Night and Morning | Page 9

of person--wants a companion, and has a horror of
anything evangelical; wishes, therefore, to see you before he decides. If
you can meet me in London, some day next month, I'll present you to
him, and I have no doubt it will be settled. You must think it strange I
never wrote to you since we parted, but you know I never was a very
good correspondent; and as I had nothing to communicate
advantageous to you I thought it a sort of insult to enlarge on my own
happiness, and so forth. All I shall say on that score is, that I've sown
my wild oats; and that you may take my word for it, there's nothing that
can make a man know how large, the heart is, and how little the world,
till he comes home (perhaps after a hard day's hunting) and sees his
own fireside, and hears one dear welcome; and--oh, by the way, Caleb,
if you could but see my boy, the sturdiest little rogue! But enough of
this. All that vexes me is, that I've never yet been able to declare my
marriage: my uncle, however, suspects nothing: my wife bears up
against all, like an angel as she is; still, in case of any accident, it
occurs to me, now I'm writing to you, especially if you leave the place,
that it may be as well to send me an examined copy of the register. In
those remote places registers are often lost or mislaid; and it may be
useful hereafter, when I proclaim the marriage, to clear up all doubt as
to the fact. "Good-bye, old fellow, "Yours most truly, &c., &c."
"It comes too late," sighed Caleb, heavily; and the letter fell from his
hands. There was a long pause. "Close the shutters," said the sick man,
at last; "I think I could sleep: and--and--pick up that letter."
With a trembling, but eager gripe, he seized the paper, as a miser would

seize the deeds of an estate on which he has a mortgage. He smoothed
the folds, looked complacently at the well-known hand, smiled--a
ghastly smile! and then placed the letter under his pillow, and sank
down; they left him alone. He did not wake for some hours, and that
good clergyman, poor as himself, was again at his post. The only
friendships that are really with us in the hour of need are those which
are cemented by equality of circumstance. In the depth of home, in the
hour of tribulation, by the bed of death, the rich and the poor are
seldom found side by side. Caleb was evidently much feebler; but his
sense seemed clearer than it had been, and the instincts of his native
kindness were the last that left him. "There is something he wants me
do for him," he muttered.
"Ah! I remember: Jones, will you send for the parish register? It is
somewhere in the vestry-room, I think--but nothing's kept properly.
Better go yourself--'tis important."
Mr. Jones nodded, and sallied forth. The register was not in the vestry;
the church-wardens knew nothing about it; the clerk--a new clerk, who
was also the sexton, and rather a wild fellow--had gone ten miles off to
a wedding: every place was searched; till, at last, the book was found,
amidst a heap of old magazines and dusty papers, in the parlour of
Caleb himself. By the time it was brought to him, the sufferer was fast
declining; with some difficulty his dim eye discovered the place where,
amidst the clumsy pothooks of the parishioners, the large clear hand of
the old friend, and the trembling characters of the bride, looked forth,
distinguished.
"Extract this for me, will you?" said Caleb. Mr. Jones obeyed.
"Now, just write above the extract:
"'Sir,--By Mr. Price's desire I send you the inclosed. He is too ill to
write himself. But he bids me say that he has never been quite the same
man since you left him; and that, if he should not get well again, still
your kind letter has made him easier in his mind."
Caleb stopped.
"Go on."
"That is all I have to say: sign your name, and put the address--here it is.
Ah, the letter," he muttered, "must not lie about! If anything happens to
me, it may get him into trouble."
And as Mr. Jones sealed his communication, Caleb feebly stretched his

wan hand, held the letter which had "come too late" over the flame of
the candle. As the blazing paper dropped on the carpetless floor, Mr.
Jones prudently set thereon the broad sole of his top-boot, and the
maidservant brushed the tinder into the grate.
"Ah, trample it out:--hurry it amongst the ashes. The last as the rest,"
said Caleb, hoarsely. "Friendship, fortune, hope,