•THE STORY OF OUR LIVES FROM YEAR TO YEAR."—SHAKESPKABK.

ALL THE YEAK BOUND.A WEEKLY JOURNAL.

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

-17.] SATURDAY, AUGUST 20, 1859. [PRICE

A TALE OF TWO CITIES,En 5Tf)«c Doo&s.

BY CHABLES DICKENS.

BOOK THE SECOND. THE GOLDEN THREAD.

CHAPTEB XIX. AN OPINION.WORN out by anxious watching, Mr. Lorry

fell asleep at his post. On the tenth morning ofliis suspense, he was startled by the shining ofthe sun into the room where a heavy slumberhad overtaken him when it was dark night.

He rubbed his eyes and roused himself; butlie doubted, when he had done so, whether hewas not still asleep. For, going to the door ofthe Doctor's room and looking in, he perceivedthat the shoemaker's bench and tools were putaside again, and that the Doctor himself satreading at the window. He was in his usualmorning dress, and his face (which Mr. Lorrycould distinctly see), though still very pale, wascalmly studious and attentive.

Even when he had satisfied himself that hewas awake, Mr. Lorry felt giddily uncertain forsome few moments whether the late shoemakingmight not be a disturbed dream of his own; for,did not his eyes show him his friead before himin his accustomed clothing and aspect, and em-ployed as usual; and was there any sign withintheir range, that the change of which lie had sostrong an-impression had actually happened P

It was but the inquiry of his first confusionand astonishment, the answer being obvious. Ifthe impression were not produced oy a real cor-responding, and sufficient cause, how came he,Jarvis Lorry, there? How came he to havefallen asleep, in his clothes, on the sofa in Doc-tor Manette's consulting-room, and to be de-bating these points outside the Doctor's bed-room door in the early morning ?

Within a few minutes, Miss Pross stood whis-pering at his side. If he had had any particleof doubt left, her talk would of necessityhave resolved it; but he was by that timeclear-headed, and had none. He advised thatthey should let the time go by until the regularbreakfast-hour, and should then meet the Doc-tor as if nothing unusual had occurred. If heappeared to be m his customary state of mind,Mr. Lorry would then cautiously proceed toseek direction and guidance from the opinion hehad been, in his anxiety, so anxious to obtain.

Miss Pross, submitting herself to his judg-ment, the scheme was worked out with care.Having abundance of time for his usual me-thodical toilette, Mr. Lorry presented himself atthe breakfast-hour in his usual white linen andwith his usual neat leg. The Doctor was sum-moned in the usual way, and came to break-fast.

So far as it was possible to comprehend himwithout overstepping those delicate and gradualapproaches which Mr. Lorry felt to be the onlysafe advance, he at first supposed that hisdaughter's marriage had taken place yesterday.An incidental allusion, purposely thrown out, tothe day of the week, and the day of the month,set him thinking and counting, and evidentlymade him uneasy. In all other respects, how-ever, he was so composedly himself, that Mr.Lorry determined to nave the aid ne sought.And that aid was his own.

Therefore, when the breakfast was done andcleared away, and he and the Doctor were lefttogether, Mr. Lorry said, feelingly:

" My dear Manette, I am anxious to haveyour opinion, in confidence, on a very curiouscase in which I am deeply interested; that isto say, it is very curious to me; perhaps, to yourbetter information it may be less so.

Glancing at his hands, which were discolouredby his late work, the Doctor looked troubled,and listened attentively. He had already glancedat his hands more than once.

" Doctor Manette," said Mr. Lorry, touchinghim affectionately on the arm, "the case is thecase of a particularly dear friend of mine. Pra^give your mind to it, and advise me well for hissake—and above all, for his daughter's—hisdaughter's, my dear Manette."

" If I understand," said the Doctor, in a sub-dued tone, " some mental shock—— P"

"Yes!"" Be explicit," said the Doctor. " Spare no

detail."Mr. Lorry saw that they understood one an-

other, and proceeded."My dear Manette, it is the case of an old

and a prolonged shock, of great acuteness andseverity, to the affections, the feelings, the—the—as you express it—the mind. The mind.It is the case of a shock under which the suffererwas borne down, one cannot say for how long,because I believe he cannot calculate the timehimself, and there are no other means of getting

VOL. I. 17

386 CAu&ost 20, i ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Conducted by

at it. It is the case of a shock from which the suf-ferer recovered, by a process that he cannot tracehimself—as I once heard him publicly relate ina striking manner. It is the case of a shockfrom which he has recovered, so completely, asto be a highly intelligent man, capable of closeapplication of mind, and great exertion of body,and of constantly making fresh additions to hisstock of knowledge, which was already verylarge. But, unfortunately, there has been," hepaused and took a deep "breath—"a slight re-lapse."

The Doctor, in a low voice, asked, " Of howlong duration P"

" Nine days and nights."" How did it show itself ? I iinfer," glancing

at his hands again, " in the resumption of someold pursuit connected with the shock?"

"That is the fact.""Now, did you ever see him," asked the

Doctor, distinctly and collectedly, though in thesame low voice, " engaged in that pursuit origi-nally?"

"Once.""And when the relapse fell on him, was he in

most respects—or in all respects—as he wasthen?"

" I think, in all respects.""You spoke of his daughter. Does his daughter

know of the relapse ?"" No. It has oeen kept from her, and I hope

will always be kept from her. It is known onlyto myself, and to one other who may be trusted."

The Doctor grasped his hand, and murmured," That was very kind. That was very thought-ful !" Mr. Lorry grasped his hand in return, andneither of the two spoke for a little while.

" Now, my dear Manette," said Mr. Lorry, atlength, in his most considerate and most affec-tionate way, " I am a mere man of business, andunfit to cope with such intricate and difficultmatters. I do not possess the kind of informa-tion necessary; I do not possess the kind of in-telligence ; I want guiding. There is no manin this world on whom I could so rely for rightguidance, as on you. Tell ¥me, how does thisrelapse come about? Is there danger of an-other ? Could a repetition of it be prevented ?How should a repetition of it be treated P Howdoes it come about at all ? What can I do formy friend ? No man ever can have been moredesirous in bis heart to serve a friend, than I amto serve mine, if I knew how. But I don'tknow how to originate, in snch a case. If yoursagacity, knowledge, and experience, could putme on the right track, I might be able to do somuch; unenlightened and undirected, I can doso little. Pray discuss it with me; pray enableme to see it a little more clearly, and teach mehow to be a little more useful."

