PAUL
CLIFFORD
ULWER-LYTTON
NCW
1835



PAUL
CLIFFORD
RULWER-LYTTON
NOW
1835












Now











Sivrisi CHCEND
.
..
ESTATE CF
HR TOWNSEND
Now


-
-








تمری و بیمه نامه





| THE NEW YORK
PUBLIC LIBRARY.
A&TUIT, LENOX AND
TILACA FINANS.



TIL
SER
THE
ELLIR
BE
OLEH
HE
WWW
WWW
WA
Drawin. by W. Page.
Lagraved by M. Osborne.
Wir? she faltered. ivht'; wir not? ive are all that is left
to each other in the world.
T ord Page 217?
New York Harper & Brothers, 1835.








PAUL CLIFFORD.
BY
EDWARD LYTTON BULWER, ESQ.

23
LE
Boule
TV Page
1.Osborne
The ng vat en peparif i discharge ther functns
1.
Puoli25.
RIIDRK HARPER & BROTHERS, 32 CLIEF SIREET
16


-
-
-
-
-
-


PAUL CLIFFORD.
BY THE
AUTHOR OF “PELHAM,” “THE DISOWNED,” &c.
Many of your lordships must recollect what used to take place on the high-
roads in the neighbourhood of this metropolis some years ago. Scarcely a
carriage could pass without being robbed, and frequently the passengers were
obliged to fight with, and give battle to, the highwaymen who infested the
roads.—Duke of Wellington's Speech on the Metropolis Police Bill, June 5th.
Mirror of Parliament, 1829, page 2050.
Can any man doubt whether it is better to be a great statesman, or a com-
mon thief ?-Jonathan Wild.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
A NEW AND ENLARGED EDITION.
NEW-YORK:
PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS,
NO. 82 CLIFF-STREET,
AND SOLD BY THE PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS THROUGHOUT THE
UNITED STATES.
183 5.





PAUL CLIFFORD.
BY THE
AUTHOR OF “PELHAM,” “THE DISOWNED,” &c.
B
r
ing you
Many of your lordships must recollect what used to take place on the high-
roads in the neighbourhood of this metropolis some years ago. Scarcely &
carriage could pass without being robbed, and frequently the passengers were
obliged to fight with, and give battle to, the highwaymen who infested the
roads.-Duke of Wellington's Speech on the Metropolis Police Bill, June 5th.
Mirror of Parliament, 1829, page 2050.
Can any man doubt whether it is better to be a great statesman, or a com-
mon thief ?-Jonathan Wild.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
A NEW AND ENLARGED EDITION.
NEW-YORK:
PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS,
NO. 82 CLIFF-STREET,
AND SOLD BY THE PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS THROUGHOUT THE
UNITED STATES.
18 3 5.





: PAUL CLIFFORD.
BY THE
AUTHOR OF “PELHAM,” “THE DISOWNED,” &c.
B
IO
resto
Many of your lordships must recollect what used to take place on the high-
roads in the neighbourhood of this metropolis some years ago. Scarcely a
carriage could pass without being robbed, and frequently the passengers were
obliged to fight with, and give battle to, the highwaymen who infested the
roads.--Duke of Wellington's Speech on the Metropolis Police Bill, June 5th.
Mirror of Parliament, 1829, page 2050.
Can any man doubt whether it is better to be a great statesman, or a com-
mon thief ?- Jonathan Wila.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
A NEW AND ENLARGED EDITION.
NEW-YORK:
PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS,
NO. 82 CLIFF-STREET,
AND SOLD BY THE PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS THROUGHOUT THX
UNITED STATES.
18 3 5.
.





: PAUL CLIFFORD.
BY THE
AUTHOR OF “PELHAM,” “THE DISOWNED,” &c.
Many of your lordships must recollect what used to take place on the high-
roads in the neighbourhood of this metropolis some years ago. Scarcely a
carriage could pass without being robbed, and frequently the passengers were
obliged to fight with, and give battle to, the highwaymen who infested the
roads.-Duke of Wellington's Speech on the Metropolis Police Bill, June 5th.
Mirror of Parliament, 1829, page 2050.
Can any man doubt whether it is better to be a great statesman, or a com-
mon thief ?- Jonathan Wila.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
A NEW AND ENLARGED EDITION.
NEW-YORK:
PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS,
NO. 82 CLIFF-STREET,
AND SOLD BY THE PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS THROUGHOUT THK
UNITED STATES.
18 3 5.





. PAUL CLIFFORD.
BY THE
AUTHOR OF “PELHAM,” “THE DISOWNED," &c.
Many of your lordships must recollect what used to take place on the high-
roads in the neighbourhood of this metropolis some years ago. Scarcely a
carriage could pass without being robbed, and frequently the passengers were
obliged to fight with, and give batile to, the highwaymen who infested the
roads.-Duke of Wellington's Speech on the Metropolis Police Bill, June 5th.
Mirror of Parliament, 1829, page 2050.
Can any man doubt whether it is better to be a great statesman, or a com-
mon thief ?--Jonathan Wild,
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
A NEW AND ENLARGED EDITION.
NEW-YORK:
PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS,
NO. 82 CLIFF-STREET,
AND SOLD BY THE PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS THROUGHOUT THE
UNITED STATES.
1835.
u.


THE NEW YORK
PUBLIC LIBRARY
214765
ASTOR,LENOX AND
TILDEN FOUNDATION
1901


DEDICATORY EPISTLE,
το
....
* * *, Esq.
TO
SOME years ago, my dear friend, when you and I
had more of the poetry of life at our hearts than, I fear,
is left to either of us now, I inscribed with your name
a certain slender volume of Poems, printed but not
published. Of the hundred copies of those boyish
indiscretions which, full of all unimaginable errors of
type and press, owed their origin to a French printer,
I have not to this day given away more than two or
three-and-twenty. I dedicated to you then a book only
to be circulated among friends, on the tacit understand-
ing that they were to be alike willing to forgive and
eager to commend. I dedicate to you now a book
which, the moment it passes from me, goes among
readers of whom even the kindly are too lukewarm to
praise, the hostile are pre-resolved to censure, and
every individual, with a cruel justice, holds it a right to
expect merit in an author upon all points, and to extend
him indulgence upon none. This is the natural and
established bond of publication; and of course, like all
who publish, I am prepared for its conditions. But ere
I again appear before an audience not the less critical
scarcely the less unfamiliar, for my having, in other
performances, braved its opinion, let me linger a few


DEDICATORY EPISTLE.
minutes behind the scenes, and encourage myself with
a friendly conference with you. It gives me pain, my
dear ***** *, to think that I may not grace my
pages with your name ; for I well know, that when
after-years shall open the fitting opportunity to your
talents, that name will not be lightly held wherever
honesty and truth—a capacity to devise what is good,
and a courage to execute it, are considered qualities
worthy of esteem. But in your present pursuits it can
scarcely serve you to be praised by a novelist, and
named in the dedication to a novel; and your well-
wishers, would not be pleased to find you ostentatiously
exhibiting a sanction to a book, which they would fain'
hope you may never obtain the leisure to read.
Four years have passed since I dedicated to you the
Poems I refer to--they have not brought to either of
us an inconsiderable change. We are no longer the
rovers of the world, setting sail at our caprice, and
finding enterprise at our will. We feel, though with a
silent conviction, that life has roads harsher and more
barren than we then imagined; and we look on the
ways through which we pass, not with the eager or the
wandering glance of the tourist of pleasure, but with
the saturnine and wary eye of the hackneyed trafficker
of business. You are settled down to the labours-
honourable, indeed, but somewhat sterile-of the bar;
and I, “a mere spectator of other men's fortunes and
adventures,'* am drawing from the bustle of the living
world such quiet observation as, after it has lain a
little while within my own mind, you perceive re-pro-
duced in the pages of certain idle and very indifferent
novels. I cling, however, not the less fondly to my old
faith, that experience is the only investment which never
fails to repay us tenfold what it cost; and that we
cannot find better and surer guides through those mazes
• Burton.


DEDICATO Y EPISTLE.
is not with me its own reward; and that in order to
write, I must first have the hope to be read. Politics,
Essays, Travels, Biography, IIistory ;-are these sub-
jects on which one is more likely to obtain a decent,
a tolerably durable reputation, than one is by the com-
position of novels? I fear not. Let us look around !
What encouragement to any of these subjects is held
out to us? Are not writings of this sort far more the
ephemerals of literature than writings of fiction ?*
Does the biography, or the essay, or the treatise, last
even the year for which a novel erdures? And if it
does not exceed the novel in durability, it can scarcely
equal it, you will allow, in popularity. The literary
idler, who receives it from the library, sends it away
and waits for the review in the Quarterly; and the
friend, the familiar, to whom you make it a present,
shuns you during the rest of your life, lest you should
inquire his opinion. You see, my dear ******, I
have viewed the matter on a magnificent scale. I might
have checked the question at once ;--I might, instead
of provoking discussion, by pointing out the unfitness
of such attempts, have quieted it by a gentle allusion
to the inability of the attempter ;-I might have
• Nor is this, as at the first glance it may appear, owing to the fault or the
unimportance of the writings themselves. While "The Sketch Book" is
found in every young lady's dressing-room; and “Bracebridge Hall" is still
in high request, in every country book-club; " The Life of Columbus,"
invaluable, if only from the subject so felicitously chosen ; "The Wars of
Grenada," scarcely less valuable from the subject so consummately adorned,
and so stirringly painted ; are, the one slowly passing into forgetfulness, and
the other slumbering, with uncut leaves, upon the shelf. Compare the
momentary sensation produced by the first appearance of Lord King's “Life
of Locke,'' with the sensation, durable and intense, which, replete as it is,
with the treasure of Locke's familiar thoughts, it would have produced
twenty years ago! “Godwin's History of the Commonwealth," one of the
most manly and impartial records ever written, lives less upon the memory
than “ Almack's ;” and “Cyril Thornton," produced some four years since,
is in more immediate vogue than the admirable history by the same Author-
published but the other day. True, that among a succeeding generation, there
may possibly be a re-action-lethargic octavos be awakened from their un.
timely trance, and enlivened quartos “take up their beds and waik !" But
now when people think as well as feel, and the present is to thein that matter
of reference and consideration which the future was with their more dream-
ing forefathers the fame that is only posthumous has become to all, but to
poets, a very frigid and impotent inducement.


viii
DEDICATORY EPISTLE.
However this be, the fashion in literature, of which I.
speak, has, among the wrecks of much that is great and
noble, opened to second-rate ability and mediocre
knowledge paths that were shut to them before. And
I, for one, if I have lost as a member of the public,
have gained more than proportionately as an individual.
I feel that I have just sufficient reading, or observation,
or reflection, or talent of any sort, to make it possible
that I may stumble in a light fiction upon some amusing,
perhaps even some useful truths; while neither the
reading, nor the observation, nor the reflection, nor the
talent, are, in all probability, sufficient to entitle me to a
momentary notice in any graver and more presuming
composition. Then, too, I fancy at those “post-pran-
dial hours," when a certain self-complacency diffuses
its cheering caloric over the mind, I fancy that I
have also by accident stricken out a vein not so wholly
hackneyed, as that any of my immediate contemporaries
share the possession with myself: for the philosophical
novel is at present not only little cultivated in any shape,
but those who do break up the unpromising soil, are
writers essentially grave and didactic. Such is the
graceful and all-accomplished author of “De Vere ;"
or the fine creator of “St. Leon” and “ Mandeville,"
to whose style may be applied the simile applied some-
what too flatteringly to that of Tertullian—that it is
like ebony, at once dark and splendid. The novel,
blendling chiefly the comic, and occasionally the
dramatic qualities with those of the reflective and
analyzing, is that which (except in “Devereux") I have
sought out as the province of my own attempts, and
in avoiding a competition with the distinguished writers
I have just referred to, I aimed originally at prudence,
and gained perhaps something of novelty.
You will observe that I have laid a stress on the
words immediate contemporaries, for I do not deceive'


DEDICATORY EPISTLE.
myself with the idea that I have done any thing the
least original. I have only endeavoured to revive what
had passed a little into neglect; and if my books have
had any success, it is owing to the goodness of the
school, and in spite of the faults of the disciple. The
combination of the philosophic novel with the comic
has indeed long since, in two great authors, been carried
to a perfection, which I confess, I think is not likely to
be attained, longo intervallo, by any succeeding writer.
The first, and by far the greater, of these (I speak of
Fielding) seems a man, who with a universal fame has
never met with a full appreciation. To me, he appears
not only incomparable as a Novelist—but also one
of the soundest thinkers, and most scientific moralists,
that ever conferred honour on a country, and instruction
on mankind. The second, Dr. Moore, has this re-
markable merit; he has made us forgive in him, two
sins that would have been beyond redemption in any
other author,—viz. in style an odious affectation of
Gallicisms, and in morals a furtive tendency to import
the idea ready made rather than to work out the raw
material at home. To these two may be added Miss
Edgeworth, the most faultless, if not the most brilliant
of all novelists, past and present. I do not class her
among immediate contemporaries, partly because she
seems to have altogether retired from the field, and
partly because the same settled and quiet judgment has
been passed upon her charming and useful tales which is
in general reserved for the decision of posterity. Though
I can only, then, advance a claim to the merit of the
renewer, not the creator,—the furbisher of old pictures,
not the artist of new,-I am yet very far from certain
that I can reach even an equal merit in any other
branch of literature; and thus you perceive a fourth
novel from my pen, where your unreflecting friendship
would have wished to see an attempt in political morals


DEDICATORY EPISTLE.
novels, as a recreation. Do not conceive, however,
from what I have said, that I am going to write novels
all the rest of my life,—I am excusing what has been,
and is,—not prefacing what is to be.
I have now, my dear friend, said all that I wished to
touch upon in excuse for the nature of my productions.
I do not make you, nor through you my Readers, an
apology for my egotism or my prolixity. To all
writers a Dedication is unchallenged and licensed
ground: to all Readers is granted a liberty, no less
acknowledged ;-that of passing over it with whatever
rapidity they please. I have been holding intercourse
with you with as much frankness as if the letters I now
write were not presently to be translated into the un-
familiar characters of the press; and if I have gone a
little too largely into general or into individual topics,
I must make amends by touching as briefly as possible
on the work now before you.
For the original idea of Paul Clifford, I am irdebted
to a gentleman of considerable distinction in literature,
and whose kindness to me is one of my most gratifying
remembrances. This idea, had the work been shorter,
would have pervaded the whole; as it is, it will be
found imbodied in those parts which, I believe, will be
the most popular in the book. Such as the scene at
Gentleman George's, the sketch of Bachelor Bill, &c.
As example is more explanatory than detail, I refer to
these passages for the illustration of my friend's sugges-
tion, rather than attempt to unfold and enlarge on it
here. In justice to my friend, I should add, first, that
I feel I have given a very inadequate form to a concep-
tion that appears to me peculiarly felicitous; and
secondly, that as I have made use of his idea rather as
an adjunct to my story, than as the principal ground-
work of the story itself, all the faults of plot and defi-
ciencies of invention that may be found in the progress


xii
DEDICATORY EPISTLE.
and dénouement of my tale, are solely and wholly to
be laid to my charge. * It were to be wished that my
friend had found leisure himself, among labours more
important, to imbody his own idea; or that, in giving
me the canvass, he could have given me also his skill
to colour and his talent to create.
I can scarcely conceive, what you, who are rather
fastidious about the niceties of language, will think
of the vulgar graces wherewith the greater part of my
first volume is adorned. I must own, that I have on
this point steeled myself against censure; for, inde-
pendent of any latent application or irony in the dialectt
I refer to, I am willing to risk an experiment, tried
successfully in Scotland and Ireland—though not in the
present day attempted in England :-of giving descrip-
tive and appropriate dialogue to classes of society, far
more capable of yielding interest or amusement to
persons of any mental vigour, whatever be their rank,
than trite copies of the languid inanities of a drawing-
room, or lifeless portraits of originals, whose very
boast it is to be scarcely alive.
-
* I should add, also, that I alone am accountable for the personality of any
caricatures in the scenes referred to: all that my friend suggested, was the
satirical adaptation of living personages to fictitious characters in the station or
profession of life which Old Bags and Long Ned adorn,- for the choice of
those personages he is by no means answerable. I mention this, because it is
but fair that I should take the chances of offence on myself; though the
broadness, and evident want of malice in the caricatures referred to, will, I
venture to foretel, make those caricatured, the first-perhaps the only
persons-to laugh at the exaggerated resemblance. !
1 It must be remembered, too, that this dialect is not the corruption of
uncouth provincialisms. The language of the thieves, or the low Londoners
(a distinction without a difference) is perhaps one of the most expressive
nay, one of the most metaphysical in the world. What deep philosophy
for instance, is there in this phrase, “the oil of palms," meaning money ?
# In some inimical, and rather personal, but clever observations made on
me in a new and promising periodical, it is implied that people living in good
society cannot write philosophically, or, it would seem, even well. I suppose
of course the Critic speaks of persons who live only in good society; and
though the remark is not true, as it happens, singularly enough, that the best
and most philosophical prose writers, in England especially, have been gen
tlemen, and lived for the most part, as a matter of course, among their equals.
yet I shall content myself with saying, that the remark, true or false, in this
case by no means applies to me, who have seen quite as much of the lowest
orders as of any other, and. who scarcely ever go into what is termed "the
world.” By-the-way, the Critic alluded to having been pleased in a very


DEDICATORY EPISTLE.
For any occasional retaliation on critics, enemies, or
Scotchmen—(with 'me, for the most part, they have
been found three appellations for the same thing)—for
many very hard words, and very smart hits against
myself-I offer no excuse :-my retaliation is in the
spirit of English warfare--blows at one moment, and
good-humour the next.-As for Scotchmen, I am not
quite sure that they have been yet able to expel from
my breast the lurking kindness which it once bore
towards them. It is not an easy matter seriously to
dislike, however ingeniously one may rail against, the
country that has produced Burns, and Scott, and
Campbell—a country, too, by-the-way, with which you
claim a connexion, and of which the distinguished
friend I have mentioned in this epistle is a native.-I
return only, gently enough at present, the first blows
pointed manner to consider me the hero as well as author of my own book
(Pelham), I am induced to say a few words on the subject. The year before
« Pelham" appeared, I published “Falkland," in which the hero was essen-
tially of the gloomy, romantic, cloud-like order: in short, Sir Reginald
Glanville out-Glanvilled. The matter-of-fact gentry, who say “ We," and
call themselves Critics, declared that “Falkland” was evidently a personation
of the author: next year out came “Pelham,'-the moral antipode of
" Falkland,"and the same gentry said exactly the same thing of “ Pelham.”
Wiil they condescend to reconcile this contradiction? The fact is, that the
moment any prominency, any corporeal reality is given to a hero, and the
hero (mark this is not made ostentatiously good-(nobody said I was like
Mord aunt)--then the hero and the author are the same person! This is one
reason why heroes now-a-days are made such poor creatures. Authors, a
quier set of people, rarely like to be personally mixed up with their own
creations. For my own part, though I might have an especial cause of com.
plaint in this incorporation, since I have never even drawn two heroes alike,
but made each, Falkland, Pelham, Mordaurt, and Devereux, essentially dif-
ferent; yet I am perfectly willing, if it gives the good people the least pleasure,
that my Critics should confound me with Palham. Nay, if Pelham be at al
what he was meant to be, viz. a practical satire on the exaggerated and
misanthropical romance of the day a human being whose real good qualities
put to shame the sickly sentimentalism of blue skies and bare throats, sombre
coxcombries and interesting villanles; if he be at all like this, I am extremely
proud to be mistaken for him. For though he is certainly a man who bathes
and “lives cleanly” (two especial charges preferred against him by Messrs.
the Great Unwashed), yet he is also brave, generous, just, a true friend, an
active citizen-perfect in accomplishments-unehakeable in principles !
What! is this my portrait-my fac simile, gentlemen ? Upon my word I am
extremely obliged to you! pray go on, I would not interrupt you for the
world!


XIV
DEDICATORY EPISTLE.
with which they have assailed me; I know what to
expect in return, and shall scarcely be the one
“Who first cries · Hold, enough!"
But, speaking dispassionately, our good fellow-sub-
jects on the other side of the Tweed have one little
unpleasant foible which makes them less charming
than they otherwise might be they lose their temper
the moment an Englishman gains a single advantage-
they become preposterously angry if we get ever so
small a name, nay, ever so small a fortune in our own
country ;-they seem to imagine that God Almighty
had made them a present of England to do exactly
what they please with, and that the Englishman who
interferes with their monopoly commits the very worst
species of blasphemy.- Whenever we rise the least
little step in the world, we are, it is true, sure to be
abused; but, I fancy, we shall find, on inquiry, that
nine times out of ten, the abuse has been uttered in
broad Scotch!
It has been made an objection to this book, that the
style of the first volume differs from the style of the
second : this difference was an especial object with me
in writing the work. Scenes in society essentially
contrasted, appear to require language suitable to the
contrast, and I cannot but think that one of the great
and ordinary faults in fiction, is the narrating all events,
and describing all varieties, with the same monotonous
and unmodulating tone.
The Hero of the story is an attempt to portray an
individual of a species of which the country is now
happily rid, but which seem to me to have possessed
as many of the real properties of romance, especially
comic and natural romance, as the foreign Carbonari
and exotic pirates whom it has pleased English writers,
in search of captivating villains, to import to their pages
For my part, I will back an English highwayman,


DEDICATORY EPISTLE.
XV
masked, armed, mounted, and trotting over Hounslow
Heath, against the prettiest rascal the Continent ever
produced.
In conclusion, let me add that I have endeavoured to
take warning from the errors of my preceding works.
Perhaps it will be found, that in this the story is better
conducted, and the interest more uniformly upheld, than
in my other productions. I have outlived the Recluse's
desire to be didascular, and have avoided alike essay
writing and digression ;-in a word, I have studied
more than in my last two works to write a tolerably
entertaining novel. I have admitted only one episode
of importance-the History of Augustus Tomlinson;
and I have only admitted that exception, because the
History is no episode in the moral and general design,
though it is in the current of narration.
And now, my dear friend, it is high time that I should
end an Epistle already too long, even for your patience.
Whatever be the fate of this book, or of those which
have preceded it; whether they have arisen like the
insects kindled from the Sicilian fountain-quickened
with one moment, and perishing with the next,—or
whether, in spite of a thousand faults which no one can
detect easier than myself, something, it may be, won
from Nature, or indicating, perhaps, the desire of Truth,
may detain them on the public mind yet a little while
beyond the brief season which gave them birth ;-one
gratification I have at least secured !—I have associated
this novel, which, I incline to hope, may not be con-
sidered my worst, and which possibly may be my last,
with such remembrances as will survive defeat, or
endear success.
Adieu, my dear * * * * * *
Wishing you all health and happiness,
Believe me your very
Affectionate Friend,
May, 1830.
E. L. B.





PREFACE
TO
THE SECOND EDITION.
HATH Criticism ever been-can Criticism ever be-
reduced to a science? Perron used to say he preferred
one page of Quintus Curtius to thirty of Tacitus; nay,
he said also that he never knew Tacitus praised by a man
of sense. People would get rid of the authority, now-a-
days, by saying Perron was a fool ; but at that day
people were less rash. Perron was not, by any means,
a fool; he was a very clever man, and a great scholar.
All persons entertain, all critics record, individual opi-
nions, formed, the Almighty only knows how! and these,
when party does not interfere, are expressed, not accord-
ing to the rules of a science, but the humour of the mo-
ment; the man who would have censured you before
dinner, praises you after: and, as a great Reviewer
once innocently remarked, “ no one says in criticism,
any more than in letter-writing, exactly what he intended
to say.” That “exactly” is a fearful word; it is often
the only difference between flattery and blame. I have
been told that the first volume of this work is coarse,
unintelligible, and low; and far worse than the other :
it may be so; but I do not think it. On the contrary,
I believe that it is the part that will be read over twice
with the most pleasure, and from which, some years
hence, quotations will be the most rife, and thoughts the
most familiarly culled. Some years hence! is that a
bold phrase? The answer is neither for my critics nor
me; the questions put to time, time only can answer.
A 2


PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
Some little presumption in regard to one of the person-
ages in this tale, has been indecorously exhibited by no
less than three periodicals. A gentleman in each of
these hath contended for the original of Peter Mac-
Grawler. I beg to say, that neither one of them ap-
peared to me of sufficient importance to resort to for an
entire portrait of a character so illustrious. Each of
them, it may be, supplied hints. But MacGrawler was
formed on the principle of Apelles ; and the attributes
of many contributed to create the perfection of one.
Some additions and an occasional erasure will be
found in this impression of Paul Clifford. I could not,
in especial, miss the opportunity of a funeral oration in
honour of Gentleman George; and the little work ap-
pended to this edition, the Urn to the wise remains of
Augustus Tomlinson, will, doubtless, be regarded with
the veneration it deserves.
· Till we meet again, farewell, Reader; this preface
shows my desire to salute thee. If thou hast read my
book before, open it again: all my works are made on
one principle -" to be read twice."
THE AUTHOR.
August 16, 1830.


KEY TO PAUL CLIFFORD.
[BY THE AMERICAN PUBLISHERS.)
VOL. I. p. 26.—“Bachelor Bill.”—The Duke of Devon-
shire. A person of great celebrity among that portion
of the fashionable world, which emphatically entitles
itself “'The Exclusives." His mother, the last dutchess,
was remarkable for the exquisite taste which presided at
ner entertainments. An alliance with her son, the pre-
sent duke, who inherited with distinguished rank an
immense fortune, was eagerly courted by the beauty and
fashion of the British metropolis, as soon as he attained
his majority. His insensibility to these gave rise to
“all manner of unfounded reports ;” among others, to a
mysterious story relating to his birth. He had bound
himself, it was said, to live unmarried; on which condi-
tion, the next heir, the head of the Cavendish family,
had abstained from contesting the duke's legitimacy.
“ Waxing now near to the confines of middle age,"
these reports have insensibly died away, and the duke is
at present chiefly remarkable by the splendour and
recherché style of his mode of life. A most accom-
plished dancer, he has lately introduced in England the
Mazurki dance of the Russians. It is needless to point
out to the reader the various points in his character,
which our author has so happily caricatured.
P. 29.-" Mr. Edward Pepper, Long Ned.”—Edward
Law, Lord Ellenborough. His height, and the exuberant
growth of hair on his head, which he always wears
curled, has long been a standing joke among the wits of
London.
P. 30.-“Fish-lane.”—The magnificent club and gam.
bling house of Crockford, once a fishmonger.
· P. 52.-"I was the son.”—The father of Lord Ellen-


KEY.
boroug 1, who was the late chief justice of the King's
Bench, was remarkable for his warmth of temper. His
grandfather was bishop of Carlisle, and author of several
works on religious subjects.
P. 53.-“ Live on the public.”—Lord Ellenborough is
now one of the cabinet ministers, and president of the
board of control.
P. 63.-“ Justice Burnflat.”—Sir Robert Birnie, a police
magistrate.
P.78." You have received no invitation from Lady A.”
-The facts here stated actually occurred the winter before
last in London. The person who had thus surrepti-
tiously introduced himself into fashionable life, was, on
being discovered, turned out of the house, but his name
was never known.
P. 94%"A staid old gentleman.”—George the Third.
During the summer season, he regularly promenaded on
the esplanade at Windsor, to which the public were ad-
mitted, with “ a bob wig and gold-headed cane."
P. 94.—“Gentleman George."--George the Fourth ;
frequently said to be “the most finished gentleman in
England.”
P. 94.-—"Alarge pewter measure.”—The allusion here
is to a splendid silver wine cooler, recently made for the
king; its size and the workmanship were both extraor.
dinary.
P. 95.—" He invests all his money in building.”—The
large sums annually required of parliament for repairing
and embellishing Windsor Castle, and rebuilding St.
James's palace, has excited much animadversion. It is
generally understood that these are asked by the minis-
ters to gratify a peculiar predilection of the king for
superintending works of architecture. Mr. Nash is the
architect (cunning Nat), and an inquiry has lately been
demanded in the House of Commons into the circum-
stances connected with the disposal to him of some pub-
lic property in London on ground rent.


KEY.
P. 97.—“Scarlet Jem, a dangerous fellow for the press."
-Sir James Scarlet, the attorney general, formerly a
decided Whig; since he has become a member of the
present administration he has instituted, ex officio, a pro-
secution against two newspapers for libels on members
of the government.
P. 99.—“The commons.”—The House of Commons.
P. 99." Bagshot, Old Bags.”—Lord Eldon, the lord-
chancellor. The first appellation given him in conse-
quence of his being, notwithstanding his advanced age,
very fond of shooting. As to the second, lawyers in
England, when attending court, are in the habit of carry.
ing a green bag which contains their papers, and although
there can be no doubt that it is from this circumstance
Lord Eldon has derived so singular an appellation, it
would be difficult to state the precise cause which led to
its being affixed to him. Some say, the name was given
him by majesty itself, on his attending the king, when
lord-chancellor, at an inconvenient hour, with his green
bag full of papers which required the royal signature.
P. 99.—“The venerable old man became suddenly silent,
and the tears started to his eyes.”—During the debate in
the House of Peers, the newspapers, in reporting Lord
Eldon's speech, say, that while delivering it, he became
silent and affected as is here described. The observa-
tions put in the mouth of Old Bags, are a satire on Lord
Eldon's arguments against innovation on the established
church and institutions of England. Allusions to the
question of Catholic emancipation, which a short time
since agitated all England, and of the principal charac-
ters who promoted or opposed it, are frequent throughout
the work, particularly at page 183.
P. 100.--" Fighting Attie.”—The Duke of Wellington.
The author has drawn a laughable caricature of the
Duke's habits, his early rising, his punctuality, and the
decision which marks his character and measures.
P. 100.-" The sallow gentleman." -Mr. Huskisson.
This is an amusing version of the circumstances con.
nected with this gentleman's retirement from the present
administration. Having on one occasion voted against


PAUL CLIFFORD.
CHAPTER I.
Say, ye oppress'd by some fantastic woes,
Some jarring nerve that baffles your repose,
Who press the downy couch while slaves advance
With timid eye to read the distant glance;
Who with sad prayers the weary doctor teaze
To name the nameless ever-new disease:
Who with mock patience dire complaints endure,
Which real pain, and that alone can cure:
How would you bear in real pain to lie,
Despis'd, neglected, left alone to die?
How would ye bear to draw your latest breath
Where all that's wretched paves the way to death ?
CRABBE.
It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents
-except at occasional intervals, when it was checked
by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for
it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the
house-tops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the
lamps that struggled against the darkness. Through
one of the obscurest quarters of London, and among
haunts little loved by the gentlemen of the police, a man
evidently of the lowest orders was winding his solitary
way. He stopped twice or thrice at different shops and
houses of a description correspondent with the appear-
ance of the quartier in which they were situated.-and
tended inquiry for some article or other which did not
seem easily to be met with. All the answers he received
were couched in the negative; and as he turned from
each door, he muttered to himself, in no very elegant
phraseology, his disappointment and discontent. At
length, at one house, the landlord, a sturdy butcher, after
rendering the same reply the inquirer had hitherto re-
ceived, added, “But if this vill do as vell, Dummie, it is
quite at your sarvice." Pausing reflectively for a mo-
ment, Dummie responded, that he thought the thing prof-
ferred might do as well; and thrusting it into his ample
pocket, he strode away with as rapid a motion as the
Vol. 1.-A


PAUL CLIFFORD.
of charcoal is wont to produce. The wan and flickering
light afforded by a farthing candle gave a sort of grimness
and menace to these achievements of pictorial art, espe-
cially as they more than once received embellishment from
portraits of Satan, such as he is accustomed to be drawn.
A low fire burned gloomily in the sooty grate; and on the
hob hissed “the still small voice” of an iron kettle. On
a round deal-table were two vials, a cracked cup, a broken
spoon of some dull metal, and upon two or three mutilated
chairs were scattered various articles of female attire.
On another table, placed below a high, narrow, shutterless
casement (athwart which, instead of a curtain, a checked
apron had been loosely hung, and now waved fitfully to and
fro in the gusts of wind that made easy ingress through
many a chink and cranny), were a looking-glass, sundry
appliances of the toilet, a box of coarse rouge, a few
ornaments of more show than value; and a watch, the
regular and calm clink of which produced that inde-
scribably painful feeling, which, we fear, many of our
readers who have heard the sound in a sick chamber can
easily recall. A large tester-bed stood opposite to this
table, and the looking-glass partially reflected curtains
of a faded stripe, and ever and anon (as the position of
the sufferer followed the restless emotion of a disordered
mind) glimpses of the face of one on whom death was
rapidly hastening. Beside this bed now stood Dummie,
a small, thin man, dressed in a tattered plush jerkin, from
which the rain-drops slowly dripped, and with a thin,
yellow, cunning physiognomy, grotesquely hideous in
feature, but not positively villainous in expression. On
the other side of the bed stood a little boy of about three
years old, dressed as if belonging to the better classes,
although the garb was somewhat tattered and discoloured.
The poor child trembled violently, and evidently looked
with a feeling of relief on the entrance of Ďummie.
And now there slowly, and with many a phthisical sigh,
heaved towards the foot of the bed the heavy frame of
the woman who had accosted Dummie below, and had
followed him, haud passibus æquis, to the room of the
sufferer; she stood with a bottle of medicine in her
hand, shaking its contents up and down, and with a
kindly yet timid compassion spread over a countenance
crimsoned with habitual libations. This made the scene;
save that on a chair by the bedside lay a profusion of
long glossy golden ringlets, which had been cut from the
A 2


PAUL CLIFFORD.
head of the sufferer when the fever had begun to mount
upwards; but which, with a jealousy that portrayed the
darling littleness of a vain heart, she had seized and
insisted on retaining near her; and save that, by the fire,
perfectly inattentive to the event about to take place
within the chamber, and to which we of the biped race
attach so awful an importance, lay a large gray cat
curled in a ball, and dozing with half-shut eyes, and ears
that now and then denoted, by a gentle inflection, the jar
of a louder or nearer sound than usual upon her lethargie
senges. The dying woman did not at first attend to the
entrance either of Dummie or the female at the foot of
the bed; but she turned herself round towards the child,
and grasping his arm fiercely, she drew him towards her,
and gazed on his terrified features with a look in which
exhaustion and an exceeding wanness of complexion
were even horribly contrasted by the glare and energy
of delirium.
“If you are like him," she muttered, “I will strangle
you,-İ will !-ay-tremble! you ought to tremble, when
your mother touches you, or when he is mentioned. You
have his eyes, you have !-Out with them, out !-the
devil sits laughing in them! Oh! you weep, do you,
little one! Well now, be still, my love,-be hushed! I
would not harm thee! harm-0 God, he is my child
after all!”-and at these words, she clasped the boy pas-
sionately to her breast, and burst into tears!
“Coom now, coom!” said Dummie, soothingly. “Take
the stuff, Judith, and then ve 'll talk hover the hurchin!"
The mother relaxed her grasp of the boy, and turning
towards the speaker, gazed at him for some moments
with a hewildered stare : at length she appeared slowly
to remember him, and said, as she raised herself on one
hand, and pointed the other towards him with an inquiring
gesture
“ Thou hast brought the book ?"
Dummie answered by lifting up the book he had brought
from the honest butcher's.
· “ Clear the room, then!" said the sufferer, with that
air of mock command so common to the insane. “We
would be alone !"
Dummie winked at the good woman at the foot of the
bed ; and she (though generally no easy person to order
or to persuade) left, without reluctance, the sick chamber.
· “If she be a-going to pray !" murmured our landlady


PAUL CLIFFORD.
(for that office did the good matron hold), “ I may indeed
as well take myself off, for it's not werry comfortable
like, to those who be old, to hear all that 'ere !" .
With this pious reflection, the hostess of the “Mug,"
so was the hostelry called, heavily descended the creak-
ing stairs.
* Now, man !" said the sufferer, sternly,"swear that
you will never reveal,--swear, I say! and by the great
God, whose angels are about this night, if ever you break
the oath, I will come back and haunt you to your dying
day !"
Dummie's face grew pale, for he was superstitiously
affected by the vehemence and the language of the dying
woman, and he answered, as he kissed the pretended
bible,-that he swore to keep the secret, as much as he
knew of it, which, she must be sensible, he said, was
very little. As he spoke, the wind swept with a loud and
sudden gust down the chimney, and shook the roof above
them so violently as to loosen many of the crumbling
tiles, which fell one after the other, with a crashing noise,
on the pavement below. Dummie started in affright;
and perhaps his conscience smote him for the trick he
had played with regard to the false bible. But the
woman, whose excited and unstrung nerves led her astray
from one subject to another with preternatural celerity,
said with an hysterical laugh, “See, Dummie, they come
in state for me,-give me the cap-yonder! and bring
the looking-glass !"
Dummie obeyed, and the woman, as she in a low tone
uttered something about the unbecoming colour of the
ribands, adjusted the cap on her head; and then saying
in a regretful and petulant voice, “ Why should they have
cut off my hair ?-such a disfigurement !” bade Dummie
desire Mrs. Margery once more to ascend to her.
Left alone with her child, the face of the wretched
mother softened as she regarded him, and all the levities
and all the vehemences—if we may use the word,
which, in the turbulent commotion of her delirium, had
been stirred up to the surface of her mind, gradually now
sunk, as death increased upon her,-and a mother's anx-
iety rose to the natural levei from which it had been dis-
turbed and abased. She took the child to her bosom, and
clasping him in her arms, which grew weaker with every
instant, she soothed him with a sort of chant which
nurses sing over their untoward infants ; but the voice


PAUL CLIFFORD.
was cracked and hollow, and as she felt it was so, the
mother's eyes filled with tears. Mrs. Margery now re-
entered; and, turning towards the hostess, with an im-
pressive calmness of manner which astonished and awed
the person she addressed, the dying woman pointed to
the child, and said,
“ You have been kind to me, very kind, and may God
bless you for it! I have found that those whom the world
calls the worst, are often the most human. But I am not
going to thank you as I ought to do, but to ask of you a
last and exceeding favour. Protect my child till he grows
up,-you have often said you loved him,--you are child-
less yourself, and a morsel of bread and a shelter for the
night, which is all I ask of you to give him, will not im-
poverish more legitimate claimants !”
Poor Mrs. Margery, fairly sobbing, vowed she would
be a mother to the child, and that she would endeavour
to rear him honestly, though a public house was not, she
confessed, the best place for good examples.
“ Take him !" cried the mother, hoarsely, as her voice,
failing her strength, rattled indistinctly, and almost died
within her. “Take him,-rear him as you will, as you
can !-any example, any roof better than—" Here the
words were inaudible.-" And oh! may it be a curse, and
a !- Give me the medicine, I am dying.”.
The hostess, alarmed, hastened to comply, but before
she returned to the bedside the sufferer was insensible,-
nor did she again recover speech or motion. A low and
rare moan only testified continued life, and within two
hours that ceased, and the spirit was gone. At that time
our good hostess was herself beyond the things of this
outer world, having supported her spirits during the vigils
of the night with so many little liquid excitations, that
they finally ended in that torpor which generally succeeds
excitement. Taking, perhaps, advantage of the oppor-
tunity the insensibility of the hostess afforded him, Dum-
mie, by the expiring ray of the candle that burned in the
death chamber, hastily opened a huge box (which was
generally concealed under the bed, and contained the
wardrobe of the deceased), and turned with irreverent
hand over the linens and the silks, until quite at the bot-
tom of the trunk he discovered some packets of letters;
these he seized, and buried in the conveniences of his
dress; he then, rising and replacing the box, cast a longing
eye towards the watch on the toilet-table, which was of


PAUL CLIFFORD.
gold; but he withdrew his gaze, and with a long, queru.
lous sigh, observed to himself, " The old blone kens o'
that, od rat her! but, howsomever, I'll take this; who
knows but it may be of sarvice-tannies to-day may be
smash to-morrow !"* and he laid his coarse hand on the
golden and silky tresses we have described,-“'T is a rum
business, and puzzles I; but mum's the word, for my own
little colquarren.”+
With this brief soliloquy, Dummie descended the stairs,
and let himself out of the house.
CHAPTER II.
Imagination fondly stoops to trace
The parlour splendours of that festive place.
DESERTED VILLAGE
THERE is little to interest in a narrative of early child-
hood, unless indeed one were writing on education. We
shall not therefore linger over the infancy of the mother-
less boy leſt to the protection of Mrs. Margery Lobkins,
or, as she was sometimes familiarly called, Peggy or
Piggy Lob. The good dame, drawing a more than suf-
ficient income from the profits of a house, which, if situ-
ated in an obscure locality, enjoyed very general and
lucrative repute ; and being a lone widow without kith
or kin, had no teinptation to break her word to the de-
ceased, and she suffered the orphan to wax in strength
and understanding until the age of twelve, a period at
which we are now about to reintroduce him to our readers,
The boy evinced great hardihood of temper, and no
inconsiderable quickness of intellect. In whatever he
attempted his success was rapid, and a remarkable
strength of limb and muscle seconded well the dictates
of an ambition turned, it must be confessed, rather to
physical than mental exertion. It is not to be supposed,
however, that his boyish life passed in unbroken tran-
quillity. Although Mrs. Lobkins was a good woman
on the whole, and greatly attached to her protegé, she
* Meaning what is of no value now, may be precious hereafter.
| Colquarren-neck.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
was violent and rude in temper, or, as she herself more
flatteringly expressed it, “ her feelings were unkimmonly
strong," and alternate quarrel and reconciliation con-
stituted the chief occupations of the protegé's domestic
life. As previous to his becoming the ward of Mrs.
Lobkins, he had never received any other appellation
than “ the child," the duty of christening him devolved
upon our hostess of “ The Mug;" and, after some deli-
beration, she blessed him with the name of Paul,-it was
a name of happy omen, for it had belonged to Mrs. Lob-
kins's grandfather, who had been three times transported,
and twice hanged (at the first occurrence of the latter
description, he had been restored by the surgeons, much
to the chagrin of a young anatomist, who was to have
had the honour of cutting him up). The boy did not
seem likely to merit the distinguished appellation he
bore, for he testified no remarkable predisposition to the
property of other people. Nay, although he sometimes
emptied the pockets of any stray visiter to the coffee
room of Mrs. Lobkins, it appeared an act originating
rather in a love of the frolic, than a desire of the profit
for after the plundered person had been sufficiently tor.
mented by the loss, haply of such utilities as a tobacco.
box or a handkerchief; after he had, to the secret delight
of Paul, searched every corner of the apartment, stamped,
and fretted, and exposed himself by his petulance to the
bitter objurgation of Mrs. Lobkins, our young friend would
quietly and suddenly contrive, that the article missed
should return of its own accord to the pocket from which
it had disappeared. And thus, as our readers have
doubtless experienced, when they have disturbed the
peace of a whole household for the loss of some portable
treasure which they themselves are afterward discovered
to have mislaid, the unfortunate victim of Paul's honest
ingenuity, exposed to the collected indignation of the
spectators, and sinking from the accuser into the con-
victed, secretly cursed the unhappy lot which not only
vexed him with the loss of his property, but made it still
more annoying to recover it.
Whether it was that, on discovering these pranks, Mrs.
Lobkins trembled for the future bias of the address they
displayed, or whether she thought that the folly of
thieving without gain required speedy and permanent
correction, we cannot decide ; but the good lady became
at last extremely anxious to secure for Paul the blessings


PAUL CLIFFORD.
of a liberal education. The key of knowledge (the art
of reading) she had, indeed, two years prior to the pre-
sent date, obtained for him, but this far from satisfied
her conscience: nay, she felt that, if she could not also
obtain for him the discretion to use it, it would have been
wise even to have withheld a key, which the boy seemed
perversely to apply to all locks but the right one. In a
word, she was desirous that he should receive an edu-
cation far superior to those whom he saw around him.
And attributing like most ignorant persons, too great
advantages to learning, she conceived that, in order to
live as decorously as the parson of the parish, it was
only necessary to know as much Latin.
One evening in particular, as the dame sat by her
cheerful fire, this source of anxiety was unusually active
in her mind, and ever and anon she directed unquiet and
restless glances towards Paul, who sat on a form at the
opposite corner of the hearth, diligently employed in
reading the life and adventures of the celebrated Richard
Turpin. The form on which the boy sat was worn to a
glassy smoothness, save only in certain places, where
some ingenious idler or another had amused himself by
carving sundry names, epithets, and epigrammatic nice-
ties of language. It is said, that the organ of carving
upon wood is prominently developed on all English
skulls; and the sagacious Mr. Coombe has placed this
organ at the back of the head, in juxtaposition to that of
destructiveness, which is equally large among our coun-
trymen, as is notably evinced upon all railings, seats,
temples, and other things-belonging to other people.
Opposite to the fireplace was a large deal-table, at
which Dummie, surnamed Dunnaker, seated near the
dame, was quietly ruminating over a glass of hollands
and water. Farther on, at another table in the corner of
the room, a gentleman with a red wig, very rusty gar-
ments, and linen which seemed as if it had been boiled
in saffron, smoked his pipe, apart, silent, and apparently
plunged in meditation. This gentleman was no other
than Mr. Peter MacGrawler, the editor of a magnificent
periodical entitled the “Asinæum,” which was written to
prove, that whatever is popular is necessarily bad, -a
valuable and recondite truth, which the Asinæum had
satisfactorily demonstrated by ruining three printers,
and demolishing a publisher. We need not add, that
Mr. MacGrawler was Scotch by birth, since we believe
A 3


10
· PAUL CLIFFORD.
it is pretty well known that all the periodicals of this
eountry have, from time immemorial, been monopolized
by the gentlemen of the land of cakes-we know not
how it may be the fashion to eat the said cakes in Scot-
land; but here the good emigrators seem to like them
carefully, buttered on both sides. By the side of the
editor stuod a large pewter tankard, above him hung an
engraving of the “wonderfully fat boar, formerly in the
possession of Mr. Fattem, grazier.” To his left rose
the dingy form of a thin, upright clock, in an oaken case;
beyond the clock, a spit and a musket were fastened in
parallels to the wall. Below those twin emblems of war
and cookery were four shelves, containing plates of
pewter and delf, and terminating, centaur-like, in a sort
of dresser. At the other side of these domestic con-
veniences was a picture of Mrs. Lobkins, in a scarlet
body, and a hat and plume. At the back of the fair
hostess stretched the blanket we have before mentioned.
As a relief to the monotonous surface of this simple
screen, various ballads and learned legends were pinned
to the blanket. There might you read in verses, pathetic
and unadorned, how,
“Sally loved a sailor lad
As fought with famous Shovel!"
There might you learn, if of two facts so instructive you
were before unconscious, that
“Ben the toner loved his bottle-
Charley only loved the lasses!”
- When of these, and various other poetical effusions,
you were somewhat wearied, the literary fragments, in
humbler prose, afforded you equal edification and delight.
There might you fully enlighten yourself as to the
“Strange and Wonderful News from Kensington, being
a most full and true relation, how a Maid there is sup-
posed to have been carried away by an Evil Spirit, on
Wednesday, 15th of April last, about Midnight." There,
too, no less interesting and no less veracious, was that
uncommon anecdote, touching the chief of many-throned
powers, entitled, “ The Divell of Mascon; or the true
relation of the Chief Things which an Unclean Spirit
did and said at Mascon, in Burgundy, in the house of one
Mr. Francis Pereaud, now made English by One that
hath a Particular Knowledge of the Truth of the Story."
: Nor were these materials for Satanic history the only


PAUL CLIFFORD.
prosaic and faithful chronicles which the bibliothecal
blanket afforded: equally wonderful, and equally indis-
putable, was the account of “ a young lady, ihe daughter
of a duke, with three legs, and the face of a porcupine."
Nor less so, “ The Awful Judgment of God upon
Swearers, as exemplified in the case of John Stiles, who
dropped down Dead after Swearing a Great Oath, and on
stripping the unhappy man they found 'Swear not at all?
written on the Tail of his Shirt !”
Twice had Mrs. Lobkins heaved a long sigh; as her
eyes turned from Paul to the tranquil countenance of
Dummie Dunnaker, and now, resettling herself in her
chair, as a motherly anxiety gathered over her visage-
“Paul, my ben cull," said she, “what gibberish hast
got there?”
“ Turpin, the great highwayman!" answered the young
student, without lifting his eyes from the page, through
which he was spelling his instructive way.
“Oh! he be 's a chip of the right block, dame!” said
Mr. Dunnaker, as he applied his pipe to an illumined
piece of paper. “He 'll ride an oss foaled by a hacorn
yet, 1 varrants !”
To this prophecy the dame replied only with a look of
indignation, and rocking herself to and fro in her huge
chair, she remained for some moments in silent thought.
At last she again wistfully eyed the hopeful boy, and
calling him to her side, communicated some order, in a
dejected whisper. Paul, on receiving it, disappeared
behind the blanket, and presently returned with a bottle
and a wine-glass. With an abstracted gesture, and an
air that betokened continued meditation, the good dame
took the inspiring cordial from the hand of her youthful
cupbearer,
"And ere a man had power to say 'Behold!
The jaws of Lobkins had devoured it up,
So quick bright things come to confusion !"
The nectarean beverage seemed to operate cheerily on
the matron's system; and placing her hand on the boy's
curling head, she said, (like Andromache' dakruon gela-
sasa, or, as Scott hath it, “With a smile in her cheek,
but a tear in her eye,')
“ Paul, thy heart be good !-thy heart be good-Thou
didst not spill a drop of the tape! Tell me, my honey
why didst thou lick Tom Tobyson ?"


PAUL CLIFFORD.
“ Because,” answered Paul," he said as how you ought
to have been hanged long ago!"
“ Tom Tobyson is a good-for-nought,” returned the
dame, “and deserves to shove the tumbler ;* but, oh my
child! be not too venturesome in taking up the sticks for
a blowen. It has been the ruin of many a man afore
you, and when two nien goes to quarrel for a 'oman, they
does n't know the natur of the thing they quarrels about
mind thy latter end, Paul, and reverence the old, with-
out axing what they has been before they passed into the
wale of years ;thou may’st get me my pipe, Paul,-it
is up-stairs, under the pillow.”
While Paul was accomplishing this errand, the lady
of the Mug, fixing her eyes upon Mr. Dunnaker, said,
“ Dummie, Dummie, if little Paul should come to be
scragged!”
.“ Whish!" muttered Dummie, glancing over his shoul-
der at MacGrawler,—" Mayhap that gemman,”-here
his voice became scarcely audible even to Mrs. Lobkins;
but his whisper seeined to imply an insinuation, that the
illustrious editor of the Asinæum might be either an
informer, or one of those heroes on whom an informer
subsists.
Mrs. Lobkins' answer, couched in the same key, ap-
peared to satisfy Dunnaker, for, with a look of great
contempt, he chucked up his head, and said, “ Oho! that
be all ! be it !"
Paul here reappeared with the pipe, and the dame,
having filled the tube, leaned forward, and lighted the
Virginian weed from the blower of Mr. Dunnaker. As in
this interesting occupation the heads of the hostess and
the guest approached each other, the glowing light play-
ing cheerily on the countenance of each, there was an
honest simplicity in the picture that would have merited
the racy and vigorous genius of a Cruikshank. As soon
as the Promethean spark had been fully communicated
to the lady's tube, Mrs. Lobkins, still possessed by the
gloomy idea she had conjured up, repeated-
“Ah, Dummie, if little Paul should be scragged!"
Duminie, withdrawing the pipe from his mouth, heaved
a sympathizing puff, but remained silent; and Mrs. Lob-
kins, turning to Paul, who stood with mouth open and
ears erect at this boding ejaculation, said
• Be whipped at the cart's tall.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
13
“Dost think, Paul, they'd have the heart to hang
thee ?"
“I think they'd have the rope, dame!" returned the
youth.
“But you need not go for to run your neck into the
noose !" said the matron; and then, inspired by the spirit
of moralizing, she turned round to the youth, and gazing
upon his attentive countenance, accosted him with the
following admonitions.
“ Mind thy kittychism, child, and reverence old age.
Never steal, 'specially when any one be in the way.
Never go snacks with them as be older than you,-'cause
why ? the older a cove be, the more he cares for his self,
and the less for his partner. At twenty, we diddles the
public-at forty, we diddles our cronies! Be modest,
Paul, and stick to your sitivation in life. Go not with
fine tobymen, who burn out like a candle wot has a
thief in it-allflare, andgone in a whiffy! Leave liquor
to the aged, who can't do without it. Tape often proves
a halter, and there be's no ruin like blue ruin! Read
your bible, and talk like a pius ’un. People goes more
by your words than your actions. If you wants what
is not your own, try and do without it; and if you cannot
do without it, take it away by insinivation, not bluster.
They as swindles, does more and risks less than they as
robs; and if you cheats toppingly, you may laugh at the
topping cheat;* and now go play.”
Paul seized his hat, but lingered; and the dame, guess-
ing at the signification of the pause, drew forth, and
placed in the boy's hand, the sum of five halfpence and
one farthing. " There, boy," quoth she, and she stroked
his head fondly when she spoke. " You does right not
to play for nothing, it's loss of time! but play with
those as be less than yoursel', and then you can go for
to beat 'em, if they says you go for to cheat!”
Paul vanished; and the dame, laying her hand on
Dummie's shoulder, said ,
“ There be nothing like a friend in need, Dummie; and
somehow or other, I thinks as how you knows more of
the horigin of that 'ere lad than any of us !”
“Me, dame !” exclaimed Dummie, with the broad gaze
of astonishment.
• Gallows.


14
PAUL CLIFFORD
“Ah, you; you knows as how the mother saw more
of you just afore she died, than she did of 'ere one of us.
Noar, now,-noar, now! tell us all about ’un. Did she
steal ’un, think ye ?"
“Lauk, mother Margery! dost think I knows? vot put
such a crotchet in your ead?”
“ Well!” said the dame, with a disappointed sigh, “I
always thought as how you were more knowing about it
than you owns. Dear, dear, I shall never forgit the night
when Judith brought the poor cretur here,-you knows
she had been some months in my house afore ever I seed
the urchin, and when she brought it, she looked so pale
and ghostly, that I had not the heart to say a word, so I
stared at the brat, and it stretched out its wee little hands
to me. And the mother frowned at it, and throwed it
into my lap !"
“Ah! she vas a hawful voman, that 'ere!” said Dum-
mie, shaking his head. “But howsomever, the hurchin
fell into good hands; for I be's sure you'as been a better
mother to ’un than the raal 'un!”
“I was always a fool about childer,” rejoined Mrs.
Lobkins, “and I thinks as how little Paul was sent to be
a comfort to my latter end !-fill the glass, Dummie.”
“I'as heard as ow Judith was once blowen to a great
lord !” said Dummie.
“Like enough!" returned Mrs. Lobkins—"like enough!
she was always a favourite of mine, for she had a spuret
(spirit) as big as my own; and she paid her rint like a
decent body, for all she was out of her sinses, or nation
like it."
“Ay, I knows as how you liked her, 'cause vy? 't is
not your vay, to let a room to a voman! you says as ow
't is not respectable, and you only likes men to wisit the
Mug!"
" And I does n't like all of them as comes here!” an-
swered the dame: “'specially for Paul's sake; but what
can a lone 'oman do? Many's the gentlemen highway.
men wot comes here, whose money is as good as the
clerk's of the parish. And when a bob* is in my hand,
what does it sinnify whose hand it was in afore ?"
“ That's what I calls being sinsible and practical,"
said Dummie, approvingly. “And arter all, though you
'as a mixture like, I does not know a haleouse, vere a
* Shilling


PAUL CLIFFORD.
15
cove is better entertained, nor meets of a Sunday more
iligant company, than the Mug!"
Here the conversation, which the reader must know
had been sustained in a key inaudible to a third person,
received a check from Mr. Peter MacGrawler, who, hav-
ing finished his reverie and his tankard, now rose to
depart. First, however, approaching Mrs. Lobkins, he
observed that he had gone on credit for some days, and
demanded the amount of his bill. Glancing towards
certain chalk hieroglyphics inscribed on the wall at the
other side of the fireplace, the dame auswered, that Mr.
MacGrawler was indebted to her for the sum of one
shilling and ninepence three farthings.
After a short preparatory search in his waistcoat
pockets, the critic hunted into one corner a solitary
half-crown, and having caught it between his finger and
thumb, he gave it to Mrs. Lobkins, and requested change.
As soon as the matron felt her hand anointed with
what has been called by some ingenious Johnson of St.
Giles's “the oil of palms," her countenance softened
into a complacent smile; and when she gave the required
change to Mr. MacGrawler, she graciously hoped as
how he would recommend the Mug to the public.
“ That you may be sure of," said the editor of the
Asinæum. “There is not a place where I am so much
at home.”
With that the learned Scotsman buttoned his coat and
went his way.
“How spiteful the world be !” said Mrs. Lobkins, after
a pause, “'specially if a 'oman keeps a fashionable sort
of a public! When Judith died, Joe, the dog's-meat man,
said I war all the better for it, and that she left I a trea-
sure to bring up the urchin. One would think a thumper
makes a man richer,-'cause why ? every man thumps !
I got nothing more than a watch and ten guineas, when
Judy died, and sure, that scarce paid for the burrel
(burial).”
“ You forgits the two quids,* I give you for the hold
box of rags,-much of a treasure I found there !” said
Dummie, with sycophantic archness.
“Ay,” cried the dame, laughing, “I fancies you
war not pleased with the bargain. I thought you war
too old a rag-merchant to be so free with the blunt:
* Guineas.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
howsomever, I suppose it war the tinsel petticoat as took
you in!”
"As it has mony a viser man than the like of I,” re-
joined Dummie, who to his various secret professions
added the ostensible one of a rag-merchant and dealer in
broken glass.
The recollection of her good bargain in the box of rags
opened our landlady's heart.
“Drink, Dummie,” said she, good-humouredly, “ drink,
I scorns to score lush to a friend.”
Dummie expressed his gratitude, refilled his glass, and
the hospitable matron, knocking out from her pipe the
dying ashes, thus proceeded
" You sees, Dummie, though I often beats the boy, I
loves him as much as if I war his raal mother, I wants
to make him an honour to his country and an ixciption to
my family!”
• Who all flashed their ivories at Surgeons' Hall !"
added the metaphorical Dummie.
" True !" said the lady," they died game, and I be n't
ashamed of 'em. But I owes a duty to Paul's mother,
and I wants Paul to have a long life. I would send him
to school, but you knows as how the boys only corrupt
one another. And so, I should like to meet with some
decent man as a tutor, to teach the lad Latin and vartue !"
“My eyes !” cried Dummie, aghast at the grandeur of
this desire.
“ The boy is 'cute enough, and he loves reading," con-
tinued the dame. “But I does not think the books he
gets hold of will teach him the way to grow old."
“And ow came he to read, anyhows ?"
“Ranting Rob, the strolling player, taught him his
letters, and said he'd a deal of janius !"
“And why should not Ranting Rob tache the boy Latin
and vartue ?"
“'Cause Ranting Rob, poor fellow, was lagged for doing
a panny !"* answered the dame, despondently.
There was a long silence: it was broken by Mr. Dum-
mie: slapping his thigh with the gesticulatory vehemence
of a Ugo Foscolo, that gentleman exclaimed-
“I'as it-I 'as thought of a tutor for leetle Paul !"
“ Who's that? you quite frightens me, you'as no marcy
on my narves," said the dame, fretfully.
* Transported for burglary.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
17
“ Vy, it be the gemman vot writes,” said Dummie,
putting his finger to his nose," the gemman vot payed
you so flashly!”
“ What! the Scotch gemman!"
66 The werry same !" returned Dummie.
The dame turned in her chair, and refilled her pipe.
It was evident from her manner that Mr. Dunaker's
suggestion had made an impression on her. But she
recognised two doubts as to its feasibility,mone, whether
the gentleman proposed would be adequate to the task,
the other, whether he would be willing to undertake it.
In the midst of her meditations on this matter, the
dame was interrupted by the entrance of certain claim-
ants on her hospitality; and Dummie soon after taking
his leave, the suspense of Mrs. Lobkins' mind touching
the education of little Paul remained the whole of that
day and night utterly unrelieved.
CHAPTER III.
I own that I am envious of the pleasure you will have in finding yourself
more learned than other boys-even those who are older than yourself!
What honour this will do you! What distinctions, what applauses will follow
wherever you go!
LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS TO HIS Son.
Example, my boy-example is worth a thousand precepts.
MAXIMILIAN SOLEMN.
TARPEIA was crushed beneath the weight of orna.
ments! The language of the vulgar is a sort of Tar-
peia! We have therefore relieved it of as many gems
as we were able; and, in the foregoing scene, presented
it to the gaze of our readers, siinplex munditiis. Never-
theless, we could timidly imagine some gentler beings of
the softer sex rather displeased with the tone of the dia-
logue we have given, did we not recollect how delighted
they are with the provincial barbarities of the sister
kingdom, whenever they meet them poured over the
pages of some Scottish story-teller. As (unhappily for
mankind) broad Scotch is not yet the universal language
of Europe, we suppose our countrywonnen will not be
much more unacquainted with the dialect of their own


18
PAUL CLIFFORD.
i
asal melo
lower orders, than with that which breathes nasal melo-
dies over the paradise of the north.
It was the next day, at the hour of twilight, when
Mrs. Margery Lobkins, after a satisfactory tête-à-tête with
Mr. MacGrawler, had the happiness of thinking that she
had provided a tutor for little Paul. The critic having
recited to her a considerable portion of Propria que
Maribus, the good lady had no longer a doubt of his ca.
pacities for teaching; and, on the other hand, when Mrs.
Lobkins entered on the subject of remuneration, the
Scotsman professed himself perfectly willing to teach
any and every thing that the most exacting guardian
could require. It was finally settled that Paul should
attend Mr. MacGrawler two hours a day; that Mr. Mac
Grawler should be entitled to such animal comforts of
meat and drink, as the Mug afforded; and, moreover, to
the weekly stipend of two shillings and sixpence-the
shillings for instruction in the classics, and the sixpence
for all other humanities; or, as Mrs. Lobkins expressed
it, “ two bobs for the Latin, and a sice for the vartue !"
Let not thy mind, gentle reader, censure us for a devi.
ation from probability, in making so excellent and learned
a gentleman as Mr. Peter MacGrawler the familiar guest
of the lady of the Mug. First, thou must know that our
story is cast in a period antecedent to the present, and
one in which the old jokes against the circumstances of
author and of critic had their foundation in truth : se-
condly, thou must know, that by some curious conca-
tenation of circumstances, neither bailiff nor bailiff's man
was ever seen within the four walls continent of Mrs.
Margery Lobkins: thirdly, the Mug was nearer than any
other house of public resort to the abode of the critic:
fourthly, it afforded excellent porter: and fifthly, O
reader, thou dost Mrs. Margery Lobkins a grievous
wrong, if thou supposest that her door was only open to
those mercurial gentry who are afflicted with the morbid
curiosity to pry into the mysteries of their neighbours'
pockets,-other visiters of fair repute were not unoften
partakers of the good matron's hospitality; although
it must be owned that they generally occupied the private
room in preference to the public one. And sixthly, sweet
reader, (we grieve to be so prolix), we would just hint to
thee, that Mr. MacGrawler was one of those vast-minded
sages who, occupied in contemplating morals in the great
scale, do not fritter down their intellects by a base at.


20
PAUL CLIFFORD.
treasury of Mrs. Lobkins resmoothed, as it were, the
irritated bristles of his mind, and he continued his labcurs
with this philosophical reflection-"Why fret myself?
if a pupil turn out well, it is clearly to the credit of his
master; if not, to the disadvantage of himself.” Of
course, a similar suggestion never forced itself into the
mind of Dr. Keate. At Eton, the very soul of the ho-
nest head-master is consumed by his zeal for the welfare
of little gentlemen in stiff cravats.
But to Paul, who was predestined to enjoy a certain
quantum of knowledge, circumstances happened, in the
commencement of the second year of his pupilage,
which prodigiously accelerated the progress of his scho-
lastic career.
At the apartment of MacGrawler, Paul one morning
encountered Mr. Augustus Tomlinson, a young man of
great promise, who pursued the peaceful occupation of
making for a leading newspaper, “ Horrid Murders,"
“ Enormous Melons,” and “Remarkable Circumstan-
ces.” This gentleman, having the advantage of some
years' seniority over Paul, was slow in unbending his
dignity ; but observing at last the eager and respectful
attention with which the stripling listened to a most
veracious detail of five men being inhumanly murdered
in Canterbury Cathedral by the Reverend Zedekiah
Fooks Barnacle, he was touched by the impression he
had created, and shaking Paul graciously by the hand,
he told him, there was a deal of natural shrewdness in
his countenanee; and that Mr. Augustus Tomlinson did
not doubt but that he (Paul) might have the honour to be
murdered himself one of these days.—“ You understand
me!" continued Mr. Augustus, I mean murdered in
effigy, -assassinated in type,-while you yourself, un-
conscious of the circumstance, are quietly enjoying
what you imagine to be your existence. We never kill
common persons : to say truth, our chief spite is against
the Church ;-we destroy bishops by wholesale. Sonie-
times, indeed, we knock off a leading barrister or so;
and express the anguish of the junior counsel at a loss
so destructive to their interests. But that is only a stray
hit; and the slain barrister often lives to become attor-
ney-general, renounce Whig principles, and prosecute
the very press that destroyed him. Bishops are our
proper food: we send them to heaven on a sort of flying
griffin, of which the back is an apoplexy, and the wings


PAUL CLIFFORD.
21
e, the
Deurs
cself?
of his
Of
o the
e hoo
rtain
lager
scho-
n01
are puffs. The Bishop of whom we despatched
in this manner the other day, being rather a facetious
personage, wrote to remonstrate with us thereon ; ob-
serving, that though heaven was a very good translation
for a bishop, yet that, in such cases, he preferred the
original to the translation. As we murder bishops, so
is there another class of persons whom we only afflict
with letiſerous diseases. This latter tribe consists of
his Majesty and his Majesty's ministers. Whenever we
cannot abuse their measures, we always fall foul on
their health. Does the King pass any popular law,-we
immediately insinuate that his constitution is on its last
legs. Does the minister act like a man of sense-we
instantly observe, with great regret, that his complexion
is remarkably pale. There is one manifest advantage
in diseasing people, instead of absolutely destroying
them. The public may flatly contradict us in one case,
but it never can in the other :--it is easy to prove that a
man is alive; but utterly impossible to prove that he is
in health. What if some opposing newspaper take up
the cudgels in his behalf, and assert that the victim of
all Pandora's complaints, whom we send tottering to the
grave, passes one-half the day in knocking up a “dis-
tinguished company” at a shooting-party, and the other
half in out-doing the same " distinguished company"
after dinner? What if the afflicted individual himself
write us word that he never was better in his life,-we
have only mysteriously to shake our heads, and observe,
that to contradict is not to prove, that it is little
likely that our authority should have been mistaken, and
-(we are very fond of an historical comparison)-beg
our readers to remember, that when Cardinal Richelieu
was dying, nothing enraged him so much as hinting that
he was ill. In short, if Horace is right, we are the very
princes of poets : for I dare say, Mr. MacGrawler, that
you,-and you, too, my little gentleman, perfectly
remember the words of the wise old Roman,
stan-
ome
Ost
Bred
jah
und
s in
be
Ein
ing
kill
Inst
7le-
50;
• Ille per extentum funem mihi posse videtur
Ire poeta, meum qui pectus inaniter angit,
Irritat, mulcet, falsis ierroribus implet."
Having uttered this quotation with considerable self-
complacency, and thereby entirely completed his con-
quest over Paul, Mr. Augustus Tomlinson, turning to
MacGrawler, concluded his business with that gentle


PAUL CLIFFORD.
man, which was of a literary nature, namely, a joint
composition against a man who, being under five-and-
twenty, and too poor to give dinners, had had the impu-
dence to write a sacred poem. The critics were exceed-
ingly bitter at this : and having very little to say against
the poem, the Court journals called the author a 'cox-
comb,' and the liberal ones the son of a pantaloon!
• There was an ease-a spirit-a life about Mr. Augus-
tus Tornlinson, which captivated the senses of our young
hero: then, too, he was exceedingly smartly attired;
wore red heels and a bag; had what seemed to Paul
quite the air of a man of fashion ;' and, above all, he
spouted the Latin with a remarkable grace!
Some days afterward, MacGrawler sent our hero to
Mr. Tomlinson's lodgings, with his share of the joint
abuse upon the poet.
Doubly was Paul's reverence for Mr. Augustus Tom-
linson increased by a sight of his abode. He found him
settled in a polite part of the town, in a very spruce
parlour, the contents of which manifested the universal
genius of the inhabitant. It hath been objected unto us,
by a most discerning critic, that we are addicted to the
drawing of “universal geniuses. We plead not guilty
in former instances; we allow the soſt impeachment in
the instance of Mr. Augustus Tomlinson. Over his fire-
place were ranged boxing gloves and fencing foils. On
his table lay a cremona and a flageolet. On one
side of the wall were shelves containing the Covent!
Garden Magazine, Burn's Justice, a pocket Horace, a
Prayer-book, Excerpta ex Tacito, a volume of Plays,
Philosophy made Easy, and a Key to all Knowledge.
Furthermore, there were on another table a riding whip,
and a driving whip, and a pair of spurs, and three guineas,
with a little mountain of loose silver. Mr. Augustus
was a tall, fair young man, with a freckled complexion;
green eyes and red eyelashes: a smiling mouth, rather
underjawed; a sharp nose; and a prodigiously large pair
of ears. He was robed in a green damask dressing-
gown ; and he received the tender Paul most graciously.
There was something very engaging about our hero.
He was not only good-looking, and frank in aspect, but
he had that appearance of briskness and intellect which
belong to an embryo rogue. Mr. Augustus Tomlinson
professed the greatest regard for him, asked him if he
could box,-made him put on a pair of gloves,-and, very


26
PAUL CLIFFORD.
rily of a certain station in society, and an object of re.
spect in the eyes of the manœuvring mammas in the vici-
nity of Thames Court. Many were the parties of plea-
sure to Deptford and Greenwich which Paul found him-
self compelled to attend; and we need not refer our read.
ers to novels upon fashionable life, to inform them, that,
in good society, the gentlemen always pay for the ladies!
Nor was this all the expense to which his expectations
exposed him. A gentleman could scarcely attend these
elegant festivities without devoting some little attention
to his dress; and a fashionable tailor plays the deuce
with one's yearly allowance! We, who reside, be it
known to you, reader, in little Brittany, are not very
well acquainted with the manners of the better classes
in St. James's. But there was one great vice among
the fine people about Thames Court, which we make no
doubt does not exist any where else, viz. these fine peo-
ple were always in an agony to seem finer than they were;
and the more airs a gentleman or lady gave him or her-
self, the more important they became. Joe, the-dog's-
meat man, had indeed got into society, entirely from a
knack of saying impertinent things to every body; and
the smartest exclusives of the place, who seldom visited
any one where there was not a silver teapot, used to
think Joe had a great deal in him, because he trundled
his cart with his head in the air, and one day gave the
very beadle of the parish “the cut direct.”
Now this desire to be so exceedingly fine not only
made the society about Thames Court unpleasant, but
expensive. Every one vied with his neighbour; and as
the spirit of rivalry is particularly strong in youthful
bosoms, we can scarcely wonder that it led Paul into
many extravagancies. The evil of all circles that pro-
fess to be select is high play--and the reason is obvious :
persons who have the power to bestow on another an ad.
vantage he covets, would rather sell it than give it; and
Paul, gradually increasing in popularity and ton, found
himself, despite of his classical education, no match for
the finished, or, rather, finishing gentlemen with whom
he began to associate. His first admittance into the se-
lect coterie of these men of the world was formed at
the house of Bachelor Bill, a person of great potoriety
among that portion of the elite which emphatically enti-
tles itself “ Flash !" However, as it is our rigid inten-
tion in this work to portray at length no episodical cha-


PAUL CLIFFORD.
27
racters whatsoever, we can afford to our readers but a
slight and rapid sketch of Bachelor Bill.
This personage was of Devonshire èxtraction.* His
mother had kept the pleasantest public house in town,
and at her death Bill succeeded to her property and po-
pularity. All the young ladies in the neighbourhood of
Fiddler's Row, where he resided, set their caps at him:
all the most fashionable prigs or tobymen, sought to get
him into their set; and the most crack blowen in London
would have given her ears at any time for a loving word
from Bachelor Bill. But Bill was a long-headed, pru-
dent fellow, and of a remarkably cautious temperament.
He avoided marriage and friendship, viz. he was neither
plundered nor cornuted. He was a tall, aristocratic cove,
of a devilish neat address, and very gallant, in an honest
way, to the blowens. Like most single men, being very
much the gentleman so far as money was concerned, he
gave them plenty of “ feeds,” and from time to time a
very agreeable “hop.” His “bingo”+ was unexcep-
tionable ; and as for his “stark naked,"I it was voted the
most brilliant thing in nature. In a very short time, by
his blows-out and his bachelorship,- for single men al-
ways arrive at the apex of haut ton easier than married,
-he became the very glass of fashion; and many were
the tight apprentices, even at the west end of the town,
who used to turn back in admiration of Bachelor Bill,
when, of a Sunday afternoon, he drove down his var.
ment gig to his snug little box on the borders of Turn-
ham Green. Bill's happiness was not, however, wholly
without alloy. The ladies of pleasure are always so ex-
cessively angry when a man does not make love to them,
that there is nothing they will not say against him; and the
fair matrons in the vicinity of Fiddler's Row spread all
manner of unfounded reports against poor Bachelor Bill.
By degrees, however,-for, as Tacitus has said, doubt.
less with a prophetic eye to Bachelor Bill, “the truth
gains by delay,”-these reports began to die insensibly
away; and Bill, now waxing near to the confines of
middle age, his friends comfortably settled for him, that
he would be Bachelor Bill all his life. For the rest, he
was an excellent fellow,-gave his broken victuals to the
poor,-professed a liberal turn of thinking, -and in all
the quarrels among the blowens, (your crack blowens
{* Duke of Devonshire.--Printer's Devil.]
Brandy.
Gin.
B 2


34
PAUL CLIFFORD.
gentleman who keeps the fire-office below, go along
with him.
Swelling with anger, pride, shame, and a half joyous
feeling of emancipated independence, Paul walked on he
knew not whither, with his head in the air, and his legs
marshalling themselves into a military gait of defiance.
He had not proceeded far, before he heard his name ut-
tered behind him,-he turned, and saw the rueful face
of Dummie Dunnaker.
Very inoffensively had that respectable person been
employed during the last part of the scene we have de-
scribed in caressing his afflicted eye, and muttering
philosophical observations on the danger incurred by all
those who are acquainted with ladies of a choleric tem-
perament; when Mrs. Lobkins, turning round after
Paul's departure, and seeing the pitiful person of that
Dummie Dunnaker, whose name, she remembered, Paul
had mentioned in his opening speech, and whom, there.
fore, with an illogical confusion of ideas, she considered
a party in the late dispute, exhausted upon him all that
rage which it was necessary for her comfort that she
should unburthen somewhere.
She seized the little man by the collar—the tenderest of
all places in gentlemen similarly circumstanced with re-
gard to the ways of life, and giving him a blow, which took
effect on his other and hitherto undamaged eye, cried
out, “I'll teach you, you blood-sucker (i. e. parasite), to
spunge upon those as has expectations. I'll teach you
to cozen the heir of the Mug,' you snivelling, whey.
faced ghost of a farthing rushlight. What! you'll lend
my Paul three crowns, will you? when you knows as
how you told me you could not pay me a pitiful tizzy.
Oh, you 're a queer one, I warrants ; but you won't queer
Margery Lobkins. Out of my ken, you cur of the
inange-out of my ken; and if ever I claps my sees
on you again, or if ever I knows as how you makes a
flat of my Paul, blow me tight, but I 'll weave you a
hempen collar: I'll hang you, you dog, I will. What!
you will answer me, will you?- U you viper, budge, and
begone !"
It was in vain that Dummie protested his innocence.
A violent coup de pied broke off all farther parlance. He
made a clear house of the “Mug;" and the landlady
thereof, tottering back to her elbow chair, sought out
another pipe, and, like all imaginative persons when the


PAUL CLIFFORD.
; 35
world goes wrong with them, consoled herself for the
absence of realities by the creations of smoke.
Meanwhile, Dummie Dunnaker, muttering and murmur-
ing bitter fancies, overtook Paul, and accused that youth
of having been the occasion of the injuries he had just
undergone. Paul was not at that moment in the humour
best adapted for the patient bearing of accusations,-he
answered Mr. Dunnaker very shortly; and that respect-
able individual, still smarting under his bruises, replied
with equal tartness. Words grew high, and at length,
Paul, desirous of concluding the conference, clenched
his fist, and told the redoubted Dummie that he would
“knock him down.” There is something peculiarly
harsh and stunning in those three hard--wirey-sturdy
-stubborn monosyllables. Their very sound makes
you double your fist-if you are a hero; or your pace,
if you are a peaceable man. They produced an instant
effect upon Dummie Dunnaker, aided as they were by
the effect of an athletic and youthful figure, already fast
approaching to the height of six feet,-a flushed cheek,
and an eye that bespoke both passion and resolution.
The rag-merchant's voice sunk at once, and with the
countenance of a wronged Cassius, he whimpered forth-
- Knock me down !- leetle Paul, vot vicked vhids
are those ! Vot! Dummie Dunnaker as has dandled you
on his knee mony's a time and oft: vy, the cove's art is
as ard as junk, and as proud as a gardener's dog vith a
nosegay tied to his tail.” This pathetic remonstrance
softened Paul's anger.
“Well, Dummie,” said he, laughing, “I did not mean
to hurt you, and there's an end of it; and I am very
sorry for the dame's ill conduct: and so I wish you a
good morning."
“ Vy, vere be you trotting to, leetle Paul ?" said Dum.
mie, grasping him by the tail of the coat.
" The deuse a bit I know," answered our hero; " but
I think I shall drop a call on Long Ned.”
“ Avast there!” said Dummie, speaking under his
breath ; " if so be as you von't blab, I'll tell you a bit
of a secret. I heered as ow Long Ned started for Hamp-
shire this werry morning on a tohy consarn !"*
“Ha!” said Paul, “then hang me if I know what to
do !” As he uttered these words, a more thorough sense
* Highway expedition.


36
PAUL CLIFFORD.
of his destitution (if he persevered in leaving the Mug)
than he had hitherto felt rushed upon him; for Paul had
designed for a while to throw himself on the hospitality
of his Patagonian friend, and now that he found that
friend was absent from London, and on so dangerous an
expedition, he was a little puzzled what to do with that
treasure of intellect and wisdom which he carried about
upon his legs. Already he had acquired sufficient pene-
tration (for Charles Trywit and Harry Finish were
excellent masters for initiating a man into knowledge
of the world) to perceive, that a person, however ad-
mirable may be his qualities, does not readily find a
welcome without a penny in his pocket. In the neigh-
bourhood of Thames Court he had, indeed, many ac-
quaintances ; but the fineness of his language, acquired
from his education, and the eleganee of his air, in which
he attempted to blend, in happy association, the gallant
effrontery of Mr. Long Ned with the graceful negligence
of Mr. Augustus Tomlinson, had made him many ene-
mies among those acquaintances; and he was not will-
ing,-so great was our hero's pride,—to throw himself
on the chance of their welcome, or to publish, as it were,
his exiled and crest-fallen state. As for those boon
companions who had assisted him in making a wilder-
ness of his pockets, he had already found, that that was
the only species of assistance which they were willing
to render him: in a word, he could not for the life of him
conjecture in what quarter he should find the benefits
of hed and board. While he stood with his finger to his
lip, undecided and musing, but fuily resolved at least on
one thing—not to return to the Mug - little Dummie,
who was a good-natured fellow at the bottom, peered up
in his face, and said, “ Vy, Paul, my kid, you looks
down in the chops: cheer up,-care killed a cat!"
Observing that this appropriate and encouraging fact
of natural history did not lessen the cloud upon Paul's
brow, the acute Dummie Dunnaker proceeded at once
to the grand panacea for all evils, in his own profound
estimation.
" Paul, my ben-cull,” said he, with a knowing wink,
and nudging the young gentleman in the left side, “ vot
do you say to a drop o' blue ruin? or, as you likes to be
cornish (genteel), I does n't care if I sports you a glass
of port !" While Dunnaker was uttering this invitation,
a sudden reminiscence flashed across Paul: he bethought


PAUL CLIFFORD.
37
him at once of MacGrawler; and he resolved forthwith
to repair to the abode of that illustrious sage, and pe-
tition at least for accommodation for the approaching
night. So soon as he had come to this determination,
he shook off the grasp of the amiable Dummie, and re-
fusing with many thanks his hospitable invitation, re-
quested him to abstract from the dame's house, and
lodge within his own, until called for, such articles of
linen and clothing as belonged to Paul, and could easily
be laid hold of, during one of the matron's evening sies-
tas, by the shrewd Dunnaker. The merchant promised
that the commission should be speedily executed; and
Paul, shaking hands with him, proceeded to the mansion
of MacGrawler.
We must now go back somewhat in the natural course
of our narrative, and observe, that among the minor
causes which had conspired with the great one of gam-
bling to bring our excellent Paul to his present situation,
was his intimacy with MacGrawler; for when Paul's
increasing years and roving habits had put an end to the
sage's instructions, there was thereby lopped off from
the preceptor's finances the weekly sum of two shillings
and sixpence, as well as the freedom of the dame's cellar
and larder; and as, in the reaction of feeling, and the
perverse course of human affairs, people generally repent
the most of those actions once the most ardently incurred;
so poor Mrs. Lobkins, imagining that Paul's irregularities
were entirely owing to the knowledge he had acquired
from MacGrawler's instructions, grievously upbraided
herself for her former folly, in seeking for a superior
education for her protegé; nay, she even vented upon the
sacred head of MacGrawler himself her dissatisfaction
at the results of his instructions. In like manner, when
a man who can spell comes to be hanged, the anti-educa.
tionists accuse the spelling-book of his murder. High
words between the admirer of ignorant innocence and the
propagator of intellectual science ensued, which ended
in MacGrawler's final expulsion from the Mug.
There are some young gentlemen of the present day
addicted to the adoption of Lord Byron's poetry, with
the alteration of new rhymes, who are pleased graciously
to inform us, that they are born to be the ruin of all those
who love them; an interesting fact, doubtless, but which
they might as well keep to themselves. It would seem,
by the contents of this chapter, as if the same misfortune


PAUL CLIFFORD.
39
CHAPTER V.
Ye realms yet unrevealed to human sight!
Ye canes athwart the hapless hands that write!
Ye critic chiefs permit me to relate
The mystic wonders of your silent state!
VIRGIL Æn. B. 6.
FORTUNE had smiled upon Mr. MacGrawler since he
first undertook the tuition of Mrs. Lobkin's protegé. He
now inhabited a second floor, and defied the sheriff and
his evil spirits. It was at the dusk of evening that Paul
found him at home and alone.
Before the mighty man stood a pot of London porter;
a candle, with an unregarded wick, shed its solitary light
upon his labours; and an infant cat played sportively at
his learned feet, beguiling the weary moments with the
remnants of the spiral cap, wherewith, instead of laurel,
the critic had hitherto nightly adorned his brows.
So soon as MacGrawler, piercing through the gloomy
mist which hung about the chamber, perceived the per-
son of the intruder, a frown settled upon his brow.
“Have I not told you, youngster!” he growled.“ never
to enter a gentleman's room without knocking? I tell
you, sir, that manners are no less essential to human
happiness than virtue; wherefore, never disturb a gen-
tleman in his avocations, and sit yourself down without
molesting the cat!"
Paul, who knew that his respected tutor disliked any
one to trace the source of the wonderful spirit which
he infused into his critical compositions, affected not to
perceive the pewter Hippocrene; and with many apolo-
gies for his want of preparatory politeness, seated him-
self as directed. It was then that the following edify-
ing conversation ensued.
“ The ancients," quoth Paul, “ were very great men,
Mr. MacGrawler."
“ They were so, sir,” returned the critic; “ we make it
a rule in our profession to assert that fact!”
“But, sir," said Paul, “they were wrong now and
then.”'
“Never! ignoramus, never!”


40
PAUL CLIFFORD.
“They praised poverty, Mr. MacGrawler!" said Paul,
with a sigh.
“Hem!"quoth the critic, a little staggered, but presently
recovering his characteristic acumen, he observed
“It is true, Paul; but that was the poverty of other
people.”
There was a slight pause. « Criticism,” renewed Paul,
“must be a most difficult art."
· "A-hem !-and what art is there, sir, that is not diffi-
cult ?--at least to become master of.”
" True,” sighed Paul; “ or else-".
“ Or else what, boy ?" repeated Mr. MacGrawler, see-
ing that Paul hesitated either from fear of his superior
knowledge, as the critic's vanity suggested, or from
(what was equally likely) want of a word to express
his meaning.
“Why, I was thinking, sir,” said Paul, with that des-
perate courage which gives a distinct and loud intona-
tion to the voice of all who set, or think they set, their
fate upon a cast: “I was thinking that I should like to
become a critic myself!"
“W-h-e-w!" whistled MacGrawler, elevating his eye.
brows. “W-h-e-w! great ends have come of less be-
ginnings!"
Encouraging as this assertion was, coming as it did
from the lips of so great a man and so great a critic, at
the very moment too when nothing short of an anathe-
ma against arrogance and presumption was expected to
issue from those portals of wisdom ; yet, such is the
fallacy of all human hopes, that Paul's of a surety would
have been a little less elated, had he, at the same time
his ears drank in the balm of these gracious words, been
able to have dived into the source whence they emanated.
“Know thyself!" was a precept the sage MacGrawler
had endeavoured to obey; consequently the result of his
obedience was, that even by himself he was better known
than trusted. Whatever he might appear to others, he
had in reality no vain faith in the infallibility of his own
talents and resources : as well might a butcher deem
himself a perfect anatomist from the frequent amputation
of legs of mutton, as the critic of the Asinæum have
laid “the flattering unction to his soul," that he was
really skilled in the art of criticism, or even acquainted
with one of its commonest rules, because he could, with
all speed, cut up and disjoint any work, from the small-


42
. PAUL CLIFFORD..
plaster a book, is to employ the dative, or giving case,
and you must bestow on the work all the superlatives in
the language, you must lay on your praise thick and
thin, and not leave a crevice untroweled. But to tickle,
sir, is a comprehensive word, and it comprises all the
infinite varieties that fill the interval between slashing
and plastering. This is the nicety of the art, and you
can only acquire it by practice; a few examples will
suffice to give you an idea of its delicacy.
" We will begin with the encouraging tickle. "Al-
though this work is full of faults ; though the characters
are unnatural, the plot utterly improbable, the thoughts
hackneyed, and the style ungrammatical, yet we would by
no means discourage the author from proceeding; and
in the mean while we confidently recommend his work
to the attention of the reading public.'
“ Take now the advising tickle.
666 There is a good deal of merit in these little volumes,
although we must regret the evident haste in which they
were written. The author might do better--we recom-
mend him a study of the best writers,—then conclude
by a Latin quotation, which you may take from one of
the mottoes in the Spectator.
“Now, young gentleman, for a specimen of the meta-
phorical tickle.
6. We beg this poetical aspirant to remember the fate
of Pyrenæus, who, attempting to pursue the Muses, forgot
that he had not the wings of the goddesses, flung himself
from the loftiest ascent he could reach, and perished.'
“ This, you see, Paul, is a loftier and more erudite sort
of tickle, and may be reserved for one of the Quarterly
Reviews. Never throw away a simile unnecessarily.
“Now for a sample of the facetious tickle.
6. Mr. has obtained a considerable reputation !
Some fine ladies think him a great philosopher, and he
has been praised in our hearing by some Cambridge
Fellows, for his knowledge of fashionable society.'
“For this sort of tickle we generally use the dullest
of our tribe, and I have selected the foregoing example
from the criticisms of a distinguished writer in the
Asinæum, whom we call, par excellence, the Ass.
“ There is a variety of other tickles; the familiar, the
vulgar, the polite, the good-natured, the bitter; but in
general all tickles may be supposed to signify, however
disguised, one or the other of these meanings. This


PAUL CLIFFORD.
43
book would be exceedingly good, if it were not exceed-
ingly bad.' Or, . This book would be exceedingly bad,
if it were not exceedingly good.'
“ You have now, Paul, a general idea of the superior
art required by the tickle."
Our hero signified his assent by a sort of hysterical
sound between a laugh and a groan. MacGrawler con-
tinued-
“There is another grand difficulty attendant on this
class of criticism,-it is generally requisite to read a few
pages of the work; because we seldom tickle without
extracting, and it requires some judgment to make the
context agree with the extract; but it is not often neces-
sary to extract when you slash or when you plaster;
when you slash, it is better in general to conclude with
6. After what we have said, it is unnecessary to add,
that we cannot offend the taste of our readers by any
quotation from this execrable trash.' And when you
plaster, you may wind up with, “We regret that our
limits will not allow us to give any extracts from this
wonderful and unrivalled work. We must refer our
readers to the book itself.
“ And now, sir, I think I have given you a sufficient
outline of the noble science of Scaliger and MacGrawler.
Doubtless you are reconciled to the task I have allotted
you; and while I tickle the Romance, you will slash the
Inquiry and plaster the Epic !”
“I will do my best, sir," said Paul, with that modest
yet noble simplicity which becomes the virtuously ambi-
tious ;-and MacGrawler forthwith gave him pen and
paper, and set him down to his undertaking.
He had the good fortune to please MacGrawler, who,
after having made a few corrections in style, declared
he evinced a peculiar genius in that branch of composi.
tion. And then it was that Paul, made conceited by
praise, said, looking contemptuously in the face of his
preceptor, and swinging his legs to and fro,-“ And
what, sir, shall I receive for the plastered Epic and the
slashed Inquiry ?” As the face of the schoolboy who,
when guessing, as he thinks rightly, at the meaning of
some mysterious word in Cornelius Nepos, receiveth
not the sugared epithet of praise, but a sudden stroke
across the os humerosve, even so, blank, puzzled, and
thunder-stricken, waxed the face of Mr. MacGrawler,
at the abrupt and astonishing audacity of Paul.


