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CHAPPER

XXIX.

“What is your pleasure, sir," demanded the “I can easily ascertain that,” said the tapster, as that could mask a traitor: it is tov eloquent, too tapster, civilly, although his blood boiled at the he vaulted into the saddle, “of the first idler in truthful; but others may." sight of the ruffian.

Woodstock Do you know what the country people “So you acquit me, I am satisfied.' “My mare has cast her shoe!" exclaimed Basset, say

“ Frank, Frank !" said the knight, “what I am with an oath ; "these infernal roads would destroy This was asked in a confidential tone, which com- about to say is not intended either for a caution or the best steed in her majesty's stable. Mort de ma pletely threw the emissary of Gardener off his reproof—and yet I feel it necessary to say it-so vie, that such an accident should occur in this out-guard.

understand a plain man in his plain meaning. The of-the-way place !-where one might as easily “ No ? what do they say ?"

Lady Elizabeth is dangerous both to our royal expect to find a civil tapster as a skilful smith.” “That the queen's sister is a prisoner at the mistress and the state. Many there are--may the

This last remark was intended for the young palace,” said the young man; “ hut whether true or saints confound their policy—who would persuade man-with whom, our readers may remember, the not, the Lady Elizabeth, I should think, will not be her majesty to bring her sister to trial and the block; speaker had exchanged something more than words permitted to remain a captive long-so nearly re- others, still more base, urge a surer method. So the preceding night, on his arrival at the inn. lated to her grace.”

you see how I am hampered—I have to guard alike “ I trust," said Reuben, “ that both may be found."

Perhaps not," muttered Basset, with a sinister against the escape of my prisoner, and the machin. " Where?"

smile ; "one way or another, her grace, in all proba-ations of her enemies." "The first at the Fair Rosamond,” replied the bility, will speedily be released But away with

“Surely you do not mean,” exclaimed the youth, young man; “and as for the second, you will find you! I am a soldier, and have nothing to do with with a burst of indignation, “ that they would dare one of the most skilful smiths in all the country no

politics." further off than Woodstock. The boy can take him

“ Nor I," answered the youth, in a careless tone; “ Bad men dare do all things but be honest !" for you."

only as you are a stranger in these parts, I thought quietly observed his relation : " knowing how I am Basset shook his head disapprovingly. He did the rumor might amuse you."

engaged in honor, no less than loyalty, you will not like to trust his horse-the only thing in the

So saying, he set spurs to the horse, and cantered make no request, I am sure, which my duty to the world, perhaps, for which he felt regard—to the care

at a gentle pace in the direction of Woodstock. queen will not permit me to say 'yes' to?" of the rough-looking urchin who, at the call of the

Fortunately,” observed the officer, “the pretapster, made his appearance from the kitchen-door ;

sent one that I am charged with, will not interfere neither could he go himself-for he expected other

with either. The Lady Elizabeth merely wishes of his confederate ruffians to join him ; added to

I act thus for mine honor and your safety.

permission to take the air in the private gardens of

Harsh words, like rough shells, oft hide the which, his presence was necessary to maintain any

the palace. Her health," he added, seeing the reSweetest kernel.

MALONE. thing like order amongst those who were with him.

fusal rising to the lips of her guardian, “I fear “No,” he said—"no; I cannot consent to trust THE

THE stern old night, Sir Henry Beddingfield, begins to fail her. Her cheek grows pale, and her Jovial with an ill-begotten whelp like that! If you

was seated in his private apartment in Rosa- eye dim as an imprisoned bird's.” could take him, now ?"

mond's Bower—as the north wing of the palace was That regards her physician," said the knight. It was not the policy of the tapster to appear too called—in the royal domain of Woodstock. His “ Pardon me, Sir Henry,” replied the petitioner, anxious upon the matter: he therefore answered morning meal of manchet bread, and a silver flask firmly; but her highness's health, equally with her warily. filled with wine, stood upon the table beside him. safety, regards your honor.

