Agnes Surriage

Front matter

Class _EZ15_

BookJEaas

A

Preface

places connected with the story, and especially for the gift of a portrait-etching of the hero himself; to Mr. Samuel Roads, Jr., the historian of Marblehead, for suggestions upon the early dialect of that place ; and last, but not least, to the Rev. Elias Nason for a store of facts and dates drawn from his delightful monograph upon the provincial Collector.

E. L. B

Boston, November, 1886.

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. Little Harbor.. ... 9

II. The New Collector ..21

Chapter I. Little Harbor

S AILING in his little shallop along the rocky coast of Cape Ann, away back in 1631, the agent of the worshipful Matthew Cradock first noted the possibilities of a certain bold promontory and deeply indented shore, and hastened to establish himself there four years at least before the order of the Court of Assistants that “ there shalbe a Plantacion at Marblehead.”

The result showed the worthy factor’s wisdom. Nature plainly meant it for a fishing station ; she had been beforehand with man, and made ready the way in uprearing the cliff and scooping out the rocky in¬ lets. Out-thrust aggressively into the bay, shoulder¬ ing off the waters of Salem Harbor on the left and those of its own miniature basin on the right, the rugged headland seemed to say to the wide universe, “ Make room for me and my coming brood! ” And what with the bracing air, the flinty soil, and the teeming waters, nowhere in the world could have been found a fitter abode for that notable brood.

AGNES SURRIAGE.

A witty and graphic little touch was that of the antiquary who compared the enclosing shores of the tiny harbor to “ a beckoning finger and a clenched fist.” The blunt headland well represents the vigor of the doubled fist, while the long straggling strip of land which forms the eastern side has far more the expression of a crooked finger than of a neck, — the name by which it has long been known.

It matters little about the name, however; “the Neck” it is, and a sturdy, stubborn neck it has proved. Through unknown centuries it has with¬ stood the throttling clutch of the sea, which yet in some wrathful moment would seem to have despoiled it of a goodly carcanet; for strewn thickly about in the neighboring water, like unstrung jewels, lie a score of fair islets, to which the waggish natives have given uncouth and irrelevant names,such as “The Brimbles,” “ The Cat,” “ Satan,” “ Roaring Bull,” “ Great and Little Misery.”

Wee as is the harbor, it is by no means shallow. “Marvalet est compost de 100 ou 200 maisons pescheurs ou il peut entrer de gros vaisseaux,” wrote a French spy fifty years after the foundation of the little town. And there great vessels might enter to this very hour, if there were any need. But now — alas for the cheating symbols ! — the trade and com¬ merce lured thither by the beckoning finger have long since eluded the grasp of the clenched fist; the day of its glory is gone, and nothing now seeks its tranquil haven save the dingy sail of a coasting schooner or the white-winged fleet of the Eastern Yacht Club.

LITTLE HARBOR.

IX

Born here, man had no alternative but to take to the sea. On shore there was scarcely soil enough to raise a potato. “ Where do you bury your dead ? ” asked the astonished Whitefield on his first missionary visit to the town. A natural question. With such scant soil to spare for the quick, the dead must per¬ force have had short commons. Meagre enough in fact was the drapery vouchsafed for their last couch by the thrifty old-time sexton who tucked them in among the bowlders three or four deep, as the moul¬ dering of the early slumberers made room for the later. Yield him a late pity, that honest old grave-digger! Be assured he met with small sympathy in the flesh. Yet who shall say what knotty problems his grim gardening presented, or into what straits of despair a chance epidemic must have driven him. Nay, go to-day to the ancient God’s Acre whoever lists, and see for yourself from the huddled headstones the struggle he had to find comfortable beds for that long line of guests who were endlessly coming to his ghostly hostelry, to go no more out forever.

As for the town, it was much after the pattern of the graveyard in point of order. Like barnacles, muscles, algae, — an indigenous growth,— the human habitations sprang as it seemed out of the bare rock, or along the precipitous face of the cliff, in rank dis¬ obedience of Heaven’s first law. Had an earthquake, at some forgotten time, roughly shaken the promon¬ tory, and rattled around the black, squat, little build¬ ings like dice in a box ? Or, haply, had a tidal wave swept over the rocks and played at harum-scarum ? Never was such a jumble of roofs and chimneys*

AGNES SURRIAGE.

never such maddening streets, of which one side often climbed the cliff to perch a cabin on its very brow, while the other dived into a gulch to drop a zigzag row of crazy cottages at its base. Down a hillside hither or yonder, a half-dozen houses tumble higgledy-piggledy in an architectural snarl. Here, there, and everywhere, upstarting as from an ambush, black gables peep out with an intelligent and rakish air, like jolly old tars rolling home in tipsy bliss from the tavern. Facing all points of the compass, the houses turn their backs or shoulders with a perverse intent upon the pursuing streets, which with labyrinthine twists wind in and out as if with the futile aim of binding together into a common weal the refractory buildings.

