JESSE CLIFFE By Mary Russell Mitford Living as we do in the midst of rivers, water in all its forms, exceptindeed that of the trackless and mighty ocean, is familiar to ourlittle inland county. The slow majestic Thames, the swift and wanderingKennett, the clear and brimming Loddon, all lend life and verdure to ourrich and fertile valleys. Of the great river of England--whose coursefrom its earliest source, near Cirencester, to where it rolls calm, equable, and full, through the magnificent bridges of our splendidmetropolis, giving and reflecting beauty, * presents so grand an imageof power in repose--it is not now my purpose to speak; nor am I aboutto expatiate on that still nearer and dearer stream, the pellucidLoddon, --although to be rowed by one dear and near friend up thosetransparent and meandering waters, from where they sweep at theirextremest breadth under the lime-crowned terraces of the Old Parkat Aberleigh, to the pastoral meadows of Sandford, through which thenarrowed current wanders so brightly--now impeded by beds of whitewater-lilies, or feathery-blossomed bulrushes, or golden flags--nowoverhung by thickets of the rich wayfaring tree, with its wealth ofglorious berries, redder and more transparent than rubies--now spannedfrom side to side by the fantastic branches of some aged oak;--althoughto be rowed along that clear stream, has long been amongst the choicestof my summer pleasures, so exquisite is the scenery, so perfect and sounbroken the solitude. Even the shy and foreign-looking kingfisher, mostgorgeous of English birds, who, like the wild Indian retiring before thefoot of man, has nearly deserted our populous and cultivated country, knows and loves the lovely valley of the Loddon. * There is nothing finer in London than the view from Waterloo-bridge on a July evening, whether coloured by the gorgeous hues of the setting sun reflected on the water in tenfold glory, or illuminated by a thousand twinkling lights from lamps, and boats, and houses, mingling with the mild beams of the rising moon. The calm and glassy river, gay with unnumbered vessels; the magnificent buildings which line its shores; the combination of all that is loveliest in art or in nature, with all that is most animating in motion and in life, produce a picture gratifying alike to the eye and to the heart--and the more exhilarating, or rather perhaps the more soothing, because, for London, so singularly peaceful and quiet. It is like some gorgeous town in fairyland, astir with busy and happy creatures, the hum of whose voices comes floating from the craft upon the river, or the quays by the water side. Life is there, and sound and motion; but blessedly free from the jostling of the streets, the rattling of the pavement, the crowd, the confusion, the tumult, and the din of the work-a-day world. There is nothing in the great city like the scene from Waterloo bridge at sunset. I see it in my mind's eye at this instant. It is not, however, of the Loddon that I am now to speak. The sceneof my little story belongs to a spot quite as solitary, but far lessbeautiful, on the banks of the Kennett, which, a few miles beforeits junction with the Thames, passes through a tract of wild, marshycountry--water-meadows at once drained and fertilised by artificialirrigation, and totally unmixed with arable land; so that the fieldsbeing for the most part too wet to admit the feeding of cattle, dividedby deep ditches, undotted by timber, unchequered by cottages, anduntraversed by roads, convey in their monotonous expanse (exceptperhaps at the gay season of haymaking) a feeling of dreariness anddesolation, singularly contrasted with the picturesque and variedscenery, rich, glowing, sunny, bland, of the equally solitary Loddonmeadows. A large portion of these English prairies, comprising a farm called theMoors, was, at the time of which I write, in the occupation of a wealthyyeoman named John Cobbam, who, the absentee tenant of an absenteelandlord, resided upon a small property of his own about two milesdistant, leaving the large deserted house, and dilapidated outbuildings, to sink into gradual decay. Barns half unthatched, tumble-downcart-houses, palings rotting to pieces, and pigsties in ruins, contributed, together with a grand collection of substantial and dingyricks of fine old hay--that most valuable but most gloomy lookingspecies of agricultural property--to the general aspect of desolation bywhich the place was distinguished. One solitary old labourer, a drearybachelor, inhabited, it is true, a corner of the old roomy house, calculated for the convenient accommodation of the patriarchal family ofsons and daughters, men-servants and maid-servants, of which a farmer'shousehold consisted in former days; and one open window, (the remainderwere bricked up to avoid taxes, ) occasionally a door ajar, and stillmore rarely a thin wreath of smoke ascending from one of the colddismal-looking chimneys, gave token that the place was not whollyabandoned. But the uncultivated garden, the grass growing in the brickedcourt, the pond green with duckweed, and the absence of all livingthings, cows, horses, pigs, turkeys, geese, or chickens--and still moreof those talking, as well as living things, women and children--allimpressed on the beholder that strange sensation of melancholy whichfew can have failed to experience at the sight of an uninhabited humanhabitation. The one solitary inmate failed to relieve the pressingsense of solitude. Nothing but the ringing sound of female voices, thepleasant and familiar noise of domestic animals, could have done that;and nothing approaching to noise was ever heard in the Moors. It was asilence that might be felt. The house itself was approached through a long, narrow lane, leadingfrom a wild and watery common; a lane so deeply excavated betweenthe adjoining hedge-rows, that in winter it was little better than awater-course; and beyond the barns and stables, where even that apologyfor a road terminated, lay the extensive tract of low, level, marshyground from