What would evil " I should not mind the ride so much as my uncle's He was busily engaged in looking over some reports tongues not whisper, should she die under yourward?' anger-who, in my absence, could not wait upon his which an officer had brought him, and the repast had The last consideration evidently moved the old guests."

been suffered—although considerably beyond his man, and he gave the required permission ; at the “ I will make your peace," urged Basset. usual hour-to remain untasted.

same time charging his kinsman to take such preThe young man shook his head.

“Mine is no common charge,” he murmured, cautions as would render escape or communication “ And add a crown piece to drink my health,” pressing his hand to his wrinkled brow, and pushing with any emissary of the Protestant party imadded the speaker, "to pay you for your trouble, back the straggling grey hairs which fell upon his possible. and as a plaster for the hard rap I gave you yesterday." forehead. “The safety not only of my royal As Frank Jerningham was about to leave the

Reuben suffered the offer of the coin apparently mistress, but of th kingdom, is in my keeping room, he suddenly. recollected that he had left a to influence his resolution ; and, after a few more would the Lady Elizabeth were fairly wedded, and young man in the guard-room, who had been hesitations and difficulties—all of which Basset out of it,” he added. “If aught should happen to anxiously inquiring to see him. pledged himself to make smooth with the host—the her in my ward, I should never forgive myself. My “ Send him up to my chamber,” said Sir Henry. young man finally consented.

children would never forgive me ; for a father's “ And do not forget my words So," he continued, “I suppose you can ride ?" said the ruffian. honor is the inheritance of his sons. Would I were

as soon as he was alone, “ that affair of Frank's “ Well enough for a tapster. When a boy, I was quietly at home at my poor house of Kingrave! I being off my mind, like a good Christian I'll 'een in the habit of gallopping the farmers' colts over the am not at ease in courts."

attack my posset.” common. Fear not,” continued the youth, “I will

The meditations of the old man were interrupted The stalwart knight had barely time to finish his bring you back Jovial safe and sound, after the by the entrance of a young officer, who was distantly manchet and wine, before Reuben was marched into smith has shoed him; but I had better be off before connected with him-Frank Jerningham-a fine, the room, between a file of men. my uncle comes."

noble-looking fellow-a devoted adherent of the “So,” said the adherent of Queen Mary, throwing So impatient was the owner of Jovial to have him Catholic party and the queen, like himself. himself back in his high, leathern-covered chair, once more in a state fit for service, that he actually "Well, Frank,” exclaimed Sir Henry, shaking his "you have been inquiring for me?" assisted the speaker to saddle him with his own head reprovingly; "what squire's errand have you “ Most anxiously,” cried the youth. hands, adding, all the while, numberless cautions come upon now? Of late you seem to have had no “You would speak with me?" for his management, all of which Reuben listened to other employment.”

At your pleasure, Sir Henry, but it must be with the greatest show of respect.

“ You mistake, kinsman,” said the young man, alone." “How soon will you be back ?" demanded Basset. with a slight hesitation. “I cannot refuse to bring “ Alone!” repeated the knight, suspiciously. " In about four hours," was the reply.

the messages her grace may charge me with.” “And what can a springall like thee have to say to “ Make it five ; and hark 'ee, contrive to ascertain The old knight gave an inarticulate growl. the governor of Woodstock, that his soldiers may -but without naming me—at what hour Sir Henry “Do you doubt me?” said the officer, in a tone of not hear ?" Beddingfield usually hunts in the forest. Bring me wounded pride

“ Fear nothing,” exclaimed the young man. “Bo sure word, and perhaps I may find a fellow to the “No, Frank-no!" answered his relative; “Ilieve me, my purpose is a friendly one." crown piece I promised you, in my purse." know you too well for that-yours is not the face “ Fear !" repeated the old soldier, with an expres

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sion of mingled scorn and amused surprise. “Ha, in thee than the mere lust of gold : in three days we Elizabeth met him with a gracious countenance, ha! Gad's life, but the brat thinks he is talking will speak together again.”

and thanked him for enlarging the bounds of her with some village lout, or raw recruit! Fear, boy !" The speaker struck a bell which was upon the captivity. he added, sternly, “I have looked upon death in table near him, and commanded the orderly, who “Which I am sorry,” replied the old knight, with many a well-contested field. My hair has blanched answered it, to conduct his visitor from Woodstock, an air of embarrassment,“ my duty obliges me to with time: but no man living can say that the cheek and to be careful that he spake not a word with any restrict again." of Henry Beddingfield ever grew pale with fear." one within the walls.