Doctor Marietta sat meditating after theseearnest words were spoken, and Mr. Lorry didnot press him.

" 1 think it probable," said the Doctor, breabing silence with, an effort, " that the relapse youhave described, my dear friend, was not quiteunforeseen by its subject."

" Was it dreaded by him ?" Mr. Lorry ven-tured to ask.

" Very much." He said it with an involun-tary shudder. " You have no idea how such anapprehension weighs on the sufferer's mind, andhow difficult—how almost impossible—it is, forhim to force himself to utter a word upon thetopic that oppresses him."

" Would he," asked Mr. Lorry, " be sensiblyrelieved if he could prevail upon himself to im-part that secret brooding to any one, when it ison him?"

" I think so. But it is, as I have told you,next to impossible. I even believe it—in somecases—to be quite impossible."

"Now," said Mr. Lorry, gently laying hishand on the Doctor's arm again, after a shortsilence on both sides, " to what would yoa referthis attack?"

" I believe," returned Doctor Manette, " thatthere had been a strong and extraordinary re-vival of the train of thought and remembrancethat was the first cause of the malady. Someintense associations of a most distressing naturewere vividly recalled, I think. It is probablethat there had long been a dread lurking in hismind, that those associations would be recalled—say, under certain circumstances—say, on a par-ticular occasion. He tried to prepare himself,in vain; perhaps the effort to prepare himself,made him less able to bear it."

" Would he remember what took place in therelapse ?" asked Mr. Lorry, with natural hesi-tation.

The Doctor looked desolately round the room,shook his head, and answered, in a low voice,"Not at all."

" Now, as to the future," hinted Mr. Lorry." As to the future," said the Doctor, recover-

ing firmness, " I should have great hope. As itpleased Heaven in its mercy to restore him sosoon, I should have great hope. He, yieldingunder the pressure of a- complicated something,lone dreaded and long vaguely foreseen and con-tended against, and recovering after the cloudhad burst and passed, I should hope that theworst was over.

" Well, well! That's good comfort. I amthankful!" said Mr. Lorry.

" 1 am thankful!" repeated the Doctor, bend-ing his head with reverence.

" There are two other points," said Mr. Lorry," on which I am anxious to be instructed. Imay go on ?"

" You cannot do your friend a better service."The Doctor gave him his hand.

"To the first, then. He is of a studioushabit, and unusually energetic; he applies him-self with great ardour to the acquisition of pro-fessional knowledge, to the conducting of expe-riments, to many things. Now, does he do toomuch ?"

"I think not. It may be the character ofhis mind, to be always in singular need of occu-pation. That may be, iu part, natural to it;in part, the result of affliction. The less it wasoccupied with healthy things, the more it would

A TALE OF TWO CITIES. , is')-) i 387

be in danger of turning iu the unhealthy direc-tion. He may have observed himself, and madethe discovery."

" You are sure that he is not under too greata strain P"

" I think I am quite sure of it."" My dear Mauette, if ho were overworked

now ""My dear Lorry, I doubt if that could easily

be. There has been a violent stress in onedirection, and it needs a counterweight."

" Excuse me, as a persistent man of business.Assuming for a moment, that he was over-worked; it would show itself in some renewalof this disorder ?"

" I do not think so. I do not think," saidDoctor Manette with the firmness of self-conviction, "that anything but the one trainof association would renew it. I think that,henceforth, nothing but some extraordinaryjarring of that chord could renew it. Afterwhat has happened, and after his> recovery, I findit difficult to imagine any such violent soundingof that string again. I trust, and I almost be-lieve, that the circumstances likely to renew itare exhausted."

He spoke with the diffidence of a man whoknew how slight a thing would overset the de-licate organisation of the mind, and yet with theconfidence of a man who had slowly won hisassurance out of personal endurance and dis-tress. It was not for his friend to abate thatconfidence. He professed himself more relievedand encouraged than he really was, and ap-proached his second and last point. He felt itto be the most difficult of all; out, rememberinghis old Sunday morning conversation with MissPross, and remembering what he had seen-in thelast nine days, he knew that he must face it.

"Tho occupation resumed under the influenceof this passing affliction so happily recoveredfrom," said Mr. Lorry, clearing hia throat, " wewill call — Blacksmiths work. Blacksmith'swork. We will say, to put a case and for the. sakeof illustration, that he had been used in his badtime, to work at a little forge. We will saythat he was unexpectedly found at his forgeagain. Is it not a pity that he should keep itbyhimP"

The Doctor shaded his forehead with his hand,and beat his foot nervously on the ground.

"He has always kept it by him," said Mr.Lorry, with an anxious look at his friend." Now, would it not be better that he should letit go?"

Still, the Doctor, with shaded forehead, beathis foot nervously on the ground.

" You do not find it easy to advise me ?" saidMr. Lorry. "L quite understand it to be anice question. And yet I think " Andthere he shook his head, and stopped.

" You see," said Doctor Manette, turning tohim after an uneasy pause, "it is very hard toexplain, consistently, the innermost workings ofthis poor man's mind. He once yearned sofrightfully for that occupation, and it was sowelcome when it came j no doubt it relieved his

pain so much, by substituting the perplexity ofthe fingers for the perplexity of the brain, andby substituting, as he became more practised,the ingenuity of the hands for the ingenuity ofthe mental torture; that ho has never been ableto bear the thought of putting it quite out ofhis reach. Even now, when, I believe, he ismore hopeful of himself than he has ever been,and even speaks of himself with a kind of con-fidence, the idea that he might need that oldemployment, and not find it, gives him a suddensense of terror, like that which one may fancystrikes to the heart of a lost child."