44
PAUL CLIFFORD.
“ Receive !” he repeated, “receive !—Why you impu-
dent, ungrateful puppy! Would you steal the bread from
your old master? If I can obtain for your crude arti.
cles an admission into the illustrious pages of the
Asinæum, will you not be sufficiently paid, sir, by the
honour ? Answer me that. Another man, young gen-
tleman, would have charged you a preniium for his
instructions ;-and here have I, in one lesson, imparted
to you all the mysteries of the science, and for nothing.
And you talk to me of receive !'_receive!' Young
gentleman, in the words of the immortal bard, “I would
as lief you had talked to me of ratsbane !'”
“In fine, then, Mr. MacGrawler, I shall get nothing for
my trouble,” said Paul.
“ To be sure not, sir; the very best writer in the Asi.
næum only gets three shillings an article !" Almost more
than he deserves, the critic might have added; for he
who writes for nobody, should receive nothing !
“ Then sir," quoth the mercenary Paul, profanely, and
rising, he kicked with one kick the cat, the epic, and the
inquiry to the other end of the room,-" Then, sir, you
may all go to the devil !!!
We do not, O gentle reader, seek to excuse this hasty
anathema:—the habits of childhood will sometimes break
forth despite of the after-blessings of education. And
we set not up Paul for thine imitation as that model of
virtue and of wisdom, which we design thee to discover
in MacGrawler.
When that great critic perceived Paul had risen, and
was retreating in high dudgeon towards the door, he rose
also, and repeating Paul's last words, said_".Go to the
devil! Not so quick, young gentleman,-festina lente,-
all in good time. What though I did, astonished at
your premature request, say that you should receive
nothing ?-yet my great love for you may induce me to
bestir myself on your behalf. The Asinæum, it is true,
only gives three shillings an article in general; but I am
its editor, and will intercede with the proprietors on your
behalf. Yes-yes. I will see what is to be done. Stop
a bit, my boy."
Paul, though very irascible, was easily pacified: he
reseated himself, and taking MacGrawler's hand, said
“Forgive me for my petulance, my dear sir,—but to
tell you the honest truth, I am very low in the world just
at present, and must get money in some way or another;


PAUL CLIFFORD.
45
in short, I must either pick pockets or write (not gra-
tuitously) for the Asinæum.”
And without farther preliminary, Paul related his
present circumstances to the critic; declared his deter-
mination not to return to the Mug; and requested, at
least, from the friendship of his old preceptor, the accom-
modation of shelter for that night.
MacGrawler was exceedingly disconcerted at hearing
so bad an account of his pupil's finances, as well as
prospects; for he had secretly intended to regale him-
self that evening with a bowl of punch, for which he
purposed that Paul should pay; but as he knew the
quickness of parts possessed by the young gentleman,
as also the great affection entertained for him by Mrs.
Lobkins, who, in all probability, would solicit his return
the next day, he thought it not unlikely that Paul would
enjoy the same good fortune as that presiding over his
feline companion, which, though it had just been kicked
to the other end of the apartment, was now resuming
its former occupation, unhurt, and no less merrily than
before. He therefore thought it would be imprudent to
discard his quondam pupil, despite of his present poverty;
and moreover, although the first happy project of pocket-
ing all the profits derivable from Paul's industry was
now abandoned, he still perceived great facility in pocket-
ing a part of the same receipts. He therefore answered
Paul very warmly, that he fully sympathized with him
in his present melancholy situation; that, so far as he
was concerned, he would share his last shilling with his
beloved pupil; but, that he regretted at that moment he
had only eleven-pence halſpenny in his pocket; that he
would, however, exert himself to the utmost in procuring
an opening for Paul's literary genius; and that if Paul
liked to take the slashing and plastering part of the bu-
siness on himself, he would willingly surrender it to him,
and give him all the profits, whatever they might be.
En attendant, he regretted that a violent rheumatism
prevented his giving up his own bed to his pupil, but that
he might, with all the pleasure imaginable, sleep upon
the rug before the fire. Paul was so affected by this
kindness in the worthy man, that, though not much ada
dicted to the melting mood, he shed tears of gratitude ;
he insisted, however, on not receiving the whole reward
of his labours : and at length it was settled, though with
a noble reluctance on the part of MacGrawler, that it


46
PAUL CLIFFORD.
should be equally shared between the critic and the
critic's protege; the half profits being reasonably
awarded to MacGrawler for his instructions and his
recommendation.
CHAPTER VI.
Bad events peep out o' the tail of good purposes.
BARTHOLOMEW FAIR.
It was not long before there was a visible improve.
ment in the pages of the Asinæum : the slashing part of
that incomparable journal was suddenly conceived and
carried on with a vigour and spirit which astonished the
hallowed few who contributed to its circulation. It was
not difficult to see that a new soldier had been, enlisted
in the service; there was something so fresh and hearty
about the abuse, that it could never have proceeded from
the worn-out acerbity of an old slasher. To be sure, a
little ignorance of ordinary facts, and an innovating
method of applying words to meanings which they never
were meant to denote, were now and then distinguish-
able in the criticisms of the new Achilles ; nevertheless,
it was easy to attribute these peculiarities to an original
turn of thinking; and the rise of the paper, upon the
appearance of a series of articles upon Contemporary
Authors, written by this “ eminent hand,” was so remark-
able, that fifty copies,-a number perfectly unprece-
dented in the annals of the Asinæum,—were absolutely
sold in one week : indeed, remembering the principle on
which it was founded, one sturdy old writer declared,
that the journal would soon do for itself, and become
popular. There was a remarkable peculiarity about the
literary debutant, who signed himself “ Nobilitas." He
not only put old words to a new sense, but he used
words which had never, among the general run of writers,
been used before. This was especially remarkable in
the application of hard names to authors. Once, in cen-
suring a popular writer for pleasing the public, and
thereby growing rich, the “ eminent hand" ended with


PAUL CLIFFORD.
47
“He who surreptitiously accumulates bustle* is in fact
nothing better than a buzzgloak !”+
These enigmatical words and recondite phrases im.
parted a great air of learning to the style of the new
critic; and, from the unintelligible sublimity of his dic-
tion, it seemed doubtful whether he was a poet from
Highgate, or a philosopher from Koningsburgh. At all
events, the reviewer preserved his incognito; and while
his praises were rung at no less than three tea-tables,
even glory appeared to him less delicious than disguise.
In this incognito, reader, thou hast already discovered
Paul; and now, we have to delight thee with a piece of
unexampled morality in the excellent MacGrawler.
That worthy Mentor, perceiving that there was an inhe-
rent turn for dissipation and extravagance in our hero,
resolved magnanimously rather to bring upon himself the
sins of treachery and mal-appropriation, than suffer his
friend and former pupil to incur those of wastefulness
and profusion. Contrary, therefore, to the agreement
made with Paul, instead of giving that youth the half of
those profits consequent on his brilliant lucubrations, he
imparted to him only one-fourth, and with the utmost
tenderness for Paul's salvation, applied the other three
portions of the same to his own necessities. The best
actions are, alas ! often misconstrued in this world ;
and we are now about to record a remarkable instance
of that melancholy truth.
, One evening, MacGrawler, having“ moistened his
virtue" in the same manner that the great Cato is said
to have done, in the confusion which such a process
sometimes occasions in the best regulated heads, gave
Paul what appeared to him the outline of a certain arti-
cle, which he wished to be slashingly filled up, but what
in reality was the following note from the editor of a
monthly periodical.
“SIR,-Understanding that my friend, Mr. — , propri-
etor of the Asinæum, allows the very distinguished writer
whom you have introduced to the literary world, and
who signs himself Nobilitas,' only five shillings an
article, I beg, through you, to tender him double that
sum : the article required will be of an ordinary length.
“I am, Sir, &c.
66
• Money
† Pickpocket.


48
PAUL CLIFFORD.
Now, that very morning, MacGrawler had informed
Paul of this offer, altering only, from the amiable motives
we have already explained, the sum of ten shillings to
that of four; and no sooner did Paul read the commu-
nication we have placed before the reader, than, instead
of gratitude to MacGrawler for his consideration of Paul's
moral infirmities, he conceived against that gentleman
the most bitter resentment. He did not, however, vent
his feelings at once upon the Scotsman,-indeed, at that
moment, as the sage was in a deep sleep under the table,
it would have been to no purpose had he unbridled his
indignation. But he resolved without loss of time to
quit the abode of the critic. “And, indeed,” said he,
soliloquizing, “I am heartily tired of this life, and shall
be very glad to seek some other employment. Fortu-
nately, I have hoarded up five guineas and four shillings,
and with that independence in my possession, since I
have foresworn gambling, I cannot easily starye.”
To this soliloquy succeeded a misanthropical reverie
upon the faithlessness of friends; and the meditation
ended in Paul's making up a little bundle of such clothes,
&c. as Dummie had succeeded in removing from the
“Mug," and which Paul had taken from the rag-mer-
chant's abode one morning when Dummie was abroad.
When this easy task was concluded, Paul wrote a
short and upbraiding note to his illustrious preceptor,
and-left it unsealed on the table. He then, upsetting
the ink-bottle on MacGrawler's sleeping countenance,
departed from the house, and strode away he cared not
whither.
The evening was gradually closing as Paul, chewing
the cud of his bitter fancies, found himself on London
Bridge. He paused there, and, leaning over the bridge,
gazed wistfully on the gloomy waters that rolled on-
ward, caring not a minnow for the numerous charming
young ladies who have thought proper to drown them-
selves in those merciless waves, thereby depriving many
a good mistress of an excellent housemaid or an invalu.
able cook, and many a treacherous Phaon of letters,
beginning with “ Parjured Villen," and ending with
“ Your affectionot but molancolly Molly.”
While thus musing, he was suddenly accosted by a
gentleman in boots and spurs, having a riding whip in
one hand, and the other hand stuck in the pocket of his
inexpressibles. The hat of the gallant was gracefully


PAUL CLIFFORD.
and carefully put on, so as to derange as little as possi-
ble a proſusion of dark curls, which, streaming with
unguents, fell low not only on either side of the face,
but on the neck, and even the shoulders, of the owner.
The face was saturuine and strongly marked, but hand-
some and striking. There was a mixture of frippery
and sternness in its expression ;-soinething between
Madame Vestris and T. P. Cooke, or between “ lovely
Sally" and a “ Captain bold of Halifax." The stature
of this personage was remarkably tall, and his figure
was stout, muscular, and well-knit. In fine, to complete
his portrait, and give our readers of the present day an
exact idea of this hero of the past, we shall add that he
was altogether that sort of gentleman one sees swagger-
ing in the Burlington Arcade, with his hair and hat on
one side, and a military cloak thrown over his shoulders;
-or prowling in Regent Street, towards the evening,
whiskered and cigarred.
Laying his hand on the shoulder of our hero, this gen-
tleman said, with an affected intonation of voice,
“How dost, my fine fellow ?-long since I saw you !
dainme, but you look the worse for wear. What hast
thou been doing with thyself ?”
“ Ha!” cried our hero, returning the salutation of the
stranger, “and is it Long Ned whom I behold ? I am,
indeed, glad to meet you; and I say, my friend, I hope
what I heard of you is not true!"
“Hist!” said Long Ned, looking around fearfully, and
sinking his voice, never talk of what you hear of gen-
tlemen, except you wish to bring them to their last
dying speech and confession. But come with me, my
lad, there is a tavern hard by, and we may as well dis-
cuss matters over a pint of wine. You look cursed
seedy, to be sure, but I can tell Bill the waiter-famous
fellow, that Bill !--that you are one of my tenants, come
to complain of my steward, who has just distrained you
for rent, you dog!-No wonder you look so worn in the
rigging. Come, follow me. I can't walk with thee. It
would look too like Northumberland House and the
Butcher's abode next door, taking a stroll together.”
“ Really, Mr. Pepper,” said our hero, colouring, and
by no means pleased with the ingenious comparison of
his friend, " if you are ashamed of my clothes, which
I own might be newer, I will not wound you with
my
VOL. I.-C


52
PAUL CLIFFORD.
fession, that sedentary career which he had so promis-
ingly begun.
This last part of Paul's confessions secretly delighted
the soul of Long Ned; for that experienced collector of
the highways (Ned was, indeed, of no less noble a pro-
fession) had long fixed an eye upon our hero, as one
whom he thought likely to be an honour to that enter-
prising calling which he espoused, and a useful assistant
to himself. He had not, in his earlier acquaintance with
Paul, when the youth was under the roof and the surveil-
lance of the practised and wary Mrs. Lobkins, deemed
it prudent to expose the exact nature of his own pursuits,
and had contented himself by gradually ripening the
mind and the finances of Paul into that state when the
proposition of a leap from a hedge would not be likely
greatly to revolt the person to whom it was made.
He now thought that time near at hand; and filling our
hero's glass up to the brim, thus artfuliy addressed him :-
“ Courage, my friend-your narration has given ine
a sensible pleasure; for curse me if it has not strength.
ened my favourite opinion that every thing is for the
best. If it had not been for the meanness of that pitiful
fellow, MacGrawler, you might still be inspired with the
paltry ambition of earning a few shillings a week, and
vilifying a parcel of poor devils in the what-d'ye-call-it,
with a hard name; whereas now, my good Paul, I trust
I shall be able to open to your genius a new career, in
which guineas are had for the asking -in which you may
wear fine clothes, and ogle the ladies at Ranelagh; and
when you are tired of glory and liberty, Paul, why you
have only to make your bow to an heiress, or a widow
with a spanking jointure, and quit the hum of men like a
Cincinnatus !"
Though Paul's perception into the abstruser branches
of morals was not very acute,--and at that time the port
wine had considerably confused the few notions he pos-
sessed upon “the beauty of virtue," yet he could not but
perceive, that Mr. Pepper's insinuated proposition was
far from being one which the bench of bishops, or a synod
of moralists, would conscientiously have approved; he
consequently remained silent; and Long Ned, after a
pause, continued
“ You know my genealogy, my good fellow ?-I was
the son of Lawyer Pepper, a shrewd old dog, but as hot
as Calcutta; and the grandson of Sexton Pepper, a great


PAUL CLIFFORD.
author, who wrote verses on tombstones, and kept a stall
of religious tracts in Carlisle. My grandfather, the sex-
ton, was the best temper of the family; for all of us are
a little inclined to be hot in the mouth. Well, my fine
fellow, my father left me his blessing, and this devilish
good head of hair. I lived for some years on my own
resources. I found it a particularly inconvenient mode
of life, and of late I have taken to live on the public.
My father and grandfather did it before me, though in a
different line. 'Tis the pleasantest plan in the world.. -
Follow my example, and your coat shall be as spruce as
my own. - Master Paul, your health !”
“But, O longest of mortals !" said Paul, refilling his
glass, “though the public may allow you to eat your
mutton off their backs for a short time, they will kick
up at last, and upset you and your banquet: in other
words,-(pardon my metaphor, dear Ned, in remem-
brance of the part I have lately maintained in the Asi-
næum, that most magnificent and metaphorical of jour-
nals !)-in other words, the police will nab thee at last;
and thou wilt have the distinguished fate, as thou already
hast the distinguishing characteristic of Absalom !”
“ You mean that I shall be hanged,” said Long Ned.
« That may or may not be; but he who fears death never
enjoys life. Consider, Paul, that though hanging is a bad
fate, starving is a worse; wherefore, fill your glass, and
let us drink to the health of that great donkey, the people,
and may we never want saddles to ride it !!
“ To the great donkey," cried Paul, tossing off his
bumper, “ may your (y)ears be as long! But I own to
you my friend, that I cannot enter into your plans.
And as a token of my resolution, I shall drink no more,
for my eyes already begin to dance in the air; and if I
listen longer to your resistless eloquence, my feet may
share the same fate !"
So saying, Pavl rose; nor could any entreaty on the
part of his entertainer persuade him to resume his seat.
“ Nay, as you will,” said Pepper, affecting a nonchalant
tone, and arranging his cravat before the glass. “Nay,
as you will. Ned Pepper requires no man's companion-
ship against his liking; and if the noble spark of ambi-
tion be not in your bosom, 't is no use spending my
breath in blowing at what only existed in my too flatter-
ing opinion of your qualities. So then, you propose to
return to MacGrawler (the scurvy old cheat), and pass


64
PAUL CLIFFORD
the inglorious remainder of your life in the mangling of
authors, and the murder of grammar? Go, my good
fellow, yo! scribble again and for ever for MacGrawler,
and let him live upon thy brains, instead of suffering thy
brains to "
“ Hold !” cried Paul. “ Although I may have some
scruples which prevent my adoption of that rising line
of life you have proposed to me, yet you are very
much mistaken if you imagine me so spiritless as any
longer to subject myself to the frauds of that rascal
MacGrawler. No! my present intention is to pay my
old nurse a visit. It appears to me passing strange, that
though I have left her so many weeks, she has never re-
lented enough to track me out, which one would think
would have been no difficult matter: and now you see
that I am pretty well off, having five guineas and four
shillings, all my own, and she can scarcely think I want
her money; my heart melts to her, and I shall go and
ask pardon for my haste !"
"Pshaw! sentimental,” cried Long Ned, a little
alarmed at the thought of Paul's gliding from those
clutches which he thought had now so firmly closed upon
him. “Why, you surely do n't mean, after having once
tasted the joys of independence, to go back to the booz-
ing ken, and bear all Mother Lobkins's drunken tanta-
rums! Better have stayed with MacGrawler, of the two !"
. “You mistake me," answered Paul. “I mean solely
to make it up with her, and get her permission to see the
world. My ultimate intention is to travel.”
“Right !” cried Ned, “ on the high-road--and on
horseback, I hope !"
“ No, my colossus of roads! No! I am in doubt
whether or not I shall enlist in a marching regiment,
or (give me your advice on it) I fancy I have a great
turn for the stage, ever since I saw Garrick in Richard.
Shall I turn stroller?-It must be a merry life.”
6 0, the devil!” cried Ned. “I myself once did Cassio
in a barn, and every one swore I enacted the drunken
scene to perfection; but you have no notion what a
lamentable life it is to a man of any susceptibility. No,
my friend. No! There is only one line in all the old
plays worthy thy attention-
" Toby or not toby,* that is the question,"
• The highway,


PAUL CLIFFORD.
« I forget the rest !"
“Well!” said our hero, answering in the same jocular
vein—" I confess, I have the actor's high ambition.' It
is astonishing how my heart beat, when Richard cried
out, • Come bustle,* bustle !'— Yes, Pepper, avaunt!
"A thousand hearts are great within my bosom.”
“Well, well,” said Long Ned, stretching himself,
« since you are so fond of the play, what say you to an
excursion thither to-night ?--Garrick acts !"
“ Done !" cred Paul.
“ Done!" echoed lazily Long Ned, rising with that
blasé' air which distinguishes the matured man of the
world from the enthusiastic tyro.—" Done! and we will
adjourn afterward to the White Horse.”
“ But stay a moment,” said Paul, “ if you remember,
I owed you a guinea when I last saw you-here it is !”
“Nonsense,” exclaimed Long Ned, refusing the money,
-“nonsense! you want the money at present; pay me
when you are richer. Nay, never be coy about it,
debts of honour are not paid now as they used to be.
We lads of the Fish-Lane Club have changed all that.
Well, well, if I must."
And Long Ned, seeing that Paul insisted, pocketed the
guinea. When this delicate matter had been arranged,
“ Come,” said Pepper—"come, get your hat; but,
bless me! I have forgotten one thing."
" What ?"
“ Why, my fine Paul, consider the play is a bang-up
sort of a place,-look at your coat and your waistcoat,
that's all !"
Our hero was struck dumb with this argumentum ad
hominem. But Long Ned, after enjoying his perplexity,
relieved him of it, by telling him that he knew of an
honest tradesman who kept a ready-made shop, just by
the theatre, and who would fit him out in a moment.
In fact, Long Ned was as good as his word; he carried
Paul to a tailor, who gave him for the sum of thirty
shillings, half ready money, half on credit, a green coat
with a tarnished gold lace, a pair of red inexpressibles,
and a pepper-and-salt waistcoat,-it is true, they were
somewhat of the largest, for they had once belonged to
no less a person that Long Ned himself: hut Paul did
pot then regard those niceties of apparel, as he was sub-
* Money.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
sequently taught to do by Gentleman George (a person-
åge hereafter to be introduced to our reader), and he
went to the theatre, as well satisfied with himself, as if
he had been Mr. T- or the Count de M .
Our adventurers are now quietly seated in the theatre,
and we shall not think it necessary to detail the perform-
ances they saw, nor the observations they made. Long
Ned was one of those superior beings of the road, who
would not for the world have condescended to appear
any where but in the boxes, and accordingly the friends
procured a couple of places in the dress-tier. In the next
box to the one our adventurers adorned, they remarked
more especially than the rest of the audience, a gentle-
mani and a young lady seated next each other; the latter,
who was about thirteen years old, was so uncommonly
beautiful, that Paul, despite his dramatic enthusiasm,
çould scarcely divert his eyes from her countenance to
the stage. Her hair, of a bright and fair auburn, hung
in profuse ringlets about her neck, shedding a softer
shade upon a complexion in which the roses seemed just
budding, as it were, into blush. Her eyes, large, blue,
and rather languishing than brilliant, were curtained by
the darkest lashes; her mouth seemed literally girt with
smiles, so numberless were the dimples that, every time
the full, ripe, dewy lips were parted, rose into sight, and
the enchantment of the dimples was aided by two rows
of teeth more dazzling than the richest pearls that ever
glittered on a bride. But the chief charm of the face
was its exceeding and touching air of innocence, and
girlish softness; you might have gazed for ever upon
that first unspeakable bloom, that all untouched and stain-
less down, which seemed as if a very breath could
mar it. Perhaps the face might have wanted animation;
but, perhaps, also, it borrowed from that want an attrac-
tion; the repose of the features was so soft and gentle,
that the eye wandered there with the same delight, and
left it with the same reluctance, which it experiences in
dwelling on, or in quitting, those hues which are found
to harmonize the most with its vision. But while Paul
was feeding his gaze on this young beauty, the keen
glances of Long Ned had found an object no less fascia
nating, in a large gold watch, which the gentleman who
accompanied the damsel, ever and anon brought to his
eye, as if he were waxing a little weary of the length of
the pieces or the lingering progression of time.


PAUL CLIFFORD
57
w What a beautiful face !" whispered Paul.
" Is the face gold, then, as well as the back ?" whis.
pered Long Ned in return.
Our hero stared-frowned, and, despite the gigantic
stature of his comrade, told him, very angrily, to find some
other subject for jesting. Ned in his turn stared, but
made no reply.
Meanwhile, Paul, though the lady was rather too young
to fall in love with, began wondering what relationship
her companion bore to her. Though the gentleman alto-
gether was handsome, yet his features, and the whole
character of his face, were widely different from those
on which Paul gazed with such delight. He was not,
seemingly, above five-and-forty, but his forehead was
knit into many a line and furrow; and in his eyes, the
light, though searching, was more sober and staid than
became his years. A disagreeable expression played
about the mouth, and the shape of the face, which was
long and thin, considerably detracted from the prepos-
sessing effect of a handsome aquiline nose, fine teeth, and
a dark, manly, though sailow complexion. There was
a mingled air of shrewdness and distraction in the ex-
pression of his face. He seemed to pay very little atten-
tion to the play, or to any thing about him; but he testi-
fied very considerable alacrity, when the play was over,
in putting her cloak around his young companion, and
in threading their way through the thick crowd that the
boxes were now pouring forth.
Paul and his companion silently, and each with very
different motives from the other, followed them. They
were now at the door of the theatre.
A servant stepped forward, and informed the gentle-
man that his carriage was a few paces distant; but that
it might be some time before it could drive up to the
theatre.
“ Can you walk to the carriage, my dear ?" said the
gentleman to his young charge, and, she answering in
the affirmative, they both left the house, preceded by the
servant.
“ Come on!” said Long Ned, hastily, and walking in
the same direction which the strangers had taken. Paul
readily agreed; they soon overtook the strangers.-Long
Ned walked the nearest to the gentleman, and brushed
by him in passing. Presently, a voice cried, “Stop
thief !” and Long Ned, saying to Paul—" Shift for your-
C3


58
PAUL CLIFFORD,
self-run !” darted from our hero's side into the crowd
and vanished in a twinkling. Before Paul could recover
his amaze, he found himself suddenly seized by the col.
lar.; he turned abruptly, and saw, the dark face of the
young lady's companion.
“Rascal!” cried the gentleman,“ my watch !"
“ Watch !" repeated Paul, bewildered; and only for
the sake of the young lady refraining from knocking
down his, arrester. - Watch !"
“Ay, young man!” cried a fellow in a great coat, who
now suddenly appeared on the other side of Paul; “ this
gentlemau's, watch-please your honour (addressing the
complainant), I be a watch too shall I take up this
chap 2”
“By all means," cried the gentleman; “I would not
have lost my watch for twice its value. I can swear I
saw this fellow's. companion snatch it from iny fob.
The thief's gone; but we have at least the accomplice.
I give him in strict charge to you, watchman ; take the
consequences if you let him escape."
The watchman answered sullenly, that he did not want
to be threatened, and he knew how to discharge his duty.
“Do n't answer me, fellow." said the gentleman,
haughtily ; “ do as I teli you!” and after a little colloquy,
Paul found himself suddenly, marched off between iwo
tall fellows who looked prodigiously inclined to eat him.
By this time, he had recovered his surprise and dismay:
he did not want the penetration to see that his companion
had really committed the offence for which he was
charged; and he also foresaw that the circumstance
might be attended with disagreeable consequences to
himself. Under all the features of the case, he thought
that an attempt to escape would not be an imprudent pro-
ceeding on his part; accordingly, after moving a few
paces very quietly, and very passively, he watched his
opportunity, wrenched himself from the gripe of the
gentleman on his left, and brought the hand thus released,
against the cheek of the gentleman on his right, with so
hearty a good-will, as to cause him to relinquish his hold,
and retreat several paces towards the areas in a slanting
position. But that round-about sort of blow with the
left fist is very unfavourable towards the preservation of
a firm balance; and before Paul had recovered sufficiently
to make an effectual “bolt,” he was prostrated to, the
earth by a blow from the other and undamaged watch-


PAUL CLIFFORD
59
man, which utterly deprived him of his senses: and when
he recovered those useful possessions (which a man may
reasonably boast of losing, since it is only the minority
who have them to lose), he found himself stretched on
a bench in the watchhouse.
CHAPTER VII.
Begirt with many a gallant slave,
Apparelled as becomes the brave,
oid Giaffer sat in his Divan!
Much I misdoubt this wayward boy
Will one day work me more annoy.
BRIDE OF ABYDOS.
THE learned and ingenious John Schweighaeuserla
name facile to spell and mellifluous to pronounce)-hath
been pleased, in that Appendix continens particulam doc-
trince de mente humanâ, which closeth the volume of his
Opuscula Academica, to observe-(we translate from me.
mory)—that, “in the infinite variety of things which, in
the theatre of the world, occur to a man's survey, or in
some manner or another affect his body or his mind, by
far the greater part are so contrived as to bring to him
rather some sense of pleasure than of pain or discom-
fort. Assuming that this holds generally good, in well-
constituted frames, we point out a notable example in
the case of the incarcerated Paul; for, although that
youth was in no agreeable situation at the time present,
and although nothing very encouraging smiled upon him
from the prospects of the future, yet, as soon as he had
recovered his consciousness, and given himself a rousing
shake, he found an immediate source of pleasure in dis-
covering, first, that several ladies and gentlemen bore
him company in his imprisonment; and, secondly, in
perceiving a huge jug of water within his reach, which,
as his awaking sensation was that of burning thirst, he
delightedly emptied at a draught. He then, stretching
himself, looked around with a wistful earnestness, and
discovered a back turned towards him, and recumbent on
the floor, which, at the very first glance, appeared to him


PAUL CLIFFORD.
61
if the worst came to the worst, what were a few weeks"
or even months' imprisonment ?
“Blow me tight!” said Dummie, “if it be n't as good
a vay of passing the time as a cove as is fond of snug-
gery need desire !"
This observation had no comfort for Paul, who recoiled,
with all the maiden coyness of one to whom such unions
are unfamiliar, from the matrimonial alliance with the
snuggery of the House of Correction. He rather trusted
to another source for consolation; in a word, he encou-
raged the flattering belief, that Long Ned, finding that
Paul had been caught instead of himself, would have the
generosity to come forward and exculpate him from the
charge. On hinting this idea to Dummie, that accomplished:
“man about town” could not for some time believe that
any simpleton could be so thoroughly unacquainted with
the world, as seriously to entertain so ridiculous a notion;
and, indeed, it is somewhat remarkable that such a hope
should ever have told its flattering tale to one brought up
in the house of Mrs. Margaret Lobkins. But Paul, we
have seen, had formed many of his notions from books;
and he had the same fine theories of your « moral rogue,"
that possess the minds of young patriots when they first
leave college for the House of Commons, and think
integrity a prettier thing than office.
Mr. Dunnaker urged Paul, seriously, to dismiss so
vague and childish a fancy from his breast, and rather to
think of what line of defence it would be best for him
to pursue. This subject being at length exhausted, Paul
recurred to Mrs. Lobkins, and inquired whether Dummie
had lately honoured that lady with a visit.
Mr. Dunnaker replied that he had, though with much
difficulty, appeased her anger against him for his sup-
posed abetment of Paul's excuses, and that of late she
had held sundry conversations with Dummie respecting
our hero himself. Upon questioning Dummie farther,
Paul learned the good matron's reasons for not evincing
that solicitude for his return which our hero had reason-
ably anticipated. The fact was, that she, having no
confidence whatsoever in his own resources independent
of her, had not been sorry of an opportunity effectually,
as she hoped, to humble that pride which had so re-
volted her; and she pleased her vanity by anticipating
the time when Paul, starved into submission, would
gladly, and penitently, reseek the shelter of her roof,


62
PAUL CLIFFORD.
and, tamed as it were by experience, would never again
kick against the yoke which her. matronly prudence
thought it fitting to impose upon him. She contented
herself then with obtaining from Dummie the intelli-
gence, that our hero was under MacGrawler's roof, and
therefore, out of all absolute evil; and as she could not
foresee the ingenious exertions of intellect by which
Paul had converted himself into the • Nobilitas' of the
Asinæum, and thereby saved himself from utter penury,
she was perfectly convinced, from her knowledge of
character, that the illustrious MacGrawler would not
long continue that protection to her rebellious protegé,
which, in her opinion, was his only preservative from
picking pockets or famishing. To the former decent al-
ternative she knew Paul's great and jejune aversion, and
she consequently had little fear for his morals or his
safety, in thus abandoning him for a while to chance.
Any anxiety, too, that she might otherwise have keenly.
experienced was deadened by the habitual intoxication
now increasing upon the good lady with age, and which,
though at times she could be excited to all her charac-
teristic vehemence, kept her senses for the most part
plunged into a lethean stupor, or, to speak more courte-
ously, in a poetical abstraction from the things of the
external world.
“But,” said Dummie, as by degrees he imparted the
solution of the Dame's conduct to the listening ear of
his companion—"But I opes as ow ven you be out of
this ere scrape, leetle Paul, you, vill take varning, and
drop Meester Pepper's acquaintance (vich, I must say, I
vas alvays a sorry to see you hencourage), and go home
to the Mug, and fam grasp the old mort, for she has not
been like the same cretur ever since you vent. She's a
delicate-arted oman, that Piggy Lob!"
So appropriate a panegyric on Mrs.. Margaret Lobkins
might, at another time, have excited Paul's risible mus-
cles; but at that moment he really felt compunction for
the unceremonious manner in which he had left her, and
the softness of regretful affection imbued in its hallow.
ing colours even the image of Piggy Lob.
In conversation of this intellectual and domestic de..
scription, the night and ensuing morning passed away,
till Paul found himself in the awful presence of Justice-
Burnflat. Several cases were disposed of before his
own, and among others Mr. Dummie Dunnaker obtained


TAUL CLIFFORD.
63
his release, though not without a severe reprimand for
his sin of inebriety, which no doubt sensibly affected the
ingenuous spirit of that noble character. At length,
Paul's turn came. He heard, as he took his station, a
general buzz. At first, he imagined it was at his own in-
teresting appearance, but raising his eyes, he perceived
that it was at the entrance of the gentleman who was to
become his accuser..
“Hush,” said some one near him, “' is Lawyer Bran-
don. Ah, he's a 'cute fellow! It will go hard with the
person he complains of.”
There was a happy fund of elasticity of spirit about
our hero, and though he had not the good fortune to
have “a blighted heart”—a circumstance which, by the
poets and philosophers of the present day, is supposed
to inspire a man with wonderful courage, and make him
impervious to all misfortunes-yet he bore himself, up
with wonderful courage under his present trying situa-
tion, and was far from overwhelmed, though he was cer-
tainly a little damped, by the observation he had just
heard.
Mr. Brandon was, indeed, a barrister of considerable
reputation, and in high esteem in the world, not only for
talent, but also for a great austerity of manners, which,
though a little mingled with sternness and acerbity for
the errors of other men, was naturally thought the more
praiseworthy on that account; there being, as persons
of experience are doubtless aware, two divisions in the
first class of morality; imprimis, a great hatred for the
vices of one's neighbour; secondly, the possession of
virtues in one's self.
Mr. Brandon was. received with great courtesy by
Justice Burnflat, and as he came, watch in hand (a bor-
rowed watch), saying that his time was worth five
guineas a moment, the Justice proceeded immediately to
business.
Nothing could be clearer, shorter, or more satisfactory,
than the evidence of Mr. Brandon. The corroborative
testimony of the watchman followed; and then Paul was
called upon for his defence. This was equally brief
with the charge ;-but, alas! it was not equally satisfac-
try. It consisted in a firm declaration of his inno-
cence. His comrade, he confessed, might have stolen
the watch, but he humbly suggested that that was exactly
the very reason why he had not stolen it..


PAUL CLIFFORD.
“ How long, fellow," asked Justice Burnflat, “have
you known your companion ?".
" About half a year!”
6 And what is his name and calling ?"
Paul hesitated, and declined to answer.
“ A sad piece of business !" said the Justice, in a me-
lancholy tone, and shaking his head portentously.
The lawyer acquiesced in the aphorism; but with great
magnanimity observed, that he did not wish to be hard
upon the young man. His youth was in his favour, and
his offence was probably the consequence of evil com-
pany. He suggested, therefore, that, as he must be per-
fectly aware of the address of his friend, he should re-
ceive a full pardon, if he would immediately favour the
magistrate with that information. He concluded by
remarking, with singular philanthropy, that it was not
the punishment of the youtlı, but the recovery of his
watch, that he desired.
Justice Burnflat, having duly impressed upon our
hero's mind the disinterested and Christian mercy of the
complainant, and the everlasting obligation Paul was
under to him for its display, now repeated, with double
solemnity, those queries respecting the habitation and
name of Long Ned, which our hero had before declined
to answer.
Grieved are we to confess, that Paul, ungrateful for,
and wholly untouched by, the beautiful benignity of
Lawyer Brandon, continued firm in his stubborn denial
to betray his comrade, and with equal obduracy he con-
tinued to insist upon his own innocence and unblemished
respectability of character.
“ Your name, young man ?" quoth the Justice. “ Your
name, you say, is Paul,-Paul what? you have many an
alias, I'll be bound.”
Here the young gentleman again hesitated: at length
he replied-
“Paul Lobkins, your worship.”
" Lobkins!” repeated the Judge—“ Lobkins ! come
hither Saunders—have not we that name down in our
black books ?"
“ So please your worship,” quoth a little stout man, very
useful in many respects to the Festus of the Police,
“there is one Peggy Lobkins, who keeps a public-house,
a sort of flash ken, called the Mug, in Thames Court,
not exactly in our beat, your Worship.”


PAUL CLIFFORD.
65
“ Ho, ho !” said Justice Burnflat, winking at Mr. Bran-
don, “ we must sift this a little. Pray, Mr. Paul Lob-
kins, what relation is the good landlady of the Mug, in
Thames Court to yourself?"
“None at all, Sir,” said Paul, hastily,—“she's only a
friend!”
Upon this there was a laugh in the court.
“ Silence,” cried the Justice, “and I dare say, Mr.
Paul Lobkins, that this friend of yours will vouch for the
respectability of your character, upon which you are
pleased to value yourself."
“I have not a doubt of it, Sir," answered Paul; and
there was another laugh.
“ And is there any other equally weighty and praise-
worthy friend of yours who will do you the like kind-
ness ?
Paul hesitated : and at that moment, to the surprise of
the court, but above all to the utter and astounding sur-
prise of himself, two gentlemen dressed in the height of
the fashion pushed forward, and, bowing to the Justice,
declared themselves ready to vouch for the thorough re-
spectability, and unimpeachable character of Mr. Paul
Lobkins, whom they had known they said, for many
years, and for whom they had the greatest respect.
While Paul was surveying the persons of these kind
friends, whom he never remembered to have seen before
in the course of his life, the lawyer, who was a very
sharp fellow, whispered to the magistrate, and that dig.
nitary nodding as in assent, and eyeing the new comers,
inquired the names of Mr. Lobkins's witnesses.
" Mr. Eustace Fitzherbert, and Mr. William Howard
Russell,” were the several replies.
Names so aristocratic produced a general sensation.
But the impenetrable Justice calling the same Mr. Saun-
ders he had addressed before, asked him to examine well
the countenances of Mr. Lobkins's friends.
As the alguazil eyed the features of the memorable
Don Raphael and the illustrious Manuel Morales, when
the former of those accomplished personages thought it
convenient to assume the travelling dignity of an Italian
prince, son of the sovereign of the valleys which lie be-
tween Switzerland, the Milanese, and Savoy, while the
latter was contented with being servant to Monseigneur
le Prince ; even so, with far more earnestness than re-
spect, did Mr. Saunders eye the features of those high,


PAUL CLIFFORD.
67
anxious to learn from what part of the world the transi-
tory visitants appeared, know, that they were spirits. sent
by that inimitable magician, Long Ned, partly to report
how matters fared in the court: for Mr. Pepper, -in
pursuance of that old policy which teaches that the
nearer the fox is to the hunters, the more chance he has
of being overlooked, had, immediately on his departure
from Paul, dived into a house in the very street where
his ingenuity had displayed itself, and in which oysters
and ale nightly allured and regaled an assembly that, to
speak impartialıy, was more numerous than select :
there had he learned how a pickpocket had been seized,
for unlawful affection to another man's watch, and there,
while he quietly seasoned his oysters, had he, with his
charaeteristic acuteness, satisfied his mind, by the cons
viction that that arrested unfortunate was no other than
Paul. Partly, therefore, as a precaution for his own
safety, that he might receive early intelligence, should
Paul's defence make a change of residence expedient,
and partly (out of the friendliness of fellowship) to back
his companion with such aid as the favourable testimony
of two well-dressed persons, little known“ about town,
might confer, he had despatched those celestial beings
who had appeared under the mortal names of Eustace
Fitzherbert, and William Howard Russell, to the impe-
rial court of Justice Burnflat. Having thus accounted.
for the apparition (the disapparition requires no com-
mentary)-of Paul's " friends," we return to Paul himself.
Despite of the perils with which he was girt, our young
hero fought out to the last, but the Justice was not by
any means willing to displease Mr. Brandon ; and observ.
ing that an incredulous and biting sneer remained sta.
tionary on that gentleman's lip, during the whole of Paul's
defence, he could not but shape his decision according
to the well-known acuteness of the celebrated lawyer.
Paul was accordingly sentenced to retire for three months
to that country-house situated at Bridewell, to which the
ungrateful, functionaries of justice. often banish their
most active citizens.
As soon as the sentence was passed, Brandon, whose
keen eyes saw no hope of recovering his lost treasure,
declared that the rascal had perfectly the Old-Bailey-out
of countenance, and that he did not doubt but, if ever he
lived to be a judge, he should also live to pass a very
different description of sentence on the offender.,


68
PAUL CLIFFORD.
So saying, he resolved to lose no more time, and very
abruptly left the office, without any other comfort than
the remernbrance that, at all events, he had sent the boy
to a place where, let him be ever so innocent at present,
he was certain to come out as much inclined to be guilty,
as his friends could desire; joined to such moral reflec-
tion as the tragedy of Bombastes Furioso might have
afforded to himself in that sententious and terse line-
“Thy watch is gone,-watches are made to go!
Meanwhile, Paul was conducted in state to his retreat,
in company with two other offenders, one a iniddle-aged
man, though a very old “file," who was sentenced for get-
ting money under false pretences, and the other a little
boy, who had been found guilty of sleeping under a co-
lonnade: it being the especial beauty of the English law,
to make no fine-drawn and nonsensical shades of differ-
ence between vice and misfortune; and its peculiar me-
thod of protecting the honest being, to make as many
rogues as possible in as short a space of time.
CHAPTER VIII.
Common Sense. What is the end of punishment, as regards the individual
punished ?
Custom.--To make him better!
Common Sense.-How do you punish young offenders who are (from their
youth) peculiarly alive to example, and whom it is therefore more easy either
to ruin or reforın, than the matured ?
Custom.-We send them to the House of Correction, to associate with the
damnedest rascals in the country!
DIALOGUE BETWEEN COMMUN SENSE AND CUSTOM.
(Very scarce.)
As it was rather late in the day when Paul made his
first entré at Bridewell, he passed that night in the “re-
ceiving-room." The next morning, as soon as he had been
examined by the surgeon, and clothed in the customary
uniform, he was ushered, according to his classification,
among the good company who had been considered
guilty of that compendious offence, “a misdemeanor."
Here a tall gentleinan marched up to him, and addressed
him in a certain language, which might be called the


PAUL CLIFFORD.
69
free-masonry of flash; and which Paul, though he did
not comprehend verbatim, rightly understood to be an
inquiry whether he was a thorough rogue and an entire
rascal. He answered half in confusion, half in anger
and his reply was so detrimental to any favourable influ-
ence he might otherwise have exercised over the interro-
gator,—that the latter personage, giving him a pinch in
the ear, shouted out, “ Ramp, ramp !" and, at that signifi-
cant and awful word, Paul found himself surrounded in a
trice by a whole host of ingenious tormentors. One
pulled this member, another pinched that; one cuffed
him before, and another thrashed him behind. By way
of interlude to this pleasing occupation, they stripped him
of the very few things that in his change of dress he had
retained. One carried off his handkerchief, a second his
neckcloth, and a third, luckier than either, possessed
himself of a pair of cornelian shirt-buttons, given to Paul
as a guge d'amour by a young lady who sold oranges
near the Tower. Happily, before this initiatory process,
technically termed "ramping,” and exercised upon ail new
comers who seemed to have a spark of decency in them,
had reduced the bones of Paul, who fought tooth-and-
nail in his defence, to the state of magnesia; a man of a
grave aspect, who had hitherto plucked his oakum in
quiet, suddenly rose, thrust himself between the victim
and the assailants, and desired the latter, like one having
authority, to leave the lad alone, and go and be d d .
This proposal to resort to another place for amuse-
ment, though uttered in a very grave and tranquil man-
ner, produced that instantaneous effect which admoni-
tions from great rogues generally work upon little.
Messieurs the “rampers" ceased from their amuse-
ments, and the ringleader of the gang, thumping Paul
heartily on the back, declared he was a capital fellow,
and it was only a bit of a spree like, which he hoped had
not given him any offence.
Paul, still clenching his fist, was about to answer in
no pacific mood, when a turnkey, who did not care in the
least how many men he locked up for an offence, but who
did not at all like the trouble of looking after any one of
his flock, to see that the offence was not committed, now
suddenly appeared among the set; and, after scolding
them for the excessive plague they were to him, carried
off two of the poorest of the mob to solitary confine-
ment. It happened of course that these two had not


70
PAUL CLIFFORD.
taken the smallest share in the disturbance. This scene
over, the company returned to picking oakum,--the
tread-mill, that admirably just invention, by which a
strong man suffers no fatigue, and a weak one loses his
health for life, not having been then introduced in our
excellent establishments for correcting crime. Bitterly,
and with many dark and wrathful feelings, in which the
sense of injustice at punishment alone bore him up against
the humiliations to which he was subjected-bitterly, and
with a swelling heart, in which the thoughts that lead to
crime were already forcing their way through a soil sud-
denly warmed for their growth, did Paul bend over his
employment. He felt himself touched on the arm,-he
turned, and saw that the gentleman who had so kindly
delivered him from his tormentors, was now sitting next
to him. Paul gazed long and earnestly upon his neigh-
bour, struggling with the thought, that he had beheld that
sagacious countenance in happier times—although now,
alas! it was altered, not only by time and vicissitude,
but by that air of gravity which the cares of mankind
spread gradually over the face of the most thoughtless,
-until all doubt melted away: and he exclaimed
“ Is that you, Mr. Tomlinson ?-how glad I am to see
you here !""
“ And I,” returned the quondam murderer for the news-
papers, with a nasal twang, “ should be very glad to see
myself any where else!” .
Paul made no answer, and Augustus continued :
666 To a wise man, all places are the same, so it has
been said. I do n't believe it, Paul,--I do n't believe it.-
But a truce to reflection. I remembered you the mo-
ment I saw you, though you are surprisingly grown.
How is my friend MacGrawler?—still hard at work for
the Asinæum ?”
“I believe so," said Paul, sullenly, and hastening to
change the converstion; “but tell me, Mr. Tomlinson,
how came you hither? I heard you had gone down to
the North of England to fulfil a lucrative employment."
“Possibly! the world always misrepresents the actions
of those who are constantly before it !"
“It is very true," said Paul," and I have said the same
thing myself a hundred times in the Asinæum,--for we
were never too lavish of our truths in that magnificent
journal. ”T is astonishing what a way we made three
ideas go.”


· PAUL CLIFFORD.
71
“ You remind me of myself and my newspaper la-
bours," rejoined Augustus Tomlinson: “I am not quite
sure that I had so many as three ideas to spare; for, as
you say, it is astonishing how far that number may go,
properly managed. It is with writers as with strolling
players,--the same three ideas that did for Turks in one
scene, do for Highlanders in the next:--but you must
tell me your history one of these days, and you shall
hear mine."
“I should be excessively obliged to you for your con-
fidence," said Paul, “ and I doubt not but your life must
be excessively entertaining. Mine, as yet, has been but
insipid.' The lives of literary men are not fraught with
adventure; and I question whether every writer in the
Asinæum has not led pretty nearly the same existence
as that which I have sustained myself.”
In conversation of this sort our newly-restored friends
passed the remainder of the day, until the hour of half-
past four, when the prisoners are to suppose night has
begun, and be locked up in their bedrooms. Tom-
linson then, who was glad to refind a person who had
known him in his beaux jours, spoke privately to the
turnkey; and the result of the conversation was the
coupling Paul and Augustus in the same chamber, which
was a sort of stone box, that generally accommodated
three, and was for we have measured it, as we would
have measured the cell of the prisoner of Chillon,-just
eight feet by six.
We do not intend, reader, to indicate by broad colours
and in long detail, the moral deterioration of our hero;
because we have found, by experience, that such pains
on our part do little inore than make thee blame our
stupidity instead of lauding our intention. We shall
therefore only work out our moral by subtle hints and
brief comments; and we shall now content ourselves
with reminding thee, that hitherto thou hast seen Paul
honest in the teeth of circumstances. Despite the con-
tagion of the Mug,-despite his associates in Fish Lane,
-despite his intimacy with Long Ned, thou hast seen
him brave teinptation, and look forward to some other
career than that of robbery or fraud. Nay, even in his
destitution, when driven from the abode of his childhood,
thou hast observed how, instead of resorting to some
more pleasurable or libertine road of life, he betook
himself at once to the dull roof and insipid employments


72
PAUL CLIFFORD.
of MacGrawler, and preferred honestly earning his sub-
sistence by the sweat of his brain to recurring to any of
the numerous ways of living on others with which his
experience among the worse part of society must have
teemed, and which, to say the least of them, are more
alluring to the young and the adventurous, than the bar-
ren paths of literary labour. Indeed, to let thee into a
secret, it had been Paul's daring ambition to raise him-
self into a worthy member of the community. His pre-
sent circumstances, it may hereafter be seen, made the
cause of a great change in his desires; and the conver-
sation he held that night with the ingenious and skilful
Augustus, went more towards fitting him for the hero of
this work, than all the habits of his childhood, or the
scenes of his earlier youth. Young people are apt, erro-
neously, to believe, that it is a bad thing to be exceed-
ingly wicked. The House of Correction is so called,
because it is a place where so ridiculous a notion is in-
variably corrected.
The next day, Paul was surprised by a visit from Mrs.
Lobkins, who had heard of his situation, and its causes,
from the friendly Dummie, and who had managed to obtain
from Justice Búrnflat an order of admission. They met,
Pyramus and 'Thisbe like, with a wall, or rather an iron
gate, between them : and Mrs. Lobkins, after an ejacu.
lation of despair at the obstacle, burst weepingly into the
pathetic reproach-
“0, Paul, thou hast brought thy pigs to a fine market!"
“'T is a market proper for pigs, dear Dame," said Paul,
who, though with a tear in his eye, did not refuse a joke
as bitter as it was inelegant; “ for, of all others, it is the
spot where a man learns to take care of his bacon."
“Hold your tongue !" cried the Dame, angrily. “What
business has you to gabble on so while you are in
limbo ?”
“Ah, dear Dame,” said Paul, “ we can't help these
rubs and stumbles on our road to preferment !"
“ Road to the scragging-post !" cried the dame. “I
tells you, child, you'll live to be hanged in spite of all
my care and 'tention to you, though I hedicated you as a
scholard, and always hoped as how you would grow up
to be an honour to your "
“ King and country," interrupted Paul. “We always
say honour to king and country, which means getting
rich and paying taxes. “The more taxes a man pays,


PAUL CLIFFORD.
73
the greater honour he is to both, as Augustus says.
Well, dear Dame, all in good time.”
“ What! you is merry-is you? Why does not you
weep? Your heart is as hard as a brickbat. It looks
quite unnatural and hyæna-like, to be so devil me careish!".
So saying, the good Dame's tears gushed forth with the
bitterness of a despairing Parisina.
“ Nay, nay,” said Paul, who, though he suffered far
more intensely, bore the suffering far more easily than
his patroness, “ we cannot mend the matter by crying.
Suppose you see what can be done for me. I dare say
you may manage to soften the Justice's sentence by a
little oil of palms ;' and if you can get me out before I
am quite corrupted,-a day or two longer in this infernal
place will do the business, I promise you, that I will
not only live honestly myself, but with people who live
in the same manner."
“ Buss me, Paul,” said the tender Mrs. Lobkins, “buss
me,--oh! but I forgits the gate !-I 'll see what can be
done. And here, my lad, here's summat for you in the
mean while. A drop o' the cretur to preach comfort to
your poor stomach. Hush! smuggle it through, or they'll
see you."
· Here the Dame endeavoured to push a stone bottle
through the bars of the gate; but, aląs! though the neck
passed through, the body refused, and the Dame was forced
to retract the "cretur." Upon this, the kind-hearted
woman renewed her sobbings; and so absorbed was
she in her grief, that, seemingly quite forgetting for what
purpose she had brought the bottle, she applied it to her
own mouth, and consoled herself with that elixir vitæ
which she had originally designed for Paul.
This somewhat restored her; and after a most affect-
ing scene, the Dame reeled off with the vacillating steps
natural to wo, promising as she went, that if love or
money could shorten Paul's confinement, neither should
be wanting. We are rather at a loss to know the exact
influence which the former of these arguments, urged by
the lovely Margaret, might have had with Justice Burnflat.
When the good Dame had departed, Paul hastened to
repick his oakum and rejoin his friend. He found the
worthy Augustus privately selling little elegant luxuries,
such as tobacco, gin, and rations of daintier viands than
the prison allowed; for Augustus, having more money
than the rest of his companions, managed, through the
VOL. I.--D


76
PAUL CLIFFORD.
“ There was a sort of prophecy respecting my ances.
tor's descendants darkly insinuated in the concluding
stanza of this ballad:
· Tommy Linn, and his wife, and his wife's mother,
They all fell into the fire together;
They that lay undermost got a hot skin;-
We are not enough! said Tommy Linn.'*
“ You see the prophecy ; it is applicable both to gen-
tlemen rogues and to moderate Whigs; for both are
undermost in the world, and both are perpetually bawl-
ing out .We are not enough!
“I shall begin my own history, by saying I went to a
North country school; where I was noted for my aptness
in learning, and my skill at prisoner's base :'-Upon my
word I purposed no pun! I was intended for the Church:
wishing, betimes, to instruct myself in its ceremonies, I
persuaded my schoolmaster's maid-servant to assist me
towards promoting a christening. My father did not
like this premature love for the sacred rites. He took
me home; and, wishing to give my clerical ardour à
different turn, prepared me for writing sermons, by read-
ing me a dozen a day. I grew tired of this, strange as
it may seem to you. •Father,' said I, one morning, 'it
is no use talking, I will not go into the Church-that's
positive. Give me your blessing, and a hundred pounds,
and I'll go up to London, and get a living instead of a
curacy.' My father stormed, but I got the better at last.
I talked of becoming a private tutor; swore I had heard
nothing was so easy,the only things wanted were-
pupils; and the only way to get them was to go to Lon.
don, and let my learning be known. My poor father!
well, he's gone, and I am glad of it now!-(the speak-
er's voice faltered)-I got the better, I say, and I came
to town, where I had a relation a bookseller. Through
his interest, I wrote a book of Travels in Ethiopia for
an earl's son, who wanted to become a lion; and a Trea-
tise on the Greek Particle, dedicated to the prime minis-
ter, for a dean, who wanted to become a bishop,-Greek
being, next to interest, the best road to the mitre. These
two achievements were liberally paid ; so I took a lodging
in a first floor, and resolved to make a bold stroke for a
wife. What do you think I did ?-nay, never guess, it
* See Ritson's North Country Chorister.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
77
would be hopeless. First, I went to the best tailor, and
had my clothes sewn on my back; secondly, I got the
peerage and its genealogies by heart; thirdly, I marched
one night, with the coolest deliberation possible, into the
house of a dutchess, who was giving an immense rout!
The newspapers had inspired me with this idea. I had
read of the vast crowds which a lady at home' sought
to win to her house. I had read of staircases impassa-
ble, and ladies carried out in a fit; and common sense
told me how impossible it was that the fair receiver
should be acquainted with the legality of every importa-
tion. I therefore resolved to try my chance, and-en-
tered the body of Augustus Tomlinson, as a piece of
stolen goods. Faith! the first night I was shy, -I stuck
to the staircase, and ogled an old maid of quality, whom
I had heard announced as Lady Margaret Sinclair.
Doubtless, she had never been ogled before; and she was
evidently enraptured with my glances. The next night
I read of a ball at the Countess of - - My heart beat
as if I were going to be whipped ; but I plucked up
courage, and repaired to her ladyship’s. There I again
beheld the divine Lady Margaret; and, observing that
she turned yellow, by way of a blush, when she saw me,
I profited by the port I had drunk as an encouragement
to my entré, and lounging up in the most modish way
possible, I reminded her ladyship of an introduction
with which I said I had once been honoured at the Duke
of Dashwell's, and requested her hand for the next cotil.
lon. Oh Paul ! fancy my triumph! the old damsel said,
with a sigh, “She remembered me very well,' ha! ha!
ha! and I carried her off to the cotillon like another The-
seus bearing away a second Ariadne. Not to be prolix
on this part of my life, I went night after night to balls
and routs, for admission to which half the fine gentlemen
in London would have given their ears. And I improved
my time so well with Lady Margaret, who was her own
mistress, and had five thousand pounds,-a devilish bad
portion for some, but not to be laughed at by me,that I
began to think when the happy day should be fixed.
Meanwhile, as Lady Margaret introduced me to some of
her friends, and my lodgings were in a good situation, I
had been honoured with some real invitations. The only
two questions I ever was asked were (carelessly), Was
I the only son ?' and on my veritable answer, “Yes !
What,'--(this was more warmly put, what was my


PAUL CLIFFORD.
county ?!-luckily, my county was a wide one,-York.
shire : and any of its inhabitants whom the fair inter-
rogators might have questioned about me could only have
answered, I was not in their part of it.'
“ Well, Paul, I grew so bold by success, that the Devil
one day put it into my head to go to a great dinner-party
at the Duke of Dashwell's.--I went, dined,-nothing
happened: I came away, and the next morning I read in
the papers,
Mysterious affair,-person lately going about—first
houses-most fashionable parties-nobody knows–Duke
of Dashwell's yesterday. Duke not like to make dis-
turbance--as-Royalty present !”
66 The journal dropped from my hands. At that mo.
ment, the girl of the house gave me a note from Lady
Margaret, alluded to the paragraph ;-wondered who
was The Stranger;-hoped to see me that night at
Lord A- 's, to whose party I said I had been asked;
-speak then more fully on those matters I had touched
on !-in short, dear Paul, a tender epistle! All great men
are fatalists: I am one now: fate made me a madman:
in the very face of this ominous paragraph, I mustered
up courage, and went that night to Lord A 's. The
fact is, my affairs were in confusion-I was greatly in
debt: I knew it was necessary to finish my conquest
over Lady Margaret as soon as possible; and Lord
A— 's seemed the best place for the purpose. Nay, I
thought delay so dangerous, after the cursed paragraph,
that a day might unmask me, and it would be better
therefore not to lose an hour in finishing the play of
• The Stranger,' with the farce of the 'Honey Moon.'
Behold me then at Lord A 's, leading off Lady Mar-
garet to the dance. Behold me whispering the sweetest
things in her ear. Imagine her approving my suit, and
gently chiding me for talking of Gretna Green. Con-
ceive all this, my dear fellow, and just at the height of
my triumph dilate the eyes of your imagination, and be-
hold the stately form of Lord A- , my noble host,
marching up to me, while a voice that, though low and
quiet as an evening breeze, made my heart sink into my
shoes, said, “I believe, Sir, you have received no invita-
tion from Lady A- ?'
“Not a word could I utter, Paul, not a word. Had
it been the high road instead of a ball-room, I could have
talked loudly enough, but I was under a spell. Ehem!


PAUL CLIFFORD.
79
I faltered, at last :- E-h-e-m! Some mistake,
1-1.' There I stopped. "Sir,' said the Earl, regarding
me with a grave sternness, you had better with
draw !
“ • Bless me! what's all this? cried Lady Margaret,
dropping my palsied arm, and gazing on me as if she ex-
pected me to talk like a hero.
“Oh,' said I, .eh-e-m, eh-e-m, I will explain
to-morrow, ehem, e-h-e-m' I made to the door; all
the eyes in the room seemed turned into burning-glasses,
and blistered the very skin on my face. I heard a gentle
shriek as I left the apartment; Lady Margaret fainting,
I suppose! There ended my courtship and my adven-
tures in the best society.' I fell melancholy at the ill
success of my scheme. You must allow, it was a mag-
nificent project. What moral courage! I admire my-
self when I think of it. Without an introduction, with-
out knowing a soul, to become, all by my own resolu-
tion, free of the finest houses in London, dancing with
Earls' daughters, and all but carrying off an Earl's
daughter myself as my wife. If I had, the friends
must have done something for me; and Lady Margaret
Tomlinson might perhaps have introduced the youthful
genius of her Augustus to Parliament or the Ministry.
Oh what a fall was there! yet faith, ha! ha! ha! I
could not help laughing, despite of my chagrin, when I
remembered that for three months i had imposed on
these delicate exclusives,' and been literally invited by
many of them, who would not have asked the younger
sons of their own cousins; merely because I lived in a
good street, avowed myself an only child, and talked of
my property in Yorkshire! Ha! ha! how bitter the
mercenary dupes must have felt, when the discovery
was made! what a pill for the good matrons who had
coupled my image with that of some filial Mary or Jane,
-ha! ha! ha! the triumph was almost worth the mor-
tification. However, as I said before, I fell melancholy
on it, especially as my duns became menacing. So, I
went to consult with my cousin the bookseller; he re-
commended me to compose for the journals, and obtained
me an offer. I went to work very patiently for a short
time, and contracted some agreeable friendships with
gentlemen whom I met at an ordinary in St. James's.
Still, my duns, though I paid them by driblets, were
the plague of my life : I confessed as much to one of


80
PAUL CLIFFORD.
my new friends. Come to Bath with me,' quoth he
for a week, and you shall return as rich as a Jew' J
accepted the offer, and went to Bath in my friend's cha-
riot. He took the name of Lord Dunshunner, an Irish
peer who had never been out of Galway, and was not
therefore likely to be known at Bath. He took also a
house for a year, filled it with wines, books, and a side:
board of plate: as he talked vaguely of setting up (a
the next Parliament) for the town, he bought these good:
of the townspeople, in order to encourage their trade;
managed secretly to transport them to London and sel
them; and as we disposed of them fifty per cent. under
cost price, our customers the pawnbrokers were not
very inquisitive. We lived a jolly life at Bath for a
couple of months, and departed one night, leaving our
housekeeper to answer all interrogatories. We had
taken the precaution to wear disguises, stuffed ourselves
out, and changed the hues of our hair: my noble friend
was an adept in these transformations, and though the
police did not sleep on the business,-they never stum-
bled on us. I am especially glad we were not disco,
vered, for I liked Bath excessively, and I intend to return
there some of these days and retire from the world-
on an heiress!
6 Well, Paul, shortly after this adventure, I made your
acquaintance. I continued ostensibly my literary pro-
fession, but only as a mask for the labours I did not pro-
fess. A circumstance obliged me to leave London
rather precipitately. Lord Dunshunner joined me in
Edinburgh. Damn it, instead of doing any thing there,
we were done! The veriest urchin that ever crept through
the High Street is more than a match for the most scien-
tific of Englishmen. With us it is art; with the Scotch
it is nature. They pick your pockets, without using
their fingers for it; and they prevent reprisal, by having
nothing for you to pick.
“We left Edinburgh with very long faces, and at Car-
lisle we found it necessary to separate. For my part, I
went as a valet to a nobleman who had just lost his last
servant at Carlisle by a fever: my friend gave me the
best of characters! My new master was a very clever
man. He astonished people at dinner by the impromptus
he prepared at breakfast ;-in a word, he was a wit. He
soon saw, for he was learned himself, that I had received
a classical education, and he employed me in the confi-


PAUL CLIFFORD.
that was playing my master but a scurvy trick in return
for his kindness-not at all, my master hinıself had con-
vinced me, that there was no such virtue as gratitude.
It was an error of vulgar moralists. I yielded to his
arguments, and at length privately espoused his daugh-
ter. The day after this took place, he summoned me to
his study. “So, Augustus,' said he, very mildly, you
have married my daughter: nay, never look confused;
I saw a long time ago that you were resolved to do so,
and I was very glad of it.'
“I attempted to falter out something like thanks.
• Never interrupt me!' said he. 'I had two reasons for
being glad :-1st. Because my daughter was the plague
of my life, and I wanted some one to take her off my
hands ;-2dly, Because I required your assistance on a
particular point, and I could not venture to ask it of any
one but my son-in-law. In fine, I wish to take you into
partnership !!!
“ • Partnership! cried 1, falling on my knees. "Noble
-generous man!'
6. Stay a bit,' continued my father-in-law. What
funds do you think requisite for the carrying on a bank ?
You look puzzled! Not a shilling! You will put in
just as much as I do. You will put in rather more ; for
you once put in five hundred pounds, which has been
spent long ago. I do n't put in a shilling of my own. I
live on my clients, and I very willingly offer you half of
them!
“Imagine, dear Paul, my astonishment, my dismay!
I saw myself married to a hideous shrew-son-in-law
to a pennyless scoundrel, and cheated out of my whole
fortune! Compare this view of the question with that
which had blazed on me when I contemplated being son-
in-law to the rich Mr. Asgrave. I stormed at first. Mr.
Asgrave took up . Bacon on the Advancement of Learn-
ing,' and made no reply till I was cooled by explosion.
You will perceive, that when passion subsided, I neces-
sarily saw that nothing was left for me but adopting my
father-in-law's proposal. Thus, by the fatality which
attended me, at the very time I meant to reform I was
forced into scoundrelism, and I was driven into defraud.
ing a vast number of persons by the accident of being
son-in-law to a great moralist. As Mr. Asgrave was an
indolent man, who passed his mornings in speculations
on virtue, I was made the active partner. I spent the


PAUL CLIFFORD.
85
day at the counting-house; and when I came home for
recreation, my wife scratched my eyes out.”
“But were you never recognised as the stranger,' or
• the adventurer,' in your new capacity ?"
“No; for of course I assumed, in all my changes,
both aliases and disguises. And, to tell you the truth,
my marriage, so altered me, that what with a snuff-
coloured coat, and a brown scratch wig, with a pen in
my right ear, I looked the very picture of staid respecta-
bility. My face grew an inch longer every day. Nothing
is so respectable as a long face! and a subdued expres-
sion of countenance is the surest sign of commercial
prosperity. Well, we went on splendidly enough for
about a year. Meanwhile, I was wonderfully improved
in philosophy. You have no idea how a scolding wife
sublimes and rarefies one's intellect. Thunder clears the
air, you know! At length, unhappily for my fame (for
I contemplated a magnificent moral history of man,
which, had she lived a year longer, I should have com-
pleted), my wife died in child-bed. My father-in-law and
I were talking over the event, and finding fault with
civilization, by the enervating habits of which, women
die of their children, instead of bringing them forth,
without even being conscious of the circumstance;
when a bit of paper, sealed awry, was given to my
partner: he looked over it-finished the discussion, and
then told me our bank had stopped payment. Now,
Augustus,' said he, lighting his pipe with the bit of paper,
.you see the good of having nothing to lose !
“ We did not pay quite sixpence in the pound; but my
partner was thought so unfortunate that the British
public raised a subscription for him, and he retired on an
annuity, greatly respected and very much compassion-
ated. As I had not been so well known as a moralist,
and had not the prepossessing advantage of a bald bene-
volent head, nothing was done for me, and I was turned
once more on the wide world, to moralize on the vicissi-
tudes of fortune. My cousin the bookseller was no
more, and his son cut me. I took a garret in Warwick
Court, and with a few books, my only consolation, I
endeavoured to nerve my mind for the future. It was at
this time, Paul, that my studies really availed me. I
meditated much, and I became a true philosopher, viz. a
practical one. My actions were henceforth regulated by
principle; and at some time or other I will convince


86
PAUL CLIFFORD.
you, that the road of true morals never avoids the
pockets of your neighbour. So soon as my mind had
made the grand discovery which Mr. Asgrave had made
before me, that one should live according to a system,
for if you do wrong, it is then your system that errs, not
you,- I took to the road, without any of those stings of
conscience which had hitherto annoyed me in such
adventures. I formed one of a capital knot of ‘Free
Agents,' whom I will introduce to you some day or other,
and I soon rose to distinction among them. But about
six weeks ago, not less than formerly preferring byways
to highways, I attempted to possess myself of a car-
riage, and sell it at discount. I was acquitted on the
felony; but sent hither by Justice Burnflat on the mis-
demeanor. Thus far, my young friend, hath as yet pro-
ceeded the life of Augustus Tomlinson.”
The history of this gentleman made a deep impression
on Paul. The impression was strengthened by the con-
versations subsequently holden with Augustus. That
worthy was a dangerous and subtle persuader. He had
really read a good deal of history, and something of
morals; and he had an ingenious way of defending his
rascally practices by syllogisms from the latter, and ex-
amples from the former. These theories he clenched,
as it were, by a reference to the existing politics of the
day. Cheaters of the public, on false pretences, he was
pleased to term “ moderate Whigs;" bullying demanders
of your purse were “high Tories ;" and thieving in gangs
was “the effect of the spirit of party." There was this
difference between Augustus Tomlinson and Long Ned :
Ned was the acting knave, Augustus the reasoning one;
and we may see, therefore, by a little reflection, that
Tomlinson was a far more perilous companion than
Pepper, for showy theories are always more seductive
to the young and clever than suasive examples, and the
vanity of the youthful makes them better pleased by
being convinced of a thing, than by being enticed to it.
A day or two after the narrative of Mr. Tomlinson,
Paul was again visited by Mrs. Lobkins; for the regula-
tions against frequent visiters were not then so strictly
enforced as we understand them to be now; and the
good Dame came to deplore the ill success of her inter-
view with Justice Burnflat.
We spare the tender-hearted reader a detail of the
affecting interview that ensued. Indeed, it was but a


PAUL CLIFFORD.
87
repetition of the one we have before narrated. We shall
only say, as a proof of Paul's tenderness of heart, that
when he took leave of the good matron, and bade “God
bless her,” his voice faltered, and the tears stood in his
eyes,-just as they were wont to do in the eyes of George
the Third, when that excellent monarch was pleased gra-
ciously to encore “God save the King !”
“1'll be hanged,” soliloquized our hero, as he slowly
bent his course towards the subtle Augustus,~"I'll be
hanged (humph! the denunciation is prophetic) if I do n't
feel as grateful to the old lady for her care of me, as if
she had never ill-used me. As for my parents, I believe
I have little to be grateful for or proud of in that quarter.
My poor mother, by all accounts, seems scarcely to have
had even the brute virtue of maternal tenderness; and
in all human likelihood I shall never know whether I had
one father or fifty. But what matters it? I rather like
the better to be independent; and, after all, what do
nine-tenths of us ever get from our parents but an ugly
name, and advice which, if we follow, we are wretched,
-and if we neglect, we are disinherited ?"
Comforting himself with these thoughts, which per-
haps took their philosophical complexion from the con-
versations he had lately held with Augustus, and which
broke off into the muttered air of
“Why should we quarrel for riches ?"
Paul repaired to his customary avocations.
In the third week of our hero's captivity, Tomlinson
communicated to him a plan of escape that had occurred
to his sagacious brain. In the yard appropriated to the
amusements of the gentlemen « misdemeaning,” there
was a water-pipe that, skirting the wall, passed over a
door, through which, every morning, the pious captives
passed, in their way to the chapel. By this, Tomlinson
proposed to escape; for to the pipe, which reached from
the door to the wall, in a slanting and easy direction,
there was a sort of skirting-board; and a dexterous and
nimble man might readily, by the help of this board, con-
vey himself along the pipe, until the progress of that
useful conductor (which was happily very brief) was
stopped by the summit of the wall, where it found a
sequel in another pipe, that descended to the ground on
the opposite side of the wall. Now, on this opposite
side was the garden of the prison ; in this garden was a


88
PAUL CLIFFORD.
watchman; and this watchman was the hobgoblin of
Tomlinson's scheme; “ for, suppose us safe in the gar-
den," said he, “what shall we do with this confounded
fellow ?”
* But that is not all,” added Paul, “ for, even were
there no watchman, there is a terrible wall, which I
noted especially last week, when we were set to work
in the garden, and which has no pipe, save a perpen-
dicular one, that a man must have the legs of a fly to be
able to climb !”
“ Nonsense !" returned Tomlinson: “I will show you
how to climb the stubbornest wall in Christendom, if one
has but the coast clear: it is the watchman-the watch-
man, we must-
“ What ?" asked Paul, observing his comrade did not
conclude the sentence.
It was some time before the sage Augustus replied ;
he then said, in a inusing tone-
“I have been thinking, Paul, whether it would be
consistent with virtue, and that strict code of morals
by which all my actions are regulated, to-slay the
watchman !"
• Good heavens !" cried Paul, horror-stricken.
45 And I have decided,” continued Augustus, solemnly,
without regard to the exclamation, “ that the action would
be perfectly justifiable !"
66 Villain !'' exclaimed Paul, recoiling to the other end
of the stone box (for it was night) in which they were
cooped.
“But,” pursued Augustus, who seemed soliloquizing,
and whose voice, sounding calm and thoughtful, like
Young's in the famous monologue in Hamlet, denoted
that he heeded not the uncourteous interruption—"but
opinion does not always influence conduct; and although
it may be virtuous to murder the watchman, I have not
the heart to do it. I trust, in my future history I shall
not, by discerning moralists, be too severely censured
for a weakness, for which my physical temperament is
alone to blame !"
Despite the turn of the soliloquy, it was a long time
before Paul could be reconciled to farther conversation
with Augustus ; and it was only from the belief, that the
moralist had leaned to the jesting vein, that he at length
resumed the consultation.
The conspirators did not, however, bring their scheme,


PAUL CLIFFORD,
89
that night, to any ultimate decision. The next day, Au-
gustus, Paul, and some others of the company, were set
to work in the garden; and Paul then observed that his
friend, wheeling a barrow close by the spot where the
watchman stood, overturned its contents. The watch.
man was good-natured enough to assist him in refilling
the barrow; and Tomlinson profited so well by the occa-
sion, that, that night, he informed Paul, they would
have nothing to dread from the watchman's vigilance.
“ He has promised,” said Augustus, “ for certain con-si-
de-ra-ti-ons, to allow me to knock him down: he has
also promised to be so much hurt, as not to be able to
move, until we are over the wall. Our main difficulty
now, then, is the first step,-namely, to climb the pipe
unperceived !”
As to that,” said Paul, who developed, through the
whole of the scheme, organs of sagacity, boldness, and
invention, which charmed his friend, and certainly pro-
mised well for his future career;—" as to that, I think
we may manage the first ascent with less danger than
you imagine: the mornings of late have been very foggy;
they are almost dark at the hour we go to chapel. Let
you and I close the file : the pipe passes just above the
door ; our hands, as we have tried, can reach it; and a
spring of no great agility will enable us to raise our-
selves up to a footing on the pipe and the skirting-board.
The climbing, then, is easy ; and, what with the dense
fog, and our own quickness, I think we shall have little
difficulty in gaining the garden. The only precautions
we need use are, to wait for a very dark morning, and to
be sure that we are the last of the file, so that no one
behind may give the alarm- "
“Or attempt to follow our example, and spoil the pie by
a superfluous plum !” added Augustus. “You counsel
admirably; and one of these days, if you are not hung
in the mean while, will, I venture to argue, be a great
logician.”
The next morning was clear and frosty ; but the day
after was, to use Tomlinson's simile," as dark as if all
the negroes of Africa had been stewed down into air.”
“ You might have cut the fog with a knife," as the proverb
says. Paul and Augustus could not even see how signi-
ficantly each looked at the other.
It was a remarkable trait of the daring temperament
of the former, that, young as he was, it was fixed that
he should lead the attempt. At the hour, then, for chapel,


90
· PAUL CLIFFORD.
the prisoners passed as usual through the door. When
it came to Paul's turn, he drew himself by his hands to
the pipe, and then creeping along its sinuous course,
gained the wall before he had even fetched his breath.
Rather more clumsily, Augustus followed his friend's ex-
ample ; once his foot slipped, and he was all but over.
He extended his hands involuntarily, and caught Paul
by the leg. Happily our hero had then gained the wall
to which he was clinging, and for once in a way, one
rogue raised himself without throwing over another.
Behold Tomlinson and Paul now seated for an instant on
the wall to recover breath! the latter then,—the descent
to the ground was not very great,letting his body down
by his hands, dropped into the garden.
“ Hurt ?" asked the prudent Augustus, in a hoarse
whisper, before he descended from his “bad eminence,"
being even willing
"To bear those ills he had :
Than fly to others that he knew not of,"
without taking every previous precaution in his power.
“ No !" was the answer in the same voice, and Au-
gustus dropped.
So soon as this latter worthy had recovered the shock
of his fall, he lost not a moment in running to the other
end of the garden: Paul followed. By the way, Tom-
linson stopped at a heap of rubbish, and picked up an
immense stone; when they came to the part of the wall
they had agreed to scale, they found the watchman,
about whom they needed not, by-the-by, to have concerned
themselves; for had it not been arranged that he was to
have met them, the deep fog would have effectually pre-
vented him from seeing them: this faithful guardian,
Augustus knocked down, not with the stone, but with ten
guineas; he then drew forth from his dress a thickish
cord which he had procured some days before of the
turnkey, and fastening the stone firmly to one end, threw
that end over the wall. Now the wall had (as walls of great
strength mostly have) an overhanging sort of battlement
on either side, and the stone, when flung over and drawn to
the tether of the cord to which it was attached, necessarily
hitched against this projection; and thus the cord was,
as it were, fastened to the wall, and Tomlinson was en-
abled by it to draw himself up to the top of the barrier.
He performed this feat with gymnastic address, like one
who had often practised it; albeit, the discreet adventurer


PAUL CLIFFORD.
91
had not mentioned in his narrative to Paul any previous
occasion for the practice. As soon as he had gained the
top of the wall, he threw down the cord to his companion,
and, in consideration of Paul's inexperience in that man-
ner of climbing, gave the fastening of the rope an addi.
tional security by holding it himself. With slowness
and labour Paul hoisted himself up; and then, by trans-
ferring the stone to the other side of the wall, where it
made of course a similar hitch, our two adventurers
were enabled successively to slide down, and consum-
mate their escape from the House of Correction. .
“Follow me now !” said Augustus, as he took to his
heels; and Paul pursued him through a labyrinth of alleys
and lanes, through which he shot and dodged with a vari.
able and shifting celerity that, had not Paul kept close
upon him, would very soon (combined with the fog) have
snatched him from the eyes of his young ally. Happily,
the immaturity of the morning, the obscurity of the
streets passed through, and, above all, the extreme dark-
ness of the atmosphere, prevented that detection and ar-
rest which their prisoners' garb would otherwise have
ensured them. At length, they found themselves in the
fields; and, skulking along hedges, and diligently avoid-
ing the high road, they continued to fly onward, until
they had advanced several miles into “the bowels of the
land.” At that time “the bowels" of Augustus Tomlin-
son began to remind him of their demands, and he ac-
cordingly suggested the desirability of their seizing the
first peasant they encountered, and causing him to ex-
change clothes with one of the fugitives, who would
thus be enabled to enter a public-house and provide for
their mutual necessities. Paul agreed to this proposi.
tion, and accordingly they watched their opportunity and
caught a ploughman. Augustus 'stripped him of his frock,
hat, and worsted stockings; and Paul, hardened by
necessity and companionship, helped to tie the poor
ploughman to a tree. They then continued their pro-
gress for about an hour, and, as the shades of evening
fell around them, they discovered a public-house. Au-
gustus entered, and returned in a few minutes laden with
bread and cheese, and a bottle of beer. Prison fare cures
a man of daintiness, and the two fugitives dined on these
unsavoury viands with considerable complacency. They
then resumed their journey, and at length, wearied with
exertion, they arrived at a lonely hay-stack, where they
resolved to repose for an hour or two.


92
PAUL CLIFFORD.
CHAPTER X.
Unlike the ribald, whose licentious jest
Pollutes his banquet, and insults his guest;
From wealth and grandeur easy to descend,
Thou joy'st to lose the master in the friend;
We round thy board the cheerful menials see,
Gay with the smile of bland equality;
No social care the gracious lord disdains;
Love prompts to love, and reverence reverence gains
Translation of LUCAN to Piso, prefized to
the twelfth Paper of THE RAMBLER.
· Corly shone down the bashful stars upon our adven.
turers, as, after a short nap behind the haystack, they
stretched themselves, and, looking at each other, burst
into an involuntary and hilarious laugh at the prosperous
termination of their exploit.
Hitherto they had been too occupied first by their flight,
then by hunger, then by fatigue, for self-gratulation; now
they rubbed their hands, and joked like runaway school-
boys, at their escape.
By degrees their thoughts turned from the past to the
future; and “Tell me, my dear fellow,” said Augustus,
“ what you intend to do. I trust I have long ago con-
vinced you, that it is no sin to serve our friends, and to
be true to our party;' and therefore, I suppose, you will
decide upon taking to the road!"
" It is very odd,' answered Paul, “that I should have
any scruples left, after your lectures on the subject; but
I own to you frankly, that, somehow or other, I have
doubts whether thieving be really the honestest profes.
sion I could follow.”
“Listen to me, Paul,” answered Augustus; and his
reply is not unworthy of notice. "All crime and all
excellence depend upon a good choice of words.-
I see you look puzzled, I will explain. If you take
money from the public, and say you have robbed, you
have indubitably committed a great crime; but if you do
the same and say you have been relieving the necessities
of the poor, you have done an excellent action: iſ, in
afterward dividing this money with your companions,
you say you have been sharing booty, you have com-
mitted an offence against the laws of your country; but.
if you observe that you have been shuring with your friends


PAUL CLIFFORD.
93
the gains of your industry, you have performed one of
the noblest actions of humanity. To knock a man on
the head is neither virtuous nor guilty, but it depends
upon the language applied to the action to make it mur.
der or glory.* Why not say, then, that you have testified
the courage of a hero,' rather than the atrocity of the
ruffian? This is perfectly clear, is it not ?"
“ It seems so," answered Paul.
“ It is so self-evident, that it is the way all governments
are carried on. If you want to rectify an abuse, those
in power call you disaffected. Oppression is .order,'
extortion is religious establishment, and taxes are the
• blessed Constitution. Wherefore, my good Paul, we
only do what all other legislators do. We are never
rogues so long as we call ourselves honest fellows, and
we never commit a crime, so long as we can term it a
virtue! What say you now?"
Paul smiled, and was silent a few moments before he
replied:
* There is very little doubt but that you are wrong,
yet if you are, so are all the rest of the world. It is of
no use to be the only white sheep of the flock. Where-
fore, my dear Tomlinson, I will in future be an excellent
citizen, relieve the necessities of the poor, and share the gains
of my industry with my friends."
“ Bravo,” cried Tomlinson, “and now that that is set.
tled, the sooner you are inaugurated the better. Since
the starlight has shone forth, I see that I am in a place I
ought to be very well acquainted with; or, if you like to
be suspicious, you may believe that I have brought you
purposely in this direction; but first let me ask if you
feel any great desire to pass the night by this haystack,
or whether you would like a song and the punch-bowl
almost as much as the open air, with the chance of being
eat up in a pinch of hay by some strolling cow ?”
“ You may conceive my choice," answered Paul.
“ Well, then, there is an excellent fellow near here,
who keeps a public-house, and is a firm ally and generous
patron of the lads of the cross. At certain periods they
* We observe in a paragraph from an American paper, copied without
comment into the Morning Chronicle of to-day, a singular proof of the trith
of Tomlinson's philosophy. "Mr. Rowland Stephenson (so runs the extract),
the celebrated English Banker, has just purchased a considerable tract of land,
&c." Most philosophical of Paragraphists!" Celebrated English Banker !"
that sentence is a better illustration of verbal fallacies, than all Bentham's
treatises put together-"celebrated /” ercury, what a dexterous epithet!


94
PAUL CLIFFORD.
hold weekly meetings at his house; this is one of the
nights. What say you? shall I introduce you to the club?"
“I shall be very glad, if they will admit me!” returned
Paul, whom many and conflicting thoughts rendered
laconic.
“Oh, no fear of that, under my auspices. To tell you
the truth, though we are a tolerant sect, we welcome
every new proselyte with enthusiasm.-But are you
tired ?"
“ A little; the house is not far, you say ?"
“ About a mile off,” answered Tomlinson. “Lean on
me.”
Our wanderers now leaving the haystack, struck across
part of Finchley Common, for the abode of the worthy
publican was felicitously situated, and the scene in which
his guests celebrated their festivities was close by that
on which they often performed their exploits.
As they proceeded, Paul questioned his friend touching
the name and character of " mine host;" and the all-
knowing Augustus Tomlinson answered him, Quaker-
like, by a question.
“ Have you never heard of Gentleman George ?"
“ What the noted head of a flash public-house in the
country? To be sure I have, often; my poor nurse,
Dame Lobkins, used to say he was the best-spoken man
in the trade !"
" Ay, so he is still. In his youth, George was a very
handsome fellow, but a little too fond of his lass and his
bottle to please his father, a very staid old gentleman,
who walked about on Sundays with a bob-wig and a
gold-headed cane, and was a much better farmer on week
days than he was head of a public-house. George used
to be a remarkably smart-dressed fellow, and so he is to
this day. He has a great deal of wit, is a very good
whist-player, has a capital cellar, and is so fond of seeing
his friends drunk, that he bought some time ago a large
pewter measure in which six men can stand upright.
The girls, or rather the old women, to whom he used to
be much more civil of the two, always liked him; they
say, nothing is so fine as his fine speeches, and they give
him the title of Gentleman George. He is a nice, kind.
hearted man in many things. Pray Heaven we shall have
no cause to miss him when he departs. But, to tell you
the truth, he takes more than his share of our common
purse.”


PAUL CLIFFORD.
95
« What! is he avaricious ?"
“Quite the reverse; but he's so cursedly fond of
building, he invests all his money (and wants us to invest
all ours) in houses; and there's one confounded dog of a
bricklayer, who runs him up terrible bills,--a fellow
called .Cunning Nat,' who is equally adroit in spoiling
ground and improving ground rent.”
“ What do you mean?”
“Ah, thereby hangs a tale. But we are near the place
now; you will see a curious set.”
As Tomlinson said this, the pair approached a house
standing alone, and seemingly without any other abode
in the vicinity. It was of curious and grotesque shape,
painted white, with a Gothic chimney, a Chinese sign-
post (on which was depicted a gentleman fishing, with
the words, “ The Jolly Angler," written beneath), and a
porch that would have been Grecian, if it had not been
Dutch. It stood in a little field, with a hedge behind it,
and the common in front! Augustus stopped at the
door, and, while he paused, bursts of laughter rang
cheerily within.
“Ah, the merry boys !” he muttered: “I long to be
with them !" and then with his clenched fist he knocked
four times on the door. There was a sudden silence,
which lasted about a minute, and was broken by a voice
within, asking who was there. Tomlinson answered by
some cabalistic word; the door was opened, and a little
boy presented himself.
« Well, my lad,” said Augustus, “and how is your
master? stout and hearty, if I may judge by his
voice.”
“Ay, Master Tommy, ay, he's boosing away at a fine
rate in the back parlour, with Mr. Pepper and fighting
Attie, and half a score more of them. He'll be woundy
glad to see you, I'll be bound.”
"Show this gentleman into the bar," rejoined Augustus,
“ while I go and pay my respects to honest Geordie !”
The boy made a sort of a bow, and leading our hero into
the bar, consigned him to the care of Sal, a buxom bar-
maid, who reflected credit on the taste of the landlord,
and who received Paul with marked distinction and a
gill of brandy.
Paul had not long to play the amiable, before Tomlin-
son rejoined him with the information, that Gentleman
George would be most happy to see him in the back


PAUL CLIFFORD
97
must and shall-can't and shan't-do as I bid you, or
go to the devil,'—that's all Fighting Attie's palaver;
and, 'sdeath, it has a wonderful way of coming to the
point! A famous cull is my friend Attie- an old
soldier has seen the world, and knows what is what;
has lots of gumtion, and devil a bit of blarney. How-
somever, the highflyers does n't like him; and when he
takes people's money, he need not be quite so cross
about it!-Attie, let me introduce a new pal to you."
Paul made his bow
“Stand at ease, man!" quoth the veteran, without
taking the pipe from his mouth.
Gentleman George then continued; and, after point-
ing out four or five of the company (among whom our
hero discovered, to his surprise, his old friends, Mr.
Eustace Fitzherbert and Mr. William Howard-Russell),
came, at length, to one with a very red face, and a lusty
frame of body, “ That gentleman,” said he, “is Scarlet
Jem; a dangerous fellow for a press, though he says he
likes robbing alone now, for a general press is not half
such a good thing as it used to be formerly. You have
no idea what a hand at disguising himself Scarlet Jem is.
He has an old wig which he generally does business in ;
and you would not go for to know him again, when he
conceals himself under the wig. Oh, he's a precious
rogue, is Scarlet Jem!-As for the cove on tother side,"
continued the host of the Jolly Angler, pointing to Long
Ned, “all I can say of him, good, bad, or indifferent, is,
that he has an unkimmon fine head of hair: and now,
youngster, as you knows him, spose you goes and sits
by him, and he'll introduce you to the rest; for, split
my wig !-(Gentleman George was a bit of a swearer)-
if I be n't tired, and so here's to your health; and if so
be as your name's Paul, may you alway rob Peter* in
order to pay Paul !”
This witticism of mine host's being exceedingly well
received, Paul went, amid the general laughter, to take
possession of the vacant seat beside Long Ned. That
tall gentleman, who had hitherto been cloud-compelling
(as Homer calls Jupiter) in profound silence, now turned to
Paul with the warmest cordiality, declared himself over.
joyed to meet his old friend once more, and congratu-
lated him alike on his escape from Bridewell, and his ad.
* Peter-a portmanteau.
Vol. 1.-E


PAUL CLIFFORD.
ing Augustus Tomlinson had learned the value of
words.
There was something edifying in hearing the rascals!
So nice was their language, and so honest their enthu-
siasm for their own interests, you might have imagined
you were listening to a coterie of cabinet ministers con-
ferring on taxes, or debating on perquisites.
“ Long may the Commons flourish !" cried punning
Georgie, filling his glass; “it is by the commons we're
fed, and may they never know cultiwation !"
“ Three times three !” shouted Long Ned; and the
toast was drunk as Mr. Pepper proposed.
“A little, moderate cultivation of the commons, to
speak frankly," said Augustus Tomlinson, modestly,
“ might not be amiss; for it would decoy people into the
belief that they might travel safely; and, after all, a
hedge, or a barley-field, is as good for us as a barren
heath, where we have no shelter if once pursued."
“You talks nonsense, you spooney !" cried a robber
of note, called Bagshot; who, being aged, and having
been a lawyer's footboy, was sometimes denominated
“ Old Bags.'
“ You talks nonsense; these innowating ploughs are
the ruin of us. Every blade of corn in a common is an
encroachment on the constitution and rights of the Gem-
men Highwaymen. I'm old and may n't live to see
these things; but, mark my words, a time will come
when a man may go from Lunnon to Johnny Groat's
without losing a penny by one of us; when Hounslow
will be safe, and Finchley secure. My eyes, what a sad
thing for us that ’ill be !!!
The venerable old man became suddenly silent, and
the tears started to his eyes. Gentleman George had a
great horror of blue devils, and particularly disliked all
disagreeable subjects.
“ Thunder and oons, Old Bags !" quoth mine host of
the Jolly Angler, “ this will never do: we 're all met
here to be merry, and not to listen to your mullancholy
tara tarantarums. I says, Ned Pepper, spose you tips
us a song, and I 'll beat time with my knuckles.”
Long Ned, taking the pipe from his mouth, attempted,
like Lady Heron, one or two pretty excuses : these
being drowned by a universal shout, the handsome pur-
joiner gave the following song, to the tune of “Time
has not thinned my flowing hair.”
21-1705
E 2


100
PAUL CLIFFORD. .
LONG NED'S SONG.
Oh, if my hands adhere to cash,
My gloves at least are clean,
And rarely have the gentry flash
Iu sprucer clothes been seen.
II.
Sweet Public, since your coffers must
Afford our wants relief,
Oh! sooths it not to yield the dust
To such a charming thief?
III.
I never robbed a single coach
But with a lover's air;
And though you might my course reproach,
You never could my hair.
IV
John Bull, who loves a harmless joke
Is apt ai me to grin,
But wliy be cross with laughing folk,
Unless they laugh and win ?
John Bull has money in his box;
And though his wit 's divine,
Yet let me laugh at Johnny's locks
And John may laugh at mine!
*666 And John may laugh at mine,' excellent!” cried
Gentleman George, lighting his pipe and winking at Attie,
“I hears as how you be a famous fellow with the lasses.”
Ned smiled and answered,-"No man should boast;
but" Pepper paused significantly, and then glancing
at Attie, said—“ Talking of lasses, it is my turn to knock
down a gentleman for a song, and I knock down fighting
Attie."
“I never sing," said the warrior.
“ Treason, treason,” cried Pepper; “it is the law, and
you must obey the law ;-so begin."
“It is true, Attie," said Gentleman George.
There was no appeal from the honest publican's fiat;
so, in a quick and laconic manner, it being Attie's favour-
ite dogma, that the least said is the soonest mended, the
warrior sung as follows
FIGHTING ATTIE'S SONG.
Air." He was famed for deeds of arms."
"Rise at six-dine at two-
Rob your man without ado-


PAUL CLIFFORD.
101
Such my maxims-if you doubt
Their wisdom-10 the right about!"
g to a sallow gentleman on the same sida
he table to send up the brandy bowl.
u Pass round the bingo,-of a gun,
You musky, dusky, husky son!”
(The sallow gentleman, in a hoarse voice)
« Attie—the bingo's now with me,
I can't resign it yet, d'ye see
(Attie, seizing the bowl,)
“Resign, resign it-cease your dust!,
(Wresting it away, and fiercely regarding the
sallow yentleman.)
You have resign'd it—and you must!
CHORUS.
"You have resign'd it--and you must!"
While the chorus, laughing at the discomfited tippler,
yelled forth the emphatic words of the heroic Attie, that
personage emptied the brandy at a draught, resumed his
pipe, and in as few words as possible, called on Bayshot
for a song. The excellent old highwayman, with great
diffidence, obeyed the request, cleared his throat, and
struck off with a ditty somewhat to the tune of “ T'he
Old Woman."
OLD BAGS'S SONG.
“ Are the days then gone, when on Hounslow Heath
We flash'd our nags?
When the stoutest bosoms quail'd beneath
The voice of Bags ?
Ne'er was my work half undone, least
I should be nabb'd:
Slow was Old Bags, but he never ceas'd
Till the whole was grabb'd.
CHORUS
"Till the whole was grabb'd.
"When the slow coach paus'd-and the gemmen storm'd,
I bore the brunt-
And the only sound which my grave lips form'd
Was blunt'-still.blunt !!
Oh! those jovial days are ne'er forgot!~
But the tape lags-
When I be's dead, you 'll drink one pot
To poor old Bags !
CHORUB.
"To poor old Bags !"
“Ay, that we will, my dear Bagshot,” cried Gentle.
man George, affectionately ; but, observing a tear in the


102
PAUL CLIFFORD.
fine old fellow's eye, he added, “ Cheer up. What, ho !
Cheer up! Times will improve, and Providence may
yet send us one good year, when you shall be as well off
as ever! You shakes your poll. Well, do n't be hum-
durgeoned, but knock down a gemman."
Dashing away the drop of sensibility, the veteran
knocked down Gentleman George himself.
“Oh, dang it!” said George, with an air of dignity, “ I
ought to skip, since I finds the lush; but howsomever
here goes.
GENTLEMAN GEORGE'S SONG.
Air.- Old King Cole.”
“I be 's the cove-the merry oid cove,
of whose max all the Rufflers sing.
And a lushing cove, I thinks, by Jove,
Is as great as a sober king !
CHORUS.
“Is as great as a sober king.
u Whatever the noise, as is made by the boys,
At the bar as they lush away;
The devil a noise my peace alloys,
As long as the rascals pay!
CHORUS.
"As long as the rascals pay!
"What if I sticks my stones and my bricks
With mortar, I takes from the snobbish,
All who can feel for the public weal,
Likes the public-house to be bobbish.
CHORUS.
“ Likes the public-house to be bobbish."
“There, gemmen!” said the publican, stopping short,
" that's the pith of the maker, and split my wig but I'm
short of breath now. So, send round the brandy, Au-
gustus,-you sly dog-you keeps it all to yourself.”
By this time the whole conclave were more than half
seas over, or, as Augustus Tomlinson expressed it, “ their
more austere qualities were relaxed by a pleasing and
innocent indulgence.” Paul's eyes reeled, and his
tongue ran loose. By degrees the room swam round,
the faces of his comrades altered, the countenance of
Old Bags assumed an awful and menacing air. He
thought Long Ned insulted him, and that Old Bags took
the part of the assailant, doubled his fists, and threatened


PAUL CLIFFORD.
103
to put the plaintiff's nob into chancery, if he disturbed
the peace of the meeting. Various other imaginary evils
beset him. He thought he had robbed a mail-coach in
company with Pepper; that Tomlinson informed against
him, and that Gentleman George ordered him to be
hanged; in short, he laboured under a temporary deli-
rium, occasioned by a sudden reverse of fortune-from
water to brandy; and the last thing of which he re-
tained any recollection, before he sunk under the table,
in company with Long Ned, Scarlet Jem, and Old Bags,
was, the bearing his part in the burden of what appeared
to him a chorus of last dying speeches and concessions,
but what, in reality, was a song made in honour of Gen-
tleman George, and sung by his grateful guests as a finale
to the festivities. It ran thus-
THE ROBBER'S GRAND TOAST.
“ A tumbler of blue ruin, fill, fill for me!
Red tape those as likes it may drain,
But, whatever the lush, it a bumper must be,
If we ne'er drinks a bumper again!
Now-now in the crib, where a ruffler may lie,
Without fear that the traps should distress bim,
With a drop in the mouth, and a drop in the eye,
Here 's to Gentleman George God bless him!
God bless him-God bless him!
Here 's to Gentleman George-God bless him!
66'Mong the pals of the Prince, I have heard it's the go,
Before they had tippled enough,
To smarten their punch with the best Curacao,
More conish to render the stuff!
I boast not such lush!--but whoever his glass
Does not like I'll be damn'd if I press him !
Upstanding, my kiddies-round, round let it pass!
Here's to Gentleman George-God bless him!
God bless him-God bless him !
Here's to Gentleman George--God bless him!
" See-see-the fine fellow grows weak on the stumps,
Assist him, ye rascals, to stand!
Why, ye stir not a peg!-Are you all in the dumps ?
Fighting Attie, go, lend him a hand!
(The robbers crowd around Gentleman
George, each, under pretence of sup-
porting him, pulling him first one way
and then another,)
Come, lean upon me-at your service I anı!
Get away from his elbow, you whelp!-him
You 'll only upset !-them 'ere fellows but sham!--
Here's to Gentleman George-God help him!
God help biin-God help him !
Here's to Geutleman George-God help him!"