“Sir Henry." Poor Reuben colored to the temples, and mut- “So, so," said the old knight, musingly ; Gardiner “ Your grace must return,” he continued, bowing tered something about his meaning having been has given me a tangled web to unravel—but I'll dis- very low, “to your lodging in the palace---it is my misconstrued.

appoint him. A churchman, too! Fie ! fie! for humble duty to attend you." At a sign from their commander, the soldiers left what sayeth the canon of our holy church? "The The haughty spirit of the future queen was deeply the apartment; and the knight and his visitor were | priest shall be innocent of blood. If the Lady I wounded at the apparent caprice to which she was left together.

subject, and tears of “ Now, boy," said

mortified pride dimthe former ;

med, for an instant, with thy speech ; but

her flashing eyes. look,” he added, “ that

"“ 'Tis well," she you do not try to de

said ; "you are the ceive me. I have

master ; but you may dungeons at Wood

one day repent this instock, which open at

sult offered to the my word ; and, if

sister of your sovenecessary, a gibbet to

reign. I had almost reward the traitor."

taught myself,” she Unmoved by the

added, “to look upon threat, and confident

you as my host--I in the integrity of his

perceive my error ; purpose, Reuben pro

from henceforth I ceeded to relate all

know you only as my that he had overheard

jailer." the preceding night at

As the bitter word the window of the

fell from her lips, the Fair Rosamond. Sir

stern old knight drew Henry Beddingfield

himself up erect belistened with deep at

fore her : his features, tention ; not a muscle

usually so calm and of his iron counte

immoveable, were nance moved, as he

flushed almost as listened to the plan of

deeply as her own. murdering his charge

“Madam,” he said, under his very guard.

“ I pray to God that When the tapster had

your grace may never finished, he asked him

have a worse jailer. the name of the party,

To speak the truth, I and a description of

have to guard you not

only for the queen's “ His name,” said

pleasure, but against the youth, an it be

your enemies. The his right

time will come when Basset. In person he

you will do me justice. VOIR NX has ill-favored,

I repeat my request swaggering [MA BEL's JEALOUSY.]

--if necessary," he something between a

added, “my coma half-gentleman and one of those foreign merce- Elizabeth end her ambitious dreams in the grave, it | mand. Had you the queen's permission to walk naries engaged in the pay of the Protector, Somer- shall not be whilst she is in my keeping. Our in this garden-nay, to quit Woodstock this very set, during the last reign."

Blessed Lady guard my honor and the queen's dig- instant despite her hand and seal, for fourHis hearer acknowledged that the description was nity!"

and-twenty hours I would hold you in a close a correct one.

With these words, he took up his beaver, and de- ward." “Return to your inn,” he said, “and suffer not a scended to the private garden of the palace.

The clear-headed Elizabeth saw at once that her word to escape you by which these ruffians may The royal captive was walking pensively under the safety was the speaker's motive. suppose you have held communication with me. shade of a broad avenue of sycamore trees, when her Forgive me,” she exclaimed. “God help me! I Inform the knave who sent thee, that I start to stern old guardian aproached : he had assured him- am sore beset, and scarcely know my friends from morrow to meet her Majesty at windsor, and that the self on his way, by personal examination, that his my enemies. But I feel assured that Sir Henry palace here will be left in charge of my kinsman, kinsman, Frank had taken every precaution against Beddingfield is not amongst those who would tamper Frank Jerningham."

entrance from without : and the conviction annoyed with his own honor, or a helpless woman's life.” Reuben promised to fulfil his orders to the letter. him—for it left the burthen of the ungracious resolu- The old man kissed her extended hand. From “Do so, and thou shalt thrive. I say nothing to tion he had taken upon himself.

that time there was a degree of confidence estabthee of reward; for I have discerned a better motive "It must be done,” he said, “even for her safety." I lished between them.