He looked like his illustration, as he raisedhis eyes to Mr. Lorry's face.

"But may not—mind! I ask for informa-tion, as a plodding man of business who onlydeals with such material objects as guineas,shillings, and bank-notes—may not the retentionof the thing, involve the retention of the idea ?If the thing were gone, my dear Manette, mightnot the fear go with it ? In short, is it not aconcession to the misgiving, to keep the forge ?"

There was another silence." You see, too," said the Doctor, tremulously,

" it is such an old companion."" I would not keep it," said Mr. Lorry, shaking

his head; for he gained in firmness as he sawthe Doctor disquieted. "I would recommendhim to sacrifice it. I only want your authority.I am sure it does no good. Come ! Give meyour authority, like a dear good man. Tor hisdaughter's sake, my dear Manette!"

Very strange to see what a struggle therewas within him!

" In her name, then, let it be done; I sanctionit. But, I would not take it away while he waspresent. Let it be removed wnen he is notthere; let him miss his old companion after .inabsence."

Mr. Lorry readily engaged for that, and theconference was ended. They passed the day inthe country, and the Doctor was quite restored.On the three following days., ho remained per-fectly well, and on the fourteenth day, he wentaway to join Lucic and her husband. The pre-caution that had been taken to account for hissilence, Mr. Lorry had previously explained tohim, and he had written to Lucie in accordancewith it, and she had no suspicions.

On the night of the day on which he left thehouse, Mr. Lorry went into his room with achopper, saw, chisel, and hammer, attended byMiss Pross carrying a light. There, with closeddoors, and in a mysterious and guilty manner,Mr. Lorry hacked the shoemaker's bench topieces, while Miss Pross held the candle as ifshe were assisting at a murder—for which, indeed,in her grimness, she was no unsuitable figure.The burning of the body (previously reduced topieces convenient for the purpose), was com-menced without delay in the kitchen fire; andthe tools, shoes, and leather, were buried in thegarden. So wicked do destruction and secrecyappear to honest minds, that Mr. Lorry and MissPross, while engaged in the commission of theirdeed and in the removal of its traces, almost

388 [Augnst 20,18W.] ALL THE YEAH ROUND. Conducted bjr

felt, and almost looked, like accomplices in ahorrible crime.

CHAPTER XX. A PLEA.

WHEN the newly-married pair came home,the first person who appeared, to offer his con-gratulations, was Sydney Carton. They had notbeen at home many hours, when he presentedliimsclf. He was not improved in habits, or inlooks, or in manner; but, there was a certainrugged air of fidelity about him, which was newto tue observation of Charles Darnay.

He watched his opportunity of taking Darnayaside into a window, and of speaking to himwhen no one overheard.

"Mr. Darnay," said Carton, "I wish wemight be friends."

" We are already friends, I hope."" You are good enough to say so, as a fashion

of speech; but, I don't mean any fashion ofspeech. Indeed, when I say I wish we mightbe friends, I scarcely mean quite that, either."

Charles Darnay—as was natural—asked him,in all good-humour and good-fellowship, what hedid mean ?

"Upon my life," said Carton, smiling, "Ifind that easier to comprehend in my ownmind, than to convey to yours. However, letme try. You remember a certain famous occasionwhen I was more drunk than—than usual ?"

"I remember a certain famous occasion whenyou forced me to confess that you had beendrinking."

"I remember it too. The curse of thoseoccasions is heavy upon me, for I always re-member them. I hope it may be taken intoaccount one day, when all days are at an end forme!—Don't be alarmed; I am not going topreach."

"I am not at all alarmed. Earnestness inyou, is anything but alarming to me."

"AhI" said Carton, with a careless wave ofhis hand, as if he waved that away. " On thedrunken occasion in question (one of a largenumber, as you know), I was insufferable aboutliking YOU, and not liking you. I wish youwould forget it."

" I forgot it long ago."" Fashion of speech again ! But, Mr. Dar-

nay, oblivion is not so easy to me, as you re-Sresent it to be to you. I have by no means

>rgotten it, and a light answer does not help meto forget it."

"If it was a light answer," returned Dar-nay, "I beg your forgiveness for it. I hadno other object than to turn a slight thing,which, to my surprise, seems to trouble you toomuch, aside. I declare to you, on the faith ofa gentleman, that I have long dismissed it frommy mind. Good Heaven, what was there to dis-miss ! Have I had nothing more important toremember, in the great service you rendered methat day?"

"As to the great service," said Carton, "Iam bound to avow to you, when you speak of itin that way, that it was mere professional clap-trap. I don't know that I cared what became

of you, when I rendered it.—Mind! I say whenI rendered it; I am speaking of the past."

" You make light or the obligation," returnedDarnay, " but I will not quarrel with your lightanswer."

"Genuine truth, Mr. Darnay, trust me! Ihave gone aside from my purpose ; I was speak-ing about our being friends. Now, you knowme; you know I am incapable of all the higherand better flights of men. If you doubt it, askStryver, and he'll tell you so."

" I prefer to form my own opinion, withoutthe aid of his."

" Well! At any rate you know me as a dis-solute dog, who has never done any good, andnever will."

" I don't know that you ' never will.' "" But I do, and you must take my word for

it. Well! If you could endure to have such aworthless fellow, and a fellow of such indifferentreputation, coming and going at odd times, Ishould ask that f might be permitted to comeand go as a privileged person here; that Imight be regarded as an useless (and I wouldadd, if it were not for the resemblance I detectedbetween you and me, an unornamental) piece offurniture, tolerated for its old service and takenno notice of. I doubt if I should abuse thepermission. It is a hundred to one if I shouldavail myself of it four times in a year. Itwould satisfy me, I dare say, to know that Ihad it."

"Will you try?""That is another way of saying that I am

placed on the footing I have indicated. Ithank you, Dai-nay. I may use that freedomwith your name ?"

"I think so, Carton, by this time."They shook hands upon it, and Sydney turned

away. Within a minute afterwards, he was, toall outward appearance, as unsubstantial as ever.

