Among those who were drafted into other offices was
Charley, whom propitious fate took to the Weights
and Measures. But it must not be imagined that
chance took him there. The Weights and Measures
was an Elysium, the door of which was never casually
open.
Charley at this time was a much-altered man; not that
he had become a good clerk at his old office—such
a change one may say was impossible; there were no
good clerks at the Internal Navigation, and Charley
had so long been among navvies the most knavish or
navviest, that any such transformation would have met
with no credence—but out of his office he
had become a much-altered man. As Katie had
said, it was as though some one had come to him from
the dead. He could not go back to his old haunts,
he could not return like a dog to his vomit, as long
as he had that purse so near his heart, as long as
that voice sounded in his ear, while the memory of
that kiss lingered in his heart.
He now told everything to Gertrude, all his debts,
all his love, and all his despair. There is no
relief for sorrow like the sympathy of a friend, if
one can only find it. But then the sympathy must
be real; mock sympathy always tells the truth against
itself, always fails to deceive. He told everything
to Gertrude, and by her counsel he told much to Norman.
He could not speak to him, true friend as he was,
of Katie and her love. There was that about the
subject which made it too sacred for man’s ears,
too full of tenderness to be spoken of without feminine
tears. It was only in the little parlour at Paradise
Row, when the evening had grown dark, and Gertrude
was sitting with her baby in her arms, that the boisterous
young navvy could bring himself to speak of his love.
During these months Katie’s health had greatly
improved, and as she herself had gained in strength,
she had gradually begun to think that it was yet possible
for her to live. Little was now said by her about
Charley, and not much was said of him in her hearing;
but still she did learn how he had changed his office,
and with his office his mode of life; she did hear
of his literary efforts, and of his kindness to Gertrude,
and it would seem as though it were ordained that
his moral life and her physical life were to gain
strength together.
MR. NOGO’S LAST QUESTION
But at this time Charley was not idle. The fate
of ’Crinoline and Macassar’ has not yet
been told; nor has that of the two rival chieftains,
the ’Baron of Ballyporeen and Sir Anthony Allan-a-dale.’
These heartrending tales appeared in due course, bit
by bit, in the pages of the Daily Delight.
On every morning of the week, Sundays excepted, a
page and a half of Charley’s narrative was given
to the expectant public; and though I am not prepared
to say that the public received the offering with any
violent acclamations of applause, that his name became
