THE DISGRACE 
 'O THE FAMILY
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES 

 
 
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 THE 
 
 DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 ^ fi-torg of Social Bisttnctions 
 
 BY 
 
 W. BLANCHAKD JERROLD. 
 
 •WITH TWELVE ILLUSTRATIONS BY PHIZ. 
 
 LONDON: 
 DARTON AND CO., IIOLBORN HILL. 
 
 1848.
 
 LOXDON : 
 GEORGE WOODFALL AND SON, 
 
 A^OEL COLRT, SKINNER STREET.
 
 
 
 HE 25 
 J3?cl 
 
 V 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 It has been said publicly that I have levelled at the Aristo 
 cracy in this book ; and, if this really be so, I must acknow- 
 ledge that I have fired unconsciousl}'. Whatever my political 
 sentiments may be, (and I have put forth none in the fol- 
 lowing pages,) they are not borrowed, but founded upon 
 study and thought. I do not shoot with another man's 
 powder, neither do I conceive that a work of fiction is a fit 
 vehicle for political opinions and arguments ; hence I have 
 taken care to avoid all disputed theories, confining myself to 
 what I conceived to be an exposition of the emptiness of cer- 
 tain widely condemned and widely practised distinctions, alike 
 petty, and provocative of social discord. 
 
 WILLIAM BLANCHAKD JERROLD. 
 
 Novem'ber 1st, 1847. 
 
 19 
 
 %,j 
 
 •Ai 
 
 f-.
 
 THE 
 
 DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 " Whate'cr our summer, ice begins and ends — 
 The cradle and the coffin of our j'ear." 
 
 Laman Blanchaud, 
 
 " Mu. De GosPiTCH says lie can do nothing for you, sir." 
 
 These words were addressed to a well clothed man who was 
 standing in the hall of Mr. De Gospitch 's house, in Tavistock 
 Square. It was evident that some consuming care was play- 
 ing hourly havoc with the man's soul and frame — witlieriug, 
 ■with electric touches, the manly spirit of his nature. His 
 sad appearance was that of an humbled gentleman — a man 
 stooping to an action little in accordance with the haughty 
 independence imprinted upon his features. He betrayed not 
 the piide of tlie aristocrat, but he had the rigid dignity of 
 intense self-respect. Such was the individual addressed by 
 the footman of JNIr. De Gospitch. 
 
 " Mr. De Gospitch says he can do nothing for j-ou, sir." 
 Henry Gospitch was so absorbed in minute calculations, 
 now and then interrupted by a ilashing sense of the littleness 
 of his present position, (for he was asking a favour of a rich, 
 brother,) that the advent of the footman was unperceived; and 
 it was not until the servant had repeated his message with, 
 added emphasis, that Henry was awakened from his reverie. 
 
 " Master can do nothing at all, sir," repeated the menial, 
 twirling his thick whislvcr, and grinning contemptuously as 
 he opened the street dooi*. 
 
 The blood rushed into Henry's face, his lips quivered and 
 
 B
 
 3 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 became dry, as in a fever ; he was half tempted to rush into 
 his brother's presence, and to taunt the rich sensuaUst with 
 his black indifference for his own blood ; however, a second 
 and better thought came with lightning quickness upon him, 
 and he soon became as collected and as placidly serious as 
 usual. His proud, piercing eye caught that of the servant, 
 and the liveried man quailed beneath its fierce expression. 
 
 "Your master — tell him so from me — is a scoundrel!" 
 ' — and Henry Gospitch was in the street. 
 
 Though the haughty master of No. , Tavistock Square, 
 
 refused the request of his brother, — his poor, breaking bro 
 ther, — he was not naturally an unfeeling or an ungenerous 
 man ; but he was often chief actor in scenes that might make 
 humanity blush were printer's ink to give the details to the 
 world. But no ; these deeds (and they might find readers) 
 shall not mar the even tenour of this history. 
 
 De Gospitch was the unconscious instrument of a weak 
 and worldly woman ; the machine that must carry into effect 
 the conceited machinations of an abject slave of fashion — of 
 an ambitious wisher for title, and a reputation for high breed- 
 ing. If Mrs. De Gospitch had heard that Sir Harry Whole- 
 hog had ruined the fair fame of some poor lady's-maid, the 
 report would not have diminished her respect for the baronet 
 one jot ; but if she had heard that the Honourable Fitzgam- 
 ?non had been seen to eat peas with his knife, she would have 
 directly set him down as v^nworthy of her countenance. 
 Henry Gospitch had, in truth, but little reason to hope for aid 
 from his brother while Mrs. De Gospitch was with her hus- 
 band. Schooled to look upon life as the due fulfilment of 
 certain conventional courtesies, and the rigid recognition of 
 Cv'itain distinctions, she regarded a tradesman with absolute 
 horror. A man behind a counter was, to her, a nonentity — 
 vn. animal of a different species altogether from the gentle- 
 man who condescended to grace a merchant's oSice from ten 
 till four daily, returning thence to the bosom of his family in 
 £" chariot and pair. 
 
 Though conventionality had set up an impassable barrier 
 between De Gospitch and Henry Gospitch, no such artiticinl 
 impediment yet swayed the heart of Mary Maturin, Mrs. De 
 Gospitch 's maiden sister. 
 
 "*Was not that Mr. Henry Gospitch?" asked Miss Matu- 
 rin, eagerly, as she hurried into the hall.
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 3 
 
 " Yes, miss," answered the footman, quietly arranging the 
 hats upon the pegs. 
 
 " Run after him, then — quick ; tell him he is wanted for 
 a moment." The footman nimbly obeyed. 
 
 Miss Maturin stood, with quivering lips and a spasmodic 
 heart, awaiting the return of Henry Gospitch. Yes, she, 
 with the creature comforts of a princess about her, with 
 cushioned footsteps and jewelled fingers, stood awaiting 
 with intense anxiety the advent of her lowly lover. If, with 
 panoramic fidelity and nicety it were possible to show you, 
 reader, every day of Miss Maturin's life ; her temptations, 
 her mortifications, her dependence, and her crushed love, you 
 would, as she trembled in the hall of her sister's mansion, 
 invest her dear being with the dignities and graces of the 
 purest heroine ; a homely, quiet heroine, indeed, but never- 
 theless angelic and adorable. 
 
 The rastling of a full skirt of silk, and a quick step, pre- 
 pared Miss jMaturin for the coming of her sister, ]\Irs. De 
 Gospitch. Miss Maturin blushed at first ; lait, conscious of 
 the goodness of her own mission, she quickly recovered her 
 self-possession, and she stood unabashed before her richly 
 wedded relation. There Avas, however, something so haughty, 
 so stern, so commanding and unwomanly in the bearing and 
 speech of Mrs. ])e Gospitch, that the quiet Mary Maturin 
 ever felt herself the slave of her sister. Alone, the maiden 
 daily resolved to break through this weak bondage, but her 
 sisters reserve and pride as often fmstrated the resolution. 
 And so Mrs. De Gospitch had obedience of Miss Maturin. 
 
 " Who are you calling for ? What 's the matter dear ? " in- 
 quired the mistress of the mansion. " Surely not for Mr. — 
 I forget his name — the grocer ! " 
 
 Mary Maturin was silent, though her heart upbraided her 
 for the idleness of her tongue. She would liave spoken the 
 language of a woman's unquenchable devotion, but — weak 
 creature that she was ! — her lips refused her heart the utter- 
 ance for which it groaned. 
 
 " What "s that purse for ? " contiinied Mrs. De Gospitch. 
 " All I I see, I see ; I'm ashamed of you, Mary. You're a 
 weak, foolish thing, and will Itnow better some of these days, 
 depend upon it ! " 
 
 " Let me give him this, Susanna ; he wants it badly, in- 
 deed he does ! " urged the stricken girl. 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE DISORACF, TO THE FAMILY, 
 
 " I '11 give it to him for j-ou. You had hetter retire be- 
 fore the mau returns. I would much rather you should not 
 see him, so go up stairs directl}-." So spoke Mrs. De Gos- 
 pitoh, as she took the purse from her sister's hand, and 
 beckoned the broken-hearted girl — the pampered, satin-be- 
 decked, miserable, dependent sister — from the hall : and Miss 
 Maturin obeyed. 
 
 At this moment Henry Gospitch re-entered the house, 
 ushered by the footman. Mrs. De Gospitch motioned the 
 servant to stand aside, and herself advancing contemptuously 
 towards her brother-in-law, she said, — with that utterance — 
 that ice-fraught coldness women can assume — " I believe, 
 sir, my husband has sent down an answer to your petition : 
 what more do you require ? However, ]\liss Maturin, in pity 
 for your condition, begs to contribute this towards your re- 
 lief." 
 
 Stung to the very soul ; — roused to vent all the bitterness 
 of long accumulated wrong, Henry shook with passion. Pity 
 him, reader ! — the respectable outcast, the honest sufferer, 
 the younger son — pity him, that his self-command failed him 
 in such a moment. 
 
 Ill used and insulted, proud, and conscious of no badness 
 in himself, he launched forth the uttermost of his spjleen 
 upon his rich brother and his selfish sister-in-law, and the 
 eloquence of his passion vented itself thus : — " Your hus- 
 band answered me, madam, as a scoundrel would refuse a 
 beggar ! I, madam, destitute, pauper as I am — even I am 
 not so much a beggar as your husband, and (I am ashamed to 
 own it) my brother ! He 's nothing better than a monied 
 scoundrel ! " The man was nearly choked as he continued : 
 " In my deep distress — in my utter wretchedness, I have 
 stooped — yes, meanly stooped ; yet I have something of the 
 mau in me, and am not so poor of soul as to urge a claim 
 once refused by a brother. You have wrung my living from 
 me, and crushed my love. IMiss Maturin said she loved me ; 
 and, cherishing such words of sweetness, I was happy. I 
 liave, since that time, been stripped of fortune, and deserted 
 by friends. The world esteems me base, though I have never 
 stooped to vice. I am moneyless —you have diamond ear- 
 rings — and that 's the difference. Go to your detestable lord, 
 and tell him that I call him scoundrel— that I shall shout 
 the .syllables again and again from my back attic I May they
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 5 
 
 reach him and you Mrs. De Gospitch, and harden, a little, 
 the feather-bed you lie upon at night ! " 
 
 Mad with excited passion, Henry Gospitch once more 
 rushed into the street; and Mrs. De Gospitch, muttering, 
 "Well, I never! Such independence!" &c. — went to pre- 
 pare herself for a drive in the park. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Wild as the autumnal gust the hand of Time 
 Flies o'er his mystic lyre : in shadowy dance 
 The alternate groups of Joy and Grief advance, 
 Responsive to his varying strains sublime." — CoLERiDGE. 
 
 There was a peculiar mysteiy associated with the Gosjiitch 
 family. Some would have it that the family was of very 
 humble origin — the fortunate offspring of some lucky journey- 
 man cai-penter; others (well fed at the Gospitch table) as- 
 serted vehemently that the name of Gospitch could be traced 
 as far back as the Cfonqueror. Now the latter origin is 
 common enough ; fur, reader, did you ever know a genteel 
 person whose ancestors did not come over with the Norman 
 William? However, the matter in itself is small enough, 
 and the settlement of it shall be confidently confided to the 
 select tea-parties still given round about Tavistock Square. 
 
 The parents of our hero and of Mr. De Gospitch (the Be 
 was affixed by this gentleman's wife) were rich people. They 
 were not particularly refined in opinions and pursuits — 
 neither were they very select in tbe choice of their company. 
 Their vulgarity, however, was hidden by that efficient screen 
 for all human failings — gold. The Gospitchs had evidently 
 belonged to a class inferior to that with which they claimed 
 fellowship when our hero and his elder brothers were youths ; 
 so that the youngsters, following their parents' example, 
 considered themselves sprigs — and no mean or insignificant 
 sprigs — of the aristocratic tree. The Gospitch sons had 
 money to back and sustain their waxing pride ; their business 
 was to be thorough gentlemen, and so, in a constant round of 
 balls, club nights, excursions, &c., these youths became men. 
 So devoted were thev to their club — so fond of billiards, Ac,
 
 6 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 that their parents, at length becoming alarmed, tacked their 
 brace of Lotharios to a merchant's desk. 
 
 Gospitch's father died ; and three months subsequently, 
 his widow laj^ beside him — respectably and with feathers 
 ushered there — in a suburban cemetery. 
 
 Primogeniture! — that law fraught with so many contra- 
 dictions — so cruel in some cases, apparently so necessary in 
 others ; good, say some as the great guardian of capital ; bad 
 and wicked, shout others, because it leaves no j)enny to the 
 yoimger branches ; primogenitive law snatched from Henry 
 Gospitch every sixpence of his father's pi'operty, leaving him, 
 by the misfortune of birth, a rich man's beggar-boy ; while 
 his elder brother rolled in a wealth that could command the 
 most capricious luxury. 
 
 To understand fairly the relative actions of the brothers, 
 the reader must be led back some few years, and see the 
 young men " a courtin — " fair readers certainly cannot object 
 to this backsliding. 
 
 Near the paternal roof of Henry Gospitch dwelt a quiet, 
 middle-class family, whose head was one Mr. Jasper Maturin, 
 auctioneer. Tliither went Henry (there could be no mistake 
 upon the subject) to see Miss Mary Maturin ; though his 
 ostensible purpose was to hear the delightful conversation of 
 her loquacious father. Many, many evenings of sweetness 
 did Henry Gospitch pass v.-ith this family. Thei'e is a 
 sweetness — an Elysian delight — in a quiet smiling evening 
 with one beloved ; and ten-thousand-fold is the enchantment 
 ravishing to him who escapes from a money-dingling world 
 to such a haven. Leave a scene of deafening laughter; 
 exchange it for the quiescence of a love-crowned fireside, 
 and prate then, if you can, of the absence of thorough 
 ha2:)piness on this ill-used earth. 
 
 To the quiet circle, whose dearest star was Mary Maturin, 
 did our hero often betake himself in preference to the 
 boisterous attractions of certain public assemblies ; and, by 
 degrees, the domestic harmonies so gained the ascendant 
 over out-of-door jollities, that the club was exchanged for the 
 private circle, and love for woman struck out the love of 
 billiards from the category of Henry's pleasures. This 
 change was significant of much future happiness ; but, in 
 sober truth, it only added to many bitternesses, though it 
 blotted out some vice from our hero's heart. Thoroughly 
 (such is the entire faith of Love) did Henry and Mary believe
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 7 
 
 themselves to be linked together in heart ; and they sat, of 
 an evening, with glistening eyes and moist, clenched palms, 
 reviewing and painting m Cupid colom-s their wedded Para- 
 dise. Frail beings of a fleeting enthusiasm ! They dreamed 
 not that in a few short years they would be entire strangers 
 to each other. 
 
 One evening Henry introduced his elder brother to the 
 Maturins ; and Miss Susannah Maturin was at home. Miss 
 Susannah has been already introduced to the reader as Mrs. 
 De Gospitch; and her haughtiness and worldliness have 
 been fairly set forth : little else can be said of the lady as a 
 maiden. She was cold, calculating, intent upon a good 
 match; she angled skilfully, and, to be brief, — she caught 
 Mr. De Gospitch. 
 
 ]\Ir. Maturin and wife dead, Mary was compelled to thank 
 her sister for a home in the Tavistock Square mansion ; and 
 thither she betook herself with a heavy heart and an humbled 
 spirit. 
 
 She was a feminine enigma — a con. that defied solu- 
 tion. Had you seen her in a ball room — a fair, pretty, 
 petite woman — you would have set her down as a spiritless 
 coquette, a girl ready to fall in love with anybody upon the 
 shortest notice. But in the presence of Henry Gospitch a 
 joyousness would beam upon her regular features, betraying 
 the natural and quiet kindliness of her heart; and though 
 she was never very full of animal spirits, though she never 
 had that active buoyancy so delightful in young people (and 
 in old ones too) — she had, in the presence of her lover, the 
 kindled animation of a very quiescent spirit. Under ordinary 
 circumstances she appeared certainly as tame a being as you 
 would come across in a day's journey — she lacked the enthu- 
 siastic interpretations of maidenhood, though she was griev- 
 ously sentimental. She had read many novels of the in- 
 tensely and mawkishly romantic school (books that play 
 upon and deaden the sensibilities of their readers to no 
 purpose — making tlie wretchedness of many weak-minded 
 girls) ; and from such reading she had conjured up and 
 classed a code of sentimental laws in her own little mind 
 that were to her the gospel-references to guide her actions. 
 Her love for Heiny Gospitch was sincere ; it was not all- 
 absorbing. It did not include in its magic circle every 
 thought and every feeling; it partook not of that burning
 
 8 THE DISGBACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 devotedness felt by strong and comprehensive passions ; and 
 still less did it savoiu" of passion. Her love was scarcely 
 more than a cultivated preference ; she could spend days — 
 nay weeks, without seeing her lover, and still the bloom 
 would be upon her cheek — her lips would utter no complaint. 
 Peaceful, spiritless, beautiful in her quietude, she had a due 
 share of human selhshuess. She paid marked homage to 
 creatui'e comfort, she would do a person a kindness, but the 
 favour must not cost her much trouble. It was, however, a 
 contradictory characteristic of her nature that, at times, and 
 even v.heu exertion was uncalled for, she would evince a 
 dauntless energy in the pursuit of a tritling object; and to 
 prove that good earnest impulse slumbered within her, the 
 incident detailed in the opening chapter may be referred to. 
 
 And this budding woman — pliant as a young willow-tree — 
 might have been moidded into a peaceftil, gentle-hearted 
 housevvife ; she had not the sterner virtues, but she was full 
 to overflowing with the quiet household harmonies. She 
 was a pattern-wife for an ordinaiy man, but she would have 
 disappointed the enthusiasm of a large-souled husband. Her 
 elder sister could always command her obedience, for Su- 
 sannah had a spirit almost masculine. It was a pity that 
 the two sisters, reared together, and with temperaments 
 that might have been mutually supporting, had not the in- 
 telligence of a quick-sighted mother to guide them to haj)pi- 
 ness. Maiy might have softened her sister's austerity, and 
 Susannah could have given energy to Mary's languor. 
 
 The maiden orphan had not been long beneath her sister's 
 roof before she felt the chill of conscious dependence steal 
 upon her. She did not consider her position debasing or 
 lamentable ; yet there was detraction from her comforts in 
 the thought that she was an object of charity. However, 
 these self-humiliations did not often thrust themselves upon 
 her attention ; and time passed, lightning-Annged, in a quiet 
 round of unchanging observances — brealdast, luncheon, a 
 drive in the parks, dinner, supper, and bed. 
 
 One morning, shortly after the breakfast equipage had 
 been cleared, and Mr. De Gospitch had gone out, Mrs. De 
 Gospitch, as she combed the ears of her spaniel, turned towards 
 her sister, and said, " Have you ever heard from Henry 
 Gospitch, dear, since you have been with us ? " 
 
 Mary had heard from Heurj' Gospitch, but she had for-
 
 THE DISGRACE TO TIIK FAMILY. 9 
 
 gotten to answer his letter. She felt thoroughly ashamed of 
 herself. Forgotten to answer the questionings of a man 
 who was wasting man's best emotions upon her ! Blushing, 
 she strove — and her pride gave her strength — to hide her 
 confusion. " Why should I not receive Henry's letters now, 
 as before, Susannah?" quoth she. This evasion was worthy 
 of a woman's dexterity in such matters. 
 
 " To be sure it isn't my affair, Maiy — don't think I 'm 
 going to set my face against Mr. Henry Gospitch," answered 
 Mrs. De Gospitch. 
 
 " Set me against him! And Mr. Henry Gospitch, too! 
 It used to be Henry once I " exclaimed Miss Maturin pettishly. 
 
 " Circumstances have altered the relative positions of 
 yourself and Mr. Henry Gospitch since you first became 
 acquainted with each other," said the married sister, evidently 
 preparing Miss Maturin for some unpleasant disclosure. 
 
 " 1 don't indeed see how, sister," returned the maiden — 
 and suddenly guessing at her sister's meaning, she added 
 bitterly — " unless it is that, Mr. De Gospitch having in- 
 herited all the family property — his uncared-for brother is 
 not fit to be my husband ! Heniy introduced Mi'. De 
 Gospitch to you, Susannah ; you remember he did ; and you 
 said at the time that I ought to be proud of the man I was 
 about to marry. How has Henry changed ? " 
 
 " AVell, well, you '11 never understand polite society, child ! " 
 sighed the wedded woman — " but I say Mr. Henry Gospitch 
 has changed in position materially." 
 
 " How?" persisted Miss Maturin. 
 
 " He is a tradesman ! " quoth Susannah De Gospitch ; and 
 from her soul she felt proud that she — if other people could 
 not — yes, she could detect the difterence between a merchant 
 and a tradesman. " He stands behind a counter with a 
 white apron about his waist, and a pen behind his ear," 
 urged the married lady. 
 
 It was quite true, Henry Gospitch, son of the late Josiah 
 Gospitch, of Swampum Hall — having no money and no pro- 
 fession — had descended to the disgrace of retiiil trading. 
 
 " So he does ! " muttered Mary Maturin. Heaven ! what a 
 history was there in this wondering acquiescence. 
 
 Mrs. De Gospitch was clever tactician enough to perceive 
 that she had made a sufficient advance in her plan for the 
 present, Miss Maturin hastily retired to her own apartment. 
 
 B y
 
 10 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY 
 
 Presently slie heard the hall servant say, in a loud voice— 
 " Master can do nothing for you." The street door was 
 closed with a bang — she looked from her window— saw 
 Henry Gospitch hurrying away; and, snatching up her 
 purse, she hurried into the hall, where the scene described 
 in the introductory chapter took place. 
 
 Miss Maturin on the day in question suffered the most 
 conflicting passions that could burn in a woman's natm-e— 
 and especially in a woman like our heroine. It was romantic, 
 she thought, to cling to her lover through adversity — all 
 heroines in novels did so ; but it was fearfully unromantic to 
 settle down to be a tradesman's wife. She should marry 
 happily, have a country house and a town mansion, travel 
 over the continent, and, finally, be the blessing of a select 
 neighbourhood. Could this be done if she became the wife 
 of a grocer ? Besides, heroes should be at least five feet nine 
 inches in height, whereas Heniy Gospitch was barely five 
 feet six inches — quite a shrimp of a fellow ! 
 
 And thus did the weak maiden sport with her lover's 
 truth. She judged him by an ideal standard painted in the 
 colours of mawkish sentimentalists ; he had not the vulgar 
 biightness — the false glitter peculiar to her ideal heroes, 
 and her love quailed. Yet, as we have heard, his distress 
 recalled her truant affection in an instant— but sympathy 
 is not love. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CONVENTIONAL DISTINCTIONS. 
 
 " An overweening affection for money, an idolatrous worship of gain, 
 have absolutely confounded the general intellect, and warped the judgment 
 of many to that excess, that, in estimating men or things, they refer always 
 to ' What is he worth T or ' What will it fetch]'— Were we to point out 
 a person as he passes, and say, ' There goes a good man, one who has not a 
 vice — he would scarce he noticed — hut exclaim, ' Thiit man is worth 
 ^6500,000,' and he will he stared at till out of sight." 
 
 Mr. De Gospitch was under the thumb of his spouse. True, 
 he disclaimed the bondage vehemently, and prided himself 
 upon the strong arm with which he ruled ; but nobody with
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 11 
 
 common sense could doubt the fact tliat he moved quietly 
 beneath the lady-like thumb of his dear wife. His club 
 companions hinted broadly that he was horridly henpecked, 
 while they boasted of tlaeir own complete freedom ; his 
 servants, too, considered him second in command, and he, 
 refusing obedience, paid it. It is saying something for the 
 heart of De Gospitch, when it is proved that a woman could 
 twist his will round her little finger — command him as a 
 pujjpet especially made to obey her. For the man is not to 
 be envied who can be deaf to the witching solicitations of a 
 fair petitioner ; — in fact the man is a dolt who cannot be 
 done by a woman. He who meets his mistress with a 
 strong determination not to accede to a request she has made 
 need not be ashamed of his weakness, if, with her smooth, 
 soft arms about his neck, she at length compel him to 
 yield implicit obedience to her will. The heart, yielding 
 thus to woman, feels a happy expansion — a weakness that is 
 as delightful as it is refining. The yielding thaws the ice- 
 bergs of the worldling's soul, and lifts the money-grubbing 
 sensualist to thoughts of happy gentleness — it thrusts out 
 selfishness from the rich man's breast, and wins acknow- 
 ledgment of love from all. 
 
 Mrs. De Gospitch was a clever creature — a piano-playing, 
 ballad-singing, knitting, French speaking machine, that some 
 people declared had a heart attached to it — yes, a round, 
 red pulp, with some thousand daily throbs and some womanly 
 emotions. It is charity to believe this declaration, for the 
 lady's conduct so often gave some friends a contrary opinion, 
 that by many she was esteemed only for her " very fashion- 
 able parties." 
 
 The next morning after j\Irs. De Gospitch's conversation 
 with Miss Maturin, that lady was sitting at the breakfast- 
 table with her husband — who was poring on the long columns 
 of the morning paper — when she again thought angrily of 
 Henry Gospitch — " a disgusting grocer!" 
 
 " That uncouth brother of yours was here again yesterday, 
 Gospitch. I sent down word you could do nothing for him," 
 quoth Mrs. De Gospitch, addressing herself to her partner. 
 
 " The devil you did! — I bog pardon, Susannah, — I mean 
 you should have waited until I got home," returned the 
 husband, suddenly aroused from that quietude savouring of 
 indifference — that senseless placidity so surely the follower
 
 12 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 of the marriage rite when devoted love stands not at the 
 altar. 
 
 " HoAv stupidly you talk, Gospitch ! " was the complimentary 
 reply. " You know the man would have called again this 
 morning, and most likely at the same time as Sir George, or 
 Mrs. Plumpit ; then a pretty expose it would have been for 
 me. If you like vulgar people prowling about the liouse, 
 I don't; and, what 's more, I won't have 'em. If he calls agam 
 he shall be sent on to you to the office." 
 
 " Well, you know best, my dear," said the brother of the 
 outcast. 
 
 De Gospitch ! this acquiescence was not praiseworthy af- 
 fection ; it was a species of moral cowardice. What ! fling 
 from you the blood made up of elements wholly akin to your 
 own flesh — dishonour the memory of father and mother — 
 bow to the dust the wronged manhood of a brother — and all 
 this at the frail shrine of a worldly woman's caprice ! Af- 
 fectionate guidance is a silken leading-string that shows the 
 way to happiness — but the rule of caprice is a thoughtless 
 tyranny with a perspective of indifferent humility. 
 
 Honour to you, Gospitch, when you bowed to the af- 
 fectionate guidance — but contempt for you when you quailed 
 befoi'e capricious command. 
 
 " What is to be done with Maiy?"' continued Mrs. De G. 
 " It 's all nonsense her thinking about Henry Gospitch noiv — 
 in fact, as a sister I can't allow it." 
 
 There is a point where the weakest, the most abject man 
 will warm into a sense of dignity — and that point is attained 
 when contempt is flung point blank at his flesh and blood. 
 Gospitch now felt the insult his -wife had committed upon 
 his family, and he could have flung the bitterest epithets 
 upon the stock from which she descended, had not a long 
 training to polite usages taught him the indecency of oaths 
 before a woman. And so he listened dumbly to his wife's 
 arrogance ; though displeasure was stamped, as with type, 
 upon his features. 
 
 " Did you hear me, Gospitch?" inquired the lady, some- 
 what vexed at her husband s apparent inattention. " I 
 ■want to know what is to be done about Mary and your 
 brother." 
 
 " Let them do as they like. It 's no business of ours. 
 It's no more a matter of condescension Maiy's marrying
 
 THE DISGBACK TO THE FAMILY. 13 
 
 Henry, than it was your marrying me," urged De Gos- 
 pitch. 
 
 " Now, ray dear, you talk foolishly — indeed you do. You 
 must know how much superior you are to Henry Gospitch 
 both in position and in personal appearance and merit. 
 Why will you persist in talking in this stupid way? it 
 grieves me excessively, it does indeed." 
 
 This appeal — the wortliy concoction of a clever woman — 
 fairly persuaded De Gospitch that his wife knew more about 
 station, &c., than he did ; and so he resolved to acquiesce in 
 whatever scheme she might propose. De Gospitch was weak 
 enough to he blinded by the flattery of Mrs. De Gospitch ; it 
 was a comfort, an assurance calling for sustained dignity — to 
 hear from a woman not given to praise that he was lifted above 
 those about him — a being of superior fashioning. A glad- 
 ness, made up of selfish enaotion and of supposed superiority, 
 stole over the flattered biped's soul as he awaited the furtlier 
 questioning of his spouse. Ready to grant her any thing, he 
 leaned back in his chair and listened. 
 
 " It may seem harsh," continued the wife, anxious to take 
 advantage of the impression she had made upon her husband, 
 — '• veiy harsh, to stop any correspondence between Mary 
 and your brother, but you will soon see that it is absolutely 
 necessary. Here is Mary — poor child ! — accustomed to all 
 the refinements of life — excellently educated — a good pianist 
 — a perfect Frenchwoman— in foct, capable of adorning the 
 higliest family in the kingdom — here she is in love with a 
 retail grocer — a very worthy person no doubt, but one cannot 
 forget the fact — a tradesman ! Is it not ridiculous ?" 
 
 " There may be something in that — there may be some- 
 thing in that," (juoth De Gospitch gravely. 
 
 " Now consider, Gospitch," returned the lady aristocrat — 
 " consider the fearful consequences of the union of such 
 opposite tastes. Mary Avould lie singing bravuras, while her 
 luisband would l)e cracking white sugar. In fact, I have 
 determined to break the matter to JNIary this very day : I 
 mean to show her how stupid and how childish her romantic 
 notions are, and she shall promise to forget your brother. It 
 will be better for both of them." 
 
 A superficial attention would lead us to believe in Mrs. De 
 Gospitch's phili)so])hy; but judging the human heart aright, 
 we must qu(sti(ni the; ortliodoxy of her creed. If the passions
 
 14 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 of humanity could be trimmed and taught to act according 
 to the brain's philosophy, then might the lady's rhetoric 
 hold good ; but a deep love will not bow to calm reasoning — 
 will not die because it is found to be imprudently bestowed ; and 
 so is it not better to give to Love its object instead of raising 
 the life-long blight of crushed affection? Mary joined the 
 breakfasting couple ; and Mrs. De Gospitch prepared her- 
 self, somewhat nen-ously, for the disclosure she had determined 
 upon making. That the reader shall fully undei'stand Miss 
 Maturin's conduct, it will be necessaiy to give a brief analysis 
 of her ponderings over the contingent advantages of her 
 love. Miss Maturin was a heroine playing a tangled part. 
 With her, all worldly matters were not subservient to her 
 love. She could weigh with the utmost nicety the probable 
 career of her lover : she did not love the man so much as the 
 man's position. Yet had she some affection for Henry ; but 
 she would not have consented to many him had there been 
 a certainty of his remaining a tradesman till his death. She 
 could throw future probabilities in the scale of her pre- 
 ference, and she could bear present ill, if there was a 
 prospect of coming advancement. She would have lived in 
 a mud-hut v>ith her husband, if he could have shown her a 
 palace in the distance. It will be easy then to guess the 
 current of the girl's thoughts ; her calculations and her 
 resolutions. She thought it possible that Hemy Gospitch 
 might become a merchant, and so she determined, for a time 
 at least, to give him encouragement. If men knew the 
 frailty of the tie that has only the strength of a promise to 
 support it, how often would they escape the bm-den of a 
 calculating woman ! Calculation is so sure a proof of a cold 
 disposition, that in a woman it is detestable. 
 
 " We want to speak to you seriously, my dear," com- 
 menced Mrs. De Gospitch. 
 
 Miss Maturin, guessing the subject of the lectui'e, coloured 
 deeply. 
 
 " I have been talkmg the matter over to Gospitch, and 
 he thinks as I do." 
 
 De Gospitch felt that he had been wheedled, and was 
 silent. 
 
 " Now, my dear Mary," continued Mrs. De Gospitch, " we 
 really think that we are only consulting your o^vn welfai'e 
 (and that indeed of Mr. Henry Gospitch) in insisting that
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 16 
 
 from this clay you shall hold no further correspondence with 
 my husband s brother." 
 
 " You are older than I am, Susannah, and perhaps loiow 
 better about such things," remarked Miss Matm-iu with 
 sickeniug coolness. 
 
 Such, Henry Gospitch, proud man that you were ! — such 
 the idol at whose shrine you offered daily, nightly worship ! 
 See the woman fling your man's heart in one scale, with cash 
 in the other, and find the cash the better bargain. 
 
 " You must not think, Maiy, that I wish to depreciate the 
 merits of Mr. Henry Gospitch — far from it, he is a ver}' 
 decent young man, and, if he takes care, may live respect- 
 ably ; but he is not suited to one in your station of life ; and 
 you are only doing an act of justice, both to yourself and him, 
 in refusing his addresses." It need not be told who spake 
 these words. 
 
 " Don't you recollect the story of the Misses Perikick, 
 Susannah?" inquired Miss Maturin, sarcastically. "You 
 know father used to agree entirely with the moral of the 
 paper." 
 
 " He changed his opinion when he grew old, my dear," 
 said Mrs. De Gospitch. However, as the reader has probably 
 never heard the homely fate of the Miss Perikicks, here it is : — 
 
 The Misses Perikick. 
 
 The recent elopements which have fed the fashionable 
 columns of the Mornimj Post, and lately formed the subject of 
 conversation at balls, routs, &c., are more significant of some 
 social decrepitude than a superficial glance would lead us to 
 imagine. It is fashionable now-a-days to talk of love as of 
 some young weakness — some inexperience savouring of the 
 school room— which it is almost criniinul to succumb to, and 
 which it is the especial duty of fathers and mothers to dis- 
 countenance and abolish. 
 
 The focjlish simple Miss Perikick had fallen in love with 
 a young man with £-200 per annum as his entire income ! 
 Stupid, igiKn-ant Miss Perikick! Had you waited a little 
 longer you might bave held a two-thousand-poundcr to your 
 young bosom — yi)u migbt have had a chariot and pair, a 
 country-house, liveried servants, and "the best society;" 
 UDW you must content yourself with a cottage ornee ou
 
 16 THE DISGIUCE TO THE FAMILY, 
 
 Clapham Rise, a cab marlved 200 and something when you 
 go to the theatre ; a brief visit to Ramsgate or Margate (or, 
 worse fate, Heme Bay !) in the summer, one maid-of-all- 
 work, and the society of shopkeepers. To be sure you say 
 you like the man you have chosen, and you are not so fond 
 of hixury ; but you will grow out of this love-nonsense — you 
 will awaken to matter-of-fact likings, and find love — that 
 masquerading jackdaw ! — stripped of the peacock feathers. 
 
 Thus do stringent fathers reason : and the maiden, schooled 
 to look upon her bright love as upon some misdemeanor, 
 learns to love in secret ; plots furtive meetings ; wears a 
 daily mask of falsehood ; and finally elopes with her lover. 
 
 Who has taught them this false part? Who, by command- 
 ing the suppression of a passion as unconquerable as it is 
 elevating, has nurtured and strengthened that spirit of 
 secretiveness which has triumphed over the harsh endeavours 
 of parents and guardians ? Surely there is more ground for 
 censure in the blindness that taught them to smother the 
 instinctive yearnings of their young nature ; to fling affection 
 at the foot of Mammon ; to render earnest homage unto 
 god Plutus ; and to hold a breast of mail towards the love- 
 god's arrow 
 
 Say that Miss Perikick has renounced her poorly gilded 
 lover for a calf of solid metal : her heart is with her humble 
 adorer, and her hand is the church-given property of the 
 Dives bantling. Is the woman contented, happy? She 
 kisses the rich man, and loves the poor man ; she holds 
 Dives in her arms, and longs for Lazarus — her whole life, then, 
 is a grand, well-acted lie. Treacherous to her husband, false 
 to her lover — vowing love for the man she loves not, and 
 hatred towards the being she adores. Who will not shudder 
 at this misery, and what parent would not prefer for his 
 child mediocrity, with the household harmonies, to splendour, 
 with indifference or contempt presiding at the board ? 
 
 Grim and degrading is the picture that portrays the wife- 
 market in faithful colours, where hearts are sold to act false- 
 hood at the parish altar — to pander to the passions of monied 
 sensualists. 
 
 Many are the " happy brides " who " leave town for the 
 bridegroom's counti-y seat," with hearts of lead ; the purchased 
 slaves of men with acres are they, doomed perhaps to bear a 
 title instead of the plebeian Mrs., and to experience dignified
 
 THE DISGBACB TO THE FAMILY. 17 
 
 indifference instead of the ■witching courtesies of affection. 
 But, as it has already been written, Miss Perikick eloped with 
 mediocrity in the shape of a clerk witli £200 jjer annum. 
 
 Look upon her as she guides the economies of Poppy 
 Cottage, Clapham ; see the quiet happiness that suggests her 
 actions ; behold her as, Avith a full heart, she welcomes a 
 returned husband ; and, giving little heed unto the mere 
 tinsel of life, what sweet contentment gladdens her days, 
 though only the plain unceremonious observances of society 
 reign within her home ! Her household is quiet, lady-like ; 
 but shorn of undue pretension ; she is as happy with the 
 clerk and £200 per annum, as the luxuries of a millionaire 
 could have made her. 
 
 Is her modest position subject for pity? Shall we, after 
 the example of powdered senility, hold our hands heaven- 
 wards and groan — " Alack ! poor child — she has thrown 
 herself away ! " 
 
 I must now beg leave to introduce Miss Priscilla Peri- 
 kick to the reader — Miss Perildck, the Pioader— the Pieader, 
 Miss Perikick. And now let me tell you reader, that I 
 have introduced you to a weak, sensitive girl, a flower of 
 hot-house rearing — at the mercy of the first rude wind. 
 To describe her character perfectly, I should require what 
 space denies me — elaborate desci'iption. Miss Priscilla once 
 in love, and, like the fly in the treacle saucer, she must live 
 and die in the sweetness. She had no strenoth of mind 
 
 O 
 
 however ; and she paid abject obedience as promptly when 
 the command contradicted her own settled convictions, as 
 wlien her acquiescence was with the injunction. 
 
 It was Miss Priscilla's fate to fall in love with a man in 
 her own station of life ; but her father, conscious of the 
 splendour her beauty might command, looked out for " a 
 suitable match," bidding her meauwliile to forget the fortune- 
 less young man, and prepare herself for a high station in 
 life. 
 
 Now, Mr. Perikick, you may, hugging yourself within the 
 importance of that enormous white waistcoat, imagine that 
 your paternal advice — your strict injunction — was worthy of 
 Bacon's utterance: with due respect be it said that you are 
 nustaken. Did you ever love Mrs. Perikick? (pardon the 
 question,) do you love her? 
 
 You do — hut wliat has that to do aith the question ?
 
 18 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 Just this. Imagine the dear father of your good wife, 
 with green spectacles upon his nose, huge watch seals, a 
 capacious dressing-gown, and a rubicund visage, denouncing 
 you as a presumptuous upstart — a stupid fellow — a nobody. 
 And you know, Perikick, (forgive the familiarity,) I say, you 
 know that he might have said this with some smattering of 
 truth. Shall I say more? Shall I call to your mind the 
 glow of heaven-tasting happiness such syllables would then 
 have crushed (for you loere an open-hearted, impulsive man — ■ 
 and now — but I have mercy, and will spare j'ou) — shall I draw 
 before your passionless gaze the long accumulated debts you 
 owe for happiness and kindliness supplied by Mrs. Perikick? 
 — aiid then, as a fair contrast, shall I heap up before you the 
 manifold bitternesses that your good lady and yourself would 
 have endured had her parent scouted you as an ineligible in- 
 vestment for his daughter ? 
 
 Think of all this, Perikick, and do justice to your child 
 and to her lover. 
 
 Meanwhile Miss Priscilla awaited with angelic meekness 
 the result of her father's speculations on her behalf. Foolish 
 man ! He believed he was acting the part of a prudent 
 father, and, in truth, he was usurping an authority that no 
 human being has a right to claim over his fellow. When 
 Perikick's daughter was a mere child, he might have taught 
 her to esteem all the virtues, the graces, the riches under 
 heaven ; and then, her character moulded in a mould of his 
 own fashioning, she would have given her heart to the qua- 
 lities she had been taught to value and admire. He did not 
 do this, and could he then wonder that a girl, schooled to 
 relish only the flippant emptiness of life, should choose in 
 her lover the graces and feelings that sympathized with her 
 ovm riotous heart, and hold the conventional positions of 
 life of little value ? 
 
 The Gretna-Green ceremony, so far from being a curse, is a 
 blessing ; for its suppression will not do away with elopements, 
 and will it be an advantage, an improvement, that runaway 
 lovers shall vainly seek for the sanctity of the marriage-rite ? 
 
 Miss Priscilla was at length married to a " monied man," 
 — a man who had only his gold to recommend him. With a 
 broken spirit, and her love elsewhere, she married him — 
 swore to love, honour, and obey him. She spoke this perjury 
 with a faint voice, looked upon her father with a sickly smile,
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 19 
 
 tlie parish bells gave forth a deafenmg peal, butchers made 
 discordant sounds with cleanly pared bones, she received 
 the congratulations of her friends, and so began a life of 
 decent, soul-consuming indifference. 
 
 She commanded all the luxuries gold could clutch ; but, 
 poor weak soul ! the grand luxury of love was denied her, 
 and she often thought, with a heavy heart and swollen eye- 
 lids, of Poppy Cottage, Clapham Kise, where her sister basked, 
 ensconced in the sunshine of a love-lit home. 
 
 Men with babes, think of the sisters Perikick ! 
 
 Miss Maturin had acquired her taste for reading from her 
 sister Susannah. Susannah was a blue — a peculiar blue — 
 but of this presently. 
 
 "But you know, Susannah," urged Miss Maturin, "how 
 unhappily Priscilla was, and how happily her sister lived ; 
 then, to be sure, the sister's husband was not a tradesman — 
 he was a professional man." 
 
 " That is exactly the difference. You must respect the 
 rules of society. And can you hope that as a retail grocers 
 wife you will be received in good circles ? No ; you must be 
 content with the company of fishmongers, greengrocers, 
 bakers, butchers, and such people, and will this suit your 
 refined taste, Mary ? I know you are a simple girl, and 
 would make an excellent Avife for a poor man, but I don't 
 intend that your life shall be a long calendar of wretched- 
 ness and disappointment ; in fact, if you value my love, 
 Mary, you will not think any more of Mr. Henry Gos- 
 pitch." 
 
 De Gospitch allowed his wife to proceed thus far before he 
 ventured an opinion : he now thought his dignity demanded 
 that he should say something. He was an example of the 
 contagious effects of depreciation. He had been thrown 
 amongst a set of men whose pastime it was to vote all pass- 
 ing events little — badly managed actions perpetrated by very 
 small men. This set would have voted Shakspeare a very 
 dull, prosy fellow, had he lived in their time. They might 
 have shaken hands with a contemporary Milton, but they 
 would not have recognised a contemporary Dryden. They 
 gave the depreciation mania to De Gospitch, and he petted 
 the disease as a mother pets lier babe. Having so far intro- 
 ■I'lr^ed Mr. De Gospitch, ho shall speak for himself.
 
 20 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 " Though I don't quite agree with Susannah in all she 
 saj^s," he began, " I do think she is pretty correct on the 
 whole. You know, Mar}', all things here are little — very 
 little trifles. I begin to think life a very small, dreary sort 
 of business — a trifle scarcely worth fighting about. But, 
 as Susannah says, perhaps it's as well to do as others do — to 
 conform to the rules of what people choose to call society. 
 So you'd better give up Henry." 
 
 This advice, given by the blood-relation of her lover, awoke 
 an artificial enthusiasm in Miss Matuiin. She was hurt, 
 because she felt that it was her duty to be so ; besides, she 
 had some love for Heni-y. But then her love was so very 
 lukewarm, that a breath might have cooled it to the frigidity 
 of perfect indifference ; — her love would have been steadfast, 
 and of increasing intensity, had it been encouraged ; but her 
 pride could not sacrifice at the shrine of Cupid, and so no de- 
 ceitful lover could have broken her heart. She said — 
 
 " You recollect, however, that you countenanced Henry's 
 addi'esses — when, prosperous, he wooed me. He is a poor 
 man now, and you would have me forget him. Is this kind — 
 right?" 
 
 Here Mrs. De Gospitch chimed in — " Nonsense, girl ! 
 Were you married to Mr. Henry— no home — no any thing ! 
 Besides, what would the world say?" 
 
 " What has the world to do with my marriage ? " retorted 
 Miss Maturin, pettishly. 
 
 " There you are \vith those school-girl notions again," con- 
 tinued Mrs. De Gospitch ; " upon my word it's quite childish. 
 Now do promise us that you will not have any more cor- 
 respondence with Henr}'." 
 
 Miss Maturin rose from her seat, adjusted her dress, so as 
 to give full efl'ect to every breadth in the skirt, and then, 
 with the composure of a perfect actress, she said: — "I shall 
 not abuse your hospitality, Susannah, depend upon it." Having 
 uttered these words, she walked quickly out of the room. 
 
 What a part she had been acting ! Ladies on the stage — 
 you are nobodies when compared with Miss Maturin !
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. Jil 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Money 's like muck, that 's profitable while 
 'T serves for manuring of some fruitful soil." 
 
 Flecknoe. 
 
 Havikg escaped from his brothers liouse, Henry Gospitcli 
 dashed wildly through the streets in the direction of his 
 attorney's office. His last resource had failed, and gaunt 
 beggary might claim another votary. The application to his 
 brother had cost him many a qualm ; but its refusal stung 
 him to the veiy soul. He felt more angry than humbled. 
 The refusal made him a bankrupt, but it did not crush his 
 energies. He resolved with the clenched firmness of a smarting 
 enemy, to nerve eveiy sinew against his brother's purchased 
 position, and to win the fame of gold at any sacrifice. As he 
 paced onward, this idea of revenge hugged itself so closely to 
 his heart — sat so very warmly and comfortably there — that, 
 before he had arrived at his destination, it had become a part 
 of himself — was incorporated with his being, to regulate eveiy 
 impulse and every action. 
 
 " Have you the money, Mr. Gospitch ?" said a thin, sallow, 
 cunning looking personage, who made his legs of mutton out 
 of briefs and hard working, ill-paid clerks — " Have you the 
 money Mr. Gospitch ?" echoed the attorney. . 
 
 "No; and I've no hope of getting it. What 's to be done, Mr. 
 Blueblack ? " answei'ed Henrj', in no way inclined either to 
 hear or make long speeches. 
 
 " Really T see nothing but afiatof bankruptcy, Mr. Gospitch. 
 Upon my word I 'm sorry things should come to this," quoth 
 Mr. IMueblack, attorney-at-law, as he dived into the mysteries 
 of a huge, dirty, musty folio that was propped upon his desk. 
 "However," continued the man of law, "let me see, my 
 partner will be here in the course of an hour — I should like to 
 consult with him : perhaps you would favour us with a call some 
 time in the aftemoon, if it would not be asking too much of 
 you?" And tlio Blueblack features (very much the colour of
 
 S3 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 Dutch cheese) relaxed into a set smile — a lying grin that 
 masked cumiing with an angel attribute. 
 
 Henry Gospitch assented to this proposition, and walked 
 homewards : to a home that Mary Maturin had insulted and 
 made miserable — to a home that would in a few days be 
 ticketed for sale. There could be little pleasant anticipation 
 in the return to such a wreck. Henry was alone, moneyless, 
 but not in despair; for revenge — that attractive sustenance to 
 a sad man's soul ; — had given him a stoic's energy, and no 
 muscle of his face was distorted as he neared his retail maga- 
 zine. He found no business going on there ; not a single 
 customer in the shop; and his shop-boy, seated across an 
 empty sugar-tub, was playing a game of " Beggar-my-neigh- 
 bour " with an associate, to while away the long, labourless 
 day. However, wlien the master entered the shop, the boys 
 pocketed the cards, and Henry's servant soon stood easily 
 behind the counter, awaiting any instructions and feigning 
 preparations for expected customers. "What have you been 
 doing, John, while I 've been away?" asked Henry Gospitch. 
 
 "Taken four shillings. Sir; that's all," answered John. 
 
 Without making any further inquiries the master passed 
 on into the little back parlour. He sat himself down, called 
 for his books, and commenced a minute analysis of his affairs. 
 As he proceeded with his calculations, his face wore consecu- 
 tively many contradictory expressions ; now a smile struggled 
 upon his features, and now a flushed cheek and a pouting 
 under-lip showed the burial of a momentary hope. Having 
 occupied an hour in this way, Gospitch threw down his pen, 
 and as he used the blotting-paper, he muttered cheerfully, 
 " Well, they may say what they like, but there can be no 
 charge of personal extravagance ! " And it is but justice to 
 assure the reader that no expenditure had been made beyond 
 what sufficed for the bare necessities of man ; so that the 
 most expert lawyer could not have trumped up a charge of 
 extravagance against the bankrupt. 
 
 Well, there was comfort in this assurance, and Henry felt 
 almost happy as he knocked at the office door of Messrs. 
 Blueblack and Green, at the appointed hour. 
 
 " Come in," growled a consumptive clerk, who, at so much 
 per line, was wi-iting himself into the churchyard at a gallop- 
 ing pace—" Come in." After waiting a few minutes, Heniy 
 Gospitch was ushered into the presence of the firm.
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. S3 
 
 " I 'm glad to see j'ou 've brought your books. It 's really a 
 pity some arrangement can't be made with your creditors. The 
 debts, Mr. Gospitch, are really so small, that I 'm sure you 
 might raise sufficient cash to cover them." Having said thus 
 much, Blueblack turned to his worthy partner to ask him his 
 opinion. 
 
 " What say you, jMr, Gospitch," inquired the gentleman, 
 who swaggered under the name of Green, — " Must it be bank- 
 ruptcy ? " 
 
 " AH I know is, I cannot command the loan of a farthing," 
 said the client. " Here are my books. You will find that ex- 
 travagance has not driven me to a state of bankruptcy." 
 
 "We will do what we can for you," simpered Blueblack. 
 
 "Yes, we will do our best for j'ou, Sir," quoth Green. 
 
 " I leave the case in your hands entirely," answered Heniy 
 Gospitch as he prepared to depart. " When shall I hear from 
 you upon the subject, may I ask ? " 
 
 " I should say about the day after to-morrow. We have 
 an immensity of business to get through between this and 
 then," said Blueblack. • Henry Gospitch felt himself relieved 
 of a responsibility when he left his affairs in the hands of his 
 attorneys. 
 
 A. few days only had been gathered to the past, when an old 
 stair carpet might have been seen hanging from the first floor 
 window of our hero's house ; and two bills upon the door-posts 
 gave notice of a sale of Henry Gospitch's effects. On the day 
 to which we allude the household furniture was to be sub- 
 mitted to an auctioneer's hammer. No home of domestic 
 raptures was being ransacked — no endearing incidents linked 
 sweet memories with the items condemned to the hammer, 
 and so it did not call for much philosophy in the bankrupt to 
 survey the hurried gutting of his house. He would be as 
 comfortable in a garret, for he was alone — had not a soul in 
 the world to be a partaker in his aches and joys. Though at 
 times there is a sense of freedom in this loneliness, how crush- 
 ing is the thought that death may claim us any day, and no- 
 body Avill miss us ! During the stages of his bankraptcy, 
 Henry Gospitch petted his loneliness. He walked about 
 amongst the crowd — the vulgar, prying crowd — tliat thrust 
 themselves into his rooms, making critical e.xaminations of 
 every article of furniture, like ravens battening upon a fallen 
 man. He heard his neighbours — people who had called
 
 24 THK DISGRACE TO tHE FA^ril.Yi 
 
 themselves his friends — wondering " if the four-poster would 
 go cheap," or speculating upon the probable price of the parlour 
 chairs, &c. ; there they were, huckstering for the chattels of 
 their former host — ready to turn a penny by a friend. But 
 the bankrupt cared not for this indelicate behavioiir; he had 
 the world before him — a determination, sweetened by intense 
 revenge, to make a position, and so he looked upon these 
 passing matters as mere trifles. 
 
 He was prepared for the worst with hopes that knew no 
 bound to their soaring ; and one — only one — thouglit disturbed 
 this philosophy — that thought was of iliss Maturin. She was 
 to him, as she was to us, a liaunting mystery. He could not 
 break the slavery of love ; pride was powerless in the contest ; 
 and, ashamed of the bondage, he still felt himself her slave. 
 Weak man that he was ; self dignity could not assert itself 
 within him ; and he felt that he was paying with his heart 
 the allegiance that his proud soul scorned. It must be borne 
 in mind that Henry Gospitch knew nothing of the scenes de- 
 scribed in previous chapters. How, then, could he tell whether 
 the absence of his mistress was voluutaiy or compulsoiy? 
 There were such monsters as hard-hearted relations — there 
 were locks to doors, and spies to watch, and for aught he knew 
 to the contrary, Miss Maturin was the victim of these dis- 
 courtesies. One of the chiefest joys in love is faith m the 
 entire constancy of its object. It was this faith that made 
 the grand hope of Henry's life ; he could not believe that 
 Miss Maturin was untrue to him even in thought; and so, 
 blind biped ! he wore a certain cheerfulness throughout liis 
 embarrassments. 
 
 On the second day of sale a well-appointed chariot stopped 
 at the bankrupt's door. Heniy Gospitch was in the shop. 
 The porters, wlio were prowling about the premises ready to 
 shoulder the purchases for customers, stared curiously at this 
 wonderful appearance ; children, with dirty pinafores and 
 huge lumps of bread and butter, crowded about the sliop- 
 door, and various heads from various windows ogled the lace- 
 bedecked footmen. The menials opened the carriage-door, 
 and Mrs De Gospitch descended, fairy-like, from the vehicle, 
 making directly for the shop. Henry Gospitch crimsoned 
 deeply -not with shame, butwitli bitterest anger. He could 
 have horsewhipped a man for the insult, but there was no re- 
 torting the insult of a woman ; he must put up with it quietly,
 
 ► 1. t< 
 
 €^\ k % 
 
 , , , /: 
 
 /
 
 THl; DISGITACE TO I'HE FAMILY. 25 
 
 and nurse the woiinLl in secret. lie felt his helplessness, and 
 was half mad with ronfused ideas. God ! thought the man — 
 could I\Iarv 2Iaturin be like her sister! 
 
 " To the sale, your ladyship?' asked a man who was 
 stationed in the shop to direct purchasers to the sale-room. 
 
 •' Yes, which is the way '?" answered Mrs. De Gospitch ; 
 and the man ushered her with much ceremony to the i-oom on 
 the first floor. 
 
 All eyes now tiu'ned upon the lady as she entered the 
 apartment ; and the auctioneer, with ludicrous dignity, bade 
 one of his servants place a chair for the new comer. It 
 was worth a long journey to see Mrs. De Gospitch seated 
 amid Jews and (xeutiles, (and no very clean or aristocratic 
 assortment of either persuasion,) nose in air, surveying 
 the various articles placed before the officiating salesman. 
 There she sat sneering at some hundred mortals, account- 
 ing them beings of inferior fashioning — poor, dirty, stupid 
 bipeds, who attempted to imitate their l)etters and to as- 
 sert their rights. She really wondered at their impudence. 
 Stupid woman, she forgot that very soon she and that horny 
 listed Jew beside her — that squalid crippled woman, that 
 ragged labourer, that tobacco-scented porter with the shoulder 
 knot, and the auctioneer too, were going — going — would soon 
 be gone to the same home to make a grand feast for the 
 worms. What if black ]\Iisery should usher the ragged and 
 the starving to be first served up at the banquet— Death — 
 that unscrupulous landlord ! — would assuredly dish her lady- 
 shij) for the seconfl course, and the worms would wriggle 
 chcerfidly over the dainty. However, had she thought of this, 
 she would have gathered comfort from the belief tliat, while 
 she would be ushered to the feast by feather bearers, and be 
 ensconced in mahuguny and velvet, the vulgar mortals about 
 lier would be flung to the banquet in deal and calico. 
 
 '• Who bids for this superb chefFonier?"' shouted the auc- 
 tioneer. 
 
 " Is there a.brokor in the room?'' inquired Mrs. De Gos- 
 p)itch. Tlie lady was instantly surrounded by some dozen of 
 slovenly individuals professing the calling in question. 
 
 " IIT 'm a broker, please you, marm," grunted a diminu- 
 tive personage with a nose like a rod tui'iiip-radish, and in a 
 voice tliat was a cross between a grunt and a whistle — " JIT 'm 
 a broker, marm." 
 
 c
 
 20 THE DISar>ACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 " What can I do for you, madam?"' insimxated a lean, long- 
 nosed fellow in the blandest manner. 
 
 " Does your ladyship wish to make a purchase, cheap?" 
 suggested another. 
 
 Tlie " ladyship" won the day ; and the lucky individual who 
 liad presented Mrs. De Gospitch with the charming title was 
 commissioned to bid for the chefFonier. It was knocked down 
 to Mrs. De (jospitch at five guineas. 
 
 " Is there anything else your ladyship would lilce to pur- 
 chase," suggested the broker — " any nicknack ? There is a 
 handsome four poster as '11 go cheap ; and some drawers fit for 
 a duchess, or even your ladyship." 
 
 " Really the man is a well spoken personage for his sta- 
 tion," thought Mrs. De Gospitcli. " Have any pictures been 
 disposed of?" 
 
 " Not yet, your ladyship. The liankrupthad no pictures of 
 any value. I 've only seen one work of art, your ladyship, which 
 I 'm sure your ladyship would'nt think of looking at — its the 
 portrait of some old, ugly, vulgar person in costume very like 
 a footman out o' place." 
 
 Such was the broker's candid opinion of the personal ap- 
 pearance of Mr. De Gospitchs grandfather. It will be easily 
 believed that the lady did not particularly relish this gratui- 
 tous criticism ; she therefore thought it high time to " set 
 down " the obsequious official. 
 
 " I did not ask your opinion, Sir, I believe. Show me the 
 picture." 
 
 Tlie man obeyed, and quickly stumbled into the lady's pre- 
 sence, dragging after him a huge, dirty, besmeared canvas, 
 with the features of a haggard, old-fashioned gentleman 
 daubed upon it in the most diugy colours. 
 
 " He an't 'andsome by no means," volunteered the broker, 
 anxious to impress his employer with a full sense of his cri- 
 tical profundity. "Yet," he continued, " the artist seems to 
 have made the best of a bad bargain." 
 
 " I should thank you not to venture any further re- 
 marks, but to attend to your business. Buy the pictui'e for 
 me, and then let me know to what extent I am indebted to 
 
 you." _ ' _ ^ 
 
 The picture was speedily hoisted above the auctioneer's 
 desk for the edification of the bidding crowd; and, if Mrs. 
 De Gospitch cared for the opinions of some thirty out-
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 27 
 
 spoken individuals, slie had no reason to congratulate herself 
 upon the beauty of the family ancestor. 
 
 " There 's a sharp-nosed old villain," shouted one. 
 " Didn't know there'd been plush in the family ! " ventured 
 another, mistaking the old costume for liveried pomp ; and 
 the merriment was at its height when a stentorian voice bel- 
 lowed — " What a guffin !"' 
 
 The picture was knocked down to Mrs. De Gospitch for a 
 mere trifle ; and having settled pecuniary matters with the 
 broker, she hurried from the sale room, thoroughly disgusted 
 mth the company therein assembled. 
 
 :';; ^,- ;;-- ;','- -.= * 
 
 " The morn was cold ; he views with keen desire 
 The iiisty grate, unconscious of a fire ; 
 With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scored. 
 And five cracked tea-cups dress'd the chimney board." 
 
 Such the desolation heaped about Henry Gospitch some 
 few days after the sale of his effects : his position in the world 
 was, for the time gone, and he was alone — doubly alone — for 
 he was a beggar. Money can always command social enjoy- 
 ment, but Lazarus is a hermit. 
 
 Henry Gospitch had rich relations, but it was their very riches 
 tliat banished him from their presence. He had been a re- 
 tail grocer, and had so disgraced his family that he was a blot 
 on the scutcheon — a man to be scouted — forgotten. 
 
 The consciousness of this conventional degradation half 
 maddened him, and he plotted plans night and day. " By 
 Heaven!" he said passionately, "I'll be somebody yet." 
 And the instances are rare when the man with sucli a deter- 
 mination firmly rooted within him has failed in doing great 
 things. 
 
 The trial that led to this exclamation was a most dangerous 
 one— one rash step, and there was infamy staring him in the 
 face with a demon's grin — a few calm thinkings, and a fair 
 prospect shone in the distance— a quiet inobtrusive prospect, 
 perliaps, yet full of peaceful sunshine and sweet tranquillity. 
 The man passed a whole week in a scheming reverie. Hun- 
 dreds of plans were created and flung aside ; black, horrible, 
 easy schemes arose and were abandoned with dismay, and 
 final despair sat gnawing at the heart-strings of our hero. 
 
 He cared not one. jot tliat ho lodged in a garret (all his fur- 
 niture being an ill-appointed bed, two chairs, and a dilapidated 
 
 c S
 
 S8 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 wash-hand- stand) : these little inconveniences troubled him 
 not, but he quailed before tlie consciousness that made a savage 
 of him — the conviction that his brother and Mrs. De Gospitch 
 — and perhaps (the momentai*)' belief was agony) Miss Maturin, 
 looked upon liim and his miseiy as upon the merited result 
 of a transgression ; that transgression was — the ignominy of 
 retail trading. 
 
 But he had resolved to struggle from the mud — how, he 
 knew not. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Yes — loving is a painful thrill, 
 And not to love more painful still ; 
 But oh ! it is the worst of pain. 
 To love, and not be loved again." 
 
 COLEEIDGE. 
 
 To accoimt for the strange contradictions set forth in the 
 characters he portrays, is the most difficult task the novelist 
 has to contend with; and two of the principal personages 
 figuring in this history are such inexplicable anomalies, that 
 we can scarcely hope to account successfully for all their 
 actions and passions. However, our chief business is a faith- 
 ful portraiture of human nature ; and if at all times we can- 
 not explain the secret mechanism of our models, at least we 
 may show all their capabilities. A man's true character 
 is more easily fathomed than that of a woman. Men sel- 
 dom act under restraint, and women constantly wear a mask. 
 It is easy to get at a man's real opinion ; a woman will not 
 be sounded — she will evade your question skilfully, and ob- 
 stinately, never flatly refusing an answer, and seldom granting 
 a dii'ect one. 
 
 Why did Mrs. De Gospitch go to the sale of Henry Gos- 
 pitch's effects ? Was it to wound the pride of the broken 
 man ? was it curiosity ? or was it a desire to purchase some 
 articles belonging to family history? If the latter motive 
 alone actuated her, why not have despatched a broker? Such 
 was the train of reasoning that naturally suggested itself to 
 the lady's friends and relations. Some accused her of wilful 
 cruelty ; others thought she had only the honour of her hus-
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 29 
 
 bauds femilj' at lieart. If the reader asks our opiuion, we 
 are inclined to thiuk that a fair sprinkling of curiosity, a little 
 Avilfaluess, and a strong determination to hang the portrait of 
 her husband's ancestor at the Square, well mixed together, 
 contributed to form the lady's resolution. Perhaps she was 
 actuated by the best motives ; and if so, we must compliment 
 her as a consummate actress ; for her daily speech led her 
 acquaintance to think so differently, tliat her uncharitableness 
 was the universal theme of conversation. Even her husband 
 quarrelled with her, when he heard of her visit to the Gos- 
 pitch sale. He told her pretty plainly that her conduct was 
 highly unbecoming, not to say positively unladylike ; and 
 he desired emphatically that it should not be repeated. 
 This reproof gave occasion for a series of pouts, which, how- 
 ever, failed of their intended effect; for Mr. De Gospitch left 
 his lady to sulk alone. She did not sustahi this lonely ill- 
 humour long, and matters soon wore their original appearance ; 
 that is to say, Mr. and Mrs. De Gospitch were on friendly 
 terms again. There must be some comfort in indifference — 
 the absence of rapture must have some compensating blessing, 
 or what would become of the thousands of married people to 
 whom the thrill of love is unknown, and who, nevertheless, are 
 seemingly happy in their hstless friendship ? What godly 
 seci-et is it that sustains the placidity of indifference ? Is 
 it the death of all the heart's emotions ? If so, Avhat compen- 
 sating phantom has earth to give ? Is it the engrossing of 
 worldly hiterest — is it ambition? -is it the ignorance of heart- 
 lessness — that makes this deadly life endurable? A man, 
 with all his affections snatched from him, will find the church- 
 yard a home, an enticing tenement, say some; but look about, 
 and see the myriads of men who flourish and fatten upon a 
 heart no bigger than a pin's head. 
 
 " What a filthy condition this escrutoire is in, " said Mrs. 
 De Gospitch to Mary Maturin the morning after the sale. 
 
 " It has been a handsome piece of furniture," suggested 
 the other : where do you mean to put it, Susannah ? " 
 
 " I thought of having it repaired first, and then it might 
 stand in your room," answered the sister. " Stay," she con- 
 tinued, " let us see what state the drawers are in." 
 
 Miss Maturin readily assented, and the key was applied to 
 the topmost keyhole ; both ladies evincing some anxiety to 
 gratify their curiosity,
 
 30 THE DISGBACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 " Here's a mass of rubbish ! " exclaimed the elder sister as 
 she opened the first drawer and commenced tumbling a con- 
 fused mass of papers, &c. " What 's in this newspaper ? — how 
 carefully it 's folded !" and she began to unfold the parcel. " A 
 bunch of dead flowers ! ha ! ha ! ha ! " and the lady laughed 
 heartily. 
 
 This discovery was no laughing matter to Miss Maturin ; 
 she had seen the flowers before — had worn them in her bosom. 
 
 " Good gracious ! " continued Mrs. De Gospitch, quite ex 
 cited with curiosity and glee, "here 's another parcel — what! 
 • — a portrait — your miniature, Mary ! " 
 
 Miss Maturin snatched np the picture and the flowers, and 
 withdrew hastily to her own apartment. What was she to 
 believe ? 
 
 Had Henry Gospitch sent back these presents intentionally, 
 or was it a mistake ? The girl was in agony. She found that 
 though it was easy to deceive, to be deceived was a very dif- 
 ferent matter. When she half consented to abandon her lover 
 the promise cost her no pang ; but her pride was wounded at 
 the thought that he — Henry Gospitch, grocer, gave her up — 
 flung her fi'om him as unworthy to be his wife. She acknow- 
 ledged that she had wronged him — treated him coldly and 
 uncourteously — left his letters unanswered ; and yet she 
 thought there is a love that clings to its object through neg- 
 lect and wrong — that lingers around a shrine of ice, often re- 
 melting the frigid mass to its original state of warmth ; and 
 the woman's better nature awakening with this self-question- 
 ing, she felt — with anguish felt — that she, too, could have 
 yielded her whole soul to this constancy. 
 
 Men cannot forget the world as women do in love, and it is 
 better for all that such is the case. In her enthusiasm Miss 
 Maturin would have sought the arms of Plenry Gospitch ; 
 but, the enthusiasm gone, she would have paid bitter repen- 
 tance for the step. And this fact touches nearly upon the 
 moral of this story. Miss Maturin was an instance of con- 
 ventional perfection, and moral ignorance. She could play 
 the piano, but she could not distinguish between intrinsic and 
 conventional excellence ; she could not understand how a 
 grocer could be a hero, and my Lord Biunhunted a mean trick- 
 ster. It was pitiful to watch her day by day ; to see her 
 sacrifice her womanly sweetness at the shrine of Fashion. 
 Simplicity, Joyousness, Sensibility and Truth bled and died at
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 31 
 
 Fashion's altar ; and, phcenix-like, Dignity, Reserve, and 
 " Comportment," arose from the ashes of three Virtues — alas ! 
 •v\'hat an unworthy resurrection. And now must the reader in- 
 vest our heroine with the sympathies that wait upon a matyi- ; 
 for her sacrifices (though she knew not their value) were great 
 and many. 
 
 Thus, in the leading-strings of fashionahle circles, Miss 
 Maturin's love for a positionless individual had been led to a 
 coldness fast verging upon decided indifference ; a few months 
 of quiet training, and the lady would have spurned her love 
 with soulfelt disdain. Her pride was quenching her w-hole 
 heart, and, in a very few months, she would have been a per- 
 fect woman of fashion, fit to grace the highest circles, but 
 not good enough to preside over the domesticity of a simple 
 gentleman's home. The discovery of the portrait and flowers 
 was a terrible blow to her pride. Was she to believe that 
 she — the petted puppit of lordly circles — the delight of a re- 
 fined society — was deserted by a broken-do^ni tradesman ! Her 
 dignity persuaded her that Henry Gospitch, seeing the dif- 
 ference of theu' relative positions, had foregone his claims upon 
 her affections, lacking courage to aspire to her hand ; but fact 
 showed that this was not the case, for it was only two weeks 
 since he had written a letter couched in warmest language, 
 and breathing hope of coming connubial happiness ; she must 
 then believe either that the miniature was left in the drawer 
 by accident, or that slie was the discarded mistress of a grocer. 
 And the latter humiliating thought had its good effects upon 
 the pampered woman. 
 