104
PAUL CLIFFORD.
CHAPTER XI.
I boast no song in magic wonders rife,
But yet, О Nature! is there naught to prize,
Familiar in thy bosom-scenes of life?
And dwells in daylight truth's salubrious skies
No form with which the soul may sympathize?
Young, innocent, on whose sweet forehead mild
The parted ringlet shone in simplest guise,
Aninmate in the home of Albert smiled,
Or blest his noonday walk-she was his only child.
GERTRUDE OF WYOMING.
The parted the home of Albert was his only child. WYOMING.
O TIME, thou hast played strange tricks with us! and
we bless the stars that made us a novelist, and permit us
now to retaliate. Leaving Paul to the instructions of
Augustus Tomlinson, and the festivities of the Jolly
Angler, and suffering him, by slow but sure degrees, to
acquire the graces and the reputation of the accomplished
and perfect appropriator of other men's possessions, we
shall pass over the lapse of years with the same heed-
less rapidity with which they have glided over us, and
summon our reader to a very different scene from those
which would be likely to greet his eyes, were he follow-
ing the adventures of our new Telemachus. Nor wilt
thou, dear reader, whom we make the umpire between
ourself and those who never read—the critics ;-thou
who hast, in the true spirit of gentle breeding, gone with
us among places where the novelty of the scene has,
we fear, scarcely atoned for the coarseness, not giving
thyself the airs of a dainty Abigail ;- not prating lackey-
like on the low company thou hast met;-nor wilt thou,
dear and friendly reader, have cause to dread that we
shall weary thy patience by a “ damnable iteration” of
the same localities. Pausing for a moment to glance
over the divisions of our story which lies before us like
a map, we feel that we may promise in future to conduct
thee among aspects of society more familiar. to thy
habits ;-where the unquest events flow to their allotted
gulf through landscapes of more pleasing variety, and
among tribes of a more luxurious civilization.
Upon the banks of one of fair England's fairest rivers,
and about fifty miles distant from London, still stands


| PAUL CLIFFORD.
105
an old-fashioned abode-which we shall here term War-
lock Manor-House. It is a building of brick, varied by
stone copings, and covered in great part with ivy and
jasmine. Around it lie the ruins of the elder part of
the fabric, and these are sufficiently numerous in extent,
and important in appearance, to testify that the mansion
was once not without pretensions to the magnificent.
These remains of power, some of which bear date as far
back as the reign of Henry the Third, are sanctioned by
the character of the country immediately in the vicinity
of the old manor house. A vast track of waste land,
interspersed with groves of antique pollards, and here
and there irregular and sinuous ridges of green mound,
betoken to the experienced eye the evidence of a dis-
mantled chase or park, which must originally have been
of no common dimensions. On one side of the house,
the lawn slopes towards the river, divided from a terrace,
which forms the most important embellishment of the
pleasure-grounds, by that fence to which has been given
the ingenious and significant name of “ha! ha!" A few
scattered trees of giant growth are the sole obstacles
that break the view of the river, which has often seemed
to us, at that particular passage of its course, to glide
with unusual calmness and serenity. On the opposite
side of the stream there is a range of steep hills, cele-
brated for nothing more romantic than their property of
imparting to the flocks that browse upon their short and
seemingly stinted herbage, a flavour peculiarly grateful
to the lovers of that pastoral animal which changes its
name into mutton after its decease. Upon these hills
the vestige of human habitation is not visible; and at
times, when no boat defaces the lonely smoothness of
the river, and the evening has stilled, as it were, the
sounds of labour and of life, we know few scenes so
utterly tranquil, so steeped in quiet, as that which is pre-
sented by the old, quaint-fashioned house and its antique
grounds,—the smooth lawn, the silent, and (to speak
truly, though disparagingly) the somewhat sluggish river,
together with the large hills (to which we know, from
simple, though metaphysical causes, how entire an idea
of quiet, and even immovability peculiarly attaches itself),
and the white herds, those most peaceful of God's
creatures,-that stud in white and feecy clusters the
ascent.
. In Warlock House, at the time we refer to, lived a
E 3


106
PAUL CLIFFORD.
gentleman of the name of Brandon. He was a widower,
and had attained his fiftieth year, without casting much
regret on the past, or feeling much anxiety for the future.
In a word, Joseph Brandon was one of those careless,
quiescent, indifferent men, by whom a thought upon any
subject is never recurred to without a very urgent necesa
sity. He was good-natured, inoffensive, and weak; and
if he was not an incomparable citizen, he was, at least,
an excellent vegetable. He was of a family of high
antiquity, and formerly of considerable note. For the
last four or five generations, however, the proprietors of
Warlock House, gradually losing something alike from
their acres and their consequence, had left to their
descendant no higher rank than that of a small country
squire. One had been a Jacobite, and had drunk out
half a dozen farms in honour of Charley over the water;
Charley over the water was no very dangerous person,
but Charley over the wine was rather more ruinous ;
the next Brandon had been a fox-hunter, and fox-hunters
live as largely as patriotic politicians: Pausanias tells
us, that the same people who were the most notorious
for their love of wine, were also the most notorious for
their negligence of affairs. Times are not much altered
since Pausanias wrote, and the remark holds as good
with the English as it did with the Phigalei. After this
Brandon carne one who, though he did not scorn the
sportsman, rather assumed the fine gentleman. He
married an heiress, who, of course, assisted to ruin him :
wishing no assistance in so pleasing an occupation, he
overturned her (perhaps not on purpose) in a new sort
of carriage which he was learning to drive, and the good
lady was killed on the spot. She left the fine gentleman
two sons, Joseph Brandon, the present thane, and a
brother, some years younger. The elder, being of a
fitting age, was sent to school, and somewhat escaped
the contagion of the paternal mansion. But the younger
Brandon, having only reached his fifth year at the time
of his mother's decease, was retained at home. Whether
he was handsome, or clever, or impertinent, or like his
father about the eyes (that greatest of all merits), we
know not; but the widower became so fond of him,
that it was at a late period, and with great reluctance,
that he finally intrusted him to the providence of a
school.
Among harlots, and gamblers, and lords, and sharpers,


PAUL CLIFFORD.
107
and gentlemen of the Guards, together with their fre-
quent accompaniments-guards of the gentlemen-viz.
bailiffs, William Brandon passed the first stages of his
boyhood. He was about thirteen when he was sent to
school; and being a boy of remarkable talents, he reco-
vered lost time so well, that when, at the age of nine-
teen, he adjourned to the university, he had scarcely re-
sided there a single term before he had borne off two of
the highest prizes awarded to academical merit. From
the university he departed on the “grand tour," at that
time thought so necessary to complete the gentleman:
he went in company with a young nobleman, whose
friendship he had won at the university, stayed abroad
more than two years, and on his return he settled down
to the profession of the law.
Meanwhile, his father died, and his fortune, as a
younger brother, being literally next to nothing, and the
family estate (for his brother was not unwilling to assist
him) being terribly involved, it was believed that he
struggled for some years with very embarrassed and
penurious circumstances. During this interval of his
lite, however, he was absent from London, and by his
brother supposed to have returned to the Continent: at
length, it seems, he profited by a renewal of his friend-
ship with the young nobleman who had accompanied
him abroad, reappeared in town, and obtained, through
his noble friend, one or two legal appointments of repu-
table emolument; soon afterward he got a brief on some
cause where a Major had been raising a corps to his
brother officer, with the better consent of the brother
officer's wife than of the brother officer himself. Bran-
don's abilities here, for the first time in his profession.
found an adequate vent; his reputation seemed made at
once; he rose rapidly in his profession, and, at the time
we now speak of, he was sailing down the full tide of
fame and wealth, the envy and the oracle of all young
Templars and barristers, who having been starved them
selves for ten years, began now to calculate on the pos-
sibility of starving their clients. At the very first com.
mencement of his career he had, through the good
offices of the nobleman we have mentioned, obtained a
seat in the House of Commons; and though his elo.
quence was of an order much better suited to the Bar
than the Senate, he had nevertheless acquired a very con-
siderable reputation in the latter, and was looked upon


108
PAUL CLIFFORD.
by many as likely to win to the same brilliant fortunes
as the courtly Mansfield-a great man, whose political
principles and urbane address Brandon was supposed
especially to affect as his own model. Of unblemished
integrity in public life. --for as he supported all things
that exist with the most unbending rigidity, he could not
be accused of inconsistency-William Brandon was (as
we have said in a former place of unhappy memory to
our hero) esteemed in private life the most honourable,
the most moral, even the most austere of men; and his
grave and stern repute on this score, joined to the dazzle
of his eloquence and forensic powers, had baffled in great
measure the rancour of party hostility, and obtained for
him a character for virtues almost as high and as envia.
ble as that which he had acquired for abilities.
While William was thus treading a noted and an
honourable career, his elder brother, who had married
into a clergyman's family, and soon lost his consort, had,
with his only child, a daughter named Lucy, resided in
his paternal mansion in undisturbed obscurity. The dis-
creditable character and habits of the preceding lords of
Warlock, which had sunk their respectability in the
county, as well as curtailed their property, had rendered
the surrounding gentry little anxious to cultivate the in-
timacy of the present proprietor; and the heavy mind
and retired manners of Joseph Brandon were not calcu-
lated to counterbalance the faults of his forefathers, or
to reinstate the name of Brandon in its ancient popu-
larity and esteem. Though dull and little cultivated,
the squire was not without his “ proper pride;" he ata
tempted not to intrude himself where he was unwelcoine,
avoided county meetings and county balls, smoked his
pipe with the parson, and not unoften with the surgeon
and the solicitor, and suffered his daughter Lucy to
educate herself, with the help of the parson's wife, and
to ripen (for Nature was more favourable to her than
Art) into the very prettiest girl that the whole county
we long to say the whole country-at that time could
boast of. Never did glass give back a more lovely image
than that of Lucy Brandon at the age of nineteen. Her
auburn hair fell in the richest luxuriance over a brow
never ruffled, and a cheek where the blood never slept;
with every instant the colour varied, and at every varia-
tion that smooth, pure, virgin cheek seemed still more
· lovely than before. She had the most beautiful laugh


PAUL CLIFFORD.
109
that one who loved music could imagine,-silvery, low,
and yet so full of joy! all her movements, as the old
Parson said, seemed to keep time to that laugh; for
mirth made a great part of her innocent and childish
temper; and yet the mirth was feminine, never loud, nor
like that of young ladies who have received the last
finish at Highgate seminaries. Every thing joyous af-
fected her, and at once ;-air,-flowers,--sunshine,-but-
terflies. Unlike heroines in general, she very seldom
cried, and she saw nothing charming in having the
vapours. But she never looked so beautiful as in sleep!
and as the light breath came from her parted lips, and the
ivory lids closed over those eyes which only in sleep
were silent—and her attitude in her sleep took that in-
effable grace belonging solely to childhood, or the fresh
youth into which childhood merges,--she was just what
you might imagine a sleeping Margaret, before that most
simple and gentle of all a poet's visions of womanhood
had met with Faust, and ruffled her slumbers with a
dream of love.
- We cannot say much for Lucy's intellectual acquire-
snents; she could, thanks to the parson's wife, spell in-
differently well, and write a tolerable hand; she made
preserves and sometimes riddles-it was more difficult
to question the excellence of the former than to answer
the queries of the latter. She worked to the admiration
of all who knew her, and we beg leave to say that we
deem that “an excellent thing in woman.” She made
caps for herself and gowns for the poor, and now and
then she accomplished the more literary labour of a stray
novel that had wandered down to the Manor-House, or
an abridgment of ancient history, in which was omitted
every thing but the proper names. To these attain-
ments she added a certain modicum of skill upon the
spinet, and the power of singing old songs with the
richest and sweetest voice that ever made one's eyes
moisten, or one's heart beat.
Her moral qualities were more fully developed than
her mental. She was the kindest of human beings; the
very dog that had never seen her before, knew that truth
at the first glance, and lost no time in making her ac-
quaintance. The goodness of her heart reposed upon
her face like sunshine, and the old wife at the lodge said
poetically and truly of the effect it produced, that “one
felt warın when one looked on her.” If we could abro


110
• PAUL CLIFFORD.
stract from the description a certain chilling transpa-
rency, the following exquisite verses of a forgotten
poet* might express the purity and lustre of her coun-
tenance-
“Her face was like the milky way i' the sky,
A meeting of gentle lights without a name.”
She was surrounded by pets of all kinds, ugly and hand.
some, from Ralph the raven, to Beauty the peasant, and
from Bob the sheep-dog without a tail, to Beau the
Blenheim with blue ribands round his neck; all things
loved her, and she loved all things. It seemed doubtful
at that time whether she would ever have sufficient
steadiness and strength of character. Her beauty and
her character appeared alike so essentially sexual, soft
yet lively, buoyant yet caressing, that you could scarcely
place in her that moral dependence, that you might in a
character less amiable, but less yieldingly feminine.
Time, however, and circumstance, which alters and
hardens, were to decide whether the inward nature did
not possess some latent, and yet undiscovered proper-
ties. Such was Lucy Brandon in the year and in
that year, on a beautiful autumnal evening, we first in-
troduce her personally to our readers.
She was sitting on a garden-seat by the river side,
with her father, who was deliberately conning the eve-
ning paper of a former week, and gravely seasoning the
ancient news with the inspirations of that weed which
so bitterly excited the royal indignation of our British
Solomon. It happens, unfortunately for us—for out-
ward peculiarities are scarcely worthy the dignity to
which comedy, whether in the drama or the narrative,
aspires,—that Squire Brandon possessed so few distin-
guishing traits of mind, that he leaves his delineator
little whereby to designate him, save a confused and
parenthetical habit of speech, by which he very often
appeared to those who did not profit by long experience,
or close observation, to say exactly, and somewhat
ludicrously, that which he did not mean to convey.
“I say, Lucy,” observed Mr. Brandon, but without
lifting his eyes from the paper; “ I say, corn has fallen
-think of that, girl, think of that. These times, in my
opinion (ay, and in the opinion of wiser heads than
mine, though I do not mean to say that I have not some
• Suckling.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
111
experience in these matters, which is more than can be
said of all our neighbours), are very curious, and even
dungerous."
" Indeed, Papa !” answered Lucy.
“ And I say, Lucy, dear,” resumed the Squire, after
a short pause, “there has been (and very strange it is,
too, when one considers the crowded neighbourhood-
Bless me! what times these are!) a shocking murder
committed upon the tobucco-stopper-there it is)-think,
you know, girl-just by Epping!-an old gentleman !"
“ Dear, how shocking! by whom?"
“Ay, that's the question! The Coroner's inquest has
(what a blessing it is to live in a civilized country,
where a man does not die without knowing the why and
the wherefore), sat on the body, and declared (it is very
strange, but they do n't seem to have made much dis-
covery; for why? we knew as much before), that the
body was found (it was found on the floor, Lucy), mur-
dered; murderer or murderers (in the bureau, which was
broken open, they found the money left quite untouched)
-unknown!"
Here there was again a slight pause, and passing to
another side of the paper, Mr. Brandon resumed in a
quicker tone,
“Ha! well, now this is odd! but he's a deuced clever
fellow, Lucy! that brother of mine has, and in a very
honourable manner too, (which I am sure is highly cre.
ditable to the family, though he has not taken too much
notice of me lately ;-a circumstance which, considering
I am his elder brother, I am a little angry at;)-distin-
guished himself in a speech, remarkable, the paper says
--for its great legal-(I wonder, by-the-by, whether
William could get me that agistment-money! 't is a
heavy thing to lose; but going to law, as my poor father
used to say, is like fishing for gudgeons (not a bad little
fish, we can have some for supper) with guineas)-know-
ledge, as well as its splendid and overpowering-(I do
love Will for keeping up the family honour; I am sure
it is more than I have done-heigh-ho!)-eloquence !”
“And on what subject has he been speaking, Papa ?"
“Oh, a very fine subject; what you call a-(it is asto-
nishing that in this country there should be such a wish
for taking away people's characters, which, for my part,
I do n't see is a bit more entertaining than what you are
always doing-playing with those stupid birds) - libel!**


112
PAUL CLIFFORD.
“But is not my uncle William coming down to see us !
He promised to do so, and it made you quite happy,
Papa, for two days. I hope he will not disappoint you;
and I am sure that it is not his fault if he ever seems to
neglect you. He spoke of you to me, when I saw him,
in the kindest and most affectionate manner. I do think,
my dear father, that he loves you very much.”
« Ahem !” said the Squire, evidently flattered, and yet
not convinced. “My brother Will is a very acute fel-
low, and I make no-my dear little girl-question, but
that-(when you have seen as much of the world as I
have, you will grow suspicious)-he thought that any
good word said of me to my daughter, would-(you see,
Lucy, l'am as clear-sighted as my neighbours, though I
do n't give myself all their airs; which I very well might
do, considering my great-great-great-grandfather Hugo
Brandon had a hand in detecting the Gunpowder-plot)
-be told to me again!” .
“Nay, but I am quite sure my uncle never spoke of
you to me with that intention."
“Possibly, my dear child; but when the evenings
are much shorter than they were !) did you talk with
your uncle about me?"
“Oh, when staying with Mrs. Warner, in London; to
be sure it is six years ago, but I remember it perfectly.
I recollect, in particular, that he spoke of you very
handsomely to Lord Mauleverer, who dined with him
one evening when I was there, and when my uncle was
so kind as to take me to the play. I was afterward
quite sorry that he was so good-natured, as he lost
(you remember I told you the story)--a very valuable
watch."
“Ay, ay, I remember all about that, and so,-how
long friendship lasts with some people!-Lord Mau-
leverer dined with William. What a fine thing it is for
a man-(it is what I never did, indeed, I like being what
they call • Cock of the Walk'-let me see, now I think
of it, Pillum comes to-night to play a hit at backgammon)
to make friends with a great man early in (vet Will
did not do it very early, poor fellow! he struggled first
with a great deal of sorrow hardship that is ) life.
It is many years now, since Will has been hand-and.
glove with my ('t is a bit of a puppy) Lord Mauleverer,
what did you think of his Lordship?".
“ Of Lord Mauleverer ? Indeed I scarcely observed


PAUL CLIFFORD.
113
him, but he seemed a handsome man, and was very
polite. Mrs. Warner said he had been a very wicked
person when he was young, but he seems good-natured
enough now, Papa ?"
“ By-the-by," said the Squire, “his Lordship has just
been made-(this new Ministry seem very unlike the
old! which rather puzzles me; for I think it my duty,
d'ye see, Lucy, always to vote for his Majesty's Go-
vernment; especially seeing that old Hugo Brandon had
a hand in detecting the Gunpowder-plot; and it is a little
odd, at least, at first, to think that good now, which one
has always before been thinking abominable-Lord-
Lieutenant of the county.”
“ Lord Mauleverer our Lord-Lieutenant ?"
“ Yes, child; and since his Lordship is such a friend
of my brother's, I should think, considering especially
what an old family in the county we are,—not that I wish
to intrude myself where I am not thought as fine as the
rest,—that he would be more attentive to us than Lord
- was. But that, my dear Lucy, puts me in
mind of Pillum, and so, perhaps, you would like to walk
to the Parson's, as it is a fine evening. John shall come
for you at nine o'clock with~-(the moon is not up then)
the lantern.”
Leaning on his daughter's willing arm, the good old
man then rose and walked homeward ; and so soon as
she had wheeled round his easy-chair, placed the back-
gammon-board on the table, and wished the old gentle-
man an easy victory over his expected antagonist the
Apothecary, Lucy tied down her bonnet, and took her
way to the Rectory.
When she arrived at the clerical mansion, and entered
the drawing-room, she was surprised to find the Par-
son's wife, a good, homely, lethargic old lady, run up
to her, seemingly in a state of great nervous agitation,
and crying.
“ Oh, my dear Miss Brandon ! which way did you
come ? Did you meet nobody by the road ? Oh, I am
so frightened! Such an accident to poor dear Doctor
Slopperton. Stopped in the King's highway-robbed of
some tithe-money he had just received from Farmer
Slowforth; if it had not been for that dear angel, good,
young man, God only knows whether I might not have
been a disconsolate widow by this time."
While the affectionate matron was thus running on,


114
PAUL CLIFFORD.
Lucy's eye, glancing round the room, discovered in an
arm-chair the round and oily little person of Doctor
Slopperton, with a countenance from which all the car.
nation hues, save in one circular excrescence on the nasal
member that was leſt, like the last rose of summer,
blooming alone, were faded into an aspect of miserable
pallor: the little man tried to conjure up a smile while
his wife was narrating his misfortune, and to mutter
forth some syllable of unconcern ; but he looked, for all
his bravado, so exceedingly scared, that Lucy would,
despite of herself, have laughed outright, had not her
eye rested upon the figure of a young man who had been
seated beside the reverend gentleman, but who had risen
at Lucy's entrance, and who now stood gazing upon her
intently, but with an air of great respect. Blushing
deeply, and involuntarily, she turned her eyes hastily
away, and approaching the good Doctor, made her
inquiries into the present state of his nerves, in a graver
tone than she had a minute before imagined it possible
that she should have been enabled to command.
“Ah, my good young lady,” said the Doctor, squeezing
her hand, "1--nay, I may say the Church-for am I not
its minister ?—was in imminent danger;—but this excel-
lent gentleman prevented the sacrilege, at least in great
measure. I only lost some of my dues—my rightful
dues—for which I console myself with thinking that
the infamous and abandoned villain will suffer hereafter."
“ 'There cannot be the least doubt of that,” said the
young man : “had he only robbed the mail coach, or
broken into a gentleman's house, the offence might have
been expiable ;-but to rob a clergyman, and a rector,
too! Oh, the sacrilegious dog !"
“ Your warmth does you honour, sir,” said the Doc-
tor, beginning now to recover, “ and I am very proud
to have made the acquaintance of a gentleman of such
truly religious opinions !”
“Ah !" cried the stranger, “my foible, sir-if I may
so speak-is a sort of enthusiastic fervour for the Pro-
testant Establishment--Nay, sir, I never come across
the very nave of the church, without feeling an inde-
scribable emotion--a kind of sympathy, as it were,-
with-with--you understand me, sir-I fear I express
myself ill.”
“ Not at all, not at all !” exclaimed the Doctor: "such
sentiments are uncommon in one so young."


PAUL CLIFFORD.
115
« Sir, I learned them in early life from a friend and
preceptor of mine, Mr. MacGrawler, and I trust they may
continue with me to my dying day."
Here the Doctor's servant entered with (we borrow a
phrase from the novel of * * * *) “ the tea-equipage,”
and Mrs. Slopperton, betaking herself to its superin-
tendence, inquired with more composure than hitherto
had belonged to her demeanour, what sort of a looking
creature the ruffian was?
“ I will tell you, my dear-I will tell you, Miss Lucy,
all about it. I was walking home from Mr. Slowforth's,
with his money in my pocket, thinking, my love, of buy-
ing you that topaz cross you wished to have."
“Dear good man !" cried Mrs. Slopperton, “what a
fiend it must have been to rob so excellent a creature !"
“ And,” resumed the Doctor, “it also occurred to me,
that the Madeira was nearly out-the Madeira, I mean,
with the red seal; and I was thinking it might not be
amiss to devote part of the money to buy six dozen
more; and the remainder, my love, which would be about
one pound eighteen, I thought I would divide,- for he
that giveth to the poor, lendeth to the Lord !-among the
thirty poor families on the Common; that is, if they
behaved well, and the apples in the back garden were
not feloniously abstracted!”
“ Excellent! charitable man!” ejaculated Mrs. Slop-
perton.
“ While I was thus meditating, I liſted my eyes, and
saw before me two men ; one of prodigious height, and
with a great profusion of hair about his shoulders; the
other was smaller, and wore his hat slouched over his
face ;-it was a very large hat. My attention was arrested
by the singularity of the tall person's hair, and while I
was smiling at its luxuriance, I heard him say to his com-
panion --'Well, Augustus, as you are such a moral dog, he
is in your line, not mine, so I leave him to you.' Little
did I think those words related to me. No sooner were
they uttered, than the tall rascal leaped over a gale and
disappeared; the other fellow then marching up to me,
very smoothly asked me the way to the church, and
while I was explaining to him to turn first to the right
and then to the left, and so on-for the best way is, you
know, exceedingly crooked-the hypocritical scoundrel
seized me by the collar, and cried out— Your money, or
your life! -- I do assure you, that I never trembled so


116
PAUL CLIFFORD.
much: not, my dear Miss Lucy, so much for my own
sake, as for the sake of the thirty poor families on the
Common, whose wants it had been my intention to
relieve. I gave up the money, finding 'my prayers and
expostulations were in vain ; and the dog then, bran-
dishing over my head an enormous bludgeon, said—what
abominable language !>I think, Doctor, I shall put an
end to an existence derogatory to yourself and useless
to others. At that moment the young gentleman beside
me, sprang over the very gate by which the tall ruffian
had disappeared, and cried-Hold, villain ! On seeing
my deliverer, the coward started back, and plunged into
a neighbouring wood. The good young gentleman
pursued him for a few minutes, but then returning to
my aid, conducted me home; and, as we used to say at
school,
Te rediisse incolumem gaudeo.
Which being interpreted, means,—(Sir, excuse a pun, I
am sure so great a friend to the Church understands
Latin,)--that I am very glad to get back safe to my tea.
He, he! And now, Miss Lucy, you must thank that young
gentleman for having saved the life of your pastoral
teacher, which act will no doubt be remembered at the
Great Day!"
As Lucy, looking towards the stranger, said something
in compliment, she observed a vague, and as it were, co-
vert smile upon his countenance, which immediately, and
as if by sympathy, conjured one to her own. The hero
of the adventure, however, in a very grave tone, replied
to her compliment, at the same time bowing profoundly.
“Mention it not, Madam! I were unworthy of the
name of a Briton, and a man, could I pass the highway
without relieving the distresses, or lightening the burden,
of a fellow-creature. And," continued the stranger, after
a momentary pause, colouring while he spoke, and con-
cluding, in the high-flown gallantry of the day,—“Me-
thinks it were sufficient reward, had I saved the whole
Church, instead of one of its most valuable members, to
receive the thanks of a lady, whom I might reasonably
take for one of those celestial beings, to whom we have
been piously taught that the Church is especially the care !"
Though there might have been something really ridi-
culous in this overstrained compliment, coupled as it was
with the preservation of Dr. Slopperton, yet, coming from


118
PAUL CLIFFORD.
“ Property-in what direction, sir, if I may ask?":
quoth the Doctor; “I know the country for miles."
“Do you, indeed ?-where's my property, you say?
Why, it is rather difficult to describe it, and it is, after all,
a mere trifle; it is only some common-land near the high-
road, and I came down to try the experiment of hedging
and draining."
“'Tis a good plan, if one has capital, and does not re-
quire a speedy return."
“Yes; but one likes a good interest for the loss of
principle, and a speedy return is always desirable; al.
though, alas! it is often attended with risk !"
“ I hope, sir,” said the Doctor, “if you must leave us
so soon, that your property will often bring you into our
neighbourhood.”
"You overpower me with so much unexpected good-
ness,” answered the stranger. “To tell you the truth,
nothing can give me greater pleasure, than to meet those
again who have once obliged me.”
“Whom you have obliged, rather !” cried Mrs. Slop-
perton, and then added, in a loud whisper to Lucy-
“How modest! but it is always so with true courage!"
“I assure you, Madam," returned the benevolent
stranger, “ that I never think twice of the little favours I
render my fellow-men-my only hope is, that they may
be as forgetful as myself.”
Charmed with so much unaffected goodness of dispo-
sition, the Doctor and Mrs. Slopperton now set up a sort
of duet in praise of their guest: aſter enduring their com-
mendations and compliments for some minutes with
much yrimace of disavowal and diffidence, the stranger's
modesty seemed at last to take pain at the excess of their
gratitude; and accordingly, pointing to the clock, which
was within a few minutes of nine, he said,
“I fear, my respected host, and my admired hostess,
that I must now leave you; I have far to go."
“But are you yourself not afraid of the highwaymen?"
cried Mrs. Slopperton, interrupting him.
“ The highwaymen!” said the stranger, smiling, “No!
I do not fear them; besides, I have little about me worth
robbing."
“Do you superintend your property yourself ?" said
the Doctor; who farmed his own glebe, and who, un-
willing to part with so charming a guest, seized him now
by the button.


PAUL CLIFFORD. I 119
“Superintend it myself !-why, not exactly. There is
a bailiff, whose views of things do n't agree with
mine, and who now and then gives me a good deal of
trouble !"
“ Then why do n't you discharge him altogether ?
“Ah! I wish I could: but 't is a necessary evil. We
landed proprietors, my dear sir, must always be plagued
with something of the sort. For my part, I have found
those cursed bailiffs would take away, if they could, all
the little property one has been trying to accumulate.
But," abruptly changing his manner into one of great
softness, “could I not proffer my services and my com-
kanionship to this young lady? Would she allow me to
conduct her home, and, indeed, stamp this day upon my
memory, as one of the few delightful ones I have ever
known ?”
“ Thank you, dear sir,” said Mrs. Slopperton, answer-
ing at once for Lucy;“ it is very considerate of you; and
I am sure, my love, I could not think of letting you go
home alone with old John, after such an adventure to the
poor dear Doctor.”
Lucy began an excuse which the good lady would not
hear. But as the servant whom Mr. Brandon was to send
with a lantern to attend his daughter home, had not
arrived, and as Mrs. Slopperton, despite her prepossessions
in favour of her husband's deliverer, did not for a moment
contemplate his accompanying, without any other attend-
anee, her young friend across the fields at that unseason-
able hour; the stranger was forced, for the present, to
re-assume his seat; an open harpsichord at one end of
the room gave him an opportunity to make some remark
upon music, and this introducing an eulogium on Lucy's
voice, from Mrs. Slopperton, necessarily ended in a re-
quest to Miss Brandon to indulge the stranger with a
song. Never had Lucy, who was not a shy girl-she
was too innocent to be bashful-felt nervous hitherto in
singing before a stranger; but now, she hesitated and
faltered, and went through a whole series of little natu-
ral affectations before she complied with the request.
She chose a song composed somewhat after the old
English school, which at that time was reviving into
fashion. The song though conveying a sort of conceit,
was not, perhaps, altogether without tenderness ;- it was
a favourite with Lucy, she scarcely knew why, and ran
thus :-


190
PAUL CLIFFORD
LUCY'S SONG.
Why sleep, ye flowers, ah, why,
When the sweet eve is falling,
And the stars drink the tender sigh
Of winds to the fairies calling ?
Calling with 'plaining note,
Most like a ringdove chiding,
Or a flute from some distant boai
O'er the glass of a still sea gliding.
Why sleep, ye flowers, ah, why,
What time we most must miss you }
Like a bride, see, the loving sky,
From your churlish sleep would kiss you.
Soft things, the dew, the breeze,
All soft things, are about you;
Awake, fair flowers, for scarcely these
Fill the yearning sense without you !
Wake ye not yet? Alas!
The silver time is fleeing !
Fond idler, cease! those flowers but glass
The doom of thy changeless being !
Yea, ever, when the hours
As now seem the divinest,
Thou callest, I know, on some sleeping flowers,
And finding no answer-pinest !
When Lucy ended, the stranger's praise was less loud
than either the Doctor's or his lady's; but how far more
sweet it was ; and for the first time in her life Lucy made
the discovery, that eyes can praise as well as lips. For
our part, we have often thought that that discovery is an
epoch in life.
It was now that Mrs. Slopperton declared her thorough
conviction that the stranger himself could sing—“He had
that about him," she said, " which made her sure of it."
“ Indeed, dear Madam,” said he, with his usual unde-
finable, half-frank, half-latent smile,“ my voice is but so
so, and my memory so indifferent, that even in the easiest
passages, I soon come to a stand. My best notes are in
the falsetto, and as for my execution-but we won't talk
of that.”
“ Nay, nay; you are so modest," said Mrs. Slopperton;
“ I arn sure you could oblige us if you would."
“ Your command," said the stranger, moving to the
harpsichord, “is all-sufficient; and since you, Madam,"
(turning to Lucy,) “have chosen a song after the old
school, may I find pardon if I do the same? My se-
lection is, to be sure, from a lawless song-book, and is


PAUL CLIFFORD.
121
supposed to be a ballad by Robin Hood, or, at least, one
of his merry men; a very different sort of outlaws from
the knaves who attacked you, sir !"
With this preface, the stranger sung to a wild yet jovial
air, with a tolerable voice, the following effusion :-
THE LOVE OF OUR PROFESSION; OR, THE
ROBBER'S LIFE.
On the stream of the World, the Robber's life
Is borne on the blithest wave;
Now it bounds into light in a gladsome strife,,
Now it laughs in iis hiding-cave.
At his maiden's lattice be stays the rein,
How still is his courser proud!
(But still as a wind when it hangs o'er the main
In the breast of the boding cloud)-
With the champed bit and the arched crest,
And the eye of a listening deer,
And the spirit of fire that pines at its rest,
And the limbs that laugh at fear.
Fit slave to a Lord whom all else refuse
To save at his desperate need;
By my broth! I think one whom the world pursues,
Hath a right to a gallant steed.
« Away, my beloved, I hear their feet !"
“I blow hee a kiss, my fair,
And I promise to bring thee when next we meet,
A braid for thy bonny hair.
« Hurra! for the booty !-my steed, hurra!
Thorough bush, thorough brake go we;
And the coy moon siniles on our merry way
Like my own love-timidly.”
The Parson he rides with a jingling pouch,
How it blabs o. the rifled coor!
The Courtier he Lolls in his gilded coac
How it smacks of a sinecure!
The Lawyer revolves in his whirling chaise,
Sweet Thoughts of a mischief done;
And the Lady that knoweth the card slae plays
Is counting her guineas won !
"Ho, Lady !--What, hollo, ye sinless men!
My claim ye can scarce refuse;
For when honest folk live on their neighbours, then
They encroach on the Robber's dues !"
The Lady changed cheek like a bashful maid,
The Lawyer talked wondrous fair,
The Parson blasphemed, and the Courtier pray'd,
And the Robber bore off his share.
" Horra! for the revel! my steed, hurra!
Thorough bush, thorough brake go we!
VOL. I.-F


122
PAUL CLIFFORD.
It is ever a virtue when others pay
To ruffle it merrily."
Oh! there never was life like the Robber's--80
Jolly, and bold, and free;
And it's end ?-why, a cheer from the crowd below,
And a leap from a leafless tree !
This very moral lay being ended, Mrs. Slopperton
declared it was excellent; though she confessed she
thought the sentiments rather loose. Perhaps the gen-
tleman' might be induced to favour them with a song of
a more refined and modern turn-something sentimental,
in short. Glancing towards Lucy, the stranger an-
swered, that he only knew one song of the kind Mrs.
Slopperton specified, and it was so short, that he should
scarcely weary her patience by granting her request.
At this moment, the river, which was easily descried
from the windows of the room, glimmered in the star-
light, and directing his looks towards the water, as if
the scene had suggested to him the verses he sung, he
gave the following stanzas in a very low sweet tone, and
with a far purer taste than, perhaps, would have suited
the preceding and ruder song.
THE WISH.
As sleeps the dreaming Eve below,
Its holiest star keeps ward above,
And yonder wave begins to glow,
Like Friendship bright'mirg into Love!
Ah! would thy bosom were that stream,
Ne'er woo'd save by the virgin air!-
Ah! would I were that star, whose beam
Looks down and finds its image there!
Scarcely was the sony ended, before the arrival of Miss
Brandon's servant was announced, and her destined
escort starting up, gallantly assisted her with her cloak
and her hood, happy, no doubt, to escape, in some mea-
sure, the overwhelming compliments of his entertainers.
But,” said the Doctor, as he shook hands with his
deliverer, “ by what name shall I remember, and"
(lifting his reverend eyes)—" pray for the gentleman to
whom I am so much indebted ?"
“ You are very kind,” said the stranger; “my name
is Clifford. Madam” (turning to Lucy), “may I offer
my hand down the stairs ?"
Lucy accepted the courtesy, and the stranger was


PAUL CLIFFORD.
123
half-way down the staircase, when the Doctor, stretch-
ing out his little neck, exclaimed,
* Good evening, sir! I do hope we shall meet again.".
“Fear not,” said Mr. Clifford, laughing gayly, “I am
too great a traveller to make that hope a matter of im-
possibility. -Take care, Madam-one step more."
The night was calm and tolerably clear, though the
moon had not yet risen, as Lucy and her companion
passed through the fields, with the servant preceding
them at a little distance with the lantern.
After a pause of some length, Clifford said, with a
little hesitation, “ Is Miss Brandon related to the cele-
brated barrister of her name ?"
“He is my uncle," said Lucy; “ do you know him ?"
“Only your uncle ?" said Clifford, with vivacity, and
evading Lucy's question_“I fcared-hem!-hem!
that is, I thought he might have been a nearer relation."
There was another, but a shorter pause, when Clifford
resumed, in a low voice, “ Will Miss Brandon think me
very presumptuous if I say, that a countenance like hers,
once seen, can never be forgotten; and I believe, some
years since, I had the honour to see her in London, at
the theatre. It was but a momentary and distant glance
that I was then enabled to gain; and yet,” he added,
significantly, “it sufficed !"
“I was only once at the theatre while in London,
some years ago," said Lucy, a little embarrassed ; " and,
indeed, an unpleasant occurrence which happened to my
uncle, with whom I was, is sufficient to make me re-
member it."
“ Ha!-and what was it ?"
" Why, in going out of the playhouse, his watch was
stolen by some dexterous pickpocket.”
- “ Was the rogue caught ?” asked the stranger.
“ Yes; and was sent the next day to Bridewell. My
uncle said he was extremely young, and yet quite hard-
ened. I remember that I was foolish enough, when I
heard of his sentence, to beg very hard that my uncle
would intercede for him ; but in vain.”
“Did you, indeed, intercede for him?" said the stranger,
in so earnest a tone, that Lucy coloured for the twentieth
time that night, without seeing any necessity for the
blush. Clifford cortinued, in a gayer tone, “ Well, it is
surprising how rogues hang together. I should not be
greatly surprised if the person who despoiled your uncle,
F 2


PAUL CLIFFORD.
125
·
CHAPTER XIV.
.
, "Uprouse ye, then,
My merry, merry men!”
JOANNA BAILLIE.
WHEN the moon rose that night, there was one spot
upon which she palely broke, about ten miles distant
from Warlock, which the forewarned traveller would not
have been eager to pass, but which might not have
afforded a bad study to such artists as have caught from
the savage painter of the Apennines a love for the wild
and adventurous. Dark trees, scattered far and wide
over a broken but verdant sward, made the back ground;
the moon shimmered through the bouglis as she came
slowly forth from her pavilion of cloud, and poured a
broader beam on two figures just advanced beyond the
trees. More plainly brought into light by her rays than
his companion, here a horseman, clad in a short cloak
that barely covered the crupper of his steed, was look-
ing to the priming of a large pistol which he had just
taken from his holster. A slouched hat, and a mask of
black crape, conspired, with the action, to throw a natu-
ral supicion on the intentions of the rider. His horse, a
beautiful dark gray, stood quite motionless, with arched
neck, and its short ears quickly moving to and fro, de-
monstrative of that sagacious and anticipative attention
which characterizes the noblest of all tamed animals :
you would not have perceived the impatience of the
steed, but for the white foam that gathered round the
bit, and for an occasional and unfrequent toss of the
head. Behind this horseman, and partially thrown into
the dark shadow of the trees, another man, similarly
clad, was busied in tightening the girths of a horse, of
great strength and size. As he did so, he hummed, with
no unmusical murmur, the air of a popular drinking song.
“ 'Sdeath, Ned," said his comrade, who had for some
time been plunged in a silent reverie,~"'Sdeath! why
can you not stifle your love for the fine arts, at a moment
like this? That hum of thine grows louder every mo-
ment,-at last I expect it will burst out into a full roar;
-recollect we are not at Gentleman George's now !"


126
PAUL CLIFFORD.
“ The more 's the pity, Augustus," answered Ned.
“ Soho, Little John! woaho, sir! a nice long night like
this is made on purpose for drinking-Will you, sir ?
keep still then ""
“Man never is, but always to be blest,” said the mo-
ralizing Tomlinson; " you see you sigh for other scenes
even when you have a fine night and the chance of a
God-send before you.”
“Ay, the night is fine enough,” said Ned, who was
rather á grumbler, as, having finished his groom-like
operation, he now slowly mounted. “Damn it, Oliver*
looks out as broadly as if he were going to blab. For
my part, I love a dark night, with a star here and there
winking at us, as much as to say, 'I see you, my boys,
but I won't say a word about it, and a small, pattering,
drizzling, mizzling rain that prevents Little John's hoofs
being heard, and covers one's retreat, as it were. Be-
sides, when one is a little wet, it is always necessary to
drink the more, to keep the cold from one's stomach
when one gets home.”
- 6 Or in other words,” said Augustus, who loved a
maxin from his very heart; “light wet cherishes heavy
wet !",
“ Good !” said Ned, yawning ; " hang it, I wish the
captain would come. Do you know what o'clock it is?
Not far short of eleven, I suppose ?"
“ About that !-hist, is that a carriage?--no-it is only
a sudden rise in the wind.”
“ Very self-sufficient in Mr. Wind to allow himself to
be raised without our help!” said Ned; "by-the-way,
we are of course to go back to the Red Cave.”
“ So, Captain Lovett says— Tell me, Ned, what do
you think of the new tenant Lovett has put into the
cave.”
“Oh, I have strange doubts there," answered Ned,
shaking the hairy honours of his head; “I do n't half
like it; consider, the cave is our strong hold, and ought
only to be known "
“To men of tried virtue,” interrupted Tomlinson. “I
agree with you; I must try and get Lovett to discard his
singular protégé, as the French say."
“Gad, Augustus, how came you by so much learning?
you know all the Poets by heart, to say nothing of Latin
and French,"
* The moon.


128
PAUL CLIFFORD.
expression of his short, curved lip; and from beneath
the large hat which overhung his brow, his long locks
escaped, and waved darkly in the keen night air. Alto-
gether, horseman and horse exhibited a gallant, and
even a chivalrous, appearance, which the hour and the
scene heightened to a dramatic and romantic effect.
“ Ha! Lovett.”
“How are you, my merry men ?" were the salutations
exchanged.
6 What news ?” said Ned.
“ Brave news! look to it. My lord and his carriage
will be by in ten minutes at most.”.
- “Have you got any thing more out of the parson I
frightened so gloriously?" asked Augustus.
“No; more of that hereafter. Now for our new prey !"
“ Are you sure our noble friend will be so soon at
hand ?" said Tomlinson, patting nis steed, that now
pawed in excited hilarity.
“ Sure! I saw him change horses; I was in the stable-
yard at the time; he got out for half an hour, to eat, I
fancy ;-be sure that I played him a trick in the mean
while..
“ What force ?" asked Ned.
* Self and servant."
“ The postboys ?"
“Ay, I forgot them. Never mind, you must frighten
them.”
“ Forwards !" cried Ned, and his horse sprang from
his armed heel.
“One moment,” said Lovett; “I must put on my
mask-soho-Robin, soho! Now for it-forwards !”
As the trees rapidly disappeared behind them, the ri-
ders entered, at a hand gallop, on a broad track of waste
land interspersed with dykes and occasionally fences of
hurdles, over which their horses bounded like quadru-
peds well accustomed to such exploits.
Certainly at that moment, what with the fresh air, the
fitful moonlight now breaking broadly out, now lost in a
rolling cloud, the exciting exercise, and that racy and
dancing stir of the blood, which all action, whether evil
or noble in its nature, raises in our veins; what with all
this, we cannot but allow the fascination of that lawless
life ;-a fascination so great, that one of the most noted
gentlemen highwaymen of the day, one too, who had re-
ceived an excellent education, and mixed in no inferior


PAUL CLIFFORD.
129
society, is reported to have said when the rope was about
his neck, and the good Ordinary was exhorting him to
repent of his ill-spent life, “ Il-spent, you dog !-God!
(smacking his lips,) it was delicious!”
“ Fie! fie! Mr. - 'raise your thoughts to Heaven !"
“But a canter across a common-oh!” muttered the
criminal; and his soul cantered off to eternity.
So briskly leaped the heart of the leader of the three,
that, as they now came in view of the main road, and the
distant wheel of a carriage whirred on the ear, he
threw up his right hand with a joyous gesture, and burst
into a boyish exclamation of hilarity and delight.
“Whist, Captain!" said Ned, checking his own spirits
with a mock air of gravity, “let us conduct ourselves
like gentlemen; it is only your low fellows who get into
such confoundedly high spirits; men of the world like
us should do every thing as if their hearts were broken."
“ Melancholy* ever cronies with sublimity, and
* A maxim which would have pleased Madame de Stael, who thought that
philosophy consisted in tine seniiments. In the Life of Lord Byroni, just put-
lished by Mr. Moore, the distinguished biographer makes a similar assertion
to that of the sage Augustus; “When did ever a sublinie thought spring up
in the soul, that Melancholy was not to be found, however latent, in its neigh-
bourhood ?" Now, with due deference to Mr. Moore, this is a very sickly
piece of nonsense, that has not even an atom of truth to stand on. “God
said, let there be light, and there was light!" we should like to know where
lies the melancholy of that sublime sentence. “Truth," says Plato, “is
the body of God, and Light is his shadow." In the name of common sense,
in what possible corner, in the vicinity of that lofty image, lurks the jaundiced
face of this eternal bête noire of Mr. Moore's? Again, in that sublimest pas-
sage in the sublimest of the Latin poets (Lucretius), which bursts forth in
honour of Epicurus,(1) is there any thing redolent of sadness? On the con-
trary, in the three passages we have referred to, especially in the two first
quoted, there is something splendidly luminous and cheering. Joy is often a
great source of the sublime; the suddenness of its veniings would alone suffice
to make it so. What can be more sublime than the triumphant Psalms of
David, intoxicated as they are with an almost delirium of transport ? Even
in the gloomiest passages of the poets, where we recognise sublimity, we do
not often find melancholy. We are stricken by terror, appalled by awe, but
seldom softened into sadness. In fact, Melancholy rather belongs to another
class of feelings than those excited by a sublime passage or those which engen-
der its composition. On one hand, in the lofriest flights of Homer, Milton,
and Shakspeare, we will challenge a critic to discover this "green sickness"
which Mr. Moore would convert into the magnificence of the plague. On the
other hand, where is the evidence that Melancholy made the habitual temper-
aments of those divine men? Of Homer we know nothing; of Shakspeare
and Milton, we have reason to believe the ordinary temperament was consti-
tutionally cheerful. The latter boasts of it - A thousand instances in contra-
diction to an assertion it were not worth while to contradict, were it not so
generally popular, so highly sanctioned, and so eminently pernicious to every
ed into oly. We poets, wheros
(1) “ Primus Graius homo mortaleis tollere contra, &c.”
To these instances we might especially add the odes of Pindar, Horace, and
Campbell.
F3


PAUL CLIFFORD.
131
“Do not be alarmed, my Lord, you are perfectly safe;
we only require your watch and purse."
“Really," answered a voice still softer than that of
the robber, while a marked and somewhat French coun-
tenance, crowned with a fur cap, peered forth at the
arrester,—“Really, sir, your request is so modest, that
I were worse than cruel to refuse you. My purse is not
very full, and you may as well have it as one of my ras-
cally duns-but my watch, I have a love for-and-
“ I understand you, my Lord," interrupted the high-
wayman. “What du you value your watch at ?"
“Humph-to you it may be worth some twenty
guineas."
“ Allow me to see it !"
“ Your curiosity is extremely gratifying," returned the
nobleman, as with great reluctance he drew forth a gold
repeater, set, as was sometimes the fashion of that day,
in precious stones. The highwayman looked slightly at
the bauble.
“ Your Lordship,” said he, with great gravity, “was
too modest in your calculation-your taste reflects greater
credit on you: allow me to assure you, that your watch
is worth fifty guineas to us, at the least-to show you
that I think so most sincerely, I will either keep it, and
we will say no more on the matter; or I will return it to
you, upon your word of honour, that you will give nie a
cheque for fifty guineas payable by your real bankers tu
• bearer for self. Take your choice; it is quite imma-
terial to me!"
“Upon my honour, sir,” said the traveller, with some
surprise struggling to his features, “your coolness and
self-possession are quite admirable.-I see you know
the world.”
“ Your Lordship flatters me!" returned Lovett, bowing.
“ How do you decide ?"
“Why, is it possible to write drafts without ink, pen,
or paper ?"
Lovett drew back, and while he was searching in his
pockets for writing implements, which he always carried
about him, the traveller seized the opportunity, and sud-
deuly snatching a pistol from the pocket of the carriage,
levelled it full at the head of the robber. The traveller
was an excellent and practised shot-he was almost
within arm's-length of his intended victim-his pistols
were the envy of all his Irish friends. He pulled the


132
PAUL CLIFFORD.
trigger-the powder flashed in the pan, and the highway.
man not even changing countenance, drew forth a small
ink-bottle, and placing a steel pen in it, handed it to the
nobleman, saying, with incomparable sang froid, “Would
you like, my Lord, to try the other pistol ? if so, oblige
me by a quick aim, as you must see the necessity of
despatch. If not, here is the back of a letter, on which
you can write the draft."
The traveller was not a man apt to become embarrassed
in any thing-save his circumstances; but he certainly
felt a little discomposed and confused, as he took the
paper, and, uttering some broken words, wrote the cheque.
The highwayman glanced over it, saw it was written ac-
cording to form, and then with a bow of cool respect,
returned the watch, and shut the door of the carriage.
Meanwhile, the servant had been shivering in front-
boxed up in that solitary convenience termed, not eupho-
niously, a dickey. Him the robber now briefly accosted.
“What have you got about you belonging to your
master ?"
“Only his pills, your Honour! which I forgot to put
in the
“ Pills !--throw them down to me!" The valet trem-
blingly extracted from his side-pocket a little box, which
he threw down, and Lovett caught in his hand.
He opened the box, counted the pilis-
“ One-two,-four,--twelve,Aha!” He re-opened
the carriage door.
“Are these your pills, my Lord ?”
The wondering peer, who had begun to resettle him-
self in the corner of his carriage, answered, that they
were!
“My Lord, I see you are in a high state of fever; you
were a little delirious just now when you snapped a pis-
to! in your friend's face. Permit me to recommend you
a prescription-swallow off all these pills !”
“My God!" cried the traveller, startled into earnest.
ness: “ What do you mean?-twelve of those pills
would kill a man."
“ Hear him!” said the robber, appealing to his com-
rades whọ roared with laughter, “What, my Lord, would
you rehel against your doctor ?-Fie, fie! be per-
suaded.”
And with a soothing gesture he stretched the pill-box
towards the recoiling nose of the traveller. But, though


PAUL CLIFFORD.
133
a man who could as well as any one make the best of a
bad condition, the traveller was especially careful of his
health, and so obstinate was he where that was con-
cerned, that he would rather have submitted to the ef-
fectual operation of a bullet, than incurred the chance
operation of an extra pill. He, therefore, with great in-
dignation, as the box was still extended towards him,
snatched it from the hand of the robber, and flinging it
across the road, said, with dignity-
“Do your worst, rascals! But if you leave me alive,
you shall repent the outrage you have offered to one of
his Majesty's Household !" Then, as if becoming sensi-
ble of the ridicule of affecting too much in his present
situation, he added, in an altered tone: “ And now, for
God's sake, shut the door! and if you must kill some-
body, there's my servant on the box--he's paid for it.”
This speech made the robbers laugh more than ever;
and Lovett, who liked a joke even better than a purse,
immediately closed the carriage-door, saying
“Adieu! my Lord; and let me give you a piece of
advice: whenever you get out at a country-inn, and stay
half-an-hour while your horses are changing, take your
pistols with you, or you may chance to have the charge
drawn.”
With this admonition the robber withdrew; and seeing
that the valet held out to him a long green purse, he said,
gently shaking his head,
“Rogues should not prey on each other, my good fel-
low. You rob your master-so do we–let each keep
what he has got.”
Long Ned and Tomlinson then backing their horses,
the carriage was freed; and away started the postboys
at a pace which seemed to show less regard for life than
the robbers themselves had evinced.
Meanwhile, the Captain remounted his steed, and the
three confederates, bounding in gallant style over the
hedge through which they had previously gained the
road, galloped off in the same direction they had come,
the moon, ever and anon, bringing into light their flying
figures, and the sound of many a joyous peal of laughter
ringing through the distance along the frosty air.


134
PAUL CLIFFORD.
CHAPTER XV.
What is here?-
Gold?..
Thus much of this will make black white-foul fair.
TIMON OF ATHENS.
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd,
Fresh as a bridegroom.
HENRY THE FOURTE.
I do not know the man I should avoid
So soon as that spare Cassius! He reads much.
He is a great observer; and he looks
Quite through the deeds of men.
Often he smiles; but smiles in such a sort,
As if he mocked hiniself, or scorned his spirit,
That could be moved to smile at any thing
JULIUS CESAR.
The next day, late at noon, as Lucy was sitting with
her father, not as usual engaged either in work or in
reading, but seemingly quite idle, with her pretty foot
upon the Squire's gouty stool, and her eyes fixed on the
carpet, while her hands (never were hands so soft and so
small as Lucy's, though they may have been eclipsed in
whiteness) were lightly clasped together and reposed
listlessly on her knees,-the surgeon of the village ab-
ruptly entered with a face full of news and horror. Old
Squire Brandon was one of those persons who always
hear news, whatever it may be, later than any of their
neighbours, and it was not till all the gossips of the
neighbourhood had picked the bone of the matter quite
bare, that he was now informed, through the medium of
Mr. Pillum, that Lord Mauleverer had on the preceding
night been stopped by three highwaymen in his road to
his country seat, and robbed to a considerable amount.
The fame of the worthy Doctor Slopperton's mal-ad-
venture having, long ere this, heen spread far and wide,
the whole neighbourhood was naturally thrown into
great consternation. Magistrates were sent to, large
dogs borrowed, blunderbusses cleaned, and a subscrip-
tion made throughout the parish for the raising of a
patrol. Tliere seemed little doubt but that the offenders,
in either case, were members of the same horde; and
Mr. Pillum in his own mind was perfectly convinced,


PAUL CLIFFORD.
135
that they meant to encroach upon his trade, and destroy
all the surrounding householders who were worth the
trouble.
The next week passed in the most diligent endeavours,
on the part of the neighbouring magistrates and yeo-
manry, to detect and seize the robbers, but their labours
were utterly fruitless; and one justice of peace, who
had been particularly active, was himself entirely
“ cleaned out” by an old gentleman, who, under the
name of Mr. Bagshot-rather an ominous cognomen-
offered to conduct the unsuspicious magistrate to the
very spot where the miscreants might be seized. No
sooner, however, had he drawn the poor justice away
frorn his comrades into a lonely part of the road, than
he stripped him to his shirt. He did not even leave his
worship his flannel drawers, though the weather was as
bitter as the dog-days of eighteen hundred and twenty-
nine.
“'T is not my way," said the hoary ruffian, when the
justice petitioned at least for the latter article of attire;
“'t is not my way—I be's slow about my work, but I does
it thoroughly-so off with your rags, old un.”
This was, however, the only additional instance of
aggression in the vicinity of Warlock Manor-House; and
by degrees, as the autumn declined, and no farther enor-
mities were perpetrated, people began to look out for a
new topic of conversation. This was afforded them by
a piece of unexpected good fortune to Lucy Brandon.
Mrs. Warner, an old lady to whom she was slightly
related, and with whom she had been residing during her
brief and only visit to London, died suddenly, anii in her
will declared Lucy to be her sole heiress. The property,
which was in the Funds, and which amounted to sixty
thousand pounds, was to be enjoyed by Miss Brandon
immediately on her attaining her twenty-first year;
meanwhile, the executors to the will were to pay to the
young heiress the annual sum of six hundred pounds.
The joy which this news created in Warlock Manor-
House, may easily be conceived. "The Squire projected
iniprovements here, and repairs there; and Lucy, poor
girl, who had no idea of money for herself, beyond the
purchase of a new pony, or a gown from London,
seconded with affectionate pleasure all her father's sug-
gestions, and delighted herself with the reflection, that
those fine plans which were to make the Brandons
i


136
PAUL CLIFFORD.
greater than the Brandons ever were before, were to
be realized by her own own money! It was at this
identical time that the surrounding gentry made a simul-
taneous and grand discovery-viz. of the astonishing
merits and great good sense of Mr. Joseph Brandon. It
was a pity, they observed, that he was of so reserved
and shy a turn-it was not becoming in a gentleman of
so ancient a family. But why should they not endeavour
to draw him from his retirement into those more public
scenes which he was doubtless well calculated to adorn ?
Accordingly, as soon as the first month of mourning
had expired, several coaches, chariots, chaises, and
horses, which had never been seen at Warlock Manor.
House before, arrived there one after the other, in the
most friendly manner imaginable. Their owners admired
every thing—the house was such a fine relic of old
times !—for their parts they liked an oak staircase land
those nice old windows !-and what a beautiful peacock!
and, God save the mark! that magnificent chestnut-tree
was worth a forest !-Mr. Brandon was requested to
make one of the county hunt, not that he any longer
hunted himself, but that his name would give such con.
sequence to the thing !--Miss Lucy must come to pass a
week with her dear friends the honourable Misses Sans-
terre!-Augustus, their brother, had such a sweet lady's
horse !--In short, the customary change which takes
place in people's characters after the acquisition of a
fortune, took place in the characters of Mr. and Miss
Brandon; and when people become suddenly amiable, it
is no wonder that they should suddenly gain a vast ac-
cession of friends.
But Lucy, though she had seen so little of the world,
was not quite blind; and the Squire, though rather obtuse,
was not quite a fool. If they were not rude to their new
visiters, they were by no means overpowered with grati-
tude at their condescension. Mr. Brandon declined sub-
scribing to the hunt, and Miss Lucy laughed in the face
of the Honourable Augustus Sansterre. Among their
new guests, however, was one who to great knowledge
of the world joined an extreme and even brilliant polish
of manners, which at least prevented deceit from being
disagreeable, if not wholly from being unseen-this was
the new Lieutenant of the county, Lord Mauleverer.
Though possessed of an immense property in that
district, Lord Mauleverer had hitherto resided but little


PAUL CLIFFORD.
137
on his estates. He was one of those gay lords who are
now somewhat uncommon in this country after mature
manhood is attained, who live an easy and rakish life,
rather among their parasites than their equals, and who
yet, by aid of an agreeable manner, natural talents, and
a certain graceful and light cultivation of mind (not the
less pleasant for its being universally coloured with
worldliness, and an amusing rather than offensive regard
for self), never lose their legitimate station in society;
who are oracles in dress, equipages, cookery, and beauty,
and, having no character of their own, are able to fix by
a single word a character upon any one else. Thus,
while Mauleverer rather lived the dissolute life of a
young nobleman, who prefers the company of agreeable
demirips to that of wearisome Dutchesses, than main-
tained the decorous state befitting a mature age, and an
immense interest in the country, he was quite as popular
at Court, where he held a situation in the Household, as
he was in the green-room, where he enchanted every
actress on the right side of forty.' A word from him in
the legitimate quarters of power went farther than an
harangue from another; and even the prudes, at least,
all those who had daughters,-confessed “that his Lord-
ship was a very interesting character.” Like Brandon,
his familiar friend, he had risen in the world (from the
Irish baron to the English Earl) without having ever
changed his politics, which were ultra-Tory; and we
need not observe that he was deemed, like Brandon, a
niodel of public integrity. He was possessed of two
places under Government, six votes in the House of
Commons, and eight livings in the Church; and we must
add, in justice to his loyal and religious principles, that
there was not in the three kingdoms a firmer friend to
the existing establishment.
Whenever a nobleman does not marry, people try to
take away his character. Lord Mauleverer had never
married; the Whigs had been very bitter on the subject;
they even alluded to it in the House of Commons, that
chaste assembly, where the never-failing subject of re-
proach against Mr. Pitt was the not being of an amorous
temperament; but they had not hitherto prevailed against
the stout Earl's celibacy. It is true, that if he was devoid
of a wife, he had secured to himself plenty of substitutes;
his profession was that of a man of gallantry; and though
Lihe avoided the daughters, it was only to make love to the


138
PAUL CLIFFORD.
mothers. But his Lordship had now attained a certain
age, and it was at last circulated among his friends that
he intended to look out for a Lady Mauleverer.
“Spare your caresses,” said his Toad-in-chief, to a ,
certain Dutchess who had three portionless daughters,
“ Mauleverer has sworn that he will not choose among
your order; you know his high politics, and you will not
wonder at his declaring himself averse in matrimony as
in morals to a community of goods."
The announcement of the Earl's matrimonial design
and the circulation of this, anecdote set all the clergy-
men's daughters in England on a blaze of expectation;
and when Mauleverer came to shire, upon obtain-
ing the honour of the Lieutenancy, to visit his estates
and court the friendship of his neignbours, there was not
an old young lady of forty, who worked in broad-stitch,
and had never been in London above a week at a time,
who did not deem herself exactly the sort of person sure
to fascinate his Lordship.
It was late in the afternoon when the travelling chariot
of this distinguished person, preceded by two outriders
in the Earl's undress livery of dark green, stopped at
the hall door of Warlock House. The Squire was at
home actually and metaphorically, for he never dreamed
of denying himself to any one, gentle or simple. The
door of the carriage being opened, there descended a
small, slight man, richly dressed (for lace and silk vest-
ments were not then quite discarded, i hough gradually
growing less the mode), and of an air prepossessing, and
distinguished rather than dignified. His years,- for his
countenance, though handsome, was deeply marked, and
evinced the tokens of dissipation,-seemed more nume-
rous than they really were; and though not actually
past middle age, Lord Mauleverer might fairly have re-
ceived the unpleasing epithet of elderly. However, his
step was firm, his gait upright, and his figure was consi-
derably more youthful than his physiognomy. The first
compliments of the day having passed, and Lord Maule-
verer having expressed his concern that his long and fre-
quent absence from the county had hitherto prevented
his making the acquaintance of Mr. Brandon, the brother
of one of his oldest and most esteemed friends, conver-
sation became on both sides rather an effort. Mr. Bran-
don first introduced the subject of the weather, and the
turnips--inquired whether his Lordship was not very fond


PAUL CLIFFORD. :
139
-(for his part he used to be, but lately the rheumatism
had disabled him, he hoped his Lordship was not subject
to that complaint)—of shooting !
Catching only the last words,-for besides the awful
complexity of the Squire's sentences, Mauleverer was
slightly afflicted by the aristocratic complaint of deafness
-the Earl answered, with a smile,
“ The complaint of shooting ! very good indeed, Mr.
Brandon; it is seldom that I have heard so witty a
phrase. No, I am not in the least troubled with that epi-
demic. It is a disorder very prevalent in this county.”
“My Lord !" said the Squire, rather puzzled-and then
observing that Mauleverer did not continue, he thought it
expedient to start another subject.
“I was exceedingly grieved to hear that your Lordship,
in travelling to Mauleverer Park—(that is a very ugly
road across the waste land; the roads in this county are
in general pretty good-for my own part when I was a
magistrate I was very strict in that respect)-was robbed.
You have not yet, I believe, detected-(for my part,
though I do not profess to be much of a politician, I do
think that in affairs of robbery there is a great deal of
remissness in the ministers)-the villains."
“ Our friend is disaffected !” thought the Lord-Lieu-
tenant, imagining that the last opprobrious term was
applied to the respectable personages specified in the
parenthesis. Bowing with a polished smile to the Squire,
Mauleverer replied aloud, that he was extremely sorry,
that their conduct (meaning the ministers) did not meet
with Mr. Brandon's approbation.
“Well,” thought the Squire, “that is playing the
courtier with a vengeance !” “Meet with my approba-
tion!” said he, warmly: “ how could your Lordship think
me--(for though I am none of your saints, I am, I hope,
a good Christian; an excellent one, judging from your
words, your Lordship must be !)-50 partial to crime.!”
“ Į partial to crime !" returned Mauleverer, thinking he
had stumbled unawares on .some outrageous democrat,
yet, smiling as softly as usual ; " you judge me harshly,
Mr. Brandon, you must do me more justice, and you can
only do that by knowing me better.”
Whatever unlucky answer the Squire might otherwise
have made, was cut off by the entrance of Lucy; and the i
Earl, secretly delighted at the interruption, rose to render
her his homage and to remind her of the introduction he


140
PAUL CLIFFORD,
had formerly been so happy as to obtain to her through
the friendship of Mr. William Brandon.--"A friendship."
said the gallant nobleman, “ to which I have often before
been indebted, but which was never more agreeably ex-
cited on my behalf.”
Upon this, Lucy, who, though she had been so pain-
fully bashful during her meeting with Mr. Clifford, felt no
overpowering diffidence in the presence of so much
greater a person, replied laughingly, and the Earl rejoined
by a second compliment. Conversation was now no
longer an effort; and Mauleverer, the most consummate
of epicures, whom even Royalty trembled to ask without
preparation, on being invited by the unconscious Squire
to partake of the family dinner, eagerly accepted the in-
vitation. It was long since the knightly walls of War-
lock had been honoured by the presence of a guest so
courtly. The good Squire heaped his plate with a pro-
fusion of boiled beef, and while the poor Earl was con-
templating in dismay the alps upon alps which he was
expected to devour, the gray-headed butier, anxious to
serve him with alacrity, whipped away the overloaded
plate, and presently returned it, yet more astoundingly
surcharged with an additional world of a composition of
a stony colour and sudorific aspect, which, after examin-
ing in mute attention for some moments, and carefully
removing, as well as he was able to the extreme edge of
his plate, the Earl discovered to be suet-pudding.
“ You eat nothing, my Lord !” cried the Squire; “ let
me give you (this is more underdone)”-holding between
blade and fork in middle air a horrent fragment of scarlet,
shaking its gory locks,“ another slice."
Swift at the word dropped upon Mauleverer's plate the
harpy finger and ruthless thumb of the gray-headed butler.
“Not a morsel more," cried the Earl, struggling with
the murtherous domestic. “My dear sir, excuse me; I
assure you I have never eat such a dinner before-
never!"
“Nay now!" quoth the Squire, expostulating, “ you
really—and this air is so keen that your Lordship
should indulge your appetite, if you follow the physician's
advice-eat nothing !”
Again Mauleverer was at fault.
“ The physicians are right, Mr. Brandon,” said he,
“ very right, and I am forced to live absiemiously;
indeed, I do not know whether, if I were to exceed at


PAUL CLIFFORD.
141
your hospitable table, and attack all that you would
bestow upon me, I should ever recover it. You would
have to seek a new Lieutenant for your charming county,
and on the tomb of the last Mauleverer the hypocritical
and unrelated heir would inscribe, Died of the visitation
of beef, John, Earl, &c.'”.
Plain as the meaning of this speech might have seemed
to others, the Squire only laughed at the effeminate
appetite of the speaker, and inclined to think him an
excellent fellow for jesting so good-humouredly on his
own physical infirmity. But Lucy had the tact of her
sex, and taking pity on the Earl's calamitous situation,
though she certainly never guessed at its extent, entered
with so much grace and ease into the conversation
which he sought to establish between them, that Mau-
leverer's gentleman, who had hitherto been pushed aside
by the zeal of the gray-headed butler, found an oppor-
tunity, when the Squire was laughing and the butler
staring, to steal away the overburdened plate, unsus-
pected and unseen.
Despite, however, of these evils of board and lodgement,
Mauleverer was exceedingly well pleased with his visit,
nor did he terminate it till the shades of the night had
begun to close, and the distance from his own residence
conspired with experience to remind him that it was pos-
sible for a highwayman's audacity to attack the equipage
even of Lord Mauleverer. He then reluctantly re-entered
his carriage, and bidding the postilion drive as fast as
possible, wrapped himself in his roquelaire, and divided
his thoughts between Lucy Brandon, and the Homard
au gratin with which he purposed to console himself
immediately on his return home. However, Fate, which
mocks our most cherished hopes, ordained that on ar-
riving at Mauleverer Park the owner should be suddenly
afflicted with a loss of appetite, a coldness in the limbs,
a pain in the chest, and various other ungracious symp-
toms of portending malady. Lord Mauleverer went
straight to bed; he remained there for some days, and
when he recovered, his physicians ordered him to Bath.
The Whig Methodists, who hated him, ascribed his ill-
ness to Providence; and his Lordship was firmly of
opinion that it should be ascribed to the beef and pud-
ding. However this be, there was an end, for the pre-
sent, to the hopes of young ladies of forty, and to the
intended festivities at Mauleverer Park. “Good God!"
i


142
PAUL CLIFFORD.
said the Earl, as his carriage wheels turned from his
gates, “what a loss to country tradesmen may be occa-
sioned by a piece of underdone beef, especially if it be
boiled!”
About a fortnight had elapsed since Mauleverer's me.
teoric visit to Warlock House, when the Squire received
from his brother the following epistle :
“ MY DEAR JOSEPH,
“ You know my numerous avocations, and amid the
press of business which surrounds me, will, I am sure,
forgive me for being a very negligent and remiss cor-
respondent. Nevertheless, I assure you, no one can
more sincerely sympathize in that good fortune which
has befallen my charming niece, and of which your last
letler informed me, than I do. Pray give my best love
to her, and tell her how complacently I look forward to
the brilliant sensation she will create, when her beauty
is enthroned upon that rank which, I am quite sure, it
will one day or other command.
“ You are not aware, perhaps, my dear Joseph, that I
have for some time been in a very weak and declining
state of health. The old nervous complaint in my face
has of late attacked me grievously, and the anguish is
sometimes so great that I am scarcely able to bear it.
I believe the great demand which my profession makes
upon a frame of body never strong, and now beginning
prematurely to feel the infirmities of time, is the real
cause of my maladies. At last, however, I must abso-
lutely punish my pocket, and indulge my inclinations by
a short respite from toil. The doctors-sworn friends,
you know, to the lawyers--since they make common
cause against mankind, have peremptorily ordered me
to lie by, and to try a short course of air, exercise, social
amusements, and the waters of Bath. Fortunately, this
is vacation time, and I can afford to lose a few weeks of
emolument, in order, perhaps, to secure many years of
life. I purpose then, early next week, repairing to that
melancholy reservoir of the gay, where persons dance
out of life, and are fiddled across the Styx. In a word,
I shall make one of the adventurers after health, who
seek the goddess at King Bladud's pump-room. Will
you and dear Lucy join me there? I ask it of your
friendship, and I am quite sure that neither of you will
shrink aghast at the proposal of solacing your invalid


PAUL CLIFFORD,
143
relation. At the same time that I am recovering health,
my pretty niece will be avenging Pluto, by consigning
to his dominions many a better and younger hero in my
stead. And it will be a double pleasure to me to see all
the hearts, &c. - I break off, for what can I say on that
subject which the little coquette does not anticipate ? .
It is high time that Lucy should see the world; and
though there are many at Bath, above all places, to
whom the heiress will be an object of interested atten-
tions, yet there are also many in that crowded city by no
means undeserving her notice. What say you, dear
Joseph ? But I know already; you will not refuse to
keep company with me in my little holyday, and Lucy's
eyes are already sparkling at the idea of new bonnets,
Milsom Street, a thousand adorers, and the Pump-room.
“Ever, dear Joseph,
“ Yours affectionately,
“ WILLIAM BRANDON.
“P.S. I find that my friend Lord Mauleverer is at Bath;
I own that is an additional reason to take me thither; by
a letter from him, received the other day, I see that he
has paid you a visit, and he now raves about his host and
the heiress. Ah, Miss Lucy, Miss Lucy! are you going
to conquer him whom all London has, for years more
than I care to tell (yet not many, for Mauleverer is still
young), assailed in vain ? Answer me!"
This letter created a considerable excitement in War-
lock House. The old Squire was extremely fond of his
brother, and grieved to the heart, to find that he spoke so
discouragingly of his health. Nor did the Squire for a
moment hesitate at accepting the proposal to join his
distinguished relative at Bath. Lucy also,—who had for
her uncle, possibly from his profuse yet not indelicate
flattery, a very great regard and interest, though she had
seen but little of him,-urged the Squire to lose no time
in arranging matters for their departure, so as to precede
the barrister, and prepare every thing for his arrival. The
father and daughter being thus agreed, there was little
occasion for delay; an answer to the invalid's letter was
sent by return of post, and on the fourth day from their
receipt of the said epistle, the good old Squire, his
daughter, a country girl, by way of abigail-the gray:
headed butler, and two or three live pets, of the size and


144
PAUL CLIFFORD.
is
habits most convenient for travelling, were impelled along
in the huge womb of the family coach, on their way to
that city, which at that time was gayer at least, if some
what less splendid, than the metropolis.
On the second day of their arrival at Bath, Brandon (as
in future, to avoid confusion, we shall call the younger
brother, giving to the elder his patriarchal title of Squire)
joined them.
He was a man seemingly rather fond of parade, though
at heart he disrelished and despised it. He came to their
lodging, which had not been selected in the very best
part of the town, in a carriage and six, but attended only
by one favourite servant.
They found him in better looks and better spirits than
they had anticipated ; few persons, when he liked it,
could be more agreeeble than William Brandon; but at
times there mixed with his conversation a bitter sarcasm,
probably a habit acquired in his profession, or an occa.
sional tinge of morose and haughty sadness, possibly the
consequence of his ill-health. Yet his disorder, which
was somewhat approaching to that painful affliction, the
tic douloureux, though of fits more rare in occurrence than
those of that complaint ordinarily are, never seemed even
for an instant to operate upon his mood, whatever that
might be. That disease worked unseen; not a muscle
of his face appeared to quiver; the smile never vanished
from his mouth, the blandness of his voice never grew
faint as with pain, and in the midst of intense torture, his
resolute and stern mind conquered every external indi.
cation, nor could the most observant stranger have noted
the moment when the fit attacked or released him.
There was something inscrutable about the man. You
felt that you took his character upon trust, and not on
your own knowledge. The acquaintance of years would
have left you equally dark as to his vices or his virtues.
He varied often, yet in each variation he was equally un-
discoverable. Was he performing a series of parts, or
was it the ordinary changes of a man's true tempera-
ment, that you beheld in him ? Commonly smooth,
quiet, attentive, flattering in social intercourse; he was
known in the senate and courts of law, for a cold asperity,
and a caustic venom-scarcely rivalled even in those
areas of contention. It seemed as if the bitterer feelings
he checked in private life, he delighted to indulge in
public. Yet, even there, he gave not way to momentary


PAUL CLIFFORD.
145
petulance or gushing passion, all seemed with him sys.
tematic sarcasm, or habitual sternness. He outraged no
form of ceremonial, or of society. He stung, without
appearing conscious of the sting; and his antagonist
writhed not more beneath the torture of his satire, than
the crushing contempt of his self-command.-Cool,
ready armed, and defended on all points, sound in know-
ledge, unfailing in observation, equally consummate in
sophistry when needed by himself, and instantaneous in
detecting sophistry in another; scorning no art, however
painful---begrudging no labour, however weighty-minute
in detail, yet not the less comprehending the whole sub-
ject in a grasp; such was the legal and public character
William Brandon had established, and such was the fame
he joined to the unsullied purity of his moral reputation.
But to his friends, he seemed only the agreeable, clever,
lively, and, if we may use the phrase innocently, the
worldly man-never affecting a superior sanctity, or an
over-anxiety to forms, except upon great occasions ; and
rendering his austerity of manners the more admired,
because he made it seem so unaccompanied by hypocrisy.
6 Well,” said Brandon, as he sat after dinner alone
with his relations, and had seen the eyes of his brother
close in diurnal slumber," tell me, Miss Lucy, what you
think of Lord Mauleverer; do you find him agreeable ?"
6 Very ; too much so, indeed !"
“ Too much so that is an uncommon fault, Lucy; un-
less you mean to insinuate that you find him too agree-
able for your peace of mind.”
“Oh, no! there is little fear of that; all that I meant
to express was, that he seems to make it the sole busi-
ness of his life to be agreeable; and that one imagines
he had gained that end by the loss of certain qualities
which one would have liked better.”
“ Umph! and what are they ?”
« Truth, sincerity, independence, and honesty of mind."
“ My dear Lucy, it has been the professional study of
my life to discover a man's character, especially so far
as truth is concerned, in as short a time as possible; but
you excel me by intuition, if you can tell whether there
be sincerity in a courtier's character at the first interview
you have with him.”
“ Nevertheless, I am sure of my opinion,” said Lucy,
laughing; “and I will tell you one instance I observed
among a hundred. Lord Mauleverer is rather deaf, and
VOL. 1.-6


146
PAUL CLIFFORD.
he imagined, in conversation, that my father said one
thing-it was upon a very trifling subject-the speech of
some member of Parliament (the lawyer smiled).
when in reality he meant to say another. Lord Maule-
verer, in the warmest manner in the world, chimed in
with him, appeared thoroughly of his opinion, applauded
his sentiments, and wished the whole country of his
mind. Suddenly my father spoke, Lord Mauleverer bent
down his ear, and found that the sentiments he had so
lauded were exactly those my father the least favoured.
No sooner did he make this discovery, than he wheeled
round again, dexterously and gracefully, I allow; con-
demned all that he had before extolled, and extolled all
that he had before abused!”
“ And is that all, Lucy ?" said Brandon, with a keener
sneer on his lip than the occasion warranted. “ Why,
that is what every one does; only some more gravely
than others. Mauleverer in society; I at the bar; the
minister in Parliament; friend to friend; lover to mis-
tress; mistress to lover; half of us are employed in
saying white is black, and the other half in swearing
that black is white. There is only one difference, my
pretty niece, between the clever man and the fool; the
fool says what is false while the colours stare in his face
and give him the lie; but the clever man takes, as it
were. a brush, and literally turns the black into white,
and the white into black, before he makes the assertion,
which is then true. The fool changes, and is a liar; the
clever man makes the colours change, and is a genius.
But this is not for your young years yet, Lucy."
“ Yet, I can't see the necessity of seeming to agree
with people,” said Lucy, simply; “ surely they would be
just as well pleased if you differed from them civilly,
and with respect.”
“ No, Lucy,” said Brandon, still sneering; “ to be
liked, it is not necessary to be any thing but compli.
ant; lie, cheat, make every word a snare, and every
act a forgery—but never contradict. Agree with people,
and they make a couch for you in their hearts. You
know the story of Dante and the buffoon. Both were
entertained at the court of the vain pedant, who called
himself prince Scaliger; the former poorly, the latter
sumptuously.- How comes it,' said the buffoon to the
poet, that I am so rich and you so poor? I shall be
as rich as you,' was the stinging and true reply-when-


PAUL CLIFFORD.
147
ever I can find a patron as like myself as prince Scaliger
is like you!""
." Yet my birds,” said Lucy, caressing the goldfinch,
which nestled to her bosom, “are not like me, and I
love them, Nay, I often think I could love those better
who differ from me the most. I feel it so in books;
when, for instance, I read a novel or a play; and you,
uncle, I like almost in proportion to my perceiving in
myself nothing in common with you."
“ Yes,” said Brandon, " you have in common with me
a love for old stories of Sir Hugo, and Sir Rupert, and all
the other. Sirs' of our mouldered and by-gone race. So
you shall sing me the ballad about Sir John de Bran-
don, and the dragon he slew in the Holy Land. We will
adjourn to the drawing-room, not to disturb your father.”
Lucy agreed, took her uncle's arm, repaired to the
drawing-room, and, seating herself at the harpsichord,
sang to an inspiriting, yet somewhat rude air, the family
ballad her uncle had demanded.
It would have been amusing to note, in the rigid face
of the hardened and habitual man of peace and parch-
ments, a certain enthusiasm which ever and anon crossed
his cheek, as the verses of the ballad tested on some
allusion to the knightly house of Brandon, and its old
renown. It was an early prejudice, breaking out despite
of himself-a flash of character, stricken from the hard
fossil in which it was inibedded. One would have sup-
posed that the silliest' of all prides (for the pride of
money, though meaner, is less senseless), family pride,
was the last weakness which, at that time, the callous
and astute lawyer would have confessed, even to himself.*
“ Lucy,” said Brandon, as the song ceased, and he :
gazed on his beautiful niece with a certain pride in his
aspect," I long to witness your first appearance in the
world. This lodging, my dear, is not fit--but pardon
me! what I was about to say is this; your father and
yourself are here at my invitation, and in my house you
must dwell; you are my guests, and not mine host and
hostess. I have, therefore, already directed my servant
to secure me a house, and provide the necessary esta-
blishinent; and I make no doubt, as he is a quick fellow,
that within three days all will be ready :-you must then
be the magnet of my abode, Lucy; and, meanwhile, you
must explain this to my brother, and, for you know hia
jealous hospitality, obtain his acquiescence.”
G 2


148
PAUL CLIFFORD.
“ But,” began Lucy.
“But me no buts,” said Brandon, quickly, but with an
affectionate tone of wilfulness; "and now, as I feel very
much fatigued with my journey, you must allow me to
seek my own room.”
“I will conduct you to it myself,” said Lucy, for she
was anxious to show her father's brother the care and
forethought which she had lavished on her arrangements
for his comfort. Brandon followed her into an apart-
ment, which his eye knew at a glance had been sub-
jected to that female superintendence, which makes such
uses from what men reject as insignificant; and he
thanked her with more than his usual amenity, for the
grace which had presided over, and the kindness which
had dictated, her preparations. As soon as he was left
alone, he wheeled his arm-chair near the clear bright fire,
and resting his face upon his hand, in the attitude of a
man who prepares himself, as it were, for the indulgence
of meditation, he muttered:
“ Yes! these women are, first, what Nature makes
them, and that is good: next, what we make them, and
that is evil! Now, could I persuade myself, that we
ought to be nice as to the use we put these poor pup-
pets to, I should shrink from enforcing the destiny
which I have marked for this girl. But that is a pitiful
consideration, and he is but a silly player who loses his
money for the sake of preserving his counters. So, the
young lady must go as another score to the fortunes of
William Brandon. After all, who suffers ? not she. She
will have wealth, rank, honour: I shall suffer, to yield
so pretty and pure a gem to the coronet of-faugh! How
I despise that dog! but how I could hate, crush, mangle
him, could I believe that he despised me! Could he do so?
Umph! No, I have resolved myself, that is impossible.
Well, let me hope. that matrimonial point will be settled;
and now, let me consider what next step I shall take for
myself-myself!-ay--only myself!-with me perishes
the last male of Brandon. But the light shall not go out
under a bushel."
As he said this, the soliloquist sunk into a more ab-
sorbed and a silent reverie, from which he was disturbed
by the entrance of his servant. Brandon, who was
never a dreamer, save when alone, broke at once from
his reflections.
“You have obeyed my orders, Barlow ?” said he


PAUL CLIFFORD.
149
6 Yes, sir, answered the domestic, “ I have taken the
best house yet unoccupied, and, when Mrs. Roberts
(Brandon's housekeeper) arrives from London, every
thing will, I trust, be exactly to your wishes."
“ Good! And you gave my note to Lord Mauleverer?"
“ With my own hands, sir; his Lordship will await
you at home all to-morrow."
“ Very well! and now, Barlow, see that your room is
within call-(bells, though known, were not common at
that day)-and give out that I am gone to bed and must
not be disturbed. What's the hour ?"
“ Just on the stroke of ten, sir.”
“ Place on that table my letter-case, and the inkstand.
Look in, to help me to undress, at half-past one; I shall
go to bed at that hour. And-stay-be sure, Barlow,
that my brother believes me retired for the night. He
does not know my habits, and will vex himself if he
thinks I sit up so late in my present state of health."
Drawing the table with its writing aypurtenances near
to his master, the servant left Brandon once more to his
thoughts, or his occupations.
CHAPTER XVI.
Servant. Get away, I say, wid dat nasty bell.
Punch. Do you call this a beli? (patting it.) It is an organ!
Servant. I say it is a bell-a nasty bell!
Punch. I say it is an organ Istriking him with it),-what do you say
it is ncw ?
Servant. An organ, Mr. Punch.
The Tragical Comedy of Punch and Judy.
The next morning, before Lucy and her father had left
their apartments, Brandon, who was a remarkably early
riser, had disturbed the luxurious Mauleverer in his first
slumber. Although the courtier possessed a villa some
miles from Bath, he preferred a lodging in the town,
both as being warmer than a rarely inhabited country.
house, and as being, to an indolent man, more immedi.
ately convenient for the gayeties and the waters of the
medicinal city.
As soon as the Earl had rubbed his eyes, stretched
himself, and prepared for the untimeous colloquy, Bran-


