Old St. Margaret's ... Fourth edition

Front matter

OLD SAINT MARGARET'S, BY STACKPOOL E. O'DELL. "OLD ST. MARGARET'S." A Theological and Philosophical Novel. 3 Volumes. Price 31s. 6J. (ALL LIBRARIES AND BOOKSELLERS.) COURT CIRCULAR.—" It is well worth perusal." ATHENÆUM.—" Full of excitement." DAILY NEWS.—" The spirit of the work is excellent.' DAILY TELEGRAPH.— " Three well-intended volumes." WHITEHALL REVIEW.— " Piteous pictures of sin and want: LITERARY CHURCHMAN.— " A novel that will well repay perusal." LITERARY WORLD.—" Worthy of all respect and attention." CHRISTIAN WORLD.— "It teaches us, as Shakespeare says, how 'Sometimes we are devils to ourselves.' " BIRMINGHAM DAILY GAZETTE.—" It is only too terribly true ; by thinking men and women the work cannot be read without deep and heartfelt interest." YORKSHIRE POST.— " The plan of Mr. O'Dell's story is a simp'e but a good one."

PALL MALL GAZETTE.—" Henry Kingsley himself never invented his equal (the Hero). There is something genuine ami great about it." Just Published:- "MERCIFUL OR MERCILES S." A Theological and Psychological Novel. 1 Volume. Price 7s. 6d. (ALL LIBRARIES AND BOOKSELLERS.) OLD ST. MARGARET'S EY STACKPOOL E. O'DELL AUTHOR OF "MERCIFUL OR MERCILESS" FOURTH EDITION. LONDON : WYMAN & SONS, 74-76, GREAT QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN S-INN FIELDS. 1886. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. WYMAN AND SONS, PRINTERS, GREAT QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN's-INN FIELDS, LONDON W.C CONTENTS. CHAr. PAGE I. HARRY'S FIRST APPEARANCE ! 2. harry hilton's introduction to mr. oxen . 3 3. JOSEPH HARWOOD ... ... ... ... 5 4. WILLIAM HARWOOD ... ... ... ... 14 5. MRS. HARWOOD ... ... ... 20 6. SUPPER 26 7. BEDTIME 30 8. CHARACTER 34 9. A STRIKE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT 36 IO.

LITTLE BENNY ... ... ... ... ... 42 II. MR. SKIRTON ... ... ... ... ... 50 12. ON THE ROAD TO RUIN ... ... ... ... 55 13. SEEKING THE PRODIGAL... ... 58 14. FINDING THE PRODIGAL... ... ... ... 62 15. THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN ... ... ... 73 1 6. THE PRODIGAL'S RECEPTION ... ... ... 77 17. AN ANXIOUS TIME ... ... ... ... 79 18. THE PONY AND ITS ATTENDANT ... ... 83 19. CAIN ... ... ... ... ... ... 88 20. CHRISTMAS EVE ... ... ... ... ... 93 21. MARKETING AT ASHTON... ... ... ... 98 22. A ROARING TRADE ... ... ... ... 104 23. THE WAXWORK EXHIBITION ... ... ... 1 oS 24. WHAT IS IT, FATHER CHRISTMAS? ... ... 114 25. HOW SOME PEOPLE SPEND CHRISTMAS ... ... old saint Margaret's. VI CHAP. PAGE 26. THE HARWOODS' CHRISTMAS EVE ... ••• 1 25 27. HARRY'S CONVALESCENCE ... ... •■■ 128 2S. JOSEPH HARWOOD DECIDES ON SPEAKING TO HARRY 133 29.

Chapter I

harry's first appearance. HARRY HILTON, the prominent character in this story, was deserted by his parents when a child, at Ashton-under-Lyne. There was reason for supposing that they had emigrated to New Zealand, leaving the boy behind, more from necessity than choice. They were not natives of the town of Ashton-under- Lyne, but came there with Harry when he was about six years old. They represented to the landlady of the house, after they had been there a short time, that they were going to look for work at Bradford, where wages were better than at Ashton ; and she then kindly took charge of the boy until they might be able to send or come for him. They neither did the one thing nor the other. The good woman with whom Harry was left did not feel him much of a burden, as he was a good-looking, amiable, and obedient child.