Thus, begotten of Chance and Disorder, the town had at least one marked trait, — individuality. It was strictly of its own kind,—a mad, rollicking kind, you may say; an odd, whimsical, perverse, stubborn, independent kind, no doubt. Strangers might be puzzled, wags might make merry over it, — small matter ! Failing to find anything to admire in Mar¬ blehead, they nevertheless could not forget it. No visitor but carried away a distinct and lasting im¬ pression, even if it were no more savory than that of Captain Goelet, who in 1750 described it as “ a dirty, irregular, stincking place.” It boots not to dnquire what the dainty New Yorker could have expected of a fishing village where six hundred men and boys were employed catching cod, and where the wharves were covered with flakes on which myriads of salted fish lay curing in the sun.

LITTLE HARBOR.

Born and brought up in it, the Marbleheaders were not troubled with the odor. Unlike that of Cologne, it was at least a simple, honest, unmixed stench. No doubt in time they came to regard that as natural which long experience had proved not unwholesome. For the rest, the town, with all its drawbacks, — dirt, odor, and ugliness combined, — was what they had made it: the houses were like shells that had grown about them; the crooked streets, in defiance of proof or demonstration, meas¬ ured the shortest practicable distance between any two given points.

The lapse of a century sufficed to transform the bare rock of 1631 into one of the most thriving ports in the province. Now down in the little harbor were to be seen ships flying foreign colors, — ships from Holland or Portugal, queer-looking schooners from Havana or St. Kitt’s, which rumor said were unloaded in the night. Indeed, there had long been whispers of a trade less innocent than fish, involving contuma¬ cious evasion of certain fees and charges imposed by a number of obtuse and obstinate gentlemen across the water technically called the Government.

Long ago vague rumors had reached the Lords of Trade that Marblehead was a smuggling port for Boston. Nor had it been forgotten that in days gone by Quelch the pirate was taken here, with seven of his crew, who, it was darkly whispered, had many friends and relatives among the hardy fishers of the Head.

At home, the case was not much better; these fishers did not bear a specially good repute among

AGNES SURRIAGE.

their Puritan neighbors in Boston, Lynn, and Salem. One reverend chronicler speaks of them as “ a rude, swearing, fighting, drunken crew,” and a later his¬ torian of the cloth gives them a character no bet¬ ter. It is much to be feared that some of this is true ; they were rough diamonds, no doubt, with little in their lives or surroundings to make them otherwise. Profanity is the acknowledged vernac¬ ular of the sea; and where good spirits in plenty, free of all duty, were at hand, temperance would have been an unnatural virtue.

But for all this, those proud pharisaical Bostoneers disdained not to accept their services at a pinch. When they wanted material for their navy, bold pilots, hardy crews for their snows and frigates, where did they find such stuff as in stanch old Marblehead ?

Old Marblehead — older now by nearly a century and a half—still wears in the main the self-same as¬ pect. A new town, to be sure, — a town of factories and shoe-shops, — has sprung up alongside the old, as beside an ancient dame a bustling, antic grand¬ daughter, who decks herself in modern trim, practises latter-day graces, and echoes the tumult of the outer world, — who, in fine, is inoculated with the feverish unrest, the irreverence and agnosticism of another ■age.

Yonder the while sits the grandam on her rock by the sea, crooning over the past amid her rotting cod-flakes, the deserted ramparts of her old fort, and the moss-grown gravestones of her forgotten worthies. The briny flood has proved a conserving power*

LITTLE HARBOR.

Here has been no change but that of disintegration, — a change slow-paced, solemn, and poetical. The self-same streets still writhe and twist about, like the avenging sea-serpent of the Grecian myth; the self¬ same houses, too, — here and there disfigured by mod¬ ern paint and patches, — still cling to their rocky foundations, awaiting the slow but inevitable ap¬ proach of the great Juggernaut of Trade which ha? already sounded their doom.