whence the farm derived its title; a series of flat, productive water-meadows, surrounded partly by thick coppices, partlyby the winding Kennett, and divided by deep and broad ditches; a fewpollard willows, so old that the trunk was, in some, riven asunder, whilst in others nothing but the mere shell remained, together with hereand there a stunted thorn, alone relieving the monotony of the surface. The only regular inhabitant of this dreary scene was, as I have beforesaid, the old labourer, Daniel Thorpe, who slept in one corner of thehouse, partly to prevent its total dilapidation, and to preserve thevaluable hayricks and the tumble-down farm buildings from the pillage towhich unprotected property is necessarily exposed, and partly to keepin repair the long line of boundary fence, to clean the graffages, clear out the moat-like ditches, and see that the hollow-sounding woodenbridges which formed the sole communication by which the hay wagonscould pass to and from the distant meadows, were in proper orderto sustain their ponderous annual load. Daniel Thorpe was the onlyaccredited unfeathered biped who figured in the parish books as occupantof The Moors; nevertheless that swampy district could boast of oneother irregular and forbidden but most pertinacious inhabitant--and thatinhabitant was our hero, Jesse Cliffe. Jesse Cliffe was a lad some fifteen or sixteen years of age--thereor thereabout; for with the exact date of his birth, although fromcircumstances most easily ascertained, even the assistant-overseer didnot take the trouble to make himself acquainted. He was a parish childborn in the workhouse, the offspring of a half-witted orphan girl and asturdy vagrant, partly tinker, partly ballad-singer, who took good careto disappear before the strong arm of justice, in the shape of a tardywarrant and a halting constable, could contrive to intercept his flight. He joined, it was said, a tribe of gipsies, to whom he was suspected tohave all along belonged; and who vanishing at the same time, accompaniedby half the linen and poultry of the neighbourhood, were never heardof in our parts again; whilst the poor girl whom he had seduced andabandoned, with sense enough to feel her misery, although hardlysufficient to be responsible for the sin, fretted, moaned, and pined--losing, she hardly knew how, the half-unconsciouslight-heartedness which had almost seemed a compensation for herdeficiency of intellect, and with that light-heartedness losing also herbodily strength, her flesh, her colour, and her appetite, until, abouta twelvemonth after the birth of her boy, she fell into a decline anddied. Poor Jesse, born and reared in the workhouse, soon began to evincesymptoms of the peculiarities of both his parents. Half-witted like hismother, wild and roving as his father--it was found impossible to checkhis propensity to an out-of-door life. From the moment, postponed as long as possible in such establishments, in which he doffed the petticoat--a moment, by the way, in which theobstinate and masterful spirit of the ungentle sex often begins toshow itself in nurseries of a far more polished description;--from thatmoment may Jesse's wanderings be said to commence. Disobedience lurkedin the habit masculine. The wilful urchin stood, like some dandyapprentice, contemplating his brown sturdy legs, as they stuck out fromhis new trowsers, already (such was the economy of the tailor employedon the occasion) "a world too _short_, " and the first use he made ofthose useful supporters was to run away. So little did any one reallycare for the poor child, that not being missed till night-fall, orsought after till the next morning, he had strayed far enough, when, atlast picked up, and identified by the parish mark on his new jacket, tobe half frozen, (it was mid-winter when his first elopement happened, )half-starved, half-drowned, and more than half-dead of fatigue andexhaustion. "It will be a lesson!" said the moralising matron of theworkhouse, as, after a sound scolding, she fed the little culprit andput him to bed. "It will be a lesson to the rover!" And so it proved;for, after being recruited by a few days' nursing, he again ran away, ina different direction. When recovered the second time, he was whipped as well as fed--anotherlesson which only made the stubborn recusant run the faster. Then, uponhis next return, they shut him up in a dark den appropriately called theblack-hole, a restraint which, of course, increased his zest for lightand liberty, and in the first moment of freedom--a moment greatlyaccelerated by his own strenuous efforts in the shape of squalling, bawling, roaring, and stamping, unparalleled and insupportable, even inthat mansion of din--in the very instant of freedom he was off again; heran away from work; he ran away from school; certain to be immersed inhis dismal dungeon as soon as he could be recaught; so that his wholechildhood became a series of alternate imprisonments and escapes. That he should be so often lost was, considering his propensities andthe proverbial cunning of his caste, not, perhaps, very remarkable. Butthe number of times and the variety of ways, in which, in spite of thelittle trouble taken in searching for him, he was sent back to the placefrom whence he came, was really something wonderful. If any creature inthe world had cared a straw for the poor child, he must have been lostover and over: nobody did care for him, and he was as sure to turn upas a bad guinea. He has been cried like _Found_ Goods in Belford Market:advertised like a strayed donkey in the _H----shire Courant_; put forsafe keeping into compters, cages, roundhouses, and bridewells: passed, by different constables, through half the parishes in the county; andso frequently and minutely described in handbills and the _Hue and Cry_, that by the time he was twelve years old, his stature, features, andcomplexion were as well known to the rural police as those of some greatstate criminal. In a word, "the lad _would_ live;" and the Aberleighoverseers, who would doubtless