A Happy Scamper ‘Round Sherborne Museum; Barnaby Rudge; and a Saxon Wanderer

Music

Hello, it's a very good sunny morning here in Sherbourne and I wonder how you are, it's

Thursday, Thursday before Easter and my daughter was born on Monday Thursday.

It's one of those things, Monday, Thursday, that's a child, you think, what are they trying

to say, Monday? What does it mean? And we normally go to some of the services but I'm

sure we're going to make many this year because everything's very busy and I've promised

I'm about to take you to the museum and show you around some of the items that we've got

there. I think the little town museums that are tucked away are really quite special even

if sometimes they just have, I didn't know, a few coins or Roman artefacts or it's just nice

to see things I think in real life and I think as you get older as well perhaps these things

just feel a bit more special and I'm walking down cheap streets so I always think to myself I'm

walking down the side of a hill and underneath us there's just a hill doing its own thing

and maybe one day it'll just return to what it naturally was and it's a beautiful lovely day.

I'll leave it at that for the moment and I'll see you in the museum. So I'm now in the first floor

of the, not the first floor, the ground floor of the abbey and it's where all the fossils are

and the Roman, Roman remnants and as always with these places there were two lovely ladies on

reception, they're just volunteers, they chat together, they enjoy their time and it's the kind of thing

what's my children have left home that I'll be volunteering to do. So we started with fossils and

let me tell you what we can see in front of me. It's right, we have Ammonite for me and for you

light, found in Sherbourne, lots of lovely fossils of Monasks, really lovely, I'm going to take

some photographs, there's one called a park in the Sonya, cut and polished to show the internal

structure, this extraordinary, it's like a snail shell but it's flattened and it's just amazing

to think as that are existing naturally. And now I'm going to take you to the Roman

desk and there are fragments of indented beaker, fragment of a flanged bowl coated with red slip,

fragment of color coated dish, box flew tile from the hyper-cost system and that was found

at a place called lengthy, which is in Sherbourne but it's probably three-quarters of a mile from the

centre, so a hyper-cost system found so close to here and then in the same location there was a

Roman roofing tile with a dog for print on it, so that's one fragment of stained mortar,

that says in that, what I've been finding in my garden, but you know, is mortar, mortar,

then we have mosaic tiles, a game found at lengthy, some coins found here, shows two short

soldiers either side of the military standards, animal bones, mainly sheep, poshry handles,

then we've got plaster, Roman plaster, remnant with thumbprint, flint nodules and microlythes,

poshry shirts with one shallow rim, and we have samionware, which is AD 80 to 89,

found so close to here, now that's wonderful, goodness, it's because wonderful engravings

on the outside of figures, it'd be wonderful to find that now,

there's a bronze belt buckle, which is perfect, it's just the, I mean,

belt buckles have not changed for two thousand years, I'll take a photo as you can see, you know,

just a little strap, there's the buckle, there's the hook going across, then the holes,

and then we've got a game of knuckle bones, and then a bronze key ring with a ring and

some key attached to it, they could go flat against your fingers, so all you do is bend your

knuckle, and then you can open a door, it's a shame in a way they didn't make use of that now,

and they also have a plan, a sort of sculpture of what, what is this, let me just

pause it, of course, it's the old castle, which of course I'll take you to, and you can see the entrance

to it by the river, by the river EO, and then a great big gate, a castle gate,

and that's the north gate, and the entrance through the barbacan, the barbacan's all around it,

and then on the inside, there's the great tower, the courtyard, and all the various gate houses,

there's now something called touching the past, it's a bit useful for you to open this little

cabinet of curiosters and handle the objects, what do you think they are, what stories are they

got to tell, that's lovely, obviously that's for children, so if I open it, I'm sure they don't mind

me doing it, it's a cute thing to do there, so it's got, I mean it's nice they trust you because

they wouldn't really be able to see it, it's because it's slipped one of these, so there's Victor,

can you hear me rummaging, and it's got Victorian old pennies, a little whistle,

yeah, probably belonged to a policeman, the initial G on it, so these all look like Victorian things,

that's front, a anything pipe, a beautiful pipe bowl,

some looks like some old plumbing pipes, a weight, the weights are lovely, I think as they feel so

nice in one's hand, and some keys, looks like a needle hook, not so hard, pretend so heavy enough,