 The reader has been told that Mrs. De Gospitch 's visit to 
 the sale did not please her husband ; it has, moreover, been re- 
 lated how the displeased gentleman intimated his displeasure 
 to his wife. De Gospitch did not content himself with verbal 
 signification of his anger only ; he resolved to return the pur- 
 chased effects to his brother. At this Mrs. De Gospitch was 
 exceedingly wrath. She declared that her husband had no 
 family pride — no dignity; and she considered it very hard 
 that she was not allowed to have her own way in such small 
 matters. She really thought that De Gospitch had better see to 
 the domestic arrangements of the house altogether : she was 
 heartil}' tired of this officious interference, and she could not 
 consent to put up with it any longer. She was sure there was 
 no great pleasure in looking after a pack of lazy servants,
 
 39 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 aucl, fur lier part, she should be ghvl to get rid of the trouble ; so 
 De Gospitch had better do it all himself. Though such were 
 the opinious of his wife, it in no way follows that De Gospitch 
 coincided in them; on the contrary, he had a habit of dis- 
 agreeing with every body, and he did not generally make his 
 wife an exception to his rule. Mrs. De Gospitch"s greatest 
 domestic grievance was, that she could not get her husband 
 into a passion. If she called him " a blockhead ! " he would 
 smile contemptuously; and when, in the excitement of anger, 
 she ventured to dub her lord and master " a fool ! ■' he would 
 laugh outright, and vow she was quite ridiculous. This jolly 
 Avay of taking thmgs irritated the aristocratic dame exceed- 
 ingly; and since she could boast the acquaintance of two ba- 
 ronets and a viscount, she had found De Gospitch 's easy and 
 undignified conduct almost beyond endurance. She was de- 
 termined to lecture him upon the subject— to show him what 
 became a man of his standing in the world. " Do consider, 
 my dear De Gospitch" — she said, as they were returning home 
 one evening from a ball at which De Gospitch had not be- 
 haved with sufficient dignity to suit his wife's sense of family 
 importance — " Do consider the dignity of your position ! How 
 my poor dear mother would have been shocked, if she could 
 have looked from her gi-ave and seen you, with almost the 
 servility of a waiter, volunteering to carve everj'thing for 
 everybody." 
 
 " Nonsense, Susannah ! don't preach to me. I know as well 
 as you what to do, and how to behave," retorted the husband, 
 shuddering at the bare idea of tlie temporaiy resuscitation of 
 a mother-iulaw. 
 
 " Uph ! — you're a tiresome creature ! " said the lady, hudtUing 
 herself comfortably in the corner of the carriage. A pause 
 ensued, during whicli Mrs. De Gospitch dozed cozily, now and 
 them humming a favourite air just to tantalize her husband. 
 
 " Have you sent that cheffonier back and that picture?" 
 asked De Gospitch in no very bland accents. 
 
 •' I told one of the servants to take them down stairs till 
 you asked for them ; so, if you wan t them to be sent back, you had 
 better give your own orders to that effect." This was spoken 
 by the wife with delicious coolness; and she continued hum- 
 ming the air from the point at which she had been interrupted. 
 
 " I'll have it sent to-morrow before I go out. What do 
 you think people will say if they hear that I have been barter-
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 33 
 
 ing at the sale of the effects of a poor relation — especially in 
 these democratic days ? You ought to have had more pini- 
 deuce, — I'm astonished at you ! " 
 
 " Well, send the things back, and let me hear no more upon 
 the subject," ansAvered the lady, as the footman opened the 
 carriage door. 
 
 On the morrow following this conversation a man was de- 
 spatched with the cheffonier and picture in quest of Henry 
 Gospitch. The messenger was some hours on his errand, for 
 it was no easy matter to find the obscure garret of the younger 
 brother; he however returned as quicldy as possible with the 
 goods he had been instructed to leave. Mrs. De Gospitch 
 wondered at this exceedingly ; but a letter in Henry Gospitchs 
 handwi'iting explained everything. Mr. De Gospitch was 
 out, and so Mrs. De Gospitch availed herself of one of the 
 enjoyments of married life, that is to say, she opened her 
 husbands letter. It ran as follows : — 
 
 King's Head Court. 
 MY BROTHER, 
 
 I could not resent the insult offered to my misfortunes by 
 your wife. You could have saved me from the miseiy that is 
 now hunting me to the churchyard ; you did not choose to do 
 so — so much for your conduct as a brother. After my appli- 
 cation to you for a loan, and your refusal, you heard no more 
 from me ; and God is my witness, I should not have sought 
 a meeting with you, or written one syllable to you again ; I 
 should have been wholly dead to you. Why then. Sir, insult 
 me with the petty offer you now make ? Y'^ou fairly bought 
 the articles you send me, and keep them — they would look 
 ridiculous here beside a broken-doNVTi bedstead, and — but my 
 situation calls for no pity from 5'ou — would accept of none. I 
 look upon you no longer in the light of a brother — the world 
 is wide — let us be clear of each other henceforth : let us be 
 strangers if not sworn enemies. 
 
 Yours, in bitteniess, 
 
 Henry Gospitch. 
 
 Our father and mother are looking down upon us ; good 
 God I what must they think of you ! 
 
 " De Gospitch had better not see this letter; it would only 
 make a disturbance," said Mrs. De Gospitch " And as for 
 
 3
 
 34 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 the picture and cheffonier, they shall be sold immediately 
 to some upholsterer." 
 
 This was the high resolve of the offended sister-in-law. 
 She was determined not to put up with the " presumptuous 
 indignation" of Henry Gospitch ; and besides, she knew that 
 her husband would be "chicken-hearted" over the letter; 
 and so, to save her partner some uneasiness, and herself an 
 extra scolding, the epistle was thrown into the fire 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Why do we murmur ] Are we poor 1 What's that 1 
 'Tis but to breathe the air of industry ; 
 To use sweet exercise from morn till eve, — 
 Earn health, content, rude strength, and appetite; 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 We'll not repine, because we have no longer 
 A little leisure that we lost in dreams." 
 
 Bakry Cornwall. 
 
 Misfortune sometimes improves the character ; it softens the 
 heart and quenches undue pride ; but with Henry Gospitch 
 poverty acted only as a stimulant, rousing and concentrating 
 bis passions almost to a state of frenzy. There he was, 
 ensconced in his garret, nursing and fondling a spirit of 
 revenge that sought eagerly for an outburst. He indulged in 
 the most ambitious dreams — he painted a golden future with 
 a ragged present. The present was never enjoyed by Henry 
 Gospitch. When he basked in a summer of plenty he only 
 enjoyed the sufficiency as suggestive of coming delight — of 
 something that would infinitely sui-pass all present rapture. 
 He was a man who took a walk in the morning because it 
 would increase his appetite for dinner, who ate his dinner be- 
 cause of the wine to come afterwards, who drank the mne 
 with glee because there was coffee to follow, and who endured 
 the fatigue of drawing-room etiquette because it passed the 
 time away that must elapse before the fulfilment of the mor- 
 row's engagement. He never enjoyed the walk itself; he 
 cared not for the dinner when he was eating it ; he sipped the 
 wine without zest; did not care much for coffee, and was dull 
 when fulfilling the morrow's engagement. Constant foresight 
 is destructive of much happiness. They are happiest who
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 35 
 
 can enjoy the present and leave the future to the future. 
 However, at times, this nursing of the future is most beneficial. 
 It is especially so to the man of the world, because it leads 
 him to include in his mundane calculations future probability 
 and contingency, while the plodding, unspeculative man will 
 lose by his short-sighted investments. Henry Gospitch did not 
 hope for immediate success ; his mind was essentially specula- 
 tive, and he was content to grasp the smallest beginning if it 
 held out a large and fair prospect. Years might elapse before 
 he rose ; he cared not, so that he could have some assurance of 
 eventually rising. Full of schemes of this promise, he did 
 not dwell at any length upon the "insult" offered to him by 
 his brother: his whole soul was wrapped up in a dream of 
 coming equality with or superiority over him. He was 
 thoroughly honest in all his thoughts and actions. He had 
 strange haughty principles, perhaps, but he had faith in their 
 orthodoxy and strength to adhere to them strictly. It may 
 be thought that he judged his elder brother harshly, but his 
 judgment was the natural interpretation of a proud spirit 
 humbled by adverse circumstances. His sharpest thorn was 
 the thought of having begged the loan ; and the secret of his 
 strong revenge was the refusal of that loan. When an action 
 is performed at the expense of dignity, and the humiliation 
 of the performer awakens no sympathy, or is taken as a common 
 occurrence, the humbled individual must experience, perhaps, 
 the keenest sense of shame that it is possible for man to suffer. 
 Henry could find no comfort in thoughts of Mary Maturin. 
 Was her silence compulsory, or was it voluntary? He could 
 not tell : he had no proofs to guide him — no event that did 
 not admit of opposite versions. His worldly experience was 
 not of that kind that could give him belief in the inconstancy 
 of one so loving and so beloved as he had believed Miss 
 Maturin to be. His hardly-earned knoAvledge did not include 
 experience in the waywardness and calculation of woman, tie 
 was not the repulsed suitor of some dozen flaunting dam- 
 sels — he never paid homage to a ball-room puppet — he knew 
 nothing of that mercenary marriage market (a ceremonious 
 ball-room) where bedecked beauty entraps the rising genera- 
 tion — he had Ivnown ]\liss ]\raturin for some 3'ears ; and he had 
 been so absorljcd in an unfailing lovo for her, that specuhiting 
 misses had been always passed unnoticed. Besides, he knew 
 Miss Maturin to be so free from all taint of worldly pride — 
 so utterly incapable of deceit, that ho generally felt convhiccd
 
 36 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 that to doubt her love was to wrong her deeply. Though he 
 had faith in his mistress, it needed some exercise of philo- 
 sophy to sustain it upon so old a foundation ; and when he re- 
 membered that slie had not once written to him since his 
 failure, his soul sank within him, and his love partook strongly 
 of a very 02:)posite passion. But his pride surmounted all, 
 and he resolved that he would use every effort to see Miss Ma- 
 turin, and if a change had come over her, that he would fling 
 her from him, and work only more zealously to rise, that he 
 might, at some future time, look down upon her and taunt 
 her with the cowardice of her heart. If this resolve was not 
 chivalrous it was natural — the offspring of plodding, ill-educated 
 humanity. 
 
 These teazing reflections were in no way modified by Mrs. 
 Griimblebum, the Avorthy landlady of whom our hero I'ented 
 his garret. Mrs. Grumblebum was quite a character. She 
 declared that she was " country reared," and that once, " and 
 not so long since neither," she was " the pride of her village." 
 We Avill not question the veracity of the " countiy- reared " 
 lady ; she might have been a Venus for aught we know to the 
 contrary. Time does alter people wonderfully, though we 
 never before heard that the gentleman celebrated for his fore- 
 lock could t\\ist an aquiline into a decided pug, and stretch 
 a lady's mouth to enormous dimensions. Could Time throw 
 gamboge into blue eyes and make them a good sap green? 
 Could Time redden auburn tresses and swell taper fingers to 
 the consistency of the very best pork sausages '? If Time could 
 work these miracles, then do we admit that Mrs. Gnimblebum 
 might once have been the type of Venus. Let us be cha- 
 ritable, and look upon the dear old lady as the ill-used play- 
 thing of the gray gentleman — a beautiful flower spoiled by a 
 long, sharp frost. Her temper, too, was not of the sweetest — 
 she could scold, though she said " it went to her heart when she 
 had to find fault " If she was well primed for an angry dis- 
 cussion, she always opened fire by avowing that " nobody hated 
 quarrelling more than lierself," and it was a great pity people 
 could not do as they would be done by, and live in peace and 
 quietness. And for a lady in love with peace and quietness, 
 we know nobody who could bear a better part in verbal war- 
 fare than the gentle Mrs. Grumblebum. Her vocabulary was 
 iue.xliaustible; and she seasoned her discoui'se so judiciously 
 with slang, that her speeches never fell flat or powerless. She 
 either persuaded or enraged. We should not do her justice if
 
 THK DlSGKACIi TO THE FAMILY. 37 
 
 Ave were to omit meutiou of her humour ami wit. She had 
 caught the funny mania of the day, and she thoroughly believed 
 tliat one of the first duties of life was to make jokes. Her 
 attemjots were awful. We could have borne her abuse, but it 
 wanted a strong man to withstand her jokes. Oh! the puns 
 Mrs. Gnimblebum considered it her duty to make ! And if 
 there is one thing more nauseous than another, assuredly it is 
 a bad pun. But this dilapidated Venus spared uobod}' — we 
 verily believe that her last breath gave utterance to some- 
 thing jocular. 
 
 She often treated Henry Gospitch to a visit ; and his irre- 
 gular payment of rent was a passport to familiarity. It is 
 ever so ; a creditor (especially an uneducated one ) always, con- 
 siders familiarity with his debtor condescension. The vulgar 
 mind of our hero's remarkable landlady taught her to con- 
 sider her indebted lodger as an equal if not an inferior. 
 \Vhile he paid his rent regularly her talk had been as small as 
 mince-meat — but her tongue grew long simultaneously witli 
 her bill. Three weeks had passed since Henry Gospitch had 
 paid any money, and the embarrassment of the debt was in 
 no way relieved by the increasing prolixity of Mrs. Grumlde- 
 lium's visits ; but want of funds compelled the poor man to 
 mbmit patiently to the verbosity of his creditor; he could not 
 give her cash, and so he must pa^ii his ears awhile, awaiting 
 anxiously the coming of the precious metal. He did not see 
 exactly how money was to be got, but he felt certain that 
 there were mean's which a short time might discover, and so 
 under the iuflictiou of Mrs. Gramblebum's tongue he was 
 patient, lamb-like. 
 
 So constant had the lady's visits been lately that she, for 
 perhaps the first time in her life, found her fund of conver- 
 sation somewhat used up — besides, she began to question the 
 honesty of her customer ; and she resolved to intimate her 
 fears as delicately as possible to their source. The reader 
 will see what she called delicacy of diction — she is in Henry 
 Gospitch's room : — 
 
 " Well, Mr. G — , here I am again, you see," quoth tlie 
 woman, as she made use of the only unoccupied chair in the 
 room— "you look bilious like." Henry assured her that he 
 was as well as usual. "Am glad to hear it. I'm really, 
 'pon my word, ]\Ir. Gospitch, very sorry — very sorrv mdced 
 to trouble you — but you see — three weeks, and — " 
 
 .be. _ , < 
 
 s
 
 38 THE DISGBACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 " I understand, Mrs. Grnmblebum, you would rather not 
 give me farther credit." 
 
 " Exactly — that 's it, Mr. Gospitch, and if j'ou can't pay 
 just now, I should take it as a mighty favour if you would 
 bundle out and leave your bundle. Ha ! ha ! ho ! " and the 
 woman's large frame shook like a huge jelly as she gave vent 
 to her self-appreciation in a peal of laughter ; — " bundle out 
 and leave his bundle, ha ! ha ! " Mrs. Grumblebum, in 
 the innocence of her heart, believed she had made a joke 
 that deserved conspicuous type. Poor, deluded soul ! 
 
 Henry Gospitch did not relish this pleasantry at his ex- 
 pense, and he signified as much to the grinning female. 
 
 " You won't stand this sort of thing, won't you, my 
 trump ?" asked Mrs. Grumblebum warmly. "Ugh! Pretty 
 behaviour for a bankrupt towards a woman who pays her way 
 honestly — who has taken a beggar under her motherly wing 
 for three mortal weeks without so much as a tanner for her 
 pains. Oh ! you wretched men — you're a pack of infidels, 
 every one of you — there's not a pin to choose between ye — 
 ye're all alike — wretches, and women are fools for having 
 anything to do with ye. I've read of the Amazonians, and 
 dash my wig" — (here, spite of his anger, Henry could not 
 repress a smile at the woman's strange asseveration). She 
 perceived the fact, and continued more vehemently, "Oh! 
 I don't wear a wig, and I 'm not to be set down by your grin- 
 ning—as I said before, dash my wig." Henry now laughed 
 outright, and Mrs. Gramblebum grew scarlet with passion, 
 thundering at the top of her voice, "You may laugh away 
 sir, but 1 will say dash my wig, whether I wear one or not — 
 if I don't think the Amazonians, who scorned men — wouldn't 
 recognize 'em at all — were just the sort of women I should 
 like to live with ; and if men don't reform, I shouldn't won- 
 der if there was a grand meeting of our sex, and we, one and 
 all, agreed to become Amazonians — then what 'd become of 
 you nobler animals ?" 
 
 Henry Gospitch did not feel inclined to humour his land- 
 lady any further, especially after her insinuations, and so he 
 begged, in a very few words, that she would allow him to 
 vacate his lodging that day week. He assured her that he 
 would endeavour to get sufficient money to liquidate her 
 claims against him, but if he failed in the object of his en- 
 deavour, she must allow him to leave his bundle with her as
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 39 
 
 security for eventual payment. He passed no remai'ks on 
 her desultory declamations, and tins added to the good lady's 
 irritation. If there was one thing in this world that she 
 dreaded more than another, it was an inattenlivx- listener — and 
 her lodger, her indebted lodger, had digested none of her 
 gratuitous remarks, though he had been pleased to laugh 
 when she was serious, and to be serious when she made a 
 joke. A saint could not bear such bad treatment. How, 
 then, was she, a poor ailing mortal, to put up with it? She 
 had, however, much confidence in the power of her hu- 
 morous sayings, and so, with a tnie woman's pertinacity, she 
 contiiuied, — 
 
 " You 're mighty dignified, Mr. Gospitch. Think of the 
 care that has been taken of your creature comforts since vou 
 have been in my establishment. I 'm sure you 've been hu- 
 moured like a child. I thought you a very nice prim young 
 man, but I find, instead, that I 've been nursing a wiper. Ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! And — ha ! ha ! ha ! You turn upon your land- 
 lady when she wants to have a snug talk with you, and try to 
 tvipe her out, do you? Ha! ha! ha! You don't laugh. 
 Well, the joke was severe, I acknowledge. Here — here 's a 
 letter for you — in a female's handwriting too ! Oh ! you 
 men, you're a sorry set, really you are," and Mrs. Grumble- 
 bum looked at a large watch that she carried in her bosom, 
 with a guard attached to it about the thickness of a bell-rope. 
 "Good gracious — past five! "and she hastened out of the 
 room, leaving Henry Gospitch to read his letter alone. 
 
 Mr. Gaps, a man with the damages and gifts of some sixty 
 years about him, lived tranquilly with his wife at Clapham. 
 He was Avhat people call an independent man ; that is 
 to say, his purse was comfortably and pretty securely lined, 
 and his money-battle with the world was over ; the field of 
 the cloth of gold had been contested and won, and he was 
 snug in his conrpicst, though somewhat scarred by the fight- 
 ing. When Mr. Gaps had been persuaded by sundry friends 
 that he had amassed sufficient wealth to provide handsomely 
 for the remainder of his life, and he had altogether with- 
 drawn his name from the house of Gaps, Short, and Co., 
 corn-incri'hants, he found that a sense of loneliness crojit 
 over him when he passed an entire day at his Clapham villa, 
 and 80 he resolved to marry. He thought Miss Jackson, 
 who was the eldest of a numerous and fine family, living
 
 40 THE DISGIIACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 in the neighbourhood, -woulcl just suit him — and really 
 JMr. Jackson had a large family to support. He proposed — 
 the girl refused — talked some nonsense about the disparity 
 of years — her heart, &c. — but these objections were hushed 
 by her prudent relations, and she swore at the parish altar 
 to love, honour, and obey Joseph Gaps. Gaps was a sour 
 man — he had been soured by many hard trials, and he must 
 be pitied. He treated his young W'ife with uniform Idndness ; 
 he humoured her little whims if he did not absolutely pet 
 her ; but she was not happy. How should she be ? her hus- 
 band was just forty years her senior ! Life to her was all 
 couleur de rose; her partner could only "smell the mould 
 above the rose " — a great, sad diffei'ence ! She was not posi- 
 tively wretched, let it be understood — she enjoyed that nega- 
 tive hai.piness — that mere apology for joy that keeps a 
 peaceful even beating at the heart where life is only cheer- 
 ful monotony. Henry Gospitch had made the acquaintance 
 of Gaps during the progress of some mercantile dealings the 
 two had had together ; and though the firm of Gaps, Short, 
 and Co. had lost some money by Henry's failure, the retired 
 and wealthy tradesman did not spurn his friend in his po- 
 verty ; on the contrary, he volunteered assistance, and the 
 letter given to our hero by Mrs. Grumblebum contained a 
 welcome offer. Gaps was confined to his bed by an attack 
 of the gout, and ]\Irs. Gaps had written the letter for her 
 husband. It ran as follows : — 
 
 Berners Street. 
 
 My dear Sir, — Can I be of service to you? Our ac- 
 quaintance is not of long standing, but I can only hope that 
 as far as we have known each other the pleasure of the 
 acquaintance has been mutual ; and I ask you, in the spirit 
 of a friend, can any small influence I may possess further 
 your future views ? If so, command me confidently, and I 
 must assure you that it will be a happiness to me to serve you. 
 I am locked up here with gout, but my wife will call upon my 
 quondam partners to-morrow, and afterwards wait upon you 
 with a specific offer, the acceptance of which is of course 
 perfectly optional. Yours sincerely, 
 
 Joseph Gaps. 
 
 To a person unacquainted with the jealousies of trade, 
 this offer will appear an improbable one ; a few words will
 
 THE DISGBACE TO THE FAMILY. 41 
 
 unravel the mjsteiy. Mr. Gaps aud our hero's father were 
 schuolfellows — as youths ■were cronies, but Mr. Gospitch cut 
 the acquaiiitauce of Gaps when this gentlemai'i resolved to 
 eaiTi a livelihood by the retail sale of corn. 
 
 Old Mr. Gospitch did not object to a merchant, but a re- 
 tail trader could not presume to be the bosom friend of a 
 wholesale dealer ; aud to this day, in that quarter so pecu- 
 liarly the property cf retired traders, the Avholesales do not 
 mix yith the retails. This injury had gnawed at the heart 
 of Joseph Gaps for some thirty years ; he pitied the con- 
 dition of Henry Gospitch, and longed to see the young man 
 the equal of the present haughty De Gospitch. 
 
 Eichard Gaps had many good qualities ; he had not the 
 softer amiabilities of human nature, but he had the grand qua- 
 lity from which (nickname them and disguise them as we 
 p-iay) all others spring, a good heart. The goodness of Gaps 
 was, it is true, enshrmed in a blunt, gruti', frowning address ; 
 nevertheless all who knew the man thoroughly esteemed and 
 respected him. He was not a man likely to inspire a woman 
 Anth intense love ; he lacked the necessary sympathy — the 
 necessary amiability. Mrs. Gaps, youug enough to be his 
 youngest daugliter, was a faithful aud attentive wife to him. 
 He was thankful for her manifold kindness, though he seldom 
 expressed his gratitude to her; and she, resigned and cheer- 
 ful, still watched over her decaying husband witli au angel's 
 watchfulness. And Gaps needed her incessant care ; lie was 
 fast becoming a conllrmed invalid — fast approaching that state 
 when he must lean upon another for the gratification of every 
 wish— for the execution of every needful action. 
 
 Gaps had been suddenly taken ill while at his towui lodg- 
 ings, and he had dictated the letter to Henry Gospitch from 
 a sick bed — a fit nursery for Christian charities and kindly 
 constructions. 
 
 It w'as autumn — the balmiest autumn weather, and a set- 
 ting sun ! — a time when even London air — where plodding 
 trade engrosses man's whole life — tastes of the richness 
 of the country, and all things wear a peaceful, hopeful 
 holiday. 1 have walked tlirongh London streets with half the 
 charms of iiislic nature full upon me; and, looking upward, 
 (hear this, ignorant, uncliaritable Frenchmen,) have gazed into 
 a heaven of unclouded blue — a blue as intense as the colour 
 can be imagined ; and within the iron rnilings of some London
 
 42 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 squares the mind may be supplied -s\itli so much palpable 
 fact that it needs but the most ordinary exercise of the ima 
 ginative faculty to believe oneself some hundred miles away 
 from the metropolis, and on a spot where Nature's witchery 
 has been exercised with fairy-like success. Borrow the key 
 of Lincoln's Inn Gardens and judge the truth of this. 
 
 The sun had dropped below London's horizon, and gorgeous 
 purple and copper-coloured clouds were rising from the lumi- 
 nary's bed, (as though he had set his couch on fire,) deepen- 
 ing into an intense purple as they ascended the heavens. 
 Birds, too — ay, merry, chirping birds, perched upon gables 
 and chimney-pots, chattered and sang enthusiastically; and 
 melancholy pigeons (they strut and fly as though they had 
 some great sadness at heart) cooed mournfully, while they 
 twirled themselves round as if they were commencing a game 
 of blindmau's-buff, preparatory to their retirement for the 
 night. London, with its million hearts, seemed a huge nest 
 of happiness. Happiness ! Yes, throughout the choicest 
 streets — where pampered luxury needs three footmen behind 
 its carriage, the superficial might paint happiness only ; but 
 London holds St. Giles's, Saffron Hill, and countless unions, 
 and knowing this, Justice drops her scales and dons black 
 crape despairingly. 
 
 Mrs. Gaps sat at the bed-room window watching the 
 passers-by, and Gaps breathed heavily in bed. Now and then 
 the ailing man gave forth a deep groan — now and then he 
 half uttered an oath as the pain seized him more lustily. 
 The twilight was fast deepening into absolute darkness, and 
 the birds chirped less and less; Mrs. Gaps was sad and silent. 
 There was something melancholy in the beauty of the even- 
 ing — some effect suggestive of a general fading — something 
 whispering of death. Mrs. Gaps felt this unwelcome influ 
 ence, and peered mechanically through the ^sdndow panes. 
 She ever listened attentively to the movements of her hus- 
 band, and now she thought she could hear him whispering 
 faintly — she even imagined that her own name was now and 
 then repeated in those veiled accents : she approached the 
 bed — the suffering man held forth his hand and clasped her 
 arm tightly, drawing her cheek to his colourless lips. 
 
 " What's the matter, dear ?" asked the frightened woman. 
 
 "Nothing! nothing! listen!" and Gaps made a great 
 effort to turn himself in the bed, " I am broken-hearted.
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE lAMILY. 43 
 
 You have nothing to do with the breaking, Mai'ian, nothing 
 whatever. You won't hate me if I tell vou all'? — promise 
 me." 
 
 " Hate you ! — never ! never ! What is the matter ?" and the 
 mfe put her head upon the pillow beside her husband, and 
 looked intently in his wrinkled, withered face. So plump 
 and rosy were her features that their near neighbourhood 
 to the pallid cheek of Gaps seemed a mockery — a cruel com- 
 parison. 
 
 " I was once in France," commenced the sick man, " at 
 school. I fell ui love with a neighbouring school-girl. To 
 say that she was thoroughly English in all her actions and 
 feelings is the best compliment I can pay her ; and she was 
 worthy of the praise. Passion gave no cheating varnish to 
 this early love. She was not a paragon of beauty, nor had 
 she any artful fascination about her. That I loved her the 
 misery of my life has sufficiently proved. We parted — but 
 with hearts so closely bound together — with such perfect 
 sympathy — ^^•ith such a firm trust in each other, (a trast felt 
 but once ; believe me, Marian, though Heaven appreciates 
 your goodness,) that we cared little about the leagues of ocean 
 that, for an entire year, were to roll between us. Cara was 
 going to England." 
 
 " Cara!" exclaimed Mai'ian Gaps. " Cara! Tell me all. 
 Who was she ? Oh Heaven ! " 
 
 " Foolish girl, Marian — I love ijou — believe me — tenderly. 
 How can I help loving you? — so kind, so good to me. Well : 
 Cara went to England. Some two or three years passed, 
 and again we met ; but little— less than little — emotion was 
 felt by me at the meeting ; yet Cara was in tears : I saw the 
 big salt drops gush from her half-closed eyes — I heard her 
 sigh — I saw her bosom heave convulsively — she looked upon 
 me ; but she was not the Cara of my boyhood. She had be- 
 come — and the truth was gall to me — a woman — no longer a 
 simple girl. Still the drops that fell from her eyelids— still 
 the waving bosom — still the trembling hand — bore evidence, 
 stamped Asith fiurest truth, of the constant yearnings of her 
 big heart. She did not chide me for my coldness. I could 
 not love her, though I hated myself for my want of feeling. 
 I felt no thrill run through me Avhen I gave her my hand. 
 Her girl's heart had never once swerved from the boy to 
 whom she had, as a school-girl, given her pure passion. I feel
 
 44 THE MSGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 the smallness of the part I played. Cara first conviuced me 
 that I had a heart — in her hand mine thrilled for the first 
 time — in her presence T was first happy. I. cannot tell 
 whether it was some devil that possessed me, that scr made 
 me an enemy to myself. I have since, in forgetful moments, 
 held her iiame forth to revelry — to contempt— and I have 
 grieved, too, for this long nights. What it was that snatched 
 a holy feeling from me — 1 know not ; that it ti-as snatched 
 from me I know fall well ; and I, in thorough emptiness 
 of heart, laughed at the robbery. I was a fool— a maniac." 
 Here the confessing man paused, exhausted, Marian gave 
 him some water ; he sipped it, and with some difficulty con- 
 tinued : — " I had thought of the world as of some horrid place — 
 some preparatory hell — some black inquisition, where all were 
 put upon the rack ; some, too weak to bear the tortnre, giving 
 themselves up to badness — while others would keep stout 
 hearts, and pass triumphantly through the grim ordeal. This, 
 Marian, was my boyish notion of life — this the scene in which 
 I thought I might have a supemumeraiy's part. It is a mis- 
 take — a sad error — to speak of youthful actions harshly and 
 with little consideration. Old men prate much about boyish 
 passion — of sentimental school- girls — of ' general inexpe- 
 rience' — of ' no knowledge of the world' — and, so prating, 
 they condemn the frailties of hot youth. Many think this 
 condemnation good advice, and look upon it as opinion of 
 scripture value because uttered by aged manhood. This is 
 all nonsense. It is not good philosophy to snatch from life 
 its best days — it is not vdse to show a coffin to a bride. It 
 sounds, I know, very right, very proper, to talk with severity to 
 sentimental girls, and to check boyish passion; but say ye, 
 dipped in that ice-pond — the world — is not this boyish pas- 
 sion — this first love of woman — the whole history of a life?" 
 
 " It is it is," answered Marian quickly. " But what of 
 Cara ? Who— what was she ? Oh Heaven ! " 
 
 This earnest appeal startled the invalid. He could not un- 
 derstand why liis wife should take such interest in a woman 
 she had never seen or heard of before ; besides he liked not 
 the questioning, inasmuch as he had nothing complimentaiy 
 to his o-wn heai't to relate : he even felt hurt that his wife 
 should be eager to gather a knowledge of facts redounding to 
 his discredit, and therefore tending to decrease her respect 
 for him, and her faith in his entire affection. He knew well
 
 TliE DISGBACE TO THE FAMIT.Y. 45 
 
 that the pleading beauty before him had not been loved as 
 she deserved to be : he felt how the I'ichness of her devoted 
 soul had been thrown away upon himself, and he could 
 scarcely muster sufficient courage to explain to her that the 
 love which should have been hers had been given to another 
 years and years ago. Never before had he felt so thoroughly 
 grateful to his wife as he did now — her daily, nightly tender- 
 ness ; her anxious watchings and her thankless' services ; her 
 cheerful looks when her heart must have been desolate as an 
 untrodden wilderness ; her whispered comfortings Avhen a 
 foreboding frown was upon his own features ; her bedside 
 prayers for his convalescence — all, all these charities rushed 
 upon his brain, and showed him, in unmistakeable evidence, 
 how little was the payment he had made for these womanly 
 devotions. He turned towards Marian with an opened heart, 
 resolved to gi\e her a full histoiy of his life ; he felt he owed 
 the biography to her as an apology for past coldness. He 
 continued : — " I first met Cara at Boulogne — at her school — 
 at Madame B.'s ; and, as I told you, when I met her again 
 after our separation, my love was gone. Cut gradually and 
 very slowly my aftectiou for her was re-awakened by frequent 
 intercourse with her ; and in short, some years afterwards, 
 meeting her by accident in Paris — I married her " 
 
 " Gracious heaven, Joseph — then I am not your wife ! — 
 Cara was my sister 1 " And Marian fell upon the bed in a 
 swoon. 
 
 Gaps understood with agony the pressing appeal of the 
 breathless, injured creature who, pale and motionless as 
 alabaster, now lay before him. 
 
 It is no easy task to detail the various emotions that strug- 
 gled for mastery in the bosom of the wounded wife. Gaps 
 concealed no incident connected with his mclanchol}^ story. 
 He had sufficient fortittide to narrate his own cruelties to his 
 wife s sister — his final abandonment of her, and her despe- 
 rate deatli. "\\'hen IMrs. Gaps had heard the whole history 
 her first resolve was to leave her ]uisl)and instantly, and for 
 ever. The memory of her wronged sister — her manifold 
 injuries, and the horror of her final fate, awoke a hatred 
 in the breast of the young wife for the sick and withered 
 man who writhed before her, — the confessed murderer of her 
 sister. Sbc must leave him ; she felt that she could not look 
 upon him without loathing, and she would not embitter the
 
 40 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 remnant of liis days with useless reproaclies. The -woman's 
 inwai'd struggle was plainly painted upon her face, and Gaps saw 
 the tragic interest in the picture. His life had many extenuat- 
 ing circumstances. His faults were more the result of bad 
 temper than of bad heart. In a fit of passion no word, no 
 action, was too violent for him, no oath too blasphemous ; 
 but, take him in a good humour, and no mortal could be more 
 charitable. Lying then on a bed, sick in body and at heart, 
 with coffin hammers ringing in his ears, and every twinge of 
 the disease bespealdng a customer for the undertaker; the 
 whole honey of his soul rose above the gall, clothing every 
 thought in charity and sweetness. His confession had taken 
 a load from his mind, and he bent every energy to one point — 
 the consolation due to his stricken wife. He conjured her 
 with the whole eloquence of his heart to visit his sins ■\\-ith a 
 lenient judgment ; he besought her to remember that when 
 he married her he knew not of her relationship to his foi'mer 
 wife, and to believe that he had prayed fervently for the eter- 
 nal happiness of her poor, deai", dead sister. The earnest 
 utterance with which this appeal was spoken touched Mrs. 
 Gaps, and she granted the sick man's request, that she would 
 not divulge his confession during his lifetime. She also j)ro- 
 mised to stop Avith him during the remainder of his life — as 
 his nurse — his sister only ; for she persisted in her belief that 
 they were not legally man and wife. 
 
 Having wning this promise from Marian, Gaps went on to 
 detail to her the miseries and follies of his life. As he pro- 
 ceeded with the picture he became more and more excited. 
 He had a trying review to make ; the desperate strivings of 
 his young life ; the disappointments and griefs of years ; his 
 misfortunes and his bad actions rushed upon his mind simul- 
 taneously, and the old man trembled at the preponderance 
 of his sins. "Marian," he exclaimed passionately, "my father 
 and mother, I fear, have much to answer for. They did not 
 school me prudently ; they fettered me as a beast, and called 
 the bondage — kindness. I looked upon my home as a prison- 
 house — there was no freedom there — all was watchfulness 
 and restraint. Had I been a madman my mother could not 
 have watched me more narrowly. But out of doors — the fetters 
 of a too strict home cast off — I revelled in a flood of animal 
 spirits ; I was cuiming and selfish. Every waldng hour of my 
 young life was spent in cogitating some money-getting scheme.
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 47 
 
 I was a poor enslaved puppet. My heaven was selfish and 
 sensual gratification, and the ladder to my paradise must be 
 made of gold. This, this, ]\Iarian, my parents taught me 
 in the outraged name of aftection. Fling to oblivion, love, 
 charity, and all grace ; count the idols called ^^rtues as usurp- 
 ing demigods, holding the sway that should he held by Plutus 
 only; make love a hoarding of the yellow metal ; make charity 
 a care of self; and hope — the giant staff of life — must shrink 
 into a petty faith in a gilded futurity. As a means to a good 
 end, god Gold is worthy of some worship ; but make gold the 
 end, and life the means to that end, and the glittering deity is 
 a puny monster. Blame me not then, good Maiian, that I have 
 been selfish, harsh, or brutal. I am a pupil worthy of my school." 
 
 The words of the sick man went to the soul of Marian 
 and awoke therein many charitable pleadings for all his 
 errors. Gaps spake strict truth, he had been harshly used 
 by his parents. Had he been a weak-minded boy his educa- 
 tion would have been conducive to his future good ; but it is 
 obvious that the quick witted child needs diff"erent treatment 
 to that required by the dullard. The dullard shrinks from 
 knowledge, while the acute boy covets it. The one wants an 
 iron hand to arouse him, the other only seeks the gentlest 
 assistance. The slow boy must be made to think, the quick 
 youth only asks for a guiding-rein to his thoughts. A weak- 
 minded boy, reared in unlimited indulgence, will probably be- 
 come a morose, foolisli man, having the saddest side of life 
 continually before him ; but place implicit confidence in an 
 intelligent child — command him with the strong hand of 
 reason only, and you will probably rear an open-hearted, 
 strong minded man. 
 
 Gaps continued : — " I entered upon life without a spark of 
 enthusiasm. When I was but fourteen years of age I was, 
 and I am no egotist when I say so, a fine, open-hearted, im- 
 pulsive young fellow, thankful for present happiness, and con- 
 fident in my golden dreams of the future. It was at this time 
 that I was first engaged to Cara. I came to England, and in 
 a very few raontlis my souls enthusiasm was dead. I cannot 
 thank those who robbed me of my boyish romance. The heart, 
 Marian, naturally clings to all associations which are the 
 heaven of its expanding days ; it thanks not the man who 
 robs it of its freshness — of its ignorance of the strife of man. 
 And how should it? If the heart were born without an over-
 
 4.'^ TTTK DTSCHACK TO THK J-AMIT.Y. 
 
 flowing fulness of all the saintlier tendencies of humanity, 
 wliat chance would it have in its battle with the badness 
 about it? Could it, do you. think, good Marian, day by day 
 (as hearts have done) — with a noliility of purpose — with a 
 happy forgetfulness of the mean and sensual pleasure sought 
 by lesser souls — stand aside from temptation, mailed in the 
 best majesty of manhood — conscientiousness ? Human nature 
 would not have the ghost of a chance here, if in the baby 
 tliere were not seated the germ of a deeply-rooted presenti- 
 ment of something to come beyond this passing battle. Dear 
 jMariau, these confessions have robbed death of half his terrors 
 — for death is near, very near me. When I sleep he comes 
 upon me, fashioned awfully. One night I thought he carried 
 a huge torch in his hand, and then I- saw him driving a 
 hearse mounted with so many flaming torches for feathers ; 
 and on the coffin I could read Joseph Gaps ! These are 
 terrible fantasies, are they not, j\Iarian ? " 
 
 Marian clasped her husband's hand, and wept bitterly. 
 "You have been hardly used, Joseph," she said, "very 
 hardly treated.'' 
 
 "Yes," continued the frightened old man, "and then I 
 thought Cara stood by a grave in which my body was de- 
 posited—she was dressed in white, and bore a cherub of ex- 
 ceeding beauty in her arms — that cherub was my son. She 
 wept over my unclosed grave. I could distinctly see the 
 tears fall like red-hot shot upon my coflin : and then I ima- 
 gined myself inside the coffin, alive and conscious, and still 
 the tears fell upon the lid, and I lay in agony, boxed up be- 
 yond the possibility of escape, counting the drops with in- 
 tensest suffering. I could not speak. Suddenly clods of earth 
 came down like thunderbolts, and from utter agony and dark- 
 ness I awoke. Was not this terrible, Marian? " 
 
 " Beyond endurance, but you must not think of these 
 things, Joseph; you ^-ill soon be well, and aboujt again. The 
 doctor says that in a week you may go out for a drive." 
 
 " In a hearse — I may, Marian, L may," — and Gaps fell back 
 upon liis bed thoroughly exhausted with this long scene of ex- 
 citement ; a veiy few moments and his exliaustion gave him a 
 deeji quiet sleep. 
 
 And Marian Gaps, the sister of Cara, with a forgiving, lov- 
 ing, womanly spirit looks ever and anon upon the sleeping 
 man, and so passes the long, dark, noiseless night.
 
 '/ v////^/- -Mi/'y /////ay^4>5^ ^/^////// "'^■'"'^ 
 
 '■7
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 49 
 
 CHAPTER VIT. 
 
 A PARTY AT DE GOSPITCH's, AND ITS COXSEQUEXCES. 
 
 How nmcli a richly wedded husliand owes 
 To tailors' journeymen, and patent shoes ! 
 
 It was the custom of the De Gospitches to give six j^arties 
 every season. Mr. De Gospitch thought that two assemblies 
 per season would be quite enough, but his wife declared that 
 she could not do without six at least, and so the husband liad 
 to bandage his neck in a white neckcloth six times a year, and 
 to say agreeable nothhigs to a host that crowded his mansion 
 and ate his suppers. 
 
 About a fortnight after the visit to the sale Mrs. De G. 
 held an assembly, De Gospitch having had a dinner in the 
 afternoon. The square was thronged with carriages from nine 
 o'clock till half past twelve ; a gang of idlers sought to win 
 halfpence by clearing the way for approaching vehicles, or by 
 calling a missing brougham ; footmen, making motley groups, 
 talked scandal of the company within ; in short, the entire 
 square was filled with evidence of the importance of the party 
 going on at Xo. — . 
 
 The whole interior of the house bespoke the greatness of 
 the occasion. Footmen were bolting in at, and out of, myste- 
 rious doors with all kinds of odd looldng things in their 
 hands ; now and then you had a momentary view of a dish of 
 custards, or a Johnny rushing across the hall with some dozen of 
 ices — the butler, with a look of intense responsibility, bel- 
 lowing to a fellow who had put pepper into the negus instead 
 of spice; in short, everybody was giving <liroctions to every- 
 body, and no]jody seemed to heed the plentiful instructions. 
 Such was the scene without the suite of rooms in which the 
 company were assembled. 
 
 Let us peep within the ball-room. 
 
 The band had just intimated the commencement of a qua- 
 drille, when Mr. Dlarmigan asked the hand of Miss Maturiu 
 
 D
 
 50 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 for a (lance. Mr. Blarmigan, tliougli a married man, ^vas a 
 most agreeable partner in a quadrille. He had plenty of small- 
 talk. He had sometliiug to say about every thing and every 
 body ; and if he seldom made a brilliant remark or a decent 
 repartee, at least was he one of that large clique who talk im- 
 mensely, and convey very little. He would discuss any subject, 
 and never offend by ignorance or presumption ; yet he seldom 
 gave a tangible opinion. Anything, from the natm-e of poetic 
 licence to hopscotch, would be certain to call for some remark 
 from him, and yet nobody detected the distinguished shallow- 
 ness of the individual. He had a \en moderate share of in- 
 tellect, but he made the most of the little he did possess, and 
 so Mr. Blarmigan passed for a finished and agreeable gentle- 
 man. He was more popular amongst women than with men. 
 Women love the polish more than the substance beneath the 
 varnish. Men prefer the substance — the solid, sound ground- 
 ^voi-k — to the mere surface. A foppish genius will be popular 
 with both sexes, but a foppish numskull can only command 
 the admiration of women. This may not redound to the 
 credit of the fair sex ; it is nevertheless a fact. Miss JMaturin 
 was veiy well pleased with the prospect of a quadrille with 
 Mr. Blarmingan, he was such a welhbehaved person — dressed 
 so nicely — was a perfect gentleman. 
 
 " You must be much aimoyed, Miss Matiuiu, with the sad 
 state IMr. Henry is in," said Blarmigan, to his fair partner, 
 during one of the pauses in the dance. Miss Maturiu evaded 
 the question. What ! she ! the vis-a-vis to a baronet, talk 
 of, and pity a bankrupt grocer ! 
 
 " It is our turn, I think," said the proud girl, glad in the 
 opportunity of dropping so very vulgar a subject; and the 
 pair joined in the dance. 
 
 "What is Mr. Henry doing now?" resumed Blarmigan, 
 when they again paused. 
 
 " I really do not know, Mr. Blarmigan," answered Miss 
 Maturin, somewhat coldly; " I do not presume to interfere in 
 that gentleman's affairs." 
 
 " Certainly not, Miss Maturiu ; but when I last heard of 
 him he was in such a very sad plight that really I have felt 
 quite anxious about the poor fellow. I beg your pardon a 
 thousand times for having mentioned the subject — 1 am for- 
 given, am I not ?"
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 51 
 
 " You say Henry — I mean Mr, Henry Gospitch — is suffer- 
 ing — in -want ?" inquired the girl eagerly, forgetting the aristo- 
 crat in the woman. 
 
 " Why, to tell you the tnith, ^vheu last I heard of him, the 
 poor man was lodged in an obscure garret in King's Head 
 Court, Seven Dials, or some such a^^-ful locality. I believe he 
 hadn't a farthing that he could call his own — was an utter 
 beggar. It 's very distressing to hear of such things," drawled 
 the fashionable hero carelessly, and he adjusted his gloves to 
 a nicety. " Why, have you a head-ache. Miss Maturin — or 
 you are faint, perhaps ?" 
 
 " I am well, I thank you, Sir. It is our turn again." And 
 again they joined in the dull, monotonous progress of the qua- 
 drille. It w^as useless to attempt it. Miss Maturin could not 
 forget Henry Gospitch and his misery. As she passed tlie 
 baronet, (the one baronet present,) he said something ex- 
 tremely polite to her ; he was unmarried too ; but no — it was 
 her fate to think of the man she had wTonged. She looked 
 about her and saw happy, joyous faces ; but there was a sick- 
 liness— a shame at her heart that smote the smiles as she 
 endeavoui-ed to pucker them upon her lip, and so she could 
 not play the hypocrite. 
 
 '■ It was thoughtless in me to mention the misfortunes of 
 Mr. Henry on tliis festive occasion," simpered the lady's 
 man. 
 
 " Not in the least, Mr. Blarmigan, I assure you. I am 
 certainly grieved for Mr. Henry Gospitch, and had not the 
 slightest idea that he was in the distressing condition you 
 describe." 
 
 " Your sister and Mrs. Blarmigan are mutually entertain- 
 ing;" and Mr. Blarmigan directed the attention of his partner 
 to a sofa where his wife and Mrs. De Gospitch were seated in 
 earnest conversation. A curl of the lip, and a certain tossing 
 of the head, indulged in at intervals by the latter lady, and 
 a half-suppressed smile upon the visage of Mrs. Blarmigan, 
 showed that the convei'sation was more entertaining to the 
 guest than to the hostess. 
 
 Mrs. Blarmigan had a reputation for satire; she could say 
 more ill-natured things in a given time than any person of her 
 acquaintance, and her society was courted because people 
 dreaded her ridicule. Satirical young ladies (and, alas ! they 
 are increasmg in numbers daily) eschew sentiment, and profess 
 
 d2
 
 i)2 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 to be matter-of-fact, impvejudiced people. They think they 
 magnify their own supcrioi'ity by depreciating the good quali- 
 ties of their acquaintance ; tlieir popularity in society is de- 
 termined by the extent of their ungracious • repartees or 
 unfeeling sallies. Satirical girls are often strong-minded, and 
 generally warm-hearted. Their satire arises from constitu- 
 tional causes, or from conventional education ; or it is inordi- 
 nate pride. Some love to shine, and cannot content them- 
 selves with a moderate share of attention ; they would engross 
 the adulation of a kingdom ; but the kingdom does not choose 
 to hold itself in their fetters, and so they, out of very spite, 
 find venom to fling upon every thing and eveiy body, until 
 some man, having discovered the kindly woman beneath the 
 mask of spite, suppresses the cynic, and calls forth the girl's 
 natural sw^eetness. Now Mrs. Blarmigau had not enjoyed 
 the purifying influence of love ; her marriage with Blarmigan 
 was a mercenary match, contracted for the mutual worldly 
 advantage of the contracting parties. A fine distinguished in- 
 difference had possession of the bridal pair when they stood 
 at the hymeneal altar ; and so the lady's heart had remained 
 enshrined in its nutshell proportions, leaving her satire un- 
 touched and uncontrolled. She daily loved " to take people 
 down : " she hated to see \erj genteel jackdaws attempt to 
 pass for peacocks, though she always assumed a few of the 
 brilliant feathers herself; she found a malicious delight in 
 stripping her friends of their borrowed plumage and holding 
 them forth as dingy, common-place birds dropped from very 
 modest nestlings. She had heard of Henrj'- Gospitch, the 
 poor relation, and she was delighted with the prospect of 
 " drawing out " her hostess upon the subject. 
 
 " Poor Blarmigau 's rather low spirited to-night," com- 
 menced the cynic. 
 
 " I believe he has lost a large sum of money lately." 
 
 "Indeed ! I 'm sorry to hear that," said Mrs. De Gospitch. 
 *' Not at play I hope ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear no ! He stupidly gave large credit to some trades- 
 man, and the man has lately become a bankrupt. Blarmigan 
 won't say how much he has lost by the affair ; but I suppose 
 it 's rather a large sum, or he wouldn't have thought of even 
 mentioning it to me. You see, Blarmigan will stfll dabble in 
 an office — though Heaven knows he don't want any increase of 
 income— but he says it amuses him, and he has nothing else
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 53 
 
 to occupy liim of a morning. I tell him that if he did his 
 duty as a husband he might make my morning calls with me, 
 and then go a drive with me in the park : but no, he prefers 
 a musty, dirty office, choked up there in the very heart of the 
 city, all amongst aldermen and smoke-dried citizens. I 'm 
 sure I pity his taste." 
 
 " Eeally, my dear Mrs. Blarmigan," sympathized Mrs. Da 
 Gospitch, " really men are not the attentive, chivalrous crea- 
 tures they were ! "' 
 
 " You are low spirited ?"' 
 
 " I must confess I am so a little," and Mrs. De Gospitch 
 sighed gently. " I have been quite disappouited. Scarcely 
 half the people I invited are here. There is Viscount Hub- 
 bub, Mr. Arthur Percy, Mr. Saville Lennox Smith, and many 
 others : it is so very provokuig. As for Lord Hubbub I shall 
 not forgive him." 
 
 " It "s a little too bad." Mrs. Blarmigan was now primed for 
 something particularly severe. She sneered at the idea of the 
 De Gospitches being the ultimate friends of a viscount, and 
 she chuckled at the grocer relationship. " Blarmigan tells us 
 that the name of this ruined grocer is De Go:?pitch : how very 
 unfortunate and annoying for you!" 
 
 " Oh no ! nut at all — the individual you mention calls him- 
 self Gospitch. He has no De to his name." 
 
 " You do know something about him then ! " exclaimed the 
 fair satirist; " I thought he was totally unconnected with the 
 family ! " 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Blarmigan, you surely don't think the man is 
 any relation of ours ! " and Mrs. De Gospitch coloured visibly, 
 for she was not exactly pleased with her guests question- 
 ing. 
 
 " A world of apologies, my dear Mrs. De Gospitch. No ; 
 I always thought that the similarity of patronymic must be an 
 unfortunate coincidence. But the man knows of his distin- 
 guished namesakes, and, I believe, has the audacity to in- 
 sinuate a near relationship with your husband." 
 
 When an insinuation is l)Ut an unpleasant truth, how it 
 galls the person to whom it is directed. 
 
 " I hope Mrs. Blarmigan does not recognise the man out 
 of compliment to our family." 
 
 " Dear, dear, no ! Wc laughed at the idea of his being any 
 relation of yours." Mrs. Blarmigan, however, rose to fulfil a.
 
 54 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 tcrpsichorean engagement, and Mr. Sheridan Shakspeare Jack- 
 son, sub-editor of a metropolitan weekly paper, ensconced 
 himself beside his fair hostess. Mrs. De Gospitch was 
 iiUowed on all hands to be a highly intellectual woman. Who 
 could doubt the fact, when they knew that she put her chil- 
 dren out to nurse, drew her hair tightly off her forehead, was 
 totally ignorant of the simplest cookery, and could not handle 
 a needle. She had read all the novels for many seasons past, 
 and she dabbled in politics. She always had one or two 
 authors at her parties, very much in the same spirit that a 
 manager engages an extraordinary attraction to bring together 
 u full audience ; but the specimens of literary men were 
 not calculated to give her guests a very high notion of 
 that mysterious biped — an author. Mr. Sheridan Jackson 
 was certainly not a genius. lie was perfect, however, in the 
 slang of literature ; he had a prodigious fund of quotation ; a 
 little French, and less Latin ; he had read Shakspeare, Mil- 
 ton, and Blackstone, and this preparation, gently garnished 
 and seasoned with a constant reading of the light literature of 
 the day, gave Mr. Jackson his position as a literary character. 
 Mrs. De Gospitch forgave him many discourtesies — rudeness 
 in literary men being the eccentricity peculiar to genius. If 
 he ventured to make a remark that infringed upon the 
 received rules of propriety, his genius was a suf&cient apology ; 
 if he upset a glass of wine into a lady's lap, it was the absence 
 of mind always remarkable in a genius ; and if ho detained 
 the whole company for a quarter of an hour with an elaboration 
 of his own opinion, opposing contemptuously that of the entire 
 party, his detestable presumption was the natural self-reliance 
 of a great mind. Thus did the intellectual hostess excuse the 
 ignorance and ill-breeding of one of her lions. She would 
 have defended the most glaring rudeness in her literary 
 guests, because it flattered her pride to be consulted by men 
 who were " diffusing knowledge throughout the entire world." 
 
 O Do 
 
 She dearly loved a cosey, comfortable chat with a literary 
 friend ; it was a feast of reason so charming and so instruc- 
 tive, that she declared she could sit for ever at the banquet. 
 Jackson was an especial favourite, and his convei'sation with 
 his friend Captain Grasy on their way to the party will best 
 explain the secret of his popularity. 
 
 Jackson was about to introduce his Irish friend, Captain 
 Grasy, to the De Gospitches ; Jackson was a privileged person,
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FATilLY. 56 
 
 and could introduce anybody. " By the way, captain," quoth 
 Sheridan Jackson, " you must be on your guard with Mrs. De 
 Gospitch. She will call your ' Tour through Canada, Avith a 
 Touch at Van Dieman's Land,' a very charming book of travel. 
 Be diffident, captain. Tell her that, judging from her con- 
 versational powers, she must write charmingly ; you will then 
 stand a chance with Miss Maturin. They say Mrs. Gospitch is 
 about to give a book to the world." 
 
 " Give ! " exclaimed the captain, incredulously. 
 
 " Wh3^ yes," giggled the sub-editor, " she gives it to the 
 world for the very best of reasons — nobody '11 buy it. Mind, 
 be positive that it must be a masterpiece. Tell her that the 
 nation can't atTord to lose hei-, and you may safely ask her to 
 use her influence with Miss Maturin." 
 
 " The deuce ! " chuckled the captain, twirling a moustache 
 that vulgar people would have called carroty. " Ha ! ha ! that 's 
 your philosophy, Sheridan Jackson, is it? First the butter, 
 then the hook ! " 
 
 " Exactly, and J. never found the process fail in its effect. 
 The grand secret, captain, is — the hiitter Jirst " 
 
 " Of course," drawled the captain. 
 
 " Look you here. You 're a young man, captain, and, as a 
 young man, should listen to the counsel of an old one Never 
 say ' of course ' to a man with grey hair." 
 
 " And why not?" said the captain. 
 
 " Why not ! " echoed the bald sub-editor ; " young su-, you 
 should never ask an elderly gentleman his reasons, but be 
 content with his advice. Pieverence his grey hair, captain — 
 reverence his grey hair." 
 
 The captain grinned contemptuously, and the pair entered 
 the ball-room. 
 
 "You have provided charming music for our entertain- 
 ment," said Jackson, addi'essing his hostess. 
 
 " I am glad that it should have met with tlie approbation 
 of Mr. Sheridan Jackson," answered Mrs. De Gospitch. — 
 " You are fond of nnisic, I should imagine?" 
 
 "Ah! madam, 'Music hath charms to soothe the savage 
 breast.' " 
 
 " Your friend has a slight brogue," resumed the lady. " I 
 don't dislike it. He 's of an old family, I presume. He has 
 the dignity about him so peculiar to gentle blood."
 
 56 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 " Of capital family— direct descendant of Prince Macgriffin, 
 O'Eeilly, O'Blarneykin," replied Jackson. 
 
 '^ Indeed ! " returned Mrs. De Gospitch, and she surveyed 
 the tall form of the dancing Irishman Avith astonishment and 
 admiration. 
 
 " Is your son Herbert home from school ? Oh ! I forgot. 
 He goes to a day-school," ventured the sub-editor. 
 
 " He 3 at Mr. Thumpum'.-, academy. Ah ! Herbert 's a very 
 good boy — a very good boy indeed." 
 
 " May I ask what you intend to make of him ? " added 
 Jackson 
 
 " Why, we've scarcely considered the question— he 's so very 
 young yet. I 've my own peculiar notions about the culture of 
 the infant mind, ]Mr. Jackson. Ah ! you do not understand 
 the rapture — the poetry of children ! " 
 
 " Alas ! no madam ! " sighed Jackson, as though he re- 
 gretted his ignorance. 
 
 At this point Captain Grasy joined his friend, and inquired 
 of Mrs. De Gospitch whether her son was old enough for the 
 army. He thought that, judging from his parents, the boy 
 must make a valiant soldier. He (Captain Grasy) had interest 
 in the army, and the boy might, under his patronage, become 
 a general at least. Then he might — it was possible — for 
 Buonaparte began his career as a needy lieutenant — yes, he 
 might cany the world before him. 
 
 While the enthusiastic captain held the above discoui'se, 
 INfrs. De Gospitchs admiration increased ^^ith the utterance 
 of every word. 
 
 Now Mr. Jackson differed in toto from his good friend 
 Grasy. The French army and the English army were very 
 different. Money was the English commander-in-chief, while 
 merit ruled the French soldiers. What, too, would Mrs. De 
 Gospitch say, if one fine morning her son were to be ' shot for 
 the glory of England ? ' Kow he (Mr. Jackson) thought Her- 
 bert was exactly fitted for the legal profession : the business 
 was profitable and gentlemanly beyond all dispute. He would 
 beg of Mrs. De Gospitch to give the matter only one mo- 
 ment's consideration. It was hard — very hard — to pay a mass 
 of solid cash to a lawyer ; but then how sweet must the pocket- 
 ing be to the legal functionary. He knew very well, and 
 nobody deplored the fact more than he did, that bills of costs
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 57 
 
 looked awfully long aflfairs ; but he could understand the sin- 
 cere pleasure of receipting them. Herbert had all the cun- 
 ning — he begged Mrs. Gospitch's pardon — the acute percep- 
 tions so necessary to the legal profession : yes, he felt con- 
 vinced of the fact, the child might in the course of lime be 
 Sir Herbert De Gospitch ! " 
 
 Oh! that it Avere possible to paint the merry twinkles that 
 laughed in the eye of ]\Irs. De Gospitch, and the witching 
 smile that played upon her lip at the bare idea of a baronetcy 
 infuturo for her boy. If the dear child had worked out only 
 one-tenth part of the miracles his friend prophesied for his 
 accomplishment, what a wonderful creature would he have 
 been ! With what a glory a parent's hopes may surround a 
 child. To other eyes the babe may be but a fat, red lump of 
 noisy mortality ; to its j^arents it is a work of Heaven's best 
 fashioning — a creature set apart from ordinary " sucking 
 doves "' to be the especial ornament of a nation, or of the wide 
 world. And then what plans of magic are formed to lift the child 
 to honoui-able renown ; and this, with a certainty that only a 
 parent's heart can have faith in. Where is the attorney who 
 has not hugged his first-born boy to his heart, believing that 
 he grasped within his arms the future lord chancellor? The 
 neglected naval lieutenant sees in his sailor-son a second Nel- 
 son ; and many a drummer's heir has been appointed com- 
 mander-in-chief by a dotuig father. The author has at home 
 a baby-Shakspeare, and the artist has an infant Micliael 
 Angelo ; the retail druggist has bom to him a Sir Humphrey 
 Davy, and the engine-stoker nourishes a growing Ste- 
 venson. 
 
 Captain Gras}'' now begged an inti'oduction to Miss Maturin ; 
 and his prayer was readily granted, for he was " of good 
 family." 
 
 Mary Maturin was not in the humour to listen favourably to 
 the captain's excruciating civilities ; and though the poor fel- 
 low toiled hard to make an impression upon his fair partner's 
 heart, her decisive coldness showed him plainly that he might 
 as soon hope to thaw the Polar Sea as warm tlie bosom of the 
 maiden. 
 
 " I 'm sure you 're not well," said the captain at last. 
 
 " Quite well. Sir, I thank you," answered Miss Maturin. 
 
 " Then you 're dull to-night. Miss Maturin — some calamity 
 has happened sure." 
 
 D 3
 
 58 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 "Nothing, Sir, of any consequence lias happened." 
 
 " Then sure you 've a headache — I can see you have," per- 
 sisted the captain. 
 
 '•None, in the least, Sir." 
 
 " 'Ocli! ye have. Forgive my saying so — but I can see you 
 have. Now do just let me recommend you to put your feet 
 in hot water before you go to bed, and to cover yourself well 
 up, and you '11 be well in the morning. Allow me to show you 
 to a scat," and the captain smoothed the cushion of a settee 
 for his partner. The poor fellow laboured hard to please, but 
 the more he betrayed the earnestness of his attentions the 
 colder was Miss Maturin s address. At last he fairly gave 
 the matter up as hopeless, and retired to a corner of the room 
 to consult with his friend Jackson. 
 
 "Sure, Jackson," he began in a loud voice, "sure I've 
 a rival — I, Captain Grasy iBlarneykin, a rival! Or is Miss 
 Maturin ill?" 
 
 "She was very well an hour since," was Jackson's calm 
 reply. ^ 
 
 "D'ye think the fellow who has had the impudence to walk 
 into her affections is in the room?" demanded the Captain, 
 glancing furiously at the company. "Is it that fellow with 
 hair dyed purple ; the old sinner, he 's as grey as a badger 
 at the roots." The matter would have ended in an assault 
 upon some of the company had not Jackson prudently per- 
 suaded his enraged friend tliat Miss Maturin might be 
 fatigued and sleepy; for he (Jackson) had seen her at the 
 opera very late on the previous night, and he felt certain that 
 her delicate frame was not strong enough to bear very fre- 
 quent fatigue; and so he finally persuaded the enthusiastic 
 Irishman to retire to his peaceful and virtuous couch. 
 
 Some hours had rolled on when Miss Maturin, fatigued, 
 jaded with the excitement and exercise of the evening, sought 
 her apartment — not to dream sweetly in goose feathers — not 
 to fling herself upon a couch with the calm assurance of a 
 peaceful, happy morrow, but to weary herself with the dis- 
 tressing knowledge of her faithlessness. The piide of the 
 aristocrat struggled with the innate goodness of the woman. 
 She betook herself to bed only to dream of what she was and 
 what she ought to be ; and the difference of the pictures was 
 wide — humiliating. The thoughts of a troubled conscience 
 are saddest and be?5t at night— alone, when the quietude
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 59 
 
 of sleep is upon the household. At this still, dark time, 
 random consideration is a secondaiy object even in the most 
 worldly, and the strong huge soul holds a parley with itself 
 unti'ammelled by conventional fetters. Bitter is the agony of 
 a lonely niglit to the unconscientious — black and horrible to 
 the world-convicted culprit. And sad and tormenting was it 
 to Maiy Maturin. At length, however, exhausted nature 
 gave sleep to the sufferer, and sleep brought dreams. In her 
 vision the maiden saw herself the wife of a rich man — a 
 jewelled, flattered woman; the scene shifted, and she was the 
 neatly-bedecked spouse of Henry Gospitch. Indifference 
 presided at the rosewood board; Cupid nestled in the plain 
 neat homestead. If she wanted adoration she must wear 
 gingham ; if her heart could be contented with an indifferent, 
 polite lord, she might command satin and diamonds : she had 
 her choice. Could she waver '? The dream gradually became 
 more vivid, palpable. She was in the presence of Henry 
 Gospitch and a suitor who had gold to recommend him. Sud- 
 denly the rich man grasped her hand, and strove to tear her 
 from Henry's side; she struggled hard, called upon her lover 
 to hold her to him, and in the excitement of this imaginary 
 contest she awoke. Now she no longer wavered— she would 
 be Henr}^'s wife — even if he must remain for ever a beggar — 
 she would be his in beggary. She felt that life had nothing 
 to give unshared by him to whom she had sworn life-long 
 love; she felt herself more than ever his; she would love him, 
 dote upon him; she would be his pillow by night, and his 
 solace throughout the day ; if affairs should come to the worst, 
 she felt that she could tutor her taper fingers to ply a 
 quick needle; yes, yes, the maiden soul was awake, full, 
 tnisting— she would "be with her lover early in the morning — 
 would ask him to forgive her coldness — ask it on her knees — 
 she would again clasp him to her — and oh ! she felt that from 
 his embrace her soul could wing its way in rapture to 
 heaven. This rapturous resolve fully determined upon, the 
 girl fell back upon lier couch, and was soon in a calm, angel 
 guarded sleep. A deadly weight was lifted from her woman's 
 heart, and she lay in a deep, placid sleep — the sleep that only 
 a free unburdened heart cau hope for. 
 
 Poor, motionless beauty, she dreamed not of the trae 
 future.
 
 60 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 MISS MATDRIN's visit, and THE CONFUSION OF HENKY 
 
 GOSPITCH. 
 
 " 0, woman ! in our hours of ease, 
 
 Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, 
 + * * * 
 
 "When pain and anguish wring the brow, 
 A ministering angel thou ! " 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 Weary and fevered Avitli the long unrest of a sleepless night, 
 Henry Gospitch rose early that he might be in perfect readi- 
 ness to receive his expected visitor. He had scarcely com- 
 pleted his meagre toilette when a loud, heavy knocking at his 
 door, made by fingers in no way bony, announced the advent 
 of Mrs. Grumblebum. 
 
 " I am very sorry," began the lady, "that I can't afford you 
 the loan of my parlour to-day. A dear friend of mine has 
 just arrived from Norfolk, and we shall want the parlour fire 
 all the morning to fry sausages — the dear creatui'e has brought 
 a whole hamper full — pork and beef." 
 
 "Would it not be possible to cook them in the kitchen, 
 Mrs. Grumblebum ?' inquired our hero. " The lady I expect 
 would not probably stay ten minutes, but I can't exactly say 
 at what time she will be here." 
 
 " Quite impossible, Mr. Gospitch — quite out of the ques- 
 tion. The potatoes, greens, gravy, and suet dumplings, will 
 take up all the kitchen range ; and I wouldn 't spoil the sau- 
 sages for all the lodgers in the world. You've given me 
 warning, and I ant going to put myself out of the way for 
 you — I can tell you. There 's an empty room on the second 
 floor, and you shall have a couple of chairs there if you please." 
 Mrs. Grumblebum was getting restive. 
 
 "Have you no decent room?" commenced Henry. 
 
 "Decent room, Sir!" shouted the landlady, rising from her
 
 THE DTSGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 61 
 
 chair and pauting like a steam-engine, " Decent room, Sir! 
 Have I one that is n't decent, I shouki like to know ? The 
 second floor 's as good as the lady you expect is used to. And 
 let me tell you, young man, though I love sausages, I hate 
 puppies." With this the woman stalked out of the room, 
 slamming the door after her. 
 