have been far from inconsolable if theyhad never happened to hear of him again, were reluctantly obliged tomake the best of their bargain. Accordingly, they placed him as a sort of boy of all-work at "the shop"at Hinton, where he remained, upon an accurate computation, somewhereabout seven hours; they then put him with a butcher at Langley, where hestaid about five hours and a-half, arriving at dusk, and escaping beforemidnight: then with a baker at Belford, in which good town he sojournedthe (for him) unusual space of two nights and a day; and then theyapprenticed him to Master Samuel Goddard, an eminent dealer in cattleleaving his new master to punish him according to law, providedhe should run away again. Run away of course he did; but as he hadcontrived to earn for himself a comfortably bad character for stupidityand laziness, and as he timed his evasion well--during the intervalbetween the sale of a bargain of Devonshire stots, and the purchase ofa lot of Scotch kyloes, when his services were little needed--and asMaster Samuel Goddard had too much to do and to think of, to waste histime and his trouble on a search after a heavy-looking under-drover, with a considerable reputation for laziness, Jesse, for the firsttime in his life, escaped his ordinary penalties of pursuit anddiscovery--the parish officers contenting themselves by notifying toMaster Samuel Goddard, that they considered their responsibility, legalas well as moral, completely transferred to him in virtue of theirindentures, and that whatever might be the future destiny of his unluckyapprentice, whether frozen or famished, hanged or drowned, the blamewould rest with the cattle-dealer aforesaid, to whom they resolved torefer all claims on their protection, whether advanced by Jesse himselfor by others. Small intention had Jesse Cliffe to return to their protection or theirworkhouse! The instinct of freedom was strong in the poor boy--quick andstrong as in the beast of the field, or the bird of the air. He betookhimself to the Moors (one of his earliest and favourite haunts) with avague assurance of safety in the deep solitude of those wide-spreadingmeadows, and the close coppices that surrounded them: and at littlemore than twelve years of age he began a course of lonely, half-savage, self-dependent life, such as has been rarely heard of in this civilisedcountry. How he lived is to a certain point a mystery. Not by stealing. That was agreed on all hands--except indeed, so far as a few roots ofturnips and potatoes, and a few ears of green corn, in their severalseasons, may be called theft. Ripe corn for his winter's hoard, hegleaned after the fields were cleared, with a scrupulous honesty thatmight have read a lesson to peasant children of a happier nurture. And they who had opportunities to watch the process, said that it wascurious to see him bruise the grain between large stones, knead the rudeflour with fair water, mould his simple cakes, and then bake them in aprimitive oven formed by his own labour in a dry bank of the coppice, and heated by rotten wood shaken from the tops of the trees, (which heclimbed like a squirrel, ) and kindled by a flint and a piece of an oldhorse-shoe:--such was his unsophisticated cookery! Nuts and berries fromthe woods; fish from the Kennett--caught with such tackle as might beconstructed of a stick and a bit of packthread, with a strong pinor needle formed into a hook; and perhaps an occasional rabbit orpartridge, entrapped by some such rough and inartificial contrivance, formed his principal support; a modified, and, according to his vaguenotions of right and wrong, an innocent form of poaching, since hesought only what was requisite for his own consumption, and would haveshunned as a sin the killing game to sell. Money, indeed, he littleneeded. He formed his bed of fern or dead grass, in the deepest recessesof the coppice--a natural shelter; and the renewal of raiment, whichwarmth and decency demanded, he obtained by emerging from his solitude, and joining such parties as a love of field sports brought into hisvicinity in the pursuit of game--an inspiring combination of labourand diversion, which seemed to awaken something like companionship andsympathy even in this wild boy of the Moors, one in which his knowledgeof the haunts and habits of wild animals, his strength, activity, andactual insensibility to hardship or fatigue, rendered his services ofmore than ordinary value. There was not so good a hare-finder throughoutthat division of the county; and it was curious to observe howcompletely his skill in sportmanship overcame the contempt with whichgrooms and gamekeepers, to say nothing of their less fine and moretolerant masters, were wont to regard poor Jesse's ragged garments, thesunburnt hair and skin, the want of words to express even his simplemeaning, and most of all, the strange obliquity of taste which ledhim to prefer Kennett water to Kennett ale. Sportsmanship, sheersportsmanship, carried him through all! Jesse was, as I have said, the most popular hare-finder of thecountry-side, and during the coursing season was brought by that goodgift into considerable communication with his fellow creatures: amongstthe rest with his involuntary landlord, John Cobham. John Cobham was a fair specimen of an English yeoman of the oldschool--honest, generous, brave, and kind; but in an equal degree, ignorant, obstinate and prejudiced. His first impression respectingJesse had been one of strong dislike, fostered and cherished by the oldlabourer Daniel Thorpe, who, accustomed for twenty years to reign solesovereign of that unpeopled territory, was as much startled at the sightof Jesse's wild, ragged figure, and sunburnt face, as Robinson Crusoewhen he first spied the track of a human foot upon _his_ desert island. It was natural that old Daniel should feel his monarchy, or, morecorrectly speaking, his vice-royalty, invaded and endangered; andat least equally natural that he should communicate his alarm to hismaster, who sallied forth one November morning to the