PAUL AND CLEMENT.
"This is a sad melancholy letter, from our poor mother," said Paul,
looking mournfully on his brother. "It is indeed, Clement; and our dear
Fanny--" "Is doomed to be unfortunate, like all the rest of us."--"Do
not say so: it is ungrateful to say that, brother. My mother has a
decent competency."--"Call it rather a bare competency," interposed
Clement. "And you and I, Clement; are we not very fortunate, in holding
situations that keep us in honest independence?" Clement laughed,
shrugged up his shoulders, and, somewhat saucily, repeated the words,
"Honest independence!"--"Nay," persisted Paul, "I am right; it is,
as I assert: whilst we do our duty, we are sure to retain our places;
and the pay, thus honourably earned, secures our subsistence."--"You
are an excellent fellow, Paul; and I wish I were half as good," said
Clement; "but, really, when I every day see so many richer than we
are--" "You think of how many are poorer," slyly exclaimed Paul.--"Not
exactly that--not exactly that--brother," said Clement, laughing; "but
you are a capital hand for ingenious inferences and conclusions; and
'faith you shall have it all your own way. For this I know, your mode
of talking,--I beg pardon, of reasoning,--keeps my mind more quiet,--I
might say, more cheerful,--than any plan of my own; and so your
servant, brother Paul."
During this speech, Paul had again taken up the letter, and his
brother begged him to read aloud the passage relating to their sister;
which he did in these words.
"You will be sorry to hear, my dear boys, that Fanny's marriage is
again delayed. Indeed, I begin now to fear, it will never take place.
Your friend, Pelham, is an excellent young man, and every way deserving
of her; but, disappointed in his prospects of an establishment, he
knows not what to do. Certainly, he would never wish, nor could I ever
consent to their union, until some rational prospect of subsistence
were adopted. My small pension barely supplies our passing wants:
it dies with me,--I have nothing to give--nothing to leave, but my
blessing; and there is little Kitty also to be thought of; so, I fear,
Fanny must give up all hopes of marriage,--at least, for many years."
Paul put down the letter, and sighed. Clement started up, and
exclaimed, "Why am I not rich? Why am I not a man of fortune?"--"How
many daily utter that same wish!" said Paul: "all cannot be
wealthy."--"If I had but a thousand pounds!" cried Clement impatiently
pacing the room. "Two hundred would suffice," said Paul, "if you are
thinking only of Fanny."--"Certainly, of whom, or of what else should
I be thinking?"--"Well, then--here, in a postscript"--"The best part
of a lady's letter," interposed Clement. "Here, my mother says, that
Frank Pelham might form a very advantageous engagement, could he but
command two hundred pounds."--"I will go beg, borrow or steal, the
sum!" cried Clement. "Better go earn it!" said Paul. "Pshaw, don't
talk of impossibilities!"--"Improbable, difficult, not impossible,
brother."--"Yes, yes! quite impossible."--"By no means."--"Oh! then
quickly, very quickly; dear Paul, instruct me, teach me, how to earn
this precious sum!"
Paul smiled at his brother's eagerness; and then said, with a tone
of deep feeling, "All our time is not occupied: some trifle could be
gained by the employment of our leisure."--"Trifle, indeed!"--"However
small, still it would be something."--"Nothing!"--"Nay, now, Clement,
you do not speak with your usual good calculation. Something cannot
be nothing."--"Yes, nothing!--I persist in it; nothing, as compared
to what is needed."--"Your pardon, brother; in our circumstances,
every guinea has its value."--"But the whole, the best, of our time is
fully occupied."--"The best, but not the whole of it; our evenings for
instance."--"Evenings of some three or four hours; and we harassed by
our day's labour, wearied and half asleep!"--"Oh! but the hope of doing
good would keep us awake, wide awake!"--"Oh! ridiculous! I shall think
of nothing so silly!"--"Well then, what say you to trying to save a
little?"--"Trying--accurately spoken, brother of mine--you may try; but
to save--and out of a handsome income of one hundred and forty pounds a
year!--Oh! rare device!"
Clement laughed aloud; Paul laughed too, but avowed his intention of
trying to earn, and trying to save. His brother ridiculed what he
termed his preposterous folly, and gave himself up to gayer fancies.