When he was gone, and in the course of anevening passed with Miss Pross, the Doctor,and Mr. Lorry, Charles Darnay made somemention of this conversation in general terms,and spoke of Sydney Carton as a problem ofcarelessness and recklessness. He spoke of him,in short, not bitterly or meaning to bear hardupon him, but as anybody might who saw himas he showed himself.

He had no idea that this could dwell in thethoughts of his fair youne wife ; but, when heafterwards joined her in their own rooms, hefound her waiting for him with the old prettylifting of the forehead strongly marked.

" We are thoughtful to-night!" said Darnay,drawing his arm about her.

" Yes, dearest Charles," with her hands on hisbreast, and the inquiring and attentive expres-sion fixed upon him; " we are rather thoughtfulto-night, for we have something on our mindto-night."

" What is it, my Lucie ?"" Will you promise not to press one question

on me, if I beg you not to ask it ?"" Will 1 promise ? What will I not promise

to my Love r"

Charles Dickmi.3 SHIPS AND CREWS. 389

What, indeed, with his hand putting asidethe golden hair from the cheek, and his otherhand against the heart that beat for him !

" I think, Charles, poor Mr. Carton deservesmore consideration and respect than you ex-pressed for him to-night."

" Indeed, my own r Why so P"" That is what you are not to ask me. But

I think—I know—he does."" If you know it, it is enough. What would

you have me do, my Life P"" I would ask you, dearest, to be very gene-

rous with him always, and very lenient on hisfaults when he is not by. I would ask youto believe that he has a heart he very, very,seldom reveals, and that there are deep woundsin it. My dear, I have seen it bleeding."

" It is a painful reflection to me," said CharlesDarnay, quite astounded, " that I should havedone him any wrong. I never thought this ofhim."

" My husband, it is so. I fear he is not tobe reclaimed ; there is scarcely a hope that any-thing in his character or fortunes is reparablenow. But, I am sure that he is capable ofgood things, gentle things, even magnanimousthings."

She looked so beautiful, in the purity of herfaith in this lost man, that her husband couldhave looked at her as she was, for hours.

" And, O my dearest Love !" she urged, cling-ing nearer to him, laying her head upon hisbreast, and raising her eyes to his, "rememberhow strong we are in our happiness, and howweak he is in his misery !"

The supplication touched him home. " I willalways remember it, dear Heart! I will re-memoer it as long as I live."

He bent over the golden head, and put therosy lips to his, and folded her in his arms. Ifone forlorn wanderer then pacing the darkstreets, could have heard her innocent disclosure,and could have seen the drops of pity kissedaway by her husband from the soft blue eyes soloving of that husband, he might have cried tothe night—and the words woula not have partedfrom ru's lips for the first time—

" God bless her for her sweet compassion!"

SHIPS AND CREWS.

WHAT is the Naval Question ?It comprises all sorts of inquiries in one,

and that one is really this : Can Great Britainbe, at sea, in these days, what she was in olddays P Make that all clear, and your work isdone. She can, on one condition — that noenergy nor expense be spared in carrying outthe object. No one can reasonably doubtthis, whatsoever views he may bring to theconsideration of the question, and with what-soever preconceived opinions he may have ascer-tained all about our Position and Policy fromthe excellent work of " A Naval Peer," from thebook by Mr. Hans Busk, or from other recentauthorities.

How Britain came to be sueh a maritime power

as she has been and is ? It is not an affair of raceonly, nor of insular position only; but of thesetwo fundamental things working upon eachother, and botli worked upon by our politicalhistory. Some will tell you that commercecreated our marine; but what created our com-merce ? and how long would our commerce havelasted if we had not been able to protect it byforce ? Originally, of course, it must have beensomething in our blood that fitted us for the sea;but this would not have produced our greatnessalone. The Saxons seem never to have kept, anavy till the Danes forced it upon them. TheNorman invasion was unopposed in the Chan-nel, but it led to the Cinque Ports being esta-blished, and to a constant communication be-tween England and Normandy very favourableto nautical progress. The Plantagenet warswith France Lad the same effect; and, in thosedays, we were as victorious at sea as in latertimes. Now it is worth notice that what wecall seamanship has changed its character quiteas much as other things, and that if steam isone change more, we ought to remember the con-soling as well as the alarming side of the fact.Steam, they tell us, is an affair of science. Verytrue. But so was it an affair of science whenthe old rough hand-to-hand fighting, betweenhuge galleys, was exchanged for the evolutionsof squadrons under Blake and Nelson. It was aFrench Jesuit—L'Hoste—who was one of theearliest and best writers on naval tactics. Butwe, too, became masters in the tactics, and whynot now in the new tactics ?

It is steam war versus old war that makesthe great feature of the new generation, and un-doubtedlydeserves the most careful inquiry. Still,let us remember that success in war depends atbottom on moral and physical superiority, andthat the conditions under which this is exercised,though of great, are only of secondary import-ance.

Certainly the rapidity of the change is aconspicuous feature in it. So late as fifteenor twenty years ago, there was not a screwliner known, and the steamers were all pnddlesteamers. Our ideal of a line-of-battlc shipwas one of Sir William Symonds's vesselsbuilt for sailing, and beautiful to behold.Now, there are not much above a dozen effec-tive sailing liners in the navy, and they arcchiefly used as guard and receiving ships. Thebest are converted into screws; all new linersare built for screws ; and, when a great battlecomes, it will be fought with screws. ThisSpring, England and Prance had some thirty-five of them afloat each, and both are stillbuilding steadily.

"Steam"—this is the regular saying—"hasbridged the Channel." The exact amount oftruth here is, that it has made it easier tobridge. But there are the piles and piers to laydown, and our fleet must be disposed of beforethat is possible. All talk of invasion is basedon the supposition that the Channel is clearedof our squadrons before the army is broughtacross. That secured, steam has shortened the

'THE STORY OF OUR LIVES FROM YEAli TO YEAR."—SHAKESPEARE.

ALL THE YEAR ROUND.A WEEKLY JOURNAL.