 The silkworm is a wonderful creation, a tiny mastei-piece. 
 It shoots from veriest obscurity — its first breath inhales air 
 filtered through an old stocking or flannel waistcoat — and 
 it sniffs the heated atmosphere and grows. It waxes quickly, 
 and gradually the thing that was a puny egg is looked upon 
 with sordid eyes, and handled with a palm greedy for gold — 
 but still the silkworm grows. It crawls npon a tree, at first 
 about the lowliest and poorest branches, and there is it left, 
 either to spin its richness for another, or to fall and die 
 imheeded. AYith a hope that may be almost nicknamed 
 Desperation, it climbs ; amidst many troubles it mounts up- 
 wards and upwards, gnawing every thing within its reach. 
 Having at length attained a somewhat elevated position, 
 it dies, and leaves to man, as a legacy, the treasure of its 
 life — its silk. It is so throughout creation — one tribe preys 
 upon or sustains another ; and this being so, and pursuing 
 a popular theoiy, that animal life partakes of the nature 
 of its food — that a man living upon beef would eventually 
 have a nature much in common with an ox — it is wonderful 
 that the systematic preying that is observed throughout the 
 animal kingdom should not have instituted a certain simi- 
 larity amongst all animal nature. Or perhaps this theory 
 may account for the palpable degeneracy of all animal life. 
 Lions now-a-days are not the huge fierce monsters whereof wc 
 read in ancient records; and men ai'e not the leviathans they 
 were some dozen centuries back; in short, take any animal 
 class, and we shall find that a systematic declension of indivi- 
 duality has been going forward ; where or how it will end 
 remains for the solution of future ages. That man with that 
 blest legacy of God— reason — should so far follow in the 
 track of unintellectual animal life as to hold with his own 
 species a protracted warfare, argues an anomaly that is as 
 evident as it is saddening; that a mass of human blood and 
 human thought spread throughout the earth for a short 
 sojourn, and with a glorious grave-emancipated prospect iu 
 the futiu'e, should use this passing dwelling as one vast bat-
 
 63 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 tle-fiekl — a prize ring where one is to flourish at the expense 
 of his fellow — is also a sad and certain anomaly; and these 
 anomalies should create a deep sense of humility in the heart 
 of the aristocrat, the middleman, and the poor man. All 
 human strife is mockery of Divine power. 
 
 In om' hero we shall not paint a faultless man : and for the 
 best of reasons, we have no model to paint from. Everybody 
 has a peculiar standard of perfection ; we have ours, and from 
 motives some may think personal, we shall abstain from 
 making them public. No — we presume to ask some sympathy 
 for Henry Gospitch, though we confess that he had failings 
 like the common herd of miserable sinners who daily crawl 
 about us — readers shall sympathize with him as the weaker 
 party in a hard battle — the jaded, crushed victim of an unfair 
 strife. And they shall put down this book, it is hoped, with a 
 spirit of sad inquiry — a vivid, thoughtful sense of man's 
 manifold wrongs to man — and having thought awhile, is it too 
 much to expect that this homely history may make some con- 
 verts to a more charitable creed in the division of fortune ? 
 Nursed in plenty to be flung to a wretched poverty — stripped 
 of all by a set of words upon parchment — outcast by the chance 
 of birth — loved in prosperity by a woman, and abandoned by 
 her in poverty — were these fortunes kindly nurses to a proud 
 man's soul ? Could the man who had been courted by some 
 hundred persons calmly bow to them as their inferior — as an 
 humbled, lowlier biped flung beneath their feet by a paternal 
 scribble upon sheepskin ? And yet must Henry Gospitch hug 
 poverty contentedly and meekly. What if he cursed the law 
 of primogeniture with damnable sentences — the passion could 
 bring him no penny, and no friends would pity him, for they 
 flourished, and were fat upon the law by which he suffered. 
 He could trump up no peculiar hardship, since his case was 
 as common in the country as daylight — the only charge he could 
 substantiate was that of selfishness in his richbrother, and then 
 his brother only imitated the example of some thousand per- 
 sons in a similar position. When he thought of the matter 
 fully, he often imagined he could trace a father's bitterness in 
 the peculiar raising of the property — the whole of the paternal 
 income having been invested in freehold. There was no will — 
 at least none was forthcoming at his father's death ; and thus 
 a dymg man had prayed for grace as he committed a palpable 
 and black injustice upon his o\m flesh and blood. Henry
 
 THE DISGRACE TO TUE FAMILY. 63 
 
 Gospitch had been guilty of no offence that merited death-bed 
 anger ; he had perhaps contracted a few insignificant debts — 
 iu short his trespasses against his father's iujunctions -svere so 
 trifling, that the young man was satisfied that family ambition, 
 and not personal anger, had dictated his fathers cruel poHcy. 
 Henry remembered, too, how incessantly his parent was wont 
 to talk of establishing his family somewhat prominently — how 
 often the old gentleman had declared that the name of Gos- 
 pitch should be a time honoured prominent patronymic — ■ 
 and Henry was convinced that his father had this object in 
 view when he allowed his entire property to descend to the 
 eldest son. 
 
 When we are not the immediate authors of our own misfor- 
 tunes we can bear them Avith some fortitude ; we are either 
 sustained by a prospect of revenge, or by the consoling con- 
 sciousness of having made a sacrifice for another. ' De Gos- 
 pitch's conduct towards our hero during the latter 's bankruptcy 
 was guided more by Mrs. De Gospitch, than by her husband's 
 own free will. There is perhaps no female chai'acter so pro- 
 foundly uncharitable as that of a proud, literary woman. Tbe 
 fashionable woman, the female aristocrat, the sour woman, and 
 the fcfnale satirist, have all a kindliness that the haughty 
 woman of mind disdains to nourish in her soul. She looks 
 upon the natural sympathy of her sex as a weakness which it 
 is her province to discountenance, and, if possible, to abolish ; 
 and thus was it with Mrs. De Gospitch with regard to her 
 poor brother-in-law. She ruled in great things, and her hus- 
 band hadliis way only in trivial matters ; and women well know 
 how to wheedle men into this unconscious obedience. Mrs 
 De Gospitch impressed her husband Avith the fact that he 
 only held his property' in trust for bis children — that he would 
 do them an injustice if he parted with one furloiig of his land, 
 and that as for giving up any part of his yearly income, it was 
 ridiculous to tlnnk about it, for the reputation of his family 
 demanded that a certain style should be invariably kept up 
 at the De Gospitch 's mansion. Mrs. De Gospitch had a larger 
 share of brain than her lord — add to this that she had a very 
 voluble tongue, and who will wonder that her lectures never 
 failed to convince her partner. Thus, if our lord's brother 
 did not succour his poor relation, Mrs. De Gospitch might 
 take to herself the consequences of the neglect. 
 
 In anticipation of an interview with his friend's wife, Heni^
 
 M THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 took some extra time to adjust his threadbare costume. 
 He had only kept one suit back from the sale, and some 
 month or so's constant wear had given to his coat rather a 
 napless appearance — yet did he look gentlemanly. He did 
 not care much about the landlady's parlour — his pride lay not 
 ni externals ; it exacted a rigid courtesy from man to man — 
 ,t looked not with a sneer upon a tattered coat, but it discoun- 
 Icuanced the rudeness of the haughtiest aristocrat. 
 
 He had been pacing his narrow room anxiously for about an 
 hour after the completion of his toilette, when the fat fists of 
 his landlady, applied vehemently to the door, relieved him of 
 his lonely anticipations. 
 
 " I 've put a couple of chairs in the second floor back," said 
 Mrs. Grumblebum. — " Well, I do admire your taste, Mr. De 
 Gospitch — though I' must tell you I can't allow young women 
 to be a visiting ye every day — mind that." 
 
 " Is the lady below? " asked Henry impatiently. 
 
 " Yes, you '11 find her, as I told you, in the second floor back. 
 Stop a minute — bless the man ! " But Henry waited not for 
 the termination of the landlady's speech, at which discourtesy 
 the sausage-loving satirist felt no small degree of annoyance. 
 " Pooh ! indeed ! Rushed into her arms I dare say if the 
 truth was known — I '11 not have such goings on in my house 
 if I know it, and so I 'm determined ; " this was said as Mrs. 
 Grumblebum descended from the attic to the parlour, her voice 
 being pitched pretty loudly as she passed the door that hid 
 her from Mrs. Gaps and our hero. 
 
 Mrs. Gaps would not listen to any apologies offered to her 
 by Henry for the trouble he had given her ; she vowed that 
 the trouble was a pleasure — and besides she had had the de- 
 light of being useful to Mr. Gaps. " I am happy, Mr. Gos- 
 pitch," she continued in a voice as sweet as honeydew, " to 
 tell you that Mr. Gaps has succeeded in his application, and 
 that he is enabled to offer you an appointment in the firm in 
 whichhe was a partner. Allow me to give you the necessary ad- 
 dress ; Mr. Gaps has arranged a meeting for you with the 
 proprietors for two o'clock to-morrow. Will it be convenient 
 for you to attend at that hour ? " 
 
 Henry looked full in the face of the fair young speaker to see 
 if he could read the woman's secret meaning — to see if this con- 
 sulting the convenience of a beggar were satire or simplicity. 
 And the sweet, open face, that wiUi dimpled cheek and flashmg
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 65 
 
 eyes slione upon liim, assured him that only a warm, gushing 
 heart couLl be mirrored so divinely. 
 
 " I thank you, Mrs. Gaps, two o'clock will suit me admirably. 
 You must indeed allow me to make you the bearer of my warm 
 thanks to your husband. Any employment just now will be 
 a godsend to me." 
 
 " I trust we shall have the pleasure of seeing you at Cai"- 
 nation Cottage, as soon as my husband's health shall have 
 improved " 
 
 " Here 's another young woman wants to see you," growled 
 Mrs. Grumblebum, who at this moment entered the room. 
 "Good morning, Mr. Gospitch," said Mrs. Gaps; "3-our ser- 
 vant will see me to my carriage," and the lady passed quickly 
 from the apartment, as Miss Maturin entered it. 
 
 A few moments of silent and intense embarrassment ensued. 
 The galling condemnatory event of one entire year crowded 
 themselves upon Henry's brain, and for a minute he looked 
 upon the agitated form of Miss Maturin as upon a ghastly 
 machine that had tormented him most hellishly and most 
 pertinaciously. Miss Maturin soon recovered herself — she 
 knew none of the circumstances connected with the visit of 
 Mrs. Gaps, and so she naturally thought that Henry looked 
 upon another with the love that he had once given to her. 
 She felt intenselyjealous, and painfully humbled. The thought, 
 the agonizing knowledge that, even if these suspicions were true, 
 she deservedall.ueaidy dumbfounded her; butherjealousygave 
 her all necessary coldness ; and in a few moments she stood like 
 an icicle before her pauper lover. She had come — full to over- 
 flowing with the re-awakened spirit of a loving woman — to 
 offer comfort to the wretchedness with which her lover was 
 surrounded ; she would have rushed into his arms ; she would 
 have used all the passionate persuasion of a renewed love ; 
 she would have lain upon his heart until he had forgiven her ; 
 and she would have given himher hand joyfully and instantly. 
 She would have deserted a splendid home for the lowliest 
 abiding-place, so tliat Henry Gospitch sliared the humble lot 
 with her — with such high resolves did the maiden wait upon 
 her lover. A jealousy, as unfounded as it was passionate, sent 
 these sweet projects to oblivion; and Miss Maturin stood col- 
 lectedly in the presence of a man who had borne the anguish 
 of a martyr in his love for her. 
 
 " You will e.xcuse this intrusion, Sir,"
 
 66 TUE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 " Did YOU come here to taunt me with my misfortunes, Miss 
 Maturin?" said Henry, in a voice half choked Avith battling 
 emotion. " If so, I caimot excuse the intrusion — must 
 hate and desjoise the intruder." 
 
 " Henry — Mr. Gospitch, I came to " 
 
 "To what?" Henry saw the history of a whole life in 
 the answer ; and he stood with clenched hands and open 
 mouth in intense expectation. 
 
 " To claim— to claim your — love." 
 
 Henry would have clasped her to his heart, but she re- 
 judsed him coldly and proudly. " I am sorry, Sir, that 
 I should have disturbed yourself and the lady who has just 
 left you." 
 
 Man, haughty and stern man, cannot bear the unmerited 
 rebuke of a woman whom he has loved faithfulljs and Henry 
 Gospitch, the unflinching, aristocratic pauper, took Mary 
 Maturin by the hand — she burst into a flood of tears — he was 
 again about to kiss her, and again she refused his embrace. 
 
 "Miss Maturin — Mary — I see your thoughts — can dive 
 into the hidden meaning of your words. God ! if you could 
 know all the wretchedness, the agony I have endured for 
 you." The girl pressed his hand tightly as he continued, 
 " You have not used me well, Mary — you have not been the 
 constant, loving, devoted w'oman who, while I prospered, 
 promised to be with me through every happiness and every 
 misery. While rich happiness was mine, you. Miss Maturin, 
 vowed yourself mine to eternity — allowed me to look to you 
 as the refining angel of my life. Your sister's husband was 
 my senior — my father died, and I was a beggar — and when I 
 became a beggar. Miss Maturin, where was you?" 
 
 " Henry — hear — " 
 
 " One moment. I date yom* coldness from my father's 
 death. Miss Maturin, I thank you for the wretchedness that, 
 since then, has been my dafly lot. I speak bitterly, harshly 
 perhaps ; heaven knows how much I have had to sour me. 
 You could have made me all that you wished ; you might have 
 refined the coarser part of my nature till it attained to 
 the sweetness I thought was yours; you raised my expecta- 
 tions to a maddening height only to fling me from you — 
 to trample upon the hopes you had raised. What 1 am. Miss 
 Maturin, you have made me : thank then yourself if I have 
 spoken harshly."
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 67 
 
 "I have been led away by otbers, Henry; indeed, indeed 
 I have." 
 
 " Then you never loved me, Miss Maturin?" 
 
 " For heaven's sake do not say that ; I have thought of 
 you, Henry, day and night. What can I do to prove this : 
 tell me, do, and do not hurt me ■with these baseless accu- 
 sations." 
 
 " Have you been under restraint, that you have not seen me 
 before this '?" asked Henry. 
 
 "No- " 
 
 "Then, Miss Maturin — I say it with calmness and kindli- 
 ness — we are strangers — must not meet again," 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Grumblebum half opened the door, 
 and thrust her fat, grinning physiognomy into the apartment. 
 
 " Sorry if I 've disturbed you, but, as you say 3'ou 're stran- 
 gers, I s'pose it's not much matter." 
 
 Miss Maturin was so mortified to think that any one should 
 have heard that she was spurned by a man she had come to 
 comfort, that she almost lost all consciousness : she, however, 
 quickly recollected herself, and without once glancing at Gos- 
 pitfih, she walked from the room follov/cd by the landlady. 
 
 It will be easily imagined that this meeting was a most 
 cheerless one to Henry Gospitch. However, he felt relieved 
 from that state of suspense which had been for many months 
 past preying upon his mind. Though the worst that he had 
 feared had happened, he was less worried by the reality than 
 by the dread of its occurrence. Now, at least, all was clear to 
 him. He had perhaps a rugged, companionless road to 
 travel, but thex-e was comfort in the assurance that no heart- 
 fetters tied him to one spot— one anxious, sand-built hope. 
 He might circumnavigate tlie whole world with nothing be- 
 hind him and all before him. No previous connections would 
 thwart future actions and enjoyments; he could enjoy the 
 present, because tlic past and future would bind him to no 
 regular course. These dreams of entire freedom are more 
 fascinating in theory than in reality. Tt may be pleasant 
 to contemplate a life free from responsibilities — free from 
 home affections and their duties— but what a cheating phan- 
 tom is any substitute, what a deadly weariness is the life that 
 is spent without the heart-raptures tliat wait upon a wedded 
 existence. 
 
 Gospitch had not much time for reflection : it was nearly the
 
 68 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 hour for him to wait upon his future employers, and he was a 
 steadfast lover of punctuality. He therefore donned his hat, and 
 set out at a good pace for the offices of Messrs. Short and Co., de- 
 termined to accept whatever proposal they might make to hira, 
 provided it offered a prospect of moderate fortune. The firm 
 of Messrs. Short and Co. consisted of two elderly gentlemen 
 and one dashing, mustachio-loving individual : the latter per- 
 son was the principal — the Short of the company. He was 
 an officious and an ignorant man ; a fop and a fool. He had 
 inherited his position from a very shrewd and prudent father; 
 and it was, as Gaps had it, "a very discouraging sight to 
 moneyed parents to anticipate the possibility of their sons 
 becoming so many Shorts. It was a melancholy sight to see 
 the sweat of a clever man's brow flung to the dogs by a 
 puppy. Oh!" Ga])s would continue in confidential enthu- 
 siasm, "if Short senior could rise from his grave some morn- 
 ing about half-past twelve, and see his booby of a descendant 
 lounge into the office in lemon-coloured kid gloves, and with 
 a horse-hoof mounted stick, the old gentleman would shudder 
 and rush back into his best oak coffin shouting for a double 
 amount of solder I" 
 
 Mr. Dewdycomb, the second partner, was a corpulent, 
 white-haired, red-faced, venerable-looking gentleman, who was 
 principally celebrated for the enormous amount of snuff 
 he could contrive to stow away, and for his life long attach- 
 ment to a blue coat and plain gilt buttons. He was not remark- 
 able for profundity, but his venerable appearance covered 
 a multitude of silUnesses with the mask of wisdom. We, in 
 common with many people, confess to an instinctive reverence 
 for grey hair; but, at the same time, we must own that our 
 acquaintance with Mr. Dewdycomb lessened materially our 
 blind faith in the universal sageness of senility. When we 
 were introduced to Mr. Dewdycomb, we were impressed with 
 that gentleman's tufts of grey hair and his shiny expansive 
 forehead, and we sat silently twirling our fingers as we lis- 
 tened to his deliberate discourse. At first we felt diffident in 
 his presence, but we speedily shook off all constramt, and 
 (though we could not boast the least sprinkling of whiskers at 
 the time) we began to combat his opinions with our growing 
 confidence. And we must not be accused of egotism if we 
 give it as oiu- impartial judgment that we generally had the 
 best of the arguments : well, we date Mr. Dewdycomb 's cold-
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 69 
 
 ness from tlie day we floored him m along, intricate discussion 
 upon the advantages of a repuhUc and the wisdom of a limited 
 monarchy : it matters to nobody which side of the question 
 benefited by our triumph. 
 
 The junior partner, Mr. Duffin, was a spare, short, thin- 
 faced man, with twinkling, searching grey eyes, that bespoke 
 acuteness and severity. He had worked his waj- from a 
 clerkship to his present position, and now he managed, in 
 fact, the entire business of the firm. He was the drudsing 
 partner — a man who had pawned his head for his partner- 
 ship, lacking gold; and consequently Mr. Short looked 
 upon him as the vulgar part of the establishment — the ill- 
 looking, plodding machine that must keep the business in 
 order while he (Mr. Short) lounged at Vei'ey's or read novels 
 in bed. 
 
 When Plenry Gospitch entered the office he was at once 
 ushered into the presence of Mr. Duffin. Duffin and 
 Heniy Gospitch had met previously, but on a very different 
 footing — then Gospitch was the customer of the firm, now he 
 was a pleading beggar. Duffins disposition and address very 
 much resembled those of Gaps ; the same kindliness at heart, 
 the same blunt, sour address. Anybody little acquainted 
 with Mr Duffin would have looked upon the gentleman as 
 a small — very small vinegar-cruet — a little body full of imdis- 
 guised acidity , but they would have judged him wrongly. 
 
 " Hope you "re well, Mr. Gospitch," commenced Mr. Duffin. 
 "Pray be seated." 
 
 Henry was about to take advantage of this request; but 
 upon looking around he saw that all the seats in the room 
 were built a few inches higher than an ordinary table ; and 
 sui'veying the elevated position of the diminutive Duffin, he 
 felt curious to know how that gentleman had managed to 
 prop himself at that height from the ground ; however, be 
 espied a rail attached to one of the stools, with the aid of 
 which he contrived to hoist himself on to the seat. 
 
 " You are anxious to secure some employment, I hear ?" 
 continued the merchant. 
 
 " It is so, Mr. Dutlin ; and ]\Ir. Gaps has given me reason 
 to hope that you may do something for me." 
 
 " VVhat can you do ? Wliat is your line of work, Mr. 
 Gospitch?" inquired the blunt Duffin. " I sujipose you 're not
 
 70 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 very expert at our style of business, never having been con- 
 nected with a merchant's office — ai'e you?"' 
 
 " In offering my services, Mr. Duffin, I do not pretend to 
 claim the merits of a finished man of business. I certainly 
 have been connected vvitli a city fii^m, though but for a short 
 time, and that many years ago," answered Gospitch. 
 
 " I am Sony, sir, that I can only offer you a simple clerk- 
 ship at present. You know best whether it is worth your 
 Avhile to accept a situation of £80 per annum." 
 
 '• It would be ridiculous in me to refuse the pettiest office, 
 friendless, moneyless as I am, I accept your offer, Sir, 
 gladly, thankfully ; but you will permit me to ask you 
 whether hard work and punctual attendance may raise me to 
 a higher position in your employ. You will pardon this 
 question — a youn(j beggar may have ambition ; is it not so, 
 Mr. Duffin?" 
 
 "I dare say you will 'find us as ready to recognise yoxvc 
 merits as you will find us quick in detecting any slovenly exe- 
 cution in your accounts. Here is Mr. Short; he may like to 
 speak a word with you." 
 
 Mr. Short entered the room, and with him came an over- 
 powering dose of patchouli, proclaiming at once the perfect vul- 
 garity of the individual. Musk moderately used is endm'able ; 
 but who, in the name of good taste, who invented patchouli ? — 
 a concoction offensive to fifty persons where it tickles the nasal 
 organs of one, and therefore emphatically vulgar. 
 
 " Good day, Duffin," simpered Mr. Short, as he drew a 
 white glove from his bony, ring-bedecked hand, preparatoiy 
 to a careful adjustment of every hair of his mustachios. 
 " Dewdycomb here?" 
 
 "Not seen him yet," answered Duffin. "Would you like 
 to say anything to this gentleman — Mr. Gospitch — w^hom we 
 propose to engage as clerk ? " 
 
 "Anything to say to him?" responded Short, just glancing 
 at Henry. "No, not that I know of. V/hat do we propose 
 to give the gentleman per annum, and what does he propose 
 to do for it?" And the dandy — the gilded calf— adjusted the 
 folds of his rainbow-tinted cravat with an indifference which, 
 in his ignorance, he mistook for gentlemanly ease. 
 
 "Mr. Gospitch will keep some of BrowTi's books — he is 
 to receive £80 a year," said Duffin.
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 71 
 
 "Rather stiff terms, are they not?" drawled Short, still 
 arranging his neckcloth. 
 
 " Why, we could certainly get the work done at a cheaper 
 rate ; hut the gentleman is an intimate friend of Mr. Gaps, 
 and — ' 
 
 '• Pardon the interruption," interposed Henry, with a curl 
 upon his lip. " Not capable of asking charity, gentlemen. 
 Pay me the fair value of my labour, and I shall be contented. 
 I ask no alms — would accept of none." 
 
 " I appreciate your sentiments, Mr. Gospitch," quoth Duffin 
 earnestly 
 
 "Humph ! Piather a remarkable speech," said Short. 
 
 "I cannot help saying what I feel, Mr. Short," answered 
 Henry. 
 
 " A ATilgar habit you should tiy and get rid of as soon as 
 possible, Mr. Gospitch," continued Short. 
 
 "I am sony that I should have been guilty of anything 
 you esteem \Tilgarity." Gospitch could scarcely conceal his 
 inexpressible contempt for the young fop who was to be his 
 master 
 
 " If you can spare time to consider the matter, T think you 
 will find that we shall not overpay jMr. Gospitch if v.-e consent 
 to make his salary £80. He is a man of business habits, and 
 he promises us his undivided energies," said Duffin, ad- 
 dressmg his co-partner. 
 
 " His undivided energies ! " exclaimed Short ; " and not 
 cheap either at £80. However, I leave the matter entirely in 
 your hands, Mr. Duffin." And without noticing Heniy, Mr. 
 Ferdinand Short sauntered from the apartment. 
 
 Heniy felt considerably relieved when the misbehaved 
 Short had taken his departure. It was not in Henry Gos 
 pitch's nature to Ijrook the least disrespect; and had it not 
 been for the desperate state of his affairs, he would have given 
 very different replies to IMr. Short's observations. In a few 
 moments after the principal partner's disappearance, the 
 pompous, puffing Mr. Dewdycomb waddled into the room. 
 There was an air of dignified joviality and self-sufficiency in 
 this gentleman's appeai'ance ; and, contrasted with the ill- 
 mannered personage who had just vacated the apartment, 
 Mr. Dewdycomb was a welcome addition to the list of Heniy 
 Gospitch's future masters. At least Mr. Dewdycomb was 
 polite and gentlemanly iu his speech and bearing.
 
 72 THE DISGEACK TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 "Mr. Henry Gospitch, a candidate recommended by Mr. 
 Gaps for the vacant clerkship, Mr. Dewdycomb," said Duthn. 
 
 Mr. Dewdyconib bowed to Homy, and said, addressing liini, 
 " I hope, Sir, our arrangements suit your views : is it so ?" 
 
 " Perfectly so, Sir, I am obliged to you." Henry felt 
 eaniestly grateful to Mr. Dewdycomb for that gentleman's 
 considerate and respectful address towards him. 
 
 "Will it then be convenient to you, Mr. Gospitch, to com- 
 mence your duties with us on Monday next?" asked Dufhn. 
 
 "As earl}' as you please, gentlemen; I am wholly disen- 
 gaged at present." 
 
 "Let it be Monday, then, at ten o'clock, Mr. Gospitch," 
 said Dewdycomb. 
 
 Henry Gospitch signified his assent, and withdrew. 
 
 Eighty pounds a year was a small sum to one w'ho had 
 been accustomed to squander some £300 per annum as mere 
 pocket money; nevertheless Henry Gospitch was rejoiced at 
 the prospect that now lay open before him ; for poverty had 
 taught him, in bitter lessons, the value even of halfpence. 
 Light-hearted and nimble-footed, he trudged on towards the 
 house where Mr. and Mrs. Gaps had lodgings, resolved to 
 tender them his thanks for their timely kindness. As he 
 neai'ed the abode of his benefactors, thoughts of Mrs. Gaps 
 and of Miss Maturin arose alternately in his brain ; and, 
 contrasting the two pictures, he could not refuse preference to 
 the married lady. He recalled minutely the modest kindliness 
 with which Mrs. Gaps had conducted herself throughout her 
 interview wdth him in the moruiiig ; how she, almost a stranger 
 to him, had waved all ceremony and sought him in his beg- 
 garly abode, tendering help most delicately ; and then, in 
 strong contrast to this picture of womanly goodness and 
 delicacy, there arose in his mind a minute recollection of 
 Miss Maturin's long-delayed \isit and her systematic coldness, 
 and he trembled at the enthusiasm and contempt these op- 
 posing thoughts created within him. He knew that it was a 
 wickedness to conceive any love for Mis. Gaps — he saw that 
 it was a wrong to her husband ; he trembled at the audacity 
 of his heart, and resolved, at any sacrifice, to forget the 
 superior graces of Mrs. Gaps, and to look upon her with 
 the calm feelings of a thankful friend. With this resolution 
 firmly made, he knocked at Gaps's door, in Berners Street. 
 
 He did not meet with a very cheerful reception. He
 
 /////////•/-< y ////>////
 
 THE DlSGfiACE TO THE lAI.IILY. 73 
 
 tendered his thanks to Gaps, and apologised for the rude 
 receptioii he had given to Mrs. Gaps; but these courtesies 
 only elicited a few commonplace observations from the iiivalid 
 and his wife. Henry was wholly at a loss to account for this 
 strange demeanour ; it was so different to that which he had 
 always been accustomed to when addressing either Mrs. or 
 Mr. Gaps. He looked upon the altered features of his sick 
 friend, but he could trace no evidence of mental grief thereon ; 
 he only saw the wrinkles wrought by physical disease ; and in 
 the depth of the furrows, and the glassy eyes, and the waxen 
 hue of the skin, he thought he could trace the handiwork 
 of death. He turned towards Mrs. Gaps, seeking to read an 
 explanation in her expressive features ; he was again disap- 
 pointed. The dark eyes, the well-defined mouth, and the fair, 
 smooth forehead of the young wife, were, for the first time 
 since he had known her, expressionless. Bewildered by this 
 untathomable gloom, he withdrew hurriedly from the presence 
 of his mysterious friends. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MRS. GRUMBLEBUM"s SAUSAGE PARTY. 
 
 The heading of this chapter Avill give the reader a presenti- 
 ment of some vulgar details upon a very vulgar subject — viz., 
 eating. But we, in our own humble way of looking upon 
 matters, believe in our heart that eating may be made a very 
 rational enjoyment. Soyer's system is not a vulgar pandering 
 to capacious stomachs ; it is a rational, intellectual classifica- 
 tion of agreeable edibles ; and our belief was fully recognised 
 and appreciated by the gentle Grumblebum. She believed 
 that all the virtues lay in a pleasantly filled stomach ; she 
 would not have trusted the word of a man Avith a pinched 
 appetite. Her taste was not of the most refined order, it is 
 true ; she stickled not for sauce jji-QiKinte, and could dine 
 without champagne ; but she was nevertheless a devoted lover 
 of a well-loaded table. It was not her fault that chops, 
 
 E
 
 74 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 Steaks, porter, (and, between ourselves, gin!) formed the 
 staple of her luxuries ; it was not her fault that she was 
 ignorant of the delicious flavour enshrined in foie gras or 
 rarioli. Malicious acquaintance whispered that the widowed 
 Grumhlebum had been a cook, and her deceased lord a coach- 
 man ! but the maligned female, in her own peculiar and 
 forcible language, denied the charge in toto. She a cook, 
 indeed ! No, not she ! Matthew Grumhlebum, deceased, 
 carried on a respectal)le business as butterman, in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Tottenham Court Road. She allowed that the 
 vicinity was not very aristocratic ; but, to say the least of it, 
 it was highly respectable. Ambition may vent itself in a 
 butter-firkin — butter-pats may be handled with enthusiasm. 
 A sweep may dignify his calling, and one may sniff something 
 savouring of rank about a butterman. 
 
 Matthew Grumhlebum dead, his widow, weeping as a widow 
 should for the loss of her husband and his business, ensconced 
 herself in the lodging-house where she has been introduced 
 to the reader as mistress. She found the employment of 
 lodging-house keeper a very sorry substitute for the butter 
 business. There was some glory in parading "the best salt 
 at 8d." to an admiring public; but where was the dignity in 
 letting musty garrets to mustier tenants ! At first the gentle 
 Grumhlebum believed that she should not survive her partner 
 many months — she felt sure that she had one foot and three 
 toes of the other in her grave ; but time — gentle old man that 
 he is — and success in her new undertaldng, revived worldly 
 ideas in the Grumhlebum bian brain, and the dear woman felt 
 that, "somehow or another," she had withdrawn her foot and 
 toes from the churchyard. In short, Grumhlebum soon slept 
 in liis consecrated bed undisturbed l)y the wailings of his 
 widow. 
 
 Miss Pods was the dear friend of Mrs. Grumhlebum. She 
 had supplied the widow with sausages during the palmy days 
 of the late butter business. Miss Pods was a shrimp of a 
 woman ; she was very short and very lean. Her friends 
 called her a delicate, elegant looking person — her satirical 
 acquaintance maintained that she was nothing but a bag of 
 bones. Contradictory as these descriptions may seem, they, 
 togethei% describe exactly the personal appearance of Miss 
 Pods. By the side of her friend she reminded you of a 
 broomstick beside a water-butt. Some friend suggested that
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 75 
 
 if the two 'women could be melted together, and then equally 
 re-moulded they would make two very decent sized persons. 
 On one point the two ladies agreed cordially — that pork 
 sausages were superior to beef, though as they could not 
 always eat pork, it was as well to be provided with a few 
 pounds of the latter. It was a custom with Miss Pods, and 
 one that she invariably observed, to visit her friend twice a 
 year, bringing with her each time delectable samples of her 
 skill in the manufacture of sausages. 
 
 Mrs. Grumblebum always looked forward to these visits 
 with undisguised impatience, and we verily believe that she 
 di\-ided her love between Pods and Pods s sausages. Be this 
 as it may, we are certain that Pods and Grumblebum were 
 monstrous friends on these occasions. They seldom quar- 
 relled ; but then, as table-lovers know, it is hard to fight and 
 wrangle after a plentiful dinner. Sometimes they did have a 
 few words touching the mode in which their meal should be 
 cooked : Mrs Grumblebum stipulating for treacle-dumplings 
 to follow, and Miss Pods vowing that the sausages would be 
 entirely lost upon them if they (the ladies) did not wind up 
 tlieir repast with yeast puddings. But the friends, when once 
 they had sat down to dinner, seemed to swallow kindliness 
 with every sausage ; and invariably, ere the meal was over, 
 their eyes twinkled with glee, and their comely visages were 
 flushed with cordial affection, and a cordial of a purchaseable 
 description. 
 
 On the occasion that introduces them to the reader, 
 they had determined to wind up the sausage-dinner with a 
 veiy select evening party, and they had accordingly asked 
 Mr. Boler (Miss Pods's head man, and — if report was dipped 
 from Truth's well — rather a favourite of his mistress), Mr. 
 Bunting, a Ijutcher in a small way, and IMr. (irist, a dairyman, 
 to spend a few hours, and to eat the remainder of the dinner. 
 No ladies were asked; and we will not burden the reader with 
 an account of the scandal consequent upon this omission. 
 The hostess had her own original notions upon ceremony, 
 and these she enforced to the utmost on the occasion in 
 question. 
 
 " Glad to see you, Mr. Grist," simpered Mrs. Grumble- 
 bvun, as the first visitor entered the parlour, where the two 
 ladies, in rusty-brown silk, were awaitii}g the advent of their 
 guests. 
 
 E 3
 
 76 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 "Hope you're well, Ma'am," ans\vei-ed tlie dairyman, evi- 
 dently endeavouring to be upon his best behaviour, and turn- 
 ing towards Miss Pods; "and hope you're pretty much the 
 same. Miss." 
 
 Mr. Grist seated himself upon a corner of a chair at the 
 further corner of the room; and watching his opportunity 
 when he might be unobserved, he gently dropped his seal- 
 skin cap into a corner: he then, after some fruitless en- 
 deavoui-s, adjusted his hands in a becoming position, and 
 looked anxiously towards his hostess. 
 
 " Now, Miss Pods, I would, if I was you, begin to make 
 the toast : the rest of the gentlemen will most likely be here 
 in a few moments — I cannot think of keeping Mr. Grist 
 waiting for his tea for any one." Thus said Mrs. Grumble- 
 bum. 
 
 " Don't mind me. Mum, a bit: I can wait very comfortably, 
 thank ye. Mum," stammered Grist with a face the colour ofa 
 peony. 
 
 " It 's very kind of you, I\Ir. Grist, but I can't — indeed I 
 can't — think of letting you wait. I would really make the 
 toast, Miss Pods." 
 
 The room which ]\rrs. Grumblebum had selected for her 
 party was the front parlour, an apartment little larger than 
 an ordinary store-closet ; and how Mr. Boler, Mr Buntin<^, 
 Mr. Grist and the two females were to be stowed into it, was 
 a mystery. The worthy hostess had ensconced herself com- 
 fortably on one side of the fireplace, and Miss Pods graced 
 the opposite corner : a small round table was drawn close to 
 the former, upon which the very best tea-service was dis- 
 played. There was a goodly heap of bread and butter (thick 
 and thin), a monument of muffins, dry toast, and Miss Pods 
 was making the buttered ditto ; in short, if the feast lacked 
 quality, nobody could quarrel with the quantity provided. 
 
 We should do injustice to the Grumblebumbian hospitality 
 if we omitted to mention the elegant arrangement of the side- 
 board. The only plate the w^orthy hostess possessed was of 
 the willow pattern ; and, for this occasion, she had put fortli 
 the choicest dishes of her service. First, there was the large 
 dish piled up with cold pork sausages, beside which was 
 placed a smaller dish of beef ditto ; and then there was a 
 huge pie baked in a vessel remarkably like a footpan, and 
 heaps of rosy apples and huge oranges ; to say nothing of a
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAI^riLT. 77 
 
 dozen of stout placed in a row near the -wall as a background. 
 Upon this hiscious prospect (more significant of jovdahty and 
 happiness than the choicest epergnes) Pods and Grumblebum 
 ever and anon glanced with pride and satisfaction. 
 
 "You must take us in our own humble way, you know, Mr. 
 Grist," said the hostess, and giving a significant nod towards 
 the laden sideboard. " But I think we shall contrive to be 
 pretty comfortable. You like sausages, I presume ? " 
 
 " Uncommonly, thank ye, Ma'am; 'specially if they are the 
 making of Miss Pods." 
 
 The maiden sausage -maker, who at the moment was in the 
 act of melting a huge lump of butter upon a good half acre of 
 toast, bowed graciously to the complimentary Grist, who felt at 
 first much confused, evidently fearing that he had committed 
 some gross outrage upon the parlour etiquette. 
 " Flatterer," minced Mrs. Grumblebum. 
 " Mr. Grist is only in joke, T know," sighed Pods. 
 "I assure you not, Miss. I've walked a good eight miles 
 with a ];)air of heavy milk-pails this a'ternoon, and, as its ex- 
 ceeding easy to suppose, I 'm not remarkably in the humour 
 for jokin', d' ye see ? " Grist was gathering courage. 
 
 It is a notorious fact, that when ladies predominate in a 
 company, the conversation is sure to turn upon dress, chil- 
 dren, cookery, or maniage. Mrs. Grumblebum had heard 
 that some worthy females intended to form a league for the 
 purpose of giving women the right of becoming members of 
 parliament. Should the mighty privilege of wrangling in 
 St. Stephens be ceded to Avomankind, we shall have angry 
 discussions about double flounces, disputes upon new culinary 
 recipes, and learned suggestions for improved baby linens re- 
 ported in our daily papers. Duties on French bonnets and 
 gloves will be instantly repealed — silks and satins will enter 
 our ports untaxed — and free trade for the milliners will be a 
 certainty. The ladies' oratory would probably run thus : — 
 
 "I think, Mr. Speaker, that the honourable gentleman who 
 has just sat down ought to be ashamed of himself — that I do. 
 He tells the House that he will oppose my Milliners' Free 
 Trade Bill upon principle : then I say, and I mean it — he 
 is no gentleman." Ciies of order from another lady. " I 
 know my business well enough, and 1 am ])ositive that I am 
 altogether in order ; and I should thank my honourable friend 
 opposite not to interfere when I 'm speaking, for I 'm deter-
 
 78 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 miued to have my say in spite of her. I really never heard 
 such behaviour. Some of my honourable friends are like a 
 parcel of bears — it s quite disgusting. I beg to tell them 
 that I have been well brought up, if they have not ; and I 
 shall certainly, if it 's only out of revenge for their rudeness — 
 I shall, I 'm determined, insist upon a division." 
 
 " You know, Mr. Grist, "commenced Mrs. Grumblebum, as 
 she handed her guest a huge cup of tea, and pointed em- 
 phatically towards the edibles ; " you know there is a talk of 
 puttin' us Avomen in parliament — " 
 
 " What, yourself and Miss Pods ! " exclaimed the matter- 
 of-fact milkman. 
 
 ••No, no, not exactly; though there are more unlikely 
 things than that. " Miss Pods nodded a very self-sufficient 
 acquiescence, and Mrs. Grumblebum continued — "Well, 
 and who do you tlunk has put himself under the flag of the 
 oppositioners ? " 
 
 " No gentleman," suggested the indignant Pods; " not Mr. 
 Grist, that I 'm certain of," and the maiden of thirty-five 
 grinned most dangerously for the peace of mind of Grist. 
 " Not 'xactly. Miss," retorted the milkman. 
 " No, no ; it 's ]iot Mr. Grist I mean," shouted Mrs. 
 Grumlilebum — " it s Mr. Bunting — a married man, too ! " 
 
 " That accounts " — Grist checked himself in time — he 
 looked upon the witching features of Miss Pods, and the words 
 died in his throat. Miss Pods, however, did not remain silent ; 
 she felt that the dignity of her sex demanded a speech, and 
 so she held forth thus : — 
 
 "Well, if I were Mrs. Bunting, I know what I 'd do." 
 "What?" interposed Mrs. Grumblebum. 
 " Never mind, 1 know, that 's all. I mean to say that at 
 least — at the veiy least, we should make every bit as good 
 speeches as the stupid fellows who now chatter till the most 
 disgraceful hours in the place they call the Commons. I 'm 
 sure the hole 's no better than it should be, or they wouldn't 
 make such a fuss about admitting respectable females. Now 
 this is the long and short of it — if I ever marry a member of 
 parliament he don't go near the place without I go with him, 
 that 's flat." 
 
 Tins emphatic speech produced a short silence, which was 
 at length broken by a loud knock. Mrs. Grumblebimi went 
 to open the door, and in a few moments she returned, intro-
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 79 
 
 ducincr Mr. Bunting— an individual ^villl a complexion very 
 like his " good tender beef-steaks." 
 
 " We were talking about having women in parliament," said 
 the hostess addressing Bunting, and proffering him at the 
 same time a huge vessel of tea, 
 
 " Oh ! ah ! " responded the butcher with a malicious grin. 
 
 " And you oppose the plan," playfully reproached Miss 
 
 Pods. 
 
 " Why you see. Miss Pods," answered Bmiting, "women 
 are capital creatures to make dumplins and things of that 
 sort" — pointing to the sideboard — "but, 'pon my soul, j-ou 
 must allow they can't make speeches. Give me, as I tell 
 Mrs. BuntinfT — yes, give me the woman who 's in her element 
 up to her elbows in dough. Many a man's heart has been 
 cauglit in a light crust." 
 
 " But have j'on heard of Miss Black ?" 
 
 " No," answered Mrs. Grumblebum, Miss Pods, and Grist. 
 
 " Well, I '11 tell you the story ; but first I '11 trouble you, 
 Mrs. Grumblebum, for a little more sugar, and just another 
 muffin or two. Miss Pods. Thank you. AVell ; a rich young 
 Yankee gentleman hated his owncountrj^vomen." 
 
 " No wonder," interposed Miss Pods; " by all accounts the 
 'Merican women are ugly stupid things." 
 
 " Not ugly," contradicted Mrs. Grumblebum (a branch of her 
 family were Americans). 
 
 " The beauty 's artificial then — notthetrue thing," rejoined 
 Pods, with a laudable determination to carry her assertion. 
 
 "Beauty's beauty all tlie world over, my dear," simpered 
 Mrs. Grumblebum. 
 
 " Well, to be sure," replied Pods ; " to be sure I 'm no 
 judge of paintin' — I allow that." 
 
 A loud guffaw perpetrated by Bunting followed Miss Pods's 
 speech. However, he soon regained sufficient gravity to pro- 
 ceed with his story, which ran thus : "Well, this gentleman 
 came all across the sea, to town, and lie threw liis money 
 about him like a prince ; but for a long time he saw no gal 
 that lie liked, or that was exactly to his mind." 
 
 " He must liave been blind, then," interrupted Pods, and 
 Buntiu'^ grinning sarcastically, continued, " It's plain he 
 never saw Miss Pods, or he wouldn't have hesitated for a 
 moment." 
 
 " Really, Mr. Bunting."
 
 80 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 " Oil ! you know you 're a charming sort of woman," con- 
 tinued the sarcastic Bunting. " Well, he went to Birming- 
 ham — why or wherefore there I can't tell ; and the paper 
 says nothing about it ; but it was a queer place to go to for a 
 wife, you know. You must not say that the young gen- 
 tleman was rackety, Mrs. Grumblebum, for I know how severe 
 you are, when I tell you that one day he was standing out- 
 side the Hen and Chickens public-house, when a nice young 
 creature passed right opposite him. Mrs. Bunting declares 
 that she can forgive his being outside a public so sweetly chris- 
 tened ; and she declares that if married men will go to pub- 
 lics thev ouEjht to jrive the sign of the Hen and Chicliens the 
 preference ; and there we disagreed." 
 
 " Oh ! you men — you men ! " sighed Grumblebum. 
 
 " You 're an awful set, Mr. Bunting," quoth Pods. " AYell, I 
 do declare that the Hen and Chickens does sound nice, so very 
 domestic — quite smacks of babies, bless 'em ! " And Pods, truth 
 must be told, ogled Grist, who trembled visibly. 
 
 " Well," resumed Bunting, having strengthened himself 
 with sundry muffins, " as I was saying, this young woman 
 passed the young man near the Hen and Chickens ; he was 
 thimderstruck— no, no, love-stinick I mean — with her ; and he 
 crossed the road to have a chat with her. Well, he requested 
 permission to see Miss, whoever she was, home, and of course 
 she let him. Well, to make a long story short, in about three 
 "weeks afterwai'ds she married the yomig fellow, and has since 
 gone to 'Merica mth him. Now, what d'ye think of that, 
 eh?" 
 
 " How exceeding fortunate for her," said Pods. 
 
 " It just was," muttered Grist. 
 
 " There now, Mr. Bunting, you ought to be proud of your 
 countrywomen. 1 shouldnt at all wonder if some of these 
 fine days a body of "Merican gents were to club together and 
 come and carry us Englishwomen to their own country, where 
 we should be appreciated." 
 
 " That 's exactly what my -wife says ; and I 've offered her 
 a houtfit for the occasion," replied Bunting. " I 'm sorry to 
 say it, Mrs. Grumblebum, in such sweet company, but present 
 company is always excepted ; yes, I 've come to the conclusion 
 at last, that women taken altogether are failures. They're 
 all very well to read about in books as hangels and hangelic 
 creatures ; but, as I tell my wife, if women are hangels and
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 81 
 
 Lave got wings as hangels should have, why all I know is, I 
 ■wish they d use em." 
 
 " Well, I never," vociferated Pods ; " I 'm sure Mr. Grist 
 won't agree with you, Mr. Bunting. Don't you believe we're 
 angels, Mr. Grist'?' 
 
 " Why, Miss Pods, I — I — know one on 'em that is" — and 
 Grist coloured as though he had a gentle bowstring about his 
 neck. 
 
 " ^yhJ, I declare you're in love, Mr. Grist, you blush so 
 beautifully," said Mrs. Grumblebum. 
 
 " No — oh no ! *' stammered Grist. 
 
 " I should hope not, Grist," quoth Bunting. " Love 's a pack 
 of nonsense. Don't be taken in, Grist ; you're a bachelor, you 
 lucky dog, and don't monopolize yourself— don't marry. 
 Catch me mari-j-ing twice. If I do, I give you leave to call me 
 the biggest blockhead in Newgate Market, beasts included." 
 
 "What shocking ideas, Mr. Bunting; really you don't 
 mean what you say," volunteered Pods. 
 
 " Every bit of it. Ma'am, every syllable. T 'm no advocate 
 for saving different to what one thinks : I never mince matters, 
 do you, Miss Pods'? " 
 
 "No— no," chuckled Mrs. Grumblebum. "Miss Pods 
 minces meat, not matters, Mr. Bunting." 
 
 "Funny creatures," simpered Pods. 
 
 "Many cats in your neighbom-hood ? " inquired the jocu- 
 lar Bunting, addressing the sausage manufacturer. 
 
 "I don't understand you, Sir," answered Pods, tossing her 
 head indignantly. 
 
 " There — there — never mind him, my dear," interposed 
 Grumblebum ; " let 's lay the supper." 
 
 The two females were not long in laying the cloth, upon 
 which they arranged the ample supper ; and ]\Irs. Grumble- 
 bum, curtseying lowly, offered the corkscrew to Grist, begging 
 he would just put his hand to the porter. Grist was a willing 
 fellow — a good-natured thick-headed young man, who would 
 do anything for anybody. It was a pity that he was so awk- 
 ward. It was ludicrous to see his ungainly attempts to drive 
 the corkscrew perpendicularly through the cork; he could not 
 manage it at all. First he held the bottle between his knees 
 and drove the corkscrew with Herculean efforts, and he would 
 certtiinly have smashed the bottle between his legs, had not 
 Mr. Bunting (who was very thirsty) volunteered his services. 
 
 E 3
 
 83 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 Relieved of one bottle, lie begged to be allowed to uncork 
 a second : this request was granted, and he stood the vessel 
 upon the table, untied the string from the cork, and zealously 
 applying his thumb to one side of it, he begged of Miss Pods 
 to hold a glass near him. The maiden did as she was asked, 
 and as Grist continued to edge his thumb round about 
 the cork, Bunting sat back in his chair and grinned most 
 maliciously. Suddenly the cork flew from tlie bottle with 
 a loud bang, hitting Miss Pods on the nose; the maiden 
 holding her handkerchief to her nasal organ, screamed, and 
 fell into the arms of the frightened Grist, who had dropped 
 the bottle of porter upon Mrs. Grumblebum's apple-pie, and 
 in a moment the whole table was deluged with porter and 
 froth. Agony was painted upon Mrs. Grumblebum's face ; 
 her supper was spoilt. Bunting fell back in his chair and 
 gave forth repeated roars of laughter, and Pods in the arms of 
 the frightened Grist sobbed hysterically. 
 
 " Now, vfhdt 's to be done?" gasped the enraged hostess 
 at length. " A pretty mess you've made of it, Mr. Grist." 
 
 " Don't blame him" begged Pods in a subdued voice, 
 and with her face still tightly pressed against Grist's waist- 
 coat. 
 
 " I — I — I couldn't help ii Ma'am," ventured the trembling 
 delinquent. 
 
 " People shouldn't meddle with things they don't under- 
 stand, " continued Mrs. Gramblebum. 
 
 " Mr. Grist is not to blame ; it was my fault," urged Pods, 
 removing lier head from her protector's waistcoat with evident 
 reluctance. 
 
 ■' I 'm surprised at you, Miss Pods— really shocked," re- 
 torted Grumblebum. 
 
 "And pray what at?" inquired Pods. 
 
 "You knovv', Miss Pods," quoth Grumblebum. 
 
 "Not I — you don't know what you're talkhig about, Mrs. 
 Grumblebum — that you don't — and" you know you don't," con- 
 tinued Pods. 
 
 " Well, v/ell, to be sure it isn't any business of mine. Miss 
 Pods — none in the least; but I know wyself too well to polve 
 my head into a young man's waistcoat and keep it there for 
 ten minutes at least. And as to not knowing what I'm about, 
 that I'm su.rc I shoiddn't if I 'd had half as much as you ve 
 had, Miss Pods— so there."
 
 THE DISGBACE TO THE FAMLY. 83 
 
 "Disgusting!" muttered Poels. " Eeally, Mrs. GrumLle- 
 bum, your vulgarity s past all bearing ; remember 7 'to not 
 accustomed to such lanQ[ua£(e." 
 
 "Oh! a'nt you? A pretty pink yoji are to talk of gen- 
 tility : you, Miss Pods, teacb me genteel talk ; ha ! ha I it 's 
 quite laughable — quite ridiculous — I, who first taught you how 
 to behave yourself at table." 
 
 " Ugh ! Did you ?" replied Pods. 
 
 "Mr-r-r-ow — Mr-r-r-ow," mewed Bunting, imitating veiy 
 creditablv a cat's vocabulaiy. 
 
 " Mr. Grist— Mr. Grist." 
 
 "Miss Pods," answered Grist. 
 
 " Will you sit quietly here and allow me to be insulted by 
 that bear of a fellow — that Mr. Bunting?" 
 
 Grist quietly turned over his cuffs, and made answer, "No, 
 not exactly." 
 
 "Grist, Grist, do be careful; you know howjoUily I should 
 lick you in about a couple of minutes." 
 
 "Would you, you blackguard ?" bawled Grist, squaring man- 
 fully. 
 
 " Do behave yourselves, gentlemen, before ladies," shouted 
 Mrs. Grumblehum ; and turning towards Pods — " Oh ! you 
 contemptible little vixen." 
 
 Bunting quietly rose from his seat, and depositing his coat 
 in one corner of the room, then pushing the supper table into 
 another corner, quietly growled " Come on." Miss Pods and 
 Mrs. Grumblebum rushed upon the men and endeavoured to 
 soothe them ; Miss Pods directing her attentions to the 
 chivalrous Grist, and Mrs. G. attempting to allay the fury of 
 the butcher. Bunting was firm as a rock ; he gently pushed 
 his hostess aside, and made a terrific lunge at Grist. Grist 
 seeing that he must defend himself, thrust his screaming 
 mistress aside and advanced towards his adversary. At this 
 moment there came a loud knock at the street door, and Mrs. 
 Grumblebum rushed out to answer the summons. It was 
 Henry Gospitch. The landlady caught her lodger by the 
 arm, and besought him most earnestly to quell the passion of 
 her guests. " They 're figliting, and they '11 murder each 
 other as sure as they 're born !" she said; and Gospitch, thus 
 pressed, entered the parlour. 
 
 " Just come in time, Sir," exclaimed Pods.
 
 84 THE DISGRACE TO THK FAMILY. 
 
 " He 'd better stand out of the way, or he may get a pura- 
 melliug as well as Grist," said the determined Bunting. 
 
 " I must beg you will settle this quarrel elsewhere. I am 
 an inhabitant of this house, and cannot be distiu'bed with 
 drunken brawls at this hour," said Heniy firmly, eyeing the 
 butcher without betraying the motion of one muscle. 
 
 " Can't you? we '11 see that; " and the butcher called upon 
 Grist to make ready, warning Henry Gospitch not to inter- 
 fere. 
 
 Henry's hot blood could not brook this insult. He awaited 
 his opportunity, seized the man Bunting by the collar, gave 
 him two or three turns, and finally lodged him upon the 
 door-step ; and a policeman, who was by some wonderful 
 chance passing at the time, pi'omised to escort the enraged 
 butcher to bis home, or if he did not behave himself, to the 
 station-house. And in this way one of Mrs. Grumblebum's 
 sausage parties was brought to an abrupt close. 
 
 Heniy Gospitch retired to his room, and, somewhat calmed 
 by the events of the day, he lay down, to rest Avith a more 
 quiet heart than be had knoAAii for some time past : he was 
 soon in a sound sleep. About three o'clock in the morning a 
 loud laiock at the door awoke him : he heard the sonorous 
 voice of his landlady inquiring "Who dared to disturb re- 
 spectable people at that hour of the night?" and a shrill voice 
 from without made answer, "Tell IMr. Gospitch that Mr. 
 Gaps wants him directly. Mr. Gaps is very ill — dying. Do 
 tell him to come immediately." " Very .well — / must tell 
 him, I suppose," answered Mrs. Grumblebum." "All right," 
 shouted Henry from the window ; and in a fcAV minutes he 
 was on his way to Berners Street.
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 85 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 
 And our hearts, though stout and brave, 
 Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
 Funeral marches to the grave." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 The rain poured down in torrents from a sky of seeming 
 pitch; heavily, perpendicularly, and in large drops, the rain 
 fell upon Henry. It was a perilous journey to him. Home- 
 returning revellers shouted drunken ditties as, hoxed com- 
 fortably in hired vehicles, they ■were borne along to their 
 nests— stray birds perhaps with anxious home-awaiting mates. 
 Their mirth grated wretchedly upon his ear, for his soul was 
 sad and sadly thoughtful. So discordant was their joyous- 
 ness that he could scarce refrain from cursing them as un- 
 feeling, unchristian rioters — fellows with self only imprinted 
 upon their granite-built hearts. It did not occur to him that 
 they were utter strangers to him — utterly ignorant of the 
 nature of his errand. Still the rain plashed upon the pave- 
 ment, and the night was black and windless. Painfully 
 thoughtful still our traveller hurried on his Avay. He had 
 never felt so utterly dejected. He had borne beggaiy with a 
 stoics nerve, but there was some influence in the present 
 scene — in the dreary pelting of the heaven-descending waters 
 — in the awful perspective of his journey — that made his 
 spirit sink within him ; and his heart was as if it had been 
 ■wrung bloodless to the core. On his way he passed a 
 London churchyard, and then the liquid that, pure aiul in 
 crj'stal drops, had fallen only a few mirmtes previously from 
 the clouds, rose up from the body-laden earth in nauseous, 
 stifling steam. "God!" thouglit Henry, "a few da3'S and 
 the husband of IMarian Gaps will sleep in a bed steamy and 
 overladen as this." He shuddered at the thought, passed 
 quickly on, and was soon in Berncrs Street. 
 
 Poor stricken Marian Gaps, thought our hero, though he 
 felt how bad and selfish such thoughts were at such a 
 moment, she has had a hard heavy time of it ; an old, worn- 
 out, crippled husband— -she has been thrown away. Is this 
 death a relief to her ? Does she anticipate her husband's dis-
 
 86 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 solution, and her consequent freedom ? Will she gaze upon 
 his cold shrivelled corse with the placidity of a freed spirit — 
 or does she love the halt, ugly biped ? Can she love such a 
 ■withered apology for a man? Henry mentally answered 
 these self-questionings, not as he believed the young wife 
 w^ould have answered them, but as he felt he should like her 
 to answer. These ponderings were not his sober thoughts, 
 they were (he could not disguise the fact' from himself) his 
 dearest wishes — his selfish, soul-felt hopes. As he held the 
 muffled knocker attached to Gaps's door, his selfish emotions 
 crowded themselves upon his brain, and he trembled, a self- 
 convicted culprit. He was going to play the part of hypocrite 
 before a dying man. This was soul-degrading treachery — 
 grim, irreparable wrong ; but he could not avoid the wicked- 
 ness. He knocked, and was admitted. 
 
 "How is Mr. Gaps?" he inquired hurriedly of the do- 
 mestic. 
 
 "Terrible bad, Sir," answered the female. " Will you 
 Avalk in, Sir : the doctor is now with master : I 11 tell Missis 
 you 're here. She 's been anxiously waiting for you. Sir." 
 
 Henry was ushered into the parlour. The house was as 
 still as a catacomb at midnight. Presently some faint foot- 
 steps sounded upon the carpeted staircase, descending to- 
 wards the parlour. The servant in a comparatively loud tone 
 of voice informed her mistress that the gentleman was in the 
 parlour. 
 
 "Hush!" responded Marian Gaps as she entered the 
 room. 
 
 " Forgive this unseasonable disturbance," she said, address- 
 ing Henry. "My husband — I am certain of it — is dying. 
 He can't— the doctor says he can't — last till the morning." 
 
 A flood of tears followed the indistinct utterance of these 
 words. Mrs. Gaps had altered wonderfully within the last 
 three weeks. The bloom yet struggled upon her cheek, but 
 it was fast fading ; her fine eyes — flashing kindly expression 
 — were enclosed in red, swollen sockets, and her lips were 
 hard and almost bloodless. She was only eight-and-twenty, 
 but the care— the long, sleepless night-watchings attending 
 Gaps's sickness had so altered her that she looked almost 
 forty; and it seemed a mercy — a circumstance for rejoicing — 
 that death was about to take charge of the invalid. If Henry 
 now felt any adoration for her it was not certainly her beauty
 
 THE DJSGEACK TO THE FAMIIA'. 87 
 
 that fascinated him; she looked careworn, jaded, and pale 
 and sickly as a waxen image. Appearing to him under these 
 disadvantages — weeping the loss that freed her to become 
 his, (and the latter fact was not suggestive of hope to Henry,) 
 our hero saw how immeasurable was the power she already 
 had over liim. His sense of delicacy — of strict duty — gave 
 him strength sufficient to conceal effectually his passion ; auT 
 he maintained enough self-possession to offer her condolence 
 in the measured language of friendship. 
 
 "You should not give way to so much grief, Mrs. Gaps, at 
 this melancholy crisis," he commenced. "Death may be 
 a blessing to one who suffers so intensely as your husband." 
 
 "Ah! Sir, a friend may think so. A Avife and a friend 
 have different philosophy." And Marian Gaps sighed 
 heavily. 
 
 " Still, Madam," continued Henry, " is there not charity 
 in the hope that death may end agony and open heaven to a 
 bedridden, aged man; and, having this charity, is it not 
 possible to see the dearest tie earth can bind broken (if the 
 object of your love gain happiness by the rapture) with calm- 
 ness, if not with serious, God-thanking happiness?" 
 
 " You can't, tell what I 've suffered — will never know tlie 
 life-long sorrow I have at my heart." 
 
 At this moment a seiwant entered the room to inform her 
 mistress that the im^alid was awake, and had asked for her. 
 
 " Will you see my husband, Mr. Gospitch? He is so anxious 
 to talk with you that we could scax-ccly compose him to sleep ; 
 and even now he has not slept an hour. He is so changed 
 since the afternoon — you will scarcely know him." 
 
 Mrs. Gaps, followed by Henry, ascended the staircase on 
 tiptoe, and in a few moments they were in the sick man's 
 room. The curtains were drawn closely round the bed, and 
 no light, save that of the fire, shone in tlie apartment. A 
 long row of phials ranged along the chimney-piece showed 
 how protracted the illness of the dying man had been, and 
 how zealously the skill and science of man had been applied 
 for the sufferer's welfare. The long-drawn Itreath distinctly 
 audilde directly the room-door was opened pronounced the 
 impotency of all liuman aid in the matter; and the flickering 
 fire and deep stilhiess seemed to be only preparatory arrange- 
 ments systematically adopted to harmonize with the grand 
 mystery about to be accomplished.
 
 88 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 The gentle wife drew the bed-curtain aside and looked 
 anxiously upon the face of her husband. 
 
 " Is it you, Marian," gasped Gaps almost inaudibly. 
 
 "Yes. Are you better, dear?" inquired the anxious woman. 
 
 "It will all be over very soon now, Marian— very soon. 
 No more doctoring: it "s only a mockeiy of God's power — His 
 will. — Is Gospitch here yet?" 
 
 Gaps had changed wonderfully. The rigidity of his face 
 had relaxed into a soft, kindly, calm expression, significant of 
 a spirit well at ease. His arms lay distended outside the 
 bed-clothes — one hand clenched the counterpane, the other 
 lay open upon the bed. He was upon his back, his head 
 being well propped with softest pillows, arranged as only 
 an affectionate, hoverhig wife can arrange them. His eyes 
 seemed to be starting from their sockets and gazing at some 
 object high on the bed furniture, his lips were apart, his 
 cheeks hollow, and his skin shrivelled like an old sapless 
 apple ; and such was the mortality whose comforts Marian 
 had supplied day and night during three weary weeks. 
 
 Gospitch, beckoned by Marian, advanced to the bedside. 
 Gaps did not stir one muscle ; his arms remained motionless, 
 his stare was vacantly fixed upon the bed-curtain, and his lips 
 scarcely moved as he attempted to speak. 
 
 "Lean your head near to his mouth," said the wife in 
 a whisper. Henry did so, and heard the following syllables 
 uttered faintly and at intervals: — 
 
 " ]\Iarian is young — mil be courted for the money I shall 
 leave her. She has endured enough with me — Heaven will 
 bless her for it. Promise me — we 've not long been friends — 
 but promise me that you will see she does not marry anybody 
 unworthy of her. She is simple as a lamb, and will, if you 
 do not promise this — be entrapped — wronged. Ah ! this 
 is my only grievance — my only agony. Promise, do." 
 
 Gospitch said, " I promise you, Sir — I pledge you my 
 honour it shall be as you desire." 
 
 "Heaven bless j'ou, young man !" and the sufferer grasped 
 Henry by the hand and squeezed it tightly. 
 
 Presently he continued — " I don't owe a farthing — not one 
 sixpence. My money I have made myself — I have to thank 
 nobody for it. I have worked hard. I have much to answer 
 for — the black secret of my life Marian knows — has forgiven 
 me the injury— she will tell you. She is not to blame. She
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FA:^rIT.T. 89 
 
 will be scandalized — sneered at — insulted. But don't allow 
 it, Gospitcli — she does not deserve it — I am to blame — I 
 alone." 
 
 Still Gaps held Henry's hand tightly. 
 
 "Marian — my Maiian," gasped the dving man, "your 
 hand." 
 
 The wife reached round the bed and took her husband's 
 hand in hers, and kissed it and bathed it with her tears. Gos- 
 pitcli looked intently at Mrs. Gaps, and then upon the fea- 
 tures of the sutferer ; and Mrs. Gaps, tears streaming the 
 while from lier eyes, gazed fixedly upon her husband. 
 
 Still Gaps held the hand of his wife and the hand of 
 his friend tightly. A few moments of intense silence ensued ; 
 and then gradually, almost imperceptibly, Gospitch felt that 
 the hand of his benefactor was loosening its hold; Marian felt 
 the same loosening. All was silent, still, motionless. In 
 another moment the invalid's hands fell, useless, upon the 
 bed : a gm*gling utterance in the throat, a gentle spasmodic 
 motion in the bed, and Death, the man's only creditor — was 
 paid. 
 
 Marian saw the full extent of the grand mystery, threw 
 her ai'ms round the neck of the lifeless clay, and lay there, as 
 senseless as the corse, until she was removed to another room 
 by the female domestics. 
 
 Six days after Mr. Gaps's decease two mutes bedecked 
 most sumptuously told the tale of death to the passers-by — • 
 told the world that petty, miserable vanity is so dear to 
 human nature that man's senseless, mouldering mortality 
 stickles for silks and satins to rot upon.
 
 90 TIIK DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " Yet mark the fate of a whole sex of queens, 
 Power all their end, but beauty all their means : 
 « * * * 
 
 A fop their passion, but their prize a sot — 
 
 Alive, ridiculous — and dead, forgot." Pope. 
 
 " Inward peace of mind, consciousness of integrity, and a satisfactory 
 review of our own conduct, are circumstances very requisite to happiness." — 
 Hume. 
 
 When Miss Maturin left Henry Gospitch, she was extremely 
 agitated aud angry. He had repulsed her — refused her for 
 his wife ! Whether Henry's conduct was reprehensible or not 
 is a matter of opinion upon which scarcely any two persons 
 will agree. He argued that had she loved him she would 
 have been with him— have cheered him throughout his diffi- 
 culties; he knew not that she was fettered by the conven- 
 tional notions of an aristocratic sister. He was aware that 
 Mvs. De Gospitch hated him, but he did not know that his 
 mistress was her abject slave. He was, perhaps, too hasty in 
 his decision, too harsh in the utterance of it; but it was 
 founded upon the best motives, and therefore he must be 
 pitied rather than condemned. Miss Maturin's love had 
 been crushed — annihilated in an instant ; and her pride was 
 wounded. She had offered to forswear the luxuries of a 
 palace for the hardships of a penurious homestead, and the 
 tenant of the humbler dwelling had refused her proffered 
 allegiance and love. A girl nursed and schooled as Miss 
 Maturin had been, could not contemplate such humiliation 
 without anger — without a hope of revenge. Her lover had 
 slighted her, and she would sting him to the soul — crush 
 him with her indifference — agonise him with her contempt. 
 Having seen the wretched, naked rooms which Henry in- 
 habited, the greatness of her proffered sacrifice was increased 
 a hundredfold in her eyes. She had been told that he lived 
 miserably housed, but she had no conception of any place so 
 dark, dingy, confined and bare as the house in Red Lion 
 Court. Contrasted with this picture of poverty, the humblest 
 apartment iti her sister's mansion was the most sumptuous
 
 THE UISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 91 
 
 abiding place. And seeing fully tliese wide differences, she 
 regarded Hemy's conduct as brutal, not to say idiotic. She 
 could bring him no money as a marriage portion, but there 
 ■\vas some compliment in resigning luxurious ease for pinching 
 care with him. If he could not fairly value this sacrifice, she 
 thought he must be a boorish, passionless person — heartless 
 and without refinement ; and if this were so, she believed she 
 had to congratulate herself upon a veiy fortunate escape from 
 his thraldom. How blindly each .judged the other ! 
 
 When Miss Maturin reached Tavi^^tock Square, on her re- 
 turn from Red Lion Court, she found Mr. Sheridan Jackson 
 and Captain Grasy with her sister. The captain was wonder- 
 fully polite to her, hoped that her spirited dancing had not 
 over-fatigued her, and that she had benefited by her walk. 
 He was excessively sorry that she had been making a pedes- 
 trian excursion, for he had iioped to have been honoured with 
 her company for a stroll ; however, perhaps she had not been 
 far and was able to venture forth just for half an hour; the 
 carriage might meet them at a certain point. 
 
 Miss Maturin, having heard that her sister and Mr. Jackson 
 would accompany them, easily assented to the captain's propo- 
 sition, and the party set out in the direction of the Regent's 
 Park. Miss Maturin took the proffered arm of the Captain. 
 
 " Charming day, "commenced the soldier; "you are fond 
 of fine weather and the country — the blooming, sweet-scented 
 country. Miss IMaturin — sure you must be." 
 
 "I am," sighed ]Miss Maturin, "excessively fond of rustic 
 scenery — are j'ou. Captain?" 
 
 " Sure, Miss Maturin, you must be joking to doubt it for a 
 moment. I could live under a hedge and think myself in 
 paradise." 
 
 "Think of the nettles, to say nothing of tlie earwigs, 
 Grasy," interrupted Sheridan Jackson, wlio liad overheard his 
 friend's remark. 
 
 " Rah ! " returned the Captain, " I could hug the nettles and 
 attend to the creature comforts of the earwigs. J^ut tlien you 
 know, Sheridan, my boy, what an enthusiast I am." And ad- 
 dressing Miss Maturin, " Do you like enthusiastic people, 
 Miss Maturin?" 
 