I'll shut that up, and I'm going to go to the next floor, see what there is, actually I've missed

the beginnings, the analytic, do I like it, well of course the beginnings of the fossil, but there's

neolithic here stuff here, so there's neolithic pierced base of deer and antler, fragments of bronze

age, bronze age, food vessels, fragments of weaving cove for making cloth, probably bronze or iron age,

see what it says, to his lane excavation 2002, the site shows some of the most important

evidence for pottery production in the late Bronze Age during the 12th to the 11th centuries BC,

they found birthstone broken vessels and shirts with post holes interpreted as roundhouses,

there was also evidence for fuel and water sources and tools used in the pottery making process,

the site was occupied from the early Bronze Age to the 14th century,

very worked tools, beautiful, oh he remains of an infant one to three years old,

Bronze Age, Bronze Age infant,

old teaching, then the armlets, these are the armlets, and work to find polish these are indicative

of status, someone found in the outer port to post all of a hut, which may have been a special

deposit, they're likely to have been imported from the Kimmeridge beds 55 kilometers away,

sister evidence of long distance contact, very cute, and then there's a nearly thick polished

hand axe found at Bradford Abbas, and the nearly thick DIY kit, cross section of everyday tools

from two small hand axes, debates and scrapers, arra heads, all from Trent, while we know Trent,

don't we, that's the place I always go to and talk about, King Charles, there's also deliciously

fragment of a stone pillar from the parish church of all Hallows, once attached to the west end of

the abbey, nature traces of the original decoration, right I'm going to definitely take pictures of

the these things for you, so there's an ongoing Victorian looking notice here from the inhabitants of

the town of Sherbourne, Massachusetts, America, by its committee, and in Massachusetts they

shut, they spell Sherbourne without the e on the end, so SHER, B-O-R-N, let me read to you what it says,

to the town of Sherbourne, England from her American namesake, greeting our forefathers,

men of indomitable spirit and godfaring lineage, made their habitation in the wilderness

and with the home feeling strong within them, gave their new abode the ancient name of Sherbourne,

we their descendants have received with feeling pride, tidings of the forthcoming celebration of

the 1200th anniversary of the founding of the mother town, your glorious record of tradition

and memories of a thousand years, we deem our common heritage, we greet you on this memorable occasion

with a message of esteem and goodwill, trusting that the ties of a common blood and a common tongue

may, through the advancing ages, more closely bind town to town and nation to nation,

made a spirit that existed in the 8th century in Old England and that in the 17th century,

found echo in the wilds of new England, be an inspiration to all our lineage,

and may the coming years bring peace to all, peace, prosperity and happiness by the grace of

God who for 1200 years has cherished the people of some old homes on town, done pursuant to a vote

passed at the annual town meeting held, oh here we go, in March of March the 6th in the year of our

Lord, 1,900 and five, so that was just after Queen Victoria died, she died in 1981, so Edward the 7th

that would have been on the throne, George Chaffin printer Sherbourne, it's lovely isn't it,

by the inhabitants of the town of Sherbourne and Massachusetts, and there's some beautiful

clocks here and it says long case clocks Sherbourne had a strong and continuous tradition of clockmaking

although the fashion for long case clocks came late to Dorset, they were suited to the

lifestyle of the county and also the cheapest, the clock on the left was made around 1700

by Simon Aish who's business was in Ackerman Street, that's where near where I live,

he has a memorial stone in the abbey, the elder was made in the early 19th century by John Bishop

or John clockmaker Jola and so was my beautiful, I might take a picture of both of them,

and now there's a display about Dorset buttons, these were handmade from yarn originally wrapped around

a disc from a sheep horn, originated in Shaftesbury in the 1620s, we'll have to go to Shaftesbury

buttening became a major cottage industry in Dorset providing work for thousands of women and

children, but declined in the 1800s with the invention of Ashton's button making machine,

causing it to say misery and mass unemployment, types of button include the high top,

Dorset knob, Dorset might and singleton, they're very gorgeous, really attractive,

beautiful, then there's lots of information about glove making and there's the sort of advert for

seeker brothers wanting women to come to work for them and it says here gloveing is an ideal occupation

for women providing a source of income available throughout her life, and it says Sherbourne

and also at martyrs at Somerset, and I think you full football team are called the Glovers,

which would make sense, and now we come to do something about Thomas Hardy Sherbourne,

is named in Thomas Hardy's works as Sherton Abbas with his main thoroughfare and mortalised as sheep

street. His novel The Woodlanders, brackets 1887, is an intense evocation of the locality,

and you remember I read about all this, The Formerly Exeter, I think I did in November and December,

The Formerly Extensive Woodland, interspersed with orchards and the landscape of the white heart

veil, the life cycle of the impassive woods provides a pastoral and melancholic backdrop for the

converging destinies of the characters. Hardy depicts their livelihoods in great details such as

the cops work and cider making, using language to convey a dreamlike quality in contrast with

the harshness of rural existence. Quote, the outsterts of outskirts of the town were just now

abounding with apple gathering and the blue stagnant air of autumn, which hung over everything

was heavy, with a sweet, cidery smell, the abbey and other medieval buildings on this clear,

bright morning, having the linear distinctness of architectural drawings.