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.WITH W H I C H IS INCORPORATED HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

- 18.] SATURDAY, AUGUST 27, 1859. [PlUCE

A TALE OF TWO CITIES.3n Cftrtt ISoofes.

BT CHARLES DICKENS.

BOOK THE SECOND. THE GOLDEN THREAD.CHAPTER XXI. ECHOING FOOTSTEPS.

A WONDERFUL corner for echoes, it has beenremarked, that corner where the Doctor lived.Ever busily winding the golden thread whichbound her husband, and her father, and herself,and her old directress and companion, in a life ofquiet bliss, Lucie sat in the still house in thetranquilly resounding corner, listening to theechoing footsteps of years.

At first, there were times, though she was aperfectly happy young wife, when her workwould slowly fall from her hands, and her eyeswould be dimmed. For, there was somethingcoming in the echoes, something light, afar ofi,and scarcely audible yet, that stirred her hearttoo much. Fluttering hopes and doubts—hopes,of a love as yet unknown to her; doubts, of herremaining upon earth, to enjoy that new delight—divided her breast. Amongj the echoes then,there would arise the sound ot footsteps at herown early grave; and thoughts of the husbandwho would be left so desolate, and who wouldmourn for her so much, swelled to her eyes andbroke like waves.

That time passed, and her little Lucic lay onher bosom. Then, among the advancing echoes,there was the tread of her tiny feet and thesound of her prattling words; Let greaterechoes resound as they would, the young mo-ther at the cradle side could always hear thosecoming. They catne, and the shady house wassunny with a child's laugh, and the Divinefriend of children, to whom in her trouble shehad confided hers, seemed to take her child inhis arms, as He took the child of old, and madeit a sacred joy to her.

Ever busily winding the golden thread that,bound them all together, weaving the serviceof her happy influence through the tissue ofall their lives, and making it predominate no-where, Lucic heard in the echoes of years nonebut friendly and soothing sounds. Her hus-band's step was strong and prosperous amongthem; her father's, firm and equal. Lo, MissPross, in harness of string, awakening the echoes,as an unruly charger whip-corrected, snorting

and pawing the earth under the plane-tree inthe garden!

Even when there were sounds of sorrowamong the rest, they were not harsh nor cruel.Even when golden hair, like her own, lay in ahalo on a pillow round the worn face of a littleboy, and he said, with a radiant smile, " Dear

tapa and mamma, I am very sorry to leave youoth, and to leave my pretty sister; but I am

called, and I must go! those were not tearsall of agony that wetted his young mother'scheek, as the spirit departed from her embracethat had been entrusted to it. Suffer themand forbid them not. They see my Father'sface. O Father, blessed words!

Thus, the rustling of an Angel's wings gotblended with the other echoes, and they werenot wholly of earth, but had in them that "breathof Heaven. Sighs of the winds that blew over alittle garden-tomb were mingled with them also,and both were audible to Lucie, in a hushedmurmur—like the breathing of a summer teaasleep upon a sandy shore—as the little Lncie,comically studious at the task of the morning, ordressing a doll at her mother's footstool, chut-tcred in the tongues of the Two Cities that wereblended in her life.

The echoes rarely answered to the actualtread of Sydney Carton. Some half-dozen timesa year, at most, he claimed his privilege ofcoming in uninvited, and would sit among themthrough the evening as he had once done often.He never came there, heated with wine. Andone other thing regarding him was whispered inthe echoes, which has been whispered by alltrue echoes for ages and ages.

Ko man ever really loved a woman, lost her,and knew her with a blameless though an un-changed mind, when she was a wife and mother,but her children had a strange sympathy withhim—an instinctive delicacy of pity for him.What fine hidden sensibilities are touched insuch a case, no echoes tell; but, it is so, and itwas so here. Carton was the first stranger towhom little Lucie held out her chubby arms,and he kept his place with her as she grew.The little boy had spoken of him, almost at thelast. " Poor Carton! Kiss him for me!"

Mr. Stryver shouldered his way through thelaw, like some great engine forcing itself throughturbid water, and dragged his useful friend inhis wake, like a boat towed astern. As theboat so favoured is usually iu a rough plight

VOL. I. IS

410 [Angus* 27,18»0 ALL THE YEAft HOUND. [Conducted by

and mostly under Tater, so, Sydney had aswamped life of it. But, easy and strong cus-tom, unhappily so much easier and stronger inhim than any stimulating sense of desert ordisgrace, made it the life he was to lead; and lieno more thought of emerging from his stateof lion's jackal, than any real jackal may be sup-posed to think of rising to be a lion. Stryver wasrich; had married a florid widow with propertyand three boys, who had nothing particularlyshining about them but the straight hair of theirdumpling heads.

These three young gentlemen, Mr. Stryver,exuding patronage of the most offensive qualityfrom every pore, had walked before him like threesheep to the quiet corner in Soho, and hadoffered as pupils to Lucie's husband : delicatelysaying, "Halloa! here are three lumps ofbreaa-and-cheese towards your matrimonial pic-nic, Darnay!" The polite rejection of the threeSnaps of bread-ana-cheese had quite bloated

r. Stryver with indignation, which he after-wards turned to account in the training of theyoung gentlemen, by directing them to beware ofthe pride of Beggars, like that tutor-fellow. Hewas also in the habit of declaiming to Mrs.Stryver, over his full-bodied wine, on the artsMrs. Darnay had once put in practice to "catch"him, and on the diamond-cut-diamond arts inhimself, madam, which had rendered him "notto be caught." Some of his King's Benchfamiliars, who were occasionally parties to thefull-bodied wine and the lie, excused him forthe latter by saying that he had told it so often,that he believea it liimself—which is surely suchan incorrigible aggravation of an originally badoffence, as to justify any such offender's beingcarried off to some suitably retired spot, andthere hanged out of the way.