Moors, fullyprepared to drive the intruder from his grounds, and resolved, ifnecessary, to lodge him in the County Bridewell before night. But the good farmer, who chanced to be a keen sportsman, and to befollowed that day by a favourite greyhound, was so dulcified by themanner in which the delinquent started a hare at the very moment ofVenus's passing, and still more by the culprit's keen enjoyment ofa capital single-handed course, (in which Venus had even excelledherself, ) that he could not find in his heart to take any harsh measuresagainst him, for that day at least, more especially as Venus seemed tohave taken a fancy to the lad--so his expulsion was postponed to anotherseason; and before that season arrived, poor Jesse had secured thegoodwill of an advocate far more powerful than Venus--an advocate who, contrasted with himself, looked like Ariel by the side of Caliban, orTitania watching over Bottom the Weaver. John Cobham had married late in life, and had been left, after sevenyears of happy wedlock, a widower with five children. In his familyhe may be said to have been singularly fortunate, and singularlyunfortunate. Promising in no common degree, his sons and daughters, inheriting their mother's fragile constitution as well as her amiablecharacter, fell victims one after another to the flattering and fataldisease which had carried her off in the prime of life; one of themonly, the eldest son, leaving any issue; and his little girl, an orphan, (for her mother had died in bringing her into the world, ) was now theonly hope and comfort of her doting grandfather, and of a maiden sisterwho lived with him as housekeeper, and, having officiated as head-nursein a nobleman's family, was well calculated to bring up a delicatechild. And delicate in all that the word conveys of beauty--delicate as theVirgins of Guido, or the Angels of Correggio, as the valley lily or themaiden rose--was at eight years old, the little charmer, Phoebe Cobham. But it was a delicacy so blended with activity and power, so light andairy, and buoyant and spirited, that the admiration which it awakenedwas wholly unmingled with fear. Fair, blooming, polished, and pure, hercomplexion had at once the colouring and the texture of a flower-leaf;and her regular and lovely features--the red smiling lips, theclear blue eyes, the curling golden hair, and the round yet slenderfigure--formed a most rare combination of childish beauty. Theexpression, too, at once gentle and lively, the sweet and joyous temper, the quick intellect, and the affectionate heart, rendered little Phoebeone of the most attractive children that the imagination can picture. Her grandfather idolised her; taking her with him in his walks, neverweary of carrying her when her own little feet were tired--and it waswonderful how many miles those tiny feet, aided by the gay and buoyantspirit, would compass in the course of the day; and so bent upon keepingher constantly with him, and constantly in the open air, (which hejustly considered the best means of warding off the approach of thatdisease which had proved so fatal to his family, ) that he even had a padconstructed, and took her out before him on horseback. A strange contrast formed the old farmer, so gruff andbluff-looking--with his stout square figure, his weather-beaten face, short grey hair, and dark bushy eyebrows--to the slight and gracefulchild, her aristocratic beauty set off by exactly the same style ofparaphernalia that had adorned the young Lady Janes and Lady Marys, Mrs. Dorothy's former charge, and her habitual grace of demeanour addingfresh elegance to the most studied elegancies of the toilet! A strangecontrast!--but one which seemed as nothing compared with that which wassoon to follow: for Phoebe, happening to be with her grandfather andher great friend and playmate Venus, a jet-black greyhound of thevery highest breed, whose fine limbed and shining beauty was almost aselegant and aristocratic as that of Phoebe herself;--the little damsel, happening to be with her grandfather when, instigated by Daniel Thorpe'sgrumbling accusation of broken fences and I know not what, he was asecond time upon the point of warning poor Jesse off the ground--wasso moved by the culprit's tattered attire and helpless condition, as hestood twirling, between his long lean fingers, the remains of what hadonce been a hat, that she interceded most warmly in his behalf. "Don't turn him off the Moors, grandpapa, " said Phoebe, "pray don't!Never mind old Daniel! I'm sure he'll do no harm;--will you, Jesse?Venus likes him, grandpapa; see how she puts her pretty nose into hishand; and Venus never likes bad people. How often I have heard you saythat. And _I_ like him, poor fellow! He looks so thin and so pitiful. Dolet him stay, dear grandpapa!" And John Cobham sat down on the bank, and took the pitying child in hisarms, and kissed and blessed her, and said, that, since she wished it, Jesse _should_ stay; adding, in a sort of soliloquy, that he hopedshe never would ask him to do what was wrong, for he could refuse hernothing. And Jesse--what did he say to these, the first words of kindness that hehad ever heard from human lips? or rather, what did he feel? for beyonda muttered "Thankye, " speak he could not, But gratitude worked stronglyin the poor boy's heart: gratitude!