For obvious reasons the earlier settlers clustered about a small inlet at the north end of the peninsula called “Little Harbor,” which for a long time was the centre of life and affairs. Perched thus upon the end of a rock and surrounded by water, they were peculiarly exposed to hostile attack from the sea. Harbor fortifications, indeed, everywhere throughout the province were in a sadly neglected state. But a change was coming. The espousal of the cause of Maria Theresa by the new Carteret ministry precipi¬ tated a war with France. Now at last the province took alarm ; and what with the martial energy of the new governor, and the daily expectation of a French descent upon the coast, the people were awakened to the necessity of taking some measures for the protec¬ tion of their seaports. Thus it happened that among 'other points to be fortified, orders went out for the building of a fort at Marblehead.

On the western slope of the hill upon which early in the spring of 1742 this fort was in process of building, stood a little, low-browed, unpainted cottage, quite apart from its neighbors. Lobster-pots, fishing-

AGNES SURRIAGE.

creels, refuse buckets, and broken oars scattered about the open door bespoke the occupation of the owner, who, as if to complete the picture, chanced to be sit¬ ting, one bright afternoon memorable to this narra¬ tive, on a low bench to the left of the door busily engaged in mending his fishing tackle. If he had been a whit less brawny, hirsute, and sunburnt, the exquisite effect of entire harmony with his surround¬ ings would have been wanting. If his homespun trousers, rough shirt, and battered hat had been a shade less greasy and weatherworn, they could not have had so exactly the value of a physical outgrowth, like the bark to a tree or the lichen to a rock.

Outspread before him was a busy and picturesque scene. It was high tide in the little cove; several shallops lay already at their moorings quietly un¬ loading their fish, while two or three heavily laden ketches were tacking up before the brisk off-shore breeze to make the anchorage. In the immediate fore¬ ground the slope from the door down to the water¬ side was covered with rows of fish-flakes, on which were spread out the results of the last trip to “ the Banks.” Beyond, the little beach was swarming with the life of the village. It was the busiest hour of the day. The men were at work receiving and disposing of the incoming haul, the women chatting among the flakes, piling up the half-cured fish to be covered for the night, while children romped with screams and laughter about the narrow sands. Across the cove, half way up the opposite hill, stuck like a limpet on the rock, was the quaint little Fountain Inn with its flourishing orchard and its scanty strip

LITTLE HARBOR.

IT of greensward sloping downward toward the cliff; while high up above all, on the very brow of the hill, stood the old graveyard with its fringe of rude head¬ stones sharply outlined against the yellow evening sky.

The fisherman, glancing up now and then from his task, regarded the scene with the look of one long familiar with its every detail. From his ab¬ sorbed air and motionless lips, one would not have suspected that he was engaged in conversation; but in fact he was from time to time grunting an inarticulated assent or dissent, as the case required, to some female loquacity from within. A twice-repeated question, however, having failed of answer, the wo¬ man at length came to the door. No fitter helpmeet for the man could have been imagined. Her weather¬ beaten skin bore the marks of exposure, and her stalwart arms, of toil as severe as his own. Other¬ wise, nothing but the expression of motherliness in her common face and slouchy figure distinguished her from the typical fishwife. Seating herself clum¬ sily in the doorway with a long-drawn sigh of relief, she repeated her question: —

“ Wher’s the young uns, oi say ? ”

The fisherman simply pointed over his shoulder, without speaking.

“ Oi worrnt—oi worrnt ye, the for-rt; ther’ll be nothin’ but th’ for-rt heerd o’ now. D’ ye see how they stor-rted at it this mor-rnin’ ? Ther’ they wor, at th’ crack o’ dawn, an ar-rmy o’ shov’lers ’n’ neggers, ’n’ th’ whole town at the’r heels. Say what ye will, oi don’ loike th’ tho’t o’ it. It ’a fur th’ French- 2

AGNES SURRIAGE.

ers, the’ say. What do th’ Frenchers want o’ ns ? They’d never foind us, nutlier, ’f we kep’ dor-rk ’n’ moinded our own business ; but clap a lot o’ bloodymoinded dragoons in ther’ for-rt, to bang away at ev’ry sail passin’, no motter-r who’s hit, ’t ’ll modden th’ Frenchers, oi say, ’n’ th’ll foire back.”

