



Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




Lost Lenore
The Adventures of a Rolling Stone
By Charles Beach, edited Mayne Reid
Published by Charles J. Skeet, 10 King William Street, London.
This edition dated 1864.

Volume One, Chapter I.

FAMILY AFFAIRS.

The first important event of my life transpired on the 22nd May, 1831.
On that day I was born.

Six weeks after, another event occurred which no doubt exerted an
influence over my destiny: I was christened Rowland Stone.

From what I have read of ancient history--principally as given by the
Jews--I have reason to think, that I am descended from an old and
illustrious family.  No one can refute the evidence I have for believing
that some of my ancestors were in existence many hundred years ago.

The simple fact that I am in existence now is sufficient proof that my
family is of a descent, ancient and noble, as that of any other on
earth.

Perhaps there is no family, in its wanderings and struggles towards
remotest posterity, that has not experienced every vicissitude of
fortune; sometimes standing in the ranks of the great; and in the lapse
of ages descending to the lower strata of the social scale, and there
becoming historically lost.

I have not yet found it recorded, that any individual of the family to
which I belong ever held a very high position--not, in fact, since one
of them named Noah constructed a peculiar kind of sailing craft, of
which he was full owner, and captain.

It was my misfortune to be brought into existence at a period of the
world's history, when my father would be thought by many to be a man in
"humble circumstances of life."  He used to earn an honest living by
hard work.

He was a saddle and harness-maker in an obscure street in the city of
Dublin, and his name was William Stone.

When memory dwells on my father, pride swells up in my soul: for he was
an honest, temperate, and industrious man, and was very kind to my
mother and his children.  I should be an unworthy son, not to feel pride
at the remembrance of such a father!

There was nothing very remarkable in the character of my mother.  I used
to think different once, but that was before I had arrived at the age of
reason.  I used to think that she delighted to thwart my childish
inclinations--more than was necessary for her own happiness or mine.
But this was probably a fault of my wayward fancy.  I am willing to
think so now.

I was a little wilful, and no doubt caused her much trouble.  I am
inclined to believe, now that she treated me kindly enough--perhaps
better than I deserved.

I remember, that, up to the time I was eight years of age, it was the
work of two women to put a clean shirt on my back, and the operation was
never performed by them without a long and violent struggle.  This
remembrance, along with several others of a like nature, produces upon
me the impression, that my parents must have humoured my whims--too
much, either for my good or their own.

When I was yet very young, they thought that I was distinguished from
other children by a _penchant_ for suddenly and secretly absenting
myself from those, whose duty it was to be acquainted with my
whereabouts.  I often ran away from home to find playmates; and ran away
from school to avoid the trouble of learning my lessons.  At this time
of life, so strong was my propensity for escaping from any scene I did
not like, and betaking myself to such as I deemed more congenial to my
tastes, that I obtained the soubriquet of _The Rolling Stone_.

Whenever I would be missing from home, the inquiry would be made, "Where
is that Rolling Stone?" and this inquiry being often put in the school I
attended, the phrase was also applied to me there.  In short it became
my "nickname."

Perhaps I was a little vain of the appellation: for I certainly did not
try to win another, but, on the contrary, did much to convince
everybody, that the title thus extended to me was perfectly appropriate.

My father's family consisted of my parents, a brother, one year and a
half younger than myself, and a sister, about two years younger still.

We were not an unhappy family.  The little domestic cares, such as all
must share, only strengthened the desire for existence--in order that
they might be overcome.

My father was a man without many friends, and with fewer enemies, for he
was a person who attended to his own business, and said but little to
any one.  He had a talent for silence; and had the good sense not to
neglect the exercise of it--as many do the best gifts Nature has
bestowed upon them.

He died when I was about thirteen years old; and, as soon as he was gone
from us, sorrow and misfortune began for the first time to show
themselves in our house.

There are many families to whom the loss of a parent may be no great
calamity; but ours was not one of them; and, young as I was at the time,
I had the sense to know that thenceforward I should have to war with the
world alone.  I had no confidence in my mother's ability to provide for
her children, and saw that, by the death of my father, I was at once
elevated from the condition of a child to that of a man.

After his decease, the work in the shop was carried on by a young man
named Leary--a journeyman saddler, who had worked with my father for
more than a year previous to his death.

I was taken from school, and put to work with Mr Leary who undertook to
instruct me in the trade of a harness-maker.  I may say that the man
displayed considerable patience in trying to teach me.

