlets, the pretty farmsteads, and the spire of Alton Church in the distance. Martin Cruize had rambled three or four miles from home. He was walking along slowly, almost weariedly ; his face was paler than usual, his eyes looked heavy, the con finement, the uninteresting routine, the close room, the want of companionship, werebegin ing to tell upon him.

Though not of a dis contented disposition,strictly speaking, he was totally wanting in that elasticity and hopeful ness that seem more especially the heritage of youth. With great powers of endurance, and much strength of will, he yet had no faculty for extracting the sweet from the bitter ; at the same time he accepted the bitter as his proper portion patiently, and without anger. He had discovered that constant confinement was no incentive to study, his day's labours generally left him subdued and wearied, and thus after a hasty cup of tea he sought re freshment in the fields and lanes, and turned out for his lonely walk. Unless he had some other prospects, some hopes in the back ground, his was not an enviable position for c a strong young man of twenty-two, with a superior intellect and refined tastes.