"If somebody would die, and leave me a handsome legacy!"--"We have
not a rich friend or relative in the world."--"Oh! but some rich
stranger! Such things have been:--why, pray, might it not happen
to me?"--"I am sure I don't know," said Paul quietly. "And then
Fanny, dear Fanny.--Heigho! for wedding favours! All should be right
then."--"But now--" said Paul. "Now!--ay--that's the evil--now--I can
do nothing."--"You mean, now you must do something, since fortune
seems not likely to do aught for you." The brothers paused, and
pondered. Clement suddenly started up: "I have it!--I have it!--I know
what must be done!--I have saved a little money--I will go and buy a
lottery ticket."--"Clement, my dear Clement, do nothing so unwise!"
said Paul earnestly, as he saw his brother prepare to go out. "Stay
me not, Paul!" exclaimed Clement vehemently, "unless you can suggest
wiser means."--"Any measure were wiser."--"I think not so. Let go
my arm."--"Brother, hear me but a moment."--"I have been listening
to you this hour, good Paul," cried Clement, rushing forwards. "But
what I would urge, was my father's dying exhortation." Clement stood
still, and looked attentive. Paul continued: "Do you not remember, as
we watched him during the last cruel night--do you not remember, he
said, 'Boys, depend upon your own exertions; harass not yourselves
with chances of fortune; nor rely on help from others.'"--"Yes, I
remember those words! I remember, too, he bade us succour our mother
and sisters."--"See you not, the last command is involved in the
first?"--"Say, rather, the last command supersedes every other."--"It
does; and therefore would I counsel you to do that which shall best
enable you to fulfil it."
Clement had a very warm heart, and a very clear head; but he had too
often indulged himself in yielding to the impulse of the moment, to
allow of much self-command. He was too apt to act first, and reflect
afterwards; and thus often prepared for himself many disappointments
and vexations. The brothers were twins. There subsisted between
them the similarity of persons and minds so frequent in those so
related. Paul had equally quick feeling, and healthy judgment. The
only perceptible difference was caused by his different mode of
self-management. Aware of his impetuous temper, he had habituated
himself to reflect before he acted.
Clement flew away to the Lottery office: Paul sat down to think. His
cogitations were long; for, alas! it was too true, that his situation
was humble, his power limited, his resources few; but he had health,
he had ability, he had energy; his case was not hopeless; and when
Clement returned to the apartment Paul had decided on his future plan
of conduct.
The bounding step, the flushed cheek, and bright eye, with which
Clement entered, shewed his commission had been accomplished. The
excitement was beyond pleasure, for it was agitation; and the doubt of
how far he had done well, came across his gay anticipation and somewhat
damped delight.
Paul was not one to give advice, when advice was too late; or to
boast of having warned when that warning had been neglected. He saw
the ticket, or rather quarter ticket, for they were just then at an
enormous premium the high prizes all undrawn, and the quarter had cost
ten pounds.
"The ten pounds--" "I had prepared for my mother's Christmas
gift, even so Paul; but now, perhaps, she will have ten
hundred."--"Perhaps?"--"Oh! my dear Paul, do not so needlessly, so
cruelly, damp my ardour!"--"I will not; you shall never again hear
a word from me on the subject."--"Thank you, brother."--"But my
mother must be prepared for the probable,--forgive me, Clement,--for
the possible non-arrival of her usual Christmas-box:--for, if you
cannot send yours, I certainly will not send mine."--"Generous Paul!
You would spare me all mortifying comparisons."--"My dear Clement,
we will both do the best we can; and I will tell you what are my
projects: to reduce my expenditure as much as I can; and to seek
more employment."--"Reduce your expenditure! My good brother, how
is that to be done? Our present system is abundantly modest."--"But
might be rendered more so."--"As how?"--"In a cheaper quarter, I
could obtain cheaper accommodation."--"We pay eighty pounds per annum
here; little enough for food and lodgement."--"Yes, but here we have
superfluities."--"Superfluities! In what may they consist?" exclaimed
Clement, laughing immoderately.
Paul, nothing daunted, replied:--"We have too good a table,--too good
a chamber--and one meal too much."--"Speak for yourself, Paul--not one
of these excesses do I feel."--"Well, then, I will speak for myself:
I will seek a humbler dwelling, a humbler board and do without our
last meal."--"Without tea! Oh! you Goth! 'tis the pleasantest of our
repasts. The bubbling urn, the blazing fire, the buttered toast, bright
glances and sunny smiles. Oh! Paul! I cannot give up our cheerful
tea parties."--"Pleasant, I grant you; but not necessary: and just
now, you know, we are cutting close."--"Close, with a vengeance,
when you cut out our tea and toast! And how many pence does your
honour calculate, these _shavings_,--I should say, _savings_, will
save?"--"Pounds, I should think."--"Try, my good fellow,--by all means,
try! For my part, I shall keep well here; follow the Italian motto--Sto
bene, sto qui."--"You are making a sad blunder about that oft repeated
epitaph."--"So I am: upon consideration, it is more likely to suit
you; for, now I remember, it may be versioned thus:--"I was well--I
desired to be better--and I am here," _alias_, in the church-yard--just
where you will be, Paul, if you follow up this starving labouring
system."--"I shall speak to my landlady, this very day."--"I do not
envy you the scene--she will be terribly angry, and you will look
horridly sheepish."--"Angry she may be; but is her anger to prevent me
doing what I ought to do?"--"Certainly not valiant Signor! But, as I
am a lover of peace and quietness, I beg to be excused seconding the
motion."