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P. D. ORVIS, Publisher, 130 Fulton street, New York. Monthly Parts, 18% cts. each. Yearly Subscription to either edition $2, in advance. Ten Copies for FIFTEEN DOLLARs.

NEW YORK JOURNAL.

NO. 67. VOL. III.]

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 14, 1854.

[PRICE 4 CENTS

THE EARL OF

ABERDEEN.

PRIME MINISTER OF GREAT

BRITAIN.

THE portrait of the

as

was

He, never had cleverness—and he never had a seat in the House of Commons, which might have provoked the senatorial knack which 80 often passes for cleverness, and is in truth a very good substitute. But he was, from the first, his positions proved, a soundly judging, accurate, tactful, reliable man;

and the dispassionate, cool head, always learning, always observing, is, after forty years of work and watching, full of wisdom which is, remembrance of the results of observation.

Of all men known to the publlc, he is especially fitted for the task assigned by Queen Victoria of being the centre of a combination of parties.

Lord Aberdeen, at sixty-eight, speaks with a force that Lord Derby, (the late Premier,) with the fatal facility of vigorous fluency, could never attain; and those who heard the speeches of these two men recently in the House of Lords, would only contrast favorably the heavy, low-voiced, slow, conversational, or rather soliloquy-like style and man

of austere, greyheaded, large-chested Lord Aberdeen, with the

marry-come-up' “petulence" and pettiness which characterise the mind and nature of Lord Derby.

More might be said of Lord Aberdeen, but want of space forbids our giving a lengthy sketch.

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Earl of Aberdeen, engraved upon this page,

sketched in the House of Lords, a short time since, while his lordship was speaking. The likeness is admirable.

Lord Aberdeen is honest — patriotic — anxious that his premiership should be distinguished by national satisfaction ; and it is not possible that, at sixty-eight, his motives for taking power could be other than the purest and noblest. And his influence will be proportionate to the confidence that he is above and apart from the ambitions and schemes of the moment that he is aiming at national good. But, perforce, he will have to think through others, and to decide on a balance of arguments presented to him by his various colleagues.

Lord Aberdeen, at this moment, is precisely what might have been expected of a peer who early entered on the magnificent education which vides—who was forced into ambition and offices and trust, and who, driven to hard work, was compelled to eschew delights and indolence, and so urged and kept in the regular habits which preserve mental and physical health.

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Parliament pro

(ABERDEEN, PREMIER OF GREAT BRITAIN.-SKETCHED IN THE HOUSE OF LORDS.]

BY A BLUE JACKET.

as

two mates.

THE SMUGGLER'S GHOST. bility of such conduct in a lime-burner ; " that wos “My precious eyes !” exclaimed the two men honest on him, any how."

aghast. A YARN.

“ Just about wos ; 'tick'larly when it takes a day's “Ah!" sighed the old man, apparently much arnings to wash the dust o' the lime out of a fellar's shocked at the recollection of the terrible scene ; "it throat.”

just about wos a heart-breakin' sight.” “I s'pose he never touched water ?"

“ Poor fellar !” said the two lime-burners, symNOM BROWN, or Whitey-Brown Tom, as he TOM was familiarly called, was a lime-burner-that "Why, sartingly not,” replied Bill in astonishi- pathetically ; " he really had pitched hisself into the

burnin' lime-kiln then?" is to say, he used a few years ago to be seen toiling ment; “ bin a fool if he had.” “ How so?"

Sartingly ; leastways, we found a heap o' bones at a furnace placed in a deep hollow near a certain nameless fishing village on the Kentish coast. The

“How so !" echoed Bill. “ Hadn't he a lime- scattered all over the kiln ; some on 'em had even part that he performed, as one of the busy bees burner's 'sperience—hadn't he too ofter seen how grop'd their way right down to the bottom o' the belonging to the great British hive of industry, was

water acted on lime to swaller any hisself? No, fire, so it's pretty sure that Whitey-Brown Tom converting portions of our white cliffs into lime ; and no,” said old Bill, shaking his head, "Whitey- died as he liv’d, terrible hard." the great chalk basin in which he achieved this meta- Brown Tom didn't fancy goin' off into one o' your “But how d'ye know they wos his bones ?"