He received many kindnesses from the neighbours, and presents from time to time, and these latter covered the cost of his support. The manufacturing hands, whether weavers or spinners, or otherwise, in Yorkshire, are the essence of good nature and the soul of generosity. Beggars and tramps from the larger towns, even from the great metropolis, enrich themselves by this generosity, and constantly play upon this good nature. The only thing in which they neglected Harry was edu cation. Up to the age of eleven he knew very little, and at this age he became an office boy in the mill of Oxen & Co., of Little Ashton. This mill was situated at the foot of a steep eminence, and on the banks of a river. The landscape around was rugged and impressive. There was more of grandeur than beauty, more of sublimity than prettiness.

B Wherever you looked there was an appearance of solidity, strength, and force. White and brown were the prevailing colours, and where there was vegetation, it was of a stunted, sere, and heathery nature. The roads seemed to run here and there without design. They ran along the valleys and half up the hills, and then, as if tired, and not liking the general appearance and bleak ness of the aspect, hurried down the hills again in another direction. These roads might have delighted an artist who looked for lines of beauty, for they displayed many curves, though probably the designer of them knew but little of fine art. No doubt those who made them knew what they were doing, and made them more with an idea of utility than beauty; for usefulness is always uppermost in the York shire mind. The roads were strong, for they were made of stone, taken out of the surrounding hills.

Stone was everywhere, and instead of green hedges, you saw miles of stone walls going up hill and down hill, and dividing acres of ground. The houses are likewise of stone, more of a whitish than grayish colour; in fact, all the stones from the different quarries seem to be very much alike : so far as the eye can see it is all stone. You cannot get away from it. Your feet feel its hardness, your eyes smart under the hardness of the colour, and your thoughts are hard as you gaze on the solid material. The houses are like the roads, crooked and curved, big ones leaning against little ones ; while the chimneys of little houses impertinently and sneeringly puff their smoke into the windows of their taller neighbours. There is no more idea of " streets " in the neighbourhood of Oxen & Co's mill, than architectural design in the houses.

On looking at these dwellings one might think that no man here was an architect, though every man might be a builder, so various was the construction of the domiciles. There were houses whose interior and exterior were of a more pretentious character than others. Some of these latter houses were two, and a few three stories high; many of these houses had porticos, and some Venetian blinds, while the more elegant houses had both porticos and Venetian blinds. The blinds and the porticos were green — a green of the greenest green. Where that green was obtained I cannot say, for there was no grass so harry Hilton's introduction to mr. oxen. 3 green, or leaves of trees, cabbages or cauliflowers so green as the portico green and the Venetian green. You could not ignore that bright green any more than you could get away from the stoniness surrounding you.

These comparatively elegant-looking houses belonged to " cutlookers," overlookers, and other lookers and " gaffers " of all kinds. Such were the houses, detached and semi-detached — I cannot call them streets — in and out of which Harry Hilton played. These were the roads he walked along, trudged along, and ran along — ran with the breakfasts, ran with the dinners, and ran on all kinds of errands. I say ran advisedly, for it was a well-known fact that Harry was never seen walking on these errands but once, and then an old woman, in order to clear him of the libel and calumny,. which he indignantly called it, said he was trotting. Up these mountains Harry was accustomed to climb after a goat, of which he possessed sole and unconditional care. These were the mountains from whose topmost points he would often look in amazement at the sun rising and the sun setting, thinking all the time that it was nothing more nor less than a great big lamp lighted in the morning to be extinguished at night.