 " Dear me, yes. 1 think that a person who is not enthusi- 
 astic is a mortal to be jiitied." 
 
 " I am glad, delighted, that my chief characteristic pleases
 
 92 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 3^011 SO entirely, Miss Maturin. Keally now, that 's downright 
 flatterii.g— upon my credit it is." 
 
 They were now in the park — the Regent's Park — a plot of 
 ground that should be called the Eden of London. 
 
 " Splendid park this," suggested the rapturous Captain ; 
 " a spot, Miss Maturin, where witching nature has lavished 
 her dear charms with tremendous pi'ofusion. Sure now, I 
 could live under that poplar tree — I do love poplar trees." 
 
 " Why, it 's a chestnut, Grasy," again interrupted the sarcas- 
 tic Jackson, 
 
 "So it is, so it is," responded the unabashed Captain; 
 " sure I 'm as blind as a bat, and I 'm forgetting my botany. 
 Botany 's an elegant science, Miss Maturin. I could give up 
 all other books if I had a copious volume treating of botany. 
 You like botany, I 'm sure? " 
 
 " Why, to confess the truth, I never studied it, but if 
 Captain Grasy recommends the science, I 'm sure — " 
 
 " Say no more. Miss Maturin, say no more, really I 'm de- 
 lighted if I have won your good opinion. Oh ! sure I 'm a 
 lucky dog," and the Captain bowed profoundl3^ He sighed 
 heavily once or twice, drew his hat over his eyes, and then 
 continued as if he were talking to himself onlj' — " Men are 
 not worth the dear creatures. We are a set of worthless fel- 
 lows not worth a whistle. Ali ! if we could only value woman's 
 love when we 've got it. Sure I think I could appreciate the 
 jewel." Then suddenly pretending to recollect himself, " I 
 beg ten thousand pardons. Miss Maturin— I was musing — 
 sweetly musing. I was thinking how blest married men 
 must be, and regi-etting my terrific loneliness. Picture to 
 yourself, Miss Maturin, a gentleman with no home to go to, 
 only a dull lodging, unenlivened by the witching smiles of 
 beauty, unadorned by lady-like loveliness. This cannot be 
 called a home, Miss Maturin, can it?" asked the Captain im- 
 pressively. 
 
 " Yet," answered Maiy, " some gentlemen prefer bachelor- 
 hood to married life — you know they do." 
 
 " Then they 're not men. Miss Maturin. On behalf of my 
 sex I disclaim them altogether," exclaimed Grasy emphatic- 
 ally. " He who cannot love a woman is not a man." 
 
 " Oh ! I don't say that men do not generally love, but then 
 you know. Captain, they are so very, very changeable," sim- 
 pered Mary.
 
 THE DISGEzVCE TO THE FAMILY. 93 
 
 " Theix I say, Miss Maturin — and sure I mean it — the man 
 who can love a dozen hxdies is not a gentleman. It 's very- 
 well to joke about, as my friend Jackson does. He has written 
 poetry beginning so — 
 
 * My heart is like an omnibus, 
 It carries twelve inside/ &c., &c. 
 
 but he doesn't mean it, it 's only his fun. Ah ! if I could only 
 find a heart that would appreciate the tenderness of my heart 
 I should be happy. I 'm a curious sort of a fellow — I can't 
 box up my feeUngs — I "ve no patent Chubb lock to my bosom, 
 as my friend Jackson says — no, I 'm as open as broad day." 
 
 " Not so loud, Captain, I beg," and the couple talked in a 
 lower tone and more confidentially. 
 
 ^Meanwhile Mrs. De Gospitch, leaning on the arm of the 
 genius Jackson, (who with hair almost as long as his legs, 
 though bald at the crown, showed his distinguished counte- 
 nance daily in Regent Street to a grateful British public,) 
 tallied of literature, and that fruitful suliject — mai'riage. Jack- 
 son was always ready to acquiesce in the opinions of his hostess; 
 it was the price at which his visits were endured. He had 
 the art of yielding while he contradicted; he never gave up 
 an opinion at once, but he allowed Mrs. De Gospitch to have 
 eventual vnctorj' in all their arguments. 
 
 " What has become of your friend, Mr. Blandly Reeks, is 
 he well?' inquired Mrs. De Gospitch. 
 
 " Quite well, I thank you," answered Jackson. " He has 
 been much engaged lately. He has just published a charm- 
 ing little poem." 
 
 "Indeed! I 'm glad to hear it : he 's a very quiet, gentle- 
 manly young man ; I told Mary so. Do you remember any 
 of this new poem ; tliough I should think you could not read 
 Mr. Recks . poetiy and forget it. He writes charmingly." 
 
 " He 's a rising man, there "s no doubt about it. and he '11 
 work his way if he attends to what I say. Let me see, I 
 think his poem commences thus— (l)y the way it is addressed 
 to a lady who does not return the poet's love)." Jackson 
 then repeated the lines, stopping now and then when his 
 memory failed him. or when the commendatory ejaculationa 
 of his listener interrupted him. The poem ran thua : —
 
 94 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 " Oh ! maiden dear — it is not pretty 
 So to laugh at woe — at tears ; 
 Fairest beauty dwells with pity — 
 Pity is a sense that fears 
 To add to sadness deeper grieving; 
 It loves to lull the panting head ; 
 Pity cannot help believing 
 
 All by earnest manhood said. 
 
 « * * 
 
 I VMS presumptuous ; and yet truly 
 
 Did I echo from my heart, 
 
 That — on paper — you called " madness 
 
 For a phantasy" — all art 
 
 I scorned. I did not flatter. 
 
 Calculation lost its hold : 
 
 I said I loved you — trembling said so. 
 
 For I felt such saying bold. 
 » * * 
 
 You did not chide me — worse than anger 
 
 Was the unimpassioned tone 
 
 In which you counselled vacillation — 
 
 Inconstancy by woman shown ! 
 
 Gently muse — breathe softly near her; 
 
 Blend her name with sweetest verse : 
 
 Speaking of her, ever fear her — 
 
 Her name melodiously rehearse. 
 
 Sing of her as of some goddess 
 
 Clothed in attributes divine ; 
 
 With a cestus for a boddice, 
 
 In which lie nestled the glad Nine." 
 
 " Touching in the extreme," exdaimed Mrs. De Gospitch. 
 " Do you think you could prevail upon your friend to write 
 them in my album?" 
 
 "Certainly— with a great deal of pleasure— certainly," 
 bowed Sheridan Jackson. " The circumstances under which 
 the poem was written are peculiar —most peculiar." 
 
 " Do tell mc all about it if you can; I take such interest in 
 your friend." 
 
 " The story is simple enough — Mr. Reeks met a lady two 
 or three times ; she was a charming, intelligent, warm-hearted 
 girl, who sang like a nightingale. You may have observed 
 how impulsive Mr. Reeks is. Well, he had not seen this 
 voung lady above half a dozen times before he was devotedly 
 in love with her ; and, perhaps rashly, he wrote and told her 
 as much. She answered his letter politely but coldly ; with
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY 95 
 
 a pen dipped in ice she begged him to remember that they 
 had not long been acquainted with each other, and that his 
 love could consequently have but the frailest foundation ; and 
 she concluded her letter by expi'essing her conviction that in 
 a few weeks he would think with wonder how such a mere 
 phantasy could have entered his head. Hurt and made hope- 
 less by this repulsion, he penned the lines which I have had 
 the satisfaction of repeating to you." 
 
 " What a pity ! " quoth Mrs. De Gospitch ; " but the lady 
 was certainly not to blame : I should have acted in the same 
 manner myself." 
 
 " Then you do not value first love and all that sort of thing," 
 ventured Jackson. 
 
 " Why, yes I do, I think ; but then it is not seemly for 
 ladies to acknowledge their love at once." 
 
 " Then you advocate the temporaiy suppression of love 
 when it first breaks out with ladies?" inquired Jackson. 
 
 " Dear me, no ; but I think ladies should have power suf- 
 ficient to modify the manifestation of their feelings. We 
 women, Mr. Jackson, feel so much more strongly than 
 men — we are all heart — you will allow that, I 'm confi- 
 dent." 
 
 " Of course — who would contradict the opinion of Mrs. De 
 ' Gospitch V " returned the polite genius. 
 
 " Now you 're not sincere, Mr. Jackson — you know you 're 
 not," vowed Mrs. De Gospitch, playfully. 
 
 Mr. Sheridan Jackson took some time to impress upon his 
 fair hostess the strength of his sincerity, and he had scarcely 
 succeeded in his object when the carriage met the pedestrian 
 party, and Miss Maturin and Captain Grasy, Mrs. De Gospitch 
 and Mr. Sheridan Jackson, having seated themselves in the 
 vehicle, were conveyed therein to Tavistock Square. 
 
 " I must congratulate you upon a biilliant conquest," said 
 Mrs. De Gospitch to Mary Maturin, as soon as they were alone 
 together. " Captain Grasy is of a very old family; a captain, 
 and a very handsome one too." 
 
 " He is good-looking," answered the girl. 
 
 " And you know you found him agreeable. Why, he talked 
 sentiment all the time you were together." 
 
 " He was rather sentimental, certainly," said Mary Maturin, 
 seriously. 
 
 " I 've asked him to dine here to-morrow."
 
 96 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 " Have you ?" was the only reply Miss Maturin made. 
 
 She was in a iair way to be revenged. That morning she had 
 been spurned by Henry Gospitch, that afternoon she had been 
 courted by an aristocrat who could boast the descended blood 
 of royaltyitself. Yes, she felt confident of the fact. Henry 
 would live to regret bitterly his harsh behaviour towards her. 
 But she knew that she deserved the treatment she had ex- 
 perienced, for she had forgotten her self-respect in visiting a 
 beggar in a dirty dungeon of a house. Had he been a king 
 she could not have done more. But she was thankful she had 
 escaped : had he accepted her, she now dreaded to think 
 where she might be ; perhaps lodged in some loathsome 
 garret, netted with cobwebs : as it was, she had a fair pro- 
 spect of becoming the wife of a handsome, agreeable, well- 
 behaved, soldierly young man, who would give her all the 
 luxuries her heart might crave or her fancy create. This was 
 indeed a difference. She pictured Henry to herself as a 
 hopeless, blighted man — a biped praying for a grave. It did 
 not occur to her that he too might have found solace for her 
 loss in the heart of another : her vanity banished this 
 thought from her brain. No, she thoroughly believed that 
 Henry Gospitch, having lost her dear self, must sneak through 
 life with downcast eyes and a deadened heart — that the loss 
 of her love must doom him to life-long misery. It did not 
 enter into her philosophy that man's heart, when disappoint- 
 ed in one object, is sufficiently comprehensive to grasp another 
 idol.
 
 ■/ ,/ 
 
 r/ ^/ ///^/// //jj^////uy^
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 07 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "Work without hope draws nectar in a sieve, 
 And hope without an object cannot live." 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 H.wrxG ensconced Mrs. Gaps comfortably ■witli her sister in 
 Carnation Cottage, Clapham, where tlae widowed lady insisted 
 upon residing, though repeatedly urged to try a change of 
 scene, Heniy repaired daily to the offices of Messrs. Short and 
 Co. His business was monotonous and uninteresting ; but he 
 made the acquaintance of a fellow-clerk of most original cha- 
 racter. Brasely would have been worth hundreds to Wilkie ; 
 he was the most humorous looking person we have ever seen : 
 and then he was deliciously ugly. His ugliness was, however, 
 well concealed by the jollity his ill-formed physiognomy mir- 
 rored ; and in Brasely "s company you forgot the exceeding 
 plainness of the individual in the even joyousness of the man's 
 nature. He was somewhat ignorant, it is true, on many 
 points ; but he was an adept at his business, and that is the 
 great essential to a man's success in life. The polite arts had 
 received no attention whatever from Bob Brasely, but no- 
 body could say that he was not perfect in " double entry." 
 You might call him an illiterate dog and he would laugh at 
 you ; but question the accuracy of his arithmetic, and he 
 would insist upon fighting you — for fighting was his favourite 
 recreation. Bob Brasely could introduce you to any "crib" 
 in London ; he was hand and glove with half the boxers upon 
 town, and had floored a man " twice his weight ;" and so 13ob 
 really considered himself somebody. Some young men covet 
 a reputation for their knowledge of painting ; some for their 
 aristocratic acquaintance ; some for their downy beards ; but 
 Bob's ambition was satisfied when he had made acquaintance 
 with the crack boxers upon town. He had some taste for 
 ballet-dancers, but he did not pride himself upon the cultiva- 
 tion of this endowment: give him his gloves and a good man 
 to play with, and Bob had no greater idea of human felicity. 
 This was coarse taste it is true ; but l^ob had been taught no 
 better. He was as good-hearted a fellow as you would wish 
 to meet, and it was a pity that his good sense and good heart 
 
 F
 
 98 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 were not turned to better account. However, lament as we 
 may the failings of Mr. Robert Brasely, we shall not improve 
 his character one jot ; so with this brief preface we shall in- 
 troduce him to the reader. 
 
 When Henry and Bob first met they were mutually dis- 
 gusted. Henry took offence at Bob's slang, and Bob was in- 
 dignant that a man, ignorant of the first principles of pugilism, 
 as Henry confessed himself to be, should be put at the same 
 desk with him, an experienced and well-known boxer. 
 
 " So you know nothing of fisticuffs ? " inquired Bob, as the 
 two sat at a desk together. 
 
 " Nothing whatever," was the reply. 
 
 " Well, then, 1 11 do the thing handsome and teach you. I 
 don't think you 'd make a bad hand at the business — you 're 
 not such a very bad figure for it," volunteered Bob. 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Brasely, I 've generally defended myself 
 pretty successfully when the occasion has called for blows," 
 returned the laconic Heniy. 
 
 "Ah! yes: very fine as it happened; but you hadn't to 
 deal with a person of my experience. I 'm not proud, Mr. 
 Gospitch, but I flatter my kidneys I can box a bit." 
 
 " I 've no reason to doubt your skill." 
 
 •' Come," said Bob, confidently, " if you 're no hand with 
 the gloves, you know you can handle sculls ; we '11 have a day 
 on the river together." 
 
 " I can pull a bit, certainly," answered Henry. 
 
 " Well, I see you 're a brick after all. I '11 engage a 
 wheriy at Searle's ; when shall it be?" gleefully responded 
 the enthusiastic Bob. " Perhaps we can get up a mill with 
 one of the watermen. I should like to lick a waterman ; I 'm 
 quite tired of cabmen, they 're so easily thrashed. I know 
 nothing I should like better than a comfortable set-to with a 
 good substantial boatman." And Bob's eyes glistened at the 
 prospect of a fight — sparkled as though he had suggested a 
 sure route to Paradise, and were about to avail himself of the 
 discovery. 
 
 " Upon my v/ord, Mr. Brasely, it's quite uncertain when I 
 shall be disengaged," coldly answered Gospitch. 
 
 "What, some girl in the wind?" suggested the amateur 
 pugilist, gently inserting his finger in the ribs of his neigh- 
 bour. " Well, brmg her with you — I 'm not particular ; " and 
 Bob pulled his shirt collar a little higher, and winked very
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 99 
 
 knowingly at Heniy. The young fellow's face, ugly as it was, 
 bespoke so much good-nature, such a thorough rough and 
 ready English Lonhommie, that our hero could not take of- 
 fence at the inquisitive remarks of his sporting friend. Heniy, 
 in mind, was twenty years Bob's senior, at least; this one had 
 been borne down by no calamity — had felt no pinching want — 
 that one had been schooled by bitterest experience to look 
 more seriously upon the affairs of life. Henry had many self- 
 imposed responsibilities, (fetters that elevate manhood and 
 give an earnestness to every action.) Bob's sole care was the 
 due exercise of his darling art. It was no wonder then that 
 thei'e was a wide difference in their i-espective pui'suits and 
 opinions. " I don't object to a row on the river with you any 
 day, but I object decidedly to brawls with watermen." 
 
 " Come, come," said Bob, " eveiy man his own taste; you 
 won't have to fight, you know. I 'm not blowing my own 
 trumpet too hard when I tell you I believe I can manage a 
 waterman or two just to wind up the daj' in style." 
 
 Bob was a favourite with Mr. Ferdinand Short — an especial 
 favourite. Bob knew something of horseflesh, at least he 
 knew a bay mare from a roan mare ; he had, too, some indis- 
 tinct idea of a mysterious connection between a horse's teeth 
 and the beast's age ; and accordingly, whenever Mr. Short 
 drove to the office with a new horse. Bob might be seen dili- 
 gently rummaging the animal's mouth, as though he had lost 
 a sixpence therein, and was anxiously searching for it. This 
 scrutiny was always enlivened by Bob's complimentary ejacu 
 lations — " A good mare, young — good action — plenty of spirit, 
 by Gumm ; " and these flattering encomiums passed lavishly 
 by Bob upon his governor's taste made him his governor's 
 favourite. 
 
 " I can get a holiday, you know. Short's safe to give it if I 
 ask," said Bob, resuming his conversation with Henry. 
 " Come, when shall it be? name a day." 
 
 " Well, say next Tuesday ; I tliink I shall be disengaged 
 then," responded Gospitch, pleased, in truth, at the prospect 
 of a holiday trip — an enjoyifient that he had not known for 
 years. 
 
 " Gentlemen, gentlemen, business is business," interrupted 
 Dubbin, who at the moment entered the room laden with 
 letters and accounts, which he deposited before Henry, giving 
 him directions for their transfer into certain books bound in 
 
 F 3
 
 100 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 red leather. Henry begged of Bob to be silent while he exe- 
 cuted his employer's wishes ; and the pair sat side by side, 
 wielding their pens most diligently. 
 
 "When Henry had completed his first day's work, he pro- 
 ceeded on his way to Carnation Cottage, having some pecu- 
 niary matter to settle with Mrs. Gaps. He trudged on 
 lustily, (for £80 per annum would not stand the luxury of an 
 omnibus,) and was soon at his destination. He found Mrs. 
 Gaps and Miss Jackson sitting together very moodily; and 
 it was flattering to him to see that his entrance called a smile 
 upon the young widow's features. 
 
 " I have done as you wished, Mrs. Gaps," said Henry, 
 " and the monument to your husband's memory will be pro- 
 ceeded with immediately. Have you any further commands 
 for me ? " 
 
 " Thank you, sir, none. And now, Mr. Gospitch, allow me, 
 T insist that you will permit me, to thank you with all my 
 heart — earnestly and truly — for your kindnesses to me since 
 the death of Mr. Gaps. I am sony — you will believe it, 
 sii' — very sorry that the world does not allow me to give you 
 a general invitation here, if indeed this quiet cottage could at- 
 tract you at times." 
 
 Miss Jackson had retired, and Henry was alone with Mrs. 
 Gaps. He looked upon her with his soul in his eyes, and 
 attempted to read in her pale face the magic manifestations 
 of love. She looked at him, and with her soul in her eyes 
 attempted to read in his face the kindliness of bis manly na- 
 ture ; and both were bewildered with the result of their 
 scrutinj^. Henry could only read a settled melancholy upon 
 the widow's features, and she, in Henry's face, saw anxiety 
 and sadness. Both were confused, and Mrs. Gaps first 
 gathered the courage necessary to vent her misery in speech. 
 She said, 
 
 " I have to fulfil my husband's . ^vish, Mr. Gospitch ; 
 and though the fulfilment cost me agony I must obey his 
 last command. It can be told in a few words. Mr. Gaps 
 was married to my sister, sir, many years ago ; she died a 
 violent death, in France ; and so I was not his wife — I was 
 his wife's sister only. There, sir, you have the secret ; you 
 know what the world will esteem my dishonour." And the 
 wretched woman buried her face in her hands, and wept most 
 bitterly. Henry was in a state of utter bewilderment, and
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 101 
 
 he remained for a few moments speechless. Mrs. Gaps, 
 alarmed at his silence, suddenly raised her head and looked 
 in his face. 
 
 " Do you think less of me, sir? " she asked ; and Henry, 
 roused by the accusation answered, " I should be a villain. 
 Madam, if I did : I would believe nothing to your discredit, 
 could not entertain the shghtest word that spoke of you dis- 
 paragingly. T hope you will believe this — thoroughly believe 
 it, Mrs. Gaps." 
 
 " Most gratefully, Mr. Gospitch." 
 
 " I would prove it to you, would dedicate a whole life to the 
 proof." 
 
 " You mistake me, sir," and Mrs. Gaps assumed a deter- 
 mined tone of voice ; " you mistake me grievously if you 
 imagine, for one moment, that I would consent to shield ray 
 misfortunes in another marriage. I have pride, sir, and can 
 bear all I may have to endure alone." 
 
 " Mrs. Gaps," answered Henry, " there is surely but little 
 proof that your husband's first vdie was your sister. If I re- 
 collect rightly, your sister's name, when married, was Brown- 
 ing." 
 
 " Mr. Gaps went under that name at the time, sir ; in 
 short, Mr. Gospitch, I assure you positively that Mr. Gaps 
 was my sister's husband. Think what you will of me — but 
 such is the truth." 
 
 " I tcill believe it was so, Mrs. Gaps — and still may I say 
 it— I look upon you, and can read the happiness of my life iu 
 your face ; can pity your misfortune and honour you, madam, 
 for the care, the kindly duty, with which you watched the last 
 moments of Mr. Gaps. To me, madam, your conduct is he- 
 roism — the devotion of an angel. I, too, have a pride that 
 forbids me to make a present petition for your heart, and I 
 can understand how any words of love may grate upon your ear 
 just now ; but is it permitted to me to hope ; shall I not have 
 some bright end to fight for ; shall the struggles of my whole 
 life end in bitter bachelorhood ? Madam, tell me — I ask it 
 sincerely, earnestly, — do you promise me any hope ?" 
 
 Heniy took the hand of Marian Gaps, and clasping it 
 tightly, awaited an answer to his words. 
 
 "You puzzle me, Mr. Gospitch, you hurt me. My hus- 
 band — T mean Mr. Gaps — has only been dead a fortnight. 
 Have I not said enough."
 
 109 THE DTSORACE TO THE FAl\riLY. 
 
 There was something exquisitely touching in this appeal ; 
 some indistinct reproach that went to Henry's heart, and told 
 him he had been hasty — cruel. The woman he asked to love 
 him had only been a widow fourteen days— had only been se- 
 parated two short weeks from the man it was right to believe 
 she had loved ; was it not then a wrong, an insult to her and to 
 his depai'ted friend, this attempt to wean a wife's affection 
 from the husband she had lived with for years, before the 
 ashes of the dead man were well cold? At best it was 
 thoughtless. Such rashness was, too, more likely to inspire 
 disgust than love — more likely to deaden the woman's heart, 
 than to reawaken its warmth for a new affection. 
 
 Oppressed by this self-condemnation he gently pressed 
 Marian's hand, rose from his seat, and said — " It shall be so, 
 Mrs. Gaps, I ask your pardon — good evening." 
 
 Marian's hand fell heavily upon her lap — she attempted to 
 rise from her seat, but faltering she reseated herself. She 
 was pale, as though death-stricken ; tears, sparkling as sim- 
 lit dewdrops, trickled down her cheeks ; her heart was burst- 
 ing with the world of confliction ■uithin it — but her tongue 
 attempted not to interpret the giant strife that was rending 
 her soul. Mute, motionless — staring vacantly as a bat in 
 sunlight — she allowed Henry to retire from her presence. 
 The struggle was as great to the man as to the woman. As 
 he walked towards the door an indistinct presentiment of long, 
 weary, monotonous years to come — of dark days and anguish- 
 dreaming nights — arose in his brain ; and looking upon the 
 still figure of Marian, which he saw for the last time, per- 
 haps, his proud soul could not but acknowledge the stupen- 
 dous power vested in beauty, such as that now pale and dumb 
 before him. That fragile, nervous thing could bring to him 
 more joy — could torture him more hellishly than a whole 
 world of benefactors or tyrants ; could humble his proud 
 nature, or lift his ambitious dreams to visions of transcendent 
 greatness. 
 
 " Oh, woman ! " he thought, " what leviathans are you over 
 men, — and what fools, what execrable dolts, we are to be en- 
 snared often by attractions that last but for a few short years. 
 Women are clever creatures, and men are fools." 
 
 Slighted lovers must understand the ravings of Hcniy 
 Gospitcli
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAIVULT. 103 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " Sacred Silence, thou that art 
 Floodgate of the deepest heart; 
 Offspring of a heavenly kind, 
 Frost of the mouth, and tliaw of the inind. 
 Admiration's readiest tongue." 
 
 FlECKNOE. 
 
 There assuredly is a sanctity in silence. Prate as we may 
 about confidence — extol as we may the delight of pouring the 
 burden of the heart into the bosom of a friend — we must 
 nevertheless bear witness (and all who have felt any great 
 passion will) to the sanctity of silence. A thought that has 
 not been communicated — that has lam peacefully or restlessly 
 in the heart for years — becomes so incorporated with the 
 xomA. — so intimately connected with the idiosyncrasy of the 
 individual — that to make it common to others seems a want 
 of self-respect. "^^Taen a man has made a great resolve to 
 himself, and if the promulgation of this resolve would argue 
 past silliness or vice, he is more likely to adhere to the reso- 
 lution while he confines it to his own bosom, than when he 
 has communicated it to his friends. Also any resolution that 
 is to triumph over a weakness is more sacred — more strongly 
 resolved — when unimparted than Avhen told to a friend. This 
 reasoning accounts for the unifoi-m reserve noticeable in men 
 of strong intellect, or of comprehensive genius. A fool has 
 no secrets, no self-sanctified thoughts ; a wise man many. 
 
 Our hero's mind enshrined many, many resolutions that 
 had never burdened human ear. He was a man living 
 within himself, yet profoundly interested in the woi'ld about 
 him. He had large sympathy and large charity ; but he was 
 reserved and cold in his address. He never prepossessed, 
 but he generally, though always slowly, won respect and 
 admiration. Had he been a wealthy man he would most 
 probably have been as haughty and exclusive as Mrs. De 
 Gospitch ; but he would have exercised more charity than 
 that lady, and he would not have been so easily led as his 
 elder brother. 
 
 His last interview with Mrs. Gaps exercised a material 
 influence over his general conduct. Having passed some
 
 104 THE DISGKACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 days in a profound melancholy, he determined to rouse him- 
 self to shake off a disease that was preying seriously upon his 
 mind. He would go out into the world — the world that con- 
 cealed an infinity of blackest wretchedness beneath a Momus- 
 mask. He felt that he should not be the only hypocrite — 
 the only man who would give a hearty guffaw wth agony 
 gnawing at his heart ; and so he would see some pleasure — 
 taste somewhat of the bustling mirth about him. This deter- 
 mination did not for a moment lessen the strength of his 
 resolve to give strict attention to business — to rise. The 
 pleasure he resolved to seek he sought only as a stimulant 
 that would enable him to do his daily labour cheerfully ; and 
 his labour was stimulated by love and revenge — love for 
 Marian Gaps, revenge for the insult offered to him by his 
 former mistress and her sister. In pursuance of a settled 
 determination announced in the prospectus that heralded this 
 history, we shall not gloss over the faults of our hero, neither 
 shall we give them unfair prominence. His errors shall 
 speak in his actions, and so shall his virtues. But we would 
 not have the reader take from the tinith of our pictui'e, by 
 attributing to our hero's actions better motives than lie, in 
 tnith, possessed. Whether he had ample reason for the bitter 
 feelings he entertained towards his rich relations is a matter 
 in which the reader is left to exercise his own unbiassed 
 judgment. All we shall say is, that no circumstance has 
 been coloured or omitted. Yes — one : it is this. When 
 Mr. Gospitch, senior, died, leaving the bulk of his fortune 
 to his eldest son, the sum bequeathed to Henry was £200, 
 which amount would (so said the old man) purchase our 
 hero a decent clerkship ; and then all future advancement 
 must rest ■with himself. Henry found that the only situation 
 this sum would insure was a clerkship of £iSO for the first 
 year, and ten additional pounds each succeeding seven years. 
 This prospect did not please him ; and so, recollecting a 
 family legend that said something about an ancestor who had 
 rejoiced in the business of grocer, he resolved to embark his 
 modest capital in a grocery business. This resolve he se- 
 cretly carried into effect. At first his pride would not allow 
 him to stand behind his counter ; but finding, at length, that 
 the business went wrong whenever he was away, he finally 
 ensconced himself in his shop : his relations discovered him — 
 and cut him ; and such is the histoiy of his disgrace.
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 105 
 
 Resolved to see again some of the gaieties of life, he looked 
 fonvard to the boatiug excursion Avith Bob Brasely impa- 
 tiently — he even asked the pugilistic Bob if the trip could 
 not take place on Monday instead of Tuesday. But Bob 
 vowed that he -was positively engaged -nith Jem Tussle, at 
 Jacks crib, on Monday evening early, and could not possibly 
 • put off the engagement. He anticipated an out-and-out set-to. 
 "What d'ye say to coming -^ith us?" asked Bob. "You'll 
 see some jolly dogs, I '11 warrant ye. Some such as you don't 
 see every day. Jack's crib is the tightest in London — full of 
 meriy blades, I can tell ye." 
 
 " But what's to be seen there?" innocently asked Hemy, 
 already half mclined to accept Bob's pi'oposal. 
 
 "What's to be seen at Jack's crib!" exclaimed the sur- 
 prised Bob. "Ecod, Gospitcli — pardon my saying so — how 
 ignorant you are ! " and the sympathetic young pugilist 
 raised his eyes expressing astonishment and pity. 
 
 " 1 must plead guilty to my ignorance. Come, Brasely, 
 you can inform me — what is to be seen at the crib ?" 
 
 " Seen ! " ejaculated Bob. " Why the best rat-hunt in 
 London — the best pugilism — the merriest dogs in the world ; 
 and you can get there stout that I '11 defy you to get anywhere 
 else, to say nothing of the welsh-rarebits and devilled kidneys. 
 What 's to be seen ! Ecod ! I could live and die at Jack's." 
 
 " Well, youi" picture 's glowing — interesting. I don't mind 
 if I do go," answered Hemy; and when the office time was 
 up the two young men sallied forth in the direction of Jack's 
 crib. It would fill pages were we to describe the innumerable 
 and mysterious turnings which the clerks took ere they 
 reached their destination. They threaded long, dingy, chil- 
 dren-choked lanes — ascended and descended various flights of 
 stone steps — crossed yards — went through mysterious gate- 
 ways — and finally came to a halt before a low, dark, dirty 
 house, at the door of which Bob knocked thrice with his cane. 
 The door was immediately half opened, and a gruff voice from 
 within inquired who was there. " All right, Joe, my boy," 
 answered l^ob ; and the two friends were admitted. They 
 threaded a long, low, narrow passage, crossed a dingily lighted 
 ante-room, and were at last ushered into the principal room 
 of the crib. 
 
 The sight that there presented itself to Henry was so 
 wholly new to him — so utterly dissimilar to all the scenes he 
 
 F 3
 
 106 THE DISGExVCE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 had witnessed elsewhere — that he stood gaping with wonder- 
 ment, until roused by Bob, who appeared quite at home in 
 the confusion. The crib was about double the size of an 
 ordinary tap-room. All round it were placed, at equal dis- 
 tances, odd-looking, greasy, burnt-umber-coloured tables, at 
 which were seated the most motley assortment of human 
 beings it is possible to conceive. Clay pipes, the commonest 
 tobacco, and huge pots of beer, were the principal burden the 
 tables sustained, if we except, here and there, the large 
 brawny arms of some free and easy individual. Young 
 dandies, exquisitely got up, held intimate discourse with 
 corduroy-clad butchers, tavern-keepers, prize-fighters, and 
 labourers ; and the polished gentleman of lordly circles 
 sparred with his own cheesemonger's apprentice. 
 
 They were jolly dogs at Jack's crib ; and Jack himself was 
 a jolly, remarkable person. In height he was about five 
 feet three, in breadth almost three feet. He had arms 
 bound with muscles of stone, and he could "shut up" many 
 men of double his size and weight. He was professor of 
 pugilism at his own establishment, and he flattered himself 
 that his pupils turned out quite as well as Blue Jem's. He 
 was generally attired in a pair of dirty leather breeches, his 
 upper man being in a constant state of nudity, a fashion most 
 convenient for the successful exercise of his art. 
 
 "Where's Jem Tussle?" inquired Bob of the host, who, 
 with a pipe in his mouth and a tankard of liquor before him, 
 was mysteriously moving his arm to and fro, so as to eftec- 
 tually display his muscular development to the admiring 
 bystanders. 
 
 " Not knoAvin' can't say — not anyhow," answered Jack. 
 
 "Who wants me?" shouted a slim individual from a 
 fiirther corner of the room. 
 
 " Oh ! there you are, Jem," answered Bob ; and, turning to 
 Heni-y, " come along my boy — I'll introduce you to a tight 
 blade — he 's worth knowing. He 's been known to lick five 
 cabmen in one night ; so, you see, one can be excused for 
 paying a little attention to him." Henry nodded assent, and 
 crossed over with Bob to speak to the hero of five cabmen. 
 
 " Ready for a mill?" asked Jem. 
 
 " I don't mind a turn or two," answered Bob, carelessly. 
 "Allow me to introduce a friend of mine — Mr. James Tussle 
 —Mr. Gospitch."
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 107 
 
 " Very much your sarvant," gi-o\vled Jem, as he withdrew 
 his kerchief from his neck and unbuttoned his shirt collar. 
 
 •' I shall be ready for you in a minute," observed Bob ; and 
 he forthwith deposited his coat and waistcoat upon the back 
 of a bench. " Sit near my clothes, will you, Gospitch, while 
 I have this bit of a mill. What will you have to drink — 
 porter and a screw 'd be the touch, wouldn't it?" And with- 
 out waiting for an answer, Bob bellowed forth the order at 
 the top of his voice, and then advanced into the centre of the 
 crib with his antagonist. A clear space was quickly made for 
 the combatants, and an eager ring of faces formed. " There 's 
 a brace of tight lads for ye," volunteered some of the lookers- 
 on. There 's a couple of bricks, ancWio mistake." 
 
 Bob and Jem Tussle fell to ; and in about ten minutes the 
 latter had thrashed the former most completely, amid the 
 plaudits of the assembled visitors ; and Bob retired, with a 
 black eye and a bleeding nose, into the comer where he had 
 deposited part of his wai'drobe. 
 
 Henry pitied the condition of his friend ; and though the 
 fight, during its progress, had excited him, its consequences 
 were thoroughly disgusting to him. A fit amusement this for 
 beasts, he thought; but a brutal pastime for rational crea- 
 tures. However he was not allowed much time for philosophy. 
 In a few moments Bob had laved his wounds, adjusted his 
 dress, and was calling vociferously for Jem, and stout, and 
 devilled kidneys. Jem soon joined Bob and Henry, and the 
 three agreed to sup together. 
 
 " I was out of practice to-night. I made a precious mull 
 of it — didn't I?" asked Bob of his victorious friend. 
 
 "Why you didn't play so well as yon generally do; but I 
 generally double you up, you know," answered Tussle. 
 
 The stout, devilled kidneys, &c., were quickly sei*ved, and 
 quickly dispatched ; sundry " goes " of gin were also served 
 and dispatched, and the company began to get exceedingly 
 jolly. The novelty of the excitement threw Henry into 
 raptures as the spirit mounted to his brain ; and, elevated by 
 the porter, gin, and tobacco, he thought he had never spent 
 such a jolly night in his life. As he contiimed to swallow his 
 liquor he grew bold and boisterous ; he offered to bet ten to 
 one with Jem that Joe Buggs would lick Blue Jem any day — 
 he would even give Blue Jem (not Jem Tussle) the choice of 
 ground (Heniy had never heard of the men before — had never
 
 108 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 seen the latter). He took such care to impress upon Tussle 
 how little was his opinion of his (Tussle's) skill, that the 
 eu raged Jem swore he would fight two such as Heniy in ten 
 minutes, and give them both the best hiding one man ever 
 gave another. 
 
 " Do it," shouted Heniy, brandishing a pint pot. 
 
 " Just step this way, and I '11 show you who you 're talking 
 to," quietly responded Jem, turning up his cuifs. Henry 
 staggered forth, throwing himself into all kinds of menacing 
 attitudes, and eliciting the loud laughter of the company. 
 
 " Give him one poke and put him upon the ground, Jem," 
 suggested one individual. " Don't fight with the fellow — 
 he 's drunk," volunteered another. 
 
 "Is he?" responded Jem to the latter speaker. "Then 
 he ought to know how to get drunk like a gentleman. 
 There s for you, my fine fellow." And with one well-aimed 
 blow Jem knocked Henry down as flat as a pancake. Bob 
 rushed forward, and so did several of the company ; and all 
 swore that Jem should not take advantage of a man in liquor. 
 They vowed that it was a disgrace to the profession — that it 
 was inartistic bullying. 
 
 " There — I won't touch him any more," growled Jem ; and 
 he ensconced himself in his old seat, and resumed his pipe 
 and sipped his grog quite quietly. 
 
 Henry was for some titne insensible. He had taken more 
 liquor that evening than he had swallowed during a whole 
 year previously ; and though what he had then taken would 
 scarcely have disturbed the equanimity of a man addicted to 
 liquor, to him, who was unaccustomed to the least indulgence 
 in this vice, the quantity was maddening. He soon recovered 
 his consciousness, (if, indeed, the indistinct recognition of per- 
 sons and places can be called so,) and Bob advised his imme- 
 diate removal in a cab to his loda;iugs. 
 
 Heniy had carefully concealed from Bob the locality in 
 which he lodged. With other people he would not have 
 feared to indicate the modesty of his dwelling-place ; but 
 somehow he could never muster sufficient courage to make 
 ]3ob acquainted with the poverty of his abode. This re- 
 luctance in Bob's case may be easily understood. The young 
 pugilist's pride lay essentially in externals, and Henry knew 
 that their fi'iendship must be measured by the extent of their 
 equality. This knowledge rather diminished his regard for
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 109 
 
 his new acquaintance ; but Bob was a pleasant fellow to chat 
 with, and there was no occasion for any very intimate con- 
 fidence between them. The mention of a cab effectually 
 roused our hero, and he stoutly refused to he borne away in 
 any such vehicle. He declared emphatically that his legs 
 were a match for the broken knees of London cab-horses ; 
 and he trusted he knew his own value too well to confide 
 himself to the tender mercies of an ignorant, ill-looking, red- 
 nosed cabman. This refusal, and the reasons for it, produced 
 another laugh at Heniy's expense ; and he was glad to be 
 consigned to the arms of a massive chair that stood in an 
 obscure part of the crib. Bob came and sat himself down 
 beside his fellow-clerk, and inquired whether any more grog 
 ■would be acceptable. 
 
 "No more, or you '11 make me drmik," stammered Henry. 
 
 "Just one more go, old fellow, and we '11 be off," suggested 
 Brasely. 
 
 "Well — to please t/o«, Brasely;" and Henry had another 
 goblet of liquor j^laced before him. 
 
 There might have been some excuse for the harshness of 
 Henry's relations had they seen him in his present predica- 
 ment — at least many will judge so. It is not, however, an 
 uncharitable, an unwarrantable assumption to assert that 
 Mr. De Gospitch would not have been disgusted mth his 
 brother in the crib, though he could not recognise him in the 
 shop. We do not forget that De Gospitch "s objections to his 
 brother's conduct were increased and fortified by the aristo- 
 cratic notions of that gentleman's wife ; we allow much to Mr. 
 De Gospitch on the scoi-e of weakness ; but the most chari- 
 table mind cannot hold him wholly irresponsible for the wrong 
 done in his name to his brother. Fighting is an employment 
 used by noldemen to while away some of their leisure hours : 
 they have nothing to do ; and so, by way of amusement, they 
 Avill see who can give the blackest eye — the reddest nose ; 
 pastime worthy of Ojibbeways — not of England's aristocracy. 
 And the science being patronised by beardless lords, Heniy 
 might have become a first-rate pugilist — the nightly patron 
 of dingy boisterous "cribs;" and he would not have incurred 
 the displeasure of the ai-istocrat, De Gospitch. Perliaps a 
 half-defined consciousness of this passed through Henry's 
 brain as, besotted by unmeasured potations, he rolled about 
 in the ann-chair, giving utterance to broken sentences — now
 
 110 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY, 
 
 laughing hysterically — now grave as a clown at midday. He 
 had commenced his intended round of pleasure well — he had 
 not done the thing hy halves. He had made up his mind to 
 enjoy himself, and he had so far carried out his resolution 
 very completely. 
 
 The night wore on, and one by one the guests vanished 
 from Jack's crib ; and it was four o'clock in the morning 
 before Henry reached the Grumblebumbian establishment. 
 He had refused the proffered assistance of his friend Brasely, 
 and had in some mysterious manner found his way home. 
 He was left to cool his heels during a full half-hour on the 
 door-step, ere the respected widow Grumblebum made her 
 appearance. 
 
 " Pretty hours ! " exclaimed the landlady, who was habited 
 in an intricate, indescribable dress. " Pretty hours, Mr. 
 Gospitch, for a respectable gentleman to knock at a re- 
 spectable establishment. 'Pon my word such goings on as 
 these are past all bearing ; and if you can't mend your habits, 
 you must go. I should be sorry to lose you — jon are a very 
 nice young man, as I 've often told j'ou ; (he had paid her 
 part of her rent in the morning ;) but such hours as these are 
 not fit for Christians. Never marry, Mr. Gospitch— never 
 marry — (at least everybody can't get people to have 'em)— but 
 should you find such a simpleton, don't ; if you value her 
 happiness— don 't marry her. You 'd break a woman's heart 
 in a week. There, good morning." And Mrs. Grumblebum 
 slammed the door of Henry's room, having helped him to 
 ascend the staircase. 
 
 Never marry — never marry — rang in his ears as he fell 
 upon his bed. And his dreams were of Marian Gaps and 
 Jack's crib.
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. Ill 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 " For now no fancied miseries bespeak 
 The panting bosom and the wetted cheek." 
 
 Hood. 
 
 DiEECTLT Henry Gospitcli had left Carnation Cottage, Miss 
 Dinah Jackson rejoined her sister in the parloui'. She foimd 
 Marian in tears. 
 
 " Again ci-jang ! Why, Marian, you are quite a cliild," said 
 Dinah. Marian did not open her lips. 
 
 " Has some new calamity happened?" asked Dinah. 
 
 "Calamity! No — no calamity, Dinah," answered Mrs. 
 Gaps. 
 
 " 'What 's the matter, then ? What has Mr. Gospitch been 
 talking about all tliis time ? " continued Dinah. 
 
 " Oh ! nothing. I 'm a stupid, weak creature, and don't 
 know what I 'm weeping about," retu.rned Marian, as she 
 wiped her eyes resolutely, and prepared, Avith a painful effort, 
 to look cheerful and calm. Dinah seated herself near her 
 sister, and addressing her playfully and withal earnestly, she 
 continued — 
 
 " Dear Marian, you don't ciy wdthout a cause. I Imow — 
 we all know — how you pride yoiurself upon your firmness and 
 self-control. You have wonderful self-control ; you know, 
 when you were married you were as calm as possible — not in 
 the least flurried — while I, only a bridesmaid on the occasion, 
 wept torrents of tears. What there was for me to ciy about 
 goodness only knows ; but this is veiy certain — T did ciy — 
 and do now, as father says, 'on the shortest notice.' Now 
 what was the matter with you ?" 
 
 Marian could not graciously resist the earnestness of this 
 appeal. " Well," she said, " I must, I supipose, tell you the 
 simple tnith of the story. This evening, as my husband de- 
 sired me, I told Mr. Gospitch of Mr. Gaps's marriage ■with 
 poor dear Cara ; and the manly charity — the simple earnest- 
 ness with which he heard my stoiy — with which he strove to 
 prove its impossibility — has moved me as much as the story 
 itself." 
 
 " I see no great — no unusual virtue in Mr. Gospitch's con- 
 duct. T confess I don't see what else he could have done."
 
 112 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 " Dinali, you do not understand me yet." Marian Gaps 
 paused, put her hand upon her forehead, and contmued — " I 
 really don't understand mj^self." 
 
 " More has happened than you care to tell me," avowed 
 Dinah. 
 
 " You shall hear all," resolved Marian. " I hesought Mr. 
 Gospitch (for I valued liis opinion) to think kindly of me — 
 to remember that no fault of mine had reference to my dis- 
 grace ; and he answered my appeal so warmly — pressed me so 
 fervently to believe how well he still thought of me — that I 
 looked upon him as one of the most honourable and noble 
 among men. I wish he had left me to think so of liim 
 always ; but, ^^ith words concerning the tombstone of Mr. 
 Gaps scarce dry upon his lips, he talked to me of love — said 
 he would dedicate his life to prove how well — how tenderly 
 he thought of me. Heaven ! what am I to think of him ?" 
 
 " Think of him, Marian ! " asked Dinah, sui'prised at her 
 sister's agitation. " Think of him ! — why, isn't he good- 
 looking — isn't he five feet eleven inches high at least — 
 doesn't his hair curl deliciously — hasn't he ducks of whiskers 
 — yes, and — " here Miss Dinah Jackson paused — "and is he 
 well to do in the world? I forgot that." 
 
 " You know," answered Marian Gaps, sorroN\'fully but 
 firmly and emphatically ; " you know, my dear Dinah, that I 
 have no reputation for romance— that I am not likfely to 
 indulge in the rapturous dreams sentimental young ladies 
 picture to themselves — I am )iot sentimental, am I ?" 
 
 " Quite the contrary," Miss Jackson made answer. 
 
 " Gently, Dinah. Though I am no romantic creature — 
 dissatisfied ^^ith mediocrity and quiet happiness, and longing 
 for unheard of raptures — I believe I can appreciate the hap- 
 pinesses of life as well as most people. I am not a cynic — 
 though at times, I grant you, I am satirical. I never 
 thoroughly loved Mr. Gaps — I tell you this hi confidence— I 
 never thoroughly loved him. I felt that there was a spring — a 
 deep, well-seated spring — in my heart that Mr. Gaps had never 
 reached. I had affection and certainly sympathy for him, but 
 when I became his wafe an enthusiasm that had lain dormant 
 in my soul for years was quenched ; and though he treated 
 mc kindly, I saw no hope in life — I had not one bright event 
 TO lodk forwai-d to — not one joy in anticipation. You know, 
 dear Dinah, that I endured my marriage responsibilities with
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 113 
 
 some fortitude. I did not give way to grief, for I felt how 
 vain my tears must be. I am afraid I did not show my 
 husband sufficient tenderness, but it was hard to play d;uly 
 hypocrisy — it was hard to leign a love I felt not. 
 
 " When Mr. Gaps died, at first liis loss almost maddened 
 me. I was surprised at my own grief. It was not my love 
 for him that made me gi-ieve, it was a sense of desolation — a 
 vacancy — a pity for Joseph's long sufferings — a regret that I 
 had not sho\Mi liim more tenderness ; and scarcely had his 
 pale, worn featm-es been removed from before my eyes when 
 another— almost a stranger— talked to me of love. Oh, 
 Dinah ! "—and Marian put her arms about her sisters neck — 
 " Dinah, you cannot know the agony I then felt. JMy death- 
 warrant could not strike more despairing wi'etchedness to my 
 heart than did the earnest, honied accents of my husband's 
 friend." 
 
 " Did you accept him ?" inquired Dinah eagerly. 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 "What! — You don't mean to say you refused him?" 
 inquired Dinah incredulously. Dinah was six-and-twenty ; 
 she had slighted two applicants for her liand, and now, ha\-ing 
 been loverless for some three or four years, she began to ap- 
 preciate ^rith some ill-concealed anxiety the value of a suitor. 
 She had determined to accept the very next offer. 
 
 " I gave Mr. Gospitch no groundless hopes, sister, neither 
 did I forget my dignity. I felt hmt that he should have pre- 
 sumed to offer me a love that I could see to be pity only." 
 
 Presently Mr. and Mrs. Jackson joined the sisters at Car- 
 nation Cottage. The Jacltsons were a most unhappy couple. 
 They had lived together six-and-twenty years, and scarcely 
 one day had passed since their marriage that they had no"t 
 quarrelled. They never battled seriously. Mrs. Jackson had 
 a nagging spirit ; she always looked upon the black side of 
 tilings. She could always find the ci-acks in the china ; she 
 was the first to taste the rankness of the butter, the sourness 
 of the milk, or the adulteration of the spirits— some ill- 
 natured people vowed that she had very often tested the genu- 
 ineness of the latter article. Who has "not, in the course of his 
 misfortunes, come across one of these unhappy creatm-es? 
 Poor mortals, whose especial care it is to see' matter for 
 lamentation in everything — to throw a pall of darkest crape 
 over Nature, and then to wonder at the blackness of the
 
 114 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 dame's appearance. You may see such people mix in tlie 
 gayest circles with a face as blank as a flagstone — join the 
 merriest group with a sneer upon their lip — look upon divinest 
 sceneiy -with the rigid muscles of a mummy. 
 
 Mr. Jackson — a spare, tall, narrow, bald individual — was 
 naturally of a veiy calm and restful disposition, but he could 
 not bear with ill-temper. If his Avife said one word pettishly 
 to him, he tramped her ill-natiu'ed syllables with words 
 doubly sarcastic, and thus their quarrels had birth. Trath 
 must be told — the lady generally commenced the wrangling. 
 Their opinions were totally opposite on eveiy subject. Mrs. 
 Jackson had once or twice called upon her lord for a separate 
 mamtenance, and on this point there was many a warm dis- 
 cussion. The wife declared she would have a tliird of her 
 husband's income, and the husband thought a sixth an ample 
 provision. It was wonderful how, with such opposite tastes, 
 they had ever become man and wife ; and a facetious observer 
 of these conjugal squabbles declared, that the only point upon 
 wliich Mr. and Mrs. Jackson would finally agree would be — 
 to separate. 
 
 On the occasion in question the Jacksons had evidently 
 relieved the tedium of their walk with, a quiet, respectable 
 quarrel, and they entered their daughter's house with phy- 
 siognomies expressing no veiy amiable qualities. 
 
 " I have a wonderful story to tell you, girls," said ]\Ir. Jack- 
 son, addressing his daughters. " A very wonderful story." 
 
 " I see nothing so wonderful in it, I must confess," avowed 
 Mrs. Jackson. " I think Mrs. Packett must have been mad 
 — and as for her daughter, I 've no patience wdth her." 
 
 "What about poor blind Mrs. Packett, father?" inquh-ed 
 Dinah eagerly. 
 
 " The story 's somewhat long," said the old gentleman. 
 " Look here," and he drew a manuscript from his pocket. 
 " Look, it 's wi-itten by our friend Ballin ; he thinks it may do 
 for one of the magazines. That 's just the way of the world : 
 :!. misfortune happens to an individual, and his friends directly 
 bet about to see if they can turn the disaster to any profitable 
 ftccount." 
 
 " Ugh ! The world 's disgusting and everything in it," 
 quoth Mrs. Jackson ; and if we may interpret the probable 
 signification of her looks, they said that she did not except 
 her worthy lord and master by any means.
 
 THE CISGUACE TO THE FAMILY. 115 
 
 " Here 's the manuscript — read it, Dinah," said Mr. Jack- 
 son. 
 
 " Is it pathetic ? " inquired Miss Jackson, and she untied 
 the red tape and rolled the paper back ; " because I can't 
 read pathos, you know." 
 
 " You ought then, miss, A\ith such an education as you 
 have had. I only wish I'd had such a schooling," said Mrs. 
 Jackson. 
 
 Dinah pouted— adjusted and readjusted herself in her seat, 
 and then read as follows :— 
 
 A scoundeel's genius. 
 
 Mrs. Packett was a meek and quiet woman — a creature 
 with almost angel looks, so placid and so kindly withal were 
 the expressions that ever beamed upon her face. The fea- 
 tm'es of a goddess after some seventy years' endurance must 
 be the best ideal that can be given of Mrs Packett. The 
 matron had gro^vn grey beneath the roof that now sheltered 
 her; and so her long usage to the house had taken from 
 blindness many of its miseries. Her vacant, useless eyes marred 
 a little the withered beauty of her face. For there is a beauty 
 — a comeliness — in time-tried mortality; and the hollow 
 cheeks, the lips falling upon toothless gums, the leathern 
 texture of the sldn, may still bear beauty's most witching 
 helpmate— expression. Mrs. Packett dwelt with her daughter 
 and son-in-law; she was happy— contented. The old lady's 
 heart and soul were warm and firm as in hot youth ; but the 
 dilapidated clay that still served as a pacldng-case for her 
 kindly emotions and her dear hopes was too nearly spent and 
 broken to allow that its contents should ran riot. Thus, the 
 gentle creatiu-e's heart was all emotion — all warmth — while 
 her body was as still (save now and then a slight clenching 
 and trembling of the hands)— ay, as still as the marble 
 chenibims would be which might soon mark her burial- 
 place. 
 
 On the day to which ou)* narration refers a gentleman — a 
 stranger — giving his name as Doctor Drum — demanded an 
 interview with ]\Trs. Taplin (Mrs. Packett 's daughter). Mrs. 
 Taplin gave audience to Df)Ctor Drum. 
 
 In appearance Doctor Diiira was a most gentlemanly
 
 116 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 person— that is to say, he was neatly and appropriately dressecl, 
 and had a mincing, quiet, winning address that well accorded 
 with his professed profession. iBis costume was black, and 
 his forehead high and shiny. He had an eutu-e hive of honey 
 in constant reachness on liis tongue ; he had fine, bold, mas- 
 culine features and a bushy pair of whiskers ; and ha^'ing said 
 thus much, it is superfluous to add that he was soon a favour- 
 ite with the ladies. He was what many ladies would call 
 " a duck of a man ;" and, alas ! fair enthusiasts, how often 
 are such ducks only masquerading geese. 
 
 " Madam," said Dr. Dram, " I have ventured to introduce 
 myself to you in the hope that my humble talents may benefit 
 a blind lady who dwells, I have been led to believe, in this 
 house." 
 
 " I am sure you are veiy kind," vouchsafed Mrs. Taplin. 
 " Pray be seated, doctor. My poor dear mother — that is to 
 say, my vaothev-in-laiv — has now been bluid nearly two years." 
 
 " Two years ! " echoed Doctor Dnim — " Oh ! ah ! — Well 
 madam, I have cured people who have been bhnd ten years ; 
 so, as you will perceive, there is hope for your estimable rela- 
 tion ; yes, I may say pretty confidently, there is great hope. 
 What may the malady be, may I ask ? " 
 
 " I can't tell exactly, doctor ; the medical men give it a 
 queer name," answered Mrs. Taplin. 
 
 " Yes— exactly— I suppose so," ejaculated Doctor Drum. 
 " I daresay I shall be able to manage it. What age may the 
 patient be ? — pardon the question, madam — a knowledge of 
 the lady's age is indispensable." 
 
 " Mrs. Packett is seventy-seven, doctor, next March." 
 
 " Precisely so," added Drum. " And now, madam, if you 
 have sufficient confidence in me, may I ask to see your 
 worthy mother-in-law. I stake my reputation — founded upon 
 the brilliant success of a ten years' practice — that I will cure 
 her. I have lately restored the blessing of light to a neigh- 
 bour of yours, madam — opened her eyes completely." 
 
 Mrs. Taplin at once consented to introduce Mrs. Packett to 
 Doctor Drum. Having been introduced to his patient, Drum 
 felt the blind lady's pulse, lifted her eyelids, and looked in- 
 tently at the sightless balls those eyelids enclosed ; and having 
 completed tliis scrutiny to his entire satisfaction, he proceeded 
 to set forth pompously the various stages of the disease with 
 which he said Mrs. Packett was afflicted. " First," said he,
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAillLY. 117 
 
 placing the forefinger of his right hand on the forefinger of 
 his left, " first, the levator palpebrfe muscle is seriously af- 
 fected, very seriously — so much so, indeed, that the lachry- 
 mal gland is almost destroyed, to say nothing of the great 
 injury the superior oblique has suffered ; and taking into con- 
 sideration the present state of the sclerotica and the cornea, 
 I shall look upon this lady's cure as a -wonderful instance of 
 medical skill." 
 
 " Dear, dear me, doctor, my eyesight 's gone for ever, you 
 may depend upon it ;" and the old lady smiled resignedly. 
 
 " Bless you, madam, you may not know that the medical 
 science has progressed so far, that people begin to look upon 
 the wonders it has accomplished as the result of magic. I 
 undertake to say that in a fortnight you shall again catch a 
 glimmer of light, and before the year "s out you shall see as 
 well as you ever did." 
 
 " Impossible ! " sighed Mrs. Packett. 
 
 " Nonsense, mother," quoth Mrs. Taplin ; " you don't Itnow' 
 what 's possible till you try." 
 
 " Precisely so, madam," minced Doctor Drum ; '• without 
 your entire confidence, ladies, I should despair of efPecting a 
 cure. I ask no pecuniary recompense — -what I shall do \vill 
 be in a spirit of sympathy for a suffering lady ; and I trust 
 that the reputation of the medical profession, to which I have 
 the honour to belong, is a sufficient guarantee for my good 
 faith — is it so, ladies ?" 
 
 " I cannot doubt your honom*, doctor, for an instant," 
 answered Mrs. Taplin. 
 
 " I should like to see you all again," murmured Mrs. 
 Packett, addressing her daughter-in-law. 
 
 " This l)ehig so," answered the doctor, bowing j)rofouudly, 
 "I will — if I have your permission — commence my treat- 
 ment immediately. AVould you allow your servant to bring 
 me a towel, some warm water, and then, perhaps, you would 
 leave me with my patient for a quarter of an hour, as tlie 
 operation (which I shall perfonn without giving the least pain) 
 not being wholly my own method, I am compelled to operate 
 alone." Mrs. Taplin curtfieyc<l and withdrew, and the ser- 
 vant having suppHed Drum with the required articles, left 
 liim to effect his cure. 
 
 " Are you troubled with pains — shooting pains iu the back
 
 118 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 of your head?" inquired Drum, as he looked searchingly 
 about the room. 
 
 " Sometimes," responded Mrs. Packett. 
 
 "And do you feel a heaviness on the top of your skull?" 
 he asked, as he mysteriously made the circuit of the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 " What was that I heard rattle?" asked the old lady, 
 tremulously. " I hope you 're not going to use any sharp in- 
 strument, doctor. I 'd rather be blind than submit to the 
 action of a lancet." 
 
 " Dear me, no," avowed Doctor Drum, " I 'm merely mix- 
 ing a plaster." If such was the case Doctor Drum had a 
 very peculiar method of going to work, for he was still atten- 
 tively scanning the contents of the apartment — the drawing- 
 room. Presently he did make up some mixture which he 
 spread upon a towel, and adjusted, as a bandage, upon the 
 eyes of Mrs. Packett; he then closed the shutters carefully, 
 and, wishing his patient a speedy recovery, withdrew to the 
 parlour to talk with Mrs. Taplin. 
 
 " I have put your relative in a fair way of recoveiy," said 
 Drum to Mrs. Taplin ; " and if you will condescend to follow 
 my directions to the letter I Avill venture to prophesy a speedy 
 restoration to sight. You will please to keep the apartment 
 in which I have left the patient in perfect darkness for the 
 next fortnight ; if you venture to admit the slightest ray of 
 light into the chamber I cannot answer for the consequences, 
 as the sudden reflection of the sun's rays upon the orbicular 
 nerve may engender a fatal malady. The lady must not be 
 moved out of the room on any account — you must make her 
 up a bed where she is — any movement may irritate the scle- 
 rotica, and produce instantaneous intlammation. The lady's 
 diet must be nourishing, and given at regular intervals ; and 
 the bandage must only be removed at night. If you will be 
 pleased, madam, to see that these directions are followed, 
 I will do myself the pleasure of calling again in a week. 
 Good day to you, madam, and Doctor Drum withdrew from 
 Mrs. Tapliu's house, and walked away at a remarkably quick 
 pace. 
 
 No man ever left a better impression behind him after a 
 
 first visit than did Doctor Drum at Mr. Taplin's. Mrs. T 
 
 declared that he was the greatest — the most polite genius she
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 119 
 
 liad ever seen or heard of. He had the maimers of a Ches- 
 terfield without Chesterfield's dulness— he was vivacious, and 
 withal extremely well-spoken. There was no nonsense about 
 him — no fuss. And in the mind of Mrs. Tapliu such was 
 the character of Drum. 
 
 Seven daj^s were soon gone, (at least not sooner than usual, 
 though if we were to measure Time by his seeming length, 
 some days would be years, and some years days,) — the sun 
 had disappeared on the eighth day after Doctor Drum's visit, 
 and still he had not made his appearance. Mrs. Taplin be- 
 gan to get tired of groping about the dark room in which the 
 gentle Mrs. Packett was ensconced — besides, the drawing- 
 room was really wanted — there was no other room to shew 
 visitors into, when Mrs. T. chose to say she was not at 
 home, and they wanted to pen a line to her. On the even- 
 ing of the ninth day, Mrs. Taplin conceived a plan that 
 would enable her to have her mother-in-law removed to a 
 bed-room without endangering the old lady's life in the 
 least. 
 
 " We might you know, Robert," she suggested to her hus- 
 band, " have mother carried up to her room on her bed just 
 as she is. The staircase might be thoroughly darkened first, 
 and so might her room — and then, don't you see, no harm 
 could possibly come of it." 
 
 Mr. Tapliu agreed that this method would effectually ob- 
 viate any violation of Doctor Drum's instructions, and accord- 
 ingly Mrs. Packett was conveyed, in the manner described, to 
 her sleeping apartment. Having seen the old lady safely de- 
 posited in her bed-room, Mr. and Mrs. Taplin descended to- 
 gether into the drawing-room, and the gentleman com- 
 menced to open the shutters. 
 
 " Thank goodness for this ! " exclaimed the lady. " Now I 
 sliall find my brooch and watch. I left them on the mantel- 
 piece." The light streamed full into the room, and Mrs. Tap- 
 lin looked upon the mantel-piece, but neither watch nor brooch 
 was there — she looked upon the cheffonier, and still her watch 
 and brooch were missing, and so was the little gold inkstand; 
 she then called for the keys, for she thought she miglit have 
 deposited her jewellery insule the cheffonier — she applied the 
 key, but found that some gallant individual had saved her 
 the troulile of unlocking tlie drawer— she drew the drawer 
 open, and found that about £-lo had been abstracted. Taplin,
 
 120 THE DISGBACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 ■when he saw all this, -was not m the least degree compli- 
 mentary in his address to his wife ; he even went so far (and 
 hushands will hlush at the idea of a man presuming so to 
 criticise his wife's judgment) as to call her a stupid — a person 
 not fit to be entrusted with the care of a house — in fact, an 
 idiot ! 
 
 And as we write the mealy-mouthed Doctor Drum down a 
 scoundrel — a felon — considering the extreme cleverness of 
 the means employed to effect his villauy — must we not blush 
 for him — ay, blush until black in the face — at this miserable 
 use of the genius vouchsafed to him ? 
 
 " Poor dear Mrs. Packett — have j'ou heard from them 
 since ? " asked Marian. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, my dear ; the old lady is pretty well, consider- 
 ing the flurry the monster has naturally put her into," quoth 
 Mrs. Jackson, in answer. 
 
 "Terrible world, terrible!" exclaimed Jackson, gravely. 
 " I doubt whether there 's an honest man in the universe — 
 upon my word I do." 
 
 " Father, father, for shame,"" said Dinah. 
 
 " I mean it, girl," the man continued ; " I mean it. Look 
 at men of all classes, and the higher you go the greater the 
 villany — though the mask that hides it is thicker. Talk 
 about the degradation of the lower classes — pshaw ! Look at 
 the men who make the laws. What think ye of such a man 
 as Didthorpe for a representative of some thousand English- 
 men? Upon my word I believe half the members of Parlia- 
 ment to be nothing more than fools with acres — or golden 
 calves, if you Avill ; rob 'em of the gilding, and what are 
 they?" 
 
 " We know all about that, father," interposed the adven- 
 turous Dinah. 
 
 " You 're an aristocracy hater. Well, I confess I like the 
 'Morning Post,' with all the beautiful accounts of the court 
 dresses ; but vou will take in that dull • Daily News,' with Ions 
 rigmaroles ni it about a lot of foreignei's — Free Trade meet- 
 ings, &c., and scarcely a word about any of the aristocracy. 
 It's really provoking." 
 
 " You "11 know better one of these davs. Just like
 
 t 
 
 4^ 
 
 r. ^*^' 
 
 /-///// //■/■ 
 
 >7// /// /;//■////,■'//// A'//
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILT. 121 
 
 women ; tlieir minds are essentially vulgar," observed Mr. 
 Jackson. 
 
 " I only wish men were lialf as amiable and refined — that 's 
 all," Mrs. Jackson made answer. 
 
 Mr. Jackson did not condescend to pay the slightest atten- 
 tion to his -wife's obsen-ations, but continued ; " A title — an 
 empty, senseless sound — will turn the weak brain of a girl in 
 a moment. In fact, I think the aristocracy of the present 
 day — an entire — an expensive failure. 
 
 " Should we not, father," asked Marian, seriously and 
 thoughtfully, " should we not respect our aristocracy as the 
 descendants of England's heroes '? " 
 
 "My dear girl," quoth Mr. Jackson, " I will pay homage 
 to the worth and genius of any man, but I refuse even respect 
 to the silly sons of great sires. There, I wont talk any 
 more upon the subject — I 'm sick and tired of it, and none of 
 
 us ever agree. 
 
 " Agree with you ; I should like to know who coujd?" It 
 need not be told who asked this question. 
 
 Mr. Jackson had some matters to arrange with Marian. 
 He felt it his duty as her father to inquire into the state of 
 her pecuniary affairs — a duty that is never neglected when 
 those affairs are in a flourishing condition. He was much 
 annoyed that Mr. Gaps did not appoint him one of his exe- 
 cutors ; and he felt this omission more keenly when he 
 learned that young Henry Gospitch was chosen to officiate 
 under the Anil of his daughter's deceased husband. He felt 
 it was his duty to caution his daughter as to her interviews 
 with Gospitch, and to impress upon her the necessity of ma- 
 ture deHl)eration in all the proposals she might make to him 
 concerning the disposition of her property, ilarian heard 
 this counsel with great unwillingness. In her heart lay the 
 scarcelj'-conceived germ of ^ love that had Henry for its ob- 
 ject ; and her father's cautions were thrown away ; for she had 
 determined to place entire confidence in the good faith and 
 judgment of her husband's friend, and to follow his advice in 
 all pecuniary arrangements. Mr. Jackson was fond of 
 meddling ; he could not bear to hear of any arrangement that 
 had been made without his approbation or advice ; he loved 
 the importance of a counsellor, not the good tlxat might re- 
 sult from the sage fuliilment of the office ; and in this spirit 
 he made up his mind to ask Henry Gospitch to dine with 
 
 G
 
 129 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 him, that they might talk matters over together. It was 
 finally agreed that Henry should be invited on the follow- 
 ing Sunday : Mrs. Gaps was asked to her parents' house to 
 meet him. 
 
 And the ungovernable eagerness with which she anticipated 
 the dinner-party showed how strong and rapid was the de- 
 velopment of the germ of love in her heart.
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 183 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 
 
 " A NICE man rjou are for a small tea party," quoth Mrs. 
 Grumblebum, wheu Heniy made his appeai-auce on the 
 morning following the visit to the crib. " If Z were your 
 mother, I 'd teach you good manners in a very short time — 
 that I would," declared the landlady. " You 're a very nice 
 young man, Mr. Gospitch — as nice a man as one need look 
 upon ; but such hours are ruination, and if you continue these 
 games, your face 11 soon look as if it had bad a bunch of red 
 cm-rants squashed upon it — you '11 have what I call a currant- 
 jam complexion." 
 
 " Mrs. Grumblebum, your fears are uncalled for," answered 
 Henry, as he attempted to quench a violent headache in a 
 copious draught of tea. 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know that," persisted Mrs Grumblebum ; 
 " I don't know that. Young men will be young men," ob- 
 served the lady, evidently associating youth and dissipation 
 as inseparable compounds. " I know what young men are well 
 enough, now-a-days ; and I don't believe there 's such a thing as 
 a domestic specimen of the rising generation in the whole 
 country. There now, Mr. Gospitch ! " And nothing would have 
 persuaded Mrs. Grumblebum that her belief was based upon 
 a very narrow-minded philosophy. 
 
 When Henry reached his office, he found his companion 
 of the previous night reclining upon a desk, administering 
 a copious dose of oaths to a violent headache ; and evidently 
 labouring under the belief that the moi-e blasphemous the 
 exclamation, the more effectual the remedy. No very painful 
 effort of imagination is demanded of the reader, when he is 
 asked to picture to himself the irresistible dulncss that over- 
 spread the doings of the day following the boisterous mirth 
 at the crib. Do what they would, neither Bob nor Henry 
 could contrive to raise any decent quantity of spii'its, and so 
 they plodded through the day's labour listlessly and silently. 
 
