Owen Hartley; or, Ups and Downs - A Tale of Land and Sea

William Henry Giles Kingston

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• Publié par: uslou
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 44
• Langue: English

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Owen Hartley; or, Ups and Downs, by
William H. G. Kingston
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Title: Owen Hartley; or, Ups and Downs
A Tale of Land and Sea
Author: William H. G. Kingston
Illustrator: M. Stretch
Release Date: February 3, 2008 [EBook #24502]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OWEN HARTLEY; OR, UPS AND DOWNS ***
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
William H G Kingston
"Owen Hartley; or, Ups and Downs"
Chapter One.
“Well, boy, what do you want?”
These words were uttered in a no pleasant tone by an old gentleman with a
brownish complexion, a yellowish brown scratch wig, somewhat awry, a
decidedly brown coat, breeches, and waistcoat, a neckcloth, once white, but now
partaking of the sombre hue of his other garments; brown stockings and
brownish shoes, ornamented by a pair of silver buckles, the last-mentioned
articles being the only part of his costume on which the eye could rest with
satisfaction.
On his lap was placed a pocket handkerchief, of a nondescript tint, brown,
predominating, in consequence of its frequent application to a longish nose,
made the recipient of huge quantities of snuff. Altogether there was a dry,
withered-leaf-like look about the old man which was not prepossessing. His little
grey eyes were sunk deeply in his head, his sight being aided by a large pair of
tortoiseshell spectacles, which he had now shoved up over his forehead.
He was seated on a high stool at a desk in a little back dingy office, powerfully
redolent of odours nautical and unsavoury, emanating from coils of rope, casksof salt butter, herrings, Dutch cheese, whale oil, and similar unaromatic articles
of commerce. It was in that region made classical by Dibdin—Wapping. The back
office in which the old gentleman sat opened out of one of much larger
proportions, though equally dull and dingy, full of clerks, old and young, on high
stools, busily moving their pens, or rapidly casting up accounts—evidence that no
idleness was allowed in the establishment. On one side was a warehouse, in
which large quantities of the above named and similar ship’s stores were
collected. In front was a shop, the ceiling hung with tallow candles, brushes,
mats, iron pots, and other things more useful than ornamental. From one end to
the other of it ran a long, dark-coloured counter, behind which stood a man in a
brown apron, and sleeves tucked up, ready to serve out, in small quantities, tea,
sugar, coffee, tallow candles, brushes, twine, tin kettles, and the pots which hung
over his head, within reach of a long stick, placed ready for detaching them from
the hooks on which they were suspended. In the windows, and on the walls
outside, were large placards in red and black letters, announcing the sailing of
various ships of wonderful sea qualities, and admirable accommodation for
passengers, with a statement that further information would be afforded within.
“Speak, boy; what do you want?” repeated the old gentleman, in a testy and still
harsher tone than before, as he turned round on his stool with an angry glance
under his spectacles. “Eh?”
The person he addressed was a fair complexioned boy, about twelve years old,
with large blue eyes, and brown hair in wavey curls, a broad forehead, and an
open, frank, intelligent countenance. He was dressed in a jacket and trousers of
black cloth, not over well made perhaps, nor fresh looking, although they did not
spoil his figure; his broad shirt collar turned back and fastened by a ribbon
showed to advantage his neck and well-set-on head. It would have been difficult
to find two people offering a greater contrast than the old man and the boy.
“Please, sir,” answered the latter, with considerable hesitation, “Farmer Rowe
wished me to come here to see you, as he hopes—”
“And who in the name of wonder is Farmer Rowe, and who are you?” exclaimed
the old gentleman, kicking his heels against the leg of the stool.
Before the boy could find words to go on with what he was saying, or could check
the choking sensation which rose in his throat, a clerk, the counterpart of his
master, in respect of dinginess and snuffiness, entered with a handful of papers
which required signing, and a huge folio under his arm. As, in the eyes of the old
gentleman, his business was of far more consequence than any matter which
could be connected with that pale-faced, gentle boy in the threadbare suit, he
turned round to the desk, and applied himself to the papers, as his clerk handed
them to him in succession.
The boy was, in the meantime, left unnoticed to his own reflections. While the old
gentleman was absorbed in the folio, the clerk gave a glance round at the young
stranger, and the expression conveyed in that glance did not add pleasantness to
the lad’s feelings, as he stood clutching his crape-bound hat. Leaving the two old
men engaged in their books and papers, a fuller account must be given of the
boy than he was likely to afford of himself.
Some thirty years before the period at which this history commences a young
gentleman, Owen Hartley, who was pursuing his academical course with credit,
preparatory to entering the ministry, fell in love during a long vacation with a
well-educated young lady of respectable position in life, if not of birth equal to
his. She returned his affection, and it was agreed that they should marry when
he could obtain a living. Being ordained, he was appointed to a curacy of 50
pounds a year, in which post he faithfully discharged his duty, expecting to obtain
the wished-for incumbency. Susan Walford existed on the same hope, but year
after year passed by, and she grew pale, and even his spirits sometimes sank,after year passed by, and she grew pale, and even his spirits sometimes sank,
when the realisation of their expectations seemed likely to be indefinitely
deferred. At length, however, he obtained a living. It was one no person, except
in his circumstances, would have taken. No wonder; it was among the fens of
Lincolnshire, and, after certain deductions, scarcely produced a hundred a year.
Still it was a living, and a certainty. At the same time Susan received a legacy. It
made their hearts very grateful; although the amount was small, yet, in their
eyes, it seemed magnificent, a clear 350 pounds. To be sure, 300 pounds would
produce only 12 pounds a year when invested, still, that was something added to
a hundred.
The extra fifty was retained for furnishing the vicarage. Ten years they had
waited patiently, now they were married, and were contented and happy. They
did not live for themselves alone, but to be a blessing to all around them. True,
they could not give money, but Owen gave Gospel truths, simple and without
stint; and she, kind words and sympathy, and a portion of many of their scanty
meals. The hale as well as the sick were visited, believers strengthened and
encouraged, and inquirers instructed. They reaped a rich harvest of affection
from their parishioners. Three years after their marriage a son was born; he was
a treasure for which they were grateful, and he was their only one. The little
Owen flourished, for he was acclimatised, but the breezes which blow over those
Lincolnshire fens are raw and keen, if not generally unhealthy to the natives, and
the vicar and his wife began to complain of touches of ague, which became, as
time went on, more and more frequent. An income of 112 pounds a year will not
allow the happy possessors to indulge in many of the luxuries of life, and
certainly not in that of foreign travel. When, therefore, the parish doctor hinted
that a change of climate, and more generous diet and port wine, were absolutely
necessary for their restoration, Mr Hartley smilingly observed, that as he did not
think a better climate would come to them, and as they certainly could not go to
it, he did not see how the combination could be brought about; and as to port
wine, it had long been a stranger to his palate, and was likely to continue so. Still
the doctor urged that he must take it, and sent him some from his own store,
and, moreover, spoke so very earnestly to Mrs Hartley, saying that her husband
would altogether be incapacitated from performing his duties unless he was
supplied with stimulants and more food, that she resolved to do what many have
resolved to do before, and will do again under similar circumstances. She did not
exactly kill the golden goose, but began to sell out. It was indeed pleasant to
have 20 pounds at command. She ordered wine of the best, with beef steaks and
mutton chops, such things had rarely before been seen at the vicarage. The
butcher wondered, but she paid regularly, and he asked no questions. She,
however, only made-believe to eat of them herself, that Owen might have the
more; and when he came home to dinner she was sure to have taken a large
luncheon while he was out. She thought that his