On these were the great stones, the immense boulders, the great overhanging rocks, by the shelter of which he used to hide from both sun and rain in the day-time, and whose shadowy figures oftentimes filled him with awe as he looked out of his little bed at night-time in order to see were they there, or playing at hide-and-seek, or chasing each other, or dancing around the mountains, or something of this sort concerning which he had a hazy idea. For this boy, though he was of Yorkshire parentage, from some where or other, received a sprinkling of the poet's baptism. And who has not ? — for it is an element in almost every nature, even the rudest, most uncouth, and unlearned.

Chapter II

harry hilton's introduction to mr. oxen. Harry had now arrived at the age of eleven. He was physically strong, and a good-looking and well-formed boy for his age. However, as we have said, his mind had alto- B gether been neglected in regard to scholastic training. He might have been acquainted with a few letters of the alpha bet, but not all. As for sums, he knew enough to be able to count all the money, apples, or other things which from time to time came into his possession. An intelligent ob server of character, however, could have perceived that he possessed very many intellectual gems, which only required cutting and polishing to have made them brilliants. If we only look for it carefully we may discover, even amongst the waifs and strays of society, undeveloped mental power, which only requires a little kindly effort to make it useful.

Even from a pecuniary point of view, and acting only from the most selfish and utilitarian considerations, quite apart from charity, from mercy, from philanthropy, from religious sentiment, it seems strange that the now wasted resources of the human mind should be permitted to remain idle. I do most certainly believe that if a com pany were formed, even upon a purely commercial basis, for the purpose of making capital out of the, at present wasted intelligence of millions of children, that after housing, clothing, and educating them, it would in the course of time pay a good dividend on the outlay. I believe that a judicious expenditure of a few millions by the State in this direction would be found to inflict no burden whatever upon the taxation. Three things would be accomplished which would be of advantage to the country.

First, a decrease in criminal and pauper statistics, with their attendant expenses ; secondly, greater protection and security for the honest, industrious and law-abiding community ; and, thirdly, the productive and remunerative labour both mentally and physically thus obtained for the benefit of the commonwealth. If some millions are annually spent for the repression of crime and the support of criminals, would it not be better to get at the root of the evil by taking children, not otherwise properly cared for, under the care of the State, and, like waste land, develop their minds for useful purposes ? Harry Hilton might have lived to a mature old age, like thousands of other Harrys, Toms, and Dicks, for whom nobody cares, either struggling honestly for a scanty living or spending their lives between tramp wards, poorhouses and prisons, were it not for the following event which took place and altered the current of his life.

Mr Oxen, the great millowner, owned a large estate about three miles from his mill. He was a very active man, and well known in the neighbourhood, which he generally visited three or four times a week. He rode a sure-footed, shaggy pony, and for a short cut was accus tomed to ride over a by-path, across one of the mountains which lay between his residence and the mill. It so happened that one day Harry was chasing his goat, which played, as goats will, along the hill-side, when a large dog joined him in the chase, but not with such kindly intention. The consequence was that in a short time the goat lay bleeding in the agony of death, while Harry, who had defended it with all the physical strength of which he was capable, was severely bitten. In the midst of the fight between Harry and the mastiff, Mr. Oxen arrived on his pony at the summit of the hill, from whence he beheld the struggle.

He hurried on, at the same time whistling and shouting to the dog, which did not cease worrying the boy until its master, arriving on the spot, beat it off. Now that Harry was relieved from the dog, instead of complaining of his own wounds, he caught his little friend and companion in his arms, trying to stanch the blood, and caressing it in the most loving manner. Mr. Oxen did all he could to persuade the boy to allow him to see to the numerous bites he had received and that were now bleeding freely, but not until the poor goat had bleated out the last of its life in his arms, would he be persuaded to give attention to his own wounds. From that day Mr. Oxen was Harry's friend.