Sherbourne Castle features in Anna Lady Baxby a short story published in 1891

and set against the backdrop of the parliamentary siege during civil war,

the story explores the conflicting claims of familial and sexual love.

Maybe we should read that, I think that would be interesting, and then I could walk the walk

and take you round where the places where it features. Hardy took a great risk as an author

since he based the plot on his reading of an entry in Hutchins, history and antiquities

of the county of Dorset, which relates to the prominent Dickeby family.

Hardy was fascinated by rural customs and he lent his enthusiastic support

to the idea of Sherbourne's folk patterned, as expressed in the note he wrote to Herbert James

Seymour of Sherbourne, Urban District Council in 1904 as a letter here. What else?

The note had been written on morning paper after the recent death of Hardy's mother. Yes,

you can see it's the black line to paper. It's lovely, really nice.

What else have we got? There's lots of textiles, there are dresses, people used to wear.

It's funny when you see the 19th century and well yeah they're basically 19th century dresses here.

When you look close up they just look like something patched together and but they would have been

considered so wonderful and beautiful and it just shows how we take for granted the standards of

textiles that we have now. But the opposite is the case with men's dressing. I've just taken a

photograph from beautiful 18th century waistcoat that's absolutely stunning, stitched with corn

flowers, daisies and roses around a continuous, sinuous stem, really beautiful and

high-only wish men would have the courage to wear things like that now because they look so stunning.

All right, I'm going to end with the fairs information about the fairs and markets.

Thursday has been a market day in Sherbourne since at least 1280, an event considered to be one of

the most venerable institutions not to say the most lively and picturesque the town possesses.

A Tuesday market was also granted in 1300 but this fell out of favour. There is now also a weekly

Saturday market. From four original fairs three time honored traditions evolved, granted in 1240

by Henry III St Thomas's fair was a six day spectacular, focused on the feast day of 7th of July

known as the Green Fair. This was held near the former chapel of St Thomas the martyr at the top

of Green Hill. Yes, it used to be the top of Cheap Street where everything was centred and now it's

at the bottom. I guess it was at the top when at a time when there were still shambles and still

the bottom of Cheap Street would have been the noisiest and messiest and smelliest.

So that was abolished in 1888 and then since Sweden's fair which was granted to the vicaria

Sherbourne by Bishop Roger in the 11th and 12th century and occurred over five days around

the 15th of July and was also named the Gusbury Fair and held at a time when Gusbury's ripened

and stores were loaded with them for wine making. That fair continued to be held in the town

till the outbreak of the Second World War and the third one which is the only one which remains

is called Pack Monday Fair and I've been to many of these. It says it still joyously exists.

I mean they say that but it's a it's a dreadful fair and was associated with Abbott Ramzan 1475

to 1504. It was originally a Michael Mass Fair for the hiring of farmhands at the start of the

agricultural calendar and like its counterparts the sale of livestock it wasn't still remains

full of life and colour and heralded by rough music. So what they mean by that is the night before

people at about three in the morning a really noisy parade goes through Sherbourne waking

everybody up by banging tins and so on. There's more information about Pack Monday Fair.

Quote from fair to fair, from market to market, carry a thick to sell in horse packs and foot packs.

So this 16th century commentary refers to the hawkers and surely hints at the derivation of

the name Pack Monday. Ah yes, carry thick to sell in horse packs and foot packs as exemplified

in the figures of the peddler dolls. The word Pack from the middle English literally means a wrapped

bundle of goods for travelling a number of similar items of produce being sold together.

Also a group of people gathered in one place as in a pack of people or a person here we go

of dubious character. Peddlers were considered to be the original distributors of the produce

of the country, the first free traders. They were later required to pay an increasingly yearly

licence fee and this coupled with the opening up of travel through the railways forced the practice

of peddling to die away. The 1841 census listed 97 peddlers operating in Dorset. It's not that many

for the whole county. Traveling the county they sold small household goods and knicknacks to

isolated communities, important conduits of articles and ideas, both traditional and revolutionary

and maybe illegal. Women peddlers known as notion nannies, never heard of that, brought news and gossip

along with the goods as likely to tell you fortune or offer herbal remedies. It was a precarious

way for a woman with no references to avoid the workhouse. Her difference from mainstream society

was marked by her customary hingo, red cloak, a hint at magic and secrets, little red riding hood.