 G 2
 
 124 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 What earnest philosophers men are on the morrow of a 
 dehauch ! What thousands of goklen resolutions are made 
 every Sunday morning, in this metropolis, by those who have 
 been drunk on the Saturday night ! And (the calculation is 
 a nice one) how often are those resolutions remade by the 
 same mellow individuals ! Bob was too old a stager to feel, 
 for any length of time, the consequences of the riot at the 
 crib : in the morning he had certainly a bad headaclie, but 
 ere night closed in, he was quite prepared for another jollifi- 
 cation. 
 
 " What d 'ye say to the regatta to-night, instead of the row 
 on Tuesday ? " suggested Bob carelessly. 
 
 "The regatta — humph! It's just six years since I was 
 there," responded Henry. 
 
 " That decides it old fellow. The regatta be it. You '11 
 see some fun there — ^jolly girls, jolly boats, and jolly fights." 
 Bob's eyes glistened at the latter prospect. 
 
 Henry hesitated, eighty pounds per annum would not stand 
 this rollicking. 
 
 " By Jove ! " exclaimed Bob, energetically, " j'ou 're a 
 curious fellow ; " and surveying Henry more attentively — " I 
 may say a very curious fellow. I suppose you 're going to ob- 
 ject to the regatta on the score of morality, or some such tom- 
 foolery. You know I 've my owa peculiar notions about morals, 
 and though these notions are rather free and easy, they 're very 
 convenient, old fellow — wonderfully adaptable to every thing I 
 like to do." 
 
 " Well, I '11 go," determined our hero. 
 
 The character of Henry Gospitch had undergone a magic 
 change in a few short weeks. The moody, sour man had 
 become an impulsive, merry companion ; but the revengeful 
 brother remained still the revengeful brother — there was no 
 change in this character. His meeting with Bob was a very 
 fortunate incident — a lucky accident for both parties. 
 Henr3''s stem principles corrected a few of Bob's errors, 
 and Bob's animal spirits aroused the slumbering senses of 
 our hero to an agreeable and beneficial activity. When a 
 man has shaken off a burden that has been weighing him 
 down for a long time, the relief induces an apathy from which 
 many never recover. 
 
 When, having watched the agonies of a sick friend through- 
 out a protracted illness, that friend has rendered up his soul
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 125 
 
 to his God we at first feel a relief — a tliankfulness ■which soon 
 subsides into gloomy apathy, and we find any change preferable 
 to this emptiness of heart : we are glad of any circumstance 
 that makes us forgetful of our loss. And in this state of mind 
 did Henry enter into the pleasures of Bob Brasely ; not from 
 a reckless love of animal enjoyment, not from idleness, but in 
 order to forget the grievances that time only could remove. 
 
 In the evening the two friends sallied forth in the direction 
 of Putney. 
 
 Mr. Brasely flattered himself that he knew exactly what a 
 gentleman should wear at a regatta : snobs would go in their 
 usual costume, but crack gentlemen would don guernseys 
 and straw hats ; and as he (Mr. Brasely) wished to appear 
 in his own character, he was determined to suit himself with 
 a striped jacket and a tuscan hat. He wished Henry to follow 
 his example ; but a scantily lined pocket whispered to our hero 
 the impossibility of supporting such useless expenditure, and 
 so it was at length determuied that Bob should have the credit 
 of being a gentleman, while Henry must content himself 
 with the appellation of a plebeian. This being fully agreed 
 uj)ou, Bob fitted himself with a guernsey and a blue trimmed 
 tuscan, and the pair mounted upon the roof of a Putney 
 omnibus. 
 
 " G oiu' to pull ? " asked the conductor, whose head ap- 
 peared above the roof. 
 
 " No — not this year," answered Bob importantly. 
 
 " I believe it a'nt much of a race this year, is it, sir?" con- 
 tinued the said conductor. 
 
 " Why, let me see — I 've been so much out of town, that T 
 scarcely know the men." Bob's rustic excursions had included 
 Highgate, Ilanipstead Heath, and Clapham Common. 
 
 " Well," observed the communicative omnibus official, 
 pushing his hat half off his head, " well, you know, T don't 
 presume to know a mighty deal about the sort of thing — 
 but considerin' the fuss that's made and the little bettin' 
 there is, 'pon my soul I think it 's always a deuced dull affair. 
 Excuse my saying so ; I do indeed." 
 
 "You're not used to the river, I see," Bob made answer, 
 in a very patronizing tone of voice. Bub really and truly 
 pitied the benighted conductor, and as he paid the poor man, 
 he condoled with the fellow upon his lamentable ignorance of 
 aquatic glories. "No fun in boating!" exclaimed Bob.
 
 126 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 " Ecod ! — I should like to see anytliing tliat approaches it — 
 it's the Englishman's most manly sport." And having de- 
 livered himself of this opinion, Bob took Henry's arm, and 
 they threaded their way together through the heaps of car- 
 riages which blocked up that crazy, cramped, misshapen, 
 boat-endangering heap of wood, called by courtesy Putney 
 bridge. Having vigorously elbowed an unceremonious crowd, 
 and having been duly elbowed in return, our friends reached 
 Searle's boat-house, where Bob made certain learned inquiries 
 about a certain outrigger, and having heard that all the Searle 
 boats were engaged, it was mutually agreed that they should 
 not entrust their precious lives to the mercy of any crazy 
 wherry, and so all idea of appearing on the river was given 
 up. Bob looked upon this as a lamentably slow proceeding, 
 and the only hope that kept up his drooping spirits was the 
 anticipation of some rare jollity at the fair held round about 
 the grand stand. 
 
 "Well, we'll go to Finch's ! " determined Bob. 
 
 " And who's Finch ; and what 's to be done there ? " in- 
 quired our hero. 
 
 " You 're chaffing, old fellow. — No, no. Come, come, though 
 you confess j^ou are green in some things, you don't mean to 
 tell me seriously that you never heard of Finch ? " 
 
 " It may be lamentable ignorance, Brasely," confessed 
 Henry ; " but I must own that Finch's name is quite new to 
 me." 
 
 " Then I '11 put you up to a thing or two," declared Bob, 
 and he begged our hero to follow him. They edged their 
 way through a dense conglomeration of people that lined the 
 bank of the river, and near the grand stand turned to the left. 
 They then walked along a short narrow lane, and were soon 
 within the domain of Finch. 
 
 Describe Finch's ! We might as well attempt to do justice 
 with pen and ink to the glorious realities that skirt the 
 Ehme ! 
 
 How shall we set about painting Finch's bar, ensconced 
 beneath the grand stand ! The attempt would argue mad- 
 ness on the part of the author — downright raving madness. 
 For within the select nook, somewhat disparagingly yclept 
 the bar, are crowded fit offerings for an Olympian banquet. 
 What if the bar enshrine no nectar, it contains bottled stout ! 
 What if Finch be quite out of ambrosia, he sells captains'
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 12Y 
 
 biscuits ! And then the round-abouts, that waft fat, screaming, 
 heated women through the evening breeze, the said females 
 paying twopence for the fright ! Add to the round-abouts 
 some half-dozen shows, all containing " the greatest wonder 
 in the known world;" a few dozen oddly-fashioned targets, at 
 which little boys shoot for nuts ; and in one corner of the 
 field a nook roped off for donkey, to say nothing of shaggy 
 pony riding ; some twenty gingerbread stalls, and one melan- 
 choly cheap Jack ; and if we have not done justice to Putney 
 fair, at least we take credit to ourselves for haAdng faithfully 
 catalogued its chief attractions. Bob no sooner found himself 
 in the fair, than he began to avail himself of its various aids 
 to jollity. He first bought "the whole fun of the fair at the 
 small charge of one penny," the said pennyworth consisting 
 of an instrument fashioned somewhat like a rattle, and 
 .which, when drawn briskly do^sTi the back of an individual, 
 emits a loud rattle, startling the person upon whom it is 
 scraped. This instrument Bob applied with considerable 
 vigour to the backs of his neighbours, some of whom greeted 
 him in return ^^^th a "now then, fast im," or "babies ivill 
 amuse themselves," or " I s'pose you think it very witty, but 
 you 're jollily mistaken." Bob left no enjoyment untasted : 
 his principle, when he was out, was, as he had it, " to go the 
 whole hog;" and to carry out this precept he entered the 
 ball-room of the Finchian establishment, having previously 
 visited all the gi-eatest wonders of the world, and shot at all 
 the buUs'-eyes in the fair ; and we must not forget to chronicle 
 his elegant deportment on the back of a donkey ; for though 
 the animal had a mysterious inclination to " kick up behind," 
 it is with some pride that we bear testimony to the ease with 
 which Mr. Robert Brasely kept his saddle. He was quite at 
 home with a donkey; and he never missed an opportunity of 
 essaying his skill as an ass-rider. On the part of our hero we 
 cannot speak so eulogistical ly, inasmuch as the animal he had 
 the temerity to mount very soon saved him the trouble of 
 dismounting by depositing him gently upon the grass, amid 
 the laughter and jests of the assembly stationed without the 
 ropes. It was Henry's misfortune to see his white trousers 
 variegated at the knees with a veiy pretty colour, no doubt, 
 but nevertheless out of place on a gentleman's inexpressi- 
 bles ; and he made a mental memorandum not to go donkey
 
 128 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAHII.Y. 
 
 riding in white — a note we should earnestly advise everybody 
 to profit by when they make similar excursions. 
 
 When the pair entered the Finchian ball-room, the com- 
 pany were elbowing their Avay through a crowded quadrille, 
 and exchanging remarks in such a loud tone of voice that the 
 brass band at the further end of the gallery could scarcely 
 make itself heard. It was quite a battle between the band 
 and the company. The cornets and horns sent forth their 
 loudest notes, and the company bellowed and hurraed voci- 
 ferously, so that each had the victory in rotation. Now the 
 band was distinctly heard above the shouting, and now the 
 shouting drowned the music. 
 
 The ball-room was a long, narrow apartment, skirted by 
 benches, upon which were seated some passable specimens of 
 Nature's masterpiece, appropriately ornamented with moun 
 tains of muslin, typical of sweetest innocence. These ladies 
 evidently gave their countenance to that precept which directs 
 you to assume virtue if you have it not ; and so they sat, 
 and minced, and fanned themselves, awaiting the offer of an 
 eligible partner for a polka or a quadrille — especially a polka. 
 No\v-a-days, wheu to be popular is to be fast — that is to say, 
 vulgar, coarsely funny, and unmarried — quadrilles are gene- 
 rally considered very dull affairs, because there is no waist- 
 enclosing movement — no giddy whirl, cheek to cheek and 
 bosom to bosom — throughout its measured courtesies. If men 
 were all paragons of refined virtue, and all women in thought 
 as chaste as snow, there would be no polkas ; for, setting 
 aside the pleasure of close contiguity, where is the amusement 
 of spinning about a room like so many tetotums ? The truth 
 of this remark is sufficiently supported by this fact — that 
 women do not care to waltz with women, uid men would hate 
 to polk with men. 
 
 The male specimens assembled in the room included 
 patterns of many classes of the community. Tins medley 
 may be accounted for thus : the entrance money was only 
 one shilling per head. There were Cambridge men, clerks, 
 tradesmen, and journeymen ; there were guernseys, dress- 
 coats, taglionis, and flannel jackets— all effectively inter- 
 mingled, and combining to form a very varied and a very 
 amusing picture of an English holiday ball-room. The only 
 apparent fault to be found with the room was its extreme
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 129 
 
 narrowness ; the appointments were complete if they were 
 not luxurious. 
 
 Bob was not long partnerless, and his choice from the 
 female beauty present was very ci'editable to his taste. The 
 band struck up a polka, and away whirled our jolly friend, 
 Heniy looking on enviously the while. The pair threaded 
 their way through the polking crowd most marvellously — now 
 hopping backwards — now to the right— now to the left — and 
 now making a sudden bolt forwards. Bob clasped his partner 
 in the most unceremonious manner, holding one of her anns 
 at a right angle from his body as he guided her dexterously 
 through the maze of dancers. As the dance went on, Henry, 
 roused by the apparent joyousness of the revel, looked about 
 him for a partner to join ■with him in the jollity. He soon 
 espied an unengaged lady ; and, having been accepted, he 
 took her by the waist, and was soon one of the most vigorous 
 among the dancers. They had kept this fun up some time, 
 when a loud oath was perpetrated by some gentleman, 
 together with a demand for an apology. There was an 
 universal rush to the corner of the room whence these 
 exclamations had proceeded; and Henry, together with his 
 partner, was carried by the strength of the people behind 
 him to the spot where the contending parties were squabbling. 
 Blasphemous words, uttered plentifully on both sides, failing 
 to satisfy the angry parties, the argument of fisticuffs was 
 resorted to. A ring was speedily formed, and two gentlemen, 
 having divested themselves of their upper garments, pro- 
 ceeded to satisfy their wounded honour. So dense was the 
 pressure of the crowd round about the combatants, that our 
 hero could see nothing of the fight. He asked in vain for 
 the name or appearance of the pugilists — nobody could satisfy 
 him on either ])oint. Presently there was a genei-al shout, 
 and one of the fighters fell heavily upon the ball-room floor. 
 " Bravo, little 'un ! " shouted the lookers-on, as they closed 
 round the victor and the vanquished ; and Henry, taking 
 advantage of the general movement in the crowd, succeeded 
 in making his way to the spot where the beaten man was lying. 
 
 " Had a bit of a mill, old fellow ! " exclaimed the individual 
 ■who was re-dressing himself. Henry looked in the direction 
 of the speaker, and saw his friend I3rasely quietly arranging 
 his disordered cravat. 
 
 " That chap on the ground there called me an awkward 
 
 G 3
 
 130 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 fool, and finished by calling me a liar ; so I 've just been 
 polishing him off a bit," quoth Bob. 
 
 " Why didn 't you call me?" asked Henry. 
 
 " Oh ! it wasn 't worth while just for such a trifle ; however, 
 something must be done with the fellow." 
 
 " 'Xactly so, master ! " exclaimed a jwliceman, as he took 
 Mr. Robert Brasely's arm. " 'Xactly so — something shall 
 be done to him, and to you too, for breakin' o' the peace in this 
 here room." Another officer soon appeared, and, helping the 
 vanquished gentleman to rise, supported him out of the 
 apartment ; and Brasely and his victim, accompanied by two 
 officers and Henry, made the best of their way to the 
 Wandsworth Station House. The beaten man kept a hand- 
 kerchief to his face ; and some red spots upon the said hand- 
 kerchief suggested an unpleasant injury to his olfactory 
 nerves. The vanquished stubbornly pei'sisted in his silence, 
 but the vanquor talked as jollily as though he were on his 
 way to the Derby. 
 
 "How did this skirmish begin?" asked one policeman, 
 addressing himself to Henry. 
 
 " No questions," interrapted Bob. " B 369, you 're a very 
 . vigilant officer — you 've a devilish good pair of whiskers of 
 your own — your boots are rather the touch — and I 've seen 
 hair nearer the colour of vermilion than yours ; but in spite 
 of these attractions, B 369, attend to your duty, and don 't be 
 inquisitive. I dare say you'd make a very decent inspector; 
 only wait your time, B 369, and don't forget that at present 
 you're a nobody." This speech completely silenced the in- 
 quisitive officer, who did not venture another remark until 
 the party were in the presence of the inspector. 
 
 The merits of the case were discussed very warmly on both 
 sides.- The policemen having given their evidence as to the 
 disturbance of the peace, the inspector, a small-headed, small- 
 eyed, round-faced personage, who looked as though his coat 
 collar was much too tight and stiff to be comfortable, de- 
 sired the injured individual to take his handkerchief from 
 his nose and explain his grievance. 
 
 The gentleman did so ; and Henry, in mute astonishment, 
 beheld the swollen features of his elder brother. 
 
 "In the first place, sir," said Mr. De Gospitch, "I have 
 to complain of the clownish behaviour of the person who has 
 given his name as Mr. Bobert Brasely."
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 131 
 
 " Nothing of the sort," interrupted Bob. 
 
 "No interruptions, Mr. Brasely," commandecl the inspector. 
 
 " I entered the booth out of curiosity, and was looking on 
 at some very riotous dancing, -when Mr. Brasely and a lady 
 came against me with such violence that, had it not been for 
 the crowd immediately behind me, I should have been knocked 
 down. I remonstrated with Mr. Brasely; he retorted in 
 most disgusting terms, and finally so enraged me that I 
 believe I called him a liar, upon which he struck me, and I, 
 as a matter of coui'se, returned his blow ; and thus the fight 
 took place." 
 
 " What part did Mr. Brasely's friend take in the matter, 
 sir ? " asked tlie inspector blandly. 
 
 " His friend ! " asked De Gospitch, and he turned round 
 and recognised Heniy. 
 
 Henry returned a look of contempt and indignation, and 
 said not a word. 
 
 "I don't recollect to have seen Mr. Brasely's friend during 
 the afFray," Mr. De Gospitch made answer. 
 
 " And now Mr. Brasely, what have you to say ? " asked 
 the apple-headed inspector imperatively. 
 
 " What have I to say ! " echoed Bob, in no way discon- 
 certed by the authoritative tone of his questioner. " Well now, 
 I '11 give you a correct version of the whole affair ; but first I 
 want to know my opponent's name — especially as he has been 
 favoured with mine." 
 
 " This gentleman calls himself Mr. Marshall," answered 
 the inspector. 
 
 " That is not — " exclaimed Henry, advancing ; but ere he 
 had time to finish his speech, the inspector bawled, " Silence, 
 sir, or I must turn you out of the room. The gentleman 
 gives his name as Mr. Marshall ; and that 's enough." 
 
 " Well, let him call himself Snooks for aught I care," con- 
 tinued Bob, " J 'm not afraid to give my riglit name, if other 
 folks are. Well, as I said, you shall have the whole truth ; 
 and — as the fellows in court say — nothing but the truth." 
 
 " No disrespect, Mr. Brasely," said the inspector so- 
 lemnly. 
 
 " This person, who calls himself a gentleman, and whom 
 I 've had the pleasure of thrashing, took upon himself to call 
 me a liar and a scoundrel, because I accidcnlally pushed against 
 him in a polka. If he cau't have au accidental sliovc, he isn't
 
 132 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 fit to be at such places. If he is a woman he should wear 
 oetticoats, that 's all I 've got to say. And look ye here, if he 
 chooses to proceed against me for fairly giving him a licking, 
 ■why I shall go in for damages for defamation of character." 
 
 " Do you intend to press the charge, sir ? " inquired the 
 inspector of Mr. De Gospitch. 
 
 " Why I think I should only perform a duty to the public 
 and to myself — " 
 
 " Put yourself first," suggested Bob ; " and then throw ii- 
 the public by way of strengthening yourself." 
 
 Without condescending to notice this suggestion, Mr. De 
 Gospitch continued — " by holding this person as an example ; 
 but " 
 
 "Yes, but — but jon daren't," quoth the facetious Bob. 
 
 " Mr. Brasely," interposed the inspector " I shall be 
 compelled presently to an act of coercion." 
 
 "I feel sir," continued De Gospitch, "that the affair is 
 scarcely of importance enough to drag me from my occupa- 
 tions at an inconvenient hour ; and so, consulting only con- 
 venience to myself, and not out of any pity for this Mr. ]3i'ase- 
 ly, I think the case had better be dismissed." 
 
 " Pity for me ! " exclaimed Bob. " "V^^ly, I suppose next 
 you "11 say I got the worst of the fight." 
 
 " No impertinence, sir: nothing but a consciousness of my 
 having so far forgotten myself, as to bandy words with you, 
 prevents my proceeding to the utmost i-igour of the law 
 against you." 
 
 " A carriage is at the door for one of you gents," said a 
 policeman in waiting — as the party were leaving the station 
 house. Henry was the first to gain the street. He saw the 
 carriage, and seated in the carriage he beheld ]\liss Maturin 
 and Mrs. De Gospitch, together with a tall, mustachioed per- 
 son, who, at the moment, was convei'sing earnestly with Maiy. 
 Miss Matuiin recognised Henry, and colom'ed deeply. 
 
 Heniy passed quickly by, followed by Brasely, w^ho en 
 livened his retreat from the station house, by ejaculating in 
 this way — " He had the worst of it— no mistake about that, 
 the fellow was funky — I 'd lick a dozen like him — stupid ass — ■ 
 paltry cowards," &c., &c. 
 
 De Gospitch soon joined his relative. Mrs. De Gospitch 
 frowned awfully. " I^pon my word, De Gospitch," she said, 
 " I never, in the whole course of mv life, heard of such goings
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY, 133 
 
 on. How did you manage to embroil yourself with a set of 
 vulgar people in a booth — what business had you there ? 
 Everybody s talking about it. We met Sir Joseph Junks, 
 and he told us that you had just been paraded through Put- 
 ney, in the custody of a policeman ; that you were bleeding 
 and had a handkerchief to your face. I can well understand 
 your being ashamed of yourself." 
 
 " Sure, Mrs. DeGospitch," quoth Captain Grasy, who was 
 the mustachioed individual we have alluded to, " gentle- 
 men can't help these things sometimes. I remember myself 
 fighting with a butcher ; and though it went to my heart to 
 lower myself so, circumstances, madam, would not allow me 
 to back out of the quarrel." 
 
 Mrs. De Gospitch bowed ceremoniously, and then looked 
 a whole storm of thunder at her husband. De Gospitch 
 meanwhile occupied himself by testing the swelling that eveiy 
 minute grew more palpable on his upper lip. He merely ob- 
 served, in answer to his wife's lecture, that, as his friend 
 Gras}' had observed, circumstances might make fighting un- 
 avoidable, even ^vitll a footman. 
 
 Miss Maturin had not spoken one word since Mr. De 
 Gospitch had rejoined them. Captain Grasy was the first 
 to notice this sudden change in liis mistress. 
 
 "You 're low spirited this afternoon," said the captain. 
 
 " 1 've a slight headache," answered the maiden. 
 
 "What a pity," sympathized the Irishman; "and you 
 were so gay and full of laughter an hour since." 
 
 " Oh ! she is annoyed, as I am, at ]\Ir. De Gospitch 's want 
 of dignity," observed Mrs. De Gospitch. 
 
 "Nothing of the kind," retorted the husband. "You 
 don't understand these things, Susanna, and so you 'd bettor 
 say no more upon the subject. I insist upon this." 
 
 The wife pouted, and threw herself into a corner of the 
 carriage, where she remained in silence until the party had 
 reached the family mansion. 
 
 Miss ]\Iaturin, having made some excuse for Avithdrawing, 
 sought her apartment to indulge in a sad cogitation. She 
 had not the courage to ask her brother-in-law wliatpart Henry 
 had tidien in the disturbance ; and tlicn she thought what 
 was it to her — she had nothing to do with Henry. 
 
 She daily expected to be asked in marriage by Captain 
 Grasy, the descendant of an Irish prince ; was it not then
 
 134 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 unpardonable weakness in her, to trouble herself thus about 
 a clerk who had refused her love ? And yet the memory of 
 past happiness with that poor clerk — a certain thankfulness 
 for the joyous hours he had made for her, awakened an in- ' 
 terest in his career that she could not conquer. She strove 
 to persuade herself that he was a nonentity to her ; but the 
 very struggle that ended in this resolve sufficiently proved 
 to her that she was only playing the hypocrite to herself. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The station house adventure completely dulled Henry for the 
 remainder of the day ; but Bob grew especially facetious upon 
 the subject. 
 
 In the first place Bob was remarkably inquisitive respecting 
 the true name of his antagonist, and Henry was not disposed 
 to satisfy his friend's curiosity. It was against our hero's 
 nature to confess any circumstance that might lower himself 
 in the opinion of another. He knew full well that he had no 
 great fault to put to his own account ; nevertheless, feeling 
 certain that Bob's friendship was measured by the position of 
 his acquaintances, Heniy (though he hated and scorned the 
 principle) was too nervous, too much alone in the world, to 
 afford to lose Bob Brasely's regard; and so he made. some 
 excuse to evade the questioning of his friend. 
 
 Bob and Henry returned to the fair. They were directly 
 recognised as the victorious party, and saluted mth enthu- 
 siastic cheers. These marks of approbation were received by 
 Bob with delicious condescension ; and the pair, when they 
 were tired of this public compliment, dived into a refreshment 
 booth and ate heartily. 
 
 Bob grew more riotous every minute ; and Henry, made 
 thoughtful by the sudden appearance of his brother and Miss 
 Maturin, grew more fatigued with the jollities of his friend. 
 Bob's riot ended in his being quietly led out of the fair by a 
 mild policeman ; and Henry, having accompanied the irre- 
 pressible Brasely as far as their way home lay together, left 
 him and proceeded in the direction of King's Head Court.
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 135 
 
 When he reached home it was about half-past nine in the 
 evening. 
 
 " Come, come," ventured Mrs. Grumblebum, as she opened 
 the door. " You 're better to-night. Now this is a decent, 
 gentlemanly hour to come home at. There 's a letter for you — 
 directed to the post-office in St. Martin's Lane, as you desired. 
 I gave sixpence to the man who brought it on for you, as he 
 said there was immediate written on it. Here it is." 
 
 The letter was from Mr. Jackson, and contained an mvita- 
 tion to dinner for the following day — Sunday. 
 
 Henry went to bed, and dreamed of Miss Maturiu and Mrs. 
 Gaps. 
 
 In the morning he arose early, full of impatience to join 
 the Jackson family ; for he felt confident that he would meet 
 Mrs. Gaps there. The letter did not contain any hint upon 
 the subject ; but, his hope taking the shape of a reality, he 
 was certain that before night he would see Marian. It 
 was this thought that made him anxious to do as much justice 
 to his person as possible. He parted his hair some dozen 
 times before it was exactly to his taste; he adjusted and re- 
 adjusted his cravat till he gave up all hope of tying it as he 
 would like to have tied it ; and having given equal al:tention 
 to every part of his dress, he set out on his way to Clapham. 
 
 _ As he ueared the Jackson villa, he looked anxiously about 
 him, hoping to meet Marian Gaps on her way to her ifather's 
 or on her return from church ; but this hope was not realized. 
 
 And as he walked onwards, his thoughts taking colour from 
 the joyous exterior of things about him, Marian "s image linked 
 itself more inseparably with every new idea, and his heart 
 gave itself up to a luxurious dream of love. He weighed 
 and re-weighed every syllable that Marian had uttered at 
 their last meeting ; and, measure each word as he might, he 
 could not reproach her for coldness, nor blame her for disrespect 
 to her late husband. He wished a thousand times that she 
 Avere a beggar dependent upon another for lier daily bread ; 
 and then, he thought, ho might woo her manfully and directly. 
 No paltry motives could then be attributed to him— he might 
 hold her to his heart, and be the fountain of her happiness — 
 the spring whence all her mortal comforts must flow. As it 
 was she had full coffers, and his course must be more 
 guarded, more trying and protracted. He, almost a beggar, 
 could not ask a rich woman in marriage ; for his pride revolted
 
 136 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 at the idea of the dependence consequent upon such a union. 
 Was it manly to be the recipient of a woman's bounty — was it 
 not slavery worse than the iron-shackled fate of a felon ? No 
 argument could have persuaded him to encounter such a 
 destiny : he would have preferred to break stones upon the 
 high roads sooner than hold himself the money-dependent 
 husband of any woman. 
 
 Let it be plainly understood that we are now defining the 
 principles which actuated our hero, and we are not accountable 
 for the soundness or hollowness of his action-springs. Many 
 will condemn his views as absurd ; to this condemnation we 
 answer that Henry Gospitch was not an angel, a genius, or a 
 fool. On some points he was at fault — who is not ? He had 
 his own pet notions — his own ideas of honour and manly 
 dignity ; and the interest of his career lies in the consequences 
 of these peculiar notions. Perhaps he was wrong in his 
 standard of man's dignity — perhaps he was in error when he 
 judged that a poor man marrying a rich woman, and being 
 dependent upon his wife, forfeited his self-respect. His 
 judgment on these points was perhaps unsound, and perhaps 
 perfectly consonant with the feelings of a thorough gentleman ; 
 and we ai'e ready to subject his actions to the impartial criti- 
 cism of our readers. 
 
 No selfish motive swayed Henry in his love for Marian 
 Gaps. He dived into the hidden recesses of his heart — he 
 questioned every motive, every thought ; and his conscience 
 assured him that he loved the woman as a woman, and not as 
 a gold-chest. 
 
 All the magic influences that the placid brightness of 
 Nature has with an imaginative mind kindled an enthusiasm 
 in the soul of our hero, and called a conti'ast to his mind the 
 hideousness of which told him how ill fitted he was for the 
 debasing riots of yesterday, and how capable of taking delight 
 in the refined enjoyment of happy domesticity. He turned 
 from thoughts of his late dissipation as from a recollection 
 of crime ; and his awakened soul revelled in delicious dreams 
 of a love-attended home. 
 
 Henry was not effeminate, though "fast" gentlemen wll 
 so set him down in their "fast" opinion; and at the risk of 
 offending the aforesaid fast individuals, do we chronicle our 
 belief in the manliness and supei'iority of our hero's creed, as 
 compared to their professed disregard of "marriage and all
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 137 
 
 that sort of nonsense." The market for "fast" literature 
 is nearly glutted — it •s\ill soon be choke-full — the wares 
 ■will decrease in value, and be fiuall}' consigned to the most 
 effectual oblivion. The markets will be cleansed of the rub- 
 bish with the waters of Lethe, conveyed in buckets borrowed 
 from Truth's well. Laugh as we may, there is something 
 serious in life. And we are never more thoroughly alive to 
 the holier influences of human existence than when the heart 
 is opening to receive a cupid-driven wound. 
 
 Our hero reached the Jackson establishment exactly at the 
 appointed hour ; and, as he fully expected, he found that 
 Marian Gaps was of the assembled party. Mr. Jackson 
 received his guest rather ceremoniously, but the quiet man- 
 ners of the I'est of the family soon put the new comer at his 
 ease. 
 
 Mr. Jackson's frigid manner gradually thawed; and, over 
 his wine, the old gentleman became quite communicative. 
 He made Henrj'^ a present of many of his political doctrines, 
 and he discussed the doings of parliament with remarkable 
 warmth. Jackson was a benevolent man ; and, in a spirit 
 of benevolence, he wished from his heart that the nation had 
 the benefit of his doctrines — he wished, in a thorough spirit 
 of patriotism, that he was in the House of Commons. He 
 reviewed the qualifications of the more prominent members 
 of the House, and then asked his guest candidly whether he 
 (Mr. Jackson) was not, to say the least, immeasurably superior 
 in intellect to any M.P. in the kingdom. He would imder- 
 take to head the ministry at an hour's notice : he only wished 
 he had the opportunity — he would show them what govern- 
 ment meant. Why, the present ministry were the slowest 
 coaches in the world — didn 't know which way to turn ; 
 whereas, if he (Mr. Jackson) were First Lord of the Treasury, 
 he would guarantee to the Sovereign that the aflairs of the 
 nation should be put straight within three months 
 
 "If you were Prime Minister, papa, what should I be?" 
 inquired one of Mr. Jackson's seven daughters — a girl with 
 two tiiils of hair hanging down her back like bell-ropes. 
 
 " What you are now — a nobody," the girl's father answered ; 
 and he looked as though he meant what he said. 
 
 Henry kept his eyes fixed on the crape-covered form of 
 Marian. She seemed sad at heart — she was silent — and his 
 heart was bursting with the fulness of its love. Now and
 
 138 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 then her eyes met his ; and then her eyelids, gently drooping, 
 gave, evidence of the woman's growing sympathy for Henry 
 Gospitch. It was a difficult task to feign attention to the 
 measured discourse of the political Jackson ; and the only 
 thought that reconciled Heniy to the old gentleman's pro- 
 siness Avas the recollection that he was Mariaai's father. 
 "They talk of progress," continued Mr. Jackson, "why I 
 affirm that society is making a retrograde movement. I '11 
 give you an instance that will prove, beyond the possibility of 
 doubt, how rasv and unfinished — how savage our laws are. 
 You must know that opposite this house there was a pump." 
 
 " Dear, dear me ! " interrupted Mrs. Jackson, " that tire- 
 some pump story again. Haven't you any thing else to say ? 
 I only wish your shirt-buttons would last as long as your 
 stories." 
 
 " I believe I did not address myself to you, Mrs. Jackson," 
 retorted the dignified politician. 
 
 " Oh ! I see, Mr. Jackson, we are not wanted. Let us 
 retire, girls." And the ladies rose to leave the room. Mr. 
 Jackson vowed that he did not intend to convey any such 
 meaning as that whicli his wife had thought proper to put 
 upon his words ; but the lady would hear of no other construc- 
 tion, and so the women of the house retired to the drawing- 
 room, much to the disappointment of our hero, and against the 
 inclination of Marian. Heniy dreaded the ordeal through 
 which he must pass before his host w^ould permit him to join 
 the ladies ; and, thinking of Marian only, he looked atten- 
 tively at Mr. Jackson, and feigned to take interest in that 
 gentleman's discourse. 
 
 " Well, sir," Mr. Jackson resumed, " as I was observing, 
 when Mrs. Jackson interrupted me, there was a pump oppo- 
 site this house ; and from this pump I and my next door 
 neighbour took our water — that laid on in the house being 
 unfit to drink. My next door neighbour patronises the water- 
 cure system, and, consequently, good water is as necessary to 
 him as his daily food ; and I am very particular with the 
 water I drink. Well, for two entire years I and my next- 
 door neighbour had drawn our water from the pump in ques- 
 tion, when one morning, as I was walking in the garden, I 
 saw no less than six water-carts ranged beside the pump, while 
 two men were vigorously engaged filling one of these carts. 
 I called to these men, and told them that they had no right
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 139 
 
 to make use of the purap ; wliereupon they gave a broad grin 
 and made some vulgar, disrespectful reply. On the morrow 
 of this incident, when my spring water was brought up to me 
 it was nearly as thick as mud — in fact, totally imfit for any 
 Christian. I immediately waited upon my neighbour to see 
 if he had noticed the same change in the water from the 
 pump. I shall never forget the deplorable condition in 
 which I found him. He was a very thin person — rather 
 haggard in appearance ; and when I saw him on the day in 
 question he was wrapped up in an oddly fashioned dressing- 
 gown, and looking the veiy pictm^e of misery. On the table be- 
 fore him was a gallon pitcher of water, and beside the pitcher 
 was a tumbler half full of the liquid. ' I see,' said I, ' that 
 you have reason to find fault with to-day's draught from the 
 pump as well as myself.' He assured me, in answer, that he 
 had been suffeiing the intensest agony during the morning, in 
 consequence of not having taken his usual quantity of spring- 
 water. I told him of the water-carts ; and we at length 
 agreed to apply to the parish for redress. You know, perhaps, 
 Mr. Gospitch, what it is to be driven to such an extreme as 
 to make an application to the parish vestiy necessary. I 
 know no more disagreeable alternative ; for — and I say this 
 ad\'isedly — I never found justice in a vestryman in the course 
 of my long and active life — never. I went myself to the 
 vestiy — stated my case — showed the officers how detrimental 
 to my neighbour's health, and to my health, and to that of 
 my family, any deterioration in the quality of the pump- 
 water might prove ; I fairly set forth to the dullards the 
 especial wrong they would do my homceopathic neighbom* if 
 they persisted in allowing a procession of water-carts to dry 
 up the spring opposite his house. Now — making due allowance 
 for the universal and well-known audacity and impudence of 
 vestrymen — what answer do you think they made to this 
 appeal ? " Mr. Jackson stnick the table with a pair of nut- 
 crackers, and, looking intently at Henry, awaited an answer. 
 
 " Why," answered Henry, " men of kindly impulse would 
 have directed the water-carts elsewhere." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Mr. Jackson, impatiently, " kindly men 
 would have done as you say ; but we 're talking of vestrymen 
 and not of kindly men." 
 
 " I infer, then, from your outline of a vestryman's' cha- 
 racter, that the parish board refused your request."
 
 140 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 " Exactly so," responded Mr. Jackson. " Well, I made 
 kno\vn this harsh — tliis disgusting decision to my neighbour ; 
 and for a long time we were at a loss how to proceed in the 
 matter. The excuse the parish officials gave for their unjus- 
 tifiable con.duct Avas, that there was no other pump within a 
 mile of that opposite my house, and that they could not think 
 of making the parish generally chargeable for the extra ex- 
 pense any alteration in the pumps would occasion. As you 
 will easily imagine, I was not exactly pleased with this impu- 
 dent refusal ; but, as I have told you, for some time I could 
 not hit upon a plan that would supersede the parish decision. 
 At last, having given the matter mature consideration, I 
 resolved to write to the Secretary for the Home Department 
 upon the subject, feeling convinced that he would do justice 
 to all parties. I received no answer to my first letter — I 
 wrote again, and still I had no answer — I wrote a third time, 
 and then I received a note in the handwriting of some 
 obscure clerk, telling me on the part of the Home Secretary 
 that the parish had acted with perfect propriety in the matter, 
 and that people could not be choked with dust as they passed 
 along the highway in order to gratify a gentleman's love of 
 pure spring water. Now, sir, in a country where such gross 
 injustice is allowed — is it not folly and madness— is it not 
 falsehood to nickname this country the land of justice and 
 freedom ? I 've made vip my mind to write a pamphlet upon 
 the subject ; for I contend, that while I and my family and 
 my neighbour are doomed to drink muddy water, English- 
 men must not make a boast of their progress and their im- 
 partial laws." 
 
 " Certainly they may," said Henry, listlessly. 
 
 " What, sir ! " shouted Jackson, " do you mean to tell me 
 that Englishmen may boast of their impartial laws while I 
 and my family and my neighbour drink muddy water ! " 
 
 " No, no — I beg youi* pardon, sir, I was thinldng of another 
 subject at the moment; I did not fully understand you." 
 Henry's heart was with Marian in the drawing-room. 
 
 " It 's the aristocracy who are at the bottom of it." 
 
 " Of the pump ?" suggested our hero. 
 
 Mr. Jackson did manage to screw his face into an apology 
 for a smile ; but his gravity quickly returned, and he continued 
 pompously to deliver himself of his pet theories. He confessed 
 that lie had not the slightest reverence for old families, and
 
 THE DESGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 141 
 
 his remarks on this poiut savoured — some may think — of 
 sound sense. " I am what I am," he said, " and what matters 
 it who or what my father was. An emperor's son may be a 
 polished scoundrel, and a sweep's heir may be an embodiment 
 of human goodness ; and I would rather be the friend of au 
 honest sweep than the companion of a courtly blackguard. Tu 
 the mind of some people there may be a ' divinity doth hedge 
 a king ; ' but I confess I can look upon kings, and their dia- 
 monds, and rubies, and gold — their tinsel, and sometimes 
 (looking in their faces) their brass — without quickeuhig my 
 pulse one atom. Their honours, for the most part, are as 
 empty as their heads. For instance, the Cliinese Emperor 
 marks his majesty by having twenty-two katties of meat; 
 hog's lard, one katty (or lb.) ; two sheep ; two ducks ; the 
 milk of sixty cows; one katty of butter; and seventy-six 
 parcels of tea, served for his breakfast. The Chinese Em- 
 press being second to the Emperor has only sixteen katties 
 of meat, and so on in proportion, served for her breakfast, 
 while the courtiers of inferior rank receive rations measured 
 by their relative positions as determined by law. Now, sir," 
 asked Jackson, solemnly, "is not this empty show — mere 
 humbug?" 
 
 " My opinions of the aristocracy of this country," said Henry, 
 " are totally opposite to that you have just expressed. I 
 would uphold the nobles of this land — not because I reve- 
 rence them individually, or even as a body, but because they 
 form jjart of a system that has been most conducive to the 
 welfare of England. I hate them for their pride and ex- 
 clusiveness. 1 should like to see a lord shake a peasant by 
 the hand. But though I condemn their haughty bearing — 
 looking upon them as part of the machinery belonging to an 
 harmonious combination of power — I shall always uphold 
 their position, because I believe it to be necessary to the 
 equalization of power in the country." 
 
 " I see we shall never agree on the point," observed Mx*. 
 Jackson. 
 
 Presently the gentlemen were summoned to the drawing- 
 room — a summons which Mr. Jackson seemed in no way 
 inclined to answer. However the old gentleman suppressed 
 his contrary inclination, and ushered Henry into the presence 
 of a cofTee-sip()ing circle of ladies. 
 
 •' I hope you have been mutually entertaining, gentlemen,"
 
 142 THE DISGBACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 said Mrs. Jackson, sliarply. She was evidently annoyed that 
 her husband had remained so long over his wine. 
 
 " I think we 've managed to pass the time pleasantly 
 enough," responded Jackson. " Have we not, Mr. Gos- 
 pitch ?" 
 
 " In the company of a man so thoroughly versed in the 
 politics of the day, could it be possible to pass time wearily?" 
 This compliment was paid by Henry. 
 
 Mr. Jackson put his hand to his heart, and bowed pro- 
 foundly, dropping his eyelids as he bent his body. 
 
 " If you 're fond of politics, Mr. Gospitch, you '11 soon be a 
 prodigious favourite with Dinah. She dotes upon colonization 
 and the laws of primogeniture." 
 
 Dinah muttered a "La! ma," and moved nervously about 
 upon her chair. She slily watched the effect of her mother's 
 speech, and wthal made tremendous endeavours to look in- 
 teresting. 
 
 Henry stirred not, did not once look at the political maiden. 
 His attention was riveted to an opposite corner of the room, 
 where Marian, silent and unnoticed, sat mournfully. Now and 
 then he saw her eyes were fixed upon him, and so earnest and 
 piercing was their expression, that he could scarcely bear their 
 scrutiny. Directly he looked at her, her eyelids fell, and were 
 not raised until he had withdrawn his attention from her to 
 another party. 
 
 During Henry's visit to Mr. Jackson's, he scarcely spoke 
 ten words to Marian ; but a language passed between them 
 that only mutual love could detect — a language laden with 
 purest eloquence — telling in a flash what a whole dictionary of 
 Avords would fail to convey. Divinest poetiy sparkles in a 
 love-lit eye. There is an exquisite charm in the mute 
 eloquence of love which words seem to contaminate and de- 
 base. A holy interchange of hearts must be made in silence. 
 
 " Sacred silence — thou that art 
 Floodgate of the deepest heart ! " 
 
 Before our hero left Mr. Jackson's house, this gentleman 
 inquired somewhat inquisitively into the affairs of Mrs. Gaps. 
 Henry was not particularly communicative ; for tliough he be- 
 lieved that Mr. Jackson had a right, as the father of Mrs. 
 Gaps, to inquire into his daughters true pecuniary position, 
 he (Henry) had no disposition to violate the wishes of the de-
 
 lUE DISGRACE TO TilE FAMILY, 143 
 
 ceased Gaps, aud so he satisfied Mr. Jackson so far as to tell 
 him that Marian was amply provided for, declining to detail 
 the codicils of the will. This reserve did not please the old 
 gentleman ; he felt annoyed that he had not been consulted 
 in any way with regard to his daughter ; not that his anxiety 
 as a doting father made his powerless position unbearable, far 
 from it ; for, to speak candidly of Mr. Jackson, he had a re- 
 markable disregard for the welfare of his offspring. Paternal 
 love was by no means Mr. Jackson's strongest passion, nor 
 could his bitterest enemy call him uxorious. Wives and fami- 
 lies were to him little adjuncts that contributed to make a man 
 steady and respectable ; beyond this he did not see the use of 
 them. He did not hide this harsh belief from his spouse.- 
 At first she looked upon his assertion in the light of a joke; 
 but, by degrees, his altered behaviour towards herself and 
 children, his open love of selfish pleasure, his want of tender- 
 ness, taught her to receive his degrading confession as his 
 sincere opinion. This knowledge, so humiliating to herself, 
 lessened her love for her husband immeasurably, and their 
 disagreements were dated from this unfortunate discovery. 
 
 Mr. Jackson was in easy circumstances ; report spoke of him 
 as the recipient of £500 per annum, but nobody ever heard 
 from his lips the exact value of his property. He wondered 
 that Mr. Gaps had not left him a small legacy; but, {after he 
 was assured that the deceased had not bequeathed one six- 
 pence to him,) lie said he always thought that Marian's 
 husband was like the rest of the world, ungrateful and un- 
 gracious. 
 
 Mr. Gaps left a packet with directions that it should not be 
 opened until four years after his death ; but Henry, having 
 so promised Marian, did not make any mention of this mystery 
 to Mr. Jackson. 
 
 * :i5 :(•. H< H= -1= 
 
 Henry Gospitch went to his bed on his return from Clap- 
 ham, with a well-digested resolve to win a position that should 
 entitle him to make Marian Gaps an equal offer. The even- 
 ing he had passed reminded him forcibly of those happy 
 hours wlien he and Mary Maturin were accepted lovers ; and 
 the recollections of his entire faitli in her truth, and of her 
 subsequent faithlessness, made liim tremble lest Marian 
 should prove a second Mary Maturin. 
 
 How deeply is a man injured when he is deceived; for his
 
 /Y
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 145 
 
 CH.APTER XVII. 
 
 " He that liath a satirical vein, as he maketh others afraid of his wit, 
 so he had need be afraid of others' memory." — Bacon. 
 
 Captaix Geasy, IMr. Sliakspeare Sheridan Jackson, and 
 Mr. Blandly Reeks demand a chapter: the}' shall have it. 
 The captain has peculiar claims upon the reader's attention : 
 he comes, reader, to you, on the wings of love. The gentle 
 captam has marriage hells dingling in his ears ; he is what 
 ladies call "an interesting ubject;" interesting, because he is 
 about to make a tremendous sacrifice — to monopolize himself. 
 Kobody can deny that the ladies had special smiles for Grasy — 
 that in their hearts they thought him " a duck of a captain." 
 This is not astonishing— the captain had the best tailor in 
 London. You might question the orthodoxy of Grasy 's j^rinci- 
 ples, but you could not find fault with the fashion of his dress. 
 His speech, perhaps, was graceless ; but nobody could affirm 
 that his body was ill-clothed. If he was not an exceedingly 
 clever man, at least he was a handsome tailor's block. 
 
 Much has been said concerning the character, capabilities, 
 and pretensions of Mr. Shakspeare Jackson : one more word, 
 and he shall speak for himself. Mr. Jackson was a man of 
 very superficial attainments : he was superficial in all things. 
 Nobody was ever intimate with Jackson — nobody knew his 
 secrets, and he knew everybody's. 
 
 We approach Mr. Blandly Reeks somewhat timidly : Mr. 
 Reeks was a talented individual. There really and truly was 
 something in Reeks. He owned the respect of a large cir- 
 cle of acquaintance ; he offended nobody. He had a poetical 
 vein, and fi'om the said vein very passable verse gushed most 
 liberally. Shakspeare and Blandly were intimate friends ; 
 that is to say, Shaksjjeare Jackson knew Blandly 's afi'airs 
 thoroughly, while Blandly knew nothing of Shakspeare 's. 
 
 Tliis cordial intimacy, so characteristic of the respective in- 
 dividuals between whom it subsisted, had lasted for the space 
 of two years; it owed its duration to the meekness of Blandly. 
 He looked upon Shakspeare Jackson as an oracle — an une.v 
 
 H
 
 146 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMIfA'. 
 
 ceptionaLle genius — a mortal whom it was his especial duty 
 to reverence and consult; Shakspeare was aware of his friend's 
 enthusiasm, and Shakspeare profited thereby. 
 
 The friends usually inet at Blandly 's lodgings; for Blandly 
 had a decent income in spite of his poetical weakness, and so 
 he could afford to entertain his male acquaintance upon terms 
 of perfect equality. 
 
 Respecting the j)ecuniary position of Mr. S. S. Jackson, 
 little information can be given, inasmuch as little is known : 
 all that can confidently be said is, that the gentleman's par- 
 ties were extremely few and certainly far between, nor were 
 his apartments so respectable as those rented by Mr. Reeks. 
 But enough of such vulgar details, as Shakspeare Jackson 
 would have it — why tell to a gaping world the petty con- 
 cerns of life I why allow a prying public to thrust its long 
 nose behind the scenes of a decent bachelor's existence ! 
 
 It has been said that imaginary wedding bells rang in the 
 ears of the hero Grasy : and Grasy — thanks to his military 
 education and native prowess — heard the chime, and trembled 
 not. Thou wert a man of iron, captain — a hero worthy of 
 being gazetted with leaded type ! 
 
 Ay, it is with some degree of pride — it is with a glad 
 swelling of the heart, that tiie writer chronicles the Irish 
 officer's heroic firmness. Hymen was at Grasj^'s elbow, 
 and he trembled not ! Nay, he even ventured to meet the 
 appalling spectre with jests and laughter. He undoubtedly 
 hoped to be prayed for as a martyr, and so he resolved to 
 be worthy of the prayers. He would meet his fate manfully : 
 to show his unconcern and perfect resignation, he would even 
 on the last evening of his bachelorhood have jolly companions 
 with him : he would ask Shakspeare Jackson, the sentimental 
 Blandly, the sharp young blade Brasely, and Mr. Ferdinand 
 Short. Who will not admire this courageous resolve — who 
 Avill not invest the captain with imaginaiy laurels '? Worthy 
 disciple of Mars thy conduct was exceedingly gallant ! 
 
 The pen trembles in the writer's hand, and the brain of 
 the scribe is oppressed with the magnitude of its respon- 
 sibility, for it must describe the heroism of a Grasy on the 
 eve of marriage. 
 
 Right manfully stalwart soldier did you behave ! The blood 
 ran smoothly as oil in your veins as you prepared to receive 
 your single comrades — "jolly companions every one." There
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 147 
 
 was no cloud upon your fine masculine brow ; and though 
 your hair nearly covered the said brow, it was not to hide a 
 cowards wrinkles. Your hand shook not as you shaved your 
 soap-sudded chin. You tied your kerchief divinely. The 
 parting of your hair was straight as an arrow. Your coat 
 was guiltless of a crease. And thus perfectly adjusted, you 
 lounged upon a sofa with as much unconcern as the mummies 
 at the British Museum evince upon inspection. Your atti- 
 tude, when you received Mr. Ferdinand Short, would have 
 put Mulready in ecstasies : the calm, dignified, graceful, and 
 even cheerful heart manifest in the elegant actions of a person 
 to whom Nature (pardon the eulogy, captain) — yes, to whom 
 Nature has been prodigal in her favours — you took Short's 
 proffered finger with a dignified carelessness admirably be- 
 fitting the dignity of your position. 
 
 '■Well, Fern3% my boy," you said, " I 'faith you see a 
 doomed bachelor before you. A married man, sir, to-morrow, 
 as sure as the cock crows." 
 
 " Yes, it s all up with you now," answered Short. 
 "Where's Brasely?" 
 
 And now, captain, the author must (though sorely against 
 his will) discontinue addressing you individually, and proceed 
 with his general narrative. In the course of half an hour 
 Brasely, S. Jackson, and B. Keeks, Esquires, made their 
 appearance, and were duly greeted by their host. 
 
 Mr. Brasely thus addressed Grasy: — 
 
 " Good evening, captain. Tacked to-morrow, eh ? You 
 nuisn't thin1<: I 'm joking when I wish you joy. I may be 
 weak myself some of these odd daj's." 
 
 Mr. Shakspeai'e Jackson greeted his host after this fashion : — 
 
 " Captain Grasy, I am indeed delighted that I am able 
 to congratulate you upon your marriage with Miss Maturin. 
 I have weiglied minutely the advantages and disadvantages of 
 the married state, and I have, I think, come to this final con- 
 clusion — that the advantages exceed the disadvantages in the 
 condition in question. You must be aware that our greatest 
 poets have sung in praise of Hymen — sung like nightingales, 
 captain (if I may be allowed the simile); and so, you will 
 perceive, that you enter into the holy state with good recom- 
 mendations. Marriage, cajDtain, is a tie " 
 
 " Not a Joinvillo, I suppose," suggested Brasely 
 
 " This is no time for jesting," Jackson made answer; and, 
 
 H 3
 
 148 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 taking up tlie thread of his discoiu'se, " as I said, marriage 
 is a tie that cannot he untied." 
 
 "Then it's a deuced hard douhle knot," interrupted Bob. 
 " I suppose that's what you mean, Jackson." 
 
 " No, Brasely, I meant nothing of the sort." 
 
 *' Och ! never mind, hoys," said the captain, who was 
 resolved upon having a jolly night. "Here's the long and 
 short of the matter. I 've been a fast dog, as you all 
 know ; I 've had a decent time of it for the last six years, 
 and now, i' faith, I begin to think it 's time I should settle 
 down quietly, and, in a spirit of charity towards my mother 
 country, nurse babbies for the next generation." 
 
 "You know the advice given to a presumptuous and over- 
 confident hen concerning the family she had in her eye," 
 remarked Brasely. 
 
 But Captain Grasy was not to be hushed by Bob's facetious 
 rebuke ; he had made up his mind (that small parcel so easily 
 made up in some cases) to let his friends understand the hopes 
 and reasons which had led to the contemplation of the morrow's 
 monopoly. 
 
 " Boys," he continued, and to be extra impressive he 
 dropped his cigar, and pushed his grog into the middle of the 
 table. " Boys," it's too late now for any backsliding on the 
 part of your humble servant, if, indeed, I wished to be free 
 of the tender engagement which now binds me. It would be 
 indecent in me to intrude any passionate mention of Miss 
 Maturin upon the present company." 
 
 The company vowed that the captain was modest : he 
 pleaded guilty to the weakness, and went on to say, " that he 
 was in a very delicate position." In this sentiment the young 
 gentlemen present agreed very cordially. 
 
 " I will not detain you long, boys," said Grasy, " but my 
 heart is bursting : yes, boys, i' faith, bm-sting with profound 
 regret at the idea of parting with you as bachelor companions, 
 though I must insist upon calling you friends. Some of you may 
 think that I am little better than an idiot in this little affair ; 
 well, perhaps I am so, boys — perhaps I am ; but, then, you know, 
 I 've many examples before me — I shan't be the only married 
 fool in the world. Genius is not necessary to support the 
 dignities of wedded life : there 's no credit in the matter I 
 grant. A family man is not always a talented individual. 
 There 's no credit in a family, though there 's a deuced lot of
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 149 
 
 trouble in it — but it is useless dwelling upon tliese considera- 
 tions — what 's done cannot be helped, boys, so here 's to your 
 luck every one of ye ! " And the captain drowned Ms pathos 
 in a bowl. 
 
 " We "11 drown it in a bo-o-o-o-owl," 
 
 shouted Brasely, as he followed the pathetic host's ex- 
 ample. 
 
 Enter Mr. Blandly Reeks. 
 
 " Reeks, my good fellow," shouted Grasy, rising to welcome 
 the celebrated author, " I 'm excessively pleased to see you ! " 
 
 " I have to congratulate you, captain, and I do so earnestly ;" 
 Avas the quiet and sensible address of the modest bard. 
 
 " We have been sadly in want of you," quoth Shakspeare, 
 addressing his bosom friend. 
 
 " Is Mr. Reeks the author of ' Woodman, spare that Tree?' " 
 inquired Brasely, whose idea of poetry was concentrated iu 
 the song in question ; " because, if so, perhaps he will favour 
 the company with it '?" 
 
 Shakspeare Jackson, on the part of Blandly, disclaimed the 
 authorship altogether. Bob was evidently disappointed, and 
 he vi'hispered aside to Ferdinand Short, " I hope he isn't 
 one of the epic fellows — he '11 be giving us a good dose about 
 Juno, Ceres, and a lot more of 'em — we'd better change the 
 conversation." 
 
 Ferdinand Short understood boating, racing, and fighting, 
 better than poetry ; for his pai't he could see nothing so clever 
 in rhyming — he thought poets overrated people. Poetry was 
 all very well when you wanted to propitiate yourself with a 
 girl, that was the only use he could see in it. 
 
 " Gentlemen ! " said Ferdinand, " I rise to propose a toast." 
 
 " Well done Ferny, my boy ! " shouted the captam. 
 
 " Capital idea," vouchsafed Brasely. 
 
 " Yes," continued Short, somewhat awkwardly, " I rise 
 to propose a toast. This toast is one that you will all thank 
 me for ; it is a toast that I am proud to propose ; it is a toast 
 that I intend to 
 
 " Butter on both sides," suggested Bob, amid the laughter 
 of the company. With angelic patience the head of the firm 
 of Short and Company awaited the returning gravity of his 
 audience. At length he continued: — 
 
 " As my friend Jjrasely wittily observes, I intend to butter 
 this toast on both sides."
 
 150 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 . A giggle issuing from tlie throat of Shakspeare heraUled 
 something peculiarly biting. " Well," quoth the giggler, 
 " let us hope, Mr. Ferdinand Short, that as you intend to 
 butter the toast on both sides, the butter \Yill be fresh." 
 
 " Hear! hear!" condescended Bob. 
 
 " 1 hope, with my friend Jackson, that the butter which I 
 am about to put upon this toast will be fresh ; I assure you it "s 
 of my own making," responded Ferdinand, still upon his legs. 
 " I feel that I have arrogated to myself a heavily responsible 
 duty. Gentlemen I there is an event in our lives which mate- 
 rially influences our happiness — that event is our marriage." 
 (^Hear ! hear !) " When young men, like Captain Grasy, give 
 up the society of a large circle of young — and I think I 
 may add agreeable — bachelors, surely there is much room for 
 regret." 
 
 " Plenty," again interrupted Bob. 
 
 " I believe I am right in saying that our worthy host has 
 many, many friends who consider him a fine, high-spirited, 
 frolicsome fellow', behindhand in uo fun, foremost in any ex- 
 cursion." 
 
 Hear ! hear ! re-echoed through the house, and Captain 
 Grasy smiled placidly. Mr. Ferdinand had not finished yet ; 
 he continued : 
 
 " Gentlemen ! T have only a few more words to say with 
 respect to our friend. He is about to lead Miss Maturin to the 
 altar — he best knows why. He is about to relinquish the free 
 jollities of a bachelor's life, and to devote himself exclusively 
 to one lady — be it so. Humanity is weak, and even Captain 
 Grasy is but human. (Loud cheers.) In conclusion, I would 
 call upon all unengaged friends to avoiii marriage till they 
 have attained their thirty-lifth year. I hold (without any in- 
 tention to be personal, captain) that the man who marries 
 before he has attained the above age does not sufficiently ap- 
 preciate the social jollities of life, liegretting, then, j'our seces- 
 sion from our circle, captain, I will, without further delay, 
 propose the health of the bride elect, and may she appreciate 
 the excellent social qualities of her future husband." (Given 
 amidst loud cheering.) 
 
 " I' faith boy, I scarcely know why I many, myself," con- 
 fessed the husband elect of Mary Maturin. 
 
 And, turning from the bachelors' revel, the reader shall be in
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 101 
 
 ti'oduced to j\Iaiy Maturiu on the last evening of her maiden- 
 hood. 
 
 The pomp of wealth, lavished with a free hand, surrounded 
 the bride elect. Satins, silks, embroidery, jewels, choked the 
 boudoir of the morrow's bride. The mansion was convulsed 
 thi'oughout with the magnitude of the nuptial preparations. 
 Care was Moefiilly painted upon the round countenance of the 
 butler ; he would be up all night. The maids of the establish- 
 ment did their work fretfully, and thought despondingly of 
 " their young men.'' The groom was grumbling at his extra 
 work ; the coachman vowed he would not be spotted with a 
 favour; and his wife agreed ■srith him that it was " infra dig." 
 Mrs. De Gospitch was in high spirits ; she had a dress for 
 the occasion that, in her own humble opinion, was absolutely 
 bewitching. People would mistake her for the bride ; and 
 the reader, connubiallj' blest, must know how well married 
 ladies like such mistakes — how they absolutely court them. 
 
 The bride : a broken flower I Young, along life ahead, and 
 Hope, a corpse before her I Hope — the maiden's child — was 
 slain : the defunct would be buried on the morrow, near 
 Hymen's altai'. Miserable maid! Alone, amid the dazzling 
 fabric fashion piles about a bride elect, Maiy stood most 
 silently. Bankrupt at heart — what joy could god-gold bring 
 her? Her settled fate had wrought in her an even melan- 
 choly that, bit by bit, had plucked the rose from her cheek, 
 and, drop by drop, the sparking dew from her eyes. Grim 
 statue was she of pride-crushed love — grim picture of woman's 
 worst weakness. The morrow would see her the honoured 
 wife of a respected and royally descended man — she would 
 have a conspicuous place among her friends — she would, in 
 the gold-shot eye of the world, be somebody. Was not this a 
 pleasing, happy prospect ; or, at least, a cheerful route to one 
 iieavon-bound ? Look upon the still figure of Mary Maturin 
 and judge. 
 
 She kneels; in the dark silence of a starless midnight : her 
 sleek white hands are clasped together tightly, and the pure 
 blood reddens the extremities of her fingers: she nnu'murs 
 prayers, and looks upward keenly as though she saw her God, 
 and he were smiling on her. Her murmured words fall 
 sweetly upon the ear: the separate syllables arc inaudible, 
 but the worshipful murmurs have rapture in them. Why 
 prays she now in such choked syllables ? See ! hot tears
 
 153 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 trickle a-dowii her cheek, babbling her thoughts right mouru- 
 fullj. She is uuhappy ; but she has pride. The struggle is 
 past — she is erect, and the curl is upou her lip again. 
 
 Oh ! girl, 3'ou rose from prayers resolved upon a lie. You 
 asked support in sin. You were proud — you were loved by a 
 man of station. Loved ! you were endured ; you had the offer 
 of a wedding ring, and, as he gave that accepted gold-wire, a 
 man called himself your husband — used you as his wife — you, 
 the proud woman, too haughty to love ungilded manhood — and 
 what the sequel of your history ? You are with the angels 
 now, weak flower, and your story shall guide others : the end 
 shall be told presently. 
 
 Suffice it now that Mary is Mrs. Captain Grasy. Pass we 
 the wedding ceremonials in a few words. Mary is to love 
 O'Reilly Grasy, Captain, with a heart as dead as a mummy's. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 '•' There is often as much pride as love in a woman's nature." 
 
 On the morning of Grasy 's marriage Bi-asely and Henry 
 Gospitch met as usual at their employers' office. Henry was 
 in good spirits, and in an industrious humour — Brasely had a 
 headache. 
 
 "A friend of mine is to be turned off this morning, '"drawled 
 Bob, when he had exhausted the usual topics of conversation. 
 " He 's only four-and-twenty, isn"t it a pity ? " 
 
 Henry laughed, and asked the name of the victim. 
 
 "Oh! a military acquaintance," answered Bob pompously. 
 "Aw — Captain Grasy — very good family."' 
 
 " And he is only four-and-twenty," quoth Henry listlessly. 
 "What's the girl "s age?" 
 
 "That's all— the girl's age? Why, let me see, I should 
 say a good six-and- twenty ; they say she looks it, that 's all." 
 
 " Is the captain rich ? "' 
 
 " Not very. He gets money with the girl ; and I suspect 
 the money 's the chief point in the marriage. The captain is 
 fond of the yellow metal."
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 153 
 
 " Then you don't tliink lie cares much about her indivi- 
 dually, eh ? " 
 
 " I wouldn't undertake to say any thing of the sort, old 
 fellow ; but, between you and me, I have an idea that the 
 girl's purse is the point of attraction. I hear that she 's a 
 conceited bit of goods. In short, Gospitch, I don't believe 
 that my intimate friend Captain Grasy of the blues would en- 
 list in the greens by marrying Miss Maturin, an auctioneer's 
 daughter, \sithout she had plenty of " 
 
 " Hold, Brasely I as you value my friendship, I say hold ! " 
 shouted Henry passionately. "Miss Maturin is — I mean to 
 say — was a friend — a dear friend of mine." 
 
 " Nobody more willing to beg a friend's pardon when he 
 knows he 's in the wrong than Robert Brasely, he flatters 
 himself; ' and Bob grasped Henry's hand very earnestly and 
 very tightly. " I 've never seen the girl, Gospitch, so you 
 can't blame me." 
 
 " Does Captain Grasy many her for the paltry hundreds 
 her brother in-law may give her ? " asked Plenry Gospitch 
 impatiently. 
 
 " Now look here, Gospitch. My esteemed friend. Captain 
 Grasy, is in no way responsible to any body ; he may marry 
 Miss Maturin or any one else if he please, and mthout asking 
 the approbation or consent of his bride's friends. Friends 
 are nobodies on such occasions." 
 
 " True, it rests with Miss ^laturin and her chosen husband," 
 agreed Henry. He felt that he was powerless in the matter. 
 
 Bob had a new subject of conversation, and a large fund of 
 remarks to give thereon. " For instance, old fellow," he said, 
 familiarly, " suppose you had a sister, and I were engaged to 
 her, do you think for a moment that I, Robert Brasely, would 
 condescend to notice any objections her friends might think 
 proper to make to the match ? What would her marriage or 
 mine have to do with them ? If the two parties concerned, by 
 some odd coincidence, agreed, well and good ; I 'd be as deaf as 
 an undertaker to the impertinent hubbub of her long-tongued 
 relations. You know, and I do if you don't, that the old ones 
 are always tremendously saintly and overbearing when there 's 
 any marriage afloat. For instance, when my sister Susan had 
 been married about two months, I happened to meet with aa 
 old fellow who had met my father and mother once or twice. 
 
 II 3
 
 154 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 This elderly man was celebrated for a certain peculiarity of 
 dress, an enormous shirt collar, a fur-bound coat, &c. ; he was 
 fond of having a finger in every thing ; he addressed me rather 
 sharply, and I answered, as became the dignity of a Brasely, 
 whereupon he gave me to understand that he did not approve 
 of my sister's marriage, it had'nt his sanction. Now I have 
 never discovered to this day what the deuce this meddlesome 
 old buffer had to do with Susan's wedding." 
 
 Bob was right or wrong in his opinion, Henry cared not to 
 weigh the justice of it ; he had other thoughts struggling 
 within him. Miss Maturin was a nonentity now to our hero, 
 but any disrespectful mention of one who had been so dear to 
 him smote upon liis heart ; and lie could not forbear recalling 
 her image, and blending with that stricken image a gush of 
 purest pity. He was now assured that pride had curdled the 
 blood of the maiden's heart; had, as Pdchter has it, "squeezed 
 the red rose into a white one." 
 
 Henry's altered affection allowed him to contemplate the 
 fate of his former mistress with a calmness that added unto 
 the soundness of his philosophy. She has her wish, he 
 thought ; lier pride is satisfied to the utmost. Her heart 
 lacks the earnestness which enthusiastic affection demands. 
 She will be happy with the captoin ; they will be courteously 
 indifferent towards each other, and her feeble mind will have 
 its full load of affection — it is incapable of more love. 
 
 On the evening of Mary's marriage Henry made a cheap 
 dinner, and was home early. Bob pressed him to be one of a 
 party on the river, but, recollecting his poverty, our hero was 
 obliged to refuse. Let it not be supposed that Gospitch was 
 in easy circumstances. He had a certain appearance to main- 
 tain at the office, and he had to feed and lodge himself upon 
 eighty pounds per annum, about thirty shillings per week! 
 His principles of economy were hardly taxed. He could not 
 afford more than two coats a year ; and many times when his 
 employers imagined that he was filling their ledgers, was he 
 engaged diligently inking the seams of his coat with the 
 feather of his pen. It was a hard matter, too, to keep pace 
 with Brasely ; for Bob had a marvellous liking for sausage- 
 rolls, meat-patties, ginger-beer, soda-water, and other delicacies 
 of this kind, and would insist that they should send for one of 
 these dainties by way of luncheon. Bob was not rich, but he
 
 THE DISGHACE TO THE FAMILY. 155 
 
 had no thought beyond the present — no hope to teach hira 
 thrift ; and so he contrived to make a tolerable figure on his 
 salary of one hundred and twenty pounds per annum. 
 
 It has already been written that Henry Gospitch was at 
 home betimes on Mary's nuptial day. The din of town was 
 annoying to one so absorbed in melancholy recollections of the 
 poor soul he had loved in vain. He still had lodging in the 
 home of the widow Grumblebum. When he reached the 
 door of his house he heard a discordant hubbub within. He 
 knocked, but still the clamour which Mrs. G. was distinctly 
 heard to maintain, her sound kings being exerted to the 
 utmost, went on ; and the lodger s laiock had no attention. 
 Again a rat-tat-tat echoed through the crazy tenement, and 
 then the internal hubbub subsided. The door was quickly 
 opened, revealing to our hero the panting form of his land- 
 lady. 
 
 " Mr. Gospitch ! Ah ! he "11 decide it, ]\Iiss Pods, he "11 
 decide it ! " gasped Mrs. Grumblebum. 
 
 " Ugh ! " groaned the maiden in the parlour. 
 