150
PAUL CLIFFORD,
don poured forth his excuses for the hour he had chosen
for a visit.
"Mention it not, my dear Brandon," said the good.
natured nobleman, with a sigh; “I am glad at any hour
to see you, and I am very sure, that what you have to
communicate is always worth listening to.”
" It was only upon public business, though of rather a
more important description than usual, that I ventured
to disturb you," answered Brandon, seating himself on
a chair by the bedside. "'This morning an hour ago
I received, by private express, a letter from London,
stating that a new arrangement will positively be made
in the Cabinet,-nay, naming the very promotions and
changes; I:confess, that as my name occurred, as also
your own, in these nominations, I was anxious to have
the benefit of your necessarily accurate knowledge on
the subject, as well as of your advice."
“Really, Brandon,” said Mauleverer, with a half-pee-
vish smile, "any other hour in the day would have done
for the business of the nation,' as the newspapers call
that troublesome farce we go through; and I had imagined
you would not have broken my nightly slumbers, except
for something of real importance—the discovery of a
new beauty, or the invention of a new dish."
“Neither the one nor the other could you have ex.
pected from me, my dear Lord," rejoined Brandon ; " you
know the dry trifles in which a lawyer's life wastes itself
away, and beauties and dishes have no attraction for us,
except the former be damsels deserted, and the latter
patents invaded. But my news, after all, is worth hear-
ing, unless you have heard it before."
“Not I! but I suppose I shall hear it in the course of
the day; pray heaven I be not sent for, to attend some
plague of a council. Begin!”
“In the first place, Lord Duberly resolves to resign,
unless this negotiation for peace be made a cabinet
question !!!
"Pshaw ! let him resign. I have opposed the peace
so long, that it is out of the question. Of course, Lord
Wanstead will not think of it and he may count on my
boroughs. A peace ! shameful, disgraceful, dastardly
proposition !?
“But, my dear Lord, my ietter says, that this, unex-
pected firmness on the part of Lord Duberly has pro-
duced so great a sensation, that seeing the impossibility


PAUL CLIFFORD.
151
of forming a durable cabinet without him, the king has
consented to the negotiation, and Duberly stays in !"
" The devil!-what next ?"
“ Raffden and Sternhold go out in favour of Baldwin
and Charlton; and in the hope that you will lend your
aid to
"I!” said Lord Mauleverer, very angrily; “I! lend
my aid to Baldwin, the Jacobin, and Charlton, the son of
a brewer!"
- " Very true!” continued Brandon, “but in the hope
that you might be persuaded to regard the new arrange-
ments with an indulgent eye, you are talked of instead
of the Duke of -- for the vacant garter and the office
of Chamberlain.
“ You do n't mean it!" cried Mauleverer, starting from
his bed.
"A few other (but, I hear, chiefly legal) promotions
are to be made. Among the rest, my learned brother,
the democrat Sarsden, is to have a silk gown; Crum-
well is to be Attorney-general; and, between ourselves,
they have offered me a Judgeship.”
“ But the garter !” said Mauleverer, scarcely hearing
the rest of the lawyer's news,—“the whole object, aim,
and ambition of my life. How truly kind in the King!
After all," continued the Earl, laughing, and throwing
himself back, “ Opinions are variable-truth is not uni-
form—the times change, not wemand we must have
peace instead of war!”
“ Your maxims are indisputable, and the conclusion
you come to is excellent,” said Brandon.
“ Why, you and I, my dear fellow," said the Earl,
66 who know men, and who have lived all our lives in
the world, must laugh behind the scenes at the cant we
wrap in tinsel, and send out to stalk across the stage.
We know that our Coriolanus of Tory integrity, is a
corporal kept by a prostitute; and the Brutus of Whig
liberty is a lackey turned out of place for stealing the
spoons,but we must not tell this to the world. So,
Brandon, you must write me a speech for the next
session--and be sure it has plenty of general maxims,
and concludes with my bleeding country !!”
The lawyer smiled. “You consent then to the ex-
pulsion of Sternhold and Raffden? for, after all, that is
the question. Our British vessel, as the damned meta-
phor-mongers call the state, carries the public good safe


152
PAUL CLIFFORD.
in the hold like brandy, and it is only when fear, storm,
or the Devil makes the rogues quarrel among themselves,
and break up the casks, that one gets above a thimbie-
ful at a time. We should go on fighting with the rest
of the world for ever, if the ministers had not taken to
fight among themselves.”.
"As for Sternhold,” said the Earl, “ 't is a vulgar dog,
and voted for economical reform--besides, I do n't know
him ;-he may go to the devil, for aught I care; but
Raffden must be dealt handsomely with, or, despite the
garter, I will fall back among the Whigs, who, after all,
give tolerable dinners.”
“But why, my Lord, must Raffden be treated better
than his brother recusant ?"
“Because he sent me, in the handsomest manner pos-
sible, a pipe of that wonderful Madeira, which you know
I consider the chief grace of my cellars, and he gave up
a canal-navigation bill which would have enriched his
whole county, when he knew that it would injure my
property. No, Brandon, curse public cant, we know
what that is. But we are gentlemen, and our private
friends must not be thrown to the devil, unless, at least,
we do it in the civilest manner we can."
“ Fear not,” said the lawyer; “you have only to say
the word, and the cabinet can cook up an embassy to
Owhyee, and send Raffden there with a-stipend of five
thousand a year."
“Ah! that's well thought of; or we might give him a
grant of a hundred thousand acres in one of the colo-
nies, or let him buy crown-land at a discount of eighty
per cent. So that's settled.”
“And now, my dear friend,” said Brandon, “I will
tell you frankly why I come so early ; I am required to
give a hasty answer to the proposal I have received,
namely of the Judgeship. Your opinion ?"
: "A Judgeship! you a Judge! What! forsake your
brilliant career for so petty a dignity !--you jest !”
" Not at all, listen. You know how bitterly I have
opposed this peace, and what hot enemies I have made
among the new friends of the administration :- on the
one hand, these enemies insist on sacrificing me; and
on the other, if I were to stay in the Lower House and
speak for what I have before opposed, I should forfeit
the support of a great portion of my own party; hated
by one body, and mistrusted by the other, a seat in the


PAUL CLIFFORD.
153
House of Commons ceases to be an object. It is pro-
posed that I should retire on the dignity of a Judge,
with the positive and pledged, though secret, promise of
his Majesty and the Premier, to give me the first vacancy
among the chiefs. The place of Chief Justice or Chief
Baron is indeed the only fair remuneration for my sur-
render of the gains of my profession, and the abandon-
ment of my parliamentary and legal career; the title
might go (at least, by an exertion of interest) to the
eldest son of my niece, in case she married a commoner:
-or," added he, after a pause, “ her second son in case
she married a peer."
"Ha-true !" said Mauleverer quickly, and as if struck
by some sudden thought, “and your charming niece,
Brandon, would be worthy of any honour either to her
children or herself. You do not know how struck I was
with her; there is something so graceful in her simpli-
city; and in her manner of smoothing down the little
rugosities of Warlock House, there was so genuine and
so easy a dignity, that J. declare I almost thought myself
young again and capable of the self-cheat of believing
myself in love. But, oh! Brandon, imagine me at your
brother's board !-me, for whom ortolans are too sub--
stantial, and who feel, when I tread, the slightest inequal-
ity in the carpets of Tournay !-imagine me, dear
Brandon, in a black-wainscot room, hung round with
your ancestors in brown wigs with posits in their button.
holes,-an immense fire on one side and a thorough
draught on the other,-a huge circle of beef before me,
smoking like Vesuvius, and twice as large,-a plateful
(the plate was pewter, is there not a metal so called?) of
this mingled flame and lava sent under my very nostril,,
and upon pain of ill-breeding to be despatched down my.
proper mouth, an old gentleman in fustian breeches
and worsted stockings, by way of a butler, filling me a
can of ale,--and your worthy brother asking me if I
would not prefer port,-a lean footman in a livery (such
a livery, ye gods!) scarlet, blue, yellow, and green, a
rainbow ill made ! on the opposite side of the table look--
ing at “the Lord' with eyes and mouth equally open, and
large enough to swallow me,-and your excellent brother:
himself at the head of the table glowing through the
mists of the beef, like the rising sun in a sign-post, -and
then, Brandon, turning from this image, behold beside
me the fair, delicate, aristocratic, yet simple loveliness of:
G 3


154
PAUL CLIFFORD.
your niece, and but you look angry-I have offended
you."
It was high time for Mauleverer to ask that question;
for, during the whole of the Earl's recital, the dark face
of his companion had literally burned with rage: and
here we may observe, how. generally selfishness, which
makes the man of the world, prevents its possessor, by a
sort of paradox, from being consummately so. For
Mauleverer, occupied by the pleasure he felt at his own
wit, and never having that magic sympathy with others
which creates the incessantly keen observer, had not, for
a moment, thought that he was offending to the quick
the hidden pride of the lawyer. Nay, so little did he
suspect Brandon's. real weaknesses, that he thought him
a philosopher, who would have laughed alike at princi.
ples and people, however near to him might be the latter,
and however important the former. Mastering by a
single effort, which restored his.cheek to its usual steady
hue, the outward signs. of his displeasure, Brandon
rejoined,
“ Offend me! by no means, my dear Lord. I do not
wonder at your painful situation in an old country-gen-
tleman's house, which has not for: centuries offered
scenes fit for the presence of so distinguished a guest.
Never, I may say, since the time when Sir Charles de
Brandon entertained Elizabeth at Warlock; and your
ancestor (you know my old musty studies on those
points of obscure antiquity), John Mauleverer, who was a
noted goldsmith of London, supplied the plate for the
occasion."
“Fairly retorted,” said Mauleverer, smiling; for though
the Earl had a great contempt for low birth set on high
places in other men, he was utterly void of pride for his
own family.-Fairly retorted! but I never meant any
thing else but a laugh at your brother's housekeeping;
à joke, surely, permitted to a man whose own fastidious-
ness on these matters is so standing a jest. But, by
heavens, Brandon, to turn from these subjects, your
niece is the prettiest girl I have seen for twenty years;
and if she would forget my being the descendant of John
Mauleverer, the noted goldsmith of London, she may be
Lady Mauleverer as soon as she pleases."
“Nay, now, let us be serious, and talk of the Judge-
ship,” said Brandon, affecting to treat the proposal as a
joke.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
156
«By the soul of Sir Charles de Brandon, I am serious!»
cried the Earl ; " and as a proof of it, I hope you will
let me pay my respects to your niece to-day-not with
my offer in my hand, yet-for it must be a love-match on
both sides," and the Earl, glancing towards an opposite
glass, which reflected his attenuated but comely features,
beneath his velvet night-cap, trimmed with mechlin,
laughed half-triumphantly as he spoke.
A sneer just passed the lips of Brandon, and as instantly
vanished; while Mauleverer continued :-
“And as for the Judgeship, dear Brandon, I advise
you to accept it, though you know best; and I do think
no man will stand a fairer chance of the Chief-Justice.
ship, or, though it be somewhat unusual for 'common'
lawyers, why not the Woolsack itself? As you say, the
second son of your niece might inherit the dignity of
the peerage !"
“Well, I will consider of it favourably,” said Brandon,
and soon afterward he left the nobleman to renew his
broken repose.
“I can't laugh at that man,” said Mauleverer to him-
self, as he turned round in his bed,“ though he has much
that I should' laugh at in another; and faith, there is one
little matter I might well scorn him for, if I were not a
philosopher. 'Tis a pretty girl, his niece, and with
proper instructions might do one credit; besides, she has
60,0001. ready money; and faith, I have not a shilling
for my own pleasure, though I have, or, alas ! had, fifty
thousand a year for that of my establishment! In all
probability, she will be the lawyer's heiress, and he must
have made, at least, as much again as her portion; nor:
is he, poor devil, a very good life. Moreover, if he rise
to the peerage ? and the second son-well, well! it will
not be such a bad match for the goldsmith's descendant
either !".
With that thought; Lord Mauleverer fell asleep. He
rose about noon, dressed himself with unusual pains,
and was just going forth on a visit to Miss Brandon,
when he suddenly remembered that her uncle had not
mentioned her address, or his own. He referred to the
lawyer's note of the preceding evening; no direction
was inscribed on it; and Mauleverer was forced, with
much chagrin, to forego for that day the pleasure he had
promised himself.
In truth, the wary lawyer, who, as we have said,


156
PAUL CLIFFORD. ,
despised show and outward appearances as much as any
man, was yet sensible of their effect even in the eyes of
a lover; and moreover, Lord Mauleverer was one whose
habits of life were calculated to arouse a certain degree
of vigilance on points of household pomp, even in the
most unobservant. Brandon therefore resolved that
Lucy should not be visited by her admirer, till the
removal to their new abode was effected; nor was it till
the third day from that on which Mauleverer had held
with Brandon the interview we have recorded, that the
Earl received a note from Brandon, seemingly turning
only on political matters, but inscribed with the address
and direction in full form.
Mauleverer answered it in person. He found Lucy at
home, and more beautiful than ever; and from that day
his mind was made up, as the Mammas say, and his
visits became constant..
CHAPTER XVII.
The blessing of an hereditary nobility—the honourable profession of the
law.-Common Phrases.
There is a festival where knights and dames,
And aught that wealth or lofty lineage claims,
Appear.
"Tis he-how came he thence-what doth he here ?
LARA.
THERE are two charming situations in life for a wo-
man: one, the first freshness of heiress-ship and beauty,
the other, youthful widowhood with a large jointure. It
was at least Lucy's fortune to enjoy the first. No sooner
was she fairly launched into the gay world, than she be-
came the object of universal idolatry. Crowds followed
her wherever she moved: nothing was talked of, or
dreamed of, toasted, or betted on, but Lucy Brandon;
even her simplicity and utter ignorance of the arts of
fine life enhanced the éclat of her reputation. Some-
how or other, young people of the geniler sex are rarely
ill-bred, even in their eccentricities; and there is often a
great deal of grace in inexperience. Her uncle, who


PAUL CLIFFORD.
157
accompanied her every where, himself no slight magnet
of attraction, viewed her success with a complacent tri-
umph which he suffered no one but her father or her.
self to detect. To the smooth coolness of his manner,
nothing would have seemed more foreign than pride at
the notice gained by a beauty, or exultation at any favour
won from the caprices of fashion. As for the good old
Squire, one would have imagined him far more the in-
valid than his brother. He was scarcely ever seen; for
though he went every where, he was one of those per-
sons who sink into a corner the moment they enter a
room. Whoever discovered him in his retreat, held out
their hands, and exclaimed, “God bless me!--you here!
we have not seen you for this age!” Now and then, if
in a very dark niche of the room a card-table had been
placed, the worthy gentleman toiled through an obscure
rubber, but more frequently he sat with his hands clasped,
and his mouth open, counting the number of candles in
the room, or calculating “ When that d-d music would
be over."
Lord Mauleverer, though a polished and courteous man,
whose great object was necessarily to ingratiate himself
with the father of his intended bride, had a horror of
being bored, which surpassed all other feelings in his
mind. He could not, therefore, persuade himself to sub-
mit to the inelancholy duty of listening to the Squire's
"linked speeches long drawn out.” He always glided by
the honest man's station, seemingly in an exceeding
hurry, with a " Ah, my dear sir, how do you do? How
delighted I am to see you!-and your incomparable
daughter?-Oh, there she is !pardon me, dear sir-you
see my attraction-au plaisir !"
Lucy, indeed, who never forgot any one (except her-
self occasionally), sought her father's retreat as often as
she was able; but her engagements were so incessant,
that she no sooner lost one partner, than she was
claimed and carried off by another. However, the
Squire bore his solitude with tolerable cheerfulness, and
always declared that “he was very well amused; al-
though balls and concerts were necessarily a little dull
to one who came from a fine old place like Warlock
Manor-House, and it was not the same thing that pleased
young ladies (for, to them, that fiddling and giggling till
two o'clock in the morning might be a very pretty way
of killing time) and their papas !!!


158 -
PAUL CLIFFORD
What considerably added to Lucy's celebrity was, the
marked notice and admiration of a man so high in rank
and ton as Lord Mauleverer. That personage, who still
retained much of a youthful mind and temper, and who
was in his nature more careless than haughty, preserved
little or no state in his intercourse with the social revel.
lers at Bath. He cared not whither he went, so that he
was in the train of the young beauty; and the most
fastidious nobleman of the English Court was seen in
every second and third rate set of a great watering-place,
the attendant, the flirt, and often the ridicule of the
daughter of an obscure and almost insignificant country
Squire. Despite the honour of so distinguished a lover,
and despite all the novelties of her situation, the pretty
head of Lucy Brandon was as yet, however, perfectly
unturned; and as for her heart, the only impression that
it had ever received, was made by that wandering guest
of the village rector, whom she had never again seen,
but who yet clung to her imagination, invested not only
with all the graces which in right of a singularly hand-
some person he possessed,—but with those to which he
never could advance a claim,-more dangerous to her
peace, from the very circumstance of their origin in her
fancy, not his merits.
They had now been some little time at Bath, and
Brandon's brief respite was pretty nearly expired, when
a public ball of uncommon and manifold attraction was
announced. It was to be graced not only by the presence
of all the surrounding families, but also by that of Royalty
itself; it being an acknowledged fact, that people dance
much better, and eat much more supper, when any rela-
tion to a King is present. -
“I must stay for this ball, Lucy,” said Brandon, who,
after spending the day with Lord Mauleverer, returned
home in a mood more than usually cheerful. “I must
stay for this one ball, Lucy, and witness your complete
triumph, even though it will be necessary to leave you
the very next morning.”
“ So soon!” cried Lucy.
“ So soon !" echoed the uncle, with a smile ; “ how
good you are to speak thus to an old valetudinarian,
whose company must have fatigued you to death; nav,
no pretty denials ! But the great object of my visit to
this place is accomplished: I have seen you, I have wit-
nessed your debût in the great world, with, I may say,


PAUL CLIFFORD.
159
more than a father's exultation, and I go back to my dry
pursuits with the satisfaction of thinking our old and
withered genealogical tree has put forth one blossom
worthy of its freshest day.”
“Uncle," said Lucy, reprovingly, and holding up her
taper finger with an arch smile, mingling with a blush,
in which the woman's vanity spoke unknown to herself.
“ And why that look, Lucy?" said Brandon.
6 Because--because-well, no matter! you have been
bred to that trade in which, as you say yourself, men tell
untruths for others, till they lose all truth for themselves.
But let us talk of you, not me;, are you really well
enough to leave us ?"
Simple and even cool as the words of Lucy's question,
when written,.appear; in her mouth, they took so tender,
so anxious a tone, that Brandon, who had no friend, nor
wife, nor child, nor any one in his household, in whom
interest in his health or welfare was as a thing of course,
and who was consequently wholly unaccustomed to the
accent of kindness, felt himself of a sudden touched
and stricken.
“ Why, indeed, Lucy,” said he, in a less artificial
voice than that in which he usually spoke, “I should
like still to profit by your cares, and forget my infirmi.
ties and pains in your society ; but I cannot ;-the tide
of events, like that of nature, waits not our pleasure !"
“But we may take our own time for setting sail!" said
Lucy.
“ Ay, this. comes of talking in metaphor,” rejoined
Brandon, smiling; “ They who begin it, always get the
worst of it. In plain words, dear Lucy, I can give no
more time to my own ailments. A lawyer cannot play
truant in term-time without—"
“Losing a few guineas!" said Lucy, interrupting him.
“ Worse than that,his practice and his name !!!
“ Better those than health and peace of mind.”
66 Out on you-No!” said Brandon, quickly, and al-
most fiercely;" We waste all the greenness and pith
of our life in striving to gain a distinguished slavery ;
and when it is gained, we must not think that an humble
independence would have been better! If we ever admit
that thought, what fools-what lavish fools we have
been !--No!” continued Brandon, after a momentary
pause, and in a tone milder and gayer, though not less
characteristic of the man's stubbornness of will-“ After


160
PAUL CLIFFORD.
losing all youth's enjoyments and manhood's leisure, in
order that in age, the mind-the all-conquering mind,
should break its way at last into the applauding opinions-
of men, I should be an effeminate idler, indeed, did I.
suffer-so long as its jarring parts hold together, or so
long as I have the power to command its members—this
weak body to frustrate the labour of its better and nobler
portion, and command that which it is ordained to serve."
Lucy knew not while she listened, half in fear, half in
admiration, to her singular relation, that at the very mo-
ment he thus spoke his disease was preying upon him
in one of its most relentless moods, without the power
of wringing from him a single outward token of his tor-
ture. But she wanted nothing to increase her pity and
affection for a man who, in consequence, perhaps, of his
ordinary surface of worldly and cool properties of tem-
perament, never failed to leave an indelible impression on
all who had ever seen that temperament broken through
by deeper, though often by more evil feelings.
“ Shall you go to Lady M 's rout?" asked Bran--
don, easily sliding back into common topics—“Lord
Mauleverer requested me to ask you:”
" That depends on you and my father !” said Lucy.
“If on me, I answer, yes!” said Brondon; “I like
hearing Mauleverer, especially among persons who do
not understand him ; there is a refined and subtle sar-
casm running through the commonplaces of his con-
versation, which cuts the good fools, like the invisible
sword in the fable, that lopped off heads, without occa-
sioning the owners any other sensation than a pleasing
and self-complacent titillation. How immeasurably su-
perior he is in manner and address to all we meet here;
does it not strike you ?"
“Yes-no--I can't say that it does exactly,” rejoined
Lucy
6 Is that confusion tender ?” thought Brandon.
“In a word,” continued Lucy, “Lord Mauleverer is
one whom I think pleasing, without fascination; and
amusing, without brilliancy. He is evidently accom--
plished in mind, and graceful in manner; and withal, the
most uninteresting person I ever met."
6 Women have not often thought so !" said Brandon..
“I cannot believe that they can think otherwise.”
A certain expression, partaking of scorn, played over
Brandon's. hard features. It was a noticeable trait in


PAUL CLIFFORD.
161
him, that while he was mast: anxious to impress Lucy.
with a favourable opinion of Lord Mauleverer, he was.
never quite able to mask a certain satisfaction at any jest
at the Earl's expense, or any opinion derogatory to his.
general character for pleasing the opposite sex ;. and this
satisfaction was no sooner conceived, than it was imme..
diately combated by the vexation he felt, that Lucy did
not seem to share his own desire that she should become
the wife of the courtier. There appeared, as if in that:
respect there was a contest in his mind between interest
on one hand, and private dislike, or contempt, on the
other.
“ You judge women wrongly!" said Brandon. “ Ladies.
never know each other; of all persons, Mauleverer is
best calculated to win them, and experience has proved,
my assertion. The proudest. lot I know for a woman,
would be the thorough conquest of Lord Mauleverer;
but it is impossible. He may be gallant, but he will.
never be subdued. He defies the whole female world,
and with justice and impunity. Enough of him. Sing
to me, dear Lucy."
The time for the ball approached, and Lucy, who was
a charming girl, and had nothing of the angel about her,
was sufficiently fond of gayety, danciag, music, and ad-
miration, to feel her heart beat high at the expectation,
of the event.
At last, the day itself came.. Brandon dined alone.
with Mauleverer, having made the arrangement, that hey,
with the Earl, was to join his brother and niece at the
ball. Mauleverer, who hated state, except on great
occasions, when no man displayed it with a better grace,
never suffered his servants to wait at dinner when he
was alone, or with one of his peculiar friends. The
attendants remained without, and were summoned at will:
by a bell laid beside the host.
The conversation was unrestrained...
“ I am perfectly certain, Brandon," said Lord Maule-
verer, “ that if you were to live tolerably well, you would
soon get the better of your nervous complaints. It is all
poverty of blood, believe me. Some more of the fins,
eh ?-NO!oh, hang your abstemiousness, it is
d d
unfriendly to eat so little! Talking of fins and friends-
heaven defend me from ever again forming an intimacy.
with a pedantic epicure, especially if he puns!”
“ Why-what has a pedant to do with fins ?"


162
PAUL CLIFFORD.
“ I will tell you-(Ah, this Madeira !) I suggested to
Lord Dareville, who affects the gourmand, what a capital
thing a dish all fins—(turbot's fins)-might be made.-
• Capital !' said he, in a rapture, •dine on it with me to.
morrow.' • Volontiers !' said I:-the next day, after
indulging in a pleasing reverie all the morning, as to the
manner in which Dareville's cook, who is not without
genius, would accomplish the grand idea, I betook my.
self punctually to my engagement. Would you believe
it ? when the cover was removed, the sacrilegious dog
of an Amphitryon had put into the dish Cicero de finibus.
• There is a work all fins!' said he."
• Atrocious jest !" exclaimed Brandon, solemnly.
“ Was it not? Whenever the gastronomists set up a
religious inquisition, I trust they will roast every impious
rascal who treats the divine mystery with levity. Pun
upon cooking, indeed! Apropos of Dareville, he is to
come into the administration."
“ You astonish me !" said Brandon, “ I never heard
that; I do n't know him. He has very little power; has
he any talent ?"
5 Yes, one very great one, acquired though!"
66 What is it?"
“ A pretty wife !"
“My Lord !” exclaimed Brandon, abruptly, and half
rising from his seat.
Mauleverer looked up hastily, and, on seeing the ex-
pression of his companion's face, coloured deeply; there
was a silence for some moments..
“ Tell me,” said Brandon, indifferently, helping him-
self to vegetables, for he seldom touched meat, and
a more amusing contrast can scarcely be conceived,
than that between the earnest epicurism of Mauleverer,
and the careless contempt of the sublime art manifested
by his guest;" tell me, you who necessarily know every
thing, whether the cabinet really is settled, whether you
are to have the garter, and mark the difference !)
the Judgeship."
“Why so, I imagine, it will be arranged ; viz. if you
will consent to hang up the rogues, instead of living by
the fools !”
“One may unite both !" returned Brandon, “but I
believe, in general, it is vire versâ ; for we live by the
rogues, and it is only the fools we are able to hang up.
You ask me if I will take the Judgeship. I would not


PAUL CLIFFORD.
163
no, I would rather cut my hand off(and the lawyer
spoke with great bitterness)-forsake my present career,
despite of all the obstacles that now encumber it, did I
think that this miserable body would suffer me, for two
years. longer, to pursue it.”
“ You shock me!” said Mauleverer, a little affected,
but nevertheless applying the cayenne to his cucumber
with his usual unerring nicety of tact ; “ you shock me,
but you are considerably better than you were.”
“ It is not"-continued Brandon, who was rather
speaking to himseif than to his friend" it is not that I
am unable to conquer the pain, and to master the recreant
nerves., but I feel myself growing weaker and weaker
beneath the continual exertion of my remaining powers,
and I shall die, before I have gained half my objects, if I
do not leave the labours which are literally tearing me
to pieces."
« But,” said Lord Mauleverer, who was the idlest of
men, “ the judgeship is not an easy sinecure.”
6 No! but there is less demand on the mind in that
station, than in my present one;"' and Brandon paused
before he continued. “ Candidly, Mauleverer, you do not
think they will deceive me! you do not think they mean
to leave me to this political death without writing Re-
surgam' over the hatchment ?"
“They dare not !” said Mauleverer, quaffing his fourth
glass of Madeira.
“Well! I have decided on my change of life,” said the
lawyer, with a slight sigh.
“ So have I on my change of opinion," chimed in the
Earl. “I will tell you what opinions seem to me like."
“ What ?" said Brandon, abstractedly.
“ Trees!" answered Mauleverer,.quaintly; “if they can
be made serviceable by standing, do n't part with a stick;
but when they are of that growth that sells well, or when:
ever they shut out a fine prospect, cut them down, and
pack them off by all manner of means! And now for
the second course.”
“I wonder!" said the Earl, when our political worthies
were again alone, " whether there ever existed a minister
who cared three straws for the people-many care for
thein.party, but as for the country-
" It is all fiddlestick!" added the lawyer, with more
significance than grace.
“Right; it is all fiddlestick, as you tersely express. it.


164
PAUL CLIFFORD.
King, Constitution, and Church, for ever! which, being
interpreted, means, first, King, or Crown influence, judge
ships, and garters ;-secondly, Constitution, or fees to
the lawyer-places to the statesman-laws for the
rich, and Game Laws for the poor ;--thirdly, Church, or
livings for our younger sons, and starvings for their
curates!”
“ Ha, ha !" said Brandon, laughing sardonically; "we
know human nature !"
“ And how it may be gulled !" quoth the courtier.-
“Here's a health to your niece! and may it not be long.
before you hail her as your friend's bride!"
“ Bride, et cetera," said Brandon, with a sneer, meant
only for his own satisfaction. “But, mark me, my dear
Lord, do not be too sure of her she is a singular girl,
and of more independence than the generality of wo-
men. She will not think of your rank and station in.
estimating you; she will think only of their owner; and
pardon me if I suggest to you, who know the sex so,
well, one plan that it may not be unadvisable for you to
pursue. Do n't let her fancy you entirely hers; rouse
her jealousy, pique her pride-let her think you uncon-
querable, and unless she is unlike all women, she will
want to conquer you.”
The Earl smiled. “I must take my chance !” said
he, with a confident tone.
“ The hoary coxcomb!" muttered Brandon, between
his teeth : “now will his own folly spoil all.”
" And that reminds me," continued Mauleverer, “ that
time wanes, and dinner is not over; let us not hurry,
but let us be silent, to enjoy the more-these truffles in
champaign-do taste them, they would raise the dead."
The lawyer smiled and accepted the kindness, though
he left the delicacy untouched; and Mauleverer, whose
soul was in his plate, saw not the heartless rejection.
Meanwhile, the youthful beauty had already entered
the theatre of pleasure, and was now seated with the
Squire, at the upper end of the half-filled ball-room.
A gay lady of the fashion of that time, and of that:
half-and-half rank to which belonged the aristocracy of
Bath,- one of those curious persons we meet with in the
admirable novels of Miss Burney, as appertaining to the
order of fine ladies,-made the trio with our heiress and
her father, and pointed out to them by name the various
characters that entered the apartments. She was still


PAUL CLIFFORD.
165
in the full tide of scandal, when an unusual sensation
was visible in the environs of the door; three strangers
of marked mien, gay dress, and an air which, though dif-
fering in each, was in all alike remarkable for a sort of
" dashing” assurance, made their entré. One was of
uncommon height, and possessed of an exceedingly fine
head of hair; another was of a more quiet and unpre-
tending aspect, but, nevertheless, he wore upon his face
a supercilious, yet not ill-humoured expression; the
third was many years younger than his companions,
strikingly handsome in face and figure, altogether of a
better taste in dress, and possessing a manner that,
though it had equal ease, was not equally noticeable for
impudence and swagger.
“Who can those be ?" said Lucy's female friend, in a
wondering tone, “ I never saw them before-they must
be great people they have all the airs of persons of qua-
lity!- Dear how odd, that I should not know them !"
While the good lady, who, like all good ladies of that
stamp, thought people of quality had airs, was thus la-
menting her ignorance of the new comers, a general
whisper of a similar import was already circulating
round the room ;--- Who are they?" and the universal
answer was “ Can't tell-never saw them before !"
· Our strangers seemed by no means displeased with
the evident and immediate impression they had made.
They stood in the most conspicuous part of the room,
enjoying among theniselves a low conversation, fre-
quently broken by fits of laughter; tokens, we need not
add, of their supereminently good breeding. The beauti-
ful figure of the youngest stranger, and the simple and
seemingly unconscious grace of his attitudes, were not,
however, unworthy of the admiration he excited; and
even his laughter, rude as it really was, displayed so
dazzling a set of teeth, and was accompanied by such
brilliant eyes, that before he had been ten minutes in the
room, there was scarcely a young lady under thirty-nine
not disposed to fall in love with him.
Apparently heedless of the various remarks which
reached their ears, our strangers, after they had from
their station sufficiently surveyed the beauties of the
ball, strolled arm-in-arm through the rooms. Having
sauntered through the ball and card-rooms, they passed
the door that led to the entrance passage, and gazed,
with other loiterers, upon the new comers ascending the


166
PAUL CLIFFORD.
stairs. Here the two younger strangers renewed their
whispered conversation, while the tallest one, carelessly
leaning against the wall, employed himself for a few mo
ments in thrusting his fingers through his hair. In
finishing this occupation, the peculiar state of his ruffles
forced itself upon the observation of our gentleman, who,
after gazing for some moments on an envious rent in the
right ruffle, muttered some indistinct words, like, “ the
cock of that confounded pistol,” and then tucked up the
mutilated ornament with a peculiarly nimble motion of
the fingers of his left hand : the next moment, diverted
by a new care, the stranger applied his digital members
to the arranging and caressing of a remarkably splen-
did broach, set in the basom of a shirt, the rude texture
of which formed a singular contrast with the magnifi-
cence of the embellishment, and the fineness of the one
ruffle suffered by our modern Hyperion to make its apo
pearance beneath his cinnamon-coloured coat-sleeve.
These little personal arrangements completed, and a
dazzling snuff-box released from the confinement of a
side-pocket, tapped thrice, and lightened of two pinches
of its titillating luxury, the stranger now, with the guar-
dian eye of friendship, directed a searching glance to
the dress of his friends. There, all appeared meet for
his strictest scrutiny, save, indeed, that the supercilious-
looking stranger having just drawn forth his gloves, the
lining of his coat-pocket-which was rather soiled into
the bargain-had not returned to its internal station; the
tall stranger, seeing this little inelegance, kindly thrust
three fingers with a sudden and light dive into his friend's
pocket, and effectually repulsed the forwardness of the
intrusive lining. The supercilious stranger no sooner
felt the touch, than he started back, and whispered his
officious companion,
“ What! among friends, Ned! fie, now; curb the na-
ture in thee for one night, at least.”
Before he of the flowing locks had time to answer, the
master of the ceremonies, who had for the last three
minutes been eyeing the strangers through his glass,
stepped forward with a sliding bow, and the handsome
gentleman, taking upon himself the superiority and pre-
cedence over his comrades, was the first to return the
courtesy. He did this with so good a grace, and so
pleasing an expression of countenance, that the censor
of bows was charmed at once, and with a second and


PAUL CLIFFORD.
16
more profound salutation, announced himself and his
office.
“ You would like to dance, probably, gentlemen ?" he
asked, glancing at each, but directing his words to the
one who had prepossessed him.
“ You are very good," said the comely stranger, “and
for my part, I shall be extremely indebted to you for
the exercise of your powers in my behalf; allow me to
return with you to the ball-room, and I can there point
out to you the objects of my especial admiration.”
The master of the ceremonies bowed as before, and
he and his new acquaintance strolled into the ball-room,
followed by the two comrades of the latter.
“Have you been long in Bath, sir ?" inquired the
monarch of the rooms.
“No, indeed! we only arrived this evening !"
“ From London ?"
“No'; we made a little tour across the country.”
* Ah! very pleasant this fine weather.”
“ Yes; especially in the evenings.”
« Oho!-romantic !" thought the man of balls, as he
rejoined, aloud, “Why, the nights are agreeable, and the
moon is particularly favourable to us.”
“ Not always !” quoth the stranger.
** True-true-the night before last was dark; but in
general, surely the moon has been very bright.”
The stranger was about to answer, but checked him-
self, and simply bowed his head as in assent.
“ I wonder who they are ?" thought the master of the
ceremonies. “ Pray, sir,” said he, in a low tone, “is that
gentleman, that tall gentleman, any way related to Lord
- ? I cannot but think I see a family like-
ness.”
“Not in the least related to his Lordship,” answered
the stranger; “but he is of a family that have made a
noise in the world; though he (as well as my other
friend) is merely a commoner !” laying a stress on the
last word.
“Nothing, sir, can be more respectable than a com-
moner of family,” returned the polite Mr. ****, with
a bow.
“ I agree with you, sir," answered the stranger, with
another. “But, heavens !" and the stranger started, for
at that moment his eye caught for the first time, at
the far end of the room, the youthful and brilliant coun-


168
PAUL CLIFFORD.
tenance of Lucy Brandon,“ do I see rightly, or is that
Miss Brandon ?
“ It is, indeed, that lovely young lady," said Mr.-
“I congratulate you on knowing one so admired. I
suppose that you, being blessed with her acquaintance,
do not need the formality of my introduction.”
“ Umph !” said the stranger, rather shortly and un-
courteously—“No! Perhaps you had better present
me !"
“By what name, shall I have that honour, sir?" dis-
creetly inquired the nomenclator.
“ Clifford !" answered the stranger; “ Captain Clif-
ford !"
Upon this, the prim master of the ceremonies, thread-
ing his path through the now fast-filling room, ap-
proached towards Lucy to obey Mr. Clifford's request.
Meanwhile, that gentleman, before he followed the steps
of the tutelary spirit of the place, paused, and said to
his friends, in a tone careless yet not without command,
“ Hark ye, gentlemen, oblige me by being as civil and
silent as ye are able, and do n't thrust yourselves upon
me, as you are accustomed to do, whenever you see no
opportunity of indulging me with that honour with the
least show of propriety!” So saying, and waiting no
reply, Mr. Clifford hastened after the master of the cere-
monies.
“Our friend grows mighty imperious !" said Long
Ned, whom our readers have already recognised in the
tall stranger.
“ 'T is the way with your rising geniuses,” answered
the moralizing Augustus Tomlinson; "suppose we go
to the card-room, and get up a rubber?”
“Well thought of,” said Ned, yawning,-a thing he
was very apt to do in society; " and I wish nothing worse
to those who try our rubbers, than that they may be well
cleaned by them. Upon this witticism the colossus of
roads glancing towards the glass, strutted off, arm-in-
arm with his companion, to the card-room.
During this short conversation the re-introduction of
Mr. Clifford (the stranger of the rectory and deliverer
of Dr. Slopperton) to Lucy Brandon had been effected,
and the hand of the heiress was already engaged (ac-
cording to the custom of that time) for the two ensuing
dances.
It was about twenty minutes after the above presenta.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
169
is tha
und us
three
Tith the
tion had taken place, that Lord Mauleverer and William
Brandon entered the rooms, and the buzz created by the
appearance of the noted Peer and the distinguished law.
yer had scarcely subsided, before the royal personage
experted to grace “the festive scene" (as the newspa-
pers say of a great room with plenty of miserable-looking
people in it) arrived. The most disagreeable and the
most attractive persons in Europe may be found among
the royal family of England. His present Majesty, for
instance, among the one class; and as for the other, what
say you to his Royal Highness the Duke of * ****; a
man who, without flattery, may be said to unite the ap-
pearance of the Hun with the soul of the Vandal. The
great personage then at Bath belonged to the more pieas-
ing class of royalty, and in consequence of certain po-
litical intrigues, he wished, at that time especially, to
make himself as popular as possible. Having gone the
round of the old ladies, and assured them, as the Court
Journal assures the old ladies at this day, that they were
“morning stars” and “swan-like wonders," the indi-
vidual espied Brandon, and immediately beckoned to him
with a familiar gesture. The smooth but saturnine law-
yer approached the royal presence with the manner that
peculiarly distinguished him, and which blended, in no
ungraceful mixture, a species of stiffness, that passed
with the crowd for native independence, with a supple
insinuation, that was usually deemed the token of latent
benevolence of heart. There was something, indeed, in
Brandon's address, that always pleased the great ; and
they liked him the better, because, though he stood on no
idle political points, mere differences in the view taken
of a hairbreadth-such as a corn law, or a Catholic bill;
alteration in the church, or a reform in parliament; yet
he invariably talked so like a man of honour- (except
when with Mauleverer)-that his urbanity secmed at-
tachment to individuals, and his concessions to power,
sacrifices of private opinion for the sake of obliging his
friends.
“I am very glad, indeed,” said the royal personage,
" to see Mr. Brandon looking so much better. Never was
the Crown in greater want of his services, and, if rumour
speak true, they will soon be required in another depart-
ment of his profession.”
Brandon bowed, and answered :-
“ So please your Royal Highness, they will always be
Vol. 1.-H
in the
Pono
trend


170
PAUL CLIFFORD.
at the command of a King from whom I have experi-
cnced such kindness-in any capacity for which His Ma-
jesty may deem them fitting.”
" It is true, then !” said his Royal Highness, signifi-
cantly—“I congratulate you! The quiet dignity of the
bench must seem to you a great change, after a career so
busy and restless ?”
“I fear I shall feel it so at first, your Royal Highness,"
answered Brandon, “for I like even the toil of my pro-
fession, and at this moment when I am in full practice-
it more than ever-but-(checking himself at once)-His
Majesty's wishes, and my satisfaction in complying with
them, are more than sufficient to remove any mo-
mentary regret I might otherwise have felt in quitting
those toils which have now become to me a second
nature."
“ It is possible,” rejoined the royal individual, “that
His Majesty took into consideration the delicate state of
health, which, in common with the whole public, I grieve
to see, the papers have attributed to one of the most dis-
tinguished ornaments of the bar.”
"So please your Royal Highness," answered Brandon,
coolly—and with a smile which the most piercing eye
could not have believed the mask to the agony then
gnawing at his nerves,-" it is the interest of my rivals
to exaggerate the little ailments of a weak constitution.
I thank Providence that I am now entirely recovered, and
at no time of my life have I been less unable to discharge
-so far as my native and mental incapacities will allow
—the duties of any occupation, however arduous. Nay,
as the brute grows accustomed to the mill, so have I
grown wedded to business—and even the brief relaxa-
tion I have now allowed myself, seems to me rather irk-
some than pleasurable.”
“I rejoice to hear you speak thus;" answered His
Royal Highness, warmly—“and I trust for many years,
and," added he, in a lower tone-"in higher offices more
immediately connected with the State, that we may profit
by your talents. The times are those in which many
occasions occur, that oblige all true servants of the Con-
stitution to quit niinor employments for that great con-
stitutional one that concerns us all, the highest, and the
meanest; and—(the royal voice sunk still lower)--I feel
justified in assuring you, that the office of Chief Justice
alone is not considered by his Majesty as a sufficient re-


PAUL CLIFFORD.
171
ward for your generous sacrifice of present ambition to
the difficulties of Government.”
Brandon's proud heart swelled, and at that moment the
veriest pains of hell would scarcely have been felt. .
While the aspiring schemer was thus agreeably en-
gaged, Mauleverer, sliding through the crowd with that
grace which charmed every one, old and young, and ad-
dressing to all he knew some lively or affectionate re-
mark, made his way to the dancers, among whom he had
just caught a glimpse of Lucy.-"I wonder,” he thought,
** whom she is dancing with ? I hope it is that ridicu.
lous fellow, Mossop, who tells a good story against him-
self; or that handsome ass, Belmont, who looks at his
own legs, instead of seeming to have eyes for no one
but his partner. Ah! if Tarquin had but known women
as well as I do, he would have had no reason to be rough
with Lucretia. 'Tis a thousand pities, that experience
comes to us in women, as in the world, just when it
begins to be no longer of use to us!"
As he made these moral reflections, Mauleverer gained
the dancers, and beheld Lucy listening, with downcast
eyes, and cheeks that evidently blushed, to a young man,
whom Mauleverer acknowledged at once to be one of the
best-looking fellows he had ever seen. The stranger's
countenance, despite an extreme darkness of complexiora,
was, to be sure, from the great regularity of the features,
rather effeminate; but, on the other hand, his figure, though
slender and graceful, betrayed, to an experienced eye, an
extraordinary proportion of sinew and muscle: and even
the dash of effeminacy in the countenance was accom-
panied by so mnanly and frank an air, and was so perfectly
free from all coxcombry or self-conceit, that it did not in
the least decrease the prepossessing effect of his appear-
ance. An angry and bitter pang shot across that portion
of Mauleverer's frame which the Earl thought fit, for want
of another name, to call his heart. “How cursedly
pleased she looks !” muttered he. “By heaven! that
stolen glance under the left eyelid dropped as suddenly as
it is raised and he-ha!--how firmly he holds that little
hand. I think I see him paddle with it; and then the
dog's earnest, intent look-and she all blushes ! though
she dare not look up to meet his gaze, feeling it by intui-
tion.--Oh! the demure, modest, shamefaced hypocrite!
How silent she is !--She can prate enough to me. I
would give my promised garter if she would but talk to
H2


PAUL CLIFFORD.
173
“ It is let me see-Oh! it is a Captain Clifford, my
Lord! a very young man, my Lord! Has your Lordship
never met him ?”
“Never! who is he? one under your more especial
patronage ?" said the Earl, smiling.
“Nay, indeed !" answered the master of the ceremo-
nies, with a simper of gratification: “scarcely know
who he is yet; the Captain only made his appearance
here to night for the first time. He came with two other
gentlemen: Ah: there they are !” and he pointed to the
Earl's scrutinizing attention, the elegant forms of Mr.
Augustus Tomlinson, and Mr. Ned Pepper, just emerging
from the card-rooms. The swagger of the latter gen-
tleman was so peculiarly importani, that Mauleverer,
angry as he was, could scarcely helplaughing. The master
of the ceremonies noted the Earl's countenance, and re-
marked, that “ that fine-looking man seemed disposed to
give himself airs !”
“ Judging from the gentleman's appearance,” said the
Earl, dryly (Ned's face, to say truth, did betoken his affec-
tion for the bottle), “ I should imagine that he was much
more accustomed to give himself thorough draughts."
“Ah!" renewed the arbiter elegantiarum,---who had
not heard Mauleverer's observation, which was uttered
in a very low voice,-“Ah! they seem real dashers !"
“ Dashers !” repeated Mauleverer; “true, haber-dash-
ers!'"
Long Ned, now, having in the way of his profession
acquitted himself tolerably well at the card-table, thought
he had purchased the right to parade himseif through
the rooms, and show the ladies what stuff a Pepper could
be made of.
Leaning with his left hand on Tomlinson's arm, and
employing the right in fanning himself furiously with his
huge chapeau bras, the lengthy adventurer stalked slowly
along—now setting out one leg jauntily-now the other
-and ogling “ the ladies” with a kind of Irish look, viz.
a look between a wink and a stare.
Released from the presence of Clifford, who kept a
certain check on his companions, the apparition of Ned
became glaringly conspicuous; and wherever he passed,
a universal whisper succeeded.
“ Who can he be ?" said the widow Matemore; “'t is a
droll creature, but what a head of hair !"
"For my part," answered the spinster Sneerall, “ I


174
PAUL CLIFFORD.
think he is a linen-draper in disguise; for I heard him
talk to his companion of tape.'
“ Well, well,” thought Mauleverer, “ it would be but
kind to seek out Brandon, and hint to him in what com-
pany his niece seems to have fallen !" And so thinking,
he glided to the corner where, with a gray-headed old
politician, the astute lawyer was conning the affairs of
Europe.
“ In the interim, the second dance had ended, and
Clifford was conducting Lucy to her seat, each charmed
with the other, when he found himself abruptly tapped
on the back, and turning round in alarm-for such taps
were not unfamiliar to him he saw the cool counte-
nance of Long Ned, with one finger sagaciously laid
beside the nose.
“How now?” said Clifford, between his ground teeth,
“ did I not tell thee to put that huge bulk of thine as far
from me as possible?""
“Umph !" grunted Ned, “if these are my thanks, I
may as well keep my kindness to myself; but know
you, my kid, that Lawyer Brandon is here, peering
through the crowd, at this very moment, in order to catch
a glimpse of that woman's face of thine ?”
“Ha!" answered Clifford, in a very quick tone, “be-
gone then! I will meet you without the rooms imme-
diately."
Clifford now turned to his partner, and bowing very
low, in reality to hide his face from those sharp eyes
which had once seen it in the court of Justice Burnflat,
said, “I trust, Madam, I shall have the honour to meet
you again ;-is it, if I may be allowed to ask, with your
celebrated uncle that you are staying, or "
“With my father," answered Lucy, concluding the
sentence Clifford had left unfinished; but my uncle has
been with us, though I fear he leaves us to-morrow."
Clifford's eyes sparkled; he made no answer, but,
bowing again, receded into the crowd, and disappeared.
Several times that night did the brightest eyes in Somer-
setshire rove anxiously round the rooms in search of
our hero, but he was seen no more.
It was on the stairs that Clifford encountered his com.
rades; taking an arm of each, he gained the door with-
out any adventure worth noting-save that, being kept
back by the crowd for a few moments, the moralizing
Augustus Tomlinson, who honoured the inoderate


PAUL CLIFFORD
175
Whigs by enrolling himself among their number, took
up, pour passer le tems, a tall gold-headed cane, and
weighing it across his finger with a musing air, said,
“ Alas! among our supporters we uſten meet heads as
heavy-but of what a different metal !” The crowd
now permitting, Augustus was walking away with his
companions, and in that absence of mind characteritisc
of philosophers, unconsciously bearing with him the
gold-headed object of his reflection, when a stately foot-
man stepping up to him, said, “Sir, my cane!”
“ Cane, fellow !" said Tomlinson. " Ah, I am so ab-
sent-here is thy cane.--Only think of my carrying off
the man's cane, Ned! ha! ha!"
“ Absent, indeed !” grunted a knowing chairman,
watching the receding figures of the three gentlemen ;
6 Body o me! but it was the cane that was about to be
- absent.”
CHAPTER XVIII.
Whackum.--"My dear rogues, dear boys, Bluster and Dingboy! you are
the bravest fellows that ever scoured yet!"
SHADWELL'S “Scourers."
Cato the Thessalian was wont to say, that some things may be done un-
justly, that many things may be done justly.
LORD Bacon (being a justification of every rascality)
ALTHOUGH our three worthies had taken unto them-
selves a splendid lodging in Milsom-street, which to
please Ned was over a hair-dresser's shop; yet, instead
of returning thither, or repairing to such taverns as
might seem best befitting their fashion and garb, they
struck at once from the gay parts of the town, and tar-
ried not till they reached a mean-looking alehouse in a
remote suburb.
The door was opened to them by an elderly lady, and
Clifford, stalking before his companions into an apart-
ment at the back of the house, asked if the other gentie-
men were come yet.
“No!" returned the dame. “Old Mr. Bags came in
about ten minutes ago; but hearing more work might be
done, he went out again."


176
· PAUL CLIFFORD.
“Bring the lush and the pipes, old blone !" cried Ned,
throwing himself on a bench; “ we are never at a loss
for company!"
“ You, indeed, never can be, who are always insepara-
bly connected with the object of your admiration," said
Tomlinson, dryly, and taking up an old newspaper. Ned,
who, though choleric, was a capital fellow, and could
bear a joke on himself, smiled, and drawing forth a little
pair of scissors, began trimrning his nails.'
"Curse me," said he, after a momentary silence, “if
this is not a devilish deal pleasanter than playing the
fine gentleman in that great room with a rose in one's
button-hole! What say you, Master Lovett ?"
Clifford (as henceforth we shall, despite his other
aliases, denominate our hero), who had thrown himself
at full length on a bench at the far end of the room, and
who seemed plunged into a sullen reverie, now looked
up for a moment, and then turning round and presenting
the dorsal part of his body to Long Ned, muttered,
“ Pish!"
"Harkye, Master Lovett !” said Long Ned, colouring,
“I do n't know what has come over you of late ; but I
would have you to learn that gentlemen are entitled to
courtesy and polite behaviour; and so, d'ye see, if you
ride your high horse upon me, splice my extremities, if
I won't have satisfaction!”
“ Hist, man, be quiet,” said Toinlinson, philosophically
snuffing the candles
“For companions to quarrel,
Is extremely immoral.
Don't you see that the Captain is in a reverie? what good
man ever loves to be interrupted in his meditations ?-even
Alfred the Great could not bear it! Perhaps, at this mo-
ment, with the true anxiety of a worthy chief, the Cap-
tain is designing something for our welfare !"
“ Captain, indeed," muttered Long Ned, darting a
wrathful look at Clifford, who had not deigned to pay any
attention to Mr. Pepper's threat; “ for my part I cannot
conceive what was the matter with us, when we chose
this green slip of the gallows-tree for our captain of the
district. To be sure, he did very well at first, and that
robbery of the old Lord was not ill-planned-but
lately –
“Nay, nay," quoth Augustus, interrupting the gigantic


PAUL CLIFFORD.
1997
grumbler, “the nature of man is prone to discontent.
Allow that our present design of setting up the gay
Lothario, and trying our chances at Bath for an heiress,
is owing as much to Lovett's promptitude as to our in-
vention.”
" And what good will come of it ?" returned Ned, as
he lighted his pipe : "answer me that? Was I not dressed
as fine as a lord-and did not I walk three times up and
down that great room without being a jot the better for it?"
“Ah, but you know not how many secret conquests
you may have made : you cannot win a prize by looking
upon it."
*" Humph !" grunted Ned, applying himself discon-
tentedly to the young existence of his pipe.
“ As for the Captain's partner," renewed Tomlinson,
who, maliciously delighted in exciting the jealousy of the
handsome “ tax-collector ;" for that was the epithet by
which Augustus thought proper to entitle himself and
companions-“I will turn Tory if she be not already
half in love with him; and did you hear the old gentle-
man who cut into our rubber say what a fine fortune she
had ? Faith, Ned, it is lucky for us two, that we all
agreed to go shares in our marriage speculations; I
fancy the worthy Captain will think it a bad bargain for
himself.”
“I am not so sure of that, Mr. Tomlinson," said Long
Ned, sourly eyeing his comrade.
“ Some women may be caught by a smooth skin and a
showy manner, but real masculine beauty,-eyes, colour,
and hair,- Mr. Tomlinson, must ultimately make its way
-so hand me the brandy, and cease your jaw.”
“ Well, well,” said 'Tomlinson, “I'll give you a toast
The prettiest girl in England ;'--and that's Miss
Brandon !”
“ You shall give no such toast, sir !” said Clifford,
starting from the bench-“What the devil is Miss Bran-
don to you?-And now, Ned,”—(seeing that the tall hero
looked on him with an unfavourable aspect,)“here's
my hand, forgive me if I was uncivil. Tomlinson will
tell you in a maxim, men are changeable. Here's to
your health, and it shall not be my fault, gentlemen, if
we have not a merry evening!"
This speech, short as it was, met with great applause
from the two friends, and Clifford, as president, stationed
himself in a huge chair at the head of the table. Scarcely
H 3


178
PAUL CLIFFORD.
had he assumed this dignity, before the door opened, and
half-a-dozen of the gentlemen confederates trooped some-
what noisily into the apartment.
“ Softly, softly, Messieurs," said the president, reco-
vering all his constitutional gayety, yet blending it with
a certain negligent command; “respect for the chair, if
you please! 't is the way with all assemblies where the
public purse is a matter of deferential interest !"
“ Hear him!” cried Tomlinson.
“ What, my old friend Bays!" said the president,
“ you have not come empty-handed, I will swear; your
honest face is like the table of contents to the good things
in your pockets !"
“Ah, Captain Clifford,” said the veteran, groaning, and
shaking his reverend head, “I have seen the day when
there was not a lad in England forked so largely, so com-
prehensively-like, as I did. But, as King Lear says at
Common Garden, I be's old now!'”
“But your zeal is as youthful as ever, my fine fellow,"
said the Captain soothingly; "and if you do not clean
out the public as thoroughly as heretofore, it is not the
fault of your inclinations."
“No, that it is not !" cried the “ Tax-Collectors” unani-
inously ; “ And if ever a pocket is to be picked neatly,
quietly, and effectually," added the complimentary Clifford,
"I do not know to this day, throughout the three kingdoms,
a neater, quieter, and more effective set of fingers than
Old Bags's !"
The veteran bowed disclaimingly, and took his seat,
among the heartfelt good-wishes of the whole assemblage.
“And now, gentlemen,” said Clifford, as soon as the
revellers had provided themselves with their wonted lux.
uries; potatory and fuimous, “let us hear your adven-
tures, and rejoice our eyes with their produce. The gal-
lant Attie shall begin-but first a toast, May those who
leap from a hedge never leap from a tree !!”
This toast being drunk with enthusiastic applause,
Fighting Attie began the recital of his little history.
* You sees, Captain," said he, putting himself in a
martial position, and looking Clifford full in the face,
" that I'm not addicted to much blarney. Little cry and
much wool is my motto. At ten o'clock, A. M. saw the
enemy-in the shape of a Doctor of Divinity. • Blow
me,' says I to Old Bags, .but I'll do his reverence !-
* Blow me,' says Old Bags, but you sha'n't--you 'll have


PAUL CLIFFORD.
179
us scragged if you touches the Church.'-'My grand-
mother!' says I. Bags tells the pals-all in a fuss
about it-what care I?-I puts on a decent dress, and
goes to the Doctor as a decayed soldier, wot supplies the
shops in the Turning line. His reverence-a fat jolly
dog as ever you see--was at dinner over a fine roast pig.
So I tells him I have some bargains at home for him.
Splice me, if the Doctor did not think he had got a prize!
so he puts on his boots, and he comes with me to my
house. But when I gets him into a lane, out come my
pops. "Give up, Doctor,' says I; others must share the
goods of the Church now.' You has no idea what a row
he made: but I did the thing, and there's an end on 't."
“ Bravo, Attie!" cried Clifford, and the word echoed
round the board. Attie put a purse on the table, and the
next gentleman was called to confession.
“It skills not, boots not,” gentlest of readers, to re-
cord each of the narratives that now followed one another.
Old Bags, in especial, preserved his well-earned reputa-
tion, by emptying six pockets, which had been filled
with every possible description of petty valuables.
Peasant and prince appeared alike to have come under
his hands; and, perhaps, the good old man had done in
one town more towards effecting an equality of goods
among different ranks, than all the Reformers, from
Cornwall to Carlisle. Yet so keen was his appetite for
the sport, that the veteran appropriator absolutely burst
into tears at not having " forked more.”
“I love a warm-hearted enthusiasm,” cried Clifford,
handling the moveables, while he gazed lovingly on the
ancient purloiner;"May new cases never teach us to
forget Old Bags !"
As soon as this “sentiment” had been duly drunk,
and Mr. Bagshot had dried his tears and applied himself
to his favourite drink-which, by-the-way, was “ blue
ruin,”-the work of division took place. The discretion
and impartiality of the Captain in this arduous part of
his duty attracted universal admiration; and each gen-
tleman having carefully pouched his share, the youthful
president hemmed thrice, and the society became aware
of a purposed speech.
“Gentlemen !” began Clifford, and his main supporter,
the sapient Augustus, shouted out • Hear!'—“Gentle-
men, you all know that when, some months ago, you
were pleased, -partly at the instigation of Gentleman


180
PAUL CLIFFORD.
George, -God bless him !-partly from the exaggerated
good opinion expressed of me by my friends,—to elect
me to the high honour of the command of this district;
I myself was by no means ambitious to assume that
rank, which I knew well was far beyond my merits, and
that responsibility, which I knew with equal certainty
was too: weighty for my powers. Your voices, however,
overruled my own, and as Mr. Muddlepud, the great me-
taphysician, in that excellent paper the Asinæum, was
wont to observe, “the susceptibilities, innate, extensible,
incomprehensible, and eternal,' existing in my bosom,
were infinitely more powerful than the shallow sugges-
tions of reason that ridiculous thing which all wise
men and judicious Asinæans sedulously stifle."
* Plague take the man,, what is he talking about ?" said
Long Ned, who, we have seen, was of an envious temper,
in a whisper to Old Bags. Old Bags shook his head.
“ In a word, gentlemen," renewed Clifford, “ your
kindness overpowered me; and despite my cooler incli.
nations, I accepted your flattering proposal. Since then
I have endeavoured, so far as I have been able, to advance
your interests ;, I have kept a vigilant eye upon all my
neighbours ; I have, from county to county, established
numerous correspondents;, and our exertions have been
carried on with a promptitude that has ensured success.
“Gentlemen, I do not wish to boast ; but on these
nights of periodical meetings, when every quarter brings
us to go halves when we meet in private to discuss the
affairs of the public-show our earnings, as it were, in
privy-council, and divide them amicably, as it were, in
the cabinet-( Hear! hear!' from Mr. Tomlinson),-it
is customary for your Captain for the time being to re-
mind you of his services, engage your pardon for his
deficiencies, and your good wishes for his future exer-
tions.-Gentlemen! has it ever been said of Paul Lovett
that he heard of a prize and forgot to tell you of his
news ?-(Never! never!' loud cheering.)-Has it ever
been said of him that he sent others to seize the booty,
and stayed at home to think how it should be spent ?
(No! no! repeated cheers.)-Has it ever been said of
him that he took less share than his due of your danger,
and more of your guineas ?-(Cries in the negative, ac-
companied with vehement applause.)-Gentlemen, I
thank you for these flattering and audible testimonials in
my favour; but the points on which I have dwelt, how-


PAUL CLIFFORD.
181
ever necessary to my honour, would prove but little for
my merits; they might be worthy notice in your com-
rade, you demand more subtle duties in your chief.
Gentlemen! has it ever been said of Paul Lovett that he
sent out brave men on forlorn hopes ? that he hazarded
your own heads by rash attempts in acquiring pictures
of King George's ? that zeal, in short, was greater in
him than caution ? or that his love of a quid* ever made
him neglectful of your just aversion to a quod ?+-(Una-
nimous cheering.)
“Gentlemen, since I have had the honour to preside
over your welfare, Fortune, which favours the bold, has
not been unmerciful to you! But three of our com-
panions have been missed from our peaceful festivities.
One, gentlemen, I myself expelled from our corps for
ungentlemanlike practices; he picked pockets of foglest
--it was a vulgar employment. Some of you, gentle-
men, have done the same for amusement-Jack Little-
fork did it for occupation. I expostulated with him in
public and in private ; Mr. Pepper cut his society; Mr.
Tomlinson read him an essay on Real Greatness of Soul:
all was in vain. He was pumped by the mob for the
theft of a bird's-eye wipe. The fault I had borne with
the detection was unpardonable: I expelled him.-
Who's here so base as would be a fogle hunter ? if any,
speak, for him have I offended! Who's here so rude
as would not be a gentleman ? if any, speak, for him
have I offended! I pause for a reply! What, none !
then none have I offended.--(Loud cheers.)-Gentlemen,
I may truly add, that I have done no more to Jack Little-
fork than you should do to Paul Lovett! The next
vacancy in our ranks was occasioned by the loss of
Patrick Blunderbull. You know, gentlemen, the vehe-
ment exertions that I made to save that misguided crea-
ture, whom I had made exertions no less earnest to in-
struct. But he chose to swindle under the name of the
• Honourable Captain Smico;' the Peerage gave him the
lie at once; his case was one of aggravation, and he was
so remarkably ugly, that he created no interest.' He
left us for a foreign exile; and if, as a man, I lament him,
I confess to you, gentlemen, as a “Tax-Collector,' I am
easily consoled.
“Our third loss must be fresh in your memory. Peter
* Quid--a guinea.
Quod—a prison.
Handkerchiefs.


182
PAUL CLIFFORD.
Popwell, as bold a fellow as ever breathed, is no more !"
--(a movement in the assembly,)-“Peace be with him!
He died on the field of battle; shot dead by a Scotch
Colonel, whom poor Popwell thought to rob of nothing
with an empty pistol. His memory, Gentlemen-in
solemn silence!
“ These make the catalogue of our losses,”—(resumed
the youthful chief, so soon as the red cup had crowned
the memory' of Peter Popwell,)—“I am proud, even in
sorrow, to think that the blame of those losses rests not
with me. And now, friends and followers! Gentlemen
of the Road, the Street, the Theatre, and the Shop!
Prigs, Toby-men, and Squires of the Cross! according
to the laws of our Society, I resign into your hands that
power which for two quarterly terms you have confided
to mine, ready to sink into your ranks as a comrade, nor
unwilling to renounce the painful honour I have borne;
-borne with much infirmity, it is true; but at least, with
a sincere desire to serve that cause with which you have
intrusted me.”
So saying, the Captain descended from his chair, amid
the most uproarious applause; and as soon as the first
burst had partially subsided, Augustus Tomlinson, rising,
with one hand in his breeches' pocket and the other
stretched out, said:
“Gentlemen, 1 move that Paul Lovett be again chosen
as our Captain for the ensuing term of three months.-
(Deafening cheers.)-Much might I say about his sur-
passing merits, but why dwell upon that which is obvious!
Life is short! Why should speeches be long? Our
lives, perhaps, are shorter than the lives of other men:
why should not our harangues be of a suitable brevity?
Gentlemen, I shall say but one word in favour of my
excellent friend; of mine, say I ? ay, of mine, of yours.
He is a friend to all of us! A prime minister is not
more useful to his followers, and more burdensome to
the public, than, I am proud to say, is-Paul Lovett! -
(Loud plaudits.)-What I shall urge in his favour is
simply this. The man whom opposite parties unite in
praising, must have supereminent merit. Of all your
companions, gentlemen, Paul Lovett is the only man,
who to that merit can advance a claim.-(Applause.)
You all know, gentlemen, that our body has long been
divided into two factions; each jealous of the other
each desirous of ascendancy-and each emulous wbich


PAUL CLIFFORD.
183
shall put the greatest number of fingers into the public
pie. In the language of the vulgar, the one faction
would be called “Swindlers,' and the other “Highway-
men.' I, gentlemen, who am fond of finding new names
for things, and for persons, and am a bit of a politician,
call the one Whigs, and the other Tories.-(Clamorous
cheering.)-Of the former body, I am esteemed no unin-
fluential member; of the latter faction, Mr. Bags is justly
considered the most shining ornament. Mr. Attie and
Mr. Edward Pepper can scarcely be said to belong en-
tirely to either: they unite the good qualities of both:
• British compounds' some term them: I term them Libe-
ral Aristocrats !-(Cheers.)-I now call upon you all,
Whig or Swindler, Tory or Highwayman, ‘British Com-
pounds' or Liberal Aristocrats-I call upon you all, to
name me one man whom you will all agree to elect ?"
All-“ Lovett for ever!"
“ Gentlemen!” continued the sagacious Augustus,
“ that shout is sufficient; without another word, I pro-
pose as your Captain, Mr. Paul Lovett."
“And I seconds the motion !" said old Mr. Bags.
Our hero, being now, by the unanimous applause of
his confederates, restored to the chair of office, returned
thanks in a neat speech; and Scarlet Jein declared, with
great solemnity, that it did equal honour to his head and
heart.
The thunders of eloquence being hushed, flashes of
lightning, or, as the vulgar say, 'glasses of gin,' gleamed
about. Good old Mr. Bags stuck, however, to his blue
ruin, and Attie to the bottle of bingo: some, among
whom were Clifford and the wise Augustus, called for
wine; and Clifford, who exerted himself to the utmost
in supporting the gay duties of his station, took care
that the song should vary the pleasures of the bowl.
Of the songs chosen we have only been enabled to pre-
serve two. The first is by Long Ned; and though we
confess we can see but little in it, yet (perhaps from
some familiar allusion or another, with which we are
necessarily unacquainted) it produced a prodigious sen.
sation,-it ran thus :
THE ROGUE'S RECIPE.
Your honest fool a rogue to make,
As great as can be seen, sir,-
Two hackueyed rogues you first must take,
Then place your tool betwees, sir.


184
PAUL CLIFFORD.
Virtue's a dunghill cock, ashamed
Of self when pair'd with game ones,
And wildest elepliants are tamed
If stuck between two tame ones.
The other effusion with which we have the honour to
favour our readers, is a very amusing duet which took
place between Fighting Attie and a tall, thin robber, who
was a dangerous fellow in a mob, and was therefore
called Mobbing Francis-it was commenced by the latter.
MOBBING FRANCIS.
The best of all robbers as ever I know'd,
Is the bold Fighting Attie, the pride of the road!
Fighting Attie, my hero, I saw you to-day
A purse full of yellow-boys seize,
And, as just at present, I'm low in the lay,
I'll borrow a quid, if you please.
Oh! bold Fighting Attie the knowing--the natty-
By us all it must sure be confess'd
Though your shoppers and snobbers are pretty good robbers,
A soldier is always the best.
FIGHTING ATTIE.
* Stubhle your whids,
You wants to trick I!
Lend you my quids ?--
Not one, by Dickey!
MOBBING FRANCIS.
Oh, what a beast is a niggardly ruffler,
Nabbing-grabbing all for himself;
Hang it, old fellow, I 'li bit you a muffler,
Since you won't give me a pinch of the pe!f.
You has not a heart for the general distress,
You cares not a mag if our party should fall,
And if Scarlet Jeni were not good at a press,
By Goles it would soon be all up with us all !
Oh! Scarlet Jem, he is trusty and trim,
Like his wig to his poll, sticks his conscience to him!
But I vows I despises the feilow who prizes
More his own ends than the popular stock, eir,
And the soldier as bones, for himself and his crones,
Should be bon'd like a traitor himself at the block, sir.
This severe response of Mobbing Francis did not in the
least ruffle the constitutional calmness of Fighting Attie;
but the wary Clifford, seeing that Francis had lost his
temper, and watchful over the least sign of disturbance
among the company, instantly called for another song,
and Mobbing Francis sullenly knocked down Old Bags.
The night was far gone, and so were the wits of the
honest Tax-Gatherers: when the president commanded
* Hold your tongue.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
18:5
silence, and the convivialists knew that their chief was
about to issue forth the orders for the ensuing term.
Nothing could be better timed than such directions,
during merriment, and before oblivion.
“Gentlemen!" said the Captain, “I will now, with
your leave, impart to you all the plans I have formed for
each. You, Attie, shall repair to London: be the
Windsor road and the purlieus of Pimlico your especial
care. Look you, my hero, to these letters, they will
apprize you of much work; I need not caution you to
silence. Like the oyster, you never open your mouth
but for something. Honest Old Bags, a rich grazier
will be in Smithfield on Thursday; his name is Hodges,
and he will have somewhat like a thousand pounds in
his pouch. He is green, fresh, and avaricious ; offer to
assist him in defrauding his neighbours in a bargain, and
cease not till thou hast done that with him which he
wished to do to others. Be-excellent old man !-like
the frog-fish which fishes for other fishes with two horns
that resemble baits, the prey dart at the horns, and are
down the throat in an instant !-For thee, dearest Jem,
these letters announce a prize ;-fat is Parson Plaint;
full is his purse; and he rides from Henley to Oxford on
Friday—I need say no more! As for the rest of you,
gentlemen, on this paper you will see your destinations
fixed. I warrant you, ye will find enough work till we
meet again this day three months. Myself, Augustus
Tomlinson, and Ned Pepper remain at Bath; we have
business in hand, gentlemen, of paramount importance;
should you, by accident, meet us, never acknowledge us
-we are incog. ; striking at high game, and putting on
falcon's plumes to do it in character-you understand-
but this accident can scarcely occur, for none of you will
remain at Bath; by to-morrow night, may the road re-
ceive you. And now, gentlemen, speed the glass, and
I'll give you a sentiment by way of a spur to it
Much sweeter than honey
Is other men's money!'"
Our hero's maxim was received with all the enthusiasm
which agreeable truisms usually create. And old Mr.
Bags rose to address the chair ; unhappily for the edifica.
tion of the audience, the veteran's foot slipped before he
had proceeded farther than “Mr. President," he fell to:
the earth with a sort of reel-


180
PAUL CLIFFORD.
“Like shooting stars, he fell to rise no more!"
His body inade a capital footstool for the luxurious
Pepper. Now Augustus Tomlinson and Clifford, ex.
changing looks, took every possible pains to promote the
hilarity of the evening, and before the third hour of
morning had sounded, they had the satisfaction of wit-
nessing the effects of their benevolent labours in the
prostrate forms of all their companions. Long Ned,
naturally more capacious than the rest, succumbed the
last.
“ As leaves of trees,” said the chairman, waving his
hand-
" As leaves of trees the race of man is found,
Now fresh with dew, now withering on the ground."
“Well said, my Hector of highways !" cried Tomlin-
son, and then helping himself to the wine, while he em-
ployed his legs in removing the supine forms of Scarlet
Jem and Long Ned, he continued the Homeric quotation,
with a pompous and self-gratulatory tone.
“So flourish these when those have passed away!”
“ We managed to get rid of our friends," began Clif-
ford-
“ Like Whigs in place,” interrupted the politician.
“Right, Tomlinson, thanks to the milder properties of
our drink, and, perchance, to the stronger qualities of
our heads; and now tell me, my friend, what think you
of our chance of success ? Shall we catch an heiress
or not !”
6 Why really,” said Tomlinson," women are like those
calculations in arithmetic which one can never bring to
an exact account; for my part, I shall stuff my calves,
and look out for a widow. You, my good fellow, seem
to stand a fair chance with Miss - ."
“Oh, name her not !" cried Clifford, colouring, even
through the flush which wine had spread over his coun-
tenance. “Somehow or other, ours are not the lips by
which her name should be breathed; and faith, when I
think of her, I do it anonymously.”
“What, have you ever thought of her before this eve-
ning ?”
"Yes, for months," answered Clifford. “You re-


PAUL CLIFFORD.
187
member some time ago, when we formed the plan for
robbing Lord Mauleverer, how, rather for frolic than
profit, you robbed Dr. Slopperton, of Warlock, while I
compassionately walked home with the old gentleman.
Well, at the parson's house I met Miss Brandon ;-mind,
not if I speak of her by name, you must not—and by hea-
I ven!--but I won't swear. -I accompanied her home.
You know, before morning we robbed Mauleverer, the
in affair made a noise, and I leared to endanger you all if
DI appeared in the vicinity of the robbery. Since then,
business diverted my thoughts; we formed the plan of
E trying a matrimonial speculation at Bath. I came hither
-guess my surprise at seeing her
“And your delight,” added Tomlinson, “at hearing
she is as rich as she is pretty."
“No!" answered Clifford, quickly; "that thought
gives me 'no pleasure—you stare. I will try and ex-
plain. You know, dear Tomlinson, I'm not much of a
canter, and yet my heart shrinks when I look on that in-
nocent face, and hear that soft, happy voice, and think
that my love to her can be only ruin and disgrace; nay,
that my very address is contamination, and my very
glance towards her an insult.”
“Hey-day !" quoth Tomlinson, “have you been under
my instructions, and learned the true value of words ?
and can you have any scruples left on so easy a point of
conscience? True, you may call your representing your-
self to her as an unprofessional gentleman, and so win-
ning her affections, deceit; but why call it deceit when
a 'genius for intrigue' is so much neater a phrase: in
like manner, by marrying the young lady, if you say you
have ruined her, you justly deserve to be annihilated;
but why not say you have 'saved yourself,' and then, my
dear fellow, you will have done the most justifiable thing
in the world.”
“Pish, man!” said Clifford, peevishly; “none of thy
sophisms and sneers !"
** By the soul of Sir Edward Coke, I am serious !-
but look you, my friend, this is not a matter where it is
convenient to have a tender-footed conscience. You see
these fellows on the ground!-all dd clever, and so
forth; but you and I are of a different order. I have
had a classical education, seen the world, and mixed in
decent society; you, too, had not been long a member
of our club, before you distinguished yourself above us


188
PAUL CLIFFORD.
all. Fortune smiled on your youthful audacity. You
grew particular in horses and dress, frequented public
haunts, and, being a deused good-looking fellow, with an
inborn air of gentility, and some sort of education, you
became sufficiently well received, to acquire, in a short
time, the manner and tone of a- what shall I say,-a
gentleman, and the taste to like suitable' associates.
This is my case too! Despite our labours for the public
weal, the ungrateful dogs see that we are above them;
a single envious breast is sufficient to give us to the hang-
man; we have agreed that we are in danger, we have
agreed to make an honourable retreat! we cannot do so
without money; you know the vulgar distich among our
set. Nothing can be truer-
Hanging is nation
More nice than starvation!'
You will not carry off some of the common stock, though
I think you justly might, considering how much you
have put into it; What, then, shall we do? Work we
cannot! Beg we will not! and, between you and me, we
are cursedly extravagant! What remains but mar-
riage ?"
.“ It is true!” said Clifford, with a half sigh.
“ You may well sigh, my good fellow; marriage is a
lackadaisical proceeding at best; but there is no re-
source: and now, when you have got a liking to a young
lady who is as rich as a she Crosus, and so gilded the
pill as bright as a Lord-Mayor's coach, what the devil
have you to do with scruples ?”
Clifford made no answer, and there was a long pause;
perhaps he would not have spoken so frankly as he had
done, if the wine had not opened his heart.
“How proud," renewed Tomlinson, “the good old
matron at Thames Court will be if you marry a lady!
You have not seen her lately?".
“ Not for years," answered our hero: “ Poor old soul!
I believe that she is well in health, and I take care that
she should not be poor in pocket.”
“But why not visit her? Perhaps, like all great men,
especially of a liberal turn of mind, you are ashamed of
old friends, eh ?"
“My good fellow, is that like me? Why you know
the beaux of our set look askant on me for not keeping
up my dignity, robbing only in company with well-


PAUL CLIFFORD.
189
dressed gentlemen, and swindling under the name of a
Lord's nephew; no, my reasons are these :-first, you
must know, that the old Dame had set her heart on my
turning out an honest man."
“ And so you have!” interrupted Augustus; “honest
to your party : what more would you have from either
prig or politician ?"
. I believe;" continued Clifford, not heeding the inter-
ruption, “ that my poor mother, before she died, desired
that I might be reared honestly; and, strange as it may
seem to you-Dame Lobkins is a conscientious woman
in her own way-it is not her fault if I have turned out
as I have done. Now I know well that it would grieve
her to the quick to see me what I am. Secondly, my
friend, under my new names, various as they are,
Jackson and Howard, Russell and Pigiggin, Villiers
and Gotobed, Cavendish and Solomons-you may well
suppose that the good persons in the neighbourhood of
Thames Court have no suspicion that the adventurous
and accomplished rufflér, at present Captain of this dis-
trict, under the new appellation of Lovett, is in reality
no other than the obscure and surnameless Paul of the
Mug. Now you and I, Augustus, have read human
nature, though in the black letter, and I know well that
were I to make my appearance in Thames Court, and
were the old lady-(as she certainly would, not from
unkindness but insobriety, not that she loves me less but
heavy-wet more)—to divulge the secret of that appear-
ance"
“ You know well,” interrupted the vivacious Tomlin-
son, “that the identity of your former meanness with
your present greatness would be easily traced; the envy
and jealousy of your early friends aroused; a hint of
your whereabout and your aliases given to the police,
and yourself grabbed, with a slight possibility of a
hempen consummation."
“ You conceive me exactly !” answered Clifford: “ the
fact is, that I have observed in nine cases out of ten our
bravest fellows have been taken off by the treachery of
some early sweetheart, or the envy of some boyish friend.
My destiny is not yet fixed; I am worthy of better things
than a ride in the cart with a nosegay in my hand; and,
though I care not much about death in itself, I am re-
solved, if possible, not to die a highwayman; hence my
caution, and that prudential care for secrecy and safe


PAUL CLIFFORD.
191
CHAPTER XIX.
That contrast of the harden'd and mature,
The calm brow brooding o'er the project dark,
With the clear, loving heart, and spirit pure
of youth-- I love-yet, hating, love to mark !
H. FLETCHER.
On the forenoon of the day after the ball, the carriage
of William Brandon, packed and prepared, was at the
door of his abode at Bath; meanwhile, the lawyer was
closeted with his brother. “My dear Joseph,” said the
barrister, “I do not leave you without being fully sen-
sible of your kindness evinced to me, both in coming
hither, contrary to your habits, and accompanying me
every where, despite of your tastes."
“Mention it not, my dear William," said the kind-
hearted Squire, “ for your delightful society is to me the
most agreeable-(and that's what I can say of very few
people like you; for, for my own part, I generally find
the cleverest men the most unpleasant)-in the world!
And I think lawyers in particular-(very different, indeed,
from your tribe you are !)-perfectly intolerable!"
“I have now," said Brandon, who with his usual ner-
vous quickness of action was walking with rapid strides
to and fro the apartment, and scarcely noted his brother's
compliment.—“I have now another favour to request of
you.-Consider this house and these servants yours, for
the next month or two at least. Do n't interrupt me-it
is no compliment-I speak for our family benefit.” And
then seating himself next to his brother's arm-chair, for
a fit of the gout made the Squire a close prisoner, Brandon
unfolded to his brother his cherished scheme of marrying
Lucy to Lord Mauleverer. Notwithstanding the con-
stancy of the Earl's attention to the heiress, the honest
Squire had never dreamed of their palpable object; and
he was overpowered with surprise when he heard the
lawyer's expectations.
“But, my dear brother," he began, “ so great a match
for my Lucy, the Lord-Lieutenant of the Coun "
“And what of that ?” cried Brandon, proudly, and
interrupting his brother; “is not the race of Brandon,


192
PAUL CLIFFORD.
which has matched its scions with royalty, far nobler
than that of the upstart stock of Mauleverer?—what is
there presumptuous in the hope that the descendant of
the Earls of Suffolk should regild a faded name with
some of the precious dust of the quondam silversmiths
of London ?-Besides,” he continued, after a pause,
“ Lucy will be rich--very rich-and before two years,
my rank may possibly be of the same order as Maule.
verer's !"
The Squire stared; and Brandon, not giving him time
to answer, resumed.--It is needless to detail the conver-
sation; suffice it to say, that the artful barrister did not
leave his brother till he had gained his point-till Joseph
Brandon had promised to remain at Bath in possession
of the house and estaolishment of his brother, to throw
no impediment on the suit of Mauleverer, to cultivate
society as before, and, above all, not to alarm Lucy, who
evidently did not yet favour Mauleverer exclusively, by
hinting to her the hopes and expectations of her uncle
and father. Brandon, now taking leave of his brother,
mounted to the drawing-room in search of Lucy. He
found her leaning over the gilt cage of one of her fea-
thered favourites, and speaking to the little inmate in that
pretty and playful language in which all thoughts, inno-
cent, yet fond, should be clothed. So beautiful did Lucy
seem, as she was thus engaged in her girlish and caress-
ing employment, and so utterly unlike one meet to be
the instrument of ambitious designs, and the sacrifice of
worldly calculations, that Brandon paused, suddenly
smitten at heart, as he beheld her; he was not, however,
slow in recovering himself; he approached, “ Happy he,"
said the man of the world, “ for whom caresses and
words like these are reserved!
Lucy turned. “It is ill !” she said, pointing to the
bird, which sat with its feathers stiff and erect, mute and
heedless even of that voice which was as musical as its
own.
“ Poor prisoner!" said Brandon, “ even gilt cages and
sweet tones cannot compensate to thee for the loss of
the air and the wild woods!”
“ But,” said Lucy, anxiously, “it is not confinement
which makes it ill! If you think so, I will release it
instantly."
“ How long have you had it ?" asked Brandon.
“ For three years !” said Lucy.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
193
,
* And is it your chief favourite ?"
“ Yes; it does not sing so prettily as the other-but it
is far more sensible, and so affectionate.”
“ Can you release it, then ?" asked Brandon, smiling;
“ would it not be better to see it die in your custody, than,
to let it live and to see it no more ?"
“ Oh, no, no !” said Lucy, eagerly, “ when I love any
one-any thing—I wish that to be bappy, not me!"
As she said this, she took the bird from the cage, and
bearing it to the open window, kissed it, and held it on
her hand, in the air. The poor bird turned a languid and
sickly eye around it, as if the sight of the crowded.
houses and busy streets presented nothing familiar or in-
viting; and it was not till Lucy, with a tender courage,
shook it gently from her, that it availed itself of the
proffered liberty. It flew first to an opposite balcony, and
then recovering from a short and, as it were, surprised
pause, took a brief circuit above the houses, and after
disappearing for a few minutes, flew back, circled the
window, and re-entering, settled once more on the fair
form of its mistress, and nestled into her bosom.
Lucy covered it with kisses. “ You see it will not
leave me!” said she.
“ Who can ?" said the uncle, warmly, charmed for the
moment from every thought, but that of kindness for the
young and soft creature before him ;" Who can ?” he
repeated with a sigh, “but an old and withered ascetic
like myself. I must leave you, indeed ; see, my carriage
is at the door! Will my beautiful niece, among the
gayeties that surround her, condescend now and then to
remember the crabbed lawyer, and assure him by a line
of her happiness and health? Though I rarely write any
notes, but those upon cases: you, at least, may be sure
of an answer. And tell me, Lucy, if there be in all this
city one so foolish as to think that these idle gems, useful
only as a vent for my pride in you, can add a single
charm to a beauty above all ornament ?"
So saying, Brandon produced a leathern case, and
touching a spring, the imperial flash of diamonds, which
would have made glad many a patrician heart, broke
dazzlingly on Lucy's eyes.
“No thanks, Lucy," said Brandon, in answer to his
niece's disclaiming and shrinking gratitude; “ I do honour
to myself, not you; and now, bless you, my dear girl.
Farewell ! Should any occasion present itself in which
Vol. I.-I


194
PAUL CLIFFORD.
you require an immediate adviser, at once kind and wise,
I beseech you, my dearest Lucy, as a parting request, to
have no scruples in consulting Lord Mauleverer. Besides
his friendship for me, he is much interested in you, and
you may consult him with the more safety and assurance,
because” (and the lawyer smiled) “he is perhaps the
only man in the world whom my Lucy could not make
in love with her. His gallantry may appear adulation,
but it is never akin to love. Promise me, that you will
not hesitate in this.".
Lucy gave the promise readily, and Brandon continued
in a careless tone: “I hear that you danced last night
with a young gentleman whom no one knew, and whose
companions bore a very strange appearance. In a place
like Bath, society is too mixed not to render the greatest
caution in forming acquaintances absolutely necessary.
You must pardon me,iny dearest niece, if I remark, that
a young lady owes it not only to herself, but to her re-
lations, to observe the most rigid circumspection of con-
duct. This is a wicked world, and the peach-like bloom
of character is easily rubbed 'away. In these points,
Mauleverer can be of great use to you. His knowledge
of character-his penetration into men—and his tact in
manners-are unerring. Pray be guided by him : whom-
soever he warns you against, you may be sure is unworthy
of your acquaintance. God bless you! you will write to
me often and frankly, dear Lucy; tell me all that hap-
pens to you-all that interests, nay, all that displeases."
Brandon then, who had seemingly disregarded the
blushes with which, during his speech, Lucy's cheeks
had been spread, folded his niece in his arms, and hurried,
as if to hide his feelings, into his carriage. When the
horses had turned the street, he directed the postillions
to stop at Lord Mauleverer's. “Now," said he to him-
self, “if I can get this clever coxcomb to second my
schemes, and play according to my game, and not accord-
ing to his own vanity, I shall have a knight of the gar-
ter for my nephew-in-law !"
Meanwhile, Lucy, ail in tears, for she loved her uncle
greatly, ran down to the Squire to show him Brandon's
magnificent present.
6 Ah !" said the Squire, with a sigh, “ few men were
born with more good, generous, and great qualities-
(pitý only that his chief desire was to get on in the
world; for my part, I think no motive makes greater and
more cold-hearted rogues !)-than my brother Williain!"


196
PAUL CLIFFORD.
melted by the kindness of her uncle, and struck with the
sense of his admonition (for she was no self-willed
young lady who was determined to be in love), received
Captain Clifford's advances with a coldness which, from
her manner the first evening they had met at Bath, occa-
sioned him no less surprise than mortification. He re-
treated, and recoiled on the Squire, who, patient and
bored as usual, was sequestered in his favourite corner.
By accident, Clifford trod on the Squire's gouty digital,
and in apologizing for the offence, was so struck by the old
gentleman's good-nature and peculiarity of expressing
himself, that without knowing who he was, he entered
into conversation with him. There was an off-hand sort
of liveliness and candour, not to say wit, about Clifford,
which always had a charm for the elderly; who gene-
rally like frankness above all the cardinal virtues; the
Squire was exceedingly pleased with him. The ac-
quaintance once begun, was naturally continued without
difficulty when Clifford ascertained who was his new
friend; and next morning, meeting in the Pump-room,
the Squire asked Clifford to dinner. The entré to the
house thus gained, the rest was easy. Long before Mau-
leverer recovered his health, the mischief effected by his
rival was almost beyond redress; and the heart of the
pure, the simple, the affectionate Lucy Brandon, was
more than half lost to the lawless and vagrant cavalier
who officiates as the hero of this tale.
One morning, Clifford and Augustus strolled out to-
gether. “Let us," said the latter, who was in a melan-
choly mood, “leave the busy streets, and indulge in a
philosophical conversation on the nature of man, while
we are enjoying a little fresh air in the country.” Clif-
ford assented to the proposal, and the pair slowly saun.
tered up one of the hills that surround the city of Bladud.
“ There are certain moments," said Tomlinson, looking
pensively down at his kerseymere gaiters, “when we are
like the fox in the nursery rhyme, . The fox had a wound
he could not tell where'— we feel extremely unhappy and
we cannot tell why! a dark and sad melancholy grows
over us-we shun the face of man-we wrap ourselves
in our thoughts like silkworms—we mutter fag-ends of
dismal songs,tears come in our eyes—we recall all the
misfortunes that have ever happened to us—we stoop in
our gait, and bury our hands in our breeches pockets-
we say “what is life ?-a stone to be shied into a horse-


PAUL CLIFFORD.
197
pond! We pine for some congenial heart—and have an
itching desire to talk prodigiously about ourselves : all
other subjects seem weary, stale, and unprofitable-we
feel as if a fly could knock us down, and are in a humour
to fall in love and make a very sad piece of business of
it. Yet with all this weakness we have, at these mo-
ments, a finer opinion of ourselves than we ever had
before. We call our megrims the melancholy of a
sublime soul-the yearnings of an indigestion we deno-
minate yearnings after immortality-nay, sometimes a
proof of the nature of the soul! May I find some bio-
grapher who understands such sensations well, and may
he style those melting emotions the offspring of the po-
etical character,* which in reality are the offspring of
a mutton chop!"
“ You jest pleasantly enough on your low spirits,” said
Clifford; “but I have a cause for mine."
66 What then ?” cried Tomlinson. “So much the easier
it is to cure them. The mind can cure the evils that
spring from the mind; it is only a fool, and a quack, and
a driveller, when it proſesses to heal the evils that spring
from the body :-my blue devils spring from the body-
consequently, my mind, which, as you know, is a parti.
cularly wise mind, wrestles not against them. Tell me
frankly," renewed Augustus, after a pause, “ do you ever
repent? Do you ever think, if you had been a shopboy
with a white apron about your middle, that you would
have been a happier and better member of society than
you now are ?"
“Repent !” said Clifford, fiercely, and his answer
opened more of his secret heart, its motives, its reason.
ings, and its peculiarities than were often discernible.
“ Repent!-that is the idlest word in our language. No,
-the moment I repent, that moment I reform! Never
can it seem to me an atonement for crime, merely to
regret it-my mind would lead me not to regret, but to
repair!-Repent!-No,-not yet! The older I grow,
* Vide " Moore's Life of Byron."-In which it is satisfactorily shown, that
if a man fast forty-eight hours, then eat three lobsters, and drink God knows
how many bottles of claret--if, when he wakes the next morning, he sees
himself abused as a demon by half the periodicals of the country--if the ato
ternoon be passed in interviews with his duns, or misunderstandings with his
wire-if, in a word, he be broken in his health. irregular in his habits, unfor-
tunate in his affairs, unhappy in his home--and if, then, he should be so ex.
tremely eccentric as to be low-spirited and misanthropical, the ioW spirits and
the misanthropy are by no means to be attributed to the above agreeable cir-
cumstances-but God wot-to the "poetical character!"