These peddlers were often stigmatised and met in a new parish with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

The headache sightment created by the anarchic arrival of peddlers and travellers

was a feature of Pac-Munday. One resident remember that the fair in 1930 was the highlight of the year,

half of Sherbourne folk taking part, village folk riding in on their bikes and several

hundred gypsies descending with their horses for sale. It was a good time for settling old grudges

and after the fair dozens of windows would be smashed and not many dustbin lids.

I'm sure it's the dustbin lids that they used to bang as well. A high spot was the fighting outside

the pubs afterwards and this is the quote. I can remember seeing two women going at it outside the

new inn, me and all my mates thought that was bloody marvelous. The police cells would be filled for

several days afterwards. Since the mid 1800s headlines in local papers have crowned worst fair

ever, either in terms of the bad weather, the quality of the livestock or the tordiness of the

peddler's goods, but the people still loved it. Another resident recently described the days

of one of reunion and gathering with friends and relatives coming from a fock cross the country

and meeting up in one of the local pubs. It's a very strange day. If you haven't experienced it,

you need to come to the Sherbourne pack fair. There's a kind of mad excitement about it. Really,

really odd. Lots of weird stuff goes on. That's what I can say. So I'm now back at home. What's

this on? Twenty-three minutes. I'm so sorry it's another late one. It's been usual,

but I'm so content because husband's been utterly kind tonight and despite the fact that he works

hard and we've got a lot of pressure on his time. He's not given me, but he's taken over the kind of

everything this evening, so I can sit up here and do some recording, which I really, really enjoy

doing. There's something about reading from beautiful books that's very therapeutic and so let's

continue. All right, it's 8.42, Thursday, morning, Thursday. I'm sitting upstairs. Everybody

else is busy downstairs, but it's quiet here. I've just got Mr. Cat. I've got the candle and I've

got my water and I've got you. So sit now quietly if you can or eyes if you can and let everything

fall away just for the next half an hour or even just five minutes. Imagine that you have

nothing to solve, no problem to fix. You've got nothing to do. No one needs anything from you

and I'm here just to make you and your life happier and more peaceful.

Early English poem The Wanderer, who liveeth alone, longeth for mercy,

makers mercy, though he must traverse tracts of sea, sick at heart, trouble with awe as ice

cold waters, the ways of exile, weird as set fast, thus spook such a grasshopper,

old griefs in his mind, cold slaughters, the death of dear Kinsman, alone am I driven each day

before daybreak to give my cares utterance, none are there now among the living to whom I dare to

clear it, clear me thoroughly, tell my heart's thought. To truly I know it is in a man,

no mean virtue that you keep close his heart's chest, hold his thought whole.

Think as he may, no weary mind may stand against weird nor may erect will work new hope,

wherefore most often these eager for fame bind the dark mood fast in their breasts.

Same as I also curb my mind, cut off from country, from kind far distant, by cares over warn.

Bind it in fetters, this since long ago the grounds shroud and wrapped my gold friend,

wretched I went thence, when to weary it over the waves bound, dreary I sought haul of a gold

giver, wherefore or near I might find him, who in mead hall might take heed of me,

furnish comfort to a friendless man, win me with cheer, he knows who makes trial how harsh

and bitter is care for companion to him, who had few friends to shield him,

track ever takeeth him, never the talked gold, not earthly glory, but cold hearts cave,

he mines him of hall-men of treasure-giving, how in his youth his gold friend gave him to feast,

fallen all this joy, he knows this who is forced to forego his lords,

his friends' councils to lack them for long, oft sorrow and sleep, banded together,

come to bind the lone outcast, he thinks in his heart, then, that he has his lord claspeth

and kisseth, and on knee layeth hand on head, as he had at other wiles in days now gone,

when he enjoyed the gift-store. Awakeneth after this friendless man,

seeeth before him, fallow waves, sea birds bathing, broading out feathers,

snow and hails swirl, whorfrost falling, then all the heavier his heart's wings,

soar for his loved lord, sorrow, freshens.

Remembered Kinsman, pressed through his mind, he singeth out gladly,

scanners eagerly, men from the same hearth, they swim away, sailors' ghosts spring,

not many known songs there, care grows fresh in him, who shall send forth too often,

overlocked waves, his weary spirit.

Therefore I may not think throughout this world, why cloud-cometh not on my mind,

when I think over all the life of Earl's, how at a stroke they have given up all

mood-proud thanes, so this middle earth, each of all days ageeth, and falleth.

Wherefore no man grows wise without he have his share of winters, a wise man holds out,

he is not too hot-headed, nor too hasty in speech, nor too weak a warrior,

not wanting in forethought, nor too greedy of goods, nor too glad, nor too mild, nor ever to

eager to boast, ere he knows all. A man should forbear boast-making until his fierce mind fully

knows which way his spleen shall expend itself. A wise man may grasp how ghastly it shall be

when all this world's wealth standeth waste, even as now in many places over the earth,

walls stand wind-beaten, hung with whore-frost, ruined habitations.