 "Oh! sir, you have come in the nick of time, you have," 
 continued the obese landlady. "You will be able to decide 
 in a minute, sir — you know what genteel society is sir — i/ou 
 were not burn and bred in low life." 
 
 Mrs. Grumblebum's words conveyed an insinuation ; in fact, 
 Mrs. G. meant to say that somebody she knew, not far off, 
 had been bom and bred in the manner in question. Pods 
 Avrithed under the satire of her friend. 
 
 "Well, madam," asked Henry Gospitch, "what is the 
 question now ? " 
 
 " Do step in just for a moment, sir ; you would so oblige me 
 if you would." 
 
 Henry complied. The parlour table was covered with 
 heaps of clothing ; two or three bandboxes stood here and 
 there irregularly ; the tea apparatus was upon the table too, 
 and the bread and liutter was smothered in the calico and 
 flannel; and that fair and lean specimen of the gentle sex, 
 who rejoiced in the distinguished nnme of Pods, sat, amid 
 this elegant confusion, a perfect picture of dignified scorn. 
 The maiden scarcely deigned to notice the entrance of (ios- 
 pitch — slie knew what was due to herself and to a certain 
 person whose reputation was now identified with her own. 
 
 "Now, my dear," quoth Mrs. Grumblebum, "we will ask
 
 150 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 Mr. Gospitcli whether, ■when a lady — I say a lady — is about 
 to bestow her hand upon a gentleman, she goes to church in 
 a veil three yards long, and with an ivy-wreath twined round 
 her head. Is it the thing, sir ?" 
 
 " Why, I scarcely know indeed, Mrs. Grumblebum," an- 
 swered Henry. 
 
 A smile of triumph shone from the features of Miss Pods. 
 The dove-like maiden glanced furtively and disdainfully at 
 her friend, and contented herself with the following ob- 
 servation : " There now !" 
 
 " Don't know !" reiterated the landlady. " Bless my soul, 
 Mr. Gospitch, you must be joking ; j'ou, sir, who know 
 cai'riage people, not to know how a lady should dress herself 
 upon such an occasion ? Come, come, sir, you don't mean 
 that / lmow^" 
 
 " Who requires this information," asked Henry, " if I 
 may be allowed the inquiry ?" 
 
 "This lady," said Mrs. Gnimblebum, pointing to Miss 
 Pods, "is going to make a happy man of Mr. Grist— a gen- 
 tleman who has just established a good milk- walk on his 
 own account." 
 
 Miss Pods, thus alluded to, felt it her duty to make a 
 decided obeisance, which reverential feat she accomplished 
 by spasmodically dropping her head upon her chest— resum- 
 ing her pei'pendicular by means of a jerk. 
 
 " May I be allowed to congratulate you upon the forth- 
 coming festivity?" vouchsafed our hero. 
 
 " Certainly, sir ; no objection in the least," simpered the 
 betrothed of Mr. Grist. 
 
 "This is the ^/-ifsso, sir !" observed the widow as she dis- 
 played the heap of calico, muslin, ribbon, etc., including the 
 bandboxes, before Gospitch. " This is Mr. Grist's wedding 
 present to Miss Pods !" and Mrs. Grumblebum held up an 
 enormous wreath of ivy, to which the veil, which had shocked 
 the widow's notions of gentility, was attached. " The veil 
 isn't so bad," urged Mrs. G., "but the ivy isn't at all the 
 thing, in my own humble opinion ; and I 've seen plenty of 
 mamages in my time." 
 
 " I like it, and that 's enough !" exclaimed Miss Pods an- 
 grily- 
 
 " Then there 's an end of the matter : if you 're a fright, 
 my dear, and people laugh and say what a vulgar dress, and
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 157 
 
 talk, and giggle, and gossip at your expense, don't blame 
 me, that 's all ; don't say I didn t advise j^ou in the matter ! 
 I've been brought up with different notions I m. thankful to 
 be able to say ; I know what 's what I" 
 
 " Well, I s'pose next jou "11 say that a red dress with blue 
 and yellow shot trimmings isn't proper ?" 
 
 " Oh ! pardon me, pardon me," interposed the obsequious 
 widow, '-I admire your taste so far, and am willing to bend 
 to it, but " 
 
 " And the bunch of hops in my bonnet, that I 'm going to 
 Gravesend in; T s'pose that's vulgar?" 
 
 " On the contrary, my dear ; it 's becoming, mightily be- 
 coming." 
 
 "And my blue gloves, I s'pose they are unsuitable ?" 
 
 " Why, they 're certainly odd, but nobody 'd notice them ; 
 but the veil and ivy ! I tell you again, dear, as I 've told 
 you a hundred times before, such things are only fit for a 
 young girl. They don't do for middle-aged people." 
 
 " I know," retorted Miss Pods, " they wouldn't suit you, 
 for instance, my dear. If you were in my place it would 
 alter the case entirely." 
 
 "Stuff! stuff! Miss Pods," argued Mrs. Grumblebum, 
 " I don't disguise my age ; I 'm thirty-nine come next January, 
 and you were born in the following May ; the difference is 
 very slight you see, my dear ! " 
 
 " I 'm a maiden," asserted Pods, and pride spake in her 
 speech. 
 
 "Who said you were not, my dear?" gently asked the 
 widow. "And I'm a respectable married woman ; where 's 
 the difference ? I got married before I was twenty, and you 
 never had an offer till you were thirty-eight and past. Come, 
 I think 1 'm the better off of the two." 
 
 " Ugh ! I don't know that ; / 'm particular in my choice. 
 Some people are not," insinuated the Grist-loving Pods. 
 
 "Particular! Well, I like that! I should like to know 
 which is the best ; a milk-walk — serving ha'porths to a set of 
 low people — or a respectable pork-butcher, in a large and 
 respectable way of business?" 
 
 The entrance of the husband elect here put a stop to this 
 feminine jar. Miss Pods's face softened wonderfully as her 
 betrothed shuffled into the parlour ; but Mrs. Grumblebum,
 
 158 THE DISGBACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 ■vN'lio luul 110 ol)ject to gain by lier smiles, cliose to keep on 
 her best frown until further notice. 
 
 Grist looked uncomfortably clean. His face yet glowed 
 with a vigorous and unusual towelling, and his hair was 
 plastered down either side of his physiognomy most effectu- 
 ally. He was by no means an ill-looking fellow. He was a 
 robust, fat-cheeked, good-natured looking workman, with 
 short coarse sandy hair and whiskers to match ! He was 
 not tall, but he was squarely built ; he had a* good shoulder 
 for milkpails. He had wonderful hands. He declared con- 
 fidentially to Miss Pods that he had applied at seven shops 
 before he got gloves large enough to tit him, and he could 
 not bend his hands in the pair he did get. But the reader 
 will be tired of Miss Pods and her young man. Well, they 
 shall now be left to wedded bliss, and the privacy of their 
 present conjugal circle of two shall not be again intruded 
 upon. 
 
 Gospitch sat out some hours with the above amusing party ; 
 and when he retired for the night he was half convinced that 
 woman's nature was composed of an equal mixture of pride 
 and love.
 
 THE DISGBACE TO THE FAMILY. 159 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MATRIMONIAL SPECULATIOKS. 
 
 " Do Clubs injure the Progress of Marriage]" 
 
 Miss Dinah Jackson's indignant Letter. 
 
 Leaving awhile llie busy hum of London life, the reader 
 shall (if he will follow the writer) be led to Clapham— to 
 the quiet homeliness of Carnation Cottage. And though he 
 will he introduced to two young and pretty women, he will 
 iievertheless hear nothing of nymphs and goddesses. His 
 patience shall not be taxed with well-worn similes, intro- 
 ducing Damons and Strephons, Dianas and Minervas, Hebes 
 and Auroras ; neither shall he be wearied with an account of 
 the faithlessness of a Phillis, nor the life-long woe of an 
 Amaiyllis ; he shall hear of two mortal women — two pretty 
 feminine creatures — human and not celestial— resident at 
 Clapham— not cradled in hyacinthine bowers. Does he like 
 the prospect?— if so, let him follow from the next line; 
 if not, pass on to the ne.\t chapter. 
 
 To paint a quiet homestead is a difficult matter. It is 
 easy to detail the varying scenes of a company-giving family ; 
 but to impart much interest to the monotonous ceremonials 
 of people "who live very quietly," is a task that demands a 
 large fund of sentiment and imagination. It is not every 
 body wdio can put sentiment in a warming-pan. or let their 
 imagination run riot among the household crockery. Pots 
 and pans are extremely useful, but very unromantic adjuncts 
 to domestic economy. Omitting, then, any mention of the 
 furniture and fixtures of Carnation Cottage, the inmates of 
 that habitation shall at once be introduced. 
 _ Marian was gathering strength daily. Early hours, judi- 
 cious exercise, and the even tenour of her life were restoring 
 her to her natural state of health. What a ha])))y picture 
 was Marian at this time! The active spirit within her gave 
 an intelligent lire to her expression ; the bloom of woman's
 
 160 THE DISGKACE TO THE FAMILY, 
 
 spring was again gathering upon her cheek ; her whole frame 
 (to use an uuromantic metaphor) was undergoing thorough re- 
 pair; Nature, that effective handmaiden, the willing mender! 
 It was the happy task of Dinah to watch her sister's gradual 
 resuscitation. And if from the dark depths of sanctified 
 soil Gaps could have arisen to see the flower he had plucked 
 takintr unto itself new root and a new bloom, he would have 
 heen thankful that his errors had not sent two sweet souls to 
 a premature grave. 
 
 The unloved Dinah, though certainly stout, had not grown 
 so ■s\'ith fretting. Dinah had the enviable talent of adapting 
 herself cheerfully to any circumstances — any fate save one — 
 and this was old maidenhood. Old maidenhood! — that baiie 
 of marriageable womankind — that torpid and contemptuous 
 state so suggestive of ridicule to the " nobler animal " — 
 Dinah could not contemplate with patience or Christian 
 resignation. She would have gone to the West Indies or 
 among the wildest Indians, if a husband had been promised, 
 "for certain," when she arrived. Men! men! where were 
 you all when this elegant and impetuous female specimen 
 sighed for gold-wire and a wedding-dress ? Years had passed, 
 and yet the wooers had not made their appearance : miser- 
 able Dinah ! The buoj^ant spirit of young life had somewhat 
 subsided in the heart of the disappointed woman: the oft- 
 renewed dream of wedded happiness had ended in a dream : 
 Hope — the bright angel of her waking thoughts — had not per- 
 formed his promise ; and now Despair sat in the stead of faith- 
 less Hope — alack! a miserable substitute, Dinah, for the spi- 
 lit-giving angel. Life must have some object. Hope must 
 be at the elbow of humanity in some shape. To Dinah Hope 
 had shown a husband — deceived in this vision (the happiest 
 of her life) she naturally bade the deceiver change habit; 
 and the obedient spirit presently appeared clad in print, and 
 beckoned her to seize pen, ink, and paper, and give shape 
 unto her thoughts. She obeyed, as the editors of magazines 
 can testify. 
 
 Foolish, ill-advised woman ! Soured by adverse circum- 
 stances, why vent your spleen in verse ? why soak your 
 vinegar into the innocent heads of inoffensive individuals? 
 It was well to shake off the remembrance of your lonely 
 destiny — but why tell the world of your misfortunes ? There 
 is no moral in your history (pardon the familiarity) — you have
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAOTLY. 161 
 
 set no -wonrlerful example of patience — why write, tlien — -why 
 thrust upon an aching woiid more woe ? 
 
 You do not instruct, neither do you entertain ; you sadden 
 your reader only. When he has finished your paper, he sighs, 
 " Poor thing ! " and tosses the magazine into the paper-basket. 
 You have not informed him, you have not amused him, you 
 have made him dull and weary of lais children's laughter. 
 Advocate the social advancement of woman if you please, but 
 do not thrust upon an inattentive world a long list of your 
 grievances. Every man has his pet grievance ; and every wo- 
 man has her pet wrong ; but what woeful state of things it 
 would be if every man and every woman in the kingdom were 
 to print his or her grievance ! Booksellers might as well publish 
 " Grievances for the Million," or, " Unhappiness Made Easy," 
 at once. Why send to the editor of the " Dummy Gazette " 
 the following useless complaint? It served no end. Men 
 will not marry because ladies object to clubs. They will 
 not submit to be dragged to the altar like so many sheep. 
 They will do as they like depend upon it. Then, why, 
 my dear Miss Dmah Jackson, w4iy write this unnecessary 
 complaiut? 
 
 " TO THE EDITOR OF THE DUMMY GAZETTE." 
 
 " Sir — I am sure you will give some of your valuable space 
 to the sad complaint of a young lady. I am very young, sir, 
 and I think I may say, without egotism, of rather prepossess- 
 ing appearance. I have been well brought up. I can play 
 the pianoforte, sing tolerably well, speak pure French, work 
 fancy-work tastefully ; in short, I am well versed in ail the ac- 
 complishments young ladies usually have. I am certain my 
 temper is good, and they tell me I have rather a fascinating 
 manner. I am innocent, sir, as the most juvenile lamb, and 
 liave an excellent complexion, and a profusion of dark hair, 
 which curls naturally. Well, sir, I now come to my story. 
 Would you believe it, with all these advantages I have not 
 had an offer for the last two years? When I was a giddy, 
 foolish girl, I had plenty of lovers; but, of course, I did 
 not mean to marry them ; they were young, houseless men, 
 averaging from twenty to twenty-four years of age : they were 
 very well to flirt with at a ball, l)ut not sufficiently advanced 
 in the woild to make eligible husbands. Years, Mr. Editor, 
 passed, and gradually I found myself abandoned by these
 
 163 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 YOiin« admirers. I then began to tliink tliat I had scarcely 
 used tbeni well ; but it was too late for repentance, tbey had 
 fled for ever. ' Where can they be gone to, now ? ' thought I 
 to myself. I was soon relieved of any doubt upon the subject. 
 I found that they had, one and all, become members of a club. 
 Now, what I wish you to advocate is — the total abolition of 
 all cluh-houses, for they are the bane of women. The homes 
 of England, sir, will be abandoned if these places are not 
 speedily abolished ; in fact, men will have no homes to leave, 
 and, then, a pretty state the country will be in ! I attri- 
 bute my ill-success in my matrimonial expectations to those 
 wretched institutions, and I am sure, sir, you are too gal- 
 lant to wish ladies to be left at home while a parcel of 
 men are enjoying themselves in a private public-house (for 
 these club-houses are neither more nor less than taverns). 
 Do put down this nuisance immediately, and you will oblige 
 " Yoiu' constant reader, 
 
 " Dinah. 
 
 " [P.S. I inclose my card, so that you may be able to send 
 me a copy of your journal when this is printed in it.]" 
 
 You complain that the editor of the " Dummy Gazette " 
 did not insert your epistle ; but consider this, Miss Dinah 
 Jackson, the editor has perhaps a hundred such letters every 
 •week; and if he attended to the advice of all his corre- 
 spondents, he would be compelled to advocate the abolition 
 of every thing and every body— his own journal included. 
 
 Henry Gospitch had not seen Marian since the day he 
 dined with Mr. Jackson, but he had been with her often in 
 thought. She struggled to free herself from thoughts of him, 
 but love had eventual victory in the battle. Weeks wore on : 
 she trimmed her flower-garden daily ; she walked out daily ; 
 and dreamed of Henry at night. Now and then her mother 
 and father called, and spent the evening with herself and 
 Dinah ; but, with this exception, no friends appeared at 
 Carnation Cottage. 
 
 Poor Dinah! how was she likely to find a husband? 
 It was very pleasant employment trimming the pliant tendrils 
 of the vine, or watering the roses and fuchsias in the even- 
 ing, after a hot rainless day; but the task lacked sentiment 
 in the absence of gentlemen : there ought to be a gallant 
 
 ^r%i
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 163 
 
 ever ready to fill the watering-pot aud pump the water. 
 ]Marian saw but one want — the presence of our hero. 
 
 " Marian," said Dinah one day, "it's strange Mr. Gospitch 
 hasn't called ; don't you tliink so '? " 
 
 " I told him plainly I was not in a position to receive him," 
 answered Marian coldly. 
 
 " But he might have called— he might have left his card, 
 at all events ; it "s the least he could have done." 
 
 " He may he engaged all day," suggested Marian. 
 ." He should make time." 
 
 " His business may have tied him to town," pleaded the 
 young widow. 
 
 " Where there 's a will, there 's a way." 
 
 " A thousand things may have occurred to prevent his 
 coming," said Marian. 
 
 " Ah ! Well, / wouldn't put up with such an inattentive 
 lover — that 's all I 
 
 " What, Dinah ! Mr. Gospitch, my lover ! " exclaimed the 
 startled sister. 
 
 " Now, don't deny it, Marian — you know you like him I 
 I saw his name scribbled fifty times about your blotting paper, 
 and I saw a large H. G. in pencil on the back of last week's 
 washing-bill in your handwriting — so its no use telling 7iie 
 Tou don't think of him." 
 
 '• Well, Dinah ! " inteqwsed Marian. 
 
 " That 's not all. Wednesday's shower has brought the Vir- 
 ginia stocks up — accidentally^ I suppose, in the form of 
 H. G. '? You planted the seed, Marian ! " 
 
 Dinah's accusations were true enough. Marian's blotting- 
 case was scribbled upon as described; the washing-bill was 
 endoi-sed as above stated ; and the stocks, obedient to the 
 fair hand of their mistress, showed our hero's initials in full 
 blossom. 
 
 /m.
 
 164 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A MOON OF HONEY AND VINEGAB. — THE GKASYS AT PARIS. 
 
 "Now the Kilmansegg Moon — it must be told — 
 Though instead of silver is tipt with gold — ■ 
 Shone rather wan, and distant, and cold. 
 And before its days were at thirty, 
 Such gloomy clouds began to collect. 
 With an ominous ring of ill effect. 
 As gave but too much cause to expect 
 Such weather as seamen call dirty !" — Hool). 
 
 Captain Geasy and Maiy, his wife, went to Paris to spend 
 the honeymoon. Yes, the moon of honey was to be passed 
 in the heart of holiday-loving Paris. A gay, congenial at- 
 mosphere is in the spirit of Parisian doings; happiness, in 
 broad open letters, is written upon the featnres of every man, 
 woman, and child therein ; and a cloudless sky of a month's 
 duration helps to realize a young girl's dream of honeymoon 
 elysium. There is profound and honest rapture in behold- 
 ing the glories of triumphant art on the grand place worthily 
 called De la Concorde — hand in hand with an idolized 
 woman I The spirit soars beyond human ambitions, and 
 drinks of life's most honied fountain. Love is in its utmost 
 purity, and in its greatest strength. Moon of lioney — of 
 intense delight — of heaven-descending bliss to those whose 
 interchange of hearts is complete ! The heart, open with 
 the depth of its love, receives more deeply the new impres- 
 sions which the grandeur of Paris always gives in a greater 
 or lesser degree to the stranger. Few have stood under the 
 Arc de Triomphe unmoved ; few have looked down the long 
 vista of trees which leads to the palace-gates without feeling 
 that human art has magic and magnificent creations. 
 
 Palais du Louvre — shrine of genius : Pantheon — " Aux 
 Grands Hommes la Patrie Reconnaissante " — grand as the
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 165 
 
 sepulchre of Voltaire and Eousseau — grand as a national 
 recognition of French wisdom : Notre Dame — sombre miser, 
 •within whose porch the vain trophies of Napoleon's pride lie 
 rotting ; where, framed in mimeasured gold, is shown a 
 splinter of the " original cross ;" where (for a franc) the tra- 
 veller may behold the " sainted cloak" of the great Emperor : 
 canon-built column of the Place Vendome — grim monument 
 of human bloodshed : and gorgeous Madeleine, of gilded 
 celebrity, where the good meek queen of the crafty Philippe 
 devoutly kneels : — your histories and intrinsic magnificence 
 have warmed the souls of many Englishmen. And you, 
 Maiy Grasy, were you happy amid the magnificence of the 
 French capital ? With the gallant captain's arm to rest 
 upon by day, the gallant captain your shield by night, were 
 you happy ? You had the luxuries pertaining to the aristo- 
 crat ; you were superbly attended, and your husband was 
 zealously attentive. He humoui'ed your lightest fancy, was 
 obedient to your Avishes always ; he flattered you, and he 
 held himself your footstool ; and were jon happy '? 
 
 Mary, you were as happy as you desers'ed to be ; you gave 
 your husband your hand when you had no heart to give him. 
 Could you expect delight with the mere tool of your re- 
 venge; he was not your husband, he was only part of a 
 plot conceived in your oato weak brain, the object of which 
 was vengeance — the bitter vengeance demanded by your 
 wounded pride. You were severely taxed, Mary ; your case 
 was fitted for a firm and noble mind only. You lacked 
 heroism; you lacked strength of affection. That you failed 
 in these virtues was, perliaps, no fault of yours ; you were 
 badly schooled and naturally weak-brained. You did not 
 understand the wrong you did Captain Grasy when you 
 raari'ied him, or you would not have perjured yourself at the 
 parish altar ; you did not understand that you would perjure 
 yourself, or you would not have gone to church at all with 
 the captain. Your fault was the fault of a weak mind ill 
 trained in its youth ; your life was the natural consequence 
 of your girlhood. Your beauty added to the sadness of 
 your fate ; had you been a plain-looking woman you had 
 never married Grasy. He married your dark blue eyes — 
 your delicate complexion — your pretty petite figure — not you 
 ■ — a creature with a heaven-soaring soul ; and you married
 
 16G THK DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 his boasted station, not liis heart and intelligence : you were 
 2')erhaps ■svortliily matched. 
 
 Captain Grasy had not been married above a fortnight 
 when he discovered that it was necessary for a man of the 
 world to mix in scenes unfit for the presence of a lady. He 
 considered that a man was not half a man who did not enter 
 into the sterner doings of life and hold converse with his 
 brethren. Women were "darlings "in their proper places' 
 and at jiroper times, but a man was a milksop, a nonentity, 
 who could not shake off their fascinating influence for a 
 time, and engage in the manlier amusements of the age. 
 
 On the other hand, the Irish captain believed that it was 
 the first duty of every gentleman to hold himself the ser- 
 vant of " the ladies " at all times ; he therefore chose such 
 times as would otherwise have been unemployed (save in 
 converse with his wife) for a limited indulgence in " manly 
 society and amusement." Mary was not hurt at this con- 
 duct ; she scarcely missed Grasy. 
 
 Four weeks soon passed, and behold the Grasys an or- 
 dinary man and wife ! The husband was imbued with a 
 gallantry towards the sex which he displayed at all times to 
 his wife. For instance, he never went out without having 
 asked Mrs. Grasy whether she would require his company 
 for a walk or the theatre ; but she seldom took advantage of 
 this attention ; she seldom troiihled him. The captain was 
 delighted to find his lady so quiet, and he took advantage of 
 her licence. He had made the acquaintance of some ques- 
 tionable characters on the Boulevards, and he was con- 
 stantly with them. So quiet and unassuming was his wife, 
 that he soon forgot to ask her permission ere he sallied forth 
 to -. 
 
 Mary's aristocratic notions had undergone a change in 
 the past few weeks of married life. She found that it was 
 no easy task to live with a man she scarcely liked. At first, 
 the novelty of her position, and the consideration paid to 
 her bj^ her friends, reconciled her to the step she had taken : 
 but when the novelty had worn off, and she saw herself 
 linked for life to a man whose position only she had coveted, 
 her heart was sick, and her pride was quenched, for she had 
 mistaken degradation for triumph. When she fully under- 
 stood this, the sight of Grasy was unwelcome to her, and his
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 167 
 
 gallantry offensive familiaritj'. She cared not how long he 
 was away ; his return would bring no happiness to her ; he 
 might be with his friends ; he was more welcome to them 
 than to her. 
 
 One night, about half-past eleven, a man entered the 
 hotel where the Grasys were staying, and asked for the 
 captain's lady. The captain's lady had retired for the night. 
 The messenger's business, however, admitted of no delay ; 
 he must see Madam Grasy ; he had a communication to 
 make to her on the part of her husband which was of the 
 utmost importance. 
 
 This pressing message was delivered to the lady in ques- 
 tion : she dressed hei'self, and received the messenger. The 
 man delivered to her a note in Grasv's handwriting ; it ran 
 as follows : — 
 
 " Dear Mary, — Send me the money you will find in my 
 dressing-case : without it I cannot get away from the den in 
 which I now am forcibly detained. 
 
 " Your loving husband, 
 
 " Grasy." 
 
 Maiy read this letter and trembled — trembled for the 
 first time on her husband s account. She obeyed his orders, 
 and dismissed the messenger with the money. So thorough, 
 however, was her indifference, that in a few moments she was 
 sufficiently composed to fall into a deep sleep. Two long 
 dark night-hours crept on, and again a man presented him- 
 self to the hotel porter, rec^uesting an interview with Ma- 
 dam Grasy. Again did Maiy rise from her bed, and again 
 did she give audience to her Imsband's messenger. The man 
 handed her a letter from the captain ; it ran as follows : — 
 
 " Darling Mary, — Whatever money you may have send 
 per bearer. I must have 3,000 francs ; if you haven't the 
 money, give the fellow the diamond brooch and bracelet I 
 gave you — any thing to make up the sum — I must have it. 
 
 " Your doting husband, 
 
 " Gkasy." 
 
 Mary was fairly bewildered. However, she did as she was
 
 1G8 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 desired. She gave the man two thirty pound notes and her 
 brooch and bracelet, and then ventured to ask him where the 
 cajitain "was. 
 
 " Jl joue, madame," answered the fellow, as he withdrew 
 precipitately. 
 
 " Cards !" gasped the wife ; she scarcely understood the 
 full iniquity of the practice, yet had she an indistinct idea 
 of some foul and bad amusement enjoyed by wicked men, 
 and called " cards !" Cards were the gambler's weapons • 
 she knew, but she knew not .exactly wherein the badness of 
 the gambler's profession lay. The thought came upon her 
 like a lightning-stroke — she had married a gambler — a man 
 ■who would be scouted in London when his profession became 
 kno"wn. Her indifference was now hatred. She had been 
 cheated, but only as she herself had cheated her deceiver. It 
 occurred to her now, for the first time, that her husband had 
 pi'obably married her in the fond hope that she would have a 
 moderate mari'iage portion from her brother-in-law ; tliis fear 
 added to the bitterne? s of her position. She resolved to have 
 a full understanding with her husband on his return ; she 
 "would know exactly what she had to expect from him, and 
 •VN'hat he expected with her. She did not return to her bed, but 
 rested on the sofa to await the advent of the captain. She 
 dozed at intervals, but she could not sleep. Horrible visions 
 haunted her. There was but one taper burning in the apart- 
 ment, and tliat was near her, so that the further end of the 
 heavily furaished room was enveloped in a deep gloom. In 
 this gloom Mary saw indistinct shadows of cards and fighting 
 men ; and then cards again ; and then as she dosed she 
 fancied she beheld Grasy in a prison, and she awoke to the 
 imaginary clank of chains. These wild forebodings finally 
 exhausted her, and she was lapsing into a heavy sleep, when 
 a hand upon the door-handle awoke her, and her husband 
 bvu'st into the room. 
 
 Grasy was not prepared for an interview with his wife 
 — he had hoped to find her fast asleep. He started when he 
 found that she was awake to see him. 
 
 " Mai*y ! Up at this hour ? " stammered the captain. 
 
 " I have been twice called from my bed by your messages, 
 captain, and I didn't choose to risk further disturbance, so I 
 have waited your return here," answered Mary, firmly.
 
 / / / 
 
 V/y>
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 109 
 
 " Well, ye can get to bed now," quoth tlie captain, ang)-ily. 
 " Stay a moment," he added, " haven't ye any more money 
 with ye besides those two notes ?" 
 
 " I haven't another farthing in the world," declared Mary, 
 boldly. 
 
 The cloud upon tlie captain's brow — the clenching of his 
 teeth, and the blow inflicted on the table by the officer's fist, 
 significantly declared the bitterness of the man's dissappoint- 
 ment. Mary s fears were confirmed fully. 
 
 " Now don't be concealing any thing from me Mary," said 
 Grasy, sternly. " Do you mean to tell me that your friends 
 have had the audacity to marr}- you to me. Captain Grasy, 
 without giving you something in the shape of a marriage por- 
 tion — do you mean to say this on your oath?" 
 
 The wife shook with fright; she answered faintly — " I do." 
 
 " Ten thousand curses on ye, and on all your kith and kin!" 
 bellowed Grasy. " You 've desaved me, ye have. Now mind 
 tliis, ]\Irs. Captain Grasy, for the future we 're on a different 
 footing altogether. You're my wife by a fraud, so you needn't 
 be too proud of your name." 
 
 " Captain Grasy," Mary proudly made answer, " I have not 
 deceived you, sir, as you have wronged me. You married me 
 because you loved me you said — not for the wealth I might 
 have. You told a falsehood, captain." 
 
 "Zounds, madam!" thundered the captain, foaming with 
 wrath. 
 
 " You have acted your part well, sir, hitherto, but now you 
 sadly betray your real nature. Your assumed character, cap- 
 tain, is better tlian your natural one — you had at least the 
 bearing of a gentleman." 
 
 " Madam !" shouted the enraged Irishman. 
 
 " One moment, captain, you hoped to l)e dependent on me, 
 and. -tliough you shall l^e spared so humiliating a position, you 
 shall not be burdened with me : I can return to my friends 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " You shall do no such tiling, Mrs. Grasy," bellowed the 
 choleric captain ; " here you remain as long as I please — I 
 can tell you tliat, madam." 
 
 Without adding another word Mary withdrew from her 
 husband's presence. 
 
 The captain was not the abandoned cliaracter his wife be- 
 
 I
 
 170 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 lieved him. He had a small income, aud he did not live by cards. 
 He teas of good family, though his blood was any thing but 
 gentle. But some allowance should be made to him on the 
 score of his profession. Captains are always choleric : who 
 ever saw a captain that was not '' They must live upon horse- 
 radish and port wine : they ai'e always ruddy and frowning. 
 Grasy, on the evening in question, was " a little gone," as 
 housemaids have it, when speaking respectfully of their 
 masters' intoxication. On the morrow he had but a dim re- 
 collection of what had passed yesternight. He did, however, 
 remember that he had spoken disrespectfully to his wife, and, 
 spite of the emptiness of her purse, he begged she would forgive 
 liim his ill-behaviour. At the breakfast table Mary's red eye- 
 lids told her husband eloquently how he had hurt her — 
 trampled upon her self-respect — her pride. He sought to 
 sooth her ; and she, glad to see so complete a change in his 
 manner, was comforted. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 IS DEVOTED TO THE DE GOSriTCHES. 
 
 Mrs. De Gospitch was pleased to see her sister so " well 
 settled in life." To direct the wedding cards was delightful 
 pastime. " Captain and Mrs. Grasy!" — the names looked 
 well upon an enamelled card, with silver bows ! And the 
 kissing doves upon the silver wafers — how well they looked ! 
 and the powdered footman who was ordered to deliver the 
 " at homes " at the superscribed addresses, did he not look 
 like an aristocrat's servant ? De Gospitch took little interest 
 in these proceedings ; and when he did condescend to deliver 
 an opinion, his manner was so very pati'onizing and careless, 
 that his wife finally determined not to pay him the compli- 
 ment of asking his advice for the future. For instance, when 
 she showed him the cooing doves upon the envelope, aud re-
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 171 
 
 marked upon tlie beauty aiid felicity of tlie design, lie bluntly 
 answered, " Fighting cocks would have been more appro- 
 priate."' And to prove the utter injustice of this remark, the 
 ■\nfe flew into a great passion, and vowed that her husband was 
 a perfect brute — an unsympathizing block of a man ! 
 
 These tart connubial bickerings in no way resembled angels' 
 visits in their repetition ; they were rather the vinegar and 
 mustard of the De Gospitch life — the sauce that made the in- 
 sipidity of their conjugal existence a little palatable. Some 
 people love quarrels; they plunge head and ears into a red-hot 
 broil with a relish at once invigorating and decided. They 
 never mince matters — they declare that they will always 
 " have it out at once ;"' they are easily provoked, and not 
 easily pacified ; they enjoy to its fullest extent the luxury of 
 a protracted quarrel, provided the said quarrel be not allowed 
 to slumber : they delight in active hatred : they thrust their 
 disagreements down the tlu'oats of their friends without 
 mercy ; and they have an inexhaustible vocabulary of strongly 
 seasoned epithets, and they fight miserably. Wasps in the 
 domestic hive, they embitter the little honey to be found in 
 every home where love is. The De Gospitches never seriously 
 quarrelled, that is to say, they never tallied of a separation ; but 
 their lives gave strength to the belief that these little disagree- 
 ments, when they occur often, are, as Andersen has it beau- 
 tifully — " The drops that wear the rock." 
 
 " There 's a load off my mind now Maiy 's married," said Mrs. 
 Gospitch to her husband on the morrow of the marriage day ; 
 " she was the cause of great anxiety to me — very great 
 anxiety." 
 
 " Ah !'' responded her husband, and he shrugged his shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 " I shall hear from Mary the day after to-morrow — I con- 
 fess I am anxious to know what she thinks of her husband — 
 though, if one gives the matter one moment's thought, it will 
 be evident that she can only be transported with delight. He 
 is so good-looking — so very gentlemanly." 
 
 " Ah!" again observed De Gospitch, mysteriously. 
 
 " She hjoked wonderfully well, J thought — did slic not?" 
 
 Ye-es, ' drawled the husband, " she didn't look bad. ' 
 
 " Ugh ! I know what it is to expect praise from you, De 
 Gospitch. I should as soon think of meeting with politeness 
 in a costermonger."
 
 172. THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 " You forget yourself, Susan," proudly retorted De Gos- 
 pitch, as he took up the morning paper ; a delicate hint that 
 he did not wish for further conversation with his lady. 
 
 The lady, thus quietly rebuked, was suddenly seized with an 
 irresistible desire to practise her music. It was an odd coin- 
 cidence that these musical fits only came upon her at such 
 moments as the present. It was strange, too, that her voice, 
 upon these occasions only, had double strength — and that the 
 music was marked fortissimo ! But there are many coinci- 
 dences in life more remarkable than this. When the musical 
 wife had closed the^ piano, her husband quietly informed her 
 of the marriage of the Honourable Doodle Do with Miss Sarah 
 Snapps, of Snapps Hall, near Snappton. 
 
 " I thought she would have him !" said Mrs. De Gospitch, 
 gleefully. 
 
 "Ah, poor fellow!" sighed the sympathizing husband. 
 
 " Why poor fellow? Lucky fellow you mean." 
 
 " What! lucky in being tied to a fidgety flirt of a girl — a 
 pouting puppet with neither manners nor mone3^ He 11 soon 
 discover his mistake, mark me." 
 
 " How can you say so? She 's as elegant a person as you 
 could wish to see. For my part I 'm glad to see the girl had 
 enough firmness to shake off that upstart Ferguson (though 
 I 'm certain she liked him) ; she has married prudently de- 
 pend upon it." 
 
 " Well, it's their business, not ours. I hate these 
 schemers." 
 
 " I should like to know what sort of matches you do like." 
 
 " Not Lucifer matches. Not a bride and bridegroom with 
 falsehood in their hearts. Ugh ! Marriage is a bitter busi- 
 ness in such a case." 
 
 Mrs. De Gospitch, perhaps for the first time, left her 
 husband's rebuke unanswered. The rebuke really touched 
 a chord in her heart ; it went home to her, and made her sad 
 and thoughtful. 
 
 This thoughtful sadness was a bright moment in her life. 
 It was a serious self-communing that made her tremble ; that 
 turned her thoughts awhile from worldly matters to take note 
 of the world of goodly impulse dormant within her. She was 
 as an engineer who, having driven his machine recklessly on- 
 ward, suddenly bethinks himself of an injured crank ; he 
 would stay the engine, but, so great is his fear, that he lacks
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 170 
 
 the energy to prevent destniction, and so he is horue on to the 
 tenninus — to death. 
 
 A double knock rang through the house, and the curl was 
 again upon the lip of the mansion's mistress. 
 
 The individual whose knock restored to Mrs. De Gospitch's 
 lip what stitf paper only would give to her hair, was Mr. 
 Shakspeare Sheridan Jackson. He was gladly admitted to 
 the presence of the host and hostess ; any visitor was prefer- 
 able to a conjugal tete-a-tete. 
 
 The literary star of private life made his entrance with all the 
 importance of an emperor; he had come to read them the 
 prospectus of a paper which he was on the point of starting ; it 
 was to be called The Universal Luminary and European Ad- 
 vertiser. 
 
 Jackson made a point of reading his effusions to Mrs. De 
 Gospitch, and to De Gospitch if he could catch him at home. 
 Mrs. De Gospitch was flattered by this apparently high 
 opinion of her literary taste, and she generally gave the 
 author a sufiQcient dose of eulogy. 
 
 Shakspeare Jackson drew a sheet of paper from his pocket, 
 and, having conned it earnestly for a few minutes, said : — 
 
 " I haven't the least doubt of the success of the thing ; it 's 
 sure to go, but it 11 want a little careful working at first. See, 
 first we intend to issue ten thousand posters with — ' Buy the 
 Universal Luminary. Husbands buy yotir wives the Univer- 
 sal Luminary. Brothers buy your sisters the L^^niversal Lu- 
 minary. Grandmothers buy your grandchildren the Universal 
 Luminary. Uncles buy your nephews the Universal Lumi- 
 nary,' and so on. Other jottrnals have but half done the 
 thing — merely appealed to the fathers and brothers of the 
 kingdom ; now we shall appeal to the entire community, for 
 we intend to go through with the catalogue of relationship. 
 So you see our circulation is certain. We shall give informa- 
 tion for the gentler sex as well as for the nobler animal." 
 And the beneficent Jackson simpered as though he had 
 modestly spoken of a world-wide benefit he was about to con- 
 fer gratuitously. 
 
 " We shall," he continued, " devote space to the fashions 
 and court news, for it is our honest conviction that these sub- 
 jects are intimately connected with the refinement of her 
 Majesty's liege subjects."
 
 174 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 "What!" interrupted De Gospitcli, "you'll give long 
 descriptions of ball dresses and -wedding dresses, eli?" 
 
 " Certainly ; and we shall endeavour to improve popular 
 taste in these matters as far as possible." 
 
 " Well, now, I '11 give you an improvement to start wdth. 
 You know at weddings women wear orange flowers in their 
 bonnets, eh?" 
 
 " Graceful plant! Yes, well," simpered Shakspeare Jack- 
 son. 
 
 " I propose an alteration, and I make you a present of the 
 idea." 
 
 " Any suggestion from such a source will be valued indeed, 
 my dear Mi'. De Gospitch." 
 
 " It is, that nettles be substituted for orange flowers !" 
 
 " Ridiculous !" indignantly exclaimed the suggester's wife. 
 
 " Mr. De Gospitch, j^ou jest," remonstrated the sentimental 
 editor. 
 
 " It 's infinitely more appropriate very often, you must 
 own," said De Gospitch. 
 
 " You have no reason to say so, I know," minced the father 
 of the Universal Luminary, and he glanced at the wife of his 
 host. 
 
 " Ah!" sighed De Gospitch. He was now quite serious. 
 
 Shakspeare Jackson continued at great length to unfold the 
 stupendous j^lan that was to convulse the earth from pole to 
 pole. The Universal Luminary was to take the lead in poli- 
 tics, put down eveiy other weekly newspaper, restore the 
 nobles to their former pinnacle of unquestioned glory ; in fact 
 make 
 
 " L.1WS and learning, arts and science die, 
 Eut leave us still our old nobility." 
 
 The only literature that the Luminary would allow to exist 
 should be published in tlie Luniiiuuifs pages, the Luminary, 
 in short, was to be a " mental sun" to the wide world; for it 
 was to shine alone. 
 
 Alas ! for the vanity of all human hope, the Universal Lu- 
 minary never went beyond the first number ; and the frantic 
 editor vowed that public taste was " wofully vitiated." 
 
 Mr. Sheridan Jackson had scarcely concluded his histoi'y 
 of his forthcoming literary campaign, when a letter was handed
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 175 
 
 to Mrs. De Gospltch ; tlie lady saw the writing, and vowed that 
 she was gLid to see that it was from her dear sister. 
 
 " What does she say about marriage ?" asked Mr. De Gos- 
 pitch with a sneer. 
 
 Having read the letter, IMrs. De Gospitch declared that her 
 sister was in high spirits, spoke of her husband with affec- 
 tionate respect, and was in raptures with Paris. 
 
 " I thought Paris was, of all places, the one to suit the re- 
 fined taste of my sister." 
 
 " Paris is a delightful spot," said Sheridan Jackson, Esquire. 
 
 " I — I really think, and I've said so often, Mrs. De GoS' 
 pitch, that I could live and die in Paris. How grand is the 
 Place de la Concorde !" 
 
 " Ay, and Tortoni's ices !" interrupted Mr. De Gospitch. 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear," quoth the wife. " Don't be so sen- 
 sual, so unromantic. How can you think of ices at the same 
 time as the Place de la Concorde !" 
 
 " Well, my dear, didn't jon insist upon adjourning to Tor- 
 toni's before we had been two minutes on the Place '?" asked 
 the provoking lord of Mrs. De Gospitch. 
 
 " How can you say so ! " simpered the lady, and she smiled, 
 though in this case she felt that truth was ugly. 
 
 She quieted her husband by handing him her sister's letter, 
 assuring Mr. Jackson that she should be happy to play him a 
 quiet air if he would allow her husband to read Mrs. Grasy's 
 missive — the interesting nature of the occasion she was sm^e 
 would excuse the deviation from the strict form of etiquette. 
 Mr. Jackson contrived an assenting bow, and the hostess 
 forthwith commenced a "grand piece," while Mr. De Gos- 
 pitch leisurely perased the following: — • 
 
 " Paris, 
 
 " My dear Sister, — We arrived here yesterday afternoon, 
 after a tedious journey, fi-om Boulogne, of eighteen hours' 
 duration. Mr. Grasy is quite well, and desires his kind 
 regards to yourself and husband. And now, dear Susanna, 
 that I am married — that my fate is fixed for life, I am better 
 able to speak to you without reserve. You wish me to be 
 happy, very happy, I know you do ; you have been a good 
 friend and a dear sister to me, and yf)u cannot tell how much 
 I love you for your kindness. 
 
 " I hope I have not been imprudent in marrying upon such
 
 176 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 a short acquaintance — I 'don't tliink I have. I have nothing 
 to complain of in my husband — nothing whatever. He is 
 prodigiously attentive to me— he humours my lightest wish. 
 He never presumes to smoke or read in my presence without 
 liaving obtained my permission so to do; he is always ready 
 to adjust my shawl or move my seat for me; he carries my 
 parasol when we walk out, and he consults my taste when he 
 buys any thing. We have now been together constantly for 
 four days, and during this time I can confidently say that 
 Mr. Grasy has never given me the slightest reason to 
 quarrel with his behaviour towards me — he has been kindness 
 itself. 
 
 " We have had delicious weather — I do not think there has. 
 been a cloud above since we left London — we crossed a sea 
 as smooth as glass — all without has been propitious. I have 
 heeu perfectly well, and my old headache has entirely left 
 me. The air here is as pure as I can conceive air to be. 
 Paris, with its million of wonders, is about me; I am in the 
 very heart of the grand city. I have seen the Tuileries, 
 Xotre Dame, the Pantheon, and I have stood with awe before 
 the masterpieces in the Louvre. I have laughed at the 
 Vaudeville, and been amused this afternoon with the eques- 
 trian wonders of the Hippodrome. 
 
 " You will imagine from this glowing description that I 
 am hugely happy — that my heart is oppressed with an excess 
 of gladness, but I assure you it is not so. I am not certainly 
 unhappy; I am contented — perfectly contented. As I have 
 said before, my husband treats me as well as I could wish; he 
 is gentlemanly and kind. 
 
 " I can scarcely believe that I am married — that I am to be 
 with Mr. Grasy through life ; my heart does not hold the 
 ■whole truth. I often think I am in a dream ; that I shall 
 wake and find myself Mary Maturiu. 
 
 '• Did you feel this when you were married? 
 
 " In your letter, dear Susanna, tell me all about the first 
 week of your marriage. How did your husband treat you ? 
 Did he sit close by you at table, or opposite ? Did he hold 
 your hand in his? Did he oflen kiss you? Pardon my 
 queries; I am not, believe me, sister, an idle questioner. I 
 cannot explain to you the troubles of my heart. I cannot 
 define my confused state of mind. Do you ask me ' Am I 
 happy ?' I can scarcely answer you.
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 177 
 
 " My husband waits ; he is going to conduct me to tlie 
 theatre. 
 
 " Your affectionate sister, 
 
 "Mary Geasy." 
 
 De Gospltch saw at once the fate of his sister-in-law; she 
 would not be long happy with the captain. 
 
 •'Why don't you stand for Buckhorn?"' asked Mr. Jackson, 
 addressing his host. 
 
 "Buckhorn! Humph!"' said De Gospitch, stroking his 
 chin, as he gave the matter a moment's consideration. "Buck- 
 horn! Well, I don't know." 
 
 "I don't think you do, De Gospitch; you're candid, at 
 least," answered the wife. 
 
 " Why you see, Jackson, I 've never dabbled in politics ; I 
 know nothing in political matters — absolutely nothing." 
 
 " What absurd reasons you give !" exclaimed the wife. 
 " What has a knowledge of politics got to do with a seat in 
 Parliament." 
 
 "You could carry Buckhorn easily ^vith your influence," 
 suggested Shakspeare Jackson. 
 
 " Of course he could," vowed Mrs. De Gospitch. 
 
 " You might take the lead on the Protectionist side,"' added 
 Jackson. 
 
 " To be sure he might," said the lady. 
 
 " I scarcely know a Protectionist from a Free-Trader, " 
 owned De Gospitch carelessly. 
 
 " Keally, De Gospitch, you are quite provoking ; you are, 
 indeed. I ask you again, what political knowledge has to do 
 with a seat in Parliament? And now, as you will compel me 
 to speak plainly. I will ask you — and I am sure Mr. Jackson 
 will see the furce of what I say — if every gentleman, entitled 
 to the name, does not strive his utmost'to have M.P. affixed 
 to his signature? Just consider this, De Gospitch, you may 
 one day persuade the ministers to have a baronetcy created 
 for you." 
 
 " I am sure," gently interposed Shakspeare Jackson, " De 
 ^iospitch will be persuaded some day to sit for ]3uckhorn ; 
 won't you?" 
 
 " Well, perhaps so," carelessly muttered the host. " You 
 see, I may want to go on the continent for a year or so, 
 and it would be very awkward to be tied to town by a 
 
 I a
 
 1 78 THE DISGRACE TO THE F^VinLT. 
 
 trivial matter of that sort — the honour would be too dearly 
 bought." 
 
 "You can easily arrange that; pair off," quoth Jackson. 
 "Will 5'ou try? — safe to be returned." 
 
 " Do now," supplicated the vdie. 
 
 "Very -well; perhaps I will." 
 
 Buckhorn returned one member — De Gospitch owned 
 estates near Buckhorn — had numerous tenants there. The 
 seat was soon after vacant, and Mr. De Gospitch, accompanied 
 by his friends, did the electors the honour of offering himself 
 to fill up the vacancy. 
 
 Unfortunately, however, for the landowner, another gentle- 
 man appeared to contest the election— a man versed in the 
 laws of his country— shrewd and earnest — independent in his 
 views, though limited in his pecuniary resources. The show 
 of hands was in favour of the independent thinker, and a 
 poll was demanded on the part of De Gospitch. The polling 
 took place, and at its close De Gospitch was mortified to find 
 himself in a miserable minority. He cursed the impudence 
 of his tenantry and dependants, and vowed that he would 
 sooner die than give them such another chance. They had 
 sent a pauper to represent their interests ; they wei'e a set of 
 imdignified, presuming persons, and had no business vdih a 
 vote. 
 
 "This is the result of that bugbear, Progress," growled 
 Shakspeare Jackson. " Progress will be the ruin of the aris- 
 tocracy, if they don't take care." 
 
 " Ugh ! Progress is a swindle — by no means a gentlemanly 
 principle; it's good for bricklayers and carpenters, but no 
 person of consideration would think of upholding a wretched 
 bit of sentiment that seeks to put journeymen on a level with 
 their betters," said the disappointed candidate. 
 
 This conversation took place as the election party were 
 returning to town. A hearse passed the carriage as De Gos- 
 pitch uttered the last words of the above speech, and a man, 
 who was perched upon the top of the black vehicle, overheard 
 them. And the fellow presumed to say, with a grin, 
 
 " It 's all very well, gents, but there are no betters in here, 
 and perhaps we shall have the honour of carrying one of you 
 some of these days."
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FA.M1LT. 179 
 
 CHAPTER XXir. 
 
 HENRY MAKES A STEP IN THE WORLD : HE ALSO MAKES A 
 
 PROPOSAL, 
 
 Mr. Ferdinand Short Avas certainly not prepossessed in 
 favour of our hero. The young head of the firm regarded liis 
 clerk, Henry Gospitch, aar a slow, saintly person — a machine 
 well adapted for ledger work only. 
 
 " Hs 's useful, they tell me,'" said Short one day to 
 Brasely, "but I 'm hanged if he 's ornamental." 
 
 " Well, I don't know ; I don't call Gospitch an ill-looking 
 fellow by any means." 
 
 " Oh ! no," continued Short, " he 's not so ugly as Sambo, 
 my black footman, for instance." 
 
 This instructive conversation took place at the office ; it was 
 brought to an abrupt conclusion by a message from Messi'S. 
 Dewdycomb and Dufifin, who begged a few minutes' conversa- 
 tion with their partner. Short strolled leisurely into the 
 partners' private room, and seated himself near the gentlemen 
 who had requested a brief interview with him. 
 
 "Well," drawled Short. 
 
 Mr. Dewdycomb opened the business of the meeting. He 
 said : — 
 
 " Mr. Duffin and I have been minutely examining the 
 affairs of the firm, and we wish to consult with you — as prin- 
 cipal — about our future movements. We have no reason to 
 com[dain of any of the persons we employ, with the exception 
 of Mr. lioljert Jirasely. Mr. Brasely not only neglects his 
 own work, but stimulates other persons to neglect theirs." 
 
 "Ah!" muttered Ferdinand Short. "Then I suppose the 
 long and sliort of the matter is, that you wish to get rid of 
 Mr. Brasely." 
 
 " No, not exactly," meekly interposed Duflin. " I have just 
 been examining Mv. Brasely's books, and I find them so 
 negligently kept, that 1 cannot conscientiously recommend
 
 180 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 you and Mr. Dewdycomb to allow Mr. Brasely to remain in 
 bis present position." 
 
 '■ This is any thing but complimentary to me, gentlemen. 
 Mr. Brasely is my particular friend : you forget that," angrily 
 answei-ed Short. 
 
 '■ On the contrary', Mr. Short," responded Dewdycorab, 
 "we should not have endured Mr. Brasely 's conduct so long, 
 if he had been a stranger to you." 
 
 "Can't you find him any other employment?" asked 
 Short. 
 
 '• Certainly." 
 
 " And who do you propose as successor to Brasely 's present 
 office ?" 
 
 "Mr. Henry Gospitch !" affirmed Duffin. " Mr Gospitch 
 lias not been long with us, certainly, but 'he has paid such 
 Tuidivided attention to his duties that we can put entire faith 
 in his attention and ability : he is a shrewd accountant." 
 
 Short declared that he would not consent to have Brase- 
 ly's salary reduced, inasmuch as he (Mr. Short) considered 
 him to be a very useful and very gentlemanly part of the 
 hrm. 
 
 It was at length agreed that Henry Gospitch should take 
 Brasely 's books, and that Brasely should have employment 
 in another department. Gospitch 's salaiy was raised to 130/. 
 per nnnura. 
 
 When this decision was made known to Bob by Ferdinand 
 Short, Bob gave a loud whistle and a shrug of the shoulders. 
 
 "Do take^ care what you're about, old fellow," implored 
 Ferdinand, " I had to fight hard for you." 
 
 " Ecod ! yes, I will. I should be hard up if I got sacked." 
 
 Henry Gospitch attended to his new duties with zeal ; he 
 had made another step : he thought of the widow at Clapham, 
 and worked with his heart in his labour. 130L per annum ! 
 this would not suffice for the responsibilities of marriage. 
 Jlenry examined his position minutely and calmly. He 
 would not risk the probability of dependence— he would not 
 many until he made sufficient money to support his wife 
 respectably. He, however, felt himself justified in addressing 
 the following letter to Mrs. Gaps on the evening of his ele- 
 vation : — 
 
 "My dear Madam, — I hope you will not be surprised when
 
 THE DISGKA.CE TO THE FAMILY. 181 
 
 you have read this letter ; nay, I am even sanguine enough to 
 believe that you have expected such a declaration as it 
 contains. 
 
 "My position is improved — materially improved. I am now 
 the recipient of a yearly income of 130/. This sum will not, 
 shall not be the sole reliance of my wife. My object in 
 writing this letter is to assure you of my continued adoration : 
 to tell you that the time is not far distant when I shall 
 be in a condition to offer you my heart — to ask your hand. 
 I can no longer endure the doubt — the miserable suspense 
 that has been gnawing at my heart for the last six months: 
 tell me, beloved one, if I may hope — if my struggle after 
 independence will be rewarded with your hand, I must be 
 candid with you— as candid as I should wish my wife to be 
 with me. 
 
 " I have loved before — have been scouted for my poverty- 
 deserted by my friends — shunned by my relations — left to 
 perish. I have struggled hard, and have to thank your late 
 husband for my present success. I will hide nothing from 
 you — you shall know my history fully ere you decide. Miss 
 Maturiia was to have been my wife. I loved her with my 
 whole soul — she was my life. When my father died leaving 
 the bulk of his property to my elder brother, I was without 
 means. I embarked in business : I failed. As soon as my 
 wealthy relations discovered that I was a grocer, their dignity 
 was wounded, and they refused to recognise me as their kin- 
 dred. I failed for ^00?., a sum I sought to borrow of my 
 brother — he refused me the* loan — I was a beggar. I re- 
 ceived a letter from your husband and a visit from you: God 
 knows how thankfully these comforts were received. As you 
 descended my staircase Miss Maturin mounted it — was 
 ushered into my presence. I had not secu her since my 
 embarkation in business. T asked her if she had been for- 
 cibly kept away: she answered "No;" and from that moment 
 we have been strangers. She never loved me. In the utter 
 wretchedness of my condition at this time I could not forbear 
 contrasting the loving charity of your conduct with the cold 
 worldliness of hers. Such is my history. 
 
 " I would urge you to remember that my devotion is not the 
 rash and blind infatuation of an inexperienced youth. What- 
 ever you may decide with regard to me, be sure I shall ever
 
 183 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 think of you with gratitude ; aud I must add, love. You may 
 refuse me, but you cannot leesson my adoration. 
 
 "Yours ever, 
 
 "H. GOSPITCH." 
 
 When Marian had read this letter her heart was full of 
 rejoicing — the sweet spring of her inmost being was touched. 
 She wept with gladness ; Dinah sought to dry her sister's 
 tears, but in vaiu. When joy draws streams from the well of 
 tears no argument will stay the current. 
 
 Gratitude often awakens the intensest love. Many people 
 affirm that gratitude and love are two very different feelings. — 
 Is it so '? Love, in its most exalted form, is a desire to give 
 pleasure in return for pleasure bestowed. A pretty face 
 awakens agreeable sensations ; and we are impressed with a 
 wish to make some return for the delight that pretty face has 
 given us. In the same way a kindness received will awaken 
 a wish, in every pure and good mind, to show kindness in 
 return : and in this spirit of gratitude love has birth. 
 
 We feel no gratitude towards a person we hate, though he 
 may do us innumerable favours. We rather shrink from his 
 kind advances — suspect his attentions — we would be glad to 
 be rid of his importunities. 
 
 It is certain that Marian s love for Henry Gospitch had its 
 birth in pure and profound gratitude for his attention to her- 
 self and Mr. Gaps. And Henry's adoration was founded 
 upon his everlasting thankfulness. 
 
 Mrs. Gaps determined to consult with her father, to ask 
 his consent to her decision, ere she made her answer. Dinah 
 declared that such delay was monstrous, and begged that 
 Marian would accept the offer at once : Mai'ian, howevei', 
 objected to this course and went to see her parents. 
 
 Mr. Jackson gave his opinion somewhat pompously; he 
 warned his daughter against the designs of young men who 
 would seek to marry her for her money. 
 
 Mai-ian could not listen to this suspicion ; she declared 
 passionately that Mr. Gospitch was too noble-hearted to be 
 guilty of such wicked deception. 
 
 " Well, well," sagely responded Mr. Jackson, " I say no 
 more — not another word. Do as you like, girl, because you 
 will."
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FATvULT. 183 
 
 ■ " No, father. I came here purposely to seek your advice ; 
 I should not have done so had 1 not valued and respected 
 vour opinion. But you cannot expect that I would listen 
 silently to suspicions directed towards one I love with my 
 whole heart." 
 
 " Mr. Gospitch may be the pattern you think him — I only 
 hope it may be so for your sake, Marian," observed Mr. 
 Jackson. 
 
 " Nonsense — stuff and nonsense," intei-posed Mrs. Jackson. 
 "Accept him, child — your father doesn't know what he's 
 talking about. Order your wedding-dress to-morrow, you 
 have my permission." 
 
 " The marriage may not take place for years," said Marian. 
 
 " Not take place for years, Marian ! " exclaimed Mrs. Jack- 
 son. " What impudence then to ask you to wait — goodness 
 knows how long ! Why, you might have a dozen better 
 offers in that time ! Oh ! if that 's the case don 't accept him 
 — don't have any thing to do with anybody on such terms." 
 
 "But I feel that I love him so," said Marian. 
 
 " That 's all very well, child," answered the mother ; " but 
 do you think that you could wait perhaps three or four years 
 for him or anybody else? Tush ! it would be want of dignity 
 in you to think for a moment of such a thing.'' 
 
 " But if I choose to wait all that time you will not object 
 to Mr. Gospitch for my husband, will you ? " 
 
 "Oh! no — certainly not," answered Mrs. Jackson. "I 
 dare say the young man 's decent enough, though he didn't 
 look at all prepossessing when he was here. He seemed to 
 me to be a staid, stupid sort of person, with scarcely a word to 
 say for himself." 
 
 " You will think differently of him when you know him," 
 urged Marian. 
 
 The young widow returned home and answered our hero's 
 letter: she consented to receive him as her betrothed hus- 
 band. 
 
 When Marian's epistle was delivered to Gospitch his hand 
 trembled, and he paused ere he broke the seal. His soul 
 was oppressed with doubt and foreboding. But when he had 
 gathered the sweetness the woman's letter contained — had 
 put .the paper to his lips, and felt the pain of unutterable 
 rapture — he prepared to make a visit to his mistress. He 
 was soon at Clupbam — soon at the feet of Marian.
 
 184 THE DISGKACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 Their first meeting as lovers was full of rapture. Formal 
 custom was forgotten in the intensity of their love, and they sat 
 palm to palm, and their hearts were mirrored in their faces. 
 
 " This is happiness ! said Gospitch. 
 
 " Thank you a thousand times for saying so," said Marian. 
 
 There was something exquisitely pure and sweet in the 
 meeting : there was no headstrong passion — no hasty thought- 
 less concessions. The germ of love had waxed naturally. 
 There was no ball-room fantasy — no sudden infatuation. The 
 love was founded upon respect and gratitude : the foundation 
 was a rock, and the superstructure would be enduring. They 
 faced the garden, and Henry saw his name traced in flowers. 
 Marian confessed that she was the gardener — the tender nurse 
 who had taught the i)lants to spell her lover's name. This 
 evidence of devotion thrilled to the heart of the young man : 
 he was grateful, happy.
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 186 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 COMPAEISOXS AND FOEEBODINGS. 
 
 Mary Grasy asked her sister to commuuicate to her the emo- 
 tions the latter felt during her honeymoon. The task was 
 not an eas}' one. Mrs. De Gospitch had no very vivid re- 
 collection of her thoughts and feelings during that interesting 
 period. She remembered only that a great change took place 
 in her mode of life, and that some time elapsed ere she was 
 reconciled to her new name. But these matters-of-fact — these 
 vulgar details would not look well in a letter, so Mrs. De 
 Gospitch tried to persuade herself that she felt a new joy — 
 had in her honeymoon a passing, though faint, foretaste of 
 Heaven. There was one comfort to her, she flattered herself 
 that she could make up a tolerable letter ; she was generally 
 esteemed an exceedingly graceful and clever corresj)ondent. 
 So she took pen, ink, and paper, and prepared to create an 
 enthusiasm that was utterly foreign to her cold nature. She 
 shut herself up in her room for an hour, and wrote a letter 
 that read very well — was after the most approved style of fe- 
 male authorship. 
 
 Mary received this specimen of pure cant, and read it with 
 thankfulness. The letter was so warm and enthusiastic, de- 
 tailed the delights of a honeymoon in such radiant colours, 
 that Maiy wept when she contrasted the negative happiness 
 of her first month of marriage with the professed rapture of 
 her sister's. 
 
 The young briile was a stricken woman — disappointed in 
 the grand hoj)e of a woman's life. A woman unhappy in her 
 marriage is blighted for ever. Weeks, months, ay, years, 
 has she looked forward to her union with the idol of her soul ; 
 lier whole being has been and ever will be concentrated in 
 him ; she will be the mother of his children — will bear a 
 mothei*'s anguish cheerfully for him ; he shall be her oracle 
 —second only to her God ! She will minister every comfort 
 unto his ailings ; she will hover about liis emaciated frame
 
 186 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 ■with all the loving-kindness of the honeymoon-hvide ; her 
 love shall know no decrease — shall attend him to the grave, 
 and plant roses on his rotting clay ; her whole being — lieu 
 earthly mission shall be linked with him, and know no sepa- 
 ration. It is a grand thing to be the object of such adora- 
 tion — to call forth in another such angelic devotion. And 
 when this noble affection is repaid with indifference and 
 scorn, how degrading to manhood is the picture ! A woman's 
 whole life depends upon her marriage : a man has other plea- 
 sures, other pursuits to fly to when his home does not present 
 to him a welcome picture. A woman is tied to her house as 
 to her life — she must endure the home she has chosen, be it 
 ■good or bad ; we therefore attach more disgrace to a woman 
 "who makes marriage a cool bargain, than we should to the 
 mercenary match of a man. 
 
 All men dislike worldly women. Men want heai't in their 
 ■v>'ives before brain — a love of home before a love of books, 
 music, &c. Accomplishments are graceful recreations, but 
 men do not marry to hear a song or have an opportunity 
 of admiring moss-roses daubed on Bristol board ; it may be a 
 weakness in the " nobler animals," but they are exacting 
 enough to require something more, and before accomplish- 
 ments in women. Young ladies imagine that when they have 
 mastered a few pieces on the piano, and can blot paper with 
 glaring sketches of flowers and fruit, and speak French with 
 a pure Clapham accent, that they are to all intents and pur- 
 poses " good matches." They are wofully mistaken. Men 
 do not care two straws for these proficiencies — they prefer the 
 real flower to the artificial one — they are not won with polkas, 
 painted posies, and mangled French. Simpletons that they 
 are, they prefer the household virtues to distorted art ! 
 
 Men do not sigh for pudding-making machines, but they 
 certainly do prefer wives who have some taste for home com- 
 forts. Men may like apple-dumplings, but it is monstrous 
 to say that they would marry to obtain this delicacy. If this 
 were the case, cooks would become peeresses, and ladies should 
 be brought up in the kitchen. 
 
 Mary depended upon her accomplishments and graces in 
 her marriage. She thought the captain would be pi'oud of her 
 as an accomplished woman, whereas he had not once asked 
 her to sing since they had been married. He was her ad- 
 mirer — not her lover. He was dazzled with her exterior
 
 THE DISttKACE TO THE FAMILY. 187 
 
 beauty, not with the pure goodness of her heart. And it was 
 Mary's misfortune to feel this — to become more convinced 
 daily that marriage had not made herself and her husband one. 
 
 She dreaded returning to London ; everybody would see 
 that she was unhappy. In vain she strove to throw off all 
 melancholy thoughts — to " put a bright face upon matters." 
 She was not strong enough to make a counterfeit of happi- 
 ness. She could not forget the night her husband had passed 
 in a gambling-house— her diamonds were gone, and Grasy 
 did not think of repurchasing them. What would her friends 
 in town say? She one day ventured to ask the captain whe- 
 ther he intended to give her back her jewels soon. 
 
 " I' faith, Mary, my dear, I don't know," answered Grasy; 
 " they 're not so easily recovered." 
 
 " Where are they?" ventured Mary. 
 
 " Where are they !" echoed her husband, " that 's more than 
 I can exactly tell you, my dear." 
 
 " What did you do with them? — sold them, I suppose," 
 said Mary, angrily. 
 
 " That 's not to the point. I promise ye this, my dear; if 
 I can't get the jewels back, I '11 buy you some paste, that '11 
 look quite as well, and is ten times as cheap. So make your- 
 self easy on the subject," 
 
 The captain mistook the character of his wife. She loved 
 jewels because they were valuable, not because they were beau- 
 tiful to see. A stomacher of diamonds is prized, because it is 
 worth a large sum of money : who would care about the sto- 
 macher of paste? and yet the eye cannot detect the difference 
 — the one is as beautiful as the other. The fact is, jewels are 
 esteemed as a stamp of wealth— as an assurance that the 
 wearer has full coffers. If diamonds were cheap they would 
 be little worn. 
 
 The recent glut of pine-apples has made them vulgar fruit, 
 because they are within the reach of the poorest mechanic. 
 It was well to stand a pine on a rich man's table when it re- 
 presented five sovereigns, for the host in this way impressed 
 his friends with a sense of his liberal expenditure, but now 
 that the fruit represents only a few shillings, it has become a 
 plebeian luxury — it may be purchased from Whitechapel stalls. 
 
 This purse-pride was Mary's pride. Paste, indeed ! She would 
 not wear rubbisli ! Her objection was not founded upon a refined 
 objection to falsehood : she did not hate the coiuiterfeit be-
 
 188 THE DISGKACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 cause it was a lie, a deceitful imitation of tbe pure carbon, but 
 because it was not ^Yorth a twentieth part of tbe sum diamonds 
 Avould fetch. In short, Grasy made a dangerous experiment 
 ■\vhen be attempted to represent his wife's jewels with paste. 
 
 Mary began to suspect that her busband was not so well off 
 as ber sister expected. How dreadful it would be to find 
 that he was an adventurer — a gambler — a moneyless man ! 
 What would people say ! Really she would go mad. How 
 that Gospitch would enjoy it too! How he would laugh at 
 her expense ! It was vei'y strauge that he refused to give 
 her back lier trinkets. If he had plenty of money their cost 
 would be a mere trifle to him. He talked of paste ! This 
 looked wofully suspicious. He had borrowed her money, too, 
 and was evidently mortified to find that her relations had not 
 given ber something in the shape of dowry. These were not 
 comforting reminiscences. 
 
 But she still had one joy to cling to — he was the descend- 
 ant of a royal line. An Irish prince was his ancestor; but 
 had he no noble relations living? She had not heard of any. 
 To be sure he talked very pompously of wealthy friends 
 inhabiting the Green Isle, but he had never very distinctly 
 stated their whereabouts, or described their possessions very 
 accurately. However, she refused to give place to these 
 latter suspicions in her mind — she would believe that he had 
 blood royal in his veins. And so she partly comforted ber- 
 self. People might pity his misfortunes, but they would not 
 despise him as an upstart. 
 
 She was afraid to communicate these forebodings to her 
 sister. She was too proud to acknowledge her unhappi- 
 ness. 
 
 After a few weeks Grasy began to find things " very slow." 
 His wife was not a smiUng, laughing bride. She was a 
 haughty, cold, and pensive woman. She wanted animal 
 spirits. She was too aristocratic for him. He liked dignity 
 as well as any man, but be was soon tired of tbe cold for- 
 malities of a strict aristocrat. He began, too, to reflect, and 
 rather seriously, that he. Captain Grasy, would have to sup- 
 port his wife in all the luxuries she so dearly prized. She 
 had not a farthing of her own ; she looked to him for every 
 thing. This state of things was painfully perplexing. He 
 was not overburdened with money. True, he bad a decent 
 income, but it was decidedly inadequate to the demands his
 
 THE DISGBACE TO THE FAMILY. 189 
 
 wife would make upon it. However, lie would not be 
 miserable— lie would leave' tlie future to the future. His 
 great consolation lay in the belief that Mary was an aristo- 
 cratic beauty ; he knew people would admire his taste. He 
 had married well at all events. 
 