Chapter III. Joseph Harwood

Mr. Oxen made arrangements with one of his overseers that Harry should become a half-timer at his mill, and that for the other half-day he should attend school, as he was legally bound to do. He likewise made arrangements with the same overseer for Harry to live with him. Thus did Harry change his employment from goatherd and general errand boy of the village to an office boy in the mill Mr. Harwood, the head overseer, was looked upon by all the mill hands, by all the other overseers, by all the overlookers, and by the great millowner himself, as a man of great integrity. Now this means a great deal. Being a recognised man of integrity is in many cases better than a fortune, and generally gains confidence, trust, and esteem. Generally, I say, because there are excep tional people who think just the opposite, and the very fact of an individual setting up for a man of integrity, and being so pronounced by a community, will cause them to be suspicious and distrustful.

Mr. Harwood was, without any fear of contradiction, so far as the knowledge of his neighbours went, a religious man. It was not alone that he was religious at home, but he was religious in everyday life. This, and the fact that he held the office of a preacher in connection with a religious sect, was quite sufficient, in the estimation of his Yorkshire neighbours, to entitle him to be regarded as a religious man. There was a hall in the neighbourhood of Mr. Oxen's mill where Mr. Harwood used to pray, preach, and sing two and three times weekly, for the good of the community. I call this place a hall — it looked like one, and secular meetings of various kinds were held there at night time, while children were educated there both on week days and Sundays. Mr. Harwood did not consider this place a hall by any means, nor a chapel, nor a schoolroom, but a "church."

He was a great stickler in this matter, and if you mentioned the place to him by any other name, he would kindly, mildly, gently, and politely, but firmly, give you to understand that it was a church by mentioning the word as often as he could. This he did frequently by the exercise of a little ingenuity — ingenuity which he had gained by long practice in another "church," where he had officiated before he became the preacher, pastor, and bishop of the one in question, for there was no one to interfere with him in his office as a preacher. Mr. Harwood, on inviting you to his church, would say, " Have you seen our church ? — a very nice church ; and we shall be very glad to see you in our church, and give you a seat in our church : we will give you a hearty welcome to our church." He evidently prided himself on " our church."

Mr. Harwood was a very conscientious man, conscientious with his household, his neighbours, and conscientious in his religious views. He was a man who believed in acting up to the letter, though by doing so he might have injured himself or injured others. He would not have shirked the smallest item mentioned in the bond, and he demanded from others the same scrupulous exactness. If he made a promise, though connected with matters ever so trifling, he would perform it, even at the risk of his life. As in this matter there was no one like him in the neighbourhood, it made his individuality all the more prominent. As he was scrupulously exact, so was he scrupulously exacting. This caused him to be looked upon by his neighbours as a just, but austere man. He was little loved, but much respected.

Mr. Harwood's family consisted of himself, his wife, and only son, a delicate boy about one year older than Harry Hilton. Harry found everything strange in his new abode. When he lived with the neighbours, he had no place to call home. He received a breakfast from one, a dinner from another, a supper from a third, and probably a shake-down from a fourth ; though at times he would cuddle himself up in some of the outhouses or sheds, and in summer-time in the nooks and crannies of the great boulders of the mountain. All this had now passed away, and we find him with a permanent roof over his head. Mr. Harwood's house was superior to the neighbouring houses, both as to its exterior and interior. This was per ceptible at a glance. The stone wall that was built around it was higher and more solid-looking than the neighbouring walls ; the stones in this wall were larger and more shapely; the entrance to the garden in front had evidently been made with an eye to protection ; the gate was solid, though small, and constantly kept closed.

No one had ever seen this gate open, except for the purpose of letting people in and out. Wherever a gate was seen in this neighbourhood, it was, if not off its hinges, wide open ; except, indeed, it was accidentally closed by the wind or by the last urchin who had been executing a gymnastic performance upon it. The garden inside the gate was not much to look at, and upon consideration could scarcely be called a garden. There were a few green shrubs growing along the wall and against the house, but no flowers. One thing more was in this garden, and this was a collection of stones. These stones, no doubt, were nicely and regularly placed, and I have a suspicion that he who placed them there, or he who had designed their arrangement, must have seen flower beds somewhere, and, imitating what he had seen, thought he would make flower-beds out of the quarry stones.