The wine-hauls crumble, their wielders lie bereft of bliss, the bandal fallen,

proud by the wall. Water-coff-some carried them on their course, hence, one a bird bore over the high

sea, one the whore wolf dealt to death, one his drear-cheeked earl stretched in an earth and trench.

The maker of men has so mad this dwelling that human laughter is not heard about it,

and idle stand, these old giant works. A man who, on these walls wisely looked who

sandered deeply on this dark life, would think back to the blood spilt here, way it in his wit,

his word would be this. Where is that horse now? Where are those men? Where is the horde

shareer? Where is the house of the feast? Where is the hall's uproar? A lass bright cup?

A lass-burnished fighter? A lass-proud prince? How that time has passed, dark under night's helm,

as though it had never been. Their stands in the stead of staunch thanes, a towering wall,

wrought with warm shapes, the earls are off-taken by the ash-speared point that thirsty weapon.

Their weird is glorious, storms break on the stone hillside, the ground bound by driving

sleet, winter's wroth, then oneness cometh, night's shade spreadeth, sendeth from north the rough

hail, to harry mankind. In the earth realm all is crossed, weird's will changes the world.

Wealth is lent us, friends are lent us, man is lent, kin is lent, all this earth's frame shall

stand empty. So speak the sage in his heart, he sat apart in thought, good is he who keeps faith,

nor should care too fast be out of a man's breast before he first know the cure. A warrior fights

on bravely, well it is for him who seeks forgiveness, the heavenly Father's solace in whom all

our fastness stands. And now we finish with this episode with Barnaby Rudge, Charles Dickens,

chapter 73. By this Friday night, for it was on Friday in the riot week that Emma and Dolly

were rescued by the timely aid of Joe and Edward Chester. The disturbances were entirely

quelled and peace and order were restored to the affrighted city. True, after what had happened,

it was impossible for any man to say how long this better state of things might last,

or how suddenly new outrage is exceeding even those so lately witnessed, Mike Burst fourth and

Philip streets with ruin and bloodshed. For this reason, those who had fled from the recent

tumult still kept at a distance and many families, here the two unable to procure the means of flight,

now availed themselves of the calm and withdrew into the country. The shops too, from Tyban to

Whitechapel, were still shut and very little business was transacted in any of the places of great

commercial resort, but notwithstanding and in spite of a melancholy foreboding of that numerous

class of society, who see with the greatest clearness into the darkest perspectives, the town

remained profoundly quiet. The strong military force disposed in every advantageous quarter and

stationed at every commanding point, held to scattered fragments of the mob in check.

The search, after rioters, was prosecuted with unrelenting vigor, and if there were any among them

so desperate and reckless as to be inclined after the terrible scenes they had beheld,

to venture forth again, they were so daunted by these resolute measures that they quickly shrunk

into their hiding places and had no thought but for their personal safety. In a word, the crowd

was utterly routed. Upwards of 200 had been shot dead in the streets, 250 more were lying badly

wounded in the hospitals of whom 70 or 80 died within a short time afterwards, 100 were already

in custody and more were taken every hour. How many perished in the conflagations or by their

own excesses is unknown, but that numbers found a terrible grave in the hot ashes of the flames

they had kindled, or crept into vaults and cellars to drink in secret, or to nurse their

sores and never saw the light again is certain. When the embers of the fires had been black and cold

for many weeks, the labourers spades proved this beyond a doubt. 72 private houses and four strong

jails were destroyed in the four great days of these riots. The total loss of property, as

estimated by the sufferers, was £155,000. At the lowest and least partial estimate of

disinterested persons, it exceeded £125,000. For this immense loss, compensation was soon

afterwards made out of the public purse in pursuance of a vote of the House of Commons,

the sum being levied on the various wards in the city, on the county and in the borough of Suddock.

Both Lord Mansfield and Lord Savile, however, who had been great sufferers,

refused to accept any compensation, whatever. The House of Commons, sitting on Tuesday with

locked and guarded doors, had passed a resolution to the effect that, as soon as the tumult subsided,

it would immediately proceed to consider the petitions presented for many of his Majesty's

Protestant subjects, and would take the same into its serious consideration.

While this question was under debate, Mr Herbert, one of the members present,

indignantly rose and called upon the House to observe that Lord George Gordon was then sitting

under the gallery with the blue cockade, the signal of rebellion in his hat. He was not only obliged by

those who sat near to take it out, but offering to go into the street to pacify the mob with

somewhat indefinite assurance that the House was prepared to give them the satisfaction they

sought, was actually held down in his seat by the combined force of several members. In short,

the disorder and violence which reigned triumphant out of doors penetrated into the Senate,

and there, as elsewhere, terror and alarm prevailed, and ordinary forms were for the time forgotten.