 These honeymoon scruples did not augur well for the 
 futiu-e. They were both young— would probably have to pass 
 some thirty years together, and, starting with indifference and 
 suspicion on this long journey, they could have no veiy 
 enviable anticipations. 
 
 Grasy wrote to his friends in town. His letters were rap- 
 turous, but he himself was not in an ecstacy of delight. His 
 wife was not his sole comfort — his sole joy. He had found 
 companions — he had been to Mabile, to the Chateau Eouge, 
 ay, to the Chaumiere. He had contrived to say a few words 
 to a few grisettes : he had even indulged in a polka at Mabile. 
 These amusements furnished ample topics for his correspond- 
 ence. He suited his letters well to his various friends. To 
 Ferdinand Short and Robert Brasely he wrote long and lively 
 accounts of his nocturnal excursions. The following is an 
 extract from a letter to the latter gentleman: — 
 
 " Well, old fellow, you see I and my Parisian friend (you 
 should see his beard) had had a very slow afternoon; we had 
 been sipping coffee and smoking since dinner-time, so we 
 were determined to compensate for this dull day in a trip to 
 the Chateau Rouge. We hired a Citadine, and away we crept — 
 the coachman indulging in the most absurd exclamations by 
 the way — such as E-aic — E- Cr-r-r-e animal-va ; — and such 
 paving ! such springs to the vehicle ! Ecod ! it was no joke 
 after a hearty dinner. Well, having been horribly jolted and 
 thumped against each other for the space of half an hour, the 
 crazy concern came to a sudden stop outside the Chateau 
 gates. There was a pair of those diminutive individuals 
 known as French soldiers at the entrance ; and the little 
 fellows were as peppery and talkative as monkeys, pushing 
 their little bodies against the crowd with an air of authority 
 quite ludicrous to behold. I thonghf at the time that a 
 sprinkling of Tipperary boys would annihilate a regiment of 
 such fellows in a few minutes. 
 
 " The gardens, I must own, were pretty — in d — n good taste 
 — hanged if they were not! The women, too, were wonder- 
 fully got up. There 's no mistake about it, Bob, the French
 
 190 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 girls do understand dress ; if tliey do pad they know how to 
 do it. Pretty girls are miserably scarce in Paris ; but they 
 all have taste, and are as lively as eels. The men are impu- 
 dently ugly ; I wonder how they can look an Englishman iu 
 the face. They look as though they lived upon soup, and 
 "washed in it too. Macassar must be popular over here : some 
 of the fellows have so much hair I wonder how they get their 
 hats on. Their beards are terrific ; they have to thrust their 
 food through a hedge of hair before it can reach their mouths. 
 However, I have met one or two passable specimens." 
 
 Such was the sti-ain in which Mary's husband wrote to one 
 of his London associates. To Blandly Pteeks he gave a 
 different picture. He wrote: — 
 
 " What a miserable state is bachelorhood when compared 
 with the exquisite bliss of married life ! Here I am in the 
 loveliest city on earth with the girl of my heart wedded to 
 me for life ! For life ! This is rapture ; this is something 
 approaching to true bliss. It has been said that nothing 
 is perfect under the sun. I deny it ; Mary is. You, as a 
 poet and a philosopher, will agree with me that perfection, 
 may be found in some specimens of the gentle sex. It 's the 
 fashion to abuse women now-a-days : the fashion, I say em- 
 phatically, is disgusting. The dai'ling creatures should rule- 
 oui' hearts as they did in the age of chivalry. I only wish 
 Englishmen would re-establish tournaments ; you 'd find me 
 an enthusiast with the lance, and my sweet reward, when con- 
 queror, should be a glove from Mrs. Grasy's hand. Sure you 
 will laugh at me : I am too sentimental perhaps. Ah ! it 's a 
 failing that will go with me to the grave. Sometimes I feel 
 I can scarcely move for sentiment. It oppresses me 
 awfully." 
 
 There is a marked contrast in the spirit of the foregoing- 
 epistles, yet were they traced by the same hand on the same 
 day. Grasy must not be accused of falsehood. His letters 
 may appear inconsistent at first sight, but if we pause to 
 examine them and compare them with the character of the 
 ■writer, we shall discover that they hannonize perfectly with 
 their author. Grasy had made a mistake very common with 
 people of his temperament. His impetuous nature led him 
 to the hymeneal altar with sentiment — not love — iu his heart. 
 He was sentimental, and Mary Avas the object of his sen- 
 timent ; and the sequel of their lives may show how great
 
 THE DISGKACE TO THE FAMILY. 19X 
 
 tlie mistake is when sentiment only attends a couple to 
 the altar. G rasy was honest in his professions of attachment 
 when he married ; he had not examined his heart ; it was not 
 manifest to him that love had no seat therein. 
 
 But an extract from a letter written a year and a half 
 after his marriage, will perhaps sufficiently exemplify his 
 mistake : — 
 
 "You ask me in your letter whether I am as sentimental 
 as ever. I' faith, old boy, I fear my sentiment is gone alto- 
 gether. I am not the enthusiast I was : I no longer rave for 
 tournaments and opportunities of displaying my gallantry. I 
 am now a poor, quiet, dull, plodding, married man — a father. 
 I 'm not often at home : there 's no sentiment in a screaming 
 child, in pap-spoons and bibs. The mother chatters gibberish 
 to the child all day (and half the night for the matter of 
 that), and has scarcely a word for me : she talks more to the 
 nurse than she does to her husband. The old woman tells 
 her long yarns about the wonderful babies she has attended ; 
 about hospitals, and the different fashions for the infant s 
 linen. Then the old creatm-e will enter into a tedious 
 account of her personal ailings, the 'terrible times' she has 
 had, and the oft- repeated assurance of her medical man that 
 she couldn't live long. All this rubbish is told in an under- 
 tone, and I may do what I please — in fact go to Jericho, and 
 I should scarcely be missed. You recollect the time when 
 Eeeks treated us to a long rigmarole about mothers and chil- 
 dren : at the time I believed him ; I now think his argument 
 utter nonsense. He tallied a lot about women doting upon 
 their children, and looking in the little urchins' eyes to catch 
 a glimpse of the father's expression. Well, this theory of a 
 mother's love pleased me excessively at the time. It was 
 pleasing to contemplate a woman looking for one's features in 
 her child : my blood warmed at the idea. But it 's all non- 
 sense, it 's worse than nonsense, it 's positively sinful to give 
 men such rapturous ideas of conjugal felicity: such felicity 
 does not exist. 
 
 " When your wife has a child she thinks as much about 
 you as she does about a stranger. I '11 venture to wager that 
 any thought of the child in connection with its father does 
 not enter her head. It was once my hajipiness to believe 
 that they loved their children as the incorporation of their 
 flesh with the flesh of their husband ; but I have lived to
 
 102 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 find that it is not so. So if you many, old fellow, and you 
 become a father, be prepared to resign your exclusive nook in 
 your wife's heart to your child : she 11 scarcely think of you 
 after. As for your bed-room, you may give it up to nurses, 
 doctors, female visitors, and chambermaids : it is no longer 
 a conjugal sanctuary : it has been invaded, and its privacy 
 is gone for ever. You and your wife are two— distinctly 
 two." 
 
 It will be seen that eighteen months sufficed to take away 
 the web of sentiment, and to show the absence of good, 
 honest love in the Grasy household. 
 
 The imagination of the reader must now be taxed. 
 
 Mati'imony hangs menacingly over our hero : matrimony is 
 already the lot of Maiy. It is known that Henry's proposal 
 differed in spirit from Grasy 's : and the fate of the two shall 
 be unfolded in future pages. The contrast may teach a good 
 lesson. The limits of the present history are too confined 
 to allow of protracted description. Some of the events 
 connected with the lives of the Gospitches must be omitted, 
 but the historian takes credit to himself for having selected 
 those passages in the biography of his heroes which are most 
 pregnant with interest and precept. 
 
 The domestic affairs of the De Gospitch, Gospitch, and 
 Grasy households, remained much in the same state as 
 we have described them throughout a year; and the differ- 
 ences and changes that took place after the expiration 
 of the said twelve months, will be the subject of future 
 chapters. 
 
 In short, the historian boldly, though advisedly, dips twelve 
 months in Lethe, and, satisfied with the immersion, resumes 
 the thread of his narrative.
 
 ^^^e-^^<5^^^^^^!i^"^#/^^;f^ 1^;^y///,'
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 193 
 
 CH.APTER XXIV. 
 
 IX WHICH ME. EGBERT BEASELY DISCUSSES VERY FREELY 
 AND VERY EASILY WITH A DIGNIFIED SENIOR; THE SAID 
 SENIOR REBUKING BOBS PREMATURE CONFIDENCE. BOB 
 RESOLVES UPON A STEP, WHICH HE PUTS INTO EXECUTION 
 IN THE NEXT CHAPTER. 
 
 Such attention as Henry paid to tlie business of Short and 
 Co. could not fail in attracting tlie attention of tlie Avorking 
 partners of the firm. Ferdhiand Short saw no wonderful 
 ability in Gospitch, bat this, perhaps, was a fact in favour of 
 our hero's capabilities. Dewdycomb was certainly a mail of 
 strict justice, but he was -too pompous, too self-opinionated. He 
 watched Henry narrowly, and found him always so trust- 
 worthy, energetic, and clear-headed, that he soon felt con- 
 vinced the firm had gained a very valuable acquisition in the 
 person of our hero. Poor Brasely was looked upon as dead 
 v,"eight in the house, only held to please the principal. Not- 
 withstanding his unpopularity, and his friend's progress, the 
 amateur boxer quarrelled not, neither did he covet Heniy's 
 increasing influence. Some intricate and important business 
 well transacted by the latter had raised his salary to £200 
 per annum. 
 
 With this settled annual income the fortunate possessor 
 thought confidently of a wedding ring and its pleasing 
 etceteras. Henry was with Marian every evening ; and 
 Carnation Cottage was tenanted by happy hearts. Dinah 
 certainly sighed for a lover, but it is probable that she would 
 have found it possible to spin out her existence to a ripe old 
 age without a husband ; not that she would have ceased com- 
 plaining of the bad taste of the sterner sex on her dying day. 
 The evenings at Carnation Cottage were enlivened by fre(iuent 
 visits from the Jaclvsons. Henry had often mentioned the 
 name of Bob Brasely to his betrothed and to her ascetic 
 parent; and his accounts of the dashing young gentleman 
 had so pleased them, that Mr. Jackson once asked his son-in- 
 law elect to bring his facetious companion : this Henry pro- 
 mised to do. Bol) vowed that he was not at all tlie sort of 
 
 K
 
 194 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 fellow to be trusted among the decencies of a respectable and 
 quiet family ; really the sort of thing did not suit him at all. 
 It "was very kind of Henry to ask him, but he must be ex- 
 cused — he was not born for domestic bliss— he felt that he 
 could not stand such quiet business. He believed he was a 
 very decent sort of a fellow with his set, but he would be 
 quite out of his element in a lack-a-daisical drawing room. 
 Henry would listen to no such excuse, and Bob was at last 
 persuaded to accompany him to Clapham. Vowing that the 
 affair was slow, Brasely strolled Claphamwai'ds with his 
 friend. 
 
 " What sort of people are they?" asked Bob. 
 
 "Why, they live very quietly." 
 
 " The deuce they do ! " 
 
 " But they are good-hearted and hospitable." 
 
 " How slow ! " 
 
 " They are excellently well educated. Miss Dinah Jackson 
 is a little boisterous, perhaps, and her father has odd crotchets 
 in his head." 
 
 " Miss Dinah Jackson, Hariy, is frisky, is she ? " 
 
 "Frisky!" 
 
 " Yes, you know. Fond of fun, polkas, incipient flirtations, 
 picnics, promenade concerts, boating, and bagatelle." 
 
 " She 's not so steady as her elder sister." 
 
 "Steady! Stuff! Steadiness may be the sort o' thing at 
 five-and-forty, but it 's a deuced bore in young people. Now 
 if you want to insult me, Harry, call me a steady, respectable 
 young man. I couldn't stand such abuse from anybody." 
 
 " Shall I call you a dissipated dog? " 
 
 " Why that 's nearer the mark, though I confess I should 
 prefer ' frislvy ' to ' dissipated.' The term frisky is admirably 
 vague — 'dissipated' smells too strongly of gin-and-water and 
 pickwicks." 
 
 Brisk walking soon conveyed the young men to the door of 
 Carnation Cottage ; and a well-performed double-knock, given 
 with exquisite relish by Mr. Eobert Brasely, obtained admit- 
 tance for them. Bob was certainly out of his element in the 
 presence of the Jackson family; he was not p)articularly 
 awkward, but, at first, he was perfectly silent. What was there 
 to talk about? The ladies had no taste for pugilism, horse- 
 racing, nor boating; what could he say to them? He had 
 used up the weather, and he was ignorant of the state of the
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 195 
 
 crops, or of the marriages on the tapis ; the Jacksons had no 
 dogs, no birds to elicit his admiration and display his know- 
 ledge upon : really this state of things was unpleasantly em- 
 barrassing. 
 
 " Are you fond of flowers ? " asked Miss Dinah Jackson, ad- 
 dressing Brasely. 
 
 " I put a rose in my button-hole now and then." And Bob 
 grinned kno^^■iugly. 
 
 " We have a few choice specimens. Perhaps Mr. Brasely 
 would like to see them." 
 
 Mr. Brasely assented to this proposition, and Miss Dinah 
 Jackson led him into the back garden, leaving the betrothed 
 couple to enjoy solitude, if indeed love knows loneliness. 
 
 Bob did not feel at all comfortable alone in the company of 
 a respectable British female ; he was not at all used to the sort 
 of thing. She was not bad looking, thought Bob. She was a 
 good figure, and she had a neat ankle, he saw it as she 
 descended the garden steps. He walked nervously at her 
 side, acknowledging profusely the extreme health and beauty 
 of the garden. Miss Jackson sustained her part admirably, 
 and her agreeable and miaffected manners soon put her com- 
 panion a little at liis ease. 
 
 " Pieally, Mr. Brasely," said the young lady, in answer to a 
 compliment paid her by Bob; " really you must be an en- 
 thusiastic admirer of flowers. It is a taste, however, more 
 prevalent among ladies than gentlemen, I think." 
 
 "Perhaps so. Men are more given to horse-racing and 
 boxing." 
 
 " Boxing ! " Miss Dinah got up a most efi'ective expression 
 of surpiise. " Boxing! really, Mr. Brasely, you don't say so ! " 
 
 " Oh ! I assure you, I 'm a capital hand with the gloves — 
 any fellow of my own weight." 
 
 " Good gracious, Mr. Brasely, is it possible ? Do fjentle- 
 men fight for fun? " 
 
 " Ecod ! I beg your pardon. Miss, I meant — yes — yes, gen- 
 tlemen — noblemen patronise pugilism." 
 
 " Pieally ! Wliat, noblemen, peers of the realm ! " 
 
 " I should say so— not a few neither. 
 
 " You sui-pi-ise me. I beg your pardon, I 'm sure, Mr. 
 Brasely, but I always thought fighting so very, very vulgar." 
 
 " You have been misled, grievously misled. Boxing is a 
 
 noble art." 
 
 K 2
 
 196 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAIMILY. 
 
 " Bless me, sir, is it? " 
 
 " A difficult science and no mistake. It isn't everybody 
 that can figure decently." 
 
 " I have been indeed misinformed. What is it like ? Do 
 they hurt one another? " 
 
 " Nothing to speak of when they 're practising. We spar 
 twice a week." 
 
 " Spar ! " 
 
 " Yes, do the moves — so." And Mr. Robert Brasely enter- 
 tained the sister of his hostess with a specimen of liis 
 pugilistic contortions, much to the young lady's amusement. 
 
 It was an unlucky coincidence for Bob that Mr. Jackson 
 (who had arrived during the time occupied in the above con- 
 versation) was looking from the back parlour window, and 
 could see his daughter occupied in witnessing the science of 
 her new acquaintance. 
 
 "Who's that young man in the garden with Dinah?" 
 asked Mr. Jackson sharply of his widowed daughter. 
 
 " He 's a friend of Heniy's, Mr. Brasely. You asked 
 Heniy to bring him." 
 
 " The fellow 's mad. He 's wriggling about there, at the 
 bottom of the garden, as though he had determined upon 
 boxing with your ten-week stocks, Marian. What 's the 
 young man about — see, Henry — do. And there 's that Dinah 
 laughing and chatting with him as though she had been 
 brought up in the same cradle with him." 
 
 "Always finding fault, especially if your own flesh and 
 blood 's in the case." Need it be added that Mrs. Jackson was 
 •the author of this sentence ? The husband had barely time 
 to hurl a look of indignation at his plaintive spouse ere Miss 
 Dinah entered the apartment leaning on the arm of Mr. 
 Robert Brasely. Mr. Jackson condescended to perform an ex- 
 ceedingly stiff bow towards Bob, Bob was equally stiff and 
 ludicrously ceremonious. 
 
 Matters tended to promise an exceedingly dull evening. The 
 lovers were no comj)any, (lovers ai'e always dull people to talk 
 to,) and the Jacksons were, as was common in their refined 
 cii'cle, at variance. The old gentleman viewed Bob with 
 suspicion, and, for a time, avoided any conversation \\'ith him. 
 Dinah took up her frame-Avork. and lisped one, two, three, 
 carry one over, &c., &c., and Mrs. Jackson read a volume 
 on domestic economy. Five minutes had been passed in the
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 197 
 
 Diost perfect sileuce, wheu the old gentleman, turning to Bob 
 and \dewing him as he >YOuld an ill-mannered animal, said — 
 
 " You play chess, young gentleman ? " 
 
 " Chess ! Never saw a chess-board in my life. I believe 
 it's a fearfully dull game." 
 
 Brasely unconsciously wounded Mr. Jackson in the tenderest 
 part of his mental anatomy. The old gentleman had contri- 
 buted very extensively to wear out at least a dozen chess- 
 boards in his life ; and to him chess was as dear as his wife, 
 his children; though, as his spouse would have had it, "it 
 might easily have been that." 
 
 " Young gentleman," said Mr. Jackson, determined upon, 
 reading the adventurous young man a lecture ; " young man, 
 you will live to know better. Y'ou will live to see the serious. 
 part of life where now you see but puniest folly." 
 
 " Meant uo offence, Mr. Jackson. If chess is your hobby I 
 wouldn't say a word against the game for the world. I hold 
 my opinion of an intimate friend, a friend who is thoroughly 
 up to all the moves of the game." 
 
 "As I said," continued the old gentleman pompously, 
 " you will live to know better. You young fellows of the 
 present day should have been bom some tliirty years ago. In 
 those times youngsters had to rough it; they knew the differ- 
 ence between an old and e.xperienced head and thin empty 
 craniums." 
 
 " Well, I thank my stai's, I can tell you, that I wasn't born 
 in the happy times when the old ones dined off three courses, 
 and gave the young ones a meagre allowance of pudding, and 
 any amount of the whip." 
 
 " Gently, sir, — gently, young man, — you forget the rever- 
 ence due to age." 
 
 " Indeed not, Mr. Jackson." 
 
 " Well, well, I '11 tell you this much, you young men don't 
 appreciate the freedom progress has given you. If smoking, 
 and drinking, and fighting, be gentlemanly accomplishments, 
 then are you all perfect specimens of good breeding." 
 
 " I don't call myself a gentlemen because I 'vc got half a 
 dozen Cubas in my pocket— you mistake me. By the way, do 
 you smoke ? " 
 
 " Smoke ! that 's not to the point. I opine that age has to 
 do with such tastes. You surely don't smoke."
 
 193 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 " Not mucli. I did some years back, but I gave up tlie habit. 
 Doctor said it played the deuce ■with the luugs. Don't think 
 he knew much about it — but however — " 
 
 " Did some years back ! Why you must have been dry- 
 nursed upon tobacco-water, and weaned upon cheroots ! " 
 
 " I 'm very well after it if I was — that 's all I can say. 
 Have you seen the new cigars that have just come up, with 
 straws ? " 
 
 Mr. Jackson's temper was no match for Brasely's well- 
 sustained coolness. Bob saw his victory, and continued his 
 off-hand discourse. He said — 
 
 " What d' ye think about Ireland ? They re in a nice mess 
 there. They say they haven't a kidney among 'em, poor 
 devils." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 " A kidney potato I mean, of course. Have you never 
 heard of potatoes with this name ? Oh ! they 're very common, 
 very common indeed." 
 
 " Heard of kidney potatoes ! Bless you, before you were 
 born or thought of." 
 
 " So we 're going to give 'em eight millions by way of doing 
 the thing handsome. It 's a stiff sum, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Young sir, the legislators of this enlightened country, in 
 their progressive wisdom, believe the loan in question to be 
 necessary for the salvation of that unhappy country. Young 
 heads should not criticise their seniors. Ireland now is cer- 
 tainly in an awful state. For my part, I oppose the loan as 
 luiconstitutional and absurd." 
 
 " Well, for my part, I don't believe that Nestor was grey- 
 headed. I can't believe, say what you will, that wisdom 
 always wears a grey wig ; it 's a flam, in my humble opinion. 
 As for the loan, I think the starving wretches ought to have 
 it." 
 
 " I differ from you. I say educate them." 
 
 " Of course, — we all know that, — but give the poor devils 
 their breakfast before you send them to school. Ecod I I 
 should like to see you or anybody else leam your A B C on an 
 empty stomach." 
 
 " Stuff, young man, stuff. At present the Irish peasantry 
 are utter barbarians ; it 's a sad fact, I know, but it is, never- 
 the less, true. Give them books, say I."
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 199 
 
 " And give them beef-steaks, saj^ I." 
 
 " Why look at the state of morality there after all the efforts 
 of the pious men -svlio Ve beeu over there distributing tracts." 
 " Yes, of course, barbarians ! No wonder ! You try to cram 
 'em vdih bundles of dry and musty pamphlets instead of 
 victuals. Moral food, you say ; yes, but where 's the stomach 
 full'? Ecod ! you preach so much to them about cinlizatiou, 
 it 's enough to make 'em savage." 
 
 The discourse between old and young England was inter- 
 mpted by the entrance of " the tray," and a general conver- 
 sation ensued, with which the reader shall not be troubled. 
 One or two tiffs between the parent Jacksons took place as . 
 usual. What an unhappy couple they were ! How they had 
 contrived to get through some three or four and twenty 
 years together is a mystery unfathomed. They did not 
 appear to have one feeling or opinion in common, and their 
 tastes, as regards their table, were diametrically opposed. 
 Mrs. Jackson loved double Gloucester cheese for her supper, 
 a love w^hich she indulged at times, to the extreme annoyance 
 of her lord, who vowed that she went to bed primed like a 
 rat-trap ; on the other hand, the husband was fond of 
 shalots, and his lady hated them, and she declared that 
 sometimes " Mr. Jackson smelt so oniony that there was no 
 coming near him." 
 
 As Henry and Bob walked homeward, the latter avowed 
 that he had spent a more pleasant evening than he had 
 anticipated ; he had been amused with the " old fellow's " ex- 
 treme dignity. " He 'd patronise the crowned heads of 
 Europe, if they favoured him with a call," said Bob. " That 
 Miss Dinah Jackson is a decent sort of a girl, Hany; 
 upon my word, if I wasn't too knowing a hand for the sort of 
 thing, I'm not certain that I wouldn't make her an offer. 
 Has she any money ? " 
 
 " Not a sixpence that I know of." 
 
 Bob gave a loud whistle, a habit in which he indulged 
 whenever he intended to be unusually impressive, and said, 
 " She won't do for me, then, that knocks her out of 
 my book at once. No money ! The game 's up, then, 
 there." 
 
 " The game 's up ! There must bo two parties to an agree- 
 ment. Bob. You forget that." 
 
 " What ! Ilefuse me ! Piefuse Robert Braselv ! Come,
 
 200 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 come, you joke. No, no, girls now-a-days have a large 
 amount of cheek. I know — but hang it, no — not enough for 
 that." 
 
 "Money, Boh, isn't the first consideration. Believe me, 
 old fellow, I speak earnestly and truly, a money-marriage is a 
 hitter bargain; you buy the gold in a dear market." 
 
 "Perhaps you're right; but there's some truth in that 
 old saw of mine, ' an empty cujjboard makes an empty 
 heart.' " 
 
 " You couldn't spend the money out you do now if you were 
 married, old fellow, I know that. Women, when they love, 
 have few wants, depend upon it." 
 
 " Ecod ! Harry, my income wouldn't buy her gloves, not if 
 she consented to wear cleaned ones. But I must say Miss 
 Jackson is a nice girl, there 's no mistake about that ; there 's 
 110 fuss, no nonsense about her. The game 's getting desperate 
 with her now, I should suppose, isn't it?" 
 
 " I don't think she "s above two or three and twenty." 
 
 Miss Jackson's opinion of Mr. Brasely was highly com- 
 j)limentary to that young man. He had, in the opinion of 
 this young lady, a thoroughly manly spirit. He was not a 
 namby-pamby sort of a person ; he had plenty of courage, and 
 of all things she liked to see valour in men. He was not an 
 Adonis, his dearest friend could not say that he was, but 
 honest good-nature, British good-nature, twinkled from those 
 little dark grey eyes, bespeaking inward beauty, — bespeaking 
 a heart. AVhether it demanded the valour of a Nelson "to 
 square up to " a bunch of ten-week stocks the reader shall 
 determine for himself; suffice it that Miss Dinah Jackson's 
 heart was dangerously alive to the perfections of Mr. Robert 
 Brasely, clerk. 
 
 Mr. Jackson returned home Avith his wife, and his mind 
 was not disturbed by suspicious forebodings of the possibility 
 of any intimacy between his daughter Dinah and that 
 smoking, barefaced upstart with whom he had condescended, 
 in the absence of a fitter companion, to hold discourse. As 
 for JMrs. Jackson, she saw nothing so much amiss in the young 
 man. He certainly did give forth his opinions with a certain 
 degree of assurance, but, in her own humble v>ay of thinking, 
 this boyish failing did not prevent the yomig man from being 
 a veiy sensible, well-behaved pei'son. Perhaps Mrs. Jackson 
 entertained so favourable an opinion of Bob in consequence of
 
 THE DISGBACE TO THE FAMILY. 201 
 
 her husband's dislike to him ; this point, however, must re- 
 main unsettled, inasmuch as the parties concerned in its pro- 
 mulgation are very far north, and beyond the reach of the 
 chronicler. 
 
 Brasely went to bed with a determination — a warm and 
 fixed resolve. He had talked the matter over thoroughly 
 with Henry, and he was determined upon making the 
 venture. He did not see how his entire project could be 
 realized — he gave the ultimate end of the affair no con- 
 sideration whatever — it was not in his nature to be provident 
 or cautious. He did not question the success of the first 
 step in the matter — he gave no heed unto the future, and so 
 he put his head upon his pillow snugly, serenely. Not a 
 thought was in that head that could rob its owner of a 
 moment's rest, though some peculiarity in its construction 
 soon gave loud and convincing proofs that its possessor 
 was alive and well. Bob did not dream — he confessed 
 that he did not know what it was to see people in his 
 sleep — to have glorious or melancholy night-visions. And 
 Bob, lacking experience in dreams, was unconscious of a 
 sleeper's heaven.
 
 S02 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 CANDIDATES FOE MATRIMONIAL HOXOUES. 
 
 It weut to the heart of Mrs. Grumblebum %\-hen she heard 
 that she was about to part'ftith her lodger, Mr. Gospitch. He 
 was such a quiet, gentlemanly soul — so unassuming — and of 
 late so regular in his payments. There was some mysterious 
 connection subsisting between the widow's capacious pockets 
 and the widow's heart. Touch the pouches slung at her side 
 and you pulled at her heart — but this refined organization 
 dwells in all human anatomy, so we will not give further pro- 
 minence to its development in the person of Mrs. Grumble- 
 bum. 
 
 " Ah ! Sarah," said the widow, addressing a lank, smileless, 
 old-womanly girl of fourteen, (who in consideration of 2/. per 
 annum and her board did the " dirty work" of the establish- 
 ment,) " Sarah, you '11 miss Mr. Gospitch — that you will. It 
 isn't often that such quiet, untroublesome lodgers comes into a 
 house — that it isn't — mind that. Bless him, he 's a good- 
 heaited gentleman ; and pays his way honestly, and never 
 questions one about the sundries in the bills, as some vulgar 
 people would do." 
 
 " Oh! yes, mum, he is, mum, a dear gen'lman: there's 
 hardly a bit of dirt on his boots when he comes back of a 
 night. Some o' the folks like him go ankle-deep 'cos they 
 don't polish their own leather." 
 
 " Yes, Sarah, and they wear the hard brush all to nothin' in no 
 time — they do ; and (I've often said it) I do believe them gen- 
 tlemen as dirty their boots so are in the pay of Warren's 
 Blackin' "Warehouse." 
 
 " Lor, mum ! I shouldn't wonder, now you say so, mum ! 
 Well, if ever I heard such a thing in the whole course of my 
 born days." And as it is more than probable that Sarah had 
 not heard this suggestion before her born days began, the 
 force and brilliancy of her exclamation will at once be recog- 
 nised.
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAZillLY. 203 
 
 " Mr. Gospitch is a treasure, quite a gem of a lodger. Xot 
 like folks of his stamp usually are." 
 
 " Lor, mum ! no. Where I was last you should ha' seen 
 the lodgers. Awful, I -was on the staii'S half the day. Genlmen 
 and ladies is so high and mighty in general, mum." 
 
 " Speak more respectfully of your betters, Sarah ; at least 
 in the presence of your missus." 
 
 " Didn't mean to offend, mum. Ever^-body calls them- 
 selves my betters ; " and the miserable slave sobbed and 
 wiped her tears with her bare arms as slie slaved on. 
 
 She, the humblest, meekest, perhaps the ugliest of her lowly 
 class, saw the cruelty and width of the gap that parted her 
 from the Mammon-favoured classes. 
 
 A day was appointed for the nuptials of Henry Gospitch ; 
 it wanted but three weeks of the time. He took up his abode 
 for the remaining space of his bachelorhood in Great James 
 Street, Bedford Eow. His new apartments were (in spite 
 of the assertions to the contrary of the jealous Grumblebum) 
 a great improvement upon the old. He had now two rooms, 
 and a box behind the bedroom called by courteous visitors his 
 dressing-room. The front room had three windows in it, was 
 on the first floor ; he had an arm-chair, a sofa with three 
 castors, and a gaudily painted fire-screen, to say nothing of a 
 wonderfully polished small copper coal-scuttle ; — the smallness 
 of the latter article may be accounted for by the fact that the 
 worthy landlady of the establishment charged for coals to her 
 lodgers " sixpence per scuttle ;" — and no Irish servant, together 
 with other luxuries. The rent of this superb suite materially 
 exceeded the rent of Mrs. Grumblebum's first floor, but we 
 will not light a fire of contention and rivalry between the two 
 establishments; we will allow each landlady to consider her 
 establishment the very best in the market. Human vanity 
 must have some vent, and these ladies vented theirs in their 
 first floors. 
 
 Bob Brasely called his friend's new abode " a jolly crib;" 
 the room was high, and would hold any quantity of smoke, 
 even pipes would not be oppressive. It was a delicate, an 
 embarrassing mission that directed Bob's footsteps to Great 
 James Street on the morrow of his visit to Clapham. A cer- 
 tain nei*vousness apparent in the .young man's manner plainly 
 manifested the existence of some unusual passion or feeling in
 
 204 THE DISGKACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 his heart. His companions would have said that he was 
 deuced dull, and they woukl have misinterpreted his appear- 
 ance : he was certainly the very opposite of dull. He had a 
 pleasing swelling at his heart that gave him thoughtful delight, 
 not thoughtless jollity. Henry was at home and gave audience 
 to his friend. 
 
 " I 'm going to surprise you. old fellow — going to make a fool 
 of myself. I know it, but — the deuce take it, I can't help it. It 's 
 all up with me, I 'm gone to the dogs. D — n it, I can't stand 
 it any longer." 
 
 " What calamity 's this, Bob?" asked Henry in alarm. 
 
 " It 's deuced ridiculous — absurd. I don't know how I shall 
 show my face again anywhere. How the fellows '11 quiz and 
 annoy me ! " 
 
 " Tell me at once, what has happened? What have you 
 done?" 
 
 " Done ! It 's all up. It 's too late, old fellow, beyond recall; 
 must go thi'ough thick and thin now or fork up damages. I 
 can't tell you — came on purpose but can't do it. Any spirit in 
 the house ? Let 's smoke — have you any cigars — pipes — che- 
 roots — anything ? " 
 
 " This is extraordinary. You've got into some scrape at 
 one of the cribs, eh?" 
 
 " Ecod ! no, Harry. Worse than that. Row at a crib ! I 
 flatter myself such a trifle wouldn't ruffle Bob Brasely. Yoii 
 ought to know that before this time." 
 
 '• Smashed a boat, then, one of Searle's best, eh?" 
 
 " Too knowing a hand for that. What I mean 's too ridi- 
 culous to talk about." 
 
 " That won't do! Come, come, you've excited my curiosity; 
 out with it. Bob, I promise no joking." 
 
 " Well ! vou promise. No talk about it to anybody." 
 
 " Faithfully— well!" 
 
 " I 've done it, sir — nailed myself, Harry. I Ve proposed to 
 Miss Dinah Jackson ! " 
 
 "No!' 
 
 " I 've done it, Harry. Now don't let 's have another word 
 iipon the subject; I feel deucedly ridiculous, a perfect jackass. 
 I don't know how I did it. But the letter 's gone, sir — penny 
 paid — a sixpenny envelope with gold doves and flowers and a 
 lot of tom-foolery, and birds with their beaks together on the
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 205 
 
 ■wafer, a cleai' eiglitpen'ortli. Havu't I made a jackass of 
 myself, old fellow V But never mind, don't answer me, not an- 
 other syllable upon the subject." 
 
 " Well, Bob, I "11 only say this, shell make a very pretty, 
 clever wife." 
 
 "Wife! Harry, Harry, you stai'tle one. Fancy a Mrs. 
 Robert Brasely! I "m so frightened at the notion, that upon 
 my word I begin to hope she won't accept me. Let 's hope 
 she won't ; I "m d — d ugly — that 's one thing in my favour ; and 
 rather uncultivated in my small talk, that s another. Come, 
 considering all things, I don't think I 'm presumptuous in be- 
 lieving the girl '11 refuse me." 
 
 " Bob, this isn't fair. You 've no right to make sport of the 
 most serious, the most sacred part of a woman's nature." 
 
 " You mistake me, Harry; I like the girl. But the idea of 
 being in love — married — and all that sort of thing, is spoony. 
 It isn't knowmg, you must admit." 
 
 Early in the evening the friends adjourned to Bobs lodgings. 
 Bob expected an answer to his letter and was anxious — most 
 anxious. Punctual as clockwork the answer was upon his 
 table, not a moment had been lost. Bob was visibly confused. 
 The note was wonderfully perfumed, and the gilding was pro- 
 fuse. " Forget-me-not" was the seal; this, thought Bob, was 
 ominous. However the young man gathered courage and read 
 the letter. He was the colour of the healthiest peony ere he 
 had finished readintj. He handed the scented effusion to 
 Henry: Henry read it seriously, and then looked attentively 
 at Bob. Bob looked grave and nervous : he did not speak. 
 
 " I hope, Bob, you have thought this matter over seriously. 
 Your life is at stake. I look upon the priest as the grimmest 
 executioner when he marries mercenary or indifferent people." 
 
 " All right. She says she is disposed to regard me with 
 affection, but that the shortness of our acquaintance will not 
 allow her with propriety to give me her assent just now. That 
 means, of course, that in a short time she 11 have no olyection, 
 I suppose. Well, it 's considered the thing, isn't it, to call upon 
 the lady at once. I dare say we shall be very comfortable — 
 only keep this quiet, old fellow, for the present. I must get 
 myself up a bit, just dazzle her with the extent of my ward- 
 robe; it s a pity I can't put on two waistcoats ; here 's a couple 
 • — last fashion — considered the thing on the Boulevards." 
 
 And Mr. Robert Brasely forthwith prepared to visit Miss
 
 ^06 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 Dinah Jackson. The young lady had received Brasely's letter 
 delifrhtedly, it must be owned. Her answer was not so warm 
 as she could have wished : Marian had cautioned her ; but 
 Dinah, for her part, though she felt herself in a measure dis- 
 posed to obey her sister, could not refrain from expressing her 
 belief in love at first sight ; and she further declared that, iu 
 her opinion, prudent and calculating people were generally 
 the coldest. 
 
 Bob was sorely puzzled to discover how he should con- 
 trive to face the responsibilities of marriage with his 
 modest income. He did not see how it was to be done at all ; 
 his wife would want forty pounds a year pin-money; "and 
 then," soliloquised the trembling bachelor, " diminutive speci- 
 mens of myself and Mrs. Brasely may bless us ; baby-linen, 
 pap, nurses, doctors, drugs ; no, no ! the thing s impossible ! 
 it can't be done." Bob soon persuaded himself that he would 
 be acting the part of a prudent man in " stretching the 
 courtship to its utmost length;" he would make it cover a year 
 or so — this he resolved to do. In three weeks a man in holy 
 orders would bless and join our hero and Marian, and Dinah 
 was to be her sister's bridesmaid. The bridesmaid would 
 have preferred acting a principal part to that of a supernume- 
 rary in the sacred di'ama ; but the usages of society called for 
 patience, and she must wait, how long she knew not. 
 
 Dinah had original notions concerning the etiquette of love ; 
 she preferred " the wooing that 's not long a doing; " and she re- 
 garded with dissent the popular fallacies about studying a hus- 
 band's character, itc, &c., &c. — nonsense fit for greybeards and 
 foolish women. Her love creed included a thorough belief in an 
 instantaneous passion. Cupid in her eyes was a nimble lamp- 
 lighter, setting hearts on fire with a celerity outrivalling the 
 travel of electric iluid. Marian had more respect for the opi- 
 nions of the world than her sister ; Marian paused ere she 
 branded a widely-accepted theory with that popular female 
 brand — stuff and nonsense ! and the widow's prudence curbed 
 the maiden's enthusiasm. Dinah was blinded by the poetic 
 natui-e of her lover's letter; Bob had quoted his friend Blandly 
 Reeks to some advantage. The poetry to the maiden's mind 
 was charming, so aptly introduced — so true to nature — so im- 
 passioned. The reader shall not be compelled to accept Miss 
 Jackson's opinion as a just one, he shall judge Mr. Reeks for 
 himself.
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAillLY. 207 
 
 *'' Time was when life had little hope, 
 When all with taint of earth 
 'Was dull'd — nay, almost dead to me ; 
 "When subject for my mirth 
 "Was heartless sarcasm — biting jests 
 Flung at friends — at foes ; 
 And measured by the wound's own depth. 
 My joy-cup fell or rose. 
 
 * « * * 
 
 Time was ^yhen erst a wandering heart. 
 Unfettered and unfed, 
 Lack'd sympathy ; and so in gall 
 "Was poisoned — all but dead. 
 And in this sickliness — this strife — 
 This war 'twixt night and day, 
 A soul of kindliness drew near. 
 And my winter-life was May. 
 « * * * 
 
 The birds whose tunes till then had been 
 
 A whistle shrill— a pest — 
 
 Sang sweetly as through balmy air 
 
 They winged their way to nest. 
 
 The world that ever yet had been 
 
 To me a soulless clod. 
 
 Grew joyous — and I recognised 
 
 The handiwork of God. 
 
 * * « * 
 
 I Ve never stooped to passion base, 
 
 Or owned one act to blush ; 
 
 A mediocre man — I hold 
 
 All sentiment a rush — 
 
 A sicklj' effervescence, then. 
 
 The knack of ladies' churls, 
 
 A weakly, stupid side-ache, felt 
 
 By milk-and-water girls. 
 
 * » s * 
 
 I hated sentiment — and do — 
 
 And now I loathe Bohea, 
 
 I've heard so many maidens 
 
 Swallow sentiment with tea. 
 
 I thought earth lacked an earnestness. 
 
 Enthusiastic love; 
 
 I sought the lion's majesty, 
 
 But found a puling dove. 
 
 * * * «• 
 
 I could not be content with this ; 
 I watched the lion's lair — 
 I waited long — and found a heart 
 Magnanimous yet there ;
 
 208 THE DISGKACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 A gentle, loyal, trusting heart, 
 Most sensitively strung, 
 Yet yielding not to vanities 
 By which the weak are wrung." 
 
 This lengthy quotation cost Mr. Robert Brasely an entire 
 sheet of " richly-ornamented perfumed paper, two shillings per 
 packet," to say nothing of the time occupied in the execution 
 of sundry flourishes made to separate the verses. Bob's 
 first attempt at love-letter writing shall not be made pubhc : 
 Bob begs that it may be " kept quiet ;" he is not proud of 
 his virgin effort ; he knows the style is " green," and that 
 "dabsters" would laugh at him. Bachelors in love for the 
 first time will sympathize with Mr. Brasely 's bashful and 
 retiring behaviour in this matter. 
 
 The meeting between the newly-made lovers was embar- 
 rassing to both parties concerned. The gentleman did not 
 know what he ought to do, and so he did nothing ; the lady was 
 annoyed at the gentleman's awkwardness — she expected a 
 squeeze of the hand at least. Tliey had soon exhausted 
 every imaginable topic of conversation, and were utterly at a 
 loss how to look or speak. Dinah went to the glass and 
 adjusted her ringlets ; Bob, from the opposite side of the 
 room, grinned his admiration of the lady's graceful perform- 
 ances. Now Miss Jackson's nose all but touched the glass, 
 and now she tested the truth of the sentiment concerning 
 the loan with which distance is said to favour the view. 
 
 "Ah! Miss Jackson," ventured Bob at length, "looking- 
 glasses are the ruin of ladies." 
 
 " Mr. Brasely !" and the wondering female turned sharply 
 round, displaying her figure to the best advantage. 
 
 " Women love their glasses, you must own." 
 
 "Well, and what if they do? It's an innocent love." 
 
 "Oh! certainly. I read a capital story about women and 
 mirrors a day or two bade." 
 
 " Do tell it me." And Miss Dinah Jackson seated herself 
 near Bob, and looked in his face beseechingly — she did so 
 love a story. 
 
 "With pleasure. To the best of my recollection it was 
 this : — 
 
 " One of the popes— I don't know which, but it 's no matter,
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 209 
 
 it lias nothing to do with the point of the story . it was one 
 of the Innocent gentlemen, I think ; however, it was a j)ope 
 who ordered a priest to insinuate himself like a burglar into 
 all the nunneries about Rome, to persuade the nuns, if he 
 found anj-thing in the shape of luxuries, such as lavender- 
 water, or bro^vn Windsor soap, or Rowland's kalydor, to give 
 them up as little wickednesses in which holy women shouldn't 
 indulge. Well, off the old lynx started, and he peeped into 
 a number of cells, and returned to his master with a compli- 
 mentary account of the religious women's piety in general. 
 
 " ' Well,' said the pope to the priest, as they were sitting 
 together over their wine and nuts ; ' so you found the nuns 
 abstemious. Glad to hear it : pass me those olives, and the 
 nutcrackers.' 
 
 " ' Your holiness,' replied the priest, ' I found them gene- 
 rally well conducted, and thoroughly imbued with the sanctity 
 of their mission.' 
 
 " ' How were the cells furnished ?' said the pope. ' I hope 
 they contained no costly material — no luxuries pertaimng to 
 the sinful people. This wine is not half cooled.' 
 
 " ' Plere and there, your holiness,' said the priest, ' they 
 had brooches and silks, and in one cell I certainly found a 
 pot of rouge.' 
 
 "' Blessed Virgin !' exclaimed the pope; 'how extremely 
 horrible ! Pass the rose-water.' 
 
 " ' I easily persuaded these devout women to abandon their 
 remaining luxuries, and the lady who had the rouge is learn- 
 ing a long penance to atone for her Avickedness. I 've pre- 
 sumed to tell her that your holiness will let her be booked 
 for Paradise when she has executed the atonement I pointed 
 out to her.' 
 
 " ' We shall see,' said the pope. ' These nuts arc fall of 
 maggots — Pugh!' and the holy gentleman disgorged the un- 
 sound fruit." 
 
 " What an odd man !" interrupted Dinah. 
 
 "He was an odd fellow— a very odd fellow. He got 
 through his business at the cathedral in half the time his lazy 
 predecessors took to do it; and he ate as much as all the 
 cardinals put together. 
 
 '"Your holiness,' continued the priest solemnly, 'these
 
 SIO THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 godly women parted williugly with all tlieir trinkets, except 
 one.' 
 
 "' And what was that ? Woman woman!' exclaimed the 
 pope, ' is another name for vanity. Do you think my new 
 robes are effective ?' 
 
 " * And this no persuasion could force them to abandon : it 
 was their looking-glass.' 
 
 " ' Is it possible !' said the horrified papal sovereign, and 
 over his wine and dessert he pitied the sensuality of the 
 holy sisters who loved to see a reflection of their pretty, pale 
 faces." 
 
 " Well, for my part, I admire the firmness of the nuns ; 
 that I do — so there !" said Miss Jackson. 
 
 " Yes ; but still it 's as I say, a proof of women's adoration 
 of themselves," said Bob. 
 
 " Sir 1" said Dinah, indignantly. 
 
 " Present company always excepted." 
 
 "That's a commonplace evasion." 
 
 "Here's a mess," muttered Bob to himself; "I've gone 
 too far. Hang it — respectable women are so deuced particu- 
 lar." Addressing Dinah, " You forgive me ?" 
 
 " I don't know whether I ought." 
 
 " Yes, you will." Bob here ventured to put his hand within 
 two inches of Miss Jackson's. 
 
 "You 're so rude !" 
 
 " You '11 teach me better — polish me." 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 "Yes, you'll varnish my roughness." 
 
 " One would think you were a dra-^ing-room table. Var 
 nisli your roughness, indeed !" 
 
 "You know what I mean, pretty triflier." 
 
 " I 'm no trifler, Mr. Brasely ; I can't allow you to call me 
 anything of the sort." 
 
 Bob returned home in a disconsolate state of mind, fully 
 persuaded that it was impossible to please a woman. " Tell 
 them plump they're pretty," he soliloquised, "and they're 
 offended at the clumsiness of the compliment ; tell them 
 that tbey've more mental than physical beauty, and they're 
 ready to tear your eyes out ; don't pay them any compliments, 
 and they 're disgusted mth you. After all, men are the fel-
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 211 
 
 lows — there 's no nonsense about them. They don't care 
 twopence for compliments, and don't mind being told they've 
 a pug nose or a cast in their eye. A pretty donkey I 've 
 made of myself! I can't help liking the girl with all her 
 faults. This love-business is the greenest part of my life." 
 And Mr. Brasely went to sleep, and dreamt of a mysterious 
 affinity between himself and a certain animal more known by 
 its ears than its sagacity. 
 
 CHAPTER XXYI. 
 
 A WEDDING-, ANT) THE SPEECHES IT OCCASIONED. 
 
 Dress 
 
 Shows man more perfect, and fair woman less. 
 
 The preparations for Henry Gospitch's wedding were on au 
 extensive scale. All the females in any way connected with 
 Marian Gaps were determined to make the best of such an 
 opportunity for display. Cousins and aunts met to discuss 
 their theories of colour, and to differ with each other in all 
 tilings. Dinah's aunt said that her niece looked best in blue, 
 and Dinah's cousin said that nothing suited Dinah so well as 
 pink or purple— and the matter was discussed as gravely and 
 warmly as though the fate of the nation were at stake. Each 
 female member of the family had her own original version of 
 the etiquette of marriage, any departure from which would 
 plunge the whole affair into the utmost depths of vulgaritj\ 
 The minutest details connected with the marriage were 
 weighed and put to the vote with all the gravity of a national 
 senate ; and the final arrangements did not please the majority, 
 inasmuch as the power of the family assembly was in a great 
 measure restricted by Mrs. Jackson, who veiy properly con- 
 ceived that she had more to do with the arrangement of her 
 daughter's wedding than the bride's cousins and aunts, what- 
 ever the said aunts and cousins might think to the contrary. 
 The mother had her full share of that property so peculiariy 
 the possession of the softer sex — self-will : she was not a 
 person to be set down by anybody, if she knew it — not she.
 
 313 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 Mr. Jackson's philosophical dignity would not allow him to 
 take part in these interesting discussions ; he merely thought 
 (and rightly) that there was a prodigious fuss all ahout tacking 
 a couple of people together. He would let them fight it out ; 
 he knew married women took a savage delight in seeing the 
 matrimonial execution of their maiden friends. " Women 
 sing wondrously loud at a wedding, hut exceedingly small 
 when the honeymoon is past," said Mr. Jackson, sardo- 
 nically. 
 
 Your philosophy was sour, Mr. Jackson. You surely would 
 not have t\^omen careless in the matter of dress — ^you would 
 not have them appear at a wedding in gingham. Let them 
 find delight in the embellishment of their gracefully moulded 
 persons — recollect that their love of dress is in some degree 
 a compliment to men. It is a universally credited truth, 
 that women do not cultivate their dress to please each other; 
 it is notorious that they court the approbation and admiration 
 of men. You say this is all very well for young maiden 
 ladies. Wlio can deny that married women do wrong when 
 they court the attention of any man except their husband ; 
 but do you not judge them uncharitably, nay, unjustly, when 
 you affirm that wives hope to fascinate the gentlemen they may 
 meet, when they bedeck themselves for a party ? Is not this 
 a harsh view of human nature? Would you not rather 
 believe that they are more delighted with one compliment 
 from their husband than with fifty from any other gentleman, 
 be he grandee or emperor? This belief may not be deserved 
 by all women, but why class the majority with the minority? 
 Look, then, kindly upon the fuss and flurry of your expectant 
 household — the excitement is innocent if not amiable. Let 
 Mrs. Jackson wear a sky-blue silk ; even bend so far as to 
 compliment her upon the agreeableness of her ajipearance in 
 the dress, and you will give her joy : if she has pleased you, 
 she -will remember her daughter's nuptials with a delight in- 
 creased tenfold. 
 
 Mrs. Jackson, in the firmness of her determination not to 
 be the slave of her husband, (a determination perhaps laud- 
 able in a woman who has married a tyrant,) forgot that free- 
 dom and rebellion are two different states. She asserted her 
 independence some fifty times per diem. If poor Jackson 
 asked her to pass him a dish at table, slie would let him 
 know that she was not goiug to be his sei'vant ; if he asked
 
 THE DISGKACE TO THE FAMILY. Q13 
 
 for a taper to seal his letter, she was not a footboy. She 
 soon grew tired of wrangling, and Jackson was like the gene- 
 rality of his sex. At first he suffered these rebukes and 
 answered not; but he was a mortal, and gradually the natural 
 quiescence of his temper was ruffled : the freezing nature of 
 his wife's temper soon caused his to be rough-shod. His 
 smooth disposition lost ground in contact with the icy slip- 
 periness of his wife's. A woman who is a fault-finder posts 
 a hedgehog at her street-door, nor guest nor husband passes 
 the threshold scatheless; and soon the husband and the guest 
 seek peace elsewhere. 
 
 Marian saw her mother's mistake, and resolved to avoid a 
 similar error. Henry Gospitch had an excitable disposition 
 — he was soon "up," but he was easily conciliated; and Ma- 
 rian's adherence to her resolve would make her happy with 
 her husband: each would sway the other, and they would 
 know undisturbed peace. 
 
 On the morning of the marriage the sun rose into a cloud- 
 less sky, and if there was truth in the old household proverb, 
 the bride would that day be blessed for life. The simple 
 and solemn service of the Established Church had made 
 Marian Gaps Mrs. Henry Gospitch ; the bride had received 
 the salutations and congratulations of her friends, and the 
 wedding party, which included Robert Brasely, were discuss- 
 ing the dainties of a well loaded table. There was a wonder- 
 ful assortment of the human family at the dcjooner oUafour- 
 chette, as Mrs. Jackson persisted in calling the jellies, cus- 
 tards, fowls, tongues, and round of beef, which she had helped 
 to prepare for her relations. Cousins, who never met except 
 at family marriages and family funerals, were on this occa- 
 sion wonderfully cordial, and wondered that they did not meet 
 ofteuer — a wonder they liad experienced upon live or six 
 similar occasions, and which they had not taken the trouble 
 to do away with. However, the most interesting part of tlie 
 after-ceremony was undoubtedly the speeches. Mr. ]>rom])- 
 ton (who had nursed the bride) opened the proceedings with 
 the following neat specimen of eloquence, emphasizing certain 
 syllables with a fork : — 
 
 " Ladies and Gentlemen, • 
 
 " Little did I expect — I say little did I expect that — I — 
 an humlile individual — yes, a very huml^lc individual, though 
 an old friend — (hear, hear, from the host) — yes — that I, an
 
 S14: THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 humble individual, would be selected from sucli a brilliant 
 assembly to do — uh, uli — honour — uh, uh — to the couple — 
 nil — I may say the newly-married couple before me. I have 
 known Mrs. Gaps — uh — I mean Mrs. Henry Gospitch, from 
 her cradle. (Sensation.) I have watched her almost daily — 
 (breathless silence) — I have — I may say — so strong — uh — 
 has — uli — been my regard for her — that — uh — I think I may 
 venture — uh — to say that I look upon her almost as a daugh- 
 ter." (Here Mrs. Jackson stared at her husband — frowned — 
 and stared again : the general company tittered.) " All I can 
 say is — uh — I am sure — that — uh — if the bride make no better 
 wife ; no, no, I mean the husband ; no — ^no — ^it can't be that : 
 I say that if the bride make as good a wife as she has been a 
 daughter, why Mr. Gospitch is a lucky fellow. I 've nothing 
 more to say, except that — uh — gentlemen and — I mean ladies 
 and gentlemen — you will drink long life and happiness to the 
 bride and bridegroom." (Loud applause.) 
 
 Mr. Brompton had scarcely uttered the last word of his 
 speech ere Mr. Glutting — though in opposition to the wish 
 of his wife, who in imploring accents begged of the host 
 to persuade Glutting not to commit himself — stood upon two 
 pedestals remarkably like in shape to two curled cucumbers, 
 and which he dignified with the appellation of legs, and 
 begged to add a word to the eloquence of his friend Bromp- 
 ton. 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen," said Glutting, "there is a day 
 in our lives unlike all other days — I mean our marriage 
 day " 
 
 "Nonsense, Glutting," said Mrs. G. "Do, somebody, stop 
 him — he knows nothing of speeches." 
 
 "Mrs. Glutting!" said Mr. Glutting, "you forget yourself, 
 my dear. Well — ladies and gentlemen, I would impress 
 upon the new couple that the tie of marriage is a solemn 
 one " 
 
 "We all know that," said Mrs. Glutting. 
 
 " And one that should not be lightly entered upon. I 
 trust — indeed I am certain — that the many virtues of the new 
 couple before me will ensure them happiness till they shuiSe 
 off the mortal coil." 
 
 " Now he 's talking of shuffling — do, somebody, beg of him 
 to sit down," said Mrs. Glutting. Glutting frowned awfully, 
 but kept his legs with firmness — a featwliich, considering the
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY, 215 
 
 peculiar shape of the said legs, we must regard as noble iu the 
 extreme. 
 
 " I have little more to add " 
 
 "Thank goodness !" said Mrs. Glutting. 
 
 " But I will say " 
 
 "I was afraid he would," muttered the wife. 
 
 " That two such enlightened and virtuous persons as Mr. 
 and Mrs. Gospitch it is difficult to meet with. I was not 
 prej)ared to speak " 
 
 "Oh! oh!" interposed Mrs. Glutting. 
 
 " When I came ; and so you will pardon the bluntness and 
 ruggedness of my speech. That 's all I have to say." 
 
 " That 's a good man — do sit down," said Mr. Gluttings 
 wife as this gentleman resumed his seat. 
 
 Henry Gospitch, in a few words, thanked liis friends for 
 their expressions of goodwill. 
 
 Mr. Jackson rose to give "the bridesmaids." He said: — 
 
 " We have met here to celebrate the nuptials of my dear 
 daughter Marian with Mr. Henry Gospitch — a gentleman, in 
 my opmion, possessed in no ordinary degree of those virtues 
 and talents which may adorn and hallow any station in life, 
 from the highest to the lowest. What can I say of my 
 darling child? (Vehement application of handkerchiefs to 
 the eyes of ladies.) May she be as happy as she deserves to 
 be. I have to thank the bridesmaids — who, I dare say, hope 
 some day to require of others the services they have performed 
 80 gracefully to-day for my daughter — for their kind attention 
 to Marian, I believe that we have reason to anticipate 
 another wedding in the family — before long. (Here all 
 eyes were bent upon Dinah, who looked considerably con- 
 fused. Bob trembled.) Parting with his children is a sad 
 business for an old father. As age gains upon us we insen- 
 sibly cling more closely to those we love. Children should 
 be their grey father's prop — his guardian angels ; they should 
 attend him to the churchyard. Girls are daughters until 
 they fall in love— and then — it must be said, though /have had 
 no fault to find — the father is forgotten for the husband. It 
 ever was, and ever must be so. The father is a small person 
 beside the husband. I will not, however, cast a gloom over 
 the present festivity. Forgive the troubled prattling of a 
 man who is now parting with one child — and may soon lose 
 another. I should pay an ill compliment to Henry Gospitch
 
 216 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 were I to sit down without previously deposing before my 
 friends that I do not tremble — feel no hesitation — no anxiety 
 in confiding to him the happiness of my first-born, my o^\^l 
 good Maiian." 
 
 Here the tears fell adown the old man's cheeks, and his 
 astonished auditory wept and wondered. 
 
 " I 'm a foolish old man, and can't help prattling — ay, 
 and crying. Forgive me, my friends — forgive me. I propose 
 the bridesmaids." 
 
 The veteran's une.xpected pathos overwhelmed his wife and 
 daughters particularly : they wei'e, unhappily, little accustomed 
 to such kind mention on his part : he was generallj'' isolated 
 from his children and at war with his wife. It has been said 
 that people gi'ow wondrously affectionate at parting. Uncha- 
 ritable thinkers probably looked upon the old man's tears as 
 part and parcel of a "well got-up" scene — premeditated and 
 rehearsed : kindly souls said that the old man's tears streamed 
 from the thawing of an ice-bound heart. Mrs. Jackson was 
 rejoiced to see her husband again so warm : Marian and Dinah 
 were bewildered. When children stare at kindness their 
 home is assuredly unhappy. 
 
 The task of returning thanks for the bridesmaids was con- 
 fided to Mr. Robert Brasely, he standing in an interesting 
 position with regard to one of the said maids. Mr. Brasely 
 rose nervously, and said : — 
 "Ladies and Gentlemen, 
 
 " Upon my word I don't know how to do justice to the re- 
 sponse confided to me by the ladies who have, on this aus- 
 picious occasion, acted as bridesmaids. When I say that they 
 deeply feel your courtesy, I am sure I echo the sentiments of 
 their hearts. (Applause.) And as for Mr. Henry Gospitch, 
 why, having known him for some time past as a companion — 
 a jolly bachelor — I can only say that if he makes as good a 
 husband as he has — a chum — why his wife — be she angel — 
 is a deuced lucky woman." 
 
 Mr. Brasely 's speech was the last elocutionary effort of the 
 company. 
 
 At three o'clock the individuals popularly called " the 
 happy pair" left Cla2:)ham for Tunbridge Wells, tliere (as the 
 "Morning Post" has it) to pass the honeymoon. 
 
 The after part of a wedding day, when lingering guests 
 strive their utmost to prolong the excitement of the morning,
 
 (O 
 
 Ud/^' G^^ ^V r yv/z/r 
 
 r ^
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 217 
 
 is generally a tedious failure. When tlie liappy two have 
 departed in search of honeymoon bliss, the company lose 
 spirit directly. The ladies have lost the interesting butterfly, 
 and there is nothing left for them to pet and kiss — save their 
 husbands : husbands may be kissed at any time — they can 
 kiss them when they get home. The gentlemen of the party 
 generally find consolation in cigars, and bowls or bagatelle ; 
 and drearily the women examine the presents the bride may 
 have received. 
 
 Dun evening darkens the earth, and the guests forget the 
 departed couple in the excitement of Sir iioger de Cover- 
 leys, &c., &c. 
 
 The party at Jackson's whiled away the remainder of the 
 day, and were thankful when it was dark enough to have 
 lights. The elder gentlemen had got a little— just a little 
 winy, but not sufficiently so to attract the attention of the 
 ladies — though the wives of the gentlemen in question saw 
 "the disgusting state" their lords were in at a glance. Angry 
 glances wei'e fired across the drawing-room when the gentle- 
 men entered it, l)y their several wives ; and the married male- 
 factors returned smiles in answer to the fire of their frowning 
 "good ladies." Mr. Glutting was particularly "touched :" in 
 taith liis lady vehemently affirmed that " the disgusting per- 
 son couldn't walk straight, if you 'd pay him to do it." A 
 profound silence marked the entry of the gentlemen. The 
 ladies had previously agreed that their several husbands were 
 making pigs of themselves ; and, they were sure, were not in 
 a state to put foot in a drawing-room. Mr. Glutting unfor- 
 tunately stumbled against a chair as he made his entry, an 
 accident which fully satisfied the ladies that they were per- 
 fectly correct in their anticipations. The gentlemen seated 
 themselves, and endeavoured at various intervals to engage 
 in conversation with the females of the party, but without 
 success. 
 
 A dead silence reigned in the room, and Mrs. Glutting 
 having cunningly inshiuated herself close beside her husband, 
 gave him wliat she considered a gentle push between his 
 fourth and fifth rib. Mr. Glutting turned sharply round and 
 looked daggers at his spouse. 
 
 "Pah!" said Mrs. Glutting in an under tone, and raising 
 her handkei-chief to her nose; "there 's no coming near you 
 for the filthy spirits you 've been drinking. Quo 'd think,
 
 218 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 to smell you, that you 'd been bom and bred in the bar of a 
 low tavern." 
 
 Miss Dinah Jackson entered the drawing-room in a high 
 state of glee : she had made a discovery, which she held in 
 her hand. 
 
 "We have missed a speech — such a good one too!" said 
 Miss Jackson ; and turning towards Mr. Brasely, " Will you 
 read it to the company ?" 
 
 " Not the least objection." 
 
 Mrs. Glutting whispered to her lord with considerable 
 vivacity; whereupon Glutting stared, and said, "Where? 
 Who?" And then Mrs. Glutting whispered again, to the 
 evident confusion of her listener. 
 
 " Well," said Brasely, "if the company is quite agreeable, 
 I will do myself the pleasure of reading this effusion." The 
 company ceased talldng. The follo^^'ing were the contents of 
 the paper : — 
 
 " Ladies and Gentlemen, 
 
 " There is a day in oui' lives unlike all other days — I mean 
 t)ur marriage day." 
 
 The -whispering between the Gluttings here became more 
 violent. 
 
 "Well, ladies and gentlemen, I would impress upon the 
 new couple that the tie of marriage is a solemn one — " 
 
 The Gluttings were visibly confused. 
 
 " And one that should not be lightly entered upon. I 
 trust— indeed I am certain — that the many virtues of the 
 married couple before me ^vill ensure them happiness till 
 they shuffle off the mortal coil. I have little more to add ; 
 but I tvill say that two such enlightened and virtuous persons 
 as Mr. and Mrs. Gospitch it is difficult to meet with. I was 
 not prepared to speak — " 
 
 Here the company laughed heartily— laughed till laughter 
 became pain. It was a general laugh— a hearty, simultaneous, 
 •and universal burst of merriment. Was Glutting ill, that he 
 did not join in the fun ? Wherefore such confusion, Mrs. 
 Glutting ? Brasely continued to read : — 
 
 " I was not prepared to— (another general burst of laughter) 
 — speak when I came ; and so you will pardon the bluntness 
 and ruggeduess of my speech. That 's all I have to say." 
 
 Brasely recollected well that he held the copy of the 
 speech with which Mr. Glutting had favoured the company in
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 210 
 
 the moniing ; but he had too strong a sense of the ridiculous, 
 and too rich an appreciation of it, to take pity upon the writer 
 and speaker. 
 
 Bob glanced towards Glutting; and being, as he affirmed, 
 a foe to humbug in any shape, he tunaed to the disconcerted 
 gentleman, and lamented the similarity between his speech 
 and that he had just now read. 
 
 '• It can't be yours, Mr. Glutting," said Bob. " You see 
 the gentleman says he didn't expect to speak." 
 
 " Yes, he does," answered Glutting, colouring considerably. 
 
 "What if he does, sir? It's a white fib," said Mrs, 
 Glutting. 
 
 " A. what, Mrs. Glutting?" 
 
 " A white fib." 
 
 " Oh ! if a lady excuses the gentleman, of course nothing more 
 must be said upon the subject." And Bob folded the paper, 
 and placed it upon the mantel-piece. The company now began 
 to dance ; and Mrs. Glutting, taking advantage of the guests' 
 activity, was presently observed by the vigilant eye of Bi'asely 
 to snatch the written speech from the mantel-piece, and 
 plunge it do'wn her bosom with an agility which she, in her 
 innocence, believed was calculated to ensure perfect secresy. 
 The Gluttings did not stay late at the Jaclcson's that evening. 
 
 Marian and Henry, at Tunbi-idge Wells, passed their time 
 most happily. If the honeymoon fails to bring happiness, 
 what time in life — what happy circumstance — can wring a 
 man's soul from thoughts of barter and bless him with un- 
 qualified delight. Marian often thought of her first honey- 
 moon — with streaming tears she thought of it; and when she 
 remembered the bad acts of her late liusband's life, she was 
 doubly miserable : she could forgive his treatment of herself, 
 but it was a difficult task to her wiien she strove to excuse his 
 conduct towards her dead sister. A woman seldom forgives 
 an insult ofi"cred to one whom she loves. 
 
 Sunny spring weather gladdened the hnnoymoon of the 
 lovers ; they were the world to each other — engrossed in each 
 other — almost unconscious of the existence of other fellow- 
 beings. Eyes reflecting a mutual love — palms pressed together 
 • — their days were one long rapture — unweaiying and ever 
 intense. With an affection strengthened by a more intimate 
 knowledge of each other, they returned to Carnation Cottage, 
 
 h 2
 
 220 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 to take their share hi the common busmess of the -world— to 
 mingle with their fellows, hut to be as closely bomid together 
 nevertheless. 
 
 The family outcast was about to assert his position among 
 his fellow men — to win, if not wealth, at least a decent com- 
 petence. His wife had a property of the annual value of 
 £oOO ; this property was settled upon her for life, and was to 
 descend to her children, should she have any. He was well 
 placed in the firm of Short and Co. ; and was likely, if he 
 continued to manifest the diligence he had hitherto shown, to 
 rise to the dignities and emoluments of a partner. He would 
 most probably never be a drone in the hive of partners ; but 
 he would most likely be a working bee, with his full share of 
 the honey. ^He had fought his w^ay, and was proud of his 
 victory. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE FASHIONABLE DOMESTICITY OF WOrLD-BE FASHIONABLES. 
 
 The Grasys spent a whole year on the continent. Grasy 
 found it more convenient to do so, for reasons with which he 
 did not think fit to trouble his wife. Maiy returned to 
 England a mother, without a mother's hopes and delights. 
 The birth of the child, instead of drawing the parents together, 
 had estranged them : Grasy loved not the babe, for he had 
 not loved its mother. He had not anticipated its coming 
 with the delight that could encourage his wife to bear a 
 mother's anguish with cheerfulness : she presented him with 
 a babe, and he felt no gratitude. And was this the ardent, 
 the enthusiastic Captain Grasy, who had boasted the posses- 
 sion of a heart that could enfold the imiverse? Even so. 
 This indifference augured bitterly for the chUd. It lay in the 
 maternal lap, unlooked upon by its father, wept over by its 
 mother. 
 
 The Grasys took very fashionable apartments in town.:
 
 THE DISGKACE TO THE FAMILY. SSI 
 
 Grasy felt that he must make an appearance. Mary -was 
 ensconced in a house that -svould have been fit lodging for a 
 princess. She had men-sen-ants and maid-servants. She did 
 not nurse her child— she could not. "Was she not strong? 
 Yes. 
 
 The husband is identified \vith the child ; and so a bad 
 father often makes a bad mother. An absent husband, tired 
 of home, and fond of pleasures foreign to his hearth, may- 
 estrange his wife from her children. She \^•ill not always 
 watch with tenderness the flesh of a tniant, alienated man. 
 
 And now, Mary, is your pride satisfied ? Have you drained 
 the bitter cup of revenge ? Have you withered the heart of 
 the man who spurned you in his poverty? Has your proud 
 heart been equal to the conquest? Have you shrunk from 
 the full completion of your heroic plan ? Are you revenged — 
 fully, sweetly revenged ? 
 
