Shirley. Brontë Charlotte

of falsehood; neither was he the slave of his appetites. The active life to which he had been born and bred had given him something else to do than to join the futile chase of the pleasure-hunter. He was a man undegraded, the disciple of reason, not the votary of sense. The same might be said of old Helstone. Neither of these two would look, think, or speak a lie; for neither of them had the wretched black bottle, which had just been put away, any charms. Both might boast a valid claim to the proud title of "lord of the creation," for no animal vice was lord of them; they looked and were superior beings to poor Sykes.

      A sort of gathering and trampling sound was heard in the yard, and then a pause. Moore walked to the window; Helstone followed. Both stood on one side, the tall junior behind the under-sized senior, looking forth carefully, so that they might not be visible from without. Their sole comment on what they saw was a cynical smile flashed into each other's stern eyes.

      A flourishing oratorical cough was now heard, followed by the interjection "Whisht!" designed, as it seemed, to still the hum of several voices. Moore opened his casement an inch or two to admit sound more freely.

      "Joseph Scott," began a snuffling voice – Scott was standing sentinel at the counting-house door – "might we inquire if your master be within, and is to be spoken to?"

      "He's within, ay," said Joe nonchalantly.

      "Would you then, if you please" (emphasis on "you"), "have the goodness to tell him that twelve gentlemen wants to see him."

      "He'd happen ax what for," suggested Joe. "I mught as weel tell him that at t' same time."

      "For a purpose," was the answer. Joe entered.

      "Please, sir, there's twelve gentlemen wants to see ye, 'for a purpose.'"

      "Good, Joe; I'm their man. – Sugden, come when I whistle."

      Moore went out, chuckling dryly. He advanced into the yard, one hand in his pocket, the other in his waistcoat, his cap brim over his eyes, shading in some measure their deep dancing ray of scorn. Twelve men waited in the yard, some in their shirt-sleeves, some in blue aprons. Two figured conspicuously in the van of the party. One, a little dapper strutting man with a turned-up nose; the other a broad-shouldered fellow, distinguished no less by his demure face and cat like, trustless eyes than by a wooden leg and stout crutch. There was a kind of leer about his lips; he seemed laughing in his sleeve at some person or thing; his whole air was anything but that of a true man.

      "Good-morning, Mr. Barraclough," said Moore debonairly, for him.

      "Peace be unto you!" was the answer, Mr. Barraclough entirely closing his naturally half-shut eyes as he delivered it.

      "I'm obliged to you. Peace is an excellent thing; there's nothing I more wish for myself. But that is not all you have to say to me, I suppose? I imagine peace is not your purpose?"

      "As to our purpose," began Barraclough, "it's one that may sound strange and perhaps foolish to ears like yours, for the childer of this world is wiser in their generation than the childer of light."

      "To the point, if you please, and let me hear what it is."

      "Ye'se hear, sir. If I cannot get it off, there's eleven behint can help me. It is a grand purpose, and" (changing his voice from a half-sneer to a whine) "it's the Looard's own purpose, and that's better."

      "Do you want a subscription to a new Ranter's chapel, Mr. Barraclough? Unless your errand be something of that sort, I cannot see what you have to do with it."

      "I hadn't that duty on my mind, sir; but as Providence has led ye to mention the subject, I'll make it i' my way to tak ony trifle ye may have to spare; the smallest contribution will be acceptable."

      With that he doffed his hat, and held it out as a begging-box, a brazen grin at the same time crossing his countenance.

      "If I gave you sixpence you would drink it."

      Barraclough uplifted the palms of his hands and the whites of his eyes, evincing in the gesture a mere burlesque of hypocrisy.

      "You seem a fine fellow," said Moore, quite coolly and dryly; "you don't care for showing me that you are a double-dyed hypocrite, that your trade is fraud. You expect indeed to make me laugh at the cleverness with which you play your coarsely farcical part, while at the same time you think you are deceiving the men behind you."

      Moses' countenance lowered. He saw he had gone too far. He was going to answer, when the second leader, impatient of being hitherto kept in the background, stepped forward. This man did not look like a traitor, though he had an exceedingly self-confident and conceited air.

      "Mr. Moore," commenced he, speaking also in his throat and nose, and enunciating each word very slowly, as if with a view to giving his audience time to appreciate fully the uncommon elegance of the phraseology, "it might, perhaps, justly be said that reason rather than peace is our purpose. We come, in the first place, to request you to hear reason; and should you refuse, it is my duty to warn you, in very decided terms, that measures will be had resort to" (he meant recourse) "which will probably terminate in – in bringing you to a sense of the unwisdom, of the – the foolishness which seems to guide and guard your proceedings as a tradesman in this manufacturing part of the country. Hem! Sir, I would beg to allude that as a furriner, coming from a distant coast, another quarter and hemisphere of this globe, thrown, as I may say, a perfect outcast on these shores – the cliffs of Albion – you have not that understanding of huz and wer ways which might conduce to the benefit of the working-classes. If, to come at once to partic'lars, you'd consider to give up this here miln, and go without further protractions straight home to where you belong, it 'ud happen be as well. I can see naught ageean such a plan. – What hev ye to say tull't, lads?" turning round to the other members of the deputation, who responded unanimously, "Hear, hear!"

      "Brayvo, Noah o' Tim's!" murmured Joe Scott, who stood behind Mr. Moore. "Moses'll niver beat that. Cliffs o' Albion, and t' other hemisphere! My certy! Did ye come fro' th' Antarctic Zone, maister? Moses is dished."

      Moses, however, refused to be dished. He thought he would try again. Casting a somewhat ireful glance at "Noah o' Tim's," he launched out in his turn; and now he spoke in a serious tone, relinquishing the sarcasm which he found had not answered.

      "Or iver you set up the pole o' your tent amang us, Mr. Moore, we lived i' peace and quietness – yea, I may say, in all loving-kindness. I am not myself an aged person as yet, but I can remember as far back as maybe some twenty year, when hand-labour were encouraged and respected, and no mischief-maker had ventured to introduce these here machines which is so pernicious. Now, I'm not a cloth-dresser myself, but by trade a tailor. Howsiver, my heart is of a softish nature. I'm a very feeling man, and when I see my brethren oppressed, like my great namesake of old, I stand up for 'em; for which intent I this day speak with you face to face, and advises you to part wi' your infernal machinery, and tak on more hands."

      "What if I don't follow your advice, Mr. Barraclough?"

      "The Looard pardon you! The Looard soften your heart, sir!"

      "Are you in connection with the Wesleyans now, Mr. Barraclough?"

      "Praise God! Bless His name! I'm a joined Methody!"

      "Which in no respect prevents you from being at the same time a drunkard and a swindler. I saw you one night a week ago laid dead-drunk by the roadside, as I returned from Stilbro' market; and while you preach peace, you make it the business of your life to stir up dissension. You no more sympathize with the poor who are in distress than you sympathize with me. You incite them to outrage for bad purposes of your own; so does the individual called Noah of Tim's. You two are restless, meddling, impudent scoundrels, whose chief motive-principle is a selfish ambition, as dangerous as it is puerile. The persons behind you are some of them honest though misguided men; but you two I count altogether bad."

      Barraclough was going to speak.

      "Silence! You have had your say, and now I will have mine. As to being dictated to by you, or any Jack, Jem, or Jonathan on earth, I shall not suffer it for a moment. You desire me to quit the country; you request me to part with my machinery. In case I refuse, you threaten me. I do refuse – point-blank! Here I stay, and by this mill I stand,