On the Thursday, both houses had adjourned until the following Monday, declaring it impossible

to pursue their deliberations with the necessary gravity and freedom while they were surrounded by

armed troops, and now that the rioters were dispersed, the citizens were beset with a new fear

for finding the public thoroughfares and all their usual places of resort, filled with soldiers

entrusted with the free use of fire and sword. They began to lend a greedy ear to the rumours

which were afloat of martial law being declared, and to dismal stories of prisoners having been

seen hanging on lampposts in cheap side and fleet street. These terrors being promptly

dispelled by a proclamation, declaring that all the rioters in custody would be tried by a

special commission in due course of law. A fresh alarm was engendered by its being whispered abroad

that French money had been found on some of the rioters, and that the disturbances had been

fermented by foreign powers, who sought to compass the overthrow and ruin of England.

It's always the French that were blamed in anything that happened.

This report, which was strengthened by the diffusion of anonymous handbills, but which,

if it had any foundation at all, probably owed its origin to the circumstance of a few

coins which were not English money, having been swept into the pockets of the insurgents,

with some other miscellaneous booty, and afterwards discovered on the prisoners or the dead bodies

caused a great sensation, and men's minds being in that excited state when they are most apt

to catch at any shadow of apprehension was brooted about with much industry. All remaining quiet,

however, during the whole of this Friday, and on this Friday night, and no new discoveries being

made, confidence began to be restored, and the most timid and desponding breathed again.

In southern, near fewer than 3,000 of the inhabitants formed themselves into a watch and patrolled

the streets every hour, nor were the citizens slow to follow, so good an example,

and it being the manner of peaceful men to be very bold when the danger is over,

they were abundantly fierce and daring, not scrupling to question the stoutest passenger

with the greatest severity, and carrying it out with a very high hand over all errand boys,

servant girls, and apprentices. As day deepened into the evening and darkness crept into the

nooks and corners of the town as if it were mustering in secret and gathering strength to venture

into the open ways, Barnaby sat in his dungeon, wondering at the silence and listening in vain

for the noise and outcry which had ushered in the night of late. Beside him with his hand in

hers, sat one in whose companionship he felt at peace. She was worn and altered, full of grief

and heavy-hearted, but the same to him. Mother, he said, after a long silence,

how long, how many days and nights shall I be kept here?

Not many dear, I hope not many. You hope I, but your hoping will not undo these chains,

I hope, but they don't mind that. Grip hopes, but who cares for grip?

The raven gave a short dull melancholy crook. It said, nobody as plainly as a crook could speak,

who cares for grip excepting you and me, said Barnaby, smoothing the birds rumpled feathers with his

hands. He never speaks in this place and he never says a word in jail. He sits and moaps all day in

this dark corner, dosing sometimes and sometimes looking at the light that creeps in through the bars.

And shines in his bright eyes if a spark from those great fires had fallen into the room and

was burning yet, but who cares for grip? The raven crook to gain, nobody.

And by the way, said Barnaby, withdrawing his hand from the bird and laying it upon his mother's arm

as he looked eagerly in her face. If they kill me, they may. I heard it said they would.

What becomes of grip when I am dead? The sound of the word or the current of his own thoughts

suggested to grip his old phrase, ever say die, but he stopped short in the middle of it,

drew a dismal cork and subsided into a faint crook, as if he lacked the heart to get through

the shortest sentence. Well, they take his life as well as mine, said Barnaby. I wish they would.

If you and I and he could die together, there would be none to feel sorry or to grieve for us,

but do what they will, I don't fear them, mother. They will not harm you, she said her tears

choking her utterance. They will never harm you when they know all. I am sure they never will.

Oh, don't you be too sure of that, Great Barnaby, with a strange pleasure in his belief

that she was self-deceived, and in his own sagacity? They have marked me, mother, from the first,

I heard them say so to each other when they brought me to this place last night, and I believe them.

Don't you cry for me, they said I was bold and so I am, and so I will be. You may think I am silly,

but I can die as well as any other. I have done no harm, have I?"

He added more quickly, none before heaven, she answered.

Why then, said Barnaby, let them do their worst? You told me once, you, when I asked you what

death meant, that it was nothing to be feared if we did no harm, harm, mother, you thought I'd

forgotten that. His merry laugh and playful manner smote her to the heart. She drew him closer to her,

and besought him to talk to her in whispers, and to be very quiet for it was getting dark,

and their time was short, and she would soon have to leave him for the night.