“ 'Cos we found a bit of his jacket and singed morphosis was not more admirably situated for ship- spontagious combustions.” ping the material when made, than for "running

“ Hilloa !” said the two lime-burners, “what's shoe, which in coorse dropped to tinder as soon

that!" a few tubs of "moonshine" as occasion or opporta

they was touch'd; howsomever, his buttons told the nity afforded.

“What, don't you know what a 'spontagious tale, for ye see his wife cou'd swear to 'em, for she If the reader will accompany us to this spot, we combustion 'is?”

sew'd 'em on." "No."

“ And was that all that was left on him?" will soon convince him that few situations could be better adapted than this circular basin for carrying "Why, it's a sort of bustin' oneself into little bits,

“All,” said old Bill, solemnly, “'cept his pipe, on Whitey-Brown Tom's double occupation. See, just like slaked lime does. Ah !" the old fellow con- and that 'peard the better for the burnin', for it

but cam' out just at the bottom of the hollow there stands a lime-tinued, after he had taken a severe suck at his beer- went into the fire as black as a raven, kiln, sending up in spiral wreaths pale yellow sul-can, “ if a fellar drinks water, he desarves to suffer as white as snow."

“ What a horrid death !” exclaimed the two limephureous vapors, which give to the place the dry, for his folly; there's nothin' like mindin' what sort

burners. hot, choking atmosphere of a slumbering volcano. o' moisture a man slakes his clay with.” Every object round about bears evidence that lime iş “All right,” chimed in the two auditors ; “go

“ 'Twas,"

," said the old man, looking slyly at his produced in considerable quantities ; for every bush on.” is white, the long coarse grass is loaded with an “Well," resumed the old man, “if Whitey-Brown “ And did nothin' more leak out about him-eh!" unsightly powder—the very crows that haunt the could drink spirits like lime can water, he quite Why, yes, in coorse," replied the old man. unballowed spot, look as if they were in half mourn- rival'd it another way.”

“When the coroner sot on his body, I s'pose," ing, with the ashes of the kiln ; and as for the threc “ Smoked, I s'pose ?"

said one of the men. men sitting huddled round its brim, they look more

“You've just hit it. His smokin' was just some

Why, you fool," growled old Bill ; "there never like gnomes or ghosts, than human beings made of thing awful. Youscouldn't tell his smother from the was no body to be sot on.” wholesome flesh and blood. However, they are kiln's when the fit was on him, and his bile on the

“Oh, ah! I forgot that,” said the lime-burner ; smoking, drinking, and chattering merrily, and simmer. But as I said afore, he was liked by every

" whatever did they do ?" bursting every now and then into that boisterous body; and at the Three Horse-shoes' he was a

“Do! Why, they sot on his pipe and buttons." laughter peculiar to rude health, hard work, and regular cemented brick; and even the landlord would

“His pipe and buttons !” replied the two men in strong beer acting upon the thirsty souls of lime- sometimes refuse to draw him more beer ; and in- astonishment. burners. stead o' takin' his money, he'd drop a kind word into

“ Yes, and a pretty bis'ness they made on it surely “Come, shove along, Bill,” said one of these his ear. * Take care,' he'd say—“take care, ola -the lubbers brought in a verdic' of " fell in the sea.' merry fellows, addressing a blanched old man, with chap, or you'll cant yourself into the kiln one of these Ah! ah!" eyes like a ferret ; "slip off your muzzle lashins, odd nights.'