198
PAUL CLIFFORD.
the more I see of men, and of the callings of social life
--the more I, an open knave, sicken at the glossed and
covert dishonesties around, I acknowledge no allegiance
to society. From my birth to this hour, I have received
no single favour from its customs or its laws;-openly I
war against it-and patiently will I meet its revenge.
This may be crime; but it looks light in my eyes, when
I gaze around, and survey on all sides the masked
traitors who acknowledge large debts to society,who
profess to obey its laws--adore its institutions—and,
above all-oh, how righteously !-attack all those who
attack it, and who yet lie, and cheat, and defraud, and
peculate-publicly reaping all the comforts-privately
filching all the profits. Repent!-of what? I come into
the world friendless and poor-I find a body of laws
hostile to the friendless and the poor! To those laws
hostile to me, then, I acknowledge hostility in my turn.
Between us are the conditions of war. Let them expose
a weakness-I insist on my right to seize the advantage
- let them defeat me, and I allow their right to de-
stroy."*
“ Passion,” said Augustus, coolly, " is the usual enemy
of reason—in your case it is the friend !".
The pair had now gained the summit of a hill which
comnianded a view of the city below. Here Augustus,
who was a little short-winded, paused to recover breath.
As soon as he had done so, he pointed with his fore-
finger to the scene beneath, and said, enthusiastically-
" What a subject for contemplation !"
Clifford was about to reply, when suddenly the sound
of laughter and voices was heard behind" Let us fly !"
cried Augustus; “ on this day of spleen man delights me
not-nor woman either.”
“Stay !” said Clifford, in a trembling accent, for among
those voices he recognised one which had already ac-
quired over him an irresistible and bewitching power.
Augustus sighed, and reluctantly remained motionless.
Presertly a winding in the road brought into view a
party of pleasure, some on foot, some on horseback,
others in the little vehicles which even at that day
haunted watering-places, and called themselves. “ Flies"
or“ Swallows."
But arnong the gay procession Clifford had only eyes
* The author need not, he hopes, observe that these sentiments are Mr.
Paul Clifford's-not his,


PAUL CLIFFORD. .
199
for one! Walking with that elastic step which so
rarely survives the first epoch of youth, by the side of
the heavy chaic in which her father was drawn, the fair
beauty of Lucy Brandon threw, at least in the eyes of
her lover, a magic and a lustre over the whole group.
He stood for a moment, stilling the heart that leaped at
her bright looks and the gladness of her innocent laugh;
and then recovering himself, he walked slowly, and with
a certain consciousness of the effect of his own singu-
larly-handsome person, towards the party. The good
Squire received him with his usual kindness, and in-
formed him, according to that lucidus ordo, which he so
especially favoured, of the whole particulars of their ex-
cursion. There was something worthy of an artist's
sketch in the scene at that moment ;-the old Squire in
his chair, with his benevolent face turned towards Clif-
ford, and his hands resting on his cane-Clifford himself
bowing down his stately head to hear the details of the
father ;-the beautiful daughter on the other side of the
chair, her laugh suddenly stilled, her gait insensibly
more composed, and blush chasing blush over the
smooth and peach-like loveliness of her cheek ;-the
party, of all sizes, ages, and attire, affording ample
scope for the caricaturist; and the pensive figure of
Augustus Tomlinson (who, by-the-by, was exceedingly
like Liston), standing apart from the rest, on the brow
of the hill where Clifford had left him, and moralizing
on the motley procession, with one hand hid in his
waistcoat, and the other caressing his chin, which slowly
and pendulously, with the rest of his head, moved up and
down.
As the party approached the brow of the hill, the view
of the city below was so striking, that chere was a gene-
ral pause for the purpose of survey. One young lady,
in particular, drew forth her pencil, and began sketching,
while her mamma looked complacently on, and abstract-
edly devoured a sandwich. It was at this time, in the
general pause, that Clifford and Lucy found themselves
--heaven knows how !-next to each other, and at a
sufficient distance from the Squire and the rest of the
party, to feel, in some measure, alone. There was a
silence in both which neither dared to break; when
Lucy, after looking at and toying with a flower that she
had brought from the place which the party had been to
see, accidentally dropped it; and Clifford and herself


200
PAUL CLIFFORD.
stooping at the same moment to recover it, their hands
met. Involuntarily, Clifford detained the soft fingers in
his own; his eyes, that encountered hers, so spell-bound
and arrested them, that for once they did not sink be-
neath his gaze; his lips moved, but many and vehement
emotions so suffocated his voice that no sound escaped
them. But all the heart was in the eyes of each; that
moment fixed their destinies. Henceforth there was an
era from which they dated a new existence; a nucleus
around which their thoughts, their remembrances, and
their passions clung. The great gulf was passed; they
stood on the same shore; and felt, that though still apart
and disunited, on that shore was no living creature but
themselves! Meanwhile, Augustus Tomlinson, on find.
ing himself surrounded by persons eager to gaze and to
listen, broke from his moodiness and resérve. Looking
full at his next neighbour, and flourishing his right hand
in the air, till he suffered it to rest in the direction of the
houses and chimneys below; he repeated that moral ex-
clamation, which had been wasted on Clifford, with a
more solemn and a less passionate gravity than before.
“ What a subject, Ma'am, for contemplation !"
“ Very sensibly said, indeed, sir," said the lady ad-
dressed, who was rather of a serious turn.
"I never,” resumed Augustus, in a louder key, and
looking round for auditors," I never see a great town
from the top of a hill, without thinking of an apothe-
cary's shop!”
“Lord, sir !” said the lady. Tomlinson's end was
gained ;-struck with the quaintness of the notion, a
little crowd gathered instantly around him, to hear it far-
ther developed.
• Of an apothecary's shop, Ma'am !” repeated Tom-
linson, “There lie your simples, and your purges, and
your cordials, and your poisons; all things to heal, and
to strengthen, and to destroy. There are drugs enough
in that collection to save you, to cure you all; but none
of you know how to use them, nor what medicines to
ask for, nor what portions to take ; so that the greater
part of you swallow a wrong dose, and die of the re-
medy !"
“ But if the town be the apothecary's shop, what, in
the plan of your idea, stands for the apothecary?" asked
an old gentleman, who perceived at what Tomlinson was
driving.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
201
* The apothecary, sir,” answered Augustus, stealing his
notion from Clifford, and sinking his voice, lest the true
proprietor should overhear him, -Clifford was otherwise
employed,—" The apothecary, sir, is the LAW! It is
the law that stands behind the counter, and dispenses to
each man the dose he should take. To the poor, it gives
bad drugs gratuitously; to the rich, pills to stimulate the
appetite: to the latter, premiums for luxury; to the for-
mer, only speedy refuges from life! Alas! either your
apothecary is but an ignorant quack, or his science
itself is but in its cradle. He blunders as much as you
would do if ieft to your own selection. Those who have
recourse to him, seldom speak gratefully of his skill.-
He relieves you, it is true-but of your money, not your
malady; and the only branch of his profession in which
he is an adept, is that which enables him to bleed you !
Oh, Mankind !" continued Augustus, " what noble crea-
tures you ought to be! You have keys to all sciences,
all arts, all mysteries, but one! You have not a notion
how you ought to be governed ! you cannot frame a
tolerable law for the life and soul of you! You make
yourselves as uncomfortable as you can by all sorts of
galling and vexatious institutions, and you throw the
blame upon · Fate. You lay down rules it is impossi-
ble to comprehend, much less to obey; and you call
each other monsters, because you cannot conquer the
impossibility! You invent all sorts of vices, under pre-
tence of making laws for preserving virtue; and the
anomalous artificialities of conduct yourselves produce,
you say you are born with ;-you make a machine by
the perversest art you can think of, and you call it, with
a sigh, “Human Nature. With a host of good disposi-
tions struggling at your breasts, you insist upon libelling
God Almighty, and declaring that he meant you to be
wicked. Nay, you even call the man mischievous and
seditious who begs and implores you to be one jot bet-
ter than you are. Oh, Mankind! you are like a nosegay
bought at Covent Garden. 'The flowers are lovely, the
scent delicious ;-mark that glorious hue; contemplate
that bursting petal ;-how beautiful, how redolent of
health-of nature of the dew, and breath, and blessing
of Heaven, are ye all! But as for the dirty piece of
string that ties you together, one would think you had
picked it out of the kennel!"
So saying, Tomlinson turned on his heel, broke away
I 3


202
PAUL CLIFFORD.
from the crowd, and solemnly descended the hill. The
party of pleasure slowly followed; and Clifford, receiving
an invitation from the Squire to partake of his family
dinner, walked by the side of Lucy, and felt as if his
spirit were drunk with the airs of Eden.
A brother Squire, who, among the gayeties of Bath,
was almost as forlorn as Joseph Brandon himself, par.
took of the Lord of Wariock's hospitality. When the
three gentlemen adjourned to the drawing-room, the
two elder sat down to a game at backgammon, and
Clifford was left to the undisturbed enjoyment of Lucy's
conversation. She was sitting by the window when
Clifford joined her. on the table by her side were
scattered books, the charm of which they were chiefly
poetry) she had only of late learned to discover; there
also were strewed various little masterpieces of female
ingenuity, in which the fairy fingers of Lucy Brandon
were especially formed to excel. The shades of evening
were rapidly darkening over the empty streets ; and in
the sky, which was cloudless and transparently clear,
the stars came gradually out one by one, until,
"As water does a sponge, so their soft light
Fill d the void, hollow, universal air."
Beautiful evening! (if we, as well as Augustus Ton-
linson, may indulge in an apostrophe,)-Beautiful eve-
ning! for thee all poets have had a song, and surrounded
thee with rills and waterfalls, and dews, and flowers,
and sheep, and bats, and melancholy, and owls ; yet we
must confess that to us, who in this very sentimental
age are a bustling, worldly, hard-minded person, jostling
our neighbours, and thinking of the main chance ;-to us,
thou art never so charming, as when we meet thee walk-
ing in thy gray hood, through the emptying streets, and
among the dying sounds of a city. We love to feel the stil.
ness, where all, two hours back, was clamour. We love
to see the dingy abodes of Trade and Luxury, those rest-
less patients of earth's constant fever, contrasted and cano-
pied by a heaven full of purity, and quietness, and peace.
We love to fill our thought with speculations on man,-
even though the man be the muffin-mang-rather than
with inanimate objects—hills and streams-things to
dream about, not to meditate on. Man is the subject of
far nobler contemplation, of far more glowing hope,
of a far purer and loftier vein of sentiment, than all the


PAUL CLIFFORD.
203
floods and fells' in the universe ;-and that, sweet eve.
ning, is one reason why we like that the earnest and
tender thoughts thou excitest within us, should be rather
surrounded by the labours and tokens of our species,
than by sheep, and bats, and melancholy, and owls. But
whether, most blessed evening, thou delightest us in the
country or in the town, thou equally disposest us to make
and to feel love !--thou art the cause of more marriages
and more divorces than any other time in the twenty-
four hours. Eyes, that were common eyes to us before,
touched by thy enchanting and magic shadows, become
inspired, and preach to us of heaven. A softness set-
tles on features, that were harsh to us while the sun
shone ; a mellow “ light of love" reposes on the com-
plexion, which by day we would have steeped “full
fathom five" in a sea of Mrs. Gowland's lotion ;-and as
for the lip!-Ah!
What then, thou modest hypocrite, to those who already
and deeply love-what then of danger and of paradise
dost thou bring ?
Silent, and stilling the breath which heaved in both
quick and fitfully, Lucy and Clifford sat together. The
streets were utterly deserted, and the loneliness, as they
looked below, made them feel the more intensely not only
the emotions which swelled within them, but the unde-
fined and electric sympathy which, in uniting them, di-
vided them from the world. The quiet around was bro-
ken by a distant strain of rude music ; and as it came
nearer, two forms, of no poetical order, grew visible :
the one was a poor blind man, who was drawing from
his flute tones in which the melancholy beauty of the
air compensated for any deficiency (the deficiency was
but slight) in the execution. A woman, much younger
than the musician, and with something of beauty in her
countenance, accompanied him, holding a tattered hat,
and looking wistfully up at the windows of the silent
street. We said two forms—we did the injustice of for-
getfulness to another-a rugged and simple friend, it is
true, but one that both minstrel and wife had many and
moving reasons to love. This was a little wirey terrier,
with dark, piercing eyes, that glanced quickly and saga-
eiously in all quarters from beneath the shaggy covert
that surrounded them; slowly the animal moved onward,


204
PAUL CLIFFORD.
pulling gently against the string by which he was held,
and by which he guided his master. Once his fidelity
was tempted-another dog invited him to play; the poor
terrier looked anxiously and doubtingly round, and then
uttering a low growl of denial, pursued
“The noiseless tenor of his way."
The little procession stopped beneath the window
where Lucy and Clifford sat; for the quick eye of the
woman had perceived them, and she laid her hand on
the blind man's arm, and whispered him. He took the
hint, and changed his air into one of love. Clifford
glanced at Lucy, her cheek was dyed in blushes. The
air was over-another succeeded—it was of the same
kind; a third-the burden was still unaltered—and then
Clifford threw into the street a piece of money, and the
dog wagged his abridged and dwarfed tail, and darting
forward, picked it up in his mouth, and the woman (she
had a kind face!) patted the officious friend, even before
she thanked the donor, and then she dropped the money
with a cheering word or two into the blind man's pocket,
and the three wanderers moved slowly on. Presently,
they came to a place where the street had been mended,
and the stones lay scattered about. Here the woman no
longer trusted to the dog's guidance, but anxiously
hastened to the musician, and led him with evident ten-
derness and minute watchfulness over the rugged way.
When they had passes the danger, the man stopped, and
before he released the hand which had guided him, he
pressed it gratefully, and then both the husband and the
wife stooped down and caressed the dog. This little
scene-one of those rough copies of the loveliness of
human affections of which so many are scattered about
the highways of the world--both the lovers had involun-
tarily watched; and now, as they withdrew their eyes-
those eyes settled on each other-Lucy's swam in tears.
“ To be loved and tended by the one I love,” said
Clifford, in a low voice, “I would walk blind and barefoot
over the whole earth !"
Lucy sighed very gently, and placing her pretty hands
(the one clasped over the other) upon her knee, looked
down wistfully on them, but made no answer. Clifford
drew his chair nearer, and gazed on her as she sat; the
long dark eyelash drooping over her eyes, and contrasting
the ivory lids; her delicate profile half-turned from him,


PAUL CLIFFORD.
205
and borrowing a more touching beauty from the soft
light that dwelt upon it, and her full yet still scarcely
developed bosom heaving at thoughts which she did not
analyze, but was content to feel at once vague and deli-
cious; he gazed, and his lips trembled-he longed to
speak-he longed to say but those words which convey
what volumes have endeavoured to express, and have
only weakened by detail-" I love.”-How he resisted
the yearnings of his heart, we know not—but he did.
resist-and Lucy, after a confused and embarrassed
pause, took up one of the poems on the table, and asked
him some questions about a particular passage in an old
ballad which he had once pointed to her notice. The
passage related to a border chief, one of the Armstrongs
of old, who, having been seized by the English and con-
demned to death, vented his last feelings in a passionate
address to his own home-his rude tower--and his
newly-wedded bride. “Do you believe," said Lucy, as
their conversation began to flow, “that one so lawless
and eager for bloodshed and strife, as this robber is
described to be, could be so capable of soft affections ?”
" I do," said Clifford, “because he was not sensible
that he was as criminal as you esteem him. If a man
cherish the idea that his actions are not evil, he will re-
tain at his heart all its better and gentler sensations as
much as if he had never sinned. The savage murders
his enemy, and when he returns home, is not the less
devoted to his friend, or the less anxious for his children.
To harden and imbrute the kindly dispositions, we must
not only indulge in guilt, but feel that we are guilty.
Oh! many that the world load with their opprobrium are
capable of acts-nay, have committed acts, which, in
others, the world would reverence and adore. Would
you know whether a man's heart be shut to the power
of love; ask, what he is--not to his foes, but to his
friends! Crime, too,” continued Clifford, speaking fast
and vehemently, while his eyes flashed and the dark
blood rushed to his cheek_á Crime-what is crime?
men imbody their worst prejudices, their most evil pas-
sions, in a heterogeneous and contradictory code, and
whatever breaks this code, they term a crinie. When
they make no distinction in the penalty-that is to say,
in the estimation-awarded both to murder and to a petty
theft imposed on the weak will by famine, we ask nothing


206
PAUL CLIFFORD.
else to convince us that they are ignorant of the very
nature of guilt, and that they make up in ferocity for the
want of wisdom."
Lucy looked in alarm at the animated and fiery coun-
tenance of the speaker; Clifford recovered himself, after
a moment's pause, and rose from his seat, with the gay
and frank laugh which made one of his peculiar charac-
teristics. “There is a singularity in politics, Miss Bran-
don," said he, “ which I dare say you have often ob-
served; viz. that those who are least important, are
always most noisy; and that the chief people who lose
their temper, are those who have nothing to gain in
return."
As Clifford spoke, the doors were thrown open, and
some visiters to Miss Brandon were announced. The
good Squire was still immersed in the vicissitudes of his
game, and the sole task of receiving and entertaining
“the company,” as the chambermaids have it, fell, as
usual, upon Lucy. Fortunately for her, Clifford was
one of those rare persons who possess eminently the
talents of society. There was much in his gay and
gallant temperament, accompanied as it was with senti-
ment and ardour, that resembled our beau idéal of those
chevaliers, ordinarily peculiar to the Continent-heroes
equally in the drawing-room and the field. Observant,
courteous, witty, and versed in the various accomplish-
ments'lhat combine (that most unfrequent of all unions !)
vivacity with grace, he was especially formed for that
brilliant world from which his circumstances tended to
exclude him. Under different auspices, he might have
been P ooh! We are running into a most pointless
commonplace ;--what might any man be under auspices
different from those by which his life has been guided ?
Music soon succeeded to conversation, and Clifford's
voice was of necessity put into requisition, Miss Bran-
don had just risen from the harpsichord, as he sat down
to perforin his part; and she stood by him with the rest
of ihe group while he sung. Only twice his eye stole to
that spot which her breath and form made sacred to
him; once when he began, and once when he concluded
his song. Perhaps the recollection of their conversation
inspired him ; certainly it dwelt upon his mind at the
moment-threw a richer flush over his brow, and infused
a more meaning and heartfelt softness into his tone.


208
PAUL CLIFFORD.
adorer. And it was not till he found himself able to eat
three good dinners consecutively, with a tolerable appe-
tite, that Mauleverer recollected that he was violently in
love. As soon as this idea was fully reinstated in his
memory, and he had been permitted by his doctor to
allow himself “a little cheerful society,” Mauleverer
resolved to go to the rooms for an hour or two.
It may be observed that most Grands Seigneurs have
some favourite place, some cherished Baiæ, at which
they love to throw off their state and to play the amiable
instead of the splendid; and Bath at that time, from its
gayety, its ease, the variety of character to be found in
its haunts, and the obliging manner in which such cha.
racters exposed themselves to ridicule, was exactly the
place calculated to please a man like Mauleverer, who
loved at once to be admired and to satirize. He was
, therefore an idolized person at the city of Bladud, and
as he entered the rooms he was surrounded by a whole
band of imitators and sycophants, delighted to find his
Lordship looking so much better and declaring himself
so convalescent. As soon as the Earl had bowed and
smiled, and shaken hands sufficiently to sustain his repu-
tation, he sauntered towards the dancers in search of
Lucy. He found her not only exactly in the same spot
in which he had last beheld her, but dancing with exactly
the same partner who had before provoked all the gallant
nobleman's jealousy and wrath. Mauleverer, though
not by any means addicted to preparing his compliments
beforehand, had just been conning a delicate speech for
Lucy; but no sooner did the person of her partner flash
on him than the whole flattery vanished at once from
his recollection. He felt himself grow pale ; and when
Lucy turned, and, seeing him near, addressed him in the
anxious and soft tone which she thought due to her
uncle's friend on his recovery, Mauleverer bowed, con-
fused and silent; and that green-eyed passion, which
would have convulsed the mind of a true lover, altering
a little the course of its fury, effectually disturbed the
manner of the courtier.
Retreating to an obscure part of the room, where he
could see all without being conspicuous, Mauleverer now
employed himself in watching the motions and looks of
the young pair. He was naturally a penetrating and
quick observer, and in this instance jealousy sharpened
his talents; he saw enough to convince him that Lucy


PAUL CLIFFORD.
209
was already attached to Clifford; and being, by that
conviction, fully persuaded that Lucy was necessary to
his own happiness, he resolved to lose not a moment in
banishing Captain Clifford from her presence, or, at
least, in instituting such inquiries into that gentleman's
relatives, rank, and respectability, as would, he hoped,
render such banishment a necessary consequence of the
research.
Fraught with this determination, Mauleverer repaired
at once to the retreat of the Squire, and engaging him in
conversation, bluntly asked him, " Who the deuce Miss
Brandon was dancing with ?"
The Squire, a little piqued at this brusquerie, replied
by a long eulogium on Paul, and Mauleverer, after hear.
ing it throughout with the blandest smile imaginable,
told the Squire, very politely, that he was sure Mr.
Brandon's good-nature had misled him. “Clifford !"
said he, repeating the name,“ Clifford ! it is one of those
names which are particularly selected by persons nobody
knows; first, because the name is good, and, secondly,
because it is common. My long and dear friendship
with your brother makes me feel peculiarly anxious on
any point relative to his niece; and, indeed, my dear
William, overrating perhaps my knowledge of the world,
and my influence in society,—but not my affection for
him,-besought me to assume the liberty of esteeming
myself a friend, nay, even a relation of yours and Miss
Brandon's, so that I trust you do not consider my caution
impertinent."
The flattered Squire assured him that he was particu-
larly honoured, so far from deeming his Lordship
(which never could be the case with people so distin-
guished as his Lordship was, especially!)-impertinent.
Lord Mauleverer, encouraged by this speech, artfully
renewed, and succeeded, if not in convincing the Squire
that the handsome Captain was a suspicious character,
at least in persuading him that common prudence required
that he should find out exactly who the handsome Cap-
tain was, especially as he was in the habit of dining with
the Squire thrice a week, and dancing with Lucy every
night.”
“See,” said Mauleverer, “he approaches you now; I
will retreat to the chair by the fireplace, and you shall
cross-examine him I have no doubt you will do it with
the utmost delicacy."


210
PAUL CLIFFORD.
So saying, Mauleverer took possession of a seat where
he was not absolutely beyond hearing (slightly deaf as
he was) of the ensuing colloquy, though the position of
his seat skreened him from sight. Mauleverer was
esteemed a man of the most punctilious honour in
private life, and he would not have been seen in the
act of listening to other people's conversation for the
world.
Hemming with an air and resettling himself as Clifford
approached, the Squire thus skilfully commenced the
attack; “Ah, ha! my good Captain Clifford, and how do
you do? I saw you-(and I am very glad, my friend, as
every one else is to see you)--at a distance. And where
have you left my daughter ?”
“Miss Brandon is dancing with Mr. Muskwell, Sir,"
answered Clifford.
“Oh! she is !-Mr. Muskwell-humph!-good family
the Muskwells--came from Primrose Hall.–Pray, Cap-
tain,-- not that I want to know for my own sake, for I am
a strange, odd person, I believe, and I am thoroughly
convinced-(some people are censorious, and others,
thank God, are not!) of your respectability,what
family do you come from? you won't think my-my
caution impertinent ?" added the shrewd old gentleman,
borrowing that phrase which he thought so friendly in
the mouth of Lord Mauleverer.
Clifford coloured for a moment, but replied with a quiet
archness of look, “Family-oh, my dear Sir, I come
from an old family, a very old family indeed.”
“So I always thought ; and in what part of the
world ?"
“ Scotland, sir-all our family come from Scotland;
viz. all who live long do, the rest die young.”
“ Ay, particular air does agree with particular consti-
tutions. I, for instance, could not live in all countries ;
not--you take me-in the north!”.
“ Few honest men can live there ;” said Clifford, drily.
“ And,” resumed the Squire, a little embarrassed by the
nature of his task, and the cool assurance of his young
friend;
“And pray, Captain Clifford, what regiment do you
belong to?""
6 Regiment ?-oh, the Rifles !" answered Clifford,
(Deuce, is in me,' muttered hem if I can resist a jest,
though I break my neck over it.')


PAUL CLIFFORD.
211
“ A very gallant body of men !" said the Squire.
“ No doubt of that, sir !" rejoined Clifford.
“ And do you think, Captain Clifford,” renewed the
Squire, “ that it is a good corps for getting on?"
* It is rather a bad one for getting off," muttered the
Captain, and then aloud : “ Why, we have not much in-
* terest at Court, sir."
“Oh! but then there's a wider scope, as my brother
the lawyer says, and no man knows better-for merit,
1. I dare say, you have seen many a mian elevated from the
ranks ?"
“ Nothing more common, sir, than such elevation ;
- and so great is the virtue of our corps, that, I have also
Es known not a few willing to transfer the honour to their
comrades."
come “ You do n't say so!" exclaimed the Squire, opening
his eyes at such disinterested magnaninity.
* “ But,” said Clifford, who began to believe he might
1. carry the equivoque too far, and who thought, despite of
Esikt his jesting, that it was possible to strike out a more
ali agreeable vein of conversation; “ But, sir, if you re-
s, i member, you have not yet finished that youthful hunting
tabur adventure of yours, when the hounds lost at Burnham
00: Copse.”
old? "Oh, very true,” cried the Squ’re, quite forgetting his
sub late suspicions; and forthwith he began a story that pro-
mised to be as long as the chase it recorded. So charmed
jedri was he when he had finished it, with the character of the
up & gentleman who had listened to it so delightedly, that on
ed" rejoining Mauleverer, he told the Earl with an important
air, that he had strictly examined the young Captain, and
"' that he had fully convinced himself of the excellence of
mais his family, as well as the rectitude of his morals. Mau-
ne leverer listened with a countenance of polite incredulity;
he had heard but little of the conversation that had taken
a place between the pair, but on questioning the Squire
upon the sundry particulars of Clifford's birth, parent-
p age, and property, he found him exactly as ignorant as
before. The courtier, however, seeing farther expostu-
lation was in vain, contented himself with patting the
CSquire's shoulder, and saying with a mysterious urba.
nity, “Ah, sir, you are too good !"
With these words he turned on his heel, and, not yet
and despairing, sought the daughter. He found Miss Brans
don just released from dancing, and with a kind of paa


212
PAUL CLAFFORD.
ternal gallantry, he offered her his arm to parade the
apartments. After some preliininary flourish, and refer-
ence, for the thousandth time, to his friendship for Wil-
liam Brandon, the Earl spoke to her about that
“fine-looking young man, who called himself Captain
Clifford.”
Unfortunately for Mauleverer, he grew a little too un-
guarded, as his resentment against the interference of
Clifford warmed with his language, and he dropped in
his anger one or two words of caution which especially
offended the delicacy of Miss Brandon.
“ Take care how I encourage, my Lord !" said Lucy,
with glowing cheeks, repeating the words which had so
affronted her, “I really must beg you-
“ You mean, dear Miss Brandon," interrupted Mau-
leverer, squeezing her hand with respectful tenderness,
“ that you must beg me to apologize for my inadvertent
expression. I do most sincerely. If I had felt less in-
terest in your happiness, believe me, I should have been
more guarded in my language.”
Miss Brandon bowed stiffly, and the courtier saw with
secret rage, that the country beauty was not easily ap-
peased even by an apology from Lord Mauleverer. “I
have seen the time," thought he, “when young unmar-
ried ladies would have deemed an ujront from me an
honour! They would have gone into hysterics at an
apology!” Before he had time to make his peace, the
Squire joined them, and Lucy, taking her father's arm,
expressed her wish to return home. The Squire was
delighted at the proposition. It would have been but
civil in Mauleverer to offer his assistance in those little
attentions preparatory to female departure from balls.
He hesitated for a moment-“It keeps one so long in
those cursed thorough draughts," thought he, shivering.
“ Besides, it is just possible that I may not marry her,
and it is no good risking a cold (above all at the begin-
ning of winter) for nothing !" Fraught with this pru-
dential policy, Mauleverer then resigned Lucy to her fa-
ther, and murinuring in her ear, that “ her displeasure
made him the most wretched of men,” concluded his
adieu, by a bow penitentially graceful.
About five minutes afterwards, he himself withdrew.
As he was wrapping his corporeal treasure in his roque-
laire of sables, previous to immersing himself in his
chair, he had the mortification of seeing Lucy, who with


PAUL CLIFFORD.
213
her father, from some cause or other, had been delayed
in the hall, handed to the carriage by Captain Clifford.
Had the earl watched more narrowly, than in the anxious
cares due to himself he was enabled to do, he would, to
his consolation, have noted that Lucy gave her hand
with an averted and cool air, and that Clifford's expres.
sive and beautiful features bore rather the aspect of mor-
tification than triumph.
He did not, however, see more than the action, and as
he was borne homeward with his flambeaux and foot-
men preceding him, and the watchful Smoothson by the
side of the little vehicle, he muttered his determination
of writing by the very next post to Brandon, all his an-
ger for Lucy, and all his jealousy of her evident lover.
While this doughty resolve was animating the great
soul of Mauleverer, Lucy reached her own room, bolted
the door, and throwing herself on her bed, burst into a
long and bitter paroxysm of tears. So unusual were
such visiters to her happy and buoyant temper, that
there was something almost alarming in the earnestness
and obstinacy with which she now wept.
“ What !” said she, bitterly, “have I placed my affec-
tions upon a man of uncertain character! and is my in.
fatuation so clear, that an acquaintance dare hint at its
imprudence? And yet his manner, bis tone! No, no,
there can be no reason for shame in loving him !" and
as she said this, her heart smote her for the coldness of
her manner towards Clifford, on his taking leave of her
for the evening. “ Am 1,” she thought, weeping yet
mcre vehemently than before : “Am I so worldly, so
base, as to feel altered towards him the moment I hear
a syllable breathed against his name? Should I not, on
the contrary have clung to his image with a greater love,
if he were attacked by others? But my father, my dear
father, and my kind, prudent uncle, something is due to
them; and they would break their hearts, if I loved one
whom they deemed unworthy. Why should I not sum-
mon courage, and tell him of the suspicions respecting
hiin ? one candid word would dispel them. Surely it
would be but kind in me towards him, to give him an op-
portunity of disproving all false and dishonouring con-
jectures. And why this reserve? when so often by look
and hint, if not by open avowal, he has declared that he
loves me, and knows, he must know, that he is not indif-


214
PAUL CLIFFORD.
ferent to me? Why does he never speak of his parents,
his relations, his home ?"
And Lucy, as she asked this question, drew from a
bosum, whose hue and shape might have rivalled her's
who won Cymon to be wise,* a drawing which she her
self had secretly made of her lover, and which, though
inartificially and even rudely done, yet had caught the
inspiration of memory and breathed the very features
and air that were stamped already ineffaceably upon a
heart unworthy of so sullied an idol. She gazed upon
the portrait as if it could answer her question of the
original, and as she looked, and looked, her tears slowly
ceased, and her innocent countenance relapsed gradually
into its usual and eloquent serenity. Never, perhaps,
could Lucy's own portrait have been taken at a more
favourable moment! The unconscious grace of her at-
titude, her dress loosened, the modest and youthful vo-
luptuousness of her beauty, the tender cheek to which
the virgin bloom, banished for a while, was now all
glowingly returning; the little white soft hand on which
that cheek leaned, while the other contained the picture
upon which her eyes fed; the half smile just conjured
to her full, red, dewy lips, and gone the moment after,
yet again restored; all made a picture of such enchant.
ing loveliness, that we question whether Shakspeare
himself could have fancied an earthly shape more meet
to embody the vision of a Miranda or a Viola. The
quiet and maiden neatness of the apartment gave effect
to the charm; and there was a poetry even in the snowy
furniture of the bed, the shutters partly unclosed and ad-
mitting a glimpse of the silver moon, and the solitary
lamp just contending with the purer ray of the skies,
and so throwing a mixed and softened light around the
chamber.
She was yet gazing on the drawing, when a faint
strain of music stole through the air beneath her win-
dow, and it gradually rose till the sound of a guitar be-
came distinct and clear, suiting with, not disturbing the
moonlit stilness of the night. The gallantry and ro-
mance of a former day, though at the time of our story
subsiding, were not quite dispelled: and nightly sere-
nades under the casements of a distinguished beauty were
by no means of unfrequent occurrence. But Lucy, as the
• See Dryden's poem of Cymon and Iphigenia.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
215
music floated upon her ear, blushed deeper and deeper,
as if it had a dearer source to her heart than ordinary
gallantry, and raising herself on one arm from her incum-
bent position, she leaned forward to catch the sound with
a greater and more unerring certainty.
After a prelude of some moments, a clear and sweet
voice accompanied the instrument, and the words of the
song were as follows:
üles
cih, dhe
CLIFFORD'S SERENADE.
" There is a world where every night
My spirit meets and walks with thine;
And hopes-- I dare not tell thee--light
Like stars of Love-that world of mine!
Sleep!-to the waking world my heart
Hath now, methinks, a stranger grown-
Ah, sleep! that I inay feel thou art
Within one world that is my own!
s 01 As the music died away, Lucy sank back once more, and
as Ki the drawing which she held was pressed (with cheeks
dood glowing, though unseen, at the act) to her lips. And
though the character of her lover was uncleared, though
El Me she herself had come to no distinct resolution, even to
ement de inform him of the rumours against his name, yet so easily
che non restored was her trust in him, and so soothing the very
5b4 thought of his vigilance and his love, that before an hour
had passed, her eyes were closed in sleep; the drawing
was laid, as a spell against grief, under her pillow, and
rates in her dreams she murmured his name, and unconscious
thes of reality and the future, smiled tenderly as she did so!
eder
hes
END OF VOLUME I.





PAUL CLIFFORD.
BY THE
AUTHOR OF “PELHAM,” “THE DISOWNED,” &c.
Many of your lordships must recollect what used to take place on the high-
roads in the neighbourhood of this metropolis some years ago. Scarcely a
carriage could pass without being robbed, and frequently the passengers were
obliged to fight with, and give battle to, the highwaymen who infested the
roads.-Duke of Wellington's Speech on the Metropolis Police Bill, June 5th.
Mirror of Parliament, 1829, page 2050.
Can any man doubt whether it is better to be a great statesman, or a com-
mon thief ?--Jonathan Wild.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
A NEW AND ENLARGED EDITION.
NEW-YORK:
PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS,
NO. 82 CLIFF-STREET,
AND SOLD BY THE PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS THROUGHOUT THE
UNITED STATES.
18 3 5


THE NEW YORKII
PUBLIC LIBRARY
214766
ASTOR, LENOX AND
TILDEN FOUNDATIONS.
1901
naman


PAUL CLIFFORD. '
CHAPTER I.
Come, the plot thickens! and another fold
Of the warm cloak of mystery wraps us around.
And for their loves ?
Behold the seal is on them!
Banner of Tyburn.
We must not suppose that Clifford's manner and tone
were towards Lucy Brandon such as they seemed to
others. Love refines every roughness; and that truth
which nurtures tenderness, is never barren of grace.
Whatever the habits and comrades of Clifford's life, he
had at heart many good and generous qualities. They
were not often perceptible, it is true, first, because he
was of a gay and reckless turn; secondly, because he
was not easily effected by any external circumstance;
and thirdly, because he had the policy to affect among
his comrades only such qualities as were likely to give
him influence with them. Still, however, his better genius
broke out whenever an opportunity presented itself.
Though no “Corsair,” romantic and unreal, an Ossianic
shadow becoming more vast in proportion as it recedes
from substance; though no grandly-imagined lie to the
fair proportions of Human Nature, but an erring man in
a very prosaic and homely world; Clifford still mingled
a certain generosity and chivalric emprize, even with the
practices of his profession. Although the name of
Lovett, by which he was chiefly known, was one pecu-
liarly distinguished in the annals of the adventurous, it
had never been coupled with the rumours of cruelty or
outrage, and it was often associated with anecdotes of
courage, courtesy, good-humour, or forbearance. He
was one whom a real love was peculiarly calculated to
soften and to redeem. The boldness, the candour, the
42


PAUL CLIFFORD.
unselfishness of his temper, were components of nature
upon which affection invariably takes a strong and deep
hold. Besides, Clifford was of an eager and aspiring
turn; and the same temper and abilities which had in a
very few years raised him in influence and popularity far
above all the chivalric band with whom he was con-
nected, when once inflamed and elevated by a higher
passion, were likely to arouse his ambition from the level
of his present pursuits, and reform him, ere too late, into
a useful, nay, even an honourable member of society.
We trust that the reader has already perceived that, de-
spite his early circumstances, his manner and address
were not such as to unfit him for a lady's love. The
comparative refinement of his exterior is easy of expla-
nation, for he possessed a natural and inborn gentility, a
quick turn for observation, a ready sense both of the
ridiculous and the graceful; and these are materials which
are soon and lightly wrought from coarseness into polish.
He had been thrown, too, among the leaders and heroes
of his band ; many not absolutely low in birth, nor de-
based in habit. He had associated with the Barringtons
of the day : gentlemen who were admired at Ranelagh,
and made speeches worthy of Cicero, when they were
summoned to trial. He had played his part in public
places; and, as Tomlinson was wont to say after his
Ciceronian fashion, “the triumphs accomplished in the
field, had been planned in the ball-room." In short, he
was one of those accomplished and elegant highwaymen
of whom we yet read wonders, and by whom it would
have been delightful to have been robbed: and the apt-
ness of intellect, which grew into wit with his friends,
softened into sentiment with his mistress. There is
something, too, in beauty (and Clifford's person, as we
have before said, was possessed of even uncommon at-
tractions) which lifts a beggar into nobility; and there
was a distinction in his gait and look which supplied the
air of rank, and the tone of courts. Men, indeed, skilled
like Mauleverer in the subtleties of manner, might per:
haps have easily detecied in him the want of that inde-
scribable essence possessed only by persons reared in
good society ; but that want being shared by so many
persons of indisputable birth and fortune, conveyed no
particular reproach. To Lucy, indeed, brought up in se-
clusion, and seeing at Warlock none calculated to refine
her taste in the fashion of an air cr phrase to a very fas-


PAUL CLIFFORD.
tidious standard of perfection, this want was perfectly
imperceptible: she remarked in her lover only a figure
every where unequalled-an eye always eloquent with
admiration-a step from which grace could never be di-
vorced-a voice that spoke in a silver key, and uttered
flatteries delicate in thought and poetical in word :-even
a certain originality of mind, reinark, and character, oc-
casionally approaching to the bizarre, yet sometimes
also to the elevated, possessed a charm for the imagina-
tion of a young and not unenthusiastic female, and con-
trasted favourably, rather than the reverse, with the dull
insipidity of those she ordinarily saw. Nor are we sure
that the mystery thrown about him, irksome as it was to
her, and discreditable as it appeared to others, was alto-
gether ineffectual in increasing her love for the adven-
turer; and thus Fate, which transmutes in her magic
crucible all opposing metals into that one which she is
desirous to produce, swelled the wealth of an ill-placed
and ominous passion, by the very circumstances which
should have counteracted and destroyed it.
We are willing, by what we have said, not to defend
Clifford, but to redeem Lucy in the opinion of our read.
.ers, for loving so unwisely; and when they remember
her youth, her education, her privation of a mother, of all
female friendship, even of the vigilant and unrelaxing
care of some protector of the opposite sex, we do not
think that what was so natural will be considered by any
inexcusable.
Mauleverer woke the morning after the ball in better
health than usual, and consequently more in love than
ever. According to his resolution the night before, he
sat down to write a long letter to William Brandon; it
was amusing and witty as usual; but the wily nobleman
succeeded, under the cover of wit, in conveying to Bran.
don's mind a serious apprehension lest his cherished matri.
monial project should altogether fail. The account of Lucy
and of Captain Clifford contained in the epistle, instilled,
indeed, a double portion of sourness into the profession-
ally acrid mind of the lawyer; and as it so happened
that he read the letter just before attending the Court
upon a case in which he was Counsel to the Crown, the
witnesses on the opposite side of the question felt the full
effects of the barrister's ill-humour.
The case was one in which the defendant had been
engaged in swindling transactions to a very large amount


PAUL CLIFFORD.
-and, amid his agents and assistants, was a person ranke
ing among the very lowest orders—but who, seemingly
enjoying large connexions, and possessing natural acute-
ness and address, appeared to have been of great use in
receiving and disposing of such goods as were fraudu-
lently obtained. As a witness against the latter person
appeared a pawnbroker, who produced certain articles
that had been pledged to him at different times by this
humble agent. Now, Brandon, in examining the guilty
go-between, became the more terribly severe, in propor-
tion as the man evinced that semblance of unconscious
stolidity, which the lower orders so ingeniously assume,
and which is so peculiarly adapted to enrage and to
baffle the gentlemen of the bar. At length, Brandon, en-
tirely subduing and quelling the stubborn hypocrisy of the
culprit, the man turned towards him a look between
wrath and beseechingness, muttering-
“Aha!-If so be, Counsellor Prandon, you knew vat
I knows, you vould not go for to bully I so!”
“And pray, my good fellow, what is it that you know
that should make me treat you as if I thought you an
honest man ?"
The witness had now relapsed into sullenness, and
only answered by a sort of grunt. Brandon, who knew
well how to sting a witness into communicativeness,
continued his questioning, till the witness, re-aroused
into anger, and, it may be, into indiscretion, said, in a low
voice-
“ Hax Mr. Swoppem (the pawnbroker) what I sold
'im on the 15th hof February, exactly twenty-three year'n
ago ?" .
Brandon started back, his lips grew white, he clenched
his hands with a convulsive spasm ; and while all his
features seemed distorted with an earnest, yet fearful in-
tensity of expectation, he poured forth a volley of ques-
tions, so incoherent, and so irrelevant, that he was immedi.
ately called to order by his learned brother on the opposite
side. Nothing farther could be extracted from the wit-
ness. The pawnbroker was re-summoned; he appeared
somewhat disconcerted by an appeal to his memory so
far back as twenty-three years, but after taking some
time to consider, during which the agitation of the usu-
ally cold and possessed Brandon was remarkable to all
the court, he declared that he recollected no transaction
whatsoever with the witness at that time. In vain were


PAUL CLIFFORD.
all Brandon's efforts to procure a more elucidatory an-
swer. The pawnbroker was impenetrable, and the law.
yer was compelled reluctantly to dismiss him. The mo.
ment the witness left the box, Brandon sunk into a
gloomy abstraction-he seemed quite to forget the busi-
ness and the duties of the court; and so negligently did
he continue to conclude the case, so purposeless was the
rest of his examination and cross-examination, that the
cause was entirely marred, and a verdict “ Not Guilty"
returned by the jury.
The moment he left the court, Brandon repaired to the
pawnbroker's; and after a conversation with Mr. Swop-
pem, in which he satisfied that honest tradesman that his
object was rather to reward than intimidate, Swoppem
confessed that twenty-three years ago the witness had
met him at a public house in Devereux-court, in com-
pany with two other men, and sold him several articles
in plate, ornaments, &c. The great bulk of these arti-
cles had, of course, long left the pawnbroker's abode, but
he still thought a stray trinket or two—not of sufficient
worth to be re-set or re-modelled-nor of sufficient
fashion to find a ready sale, lingered in his drawers.
Eagerly and with trembling hands did Brandon toss over
the motley contents of the mahogany reservoirs which
the pawnbroker now submitted to his scrutiny.-Nothing
on earth is so melancholy a prospect as a pawnbroker's
drawer!-those little, quaint, valueless ornaments, those
true-lovers' knots, those oval lockets, those battered
rings, girdled by initials, or some brief inscription of re-
gard or grief-what tales of past affections, hopes, and
sorrows do they not tell! But no sentiment of so ge-
neral a sort ever saddened the hard mind of William
Brandon, and now less than at any time could such re-
flections have occurred to him. Impatiently he threw
on the table, one after another, the baubles once hoarded,
perchance, with the tenderest respect, till at length his
eyes sparkled, and with a nervous gripe he seized upon
an old ring, which was inscribed with letters, and circled
a heart containing hair. The inscription was simply,
6 W. B. to Julia.” Strange and dark was the expression
that settled on Brandon's face as he regarded this seem-
ingly worthless trinket. After a moment's gaze, he ut-
tered an inarticulate exclamation, and thrusting it into
his pocket, renewed his search. He found one or two
trifles of a similar nature; one was an ill-done miniature


PAUL CLIFFORD.
set in silver, and bearing at the back sundry half-effaced
letters, which Brandon construed at once (though no other
eye could) into “ Sir John de Brandon, 1635, Ætat. 28;""
the other was a seal stamped with the noble crest of the
house of Brandon, “A bull's head ducally crowned and
armed Or. As soon as Brandon had possessed himself
of these treasures, and arrived at the conviction that the
place held no more, he assured the conscientious Swop-
pem of his regard for that person's safety, rewarded him
munificently, and went his way to Bow-street for a war-
rant against the witness who had commended him to
the pawnbroker. On his road thither, a new resolution
occurred to him, “ Why make all public,” he muttered
to himself, “if it can be avoided ? and it may be avoided !"
He paused a moment, then retraced his way to the
pawnbroker's, and after a brief mandate to Mr. Swop-
pem, returned home. In the course of the same eve-
ning, the witness we refer to was brought to the lawyer's
house by Mr. Swoppem, and there held a long and private
conversation with Brandon: the result of this seemed a
compact to their mutual satisfaction, for the man went
away safe, with a heavy purse and a light heart, although
sundry shades and misgivings did certainly ever and
anon cross the latter; while Brandon flung himself back
in his seat, with the triumphant air of one who has ac-
complished some great measure, and his dark face be-
trayed in every feature a joyousness and hope, which
were unfrequent guests, it must be owned, either to his
countenance or his heart.
So good a man of business, however, was William
Brandon, that he allowed not the event of that day to
defer beyond the night his attention to his designs for
the aggrandizement of his niece and house. By day-
break the next morning, he had written to Lord Maule-
verer, to his brother, and to Lucy. To the last, his letter,
couched in all the anxiety of fondness, and the caution
of affectionate experience, was well calculated to occa-
sion that mingled shame and soreness which the wary
lawyer rightly judged would be the most effectual enemy i
to an incipient passion. “I have accidentally heard,” he
wrote, “ from a friend of mine, just arrived from Bath, of
the glaring attentions paid to you by a Captain Clifford;
I will not, my dearest niece, wound you by repeating
what also I heard of your manner in receiving them. I
know the ill-nature and the envy of the world, and I do


PAUL CLIFFORD.
not for a moment imagine, that my Lucy, of whom I am
so justly proud, would countenance, from a petty coquetry,
the advances of one whom she could never marry, or
evince to any suitor partiality unknown to her relations,
and certainly placed in a quarter which could never
receive their approbation. I do not credit the reports of
the idle, my dear niece, but if I discredit, you must not
slight them. I call upon your prudence, your delicacy,
your discretion, your sense of right, at once, and effect-
ually, to put a stop to all impertinent rumours : dance
with this young man no more; do not let him be of your
party in any place of amusement, public or private; avoid
even seeing him, if you are able, and throw in your
manner towards him that decided coldness which the
world cannot mistake !" Much more did the skilful
uncle write, but all to the same purpose; and for the
furtherance of the same design. His letter to his brother
was no less artful. He told him at once that Lucy's
preference of the suit of a handsome fortune-hunter was
the public talk, and besought him to lose not a moment
in quelling the rumour. “You may do so easily," he
wrote, “ by avoiding the young man; and should he
be very importunate, return at once to Warlock-
your daughter's welfare must be dearer to you than any
thing.”
To Mauleverer, Brandon replied by a letter which
turned first on public matters, and then slid carelessly
into the subject of the Earl's information.
Among the admonitions which he ventured to give
Mauleverer, he dwelt, not without reason, on the want
of tact displayed by the Earl, in not manifesting that
pomp and show which his station in life enabled him to
do.“ Remember," he urged, “ you are not among your
equals, by whom unnecessary parade begins to be con-
sidered an ostentatious vulgarity. The surest method of
dazzling our inferiors is by splendour-not taste. All
young persons, all women in particular, are caught by
show, and enamoured of magnificence. Assume a
greater state, and you will be more talked of; and noto-
riety wins a woman's heart more than beauty or youth.
You have, forgive me, played the boy too long; a certain
dignity becomes your manhood: women will not respect
you if you suffer yourself to become “stale and cheap to
vulgar company. You are like a man who has fifty
advantages and uses only one of them to gain his point,
A 3


10
PAUL CLIFFORD.
when you rely on your conversation and your manner,
and throw away the resources of your wealth and your
station. Any private gentleman may be amiable and
witty; but any private gentleman cannot call to his aid
the Aladdin's lamp possessed in England by a wealthy
Peer. Look to this, my dear Lord. Lucy at heart is
vain, or she is not a woman. Dazzle her then-dazzle!
Love may be blind, but it must be made so by excess of
light. You have a country house within a few miles of
Bath-why not take up your abode there instead of in a
paltry lodging in the town? Give sumptuous entertain-
ments-make it necessary for all the world to attend
them-exclude, of course, this Captain Clifford-you
will then meet Lucy without a rival. At present, ex-
cepting only your title, you fight on a level ground with
this adventurer, instead of an eminence from which
you could in an instant sweep him away. Nav,-he
is stronger than you ; he has the opportunities afforded
by a partnership in balls where you cannot appear to
advantage; he is, you say, in the first bloom of youth-
he is handsome. Reflect!-your destiny, so far as
Lucy is concerned, is in your hands. I turn to other
subjects, &c.”
As Brandon re-read ere he signed this last letter, a
bitter smile sat on his harsh, yet handsome features.
“ If,” said he, mentally, “I can effect this object; if
Mauleverer does marry this girl, why so much the better
that she has another, a fairer, and a more welcome
lover. By the great principle of scorn within me, which
has enabled me to sneer at what weaker minds adore,
and make a footstool of that worldly honour which fools
set up as a throne, it would be to me more sweet than
fame-ay, or even than power to see this fine-spun
Lord a gibe in the mouths of men-a cuckold-a cuck-
old !” and as he said the last word, Brandon laughed out-
right. “And he thinks, too,” added he, “that he is sure
of my fortune; otherwise, perhaps, he, the silversmith's
descendant, would not dignify our house with his pro-
posals; but he may err there-he may err there ;"—and
finishing his soliloquy, Brandon finished also his letter
by—“Adieu, my dear Lord, your most affectionate
friend!”
It is not difficult to conjecture the effect produced upon
Lucy by Brandon's letter: it made her wretched; she
refused for days to go out; she shut herself up in her


PAUL CLIFFORD.
11
apartment, and consumed the time in tears and struggles
with her own heart. Sometimes, what she conceived to
be her duty conquered, and she resolved to forswear
her lover : but the night undid the labour of the day; for
at night, every night, the sound of her lover's voice, ac-
companied by music, melted away her resolution, and
made her once more all tenderness and trust. The
words, too, sung under her window, were especially
suited to affect her; they breached a melancholy which
touched her the more from its harmony with her own
thoughts. One while they complained of absence; at
another they hinted at neglect; but there was always in
then a tone of humiliation, not reproach : they bespoke
a sense of unworthiness in the lover, and confessed that
even the love was a crime; and in proportion as they
owned the want of desert, did Lucy more firmly cling to
the belief that her lover was deserving.
The old Squire was greatly disconcerted by his bro-
ther's letter. Though impressed with the idea of self-
consequence, and the love of tolerably pure blood, com-
mon to most country squires, he was by no means am-
bitious for his daughter. On the contrary, the same
feeling which at Warlock had made him choose his
companions among the inferior gentry, made him averse
to the thought of a son-in-law from the Peerage. De-
spite of Mauleverer's good-nature, the very ease of the
Earl annoyed him, and he never felt at home in his
society. To Clifford he had a great liking, and having
convinced himself that there was nothing to suspect in
the young gentleman, he saw no earthly reason why so
agreeable a companion should not be an agreeable son-
in-law. “If he be poor,” thought the Squire, “ though
he does not seem so, Lucy is rich !" And this truism
appeared to him to answer every objection. Neverthe-
less, William Brandon possessed a remarkable influence
over the weaker mind of his brother; and the Squire,
though with great reluctance, resolved to adopt his ad-
vice. He shut his doors against Clifford, and when he
met him in the streets, instead of greeting him with his
wonted cordiality, he passed him with a hasty " Good.
day, Captain !” which after the first day or two merged
into a distant bow. Whenever very good-hearted people
are rude, and unjustly so, the rudeness is in the extreme.
The Squire felt it so irksome to be less familiar than
heretofore with Clifford, that his only remaining desire


12
PAUL CLIFFORD
was now to drop him altogether; and to this consum-
mation of acquaintance the gradually-cooling salute ap.
peared rapidly approaching. Meanwhile, Clifford, un-
able to see Lucy, shunned by her father, and obtaining
in answer to all inquiry rude looks from the footman,
whom nothing but the most resolute command over his
muscles prevented him from knocking down, began to
feel, perhaps, for the first time in his life, that an equivo-
cal character is at least no equivocal misfortune. To
add to his distress, “ the earnings of his previous indus-
try”—we use the expression cherished by the wise
Tomlinson-waxed gradually less and less, beneath the
expenses of Bath; and the murmuring voices of his two
comrades began already to reproach their chief for his
inglorious idleness, and to hint at the necessity of a
speedy exertion.
CHAPTER IV.
Whackum.--Look you there, now! Well, all Europe cannot show a
knot of tiner wits and braver gentlemen.
Dingboy.-Faith, they are pretty smart men.
SHADWELL'S Scourers.
THE world of Bath was of a sudden delighted by the
intelligence that Lord Mauleverer had gone to Beauville
(the beautiful seat possessed by that nobleman in the
neighbourhood of Bath), with the intention of there hold.
ing a series of sumptuous entertainments.
The first persons to whom the gay Earl announced
his “hospitable purpose,” were Mr. and Miss Brandon ;
he called at their house and declared his resolution of
not leaving it till Lucy (who was in her own room) con-
sented to gratify him with an interview, and a promise to
be the queen of his purposed festival. Lucy, teased by
her father, descended to the drawing-room spiritless and
pale; and the Earl, struck by the alteration of her ap-
pearance, took her hand, and made his inquiries with so
interested and feeling a semblance of kindness, as pre-
possessed the father, for the first time, in his favour, and
touched even the daughter. So earnest, too, was his
request that she would honour his festivities with her


PAUL CLIFFORD.
13
'
presence, and with so skilful a flattery was it conveyed,
that the Squire undertook to promise the favour in her
name; and when the Earl, declaring he was not con-
tented with that promise from another, appealed to Lucy
herself, her denial was soon melted into a positive
though a reluctant assent.
Delighted with his success, and more struck with
Lucy's loveliness, refined as it was by her paleness, than
he had ever been before, Mauleverer left the house, and
calculated with greater accuracy than he had hitherto
done, the probable fortune Lucy would derive from her
uncle.
No sooner were the cards issued for Lord Maule.
verer's fête, than nothing else was talked of among the
circles which, at Bath, people were pleased to term
“ the World."-Some time or other we intend more
poetically than these pages will suffer us, to take notice
of the amusements and pursuits of that said “ World,"
in whatever corner of England it may be found. Grant
us patience, Heaven,-power and patience, to tell the
people of what stuff “ Fashion" is made; while other
novelists praise, imitate, exalt the vicious inanities of a
hoary aristocracy, grown to that age when even the
respectable crimes of its earlier youth sink into drivel-
ling,-grant us the ability to expose and to deride them,
and we will not ask the blessing to bequeath any other
moral to our sons !
But, in the interim, caps are making, and talk flowing,
at Bath; and when it was found that Lord Mauleverer
-the good-natured Lord Mauleverer!-the obliging
Lord Mauleverer !—was really going to be exclusive,
and out of a thousand acquaintances to select only eight
hundred, it is amazing how his popularity deepened into
respect. Now, then, came anxiety and triumph,-she
who was asked turned her back upon her who was not,
-old friendships dissolved, -Independence wrote letters
for a ticket, and, as England is the freest country in the
world, all the Mistresses Hodges and Snodges begged
to take the liberty of bringing their youngest daughters.
Leaving the enviable Mauleverer, the godlike occasion
of so much happiness and wo, triumph and dejection,
ascend with us, O reader, into those elegant apartments
over the hair-dresser's shop, tenanted by Mr. Edward
Pepper and Mr. Augustus Tomlinson :-the time was
that of evening, Captain Clifford had been dining with


14
PAUL CLIFFORD.
his two friends, the cloth was removed, and conversa-
tion was flowing over a table graced by two bottles of
port, a bowl of punch for Mr. Pepper's especial discus-
sion, two dishes of filberts, another of devilled biscuits,
and a fourth of three Pomarian crudities, which nobody
touched.
The hearth was swept clean, the fire burnt high and
clear, the curtains were let down, and the light excluded.
Our three adventurers and their room seemed the pic-
ture of comfort. So thought Mr. Pepper, for, glancing
round the chamber, and putting his feet upon the fender,
he said,
“Were my portrait to be taken, gentlemen; it is just
as I am now that I would be drawn !"
“ And,” said Tomlinson, cracking his filberts-Tom-
linson was fond of filberts—" were I to choose a home,
it is in such a home as this that I would be always
quartered.”
“Ab! gentlemen,” said Clifford, who had been for
some time silent, “it is more than probable that both
your wishes may be heard, and that ye may be drawn,
quartered, and something else too, in the very place of
your desert!”
“ Well !” said Tomlinson, smiling gently, “ I am happy
to hear you jest again, Captain, though it be at our ex-
pense.”
6 Expense !" echoed Ned. " Ay! there's the rub!
who the deuse is to pay the expense of our dinner ?”
“And our dinners for the last week ?” added Tomlin-
son; "this empty nut looks ominous; it certainly has
one grand feature, strikingly resembling my pockets."
“Heigho!” sighed Long Ned—turning his waistcoat
commodities inside-out with a significant gesture, while
the accomplished Tomlinson, who was fond of plaintive
poetry, pointed to the disconsolate vacua, and exclaimed
"E'en while Fashion's brightest arts decoy
The heart desponding asks if this be joy."
“In truth, gentlemen,” added he, solemnly depositing
his nut-crackers on the table, and laying, as was his
wont, when about to be luminous, his right finger on his
sinister palm— In truth, gentlemen, affairs are growing
serious with us, and it becomes necessary forthwith
to devise some safe means of procuring a decent com
petence."


PAUL CLIFFORD.
“I am dunned confoundedly," cried Ned.
« And,” continued Tomlinson," no person of delicacy
likes to be subjected to the importunity of vulgar cre-
er ditors; we must therefore raise money for the liquida-
tion of our debts. Captain Lovett, or Clifford, which-
ever you be styled, we call upon you to assist us in so
praiseworthy a purpose !"
Clifford turned his eyes first on one, and then on the
other, but made no answer.
“ Imprimis," said Tomlinson; “let us each produce
* our stock in hand; for my part, I am free to confess-
for what shame is there in that poverty which our exer-
tions are about to relieve ?-that I have only two guineas,
four shillings, and three pence halfpenny!"
“ And I,” said Long Ned, taking a china ornament
it from the chimney-piece, and emptying its contents in his
hand, “ am in a still more pitiful condition. See, I have
only three shillings and a bad guinea. I gave the guinea
to the waiter at the White Hart, yesterday; the dog
brought it back to me to-day, and I was forced to change
it with my last shiner. Plague take the thing! I bought
it of a Jew for four shillings, and have lost one pound
five by the bargain !”
“ Fortune frustrates our wisest schemes !" rejoined the
moralizing Augustus. “Captain, will you produce the
scanty wrecks of your wealth ?"
Clifford, still silent, threw a purse on the table ; Au-
gustus carefully emptied it, and counted out five guineas;
an expression of grave surprise settled on Tomlinson's
contemplative brow, and extending the coins towards
Clifford, he said, in a melancholy tone-
- All your pretty ones?
Did you say all ?i »
A look from Clifford answered the interesting interro-
gatory.
66 These, then,” said Tomlinson, collecting in his hand
the common wealth_" These, then, are all our remain-
ing treasures !"-as he spoke, he jingled the coins
mournfully in his palm, and gazing upon them with a
parental air, exclaimed,
"Alas! regardless of their doom, the little victims play !"
“Oh, damn it!" said Ned, " no sentiment! Let us
come to business at once. To tell you the truth, 1, for


PAUL CLIFFORD.
11
ai « Not! and why ?" cried Mr. Pepper, amazed.
“ Because I have business here that renders it impos-
#sible; perhaps, before long, I may join you in London."
- “ Nay,” said Tomlinson, “there is no necessity for our
* going to London, if you wish to remain here ; nor need
we at present recur to so desperate an expedient as the
* road a little quiet business at Bath will answer our
1 purpose; and for my part, as you well know, I love ex.
E erting my wits in some scheme more worthy of them
than the highway--a profession meeter for a bully than
a man of genius. Let us then, Captain, plan a project
of enrichment on the property of some credulous trades-
man! why have recourse to rough measures, so long as
we can find easy fools ?”
Clifford shook his head. "I will own to you fairly,"
said he, “that I cannot at present take a share in your
exploits : nay, as your chief, I must lay my positive
commands on you to refrain from all exercise of your
talents at Bath. Rob, if you please; the world is be-
fore you ; but this city is sacred.”
y “Body o' me !" cried Ned, colouring, “but this is too
good. I will not be dictated to in this manner."
“But, sir,” answered Clifford, who had learned in his
oligarchical profession the way to command, “but, sir,
you shall, or if you mutiny, you leave our body, and then
will the hangman have no petty chance of your own.
Come! come! ingrate as you are, what would you be
without me? How many times have I already saved
that long carcass of thine from the rope, and now would
Ej you have the baseness to rebel ? Out on you!"
Though Mr. Pepper was still wroth, he bit his lip in
moody silence, and suffered not his passion to have its
way; while Clifford, rising, after a short pause, continued:
“ Look you, Mr. Pepper, you know my commands, con-
sider them peremptory. I wish you success, and plenty !
Farewell, gentlemen!"
“Do you leave us already ?” cried Tomlinson; “you
are offended.”
“Surely not !" answered Clifford, retreating to the
door: “but an engagement elsewhere, you know !"
“Ay, I take you !" said Tomlinson, following Clifford
out of the room, and shutting the door after him.
“Ay, I take you!” added he, in a whisper, as he arrested
Clifford at the head of the stairs. “But tell me, how do
you get on with the heiress ?"


18
PAUL CLIFFORD
Smothering that sensation at his neart which made
Clifford, reckless as he was, enraged and ashamed, when.
ever, through the lips of his comrades, there issued any
allusion to Lucy Brandon, the chief replied, “I fear,
Tomlinson, that I am already suspected by the old Squire!
all of a sudden, he avoids me, shuts his door against me,
Miss Brandon goes nowhere; and even if she did, what
could I expect from her after this sudden change in the
father?”
Tomlinson looked blank and disconcerted : “ But,"
said he, after a moment's silence, “why not put a good
face on the matter ? walk up to the Squire, and ask him
the reason of his unkindness ?"
“ Why, look you, my friend; I am bold enough with
all others, but this girl has made me as bashful as a maid,
in all that relates to herself. Nay, there are moments
when I think I can conquer all selfish feeling, and rejoice
for her sake that she has escaped me. Could I but see
her once more--I could-yes! I feel-I feel I could-
resign her for ever!”
“ Humph !" said Tomlinson; “and what is to become
of us ? Really, my Captain, your sense of duty should
lead you to exert yourself; your friends starve before
your eyes, while you are shilly-shallying about your
mistress. Have you no bowels for friendship ?"
“ A truce with this nonsense !” said Clifford, angrily.
“ It is sense,-sober sense,-and sadness too;" re-
joined Tomlinson. “Ned is discontented, our debts are
imperious. Suppose, now,-just suppose,-that we take
a moonlight flitting from Bath, will that tell well for you
whom we leave behind ? yet this we must do, if you do
not devise some method of refilling our purses. Either,
then, consent to join us in a scheme meet for our wants,
or pay our debts in this city, or fly with us to London, and
dismiss all thoughts of that love which is so seldom
friendly to the projects of ambition."
Notwithstanding the manner in which Tomlinson made
this threefold proposition, Clifford could not but acknow-
ledge the sense and justice contained in it; and a glance
at the matter sufficed to show how ruinous to his cha-
racter, and therefore to his hopes, would be the flight of
his comrades and the clamour of their creditors.
“ You speak well, Tomlinson," said he, hesitating,
4 and yet for the life of me I cannot aid you in any scheme
which may disgrace us by detection. Nothing can re-


PAUL CLIFFORD.
19
concile me to the apprehension of Miss Brandon's dis-
covering who and what was her suitor."
“I feel for you," said Tomlinson, “ but give me and
Pepper at least permission to shift for ourselves; trust
to my known prudence for finding some method to raise
the wind without creating a dust; in other words—(this
d-d Pepper makes one so vulgar!)-of preying on the
* public without being discovered.”
“I see no alternative,” answered Clifford, reluctantly;
DE « but, if possible, be quiet for the present; bear with me
for a few days longer, give me only sufficient time once
Eb more to see Miss Brandon, and I will engage to extricate
you from your difficulties !"
“ Spoken like yourself, frankly and nobly!” replied
Tomlinson: “no one has a greater confidence in your
1 genius, once exerted, than I have !"
So saying, the pair shook hands and parted. Tom-
linson rejoined Mr. Pepper.
“Well, have you settled any thing ?" quoth the
latter.
“Not exactly; and though Lovett has promised to
i exert himself in a few days, yet as the poor man is in
I love, and his genius under a cloud, I have little faith in
his promises."
“And I have none !” said Pepper;'“ besides time
presses! A few days!-a few devils! We are certainly
The scented here, and I walk about like a barrel of beer at
, Christmas, under hourly apprehension of being tapped!”
Series “It is very strange,” said the philosophic Augustus;
IF “but I think there is an instinct in tradesmen by which
and they can tell a rogue at first sight; and I can get (dress
en I ever so well) no more credit with my laundress than
to my friends the Whigs can with the people."
li “In short, then," said Ned, “ we must recur at once
is in to the road! and on the day after to-morrow there will
be an excellent opportunity: the old Earl, with the hard
mis name, gives a breakfast, or feast, or some such mum-
mery; I understand people will stay till after night-fall;
let us watch our opportunity, we are famously mounted,
it and some carriage later than the general string may
pe furnish us with all our hearts can desire !”
“ Bravo !” cried Tomlinson, shaking Mr. Pepper
like heartily by the hand, “I give you joy of your ingenuity,
ren and you may trust to me to make our peace afterward
con with Lovett; any enterprise that seems to him gallant


PAUL CLIFFORD,
21
once more to my fatal career, and forget that I have ever
repented that it was begun. Yet, what else could have
been my alternative? Friendléss, homeless, nameless
an orphan, worse than an orphan—the son of a harlot,
my father even unknown! yet cursed with early as-
pirings and restlessness, and a half-glimmering of know.
ledge, and an entire lust of whatever seemed enterprise
what wonder that I chose any thing rather than daily
labour and perpetual contumely? After all, the fault is
in fortune, and the world, not me! Oh! Lucy, had I but
been born in your sphere; had I but possessed the claim
to merit you, what would I not have done, and dared,
and conquered for your sake !"
Such, or similar to these, were the thoughts of Clif.
ford during the interval between his resolution of seeing
Lucy, and the time of effecting it. The thoughts were
of no pleasing, though of an exciting, nature; nor were
they greatly soothed by the ingenious occupation of
cheating himself into the belief, that if he was a high-
wayman, it was altogether the fault of the highways.
CHAPTER III.
Dream.-Let me but see her, dear Leontius.
Humorous Lieutenant.
Hempskirke.--It was the fellow, sure.
Wolfort.-What are you, sirrah'?
Beggar's Bush.
*
y
O Thou divine Spirit, that through England burnest in
every breast, inciting each with the sublime desire to be
fine! that stirrest up the great to become little in order
to seem greater, and that makest a Dutchess woo insult
for a voucher! Thou that delightest in so many shapes,
multivarious, yet the same; Spirit that makest the high
despicable, and the lord meaner than his valet! equally
great whether thou cheatest a friend, or cuttest a father!
lackering all thou touchest with a bright vulgarity, that
thy votaries imagine to be gold !--thou that sendest the
few to fashionable balls and the many to fashionable
novels ;-that smitest even genius as well as folly,
making the favourites of the former boast'an acquaint-


22
PAUL CLIFFORD.
ance they have not with the graces of a mushroom peer-
age, rather than the knowledge they have of the muses
of an eternal Helicon !--thou that leavest in the great
ocean of our manners no dry spot for the foot of inde-
pendence ;-that pallest on the jaded eye with a moving
and girdling panorama of daubed vilenesses, and frit-
terest away the souls of free-born Britons into a powder
smaller than the angels which dance in myriads on a
pin's point. Spirit! divine Spirit! carriest thou not be-
neath the mantle of frivolity a mighty and sharp sword,
and by turning into contempt, while thou affectest to
display, the solemn plausibilities of the world,'* hast-
enest thou not to the great family of man the epoch of
redemption? Whether, o Spirit! thou callest thyself
Fashion, or Ton, or Ambition, or Vanity, or Cringing, or
Cant, or any title equally lofty and sublimé-would that
from thy wings we could gain but a single plume!
Fain would we, in fitting strain, describe the festivities
of thạt memorable day, when the benevolent Lord Maule-
yerer received and blessed the admiring universe of Bath!
But to be less poetical, as certain writers say, when
they have been writing nonsense-But to be less poetical,
and more exact, the morning, though in the depth of
winter, was bright and clear, and Lord Mauleverer found
himself in particularly good health. Nothing could be
better planned than the whole of his arrangements : un-
like those which are ordinarily chosen for the express
reason of being as foreign as possible to the nature of
our climate, all at Lord Mauleverer's were made suitable
to a Greenland atmosphere. The temples and summer-
houses, interspersed through the grounds, were fitted up,
some as Esquimaux huts, others as Russian pavilions
fires were carefully kept up; the musicians, Mauleverer
took care, should have as much wine as they pleased :
they were set skilfully in places where they were un-
seen, but where they could be heard. One or two tem-
porary buildings were erected for those who loved danc-
ing; and as Mauleverer, miscalculating on the princi-
ples of human nature, thought gentlemen might be averse
from ostentatious exhibition, he had hired persons to
skate minuets, and figures of eight upon his lakes, for
the amusement of those who were fond of skating. All
people who would be kind enough to dress in strange
* Burke.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
23
costumes, and make odd noises, which they called singa
ing, the Earl had carefully engaged, and planted in the
best places for making them look still stranger than they
were.
There was also plenty to eat, and more than plenty to
drink. Mauleverer knew well that our countrymen and
countrywomen, whatever be their rank, like to have
their spirits exalted. In short, the whole dejeune was so
admirably contrived, that it was probable the guests
would not look much more melancholy during the amuse-
ments, than they would have done had they been other-
wise engaged at a funeral.
Lucy and the Squire were among the first arrivals.
Mauleverer, approaching the father and daughter, with
his most Devonshire-house manner, insisted on taking the
latter under his own escort, and being her Cicerone
through the round of preparations.
As the crowd thickened, and it was observed how
gallant were the attentions testified towards Lucy by
the host, many and envious were the whispers of the
guests! Those good people, naturally angry at the
thought that two individuals should be married, divided
themselves into two parties; one abused Lucy, and the
other Mauleverer; the former vituperated her art, the
latter his folly. “I thought she would play her cards
well-deceitful creature !" said the one. “ January and
May," muttered another; “ the man 's sixty !" It was
noticeable, that the party against Lucy was chiefly com-
posed of ladies, that against Mauleverer, of men; that
conduct must indeed be heinous, which draws down the
indignation of one's own sex!
Unconscious of her crimes, Lucy moved along, lean-
ing on the arm of the gallant Earl, and languidly smiling,
with her heart far away, at his endeavours to amuse her.
There was something interesting in the mere contrast
of the pair; so touching seemed the beauty of the young
girl, with her delicate cheek, maiden form, drooping eye.
lid, and quiet simplicity of air, in comparison to the
worldly countenance and artificial grace of her com-
panion.
After some time, when they were in a sequestered
part of the grounds, Mauleverer, observing that none
were near, entered a rude hut, and so fascinated was he
at that moment by the beauty of his guest, and so meet
to him seemed the opportunity of his confession, that he


PAUL CLIFFORD.
with difficulty suppressed the avowal rising to his lips,
and took the more prudent plan of first sounding and
preparing, as it were, the way.
“I cannot tell you, my dear Miss Brandon,” said he
slightly pressing the beautiful hand leaning on his arm,
“ how happy I am to see you the guest, the queen,
rather, of my house! Ah! could the bloom of youth
return with its feelings! Time is never so cruel as
when, while stealing from us the power to please, he
leaves us in full vigour the unhappy privilege to be
charmed !"
Mauleverer expected at least a blushing contradiction
to the implied application of a sentiment so affectingly
expressed; he was disappointed. Lucy, less alive than
usual to the sentimental, or its reverse, scarcely per-
ceived his meaning, and answered, simply, " That it was
very true.” “ This comes of being, like my friend Burke,
too refined for one's audience,” thought Mauleverer,
wincing a little from the unexpected reply. " And yet,"
he resumed, “I would not forego my power to admire,
futile-nay, painful as it is. Even now while I gaze on
you, my heart tells me that the pleasure I enjoy, it is at
your command, at once, and for ever, to blight into mi.
sery ; but while it tells me, I gaze on!”
Lucy raised her eyes, and something of her natural
archness played in their expression.
“I believe, my Lord,” said she, moving from the hut,
" that it would be better to join your guests : walls have
ears; and what would be the gay Lord Mauleverer's
self-reproach, if he heard again of his fine compliments
to-
6 The most charming person in Europe !” cried Mau-
leverer, vehemently, and the hand which he before
touched, he now clasped; at that instant Lucy saw op-
posite to her, half-hid by a copse of evergreens, the
figure of Clifford. His face, which seemed pale and
wan, was not directed towards the place where she stood:
and he evidently did not perceive Mauleverer or herself,
yet so great was the effect that this glimpse of him pro-
duced on Lucy, that she trembled violently, and uncon-
sciously uttering a faint cry, snatched her hand from
Mauleverer.
The Earl started, and catching the expression of her
eyes, turned instantly towards the spot to which her
gaze seemed riveted. He had not heard the rustling of


PAUL CLIFFORD.
-
the boughs, but he saw with, his habitual quickness of
remark, that they still trembled, as if lately displaced,
and he caught through their interstices the glimpse of
a receding figure. He sprang forward with an agility
very uncommon to his usual movements; but before he
gained the copse, every vestige of the intruder had
vanished.
What slaves we are to the moment! As Mauleverer
turned back to rejoin Lucy, who, agitated almost to
fainting, leaned against the rude wall of the hut, he
would as soon have thought of flying as of making that
generous offer of self, &c. which the instant before he
had been burning to render Lucy. The vain are always
confoundedly jealous, and Mauleverer remembering Clif-
ford, and Lucy's blushes in dancing with him, instantly
accounted for her agitation and its cause. With a very
grave air he approached the object of his late adoration,
and requested to know if it were not some abrupt in-
truder that had occasioned her alarm. Lucy, scarcely
knowing what she said, answered, in a low voice, “ That
it was, indeed!” and begged instantly to rejoin her father.
Mauleverer offered his arm with great dignity, and the
pair passed into the frequented part of the grounds,
where Mauleverer once more brightened into smiles and
courtesy to all around him.
“He is certainly accepted!” said Mr. Shrewd to Lady
Simper.
“What an immense match for the girl!” was Lady
Simper's reply.
Amid the music, the dancing, the throng, the noise,
Lucy found it easy to recover herself; and disengaging
her arm from Lord Mauleverer, as she perceived her
father, she rejoined the Squire, and remained a patient
listener to his remarks, till, late in the noon, it became
an understood matter that people were expected to go
into a long room in order to eat and drink. Mauleverer,
now alive to the duties of his situation, and feeling
exceedingly angry with Lucy, was more reconciled than
he otherwise might have been to the etiquette which
obliged him to select for the object of his hospitable
cares an old dowager Dutchess, instead of the beauty of
the fête; but he took care to point out to the Squire the
places appointed for himself and daughter, which were,
though at some distance from the Earl, under the provi.
dence of his vigilant survey.
VOL. II.-B
.
-


26
PAUL CLIFFORD.
While Mauleverer was deifying the dowager Dutchess,
and refreshing his spirits with a chicken, and a medicinal
glass of Madeira, the conversation near Lucy turned, to
her infinite dismay, upon Clifford. Some one had seen
him in the grounds, booted, and in a riding undress,—(in
that day people seldom rode and danced in the same con-
formation of coat,)—and as Mauleverer was a precise
person about those little matters of etiquette, this negli.
gence of Clifford's made quite a subject of discussion.
By degrees the conversation changed into the old inquiry
as to who this Captain Clifford was; and just as it had
reached that point, it reached also the gently deafened
ears of Lord Mauleverer.
“Pray, my Lord,” said the old Dutchess, “ since he is
one of your guests, you, who know who and what every
one is, can possibly inform us of the real family of this
beautiful Mr. Clifford ?”
“ One of my guests, did you say?" answered Maule-
verer, irritated greatly beyond his usual quietness of
manner: “really, your Grace does me wrong. He may
be a guest of my valet, but he is assuredly not mine;
and should I encounter him, I shall leave it to my valet
to give him his congé as well as his invitation !"
· Mauleverer, heightening his voice as he observed
athwart the table an alternate paleness and flush upon
Lucy's face, which stung all the angrier passions, gene-
rally torpid in him, into venom, looked round, on con-
cluding, with a haughty and sarcastic air : so loud had
been his tone, so pointed the insult, and so dead the
silence at the table while he spoke, that every one felt
the affront must be carried at once to Clifford's hearing,
should he be in the room. And after Mauleverer had
ceased, there was a universal nervous and indistinct
expectation of an answer, and a scene; all was still,
and it soon became certain that Clifford was not in the
apartment. When Mr. Shrewd had fully convinced him-
self of this fact-(for there was a daring spirit about
Clifford which few wished to draw upon themselves)-
that personage broke the pause by observing that no
man, who pretended to be a gentleman, would intrude
himself, unasked and unwelcome, into any society;
and Mauleverer, catching up the observation, said-
(drinking wine at the same time with Mr. Shrewd)—that
undoubtedly such conduct fully justified the rumours
respecting Mr. Clifford, and utterly excluded him from


PAUL CLIFFORD
27
that rank to which it was before more than suspected he
had no claim.
So luminous and satisfactory an opinion from such
an authority once broached was immediately and uni-
versally echoed, and long before the repast was over, it
seemed to be tacitly agreed that Captain Clifford should
be sent to Coventry, and if he murmured at the exile,
he would have no right to insist upon being sent from
thence to the devil!
The good old Squire, mindful of his former friendship
for Clifford, and not apt to veer, was about to begin a
speech on the occasion, when Lucy, touching his arm,
impinred him to be silent; and so ghastly was the pale-
ness of her cheek while she spoke, that the Squire's
eyes, obtuse as he generally was, opened at once to the
real secret of her heart. As soon as the truth flashed
upon him, he wondered, recalling Clifford's great per-
sonal beauty and attentions, that it had not flashed upon
him sooner, and leaning back on his chair, he sunk into
one of the most unpleasant reveries he had ever con-
ceived.
At a given signal the music for the dancers recom-
menced, and, at a hint to that effect from the host, per-
sons rose without ceremony to repair to other amuse-
ments, and suffer such guests as had hitherto been ex-
cluded from eating to occupy the place of the relinquish-
ers. Lucy, glad to escape, was one of the first to resign
her situation, and with ihe Squire she returned to the
grounds. During the banquet evening had closed in,
and the scene now really became fairy-like and pictu-
resque ;-lamps hung from many a tree, reflecting the
light through the richest and softest hues,—the music
itself sounded more musically than during the day,
gipsy-tents were pitched at wild corners and copses, and
the bright wood-fires burning in them blazed merrily upon
the cold yet cheerful air of the increasing night. The
view was really novel and inviting; and as it had been
an understood matter that ladies were to bring furs,
cloaks, and boots, all those, who thought they looked
well in such array, made little groups, and scattered
themselves about the grounds and in the tents. They,
on the contrary, in whom “the purple light of love” was
apt by the frost to be propelled from the cheeks to the
central ornament of the face, or who thought a fire in a
room quite as agreeable as a fire in a tent, remained
B
2


28
PAUL CLIFFORD.
within, and contemplated the scene through the open
windows.
Lucy longed to return home, nor was the Squire re-
luctant, but, unhappily, it wanted an hour to the time
at-which the carriage had been ordered, and she mechani-
cally joined a group of guests, who had persuaded the
good-natured Squire to forget his gout, and venture forth
to look at the illuminations. Her party was soon joined
by others, and the group gradually thickened into a
crowd; the throng was stationary for a few minutes be-
fore a little temple, in which fireworks had just com-
menced an additional attraction to the scene. Opposite
to this temple, as well as in its rear, the walks and trees
had been purposely left in comparative darkness, in order
to heighten the effect of the fireworks.
“I declare,” said Lady Simper, glancing down one of
the alleys which seemed to stretch away into blackness
-“I declare that seems quite a lover's walk! how kind
in Lord Mauleverer!-such a delicate attention—"
“ To your Ladyship !" added Mr. Shrewd, with a bow.
While, one of this crowd, Lucy was vacantly eyeing
the long trains of light which ever and anon shot against
the sky, she felt her hand suddenly seized, and at the
same instant a voice whispered, “For God's sake read
this now and grant my request !”.
The voice, which seemed to rise from the very heart
of the speaker, Lucy knew at once; she trembled vio-
lently, and remained for some minutes with eyes which
did not dare to look from the ground. A note, she felt,
had been left in her hand, and the agonized and earnest
tone of that voice, which was dearer to her ear than the
fulness of all music, made her impatient yet afraid to read
it. As she recovered courage she looked around, and
seeing that the attention of all was bent upon the fire-
works, and that her father, in particular, leaning on his
cane, seemed to enjoy the spectacle with a child's en-
grossed delight, she glided softly away, and entering un-
perceived one of the alleys, she read, by a solitary lamp
that burned at its entrance, the following lines written
in pencil and in a hurried hand, apparently upon a leaf
torn from a pocket-book.
6 I implore, I entreat you, Miss Brandon, to see me, if
but for a moment. I purpose to tear myself away from
the place in which you reside-to go abroad- to leave


PAUL CLIFFORD.
29
even the spot hallowed by your footstep. After this
night, my presence, my presumption, will degrade you
no more. But this night, for mercy's sake, see me, or I
shall go mad! I will but speak to you one instant; this
is all I ask. If you grant me this prayer, the walk to
the left where you stand, at the entrance to which there
is one purple lamp, will afford an opportunity to your
mercy. A few yards down that walk I will meet
you-none can see or hear us. Will you grant this? I
know not-I dare not think-but under any case, your
name shall be the last upon my lips.
“P. C.”
As Lusy read this hurried scrawl, she glanced towards
the lamp above her, and saw that she had accidentally
entered the very walk indicated in the note. She paused
-she hesitated ;-the impropriety—the singularity of
the request darted upon her at once; on the other hand,
the anxious voice still ringing in her ear, the incoherent
vehemence of the note, the risk, the opprobrium Clifford
had incurred, solely-her heart whispered—to see her,
all aided her simple temper, her kind feelings, and her
love for the petitioner, in inducing her to consent. She
cast one glance behind, all seemed occupied with far
other thoughts than that of notice towards her; she
looked anxiously before, all was gloomy and indistinct;
but suddenly, at some little distance, she descried a dark
figure in motion. She felt her knees shake under her,
her heart beat violently; she moved onward a few paces,
again paused, and looked back; the figure before her
moved as in approach, she resumed courage, and ad-
vanced—the figure was by her side.
“How generous, how condescending, is this goodness
in Miss Brandon !” said the voice, which so struggled
with secret and strong emotion, that Lucy scarcely re-
cognised it as Clifford's. “I did not dare to expect it;
and now-now that I meet you " Clifford paused,
as if seeking words; and Lucy, even through the dark,
perceived that her strange companion was powerfully
excited ; she waited for him to continue, but observing
that he walked on in silence, she said, though with a
trembling voice, “ Indeed, Mr. Clifford, I fear that it is
very, very improper in me to meet you thus; nothing
but the strong expressions in your letter-and-and-in
short, my fear that you meditated some desperate de-
sign, at which I could not guess, caused me to yield to


30
PAUL CLIFFORD.
your wish for an interview.” She paused, and Clifford
still preserving silence, she added, with some little cold.
ness in her tone, “ If you have really aught to say to
me, you must allow me to request that you speak it
quickly. This interview, you must be sensible, ought
to end almost as soon as it begins.”
“ Hear me then !” said Clifford, mastering his embar-
rassment, and speaking in a firm and clear voice-" Is that
true, which I have but just heard,-is it true that I have
been spoken of in your presence in terms of insult and
affront?”
It was now for Lucy to feel embarrassed; fearful to
give pain, and yet anxious that Clifford should know, in
order that he might disprove, the slight, and the suspi.
cion which the mystery around him drew upon his name,
she faltered between the two feelings, and without satis.
fying the latter, succeeded in realizing the fear of the
former.
“ Enough !” said Clifford, in a tone of deep mortifica.
tion, as his quick ear caught and interpreted, yet more
humiliating than the truth, the meaning of her stam-
mered and confused reply. “Enough! I see that it is
true, and that the only human being in the world to
whose good opinion I am not indifferent, has been a wito
ness of the insulting manner in which others have dared
to speak of me!”
“But,” said Lucy, eagerly, “why give the envious or
the idle any excuse? Why not suffer your parentage
and family to be publicly known? Why are you here"
-(and her voice sunk into a lower key)—“this very
day, unasked, and therefore subject to the cavils of all
who think the poor distinction of an invitation an ho
nour? Forgive me, Mr. Clifford, perhaps I offend, I
hurt you by speaking thus frankly; but your good name
rests with yourself, and your friends cannot but feel
angry that you should trifle with it."
“Madam !” said Clifford, and Lucy's eyes now grow.
ing accustomed to the darkness, perceived a bitter sme
upon his lips, “ my name, good or ill, is an object.o.
little care to me. I have read of philosophers who prie
themselves in placing no value in the opinions of me
world. Rank me among that sect-but I am, I own
am, anxious that you alone, of all the world, should do
despise me ;-and now that I feel you do—that you muss
-every thing worth living or hoping for is past!".
“ Despise you!” said Lucy, and her eyes filled wit


PAUL CLIFFORD.
31
tears—“ Indeed, you wrong me and yourself. But listen
to me, Mr. Clifford; I have seen, it is true, but little of
the world, yet I have seen enough to make me wish I
could have lived in retirement for ever; the rarest quality
among either sex, though it is the simplest, seems to me
good-nature; and the only occupation of what are
termed fashionable people appears to be speaking ill of
one another: nothing gives such a scope to scandal as
mystery; nothing disarms it like openness. I know-
your friends know, Mr. Clifford, that your character can
bear inspection, and I believe for my own part, the same
of your family. Why not then declare who and what
you are ?"
" That candour would indeed be my best defender,”
said Clifford, in a tone which ran displeasingly through
Lucy's ear; “but, in truth, Madam, I repeat, I care not
one drop of this worthless blood what men say of me;
that time has passed, and for ever; perhaps it never
keenly existed for me-no matter. I come hither, Miss
Brandon, not wasting a thought on these sickening
fooleries or on the hoary idler, by whom they are given!
I came hither, only once more to see you to hear you
speak-to watch you move-to tell you—(and the
speaker's voice trembled, so as to be scarcely audible)-
to tell you, if any season for the disclosure offered itself,
that I have had the boldness—the crime, to love-to love
-0 God! to adore you! and then to leave you for ever!"
Pale, trembling, scarcely preserved from falling by the
tree against which she leaned, Lucy listened to this
abrupt avowal.
“Dare I touch this hand,” continued Clifford, as he
knelt and took it, timidly and reverently; “ you know
not, you cannot dream, how unworthy is he who thus
presumes—yet, not all unworthy, while he is sensible of
so deep, so holy a feeling as that which he bears to you.
God bless you, Miss Brandon !-Lucy, God bless you !
-and it hereafter you hear me ubjected to still blacker
suspicion, or severer scrutiny than that which I now sus-
tain-if even your charity and goodness can find no de-
fence for me,-if the suspicion become certainty, and
the scrutiny end in condemnation, believe, at least, that
circumstances have carried me beyond my nature; and
that under fairer auspices, I might have been other than
I am!” Lucy's tear dropped upon Clifford's hand, as he
spoke ; and while his heart melted within him as he felt


32
PAUL CLIFFORD.
it, and knew his own desperate and unredeemed con-
dition, he added,
“ Every one courts you—the proud, the rich, the
young, the high-born, all are at your feet! you will
select one of that number for your husband, may he
watch over you as I would have done!-love you as I
do, he cannot! Yes, I repeat it !” continued Clifford,
vehemently, “ he cannot ! None amid the gay, happy,
silken crowd of your equals and followers, can feel for
you that single and overruling passion, which makes you
to me, what all combined-country, power, wealth, re-
putation, an honest name, peace, common safety, the
quiet of the common air, alike the least blessing and the
greatest, are to all others! Once more, may God in
heaven watch over you, and preserve you! I tear my.
self on leaving you from all that cheers, or blesses, or
raises, or might have saved me!-Farewell !"
The hand which Lucy had relinquished to her strange
suitor was pressed ardently to his lips, dropped in the
same instant, and she knew that she was once more
alone!
But Clifford, hurrying rapidly through the trees, made
his way towards the nearest gate which led from Lord
Mauleverer's domain; when he reached it, a crowd of
the more elderly guests occupied the entrance, and one
of these was a lady of such distinction, that Mauleverer,
despite of his aversion from any superfluous exposure to
the night air, had obliged himself to conduct her to her
carriage. He was in a very ill-humour with this con-
strained politeness, especially as the carriage was very
slow in relieving him of his charge, when he saw, by the
lamplight, Clifford passing near him, and winning his
way to the gate. Quite forgetting his worldly prudence
which should have made him averse to scenes with any
one, especially with a flying enemy, and a man with
whom, if he believed aright, little glory was to be gained
in conquest, much less in contest; and only remembering
Clifford's rivalship and his own hatred towards him for
the presumption, Mauleverer, uttering a hurried apology
to the lady on his arm, stepped forward, and opposing
Clifford's progress, said, with a bow of tranquil insult,
“ Pardon me, sir, but is it at my invitation, or that of one
of my servants, that you have honoured me with your
company this day ?"
Clifford's thoughts at the time of this interruption were