You'll come tomorrow, said Barnaby. Yes, and every day, and they would never part again.

He joyfully replied that this was well, and what he wished, and what he felt quite certain she

would tell him, and then he asked her where she had been so long, and why she had not come to see him

when he was a great soldier, and ran through the wild schemes he had had for there being rich and

living prosperously, and with some faint notion in his mind that she was sad, and he had made

her so, tried to console and comfort her, and talked of their former life and his old sports and

freedom, little dreaming that every word he uttered only increased her sorrow, and that her tears fell

faster at the fresh and recollection of their lost tranquility. Mother, said Barnaby, as they heard

the man approaching, so close to close the cells for the night. When I spoke to you just now about

my father, you cried, hush, and turned your head away. Why did you do so? Tell me why in a word?

You thought he was dead? You're not sorry that he is alive and has come back to us.

Where is he? Here. Do not ask anyone where he is, or speak about him. She made answer.

Oh, why not, said Barnaby, because he is a stern man and talks roughly? Well, I don't like him

or want to be with him by myself, but why not speak about him? Because I'm sorry that he is alive,

sorry that he has come back, and sorry that he and you have ever met. Because dear Barnaby,

the endeavor of my life has been to keep you to a sunder. Father and son are sunder. Why?

He has, she whispered in his ear. He has shed blood. The time has come where you must know it.

He has shed the blood of one who loved him well and trusted him and never did him any wrong in

word or deed. Barnaby recoiled in horror and glancing at his stained wrist, for an instant,

racked it, shuddering in his dress. But she added hastily as the key turned in the lock,

and although we shun him, he is your father, dearest, and I am his wretched wife.

They seek his life and he will lose it. It must not be by our means.

Nay, if we could win him back to penitence, we should be bound to love him yet.

Do not seem to know him except as one who fled with you from the jail, and if they question you

about him, do not answer them. God be with you through the night dear boy. God be with you.

She tore herself away and in a few seconds Barnaby was alone. He stood for a long time rooted

to the spot with his face hidden in his hands, then he flung himself sobbing upon his miserable bed.

But the moon came slowly up in all her gentle glory, and the stars looked out,

and through the small compass of the grated window, as all as though the narrow crevice of one good

deed in a murky life of guilt, the face of heaven shone bright and merciful. He raised his

head, gazed upward at the quiet sky, which seemed to smile upon the earth in sadness, as if the

night more thoughtful than the day looked down in sorrow on the sufferings and evil deeds of men,

and felt its peace sink deep into his heart. He, a poor idiot, caged in his narrow cell,

was as much lifted up to God while gazing on the mild light, as the freest and most favourite

man in all the spacious city, and in his ill-remembered prayer, and in the fragment of his childish hymn,

with which he sang and crooned himself asleep, their breathed as true a spirit, as ever studied,

homily expressed, or old cathedral arches echoed. As his mother crossed a yard on her way out,

she saw through a grated door which separated it from another court, her husband, walking round

with his hands folded on his breast, and his head hung down. She asked the man who conducted her,

if she might speak a word with this prisoner. Yes, but she must be quick for he was locking up

for the night, and there was but a minute or two to spare. Saying this he unlocked the door and

made her go in. It grated harshly as it turned upon the hinges, but he was deaf to the noise,

and still walked round and round the little court, without raising his head or changing his

attitude in the least. She spoke to him, but her voice was weak and failed her. At length she put

herself in his track, and when he came near, stretched out her hand, and touched him. He started

backwards trembling from head to foot, but seeing who it was demanded why she had come here.

Before she could reply, he spoke again. Am I to live or die? Do you do murder to or spare?

My son, our son, she answered, is in this prison. What is that to me? He cried,

stamping impatiently on the stone pavement. I know it. He can no more aid me than I can aid him.

If you are come to talk of him, be gone. As he spoke, he resumed his walk and hurried

around the court as before. When he came again to where she stood, he stopped and said,

Am I to live or die? Do you repent? Oh, do you, she answered, will you while time remains? Do

not believe that I could save you if I dared. Say if you would, he answered with an oath,

as you tried to disengage himself and pass on. Say if you would. Listen to me for one moment,

she returned, but for a moment. I am but newly risen from a sick bed from which I never hope to

rise again. The best among us think at such a time of good intentions half performed,

and duties left undone. If I have ever since that fatal night emitted to pray for your repentance

before death, if I emitted even then anything which might tend to urge it on,

when you the horror of your crime was fresh. If in our later meeting I yielded to the dread

that was upon me and forgot to fall upon my knees and solemnly adure you, in the name of him you

sent to his account with heaven to prepare for the retribution which must come and which is stealing

on you now. I humbly before you and in the agony of supplication in which you see me besiege that

you will let me make atonement. What is the meaning of your canting words? He answered roughly,

speak so I may understand you. I will, she answered. I desire to bear with me for a moment more.