--so new, so overpowering, andinspired by one so sweet, so lovely, so gentle as his protectress, asfar as he was concerned, all-powerful; and yet a mere infant whom hemight protect as well as serve! It was a strange mixture of feelings, all good, and all delightful; a stirring of impulses, a quickening ofaffections, a striking of chords never touched before. Substitute thesacred innocence of childhood for the equally sacred power of virginpurity, and his feelings of affectionate reverence, of devoted serviceand submission, much resembled those entertained by the Satyr towards"the holy shepherdess, " in Fletcher's exquisite drama. * _Our_ "Rough thing, who never knew Manners nor smooth humanity, " could not have spoken nor have thought such words as those of the satyr;but so far as our English climate and his unfruitful territory mightpermit, he put much of the poetry into action. Sluggish of intellect, and uncouth of demeanour, as the poor lad seemed, it was quite wonderfulhow quickly he discovered the several ways in which he might best pleaseand gratify his youthful benefactress. * That matchless Pastoral, "The Faithful Shepherdess, " is so much less known than talked of, that subjoin the passage in question. One more beauti can hardly be found in the wide range of English poetry. _Satyr_. Through yon same bending plain That flings his arms down to the main; And through these thick woods, have I run, Whose depths have never kiss'd the sun; Since the lusty Spring began, All to please my master, Pan, Have I trotted without rest To get him fruit; for at a feast He entertains, this coming night, His paramour, the Syrinx bright. [_He sees Clorin and stands amazed_. But behold a fairer sight! By that heavenly form of thine, Brightest fair, thou art divine, Sprung from great, immortal race Of the Gods; for in thy face Shines more awful majesty, Than dull, weak mortality Dare with misty eyes behold And live! Therefore on this mould Slowly do I bend my knee, In worship of thy deity. Deign it, goddess, from my hand To receive whate'er this land, From her fertile womb doth send Of her choice fruits; and but lend Belief to that the Satyr tells: Fairer by the famous wells To this present day ne'er grew, Never better nor more true. Here be grapes whose lusty blood Is the learned poet's good; Sweeter yet did never crown The head of Bacchus; nuts more brown Than the squirrel whose teeth crack 'em. Deign, oh fairest fair, to take 'em! For these black-eyed Dryope Hath often times commanded me, With my clasped knee to climb; See how well the lusty time Hath deck'd their rising cheeks in red, Such as on your lips is spread. Here be berries for a queen, Some be red, and some be green; These are of that luscious sweet, The great god Pan himself doth eat; All these, and what the woods can yield, The hanging mountain, or the field, I freely offer, and ere long Will bring you more, more sweet and strong; Till when, humbly leave I take, Lest the great Pan do awake, That sleeping lies in a deep glade, Under a broad beech's shade. I must go, --I must run Swifter than the fiery sun. _Clorin_. And all my fears go with thee! What greatness or what private hidden power Is there in me to draw submission From this rude man and beast? sure I am mortal; The daughter of a shepherd; he was mortal, And she that bore me mortal: Prick my hand And it will bleed; a fever shakes me, and The self-same wind that makes the young lambs shrink Makes me a-cold. My fear says I am mortal. Yet I hare heard (my mother told it me, And now I do believe it) if I keep My virgin flower uncropt, pure, chaste, and fair, No goblin, wood-god, fairy, elf, or fiend, Satyr, or other power, that haunts the groves, Shall hurt my body, or by vain illusion Draw me to wander after idle fires, Or voices calling me in dead of night To make me follow, and so tempt me on Through mire and standing pools to find my swain Else why should this rough thing, who never knew Manners nor smooth humanity, whose herds Are rougher than himself, and more misshapen, Thus mildly kneel to me? &c. &c. _Beaumont and Fletcher's Works_, (Seward's edition, ) vol. Iii. P. 117--121. How we track Milton's exquisite Comus in this no less exquisite pastoral Drama! and the imitation is so beautiful, that the perception of the plagiarism rather increases than diminishes the pleasure with which we read either deathless work. Republican although he were, the great poet sits a throned king upon Parnassus, privileged to cull flowers where he listeth in right of his immortal laurel- crown. Phoebe loved flowers; and from the earliest tuft of violets ensconcedunder the sunny southern hedge, to the last lingering sprig of woodbineshaded by some time-hallowed oak, the blossoms of the meadow and thecoppice were laid under contribution for her posies. Phoebe had her own little garden; and to fill that garden, Jesse wasnever weary of seeking after the roots of such wild plants as he himselfthought pretty, or such as he found (one can hardly tell how) wereconsidered by better judges to be worthy of a place in the parterre. The different orchises, for instance, the white and lilac primrose, thegolden oxslip, the lily of the valley, the chequered fritillary, whichblows so freely along the banks of the Kennett, and the purple campanulawhich covers with equal profusion the meadows of the Thames, all foundtheir way to Phoebe's flower-plats. He brought her in summer eveningsglow-worms enough to form a constellation on the grass; and would spendhalf a July day in chasing for her some glorious insect, dragon-fly, orbee-bird, or golden beetle, or gorgeous butterfly. He not only bestowedupon her sloes, and dew-berries, and hazel-nuts "brown as the squirrelwhose teeth crack 'em, " but caught for her the squirrel itself. Hebrought her a whole litter of dormice, and tamed for her diversion ayoung magpie, whose first effort at flattery was "Pretty Phoebe!" But his greatest present of all, most prized both by donor and receiver, (albeit her tender heart smote her as she accepted it, and she made herfaithful slave promise most faithfully to take nests no more, ) was agrand string of birds' eggs, long enough to hang in festoons round, andround, and round her play-room, and sufficiently various and beautifulto gratify more fastidious eyes than those of our little heroine. To collect this rope of variously-tinted beads--a natural rosary--hehad sought the mossy and hair-lined nest of the hedge-sparrow for herturquoise-like rounds; had scrambled up the chimney-corner to bear awaythose pearls of the land, the small white eggs of the house-martin; hadfound deposited in an old magpie's nest the ovals of the sparrow-hawk, red and smooth as the finest coral; had dived into the ground-mansion ofthe skylark