The landlady was terribly angry. Paul was regular in his
payments--orderly in his habits--gentlemanly in his manners. His
merits drew upon him the good woman's ire; and, certainly, he had no
pleasant scene with her. But steady and resolved, her warmth "passed
by him as the idle wind." He gave her all the dues of justice and
courtesy--proper warning and civil demeanour; and then, though she
continued to look offended, he paid her, and departed.
Clement, more governed by her violence than he cared to own, remained
in her house; and thus, for the first time in their lives, the
brothers dwelt apart.
Paul's new abode was sufficiently homely. A chamber so small, that,
by ingenious contrivance alone, could he store into it his few books,
his desk, his clothes. Furniture, of the simplest description;--a
bed, a table, a chair. A window looking upon roofs and chimneys; and
a dark narrow staircase, creaking beneath his feet. What were the
recommendations? Not cheapness only. No: Paul was not penny wise and
pound foolish. He knew, a respectable abode, and respectable hosts,
were necessary to his reputation. He principally chose his lodging,
because the worthy couple keeping it, had long been known to his family.
Their better rooms were permanently occupied; and the small apartment
he now engaged he had before deemed unfit. But his views were changed:
he knew his good hostess would conscientiously help him to economize;
and this being his great object, just then, he yielded up all personal
indulgence for its attainment.
It was attained:--Paul was surprised at the difference of his
expenditure. Excepting the tea, which he rigorously interdicted, he
lived as well as ever he had done, and for two-thirds the expense. He
laid his first month's charges before Clement. Clement only laughed at
the petty reduction. "Oh yes! I see you save a few pounds."--"Few! more
than twenty, Clement, in the year!"--"Well! and what is that? A mere
trifle towards two hundred."--"Yet something towards it."--"Yes; but
nothing to what my ticket may bring me."--"_May_ bring. Of _my_ money
I am assured."--"Well, well, my good fellow! follow your own plan;
I shall follow mine. We both aim at the same point, and we shall see
who attains it."--"But, my dear Clement--"--"Now, Paul, don't begin
preaching. I am as old and as fit as you to govern myself. I did not
come here for a lecture: I merely called to ask, if you would go to the
play to-night."--"To the play! You have silver tickets?"--"Yes, my boy!
silver tickets; for my shillings will purchase them."--"And how can you
be so extravagant?"--"I go very seldom--just into the pit--the expense
is nothing--and Drury Lane is my delight."
Paul looked grave--Clement laughed, or rather tried to laugh; for his
conscience was not quite at peace: it was therefore he had called, in
hopes his brother, by accompanying him, would have sanctioned, and
thereby pacified his secret remorse. He went to the play: thought of
his mother, and did not enjoy it: joined some gay associates, to drive
away thought: adjourned with them to an oyster shop: spent more money
than he cared to reckon, and returned home, tired, cross, and _minus_
seven shillings.
This did not happen often; but it happened often enough to draw from
Clement's purse some pounds in the course of the year. And then his
dress:--the coat in which Paul could appear at the office, would not
at all suit Clement in Drury Lane; so, one coat, at least, swelled his
taylor's bill for his theatrical beauism. We will say nothing of gloves
dirted, hats crushed, and umbrellas lost.
Paul sought in vain for extra employment. His evenings were so wholly
and uninterruptedly his own, that he could have effected much
business. He intimated his wish to all who were likely to assist
him.--No profitable occupation could be obtained. Clement, though sorry
for his brother's disappointment, could not, or more properly speaking,
would not resist taunting him with his false expectations. "Almost as
bad as my prizes, hey! Paul."--"Not quite," answered Paul.--"Your time,
however, has been equally wasted in delusive anticipation."--"Your
pardon, Clement. My leisure has not been entirely unprofitable. I
have studied book-keeping, and made myself master of the French
language."--"And what good can this do you?"--"They can do me no harm.