“ Ah ! ah !" laughed the lime-burners in chorus :

“ how odd. Fell in the kiln wou'd a been nearer and spin us a yarn about Whitey-Brown Tom's

Oh, ah ! old Whitey-Brown would say, 'never ghost."

the mark. Why, the sea's two mile off.” mind me; I don't like the dusty stuff well enough to “Ah, do," chimed in the other ; " for I understand fall into the kiln; a butt o' strong ale, now, and a

“And more," said Bill, finishing the sentence. he was the rum'ist fellar as ever lived 'bout these fellar might stand a chance o' wettin' his whiskers ; his remains, seeing as how he hadn't left none 'cept

“ Howsomever, it was no use makin' a nitty about parts.” but lime-no, no; burnin' lime—no, never !'

his pipe, so I claim'd that, and stuck it up on a lump “Just about wos," said Bill. “Ah !” he con- “ But how kum he to turn ghost-eb, Bill?”

o'chalk yonder, just above where he fell into the tinued, lolling his head, and putting on a half serious

“Well," replied the old man, “I b'lieve its 'cordin'

kiln, as a sort o' monyment." and half comic look, “poor Whitey-Brown's fate to law for a feller to die, or to be kill'd somehow, “ You berry'd his bune-dust, I s'posé !" said one may happen to the steadiest head amongst us." afore he can bekum a proper ghost.”

of the men, shudderiug. “ How so?" 'Sartingly," said the two listeners.

“No, no, he hadn't left any." “Well," said old Bill, “ye see we lime-burners “ Well, to make all things square and right, “ Well,” rejoined the other lime-burner, emphatinever stood well with the community; we wos Whitey-Brown Tom, a'ter he'd bin a workin' all one cally ; “ there never cou'd a bin no ghost made out always counted as a sort o' cross 'twixt a smuggler night at the kiln, wasn't to be found on the followin' o' nobody, no how, that's flat." and a poacher, and Whitey-Brown would do any- mornin'. The boys hunted for him, the whole “Cou'dn't there ?" replied Bill, putting on a defithing for a drop o' lickor ; for ourn's a dry bis’ness, parish kum a pokin' about in the chalk-pits and nitive look ; "cou'dn't there? Let me tell ye, an' I'm blow'd if he couldn't sling a tuh, or noose a copses, the bellman cry'd him—but 'twas all to no ghosts is made out o' nobody knows what. Howhare, like one o'clock half struck.” purpose : he wasn't to be found.”

ever, you'll see. Well,” he continued, “in coorse, “In coorse," said old Bill's two listeners.

“Wasn't he found again, eh?"

poor Whitey-Brown Tom was soon forgotten by us “ Well,” continued Bill, "he cou'd drink, I can “ That depends upon what you call findin',” re-all, even bis awful end had ceased to be a warning tell ye ; but he stood well with the landlord of the plied old Bill. “Howsomever, to make a short yarn to us lime-burners, for we'd a couple o' hands as * Three Horse-shoes,' for he always paid his reck'- of it, a’ter we'd rak'd and pok'd everywhere, we used to work at the kiln, juss about that time, as nin'."

'spects that Whitey-Brown might a bin all mops carried more sail nor ballast, as wos just as likely to Always paid his reck'nin', did he ?" said one of and brooms over night, so we looks into the kilu, as cant themselves into the burning chalk as poor cid the men, musing, as though he doubted the possi- well as round about it.”

Whitey-Brown hisself. “Well," continued Bin,

we

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"things had cnm to this pass, when one night as I the lime-burners, with the ready tact of a man who “Ah, that's better," said the man ; "only don't and Stafford Joe was a sittin' round the brim o' the knew the best spot for 'running a cargo.

go to wind'ard o' truth." kiln, just as we are now, cuffin' a yarn, when all on “ The same."

