of trade have come almost to a standstill; whole populations have been thrown out of employment; of pauperism and destitution the history since the beginning of the second half of the century has been alarming. Whether we are to look for the causes of these misfortunes in what came before or in what was initiated after the commencement of this period is a question that wants answering. It is to be hoped that the detailed official report of the census will help us to solve the problem. No useful purpose can be served by analysing the additions to the unaccredited returns which have been made since May, but two or three errors which crept into the "Approximate Results" ought to be noted. "Ashton,” in the list of large towns on page 103 of the June number, should be Aston." The population of Stourbridge, given correctly on the same page for 1851, was set down at very much too high a figure for 1861 and 1871, the returns for the Stourbridge Union in those cases being mistaken for those of the township. The Worcester census, on page 106, indicated a small decrease in the population of the city, owing to an omission in the local newspaper reports of the number of inhabitants of that part of the city belonging to the Union of Clains. The figures for that district were included for 1861, but omitted for 1871; when the error is corrected Worcester shows a small increase of population.

ALMOST too late for a word of notice this month comes the official return, laid before Parliament on the "longest day," of the gross population of the United Kingdom-31,465,480; England and Wales, 22,704, 108. As in London, so in the whole country, the increase is absolutely, but not relatively, greater than in any previous ten years. The increase in England and Wales is 2,637,884, or about six times that of the metropolis, while the actual population of England and Wales is seven times that of London.

THE

GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE

AUGUST, 1871.

THE VALLEY OF POPPIES. BY THE AUTHOR OF "CHRISTOPHER KENRICK" AND "THE TALLANTS OF BARTON."

CHAPTER XI.

FOOL'S BELLS AND CATHEDRAL CHIMES.

TRANGE are the freaks of

memory; stranger still is Fortune's wild caprice.

Our lives are made up of sublimity and common place. Folly and Satire go hand in hand with Dignity and Beauty. Nox had for her sons Discord, Death, and Momus. The latter accused Venus of a want of grace. The jingle of the fool's cap breaks upon the Cathedral chimes. Comedy alternates with tragedy. Even in the valley there are feasts as well as funerals. My sober thoughts were interrupted the other day

by a Punch and Judy show. There never was a more incongruous picture than the showman with his pipes and drum, standing in the shadow of this old parsonage. I looked up from my desk and smiled ironically to see Momus in the regions of Nox, pelting the Dreams with jokes. A small crowd of gaping villagers gathered round the VOL. VII., N.S. 1871.

S

show. I laid aside my pen for a while. The sound of the drum and Punch's squeaking voice struck me as not an unworthy prelude to the eleventh chapter of this story of my earthly wanderings.

On the day following the pic-nic on the Wulstan river I accepted an invitation to pay Mr. Pensax a visit.

"Come and see me come now," said Mr. Pensax, in his falsetto voice, and looking at everybody else in the street but me to whom he was speaking.

I had a little curiosity to gratify in a visit to Mr. Pensax's house. There were many curious stories extant about the peculiar collection of humanity which was to be seen there. It was one of the

mysteries of Wulstan, Pensax's house. People said Pensax starved himself in order to save money. But his housekeeper was a fat, buxom woman, and his friends always put her in front of their replies to these calumnies. Moreover, he was a benevolent man so far as public charities might testify to his generosity; and if he did pinch and save, his money was laudably spent. Besides, had not the good Dean of Wulstan taken him up, and was not that sufficient to put down all calumniators? These were the observations made for and against Mr. Pensax, who counted friends and enemies by the score. "Thank you, Mr. Pensax," I said, after a little hesitation. "Now-will you come now?" he asked.

"Yes, with pleasure."

"Shall we walk or hire a fly?—it will cost us half-a-crown to ride." "Let us walk, by all means," I said.

"Yes, that's right. I never like wasting money; I always feel when I do so that I am robbing the poor."

"A generous feeling, Mr. Pensax," I said.

"Some people think I am not at all generous, Mr. Himbleton; but they shall see. There's that Mr. Molineau - you know him-he is one of them. You have heard him."

"I never heard him say so, Mr. Pensax."

"No, he's too careful; but he thinks so. I am one of the kindest men in the world, Mr. Himbleton; if you knew me well, you would say so."

"You have the good opinion of the Dean and Miss Oswald," I said, "and that is a patent of nobility."

"Yes, yes," replied Pensax, as if he put the Dean and Miss Oswald aside in his thoughts. "I only wish Wulstan would get a correct opinion of me. I think it will; I want to stand well with Wulstan, you know."