Knowledge of any kind can scarcely do harm; at least, my time has been
spent innocently in their acquirement." Clement blushed, and was
silent. Play tickets--concert tickets--oyster shops--rose before his
fancy; and he could not call his evenings innocently spent.
Three months elapsed, and Paul continued unsuccessful. But it is hardly
possible, even in this disappointing life, for patient perseverance
in well-doing, to pass utterly unregarded. Paul's regular and
earnest attention to his duties--his meritorious desire for farther
avocation--the motive for that desire; for he kept it no secret,--why
should he?--all these circumstances worked together eventually for his
good. A gentleman in his office--a government office--talked of wanting
an amanuensis, and Paul was recommended to him. When the accommodation
lay before him, it appeared (no rare occurrence) that the gentleman
found out he could do without an amanuensis. It was said the tiny word
_salary_ had effected, this magical change; and, certainly, of all the
causes that work miracles in this miraculous world, not one is perhaps
more pregnant of consequences than the meanest of them all--pounds,
shillings, and pence.
The gentleman, however, talked glibly of his amanuensis; and how much
the situation had been desired. "A young fellow--a gentlemanly young
fellow--in the office, would have been mighty glad of it."--"And you
engaged him?" observed one of his hearers.--"Why, no; I am so very
particular. I cannot get exactly what I want."--"Talents, industry,
integrity, and no pay!" whispered one who knew him well. The former
respondent turned to the whisperer, and from him obtained an account so
favourable to Paul, that he at once recommended him to an acquaintance
of his, just then seeking additional aid. Paul was cheered with the
prospect, spoke of it in all the buoyant hilarity of youth, and called
on the merchant with his letter of introduction. The merchant's partner
had, the night before, engaged an assistant! "Teazing disappointment!"
cried Paul.--"Like a blank in the lottery," archly observed
Clement.--"No," said Paul: "for even the disappointment may lead to
some favourable result."--"Teach patience! Very true, Paul."--"Even in
that, do good; but what I meant, was, that benevolent persons, hearing
of my wish and my disappointment, might be instructed how to serve
me."--"This earth being so loaded with good men!"--"There is a fair
sprinkling of them, among all classes."--"Of which I have had notable
proof. Do not be angry, Paul; but I have been doing all in my power to
borrow the two hundred pounds. Not a farthing can I obtain."--"How
should you, when you have no assurance of payment to offer!"--"But
were it never paid,--to a rich man, the paltry sum!"--"Fair and
softly, Clement! You talked of borrowing; and borrowing implies
repaying."--"Ah! you are a quiz, dear Paul, and ever will be; so, good
bye."
The merchant regretted the disappointment he had caused: he called
upon Paul--saw him at his studies,--called again, when he was not at
home, and heard traits of his character from his host and hostess.
He became interested, exerted himself,--obtained an engagement;--and
Paul, in the fourth month of his search, found himself installed in the
desired avocation. The remuneration was not large, but it was not to be
scorned; for eight months' close nightly study brought him in the sum
of fifty pounds.
"Fifty pounds, and as much more the amount of my savings!--Half the
desired sum! Ah! Fanny--ah! my dear mother!"
One twelvemonth had been passed in the laborious accumulation! But it
was accumulated! How much sweeter for the toil and self-denial it had
cost, let no one rashly measure. He who has tried and proved can _only_
know.
Next came the happiness, the exquisite happiness, of presenting the
money to the dear home circle. Paul was seated, lost in agreeable
reasonings, when Clement rushed into the room. "A prize! A prize!
Dear Paul, a prize!"--"Not before this?"--"Oh, I have bought and
sold, and exchanged: I cannot tell you the long story: and now it is
a prize."--"Of how much?"--"I know not. Talbot heard it announced
a prize; but will not tell me the amount. Come with me to the
office;--let us together hear the good news!"
They went to the office,--the ticket was a prize of--twenty pounds!
Clement burst into a fury of rage, and rushed forth, he knew not
whither. Paul hastened to follow, and pacify him. This was no
easy task. On the certain anticipation of a high prize, Clement
had indulged himself in countless petty luxuries. Dress,--public
amusements,--pleasures of the table. In a moment, he saw himself
hopeless and pennyless. He abused lotteries, and prizes,--cursed his
rash folly, and railed against all mankind. "I am the most unfortunate
dog in the world!--Never successful, even in a virtuous design!" He
paused not to consider if the means were as meritorious as the aim.