PAUL CLIFFORD.
33
!
of that nature before which all petty misfortunes shrink
into nothing; if, therefore, he started for a moment at
the Earl's address, he betrayed no embarrassment in
reply, but bowing with an air of respect, and taking no
notice of the affront implied in Mauleverer's speech, he
answered
“ Your Lordship has only to deign a glance at my dress,
to see that I have not intruded myself on your grounds
with the intention of claiming your hospitality. The
fact is, and I trust to your Lordship's courtesy to admit
the excuse, that I leave this neighbourhood to-morrow,
and for some length of time. A person whom I was
very anxious to see before I left, was one of your Lord.
ship's guests; I heard this, and knew that I should have
no other opportunity of meeting the person in question
before my departure; and I must now throw myself on
the well-known politeness of Lord Mauleverer to pardon
a freedom originating in a business very much approach-
ing to a necessity !"
Lord Mauleverer's address to Clifford had congregated
an immediate crowd of eager and expectant listeners,
but so quietly respectful and really gentlemanlike were
Clifford's air and tone in excusing himself, that the whole
throng were smitten with a sudden disappointment.
Lord Mauleverer himself, surprised by the temper and
deportment of the unbidden guest, was at a loss for one
moment, and Clifford was about to take advantage of
that moment and glide away, when Mauleverer, with a
second bow, more civil than the former one, said
“I cannot but be happy, sir, that my poor place has
afforded you any convenience; but, if I am not very
impertinent, will you allow me to inquire the name of
my guest with whom you required a meeting ?"
“ My Lord,” said Clifford, drawing himself up, and
speaking gravely and sternly, though still with a certain
deference "I need not surely point out to your Lord.
ship’s good sense and good feeling, that your very ques-
tion implies a doubt, and, consequently, an affront, and
that the tone of it is not such as to justify that concession
on my part which the farther explanation you require
would imply!"
Few spoken sarcasms could be so bitter as that silent
one which Mauleverer could command by a smile, and
with this complimentary expression on his thin lips and
raised brow, the Earl answered—“Sir, I honour the skill
B 3


34
PAUL CLIFFORD.
testified by your reply; it must be the result of a profound
experience in these affairs. I wish you, sir, a very good
night, and the next time you favour me with a visit, I am
quite sure that your motives for so indulging me will be
no less creditable to you than at present.”
With these words Mauleverer turned to rejoin his fair
charge. But Clifford was a man who had seen in a short
time a great deal of the world, and knew tolerably well
the theories of society, if not the practice of its minutiæ;
moreover, he was of an acute and resolute temper, and
these properties of mind, natural and acquired, told him
that he was now in a situation in which it had become
more necessary to defy than to conciliate. Instead,
therefore, of retiring, he walked deliberately up to Maule-
verer and said
“My Lord, I shall leave it to the judgment of your
guests to decide whether you have acted the part of a
nobleman and a gentleman in thus, in your domains,
insulting one who has given you such explanation of his
trespass as would fully excuse him in the eyes of all
considerate or courteous persons. I shall also leave it
to them to decide whether the tone of your inquiry
allowed me to give you any farther apology. But I shall
take it upon myself, my Lord, to demand from you an
immediate explanation of your last speech."
“Insolent !" cried Mauleverer, colouring with indigna-
tion, and almost for the first time in his life losing abso-
lute command over his temper; “ do you bandy words
with me-begone, or I shall order my servants to thrust
you forth."
“ Begone, sir,-begone!" cried several voices in echo
to Mauleverer, from those persons who deemed it now
high time to take part with the powerful.
Clifford stood his ground, gazing around with a look
of angry and defying contempt, which, joined to his
athletic frame, his dark and fierce eye, and a heavy
riding whip, which, as if mechanically, he half raised,
effectually kept the murmurers from proceeding to
violence
“Poor pretender to breeding and to sense!” said he,
disdainfully turning to Mauleverer, “with one touch of
this whip I could shame you for ever, or compel you to
descend from the level of your rank to that of mine, and
the action would be but a mild return to your language.
But I love rather to teach you, than to correct. Accord-


PAUL CLIFFORD.
35
ing to my creed, my Lord, he conquers most in good
breeding, who forbears the most-scorn enables me to
forbear!-- Adieu !”
With this, Clifford turned on his heel and strode away.
A murmur, approaching to a groan, from the younger, or
sillier part of the parasites (the mature and the sensible
have no extra emotion to throw away), followed him as
he disappeared.
CHAPTER IV.
Outlaw.-Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about you!
Val.-Ruffians, forego that rude, uncivil touch!
The Two Gentlemen of Verona.
On leaving the scene in which he had been so unwel-
come a guest, Clifford hastened to the little inn where
he had left his horse. He mounted and returned to
Bath. His thoughts were absent, and he unconsciously
suffered the horse to direct its course whither it pleased.
This was naturally towards the nearest halting-place
which the animal remembered ; and this halting-place
was at that illustrious tavern in the suburbs of the
town, in which we have before commemorated Clif-
ford's re-election to the dignity of chief. It was a house
of long-established reputation; and here news of any of
the absent confederates was always to be obtained.
This circumstance, added to the excellence of its drink,
its ease, and the electric chain of early habits, rendered
it a favourite haunt, even despite their present gay and
modish pursuits, with Tomlinson and Pepper; and here,
when Clifford sought the pair at unseasonable hours,
was he for the most part sure to find them. As his mé-
ditations were interrupted by the sudden stopping of his
horse beneath the well-known sign, Clifford, muttering
an angry malediction on the animal, spurred it onward
in the direction of his own home. He had already
reached the end of the street, when his resolution seemed
to change, and muttering to himself, “Ay, I mignt as
well arrange this very night for our departure !” he turned
his horse's head backward, and was once more at the
tavern door. He threw the bridle over an iron railing,


36
PAUL CLIFFORD.
and, knocking with a peculiar sound at the door, was
soon admitted.
“ Are and here ?" asked he of the old wo-
man, as he entered, mentioning the cant words by which,
among friends, Tomlinson and Pepper were usually
known. “ They are both gone on the sharps to-night,"
replied the old lady, lifting her unsnuffed candle to the
face of the speaker with an intelligent look; “ Oliver*
is sleepy, and the lads will take advantage of his nap."
“ Do you mean," answered Clifford, replying in the
same key, which we take the liberty to paraphrase,
" that they are out on any actual expedition ?"
“ To be sure,” rejoined the dame. “ They who lag
late on the road, may want money for supper!"
“ Ha! which road ?".
“ You are a pretty fellow for Captain !" rejoined the
dame, with a good-natured sarcasm in her tone. “ Why,
Captain Gloak, poor fellow, knew every turn of his men
to a hair, and never needed to ask what they were about.
Ah, he was a fellow ! none of your girl-faced mudgers,
who make love to ladies, forsooth-a pretty womán need
not look far for a kiss when he was in the room, I war.
rant, however coarse her duds might be ; and lauk ! but
the Captain was a sensible man, and liked a cow as well
as a calf."
“ So, so! on the road are they ?" cried Clifford, mu-
singly, and without heeding the insinuated attack on his
decorum. “But answer me, what is the plan ?-Be
quick.”
• Why," replied the dame, “ there's some swell cove
of a Lord gives a blow-out to-day, and the lads, dear
souls ! think to play the queer on some straggler."
Without uttering a word, Clifford darted from the
house and was remounted before the old lady had time
to recover her surprise.
“ If you want to see them,” cried she, as he put spurs
to his horse, “they ordered me to have supper ready
at The horse's hoofs drowned the last words of
the dame, and carefully rebolting the door, and mutter-
ing an invidious comparison between Captain Clifford
and Captain Gloak, the good landlady returned to those
culinary operations destined to rejoice the hearts of Tom-
jinson and Pepper.
* The moon


PAUL CLIFFORD.
37
Return we ourselves to Lucy. It so happened that
the Squire's carriage was the last to arrive; for the
coachman, long uninitiated among the shades of War-
lock into the dissipation of fashionable life, entered on
his debut at Bath with all the vigorous heat of matured
passions for the first time released into the festivities of
the ale-house, and having a milder master than most of
his comrades, the fear of displeasure was less strong in
his aurigal bosom than the love of companionship; so
that during the time this gentleman was amusing him-
self, Lucy had ample leisure for enjoying all the thou.
sand and one reports of the scene between Mauleverer
and Clifford, which regaled her ears. Nevertheless,
whatever might have been her feelings at these pleasing
recitals, a certain vague joy predominated over all. A
man feels but slight comparative happiness in being
loved, if he know that it is in vain. But to a woman that
simple knowledge is sufficient to destroy the memory
of a thousand distresses, and it is not till she has told
her heart again and again that she is loved, that she will
even begin to ask if it be in vain.
It was a partially starlit, yet a dim and obscure
night, for the moon had for the last hour or two been
surrounded by mist and cloud, when at length the car-
riage arrived, and Mauleverer, for the second time that
evening, playing the escort, conducted Lucy to the ve-
hicle. Anxious to learn if she had seen, or been addressed
by, Clifford, the subtle Earl, as he led her to the gate,
dwelt particularly on the intrusion of that person, and
by the trembling of the hand which rested on his arm,
he drew no delicious omen for his own hopes. “How-
ever,” thought he," the man goes to-morrow, and then
the field will be clear; the girl's a child yet, and I forgive
her folly." And with an air of chivalric veneration,
Mauleverer bowed the object of his pardon into her
carriage.
As soon as Lucy felt herself alone with her father, the
emotions so long pent within her forced themselves into
vent, and leaning back against the carriage, she wept,
though in silencé, tears, burning tears, of sorrow, com-
fort, agitation, anxiety.
The good old Squire was slow in perceiving his daugh-
ter's emotion; it would have escaped him altogether, if,
actuated by a kindly warming of the heart towards her,
originating in his new suspicion of her love for Clifford,


38
PAUL CLIFFORD.
he had not put his arm around her neck, and this unex.
pected caress so entirely unstrung her nerves, that
Lucy at once threw herself upon her father's breast, and
her weeping, hitherto so quiet, became distinct and
audible.
“Be comforted, my dear, dear child ” said the Squire,
almost affected to tears himself, and his emotion, arousing
him from his usual mental confusion, rendered his words
less involved and equivocal than they were wont to be.
“ And now I do hope that you won't vex yourself ; the
young man is indeed-and, I do assure you, I always
thought so—a very charming gentleman, there's no de-
nying it. But what can we do? you see what they all
say of him, and it really was-we must allow that-very
improper in him to come without being asked. Moreover,
my dearest child, it is very wrong, very wrong, indeed,
to love any one, and not know who he is; and-and-
but do n't cry, my dear love, do n't cry so; all will be
very well, I am sure,-quite sure !"
As he said this, the kind old man drew his daughter
nearer to him, and feeling his hand hurt by something she
wore unseen which pressed against it, he inquired, with
some suspicion that the love might have proceeded to
love-gifts, what it was.
“It is my mother's picture,” said Lucy, simply, and
putting it aside.
The old Squire had loved his wife tenderly, and when
Lucy made this reply, all the fond and warm recollections
of his youth rushed upon him: he thought, too, how
earnestly on her death-bed that wife had recommended
to his vigilant care their only child now weeping on his
bosom; he remembered how, dwelling on that which to
all women seems the grand epoch of life, she had said,
“ Never let her affections be trifled with,-never be per-
suaded by your ambitious brother to make her marry
where she loves not, or to oppose her, without strong
reason, where she does; though she be but a child now,
I know enough of her to feel convinced that if ever she
love, she will love too well for her own happiness even
with all things in her favour.” These words, these re-
collections, joined to the remembrance of the cold-hearted
scheme of William Brandon, which he had allowed him.
self to favour, and of his own supineness towards Lucy's
growing love for Clifford, till resistance became at once
necessary and too late, all smote him with a remorsefal


PAUL CLIFFORD.
39
sorrow, and, fairly sobbing himself, he said, “ Thy mo-
per ther, child! ah, would that she were living, she would
never have neglected thee as I have done !"
The Squire's self-reproach made Lucy's tears cease
on the instant, and, as she covered her father's hand with
kisses, she replied only by vehement accusations against
herself, and praises of his too great fatherly fondness and
affection. This little burst, on both sides, of honest and
Wext
simple-hearted love, ended in a silence full of tender and
mingled thoughts; and as Lucy still clung to the breast
ΤΡΙ ΤΟ
of the old man, uncouth as he was in temper, below even
mediocrity in intellect, and altogether the last person in
21., *
age, or mind, or habit, that seemed fit for a confidant in
the love of a young and enthusiastic girl, she felt the
old homely truth, that under all disadvantages there are,
in this hollow world, few in whom trust can be so safely
reposed, few who so delicately and subtilely respect the
confidence, as those from whom we spring.
The father and daughter had been silent for some
minutes, and the former was about to speak, when the
carriage suddenly stopped. The Squire heard a rough
voice at the horses' heads; he looked forth from the
he window to see, through the mist of the night, what could
possibly be the matter, and he encountered in this action,
just one inch from his forehead, the protruded and shining
barrel of a horse-pistol. We may believe, without a
reflection on his courage, that Mr. Brandon threw him-
derisa self back into his carriage with all possible despatch,
and at the same moment the door was opened, and a
voice said, not in a threatening, but a smooth accent,
“ Ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry to disturb you, but
want is imperious! oblige me with your money, your
watches, your rings, and any other little commodities of
a similar nature !”
So delicate a request the Squire had not the heart to
resist, the more especially as he knew himself without
any weapons of defence; accordingly, he drew out a
purse, not very full, it must be owned, together with an
immense silver hunting-watch, with a piece of black
riband attached to it: “ There, sir," said he, with a
groan, “ do n't frighten the young lady."
The gentle applicant, who indeed was no other than
the specious Augustus Tomlinson, slid the purse into
his waistcoat-pocket, after feeling its contents with a
rapid and scientific finger. “Your watch, sir," quoth
2017, SE


40
PAUL CLIFFORD.
he, and as he spoke he thrust it carelessly into his coat-
pocket, as a schoolboy would thrust a peg-top,“ is heavy;
but trusting to experience, since an accurate survey is
denied me, I fear it is more valuable from its weight than
its workmanship: however, I will not wound your vanity
by affecting to be fastidious. But surely the young lady,
as you call her,-(for 1 pay you the compliment of be-
lieving your word as to her age, inasmuch as the night
is too dark to allow me the happiness of a personal in-
spection, the young lady has surely some little trinket
she can dispense with; Beauty when unadorned,' you
know, &c."
Lucy, who, though greatly frightened, lost neither her
senses nor her presence of mind, only answered by
drawing forth a little silk purse, that contained still less
than the leathern convenience of the Squire; to this she
added a gold chain: and Tomlinson, taking them with
an affectionate squeeze of the hand, and a polite apology,
was about to withdraw, when his sagacious eyes were
suddenly stricken by the gleam of jewels. The fact
was, that in altering the position of her mother's picture,
which had been set in the few hereditary diamonds pos-
sessed by the Lord of Warlock, Lucy had allowed it to
hang on the outside of her dress, and bending forward to
give the robber her other possessions, the diamonds at
once came in full sight, and gleamed the more invitingly
from the darkness of the night.
“Ah, Madam !” said Tomlinson, stretching forth his
hand, “ you would play me false, would you? Treachery
should never go unpunished. Favour me instantly with
the little ornament around your neck !"
“I cannot I cannot,” said Lucy, grasping her treasure
with both her hands," it is my mother's picture, and
my mother is dead !”
« The wants of others, madam," returned Tomlinson,
who could not for the life of him rob immorally, “are
ever more worthy your attention than family prejudices.
Seriously, give it, and that instantly; we are in a
hurry, and your horses are plunging like devils, they
will break your carriage in an instant-despatch !"
The Squire was a brave man on the whole, though no
hero, and the nerves of an old fox-hunter soon recover
from a little alarm. The picture of his buried wife was
yet more inestimable to him than it was to Lucy, and at
this new demand, his spirit was roused within him.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
41
Y
He clenched his fists, and advancing himself, as it
* were, on his seat, he cried, in a loud voice:
“ Begone, fellow !-I have given you—for my own part
I think so—too much already; and by G-d you shall
m not have the picture !"
Pop - Don't force me to use violence !” said Augustus, and
putting one foot on the carriage-step, he brought his pis-
tol within a few inches of Lucy's breast, rightly judging,
I perhaps, that the show of danger to her would be the
best method to intimidate the Squire. At that instant,
Ar the valorous moralist found himself suddenly seized
with a powerful gripe on the shoulder, and a low voice,
trembling with passion, hissed in his ear. Whatever
might be the words that startled his organs, they operated
as an instantaneous charm; and to their astonishment,
the Squire and Lucy beheld their assailant abruptly
withdraw. The door of the carriage was clapped to
and scarcely two minutes had elapsed before the robber
having remounted, his comrade-(hitherto stationed at
the horses' heads)-set spurs to his own steed, and the
welcome sound of receding hoofs smote upon the bewil-
dered ears of the father and daughter.
The door of the carriage was again opened, and a
voice, which made Lucy paler than the preceding terror,
said.
“I fear, Mr. Brandon, the robbers have frightened your
daughter. There is now, however, nothing to fear-the
ruffians are gone."
“God bless me!” said the Squire, " why is that Cap-
tain Clifford ?”
“It is! and he conceives himself too fortunate to
have been of the smallest service to Mr. and Miss
Brandon.”
On having convinced himself that it was indeed to
Mr. Clifford that he owed his safety, as well as that of
his daughter, whom he believed to have been in a far
more imminent peril than she really was,-(for to tell thee
the truth, reader, the pistol of Tomlinson was rather cal.
culated for show than use, having a peculiarly long bright
barrel with nothing in it,)—the Squire was utterly at a
loss how to express his gratitude; and when he turned to
Lucy to beg she would herself thank their gallant deli-
verer, he found that, overpowered with various emo-
tions, she had, for the first time in her life, fainted
away.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
“Good heavens !" cried the alarmed father, “ she is
dead,-my Lucy-my Lucy—they have killed her.”
To open the door nearest to Lucy, to bear her from
the carriage in his arms, was to Clifford the work of ar
instant; utterly unconscious of the presence of any one
else-unconscious even of what he said, he poured for
a thousand wild, passionate, yet half-audible expres
sions; and as he bore her to a bank by the roadside,
and, seating himself, supported her against his bosom, it
would be difficult, perhaps, to say, whether something
of delight-of burning and thrilling delight-was not
mingled with his anxiety and terror. He chafed he:
small hands in his own-his breath, all trembling and
warm, glowed upon her cheek, and once, and but once,
his lips drew nearer, and breathing aside the dishevellei
richness of her tresses, clung in a long and silent kiss to
her own.
Meanwhile, by the help of his footman, who had now
somewhat recovered his astonished senses, the Squire
descended from his carriage, and approached with falter-
ing steps the place where his daughter reclined. At the
instant that he took her hand, Lucy began to revive, and
the first action in the bewildered unconsciousness of
awaking, was to throw her arm around the neck of ber
supporter.
Could all the hours and realities of hope, joy, plea-
sure, in Clifford's previous life, have been melted down
and concentrated into a single emotion, that emotion
would have been but tame to the rapture of Lucy's mo-
mentary and innocent caress! And at a later, yet no
distant, period, when in the felon's cell the grim visage
of Death scowled upon him, it may be questioned
whether his thoughts dwelt not far more often on the
remembrance of that delightful moment, than on the
bitterness and ignominy of an approaching doom!
“She breathes—she moves—she wakes !” cried the
father, and Lucy, attempting to rise, and recognising the
Squire's voice, said, faintly, “ Thank God, my dear father,
you are not hurt! And are they really gone ?-and
where-where are we?"
The Squire, relieving Clifford of his charge, folded his
child in his arms, while in his own elucidatory manner
he informed her where she was and with whom. The
lovers stood face to face to each other, but what deli
cious blushes did the night, which concealed all but


PAUL CLIFFORD.
the outline of their forms, hide from the eyes of Clif-
ford!
'The honest and kind heart of Mr. Brandon was glad
of a release to the indulgent sentiments it had always
cherished towards the suspected and maligned Clifford;
and turning now from Lucy, it fairly poured itself forth
upon her deliverer. He grasped him warmly by the
hand, and insisted upon his accompanying them to Bath
in the carriage, and allowing the footman to ride his
horse. This offer was still pending, when the footman,
who had been to see after the health and comfort of his
fellow-servant, came to inform the party in a dolorous
accent, of something which, in the confusion and dark-
ness of the night, they had not yet learned,-namely,
that the horses and coachman were gone!
“Gone!” said the Squire—“ Gone!--why the villains
can't-(for my part, I never believe, though I have
heard such wonders of, those slights of hand)-have
bagged them ?"
Here a low groan was audible, and the footman, sym-
pathetically guided to the spot whence it emanated,
found the huge body of the coachman safely deposited,
with its face downward, in the middle of the kennel.
After this worthy had been lifted to his legs, and had
shaken himself into intelligence, it was found, that when
the robber had detained the horses, the coachman, who
required very little to conquer his turbulent faculties,
had—(he himself said, by a violent blow from the ruffian,
though, perhaps, the cause lay nearer home)-quitted the
coach-box for the kennel, the horses grew frightened,
and after plunging and rearing till he cared no longer to
occupy himself with their arrest, the highwayman had
very quietly cut the traces, and by the time present, it
was not impossible that the horses were almost at the
door of their stables at Bath.
The footman who had apprized the Squire of this mis-
fortune was, unlike most news-tellers, the first to offer
consolation.
“ There be an excellent public,” quoth he, “about a
half a mile on, where your honour could get horses; or
mayhap, if Miss Lucy, poor heart, be faint, you may like
to stop for the night.”
Though a walk of half a mile in the dark night, and
under other circumstances, would not have seemed a
grateful proposition, yet at present, when the Squire's


44
PAUL CLIFFORD.
imagination had only pictured to him the alternatives oi!
passing the night in the carriage, or of crawling on foot
to Bath, it seemed but a very insignificant hardship
And tucking his daughter's arm under his own, while in
a kind voice he told Clifford " to support her on the other
side,” the Squire ordered the footman to lead the way
with Clifford's horse, and the coachman to follow, or be
d-d, which ever he pleased.
In silence Clifford offered his arm to Lucy, and silently
she accepted the courtesy. The Squire was the only
talker, and the theme he chose was not ungrateful to
Lucy, for it was the praise of her lover. But Clifford
scarcely listened, for a thousand thoughts and feelings
contested within him; and the light touch of Lucy's
hand upon his arm would alone have been sufficient to
distract and confuse his attention. The darkness of the
night, the late excitement, the stolen kiss that still glowed
upon his lips, the remembrance of Lucy's flattering agi.
tation in the scene with her at Lord Mauleverer's, the
yet warmer one of that unconscious embrace, which still
tingled through every nerve of his frame, all conspired
with the delicious emotion which he now experienced at
her presence and her contact, to intoxicate and inflame
him. Oh, those burning moments in love, when romance
has just mellowed into passion, and without losing any
thing of its luxurious vagueness, mingles the enthusiasm
of its dreams with the ardent desires of reality and
earth! That is the exact time, when love has reached
its highest point—when all feelings, all thoughts, the
whole soul, and the whole mind are seized and en-
grossed-when every difficulty weighed in the opposite
scale seems lighter than dust-when to renounce the
object beloved is the most deadly and lasting sacrifice
and when in so many breasts, where honour, con-
science, virtue, are far stronger than we can believe
them ever to have been in a criminal like Clifford, ho-
nour, conscience, virtue, have perished at once and sud-
denly into ashes before that mighty and irresistible
fire.
The servant, who had previous opportunities of ascer-
taining the topography of the "public" of which he spoke,
and who was perhaps tolerably reconciled to his late
terror in the anticipation of renewing his intimacy with
the “ spirits of the past," now directed the attention of
our travellers to a small inn just before them. Mine host


PAUL CLIFFORD.
45
had not yet retired to repose, and it was not necessary
to knock twice before the door was opened.
A bright fire, an officious landlady, a commiserate
landlord, a warm potation, and the promise of excellent
beds, all appeared to our Squire to make ample amends
for the intelligence that the inn was not licensed to let
post-horses; and mine host having promised forthwith
to send two stout fellows, a rope, and a cart-horse, to
bring the carriage under shelter,-(for the Squire valued
the vehicle because it was twenty years old,)--and more.
over to have the harness repaired, and the horses ready
by an early hour the next day, the good-humour of Mr.
Brandon rose into positive hilarity. Lucy retired under
the auspices of the landlady to-bed, and the Squire hav-
ing drank a bowl of bishop, and discovered a thousand
new virtues in Clifford, especially that of never inter-
rupting a good story, clapped the Captain on the shoulder,
and making him promise not to leave the inn till he
had seen him again, withdrew also to the repose of his
pillow. Clifford remained below, gazing abstractedly on
the fire for some time afterward; nor was it till the
drowsy chambermaid had thrice informed him of the
prepared comforts of his bed, that he adjourned to his
chamber. Even then it seems that sleep did not visit his
eyelids, for a wealthy grazier, who lay in the room
below, complained bitterly the next morning of some
person walking over-head “in all manner of strides, just
for all the world like a happarition in boots."
CHAPTER V.
Viola.--And dost thou love me?
Lysander.
. Love thee, Viola?
Do I not fly thee when my being drinks
Light from thine eyes ?-ihat fight is all my answer!
The Bride.-Act ii. Scene 1.
The curtain meditations of the Squire had not been
without the produce of a resolve. His warm heart once
re-opened to the liking he had formerly conceived for
Clifford, he longed for an opportunity to atone for his
past unkindness, and to testify his present gratitude;


46
PAUL CLIFFORD.
moreover, he felt at once indignant at, and ashamed o!
his late conduct in joining the popular and, as he now
fully believed, the causeless prepossession against his
young friend, and before a more present and a stronger sel-
timent, his habitual deference for his brother's counsels
faded easily away. Coupled with these favourable feeling
towards Clifford, were his sagacious suspicions, or rathe:
certainty, of Lucy's attachment to her handsome der:
verer; and he had at least sufficient penetration to peru
ceive that she was not likely to love him the less for the
night's adventure. To all this was added the tender re!
collection of his wife's parting words; and the tears and
tell-tale agitations of Lucy in the carriage were suficies:
to his simple mind, which knew not how lightly maiden's
tears are shed and dried, to confirm the prediction of
the dear deceased. Nor were the Squire's more generous
and kindly feelings utterly unmixed with selfish conside
rations. Proud, but not the least ambitious, he was
always more ready to confer an honour than receive one,
and at heart he was secretly glad at the notion of ex.
changing, as a son-in-law, the polished and unfamiliar
Mauleverer for the agreeable and social Clifford. Such
in “ admired disorder” were the thoughts which rolled
through the teeming brain of Joseph Brandon, and before
he had turned on his left side-which he always did pre-
paratory to surrendering himself to slumber—the Squire
had fully come to a determination most fatal to the
schemes of the lawyer and the hopes of the Earl.
The next morning as Lucy was knitting
"The loose train of her amber-dropping hair”
before the little mirror of her chamber, which even
through its dimmed and darkened glass gave back a face
which might have shamed a Grecian vision of Aurora, a
gentle tap at the door announced her father. There was
in his rosy and comely countenance, that expression
generally characteristic of a man pleased with himself,
and persuaded that he is about to give pleasure.
“My dear child,” said the Squire, fondly stroking down
the luxuriance of his Lucy's hair, and kissing her damask
cheek, “I am come to have some little conversation with
you; sit down, now, and—(for my part I love to talk at my
ease, and, by-the-by, shut the window, my love, it is an
easterly wind)—I wish that we may come to a clear and


PAUL CLIFFORD.
47
distinct understanding. Hem !-give me your hand, my
child, -I think on these matters one can scarcely speak
too precisely, and to the purpose ; although I am well
aware-for, for my own part, I always wish to act to
every one, to you especially, my dearest child, with the
greatest consideration, that we must go to work with
as much delicacy as conciseness. You know this Cap-
tain Clifford—t is a brave youth, is it not ?-well-nay,
never blush so deeply, there is nothing—(for in these
matters one can't have all one's wishes,-one can't have
every thing to be ashamed of! Tell me now, child,
dost think he is in love with thee?"
If Lucy did not immediately answer by words, her
pretty lips moved as if she could readily reply, and
finally they settled into so sweet and so assured a smile,
that the Squire, fond as he was of “precise” conversa-
tion, was in want of no fuller answer to his question.
“Ay, ay, young lady,” said he, looking at her with all
a father's affection, “ I see how it is. And, come now
what do you turn away for? dost think, if, as I believe,
though there are envious persons in the world, as there
always are when a man's handsome, or clever, or brave;
though, by-the-way, which is a very droll thing in my
eyes, they do n't envy, at least not ill-naturedly, a man
for being a lord, or rich; but quite on the contrary, rank
and money seem to make them think one has all the
cardinal virtues,-Humph !-If, I say, this Mr. Clifford
should turn out to be a gentleman of family,-for you
know that is essential, since the Brandons have, as my
brother has probably told you, been a great race many
centuries ago ;-dost think, my child, that thou couldst
give up-(the cat is out of the bag)—this old lord, and
marry a simple gentleman ?"
The hand which the Squire had held was now with an
arch tenderness applied to his mouth, and when he again
seized it, Lucy hid her glowing face in his bosom; and
it was only by a whisper, as if the very air was garru-
lous, that he could draw forth-(for now he insisted on
a verbal reply)-her happy answer.
We are not afraid that our reader will blame us for
not detailing the rest of the interview between the
father and daughter, it did not last above an hour longer;
for the Squire declared, that for his own part, he hated
more words than were necessary. Mr. Brandon was
the first to descend to the breakfast, muttering as he de-


48
PAUL CLIFFORD.
scended the stairs, “ Well now, hang me if I am not glai
that's off-(for I do not like to think much of so silly?
matter)–my mind. And as for my brother, I sha'n't te
him till it's all over, and settled. And if he is angry, be
and the old lord may—though I do n't mean to be us:
brotherly-go to the devil together!"
When the three were assembled at the breakfast-table,
there could not perhaps have been found any where :
stronger contrast than that which the radiant face of
Lucy bore to the haggard and worn expression that dis;
figured the handsome features of her lover. So marke);
was the change that one night seemed to have wrough
upon Clifford, that even the Squire was startled an:
alarmed at it. But Lucy, whose innocent vanity please
itself with accounting for the alteration, consoled her:
self with the hope of soon witnessing a very different
expression on the countenance of her lover; and thougi
she was silent, and her happiness lay quiet and det?
within her, yet in her eyes and lip there was that whic
seemed to Clifford an insult to his own misery, and
stung him to the heart. However, he exerted himself to
meet the conversation of the Squire, and to mask as
well as he was able the evidence of the conflict which
still raged within him.
The morning was wet and gloomy; it was that driz-
zling and misty rain which is so especially nutritious to
the growth of blue devils, and the jolly Squire failed not
to rally his young friend upon his feminine suscepti-
bility to the influences of the weather. Clifford replied,
jestingly, and the jest, if bad, was good enough to con
tent the railer. In this facetious manner passed the
time, till Lucy, at the request of her father, left the room
to prepare for their return home.
Drawing his chair near to Clifford's, the Squire then
commenced in real and affectionate earnest his opera-
tions—these he had already planned in the following
order: they were first to inquire into, and to learn, Clif-
ford's rank, family, and prospects ;-secondly, having
ascertained the proprieties of the outer man, they were
to examine the state of the inner one;-and, thirdly,
should our skilful inquirer find his guesses at Clifford's
affection for Lucy confirmed, they were to expel the
modest fear of a repulse, which the Squire allowed was
natural enough, and to lead the object of the inquiry to a
knowledge of the happiness that, Lucy consenting,


PAUL CLIFFORD.
49
might be in store for him. While, with his wonted in-
genuity, the Squire was pursuing his benevolent designs,
Lucy remained in her own room, in such meditation and
such dreams as were natural to a heart so sanguine and
enthusiastic.
She had been more than half an hour alone, when the
chambermaid of the hostelry knocked at her door, and
delivered a message from the Squire, begging her to
come down to him in the parlour. With a heart that
beat so violently it almost seemed to wear away its
very life, Lucy slowly, and with tremulous steps, de-
scended to the parlour. On opening the door, she saw
Clifford standing in the recess of the window; his face
was partly turned from her, and his eyes downcast.
The good old Squire sat in an elbow-chair, and a sort of
puzzled and half-satisfied complacency gave expression
to his features.
“ Come hither, child,” said he, clearing his throat ;
“ Captain Clifford-a-hem!-has done you the honour-
to—and I dare say you will be very much surprised -
not that, for my own part, I think there is much to
wonder at in it-but such may be my partial opinion-
(and it is certainly very natural in me-to make you a
declaration of Inve. He declares, moreover, that he is
the most miserable of men, and that he would die sooner
than have the presumption to nope. Therefore you see,
my love, I have sent for you, to give him permission to
destroy himself, in any way he pleases; and I leave him
to show cause why-(it is a fate that sooner or later
happens to all his fellow-men)-sentence of death shouid
not be passed against him.” Having delivered this
speech with more propriety of word than usually fell to
his share, the Squire rose hastily; and hobbled out of the
room.
Lucy sank into the chair her father had quitted, and
Clifford approaching towards her, said, in a hoarse and
low voice,
“ Your father, Miss Brandon, says rightly, that I would
die rather than lift my eyes in hope to you. I thought
yesterday that I had seen you for the last time ;-chance
-not my own folly or presumption, has brought me
again before you, and even the few hours I have passed
under the same roof with you, have made me feel as if
my love-my madness-had never reached its height till
now. Oh, Lucy !" continued Clifford, in a more impas-
Vol. II.-C


PAUL CLIFFORD.
51
bute my misfortunes to so petty a source; it is not mo.
ney that I shall want while I live, though I shall to my
lası breath remember this delicacy in you, and compare
it with certain hase remembrances in my own mind.
Yes! all past thoughts and recollections will make me
hereafter worship you even more than I do now; while
in your heart they will unless Heaven grant me one
prayer-make you scorn and detest me!"
“For mercy's sake do not speak thus !” said Lucy,
gazing in indistinct alarm upon the dark and working
features of her lover; “scorn, detest you! impossible!
how could I, after the remembrance of last night !"
“Ay! of last night," said Clifford, speaking through
his ground teeth : “ there is much in that remembrance
to live long in both of us : but you-you-fair angel!"-
(and all harshness and irony, vanishing at once from his
voice and countenance, yielded to a tender and deep
sadness, mingled with a respect that bordered on reve.
rence,)—" you never could have dreamed of more than
pity for one like me,-you never could have stooped
from your high and dazzling purity to know for ine one
such thought as that which burns at my heart for you,
you—yes, withdraw your hand, I am not worthy to touch
it!” And clasping his own hands before his face, he
became abruptly silent; but his emotions were but ill-
concealed, and Lucy saw the muscular frame before her
heaved and convulsed by passions which were more
intense and rending because it was only for a few mo-
ments that they conquered his self-will and struggled
into vent.
If afterward,—but long afterward, Lucy, recalling
the mystery of his words, confessed to herself that they
betrayed guilt, she was then too much affected to think
of any thing but her love and his emotion. She bent
down, and with a girlish and fond self-abandonment,
which none could have resisted, placed both her hands
on his : Clifford started, looked up, and in the next mo-
ment he had clasped her to his heart; and while the ouly
tears he had shed since his career of crime fell fast and
hot upon her countenance, he kissed her forehead, her
cheek, her lips, in a passionate and wild transport. His
voice died within him, he could not trust himself to
speak; only one thought, even in that seeming forget-
fulness of her and of himself, stirred and spoke at his
breast-fight. The more he felt he loved—the more
C 2


PAUL CLIFFORD
tender and the more confiding the object of his love, the
more urgent became the necessity to leave her. All other
duties had been neglected, but he loved with a real love,
and love which taught niin one duty, bore him triumph-
antly through its bitter ordeal.
“You will hear from ine to-night,” he muttered; "be-
lieve that I am mad, accursed, criminal, but not utterly
a inonster! I ask no more merciful opinion!” He drew
himself from his perilous position, and abruptly departed.
When Clifford reached his home, he found his worthy
coadjutors waiting for him with alarm and terror on
their countenances. An old feat in which they had sig.
nalized themselves, had long attracted the rigid attention
of the police, and certain officers had now been seen at
Bath, and certain inquiries had been set on foot, which
protended no good to the safety of the sagacious Tomlinson
and the valorous Pepper. They came, humbly and peni-
tentially demanding pardon for their unconscious aggres-
sion of the Squire's carriage, and entreating their Cap-
tain's instant advice. If Clifford had before wavered in
his disinterested determination ; if visions of Lucy, of
happiness and reform had floated in his solitary ride, too
frequently and too glowingly before his eyes, the sight
of these men, their conversation, their danger, all sufficed
to restore his resolution. " Merciful God!" thought he,
“and is it to the comrade of such lawless villains, to
a man, like them, exposed hourly to the most ignominous
of deaths, that I have for one section of a moment dreamed
of consigning the innocent and generous girl, whose
trust or love is the only crime that could deprive her of
the most brilliant destiny ?"
Short were Clifford's instructions to his followers, and
so much do we do mechanically, that they were delivered
with his usual forethought and precision, You will
leave the town instantly ; go not, for your lives, to Lon-
don, or to rejoin any of your comrades. Ride for the
Red Cave; there are provisions stored there, and, since
our late alteration of the interior, it will afford ample
room to conceal your horses. On the night of the se-
cond day from this, I will join you. But be sure that you
enter the cave at night, and quit it upon no account till
I come !"
“ Yes !” said he, when he was alone, “I will join you
again, but only to quit you. One more offence against
the law, or at least one sum wrested from the swollen


PAUL CLIFFORD
53
hands of the rich, sufficient to equip me for a foreign
army, and I quit the country of my birth and my crimes.
If I cannot deserve Lucy Brandon, I will be somewhat
less unworthy. Perhaps-why not? I am young, my
nerves are not weak, my brain is not dull-perhaps I
may in some field of honourable adventure win a name,
that, before my deathbed, I may not blush to acknow-
ledge to her!”
While this resolve beat high within Clifford's breast,
Lucy sadly and in silence was continuing with the
Squire her short journey to Bath. The latter was very
inquisitive to know why Clifford had gone, and what he
had avowed ; and Lucy, scarcely able to answer, threw
every thing on the promised letter of the night.
“ I am glad," muttered the Squire to her, “ that he is
going to write; “ for, somehow or other, though I ques.
tioned him very tightly, he slipped through my cross.
examination, and bursting out at once, as to his love for
you, left me as wise about himself as I was before-no
doubt-(for my own part, I do n't see what should pre-
vent his being a great man incog.)—this letter will ex-
plain all !"
Late that night the letter came; Lucy, fortunately for
her, was alone in her own room; she opened it, and read
as follows:
CLIFFORD'S LETTER.
“I have promised to write to you, and I sit down to
perform that promise. At this moment, the recollection
of your goodness, your generous consideration, is
warm within me; and while I must use calm and com,
mon words to express what I ought to say, my heart is
alternately melted and torn by thoughts which would
ask words, oh, how different! Your father has ques-
tioned me often of my parentage and birth-I have
hitherto eluded his interrogatories. Learn now who I
am. In a wretched abode, surrounded by the inhabitants
of poverty and vice, I recall my earliest recollections.
My father is unknown to me as to every one-my mother!
to you I dare not mention who or what she was ;-she
died in my infancy. Without a name, but not without
an inheritance,-(my inheritance was large- it was in.
famy!)- I was thrown upon the world: I had received
by accident some education, and imbibed some ideas,
not natural to my situation; since then, I have played


54
PAUL CLIFFORD.
many parts in life : books and men I have not so ne-
glecied, but that I have gleaned at intervals some little
knowledge from both. Hence, if I have seemed to you i
better than I am, you will perceive the cause : circum-
stances inade me soon my own master, they inade me
also one whom honest men do not love to look upon;
my deeds have been, and my character is, of a par with
my birth and my fortunes. I came, in the noble hope
to raise and redeem myself, by gilding my fate with a
wealthy marriage, to this city : I saw you, whom I had
once before met. I heard you were rich.-Hate me,
Miss Brandon, hate ine!-I resolved to make your ruin
the cause of my redemption. Happily for you, I scarcely
knew you before I loved you that love deepened-it
caught something pure and elevated from yourself. My
resolntion forsook me; even now I could throw myself
on my knees, and thank God that you-you, dearest and
noblest of human beings—are not my wife. Now is my
conduct clear to you? if nut, imagine me all that is vil.
lanous-save in one point, where you are concerned-
and not a shadow of mystery will remain. Your kind
father, overrating the paltry service I rendered you,
would have consented to submit my fate to your de-
cision. I blush indignantly for him-for you-that any
living man should have dreamed of such profanation for
Miss Brandon. Yet I myself was carried away and in.
toxicated by so sudden and so soft a hope-even I dared
to lift my eyes to you, to press you to this guilty heart,
to forget myself, and to dream that you might be mine!
Can you forgive me for this madness? And hereafter,
when in your lofty and glittering sphere of wedded hap-
piness, can you remember my presumption and check
your scorn? Perhaps you think, that by so late a con-
fession I have already deceived you. Alas! you know
not what it costs me now to confess! I had only one
hope in life—it was that you might still, long after you
had ceased to see me, fancy me not utterly beneath the
herd with whom you live. This burning, yet selfish
vanity, I tear from me, and now I go where no hope
can pursue me. No hope for myself, save one which
can scarcely deserve the name, for it is rather a rude
and visionary wish than an expectation :-It is, that
under another name, and under different auspices, you
may hear of me at some distant time; and when I ap
prize you that under that name you may recognise one


PAUL CLIFFORD.
55
who loves you better than all created things, you may
feel then, at least, no cause for shame at your lover.
What will you be then? A happy wife-a mother-the
centre of a thousand joys-beloved-admired-blest
when the eye sees you and the ear hears! And this is what
I ought to hope; this is the consolation that ought to
cheer me ;- perhaps a little time hence it will. Not
that I shall love you less; but that I shall love you less
burningly, and therefore less selfishly. I have now
written to you all that it becomes you to receive from
me. My horse waits below to bear me from this city,
and for ever from your vicinity. For ever !-Ay, you
are the only blessing for ever forbidden me. Wealth I
may gain-a fair name-even glory-I may, perhaps,
aspire to! to heaven itself, I inay find a path ; but of
you, my very dreams cannot give me the shadow of a
hope. I do not say, if you could pierce my soul while I
write, that you would pity me. You may think it
strange, but I would not have your pity for worlds; I
think I would even rather have your hate-pity seems
so much like contempt. But if you knew what an effort
has enabled me to tame down my language, to curb my
thoughts, to prevent me from imbodying that which now
makes my brain whirl, and my hand feel as if the living
fire consumed it; if you knew what has enabled me to
triumph over the madness at my heart, and spare you,
what, if writ or spoken, would seem like the ravings of
insanity, you would not, and you could not despise me,
though you might abhor.
“And now, heaven guard and bless you! Nothing on
earth could injure you. And even the wicked who have
looked upon you learn to pray. I have prayed for you!"
Thus (abrupt and signatureless) ended the expected
letter. Lucy came down the next morning at her usual
hour, and, except that she was very pale, nothing in her
appearance seemed to announce past grief or emotion.
The Squire asked her if she had received the promised
letter ? she answered in a clear, though faint voice, that
she had—that Mr. Clifford had confessed himself of too
low an origin to hope for marriage with Mr. Brandon's
family; that she trusted the Squire would keep his secret,
and that the subject might never again be alluded to by
either. If in this speech there was something alien to
Lucy's ingenuous character, and painful to her mind, she


56:
PAUL CLIFFORD.
.
felt it, as it were, a duty to her former lover, not to be-
tray the whole of that confession so bitterly wrung from
him. Perhaps, too, there was in that letter a charm,
which seemed to her too sacred to be revealed to any
one. And mysteries were not excluded even from a
love so ill-placed, and seemingly so transitory, as hers.
Lucy's answer touched the Squire in his weak point.
“A man of decidedly low origin,” he confessed, was
utterly out of the question; nevertheless, the young man
showed a great deal of candour in his disclosure. He
readily proinised never to broach a subject necessarily
so unpleasant; and though he sighed as he finished his
speech, yet the extreme quiet of Lucy's manner re-as-
sured him, and when he perceived that she resumed,
though languidly, her wonted avocations, he felt but little
doubt of her soon overcoming the remembrance of what
he hoped was but a girlish and fleeting fancy. He
yielded with avidity to her proposal to return to War-
lock; and in the same week as that in which Lucy had
received her lover's mysterious letter, the father and
daughter commenced their journey home.
CHAPTER VI.
Butler.-What are these, sir ?
Yeoman.-And of what nature-to what use?
Latroch. - Imagine !
THE TRAGEDY OF ROLLO.
Quickly. He's in Arthur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom.
HENRY V.
The stream of our narrative now conducts us back to
William Brandon. The law-promotions previously in-
tended were completed; and to the surprise of the public,
the envied barrister, undergoing the degradation of
knighthood, had, at the time we return to him, just
changed his toilsome occupations for the serene dignity
of the Bench. Whatever regret this wily and aspiring
schemer might otherwise have felt at an elevation consi-
derably less distinguished than he might reasonably have
expected, was entirely removed by the hopes afforded to
him by the Administration of a speedy translation to a
more brilliant office; and it was whispered among those


PAUL CLIFFORD.
felt it, as it were, a duty to her former lover, not to be-
tray the whole of that confession so bitterly wrung from
him. Perhaps, too, there was in that letter a charm,
which seemed to her too sacred to be revealed to any
one. And mysteries were not excluded even from a
love so ill-placed, and seemingly so transitory, as hers.
Lucy's answer touched the Squire in his weak point.
“A man of decidedly low origin,” he confessed, was
utterly out of the question; nevertheless, the young man
showed a great deal of candour in his disclosure. He
readily proinised never to broach a subject necessarily
so unpleasant; and though he sighed as he finished his
speech, yet the extreme quiet of Lucy's manner re-as-
sured him, and when he perceived that she resumed,
though languidly, her wonted avocations, he felt but little
doubt of her soon overcoming the remembrance of what
he hoped was but a girlish and fleeting fancy. He
yielded with avidity to her proposal to return to War-
lock; and in the same week as that in which Lucy had
received her lover's mysterious letter, the father and
daughter commenced their journey home.
CHAPTER VI.
Butler.- What are these, sir ?
Yeoman.-And of what nature to what use?
Latroch. - Imagine !
THE TRAGEDY OF ROLLO.
Quickly. He's in Arthur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom
HENRY V.
The stream of our narrative now conducts us back to
William Brandon. The law-promotions previously in-
tended were completed; and to the surprise of the public,
the envied barrister, undergoing the degradation of
knighthood, had, at the time we return to him, just
changed his toilsome occupations for the serene dignity
of the Bench. Whatever regret this wily and aspiring
schemer might otherwise have felt at an elevation consi-
derably less distinguished than he might reasonably have
expected, was entirely removed by the hopes afforded to
him by the Administration of a speedy translation to a
more brilliant office; and it was whispered among those


58
PAUL CLIFFORD.
became his station, he grew closer and more exact in his
economy.. Brandon never could have degenerated into
a miser; money to one so habitually wise as he was,
could never have passed from means into an object;
but he had, evidently for some cause or another, formed
the resolution to save. Some said it was the result of
returning health, and a hope of a prolonged life, to which
many objects, for which wealth is desirable, might occur.
But when it was accidentally ascertained that Brandon
had been making several inquiries respecting a large
estate in the neighbourhood of Warlock, formerly in the
possession of his family, the gossips—(for Brandon was
a man to be gossiped about)—were no longer in want of
a motive false or real, for the Judge's thrift.
It was shortly after his elevation to the Bench, and
before these signs of change had become noticeable, that
the same strange ragamuffin whom we have mentioned
before, as introduced by Mr. Swoppem to a private con-
ference with Brandon, was admitted to the Judge's
presence.
“Well,” said Brandon, impatiently, the moment the
door was closed, “ your news ?”
“ Vy, your Onor," said the man, bashfully, twirling a
thing that stood proxy for a hat, “ I thinks as ow I shall
be hable to satisfy your vorship's Onor.” Then approach-
ing the Judge, and assuming an important air, he whis-
pered-
66'T is as ow I thought!"
“My God!" cried Brandon, with vehemence. “And
he is alivc?—and where ?"
“I believes," answered the seemingly confidant of
Sir William Brandon, “ that he be's alive, and if he be's
alive, may I flash ny ivories in a glass case, if I does
not ferret him out; but as to saying vhere he be at this
nick o' the moment, smash me if I can!"
“ Is he in this country ?" said Brandon; “ or do you
believe that he is gone abroad?”
“ Vy, much of one and not a little of the other !" said
the euphonious confidant.
“How, speak plain, man—what do you mean ?"
“ Vy, I means, your Onor, that I can't say vhere he is."
“ And this,” said Brandon, with a muttered oath,
“this is your boasted news, is it? Dog, damned,
damned dog, if you trifle with me, or play me false, I
will hang you,--by the living God, I will !"


PAUL CLIFFORD.
.
59
The man sharnk back in voluntarily from Brandon's
vindictive forehead and kindled eyes; but with the
ciuning peculiar to low vice answered, though in a hum-
bler tone-
“ And vot good vill that do your Onor? if so be as
ow you scrags I, vill that put your Vorship in the vay of
finding he?”
Never was there an obstacle in grammar through
which a sturdy truth could not break; and Brandon,
after a moody pause, said in a miider voice," I did not
mean to frighten you! never mind what I said; but you
can surely guess whereabouts he is or what means of
life he pursues, perhaps ?"_and a momentary paleness
crossed Brandon's swarthy visage :-" perhaps he may
have been driven into dishonesty, in order to maintain
himself!"
The informant replied with great naïveté, that " such a
thing was not umpossible !” and Brandon then entered
into a series of seemingly careless but artful cross-ques-
tionings, which either the ignorance or the craft of the
man enabled him to baffle. After some time, Brandon,
disappointed and dissatisfied, gave up his professional
task, and bestowing on the man many sagacious and
minute instructions, as well as a very liberal donation,
he was forced to dismiss his mysterious visiter, and to
content himself with an assured assertion, that, if the
object of his inquiries should not already be gone to the
devil, the strange gentleman employed to discover him
would certainly, sooner or later, bring hiin to the Judge.
This assertion, and the interview preceding it, cer-
tainly inspired Sir William Brandon with a feeling like
complacency, although it was mingled with considerable
alloy.
"I do not,” thought he, in concluding his meditations
when he was leſt alone,-“ I do not see what else I can
do! Since it appears that the boy had not even a name
when he set out alone from his wretched abode, I fear
that an advertisement would have but little chance of
even designating, much less of finding him, after so long
an absence. Besides it might make ine the prey to im-
postors, and in all probability he has either left the coun-
try, or adopted some mode of living which would pre-
vent his daring to disclose himself !” This thought
plunged the soliloquist into a gloomy abstraction, which
lasted several minutes, and from which he started, mut.
tering aloud


60
PAUL CLIFFORD.
“ Yes, yes! I dare to believe, to hope it.-Now for the
Minister, and the Peerage!" And from that time the
root of Sir William Brandon's ambition spread with a
firmner and more extended grasp over his mind.
We grieve very much that the course of our story
should now oblige us to record an event which we wonld
willingly have spared ourselves the pain of narrating,
The good old Squire of Warlock Manor-house had
scarcely reached his home on his return from Bath, be-
fore William Brandon received the following letter from
his brother's gray-headed butler.
“HONNURED SUR,
“I SEND this with all speede, thof with a hevy hart, to
axquainte you with the sudden and (as it is feered by his
loving friends and well wishers, which latter, to be sur,
is all as knows hini) dangeros ilness of the Squire.*
He was seezed, poor deer gentleman (for God never
made a better, no offence to your Honour), the moment
he set footing in his own hall, and what has hung roud
me like a mill-ston ever sin, is that instead of his saying
- How do you do, Sampson ? as was his wont, when-
ever he returned from foreign parts, sich as Bath,
Lunnun, and the like; he said, “God bless you, Samp-
son!' which makes me think sumhow that it will be his
last wurds; for he has never spoke sin, for all Miss Lucy
be by his bedside continual. She, poor deer, don't take
on at all, in regard of crying and such woman's wurk,
but looks nevertheless, for all the wurld, just like a
copse. I sends Tom the postilion with this hexpress,
nowing he is a good hand at a gallop, having, not sixteen
year ago, beat some o' the best on un at a racing. Hoping
as yer Honnur will lose no time in coming to this hous
of mourning,'
“I remane, with all respect,
“ Your Honnur's humble sarvant to command,
.“ JOHN SAMPSON."
Sir William Brandon did not give himself time to re-
read this letter, in order to make it more intelligible,
before he wrote to one of his professional compeers, re-
* The reader, who has doubtless noticed how invariably servants of long
standing acquire a certain tone from that of their master, may observe, that
honest Jobu Sampson had caugbt from the Squire the babit of parenthetical
composition.
mundone interperan sebe


PAUL CLIFFORD.
61
questing him to fill his place during his unavoidable
absence, on the melancholy occasion of his brother's
expected death; and having so done he immediately set
off for Warlock. Inexplicable even to himself was that
feeling, so nearly approaching to real sorrow, which the
worldly lawyer felt at the prospect of losing his guile-
less and unspeculating brother. Whether it be that
turbulent and ambitious minds, in choosing for their
wavering affections the very opposites of themselves,
feel (on losing the fellowship of those calm, fair cha-
racters, that have never crossed their own rugged path)
as if they lost, in losing them, a kind of haven for their
own restless thoughts and tempest-worn designs !-be
this as it may, certain it is, that when William Brandon
arrived at his brother's door, and was informed by the
old butler, who, for the first time, was slow to greet him,
that the Squire had just breathed his last, his austere
nature forsook him at once, and he felt the shock with a
severity perhaps still keener than that which a more
genial and affectionate heart would have experienced.
As soon as he had recovered his self-possession, Sir
William made question of his niece, and finding that,
after an unrelaxing watch during the whole of the
Squire's brief illness, nature had failed her at his death,
and she had been borne senseless from his chamber to
her own, Brandon walked, with a step far different from
his usual stately gait, to the room where his brother lay.
It was one of the oldest apartments in the house, and
much of the ancient splendour that belonged to the man-
sion ere its size had been reduced, with the fortunes of
its successive owners, still distinguished the chamber.
The huge mantel-piece ascending to the carved ceiling
in grotesque pilasters, and scroll-work of the blackest
oak, with the quartered arms of Brandon and Saville
escutcheoned in the centre,-the panelled walls of the
same dark wainscot,—the armoire of ebony,--the high-
backed chairs, with their tapestried seats,- the lofty bed,
with its hearse-like plumes and draperies of a crinsson
damask that seemed, so maszy was the substance, and
so prominent the flowers, as if it were rather a carving
than a silk, all conspired, with the size of the room, to
give it a feudal solemnity, not perhaps suited to the rest
of the house, but well calculated to strike a gloomy awe
into the breast of the worldly and proud man who now
entered the death-chamber of his brother.


62
PAUL CLIFFORD.
Silently, William Brandon motioned away the attend.
ants, and, silently, he seated himself by the bed, and
looked long and wistfully upon the calm and placid face
of the deceased. It is difficult to guess at what passed
within him during the space of time in which he re-
mained alone in that, room. The apartment itself he
could not, at another period, have tenanted without
secret emotion. It was that in which, as a boy, he had
himself been accustomed to sleep; and, even then a
schemer and an aspirant, the very sight of the room
sufficed to call back ali the hopes and visions, the restless
projects, and the ſeverish desires which had now brought
him to the envied state of an acknowledged celebrity
and a shattered frame. There must have been some-
thing awful in the combination of those active remem-
brances with the cause which had led him to that a part-
ment; and there was a homily in the serene countenance
of the dead, which preached more effectually to the
heart of the living than William Brandon would ever
have cared to own. He had been more than an hour in
the room, and the evening had already begun to cast
deep shadows through the small panes of the half-closed
· window, when Brandon was startled by a slight noise.
He looked up, and beheld Lucy opposite to him. She
did not see him; but, throwing herself upon the bed, she
took the cold hand of the deceased, and, after a long
silence, burst into a passion of tears.
“My father!” she sobbed,"my kind, good father,
who will love me now ?"
“I !” said Brandon, deeply affected; and, passing
round the bed, he took his niece in his arms : “I will be
your father, Lucy, and you—the last of our race-shall
be to me as a daughter!"


PAUL CLIFFORD.
CHAPTER VII.
Falsehood in him was not the useless lie
Of boasting pride or laughing vanity,
It was the gainful-the persuading art; &c.
CRABBE.
On with the horses-off to Canterbury,
Tramp-tramp o'er pebble and splash--splash thro' puddle-
Hurrah !-how swiftly speed the post so merry!
2.3
Here laws are all inviolate!--none lay
Traps for the traveller every highway's clear
Here; he was interrupted by a knife,
With “Damu your eyes-your money or your life !"
Don JUAN
MISFORTUNES are like the creations of Cadmus—they
destroy one another! Roused from the torpor of mind
occasioned by the loss of her lover, at the sudden illness
of the Squire, Lucy had no thought for herself-no
thought for any one-for any thing but her father, till
long after the earth had closed over his remains. The
very activity of the latter grief was less dangerous than
the quiet of the former; and when the first keenness of
sorrow passed away, and her mind gradually and me-
chanically returned to the remembrance of Clifford, it was
with an intensity less strong, and less fatal to her health
and happiness than before. She thought it unnatural
and criminal to allow any thing else to grieve her, while
she had so sacred a grief as that of her loss; and her
mind, once aroused into resistance to passion, betrayed
a native strength little to have been expected from her,
apparent character. Sir William Brandon lost no time
in returning to town after the burial of his brother. He
insisted upon taking his niece with him; and, though
with real reluctance, she yielded to his wishes, and ac-
companied him. By the Squire's will, indeed, Sir Wil.
liam was appointed guardian to Lucy, and she yet wanted
more than a year of her majority.
Brandon, with a delicacy very uncommon to him where
women (whom he hated) were concerned, provided every
thing that he thought could in any way conduce to her


64 -
PAUL CLIFFORD.
comfort. He ordered it to be understood in his establish-
ment, that she was its mistress. He arranged and fur.
nished, according to what he imagined her taste, a suite
of apartments for her sole accommodation: a separate
carriage and servants were appropriated to her use; and
he sought, by perpetual presents of books, or flowers, or
music, to occupy her thoughts, and atone for the solitude
to which his professional duties obliged him so con-
stantly to consign her. These attentions, which showed
this strange man in a new light, seemed to bring out many
little latent amiabilities, which were usually embedded
in the callosities of his rocky nature; and, even despite
her causes for grief, and the deep melancholy which con-
sumed her, Lucy was touched with gratitude at kindness
doubly soothing in one who, however urbane' and po-
lished, was by no means addicted to the little attentions
that are considered so gratifying by women; and yet for
which they so often despise, while they like him who
affords them. There was much in Brandon that wound
itself insensibly around the heart. To one more experi-
enced than Lucy, this involuntary attraction might not
have been incompatible with suspicion, and could
scarcely have been associated with esteem; and yet for
all who knew him intimately, even for the penetrating
and selfish Mauleverer, the attraction existed : unprinci-
pled, crafty, hypocritical, even base when it suited his
purpose ; secretly sneering at the dupes he made, and
knowing no code save that of interest and ambition;
viewing men only as machines, and opinions only as lad-
ders ;-there was yet a tone of powerful feelings some-
times elicited from a heart, that could at the same mo-
ment have sacrificed a whole people to the pettiest per-
sonal object: and sometimes with Lucy the eloquence or
irony of his conversation deepened into melancholy, a
half-suppressed gentleness of sentiment, that accorded
with the state of her own mind and interested her kind
feelings powerfully in his. It was these peculiarities in
his converse, which made Lucy love to hear him, and she
gradually learned to anticipate with a gloomy pleasure,
the hour in which, after the occupations of the day, he was
accustomed to join her.
6 You look unwell, uncle, to-night,” she said, when one
evening he entered the room with looks more fatigued
than usual; and, rising, she leaned tenderly over him,
and kissed his forehead.


66
PAUL CLIFFORD.
paper, the organ of the party opposed to Brandon.-“ Are
you belied when you are here called 'ambitous ?'—When
they call you selfish' and 'grasping'-I know they
wrong you; but I confess that I have thought you am-
bitious; yet can he who despises men desire their good
opinion ?"
“Their good opinion!” repeated Brandon, mockingly.
“Do we want the bray of the asses we ride?-No!” he re-
sumed after a pause. “It is power, not honour-it is the
hope of elevating one's self in every respect, in the world
without, as well as in the world of one's own mind: it
is this hope which makes me labour where I might rest,
and will continue the labour to my grave.-Lucy," con-
tinued Brandon, fixing his keen eyes on his niece, “have
you no ambition ?-have power, and pomp, and place, no
charm for your mind ?"
“None!" said Lucy, quietly and simply.
“Indeed !-yet there are times when I have thought I
recognised my blood in your veins. You are sprung
from a once noble, but a fallen race. Are you ever sus-
ceptible to the weakness of ancestral pride ?”
* You say," answered Lucy, “ that we should care not
for those who live after us, much less, I imagine, should
we care for those who have lived ages before !"
“Prettily answered,” said Brandon, smiling.–“I will
tell you at one time or another what effect that weakness
you despise already, once had, long after your age, upon
me. You are early wise on some points-profit by my
experience, and be so on all."
“ That is to say, in despising all men and all things;"
said Lucy, also smiling.
“ Well, never mind my creed; you may be wise after
your own: but trust one, dearest Lucy, who loves you
purely and disinterestedly, and who has weighed with
scales balanced to a hair all the advantages to be gleaned
from an earth, in which I verily think the harvest was
gathered before we were put into it-trust me, Lucy, and
never think love, that maiden's dream, so valuable as
rank and power: pause weil before you yield to the for-
mer; accept the latter, the moment they are offered you.
Love puts you at the feet of another, and that other &
tyrant: rank. puts others at your feet, and all those thus
subjected are your slaves !”
· Lucy moved her chair (so that the new position con-
cealed her face), and did not answer; and Brandon, in an
altered tone, continued


· PAUL CLIFFORD.
67
“Would you think, Lucy, that I once was fool enough
- to imagine that love was a blessing, and to be eagerly
oy sought for? I gave up my hopes, my chances of wealth,
of distinction, all that had burned from the years of boy-
hood into my very heart. I chose poverty, obscurity,
humiliation ; but I chose also love. What was my re-
ward? Lucy Brandon, I was deceived-deceived !"
Brandon paused, and Lucy took his hand affectionately,
- but did not break the silence. Brandon resumed.
“Yes, I was deceived! but I in my turn had a revenge,
I and a fitting revenge,- for it was not the revenge of
hatred, but (and the speaker laughed sardonically) of
contempt. Enough of this, Lucy! What I wished to
say to you is this-grown men and women know more
of the truth of things than ye young persons think for.
Love is a mere bauble, and no human being ever ex-
changed for it one solid advantage without repentance.
Believe this; and if rank ever puts itself under those
pretty feet, be sure not to spurn the footstool.”
So saying, with a slight laugh, Brandon lighted his
chamber-candle, and left the room for the night.
.: As soon as the lawyer reached his own apartment, he
indited to Lord Mauleverer the following epistle.
j
“Why, dear Mauleverer, do you not come to town?
I want you, your party wants you; perhaps the K-g
wants you; and certainly, if you are serious about my.
niece, the care of your own love-suit should induce you
yourself to want to come hither. I have paved the way
for you, and, I think, with a little management you may
anticipate a speedy success: but Lucy is a strange girl,
-and perhaps, after all, though you ought to be on the
spot, you had better leave her as much as possible in my
hands. I know human nature, Mauleverer, and that
knowledge is the engine by which I will work your tri-
umph. As for the young lover, I am not quite sure
whether it be not better for our sake, that Lucy should
have experienced a disappointment on that score; for
when a woman has once loved, and the love is utterly
hopeless, she puts all vague ideas of other lovers alto-
gether out of her head; she becomes contented with a
husband whom she can esteem! sweet canter! But you,
Mauleverer, want Lucy to love you! And so she will,
after you have married her! She will love you partly
from the advantages she derives from you, partly from


68
PAUL CLIFFORD.
familiarity (to say nothing of your good qualities). Fa
my part, I think domesticity goes so far, that I believe i
woman always inclined to be affectionate to a man whom
she has once seen in his nightcap. However, you show,
come to town; my poor brother's recent death allows us
to see no one,—the coast will be clear from rivals; grieſ
has softened my niece's heart ;-in a word, you could
not have a better opportunity. Come!
“ By-the-way, you say one of the reasons which made
you think ill of this Captain Clifford was, your impres-
sion that, in the figure of one of his comrades, you re-
cognised something that appeared to you to resemble
one of the fellows who robbed you a few months ago. I
understand that, at this moment, the police are in active
pursuit of three most accomplished robbers ; nor should
I be at all surprised, if in this very Clifford were to be
found the leader of the gang, viz. the notorious Lovett.
I hear that the said leader is a clever and a handsome
fellow, of a gentlemanlike address, and that his general
associates are two men of the exact stamp of the
worthies you have so amusingly described to me. I
heard this yesterday from Nabbem, the police officer,
with whom I once scraped acquaintance on a trial; and
in my grudge against your rival, 1 hinted at my sus.
picion, that he, Captain Clifford, might not impossibly
prove this Rinaldo Rinaldini of the roads. Nabbem
caught at my hint at once ; so that, if it be founded on a
true guess, I may flatter my conscience as well as my
friendship, by the hope that I have had some hand in
hanging this Adonis of my niece's. Whether my guess
be true or not, Nabbem says he is sure of this Lovett;
for one of his gang has promised to betray him. Hang
these aspiring dogs ! I thought treachery, was confined
to politics; and that thought makes me turn to public
matters,-in which all people are turning with the most
edifying celerity.”
Sir Williain Brandon's epistle found Mauleverer in 3
fitting mood for Lucy and for London. Our worthy
peer had been not a little chagrined by Lucy's sudden
departure from Bath; and while in doubt whether or not
to follow her, the papers had informed him of the Squire's
death. Mauleverer, being then fully aware of the im-


PAUL CLIFFORD.
69
possibility of immediately urging his suit, endeavoured,
like the true philosopher he was, to reconcile himself to
El his hope deferred. Few people were more easily sus-
sceptible of consolation than Lord Mauleverer. He
e found an agreeable lady, of a face more unfaded than
her reputation, to whom he intrusted the care of re.
lieving his leisure moments from ennui ; and being a
lively woman, the confidante discharged the trust with
great satisfaction to Lord Mauleverer, for the space of a
fortnight, so that he naturally began to feel his love for
Lucy gradually wearing away, by absence and other
ties; but just as the triumph of time over passion was
growing decisive, the lady left Bath, in company with a
tall guardsman, and Mauleverer received Brandon's let-
ter. These two events recalled our excellent lover to a
sense of his allegiance; and there being now at Bath no
particular attraction to counterbalance the ardour of his
affection, Lord Mauleverer ordered the horses to his
carriage, and, attended only by his valet, set out for
London.
Nothing, perhaps, could convey a better portrait of an
aristocrat thau a sight of Lord Mauleverer's thin, fas-
tidious features peering forth through the closed window
of his luxurious travelling chariot! the rest of the outer
man being carefully enveloped in furs, half a dozen
novels strewing the seat of the carriage, and a lean
French dog, exceedingly like its master, sniffing in vain
for the fresh air, which, to the imagination of Mauleverer,
was peopled with all sorts of asthmas and catarrhs! It
was a fitting picture of an aristocrat, for these reasons;
because it conveyed an expression of indolence-of
unwholesomeness-of luxury-of pride and of ridicule!
Mauleverer got out of his carriage at Salisbury, to stretch
his limbs, and to amuse himself with a cutlet. Our
nobleman was well known on the roads, and as nobody.
could be more affable, he was equally popular. The
| Officious landlord bustled into the room, to wait himself
upon his Lordship, and to tell all the news of the place.
“Well, Mr. Cheerly!" said Mauleverer, bestowing a.
penetrating glance on his cutlet, “the bad times, I see,
have not ruined your cook !"
“Indeed, my Lord, your Lordship is very good, and
the times, indeed, are very bad-very bad indeed. Is
there enough gravy? Perhaps your Lordship will try
the pickled onions ?”


70
PAUL CLIFFORD.
“The what?-onions !-oh!-ah! nothing can be bet
ter; but I never touch them. So, are the roads good ?"
“Your Lordship has, I hope, found them good to
Salisbury ?"
“Ah! I believe so. Oh! to be sure, excellent to
Salisbury. But how are they to London? We have
had wet weather lately, I think !"
“ No, my Lord. Here, the weather has been as dry as
a bone."
“ Or a cutlet!" muttered Mauleverer; and the host
continued
“As for the roads themselves, my Lord-so far as the
roads are concerned, they are pretty good, my Lord!
but I can't say as how there is not something about them
that might be mended !”
“By no ineans improbable !-you mean the inns and
the turnpikes?" rejoined Mauleverer.
“ Your Lordship is pleased to he facetious;no! I
mean something worse than them !"
“ What! the cooks ?”
“No, my Lord,--the highwaymen!"
6. The highwaymen !-indeed !" said Mauleverer,
anxiously; for he had with hiin a case of diamonds,
which at that time were, on grand occasions, often the
ornaments of a gentleman's dress, in the shape of but-
tons, buckles, &c.; he had also a tolerably large sum of
ready money about him, a blessing he had lately begun
to find very rare :-“ By-the-way, the rascals robbed me
before on this very road. My pistols shall be loaded
this tinie.—Mr. Cheerly, you had better order the horses;
one may as well escape the night-fall!".
“ Certainly, my Lord, certainly.--Jem, the horses im.
mediately !--Your Lordship will have another cutlet ?"
“ Not a morsel !"
“A tart?"
“A dev_ not for the world !"
“Bring the cheese, John !"
“ Much obliged to you, Mr. Cheerly, but I have dined;
and if I have not done justice to your good cheer, thank
yourself and the highwaymen. --Where do these high-
waymen attack one ?"
" Why, my Lord, the neighbourhood of Reading is, I
believe, the worst part ; but they are very troublesome
all the way to Salthill."
“Damnation !-the very neighbourhood in which the


PAUL CLIFFORD.
71
knaves robbed me before !-You may well call them
troublesome! Why the deuse do n't the police clear the
county of such a moveable species of trouble ?"
“ Indeed, my Lord, I do n't know; but they say as
how Captain Lovett, the famous robber, be one of the
set; and nobody can catch him, I fear!”
“ Because, I suppose, the dog has the sense to bribe
as well as bully.-- What is the general number of these
ruffians ?"
" Why, my Lord, sometimes one, sometimes two, but
seldom more than three."
Manleverer drew himself up. “My dear diamonds,
and my pretty purse !” thought he; “I may save you
yet !”
“ Have you been long plagued with the fellows ?” he
asked, after a pause, as he was paying his bill.
“Why, my Lord, we have, and we have not: I fancy
as how they have a sort of haunt near Reading, for
sometimes they are intolerable just about there, and
sometimes they are quiet for months together! For
instance, my Lord, we thought them all gone some time
ago; but lately they have regularly stopped every one,
though I hear as how they have cleared no great booty
as yet.”
Here the waiter announced the horses, and Mauleverer
slowly re-entered his carriage, among the bows and
smiles of the charmed spirits of the hostelry.
During the daylight, Mauleverer, who was naturally
of a gallant and fearless temper, thought no more of the
highwaymen,-a species of danger so common at that
time, that it was almost considered disgraceful to suffer
the dread of it to be a cause of delay on the road. Tra.
vellers seldom deemed it best to lose time in order to
save money; and they carried with them a stout heart
and a brace of pistols, instead of sleeping all night on
the road. Mauleverer, rather a preux chevalier, was
precisely of this order of wayfarers ; and a night at an
inn, when it was possible to avoid it, was to him, as to
most rich Englishmen, a tedious torture most zealously
to be shunned. It never, therefore, entered into the head
of our excellent nobleman, despite his experience, that
his diamonds and his purse might be saved from all dan-
ger, if he would consent to deposite them, with his own
person, at some place of hospitable reception ; nor, in-
deed, was it till he was within a stage of Reading, and


72
PAUL CLIFFORD.
the twilight had entirely closed in, that he troubled his
head much on the maiter. But while the horses were
putting to, he summoned the postboys to him, and after
regarding their countenances with the eye of a man ac.
customed to read physiognomies, he thus eloquently ad.
dressed them :
“ Gentlemen,-I am informed that there is some dan.
ger of being robbed between this town and Salthill.-
Now, I beg to inform you, that I think it next to impos.
sible for four horses, properly directed, to be stopped by
less than four men. "To that number I shall probably
yield; to a less number I shall most assuredly give
nothing but bullets.--You understand me?"
The postboys grinned, touched their hats, and Maule.
verer slowly continued
“ If, therefore,-mark me, one, two, or three men
stop your horses, and I find that the use of your whips
and spurs are ineffectual in releasing the animals from
the hold of the robbers, I intend with these pistols-you
observe them-to shoot at the gentlemen who detain
you; but as, though I am generally a dead shot, my eye.
sight wavers a little in the dark, I think it very possible
that I may have the misfortune to shoot you, gentlemen,
instead of the robbers! You see, the rascals will be
close by you, sufficiently so to put you in jeopardy, un-
less, indeed, you knock them down with the butt-end of
your whips. I merely mention this that you may be
prepared. Should such a mistake occur, you need not
be uneasy beforehand, for I will take every possible care
of your widows; should it not, and should we reach
Salthill in safety, I intend to testify my sense of the ex-
cellence of your driving, by a present of ten guineas
a-piece! Gentlemen, I have done with you. I give
you my honour, as a British noblernan, that I am serious
' in what I have said to you. Do me the favour to
mount.”
Mauleverer then called his favourite servant, who sat
in the dickey in front (rumble-tumbles not being then
in use)
“ Smoothson,” said he, “the last time we were at-
tacked on this very road, you behaved damnahly. See
that you do better this time, or it may be the worse for
you. You have pistols to-night about you, eh! Well!
that 's right! And you are sure they 're loaded. Very
well! Now, then, if we are stopped, do n't lose a mo-


PAUL CLIFFORD.
73
ment. Jump down and fire one of your pistols at the
* first robber. Keep the other for a sure aim. One shot
is to intimidate, the second to slay. You comprehend !
E My pistols are in excellent order, I suppose. Lend me
the ramrod. So, so! No trick this time!"
“ They would kill a fly, my Lord, provided your Lord-
ship fired straight upon it."
“I do not doubt you !" said Mauleverer,“ light the
lanterns, and tell the postboys to drive on!"
It was a frosty and tolerably clear night. The dusk
of the twilight had melted away beneath the moon, which
had just risen, and the hoary rime glittered from the
bushes and the sward, breaking into a thousand dia-
monds, as it caught the rays of the stars. On went the
horses, briskly, their breath steaming against the fresh
air, and their hoofs sounding cheerily on the hard ground.
The rapid motion of the carriage—the bracing coolness
of the night-and the excitement occasioned by anxiety
and ihe forethought of danger, all conspired to stir the
languid blood of Lord Mauleverer into a vigorous and
exhilarated sensation, natural in youth to his character,
but utterly contrary to the nature he had imbibed from
the customs of his manhood.
He felt his pistols, and his hands trembled a little, as
he did so not the least from fear, but from that rest-
lessness and eagerness peculiar to nervous persons
placed in a new situation.
“In this country,” said he to himself, “ I have been
only once robbed in the course of my life. It was then
a little my fault; for before I took to my pistols, I should
have been certain they were loaded. To-night, I shall
be sure to avoid a similar blunder; and my pistols have an
eloquence in their barrels which is exceedingly moving.
Humph, another milestone. These fellows drive well;
but we are entering a pretty-looking spot for Messieurs
the disciples of Robin Hood !"
It was indeed a picturesque spot, by which the carriage
was now rapidly whirling. A few miles from Maiden-
head, on the Henley road, our readers will probably rem
member a small track of forest-like land, lying on either
side of the road. To the left, the green waste bears
away among trees and bushes; and one skilled in the
country may pass from that spot, through a landscape
as little tenanted as green Sherwood was formerly, into
the chains of wild common and deep beech-woods which
Vol. II.-D


74
PAUL CLIFFORD.
border a certain portion of Oxfordshire, and contrast so
beautifu.ly the general characteristics of that county.
At the time we speak of, the country was even far
wilder than it is now, and just on that point where the
Henley and the Reading roads unite was a spot (com-
municating then with the waste land we have described),
than which perhaps few places could be more adapted to
the purposes of such true men as have recourse to the pri.
mary law of nature. Certain it was, that at this part of the
road Mauleverer looked more anxiously from his window
than he had hitherto done, and apparently the increased
earnestness of his survey was not altogether without
meeting its reward.
About a hundred yards to the left, three dark objects
were just discernible in the shade; a moment more, and
the objects emerging grew into the forms of three men,
well mounted, and riding at a brisk trot.
“ Only three !” thought Mauleverer, “ that is well;"
and leaning from the front window with a pistol in either
hand, Mauleverer cried out to the postboys in a stern
tone, “ Drive on, and recollect what I told you !-Re-
member!” he added, to his servant. The postboys
scarcely looked round, but their spurs were buried in
their horses, and the animals flew on like lightning.
The three strangers niade a halt, as if in conference:
their decision was prompt. - Two wheeled round from
their comrade, and darted at full gallop by the carriage.
Mauleverer's pistol was already protruded from the
front-window, when to his astonishment, and to the utter
baffling of his ingenious admonition to his drivers, he
beheld the two postboys knocked from their horses one
after the other with a celerity that scarcely allowed him
an exclamation; and before he had recovered his self-
possession, the horses taking fright (and their fright
being skilfully taken advantage of by the highwaymen),
the carriage was fairly whirled into a ditch on the right
side of the road, and upset. Meanwhile, Smoothson had
leaped from his station in the front, and having fired,
though without effect, at the third robber, who approached
menacingly towards him, he gained the time to open the
carriage door, and extricate his master.
The moment Mauleverer found himself on terra firma,
he prepared his courage for offensive measures, and he
and Smoothson, standing side by side in front of the un-
fortunate vehicle, presented no unformidable aspect to the


PAUL CLIFFORD.
76
enemy. The two robbers who had so decisively rid
themselves of the postboys acted with no less determi.
nation towards the horses. One of them dismounted,
cut the traces, and suffered the plunging quadrupeds to
go whither they listed. This measure was not however
allowed to be taken with impunity; a ball from Mauleve-
rer's pistol passed through the hat of the highwayman
with an aim so slightly erring, that it whizzed among
the locks of the astounded hero with a sound that sent
a terror to his heart, no less from a love of his head,
than from anxiety for his hair. The shock staggered
him for a moment; and a second shot froin the hand of
Mauleverer would have probably finished his earthly
career, had not the third robber, who had hitherto re-
mained almost inactive, thrown himself from his horse,
which tutored to such docility remained perfectly still,
and advancing with a bold step and a levelled pistol
towards Mauleverer and his servant, said, in a resolute
voice, “ Gentlemen, it is useless to struggle; we are
well armed, and resolved on effecting our purpose: your
persons shall be safe, if you lay down your arms, and
also such part of your property as you may particularly
wish to retain. But if you resist, I cannot answer for
your lives!”
Mauleverer had listened patiently to this speech in
order that he might have more time for adjusting his
aim: his reply was a bullet, which grazed the side of
the speaker and tore away the skin, without inflicting any
more dangerous wound. Muttering a curse upon the
error of his aim, and resolute to the last, when his blood
was once up, Mauleverer backed one pace, drew his
sword, and threw himself into the attitude of a cham-
pion well skilled in the use of the instrument he wore.
But that incomparable personage was in a fair way
of ascertaining what happiness in the world to come is
reserved for a man who has spared no pains to make
himself comfortable in this. For the two first and most
active robbers having finished the achievement of the
horses, now approached Mauleverer, and the taller of
them, still indignant at the late peril to his hair, cried
out in a Stentorian voice-
“By G-d! you old fool, if you do n't throw down
your toasting-fork, I'll be the death of you!".
The speaker suited the action to the word, by cocking
an immense pistol ; Mauleverer stood his ground, but
D2


76
PAUL CLIFFORD.
Smoothson retreated, and stumbling against the wheel
of the carriage fell backward; the next instant, the
second highwayman had possessed himself of the valet's
pistols, and, quietly seated on the fallen man's stomach,
amused himself by inspecting the contents of the do-
mcstic's pockets. Mauleverer was now alone, and his
stubbornness so enraged the tall bully, that his hand was
already on his trigger, when the third robber, whose side
Mauleverer's bullet had grazed, thrust himself between
the two.—“Hold, Ned!” said he, pushing back his com.
rade's pistol.--" And you, my Lord, whose rashness
ought to cost you your life, learn that men can rob gene-
rously.” So saying, with one dexterous stroke from the
robber's riding-whip, Mauleverer's sword flew upwards,
and alighted at the distance of ten yards from its owner.
: “Approach now," said the victor to his comrades.
“Rifle the carriage, and with all despatch."
The tall highwayman hastened to execute this order;
and the lesser one having satisfactorily finished the in-
quisition into Mr. Smoothson's pockets, drew forth from
his own pouch a tolerably thick rope; with this he tied
the hands of the prostrate valet, moralizing as he wound
the rope round and round the wrists of the fallen man,
in the following edifying strain:
“ Lie still, sir, lie still, I beseech you; all wise men
are fatalists; and no proverb is more pithy than that
which says, “What can't be cured must be endured.'
Lie still, I tell you; little, perhaps, do you think that
you are performing one of the noblest functions of hu-
manity : yes, sir, you are filling the pockeis of the des-
titute, and by my present action, I am securing you
from any weakness of the flesh likely to impede so
praiseworthy an end, and so hazard the excellence of
your action. There, sir, your hands are tight-lie still
and reflect!”
As he said this, with three gentle applications of his
feet, the moralist rolled Mr. Smoothson into the ditch,
and hastened to join his lengthy comrade in his pleasing
occupation.
In the interim, Mauleverer and the third robber (who
in the true spirit of government, remained dignified and
inactive while his followers plundered what he certainly
designed to share, if not to monopolize), stood within a
few feet of each other, face to face.
Mauleverer had now convinced himself, that all en-


PAUL CLIFFORD.
77
deavour to save his property was hopeless, and he had
also the consolation of thinking he had done his best to
defend it. He therefore bade all his thoughts return to
the care of his person. He adjusted his fur collar
around his neck with great sang froid, drew on his
gloves, and, patting his terrified poodle, who sat shiver-
ing on its haunches with one paw raised, and nervously
trembling, he said
“ You, sir, seem to be a civil person, and I really
should have felt quite sorry if I had had the misfortune to
wound you. You are not hurt, I trust. Pray, if I may
inquire, how am I to proceed ? my carriage is in the
ditch, and my horses by this time are probably at the
end of the world.”
"As for that matter,” said the robber, whose face,
like those of his comrades, was closely masked in the
approved fashion of highwaymen of that day, “I believe
you will have to walk to Maidenhead, it is not far, and
the night is fine!”
" A very trifling hardship, indeed!” said Mauleverer,
ironically ; but his new acquaintance made no reply,
nor did he appear at all desirous of entering into any
farther conversation with Mauleverer.
The Earl, therefore, after watching the operations of
the other robbers for some moinents, turned on his heel,
and remained humming an opera tune, with dignified in.
difference, until the pair had finished rifling the carriage,
and, seizing Mauleverer, proceeded to rifle him.
With a curled lip and a raised brow, that supreme
personage suffered himself to be, as the taller robber ex-
pressed it,“ cleaned out.” His watch, his rings, his purse,
and his snuff-box, all went. It was long since the ras-
cals had captured such a booty.
They had scarcely finished, when the postboys, who
had now begun to look about them, uttered a simulta.
neous cry, and, at some distance, a wagon was seen
heavily approaching. Mauleverer really wanted his
money, to say nothing of his diamonds; and so soon as
he perceived assistance at hand, a new hope darted within
him. His sword still lay on the ground; he sprang to-
wards it-seized it, uttered a shout for help, and threw
himself fiercely on the highwayman who had disarmed
him ; but the robber, warding off the blade with his
whip, retreated to his saddle, which he managed, despite
of Mauleverer's lunges, to regain with impunity.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
79
« Heavens !" cried he, looking upward at the starry skies
in a sort of ecstasy, “ what a jolly life this is ! Some
fellows like hunting, damn it; what hunting is like the
road? If there be sport in hunting down a nasty fox,
how much more is there ini hunting down a nice clean
nobleman's carriage! If there be joy in getting a brush,
how much more is there in getting a purse! If it be
pleasant to fly over a hedge in the broad daylight, hang
me if it be not ten times finer sport to skim it by night,
here goes! Look how the hedges run away from us, and
the silly old moon dances about, as if the sight of us put
the good lady in spirits! T'hose old maids are always
glad to have an eye upon such fine dashing young fellows."
“Ay," cried the more erudite and sententious Augustus
Tomlinson, roused by success from his usual philoso-
phical sobriety. “No work is so pleasant as nightwork,
and the witches our ancestors burned were in the right to
ride out on their broomsticks, with the owls and the stars.
We are their successors now, Ned. We are your true
fly-by-nights !"
* Only," quoth Ned, " we are a cursed deal more clever
than they were; for they played their game without being
a bit the richer for it, and we I say, Tomlinson, where
the devil did you put that red morocco case ?"
“ Experience never enlightens the foolish !" said Tom.
linson, “ or you would have known, without asking, that
I had put it in the very safest pocket in my coat. Gad,
how heavy it is !"
“Well ! cried Pepper, “I can't say I wish it were
lighter! Only think of our robbing my Lord twice, and
on the same road too !".
“ I say, Lovett,” exclaimed Tomlinson, “was it not
odd that we should have stumbled upon our Bath friend
so unceremoniously? Lucky for us, that we are so
strict in robbing in masks! He would not have thought
the better of Bath company, if he had seen our faces.”
Lovett, or rather Clifford, had hitherto been silent. He
now turned slowly in his saddle, and said—“As it was,
the poor devil was very nearly despatched. Long Ned
was making short work with him if I had not inter:
posed !"
“ And why did you ?” said Ned.
“ Because I will have no killing: it is the curse of the
noble art of our profession, to have passionate profes-
sors like thee.”