These were among the echoes to which Lucie,sometimes pensive, sometimes amused and laugh-ing, listened in the echoing corner, until herlittle daughter was six years old. How near toher heart the echoes of her child's tread came,and those of her own dear father's, always activeand self-possessed, and those of her dear hus-band's, need not bctold. Nor, howthelightostcchoof their united home, directed by herself with sucha wise and elegant thrift that it was more abun-dant than any waste, was music to her. Nor,how there were echoes all about her, sweet inher ears, of the many times her father had toldher that he found her more devoted to himmarried (if that could be) than single, and of themany times her husband had said to her that nocares and duties seemed to divide her love forhim or her help to him, and asked her " What isthe magic secret, my darling, of your being every-thing to all of us, as if there were only one ofus, yet never seeming to be hurried, or to havetoo much to do P"

But, there were other echoes, from a distance,that rumbled menacingly in the corner allthrough this space of time. And it was now,about little Lucie's sixth birthday, that theybegan to have an awful sound, as of a great stormin France with a dreadful sea rising.

On a night in mid-July, one thousand sevenhundred and eighty-nine, Mr. Lorry came inlate, from Tellson's, and sat himself down byLucie and her husband in the dark window. Itwas a hot, wild night, and they were all threereminded of the old Sunday night when theyhad looked at the lightning from the same place.

" I began to think," said Mr. Lorry, pushinghis brown wig back, " that I should have to passthe night at Tellson's. We have been so full ofbusiness all day, that we have not known whatto do first, or which way to turn. There is suchan uneasiness in Paris, that we have actually arun of confidence upon us ! Our customers overthere, seem not to be able to confide their pro-perty to us fast enough. There is positively amania among some of them for sending it toEngland."

" That has a bad look," said Darnay." A bad look, you say, my dear Darnay? Yes,

but we don't know what reason there is in it.People are so unreasonable! Some of us atTellson's are getting old, and we really can't betroubled out of the ordinary course without dueoccasion."

" Still," said Darnay, "you know how gloomyand threatening the sky is."

" I know that, to "be sure," assented Mr.Lorry, trying to persuade himself that his sweettemper was soured, and that he grumbled, " butI am determined to be peevish after my longday's botheration. Where is Manette ?"

" Here he is !" said the Doctor, entering thedark room at the moment.

" I am quite glad you are at home; for thesehurries and forebodings by which I have beensurrounded all day long, have made me nervouswithout reason. You are not going out, Ihope P"

" No; I am going to play backgammon withyou, if you like, said the Doctor.

" I don't think I do like, if I may speak mymind. 1 am not fit to be pitted against you to-night. Is the tea-board still there, Lucie P Ican't see."

" Of course, it has been kept for you."" Thank yc, my dear. The precious child is

safe in bed P"" And sleeping soundly.""That's right; all safe and well! I don't

know why anything should be otherwise thansafe and well here, thank God; but I have beenso put out all day, and I am not as young as Iwas ! My tea, my dear ? Thank ye. Now, comeand take your place in the circle, and let ussit quiet, and hear the echoes about which youhave your theory."

" Not a theory; it was a fancy.""A fancy, then, my wise pet," said Mr.

Lorry, patting her hand. " They are very nu-merous and very loud, though, are they not?Only hear them!'

Headlong, mad, and dangerous footsteps toforce their way into anybody's life, footstepsnot easily made clean again if once stained red,the footsteps raging in Saint Antoine afar off,

Ch«rle« Dickon*.] A TALE OF TWO CITIES. [August J?, 18J9.]

as the little circle sat in the dark Londonwindow.

Saint Antoine had been, that morning, a vastdusky mass of scarecrows heaving to and fro, withfrequent gleams of light above the billowy heads,where steel blades and bayonets shone in thesun. A tremendous roar arose from the throatof Saint Antoine, and a forest of naked armsstruggled in the air like, shrivelled branches oftrees in a winter wind : all the fingers convul-sively clutching at every weapon or semblanceof a weapon that was thrown up from the depthsbelow, no matter how far off.

Who gave them out, whence they last came,where they began, through what agency theycrookedly quivered and jerked, scores at a time,over the heads of the crowd, like a kind of light-ning, no eye in the throng could have told; but,muskets were being distributed—so were car-tridges, powder, and ball, bars of iron and wood,knives, axes, pikes, every weapon that distractedingenuity could discover or devise. People whocould lay hold of nothing else, set themselveswith bleeding hands to force stones and bricksout of their places in walls. Every pulse andheart in Saint Antoine was on high-fever strainand at high-fever heat. Every living creaturethere, held life as of no account, and was de-mented with a passionate readiness to sacri-fice it.

As a whirlpool of boiling waters has a centrepoint, so, all this raging circled round Defarge'swine-shop, and every human drop in the caldronhad a tendency to be sucked towards the vortexwhere Defarge himself, already begrimed withgunpowder and sweat, issued orders, issuedarms, thrust this man back, dragged this manforward, disarmed one to arm another, labouredand strove in the thickest of the uproar.

" Keep near to me, Jacques Three," criedDefarge; " and do you, Jacques One and Two,separate and put yourselves at the head of asmany of these patriots as you can. "Where ismy wife P"

" Eh, well I Here you see me!" s=«id madamc,composed as ever, but not knitting to-day.Madame's resolute right hand was occupied withan axe, in place of the usual softer implements,and in her girdle were a pistol ana a cruelknife.

" Where do you go, my wife P""I go,"said madame, "with you, at present.

You shall see me at the headof women, by-and-by."

" Come then!" cried Defarge, in a resoundingvoice. "Patriots and friends, we are ready!The Bastille!"

With a roar that sounded as if all the breathin France had been shaped into the detestedword, the living sea rose, wave on wave, depthon depth, and overflowed the city to that point.Alarm-bells ringing, drums beating, the sea ragingand thundering on its new beach, the attackbegun.

Deep ditches, double draw-bridge, massivestone walls, eight great towers, cannon, musketsfire and smoke. Through the fire and through*

the smoke—in the fire and in the smoke, for thesea cast him up against a cannon, and on the in-stant he became a cannonier—Defarge of thewine-shop worked like a manful soldier, Twofierce hours.