The hills were stony, the walls stony, and the houses stony ; but this house and its surroundings was the hardest and stoniest place that the eye could look upon. It was clean : there could be no doubt about that, for the stone pillars of the gate, the stone walls, the stone pavement, the stone flower-beds and the stone steps were at least once every week washed, soused and syringed, wherever such an operation was possible. There was no green portico to this house ; in fact, there was no portico at all. Of course there was a door, and though this door was not stone, it was stone-coloured, and at first glance might have been taken for the real article. There was a knocker upon this door, and it made the house all the more conspicuous, as it was the only house that had a knocker, for with the others it was " lift the latch and walk in."

But, like the gate, who ever saw Mr. Harwood's door open ? and who ever obtained admittance without knocking with that knocker? In fact, the neighbours thought that one of the most solemn things they could do was' to lift this knocker, and it made their hearts beat to listen to its dull, heavy thud. One thud was generally enough for them, and they would wait a long time before th;y gave a second. When on odd occasions Mr. Oxen would call at this house, swing open the gate without closing it, and give a big and repeated thud, thud, thud at the door, the neighbours would look and listen in amazement — provided that neighbours were passing by at the time — thinking what a courageous man he must be. As for the neighbours' children, they would follow him and stand at a respectful distance from the gate in order to listen to the thud of the knocker.

This they would do with feelings of awe, speaking of it for some time after to each other with bated breath, while they would imitate it as best they could on the neighbour ing gates, walls, and doors by the aid of stones. Before bidding good-bye to this knocker I would intimate, so as to give general satisfaction in regard to the exactness of these particulars, that the colour of the knocker, when I saw it last, was the colour of the door, and I need not repeat what that colour was. On the opening of the door its solidity was instantly recognised. It could be seen as it swung back on two large iron hinges. You only knew that they were iron, because hinges are generally expected to be iron. This could not be known from their colour, for they were the same colour as the door. As the door closes, the visitor is astonished to perceive that the back of this door is the same colour as the front.

The interior of the house is as well regulated and as orderly as the exterior, and displays quite as much taste, or want of it. The prevailing colours are brown-looking, grey-looking, and blue -looking. There may be harmony in these colours ; but there is not much life or contrast. The walls are grey, the furniture brown, and the daylight illuminating the place a bluish colour, which colour most probably might be owing to the shades and shadows through which it made its appearance. A sanitary inspector could have found no fault with this house in regard to cleanliness, as it received an equal amount of mopping and washing, inside and out. If " Order be Heaven's first law," this law was accurately carried out here, even to the letter. Of course, like most other houses, even the poorest, it had a reception or sitting-room ; though we cannot in this instance call it the latter ; for, with the exception of Mr. Harwood, no one sat in this room, except on odd occasions : it was reserved for special visitors, who generally constituted " special inquirers " and " church " members coming to consult concerning " church " matters.

Special inquirers were looked upon by Mr. Harwood as his most important visitors. Now, these special visitors were people anxious about their souls — alarmed sinners, who were desirous of fleeing from the " wrath to come." To see one of these inquirers, if it were necessary, Mr. Harwood would have given up all he possessed, for he conscientiously believed in "the wrath to come;" and that this "wrath " was a terrible " wrath," from which every man should flee, and constantly keep fleeing, as if he were fleeing from the point of the sword, or from the " City of Destruction." Baxter's " Call to the Unconverted," Baxter's " Sinners Alarmed," Jonathan Edward's " Sermon on Hell," and other books of a similar nature, he not alone read, but studied, believed in, and preached, until the contents of these books got so mixed up with the contents of the Bible that he scarcely discerned one from the other.