80
PAUL CLIFFORD.
“ Passionate !" repeated Ned : “ well, I am a little
choleric, I own it; but that is not so great a fault on the
road as it would be in house-breaking. I do n't know a
thing that requires so much coolness and self-possession
as cleaning out a house from top to bottom, -quietly and
civilly, mind you !”
“ That is the reason, I suppose, then,” said Augustus,
" that you altogether renounced that career. Your first
adventure was house-breaking, I think I have heard you
say. I confess, it was a vulgar debût—not worthy of
you!"
“No!-Harry Cook seduced me! but the specimen I
saw that night disgusted me of picking locks; it brings
one in contact with such low companions ; only think,
there was a merchant-a rag-merchant one of the party!"
“Faugh!" said Tomlinson, in solemn disgust.
“Ay, you may well turn up your lip: I never broke
into a house again.”
“Who were your other companions ?" asked Augustus.
“ Only Harry Cook,* and a very singular woman— "
Here Ned's narrative was interrupted by a dark defile
through a wood, allowing room for only one horseman at
a time. They continued this gloomy path for several
minutes, until at length it brought them to the brink of a
large dell, overgrown with bushes and spreading around,
somewhat in the form of a rude semicircle. Here the
robbers dismounted, and led their reeking horses down
the descent. Long Ned, who went first, paused at a
cluster of bushes, which seemed so thick as to defy in-
trusion, but which, yielding, on either side, to the expe-
rienced hand of the robber, presented what appeared the
mouth of a cavern. A few steps along the passage of
this gulf brought them to a door, which, even seen by
torchlight, would have appeared so exactly similar in
colour and material to the rude walls on either side, as to
have deceived any unsuspecting eye, and which, in the
customary darkness brooding over it, might have remained
for centuries undiscovered. Touching a secret latch, the
door opened, and the robbers were in the secure precincts
of the “ Red Cave !" It may be remembered, that,
among the early studies of our exemplary hero, the me.
moirs of Richard Turpin had formed a conspicuous por-
tion; and it may also be remembered, that, in the mis.
* A noted highwayman.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
81
cellaneous adventures of that gentleman, nothing had
more delighted the juvenile imagination of the student,
than the description of the forest cave, in which the ga).
lant Turpin had been accustomed to conceal himself, his
friend, his horse,
“And that sweet saint who lay by Turpin's side;"
or, to speak more domestically, the respectable Mrs. Tur-
pin. So strong a hold, indeed, had that early reminis-
cence fixed upon our hero's mind, that, no sooner had he
risen to eminence among his friends, than he had put the
project of his childhood into execution. He had selected
for the scene of his ingenuity an admirable spot. In a
thinly-peopled country, surrounded by commons and
woods, and yet (as Mr. Robins would say, if he had to
dispose of it by auction) “ within an easy ride” of popu.
lous and well-frequented roads, it possessed all the ad.
vantages of secrecy for itself, and convenience for depre-
dation. Very few of the gang, and those only who had
been employed in its construction, were made acquainted
with the secret of this cavern; and as our adventurers
rarely visited it, and only on occasions of urgent want,
or secure concealment, it had continued for more than
two years undiscovered and unsuspected.
The cavern, originally hollowed by nature, owed but
little to the decorations of art; nevertheless, the rough-
ness of the walls was concealed by a rude but comfort-
able arras of matting: four or five of such seats as the
robbers themselves could construct, were drawn around
a small but bright wood-fire, which, as there was no
chimney, spread a thin volume of smoke over the apart-
ment. The height of the cave, added to the universal
reconciler-custom, prevented, however, this evil from
being seriously unpleasant; and, indeed, like the tenants
of an Irish cabin, perhaps the inmates attached a degree
of comfort to a circumstance which was coupled with
their dearest household associations. A table, formed of
a board coarsely plaried, and supported by four legs of
irregular size, made equal by the introduction of blocks
or wedges between the legs and the floor, stood warming
its uncouth self by the fire. At one corner, a covered
cart made a conspicuous article of furniture, no doubt
useful either in conveying plunder or provisions, beside
the wheels were carelessly thrown two or three coarse
D 3


PAUL CLIFFORD.
83
had been shown in the choice of the spot, if there were a
lack of taste in its adornments.
While the horses were performing their nightly ascent,
our three heroes, after securing the door, made at once
to the fire. And there, O reader, they were greeted in
welcome by one,-an old and revered acquaintance of
thine,--whom in such a scene it will equally astound,
and wound thee to re-behold.
Know then,-but first we will describe to thee the oc-
cupation and the garb of the august personage to whom
we allude. Bending over a large gridiron, daintily be-
spread with steaks of the fatted rump, the INDIVIDUAL
siood ;-with his right arm bared above the elbow, and his
right hand grasping that mimic trident known unto gas-
tronomers by the monosyllable “fork." Ilis wigless
head was adorned with a cotton nightcap. His upper
vestment was discarded, and a whitish apron flowed
gracefully down his middle man. His stockings were
ungartered, and permitted, between the knee and the calf,
interesting glances of the rude carnal. One list shoe and
one of leathern manufacture cased his ample feet. En-
terprise, or the noble glow of his present culinary pro-
fession, spread a yet rosier blush over a countenance
early tinged by generous libations, and from beneath the
curtain of his pallid eyelashes, his large and rotund orbs
gleamed dazzingly on the new comers. Such, O reader,
was the aspect and the occupation of the venerable man
whom we have long since taught thee to admire, such a
alas for the mutabilities of earth was—à new chapter
only can contain the name,
CHAPTER IX.
Caliban. Hast thou not dropped from Heaven!
TEMPEST.
PETER MACGRAWLER !
!
!
!
!
!
-
*
-*


PAUL CLIFFORD..
CHAPTER X.
God bless our King and Parliament,
And send he may make such knaves repent.
Loyal Songs against the Rump Parliament
Ho, treachery ! my guards, my scimitar!
BYRON.
WHEN the irreverent Mr. Pepper had warmed his
hands sufficiently to be able to transfer them from the
fire, he lifted the right palm, and with an indecent jocu-
larity of spirits, accosted the ci-devant ornament of the
Asinæum, with a sounding slap on his back-or some such
part of his conformation.
"Ah, old boy !” said he, “ is this the way you keep
house for us? A fire not large enough to roast a nit, and
a supper too small to fatten him beforehand ! But how
the deuse should you know how to provender for gen-
tlemen ? you thought you were in Scotland, I 'll be
bound !"
“ Perhaps he did, when he looked upon you, Ned!"
said Tomlinson, gravely;“'t is but rarely out of Scotland
that a man can see so big a rogue in so little a compass !"
Mr. MacGrawler, into whose eyes the palmistry of
Long Ned had brought tears of sincere feeling, and who
had hitherto been rubbing the afflicted part, now grum-
bled forth-
“ You may say what you please, Mr. Pepper,—but it
is not often in my country, that men of genius are seen
performing the part of cooks to robbers !"
“No!" quoth Tomlinson,“they are performing the more
profitable part, of robbers to cooks, eh!"
“ Damme, you 're out,” cried Long Ned, “ for, in that
country, there are either no robbers, because there is
nothing to rob; or the inhabitants are all robbers, who
have plundered one another, and made away with the
booty!"
“ May the de'il catch thee,” said MacGrawler, stung to
the quick,-for, like all Scots, he was a patriot;much
on the same principle as a woman who has the worst
children makes the best mother.
46 The de'il!" said Ned, mimicking the “ silver sound,"
as Sir W. Scott has been pleased facetiously to call the


PAUL CLIFFORD..
mountain tongue,"—the Scots in general seem to think
it is silver, they keep it so carefully.-" The de'il, Mac-
Deil, you mean,-sure the gentleman must have been a
Scotchman !"
The sage grinned in spite ; but remembering the pa-
tience of Epictetus when a slave, and mindful also of
the strong arm of Long Ned, he curbed his temper, and
turned the beefsteaks with his fork.
“ Well, Ned,” said Augustus, throwing himself into
a chair, which he drew to the fire, while he gently patted
the huge limbs of Mr. Pepper, as if to admonish him that
they were not so transparent as glass" let us look at
the fire; and, by-the-by, it is your turn to see to the
horses.”
“Plague on it!” cried Ned, “it is always my turn, I
think.-Hollo, you Scot of the pot, can't you prove that
I groomed the beasts last? I'll give you a crown to do it.”
The wise MacGrawler pricked up his ears.
“A crown!” said he,-a crown! do you mean to insult
me, Mr. Pepper? but, to be sure, you did see to the
horses last, and this worthy gentleman, Mr. Tomlinson,
must remember it too.”
“How, I ?” cried Augustus ; “ you are mistaken, and
I'll give you half a guinea to prove it.”
MacGrawler opened his eyes larger and larger, as you
may see a small circle in the water widen into enormity.
“Half a guinea !” said he; “nay, nay, you joke; I'm
not mercenary, you think I am! pooh, pooh! you 're
mistaken; I'm a man who means weel, a man of vera-
city, and will speak the truth in spite of all the half-gui.
neas in the world. But certainly, now I begin to think
of it, Mr. Tomlinson did see to the creatures last,-and,
Mr. Pepper, it is your turn."
“A very Daniel !” said Tomlinson, chuckling in his
usual dry manner.-“ Ned, do n't you hear the horses
neigh ?!
“Oh, hang the horses !" said the volatile Pepper, for.
getting every thing else, as he thrust his hands in his
pockets, and felt the gains of the night; “ let us first
look to our winnings !"
So saying, he marched towards the table, and emptied
his pockets thereon: Tomlinson, nothing loath, followed
the example. Heavens! what exclamations of delight
issued from the scoundrels' lips, as, one by one, they
inspected their new acquisitions.


· PAUL CLIFFORD.
87
“ Fie, gentlemen!” said MacGrawler, austerely,-for
there is a wonderful decorum in your true Scotsmen.
“ Actions are trifles; nothing can be cleaner than their
words!”
“Oh, you thrust in your wisdom, do you?" said Ned.
“I suppose you want your part of the booty !”
“Part,” said the subtilizing Tomlinson. “He has nine
times as many parts as we have already. Is he not a
critic, and has he not the parts of speech at his fingers'
end ?
“Nonsense!” said MacGrawler, instinctively holding
out his hands, with the fork dropping between the
stretched fingers of the right palm.
“Nonsense yourself!” cried Ned, “you have a share
in what you never took! a pretty fellow, truly! Mind
your business, Mr. Scot, and fork nothing but the beef-
steaks!”
With this Ned turned to the stables, and soon disap-
peared among the horses; but Clifford, eyeing the disap-
pointed and eager face of the culinary sage, took ten
guineas from his own share, and pushed them towards
his quondam tutor.
“There !” said he, emphatically.
“Nay, nay,” grunted MacGrawler; "I do n't want the
money, it is my way to scorn such dross!" So saying,
he pocketed the coins, and turned, muttering to himself,
to the renewal of his festive preparations.
Meanwhile, a whispered conversation took place be-
tween Augustus and the Captain, and continued till Ned
returned,
"And the night's viands smoked along the board !"
Souls of Don Raphael and Ambrose Lamela, what a
charming thing it is to be a rogue for a little time! How
merry men are when they have cheated their brethren!
Your innocent milksops never made so jolly a supper as
did our heroes of the way. Clifford, perhaps, acted a
part, but the hilarity of his comrades was unſeigned. It
was a delicious contrast, the boisterous “Ha, ha!" of
Long Ned, and the secret, dry, calculating chuckle of
Augustus Tomlinson. It was Rabelais against Voltaire.
They united only in the objects of their jests, and fore.
most of those objects-(wisdom is ever the butt of the
frivolous-was the great Peter MacGrawler.


88
PAUL CLIFFORD.
The graceless dogs were especially merry upon the
subject of the sage's former occupation.
“Come, Mac, you carve this ham,” said Ned; “ you
have had practice in cutting up."
The learned man whose name was thus disrespectfully
abbreviated proceeded to perform what he was bid. He
was about to sit down for that purpose, when Tomlinson
slily subtracted his chair,-the sage fell.
“No jests at MacGrawler," said the malicious Au-
gustus; “ whatever be his faults as a critic, you see that
he is well grounded, and he gets at once to the bottom
of a subject.-Mac, suppose your next work be entitled,
"a tail of wo!"
Men who have great minds are rarely flexible; they
do not take a jest readily; so it was with MacGrawler.
He rose in a violent rage, and had the robbers been more
penetrating than they condescended to be, they might
have noticed something dangerous in his eye. As it was,
Clifford, who had often before been the protector of his
tutor, interposed in his behalf, drew the sage a seat near
to himself, and filled his plate for him. It was interesting
to see this deference from Power to Learning! It was
Alexander doing homage to Aristotle!
“ There is only one thing I regret,” cried Ned, with his
mouth jull, “ about the old lord, it was a thousand pities
we did not make him dance! I remember the day, Cap-
tain, when you would have insisted on it. What a merry
fellow you were once! Do you recollect, one bright
moonlight night, just like the present, for instance, when
we were doing duty near Staines, how you swore every
person we stopped, above fifty years old, should dance
a minuet with you!"
“ Ay!" added Augustus, " and the first was a Bishop in
a white wig. Faith, how stiffy his Lordship jigged it!
And how gravely Lovett bowed to him, with his hat off,
when it was all over, and returned him his watch and ten
guineas,-it was worth the sacrifice !"
“ And the next was an old maid of quality,” said Ned,
“as lean as a lawyer.—Don't you remember how she
curveted ?"
“ To be sure," said Tomlinson, “and you very wittily
ealled her a hop-pole!”
“How delighted she was with the Captain's suavity!
When he gave her back her earrings, and angrette, she


PAUL CLIFFORD.
89
bade him with a tender sigh keep them for her sake,
ha! ha!”
“And the third was a beau !" cried Augustus, “and
Lovett surrendered his right of partnership to me. Do
you recollect how I danced his beauship into the ditch ?
-ah! we were mad fellows then; but we get sated,
blasé, as the French say, as we grow older!”
“ We look only to the main chance now!” said Ned.
“ Avarice supersedes enterprise,” added the sententious
Augustus.
“And our Captain takes to wine with an h after the
w!” continued the metaphorical Ned.
“ Come, we are melancholy," said Tomlinson, tossing
off a bumper. “Methinks we are really growing old:
we shall repent soon, and the next step will be-hang-
ing!”
* Fore Gad!” said Ned, helping himself, “ do n't be so
croaking. There are two classes of maligned gentry,
who should always be particular to avoid certain colours
in dressing: I hate to see a true boy in black, or a devil
in blue. But here's my last glass to-night! I am con-
foundedly sleepy, and we rise early to-morrow.”
Right, Ned,” said Tomlinson; “ give us a song be-
fore you retire, and let it be that one which Lovett com-
posed the last time we were here."
Ned, always pleased with an opportunity of displaying
himself, cleared his voice and complied.
A DITTY FROM SIIERWOOD.
Laugh with us at the prince and the palace
In the wild wood life there is better cheer;
Would you hoard your mirih from your neighbour's malice,
Gather it up in our garners here.
Some kings their wealth from their subjects wring,
While by their foes they the poorer wax;
Free gu the men of the wise wood-king,
And it is only our foes we tax.
Leave the cheats of trade to the shrewd gude-wife:
Let the old be knaves at ease;
Away with the tide of that dashing life
Which is stirred by a constant breeze!
II.
Laugh with us when you hear deceiving
And solemn rogues tell you what knaves we be;
Commerce and law have a method of thieving
Worse than a stand at the outlaw's tree.
Say, will the maiden we love despise
Gallants at least to each other true?


90
PAUL CLIFFORD.
I grant that we trample on legal ties,
But I have heard that Love scorns them too.
Courage then, courage, ye jolly boys,
Whom lile fool with the knavish rates;
Oh! who ibat is loved by the world enjoys
Halſ as much as the man it hates!
“ Bravissimo! Ned,” cried Tomlinson, rapping the
table_“bravissimo! your voice is superb to-night, and
your song admirable. Really, Lovett, it does your po-
etical genius great credit; quite philosophical, upon my
honour."
“ Bravissimo!” said MacGrawler, nodding his head
awfully. “Mr. Pepper's voice is as sweet as a bagpipe!
-Ah! such a song would have been invaluable to the
Asinæum, when I had the honour t0_"
“Be Vicar of Bray to that establishment,” interrupted
Tomlinson. “Pray, MacGrawler, why do they call
Edinburgh the modern Athens ?”
“Because of the learned and great men it produces,"
returned MacGrawler, with conscious pride.
“ Pooh! pooh!-you are thinking of ancient Athens.
Your city is called the modern Athens, because you are
all so like the modern Athenians,--the damnedst scoun-
drels imaginable, unless travellers belie them.”
“ Nay," interrupted Ned, who was softened by the ap-
plause of the critic, “ Mac is a good fellow, spare him.
Gentlemen, your health. I am going to bed, and I sup-
pose you will not tarry long behind me."
“ Trust us for that," answered Tomlinson; “ the Cap-
tain and I will consult on the business of the morrow,
and join you in the twinkling of a bedpost, as it has been
shrewdly expressed."
Ned yawned his last “good night," and disappeared
within the dormitory. MacGrawler, yawning also, but
with a graver yawn, as became his wisdom, betook him-
self to the duty of removing the supper paraphernalia:
after bustling soberly about for some minutes, he iet
down a press-bed in the corner of the cave (for he did
not sleep in the robbers' apartment), and undressing him-
selt, soon appeared buried in the bosom of Morpheus.
But the chief and Tomlinson), drawing their seats nearer
to the dying embers, defied the slothful god, and entered
with low tones into a close and anxious commune.
“So ther,” said Augustus, “now that you have
realized sufficient funds for your purpose, you will really
desert us,-have you well weighed the pros and cons ?


PAUL CLIFFORD.
91
Remember, that nothing is so dangerous to our state as
reform ; the moment a man grows honest, the gang for-
sake him; the magistrate misses his fee; the informer
peaches; and the recusant hangs."
“I have well weighed all this," answered Clifford,
“and have decided on my course. I have only tarried
till my means could assist my will. With my share of
our present and late booty, I shall betake myself to the
Continent. Prussia gives easy trust, and ready promo-
tion, to all who will enlist in her service. But this lan-
guage, my dear friend, seems strange from your lips.
Surely you will join me in my separation from the
corps ? What! you shake your head! Are you not the
same Tomlinson who at Bath agreed with me, that we
were in danger from the envy of our comrades, and that
retreat had become necessary to our safety ? Nay, was
not this your main argument for our matrimonial expe-
dition ?"
“Why, look you, dear Lovett,” said Augustus, “ we
are all blocks of matter, formed from the atoms of cus-
tom;- in other words, we are a mechanism, to which
habit is the spring. What could I do in an honest ca-
reer? I am many years older than you. I have lived
as a rogue, till I have no other nature than roguery. I
doubt if I should not be a coward were I to turn soldier.
I am sure I should be the most consummate of rascals
were I to affect to be honest. No: I mistook myself
when I talked of separation. I must e’en jog on with
my old comrades, and in my old ways, till I jog into the
noose hempen-or, melancholy alternative, the noose
matrimonial !”
“ This is mere folly,” said Clifford, from whose ner-
vous and masculine mind habits were easily shaken.
“ We have not for so many years discarded all the ser-
vile laws of others, to be the abject slaves of our own
weaknesses. Come, my dear fellow, rouse yourself.
God knows, were I to succumb to the feebleness of my
own heart, I should be lost indeed. And perhaps, wrestle
I ever so stoutly, I do not wrestle away that which clings
within me, and will kill me, though by inches. But let
us not be cravens, and suffer fate to drown us rather than
swim. In a word, fly with me ere it be too late. A
smuggler's vessel waits me off the coast of Dorset: in
three days from this, I sail. Be my companion. We
can both rein a fiery horse, and wield a good sword. As


PAUL CLIFFORD.
93
century in the immortality of a glass case, in Surgeons'
Hall, grinning from ear to ear, as if one had made the
merriest finale imaginable.-Well! I will sleep on it,
and you shall have my answer to-morrow;-but poor
Ned ?"
6 Would he not join us ?"
“ Certainly not: his neck is made for a rope, and his
mind for the Old Bailey. There is no hope for him ;
yet he is an excellent fellow. We must not even tell
him of our meditated desertion."
“ By no means. I shall leave a letter to our London
chief: it will explain all. And now to bed ;-I look to
your companionship as settled.”
“ Humph!” said Augustus Tomlinson.
So ended the conference of the robbers. About an
hour after it had ccased, and when no sound save the
heavy breath of Long Ned broke the stillness of the
night, the intelligent countenance of Peter MacGrawler
slowly elevated itself from the lonely pillow on which
it had reclined. By degrees, the back of the sage
stiffened into perpendicularity, and he sat for a few mo-
ments erect on his seat of honour, apparently in listening
deliberation. Satisfied with the deep silence that, save
the solitary interruption we have specified, reigned
around, the learned disciple of Vatel rose gently from
the bed,-hurried on his clothes,-stole on tiptoe to the
door,-unbarred it with a noiseless hand, and vanished.
Sweet reader, while thou art wondering at his absence,
suppose we account for his appearance.
One evening, Clifford and his companion Augustus had
been enjoying the rational amusement of Ranelagh, and
were just leaving that celebrated place, when they were
arrested by a crowd at the entrance. That crowd was
assembled round a pickpocket; and that pickpocket-O
Virtue !-0 Wisdom ! O Asinæum !-was Peter Mac-
Grawler! We have before said, that Clifford was pos-
sessed of a good mien and an imposing manner, and
these advantages were at that time especially effectual
in preserving our Orbilius from the pump. No sooner
did Clifford recognise the magisterial face of the sapient
Scot, than he boldly thrust himself into the middle of the
crowd, and, collaring the enterprising citizen who had
collared MacGrawler, declared himself ready to vouch
for the honesty of the very respectable person whose
identity had evidently been so grossly mistaken. Au-


94
PAUL CLIFFORD.
gustus, probably foreseeing some ingenious ruse of his
companions, instantly seconded the defence. The mob,
who never descry any difference between impudence and
truth, gave way; a constable came up-took part with
the friend of two gentlemen so unexceptionably dressed
our friends walked off-the crowd repented of their pre-
cipitation, and, by way of amends, ducked the gentleman
whose pockets had been picked. It was in vain for him
to defend himself, for he had an impediment in his
speech; and Messieurs the mob, having ducked him
once for his guilt, ducked him a second time for his em-
barrassment.
In the interim, Clifford had withdrawn his quondam
Mentor to the asylum of a coffee-house; and while Mac-
Grawler's soul expanded itself by wine, he narrated the
causes of his dilemma. It seems that the incomparable
journal the Asinæum, despite a series of most popular
articles upon the writings of “ Aulus Prudentius," to
which were added an exquisite string of dialogues, writ-
ten in a tone of broad humour,-viz. broad Scotch (with
Scotchmen it is all the same thing), called-perhaps in
remembrance of that illustrious knave, Ambrose Lamela
"Noctes Ambrosiance ;" despite of these invaluable
miscellanies, to say nothing of some glorious political
articles, in which it was clearly proved to the satisfaction
of the rich, that the less poor devils eat, the better for
their constitutions-despite, we say, of these great ac-
quisitions to British literature, the Asinæum tottered,
fell, buried its bookseller, and crushed its author; Mac-
Grawler only-escaping, like Theodore, from the enor-
mous helmet of Oiranto-MacGrawler only survived.
“ Love,” says Sir Philip Sidney,“ makes a man see bet-
ter than a pair of spectacles." Love of life has a very
different effect on the optics,-it makes a man wofully
dim of inspection, and sometimes causes him to see his
own property in another man's purse! This deceptio
disus did it impose upon Peter MacGrawler. He went
to Ranelagh. Reader, thou knowest the rest!
Wine and the ingenuity of the robbers having extorted
this narrative from MacGrawler, the barriers of super-
fluous delicacy were easily done away with.
Our heroes offered to the sage an introduction to their
club; the offer was accepted; and MacGrawler, having
been first made drunk, was next made a robber. The
gang engaged him in various little matters, in which we


PAUL CLIFFORD. .
97
“You be shot !” said Ned, turning one leg out of bed;
“by-the-by, you took more than your share last night,
for you owed me three guineas for our last game at crib-
bage! You 'll please to pay me before we part to-day:
short accounts make long friends !"
“However true that maxim be," returned Tom-
linson, “I know one much truer, namely-long friends
will make short accounts! You must ask Jack Ketch
this day month, if I'm wrong!”
“That's what you call wit, I suppose !" retorted Ned,
as he now, struggling into his inexpressibles, felt his
way into the outer cave.
6 What, ho! Mac !” cried he, as he went, “ stir those
bobbins of thine, which thou art pleased to call legs;
strike a light, and be d d to you!"
“A light for you," said Tomlinson, profanely, as he
reluctantly left his couch, “ will indeed be a light to
lighten the Gentiles !"
* Why, Mac-Mac !" shouted Ned, “why do n't you
answer?-faith, I think the Scot's dead !"
“ Seize your men !-yield, sirs !" cried a stern, sudden
voice from the gloom; and at that instant two dark lan-
terns were turned, and their light streamed full upon the
astounded forms of Tomlinson and his gaunt comrade!
In the dark shade of the background four or five forms
were also indistinctly visible; and the ray of the lan-
terns glimmered on the blades of cutlasses and the bár-
rels of weapons still less easily resisted.
Tomlinson was the first to recover his self-possession.
The light just gleamed upon the first step of the stairs
leading to the stables, leaving the rest in shadow. He
made one stride to the place beside the cart, where, we
have said, lay some of the robbers' weapons: he had
been anticipated—the weapons were gone. The next
moment Tomlinson had sprung up the steps.
“ Lovett !--Lovett!-Lovett!" shouted he.
The captain, who had followed his comrades into the
cavern, was already in the grasp of two men. From
few ordinary mortals, however, could any two be se-
lected as fearful odds against such a man as Clifford; a
man in whom a much larger share of sinews and muscle
than is usually the lot even of the strong, had been har-
dened, by perpetual exercise, into a consistency and iron
firmness which linked power and activity into a union
scarcely less remarkable than that immortalized in the
Vol. II.-E


98
PAUL CLIFFORD.
glorious beauty of the sculptured gladiator. His right
hand is upon the throat of one assailant, his left locks,
as in a vice, the wrist of the other: you have scarcely
time to breathe ; the former is on the ground—the pistol
of the latter is wrenched from his gripe-Clifford is on
the step-a ball-another-whizzes by him!-he is by
the side of the faithful Augustus!
“ Open the secret door!” whispered Clifford to his
friend; “I will draw up the steps alone!"
Scarcely had he spoken, before the steps were already,
but slowly, ascending beneath the desperate strength of
the robber. Meanwhile, Ned was struggling, as he best
might, with two sturdy officers, who appeared loath to use
their weapons without an absolute necessity, and who
endeavoured, by main strength, to capture and detain
their antagonist.
“Look well to the door!” cried the voice of the prin-
pal officer, “ and hang out more light!”
Two or three additional lanterns were speedily brought
forward; and over the whole interior of the cavern a
dim but sufficient light now rapidly circled, giving to the
scene, and to the combatants, a picturesque and wild ap-
pearance!
The quick eye of the head-officer descried in an instant
the rise of the steps, and the advantage the robbers were
thereby acquiring. He and two of his men threw them-
selves forward, seized the ladder, if so it may be called,
dragged it once more to the ground, and ascended. But
Clifford, grasping with both hands the broken shaft of a
cart that lay in reach, received the foremost invader with
a salute that sent him prostrate and senseless back
arnong his companions. The second shared the same
fate; and the stout leader of the enemy, who, like a true
general, had kept himself in the rear, paused now in the
middle of the steps, dismayed alike by the reception of
his friends, and the athletic forin towering above, with
raised weapon and menacing attitude. Perhaps that
moment seemed to the judicious Mr. Nabbem more fa-
vourable to parley than to conflict. He cleared his throat,
and thus addressed the foe:
“ You, sir, Captain Lovett, alias Howard, alias Jack-
son, alias Cavendish, alias Solomons, alias Devil, for I
knows you well, and could swear to you with half an
eye, in your clothes or without; you lay down your club
there, and let me come alongside of you, and you 'll find


PAUL CLIFFORD.
99
me as gentle as a lamb; for I've been used to gemmen
all my life, and I knows how to treat 'em when I has
'em !"
“ But, if I will not let you come alongside of me,'
what then?”
“Why, I must send one of these here pops through
your skull, that''s all !"
“ Nay, Mr. Nabbem, that would be too cruel ; you
surely would not harm one who has such an esteem for
you? Do n't you remember the manner in which J
brought you off from Justice Burnflat, when you were
accused, you know whether justly or ”
“You 're a liar, Captain!” cried Nabbem, furiously,
fearful that something not meet for the ears of his com-
panions should transpire. “ You knows you are! Come
down, or let me mount, otherwise I won't be ‘sponsible
for the consequences !"
Clifford cast a look over his shoulder. A gleam of the
gray daylight already glimmered through a chink in the
secret door, which Tomlinson had now unbarred, and
was about to open.
“ Listen to me, Mr. Nabbem,” said he, “and perhaps I
may grant what you require! What would you do with
me if you had me ?"
" You speaks like a sinsible man, now," answered
Nabbem," and that 's after my own heart. Why, you
sees, Captain, your time has come, and you can't shilly-
shally any longer. You have had your full swing; your
years are up, and you must die like a man! But I gives
you my honour as a gemman, that if you surrenders, I'll
take you to the justice folks as tenderly as if you were
made of cotton.”
“Give way one moment,” said Clifford, " that I may
plant the steps firmer for you.”
Nabbem retreated to the ground, and Clifford, who had,
good-naturedly enough, been unwilling unnecessarily
to damage so valuable a functionary, lost not the oppor-
tunity now afforded him. Down thundered the steps,
clattering heavily among the other officers, and falling
like an avalanche on the shoulder of one of the arresters
of Long Ned.
Meanwhile, Clifford sprang after Tomlinson through
the aperture, and found himself in the presence of
four officers, conducted by the shrewd MacGrawler. A
blow from a bludgeon on the right cheek and temple of
21-1766
.
E 2


100,
PAUL CLIFFORD.
Augustus felled that hero. But Clifford bounded over
his comrade's body, dodged from the stroke aimed at
himself, caught the blow aimed by another assailant in
his open hand, wrested the bludgeon from the officer,
struck him to the ground with his own weapon, and
darting onward through the labyrinth of the wood com-
menced his escape with a step tvo fleet to allow the hope
of a successful pursuit.
CHAPTER XI.
" In short, Isabella, I offer you myself!"
“ Heavens!” cried Isabella, " what do I hear? You my Lord ?"
CASTLE OF OTRANTO.
A NOVEL is like a weatherglass, where the man appears
out at one time, the woman at another. Variable as the
atmosphere, the changes of our story now re-present
Lucy to the reader.
That charming young person,--who, it may be re-
marked, is (her father excepted) the only unsophis-
ticated and unsullied character in the pages of, a story
in some measure designed to show in the depravities of
character the depravities of that social state wherein cha-
racters are formed, was sitting alone in her apartment
at the period in which we return to her. As Time, and
that innate and insensible fund of healing, which Nature
has placed in the bosoms of the young, in order that her
great law, the passing away of the old, may not leave
too lasting and keen a wound, had softened her first an-
guish at her father's death, the remembrance of Clifford
again resumed its ancient sway in her heart. The lone-
liness of her life, the absence of amusement,-even the
sensitiveness and languor which succeed to grief, con-
spired to invest the image of her lover in a tenderer and
more impressive guise. She recalled his words, his
actions, his letters, and employed herself whole hours,
whole days and nights, in endeavouring to decipher their
mystery. Who that has been loved will not acknow-
ledge the singular and mighty force with which a girl,
innocent herself, clings to the belief of innocence in her
lover? In breasts young and unacquainted with the


102
PAUL CLIFFORD.
Clifford had been really guilty of gross error or wilful
crime. True, that expressions in his letter were more
than suspicious: but there is always a charm in the
candour of self-condemnation. As it is difficult to be.
lieve the excellence of those who praise themselves, so
is it difficult to fancy those criminal who condemn!
What, too, is the process of a woman's reasoning?
Alas! she is too credulous a physiognomist. The turn
of a throat, with her, is the unerring token of nobleness
of mind; and no one can be guilty of a sin who is blest
with a beautiful forehead! How fondly, how fanatically
Lucy loved! She had gathered together a precious and
secret hoard ;-a glove-a pen a book withered rose.
leaf ;-treasures rendered inestimable because he had
touched them ; but more than all, she had the series of
his letters, from the first formal note written to her
father, meant for her, in which he answered an invita-
tion, and requested Miss Brandon's acceptance of the
music she had wished to have, to the last wild and, to
her, inexplicable letter in which he had resigned her for
ever. On these relics her eyes fed for hours; and as
she pored over them, and over thoughts too deep not
only for tears, but for all utterance or conveyance, you
might have almost literally watched the fading of her
rich cheek, and the pining away of her rounded and
elastic form.
It was just in such a mood that she was buried, when
her uncle knocked at her door for admittance: she hur-
ried away her treasures, and hastened to admit and
greet him. “I have come,” said he, smiling, “ to beg
the pleasure of your company for an old friend who
dines with us to-day. But stay, Lucy, your hair is ille
arranged. Do not let me disturb so important an occu-
pation as your toilette: dress yourself, my love, and
join us.”
Lucy turned, with a suppressed sigh, to the glass.
The uncle lingered for a few moments, surveying her with
mingled pride and doubt: he then slowly left the chamber.
Lucy soon afterward descended to the drawing-room,
and beheld, with a little surprise (for she had not had
sufficient curiosity to inquire the name of the guest),
the slender form and comely features of Lord Mau-
leverer. The Earl approached with the same grace
which had, in his earlier youth, rendered him almost
irresistible, but which now, from the contrast of years


PAUL CLIFFORD.
103
with manner, contained a slight mixture of the comic.
He paid his compliments, and in paying them, declared
that he must leave it to his friend Sir William to ex-
plain all the danger he had dared, for the sake of satis-
fying himself that Miss Brandon was no less lovely than
when he had last beheld her.
“ Yes, indeed," said Brandon, with a scarcely percep-
tible sneer, “ Lord Mauleverer has literally endured the
moving accidents of flood and field-for he was nearly
exterminated by a highwayman, and all but drowned in
a ditch !"
" Commend me to a friend for setting one off to the
best advantage,” said Mauleverer, gayly: " instead of at-
tracting your sympathy, you see, Brandon would expose
me to your ridicule. Judge for yourself whether I de-
serve it ;"—and Mauleverer proceeded to give, with all
the animation which belonged to his character, the par-
ticulars of that adventure with which the reader is so
well acquainted. He did not, we may be sure, feel any
scruple in representing himself, and his prowess, in the
most favourable colours.
The story was scarcely ended when dinner was an-
nounced. During that meal, Mauleverer exerted himself
to be amiable with infinite adiress. Suiting his conver-
sation, more than he had hitherto deigned to do, to the
temper of Lucy, and more anxious to soften than to
dazzle, he certainly never before appeared to her so at-
tractive. We are bound to add, that the point of attrac-
tion did not aspire beyond the confession, that he was a
very agreeable old man.
Perhaps, if there had not been a certain half-melan-
choly vein in his conversation, possibly less painful to
his Lordship from the remembrance of his lost diamonds,
and the impression that Sir Williain Brandon's cook was
considerably worse than his own, he might not have
been so successful in pleasing Lucy. As for himself, all
the previous impression she had made on him, returned
in colours yet more vivid; even the delicate and subdued
cast of beauty which had succeeded to her earlier brile,
liancy, was far more charming to his fastidious and
courtly taste, than her former glow of spirits and health.
He felt himself very much in love during dinner; and,
after it was over, and Lucy had retired, he told Brandon
with a passionate air, “ that he adored his niece to dis-
traction !”


104
PAUL CLIFFORD.
The wily Judge affected to receive the intimation with
indifference; but knowing that too long an absence is
injurious to a grande passion, he did not keep Mauleverer
very late over his wine.
The Earl returned rapturously to the drawing-room,
and besought Lucy, in a voice in which affectation seemed
swooning with delight, to indulge him with a song.
More and more enchanted by her assent, he drew the
music-stool to the harpsichord, placed a chair beside her,
and presently appeared lost in transport. Meanwhile,
Brandon, with his back to the pair, covered his face with
his handkerchief, and, to all appearance, yielded to the
voluptuousness of an after-dinner repose.
Lucy's songbook opened accidentally at a song which
had been praised by Clifford; and, as she sung, her
voice took a richer and more tender tone than in Maule-
verer's presence it had ever before assumed.
THE COMPLAINT OF THE VIOLETS, WHICH LOSE THEIR
SCENT IN MAY *
In the shadow that falls from the silent hill
We slept, in our green retreats;
And the April showers were wont to fill
Our hearts with sweels.
II.
And though we lay in a lowly bower,
Yet all things loved us well,
And the waking bee left her fairest flower
With us to dwell.
III.
But the warm May came in his pride to woo
The wealth of our honeyed store;
And nur hearts just felt his breath, and knew
Their sweets no more!
IV.
And the summer reigns on the quiet spot
Where we dwell, and its suns and showers
Bring balm to our sisters' hearts, but not-
Ah! not to ours.
v.
We live, we bloom, but for ever o'er
Is the charın of the earth and sky;
To our lie, ye lleavens, that balm restore,
Or- bid us die !
As with eyes suffused with many recollections, and a
The following stanzas have been printed in a collection of poems, by
divers hands, called "The Casket.”


PAUL CLIFFORD.
105
voice which melted away in an indescribable and thrill-
ing pathos, Lucy ceased her song, Mauleverer, charmed
out of himself, gently took her hand, and holding the soft
treasure in his own, scarcely less soft, he murmured-
“ Angel! sing on. Life would be like your own music,
if I could breatne it away at your feet !"
There had been a time when Lucy would have laughed
outright at this declaration; and even as it was, a sup-
pressed and half-arch smile played in the dimples of her
beautiful mouth, and bewitchingly contrasted the swim-
ming softness of her eyes.
Drawing rather an erroneous omen from the smile,
Mauleverer rapturously continued, still detaining the
hand which Lucy endeavoured to extricate.
“ Yes, enchanting Miss Brandon, I who have for so !
many years boasted of my invulnerable heart, am sub-
dued at last. I have long, very long, struggled against
my attachment to you. Alas! it is in vain; and you
behold me now utterly at your mercy. Make me the
most miserable of men, or the most cnviable. Enchant-
ress, speak!"
“Really, my Lord,” said Lucy, hesitating, yet rising,
and freeing herself from his hand, “I feel it difficult to
suppose you serious; and, perhaps, this is merely a gal-
lantry to me, by way of practice on others.”
“ Sweet Lucy, if "I may so call you,” answered Mau-
leverer, with an ardent gaze; “ do not, I implore you,
even for a moment, affect to mistake me! do not for a
moment jest at what, to me, is the bane or bliss of life!
Dare I hope that my hand and heart, which I now offer
you, are not deserving of your derision ?"
Lucy gazed on her adorer with a look of serious in- ,
quiry ; Brandon still appeared to sleep.
“ If you are in earnest, my Lord,” said Lucy, after a
pause, “I am truly and deeply sorry; for the friend of
my uncle, I shall always have esteem: believe that I am
truly sensible of the honour you render me, when I
add my regret, that I can have no other sentiment than
esteem.”
A blank and puzzled bewilderment, for a moment,
clouded the expressive features of Mauleverer,-it passed
away.
“ How sweet is your rebuke !” said he. “ Yes! I do
not yet deserve any other sentiment than esteem: you
are not to be won precipitately; a long trial,-a long
E 3


106
PAUL CLIFFORD.
course of attentions,-a long knowledge of my devoted
and ardent love, alone will entitle me to hope for a
warmer feeling in your breast. Fix then your own time
of courtship, angelic Lucy!-a week,-nay, a month !
till then, I will not even press you to appoint that day,
which to me will be the whitest of my life !"
“ My Lord !” said Lucy, smiling now no longer half
archly, “ you must pardon me for believing your propo.
sal can be nothing but a jest ; but here, I beseech you,
let it rest for ever: do not mention this subject to me
again.”
" By Heavens!” cried Mauleverer, “this is too cruel.
-Brandon, intercede for me with your niece.”
Sir William started, naturally enough, from his slum-
ber, and Mauleverer continued
6 Yes, intercede for me; you, my oldest friend, be my
greatest benefactor! I sue to your niece,-she affects
to disbelieve,---will you convince her of my truth, my
devotion, my worship ?"
“ Disbelieve you!” said the bland Judge, with the
same secret sneer that usually lurked in the corners of
his mouth; " I do not wonder that she is slow to credit
the honour you have done her, and for which the noblest
damsels in England have sighed in vain.-Lucy, will
you be cruel to Lord Mauleverer ? believe me, he has
often confided to me his love for you; and if the expe-
rience of some years avails, there is not a question of
his honour and his truth; I leave his fate in your hands."
Brandon turned to the door.
“ Stay, dear sir,” said Lucy, “and, instead of inter-
ceding for Lord Mauleverer, intercede for me." Her
look now settled into a calm and decided seriousness of
expression. “I feel highly flattered by his Lordship's
proposal, which, as you say, I might well doubt to be
gravely meant. I wish him all happiness with a lady
of higher deserts ; but I speak from an unalterable de-
termination, when I say, that I can never accept the dig.
nity with which he would invest me."
So saying, Lucy walked quickly to the door and va-
nished, leaving the two friends to comment as they
would upon her conduct.
“You have spoiled all with your precipitation,” said
the uncle,
“ Precipitation !--damn it! what would you have?
I have been fifty years making up my mind to marry;


PAUL CLIFFORD.
107
and now, when I have not a day to lose, you talk of
precipitation !" answered the lover, throwing himself
into a fauteuil.
“But you have not been fifty years making up your
mind to marry my niece," said Brandon, dryly.
“ To be refused-positively refused, by a country girl,"
continued Mauleverer, soliloquizing aloud, “and that too
at my age, and with all my experience !-a country girl
without rank, ton, accomplishments !-By God! I do n't
care if all the world heard it,- for not a soul in the world
would ever believe it.”
Brandon sat speechless, eyeing the mortified face of
the courtier, with a malicious complacency, and there
was a pause of several minutes. Sir William, then mas-
tering the strange feeling which made him always re-
joice in whatever threw ridicule on his friend, ap-
proached, laid his hand kindly on Mauleverer's shoul-
der, and talked to him of comfort and of encouragement.
The reader will believe, that Mauleverer was not a man
whom it was impossible to encourage.
CHAPTER XII.
Before he came, every thing loved me, and I had more things to love than I
could reckon by the hairs of my head. Now, I feel I can love but one, and
that one has deserted me.
Well, be it so- let her perish, let her be any thing but mine.
MELMOTH.
EARLY the next morning, Sir William Brandon was
closeted for a long time with his niece, previous to his
departure to the duties of his office. Anxious, and
alarmed for the success of one of the darling projects of
his ambition, he spared no art in his conversation with
Lucy, that his great ingenuity of eloquence and won-
derful insight into human nature could suggest, in order
to gain at least a foundation for the raising of his scheme.
Among other resources of his worldly tact, he hinted at
Lucy's love for Clifford; and (though darkly and subtly,
as befitting the purity of the one he addressed) this


108
• PAUL CLIFFORD.
abandoned and wily person did not scruple to hint also
at the possibility of indulging that love after marriage;
though he denounced, as the last of indecorums, the
crinie of encouraging it before. This hint, however, fell
harmless upon the innocent ear of Lucy. She did not,
in the remotest degree, comprehend its meaning; she
only, with a glowing cheek and a pouting lip, resented
the allusion to a love which she thought it insolent in
any one even to suspect.
When Brandon left the apartment, his brow was
clouded, and his eye absent and thoughtful; it was evi-
dent that there had been little in the conference with
his niece to please or content him. Miss Brandon her.
self was greatly agitated, for there was in her uncle's
nature that silent and impressive secret of influencing
or commanding others, which almost so invariably, and
yet so quietly, attains the wishes of its owner, and Lucy,
who loved and admired him sincerely, not the less per-
haps for a certain modicum of fear, was greatly grieved
at perceiving how rooted in him was the desire of that
marriage which she felt as a moral impossibility. But
if Brandon possessed the secret of sway, Lucy was
scarcely less singularly endowed with the secret of re-
sistance. It may be remembered, in describing her cha-
racter, that we spoke of her as one who seemed, to the
superficial, as of too yielding and soft a temper. But
circumstances gave the lie to manner, and proved that
she eminently possessed a quiet firmness and latent re-
solution, which gave to her mind a nobleness and trust-
worthy power, that never would have been suspected, by
those who met her among the ordinary paths of life.
Brandon had not been long gone, when Luy's maid
came to inform her that a gentleman, who xpressed
himself very desirous of seeing her, waited below. The
blood rushed from Lucy's cheek at this announcement,
simple as it seemed. " What gentleman could be de-
sirous of seeing her? Was it—was it Clifforıı ?” She
remained for some moments motionless, and literally
unable to move; at length, she summoned courage, and
smiling with self-contempt at a notion which appeared
to her after thoughts utterly absurd, she descended to
the drawing-room. The first glance she directed towards
the stranger, who stood by the fireplace with folded
arms, was sufficient,-it was impossible to mist ke,
though the face was averted, the unequalled form of her


PAUL CLIFFORD.
109
lover. She advanced eagerly with a faint cry, checked
herself, and sank upon the sofa.
Clifford turned towards her, and fixed his eyes upon
her countenance with an intense and melancholy gaze,
but he did not utter a syllable; and Lucy, after pausing
in expectation of his voice, looked up, and caught, in
alarm, the strange and peculiar aspect of his features.
He approached her slowly, and still silent; but his gaze
seemed to grow more earnest and mournful as he ad-
vanced.
“ Yes,” said he, at last, in a broken and indistinct voice,
“ I see you once more, after all my promises to quit you
for ever,-after my solemn farewell, after all that I have
cost you;-for, Lucy, you love me, you love me,-and
I shudder while I feel it; after all, I myself have borne
and resisted, I once more come wilfully into your pre-
sence! How have I burned and sickened for this mo-
ment! How have I said, “Let me behold her once more
only once more, and Fate may then do her worst !'
Lucy! dear, dear Lucy! forgive me for my weakness.
It is now in bitter and stern reality, the very last I can
be guilty of!"
· As he spoke, Clifford sank beside her. He took both
her hands in his, and holding them, though without
pressure, again looked passionately upon her innocent
yet eloquent face. It seemed as if he were moved be-
yond all the ordinary feelings of reunion and of love.
He did not attempt to kiss the hands he held; and
though the touch thrilled through every vein and fibre in
his frame, his clasp was as light as that in which the first
timidity of a boy's love ventures to stamp itself!
“ You are pale, Lucy,” said he, mournfully," and your
cheek is much thinner than it was when I first saw you
when I first saw you! Ah! would for your sake that
that had never been! Your spirits were light then,
Lucy. Your laugh came from the heart,—your step
spurned the earth. Joy broke from your eyes, every
thing that breathed around you seemed full of happiness
and mirth! and now, look upon me, Lucy; liſt those
soft eyes, and teach them to flash upon me indignation
and contempt! Oh, not thus, not thus! I could leave
you happy,-yes, literally blest, if I could fancy you less
forgiving, less gentle, less angelic !”
" What have I to forgive ?” said Lucy, tenderly.
66 What! every thing for which one human being can


110
PAUL CLIFFORD.
pardon another. Have not deceit and injury been my
crimes against you? Your peace of mind, your serenity
of heart, your buoyancy of temper, have I marred these
or not?"
“Oh, Clifford !” said Lucy, rising from herself and
from all selfish thoughts, “why,—why will you not trust
me? You do not know me, indeed you do not, you are
ignorant even of the very nature of a woman, if you
think me unworthy of your confidence! Do you believe
I could betray it? or, do you think, that if you had
done that for which all the world forsook you, I could
forsake ?"
Lucy's voice faltered at the last words; but it sank, as
a stone sinks into deep waters, to the very core of Clif-
ford's heart. Transported from all resolution and all for-
bearance, he wound his arms around her in one long and
impassioned caress; and Lucy, as her breath mingled
with his, and her cheek drooped upon his bosom, did
indeed feel as if the past could contain no secret power-
ful enough even to weaken the affection with which her
heart clung to his. She was the first to extricate her-
self from their embrace. She drew back her face from
his, and smiling on him through her tears, with a bright-
ness that the smiles of her earliest youth had never sur-
passed, she said:
“Listen to me. Tell me your history or not, as you
will. But, believe me, a woman's wit is often no des-
picable counsellor. They who accuse themselves the
most bitterly, are not often those whom it is most diffi-
cult to forgive; and you must pardon me, if I doubt the
extent of the blame you would so lavishly impute to
yourself. I am now alone in the world-(here the smile
withered from Lucy's lips).—My poor father is dead. I
can injure no one by my conduct; there is no one on
earth to whom I am bound by duty. I am independent,
I am rich. You profess to love me. I am foolish and
vain, and I believe you. Perhaps, also, I have the fond
hope which so often makes dupes of women-the hope,
that, if you have erred, I may reclaim you; if you have
been unfortunate, I may console you! I know, Mr.
Clifford, that I am saying that for which many would
despise me, and for which perhaps I ought to despise
myself; but there are times when we speak only as if
some power at our hearts constrained us, despite our.
selves, and it is thus that I have now spoken to you."


PAUL CLIFFORD.
111
It was with an air very unwonted to herself that Lucy
had concluded her address, for her usual characteristic
was rather softness than dignity ; but, as if to correct
the meaning of her words, which might otherwise ap-
pear unmaidenly, there was a chaste, a proud, yet not
the less a tender and sweet propriety, and dignified
frankness in her look and manner; so that it would have
been utterly impossible for one who heard her, not to
have done justice to the nobleness of her motives, or not
to have felt both touched and penetrated, as much by
respect as by any warmer or more familiar feeling.
Clifford, who had risen while she was speaking,
listened with a countenance that varied at every word
she uttered:--now all hope-now all despondency. As
she ceased, the expression hardened into a settled and
compulsive resolution.
“It is well!” said he, mutteringly, “I am worthy of
this-very-very worthy! Generous, noble girl!-had
I been an emperor, I would have bowed down to you in
worship; but to debase, to degrade you-no! no!"
“Is there debasement in love ?" murinured Lucy.
Clifford gazed upon her with a sort of enthusiastic
and self-gratulatory pride; perhaps he felt, to be thus
loved, and by such a creature, was matter of pride, even
in the lowest circumstances to which he could ever be
exposed. He drew his breath hard, set his teeth, and
answered
“ You could love, then, an outcast, without birth, for-
tune, or character ?-No! you believe this now, but you
could not. Could you desert your country, your friends,
and your home-all that you are born and fitted for?
Could you attend one over whom the sword hangs,
through a life subjected every hour to discovery and dis-
grace?-Could you be subjected yourself to the moodi-
ness of an evil memory, and the gloomy silence of re-
morse?—Could you be the victim of one who has no
merit but his love for you, and who, if that love destroy
you, becomes utterly redeemed? Yes, Lucy, I was
wrong-1 will do you justice; all this, nay more, you
could bear, and your generous nature would disdain the
sacrifice! But am I to be all selfish, and you all devoted ?
Are you to yield every thing to me, and I to accept every
thing, and yield none ?-Alas! I have but one good, one
blessing to yield, and that is yourself. Lucy, I deserve
you; I outdo you in generosity: all that you would de-


114
PAUL CLIFFORD.
Clifford, muttering—“Yes, I was the cause of their ap-
prehension; it was I who was sought; it is but fair that
I should strike a blow for their escape, before I attempt
my own,”-continued his course till he came to the door
of a public-house. The sign of a seaman swung aloft,
portraying the jolly tar with a fine pewter pot in his
hand, considerably huger than his own circumference
An immense pug sat at the door, lolling its tongue out,
as if, having stuffed itself to the tongue, it was forced to
turn that useful member out of its proper place. The
shutters were half-closed; but the sounds of coarse
merriment issued jovially forth.
Clifford disconcerted the pug; and crossing the thresh-
old, cried, in a loud tone, " Janscen!"_“Here!” answered
a gruff voice; and Clifford, passing on, came to a small
parlour adjoining the tap. There, seated by a round
oak table, he found mine host, a red, fierce, weather-
beaten, but bloated-looking personage, like Dirk Hatte-
raick in a dropsy.
“How now, Captain !" cried he, in a guttural accent,
and interlarding his discourse with certain Dutch graces,
which, with our reader's leave, we will omit, as being
unable to spell them; “how now !_not gone yet!”
“No! I start for the coast to-morrow; business keeps
me to-day. I came to ask if Mellon may be fully de-
pended on?”
“Ay!-honest to the back-bone !"
“And you are sure that, in spite of my late delays, he
will not have left the village ?"
« Sure !-what else can I be ?-do n't I know Jack
Mellon these twenty years? He would lie like a log in
a calm for ten months together, without moving a heir's
breadth, if he was under orders.”
“And his vessel is swiſt and well-manned, in case of
an officer's chase ?"
“ The Black Molly swift ?-ask your grandmother.
The Black Molly would outstrip a shark, and be d d
to her!”
“ Then good-by, Janseen, there is something to keep
your pipe alight; we shall not meet within the three
seas again, I think. England is as much too hot for me,
as Holland for you!"
“You are a capital fellow !" cried mine host, shaking
Clifford by the hand, “and when the lads come to know
their loss, they will know they have lost the bravest and


- PAUL CLIFFORD.
115
a truest gill that ever took to the toby; so, good-by, and
tesbe
d d to you!"
ora With this valedictory benediction, mine host released
Clifford; and the robber hastened to his appointment at
mat. the “ Three Feathers.”
FT He found all prepared. He hastily put on his disguise,
and his follower led out his horse, a noble animal of the
grand Irish breed, of remarkable strength and bone, and,
save only that it was somewhat sharp in the quarters, (a
e fault which they who look for speed as well as grace
will easily forgive), of almost unequalled beauty in its
symmetry and proportions. Well did the courser know,
and proudly did it render obeisance to, its master; snort-
Heing impatiently, and rearing from the hand of the attend-
ma ant robber, the sagacious animal freed itself of the rein,
*** and, as it tossed its long mane in the breeze of a fresh
air, came trotting to the place where Clifford stood.
“So ho, Robin !-so ho!-what, thou chafest that I
have left thy fellow behind at the Red Cave. Him we
may never see more. But, while I have life, I will not
leave thee, Robin !"
With these words, the robber fondly stroked the shining
neck of his favourite steed; and as the animal returned
the caress, by rubbing its head against the hands and
the athletic breast of its master, Clifford felt at his heart
somewhat of that old racy stir of the blood which had
been once to him the chief charm of his criminal pro-
fession, and which, in the late change of his feelings, he
had almost forgotten.
“ Well, Robin, well,” he renewed, as he kissed the
face of his steed;—“ well, we will have some days like
our old ones yet; thou shalt say, ha! ha! to the trumpet,
and bear thy master along on more glorious enterprises
than he has yet thanked thee for sharing. Thou wilt
now be my only familiar,—my only friend, Robin; we
two shall be strangers in a foreign land. But thou wilt
make thyself welcome easier than thy lord, Robin; and
thou wilt forget the old days, and thine old comrades, and
thine old loves, when-ha!” and Clifford turned abruptly
to his attendant, who addressed him, “it is late, you
say; true! look you, it will be unwise for us both to
quit London together; you know the sixth milestone,
join me there, and we can proceed in company!"
Not unwilling to linger for a parting-cup, the comrade
assented to the prudence of the plan proposed; and, after


PAUL CLIFFORD.
117
cious Augustus Tomlinson and the valorous Edward
Pepper, handcuffed and fettered, were jogging along the
road, in a postchaise, with Mr. Nabbem squeezed in by
the side of the former, and two other gentlemen in Mr.
Nabbem's confidence mounted on the box of the chaise,
and interfering sadly, as Long Ned growlingly remarked,
with “ the beauty of the prospect."
“Ah, well!" quoth Nabbem, unavoidably thrusting his
elbow into Tomlinson's side, while he drew out his snuff-
box, and helped himself largely to the intoxicating dust.
“ You had best prepare yourself, Mr. Pepper, for a
change of prospects! I believes as how there is little to
please you in quod (prison).”
“Nothing makes men so facetious as misfortune to
others !” said Augustus, moralizing, and turning himself,
as well as he was able, in order to deliver his body from
the pointed elbow of Mr. Nabbem. “ When a man is
down in the world, all the by-standers, very dull fellows
before, suddenly become wits !"
• You reflects on 1,” said Mr. Nabbem;" well, it does
not sinnify a pin, for directly we does our duty, you
chaps become howdaciously ungrateful!"
“Ungrateful !” said Pepper: “ what a plague have we
got to be grateful for? I suppose, you think we ought to
tell you, you are the best friend we have, because you
have scrouged us, neck and croup, into this horrible hole,
like turkeys fatted for Christmas. 'Sdeath! one's hair is
flatted down like a pancake; and as for one's legs, you
had better cut them off at once, than tuck them up in a
place a foot square,--to say nothing of these black-
guardly irons !
“The only irons pardonable in your eyes, Ned,” said
Tomlinson, " are the curling-irons, eh ?"
“Now if this is not too much,” cried Nabbem, crossly.
“ You objects to go in a cart like the rest of your pro-
fession: and when I puts myself out of the way to
obleedge you with a shay, you slangs I for it!”
“Peace, good Nabbem!” said Augustus, with a sage's
dignity. “You must allow a little bad humour in men
so unhappily situated as we are."
The soft answer turneth away wrath. Tomlinson's
answer softened Nabbem: and, by way of conciliation,
he held his snuff-box to the nose of his unfortunate pri.
soner. Shutting his eyes, Tomlinson long and earnestly


PAUL CLJFFORD.
119
our fingers, like an office-door, are open for all that can
possibly come into them: we consider the wealthy as our
salary, the poor as our perquisites. What is this, but a
picture of your member of parliament ripening into a
Minister,-your patriot mellowing into your placeman ?
And mark me, Mr. Nabbem! is not the very language of
both as similar as the deeds ? What is the phrase either
of us loves to employ ? « To deliver,'-what? • The
Public.'—And do we not both invariably deliver it of the
same thing ?-viz.; its purse! Do we want an excuse
for sharing the gold of our neighbours, or abusing them,
if they resist ?- is not our mutualmour pithiest plea-
• Distress! True, your patriot calls it distress of the
country,' but does he ever a whit more than we do mean
any distress but his own ? When we are brought low,
and our coats are shabby, do we not both shake our heads
and talk of reform ? And when-oh! when we are up
in the world, do we not both kick “reformi’ to the Devil ?
How often your Parliament man'vacates his seat,' only
for the purpose of resuming it with a weightier purse!
How often, dear Ned, have our seats been vacated for
the same end! Sometimes, indeed, he really finishes his
career by accepting the hundreds,-it is by accepting
the hundreds,' that ours may be finished too!-(Ned
drew a long sigh)-Note us now, Mr. Nabbem, in the
zenith of our prosperity--we have filled our pockets, we
have become great in the mouths of our party. Our pals
admire us, and our blowens adore! What do we in this
short-lived summer? Save, and be thrifty ? Ah, no!
we must give our dinners, and make light of our lush.
We sport horses on the racecourse, and look big at
the multitude we have bubbled. Is not this your Minister
come into office? Does not this remind you of his equi.
page, his palace, his plate? In both cases, lightly won,
lavishly wasted, and the public, whose cash we have
fingered, may at least have the pleasure of gaping at the
figure we make with it! This, then, is our harvest of
happiness; our foes, our friends, are ready to eat is with
envy-yet what is so little enviable as our station ?
Have we not both our common vexations and our mutual
disquietudes? Do we not both bribe-(Nabbem shook
his head and buttoned his waistcoat)-our enemies, cajole
our partisans, bully our dependents, and quarrel with our
only friends, viz. ourselves? Is not the secret question
with each-It is all confoundedly fine; but how long


120
PAUL CLIFFORD.
will it last? Now, Mr. Nabbem, note me,-reverse the
portrait: we are fallen, our career is over-the road is
shut to us, and new plunderers are robbing the carriages
that once we robbed.-Is not this the lot of-no, no! I
deceive myself!-Your Ministers, your jobmen, for the
most part milk the popular cow while there is a drop in
the udder. Your Chancellor declines on a pension,
your Minister attenuates on a grant, -the feet of your
great rogues may be gone from the Treasury benches,
but they have their little fingers in the Treasury. Their
past services are remembered by his Majesty-ours only
noted by the Recorder: they save themselves, for they
hang by one another; we go to the Devil, for we hang by
ourselves: we have our little day of the public, and all is
over; but it is never over with them. We both hunt the
same fox, but we are your fair riders : they are your
knowing ones—we take the leap, and our necks are
broken: they sneak through the gates, and keep it up to
the last !"
As he concluded, Tomlinson's head drooped on his
bosom, and it was easy to see that painful comparisons,
mingled perhaps with secret murmurs at the injustice of
fortune, were rankling in his breast. Long Ned sat in
gloomy silence; and even the hard heart of the severe
Mr. Nabbem was softened by the affecting parallel to
which he had listened. They had proceeded without
speaking for two or three miles, when Long Ned, fixing
his eyes or Tomlinson, exclaimed
“Do you know, Tomlinson, I think it was a burning
shame in Lovett, to suffer us to be carried off like mut-
tons, without attempting to rescue us by the way! It is
all his fault that we are here! for it was he whom Nab-
bem wanted, not us!”.
• “Very true," said the cunning policeman; “and if I
were you, Mr. Pepper, hang me if I would not behave
like a man of spirit, and show as little consarn for him
as he shows for you! Why, Lord now, I does n't want
to 'tice you; but this I does know, the justices are very
anxious to catch Lovett; and one who gives him up,
and says a word or two about his cracter, so as to make
conviction sartain, may himself be sartain of a free par-
don for all little sprees and so forth !”
“ Ah!” said Long Ned, with a sigh, “ that is all very
well, Mr. Nabbem, but I 'll go to the crap like a gentle-
man, and not peach of my comrades; and now I think


124
PAUL CLIFFORD.
and the other catching against a stump, was forced to
relinquish his hold; he then sprang back into the road
and prepared for Clifford, who now, however, occupied
himself rather in fugitive than warlike measures. Mean-
while, the moment the other rescuers had passed the ru-
bicon of the hedge, their flight, and that of the gentle-
men who had passed before them, commenced. On this
mystic side of the hedge was a cross-road, striking at
once through an intricate and wooded part of the coun-
try, which allowed speedy and ample opportunities of
dispersion. Here a light cart, drawn by two swift
horses in a tandem fashion, awaited the fugitives. Long
Ned and Augustus were stowed down at the bottom of
this vehicle; three fellows filed away at their irons, and
a fourth, who had hitherto remained inglorious with the
cart, gave the lash—and he gave it handsomely-to the
coursers. Away rattled the equipage; and thus was
achieved a flight, still memorable in the annals of the
elect, and long quoted as one of the boldest and most
daring exploits that illicit enterprise ever accomplished.
Clifford and his equestrian comrade only remained in
the field, or rather the road; the former sprang at once
on his horse, the latter was not long in following the
example. But the policeman, who, it has been said,
baffled in detaining the fugitives of the hedge, had leaped
back into the road, was not idle in the mean while. When
he saw Clifford about to mount, instead of attempting
to seize the enemy, he recurred to his pistol, which in
the late struggle hand to hand, he had been unable to
use, and taking sure aim at Clifford, whom he judged at
once to be the leader of the rescue, he lodged a ball in
the right side of the robber, at the very moment he had
set spurs in his horse and turned to fly. Clifford's head
drooped to the saddle-bow. Fiercely the horse sprang
on; the robber endeavoured, despite his reeling senses,
to retain his seat-once he raised his head-once he
nerved his slackened and listless limbs-and then, with
a faint groan he fell to the earth. The horse bounded
but one step more, and, true to the tutorship it had re-
ceived, stopped abruptly. Clifford raised himself with
great difficulty on one arm; with the other hand he drew
forth a pistol; he pointed it deliberately towards the
officer who had wounded him; the man stood motion-
less, cowering and spell-bound, beneath the dilating eye
of the robber. It was but for a moment that the man


126
PAUL CLIFFORD.
came obvious to every one but the lover and the guar.
dian, that Lucy herself was rapidly declining in appear-
ance and health. Ever since the day she had last seen
Clifford, her spirit, before greatly shattered, had refused
to regain even a likeness to its natural cheerful and
happy tone. , She became silent and abstracted; even
her gentleness of temper altered at times into a moody
and fretful humour. Neither to books nor music, nor
any art by which time is beguiled, she recurred for a
momentary alleviation of the bitter feelings at her heart,
or for a transient forgetfulness of their sting. The whole
world of her mind had been shaken. Her pride was
wounded; her love galled; her faith in Clifford gave way
at length to gloomy and dark suspicion. Nothing, she
now felt, but a name as well as fortunes utterly aban-
doned, could have justified him for the stubbornness of
heart in which he had fled and deserted her. Her own
self-acquittal no longer consoled her in affliction. She
condemned herself for her weakness, from the birth of
her ill-starred affection to the crisis it had now acquired.
6 Why did I not wrestle with it at first ?” she said, bit-
terly. “ Why did I allow myself so easily to love one
unknown to me, and equivocal in station, despite the
cautions of my uncle and the whispers of the world ?"
Alas! Lucy did not remember, that at the time she was
guilty of this weakness she had not learned to reason as
she since reasoned. Her faculties were but imperfectly
awakened; her experience of the world was utter igno-
rance. She scarcely knew that she loved, and she knew
not at all that the delicious and excited sentiment which
filled her being could ever become as productive of evil
and peril as it had done now; and even had her reason
been more developed, and her resolutions more strong,
does the exertion of reason and resolution always avail
against the master-passion ? Love, it is true, is not un-
conquerable ; but how few have ever, mind and soul,
coveted the conquest! Disappointment makes a vow,
but the heart records it not. Or, in the noble image of
one who has so tenderly and so truly portrayed the feel.
ings of her own sex,--
We make
A ladder of our thoughts, where angels step,
But sleep ourselves at the foot!"**
*" The History of the Lyre," by L. E. L.
We are informed that this charming and amiable young lady, not contest


PAUL CLIFFORD.
127
VUE
EP2 Before Clifford had last seen her, we have observed
that Lucy had (and it was a consolation) clung to the be-
chat lief that, despite of appearances and his own confession,
din his past life had not been such as to place him without the
pale of her just affections; and there were frequent mo-
ments when, remembering that the death of her father had
removed the only being who could assert an unanswerable
El claim to the dictation of her actions, she thought that
TEE Clifford, hearing her hand was utterly at her own dis-
35. posal, might again appear, and again urge a suit which
she felt so few circumstances could induce her to deny.
110 All this half-acknowledged yet earnest train of reason.
Finding and hope vanished from the moment he had quitted
her uncle's house. His words bore no misinterpretation.
He had not yielded even to her own condescension, and
her cheek burned as she recalled it. Yet he loved her.
mpet She saw, she knew it in his every word and look! Bitter,
A then, and dark must be that remorse which could have
conquered every argument but that which urged him to
muti leave her, when he might have claimed her ever. True,
that when his letter formerly bade her farewell, the same
self-accusing language was recurred to, the same dark
hints and allusions to infamy or guilt; yet never till now
had she interpreted them rigidly, and never till now had
she dreamed how far their meaning could extend. Still,
what crimes could he have committed ? The true ones
never occurred to Lucy. She shuddered to ask herself,
and hushed her doubts in a gloomy and torpid silence!
But through all her accusations against herself, and
through all her awakened suspicions against Clifford, she
could not but acknowledge that something noble and not
unworthy of her mingled in his conduct, and occasioned
his resistance to her and to himself; and this belief, per-
haps, irritated even while it touched her, and kept her
feelings in a perpetual struggle and conflict, which her
LUTUS
inde
with her triumphs in poetry, is about to enter our own province in prose, and
that, at this moment, she is engaged in the composition of a novel. Could we,
who have perhaps more than once disappointed the public in ourself, venture
to believe we had the power to excite its expectations in another, we would
fain hazard the prediction of a great and a deserved popularity for the said
novel, whenever it appear. Every one knows that the writer of the Improvi-
satrice can command, at will, the auxiliaries of sentiment, thought, imagina-
tion, and an exceeding richness of imagery and glow of diction; but, perliaps,
every one does not yet know that she can also command what are generally
more calculated to give celebrity to a novel, viz. a playful and lively wit, an
acute and unerring observation, an intuitive tact in the shades and varieties
of manner, and, above all, the art to make trifles singularly entertaining.


128
PAUL CLIFFORD.
delicate frame and soft mind were little able to endure.
When the nerves once break, how breaks the character
with them! How niany ascetics, withered and soured,
do we meet in the world, who but for one shock to the
heart and form might have erred on the side of meekness!
Whether it come from wo or disease, the stroke which
mars a single fibre plays strange havoc with the mind.
Slaves we are to our muscles, and puppets to the spring
of the capricious blood; and the great soul, with all its
capacities, its solemn attributes, and sounding claims, is,
while on earth, but a jest to this mountebank--the body-
from the dream which toys it for an hour, to the lunacy
which shivers it into a driveller, laughing as it plays with
its own fragments, and reeling benighted and blinded to
the grave!
We have before said, that Lucy was fond both of her
uncle and his society; and still, whenever the subject of
Lord Mauleverer and his suit was left untouched, there
was that in the conversation of Sir William Brandon
which aroused an interest in her mind, engrossed and
self-consuming as it had become. Sorrow, indeed, and
sorrow's companion, reflection, made her more and more
capable of comprehending a very subtle and intricate
character. There is no secret for discovering the human
heart like affliction-especially the affliction which
springs from passion. Does a writer startle you with
his insight into your nature, be sure that he has mourned:
such lore is the alchymy of tears. Hence the insensible
and almost universal confusion of idea which confounds
melancholy with depth, and finds but hollow inanity in
the symbol of a laugh. Pitiable error! Reflection first
leads us to gloom, but its next stage is to brightness.
The Laughing Philosopher had reached the goal of Wis.
dom: Heraclitus whimpered at the starting-post. But
enough for Lucy to gain even the vestibule of Philosophy.
Notwithstanding the soreness we naturally experience
towards all who pertinaciously arouse an unpleasing
subject, and despite therefore of Brandon's furtherance of
Mauleverer's courtship, Lucy felt herself incline strangely,
and with something of a daughter's affection, towards
this enigmatical being: despite too of all the cold and
measured vice of his character,—the hard and wintry
grayness of heart with which he regarded the welfare of
others, or the substances of Truth, Honour, and Virtue,
-the callousness of his fossilized affections, which no


· PAUL CLIFFORD.
129
human being softened but for a moment, and no warm
and healthful impulse struck, save into an evanescent
i and idle flash;-despite of this consummate obduracy and
worldliness of temperament, it is not paradoxical to say
that there was something in the man which Lucy found
3 at times analogous to her own vivid and generous self.
: This was, however, only noticeable when she led him to
talk over earlier days, and when by degrees the sarcastic
f lawyer forgot the present, and grew eloquent, not over
the actions but the feelings of the past. He would speak
to her for hours of his youthful dreams, his occupations,
for his projects, as a boy. Above all, he loved to converse
* with her upon Warlock, its remains of ancient magnifi-
cence, the green banks of the placid river that enriched
its domains, and the summer pomp of wood and heath-
Finland, amid which his noon-day visions had been nursed.
When he spoke of these scenes and days, his counte-
* nance softened, and something in its expression, recall.
eing to Lucy the image of one still dearer, made her yearn
to him the more. An ice seemed broken from his mind,
and streams of released and gentle feelings, mingled with
kindly and generous sentiment, flowed forth. Suddenly,
a thought, a word, brought him back to the present-his
features withered abruptly into their cold placidity, or
latent sneer: the seal closed suddenly on the broken
spell, and, like the victim of a fairy-tale, condemned, at a
stated hour, to assume another shape, the very being you
had listened to seemed vanished, and replaced by one
whom you startled to behold. But there was one epoch
of his life on which he was always silent, and that was,
his first onset into the actual world—the period of his
early struggle into wealth and fame. All that space of
time seemed as a dark gulf, over which he had passed,
and become changed at once-as a traveller landing on
a strange climate may adopt, on the moment he touches
its shore, its costume and its language.
All men-the most modest-have a common failing,
but it is one which often assumes the domino and mask
-Pride! Brandon was, however, proud to a degree very
rare in men who have risen and flourished in the world.
Out of the wrecks of all other feelings, this imperial sur-
vivor made one great palace for its residence, and called
the fabric. Disdain.'' Scorn was the real essence of
Brandon's nature: even in the blandest disguises, the
smoothness of his voice, the insinuation of his smile, the


130
.
PAUL CLIFFORD.
popular and supple graces of his manners, an oily deri-
sion floated, rarely discernible, it is true, but proportion-
ing its strength and quantum to the calm it produced.
În the interim, while his character thus displayed and
contradicted itself in private life, his fame was rapidly
rising in public estimation. Unlike many of his brethren,
the brilliant lawyer had exceeded expectation, and shone
even yet more conspicuously in the less adventitiously-
aided duties of the Judge. Envy itself—and Brandon's
political virulence, had, despite of his personal affability,
made him many foes,-was driven into acknowledging
the profundity of his legal knowledge, and in admiring
the manner in which the peculiar functions of his novel
dignity were discharged. No juvenile lawyer brow-
beat—no hackneyed casuist puzzled him; even his atten-
tion never wandered from the dullest case subjected to
his tribunal. A painter, desirous of stamping on his can-
vass the portrait of an upright Judge, could scarcely have
found a finer realization for his beau idéal than the
austere, collected, keen, yet majestic countenance of Sir
William Brandon, such as it seemed in the trappings of
office, and from the seat of justice.
The newspapers were not slow in recording the singu-
lar capture of the notorious Lovett. The boldness with
which he had planned and executed the rescue of his
comrades, joined to the suspense in which his wound for
some time kept the public, as to his escape from one
death by the postern gate of another, caused a very con-
siderable ferment and excitation in the popular mind;
and, to feed the impulse, the journalists were little sloth-
ful in retailing every anecdote, true or false, which they
could collect, touching the past adventures of the daring
highwayman. Many a good story then came to light,
which partook as much of the comic as the tragic; for
not a single one of the robber's adventures was noted
for cruelty or bloodshed; many of them betokened rather
an hilarious and jovial spirit of mirthful enterprise. It
seemed as if he had thought the highway a capital arena
for jokes, and only robbed for the sake of venting a re-
dundant affection for jesting. Persons felt it rather a sin
to be severe with a man of so merry a disposition; and
it was especially observable, that not one of the ladies
who had been despoiled by the robber could be prevailed
on to prosecute; on the contrary, they always talked of
the event as one of the most agreeable remembrances


PAUL CLIFFORD. -
131
in their lives, and seemed to bear a provoking gratitude
to the comely offender, rather than resentment. All the
gentlemen were not, however, of so placable a temper;
and two sturdy farmers, with a grazier to boot, were
ready to swear “ through thick and thin” to the identity
of the prisoner with a horseman who had civilly borne
each of them company for an hour in their several home-
ward rides from certain fairs, and had carried the plea-
sure of his society, they very gravely asserted, consi.
derably beyond a joke; so that the state of the prisoner's
affairs took a very sombre aspect; and the counsel-an
old hand-intrusted with his cause, declared confiden-
tially that there was not a chance. But a yet more
weighty accusation, because it came from a much nobler
quarter, awaited Clifford. In the robbers' cavern were
found several articles answering exactly to the descrip-
tion of those valuables feloniously abstracted from the
person of Lord Mauleverer. That nobleman attended
to inspect the articles and to view the prisoner. The
former he found himself able to swear to, with a very
tranquillized conscience: the latter he beheld feverish,
attenuated, and in a moment of delirium, on the sick-
bed to which his wound had brought him. He was at no
loss, however, to recognise in the imprisoned felon the
gay and conquering Clifford, whom he had once even
honoured with his envy. Although his former dim and
vague suspicions of Clifford were thus confirmed, the
good-natured peer felt some slight compunction at ap-
pearing as his prosecutor: this compunction, however,
vanished the moment he left the sick man's apartment;
and after a little patriotic conversation with the magis,
trates about the necessity of public duty-a theme which
brought virtuous tears into the eyes of those respectable
functionaries—he re-entered his carriage, returned to
town, and after a lively dinner, tête-à-tête with an old
chère amie, who, of all her charms, had preserved only
the attraction of conversation and the capacity of re-
lishing a salmi, Mauleverer, the very evening of his re-
turn, betook himself to the house of Sir William
Brandon.
When he entered the hall, Barlow, the judge's favour-
te servant, met him, with rather a confused and myste,
rious air, and arresting him as he was sauntering into
Brandon's library, informed him that Sir William was
articularly engaged, but would join his Lordship in the


132
PAUL CLIFFORD.
drawing-room. While Barlow was yet speaking, and
Mauleverer was bending his right ear (with which he
heard the best) towards him, the library-door opened,
and a man in a very coarse and ruffianly garb awk-
wardly bowed himself out. “ So, this is the particular
engagement,” thought Mauleverer; "a strange Sir Pan-
darus; but those old fellows have droll tastes.”
“I may go in now, my good fellow, I suppose," said
his Lordship to Barlow; and without waiting an answer,
he entered the library. He found Brandon alone, and
bending earnestly over some letters which strewed his
table. Mauleverer carelessly approached, and threw
himself into an opposite chair. Sir William lifted his
head, as he heard the movement, and Mauleverer (reck.
less as was that personage) was chilled and almost awed
by the expression of his friend's countenance. Bran-
don's face was one which, however pliant, nearly always
wore one pervading character-calmness : whether in the
smoothness of social courtesy, or the austerity of his
official station, or the bitter sarcasm which escaped him
at no unfrequent intervals; still a certain hard and in-
flexible dryness stamped both his features and his air.
But at this time a variety of feelings, not ordinarily elo-
quent in the outward man, struggled in his dark face, ex-
pressive of all the energy and passion of his powerful
and masculine nature; there seemed to speak from his
features and eyes something of shame, and anger, and
triumph, and regret, and scorn. All these various emo-
tions, which, it appears almost a paradox to assert, met
in the same expression, nevertheless were so individually
and almost fearfully stamped, as to convey at once their
signification to the mind of Mauleverer. He glanced to-
wards the letters, in which the writing seemed faint and
discoloured by time or damp; and then once more re-
garding the face of Brandon, said, in rather an anxious
and subdued tonem
“ Heavens, Brandon, are you ill ? or has any thing
happened ?-you alarm me.”
“Do you recognise these locks ?” said Brandon, in a
hollow voice; and from under the letters he drew some
ringlets of an auburn hue, and pushed them with an
averted face towards Mauleverer."
The Earl took them up regarded them for a few mo-
ments-changed colour, but shook his head with a nega.
tive gesture, as he laid them once more on the table.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
133
6. This handwriting, then ?" renewed the Judge, in a
yet more impressive and painful voice; and he pointed
to the letters.
Mauleverer raised one of them, and held it between
his face and the lamp, so that whatever his features
might have betrayed was hidden from his companion.
At length he dropped the letter with an affected noncha-
lance, and said
“Ah, I know the writing even at this distance of time;
this letter is directed to you!"
“It is,--so are all these,” said Brandon, with the same
voice of preternatural and strained composure. “They
have come back to me after an absence of nearly twenty-
five years; they are the letters she wrote to me in the
days of our courtship--(here Brandon laughed scorn-
fully)-she carried them away with her, you know when;
and (a pretty clod of consistency is woman!) she kept
them, it seems, to her dying day !"
The subject in discussion, whatever it might be, ap-
peared a sore one to Mauleverer; he turned uneasily on
his chair, and said, at length
“Well, poor creature! these are painful remembrances,
since it turned out so unhappily; but it was not our fault,
dear Brandon; we were men of the world, we knew
the value of-of-women, and treated them accord-
ingly!”
“Right! right! right!” cried Brandon, vehemently,
laughing in a wild and loud disdain; the intense force
of which it would be in vain to attempt expressing.
“ Right! and faith, my Lord, I repine not at my ba-
lance, nor repent my estimation."
“So, so, that's well!” said Mauleverer, still not at his
ease, and hastening to change the conversation. “But,
my dear Brandon, I have strange news for you! You
remember that damned fellow, Clifford, who had the
insolence to address himself to your adorable niece? I
told you I suspected that long friend of his of having
made my acquaintance somewhat unpleasantly, and I
therefore doubted of Clifford himself. Well, my dear
friend, this Clifford is,—whom do you think ?- no other
than Mr. Lovett, of Newgate celebrity."
“ You do not say so!" rejoined Brandon, apathetically,
as he slowly gathered his papers together, and deposited
them in a drawer.
“ Indeed it is true; and what is more, Brandon, this
-


134
PAUL CLIFFORD.
fellow is one of the very identical highwaymen who
robbed me on my road from Bath. No doubt he did me
the same kind office on my road to Mauleverer Park.”
“Possibly,” said Brandon, who appeared absorbed in
a reverie.
“Ay!” answered Mauleverer, piqued at this indiffer-
ence. “But do you not see the consequences to your
niece ?"
“My niece!” repeated Brandon, rousing himself.
“ Certainly. I grieve to say it, my dear friend,but
she was young, very young, when at Bath. She suffered
this fellow to address her too openly. Nay,-for I will
be frank,-she was suspected of being in love with
him!”
“She was in love with him,” said Brandon, dryly, and
fixing the malignant coldness of his eye upon the suitor.
“And, for aught I know," added he, “she is so at this
moment."
“ You are cruel!" said Mauleverer, disconcerted. “I
trust not, for the sake of my continued addresses.”
“My dear Lord,” said Brandon, urbanely taking the
courtier's hand, while the anguis in herbâ of his sneer
played around his compressed lips,-“my dear Lord, we
are old friends, and need not deceive each other. You
wish to marry my niece, because she is an heiress of
great fortune, and you suppose that my wealth will in
all probability swell her own. Moreover, she is more
beautiful than any other young lady of your acquaint-
ance; and, polished by your example, may do honour
to your taste as well as your prudence. Under these
circumstances, you will, I am quite sure, look with lenity
on her girlish errors, and not love her the less because
her foolish fancy persuades her that she is in love with
another.”
“ Ahem !” said Mauleverer, “ you view the matter with
more sense than sentiment; but look you, Brandon, we
must try, for both our sakes, if possible, to keep the
identity of Lovett with Clifford from being known. I
do not see why it should be. No doubt he was on his
guard while playing the gallant, and committed no atro-
city at Bath. The name of Clifford is hitherto perfectly
unsullied. No fraud, no violence are attached to the
appellation; and if the rogue will but keep his own
counsel, we may hang him out of the way without the
secret transpiring."


136
PAUL CLIFFORD.
allow, that it is not the philosophy that makes men mer.
ciful !"
“ Well, Juvenal's wisdom be yours !-mine be Ho
race's !” rejoined Mauleverer, as he picked his teeth;
“ but I am glad you see the absolute necessity of keeping
this secret from Lucy's suspicion. She never reads the
papers, I suppose-girls never do !"
No !--and I will take care not to have them thrown
in her way; and as, in consequence of my poor brother's
recent death, she sees nobody but us, there is little chance,
should Lovett's right to the name of Clifford be disco.
vered, that it should reach her ears !"
“But those confounded servants !”
“True enough!—but consider, that before they know
it, the newspapers will; so that, should it be needful, we
shall have our own time to caution them. I need only
say to Lucy's woman-A poor gentleman, a friend of
the late Squire's, whom your mistress used to dance
with, and you must have seen-Captain Clifford,-is to
be tried for his life: it will shock her, poor thing! in her
present state of health, to tell her of so sad an event to
her father's friend; therefore be silent, as you value
your place and ten guineas,'- and I may be tolerably
sure of caution !"
“ You ought to be chairman to the ‘Ways and Means'
Committee !" cried Mauleverer;“ my mind is now easy;
and when once poor Clifford is gone-fallen froin a high
estate,'-we may break the matter gently to her, and, as
I intend thereon to be very respectful, very delicate,
&c., she cannot but be sensible of my kindness and real
affection!”
66 And if a live dog be better than a dead lion,” added
Brandon, “ surely an animate lord will be better than a
hanged highwayman !"
“ According to ordinary logic," rejoined Mauleverer,
" that syllogism is clear enough; and though I believe a
girl may cling, now and then, to the memory of a de-
parted lover, I do not think she will when the memory
is allied with shame. Love is nothing more than vanity
pleased ;-wound the vanity, and you destroy the love!
Lucy will be forced, after having made so bad a choice
of a lover, to make a good one in a husband, in order
to recover her self-esteem !"
“ And therefore you are certain of her!” said Brandon,
Ironically.


138
PAUL CLIFFORD.
poured burningly over the pages; yet they were full of
reproach-of jealousy-of a nice and torturing observa-
tion, as calculated to wound, as the ardour might be
fitted to charm; and often, the bitter tendency to disdain
that distinguished his temperament, broke through the
fondest enthusiasm of courtship, or the softest outpourings
of love. “ You saw me not yesterday,” he wrote in one
letter, “but I saw you; all day I was by you; you gave
not a look which passed me unnoticed; you made not a
movement which I did not chronicle in my memory.--
Julia, do you tremble when I tell you this ?-Yes, if you
have a heart, I know these words have stabbed it to the
core! You may affect to answer me indignantly!
Wise dissembler !-it is very skilful-very, to assume
anger, when you have no reply. I repeat, during the
whole of that party of pleasure—(pleasure !-well, your
tastes, it must be acknowledged, are exquisite !)—which
you enjoyed yesterday, and which you so faintly asked
me to share, my eye was on you. You did not know
that I was in the wood when you took the arm of the
incomparable Digby, with so pretty a semblance of
alarm at the moment the snake, which my foot disturbed,
glided across your path. You did not know I was within
hearing of the tent where you made so agreeable a re-
past, and from which your laughter sent peals so merry
and so numerous.-Laughter!-Oh, Julia! can you tell
me that you love, and yet be happy, even to mirth,
when I am away! Love !-Oh God, how different a
sensation is mine !-Mine makes my whole principle of
life! yours !-I tell you, that I think, at moments, I
would rather have your hate, than the lukewarm senti-
ment you bear to me, and honour by the name of affec.
tion. Pretty phrase !-I have no affection for you!
Give me not that sickly word; but try with me, Julia,
to invent some expression that has never filtered a paltry
meaning through the lips of another! Affection !-why,
that is a sister's word-a girl's word to her pet squirrel !
-never was it made for that ruby and most ripe mouth!
Shall I come to your house this evening?—your mother
has asked me, and you-you heard her, and said nothing.
-Oh! but that was maiden reserve-was it ?--and
maiden reserve caused you to take up a book the mo.
ment I left you, as if my company made but an ordinary
amusement, instantly to be replaced by another! When
I have seen you, society, books, food, all are hateful to


PAUL CLIFFORD.
139
ucle inst,
NEW
pet therme; but you, sweet Julia, you can read, can you? Why,
mort when I left you, I lingered by the parlour window for
ther hours, till dusk, and you never once lifted your eyes,
For further nor saw me pass and repass. At least, I thought you
would have watched my steps, when I left the house ;
showta but I err, charming moralist; according to you, that
med en vigilance would have been meanness.”
In another part of the correspondence, a more grave,
if not a deeper, gush of feeling struggled for expression.
“You say, Julia, that were you to marry one who
thinks so much of what he surrenders for you, and who
requires from yourself so vast a return of love, you
should tremble for the future happiness of both of us.
Julia, the triteness of that fear proves that you love not
e at all. I do not tremble for our future happiness; on
This the contrary, the intensity of my passion for you makes
Pour me know, that we never can be happy! never beyond
pe the first rapture of our union. Happiness is a quiet and
PU tranquil feeling. No feeling that I can possibly bear to
10you will ever receive those epithets,- I know that I
005 L shall be wretched and accursed, when I am united to
58 you. Start not; I will presently tell you why. But I
hmy do not dream of happiness, neither (could you fathom
Di ko one drop of the dark and limitless ocean of my emo-
2 50
2tions) would you name to me that word. It is not the
seni itu mercantile and callous calculation of chances for future
Julia @felicity'-(what homily supplied you with so choice a
PT, ele term ?)—that enters into the heart that cherishes an all-
do hot, pervading love. Passion looks only to one object, to
whok" nothing beyond,- I thirst, I consume, not for happiness,
mky s but you. Were your possession inevitably to lead me to a -
ne lck gulf of anguish and shame, think you I should covet it
he name one jot the less! If you carry one thought, one hope,
flect one dim fancy, beyond the event that makes you mine,
EITB you may be more worthy of the esteem of others; but
er alter you are utterly undeserving of my love.
There
“I will tell you now why I know we cannot be happy.
c!-T in the first place, when you say, that I am proud of
and birth, that I am morbidly ambitious, that I am anxious
LT to shine in the great world, and that after the first intoxi.
a boli cation of love has passed away, I shall feel bitterness
being against one who has so humbled my pride and darkened
apoteket my prospects, I am not sure that you wholly err. But I


140
PAUL CLIFTORD. -
am sure that the instant remedy is in your power. Have
you, patience, Julia, to listen to a kind of history of
myself, or rather of my feelings? if so, perhaps it may
be the best method of explaining all that I would convey.
You will see, then, that my family pride and my worldly
ambition are not founded altogether on those basements
which move my laughter in another:--if my feelings
thereon are really, however, as you would insinuate, equal
matter for derision, behold, my Julia, I can laugh equally
at them! So pleasant a thing to me is scorn, that I
would rather despise myself than have no one to despise;
-but to my narrative! You must know that there are
but two of us, sons of a country squire, of old family,
which once possessed large possessions and something
of historical renown. We lived in an old country place;
my father was a convivial dog, a fox-hunter, a drunkard,
yet in his way a fine gentleman,--and a very disreputable
member of society. The first feelings towards him that
I can remember, were those of shame. Not much matter
of family pride here, you will say! True, and that is
exactly the reason which made me cherish family pride
elsewhere. My father's house was filled with guests,
some high, and some low, they all united in ridicule of
the host. I soon detected the laughter, and you may
imagine that it did not please me. Meanwhile, the old
huntsman, whose family was about as ancient as ours, and
whose ancestors had officiated in his capacity, for the
ancestors of his master, time out of mind, told me story
after story about the Brandons of yore. I turned from
the stories to more legitimate history, and found the
legends were tolerably true. I learned to glow at this
discovery: the pride humbled when I remembered my
sire, revived when I remembered my ancestors,--I be-
came resolved to emulate them, to restore a sunken name,
and vowed a world of nonsense on the subject. The
habit of brooding over these ideas grew on me; I never
heard a jest broken on my paternal guardian; I never
caught the maudlin look of his reeling eyes, nor listened
to some exquisite inanity from his besotted lips, but
what my thoughts flew instantly back to the Sir Charleses
and the Sir Roberts of my race, and I comforted myself
with the hope that the present degeneracy should pass
away. Hence, Julia, my family pride; hence too another
feeling you dislike in me,disdain! I first learned to
despise my father, the host, and I then despised my


PAUL CLIFFORD.
141
acquaintance, his guests; for I saw, while they laughed
at him, that they flattered, and that their merriment was
not the only thing suffered to feed at his expense. Thus
contempt grew up with me, and I had nothing to check
it ; for when I looked around I saw not one living thing
that I could respect. This father of mine had the sense
to think I was no idiot. He was proud (poor man!) of
• my talents,' viz. of prizes won at school, and congra-
tulatory letters from my masters. He sent me to college:
my mind took a leap there: I will tell you, prettiest,
what it was! Before I went thither, I had some fine,
vague visions about virtue. I thought to revive my
ancestral honour by being good: in short, I was an em-
bryo King Pepin. 'I awoke from this dream at the uni-
versity. There, for the first time, I perceived the real
consequence of rank.
“At school, you know, Julia, boys care nothing for a
lord. A good cricketer, an excellent fellow, is worth
all the earls in the peerage. But at college all that
ceases: bats and balls sink into the nothingness in which
corals and bells had sunk before. One grows manly, and
worships coronets and carriages. I saw it was a fine
thing to get a prize, but it was ten times a finer thing to
get drunk with a peer. So, when I had done the first,
my resolve to be worthy of my sires made me do the
second--not indeed exactly; I never got drunk; my
father disgusted me with that vice betimes. To his
gluttony I owe my vegetable diet, and to his inebriety
my addiction to water. NO-I did not get drunk with
peers; but I was just as agreeable to them as if I had
been equally imbruted. I knew intimately all the ‘Hats'
in the university, and I was henceforth looked up to by
“the Caps,' as if my head had gained the height of every
hat that I knew. But I did not do this immediately. I
must tell you two little anecdotes, that first initiated me
into the secret of real greatness. The first is this: I
was sitting at dinner with some fellows of a college,
grave men and clever; two of them, not knowing me,
were conversing about me: they heard, they said, that I
should never be so good a fellow as my father,-have
such a cellar, or keep such a house.
“1 have met six earls there and a marquis,' quoth the
other senior. .
“ . And his son,' returned the first don, only keeps
company with sizars, I believe.'