for her lilac-tinted shells, and groped amongst the bushesfor the rosy-tinted ones of the woodlark; climbed the tallest trees forthe sea-green eggs of the rooks; had pilfered the spotted treasures fromthe snug dwelling which the wren constructed in the eaves; and, worst ofall--I hardly like to write it, I hardly care to think, that Jesse couldhave committed such an outrage, --saddest and worst of all, in the verymidst of that varied garland might be seen the brown and dusky egg, aslittle showy as its quaker-like plumage, the dark brown egg, from whichshould have issued that "angel of the air, " the songstress, famous inevery land, the unparagoned nightingale. It is but just towards Jesseto add, that he took the nest in a mistake, and was quite unconscious ofthe mischief he had done until it was too late to repair it. Of course these gifts were not only graciously accepted, but dulyreturned; cakes, apples, tarts, and gingerbread, halfpence in profusion, and now and then a new shilling, or a bright sixpence--all, in short, that poor Phoebe had to bestow, she showered upon her uncouth favourite, and she would fain have amended his condition by more substantialbenefits: but authoritative as she was with her grandfather in otherinstances, in this alone her usual powers of persuasion utterly failed. Whether infected by old Daniel's dislike, (and be it observed, anunfounded prejudice, that sort of prejudice for which he who entertainsit does not pretend to account even to himself is unluckily not onlyone of the most contagious feelings in the world, but one of the mostinvincible:) whether Farmer Cobham were inoculated with old Daniel'shatred of Jesse, or had taken that very virulent disease the naturalway, nothing could exceed the bitterness of the aversion which graduallygrew up in his mind towards the poor lad. That Venus liked him, and Phoebe liked him, added strength to thefeeling. He would have been ashamed to confess himself jealous of theirgood-will towards such an object, and yet most certainly jealous hewas. He did not drive him from his shelter in the Moors, because he hadunwarily passed his word--his word, which, with yeomanly pride, JohnCobham held sacred as his bond--to let him remain until he committedsome offence; but, for this offence, both he and Daniel watched andwaited with an impatience and irritability which contrasted strangelywith the honourable self-restraint that withheld him from direct abuseof his power. For a long time, Daniel and his master waited in vain. Jesse, whomthey had entertained some vague hope of chasing away by angry looks andscornful words, had been so much accustomed all his life long to tauntsand contumely, that it was a great while before he became conscious oftheir unkindness; and when at last it forced itself upon his attention, he shrank away crouching and cowering, and buried himself in the closestrecesses of the coppice, until the footstep of the reviler had passedby. One look at his sweet little friend repaid him twenty-fold; andalthough farmer Cobham had really worked himself into believing thatthere was danger in allowing the beautiful child to approach poor Jesse, and had therefore on different pretexts forbidden her visits to theMoors, she did yet happen in her various walks to encounter that devotedadherent oftener than would be believed possible by any one who has notbeen led to remark, how often in this best of all possible worlds, anearnest and innocent wish does as it were fulfil itself. At last, however, a wish of a very different nature came to pass. DanielThorpe detected Jesse in an actual offence against that fertile sourceof crime and misery, the game laws. Thus the affair happened. During many weeks, the neighbourhood had been infested by a gang ofbold, sturdy pilferers, roving vagabonds, begging by day, stealing andpoaching by night--who had committed such extensive devastationsamongst the poultry and linen of the village, as well as the game in thepreserves, that the whole population was upon the alert; and the lonelycoppices of the Moors rendering that spot one peculiarly likely toattract the attention of the gang, old Daniel, reinforced by a stout ladas a sort of extra-guard, kept a most jealous watch over his territory. Perambulating the outside of the wood one evening at sunset, he heardthe cry of a hare; and climbing over the fence, had the unexpectedpleasure of seeing our friend Jesse in the act of taking a leveret stillalive from the wire. "So, so, master Jesse! thou be'st turned poacher, be'st thou?" ejaculated Daniel, with a malicious chuckle, seizing, atone fell grip, the hare and the lad. "Miss Phoebe!" ejaculated Jesse, submitting himself to the old man'sgrasp, but struggling to retain the leveret; "Miss Phoebe!" "Miss Phoebe, indeed!" responded Daniel; "she saved thee once, my lad, but thy time's come now. What do'st thee want of the leveret, mon? Do'stnot thee know that 'tis part of the evidence against thee? Well, he maycarry that whilst I carry the snare. Master'll be main glad to see un. He always suspected the chap. And for the matter of that so did I. MissPhoebe, indeed! Come along, my mon, I warrant thou hast seen thy last o'Miss Phoebe. Come on wi' thee. " And Jesse was hurried as fast as Daniel's legs would carry him to thepresence of Farmer Cobham. On entering the house (not the old deserted homestead of the Moors, but the comfortable dwelling-house at Aberleigh) Jesse delivered thepanting, trembling leveret to the first person he met, with no otherexplanation than might be comprised in the words, "Miss Phoebe!" andfollowed Daniel quietly to the hall. "Poaching, was he? Taking the hare from the wire? And you saw him?You can swear to the fact?" quoth John Cobham, rubbing his hands withunusual glee. "Well, now we shall be fairly rid of the fellow! Takehim to the Chequers for the night, Daniel, and get another man besideyourself to sit up with him. It's too late to disturb Sir Robert thisevening. To-morrow morning we'll take him to the Hall. See that theconstable's ready