“Don't mean to. Well," continued Bill, “I wos a sudden Joe hollars out--Hilloa! who's there ?' · My eyes, what a chance !"

glad enough to see Whitey-Brown Tom's ghost in ""Oh, it's nothing,' says I ; it's only the sow- "I’b’lieve ye, and one that wos'n't allow'd to slip, such capital case, so I goes and fetches his pipe, wester a-moaning his way through the clump o' firs for, sing'lar enough, the “Rose in June'lugger, full wot sarv'd for his monyment, out o' the lump o' at the top of the hollow.' But lor a mussy on us, o tubs and backey, was actually worked over the chalk, and filling it with backy, down we sot, cheek you might as well a whistled a jig to a milestone as beach that very night.”

by jowl, to cuff a yarn. “And now,' says I, 'where tried to persuade Joe of that, for there he stood a .“ How odd!”

have you bin this six months ?'--for that was about shiverin' and a shakin', frightened out of his wits, “Was n't it ?" said old Bill, smiling. “But the the time he'd been roasted." when presently he hollars out, 'There, there he is funniest joke of all was the ghost rubbin' out his “And d'ye mean to say he could talk to ye ?" again' and sure enough this time I looked up and own score at the .Three Horse-shoes.'”

"You shall hear," drily observed old Bill. seed a face a grinnin' at us across the kiln, that “ Could n't bear to be in debt, I 'spose,” said a Where have I bin to?" says the ghost. made our marrers freeze in our bones.” lime-burner.

Yes,' says I, •You couldn't a bin in a much “Why, what was it?" demanded the two lime

“ Just so," said Bill. “Ghosts is always very hotter place than where weburners getting a little feverish.

partikler 'bout money matters. But Whitey-Brown “Stop,' says Whitey-Brown's shadder, “ Whitey-Brown Tom.”

Tom need n't a troubled 'bout his score, for he went won't go into that story,' and so passin' his hand “Whitey-Brown Tom? His ghost you mean."

off in such a hurry he had n't time to settle il.” over his brow, quite nat'ral like, he axes me, “If I “Well, in coorse I does,” replied old Bill; “ and

“What a odd freak though !"

recollected the time when he wos miss'd ?'

“ Was n't it,” said the old man. “ At least he'd you may be sartin that we shook like a couple o'

“ Found, you mean,' says I, “in the kilu.' dogvanes. But presently Joe nudges me, and

the credit of it, and so he had for runnin' the tubs says,

"No matter,' he replied, peevishly, “missed or "Speak to him, Bill; you know'd him ;' and so, pre- and backy; for, in coorse, if a ghost was dishonest found, it's all one now. suming ou old acqnaintance like, I says out boldly, enough to unchalk his own score, he'd be ap to all * Well ?' Is that you, Whitey-Brown ?'sorts of devilry."

** * Well, I'd bin working pretty stiff, getting chalk “Well?” gasped the two lime-burners.

“ And did he appear again ?"

out of the pit to burn in the kiln, and p’raps I'd · Well," replied Bill, “ though I asked this question

“Sartinly ; but the next time he took care to swigg’d a little too free at the beer-can, for the three times, 'cordin' to the reg'lar built way of holdin' come when I wos quite alone, for Stafford Joe was weather wos hot, and so, what with the heat, the a palaver with ghosts, he never made no answer."

so skeered by the ghost that he left the kiln. But work, and the beer, I drops myself into-“No ghosts never do,” interrupted one of the this time he'd found his tongue.”

- The kiln ? says I, interrupting. lime-burners.

“But how did it happen, eh ?" demanded one of “No-no,' said he. “I drops myself into the • Howsomever," continued Bill, “ there he stood the lime-burners.

long grass, and was soon fast asleep. Well, I grinnin at us; his tall, hairy figger, lookin' none the

· Why, I was sitting watching the kiln and the can't say how long I snoosed, but I was awoke handsomer for being seen by the light o' the moon, moon, as she was a bobbin' in and out among the rather suddenly by a fellow pulling my nose and and the sulphureous glare o' the kiln--for, as he clouds, lookin' as windy as a bagpipe, when all on a clapping a pistol to my head.' was on other side o' the fire, the hot vapory air sudden Whitey-Brown's ghost appeared, grinnin’ at "• What, then, you was murdered, eh ? and didn't through which he show'd hisself made poor old me from the other side o' the fire."

throw yourself into the kiln ?' Whitey-Brown's ghost jig, whirl, and bob about,

“Well, and you all alone, eh ?"