In fact, he read the Bible, like many more people, by the light of these books. He preached not alone from his pulpit, or what he called his pulpit, on Sundays and week nights, but he preached to men and women wherever he came across them. He preached in his own home both by words and actions. In all this, and the austerity of his life, he manifested to all beholders that he himself was in earnest in fleeing from the " City of Destruction," and from the "wrath to come." This little reception-room was sacred to him on account of the interviews he had with sinners therein, and it was sacred not alone to his family, but to the neighbours who knew of it — and which of them did not ? There was not much in this room to look at. A broker would not have given two pounds for its contents, which consisted of an ordinary square deal table, half a dozen painted wooden chairs, and an armchair without cushions or covering.

There were no pictures upon the walls, but a few boldly painted texts of Scripture that had been painted for him by a young man who was a member of " his church," and whom he had been the means of converting. These passages of Scripture were rather of a gloomy nature, and more suggestive of hell than Heaven. They were such as would have made a saint tremble with fear fear for himself, and fear for others — fear lest he was mistaken in regard to his saintship. The most prominent passage was " Flee from the wrath to come." This was painted in heavy black letters on a white card with a heavy black border. Another passage painted in the same way was " Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched." A third card impressed the reader that he was elected and predestinated, by sovereign and unalterable power, either to life or to death.

No doubt there were one or two passages of a nature a little more cheering, but somehow the others seemed to take a firmer grip upon the mind. The other article of furniture consisted of a bookcase, because it contained books, though it looked more like an ordinary deal cupboard with wooden doors, that were con stantly kept closed, and even locked ; for there were here books more precious to Mr. Harwood than gold. From these books information was obtained, and matter gathered, which had terrified many a man, woman, and child in the neighbourhood for years. They made such impressions as to form, and shape, and mould the minds of his hearers in regard not alone to sacred but to secular matters. The flooring of this room had no carpet or covering, but the boards were spotlessly clean. The chimneypiece had no ornaments, with the exception of a few hymn-books, from which he likewise received additional theology.

A Bible was upon the deal table, which otherwise was quite bare. This Bible was no show Bible, with morocco binding, thick clasps, double-gilded leaves, magnificent pictures of saints and angels, with family records of births, deaths and marriages, and other guarantees of outward respectability. These were to be seen displayed in the front parlour window on a white antimacassar, especially in the more orthodox houses of the mill hands, though the fashion may not be confined altogether to them. Joseph Harwood's Bible, lying upon the deal table, was a plain, simple, and old-fashioned-looking book, without clasps or other adorn ments. The leaves were well thumbed and well marked. It looked like a book that was not alone well read, but had been wet with tears, for its owner believed in it — in every word of it ; nay, in every letter of it.

He believed in it without hesitation. No matter how opposed passages might seem to be to each other, he did not even try to reconcile them. He believed in it, not with the ordinary slipshod belief, but as he believed in his own existence, and it was the cause of this belief that " the wrath to come " was to him an absolute reality. This book was to him the only weapon by which he could fight " the world, the flesh, and the devil" — the "devil and all his angels." That devil — the existence of whom he believed in, the personality of whom he believed in, the great power of whom he believed in, the " roaring lion seeking whom he may devour," — in whom he believed even as he would have believed in a lion in a zoological garden or a menagerie. One was as evident to him as the other. There was no pen, ink, paper, or anything like manuscript matter to be seen in this room, for though he preached long sermons, tfiree and four a week, an hour or an hour and a half in duration, yet he did not require notes.

The thoughts connected with the wrath to come, the fleeing from the same, and the getting of others to flee, were burning thoughts, branded and seared into his brain as if with a red hot iron. These thoughts were ever there, struggling to be heard, and there was no danger of forgetting them. I said there were no pictures upon the walls. There was, however, one in the drawer of that little deal table — a portrait which day and night was thought of by him, a portrait that was the cause of much heaviness of heart, of much real sorrow and wretchedness — a portrait connected with the saddest and one might say most terrific hours of this man's life. It was the portrait of a twin-brother. But in neither face nor figure was there likeness or resemblance. It represented a young man about thirty, with pale and delicately formed features, tall and slim in stature, with a general appearance of mental as well as physical weakness — one who might be benevolent and agreeable to a fault.