"Not even to help my poor mother, my dear sister, am I fortunate!
Luck, I see, goes by Fate,--I am not doomed to be lucky! Even this
detestable five pounds, so miserably gained, I owe to my tailor!"--"Be
thankful you have it for him!" said Paul. "The ticket might have been a
blank."--"I wish it had--and then the thing would have been complete."
Clement laughed bitterly.
By degrees, Paul succeeded in calming him; and, a few days afterwards,
gently suggested what he had collected, and proposed that the
money should be remitted in their joint names.--"No, no, no!"
Clement would permit no such arrangement. "Accept thanks he had not
earned,--impossible!"--"But, twins as we are, so alike in all points,
the act of one is the act of the other," argued Paul. Clement shook
his head. "Would that we were alike,--that we had been alike,--and
then, instead of one hundred pounds, we should have had two, for I
could have saved, earned as much as you."--"Perhaps you might not have
obtained a situation, as I luckily did," said Paul.--"Yes, I should: I
should have got something, had I persevered as you did."--"Come, come!"
said Paul; "there is no use in talking of the past, of what is quite
beyond recal. Let us turn our minds to the future. Next year, you can
pay me; so let me lend you fifty pounds now."--"Generous, ingenious
brother!" cried Clement; "I should not be worthy of your liberal
confidence, were I to accept it on such terms. No, Paul: this year, I
suffer rightly by my folly; next year, I will deserve a better fate."
Paul tried, but in vain, to alter this resolution; so it was settled
that he should himself take the money to his mother, and, in his own
name and Clement's, promise the advance of another hundred pounds next
year.
"In the mean while," said Clement, "I will commence my plan of
operations; and when you return to town, dear Paul, you shall find me
in your cheap house, toiling like a slave."
Paul's pleasure was much lessened by going home without his brother;
but he felt that this trip might be painful to Clement, as every
incident would remind him, that he _might_ have served, but had not
served, his family.
We will go with Paul to his mother's: it is pleasant to look upon
happiness, especially when it has been earned by virtue.
It was a dark and stormy night, when Paul drove into the inn-yard of
his native town. He jumped, however, lightly from his seat on the
coach-box, and, seizing his umbrella in one hand, and his carpet bag
in the other, he paced down the street. Nothing could be more
uncomfortable than the walk: a cold wind, a heavy rain, a muddy
path,--passengers jostling him, dogs barking at him, and posts
coming every moment in his way, as if they stood there on purpose to
teaze him. To not one of these plagues was Paul conscious: he saw
nothing,--felt nothing,--heard nothing. His mind was full and busy; a
smile was on his lips, and a thousand delightful thoughts possessed his
heart.
[Illustration:
_page 178._
_Paul & Clement._
_Pub^d. May 1, 1831, by J. Harris, S^t. Pauls Church Y^d._]
He reached his mother's humble door,--knocked,--entered! At once, an
universal hubbub arose: little Kitty was the first to discover him.
"Brother Paul! Brother Paul!" and she was in his arms, and clinging to
his neck, in an instant. Fanny, with a step scarcely less swift, sprang
forward, and was encircled by one arm, which he had disengaged from
Kitty. His mother put down her spectacles: "My son Paul! And Clement!
Ah! he is not with you!--What has happened to him?"--"Nothing, dearest
mother--nothing!--He is well and happy, and sends you a thousand
loves," said Paul, gently disengaging himself from his sisters, and
embracing his mother.--"You are sure!--quite sure he is safe and
well?"--"On my honour mother!"--"God be thanked; then I am quite
happy!" said the old lady, bursting into tears.
Who shall number the questions asked and answered,--the tender looks
and kisses interchanged--the exclamations, wonderings, and bursts of
thankings! "How well you look, my son!"--"And how fat and saucy!" said
Fanny.--"And how Fanny is grown! I never thought she would have been
so--pretty," said Paul archly, yet dropping his voice as he uttered
the last word. His mother thought "beautiful" would have suited her
Fanny better; and even that would not have half done justice to her
charms. "And am not I grown, brother?" said little Kitty, shoving
herself between her brother's knees, and holding up her head--"Am I not
very much grown and improved?"--"I do not know who is most charming,
and most dear to me!" cried Paul, fondly kissing the rosy child, and
placing her on his knee. "Do not plague him, Kitty, my dear!" said
her mother.--"Oh, love never plagues any body," said Kitty, pressing
herself closely to her brother.--"And I know who says, people can
never have enough of love--Mr. Frank Pelham,"--observed the child,
with a glance at her sister. Her mother frowned; and, sending Fanny
out of the room, to hasten tea, took Miss Kitty to task. "I told you,
Kitty, I would not allow you to name Frank Pelham every moment in
this way! But your brother's arms, I suppose, you think, will shelter
you now, say what you will." Paul certainly folded the offender as
if to shelter her from all harm; whilst he said: "And why, my dear
mother, is Frank's name interdicted, when once it was so familiar?