He also assisted my mother with his counsel--which seemed guided by a
genuine regard for our interests.  He managed the business in the shop,
in what appeared to be the best manner possible; and the profits of his
labour were punctually handed over to my mother.

For several weeks after my father's death, everything was conducted in a
manner much more pleasant than we had any reason to expect; and the loss
we had sustained seemed not so serious to our future existence, as I had
at first anticipated.

All of our acquaintances thought we were exceedingly fortunate in having
such a person as Mr Leary, to assist us in carrying on the business.
Most of the neighbours used to speak of him in the highest terms of
praise; and many times have I heard my mother affirm that she knew not
what would become of us, if deprived of his assistance.

Up to this time Mr Leary had uniformly treated me with kindness.  I
knew of no cause for disliking him; and yet I did!

My conscience often rebuked me with this unexplained antipathy, for I
believed it to be wrong; but for all that, I could not help it.  I did
not even like his appearance; but, on the contrary, thought him the most
hideous person I had ever beheld.  Other people had a different opinion;
and I tried to believe that I was guided by prejudice in forming my
judgment of him.  I knew he was not to blame for his personal
appearance, nor for any other of my fancies; but none of these
considerations could prevent me from hating Matthew Leary, and in truth
I _did_ hate him.

I could not conceal my dislike--even from him; and I will do him the
justice to state that he appeared to strive hard to overcome it with
kindness.  All his efforts to accomplish this were in vain; and only
resulted in increasing my antipathy.

Time passed.  Mr Leary daily acquired a greater control of the affairs
of our family; and in proportion as his influence over my mother
increased, so did my hostility towards him.

My mother strove to conquer it, by reminding me of his kindness to all
the family--the interest he took in our common welfare--the trouble he
underwent in teaching me the business my father had followed--and his
undoubted morality and good habits.

I could not deny that there was reason in her arguments; but my dislike
to Mr Leary was independent of reason: it had sprung from instinct.

It soon became evident to me that Mr Leary would, at no distant period,
become one of the family.  In the belief of my mother, younger brother,
and sister, he seemed necessary to our existence.

My mother was about thirty-three years of age; and did not appear old
for her years.  She was not a bad looking woman--besides, she was
mistress of a house and a business.  Mr Leary possessed neither.  He
was but a journeyman saddler; but it was soon very evident that he
intended to avail himself of the opportunity of marrying my mother and
her business, and becoming the master of both.

It was equally evident that no efforts of mine could prevent him from
doing so, for, in the opinion of my mother, he was every thing required
for supplying the loss of her first husband.

I tried to reason with her, but must admit, that the only arguments I
could adduce were my prejudices, and I was too young to use even them to
the best advantage.  But had they been ever so just, they would have
been thrown away on my father's widow.

The many seeming good traits in the character of Mr Leary, and his
ability for carrying on the work in the shop, were stronger arguments
than any I could urge in answer to them.

My opposition to their marriage--now openly talked about--only
engendered ill-will in the mind of my mother; and created a coldness, on
her part, towards myself.  When finally convinced of her intention to
become Mrs Leary, I strove hard to overcome my prejudices against the
man: for I was fully aware of the influence he would have over me as a
step-father.

It was all to no purpose.  I hated Mr Leary, and could not help it.

As soon as my mother had definitively made known to me her intention of
marrying him, I felt a strong inclination to strengthen my reputation as
a runaway, by running away from home.  But such an exploit was then a
little too grand for a boy of my age to undertake--with much hope of
succeeding in its accomplishment.  I did not like to leave home, and
afterwards be compelled to return to it--when I might be worse off than
ever.

I formed the resolution, therefore, to abide in my mother's--soon to be
Mr Leary's--house, until circumstances should force me to leave it; and
that such circumstances would ere long arise, I had a painful
presentiment.  As will be found in the sequel, my presentiment was too
faithfully fulfilled.

Volume One, Chapter II.

A SUDDEN CHANGE OF CHARACTER.

Never have I witnessed a change so great and sudden as came over Mr
Leary, after his marriage with my mother.

He was no longer the humble journeyman--with the deportment of a
respectable young fellow striving to retain a situation, and gain
friends by good conduct.  The very day after the wedding, his behaviour
was that of a vain selfish overbearing plebeian, suddenly raised from
poverty to wealth.  He no longer spoke to me in his former feigned tone
of kindness, but with threats, in a commanding voice, and in accents far
more authoritative, than my father had ever used to me.

Mr Leary had been hitherto industrious, but was so no longer.  He
commenced, by employing another man to work in the shop with me, and
plainly expressed by his actions that