142
PAUL CLIFFORD.
666 So then,' said I to myself, to deserve the praise
even of clever men, one must have good wines, know
plenty of earls, and forswear sizars.'
“Nothing could be truer than my conclusion.
“ Anecdote the second is this :-On the day I gained a
high University prize, I invited my friends to dine with
me: four of them refused, because they were engaged
(they had been asked since I asked them to whom?
the richest man at the University. These occurrences
happening at the same time, threw me into a profound
reverie: I awoke, and became a Man of the World. I !
no longer resolved to be virtuous, and to hunt after the
glory of your Romans and your Athenians-1 resolved
to become rich, powerful, and of worldly repute.
“I abjured my honest sizars, and, as I said before, I
courted some rich • Hats.' Behold my first grand step
in the world! I became the parasite and the flatterer.
What! would my pride suffer this? verily, yes, my
pride delighted in it; for it soothed my spirit of con.
tempt, to put these fine fellows to my use! it soothed
· me to see how easily I could cajole them, and to what a
variety of purposes I could apply even the wearisome
disgust of their acquaintance. Nothing is so foolish as
to say the idle great are of no use; they can be put to
any use whatsoever that a wise man is inclined to make
of them! Well, Julia, lo! my character already formed;
family pride, disdain, and worldly ambition, there it is
for you:--after-circumstances only strengthened the
impression already modelled. I desired, on leaving colo
lege, to go abroad; my father had no money to give me.
What signified that? I looked carelessly round for some
wealthier convenience than the paternal hoard; I found
it in a Lord Mauleverer; he had been at college with me
and I endured him easily as a companion,-for he had
accomplishments, wit, and good-nature; I made him
wish to go abroad, and I made him think he should die
of ennui if I did not accompany him. To his request to
that effect, I reluctantly agreed, and saw every thing wil
Europe, which he neglected to see, at his expelli
What amused me the most, was the perception, that is
the parasite, was respected by him, and he, the pacious
was ridiculed by me! it would not have been so, if 11
depended on my virtue.' Well, sweetest Julia, wo
world, as I have said, gave to my college experien
sacred authority. I returned to England, and my fat


144
PAUL CLIFFORD.
your friend, not the man who likes Virgil as well as you
do, and agrees with you in an admiration of Handel.
Meanwhile, my chief prey, Lord Mauleverer, was gone;
he had taken another man's Dulcinea, and sought out a
bower in Italy; from that time to this, I have never
heard of himn nor seen him; I know not even his address.
With the exception of a few stray gleanings from my
brother, who, good easy man! I could plunder more,
were I not resolved not to ruin the family stock, I have
been thrown on myself; the result is, that though as
clever as my fellows, I have narrowly shunned starva-
tion; had my wants been less simple, there would have
been no shunning in the case. But a man is not easily
starved who drinks water, and eats by the ounce. A
more effectual fate might have befallen me, disappoint-
ment, wrath, baffled hope, mortified pride, all these which
gnawed at my heart, might have consumed it long ago,
I might have fretted away as a garment, which the moth
eateth, had it not been for that fund of obstinate and iron
hardness, which nature-I beg pardon, there is no na.
ture-circumstance bestowed upon me. This has borne
me up, and will bear me yet through time, and shame,
and bodily weakness, and mental fever, until my ambi.
tion has won a certain height, and my disdain of human
pettiness rioted in the external sources of fortune, as
well as an inward fountain of bitter and self-fed conso-
lation. Yet oh, Julia, I know not even if this would
have supported me, if at that epoch of life, when I was
most wounded, most stricken in body, most soured in
mind, my heart had not met and fastened itself to
yours; I saw you, loved you, and life became to me a
new object. Even now, as I write to you, all my bitter-
ness, my pride, vanish; every thing I have longed for
disappears; my very ambition is gone; I have no hope
but for you, Julia,-beautiful, adored Julia ;-when I
love you, I love even my kind. Oh, you know not the
power you possess over me. Do not betray it ; you can
yet make me all that my boyhood once dreamed; or you
can harden every thought, feeling, sensation, into stone.
“I was to tell you why I look not for happiness in our
union. You have now seen my nature. . You have
traced the history of my life, by tracing the history of
my character. You see what I surrender in gaining you.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
145
1 I do not deny the sacrifice. I surrender the very essen-
tials of my present mind and soul. I cease to be worldly,
I cannot raise myself. I cannot revive my ancestral
name; nay, I shall relinquish it for ever. I shall adopt
a disguised appellation. I shall sink into another grade
AJ of life. In some remote village, by means of some hum-
13 bler profession than that I now follow, we must earn our
subsistence, and smile at ambition. I tell you frankly,
Julia, when I close the eyes of my heart, when I shut
you from my gaze, this sacrifice appals me. But, even
then, you force yourself before me, and I feel that one
1 glance from your eye is more to me than all. If you
could bear with me if you could sooth me-if, when a
cloud is on me, you could suffer it to pass away unno-
1,5 ticed, and smile on me the moment it is gone, 0, Julia,
there would then be no extreme of poverty-no abase-
ment of fortune--no abandonment of early dreams which
i would not seem to me rapture, if coupled with the bliss
of knowing that you are mine. Never should my lip-
never should my eye tell you that there is that thing on
earth for which I repine, or which I could desire. No,
Julia, could I flatter my heart with this hope, you would
not find me dream of unhappiness and you united. But
I tremble, Julia, when I think of your temper and my
own: you will conceive a gloomy look, from one never
mirthful, is an insult; and you will feel every vent of
passion on Fortune or on others, as a reproach to you.
Then, too, you cannot enter into my nature; you cannot
descend into its caverns; you cannot behold, much less
can you deign to lull, the exacting and lynx-eyed jealousy
that dwells there. Sweetest Julia, every breath of yours,
every touch of yours, every look of yours I yearn for
beyond all a mother's longing for the child that has been
torn from her for years. Your head leaned upon an old
tree-(do you remember it near ***)-and I went
every day after seeing you to kiss it. Do you wonder
that I am jealous? How can I love you as I do, and be
otherwise ?-my whole being is intoxicated with you!'
“ This, then, your pride and mine-your pleasure in
the admiration of others—your lightness, Julia, make
me foresee an eternal and gushing source of torture to
my mind.--I care not; I care for nothing so that you
are mine, if but for one hour."
VOL. II.-G


148
PAUL CLIFFORD.
their invitations were unaccepted, and, what was worse,
they were never returned. The Devil himself could not
have supported an attorney under such circumstances.
Reserved - shabby - poor-rude - introductionless-a
bad house-an unpainted railing—and a beautiful wiſe!
Nevertheless, though Welford was not engaged, he was,
as we have said, watched. On their first arrival, which
was in summer, the young pair were often seen walk-
ing together in the fields or groves which surrounded
their home. Sometimes they walked affectionately to-
gether, and it was observed with what care Welford ad-
justed his wife's cloak or shawl around her slender
shape, as the cool of the evening increased. But often
his arm was withdrawn, he lingered behind-and they
continued their walk, or returned homeward, in silence
and apart. By degrees whispers circulated through-
out the town, that the new-married couple lived by
no means happily. The men laid the fault on the
stern-looking husband; the women, on the mins of
a wife. However, the solitary servant whom they
kept declared, that though Mr. Welford did sometimes
frown, and Mrs. Welford did sometimes weep, they
were extremely attached to each other, and only
quarrelled through love. The maid had bad four
lovers herself, and was possibly experienced in such
matters. They received no visiters, near or from a
distance; and the postman declared he had never seen
a letter directed to either. Thus a kind of mystery hung
over the pair, and made them still more gazed on, and
still more disliked, which is saying a great deal, than
they would have otherwise been. Poor as Welford was,
his air and walk eminently bespoke what common per-
sons term gentility. And in this he had greatly the ad-
vantage of his beautiful wife; who, though there was
certainly nothing vulgar or plebeian in her aspect, alto-
gether wanted the refinement of manner, look, and
phrase, which characterized Welford. For about two
years they lived in this manner, and so frugally and
tranquilly, that though Welford had not any visible means
of subsistence, no one could well wonder in what man-
ner they did subsist. About the end of that time, Wel.
ford suddenly embarked a small sum in a county specu-
lation. In the course of this adventure, to the great sur-
prise of his neighbours, he evinced an extraordinary
turn for calculation, and his habits plainly bespoke a


150
PAUL CLIFFORD.
then, unhappily, no debtor could be discovered. Their
bills had been “next to nothing," but at least they had
been regularly paid. However, before the rumoured
emigration took place, a circumstance equally wonderful
to the good people of — occurred. One bright spring
morning, a party of pleasure from a great house in the
vicinity, passed through that town. Most conspicuous
of these was a young horseman richly dressed, and of a
remarkably showy and handsome appearance. Not a
little sensible of the sensation he created, this cavalier
lingered behind his group in order to eye more delibe-
rately certain damsels stationed in a window, and who
were quite ready to return his glances with interest. At
this moment, the horse, which was fretting itself fiercely
against the rein that restrained it from its fellows, took
fright at a knifegrinder, started violently to one side, and
the graceful cavalier, who had been thinking, not of the
attitude best adapted to preserve his equilibrium, but to
display his figure, was thrown with some force upon a
heap of bricks and rubbish which had long, to the scan-
dal of the neighbourhood, stood before the paintless rail-
ings around Mr. Welford's house. Welford himself
came out at the time, and felt compelled, for he was by
no means one whose sympathetic emotions flowed easliy,
to give a glance to the condition of a man who lay mo-
tionless before his very door. The horseman quickly
recovered his senses, but found himself unable to rise;
one of his legs was broken. Supported in the arms of
his groom, he looked around, and his eye met Welford's.
An instant recognition gave life to the face of the for-
mer, and threw a dark blush over the sullen features of
the latter. “Heavens !" said the cavalier, “ is that,"
“ Hist, my Lord !" cried Welford, quickly interrupting
him, and glancing round. “But you are hurt-will you
enter my house ?"
The horseman signified his assent, and between the
groom and Welford, was borne within the shabby door
of the ex-solicitor. The groom was then despatched
with an excuse to the party, many of whom were already
hastening around the house; and though one or two did
· force themselves across the inhospitable threshoid, yet
so soon as they had uttered a few expletives, and felt
their stare sink beneath the sullen and chilling asperity
of the host, they satisfied themselves, that though it was
damned unlucky for their friend, yet they could do no-


152
PAUL CLIFFORD.
nobleman, well learned in the usages of the world,
replied easily and gayly; and the conversation flowed
on cheerfully enough, till the wife, who had sat abstracted
and apart, stealing ever and anon timid glances towards
her husband, and looks of a softer meaning towards the
patient, retired from the room. Welford then gave a
turn to the conversation: he reminded the nobleman of
the pleasant days they had passed in Italy-of the adven-
tures they had shared, and the intrigues they had enjoyed;
as the conversation warmed, it assumed a more free and
licentious turn; and not a little, we ween, would the
· good folks of have been amazed could they have
listened to the gay jests and the libertine maxims which
flowed from the thin lips of that cold and severe Welford,
whose countenance gave the lie to mirth. Of women
in general they spoke with that lively contempt which is
the customary tone with men of the world,-only in
Welford it assumed a bitterer, a deeper, and a more
philosophical cast than it did in his more animated yet
less energetic guest.
The nobleman seemed charmed with his friend; the
conversation was just to his taste; and when Welford
had supported him up to bed, he shook that person cor-
dially by the hand, and hoped he should soon see him in
very different circumstances. When the Peer's door
was closed on Welford, he stood motionless for some
moments; he then, with a soft step, ascended to his own
chamber. His wife slept soundly; beside the bed was
his infant's cradle. As his eyes fell on the latter, the
rigid irony, now habitual to his features, relaxed, he bent
over the cradle long, and in deep silence. The mother's
face, blended with the sire's, was stamped on the sleep-
ing and cherub countenance before him; and as, at length,
rousing himself from his reverie, he kissed it gently, he
murmured
“When I look on you, I will believe that she once
loved me-Pah!” he said abruptly, and rising,"this
fatherly sentiment for a 's offering is exquisite in
me !" So saying, without glancing towards his wife,
who, disturbed by the loudness of his last words, stirred
uneasily, he left the room, and descended into that where
he had conversed with his guest. He shut the door with
caution, and striding to and fro the humble apartment,
gave vent to thoughts marshalled somewhat in the
broken array in which they now appear to the reader.


154
• PAUL CLIFFORD.
surrender to her not even comprehended; nay, her in-
conveniences,' a dim hearth, I suppose, or a daintyless
table,-compared, ay, absolutely compared with all
which I abandoned for her sake! As if it were not
enough,-had I been a fool, an ambitionless, soulless
fool, the mere thought that I had linked my name to
that of a tradesman-I beg pardon, a retired tradesman !
-as if that knowledge,-a knowledge I would strangle
my whole race, every one who has ever met, seen me,
rather than they should penetrate, were not enough,
when she talks of comparing,'--to make me gnaw the
very flesh from my bones ! No, no, no! Never was
there so bright a turn in my fate, as when this titled
coxcomb with his smooth voice and gaudy fripperies
came hither! I will make her the tool to carve me out
of this cavern wherein she has plunged me. I will
foment my Lord's' passion, till. my Lord' thinks the
passion,'-(a butterfly's passion !)-worth any price. I
will then make my own terms-bind my Lord to secrecy,
and get rid of my wife, my shame, and the solicitorship
of Mr. Welford for ever. Bright, bright prospects! let
me shut my eyes to enjoy you! But softly, my noble
friend calls himself a man of the world, skilled in
human nature, and a derider of its prejudices; true
enough, in his own little way-thanks not to enlarged
views, but a vicious experience--so he is! The book
of the world is a vast miscellany; he is perfectly well
acquainted, doubtless, with those pages that treat of the
fashions,-profoundly versed, I warrant, in the Magasin
des Modes tacked to the end of the index. But shall I,
even with all the mastership which my mind must exer-
cise over his,-shall I be able utterly to free myself in
this Peer of the world's' mind from a degrading re-
membrance ? Cuckold, cuckold, 't is an ugly word; a
convenient, willing cuckold, humph!-there is no gran-
deur, no philosophical varnish in the phrase. Let me
see-yes! I have a remedy for all that. I was married
privately,-well! under disguised names,-well ! it was
a stolen marriage, far from her town,-well! witnesses
unknown to her,-well! proofs easily secured to my
possession, -excellent! the fool shall believe it a forged
marriage, an ingenious gallantry of mine; I will wash
out the stain cuckold, with the water of another word;
I will make market of a mistress, not a wife. I will
warn him not to acquaint her with this secret : let me


PAUL CLIFFORD.
155
consider for what reason,-oh! my son's legitimacy may
be convenient to me hereafter. He will understand
that reason, and I will have his “honour' thereon. And,
by-the-way, I do care for that legitimacy, and will guard
the proofs; I love my child,-ambitious men do love
their children; I may become a lord myself, and may
wish for a lord to succeed me: and that son is mine;
thänk Heaven! I am sure on that point,—the only child
too that ever shall arise to me. Never, I swear, will I
again put myself beyond my own power! All my
nature, save one passion, I have hitherto mastered, that
passion shall henceforth be my slave, my only thought
be ambition, my only desire the world !”
As thus terminated the reverie of a man whom the
social circumstances of the world were calculated, as if
by system, to render eminently and basely wicked,
Welford slowly ascended the stairs, and re-entered his
chamber,--his wife was still sleeping; her beauty was of
the fair and girlish and harmonized order, which lovers
and poets would express by the word “angelic," and as
Welford looked upon her face, hushed and almost hal-
lowed by slumber, a certain weakness and irresolution
might have been discernible in the strong lines of his
haughty features. At that moment, as if for ever to de-
stroy the return of hope or virtue to either, her lips
moved, they'uttered one word, it was the name of Wel-
ford's courtly guest. '
About three weeks from that evening, Mrs. Welford
eloped with the young nobleman, and on the morn-
ing following that event, the distracted husband with his
child disappeared for ever from the town of — From
that day, no tidings whatsoever respecting him ever
reached the titillated ears of his anxious neighbours; and
doubt, curiosity, discussion, gradually settled into the
belief that his despair had hurried him into suicide.
Although the unfortunate Mrs. Welford was in reality
of a light and frivolous turn, and, above all, susceptible
to personal vanity, she was not without ardent affections
and keen sensibilities. Her marriage had been one of
love, that is to say, on her part, the ordinary love of
girls, who love not through actual and natural feeling, so
much as a forced predisposition. Her choice had fallen
on one superior to herself in birth, and far above all in
person and address whom she had habitually met.
Thus her vanity had assisted her affection, and some


156
PAUL CHAFFORD.
thing strange and eccentric in the temper and mind of
Welford, had, though at tirnes it aroused her fear, greatly
contributed to infame her imagination. Then, too,
though an uncourtly, he had been a passionate and a ro-
mantic lover. She was sensible that he gave up for her
much that he had previously conceived necessary to his
existence; and she stopped not to inquire how far this
devotion was likely to last, or what conduct on her part
might best perpetuate the feelings from which it sprung.
She had eloped with him. She had consented to a pri-
vate marriage. She had passed one happy inonth, and
then delusion vanished! Mrs. Welford was not a wo-
man who could give to reality, or find in it, the charm
equal to delusion. She was perfectly unable to compre-
hend the intricate and dangerous character of her hus-
band. She had not the key to his virtues, or the spell
for his vices. Nor was the state to which poverty com-
pelled them, one well calculated for that tender medita.
tion, heightened by absence and cherished in indolence,
which so often supplies one who loves with the secret to
the nature of the one beloved. Though not equal to her
husband in birth or early prospects, Mrs. Welford had
been accustomed to certain comforts, often more felt by
those who belong to the inferior classes than by those
appertaining to the more elevated, who, in losing one
luxury, will often cheerfully surrender all. A fine lady
can submit to more hardships than her woman; and
every gentleman who travels, smiles at the privations
which agonize his valet. Poverty, and its grim com-
rades, made way for a whole host of petty irritations
and peevish complaints; and as no guest or visiter ever
relieved the domestic discontent, or broke on the do-
mestic bickering, they generally ended in that moody
sullenness which so often finds love a grave in' repent.
ance. Nothing makes people tire of each other, like a
familiarity that admits of carelessness in quarrelling, and
coarseness in complaining. The biting sneer of Wel.
ford gave acrimony to the murmur of his wife; and
when once each conceived the other the injurer, or him
or herself the wronged, it was vain to hope that one
would be more wary, or the other more indulgent.
They both exacted too much, and the wife in especial
conceded too little. Mrs. Welford was altogether and
emphatically what a libertine calls"a woman,”_suck
as a frivolous education makes a wornun.-generous in


PAUL CLIFFORD.
great things, petty in small, vain, irritable, full of the
littleness of herself and her complaints, ready to plunge
into an abyss with her lover, but equally ready to fret
away all love with reproaches when the plunge had been
made. Of all men, Welford could bear this the least.
A woman of a larger heart, a more settled experience,
and an intellect capable of appreciating his character,
and sounding all his qualities, might have made him
perhaps a useful and a great man; and at least her
lover for life. Amid a harvest of evil feelings, the mere
strength of his nature rendered him especially capable
of intense feeling and generous emotion. One who re-
lied on him was safe, one who rebelled against him,
trusted only to the caprice of his scorn. Still, however,
for two years, love, though weakening with each hour,
fought on in either breast, and could scarcely be said to
be entirely vanquished in the wife, even when she eloped
with her handsome seducer. A French writer has said,
pithily enough, “ Compare for a moment the apathy of
a husband with the attention, the gallantry, the adoration
of a lover, and can you ask the result?" He was a
French writer; but Mrs. Welford had in her temper much
of the French woman. A suffering patient, young,
handsome, well versed in the arts of intrigue, contrasted
with a gioomy husband whom she had never compre-
hended, long feared, and had lately doubted if she dis-
liked ;-ah! a much weaker contrast has made many a
much better woman food for the lawyers! Mrs. Wel-
ford eloped; but she felt a revived tenderness for her
husband on the very morning that she did so. She car-
ried away with her his letters of love as well as her own,
which when they first married she had, in an hour of
fondness, collected together—then an inestimable hoard!
-and never did her new lover receive from her beautiful
sips half so passionate a kiss as she left on the cheek of
her infant. For some months she enjoyed with her para-
mour all for which she had sighed in her home. The
one for whom she had forsaken her legitimate ties, was
a person so habitually cheerful, courteous, and what is
ordinarily termed good-natured (though he had in him
as much of the essence of selfishness as any nobleman
can decently have), that he continued gallant to her with-
out an effort, long after he had begun to think it possible
o tire even of so lovely a face. Yet there were mo-
nents when the fickle wife recalled her husband with


158
PAUL CLIFFORD.
regret; and, contrasting him with her seducer, did not
find all the colourings of the contrast flattering to the
latter. There is something in a powerful and marked
character, which women, and all weak natures, feel
themselves constrained to respect; and Welford's cha-
racter thus stood in bold, and therefore advantageous,
though gloomy, relief when opposed to the levities and
foibles of this guilty woman's present adorer. However
this be, the die was cast; and it would have been policy
for the lady to have made the best of her present game.
But she who had murmured as a wife, was not com-
plaisant as a mistress. Reproaches made an interlude
to caresses, which the noble lover by no means admired.
He was not a man to retort, he was too indolent; but
neither was he one to forbear. “My charming friend,"
said he one day, after a scene, “you weary of me,-
nothing more natural! Why torment each other? You
say I have ruined you; my sweet friend, let me make
you reparation-become independent; I will settle an
annuity upon you; fly me-seek happiness elsewhere,
and leave your unfortunate, your despairing lover to his
fate.”
“Do you taunt me, my Lord ?" cried the angry fair;
“ or do you believe that money can replace the rights of
which you have robbed me!--can you make me again a
wife--a happy, a respected wife? Do this, my Lord, and
you atone to me!"
The nobleman smiled and shrugged his shoulders. The
lady yet more angrily repeated her question. The lover
answered by an inuendo, which at once astonished and
doubly enraged her. She eagerly demanded explana-
tion; and his Lordship, who had gone farther than he
intended, left the room. But his words had sunk deep
into the breast of this unhappy woman, and she resolved
to procure an elucidation. Agreeably to the policy which
stripped the fabled traveller of his cloak, she laid aside
the storm, and preferred the sunshine: she watched a
moment of tenderness, turned the opportunity to advan-
tage, and by little and little, she possessed herself of a
secret which sickened her with shame, disgust, and dis-
may. Sold! bartered! the object of a contemptuous
huxtering to the purchaser and the seller; sold, too, with
a lie that debased her at once into an object for whom
even pity was mixed with scorn. Robbed already of the
name and honour of a wife, and transferred, as a harlot,


169
PAUL CLIFFORD.
men, as he strode onward to public reputation. He had
reassumed his hereditary name; his early history was
unknown; and no one in the obscure and distant town
of had ever guessed that the humble Welford was
the William Brandon whose praise was echoed in so
many journals, and whose rising genius was acknow.
ledged by all. That asperity, roughness, and gloom,
which had noted him at — , and which, being natural to
him, he deigned not to disguise in a station ungenial to
his talents and below his hopes, were now glitteringly
varnished over by an hypocrisy well calculated to aid his
ambition. So learnedly could this singular man fit him.
self to others, that few among the great met him as a
companion, nor leſt him without the temper tu become
his friend. Through his noble rival, that is-(to make
our reader's surety doubly sure')-through Lord Mau-
leverer, he had acquired his first lucrative office, a cer.
tain patronage from government, and his seat in parlia.
ment. If he had persevered at the Bar, rather than given
himself entirely to state intrigues, it was only because his
talents were eminently more calculated to advance him
in the former path to honour, than in the latter. So de.
voted was he become to public life, that he had only per.
mitted himself to cherish one private source of enjoy.
ment,--his son. As no one, not even his brother, knew
he had been married,--(during the two years of his dis-
guised name, he had been supposed abroad,—the ap-
pearance of this son made the only piece of scandal whis.
pered against the rigid morality of his fair fame; but he
himself, waiting his own time for avowing a legitimate
heir, gave out that it was the orphan child of a dear
friend whom he had known abroad; and the Puritan de-
mnureness not only of life, but manner, which he assumed,
gained a pretty large belief to the statement. This son
Brandon idolized. As we have represented himself
to say,-ambitious men are commonly fond of their
children, beyond the fondness of other sires. The per.
petual reference the ambitious make to posterity, is per-
haps the main reason. But Brandon was also fond of
children generally, philoprogenitiveness was a marked
trait in his character, and would seem to belie the hard.
ness and artifice belonging to that character, were not
the same love so frequently noticeable in the harsh and
the artificial. It seems as if a half-conscious but pleasing
feeling, that they too were once gentle and innocent, make


PAUL CLIFFORD.
163
by ruffians, the wild and solemn voice (sharpened by pas-
sion and partial madness) of the ghastly figure before
him curdling through his veins, even the haughty and
daring character of William Brandon quailed! He ut.
tered not a word. He was found the next morning, bound
by strong cords to his bed. He spoke not when he was
released, but went in silence to his child's chamber;
the child was gone! Several articles of property were
also stolen: the desperate tools the mother had employed
worked not perhaps without their own reward.
We need scarcely add, that Brandon set every engine
and channel of justice in motion for the discovery of his
son. All the especial shrewdness and keenness of his
own character, aided by his professional experience, he
employed for years in the same pursuit. Every research
was wholly in vain : not the remotest vestige towards
discovery could be traced, until were found (we have re-
corded when) some of the articles that had been stolen.
Fate treasured in her gloomy womb, altogether unde-
scried by man, the hour and the scene in which the most
ardent wish of William Brandon was to be realized.
CHAPTER XVI.
O Fortuna, viris invida fortibus
Quam non æqua bonis præmia dividis.
SENECA.
And as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue,
Pants to the place from whence at first he flew.
Here, to the houseless child of want,
My door is open still.
GOLDSMITH.
SLOWLY, for Lucy, waned the weeks of a winter,
which, to her, was the most dreary portion of life she
Į had ever passed. It became the time for the Judge to
attend one of those periodical visitations so fraught with
1 dread and dismay to the miserable inmates of the dark
abodes which the complex laws of this country so boun-
teously supply—those times of great hilarity and eating
to the legal gentry,


164
PAUL CLIFFORD.
« Who feed on crime and fatten on distress,
And wring vile mirth from suffering's last excess."
u, proceeded with
Ah! excellent order of the world, which it is so wicked
to disturb! How miraculously beautiful must be mad
system which makes wine out of the scorching tears
guilt; and from the suffocating suspense, the agoni
fear, the compelled and self-mocking bravery, the au
sentence, the despairing death-pang of one man,
nishes the smirking expectation of fees, the joy
meeting, and the mercenary holyday to another!
law, nothing less can be said, than that her seat 18.
bosom of God."* To be sure not, Richard Hooker, en
are perfectly right. The divinity of a sessions, and
inspiration of the Old Bailey, are undeniable !
The care of Sir William Brandon had effectually ke
from Lucy's ear the knowledge of her lover's igno,
nious situation. Indeed, in her delicate health, even
hard eye of Brandon, and the thoughtless glance
Mauleverer, perceived the danger of such a disc
The Earl now waiting the main attack on Lucy;!,
curtain had for ever dropped on Clifford, proceed
great caution and delicacy in his suit to his pur
bride. He waited with the more patience, ina
he had drawn in advance on his friend Sir Wi
some portion of the heiress's fortune; and.
allowed that he could not, in the mean while
better advocate than he found in Brandon.
sive, indeed, and so subtle was the eloquence
sophist, that often, in his artful conversations
niece, he left even on the unvitiated and strong,
simple, mind of Lucy an easy and restless 1!
which time might have ripened into an .
towards the worldly advantages of the marria
command. Brandon was no bungling media to
persecutor. He seemed to acquiesce in her 10
Mauleverer. He scarcely recurred to the
rarely praised the Earl himself, save for
qualities of liveliness and good-nature. B1
with all the vivid colours he could infuse at
words, of the pleasures and the duties o
wealth. Well could he appeal alike to all the
and all the foibles of the human breast 2
virtue through its weaknesses. Lucy had be
e patience, inasmuch as
fortune; and he readily
mean while, have a
Brandon. So persua.
loquence of this able
ersations with his
strong, though
a restless impression,
into an inclination
marriage at her
mediator or violent
a her rejection of
the event. He
ave for the obvious
ture. But he spoke
Ise at w ill into his
ities o f rank and
I the prejudices
ast, and govem
had been brought
* Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity..


166
PAUL CLIFFORD.
answer you punctually. Take care of yourselt,
sweet niece, and let me see a fresher colour on that
cheek when I return!"
“ Take care of yourself rather, my dear, dear uncie,
said Lucy, clinging to him and weeping, as of late,
weakened nerves caused her to do at the least agitaso
“Why may I not go with you? You have seem
me paler than usual, the last three or four days, and
complained yesterday. Do let me go with you;
be no trouble, none at all; but I am sure you requu
nurse."
“ You want to frighten me, my pretty Lucy, .
Brandon, shaking his head, with a smile. “I am,
very well: I felt a strange rush of blood towards
head yesterday, it is true, but I feel to-day strong
lighter than I have done for years. Once mor
bless you, my child!" And Brandon tore himsel a
and commenced his journey.
The wandering and dramatic course of our store
conducts us to an obscure lane in the metropolis,
to the Thames, and makes us spectators of an a
farewell between two persons, whom the inju
fate, and the persecutions of men, were about po
for ever to divide.
“Adieu, my friend !” said Augustus Tomlinson
stood looking full on that segment of the face o
Pepper, which was left unconcealed by a huge
red belcher handkerchief. Tomlinson hi mse,
tired in the full costume of a dignified.
“Adieu, my friend, since you will remain in
adieu! I ain, I exult to say, no less since
than you. Heaven be my witness, how long
repugnantly on poor Lovett's proposal, to quit!
country. But all hope of life here, is now
really, during the last ten days, I have been
from corner to corner, so plagued with polite
similar to those given by a farmer's wife to
*Dilly, dilly, dilly, come and be killed?” that m y
has been prodigiously cooled, and I no longer
the thoughts of self-banishment. "The ear
Ned, as a Greek sage has very well obse
earth is the same every where ! and if I al
my home, I can point, like Anaxagoras, to H
“ 'Pon my soul, you affect me!” said Ne
thick, either from grief or the pressure of
the metropolis, leading
ctators of an affecting
hom the injustice or
[ the face of Edward
by a huge hat and a
nson himself was at-
I a dignified clergyman.
main in England,
$s sincere a patriot
w long I looked
to quit my beloved
no w over; and
been so hunted
' polite invitations,
ife to her ducks,
at m ypatriotism
longer recoil from
le earth,' my dear
observed, the
Tlam asked for
to H eaven!"
said Ned, speaking
essure of the belcher


168
PAUL CLIFFORD.
piece of ground to be let (as a board proclaimed) upon a
building lease; below, descended the steps which were
to conduct him to the boat; around, the desolate and
houseless space allowed him to see, in far and broad ex-
tent, the spires, and domes, and chimneys of the great
city whose inhabitants he might never plunder more.
As he looked and looked, the tears started to his eyes,
and with a gust of enthusiasm little consonant with his
temperate and philosophical character, he lifted his right
hand from his black breeches-pocket, and burst into the
following farewell to the metropolis of his native shores.
“Farewell, my beloved London, farewell! Where
shall I ever find a city like you? Never, till now, did I
feel how inexpressibly dear you were to me. You have
been my father, and my brother, and my mistress, and
my tailor, and my shoemaker, and my hatter, and my
cook, and my wine merchant! You and I never misun-
derstood each other. I did not grumble when I saw
what fine houses and good strong boxes you gave to
other men. No! I rejoiced at their prosperity. I de-
lighted to see a rich man--my only disappointment was
in stumbling on a poor one. You gave riches to my
neighbours; but, 0 generous London, you gave those
neighbours to me! Magnificent streets, all Christian
virtues abide within you! , Charity is as common as
smoke! Where, in what corner of the habitable world
shall I find human beings with so many superfluities?
where shall I so easily decoy from their benevolent cre.
dulity, those superfluities to myself? God only knows,
my dear, dear, darling London, what I lose in you! 0
public charities -0 public institutions -O Banks that
belie mathematical axioms, and make lots out of nothing!
-O show-rooms where Frenchmen are expected to drink
prussic acid like water!-( merciful spectators, who
pursue the said Frenchmen to coal-holes, if they refuse
to be poisoned !-O ancient constitution always to be
questioned !- modern improvements that never an-
swer!-0 speculations !-0 companies !-0 usury laws
which guard against usurers, by making as many as pos-
sible !--0 churches in which no onę profits, save the
parson, and the old women that let pews of an evening!
-O superb theatres, too small for parks, too enormous
for houses, which exclude comedy and comfort, and
have a monopoly for performing nonsense gigantically!
O houses of plaster built in a day!--0 palaces four


170
PAUL CLIFFORD.
tonous warning; the blanket-skreen, haply innocent of
soap since we last described it, many-storied, poly-hal i
laded, still unfolded its ample leaves “ rich with the spoils
of time.” The spit and the musket yet hung from the
wall in amicable proximation. And the long smooth
form, “ with many a holy text thereon bestrezon," still
afforded rest to the weary traveller, and an object to the
vacant stare of Mrs. Margery Lobkins, as she lolled in
her opposite seat and forgot the world. But poor Piggy
Lob! there was the alteration! The soul of the woman
was gone! The spirit had evaporated from the human
bottle! She sat with open mouth and glassy eye in her
chair, sidling herself to and fro, with the low, peevish
sound of fretful age, and bodily pain, sometimes this
querulous murmur sharpened into a shrill but unmeaning
scold. “ There now, you gallows-bird, you has taken
the swipes without chalking ; you wants to cheat the
poor widow; but I sees you, I does! Providence pro-
tects the aged and the innocent-oh, oh! these twinges
will be the death o' me! Where's Martha ? You jade,
you! you wiperous hussey, bring the tape here, does n't
you see how I suffers? Has you no bowels, to let a
poor Christin cretur perish for want o' help! That's
the way with 'em, that's the way! No one cares for I
now—no one has respect for the gray 'airs of the old !"
And then the voice dwindled into the whimpering “ tenor
of its way.” Martha, a strapping wench, with red hair
streaming over her “hills of snow," was not, however,
inattentive to the wants of her mistress. “Who knows,"
said she to a man who sat by the hearth, drinking tea
out of a blue mug, and toasting with great care two or
three huge rounds of bread, for his own private and es-
pecial nutriment—" who knows,” said she, “what we
may come to ourselves ?" and, so saying, she placed a
glowing tumbler by her mistress's elbow. But in the
sunken prostration of her intellect, the old woman was
insensible even to her consolation : she sipped and drank,
it is true; but, as if the stream warmed not the be-
numbed region through which it passed, she continued
muttering, in a crazed and groaning key, “Is this your
gratitude, you sarpent! why does not you bring the tape
I tells you? Am I of a age to drink water like a oss,
you nasty thing! Oh, to think as ever I should live to
he desarted !"
Inattentive to these murmurs, which she felt unrea.
sonable, the bouncing Martha now quitted the room, to


PAUL CLIFFORD.
171
repair to her “upper household” avocations. The man
at the hearth was the only companion left to the widow.
Gazing at her for a moment, as she sat whining, with a
rude compassion in his eye, and slowly munching his
toast which he had now buttered, and placed in a delf
plate on the hob, this person thus soothingly began-
“Ah, Dame Lobkins, if so be as ow little Paul vas a
vith you, it vould be a gallows comfort to you in your
latter hend!"
The name of Paul made the good woman incline her
head towards the speaker; a ray of consciousness shot
through her bedulled brain.
“ Little Paul, eh, sirs ! where is Paul ? Paul, I say,
my ben-cull. Alack! he's gone-left his poor old nurse
to die like a cat in a cellar. Oh, Dummie! never live
to be old, man! They leaves us to oursels, and then
takes away all the lush with 'em! I has not a drop o'
comfort in the varsal world !”
Dummie, who at this moment had his own reasons for
soothing the dame, and was anxious to make the most
of the opportunity of a conversation as unwitnessed as
the present, replied tenderly; and with a cunning likely
to promote his end, reproached Paul bitterly for never
having informed the dame of his whereabout and his pro-
ceedings. “But come, dame,” he wound up, “ come, I
knows as how he is better nor all that, and that you
need not beat your hold brains io think where he lies, or
vot he's a doing. Blow me tight, mother Lob,-ax
pardon, Mrs. Margery, I should say, if I vould not give
five bob, ay, and five to the tail o' that, to know vot the
poor lad is about; I takes a mortal hinterest in that 'ere
chap !” .
“Oh! oh!" groaned the old woman, on whose palsied
sense the astute inquiries of Dummie Dunnaker fell harm-
less; “ my poor sinful carcass! what a way it be in !"
Artfully again did Dummie Dunnaker, nothing de-
feated, renew his attack; but fortune does not always
favour the wise, and it failed Dummie now, for a twofold
reason: first, because it was not possible for the dame
to comprehend him; secondly, because, even if it had
been, she had nothing to reveal. Some of Clifford's pe-
cuniary gifts had been conveyed anonymously, all with.
out direction or date; and, for the most part, they had
been appropriated by the sage Martha, into whose hands
they fell, to her own private uses. Nor did the dame
H 2


174
PAUL CLIFFORD.
When Dummie had spelt his “toilsome march"
through the first of the above extracts, he turned round
to the tall stranger, and eyeing him with a sort of wink-
ing significance, said
“So, MacGrawler peaches, blows the gaff on his pals,
eh! Vel now, I always suspected that 'ere son of a gun!
Does you know, he used to be at the Mug many's a day,
a teaching our little Paul, and says I to Piggy Lob, says
1. Blow me tight, but that cove is a queer one! and if
he does not come to be scragged,' says I, “it vill only
be because he'll turn a rusty, and scrag one of his pals!
So you sees-(here Dummie looked round and his voice
sank into a whisper) - so you sees, Meester Pepper, I vas
no fool there !"
Long Ned dropped his pipe, and said sourly, and with
a suspicious frown, “ What! you know me?"
: “To be sure and sartain I does," answered little Dum-'
mie, walking to the table where the robber sat. “ Does
not you know I ?"
Ned regarded the interrogator with a sullen glance,
which gradually brightened into knowledge. « Ah !"
said he, with the air of a Brummel, “ Mr. Bummie, or
Dummie, I think, eh! Shake a paw-I'm glad to see
you-Recollect the last time I saw you, you rather af-
fronted me. Never mind. I dare say you did not mean
it."
Encouraged by this affable reception from the high-
wayman, though a little embarrassed by Ned's allusion
to former conduct on his part, which he felt was just,
Dummie grinned, pushed a stool near Ned, sat himself
down, and carefully avoiding any immediate answer to
Ned's complaint, he rejoined:
“Do you know, Meester Pepper, you struck I all of a
heap. I could not have sposed as how you'd condescend
now-a-days to come to the Mug, vhere I never seed you
but vonce before. Lord love ye, they says as 'ow you
go to all the fine places in ruffes, with a pair of silver
pops in your vaistcoat pocket! Vy, the boys hereabouts
say, that you and Meester Tomlinson, and this 'ere poor
devil in quod, vere the finest gemmen in town; and
Lord, for to think of your ciwility to a pitiful rag mer-
chant, like I!”
“Ah!” said Ned, gravely, “there are sad principles
afloat now. They want to do away with all distinctions
in ranks, --to make a duke no better than his valet, and


PAUL CLIFFORD.
175
a gentleman highwayman class with a filcher of fogles.*
But, dammee if I don't think misfortune levels us all
quite enough: and misfortune brings me here, little
Dummie!".
“Ah! you vants to keep out of the way of the bu)-
kies !”
“Right. Since poor Lovett was laid by the heels,
which I must say was the fault of his own deuced gen-
tlemanlike behaviour to me and Augustus (you've heard
of Guz, you say), the knot of us seems quite broken.
One's own friends look inclined to play one false ; and
really, the queer cuffins hover so sharply upon us, that I
thought it safe to duck for a time. So I have taken a
lodging in a cellar, and I intend for the next three months
to board at the Mug.' l have heard that I may be sure
of lying snug here :-Dummie, your health! Give us to
the baccy !"
“I say, Meester Pepper," said Dummie, clearing his
throat, when he had obeyed the request, “ can you tell I,
if so be you has met in your travels our little Paul ?
Poor chap! You knows as ow and vy he has sent to
quod by Justice Burnflat. Vel, ven he got out, he vent
to the devil, or summut like it, and ve have not eard a vord
of him since. You members the lada nation fine cull,
tall and strait as a harrow!”
“ Why, you fool,” said Ned,“ do n't you know,”-then
checking himself suddenly,—“ah! by-the-by, that rig.
marole oath !-I was not to tell; though now it's past
caring for, I fear! It is no use looking after the seal
when the letter's burnt.”
“ Blow me,” cried Dunnaker, with unaffected veho-
mence, “I sees as ow you know vots come of he!
Many's the good turn I'll do you, if you vill but tell 1."
“ Why, does he owe you a dozen bobs ;t or what, Dum-
mie ?” said Ned.
“ Not he—not he," cried Dummie.
" What then, you want to do him a mischief of some
sort ?"
“ Do little Paul a mischief !” ejaculated Dummie; “ vy
I've known the cull ever since he vas that high! No,
but I vants to do him a great sarvice, Meester Pepper,
and myself too,--and you to boot, for aught that I know,
Meester Pepper.”
“Humph!" said Ned; “humph! what do you mean?
* Pickpocket.
* Shillings


176
PAUL CLIFFORD.
I do, it is true, know where Paul is ; but you must tell
me first, why you wish to know, otherwise you may ask
your grandfather for me."
A long, sharp, wistful survey did Mr. Dummie Dunna-
ker cast around him before he rejoined. All seemed
safe and convenient for confidential communication.
The supine features of Mrs. Lobkins were hushed in a
drowsy stupor: even the gray cat that lay by the fire
was curled in the embrace of Morpheus. Nevertheless,
it was in a close whisper that Dummie spoke.
“ I dares be bound, Meester Pepper, that you members
vell ven Harry Cook, the great Highvayman,-poor fel-
low ! he's gone vhere ve must all go,-brought you, then
quite a gossoon,* for the first time, to the little back par-
lour, at the Cock and Hen, Dewereux Court."
Ned nodded assent.
“And you members as how I met Harry and you there,
and I vas all afeared at you-cause vy? I had never
seen you afore, and ve vas a going to crack a swell's crib.
And Harry spoke up for you, and said as ow, though you
had just gone on the town, you vas already prime up to
gammon :-you members, eh ?"
“Ay, I remember all,” said Ned: “it was the first and
only house I ever had a hand in breaking into. Harry
was a fellow of low habits, so I dropped his acquaintance,
and took solely to the road, or a chance ingenuity now
and then. I have no idea of a gentleman turning cracks-
man."I
“ Vel, so you vent with us, and we slipped you through
a pane ir: the kitchen-vindow. You vas the least of us,
big as you be now; and you vent round, and opened the
door for us; and ven you had opened the door, you saw
a voman had joined us, and you vere funked then, and
stayed vithout the crib; to keep vatch vile ve vent in.”
« Well, well,” cried Ned, “ what the devil has all this
rigmarole got to do with Paul ?"
“ Now do n't be glimflashey, but let me go on smack
right about. Vel, vhen ve came out, you minds as ow
the voman had a bundle in her arms, and you spake to
her; and she answered you roughly, and left us all, and
* The reader has probably observed the use made by Dummie and Mrs.
Lobkins of Irish phraseology or pronunciation. This is a remarkable trait in
the dialect of the lowest orders in London, owing, we su pose, to their con-
stant association with einigrants from “the first flower of the earth." Per-
haps it is a modish affectation among the gentry of St. Giles's, just as we eke
out our mother-tongue with French at Mayfair.
Break into a gentleman's house
Burglar,


PAUL CLIFFORD.
177
vent straight home; and ve vent and fenced the swag*
that wery night, and afterward napped the regulars.
And sure you made us laugh artily, Meester Pepper,
vhen you said, says you, “That 'ere voman is a rum
blowen! So she vas, Meester Pepper!"
“Oh spare me,” said Ned, affectedly, “and make
haste; you keep me all in the dark. By-the-way, I re.
member that you juked me about the bundle ; and when
I asked what the woman had wrapped in it, you swore
it was a child. Rather more likely that the girl, who-
ever she was, would have left a child behind her, than
carried one off!” The face of Dummie waxed big with
conscious importance.
“ Vell now, you vould not believe us ; but it vas all
true ; that 'ere bundle vas the voman's child, I spose an
unnatural von by the gemman: she let us into the ouse
on condition ve helped her off vith it. And, blow me
tight but ve paid ourselves vel for our trouble. That
'ere voman vas a strange cretur; they say she had been
a Lord's blowen; but howsomever, she vas as ot-eaded
and hodd as if she ad been. There vas hold Nick's row
made on the matter, and the revard for our (de)tection
vas so great, that as you vas not much tried yet, Harry
thought it best for to take you vith im down to the coun-
try, and told you as ow it vas all a flam about the child
in the bundle !"
“Faith,” said Ned, “I believed him readily enough;
and poor Harry was twisted shortly after, and I went
into Ireland for safety, where I stayed two years,-and
deuced good claret I got there !”
“ So vhiles you vas there," continued Dummie, “poor
Judy, the voman, died, -she died in this wery house,
and left the horphan to the (af)fection of Piggy Lob, who
was nation fond of it surely! Oh! but I members vot,
a night it vas vhen poor Judy died; the vind vhistled
like mad, and the rain tumbled about as if it had got a
holyday; and there the poor creature lay raving just over
ed of this room we sits in! Laus-a-me, vat a sight it vas!"
Here Dummie paused, and seemed to recall in imagi-
nation the scene he had witnessed; but over the mind
of Long Ned a ray of light broke slowly.
“ Whew !” said he, lifting up his fore-finger, “ whew !
I smell a rat; this stolen child, then, was no other than
Paul; but, pray, to whom did the house belong? for that
* Sold the booty.
| Took our shares.
H 3


178
PAUL CLIFFORD.
fact Harry never communicated to me. I only heard
the owner was a lawyer, or parson, or some such thing!”
“ Vy now, I 'll tell you, but do n't be glimflashey.--
So, you see, ven Judy died, and Harry vas scragged, I
vas the only von living who vas up to the secret; and
vhen Mother Lob vas a taking a drop to comfort her
vhen Judy vent off, I hopens a great box in which poor
Judy kept her duds and rattletraps, and surely I finds at
the bottom of the box hever so many letters and sich
like, for I knew as ow they vas there; so I vhips these
off and carries 'em ome with me, and soon arter, Mother
Lob sold me the box o' duds for two quids_'cause vy?
I vas a rag merchant! So now, I 'solved, since the
secret vas all in my hown keeping, to keep it as tight as
vinkey! for first, you sees as ow I vas afeard I should
be hanged if I vent for to tell,-'cause vy? I stole a
vatch, and lots more, as vell as the hurchin! and next, I
vas afeard as ow the mother might come back and haunt
me the same as Sall haunted Villy, for it vas a orrid
night vhen her soul took ving. And hover and above
this, Meester Pepper, I thought summut might turn hup
by and by, in which it vould be best for I to keep my
hown counsel and nab the revard, if I hever durst make
myself known.”
Here Dummie proceeded to narrate how frightened
he had been lest Ned should discover all; when (as it
may be remembered, Pepper informed Paul at the
beginning of this history) he encountered that worthy
at Dame Lobkin's house, how this fear had induced
him to testify to Pepper that coldness and rudeness
which had so enraged the haughty highwayman, and
how great had been his relief and delight at finding that
Ned returned to the Mug no more. He next proceeded
to inform his new confidant of his meeting with the
father (the sagacious reader knows where and when),
and of what took place at that event. He said how, in
his first negotiation with the father, prudently resolving
to communicate drop by drop such information as he
possessed, he merely, besides confessing to a share in
the robbery, stated that he thought he knew the house,
&c., to which the infant had been consigned, and that
if so, it was still alive; but that he would inquire. He
then related how the sanguine father, who saw that
hanging Dummie for the robbery of his house might not
be half so likely a method to recover his son as bribery
and conciliation, not only forgave him his former outrage


PAUL CLIFFORD.
179
but whetted his appetite to the search by rewarding him
for his disclosure. He then proceeded to state how,
unable any where to find Paul, or any trace of him, he
amused the sire from time to time with forged excuses;
how, at first, the sums he received made him by no
means desirous to expedite a discovery that would ter-
minate such satisfactory receipts;-how at length the
magnitude of the proffered reward, joined to the threats
of the sire, had made him become seriously anxious to
learn the real fate and present “ whereabout” of Paul ;-
how, the last time he had seen the father, he had, by
way of propitiation and first fruit, taken to him all the
papers left by the unhappy mother and secreted by him-
self; and how he was now delighted to find that Ned
was acquainted with Paul's address. Since he despaired
of finding Paul by his own exertions alone, he became
less tenacious of his secret, and he now proffered Ned,
on discovery of Paul, a third of that reward the whole
of which he had once hoped to engress.
Ned's eyes and mouth opened at this proposition.
“ But the name,-the name of the father? you have not
told me that yet !" cried he, impatiently.
“ Noa, noa!” said Dummie, archly, “I doesn't tell you
all, till you tells I summut. Vhere's little Paul, I say;
and vhere be us to get at him ?”
Ned heaved a sigh.
“ As for the oath,” said he, musingly, “it would be a
sin to keep it, now that to break it can do him no harm,
and may do him good! especially as, in case of imprison-
ment or death, the oath is not held to be binding; yet I
fear it is too late for the reward. The father will
scarcely thank you for finding his son !--Know, Dummie,
that Paul is in jail, and that he is one and the same
person as Captain Lovett!"
Astonishment never wrote in more legible characters
than she now displayed on the rough features of Dummie
Dunnaker. So strong are the sympathies of a profession
compared with all others, that Dummie's first, confused
thought was that of pride. “ The great Captain Lovett!"
he faltered. “ Little Paul at the top of the profession!
Lord, Lord !-I always said as how he'd the hambition
to rise !"
“ Well, well, but the father's name ?"
At this question, the expression of Dummie's face
fell,--a sudden horror struggled to his eyes-


PAUL CLIFFORD,
181
and relieved the unpopulated and, as it were, desolate
comfort of the apartment,
Pale and imperfectly streamed the light upon Bran-
don's face, as he sat in his large chair, leaning his cheek
on one hand, and gazing with the unconscious earnest-
ness of abstraction on the clear fire. At that moment, a
whole phalanx of gloomy thought was sweeping in suc.
cessive array across his mind. His early ambition, his
ill-omened marriage, the causes of his after-rise in the
wrong-judging world, the first dawn of his reputation,
his rapid and flattering successes, his present elevation,
his aspiring hope of far higher office, and more patrician
honours—all these phantoms passed before him in check-
ered shadow and light: but ever with each stalked one
disquieting and dark remembrance the loss of his only
son.
Weaving his ambition with the wish to revive the
pride of his hereditary name, every acquisition of fortune
or of fame rendered him yet more anxious to find the
only one who could perpetuate these hollow distinctions
to his race.
“I shall recover him yet!” he broke out, suddenly and
aloud. As he spoke, a quick, darting, spasmodic pain
ran shivering through his whole frame, and then fixed
for one instant on his heart with a gripe like the talons
of a bird : it passed away, and was followed by a deadly
sickness. Brandon rose, and filling himself a large
tumbler of water, drank with avidity. The sickness
passed off like the preceding pain; but the sensation
had, of late, been often felt by Brandon, and disregarded,
for few persons were less afflicted with the self-torture
of hypochondria; but now, that night, whether it was
more keen than usual, or whether his thought had
touched on the string that jars naturally on the most
startling of human anticipations, we know not, but, as
he resumed his seat, the idea of his approaching dissolu-
tion shot like an icebolt through his breast.
So intent was this scheming man upon the living ob-
jects of the world, and so little were his thoughts accus-
tomed to turn towards the ultimate goal of all things,
that this idea obtruding itself abruptly on him, startled
him with a ghastly awe. He felt the colour rush from
his cheek, and a tingling and involuntary pain ran wan.
dering through the channels of his blood, even from the
roots of the hair to the soles of his feet. But the stern


184
PAUL CLIFFORD.
place of — , and looked on the murmuring and
heaving sea of mortality below. Oh! the sight of a
crowd round a court of law, or a gibbet, ought to make
the devil split himself with laughter.
While the mob was fretting, and pushing, and swearing,
and grinning, and betting, and picking pockets, and tram-
pling feet, and tearing gowns, and scrambling nearer and
nearer to the doors and windows of the court, Brandon
was slowly concluding his abstemious repast preparatory
to attendance on his judicial duties. His footman en-
tered with a letter. Sir William glanced rapidly over the
seal (one of those immense sacrifices of wax used at
that day), adorned with a huge coat of arms, surmounted
with an Earl's coronet, and decorated on either side with
those supporters so dear to heraldic taste. He then tore
open the letter, and read as follows:
“MY DEAR SIR,
“ You know, that in the last conversation I had the
honour to hold with you, I alluded, though perhaps some-
what distantly, to the esteem which His Majesty had per.
sonally expressed for your principles and talents; and
his wish to testify it at the earliest opportunity. I am
most happy to think I have it in my power to offer you,
by command of His Majesty, such a situation in the Cabi-
net, as will be worthy of your reputation and genius.
· Mr.
has just tendered his resignation of the of.
fice of Chancellor of the Exchequer, and I lose not a
moment in requesting you to supply the place thus va.
cated. You will remember, my dear Sir William, that it
is an office that has before been auspiciously, though too
briefly, filled by an ornament of your profession; "your
principles, your loyalty, and your talents—these are His
Majesty's own words, make you a worthy successor
of the great Lord Mansfield.” There will be, as you are
doubtless aware, an immediate creation of four peerages.
Your name stands second on the list. The choice of title His
Majesty graciously leaves to you; but he has hinted, that
the respectable antiquity of your family would make him
best pleased, were you to select the name of your own
family-seat, which, if I mistake not, is Warlock. You
will instruct me at your leisure as to the manner in
which the patent should be made out, touching the suc-
cession, &c. Perhaps (excuse the license of an old


PAUL CLIFFORD.
185
friend) this event may induce you to forsake your longa
cherished celibacy.
With great consideration,
“ Believe me, my dear Sir,
66 Very truly yours,
“(Private and confidential.)”
Brandon's dark eye glanced quickly from the signa-.
ture of the Premier, affixed to this communication, to-
wards the mirror opposite him. He strode to it, and
examined his own countenance with a long and wistful
gazé. Never, we think, did youthful gallant about to re-
pair to the trysting spot, in which fair looks make the
greatest of earthly advantages, gaze more anxiously on
the impartial glass, than now did the ascetic and scorn-
ful Judge ; and never, we ween, did the eye of the said
gallant retire with a more satisfied and triumphant ex-
pression.
“Yes, yes!” muttered the Judge, “no sign of infirm.
ity is yet written here: the blood flows clear and warm
enough, the cheek looks firm, too, and passing full, for
one who was always of the lean kind. Aha! this letter
is a cordial, an elixir vitæ. I feel as if a new lease
were granted to the reluctant tenant. Lord Warlock,
the first Baron of Warlock,Chancellor of the Exche-
quer. Why not the Woolsack ?"
As he spoke, he strode unconsciously away; folding
his arms, with that sort of joyous and complacent gesture
which implies the idea of a man hugging himself in a
silent delight. Assuredly, had the most skilful phy-
sician then looked upon the ardent and all-lighted face,
the firm step, the elastic and muscular frame, the vigor-
ous air of Brandon, as he mentally continued his solilo-
quy, he would have predicted for him as fair a grasp on
longevity, as the chances of mortal life will allow. He
was interrupted by the servant entering.
“It is twenty-five minutes after nine, sir,” said he, re-
spectfully.
** Sir,-Sir!? repeated Brandon.. " Ah, well! so late!".
“ Yes, sir, and the Sheriff's carriage is almost at the
door.”
“Humph, Minister, Peer,—Warlock,succession.
-My son, my son !--would to God that I could find
thee!”


186
PAUL CLIFFORD.
Such were Brandon's last thoughts as he left the room.
It was with great difficulty, so dense was the crowd,
that the Judge drove up to the court. As the carriage
slowly passed, the spectators pressed to the windows of
the vehicle, and stood on tiptoe to catch a view of the
celebrated lawyer. Brandon's face, never long indica-
tive of his feelings, had now settled into its usual gra-
vity, and the severe loftiness of his look chilled, while it
satisfied, the curiosity of the vulgar. It had been or-
dered, that no person should be admitted until the Judge
had taken his seat on the bench; and this order occa-
sioned so much delay, owing to the accumulated pres-
sure of the vast and miscellaneous group, that it was
more than half an hour before the Court was able to ob-
tain that decent order suiting the solemnity of the occa.
sion. At five minutes before ten, a universal and inde-
scribable movement announced that the prisoner was
put to the bar. We read in one of the journals of that
day, that “ on being put to the bar, the prisoner looked
round with a long and anxious gaze, which at length
settled on the Judge, and then dropped, while the pri-
soner was observed to change countenance slightly.
Lovett was dressed in a plain dark suit; he seemed to
be about six feet high; and, though thin and worn, pro-
bably from the effect of his wound and imprisonment,
he is remarkably well made, and exhibits the outward
appearance of that great personal strength which he is
said to possess, and which is not unfrequently the cha-
racteristic of daring criminals. His face is handsome
and prepossessing, his eyes and hair dark, and his com-
plexion pale, possibly from the effects of his confine-
ment; there was a certain sternness in his countenance
during the greater part of the trial. His behaviour was
remarkably collected and composed. The prisoner lis-
tened with the greatest attention to the indictment,
which the reader will find in another part of our paper,
charging him with the highway robbery of Lord Maule-
yerer, on the night of the — of — last. He occa-
sionally inclined his body forward, and turned his ear
towards the Court; and he was observed, as the Jury
were sworn, to look steadily in the face of each. He
breathed thick and hard when the various aliases he had
assumed, Howard, Cavendish, Jackson, &c. were read;
but smiled, with an unaccountable expression, when the
list was completed, as if exúlting at the varieties of his


PAUL CLIFFORD.
187
ingenuity. At twenty-five minutes past ten, Mr. Dye-
bright, the Counsel for the Crown, stated the case to the
Jury."
Mr. Dyebright was a lawyer of great eminence; he,
had been a Whig all his life, but had latterly become
remarkable for his insincerity, and subservience to the
wishes of the higher powers. His talents were peculiar
and effective. If he had little eloquence, he had much
power; and his legal knowledge was sound and exten-
sive. Many of his brethren excelled him in display;
but no one, like him, possessed the secret of addressing
a jury. Winningly familiar, seemingly candid to a de-
gree that scarcely did justice to his cause, as if he were
in an agony lest he should persuade you to lean a hair-
breadth more on his side of the case than justice would
allow; apparently all made up of good, homely, virtuous
feeling; a disinterested regard for truth; a blunt yet
tender honesty, seasoned with a few amiable fireside
prejudices, which always come home to the hearts of
your fathers of families and thorough-bred Britons;
versed in all the niceties of language, and the magic of
names; if he were defending crime, carefully calling it
misfortune; if attacking misfortune, constantly calling
it crime; Mr. Dyebright was exactly the man born to
pervert justice, to tickle jurors, to cozen truth with a
friendly smile, and to obtain a vast reputation as an ex-
cellent advocate. He began by a long preliminary
flourish on the importance of the case. He said that he
should, with the most scrupulous delicacy, avoid every
remark calculated to raise unnecessary prejudice against
the prisoner. He should not allude to his unhappy noto-
riety, his associations with the lowest dregs.-(Here up
jumped the Counsel for the prisoner, and Mr. Dyebright
was called to order.)"God knows,” resumed the
learned gentleman, looking wistfully at the Jury, " that
my learned friend might have spared himself this warn-
ing. God knows, that I would rather fifty of the wretched
inmates of this county jail were to escape unharmed,
than that a hair of the prisoner you behold at the bar
should be unjustly touched. The life of a human being
is at stake; we should be guilty ourselves of a crime,
which on our death-beds we should tremble to recall,
were we to suffer any consideration, whether of interest
or of prejudice, or of undue fear for our own properties
and lives, to bias us even to the turning of a straw


PAUL CLIFFORD.
189
since their rescue by the prisoner, and boasted of the
robbery he had just committed; that in the clothes and
sleeping apartment of the robber, the articles stolen from
Lord Maulevérer were found, and that the purse contain-
ing the notes for three hundred pounds, the only thing
the prisoner could probably have obtained time to carry
off with him on the morning in which the cave was en-
tered by the policemen, was found on his person on the
day in which he had attempted the rescue of his com-
rades, and had been apprehended in that attempt. He
stated, moreover, that the dress found in the cavern, and
sworn to by one witness he should produce, as belong-
ing to the prisoner, answered exactly to the description
of the clothes worn by the principal robber, and sworn
to by Mauleverer, his servant, and the postillions. In
like manner, the colour of one of the horses found in
the cavern, corresponded with that rode by the highway.
man. On these circumstantial proofs, aided by the im-
mediate testimony of the King's evidence that witness
whom he should produce), he rested a case which could,
he averred, leave no doubt on the minds of any impartial
jury. Such, briefly and plainly alleged, made the sub-
stance of the details entered into by the learned Counsel,
who then proceeded to call his witnesses. The evidence
of Lord Mauleverer (who was staying at Mauleverer
Park, which was within a few miles of , was
short and clear (it was noticed as a singular circum-
stance, that at the end of the evidence the prisoner
bowed respectfully to his Lordship). The witness of
the postillions and of the valet was no less concise ; nor
could all the ingenuity of Clifford's counsel shake any
part of their evidence in his cross-examination. The
main witness depended on by the Crown was now sum-
moned, and the solemn countenance of Peter Mac-
Grawler rose on the eyes of the Jury. One look of
cold and blighting contempt fell on him from the eye of
the prisoner, who did not again deign to regard him,
during the whole of his examination.
The witness of MacGrawler was delivered with a
pomposity worthy of the ex-editor of the Asinæum.
Nevertheless, hy the skill of Mr. Dyebright, it was ren-
dered sufficiently clear a story to leave an impression on
the Jury damnatory to the interests of the prisoner.
The Counsel on the opposite side was not slow in per-
ceiving the ground acquired by the adverse party; so,


190
PAUL CLIFFORD.
clearing his throat, he rose with a sneering air to the
cross-examination.
“So, so !” began Mr. Botheram, putting on a pair of
remarkably large spectacles, wherewith he truculently
regarded the witness—“So, so, Mr. MacGrawler, is that
your name ? eh!- Ah, it is-is it? a very respectable
name it is too, I warrant. Well, sir, look at me. Now,
on your oath, remember, were you ever the editor of a
certain thing published every Wednesday, and called the
Attenæum, or the Asinæum, or some such name ?”
Commencing with this insidious and self-damnatory
question, the learned Counsel then proceeded, as artfully
as he was able, through a series of interrogatories, cal.
culated to injure the character, the respectable character,
of MacGrawler, and weaken his testimony in the eyes
of the Jury. He succeeded in exciting in the audience
that feeling merriment wherewith the vulgar are always
so delighted to intersperse the dull seriousness of hang-
ing a human being. But though the jury themselves
grinned, they were not convinced: the Scotsman retired
from the witness-box, “scotched" perhaps in reputation,
but not " killed” as to testimony. It was just before this
witness concluded, that Lord Mauleverer caused to be
handed to the Judge a small slip of paper, containing
merely these words in pencil :-
“DEAR BRANDON,—A dinner waits you at Mauleverer
Park, only three miles hence. Lord and the Bishop
of meet you. Plenty of news from London, and a
letter about you, which I will show to no one till we
meet. Make haste and hang this poor fellow, that I may
see you the sooner; and it is bad for both of us to wait
long for a regular meal like dinner. I can't stay longer,
it is so hot, and my nerves were always susceptible.
“Yours,
"MAULEVERER.
“If you will come, give me a nod. You know my
· hour,-it's always the same.”
The Judge, glancing over the note, inclined his head
gravely to the Earl, who withdrew; and in one minute
afterward, a heavy and breathless silence fell over the
whole Court. The prisoner was called upon for his de-
fence: it was singular what a different sensation to that
existing in their breasts the moment before, crept thrill-


PAUL CLIFFORD.
195
drama of disgrace is over, and that I may wait unmo-
lested in my den, until, for one time only, I am again the
butt of the unthinking, and the monster of the crowd.
My Lord, I have now done! to you, whom the law deems
the prisoner's Counsel,—to you, Gentlemen of the Jury,
to whom it has delegated his fate, I leave the chances
of my life.”
The prisoner ceased; but the same heavy silence
which, save when broken by one solitary murmur', had
lain over the Court during his speech, still continued even
for several moments after that deep and firm voice had
died on the ear. So different had been the defence of
the prisoner from that which had been expected; so
assuredly did the more hackneyed part of the audience,
even as he had proceeded, imagine that, by some artful
turn, he would at length wind into the usual courses of
defence, that when his unfaltering and almost stern ac-
cents paused, men were not prepared to feel that his
speech was finished, and the pause involuntarily jarred
on them, as untimeous and abrupt. At length, when
each of the audience slowly awoke to the conviction that
the prisoner had indeed concluded his harangue, a move-
ment eloquent of feelings released from a suspense which
had been perhaps the more earnest and the more blended
with awe, from the boldness and novelty of the words
on which it hung, circled around the Court. The Jurors
looked confusedly at each other, but not one of them
spoke even by a whisper; their feelings, which had been
aroused by the speech of the prisoner, had not, from its
shortness, its singularity, and the haughty impolicy of its
tone, been so far guided by its course, as to settle into
any state of mind clearly favourable to him, or the re-
verse; so that each man waited for his neighbour to
speak first, in order that he might find, as it were, in
another, a kind of clew to the indistinct and excited feel.
ings which wanted utterance in himself.
The Judge, who had been from the first attracted by the
air and aspect of the prisoner, had perhaps, notwith-
standing the hardness of his mind, more approvingly
than any one present, listened to the defence ; for, in the
scorn of the hollow institutions and the mock honesty
of social life, so defyingly manifested by the prisoner,
Brandon recognised elements of mind remarkably con•
genial to his own, and this sympathy was heightened by
the hardihood of physical nerve and moral intrepidity
I 2


200
PAUL CLIFFORD.
before a London magistrate of the theft of your watch
On the oath of a man who has one step on the threshold
of death, the accusation was unjust. And, fit minister
of the laws you represent! you, who will now pass my
doom-you were the cause of my crimes! My Lord, I
have done. I am ready to add another to the long and
dark list of victims who are first polluted, and then sa-
crificed, by the blindness and injustice of human codes!"
While Clifford spoke, every eye turned from him to the
Judge, and every one was appalled by the ghastly and
fearful change which had fallen over Brandon's face.
Men said afterward, that they saw written there, in ter.
rible distinctness, the characters of death; and there
certainly seemed something awful and preternatural in
the bloodless and haggard calmness of his proud features.
Yet his eye did not quail, nor the muscles of his lip
quiver. And with even more than his wonted loftiness.
he met the regard of the prisoner. But, as alone con-
spicuous throughout the motionless and breathless crowd,
the judge and criminal gazed upon each other; and as
the eyes of the spectators wandered on each, a thrilling
and electric impression of a powerful likeness between
the doomed and the doomer, for the first time in the trial,
struck upon the audience, and increased, though they
scarcely knew why, the sensation of pain and dread
which the prisoner's last words excited. Perhaps it
might have chiefly arisen from a common expression of
fierce emotion conquered by an iron and stern character
of mind, or perhaps, now that the ashy paleness of ex-
haustion had succeeded the excited flush on the prisoner's
face, the similarity of complexion thus obtained made
the likeness more obvious than before; or perhaps the
spectators had not hitherto fixed so searching, or, if we
may so speak, so alternating a gaze upon the two.
However that be, the resemblance between the men,
placed as they were in such widely different circum-
stances—that resemblance which, as we have hinted, had
at certain moments occurred startlingly to Lucy, was
now plain and unavoidably striking :- the same the dark
hue of their complexions, the same the haughty and
Roman outline of their faces, the same the height of the
forehead, the same even a displeasing and sarcastic
rigidity of mouth, which made the most conspicuous
feature in Brandon, and which was the only point that
deteriorated from the singular beauty of Clifford, But


PAUL CLIFFORD.
201
above all, the same inflexible, defying, stubborn spirit,
though in Brandon it assumed the stately cast of majesty,
and in Clifford it seemed the desperate sternness of the
bravo, stamped itself in both. Though Clifford ceased,
he did not resume his seat, but stood in the saine attitude
as that in which he had reversed the order of things, and
merged the petitioner in the accuser. And Brandon him-
self, without speaking or moving, continued still to sur-
vey him. So, with erect fronts, and marble countenances,
in which what was defying and resolute did not altogether
quell a mortal leaven of pain and dread, they looked as
might have looked the two men in the Eastern story, who
had the power of gazing each other unto death.
What, at that moment, was raging in Brandon's heart,
it is in vain to guess. He doubted not ior a moment
that he beheld before him his long-lost, his anxiously-de-
manded son! Every fibre, every corner of his complex
and gloomy soul, that certainty reached, and blasted with
a hideous and irresistible glare! The earliest, perhaps
the strongest, though often the least-acknowledged prin-
ciple of his mind, was the desire to rebuild the fallen ho-
nours of his house ; its last scion he now beheld before
him, covered with the darkest ignominies of the law !
He had coveted worldly honours; he beheld their legiti.
mate successor in a convicted felon! He had garnered
the few affections he had spared from the objects of pride
and ambition, in his son. That son he was about to ad,
judge to the gibbet and the hangman! Of late, he had
increased the hopes of regaining his lost treasure, even
to an exultant certainty. Lo! the hopes were accom-
plished! How? With these thoughts warring, in what
manner we dare not even by an epithet express, within
him, we may cast one hasty glance on the horror of ag,
gravation they endured, when he heard the prisoner ac,
cuse Him as the cause of his present doom, and felt him-
self at once the murderer and the judge of his son !
Minutes had elapsed since the voice of the prisoner
ceased; and Brandon now drew forth the black cap.
As he placed it slowly over his brows, the increasing
and corpse-like whiteness of his face became more glar-
ingly visible, by the contrast which this dread head-gear
presented. Twice as he essayed to speak, his voice
failed him, and an indistinct murmur came forth from his
hueless lips, and died away like a fitful and feeble wind,
But with the third effort, the resolution and long self-


PAUL CLIFFORD.
203
tarried concealed in a safe suburb, until re-assured by a
written promise from Brandon of safety to his person,
and a sum for which we might almost doubt whether he
would not have consented so long had he been mistak-
ing means for an end) to be hanged himself. Brandon
listened to the details of these confederates, and when
they had finished, he addressed them thus :-
“I have heard you, and am convinced you are liars and
impostors : there is the money I promised you—(throw-
ing down a pocket-book)-take it-and, hark you, if ever
you dare whisper-ay, but a breath of the atrocious lie
you have now forged, be sure I will have you dragged
from the recess or nook of infamy in which you may
hide your heads, and hanged for the crimes you have
already committed. I am not the man to break my
word-begone!-quit this town instantly: if, in two hours
hence, you are found here, your blood be on your own
heads !-Begone, I say !"
These words, aided by a countenance well adapted at
all times to expressions of a menacing and ruthless cha.
racter, at once astounded and appalled our accomplices.
They left the room in hasty confusion; and Brandon,
now alone, walked with uneven steps (the alarming
weakness and vacillation of which he did not himself
feel) to and fro the apartment. The hell of his breast
was stamped upon his features, but he uttered only one
thought aloud!
"I may, yes, yes, I may yet conceal this disgrace to
my name!"
His servant tapped at the door to say that the carriage
was ready, and that Lord Mauleverer had bid him remind
his master that they dined punctually at the hour ap.
pointed.
"I am coming !” said Brandon, with a slow and start-
ling emphasis on each word. But he first sat down and
wrote a letter to the official quarter, strongly aiding the
recommendation of the Jury; and we may conceive how
pride clung to him to the last, when he urged the substi,
tution for death, of transportation for life! As soon as
he had sealed this letter, he summoned an express, gave
his orders coolly and distinctly, and attempted, with his
usual stateliness of step, to walk through a long passage
which led to the outer door. He found himself fail.
“Come hither,” he said to his servant—"give me your
arm !"


206
PAUL CLIFFORD,
CHAPTER XXI.
AND LAST.
-Subtle,-surly-Mammon, Dol,
Hot Ananias, Dapper, Drugger, all
With whom I traded.
THE ALCHYMIST.
As when some rural citizen, retired for a fleeting holy-
day, far from the cares of the world, “ strepitumque
Romæ,” to the sweet shades of Pentonville, or the re-
moter plains of Clapham, conducts some delighted visiter
over the intricacies of that Dædalian masterpiece which
he is pleased to call his labyrinth or maze,-now smiling
furtively at his guest's perplexity,—now listening with
calm superiority to his futile and erring conjectures,-now
maliciously accompanying him through a flattering path, in
which the baffled adventurer is suddenly checked by the
blank features of a thoroughfareless hedge-now trem-
bling as he sees the guest stumbling unawares into the
right track, and now relieved, as he beholds him, after a
pause of deliberation, wind into the wrong,-even so, O
pleasant reader, doth the sage novelist conduct thee
through the labyrinth of his tale, amusing himself with
thy self-deceits, and spinning forth, in prolix pleasure,
the quiet yarn of his entertainment from the involutions
which occasion thy fretting eagerness and perplexity.
But as when, thanks to the host's good-nature or fatigue !
the mystery is once unravelled, and the guest permitted
to penetrate even unto the concealed end of the leafy
maze; the honest cit, satisfied with the pleasant pains
he has already bestowed upon his visiter, puts him not
to the labour of retracing the steps he hath so erratically
trod, but leads him in three strides, and through a sim
pler path, at once to the mouth of the maze, and dis-
misseth him elsewhere for entertainment; even so will
the prudent narrator, when the intricacies of his plot are
once unfolded, occasion no stale and profitless delays to
his wearied reader, but conduct him, with as much bre-
vity as convenient, without the labyrinth which has
ceased to retain the interest of a secret.


PAUL CLIFFORD.
207
We shall therefore, in pursuance of the cit's policy,
relate as rapidly as possible that part of our nar.
rative which yet remains untold. On Brandon's person
was found the paper which had contained so fatal an
intelligence of his son; and when brought to Lord
Mauleverer, the words struck that person (who knew
Brandon had been in search of his lost son, whom we
have seen that he had been taught however to suppose
illegitimate, though it is probable that many doubts
whether he had not been deceived, must have occurred to
his natural sagacity) as sufficiently important to be worth
an inquiry after the writer. Dummie was easily found,
for he had not yet turned his back on the town when the
news of the Judge's sudden death was brought back to
it, and taking advantage of that circumstance, the friendly
Dunnaker remained altogether in the town (albeit his
long companion deserted it as hastily as might be), and
whiled the time by presenting himself at the jail, and
after some ineffectual efforts winning his way to Clif-
ford: easily tracked by the name he had given to the
governor of the jail, he was conducted the next day to
Lord Mauleverer, and his narrative, confused as it was,
and proceeding even from so suspicious a quarter, thrilled
those digestive organs, which in Mauleverer stood proxy
for a heart, with feelings as much resembling awe and
horror as our good peer was capable of experiencing.
Already shocked from his worldly philosophy of indif-
ference by the death of Brandon, he was more suscep-
tible to a remorseful and salutary impression at this
moment, than he might have been at any other; and he
could not, without some twinges of conscience, think of
the ruin he had brought on the mother of the being he
had but just prosecuted to the death. He dismissed Dum-
mie, and after a little consideration he ordered his car-
riage, and leaving the burial of his friend to the care of
his man of business, he set off for London, and the
house in particular of the Secretary of the Home De-
partment. We would not willingly wrong the noble
penitent; but we venture a suspicion that he might not
have preferred a personal application for mercy to the
prisoner to a written one, had he not felt certain unplea-
sant qualms in remaining in a country house, over-
shadowed by ceremonies so gloomy as those of death,
The letter of Brandon, and the application of Mauleverer.
obtained for Clifford a relaxation of his sentence. He


208
PAUL CLIFFORD.
was left for perpetual transportation. A ship was already
about to sail, and Mauleverer, content with having saved
his life, was by no means anxious that his departure
from the country should be saddled with any superfluous
delay.
Meanwhile, the first rumour that reached London
respecting Brandon's fate was, that he had been found in
a fit, and was lying dangerously ill at Mauleverer's; and
before the second and more fatally sure report arrived,
Lucy had gathered from the visible dismay of Barlow,
whom she anxiously cross-questioned, and who, really
loving his master, was easily affected into communi-
cation, the first and more flattering intelligence. To
Barlow's secret delight, she insisted instantly on setting
off to the supposed sick man; and, accompanied by
Barlow and her woman, the affectionate girl hastened
to Mauleverer's house on the evening of the very day
the Earl left it. Although the carriages did not meet,
owing perhaps to the circumstance of changing horses
at different inns, Lucy had not proceeded far before Bar-
low learned, from the gossip of the road, the real state of
the case. Indeed, it was at the first stage that, with a
mournful countenance, he approached the door of the
carriage, and, announcing the inutility of proceeding
farther, begged of Lucy to turn back. So soon as Miss
Brandon had overcome the first shock which this intelli-
gence gave her, she said, with calmness, “ Well, Barlow,
if it be so, we have still a duty to perform. Tell the
postboys to drive on."
“Indeed, madam, I cannot see what use it can be fret-
ting yourself, and you so poorly. If you will let me
go, I will see every attention paid to the remains of my
poor master.”
* “When my father lay dead," said Lucy, with a grave
and sad sternness in her manner, “he who is now no
more sent no proxy to perform the last duties of a
brother, neither will I send one to discharge those of a
niece, and prove that I have forgotten the gratitude of a
daughter.-Drive on!”
We have said, that there were times when a spirit was
stricken from Lucy little common to her in general, and
how the command of her uncle sat upon her brow.-On
sped the horses, and for several minutes Lucy remained
silent: her woman did not dare to speak. At length, Miss
Brandon turned, and covering her face with her hands,


PAUL CLIFFORD.
209
DE burst into tears so violent, that they alarmed her at.
tendant, even more than her previous stillness. “My
poor, poor uncle,” she sobbed, and those were all her
words.
We must pass over Lucy's arrival at Lord Mauleverer's
house-we must pass over the weary days that elapsed,
before that unconscious body was consigned to dust, with
which, could it yet have retained one spark of its haughty
spirit, it would have refused to blend its atoms.
She had loved the deceased incomparably beyond his
merits, and, resisting all remonstrances to the contrary,
# she witnessed herself the dreary ceremony which be-
queathed the human remains of William Brandon to
dust and to the worms. On that same day Clifford re-
ceived the mitigation of his sentence, and on that day
another trial awaited Lucy. We think briefly to convey
to the reader what that scene was: we need only observe
that Dummie Dunnaker, decoyed by his great love for
little Paul—whom he delightedly said he found not the
is least “ stuck up by his great fame and helewation," still
lingered in the town, and was not only aware of the re-
lationship of the cousins, but had gleaned from Long
Ned as they journeyed down to ****, the affection en-
tertained by Clifford for Lucy. Of the manner in which
the communication reached Lucy we need not speak.
Suffice it to say, that on the day in which she had per-
formed the last duty to her uncle-she learned for the first
time her lover's situation. On that evening in the con-
vict's cell the cousins met; their conference was low, for
the jailer stood within hearing, and it was broken by
Lucy's convulsive sobs; but the voice of one whose iron
nerves were not unworthy of the offspring of William
Brandon was clear, and audible to her ear even though
uttered in a whisper that scarcely stirred his lips. It
seemed as if Lucy, smitten to the inmost heart by the ge-
nerosity with which her lover had torn himself from her,
at the time that her wealth might have raised him in any
other country far from the perils and the crimes of his
career in this, perceiving now for the first time, and in
all their force, the causes of his mysterious conduct;
melted by their relationship, and forgetting herself utterly
in the desolate and dark situation, in which she beheld
one who, whatever his crimes, had not been criminal
towards her;-it seemed as if, carried away by these
emotions, she had yielded altogether to the fondness and


216
PAUL CLIFFORD.
Such was the after fate of Clifford and Lucy. Who
will condemn us for preferring the moral of that fate, to
the moral which is extorted from the gibbet and the
hulks; which makes scarecrows, not beacons; terrifies
our weakness, not warns our reason? Who does not
allow that it is better to repair than to perish; better,
too, to alone as the citizen, than to repent as the hermit?
Oh, John Wilkes! Alderman of London, and Draweansir
of Liberty, your life was not an iota too perfect, -your
patriotism might have been infinitely purer,-your morals
would have admitted indefinite amendment; you are no
great favourite with us, or with the rest of the world;
but you said one excellent thing, for which we look on
you with benevolence, nay, aimost with respect. We
scarcely know whether to smile at its wit, or sigh at its
wisdom. Mark this truth, all ye gentlemen of England,
who would make laws as the Romans made fasces, -a
bundle of rods with an axe in the middle; mark it! and
remember! Long may it live, allied with hope in our.
selves, but with gratitude in our children ;-long after
the book which it now “ acorns” and “ points" has gone
to its dusty slumber;-long-long after the feverish hand
which now writes it down can defend or enforce it no
more!“ THE VERY WORST USE TO WHICH YOU CAN PUT A
MAN IS TO HANG HIM !”
THE ENI),


MAXIMS
ON THE
POPULAR ART OF CHEATING,
ILLUSTRATED BY TEN CHARACTERS,
BEING AN INTRODUCTION TO THAT NOBLE SCIENCE, BY WHICH EVERY
MAN MAY BECOME HIS OWN ROGUE.
Set a thief to catch a thief.-PROVERB.
WHENEVER you are about to utter something astonish-
ingly false, always begin with, “It is an acknowledged
fact," &c. Sir Robert Filmer was a master of this method
of writing. Thus with what a solemn face that great
man attempted to cheat! “ It is a truth undeniable that
there cannot be any multitude of men whatsoever, either
great or small, &c.—but that in the same multitude there
is one man among them that-in nature hath a right to
be king of all the rest as being the next heir to Adum!”
But if you wish to attach peculiar importance to your
lie,-if, for instance, you are going to write a long “ In-
quiry into Truth,” founded on a lie, begin with five or six
true and perspicuous propositions,—every reader consents
to them,—the mind is beguiled from its vigilance, and then
-pop !-slip in your lie unawares. Note how well Har-
rington doth this:
“ All government is founded upon overbalance in pro-
priety."*
* “If one man hold the overbalance unto the whole peo-
ple in propriety, his propriety causeth absolute monarchy.
If the few hold the overbalance unto the whole people in
propriety, their propriety causeth aristocracy, or mixed
monarchy. If the whole people be neither overbalanced
*“The Rota, or model of a free State”—like every thing Harrington wrote
worth a diligent reading, despite the one lie. ---EDITOR.


TOMLINSONIANA.
229
To obtain a favour, neglect no method that may allure
compassion. I knew a worthy curate, who obtained two
livings by the felicity of a hectic cough; and a younger
brother, who subsisted for ten years on his family by vir-
tue of a slow consumption.
XXI.
When you want to possess yourself of a small sum,
recollect that the small sum be put into juxtaposition
with a great. I do not express myself clearly,—take an
example. In London there are sharpers who advertise
70,000l. to be advanced at four per cent., principals only
conferred with. The gentleman wishing for such a sum
on mortgage goes to see the advertiser; the advertiser
says he must run down and look at the property on
which the money is to be advanced; his journey and ex-
penses will cost him a mere trifle say twenty guineas.
Let him speak confidently- let the gentleman very much
want the money at the interest stated, and three to one
but our sharper gets the twenty guineas, so paltry a sum
in comparison to 70,0001., though so serious a sum had
the matter related to halfpence!
XXII.
Lord Coke has said, “ To trace an error to its fountain-
head is to refute it.” Now, my young pupils, I take it for
granted that you are interested in the preservation of
error; you do not wish it, therefore, to be traced to its
fountain-head. Whenever, then, you see a sharp fellow
tracking it up, you have two ways of settling the matter.-
You may say, with a smile, “Nay, now, sir, you grow
speculative-I admire your ingenuity;" or else look
grave, colour up, and say, “I fancy, sir, there is no war-
rant for this assertion in the most sacred of all authori-
ties !” The Devil can quote Scripture, you know; and a
very sensible Devil it is, too!
XXIII.
Rochefoucault has said, “The hate of favourites is no-
thing else but the love of favour.” The idea is a little
cramped: the hate we bear to any man is only the result
of our love for some good which we imagine he possesses,
or which, being in our possession, we imagine he has at-
tacked. Thus envy, the most ordinary species of hate,
arises from our value for the glory, or the plate, or the
U


TOMLINSONIANA.
231
weed out; his whole life is spent in the acquisition of
knowledge: for what is knowledge ?—the discovery of
human errors! He is the only man always consistent,
yet ever examining: he knows but one end, yet explores
every means; danger, ill-repute, all that terrify other
men, daunt not him; he braves all, but is saved from all:
for I hold that a knave ceaseth to be the knave-he hath
passed into the fool—the moment mischief befalls him.
He professes the art of cheating; but the art of cheating
is to cheat without peril. He is teres et rotundus; strokes
fly from the lubricity of his polish, and the shiftings of
his circular formation. He who is insensible of the glory
of his profession, who is open only to the profit, is no
disciple of mine. I hold of knavery, as Plato hath said
of virtue—“Could it be seen incarnate, it would beget a
personal adoration !” None but those who are inspired
by a generous enthusiasm will benefit by the above max-
ims; nor (and here I warn you solemnly from the sacred
ground, till your head be uncovered, and your feet be
bared in the awe of veneration) enter with profit upon the
following descriptions of character-that Temple of the
Ten Statues-wherein I have stored and consecrated the
most treasured relics of my travelled thoughts and my
collected experience.
TEN CHARACTERS.
1.
The mild, irresolute, good-natured, and indolent man.-
These qualities are accompanied with good feelings, but
no principles. The want of firmness evinces also the
want of any peculiar or deeply-rooted system of thought.
A man conning a single and favourite subject of medita-
tion grows wedded to one or the other of the opinions on
which he revolves. A man universally irresolute has
generally led a desultory life, and never given his atten-
tion long together to one thing: this is a man most easy
to cheat, my beloved friends; you cheat him even with his
eyes open: indolence is dearer to him than all things, and
if you get him alone and put a question to him point blank
he cannot answer, No.
II.
The timid, suspicious, selfish, and cold man.-Generally,
a character of this description is an excellent man of bu-
siness, and would, at first sight, seem to baffle the most


234
TOMLINSONIANA.
an inferior to dupe. And in this manner you must go
about it. Do not attempt hypocrisy; he will see through
it in an instant. Let him think you at once, and at first
sight, a rogue. Be candid on that matter yourself: but
let him think you a useful rogue. Serve him well and
zealously : but own that you do so, because you consider
your interest involved in his. This reasoning satisfies
him; and as men of this character are usually generous,
he will acknowledge its justice by throwing you plenty
of sops, and stimulating you with bountiful cordials.
Should he not content you herein, appear contented; and
profit in betraying him (that is the best way to cheat him),
not by his failings, but by opportunity. Watch not his
character, but your time.
VIII.
The vain, arrogant, brave, amorous, flashy character.
This sort of character we formerly attributed to the
French, and it is still more common to the Continent than
that beloved island which I shall see no more! A crea-
ture of this description is made up of many false virtues;
above others, it is always profuse where its selfishness is
appealed to, not otherwise. You must find, then, what
pleases it, and pander to its tastes. So will ye cheat it-
or ye will cheat it also by affecting the false virtues which
it admires itself-rouge your sentiments highly, and let
them strut with a buskined air; thirdly, my good young
men, ye will cheat it by profuse flattery, and by calling it
in especial—“the mirror of chivalry.”
IX.
The plain, sensible, honest man.-A favourable, but not
elevated specimen of our race. This character, my be-
loved pupils, you may take in once, but never twice. Nor
can you take him in as a stranger; he must be your friend,
or relation, or have known intimately some part of your
family. A man of this character is always open, though
in a moderate and calm degree, to the duties and ties of
life. He will always do something to serve his friend, his
brother, or the man whose father pulled his father out of
the Serpentine. Affect with him no varnish; exert no ar.
tifice in attempting to obtain his assistance. Candidly
state your wish for such or such a service-sensibly state
your pretensions--modestly hint at your gratitude. But
if you find it necessary to deceive him, and impossible to


TOMLINSONIANA.
237
for;-Industry, Honesty, and Content. The first virtue is
extolled to the skies, because Industry gives the rich every
thing they have; the second, because Honesty prevents
an iota of the said every thing being taken away again;
and the third, because Content is to hinder these poor
devils from ever objecting to a lot, so comfortable to the
persons who profit by it. This, my Pupils, is the morality
taught by the Rich to the Poor!
EMULATION.
The great error of emulation is this, we emulate effects
without inquiring into causes; when we read of the great
actions of a man we are on fire to perform the same ex-
ploits, without endeavouring to ascertain the precise quali-
ties which enabled the man we imitate to commit the
actions we admire. Could we discover these, how often
might we discover that their origin was a certain temper
of body, a certain peculiarity of constitution, and that,
wish we for the same success, we should be examining the
nature of our bodies, rather than sharpening the faculties
of our minds; should use dumb-bells, perhaps, instead of
books; nay, on the other hand, contract some grievous
complaint, rather than perfect our moral salubrity. Who
should say whether Alexander would have been a hero,
had his neck been straight? or Boileau a satirist, had he
never been pecked by a turkey? It would be pleasant to
see you, my beloved pupils, after reading Quintus Curtius,
twisting each other's throat; or, fresh from Boileau, hur,
rying to the poultry-yard, in the hope of being mutilated
into the performance of a second Lutrin,
CAUTION AGAINST THE SCOFFERS OF " HUMBUG.”
My beloved pupils; there is a set of persons in the world
daily increasing, against whom you must be greatly on
your guard ; there is a fascination about them. They are
people who declare themselves vehemently opposed to
- humbug; fine liberal fellows, clear-sighted, yet frank,
When these sentiments arise from reflection, well and
good, they are the best sentiments in the world ; but
many take them up second-hand; they are cursedly invit.
ing to the indolence of the mob of gentlemen, who see the
romance of a noble principle, not its utility. When a man
looks at every thing tlirough this dwarfing philosophy,
every thing has a great modicum of humbug. You laugh
with him when he derides the humbug in religion, the


240
TOMLINSONIANA.
ANSWER TO THE POPULAR CANT THAT GOODNESS IN A STATES
MAN IS BETTER THAN ABILITY.
As in the world we must look to actions, not motives, so
a knave is the man who injures you; and you do not in-
quire whether the injury be the fruit of malice or necessity.
Place then a fool in power and he becomes unconsciously
the knave. Mr. Addington stumbled on the two very
worst and most villanous taxes human malice could have
invented,-one on medicines, the other on justice. What
tyrant's fearful ingenuity could afflict us more than by im.
peding at once redress for our wrongs and cure for our
diseases? Mr. Addington was the fool in se, and therefore
the knave in office; but, bless you! he never meant it!
COMMON SENSE.
Common sense-common sense. Of all phrases, all
catch-words, this is often the most deceitful and the most
dangerous. Look, in especial, suspiciously upon common
sense wheneveritis opposed to discovery. Conimon sense
is the experience of every day. Discovery is something
against the experience of every day. No wonder, then,
that when Galileo proclaimed a great truth, the universal
cry was “Psha! common sense will tell you the reverse."
Talk to a sensible man, for the first time, on the theory
of vision, and hear what his common sense will say to it.
In a letter in the time of Bacon, the writer, of no mean
intellect himself, says, “ It is a pity the chancellor should
set his opinion against the experience of so many centuries
and the dictates of common sense.” Common sense,
then, so useful in household matters, is less useful in the
legislative and in the scientific world than it has been usu. ·
ally deemed. Naturally the advocate for what has been
tried, and averse to what is speculative, it opposes the
new philosophy that appeals to reason, and clings to the
old which is propped by sanction.
LOVE, AND WRITERS ON LOVE.
My warm, not-headed, ardent young friends, ye are in
the flower of your life, and writing verses about love,
let us say a word on the subject. There are two species
of love common to all men and to most animals ;* one
springs from the senses, the other grows out of custom.
Now neither of these, my dear young friends, is the love
* Most animals; for some appear insensible to the love of custom.









TH