44 Loike eno’.”

44 4 Loike eno’! ’ ’n’ then what ? The dragoons th’ll be safe ’n’ sound behoind the’r for-rt; but what’s to hinder-r a ball cornin’ down upon us ? ”

44 Nothin’, ’t oi see.”

44 An’ ther ain’t nothin’, nuther, — ’n’ then what ? D’ ye know th’ soize o’ ’em, them the’r cannon-shot ? The soize o’ yer head, oi’m told, ’n’ gretter too ; they’d bring down th’ house over our heads, ’n’ kill us all, beloike.”

44 4 Beloike ! ’ ”

44 What ’re we stayin’ here fur, then ? Out o’t wi’ ye, whoile ther’s toime! ”

44 Wher’ to?”

44 What matters ? Over yonder, in th’ nex’ cove beyont th’ berrin’-groun’! ”

44 Toime eno’t’ run when yer hor-rt.”

44 No, it’s not nuther, no toime ’t all t’ run when yer hor-rt — ”

44 Ye ’ll git wor-rnin’, never fear! ”

44 Yes; ’n’ die o’ fright fir-rst, waitin’ ’n’ listenin’, wi’ yer her-rt atween yer teeth ! Oi don’ loike it, oi say; ’n’ oi’m free to speak my moind, Ed Surriage.”

She rose as she concluded, and stepping down the rude flags, looked back over the hill with an anxious eye.

LITTLE HARBOR.

“A plague on ’em ! Wher’ be they? Tom, Moll, oi say, Hugh, come home wi’ ye! ”

“ Don’ bother ; Ag ’ll bring ’em! ”

“ Ag ’ll bring no young uns home to-night; she’s gone to the tar-rvern.”

“ T’ th’ Funtin ? What’s goin’ on ? ”

“All along o’ this,” nodding toward the hill; “ foremen ’n’ ungineers ’n’ them loike, — house full, ’n’ them shor-rt-honded. The old negger cook’s dead ; Goody Salkins can’t budge wi’ th’ ague; ’n’ so th’ londlar-rd he come over fur Ag.”

“ Humph! ”

“ ’N’ he said ’f she turns out hondy, he’s loike t<s need her whoile thet ther’ holds out.”

“ She’s nothin’ but a young un yet.”

“ She’s fifteen a month ago ; ’n’ it’s toime she took her tur-rn. She ’ll be gettin’ her meat ’n’ drink, *n’ a foive-pun’ note at th’ end o’ th’ year. She ’ll be better off ther’, ’n’ we ha’ our bonds full wi’ th’ others, never fear. Here, now, comes Job Redden, lookin’ fur Ag. Evenin’, Job ; d’ ye see my young uns up ther’?”

The person addressed was a tall, stalwart young man, with a grave and rather heavy face, who came around the corner of the house, from the direction of the hill.

“ Not to take note on, oi did n’t, Goody Surriage; oi wor lookin’ fur Ag.”

“ She’s helpin’ over yonder.”

“ Th’ Funtin ? ”

“Ay; she’s loike to be ther’ awhoile ; the’r© shor-rt-honded these days.”

AGNES SURRIAGE.

The young man turned and looked towards the little inn with a hesitating air.

“Ye ’ll get a wor-rd wi’ her when the wor-rk ’s done yonder, ’f ye loike to take a tur-rn that way.”

“ Oi moight take it on the starboard tack, crossin* the sands,” he muttered, moving awkwardly away.

“ ’Tis a queer thing, now, ain’t it, ’t Ag cares not a straw for him, ’n’ he tryin’ to keep comp’ny wi’ her in dead earnest?” said the good dame reflec¬ tively, as she watched the lumbering youth across the sands.

Chapter II. The New Collector

i

T HE old “Bunch of Grapes” tavern in Boston was ablaze with light. From the front win¬ dows it streamed across King’s Street in a broad white ribbon and lit up with a feeble glare the eastern gable of the Town House. Something unusual was astir in the old hostelry. Guests were arriving in chairs and chaises; and the heavy door swinging open from time to time to admit them, showed in vivid relief against the outer blackness the wistful faces of a knot of idlers hanging about the entrance, straining their ears to catch a stray word from the hum of jocund voices within, and sniffing with eager noses the savory odors from the kitchen.