Deep ditch, single drawbridge, massive stonewalls, eight great towers, cannon, muskets, fireand smoke. One drawbridge down ! " Work,comrades all, work! Work, Jacques One,Jacques Two, Jacques One Thousand, JacquesTwo Thousand, Jacques Five-and-Twcnty Thou-sand ; in the name of all the Angels or the Devils—which you prefer—work!" Thus Defarge ofthe wine-shop, still at his gun, which hadlong grown hot.

"To me, women!" cried madame his wife." What! We can kill as well as the menwhen the place is taken!" And to her, witha shrill thirsty cry, trooping women variouslyarmed, but all armed alike in hunger and re-venge.

Cannon, muskets, fire and smoke; but, stillthe deep ditch, the single drawbridge, themassive stone walls, and the eight great towers.Slight displacements of the raging sea, made bythe falling wounded. Flashing weapons, blazingtorches, smoking waggon-loads or wet straw,hard work at neighbouring barricades in alldirections, shrieks, volleys, execrations, braverywithout stint, boom smash and rattle, and thefurious sounding of the living sea; but, still thedeep ditch, and the single drawbridge, and themassive stone walls, and the eight great towers,and still Defarge of the wine-shop at his gun,grown doubly hot by the service of Four fiercehours.

A white flag from within the fortress, and aparley — this dimly perceptible through theraging storm, nothing audible in it—suddenlythe sea rose immeasurably wider and higher,and swept Defarge of the wine-shop over thelowered drawbridge, past the massive stoneouter walls, in among the eight great towerssurrendered!

So resistless was the force of the ocean bearinghim on, that even to draw his breath or turn hishead was as impracticable as if he had been strug-gling in the surf of the South Sea, until he WHSlanded in the outer court-yard of the Bastille.There, against an angle of a wall, he made astruggle to look about him. Jacques Three wasnearly at his side; Madamc Defarge, still heading some of her women, was visible in the innerdistance, and her knife was in her hand. Every-where was tumult, exultation, deafening andmaniacal bewilderment, astounding noise, yetfurious dumb-show.

The Prisoners!"The Records!"The secret cells!"The instruments of torture!"The Prisoners!"

Of all these cries, and ten thousand inco-herencies, " The Prisoners!" was the cry mosttaken up by the sea that rushed in, as if therewere an eternity of people, as \iell as of time andspace. When the foremost billows rolled past,

412 [Au«ust 27,18A9.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. {Conilnrlcd by

bearing the prison officers with them, and threat-ening them all with instant death if any secretnook remained undisclosed, Defarge laid hisstrong hand on the breast of one of thesemen—a man with a grey head who had a lightedtorch in his hand—separated him from therest, and got him between himself and thewall.

" Show me the North Tower!" said Defarge."Quick!"

"I will faithfully," replied the man, "ifyou will come with me. But there is no onethere."

I "What is the meaning of One Hundredand Five, North Tower P" asked Defarge."Quick!"

"The meaning, monsieur?"" Does it mean a captive, or a place of cap-

tivity ? Or do you mean that I shall strike youdead?"

" Kill him!" croaked Jacques Three, who hadcome close up.

" Monsieur, it is a cell."" Show it me !"" Pass this way then."Jacques Three, with his usual craving on him,

and evidently disappointed by the dialoguetaking a turn that did not seem to promisebloodshed, held by Defarge's arm as he held bythe turnkey's. Their three heads had been closetogether during this brief discourse, and it hadbeen as much as they could do to hear oiieanother, even then: so tremendous \ras the noiseof the living ocean, in its irruption into thePortress, and its inundation of the courts andpassages and staircases. All around outside,too, it beat the M'?lls with a deep, hoarse roar,from which, occasionally, some partial shoutsof tumult broke and leaped into the air likespray.

Through gloomy vaults where the light ofday hud never shone, past hideous doors of darkdens and cages, down cavernous flights of steps,and again up steep rugged ascents of stone andbrick, more like dry waterfalls than staircases,Defarge, the turnkey, and Jacques Three, linkedhand and arm, went, with all the speed they couldmake. Here and there, especially at first, theinundation started on them and swept by; hut,when they had done descending, and were wind-ing and climbing up a tower, they were alone.Hemmed in here by the massive thickness of wallsand arches, the storm within the fortress andwithout was only audible to them in a dull,subdued way, as if the noise out of whichthey had come had almost destroyed their senseof hearing.

The turnkey stopped at a low door, put a keyin a clashing lock, swung the door slowly open,and said, as they all bent their heads andpassed in:

" One hundred and five, North Tower!"There was a small, heavily-grated, unglazed

window high in the wall, with a stone screenbefore it, so that the sky could be only seen bystooping low and looking up. There was asmall chimney, heavily barred across, a few feet

within. There was a heap of old featherywood ashes on the hearth. There were a stool,and table, and a straw bed. There were the fourblackened walls, and a rusted iron ring in oneof them.

"Pass that torch slowly along these walls,that I may sec them," said Defarge to theturnkey.

The man obeyed, and Defarge followed thelight closely with his eyes.

" Stop!—Look here, Jacques!"" A. M.!" croaked Jacques Three, as he read

greedily."Alexandre Manette," said Defarge in his

ear, following the letters with his swart fore-finger, deeply engrained with gunpowder. " Andhere he wrote ' a poor physician.' And it washe, without doubt, who scratched a calendar onthis stone. What is that in your hand ? Acrowbar ? Give it me!"

He had still the linstock of his gun in bisown hand. He made a sudden exchange of thetwo instruments, and turning on the wormeatenstool and table, beat them to pieces in a fewblows.

" Hold the light higher!" he said, wrathfully,to the turnkey. "Look among those frag-ments with care, Jacques. And see! Here ismy knife," throwing it to him; " rip open thatbed, and search the straw. Hold the lighthigjher, you!"

With a menacing look at the turnkey hecrawled upon the hearth, and, peering up thechimney, struck and prised at its sides with thecrowbar, and worked at the iron grating acrossit. In a few minutes, some mortar and dustcame dropping down, which he averted his faceto avoid; ana in it, and in the old wood-ashes,and in a crevice in the chimney into which hisweapon had slipped or wrought itself, he gropedwith a cautious touch.