The hand of him who set his curse on murder is heavy on us now. You cannot doubt it.

Our son, our innocent boy on whom his anger fell before his birth is in this place in peril of his

life, brought here by your guilt, yes by that alone as heaven sees and knows, for he has been

led astray in the darkness of his intellect, and that is a terrible consequence of your crime.

If you come woman like to load me with reproaches, he mattered again endeavouring to break away.

I do not. I have a different purpose. You must hear it. If not tonight, tomorrow, if not tomorrow at

another time, you must hear it. Husband escape is hopeless. Impossible. You tell me so do you.

He said raising his manacled hand and shaking it. You. Yes, she said with indescribable earnestness.

But why to make me easy in this jail, to make that time twist this and death pass pleasantly for my good

yes, for my good, of course, he said grinding his teeth and smiling at her with a livid face.

Not to load you with reproaches, she replied, not to aggravate your tortures and miseries of your

condition, not to give you one hard word but to restore you to peace and hope. Husband, dear,

husband, if you will but confess this dreaded crime, if you will but implore forgiveness of heaven,

and of those whom you have wronged on earth, if you will dismiss these vain uneasy thoughts,

which never can be realized and will rely on penitence and on the truth.

I promise you in the great name of creator whose image you have defaced and that he will comfort

and console you, and for myself, she cried, clasping her hands and looking upward. I swear before him

as he knows my heart and reads it now, that from that hour I will love you and cherish you as I

did of old, and watch you night and day in the short interval that will remain to us and

soothe you with my truest love and duty and pray with you that one threatening judgment may be

arrested and that our boy may be spared to bless God in his poor way in the free air and light.

He fell back and gazed at her while she poured out these words as though he were for a moment

awed by her manner, and you not want to do, but anger and fear soon got the mastery of him,

and he spurned her from him, be gone, he cried, leave me, you plot do you, you plot to get speech with me

and let them know I am the man, they say I am, a curse on you and your boy.

On him the curse has already fallen, she replied ringing her hands, let it fall heavier, let it fall

on one and all I hate you both. The worst has come to me, the only comfort that I seek or can have

will be the knowledge that it comes to you now go. She would have urged him gently even then,

but he menaced her with his chain, I say go and I say it for the last time, the gallows has me in

its grasp and it's a black phantom that may urge me on to something more, be gone, I curse the hour,

I was born, the man I slew and all the living world. In a paroxysm of wroth and terror and the fear

of death he broke from her and rushed into the darkness of his cell where he cast himself jangling

down on the stone floor and smote it with his eye in hands. The man returned to lock the dungeon door

and having done so carried her away. On that warm bar me night in June there were glad faces and

light hearts in all quarters of the town and sleep banished by the late horrors was doubly welcomed.

On that night families made merry in their houses and greeted each other on the common danger they

had escaped and those who had been denounced ventured into the streets and they who had been

plundered got good shelter. Even the timorous Lord Mayor who was summoned that night before the

privy council to answer for his conduct came back contented observing to all his friends

that he had got off very well with a reprimand and repeating with huge satisfaction his memorable

defence before the council that such was his temerity he thought death would have been his portion.

On that night two more of the scattered remnants of the mob were traced to their lurking places

and taken and in the hospitals and deep among the ruins they had made and in the ditches and the

fields many unshrouded wretches laid dead envied by those who had been active in the disturbances

and who pillowed their doomed heads in the temporary jails and in the tower in a dreary room whose thick

stain walls shut out the hum of life and made a stillness which the records left by former prisoners

with those silent witnesses seemed to deepen and intensify, remorseful for every act that had

been done by every man among the cruel crowd, feeling for the time their guilt his own and their

lives put in peril by himself and finding amid such reflections little comfort in fanaticism

or in his fancised cell sat the unhappy author of all, Lord George Gordon. He had been made

prisoner that evening. If you are sure it's me you want he said to the officer who waited outside

with the warrant for his arrest on a charge of high treason, I am ready to accompany you which

he did without resistance. He was conducted first before the privy council and afterwards to the

horse-guards and then was taken by way of Westminster Bridge and back over London Bridge for the

purpose of avoiding the main streets to the tower under the strongest guard ever known to enter

its gates with a single prisoner. Of all his 40,000 men not one remained to bear him company,

friends, dependents, followers, none were there. His forning secretary had played the traitor

and he whose weakness had been goaded and urged on by so many for their own purposes was desolate

and alone.