“No-no. Why, Bill,' says he, 'you're just like and cut as many capers as wou'd a sars'd our legs

“ That's just what the ghost wanted; for the first the rest o' the fools-will have it I've bin burnt to o' mutton for a month o' Sundays ; 'sides which it question he axed me was, “If anybody was with death.' made him green, blue, and yellow by turns.”

No,' says I. •Then allow me to drink your "• Why, yes. Didn't we find yer hones ?' “Well,” said the lime-burners, “and what be good health,' says he, and sure enough I sees my “You'll see,' said the ghost. •No. I soon found kum o' the ghost ?"

own beer-can glued to his mouth, and he sucking that I had been diskivered by a gang o'smugglers "Oh, there he kept on t'other side o' the kiln, away at it, like a bull calf.

-the Allerton gang—as used the deep hole in tho tryin' to 'splain by dumb-show how he cum to his

“ Hallo,' says I, .avast with the beer-can ;' but cupse for stowing away their tubs.' ontimely end ; and first he points up to the chuck the louder I hollar'd the faster the ghost gulped

Well,' says I, and what o' that ? You pit where we keeps our beer-can, and then he'd make down the liquor,"

would n't a split on 'em ?' believe he was a drinkin'; and then he'd point into

“I'd a stopp'd his swizzlin',” said one of the “No-no, sartinly not; but somehow the captain the kiln, as much as to say, that's how it was done

lime-burners, “ if h'd a drunk my allowance in that o'the band was a stranger to me, and suspected I'd “ Meanin' how he was roasted ?" sort o' way."

been a watchin' on 'em. “All very fine, master “I s'pose so," replied Bill. Presently he fades

“ Well,” continued old Bill, “I thought I'd lime-burner,” says he ; "all very fine 'bout takin' a away into the gloom o' the hollow; and then Joe better have the matter settled at once ; so I up and snooze out o' the heat o' the sun, but we must make and I looks into the whites o' one another's eyes, axed him, “If he was n't a pretty sort o' a ghost to things safe. Here,” says he, " take and drink of and away we walks to the chalk-pit, where we keeps

drink a poor fellow's beer in that manner.'” that." our beer-can, as naturally as one sucking pig follars

• Don't onsettle yer bile,' says the ghost.

“D'ye like it?" says the captain. another; and what d'ye think had happened ?" • There's plenty more where that cum from ;' and so

"I should think I do.' “Can't say," said the two lime-burners. sayin' he walks round the kiln, ketches hold o' my

“ Have another ?' says he. The can was empty! Well," continued old hand, and gives me a gripe that soon convinces me,

6. Don't mind,' says I. Bill, " there was no mistakin’ whose ghost it was that if his bones wos burnt to ashes, he'd contrived

"Well, well,' says he, a little mollified, 'wo a'ter that. Poor Whitey-Brown ! no wonder his to keep plenty of power in his muscles, and no don't mean you any mischief, and you seem a de

mistake.” ghost way a-dry, a'ter being burnt to dust and ashes.

cent sort of a fellow ; but you have seen more than But that was nothin' to the games he play'd that “Avast there, Bill,” said one of the old man's we intended you should, at least we 'spects you night, for he pok'd his head into his own winder, auditors. “Why, how could that be-was n't have, and the cargo's more than ordinary. So you and ketches his wife a ogling and coaxing her new Whitey-Brown burned to dust and ashes in the sec'—he went on cocking his pistol at the same mate as was to be, and sends her into stirricks ;' kiln ? Mind what your a sayin'.”

time, we've taken quite a fancy to you; and, accordand then he popp'd into the skittle-alley, and put “Well, p’raps I'd better, and so I shall le: the ingly, we give you the choice of finding yourself 'em all in a swither, 'sides which he frightened the ghost tell his own story, how he managed to scuffle stowed away in some snug hole about here, with a coast-guard man into fits."

along, after leaving his jacket, boots, pipe, and, 'bovo plug of lead as ballast to your brains, or“ What, he at the Point, I s`poso ?" said one of all, his bonos, in the kiln."

" What ?' says I.

6

me?'

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