"Yes?" I responded interrogatively.

"I've just given them some schools-cost me seven thousand pounds. It's a deal of money, a deal of money, isn't it, eh? What do you think of seven thousand pounds ?"

"I think it is, as you say, a deal of money."

"What do you think of twenty thousand, eh, Mr. Himbleton? They'll think well of me after that, I should imagine. I am going to build a hospital. Peter Trigg, my clerk, is preparing the letter to the paper now."

Mr. Pensax looked at me to note the effect of this revelationlooked at me for the first time during this conversation.

"Yes, I should think so. Now look here, Mr. Himbleton; you are one of those persons who can write well, you know; when you see the announcement made in the paper I wish you would write a letter to the editor and say what a grand thing it is, you know; and what a generous, charitable man Mr. Pensax is. Will you, eh?"

"I shall be glad to serve you, Mr. Pensax,” I said, not knowing how otherwise to reply to his proposition.

"Yes, I know. You shan't lose anything by it. I was a poor man once-now I'm rich. Nobody knows how much I have-they will some day. I am no common man, Mr. Himbleton. What do you think I shall be before I die? Member of Parliament for Wulstan. Yes, and more than that, you'll see. Everybody as helps me shall be rewarded. I know what I am about, Mr. Himbleton ; and I am so generous, sir, so charitable, that I am giving away money every minute. Tell them that, if you hear them say anything, Mr. Himbleton; just tell them that. They'll believe you and your father, because you are simple folk, and not in business, you know. They'll be calling me 'Charitable Pensax' next, I dare say."

While thus addressing himself to me, Mr. Pensax seemed to be directing his attention to the clouds and the pavement alternately. He chuckled slightly at the idea of being called 'Charitable Pensax,' and rubbed his hands. I thought of what Desprey had said when I parted with him, and wondered for a moment at the marvellous truthfulness of his prophecy.

"What are you thinking about, Mr. Himbleton? Thinking that I don't mean what I say? I do. More than that—you don't know what a present I'm going to give you when you are married." "You are very kind,” I said.

"Yes, that's just what I want you always to be saying. Mr. Pensax is very kind-that's it. Mr. Pensax is very charitable, Mr.

Pensax is a philanthropist—that's it, Mr. Himbleton; I'll make it worth your while."

I made no reply. I began to feel an overpowering contempt for Mr. Pensax. It was well that we reached his house before some hostile remark had escaped me to make our walk disagreeable.

"Ah, here we are, sir; this is my house. Wait a little, Mr. Himbleton, and you shall come to see me in a Hall, sir. Yes, in a Hall. I'm the owner of one--a real Hall, a grand county house, sir."

While he was addressing me he knocked twice at a heavy door, upon which the paint had risen in blisters. It was a hard, grim, prison-like door, the entrance of an old-fashioned brick house, standing alone in the middle of an untended garden. A slip-shod, blear-eyed, half-crazy looking boy opened the door.

"Come along," said Mr. Pensax, utterly regardless of the ragged boy, or the ragged mat upon which he stood. "Come along; no ceremony here, as there is at the Dean's. I'm a plain man."

I followed him into a room where the cloth was laid for luncheon or dinner, and where that little sweltering housekeeper whom I have previously mentioned was busily engaged in preparing for the forthcoming meal.

"Mrs. Trigg, I have brought Mr. Himbleton, junior, to have some dinner. We dine very early, you know, Mr. Himbleton."

"Your servant, sir," said Mrs. Trigg, making a low curtsey. "I am very glad to see you."

Mrs. Trigg was about forty-five-a round, greasy-looking person, with a large head, and a cluster of curls on each side of her face. It is strange, after so many years, that the short, stumpy figure of Mrs. Trigg should come before me so perfectly. The witches in Macbeth did not show the Thane of Cawdor more complete representations than I conjure up at times from my own memory. Mrs. Trigg was not over five feet two in height, and she looked as broad as she was long. It was a cunning face on a large scale. There were the remains of a rather nice-looking girl in it, but the nice-looking girl had been so overgrown with fat and so eaten up with conceit and worldliness that you only caught mere indications of what had been. Mrs. Trigg suffered from other excrescences besides fat; she had warts, like Oliver Cromwell, and one of them insisted upon perching itself upon her nose, which gave that organ a particularly knowing appearance. had a pretty, small hand. Her foot was, no doubt, small too. bably that accounted for her walking sideways, like a crab.

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