by nine o'clock. No doubt but Sir Robert will commithim to the county bridewell. " "Oh, grandpapa!" exclaimed Phoebe, darting into the room with theleveret in her arms, and catching the last words. "Oh, grandpapa! poorJesse!" "Miss Phoebe!" ejaculated the culprit "Oh, grandfather, it's all my fault, " continued Phoebe; "and if anybodyis to go to prison, you ought to send me. I had been reading aboutCowper's hares, and I wanted a young hare to tame: I took a fancy forone, and told poor Jesse! And to think of his going to prison for that!" "And did you tell him to set a wire for the hare, Phoebe?" "A wire! what does that mean?" said the bewildered child. "But I daresay, " added she, upon Farmer Cobham's explaining the nature of thesnare, "I dare say that the poachers set the wire, and that he onlytook up the hare for me, to please my foolish fancy! Oh, grandpapa! PoorJesse!" and Phoebe cried as if her heart would break. "God bless you, Miss Phoebe!" said Jesse. "All this is nonsense!" exclaimed the unrelenting fanner. "Take theprisoner to the Chequers, Daniel, and get another man to keep youcompany in sitting up with him. Have as much strong beer as youlike, and be sure to bring him and the constable here by nine o'clockto-morrow morning. " "Oh, grandfather, you'll be sorry for this! I did not think you had beenso hard-hearted!" sobbed Phoebe. "You'll be very sorry for this. " "Yes, very sorry, that he will. God bless you, Miss Phoebe, " said Jesse. "What! does he threaten? Take him off, Daniel. And you, Phoebe, go tobed and compose yourself. Heaven bless you, my darling!" said the fondgrandfather, smoothing her hair, as, the tears still chasing each otherdown her cheeks, she stood leaning against his knee. "Go to bed and tosleep, my precious! and you, Sally, bring me my pipe:" and wonderingwhy the fulfilment of a strong desire should not make him happier, thehonest farmer endeavoured to smoke away his cares. In the meanwhile, old Daniel conducted Jesse to the Chequers, and havinglodged him safely in an upper room, sought out "an ancient, trusty, drouthy crony, " with whom he sate down to carouse in the same apartmentwith his prisoner. It was a dark, cold, windy, October night, and thetwo warders sate cosily by the fire, enjoying their gossip and theirale, while the unlucky delinquent placed himself pensively by thewindow. About midnight the two old men were startled by his flingingopen the casement. "Miss Phoebe! look! look!" "What? where?" inquired Daniel. "Miss Phoebe!" repeated the prisoner; and, looking in the direction towhich Jesse pointed, they saw the flames bursting from Farmer Cob-ham'shouse. In a very few seconds they had alarmed the family, and sprung forth inthe direction of the fire; the prisoner accompanying them, unnoticed inthe confusion. "Luckily, master's always insured to the value of all he's worth, stockand goods, " quoth the prudent Daniel. "Miss Phoebe!" exclaimed Jesse: and even as he spoke he burst in thedoor, darted up the staircase, and returned with the trembling child inhis arms, followed by aunt Dorothy and the frightened servants. "Grandpapa! dear grandpapa! where is grandpapa? Will no one save my deargrand-papa?" cried Phoebe. And placing the little girl at the side of her aunt, Jesse again mountedthe blazing staircase. For a few moments all gave him up for lost But hereturned, tottering under the weight of a man scarcely yet aroused fromheavy sleep, and half suffocated by the smoke and flames. "Miss Phoebe! he's safe, Miss Phoebe!--Down, Venus, down--He's safe, Miss Phoebe! And now, I sha'n't mind going to prison, 'cause when I comeback you'll be living at the _Moors_. Sha'n't you, Miss Phoebe? And Ishall see you every day!" One part of this speech turned out true and another part false--nouncommon fate, by the way, of prophetic speeches, even when uttered bywiser persons than poor Jesse. Phoebe did come to live at the Moors, andhe did not go to prison. On the contrary, so violent was the revulsion of feeling in the honesthearts of the good yeoman, John Cobham, and his faithful servant, oldDaniel, and so deep the remorse which they both felt for their injusticeand unkindness towards the friendless lad, that there was considerabledanger of their falling into the opposite extreme, and ruining himby sudden and excessive indulgence. Jesse, however, was not of atemperament to be easily spoilt. He had been so long an outcast fromhuman society that he had become as wild and shy as his old companionsof the fields and the coppice, the beasts of the earth and the birdsof the air. The hare which he had himself given to Phoebe was easier totame than Jesse Cliffe. Gradually, very gradually, under the gentle influence of the gentlechild, this great feat was accomplished, almost as effectually, although by no means so suddenly, as in the well-known case of Cymonand Iphigenia, the most noted precedent upon record of the process ofreaching the head through the heart. Venus, and a beautiful Welsh ponycalled Taffy, which her grandfather had recently purchased for herriding, had their share in the good deed; these two favourites beingplaced by Phoebe's desire under Jesse's sole charge and management;a measure which not only brought him necessarily into something likeintercourse with the other lads about the yard, but ended in hisconceiving so strong an attachment to the animals of whom he had thecare, that before the winter set in he had deserted his old lair inthe wood, and actually passed his nights in a vacant stall of the smallstable appropriated to their use. From the moment that John Cobham detected such an approach to the habitsof civilised life as sleeping under a roof, he looked upon the wildson of the Moors as virtually reclaimed, and so it proved. Every dayhe became more and more like his fellow-men. He abandoned his primitiveoven, and bought his bread at the baker's. He accepted thankfully thedecent clothing necessary to his attending Miss Phoebe in her ridesround the country. He worked regularly and steadily at whatever labourwas