Within, there was an air of bustle and preparation. Mine host, Joshua Barker, instead of lolling about the tap-room, as was his habit, to receive his guests, was now flying back and forth from the kitchen to the smoke-blackened, oak-panelled supper-room, sharply chiding the servants and giving careful attention to every detail of the coming feast with the anxious air of a man who has a reputation to sustain.

“ See ye have on the right napery, — the dambrod pattern, the best Scotch cloths; and make haste wi’ ye ! Look you to the wines, Hugh! Have no lack ;

AGNES SUER I AGE .

the Sack first, then the Madeira, — the old brand out of the corner bin, mind ye ! Port as much as they want; the best French brandy, a half-dozen bottles. And give me due warning when they ’re coming to the punch; I have it brewing. Ha’ plenty o’ fresh, bottles always ready, but don’t press the matter ! — a set o’ good fellows ’ll drink more if they ’re not urgeu. What’s the caster doing there, blockhead ? See that the cruets are full. Straighten the platter yonder,

Jack; an’ look, — look here at the marks o’ yer d-d

greasy fingers on the glass! Ye ’ll ruin my reputa¬ tion, ye dirty sloven. Here, you, Gregory, run tell the cook to spit the grouse ; and bid him, too, to keep the roast basted, and see he boils not the fowls to rags. Get on yer aprons now, ye sluggards, ’n’ hark ye ha’ yer locks in order ’n’ yer hands clean! Stay! Call ye the table ready, and no anchovy sauce on the board, nor the pickled walnuts either? Dick, see you that the clouted cream is cold for the sweet¬ meats ! There goes the hour now; go, bid the cook dish and serve, and get ye to your places! I ’ll an¬ nounce the supper myself.”

Hastily adjusting his dress as he loitered through the narrow passage-way, and exchanging with profes¬ sional skill the flustered and anxious look of the kitchen for his practised publican smile, he flung open the door of the parlor with an obsequious bow! and a flourish of his fat hands, crying : —

“ Supper is on the board, gentlemen! ”

And well might honest Joshua bow and scrape; for, gathered in his little low-studded fore-room, seated in the broad window-seats, basking before the crack-

THE NEW COLLECTOR.

ling fire, or scuffling about on the sanded floor, were some of the best folks in town,— a picturesque and notable company, with very long heads under their snowy wigs, and stout hearts under their velvet coats and waistcoats of flowered brocade.

I There was a lull in the conversation on the land¬ lord’s announcement, and all presently filed out two by two in the wake of the waddling host, who ushered them forth, not to an arid expanse of table-cloth and napkins, but to the veritable supper itself, ready and smoking on the board. Finding their places after a little bustle, the company remained standing until the master of ceremonies had handed to the seat on his right the young stranger in whose honor the feast was given. The mere eating lasted an hour or more, when at last the cloth was removed and the company settled back for a general recognition of each other and the purpose of their meeting.

“ And now,” said the president, after the formal toasts to the King and the Governor had been duly honored, “ I give you the guest of the evening. I know you will join me in tendering him a hearty wel¬ come to Boston, where I hope he may find in the novelty of this rude frontier life some compensation for the gay and brilliant society he has left behind.”

‘ The stranger rose. He was a young Englishman in the bloom of youth; no ’prentice-made creature o* fiction, either, but a veritable son of Adam, whom History claims as her own, and whom Art, as if to keep the finger of Romance quite out of the pie, has handed down to posterity in a portrait thus described by a sober historian: “A refined and noble cast of features,

AGNES SURRIAGE.

with a peculiarly pensive and melancholy expression. The countenance and dress indicate a certain inde¬ finable sweetness of temper and delicacy of taste.” History, however, says nothing about the ease and grace of manner with which he now acknowledged Mr. Cushing’s toast and the accompanying applause. ; / “ Gentlemen,” he said, bowing, “ you do me great honor. I confess I was not at all prepared for the elegance of the hospitality or the cordiality of the greeting with which I have been met. And I trust it is not presumption in me to add, that among the smiling and friendly faces around me I detect such good material for companionship that I am not likely long to miss that left behind. Gentlemen, I have the honor of giving you the glory and prosperity of Boston! ”

This was greeted with a roar of applause, and the whole company drank the toast standing.

“’Tismeet now,” continued the president, draw¬ ing a note from his pocket, “although our gathering here is simply to give an informal welcome to Mr. Frankland, that I should express to you the regrets of his Excellency at not being able to be present.”