"Nothing in the wood, and nothing in thestraw, Jacques?"

"Nothing.""Let us collect them together, in the

middle of the coll. So! Light them, you!"The turnkey fired the little pile, which blazed

high and hot. Stooping again to come out atthe low-arched door, they left it burning, andretraced their way to the court-yard: seeming torecover their sense of hearing as they camedown, until they were in the raging flood oncemore.

They found it surging and tossing, in quest ofDefarge himself. Saint Antoine was clamorousto have its wine-shop-keeper foremost in theguard upon the governor who had defended theBastille and shot the people. Otherwise, thegovernor would not be marched to the Hotel dcVille for judgment. Otherwise, the governorwould escape, and the people's blood (suddenlyof some value, vftcr many years of worthless-ness) be unavenged.

In the Lowling universe of passion and conten-tion tliat seemed to encompass this grim old officerconspicuous in his grey coat and red decoration,there was but one quite steady figure, and that was

ChurlM Dickon*.] HICE. ;AuSustl(7,10i9.] 413

a woman's. " See, there is my husband !" shecried, pointing him out. " See Defarge!" Shestood immovame close to the grim old officer,and remained immovable close to him; re-mained immovable close to him through thestreets, as Defarge and the rest bore himalong; remained immovable close to himwhen he was got near his destination, andbegan to be struck at from behind; remainedimmovable close to him when the long-gathering rain of stabs and blows fell heavy;was so close to him when he dropped deadunder it, that, suddenly animated, she put herfoot upon his neck, and with her cruel Knife—long ready—hewed off his head.

The hour was come, when Saint Antoine wasto execute his horrible idea of hoisting up menfor lamps to show what he could be and do. SaintAntoine's blood was up, and the blood of tyrannyand domination by the iron hand was down—down on the steps of the H6tel de Ville wherethe governor's body lay—down on the sole ofthe shoe of Madame Defarge where she hadtrodden on the body to steady it for mutila-tion. " Lower the lamp yonder ?" cried SaintAntoine, after glaring round for a new means ofdeath; " here is one of his soldiers to be left onguard!" The swinging sentinel was posted, andthe sea rushed on.

The sea of black and threatening waters, andof destructive upheavings of wave against wave,whose depths were yet unfathomed and whoseforces were yet unknown. The remorseless seaof turbulently swaying shapes, voices of ven-geance, and faces hardened in the furnaces ofsuffering until the touch of pity could make nomark on them.

But, in the ocean of faces where every fierceand furious expression was in vivid life, therewere two groups of faces—each seven innumber—so fixedly contrasting with the rest,that never did sea roll which bore more me-morable wrecks with it. Seven faces of pri-soners, suddenly released by the storm that hadburst their tomb, were carried high over head:all scared, all lost, all wondering and amazed, asif the Last Day were come, and those who re-joiced around them were lost spirits. Otherseven faces there were, carried nigher, sevendead faces, whose drooping eyelids and half-seeneyes awaited the Last Day. Impassive faces, yetwith a suspended—not an abolished—expressionon them; faces, rather, in a fearful pause, ashaving yet to raise the dropped lids of the eyes,and bear witness with the bloodless lips, " TIIOUDIDST IT !"

Seven prisoners released, seven gory headsI on pikes, the keys of the accursed fortress of the

eight strong towers, some discovered letters andother memorials of prisoners of old time, longdead of broken hearts,—such, and such-like,the loudly echoing footsteps of Saint Antoineescort through the Paris streets in mid-July,one thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine.Now, Heaven defeat the fancy of Lucie Darnay,and keep these feet far out of her life ! Tor,

they are headlong, mad, and dangerous; andin the years so long after the breaking of thecask at Defarge's wine-shop door, they arc noteasily purified when once stained red.

RICE.

THE sun had set heavily behind a range oflow hills topped with mango topes, after oneof those oppressively hot days known only inIndia during the dry season. The t-ky was of adeep coppery hue, without one fleecy cloudto relieve its intensely fiery sameness. Notone of the parched leaves in the jungle moved;nor did there appear to be a single living crea-ture for miles, save myself, as I rode slowly to-wards a little seaport town in Western India.The season had been a very trying one for thenatives, nearly all their grain crops in that partof the continent having perished tor want of theusual periodic supply of moisture.

In the opening of the monsoon the rain hadfallen very heavily, had swollen the streams, filledthe few imperfectly formed bunds or reser-voirs to overflowing, and these, not sufficientlystrengthened and mostly put of repair, givingway, had flooded the entire country for manymiles, and, when the season of drought ar-rived, were of course empty. Deprived of theordinary means of irrigating their lands, theryots had beheld with dismay the setting in ofan unusually hot and dry season. The graincrops had indeed come up after a fashion, butrapidly fell away before the hot blast of thesirocco months, and left the bewildered villagerswithout the means of support.

In many of the villages through which Ipassedlhad not sccuhalf adozen inhabitants; and,the few I had seen, appeared emaciated to the lastdegree. Hunger was stamped on their haggardcountenances, children lay exhausted and dyingat the doors of some 01 the miserable huts.All work appeared to be abandoned. Fieldslay sterile, burnt up by the scorching heat:gardens, with a few exceptions, were witheredand brown, 'as blasted by lightning; thonullahs were quite dry; tho smufl rivers creptsluggishly over their pebbly beds with scarcelysufficient water to keep themselves moving.The roads wcro strewn with dead cattle; and,not unfrcqucntly, with human corpses, over whomscores of oirds of prey were hovering, to whomthis season of affliction was an unexpected boon.

Passing through these scenes in the country,I was prepared for what I beheld in thetown. The same deep lines of hunger werestamped upon the countenances; but, unlikethe inhabitants of other places, the people wereflocking through the streets in sad and melan-choly throngs, in one direction. Mothers weredragging their children after them, scarcely ableto support their own tottering steps. Fatherswere passing outwards with uncertain haste,carrying young squalid infants in their arms.

As I drew near the sea-beach the ea?erthrongs appeared to thicken, and looks of startledexcitement in their faces told of some import-