assigned to him, receiving wages like the other farm servants; andfinally it was discovered that one of the first uses he made of thesewages was to purchase spelling-books and copy-books, and enter himselfat an evening school, where the opening difficulties being surmounted, his progress astonished every body. His chief fancy was for gardening. The love, and, to a certain point, the knowledge of flowers which he had always evinced increased upon himevery day;--and happening to accompany Phoebe on one of her visitsto the young ladies at the Hall, who were much attached to the lovelylittle girl, he saw Lady Mordaunt's French garden, and imitated it thenext year for his young mistress in wild flowers, after such a fashionas to excite the wonder and admiration of all beholders. From that moment Jesse's destiny was decided. Sir Robert's gardener, aclever Scotchman, took great notice of him and offered to employ him atthe Hall; but the Moors had to poor Jesse a fascination which he couldnot surmount. He felt that it would be easier to tear himself fromthe place altogether, than to live in the neighbourhood and not there. Accordingly he lingered on for a year or two, and then took a gratefulleave of his benefactors, and set forth to London with the avowedintention of seeking employment in a great nursery-ground, to theproprietor of which he was furnished with letters, not merely from hisfriend the gardener, but from Sir Robert himself. N. B. It is recorded that on the night of Jesse's departure, Venus refused her supper and Phoebe cried herself to sleep. Time wore on. Occasional tidings had reached the Moors of the prosperousfortunes of the adventurer. He had been immediately engaged by the greatnurseryman to whom he was recommended, and so highly approved, that inlittle more than two years he became foreman of the flower department;another two years saw him chief manager of the garden; and now, at theend of a somewhat longer period, there was a rumour of his having beentaken into the concern as acting partner; a rumour which receivedfull confirmation in a letter from himself, accompanying a magnificentpresent of shrubs, plants, and flower-roots, amongst which were twoDahlias, ticketed 'the Moors' and 'the Phoebe, ' and announcing hisintention of visiting his best and earliest friends in the course of theensuing summer. Still time wore on. It was full six months after this intimation, thaton a bright morning in October, John Cobham, with two or three visitersfrom Belford, and his granddaughter Phoebe, now a lovely young woman, were coursing on the Moors. The townspeople had boasted of theirgreyhounds, and the old sportsman was in high spirits from having beatenthem out of the field. "If that's your best dog, " quoth John, "why, I'll be bound that ourSnowball would beat him with one of his legs tied up. Talk of runningsuch a cur as that against Snowball! Why there's Phoebe's pet Venus, Snowball's great grandam, who was twelve years old last May, and has notseen a hare these three seasons, shall give him the go-by in the firsthundred yards. Go and fetch Venus, Daniel! It will do her heart good tosee a hare again, " added he, answering the looks rather than the wordsof his granddaughter, for she had not spoken, "and I'll be bound to sayshe'll beat him out of sight He won't come in for a turn. " Upon Venus's arrival, great admiration was expressed at her symmetry andbeauty; the grayness incident to her age having fallen upon her, as itsometimes does upon black greyhounds, in the form of small white spots, so that she appeared as if originally what the coursers call "ticked. "She was in excellent condition, and appeared to understand the designof the meeting as well as any one present, and to be delighted to findherself once more in the field of fame. Her competitor, a yellow dogcalled Smoaker, was let loose, and the whole party awaited in eagerexpectation of a hare. "Soho!" cried John Cobham, and off the dogs sprang; Venus taking theturn, as he had foretold, running as true as in her first season, doingall the work, and killing the hare, after a course which, for any partSmoaker took in it, might as well have been single-handed. "Look how she's bringing the hare to my grandfather!" exclaimed Phoebe;"she always brings her game!" And with the hare in her mouth, carefully poised by the middle of theback, she was slowly advancing towards her master, when a stranger, welldressed and well mounted, who had joined the party unperceived duringthe course, suddenly called "Venus!" And Venus started, pricked up her ears as if to listen, and stood stockstill. "Venus!" again cried the horseman. And Venus, apparently recognising the voice, walked towards thestranger, (who by this time had dismounted, ) laid the hare down at hisfeet, and then sprang up herself to meet and return his caresses. "Jesse! It must be Jesse Cliffe!" said Phoebe, in a tone which waveredbetween exclamation and interrogatory. "It can be none other, " responded her grandfather. "I'd trust Venusbeyond all the world in the matter of recognising an old friend, and weall know that except her old master and her young mistress, she nevercared a straw for anybody but Jesse. It must be Jesse Cliffe, though tobe sure he's so altered that how the bitch could find him out, is beyondmy comprehension. It's remarkable, " continued he in an under tone, walking away with Jesse from the Belford party, "that we five (countingVenus and old Daniel) should meet just on this very spot--isn't it?It looks as if we were to come together. And if you have a fancy forPhoebe, as your friend Sir Robert says you have, and if Phoebe retainsher old fancy for you, (as I partly believe maybe the case, ) why myconsent sha'nt be wanting. Don't keep squeezing my hand, man, but go andfind out what she thinks of the matter. " Five minutes after this conversation Jesse and Phoebe were walkingtogether towards the house: what he said we have no business to inquire, but if blushes may be trusted, of a certainty the little damsel did notanswer "No. "