Has he displeased you?"--"Far from it, very far from it, Paul! His
conduct is all I could wish it to be; but there is so little prospect
of his ever being one of our family, that I think it right, for dear
Fanny's sake, to wean ourselves from him."--"Does he never visit
you?"--"Oftener than I could wish, Paul."--"And why may not some happy
chance--"--"Do not talk nonsense, my son! We ought never to depend
upon chance."--"True, mother. I ought to have said, why might not some
fortunate exertion--" His mother interrupted him: "My dear Paul, we
have already made every possible exertion,--I may say, every possible
sacrifice: but the sum is so large--two hundred pounds!"--"Is that
all that is required?" inquired Paul earnestly.--"All! And enough
too, I think," replied his mother, half astonished at what she deemed
his strange wilfulness. "Because I was thinking, my dear mother, that
perhaps some farther funds might be needed."--"For Fanny's outfit; and
their first establishment. Yes, a trifle would be wanted for these; but
(lowering her voice,) I have provided for these matters." As Paul was
about to speak, the old lady begged him to be silent, till he had heard
all she had to say. "You know, Frank's uncle more than half promised
to assist him. Well, for one whole year, he has gone on delaying and
demurring, and keeping us in a state of painful suspense. Last week,
the gentleman with whom Frank is to engage, declared he would wait
no longer; so, Frank's uncle was obliged to give an answer. It came
this morning, saying he was sorry, very sorry, and concerned; but
he could neither give nor lend a shilling."--"The wretched miser!"
exclaimed Paul. "Yes, miser indeed! and he rolling in wealth! But,
no matter; he can never enjoy one farthing of it, with so narrow a
mind."--"Well," said Paul, "there is one comfort always for the poor,
that what little they have, they spend, and thus enjoy."--"But, hush!
Not another word: here comes Fanny;" and the old lady began to prepare
her son's tea. Paul was longing to open his happy commission, but did
not know how: he had nothing but winks and whispers from his mother;
so he thought he would speak at her, as she would not let him speak to
her. "Clement and I," said he, as if half-speaking to himself,--"we
often amuse ourselves with building castles in the air; and fancying
all manner of wonders. We are always for being very rich, and having
plenty of money to spend and to give."--"I doubt not, you have money
enough to give away, in your fancyings," said his mother, pouring out
the milk.--"And then we always think what we would do, for our dear
folks at home."--"I dare say--poor fellows! Giving pounds, where you
have not pence," said the old lady, portioning out the sugar.--"And
yesterday, we drew out a paper. I will shew it to you," said Paul,
taking out his pocket-book.--"Not now, my dear boy, not now, filling
up our table with your conjuring papers! Don't you see, how small the
tray is! Bless the boy, how he is littering every place! Why, Paul,
you are upsetting the tea cups!"--"I beg your pardon, mother; I am
very sorry for the tea cups, but I just wanted to shew you this slip
of paper."--"Hieroglyphics, I suppose,--I dare say it is all very
clever, my dear, but I can neither see nor understand."--"Put on your
spectacles then dearest mother--pray do,--just to read this bit of
paper," continued the pertinacious Paul. "Now, Paul, don't be so very
disagreeable!--And you laughing at my telling you, that you are making
yourself disagreeable! Why child! what is the matter with you?--I never
saw you so before!"--"You never did, indeed, my dearest mother!" cried
Paul; "for you never before saw me so perfectly, perfectly happy!" And
his lip quivered, and his cheek flushed, and the tears stood in his
eyes.
The old lady put down the tea-pot and gazed upon her son. Fanny
snatched two papers from his hand, and read aloud their titles.
"A Bank of England note for one hundred pounds, and a promissory
note for one hundred pounds!"--"How obtained?" said the anxious
and conscientious mother. "Honestly,--every farthing honestly!"
cried Paul.--"Dearest mother! Rely always on the integrity of your
sons."--"And are these yours?" again asked the timid parent.--"No,--my
own dear mother, they are yours!" exclaimed Paul, throwing himself into
her arms.
THE END.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,
Dorset-street, Fleet-street.