44 His Excellency is most kind,” returned Frank¬ land after the reading of the note ; “ and if I may be permitted to name the next toast — ”

“ Go on I Go on! ” chorused the table.

“ It will be William Shirley, the man — not the governor.”

“ ’T is a pity,” said Mr. Cradock, who sat near by,

44 his Excellency should miss such a tribute from his rival.”

Frankland turned an inquiring look upon the speaker, who added, smiling: —

“ Oh, we have heard a whisper of that matter over here.”

“ May one ask what matter is that ? ” inquired Overing.

“ How Divine Providence saved your province from a dire calamity,” returned Frankland, laughing.

“ It hath saved us from so many,” said Mr. Quincy, “ that’t is blind guessing — ”

“Nay, you shall not tempt me to blab State secrets.”

“What is already so far let slip cannot be kept close,” urged Mr. Wendell; “besides, we are all safe here.”

“ Ay, let us have it, sir,” pleaded Mr. Vassall, drawing up his chair to more confidential proximity.

“ ’T is nothing,” began Frankland, warmed to the point of incaution by the wine already drunk; “but, under the rose, I don’t mind telling you, for ’t is rather a good joke after all.”

“ Stay ! not over an empty bottle,” interposed the chairman.

“1 see I am not to lack encouragement,” returned the Englishman, sipping his replenished glass ; “ but, touching this story you are waiting for, I hardly know how to begin. The long and the short of it is, my dear friends, you had a narrow escape of having for your governor no less a person than”—he paused and reddened with a sudden touch of diffidence — “ your very obedient, humble servant.”

An exclamation of surprise ran around the table.

AGNES SURE I AGE.

“ As a mere makeshift, of course,’* he hastened to add, deprecatingly. “ Pray do not suppose I have the vanity to flatter myself it was for any fitness; but you must know the Government was in a sad quandary. Such a pother had been made in ousting the former incumbent, Mr. — ”

“ Belcher,” suggested Vassall.

44 And so many idle scandals had been started about his opposition to the Land Bank, and his conspiracy with my good friend Mr. Commissary Price-, and what not, that— Why, to tell you the plain truth, gentlemen, there was rather a dearth of candi¬ dates for the place.”

A grim smile illuminated for a moment Mr. Quincy’s face, and he turned to make an aside re¬ mark to his neighbor Wendell, which politeness perhaps repressed.

“ Drolly enough,” continued Mr. Frankland, 44 it chanced that Mrs. Shirley, who, as you all know, is a vastly clever woman, and with considerable family influence too, was in London just at the moment to secure for her husband a certain position which — ”

44 Is now much more acceptably filled,” blurted out Overing.

44 Tut, tut; that’s carrying politeness too far, and smacks of treason besides. No, no; the simple truth is, I was first in the field and knew nothing of Madam Frances’s hunt until I was committed as a candidate; and then, as I was there in person, and moreover had strong backing at Court, why, the up¬ shot of it was, gentlemen, you owe it to me that you have so able and excellent a governor.”

THE NEW COLLECTOR.

“ Yes, yes; but no doubt his Excellency would have preferred the Collectorship,” said some one.

“And for very substantial reasons,” added an¬ other.

“ As well enough he might, with his big brood of children,” remarked Mr. Hutchinson, gravely. “ But to change the subject for a moment; pray tell us, sir, — you who are so fresh from the centre of affairs, — what are the prospects for the coming session ? ”

“ Why, sir, for the moment the Whigs are under. *T was plain enough what would happen when I left home. The change, as you know, took place during my transit hither. For myself, as I was appointed by the old administration, I am under no obligation to the new. They are welcome to my humble post here as soon as they choose to demand it. Meantime I make bold to say, gentlemen, that in my opin¬ ion this compromise cabinet will hardly survive its organization.”

“ Why not ? ” asked Cushing, bluntly.

“ It has no fibre, no adhesiveness; ’t will go to pieces like a rope of sand the moment the reason for its feeble being ceases.”

“And that was opposition to Walpole, I suppose,” suggested Hutchinson, shrewdly.

“ Nothing else ; by that one slender thread are ibound all the jarring factions of the Coalition, — patriots (so called), Jacobites, and Tories. ’T was all well enough so long as they were of like mind and going the same way; but once let them begin — as they soon must — to scratch and claw each other, and how long, think you, will it hold ? w