CHAPTER XX.

As soon as Robert Birt found himself scholar of St. Boniface, and in enjoyment of an income in all of £160 per annum, besides the pretty certain £30 upon the recurrence of every May examination, he wrote to Mr. Candid upon the matter of securing to him his loan by the insurance of his (Robert's) life for the next ten years. He had made up his mind, since he had two years to spare before his degree, and nearly three before his fellowship examination came on, to take private pupils, by which, indeed, his revenues would become considerably larger than he had any occasion for. The £90 a-year which he calculated upon receiving from the College alone, in addition to this contemplated pupil-money, would indeed have been fully sufficient for him to live upon, even had he dispensed with the schoolmaster's £100 per annum entirely, and he offered, in fact, at this time, to do so. [Had his talents laid in the classical direction rather than the mathe

matical, he would have been certainly able to have obtained by University scholarships, or other open prizes, a better income still.] The generous schoolmaster wrote back, however, a bantering letter, informing his young friend that he, the lender, was not going to be deprived of so safe and profitable an investment for his money as he had already obtained, and that as to any surplus which the bloated collegian might have in hand, were there not some poor folks that had a sort of claim to it? Had not Mr. Field, in one of his letters to Birt, mentioned a certain wet-nurse, who, before Alma Mater took him, had nourished the ungrateful boy? Finally, in case of any further attempt on the part of the young scholar to erase or alter the conditions of his present bargain, Mr. Candid threatened to refer the matter to his personal friend and legal adviser, a certain Scotch Jew attorney, of Flint Street.

Thereupon Robert determined to shake off all anxiety upon his benefactor's account for the present; and he set himself to work very vigorously, for the next eighteen months or so, in picking up the gold and silver upon the academical Tom Tiddler's ground, with a success that surprised himself. At the conclusion of that period he wrote Mr. Field a letter such as caused the good surgeon to wipe his spectacles (for he had taken, alas! to spectacles by

that time), in order to remove the traces of the emotion which the news of his godson's success, and, still more, the evidence of his merit, had excited within him, So large a sum of money-" to be presented to my kindly nurse, and to any others who may have been pitiful to a poor orphan, in such proportion as seems to you to be the most proper "-accompanied this communication, that Mr. Field went in person to the dwelling of the tailor's wife in Rag Street to deliver it. It would have been more gracious, perhaps, for Robert to have gone himself, but his time was then fully occupied at Camford in preparation for his degree, and the expenses of a journey to town must needs have diminished the amount of his affectionate donation. For all the wealth and honours which had been steadily flowing in upon Mr. Field, he had not diminished his personal exertions among the poor, and yet he had of late years scarcely set eyes upon Mrs. Groves. That good lady, for some reason better known to herself than to him, had certainly shunned him; and although always more respectful to him than to any other mortal creature, seemed to be relieved whenever their rare and short-lived interviews were closed. Years had had their softening effect upon the character of Mrs. Groves, though not upon that of her husband, whose honest heart politics kept always fenced around

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with armour of triple brass. All their children were grown up and out in the world, and the gudeman and his wife dwelt, Darby-and-Joan-like, under the same domestic roof (only that they had moved into an upper story for the sake of cheapness) as ever. They were engaged, when the surgeon made his visit, upon a similar dish to that which had been on Volney's table when Robert Birt the elder had called upon him on the matter of standing godfather to his son, nearly twenty years before. It was that of greens and bacon, very properly so denominated, and not bacon and greens, insomuch as the vegetable was out of all proportion to the meat. It is surprising how often the Chartist-tailor had partaken of this simple fare without inconvenience, when we consider how many persons there are of our own acquaintance who turn from even the greatest delicacies, if served for three days running, with loathing. Volney Groves was even glad to get it!

"I have brought you some great news, Mrs. Groves," said the surgeon gravely. (He did not like poor Volney, nor make sufficient allowance for his violent language and somewhat grim opinions.)

"Indeed, sir," said the tailor's wife, colouring visibly; "I hope that it's good news."

"A young gentleman who was at one time

under great obligations to you, is anxious to show himself sensible of that, by the offer of—-”

"Nothing from that young Hollis, I hope," interrupted the old man, looking up angrily from his food; "my wife suckled him, and I saved his life, but not one word of thanks have either of us ever heard from his mouth; and it comes too late now."

"You needn't be so violent, Groves," replied Mr. Field quietly; "the money I bring with me is not sent by the person whom you imagine, at all; Robert Birt himself, now a scholar of a great college at Camford, and who is likely to distinguish himself very highly (as he well deserves to do) in years to come, has requested me to present to your wife who took him, although it was but for a little while, from his dead mother's arms-with his kind love (albeit he does not recollect her), the sum of thirty pounds; and there are twenty pounds also for the little girl who afterwards had charge of him, Maria Keggs.'

"I'll take it," said Volney Groves stoutly, and with the air of a man who confers a favour; "tell him I'll take it thankfully. I need not have been afraid that any of your dirty aristocrats would have done a thing so generous, indeed."

Mrs. Groves sat as pale as death, without uttering one word.