 Humbled beauty ! no. You undertook to play a part with- 
 out the necessary power— without the strong, heroic soul the 
 saciifice demanded. Your weak and sickly spirit could not 
 look the horror full in the face. You ! live with a man you 
 loved not, with a smile ever upon your lips — you ! play the 
 daily hypocrite — you ! hold a Momus-mask to the world, with 
 a bleeding heart behind it. No ! such grand deceit demands 
 a noble soul — firm in its resolves — steadfast and implacable 
 in its hatreds. You have not such a soul. 
 
 The first twelve months of your married life remain for ever 
 shrouded in the most profound mysten-. How and where you 
 lived "on the continent" is known only to yourself and hus- 
 band : he has commanded your silence upon the subject, and 
 you will obey him. It is a miserable sight to behold the 
 estrangement of hearts young as yours and your husband's ; 
 hut this estrangement excites no wonder. You inspired Grasy 
 ^rith a sentiment — ^j'ou made use of your conquest — entangled 
 him in a web of fascination (a web, in truth, as frail as a spider's) 
 — and you were mairied. He was rash, and you were hypocri- 
 tical. You each have your merited reward. Murmur not; 
 you have yourselves fabricated your fate — you have been your 
 own enemy. You have been the object of Grasy "s passing 
 passion, and he has been the instrument of your revenge. 
 Alike false to each other, you must bear the bitterness of 
 mutual liypocrisy. 
 
 You have even failed— uttcriy failed— in your purposed
 
 222 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 revenge. True you live in splendour, and your old lover has 
 a plainly furnished abode ; and in your little mind tliis differ- 
 ence is revenge ; liut love nestles about his stuccoed hearth, 
 while indifference mopes upon your white marble. Now, who 
 has the victory? Enjoy to the utmost, if you can, the gold 
 and glitter with which you are surromided ; love it — revel in it 
 — bless it — it is all that remains to you — make the most of it ; 
 but remember — you have failed in your revenge : Henry Gos- 
 pitch, in spite of your aristoci"atic alliance, is happy and well ! 
 
 A heart ill at ease is the undertaker's best friend ; it pre- 
 pares many customers for him. Mrs. Grasy's unhappiness 
 preyed upon her health, slowly it is tnie, but surely. The 
 lily was imperceptiblj^ supplanting the rose upon her cheek — 
 and the lilys growth marked her progress to the churchyard. 
 
 " What sweet rooms ! " said Mrs. De Gospitch one morning, 
 during one of the matutinal visits with which she favoured her 
 sister at intervals. 
 
 " How bitter the price at which I have bought them ! " 
 Mary might have macle answer. 
 
 " I declare they 're fit for an emperor ; what exquisite taste 
 Ihe Captain has — he is quite an homme du gout!" 
 
 " They 're pretty." 
 
 "My dear Mary — pretty I they're e.x:quisitely charming. 
 What a fortunate girl vou are to be the husband of such a 
 connoisseur i " 
 
 Maiy smiled faintly, and bowed her acknowledgments. 
 
 " Those stuffed birds are in delicious taste ; they 're even 
 more brilliant than those you painted on velvet for me." 
 
 "Do you think so?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes, my dear ; they 're absolutely bewitching. How 
 delighted ]Mr. Shakspeare Jackson would be with them. He 's 
 a beautiful naturalist — knows all sorts of wonderful things 
 about birds and beasts." 
 
 " Indeed ! " 
 
 " Yes, it's delightful to hear him, T assure you, dear. He 
 talks about the tribes and genuses in tlie most wonderful way 
 — it 's quite miraculous." 
 
 " Indeed ! " 
 
 "Is the Captain out?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Long?" 
 
 " Since yesterday."
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 223 
 
 " Since yesterday, my clear — impossible ! Well, I never 
 heard of such a thing ! " 
 
 " It isn't the first time." 
 
 " Oh ! my dear Mary, how shocking ! What would people 
 say if they heard of it '? " 
 
 "I can't tell." 
 
 " How bad it -would look ! What can the Captain be 
 thinking about?" 
 
 Not of his home, Mrs. De Gospitch — not of your sister. 
 The Captain's conduct of late had been the subject of mys- 
 teiious conversations in many quarters. His establishment 
 was kept in a first-rate style — the most punctilious aristocrat 
 could not quarrel with his domestic arrangements ; but many 
 people — vulgar-minded, matter-of-fact people — marvelled at 
 the extent of the Captain's expenditure, and began to whisper 
 unpleasant suspicions abroad. These suspicions did not come- 
 to Grasy's ears. He met his friends — his old friends — daily,. 
 and was one of them again ; his marriage had not weaned him 
 from bachelor delights. With Bob Brasely he was on the 
 most intimate terms. 
 
 " Hooked at last, sir ! " said Bob one night, to the Captain, 
 in a moment of close confidence. " Yes, sir, I 'm a doomed 
 man." 
 
 "Take my advice, then. Bub, and don't be executed," said 
 the Captain. 
 
 " Damages, Captain. Awful ! " said Bob, with a long face. 
 " She has me, safe enough, upon paper.'' 
 
 " Bisk the damages. Any amount of money is better than 
 the damage done to one's comfort. But, if you 're a clever 
 fellow, you can escape without damages of any sort, trust me." 
 
 This news seemed to gladden ]5rasely's heart ; and he 
 eagerly asked by what means he might shield himself to 
 wound a woman. 
 
 " Draw out the courtship," said the Captain. " Say you 
 can't afford to marry on your present income." 
 
 " But if she agrees to wait?" 
 
 "Let her, Bob, let her; she'll soon be lirod of waiting. 
 Do any thing you please, Bob ; but listen to experience, and 
 don't marry." 
 
 Brasely was fairly frightened. He had ever looked upon 
 what prosy people called "married bliss" with incredulity. 
 It was, he thought, a bit of Utopian humbug, foisted ujton
 
 O04 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 greenliorns to entrap tliem. Where were the examples ? He 
 had seen plenty of married people in his time, and he could 
 safely say that he had noticed no wonderful happiness be- 
 longing peculiarly to them : they were very much the same, 
 in point of happiness, as other people. Married men were 
 slow — talked ahout mves sitting up for them, &c., &c., &c., 
 when a set of fellows were just beginning their evening. 
 
 This might be very proper, and all that sort of thing ; but 
 it was not Hvely, to say the least of it. And he was about to 
 join the dull crew ; this was not a pleasant look-out. Grasy 
 seemed to have found the sort of thing a failure ; but he must 
 confess he liked Dinah — he could not persuade himself to the 
 contrary. She was just the girl for him — ^no nonsense about 
 her — you might say any thing to her, and she would not be 
 offended. He was afraid he would not be able to part wtli 
 her ; and yet it was slow — it was green and inexperienced to 
 get spliced — no knowing fellows did it. 
 
 Bob told Grasy of Henry Gospitch's marriage : Grasy re- 
 turned home, and in the course of a conversation with his wife 
 gave her the news. 
 
 " A friend of Mr. Brasely's — his naine 's Gospitch — some 
 distant relation to your sisters family, has just married a 
 buxom widow at Clapham," said the Captain to his lady, 
 
 " What ! Heniy ! married ! " gasped Mary. 
 
 " Well, madam, what has ]\Ir. Gospitch's marriage to do 
 with you, that it should trouble you so ? Oh ! oh ! do I see 
 the smouldering embers of an old flame?" 
 
 " T will not be questioned upon the subject." 
 
 " I' faith, madam, I am your husband: you will recollect I 
 have a right to know." 
 
 " True, sir — I had forgotten my slavery — I was asserting a 
 free woman's right: command me." The proud, weak girl 
 was bowed to the earth. 
 
 " Madam, I must repeat my question : Is Mr. Henry 
 Gospitch an old lover of yours?" 
 
 " He is. Captain Grasy." 
 
 " How was the match broken off?" 
 
 " You must not ask me this — it wounds my pride." Maiy's 
 pale head was now erect. 
 
 "I' faith, madam, then I must gather the truth of the 
 matter from other sources." 
 
 " No, Captain Grasy — ^you shall not — I relent. You shall
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 995 
 
 have the history, though my heart break as I tell it. Myself 
 and my sister Susauua lived mth our parents quietly ; Mr. 
 Henry Gospitch, then the son of a wealthy man, who sup- 
 poi'ted him like a gentleman, made the acquaintance of my 
 father : he visited our house often, and won my heart : he 
 offered me marriage, and I accepted his offer. He introduced 
 his elder brother to our family circle, and my sister ere long 
 became Mrs. De Gospitch. The parent Gospitch died, and 
 his eldest son inherited the family estates, leaving Mr. Henry 
 penniless. Mr. Heniy embarked in petty trade — my sister 
 persuaded me that T was too good to be a retail tradesman's 
 wife. I listened to her for a time, and did not receive my 
 lover. One day, hearing of his extreme distress, I relented 
 and went to see him. I saw him, and he spurned me from 
 his garret door — my pride was woiuided — uor was it healed 
 until I had married you. Captain Grasy." 
 
 "• Coolly told, upon my credit," said the Captain. " Then 
 I am to understand, madam, that I have married the cast-off 
 mistress of Henry Gospitch — a retail tradesman. Zounds, 
 how deucedly have T been duped ! " 
 
 The Captain left Mary to nurse her unhappiness alone. 
 
 Mary sat alone all day and all night— the Captain remained 
 out. Sad was the long, long night to her — Avelcome the first 
 faint glimmer of day. She had not been to l)ed— she had not 
 been to sleep. Hei- husband's last words had been ringing in 
 her ears all night — the cast-off mistress of a grocer ! When 
 morning came, and the household were astir — when the pomp 
 and vanity with which she was surrounded were again fully 
 before her — ^her broken spirit nearly sank with the weight of 
 its humiliation. The cast-qf mistress of a grocer ! Tbo 
 liveried attendants who awaited her call seemed sent to mock 
 her — their attention was satire — their statelineas, im- 
 pudence. She felt that she was a beggar upon velvet — a 
 lowly thing, i-aised l)y artifice to an unmerited station. She 
 did not wonder at the Captain's wratli ; she knew that she 
 would have been as wrathful* had she been so deceived. She 
 had got her present station under false pretences : she was, 
 in fac-t, an impostor whose iiiipositi<jn was, in the eye of the 
 law, guiltless. And petted by pomp- a piece of human 
 hypocrisy in hypocrisy's worst form— the neglected wife sal 
 in her misery 'and pride, grim spectacle of woman's worst 
 
 J, :J
 
 226 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 weakness. She bad purcliased the glitter about her with her 
 heart ; her pride bad urged her to close the bargain ; and now 
 she saw in all its hideousness the meanness and lowliness of 
 her position. She had sold her affection at a Jew's valuation 
 — she had disposed of it fairly — it bad fetched what it was 
 worth — nothing. 
 
 Her soul was indeed apathetic, nay almost dead. Women 
 craving for bread at strangers' gates, and women nursed on 
 thrones, forget their misery and majesty in their offspring. 
 Maiy cared little for her babe : she hated its father, and it 
 Avas Ihe incorporation of bis blood with hers. This knowledge, 
 which should awaken intensest rapture in the bosom of a wife 
 created disgust in the heart of Mary Grasy. Her blood in- 
 corporated with that of a man she hated ! The thought was 
 horrible — maddening. Alas ! what was the luxury about her 
 — what the parade of wealth to one so empty at heart — so 
 blighted and so lonely ? Her beauty was fading daily— hourly. 
 A few years more, and slie would be wrinkled as an old, old 
 apple — and as yellow. 
 
 " A gentleman wishes to speak to you, madam," said a 
 footman, humbly. 
 
 " Did he give his card ?" 
 
 " No, madam. He says he bears a message from Captain 
 Grasy." 
 
 " Show him up." 
 
 While the servant was gone to tell his mistress that a gen- 
 tleman wished to speak with her, the person to whom the 
 footman alluded as " a gentleman'' was engaged in the hall, 
 arranging the huge folds of a wonderfully tinted cravat before 
 the glass. The " gentleman " evidently regarded the reflection 
 of his person with a sufficient degree of satisfaction. He 
 smoothed his black and well-macassared locks very scrupu- 
 lously, and brought two huge patches of hair down either side 
 of his face ; he adjusted two enormous breast-pins, and made 
 many endeavours to display every inch of the gold chain 
 attached to his watch; he pulled down his wristbands, evi- 
 dently detei-mined to impart to the company above the pleasing 
 intelligence of his ba\ ing that morning indulged in the luxuiy 
 of a clean shirt. They would perhaps think him extravagant, 
 but he could bear such an accusation for the sake of an unusual 
 effect.
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 227 
 
 " Mrs. Grasy is visible, sir,"' said the footman to the dandy. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the dandy. " Very well, John — show me up. 
 I m afraid she won't be so veiy glad to see me." 
 
 " Any tiling happened to master, sir?" 
 
 " Does he owe you any thing?" asked the gentleman, sar- 
 castically. There was a swagger about the stranger that awed 
 John. 
 
 " A quarter's wages." 
 
 "Poor devil! won't get a sixpence. Is this the room?" 
 And the mj-sterious dandy forthwith introduced himself to 
 Mrs. Captain Grasy. The lady made a cold obeisance. 
 
 "Well," said the stranger, "things vnW fall out unlucky 
 now and then. There 's no help for it, I spose." 
 
 "Sir! your business." 
 
 " My business ! Why, madam, mine 's an unpleasant 
 errand — a very unpleasant errand." 
 
 " Pleasant or unpleasant, sir, I should thank you to be- 
 brief. I am unwell, and cannot give you a long audience." 
 
 "That's a pity," said the stranger, deliberately seating 
 himself upon the sofa. 
 
 " If you wish to see the captain, sir, he is not within ; and, 
 as you appear to have no message to deliver to me, I will ring 
 for my servant to see you to the door." 
 
 " I don't care about the captain much, now I've got hold 
 of his goods and chattels," simpered the stranger. 
 
 "Who are you, sir?" asked Mrs. Grasy, angrily. 
 
 " An officer of the Sheritf of Middlesex, at your service." 
 And the man bowed low. 
 
 " Where is my husband?" 
 
 " Safe enough, madam — safe enough." 
 
 " Where is he, six'?" 
 
 " Somewhere not for from Chancery Lane ; and in quar- 
 ters not quite so splashy as these." 
 
 " Have you any message from him?" 
 
 " Not any. Madam, I nuist leave a man in possession, if 
 you please. Here, Blowman," shouted the officer from the 
 landing-place — "all's right." And, putting his head in tlie 
 drawing-room, " Good day, Mrs. Grasy. Any message for tlie 
 captain ? ' 
 
 " None." 
 
 In the afternoon of the day in question, persons passing by
 
 998 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 the mansion wherein the Grasys had lodging might have seen 
 that the knocker was carefully and efFectnally muffled, and 
 that the hlinds of the second-floor front windows were pulled 
 down. Late in the afternoon a handsome equipage stopped 
 before the door, and a middle-aged lady, who alighted from the 
 vehicle, was admitted to the house. A maid met this lady at 
 the bottom of the stairs, and whispered to her, " She 's a little 
 better." The lady and maid then went up stairs together. 
 The room which they entered was magnificently furnished — 
 the bed, a bed of state. The lady drew the curtains aside, 
 and saw her sick sister. 
 
 " My dear Mary, how flushed you are ! " 
 
 " Flushed ! I Ve a raging fever. Feel my hand." 
 
 Mrs. De Gospitch touched the proffered fingers, and Anth- 
 drew her hand as though she had come in contact with a red- 
 hot cinder. 
 
 " My dear girl — you re very ill ! " 
 
 Mary smiled faintly. She laiew well enough the danger of 
 her illness. Danger ! Where was the danger to one so 
 miserable — so forlorn? 
 
 '.' Have you had advice ? " 
 
 "Yes, they've done all they can for me." And again a 
 smile was upon the sufferer s face, as though she were rejoiced 
 to believe that no human skill could snatch her from unearthly 
 .ha2)piness. 
 
 " Who 's the dirty man below?" asked Mrs. De Gospitch. 
 
 This question brought all the horrible reality of her situa- 
 tion again before the sick woman. Heaven-soaring thoughts 
 had for a time blotted the grim circumstance from her mind. 
 She started with the re-awakening consciousness of her forlorn 
 position, and gazed wildly and madly at her sister. Mrs. De 
 Gospitch trembled. 
 
 Tremble, proud woman ! for you see the victim of your 
 schemes. This emaciated semblance of beauty came to you a 
 weak, but guileless piece of innocence ; you have turned the 
 purity of a soul to mud, stayed the noblest pulsations of a 
 woman's heart, and poured into its empty crevices the bitter- 
 ness of unchecked pride. Tremble ! for you have blighted a 
 sister's peace — ^you have taught her error. You shudder as 
 those glazed eyeballs stare at you fully and wildly. Go — go 
 to your little ones — teach them anew. Teach them to have
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FA:\IILT. 2Q9 
 
 larger liearts ; check their inordinate pride ; instil into tlieir 
 pliant natures glad principles of harmony and perfect concord. 
 Then pray for the repose of Maiy Grasy. 
 
 Mrs. de Gospitch left her sister in a state of delirium. 
 _ Joshua Blowman, the man in possession, threw his soul into 
 his business ; he was a person who prided himself upon his 
 experience in all things. He had seen the world " hi all 
 its ups and downs — its ins and outs;" and so he was per- 
 suaded that his opinion was valuable on most points. Yes, 
 Blowman, weighed by his own standard, was an authority to 
 be consulted with the utmost respect; his decisions ought 
 always to be final. 
 
 " ! wad the world the giftie gle us, 
 To see ourselves as others see iis !" 
 
 Blo^vman was a type of a lai-ge class. Blowman always 
 •' put down" his juniors by flinging his experience in their 
 teeth. If he could not refute an argument, he would declare 
 emphatically, and with a judicious spi-inkling of oaths, that a 
 person' of his experience knew better, and that, when Mr. 
 Somebody was his age, and had seen as much of the world 
 as he had, Mr. Somebody woukl not talk so. Whereupon 
 Mr. Somebody would sit corrected. It was a pity that Joshua 
 Blowman's profound mundane knowledge did not include 
 just a vague notion of some of the simplest grammatical 
 rules. But we are severe — Blowman shall be spai'ed : yes, 
 we will show mercy to one of the law's ugliest limbs, and then 
 who will question our natural forbearance ? Blowman was a 
 character — a character it was our delight to study : he had a 
 heart in spite of his calling ; and we feel, Joshua, that with all 
 thy faults we love thee still. 
 
 Mr. Blowman had a hearty hatred of the " great folks" — 
 the " airistocracy;" and it was a delightful time to him when 
 he was left in possession of a lordling's " traps." It made 
 " these proud 'uns sing small," they were at his mercy. He 
 liad been too long in business not to know that it was to the 
 interest of a man in possession to propitiate bimself with tho 
 domestics; liis love of a good dinner had taught him this. 
 The law compelled the debtor to give the legal underling the 
 commonest food only, whereas the debtor's serviints were will- 
 iijg to pay in kind for the enjoyment of Mr. Blowman's 
 society. Blowman never threw his conversation and wit away;
 
 230 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 his pleasantry was measured by the goodness of the entertain- 
 ment. If the cook was a stingy, ill-humoured person, and only 
 gave him bread and cheese for supper, Blowman was taciturn 
 and sulky ; but if a good-humoured and well-disposed culinary 
 professor set a cold fowl before him, then would his \\it enliven 
 the inhabitants of the kitchen and set tlie housemaids 
 
 giggling- 
 
 The Grasy establishment included two maids and a foot- 
 man. The primary andprofomid object of this select trio was 
 — to do as little work as possible, and to entertain as many 
 followers as they could conveniently secrete in the back kit- 
 chen. And this enlightened and vigorous purpose was 
 eft'ectually and satisfactorily carried out with the entire con- 
 currence of two young men and one young woman ; the young 
 men " keeping company" with the females, and the young 
 woman with the footman's calves. We say with the footman's 
 calves advisedly ; for the young woman had been heard to de- 
 clare that the superb pedestals of the young man bad walked 
 into her affections, his calves had won her heart. " Well, well, 
 young woman, calves do win women's hearts more often than 
 is dreamt of in thy philosophy." 
 
 Mr. Blowman 's appearance in the kitchen was certainly not 
 hailed witli enthusiasm, his person did not prepossess the cook 
 or the housemaid. His creed was manifest in his nose, and 
 his errand had been declared by the footman. The cook and 
 housemaid had agreed that he would be a bore of an evening 
 ■when their young men came; and Nathaniel, the footman, 
 was afraid the fellow's glib tongue might wean his young 
 woman's heart from him. So, when Mr. Blowman entered the 
 kitchen, the females frowned, and Nathaniel whistled scorn- 
 
 "Well, ladies!' said Blowman, putting on one of his 
 blandest smiles, " I hope we shall soon be fast friends." 
 
 The housemaid looked volumes of indignation, and the cook 
 looked whole libraries of abuse. Blowman, nothing daunted, 
 continued : — 
 
 " You mus'n't confound me with the misfortun' ! I 've 
 nuffin to do with; it I 've been a long time in the world, and 
 haven't had experience throw'd away upon me; and as a man 
 o' the world I would advise you to look at matters with Christian 
 resignation — I always do." 
 
 " Christian resignation!'' muttered the indignant cook.
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 231 
 
 " TliejVicce you do I'' said Xatliaiiiel; and bis calves shook 
 •with the violence of his laughter. The housemaid presently 
 caught a glimpse of the bad joke, and giggled gleefully. 
 
 Meanwhile Blowman Avas left standing in the centre of the 
 kitchen. 
 
 " You '11 find a chair — 'dare say — if you choose to look about 
 you ; if you don't, stand, that 's all ! " said Nathaniel, utterly 
 disregarding the majesty of a legal functionary. 
 
 " Sir I " said Blowman sIo^nIv, and dwelling for half a minute 
 on the filial r. 
 
 " Well, old fellow I " answered the unabashed Xathaniel, to 
 the evident satisfaction of the cook and housemaid. '• Doin' 
 the dignity business, eh? better squat down, and put your 
 tongue in your pocket." 
 
 " Sir!" shouted Blowman \\ith greater vehemence. 
 
 " If you make that row, I '11 tuni you out of the room, you 
 presuming Avagabond,you ugly apology for a decent individual," 
 said Xathaniel. 
 
 The legal underling had a large stock of assurance and a 
 very small ditto of personal courage. Xo threat save that of 
 violence made him tremble. Threaten him with law and he 
 would smile ; clench your fist menacingly, and the quaking of 
 his remarkably formed knees would sufficiently manifest his 
 fear. And this contemptible character was Blowman. The 
 threat of the well-fed footman had the desired effect, and the 
 man in possession dropped upon a chair in a distant corner of 
 the room. Xathaniel saw the fellow's timidity, and resolved 
 to take advantage of it. 
 
 " Well ! " said the footman. " So you call yourself in pos- 
 session here, do you?" 
 
 " I do,"' said Blowman, meeklj'. 
 
 " Congratulate you," said the footman, with a chuckle of 
 deep meaning. 
 
 " Do you e.xpect the captain home sooii?" asked Blowman. 
 
 " Xo sauce," answered the captains footman. " Yon won't 
 set eyes on him if he does; that's enough for you, you dila- 
 pidated Lord Chancellor." 
 
 " I only asked tlie question in my private capacity, and iiot 
 as a legal practitioner." 
 
 "You a legal practitioner! Stuff, old fellow,— 'might as 
 well call the housemaid's duster the housemaid. '
 
 2o3 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 *' You 're too extra severe witli the gentleman," intei'posecl 
 the cook. 
 
 " That's right, cooli," said Blowman, advancing towards her. 
 
 " Now then, master, keep where you are — no comin' anear 
 me. There 's the wooden-bottomed chair nigh the dresser, 
 and you '11 please to plump yourself there, and not bother a 
 lady in the exicution of her dooty." 
 
 " Give it him, cook," said Nathaniel. 
 
 "Exicution of your dooty!" echoed Blowman. "Pugh! 
 you '11 never have a rap for it ; so make yourself easy." 
 
 " Bless us !" shouted the housemaid. 
 
 " Goodness gracious me !" shouted the cook. 
 
 " Don't believe him," thundered Nathaniel. 
 
 "Don't believe me, if you don't like; only understand the 
 Captain's bolted, and I 'm in here for his debts. All that 
 'andsome furniture — ay ! that plush, old fellow, too — '11 be 
 sold, and none o' you '11 have a sixpence." Having delivered 
 himself of this pleasing and romantic intelligence, Blowman 
 sat down and whistled like a conqueror, for he saw horror 
 plainly painted on the features of the Grasy menials. 
 
 " I shall pack and go," declared the housemaid. 
 
 " I don't cook no dinner for 'em, hang me," avowed the 
 cook, deliberately unspittiug the meat and taking the vege- 
 tables off the fire. 
 
 " Those boots may go to Bath, Bristol, and a snug con- 
 tinental tour arter that, afore I touch 'em," said Nathaniel. 
 
 " Better go on with your dooties," suggested Blowman. 
 
 " Why ■? " asked the trio simultaneously. 
 
 " Acause you had," was the logical reply. 
 
 " But why?" reiterated the trio. 
 
 " Acause you may get some o' the scrapins — you may have 
 a few shillin's apiece." Blowman grinnecl. 
 
 " Is that the law, sir?" asked the housemaid. 
 
 " Bad enough to be legal," said Nathaniel, surlily. 
 
 " Respect for the constitootion," said Blowman, gravely. 
 
 " Not while you 're a part on it," answered Nathaniel. 
 
 " You 're jokiu'," said Blowman. 
 
 "No insiniwations," answered Nathaniel. 
 
 This exceedingly instructive and veiy amusing conver- 
 sation ended in an essay on the English law of debtor and 
 creditor by Mr. Blowman, in the course of which he de-
 
 THE DISGBACE TO THE FAMILY. 233 
 
 nounced the degrading enactment whicli declared that men 
 in possession should receive only plain food. He, Mr. Blow- 
 man, confidently looked forward to the time when the man in 
 possession would occupy an elevated position in society, and 
 have an honourable place at the table of the families his 
 duty might oblige him to visit. Mr. Blowman's profoimd 
 knowledge of the law — a knowledge that included an intimate 
 acquaintance with the law's dirtiest and meanest offices — 
 gradually won for him the approbation and respect of his 
 hearers; and before night he was a popular man in the 
 kitchen. 
 
 Mrs. De Gospitch returned home from her visit to her sick 
 and lonely sister in no very enviable state of mind. The 
 young bride — so well married, linked to the old blood of 
 extinct royalty — was ill, without means, and alone. She 
 had been duped — miserably, irrevocably duped. Mrs. De 
 Gospitch would not believe that she had ill ad\ised her sister : 
 she was too proud to judge herself justly.
 
 ft34 THE DISGKACE TO THE FAMILY, 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 CONTATNS (the AUTHOR HOPEs) A FEW HOME-TRUTHS. 
 
 " It was a foolish business all along," said De Gospitch, in 
 answer to his wife's promulgation of the Grasy affairs, — " a 
 very stupid business. Yon thought Mary was on the high 
 road to heaven. I knew what^Grasy was — I could see through 
 him. I warned you. I was certain that he was an adven- 
 turer, tricking you foolish women with his profuse and absurd 
 compliments. A pretty business you 've made of it ! I 've no 
 pity for you." 
 
 "Who would expect sympathy from you?" asked Mrs. De 
 Gospitch. 
 
 " This is not fair treatment, Susanna ; I hope and believe 
 I do my best for you and yours ; but I must and will 
 express my sentiments in this miserable matter, and let 
 you know plainly that the match always was distasteful to 
 me. But Mary was your relation — not mine." 
 
 " That captain 's a good-for-nothing person. What faith is 
 to be placed in men I — they 're all alike." 
 
 " Henry would have been a better match, after all." 
 
 "Would he? Then I suppose you forget his disgusting 
 behaviour to me — his presumption in returning the picture 
 and cheffonier — and his impudent letter." 
 
 " True, Susanna — I had forgotten. I shall never pai'don 
 my brother while you live to thrust his past offences in my 
 teeth. He is working his way steadily, and has married 
 money." 
 
 " I pity the poor woman who has him." 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 " Clapham, too, of all the places in the world ! Well, 
 they 'd be out of their element, perhaps, in a more refined 
 quarter. I dare say they find their level there — buried in a 
 set of retired linen-drapers." 
 
 " You ill conceal your nervousness, Susanna."
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 235 
 
 " My nervousness !'' 
 
 " Yes, your nervousness. Your heart tells you that you 
 have done wrong, but you are afraid to listen to it." 
 
 " You will drive me mad, De Gospitch. What have 1 done 
 to deserve this?" 
 
 " You have sacrificed your sister to your unbending pride — 
 you know it." 
 
 Mrs. De Gospitch did not — would not acknowledge the 
 error of her teaching : she maintained that she had acted 
 with prudence and a laudable dignity tlu'oughout, and that 
 Mary's misfortunes were the result of fortuitous circum- 
 stances. She alleged in her defence that the natural badness 
 and desperate cunning of man had blinded herself and Mary, 
 as it would have blinded any other portion of innocent and 
 confiding womankind. She asked — with that vulgar assur- 
 ance assumed by women when they play a desperate game — 
 •what chance of escape a simple girl had when a wary villain 
 of a man chose to put in play all the talent of his bad nature 
 to deceive and Avm her for his wife '? 
 
 Easy task to attribute to the innate badness of human 
 nature the effects of our own misdeeds ! 
 
 It was a double pang to the haughty woman that the out- 
 cast suitor was now a rising and prosperous man— married to 
 money, and likely to become a person of some consideration. 
 His prosperity was additional evidence of her error — a con- 
 demning fact. These considerations and pleadings worried 
 lier incessantly ; and she found no soul to comfoi-t her. Her 
 husband was arrayed against her— she could nowhere find 
 pity or justification. Her ill-schooled temper could not 
 calmly survey this trouble : she vented her anger on De 
 Gospitch, whom she accused of ill feeling, want of love, dis- 
 respect, and injustice. He bore these accusations with the 
 firmness of a hero — a firmness not unmixed with scorn. 
 Mar}''s illness did not move him ; he cared little about the 
 girl's distresses: she was not his relation, and absence of 
 connection justified, in his opinion, a want of sympathy.^ The 
 De Gospitches were warmly discussing the merits of Grasy's 
 conduct, when Mr. Jihuidly lleeks was aimounced. j\Ir. 
 Reeks, to the liorror of Mr. De Gospitch, and, as a natural 
 consequence, to the delight of Mrs. De Gospitch, held a manu- 
 script in his hand.
 
 Q36 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 " We are going to be favoured with a fresh effusion, I 
 hope," said the lad3^ 
 
 " Not my own," answered the modest author. 
 
 " I'm so sorry for that." 
 
 The bard bowed. 
 
 " It's a beautiful allegory — quaint and thoroughly original." 
 
 " Do let us hear it, Mr. Eeeks." 
 
 " Certainly." And Mr. Eeeks forthwith unfolded his 
 paper, and, having given forth the name of the author as 
 Christian Andersen, read as follow'S : — 
 
 " Should you, after a thunder-storm, go into a field of buck- 
 wheat, ,you will probably find the crop quite black, just as 
 though it had been burnt. The fai-mer attributes this black- 
 ness to the lightning; but what, in truth, is the actual cause? 
 You shall hear what the sparrow told me, and the bird had it 
 of a willow-tree that stood in a field of buckwheat, and stands 
 there still. The tree bends till its branches almost sweep the 
 ground ; and its foliage has very much the appearance of long 
 green hair. 
 
 " In the neighbouring fields crops of rye, buckwheat, oats, 
 &c., were flourishing. There the grain stood, in golden ful- 
 ness, putting one in mind of a dense flock of bright canaries ; 
 and, as the fruit w^axed heavier, the stalks would bend \nth 
 their load in a spirit of patient humility. The buckwheat 
 field lay around the willow-tree ; but the buckwheat was proud, 
 and would not bend like other grain — it stood erect derisively. 
 
 " ' I am as rich as the ears of corn,' said the buckwheat; 
 ' and, besides, am I not more beautiful? My petals are as 
 handsome as apple blossom ; it must be quite delightful to 
 look at me. Am I not splendid ? Did you ever see any 
 thing more beautiful, old willow ?' 
 
 " The tree made no answer, but gave a nod as though he 
 meant to say — ' Yes, indeed, have I.' 
 
 " Hereupon the buckwheat set the willow down as a stupid, 
 insane old fellow — so very aged that the long grass Avas near 
 upon suff'ocatiug him. 
 
 " A fearful storm arose. The flowers folded their leaves 
 and bowed their tender stems before the superior strength of 
 the hurricane ; but the buckwheat stood proudly erect. 
 
 *' ' Bow thy head, even as we do,' advised the flowers. 
 
 " ' Not I,' answered the buckwheat.
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 237 
 
 " ' Be warned, and take our advice,' said the corn. ' The 
 spirit of the storm is near uirou us. His wings reach from 
 the clouds above to the earth; he will crush thy fragile 
 anatomy before thou canst ask mercy.' 
 
 " ' I bend not,' retunied the obstinate buckwheat. 
 
 " ' Shut up thy boasted flowers, and bend thee,' quoth the 
 willow-tree ; ' look not at the flashes of lightning, even mortal 
 man dares not do that ; for thi'ough the llasliiug fluid God's 
 heaven is seen, and such a sight is too grand for humanity. 
 What then can we vegetables expect if we do that which man 
 may not practise ? ' 
 
 , " ' Tush !' said the buckwheat, ' I will gaze into God's own 
 heaven.' 
 
 " And the presumptuous plant did as it had threatened. 
 Lightning came so fiercely that the v.ide heavens appeared as 
 one mighty expanse of flame. The storm passed over. The 
 flowers and corn stood in the fi'esh pure air, invigorated by 
 the rain ; but the lightning had singed the buckwheat to a 
 mere cinder, and it lay dead and useless upon the earth. 
 
 " The willow was agitated by the gentle breeze, and drops 
 of liquid fell from its trembling boughs as though the old 
 tree were weeping. And the sparrows chirped, ' Why are 
 you weeping ? It is delicious here. Look at the bright suu 
 and passing clouds ! Inhale the sweet fragrance of the hedge- 
 rows and flowers ! Why then are you woful, venerable tree ?' 
 
 " And the willow told the sad stoiy of the buckwheats 
 pride and presumption, and of the certain punishment of these 
 vices. The sparrows are my authority. One evening I 
 begged for a fairy tale, and they chose the history of the 
 buckwheat." 
 
 During the reading of the above, Mr. Reeks did not per- 
 ceive the confusion of his hearers ; he did not see how 
 blanched was the curled lip of his hostess — how penetratuig 
 and set was the gaze of his host. 
 
 " Sweet thing,"' said Mr, Ileeks, addressing Mrs. De Gos- 
 pitch. 
 
 " Exquisitely so." 
 
 " A fine moral, purely conveyed," continued Mr. Reeks. 
 
 *' Very purely." 
 
 " It teaches aptly a grand ti-uth," he added. 
 
 The lady started, and gave a furtive glance towards her
 
 238 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 husband. This trepidation did not last many seconds. The 
 lady answered firmly — " Beautifully pohited, certainly." 
 
 " It aims at the root of the grand and defenceless social 
 wrong of which human arrogance is guilty daily." 
 
 The troubled woman was silent, and in a state of agonj^ 
 
 " It upholds the principle of universal equality, and points 
 correctly to the consequences of inordinate pride. And how 
 grand, how noble, and how welcome must any writing be, 
 fraught with such a purpose ! " 
 
 Mrs. De Gospitch left the room. 
 
 " You and I, Eeeks, never agree in these matters," said 
 De Gospitch. " You're a Radical — I'm a Tory, a thorough- 
 going Tory, who believes that servants are servants, and 
 nothing more ; and that the Early-Closing Association, and 
 all such bodies, only tend to let a parcel of dissolute young 
 fellows upon town at an early hour. I shouldn't wonder if 
 the Association were found to be a base conspiracy got up by 
 the licensed victuallers for the sake of custom. They know, 
 as well as I do, that early closing will fill their tap-rooms and 
 parlours.'' 
 
 " You judge human nature harshly." 
 
 " No, no. Reeks, you are a sentimentalist — you're in a 
 wrong school — you're throwing your talents away — you're 
 worthy of a better fate. As Captain Flyblown said to me at 
 the club the other day — ' Why, De Gospitch, these humanity 
 maniacs talk now of educating our privates like gentlemen. 
 We shall have the fellows talking Latin and Greek, and dis- 
 cussing the fate of the nation with all the importance of com- 
 missioned officers. Fancy a private on guard pacing up and 
 down with quotations from Shakspeare, and those fellows, 
 dropping from his plebeian tongue. Ecod ! they'd better 
 make us mere tutors at once — and a pretty state tliat'd be for 
 a gentleman and an officer to descend to ! ' Captain Fly- 
 blown, in fact, thinks with me, that there 's a deuced long 
 distance between a gentleman and a plebeian, and the sooner 
 you come round to that way of thinking, Reeks, the better." 
 
 " You'll never convince me," said the lost poet; " never! 
 I love the belief in universal equality. Is it not a grand 
 thing? — Listen! — Is it not a grand thing, I say, to believe 
 that we are all here — we — millions and millions — with one 
 common destiny — one common heart — one common right 1
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 239 
 
 tliat torture the mandates of Providence as in our blind arro- 
 gance we may, we must still return to this — that the dust of 
 the meanest peasant will, in the course of time, mingle ^^ith 
 the dust of the emperor — that the bosom of mother earth 
 will enfold the ashes of all -with equal surety — and that the 
 peasant and the emperor have their deeds alike recorded for 
 that grand and solemn judgment of man by God ! " 
 
 " All that sort of thing sounds well, Reeks — extremely 
 well ; it s good in theory, extremely good ; but doesn't do at all 
 in practice. I confess I like a distinction ; I like to see the 
 line betwixt master and servant definitely and broadly marked. 
 I hate the cant about the amalgamation of classes." 
 
 " Wrong, De Gospitch, wrong," continued Reeks. "You 
 forget the grandeur of progressive movement in a detestation 
 of some obscure and insincere agents. Canters cling to every 
 popular cause, cling as leeches to beauty's flesh, and die with 
 the bad blood of the fairest cause in them. You confound 
 men with principles. I do not now seek to uphold indivi- 
 duals as gods; I advocate the cause which they advocate. I 
 place myself in their ranks, not because I admire them, but 
 because I sympathize with the object of their exertions. And 
 if in the ranks some canters may be found, let us not con- 
 found their cant with the genuine principle." 
 
 " There 's something in that," vouchsafed De Gospitch. 
 " But I 've been accustomed to entertain very diff'erent notions. 
 I don't see what there was to complain about ; the old state of 
 things was very comfortalile." 
 
 " Ay! De Gospitch, to you, very comfortable ; but you forget 
 that millions groaned to give the few those comforts ; — that 
 the few fattened at the expense of the many. I tell an old 
 tale, but a true one." 
 
 Tliis conversation only served to strengthen the two gentle- 
 men in their respective original notions, the old issue of argu- 
 ment. Tlie abrupt disappearance of Mrs. De Gospitch was 
 a pnident step on the part of that lady. Andersen's story 
 had no beneficial effect upon her. She retired to hide her 
 confusion, not to make any good rosnl\o. How well pri(k; had 
 choked her heart ! how well she had learned the world's worst 
 lesson ! How worldliness had dammed the hot-wells of her 
 soul — had plunged disdain, like an ice-ball, into the warm 
 recesses of her nature. Behold her— a woman stately as a 
 queen- an empty image — a faultless piece of stiituaiy, per-
 
 240 THE DISGRACE TO TEE FAZVITLT. 
 
 fectly modelled, yet wanting soul to give to the beauty, beauty's 
 liigliest attribute. Behold her tread upon lowly humanity as 
 upon the commonest footstool — behold her lost to all save 
 pride. Where is her affection — where her faith ? Religion 
 is not in a soul so mudded — affection herein is a love of self. 
 She has little faith; and so, though propped by wordliness, 
 and to all appearance happy, she cannot hold self-questioniug 
 —she is content to use her worldly station, and to close her 
 eyes upon the futui'e and the past. 
 
 " Take faith from man, and man is toth 
 The dastard and the slave ; 
 And love is lust, and peace a sloth. 
 And all the earth a grave !" 
 
 Any person or circumstance that stood between her and the 
 object of her blind ambition was treated recklessly ; the 
 means were not weighed against the end. Weighed against 
 the satisfaction of her pride, a heart was nothing — witness the 
 fate of Mary Grasy. And this woman was a mother — the 
 God-appointed tutor of three young souls, who were alive to 
 every impression — who implored her daily aid in their weak- 
 ness and ignorance. And what did she — in the impressive 
 lessons of example — teach them ? To cherish an ennobling 
 feeling of brotherhood ^\ith all people about them ? No ! — 
 To call goodness nobility ? No ! — To miderstand that their 
 future station must depend upon themselves ? No ! Their 
 eai'ly lessons were, — contempt for servants, pride of birth, 
 (grandchildren of an auctioneer on the maternal side, and of a 
 monied nobody on the paternal ! ) and a total disregard of 
 others. What wonder if children so taught grew up and 
 included their teachers in this disregard !
 
 .^^^ 
 
 ^#1^^ 
 
 \ _:feiv^: 
 
 /:^vo. 
 
 ^k^^rJ/v /y/^/' a^mryHJo^^y/^ /yvM ^mm^jii^d^f/^.'
 
 THE DISGKACE TO THE FAMILY. 241 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 DISSOLUTION OF THE INTENDED UNION. SOME WHISPERS 
 
 ABOUT LEGAL PROCEEDINGS. 
 
 " strong as the eagle, 
 mild as the dovej 
 How like, and how unlike, 
 Death and Love ! "Sis. E. L. Bclwek. 
 
 Happiness calls not for dee-p philosophy. " Man -wants but 
 little here below." Gold is not legal tender in the marriacfe 
 market. Our happiness is in our own hands. "We are the 
 makers of our misfortunes. Old, old truths — tiite savings — 
 choice mouthfuls for moral fathers and maternal women — 
 mouthfuls to which daily practice gives daily solidity. It is 
 ■ennobling to feel that we have been the unaided architects of 
 onr own fortune — to know that we have laid the plan, raised 
 the scaffolding, and built the edifice. Pride of birth and 
 heritage of wealth may give pleasure to their possessors and 
 confer worldly consideration upon them, but the decent com- 
 petence earned earnestly and hopefully is worth a coronet to 
 its possessor. There is such an absurdity in the world as 
 love in a cottage, though respectable people with household 
 ambition beyond their means mistrust the phantom. Love, 
 in the minds of some very sensible individuals, must have at 
 least a brougham — would die a sudden death in an omnibus. 
 Cupid cannot subsist upon less than three courses and a 
 dessert ; plain living would bring him to a premature grave. 
 Cupid stickles for footmen and liveries, a French cook and a 
 pair of bays — tlie boy-god cannot drag througli a weary exist- 
 ence under £300 per annum — at £150 he would soon yield up 
 his ghost; and Cupid's ghost is the most liorrilile apparition 
 it is possible for humanity to be haunted with. The gliost of 
 Cupid (the information is given for the benefit of inexperi- 
 enced miiidens) lias been christened Indifference. Attend to 
 the following, young ladies. 
 
 Love canuot endure stocking-mending, pudding-making, 
 dress-making, omnibus riding, or plain living. So, if you wish 
 
 u
 
 243 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 the rosy god to nestle in your home for ever, your house must 
 he in a commanding situation, it must be sumptuously fur- 
 nished, and be inhabited by servants in plush : choose then 
 the lover who can command these essentials, and avoid all 
 suitors who have only •' modest incomes," and who talk of 
 your being " all in all to each other." Some romantic and 
 quiet people have had their notion of perfect happiness fully 
 satisfied with a lover of slender means, but it is well to assure 
 young women that such results are the exceptions which 
 prove the rule. 
 
 It is perfectly true that Henry and Marian Gospitch lived 
 happily together. The theory of wedded bliss is so compli- 
 cated that any attempt to explain it within the limits of this 
 history would be preposterous: so the writer must confine 
 himself to an unprefaced report of the life within the walls of 
 Carnation Cottage. It must, however, be sho^^ia that this 
 connubial felicity was fully merited. 
 
 A man's head is his Mentor — a woman's heart is al- 
 ways her master. It may be true that woman's brain is 
 less wise than man's, but she has that which makes a happy 
 and effectual substitute. Her feelings obscure her sight, but 
 they always lead her along the right path ; she may be blind, 
 but she has a sure dog Tray in her bosom. A woman will 
 read another's character at a glance ; few men have this 
 grand faculty. This fact may account for the frequent mis- 
 takes made by men in marriage. A woman is seldom disap- 
 pointed in her love — but a man is rarely confirmed in his 
 first opinion of his mistress. When he sees her for the 
 first time he looks upon her as a being almost angel — he 
 knows her, and discovers that she is but a woman — with 
 woman's failings and caprice. Sad the experience that takes 
 the cestus from woman — revealing her infirmities and her 
 baser passions : to youth she is a goddess — to age an atten- 
 tive and willing nurse. Marian's love for Henry was born 
 healthily ; she loved his good qualities before she loved the 
 man. To be more explicit, her affection was founded upon 
 her gratitude for his honest and manly kindness to herself 
 and Mr. Gaps ; he won her heart by doing good — not' by 
 courtship. She watched him narrowly whenever she had the 
 opportunity — she watched the better impulses of his nature 
 as they resolved themselves into actions — she watched his 
 friendless struggle with the world — she saw that his end was
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 243 
 
 an lionest, if not a glorious one — and she loved him — loved 
 his soul. He was worthy of this love. 
 
 The couple sat together one evening shortly after their re- 
 turn to town, in the light of the setting sun. Grand masses of 
 cloud rose from the sun's blazing bed of state, and birds were 
 chirruping their last song, or arranging themselves in their 
 warm nests, and men were thronging homewards from the busy 
 city. All creation seemed to be homeward-bound, and gleeful. 
 
 Marian and Henry were alone : Brasely and his affianced 
 wife were out walking. Henry took the sleek white ha:id of 
 his wife, and said to her in an undertone — that musical murmur 
 which gives utterance to the heart's truth — 
 
 " My dear Marian, how inexpressibly do I feel the purity 
 of our happiness this evening." 
 
 No words passed Marian's lips ; but he who has mastered 
 the alphabet of the heart might have read in her melting eyes 
 an eloquence too grand to be translated by the tongue. Her 
 husband continued — 
 
 '• A shocking circumstance occurred to me yesterday ; it 
 made my blood run cold." 
 
 "My darling!" murmured Marian, appealingl}' — her hand 
 upon the arm of her husband. 
 
 " It is a sad story, Marian." 
 
 "Anything happened to your proud relations?" asked 
 Llarian, tenderly. A frown gathered upon the brow of the 
 young man at the mention of his kindred. 
 
 " No," he said, firmh' and lowly, — " worse." 
 
 " Henry, dear ! " 
 
 " You shall hear it. You have heard of Msltj Maturin — 
 now Mrs. Grasy?" 
 
 " Yes," faltered the wife, sadly, as though the knowledge 
 of her husband's former passion were a black spot on her 
 lieart — a spot now shown to her anew. 
 
 " You know that an engagement existed between Miss 
 Maturin and myself." 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " And you can easily understand how nearly I am inter- 
 ested in her hajjpiness." 
 
 Marian started — withdrew her hand from her husband's 
 arm — and turned aside licr head. It was hard to feel that she 
 was second tenant in Henry's heart — but still harder was it 
 to know that the first inhabitant yet held a wing of the sanc- 
 
 M 3
 
 244 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 tuaiy. Henry saw that lie had wounded Marian — how coukl 
 he soothe her '? 
 
 " This is ungenerous," he said. 
 
 Again Marian clasped his arm warmly — again was her sleek 
 hand tangled in the waving of his hair. Tlie dove had 
 dropped its wing, concealing from its mate the open wound. 
 " It is, Henry — go on." 
 
 " Her husband is a luined gamester — a man vrithout a far- 
 thing." 
 
 " And his wife — your Mary ! " 
 
 " I did not ask. He came to borrow money from me : I 
 lent him a few pounds, and he hastened away from me with a 
 blush-burn on his cheek." 
 
 " But why was he so confused '?" 
 
 " He sought me as a stranger ; he had heard of my past re- 
 lation to his wife, and was cowardly enough to take advantage 
 of his knowledge on the subject. He tlionght I could not re- 
 fuse any thing that could keep the wolf from the door of my 
 old love, and so he sought me. He has a deep knowledge of 
 human-nature, a knowledge that he turns to meanest purposes." 
 
 "You know notliing then about his Avife. She may be 
 alone — friendless, aiid in want. Oh ! Henry." 
 
 " Marian, the fate of Mrs. Grasy, be it ragged penury, has 
 not been influenced or brouoht about by me. She has lonj? 
 been dead to me. To think of her is to wrong you." 
 
 " To love her — yes. You may still pity, if you have ceased 
 to love." 
 
 " Good, good, Marian, you teach me charity: it shall be so. 
 If she be in want you shall convey comfort to her. I will not 
 wound her with my presence." 
 
 "Wound her!" 
 
 " Yes. Those we have slighted in prosperity become our 
 terror when we fall." 
 
 Gospitch, you knew not the full extent of IMary's bitter 
 pride — you knew not that the marriage with Captain Grasy 
 Avas a plot of revenge conceived to boAv you to the earth — con- 
 ceived to impress upon you the generosity of Mary s conde- 
 scension in having once promised to link her life Avith yours. 
 You Avere ignorant of the struggles vou had occasioned her — 
 of the throes, the heart-pangs your love had cost her. She 
 exerted the utmost energies of her proud but nerveless nature 
 to Avound you — if you trampled on a Avorm it turned upon you
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 2i5 
 
 savagely. In this slie was human, but in the meek endur- 
 ance—in the gradual recognition of error — in the last act of 
 her life (which will be unfolded presently), she was divine. 
 
 "Grasy(I heard to-day) has escaped to the continent: I 
 know nothing about his wife : she may be with her sister ; 
 if so, she is not in want." 
 
 " Have they any chikh-en ?" 
 
 " One." 
 
 *' Poor woman ! He has, perhaps, left her alone in some 
 obscure part of town, allowing her a miserable pittance. Isn't 
 it possible to know something about her?" 
 
 " It is just possible. But I do not conceive, Marian, that 
 I am at all connected with or called upon to befriend Mrs. 
 Grasy." 
 
 " Henry, if she is in want you mmt and shall do something 
 for her. You think you will excite my jealousy. If I had 
 any such feeling it is past — smothered as an unchristian 
 thought— ?(0!/.' I feel intimately interested in her. Do try and 
 know something about her — I will see her." 
 
 About nine o'clock in the evening Miss Dhiah Jackson and 
 Mr. Robert Brasely returned. They were both in high spirits, 
 in spite of their prolonged tete-a-tete. 
 
 " Moping at home," said Dinah, addressing the newly-mar- 
 ried couple. " I 've just been explaining to Ilobert that liome 
 duties are not in my way at all." 
 
 Bob's foce wore a serious expression at this moment. He 
 was probably reckoning the expense of keeping a housekeeper, 
 two maid-servants, and a cook — a mercenary fellow ! 
 
 " What will you do with a house ? " said Marian to her sister, 
 in joke. 
 
 " What ! Sleep and dine, and now and then sup in it, to be 
 sure. I 'm not of the domestic order at all, and Robert knows 
 it ; and what 's more, he likes it." 
 
 " Yes," muttered Bob, soliloquising; " it 's very well to talk, 
 but where "s the money ? I ask a simple question, where 's the 
 money? — that 's all about it." Brasely was anxious to change 
 the topic of conversation. This unpleasant recurrence to the 
 capacities of his extremely limited exchequer was not calcu- 
 lated to instruct or amuse either himself or the company. 
 Miss Dinah Jackson's facetious alhisions to their wedded bliss 
 in prospect had considerably C(joled the passion of her hus- 
 band elect. He did not choose to be the butt of a giggling
 
 240 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 female's insipidities — so he said. He -vs-as determined, in 
 short, to court Miss Jackson for years — to hold the wedding- 
 ring (as ingenious donkey drivers do carrots before asses) so 
 that she might seem nearly within reach of the dainty al- 
 ways, hut never he allowed to swallow it. He felt certain of 
 victor)', from his faith in the universality of female impatience. 
 Little did the confiding Dinah imagine that such a base de- 
 termniation lurked in the heart of tliat " duck of a fellow," 
 Kohert Brasely. 
 
 "Don't you allow him to be out o' nights?" asked Bob, 
 addressing Mrs. Henry Gospitch in a tone of good-natured 
 raillery. 
 
 " Suppose he doesn't wish to leave home." 
 
 " Well, but sujipose he does ? " 
 
 " Then he may go." 
 
 " Attend to your sister," said Boh, addressing Dinah with 
 mock gravity ; " you- hear Mrs. Gospitch declare that she al- 
 lows her husband to go out at night whenever and wherever 
 he pleases." 
 
 " You don't go out alone," answered Dinah, assuming a 
 commanding tone of voice. 
 
 The quick closing and reopening of one pair of Bob's eye- 
 lids said very plainly, " Ha ! ha ! won't I though." 
 
 Bob, it must be owned, played his game with consummate 
 skill. He concealed his cards, it is true, but they turned up 
 trumps. His first was played to inspire his fair opponent 
 (or, in other words, his mistress) with disgust towards himself; 
 aTid it was a long time before his play promised success. His 
 opponent would sing to him — - 
 
 " The heart that has truly loved never forgets, 
 But as truly loves on to the close; " 
 
 and he would listen to the strain with fear and doubt. 
 " Ecod ! " he would mutter, " if she persists in this loving to 
 the close business it 's all up with me ; but let 's hope she '11 
 relent. 1 11 tell her of my games about town — here goes. — 
 Dinah, dear ! " 
 
 " Yes, Eobert, dear." 
 
 " I 've done two or three things in the course of my eventful 
 life which my duty compels me to tell to you. Will you hear 
 me?" 
 
 " Y''es — I know my Bobert can't have done anything very 
 wicked."
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 247 
 
 " It is, though, Dinah, very wicked — if I may be allo-\ved to 
 express myself so emphatically — deuced wicked." 
 
 " Go on — how romantic ! You '11 have to kneel at my feet ; 
 and I, like the wronged young lady in the novel of the ' Fat 
 Heiress,' shall have to forgive' you on one condition." 
 
 " Ah ! Dinah. You '11 never forgive me — I know you won't. 
 I 've assisted at a rat-fight." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 "All! I wish it was, Dinah. I've been at a number of 
 cock-fights ! " 
 
 " You naughty fellow ! " 
 
 " Yes — and helped to spur the cocks into the bargain. 
 There ! " 
 
 " Oh ! how wicked ! " 
 
 " Put 'em on steel claws, my dear, as long as your finger, 
 and as sharp as a needle." 
 
 " Dear, dear me ! " 
 
 " Ah ! By Jove, I msh that was all." 
 
 " Robert, I shall faint." 
 
 *' Nonsense, my dear ; you know you won't do anything of 
 the sort. You know fainting females are my aversion — so 
 mind." 
 
 " Relieve me of this dreadful suspense. What else have 
 you been guilty of?" 
 
 " Of gambling in a small way." 
 
 " In a small way I How?" 
 
 " Tossed for tuppences, when gentlemen skyed for pounds." 
 
 " Gentlemen ! Why, Robert, what do you call yourself?" 
 
 " Now, I appeal to you, Dinah ; and I 'm as cool as a man 
 tip to the ears in a snow-drift. — Do you think it was gentle- 
 manlv to toss for malt?" 
 
 " Malt, Robert ! " 
 
 " Yes, dear — ale, stout, beer, and that style of thing. Was 
 it gentlemanly?" 
 
 " My dear Riobert, these are the follies of very young men. 
 I forgive you — forgive you with all my heart. Now are you 
 happy?" 
 
 llappy! Bob was exceedingly mortified and perplexed. 
 He was afraid it was a hopeless task attempting to disgust 
 her; however he would make anotlior trial. 
 
 " My dear girl," lie said, in a sepulchral tone — " xVh ! all ! 
 how wicked men are ! Your innocent, unworldly bosom little
 
 24S THE DTSGPtACE TO THE FAjriLY. 
 
 imagines the extent of corniption tliere is in the ■world — not 
 only in the ^voiid, but in London — not only in London, but at 
 Clapham — and not only at Clapham, but very near you." 
 
 " Oh ! dear me ! " 
 
 " Bottle this, Dinah ; bottle this screaming, and listen 
 quietly, like a sensible \Yoman. I 've betted largely at horse- 
 racing ; and Avhat 's more, have always lost." 
 
 " Well ! " 
 
 " What a creature it is ! " muttered Brasely, annoyed at 
 this persevering forgiveness. 
 
 " I forgive all — everything — my own Robert. I could for- 
 give anything in you. I should have been horrified at all 
 this in anybody else ; but in you I feel that it was but the 
 effect of an exuberant spirit, bursting with uncontrollable 
 impulse — struggling beyond retention for any satisfaction. 
 You have now had experience of the world, and know well 
 how hollow all its bad jileasures are. You will lean on your 
 own Dinah, won't you? like a good, sweet fellow, as you are." 
 
 "I have not yet told all." 
 
 " Go on, darling. I am prepared to forgive, whatever the 
 fault may be." 
 
 " I once knew a lady who " 
 
 " What ! what ! you treacherous, deceitful, cruel, dangerous, 
 ungrateful man. Oh! oh! what shall I do?" The fair 
 questioner herself satisfied this query by bursting into an 
 alarming flood of tears. Bob feared that he had gone too far 
 in the matter ; however, after a little consideration, he settled 
 in his own mind that he had acted for the best. His notions 
 were not purely selfish. He argued, and ^^•ith a show of truth, 
 that it was better to part from a girl than to drag her from a 
 comfortable house to a miserable tvro-pair back and cold meat 
 — to say nothing of the absence of pickles. The separation 
 might be a shock to the girl ; but it was better to give her 
 one good shake than a series of shakes ; and so Mr. Robert 
 Brasely calmed that troublesome part of the human animal — 
 his conscience. 
 
 The romantic Dinah was at a loss how to act with regard to 
 her lover's conduct. What did he desen-e ? — That was not the 
 point. — What was due to her dignity ? It was an intricate 
 question. She recollected many heroines in similar situations. 
 For instance, Lady Humdrum, in the False Fair One, when 
 she heard that her lover had been guilty of love towards
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 249 
 
 another before he met lier hiclyship, declared that her dignity 
 Avould not allow her to accept the leavings of another lady ; 
 -while Miss Blushbegone, in the Last Red Eose, liked her lover 
 all the better -when she heard of his early passion for another. 
 This contradiction -was terribly perplexing — she -nas sure it 
 -would drive her mad. Would not the incident, treated in a 
 thoroughly original manner, (in fact as she could treat it if 
 she liked to take the trouble,) make a capital chapter for the 
 novel she -was at -^ork upon? that it would. Mr. Eobert 
 shouhl be in print, and it -would serve him right. She could 
 give his character (and it would not be complimentary) in a 
 very few -words. A critic in the Devil's Dyke Gazette and 
 Chain Pier Advertiser, said, in his criticism on her article in 
 the Belle Assemblce, where she signed I. D. B. S. T. V. A Lad;/, 
 that she had " a quick perception of character and a force of 
 expression that should recommend her writings to the attention 
 of all classes of the community. Nothing could surpass the 
 vividness and truth of her description of a great-grandmothers 
 nightcap — it must come home to the hearts of all." Whether 
 the nightcap or the truth of her description did go home to 
 the hearts of all, is a point the historian cannot undertake to 
 decide. It is sufficient for the elucidation of the story that 
 Miss Dinah Jackson agreed entirely with the above-quoted 
 ^vriter ; and further, she considered him to be a very profound, 
 not to say an impartial critic. And so the critic encouraged 
 Miss Jackson to venture upon a larger and more complete 
 ■work; and if the public have had occasion to find fanlt with 
 the exceeding weight of Miss Dinah Jackson's subsequent 
 productions, let the said public quarrel with the Devil's Dijko 
 Gazette critic, and not with the flattered female. 
 
 To skim had bonks — sucli is the critic's trade ! 
 To gloat o'er faults, and put all "points" iu shade. 
 He turns the pages ere ho strikes the blow ; 
 (The publisher's address he wants to know). 
 Know ye not whence the critic's favours spring] 
 
 " AVith us you advertise — your book 's the thing." 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Unjust the critic who forbears to praise ; 
 
 More cruel still — who crowns the fool with bays. 
 
 Brasely, though he was grieved to see the unhappincss he 
 had caused, was dctcrniined to make the best of his manoeuvre ; 
 so he continued his fiction with a well-feigned sadness. 
 
 M 3
 
 250 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 <i 
 
 I knew her," he continued, "when I was a boy. We 
 grew up together, as the song says, ' like double sweet-peas ! ' " 
 
 " Where do you expect to go to ? " This tender inquiry con- 
 cerning Bob's post-mundane expectations did not ruffle its 
 object in the least. 
 
 " My dear Dinah — " 
 
 " Don't dear me, sir. Proceed with your story, Mr. Brasely, 
 and blush if you can." 
 
 " Vv^ell, then, Miss Jackson, I will tell you one thing, 
 namely, Robert Brasely will not be insulted, Eobert Brasely 
 has done nothing that he need blush to tell." 
 
 " No. I dare say, in his own opinion, Mr. Ptobert Brasely 
 ought to have a pair of wings at his back, and be sitting upon 
 a bunch of clouds, like a cherub in a picture." 
 
 " I 've my faults, Miss Jackson. Am I to consider myself 
 as no longer engaged to you?" 
 
 " Just as you please, sir." 
 
 " Very well — good morning. Miss Jackson. There is your 
 hair, and I '11 send your letters by the Parcels Deliveiy • 
 Company." So saying. Bob rushed from Carnation Cottage. 
 
 Dinah called after him, but he would not hear her. His 
 name was Robert Brasely, he muttered to himself, and he 
 would not be trifled with by anybody. 
 
 Having fully assured himself of the firmness of his resolve 
 not to be trifled with, and having also settled in his mind the 
 probable expense of carriage iwr the Delivery Company to 
 Clapham, and congratulated himself u^^on his very dexterous 
 and excessively happy escape from the clutches of grim 
 Hymen, he steered his coui'se towards his favomite night 
 haunts, with the intention of enjoying his newly gained 
 emancipation. 
 
 A morrow's headache is the only recorded evidence of the 
 successful termination of Bob's laudable pursuit. Bob met 
 Henry at office ; moreover, Bob noticed the studied coolness 
 of our hero towards him. 
 
 " You have heard all, I suppose," said Bob. 
 
 " You allude, Brasely, to youi' quarrel Avith Miss Jackson, I 
 presume." 
 
 " Exactly ! " 
 
 " I can only tell you that, when I left home this morning, 
 my wife was bathing the poor girl's teipples. She is very ill." 
 
 " The deuce ! You don't sav so ! "
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 251 
 
 << 
 
 A woman's heart is not a toy, Bvasely. It isn't a play- 
 thing to be flung aside carelessly — wantonly." Henry's keen 
 eye was fixed upon his friend as he spake these words. 
 
 " She, herself, refused me." 
 
 " Refused you ! You know how it was, Brasely. Refused 
 you ! " Scorn was marked on Henry's lip. " Are you a man, 
 and cannot bear with a girl's temper?" 
 
 '• I am answerable to nobody, Henry." 
 
 " Be it so, Brasely. I do not plead for Miss Jackson ; I am 
 even pleased to know that your engagement with my sister-in- 
 law is at an end. You were not suited for each other." 
 
 The veil had fallen from the maiden's eyes ; the rose tints 
 of her prospect were removed ; love's bright colours had 
 faded and disappeared, and her quondam lover was her pre- 
 sent aversion. It, ts trae that a deceitful man wrongs man- 
 kind, and plants a barrier of doubt between his victim and the 
 world. Dinah vowed eternal enmity towards the sex. Men 
 had not one good quality, she affirmed; there was not one 
 redeeming trait in their character. As for Mahomet, he didn't 
 know human nature, or he would have written — women only 
 shall go to heaven, and men shall be put where they will 
 have little opportunity of catching cold. A frail bark, dis- 
 abled at the outset of her voyage, she must struggle on- 
 ward, in the hope of getting into port before long. A rose- 
 bush whose budding beauty was frosted ; a dove, wounded 
 beyond the possibility of cure ; a wingless lark, that once 
 trilled its lay of hope, and soared above the earth at mid-day. 
 
 When Mr. Jackson heard of Brasely 's conduct with respect 
 to his daughter, he declared that it was precisely what he had 
 expected — exactly the line of conduct he always imagined the 
 young man would pursue. This fatherly declaration did not 
 contribute to soothe the maiden's sorrow-choked heart. Mrs. 
 Jackson refrained from giving any very decided opinion upon 
 the subject ; the wliole profundity of her rhetoric being en- 
 gaged in the solution of a very important and very delicate 
 question — namely, could Mr. Jackson rake up sufficient evi- 
 dence against the faithless swain, to enable him to support 
 an action for breach of promise, with success ? 
 
 Having deeply considered the 2^>'os and cons of the case, and 
 having in her own mind, and to her no small satisfaction, decided 
 that a breach of promise action might be supported against Mr. 
 Robert Brasely, bachelor, Mrs. Jackson one evening proceeded
 
 252 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 ■v\'itli an unusual and elaborate ceremony, to lay before her wedded 
 master her studied and deliberate opinion in the matter. Mrs. 
 Jackson called upon her husband with some warmth, and an 
 interminable vocabulaiy, to give her profound advice his most 
 earnest and impartial consideration. It was not for herself, 
 goodness knew, that she urged this step ; she wouldn't gain a 
 forthing by the proceeding, that was very clear. Mr. Jackson 
 listened to this discourse with extraordinary attention, and to 
 the utter astonishment of the entire family circle, agreed with 
 his wife upon the subject. He would bring an action — to he 
 sure he would. Why shouldn't he? Impressed with the im- 
 portance of this determination, Mr. and Mrs. Jackson pro- 
 ceeded to Carnation Cottage, in order to procure all evidence 
 necessary for the favourable issue of the cause. 
 
 " We will lay the damages at 3fi0?.," said Mr. Jackson, 
 when he was comfortably seated in the front parlour of the 
 cottage. " Yes, we 11 say 300Z." 
 
 «■ Jaoksop, you must be stark mad!" said that gentleman: 's 
 faithful spouse. 
 
 "Mrs. Jackson!" 
 
 " My daughter's peace of mind to be valued at the paltry- 
 sum of 300?. ! I never heard of such a thing in the whole 
 course of my life ! and since I've been married I have heard 
 queer things, gracious knows." 
 
 " Pray, Mrs. Jackson, what may your valuation be?" 
 
 " Three thousand pounds, and not a farthing less ; and if 
 the jury don't find for every shilling of it, they 're no gentle- 
 men ; that 's all I have to say. Three hundred, indeed ! I 
 wonder what next?" 
 
 " Mrs. Jackson, you are an inexperienced person in these 
 matters." 
 
 " It "s my misfortune, Mr. Jackson — that I am so." This 
 connubial thmst incensed its object beyond description. 
 
 " Madam, I desire that you observe a strict silence during 
 the remainder of the discussion upon this important subject. 
 We don't want petticoats in our law courts." 
 
 It was at length determined that Mr. Jackson should wait 
 upon his legal advisers immediately, and leave the matter in 
 their hands. 
 
 Messrs. Gruff and Tuff were acute fellows— men of exceed- 
 ingly sharp practice. They never despaired of a case so long 
 as money was forthcoming. They had done business for Mr.
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 253 
 
 Jackson before, on tlie speculation of success or non-success ; 
 and Mr. Jackson -wished Messrs. Gruff and Tuff to conduct the 
 present action upon the same condition. But a very laudable 
 prudence suggested to the Gruff of the firm an inquiry with 
 respect to the defendant's worldly circumstances ; and in con- 
 sequence of the plaintiff's unsatisfactory answer to this very 
 natural question, the firm declined the job with many thanks, 
 and with earnest assurances that they would be happy at all 
 times to undertake the conduct of IMr. Jackson's legal affairs. 
 We will not say what Mrs. Jackson thought of Messrs. Gruff 
 and Tuff's " shabby behaviour ;" suffice it, that the action 
 was abandoned, ^Nlr. Jackson being determined to have recom- 
 pense for the loss of his daughter's peace, in the shape of a 
 pull at the nasal organ of Robert Brasely. In justice to 
 Dinah, we must add, on this head, that she had nothing what- 
 ever to do with the proposed legal proceedings. Though her 
 love was but sentiment, she would not have her feelings 
 valued like goods ; her heart-pangs should not be paid for at 
 a jury's valuation. Dinah took up her pen, and made her 
 private wrong a public nuisance.
 
 254 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 CEEDITOKS' RESPECT. THE AUDITOk's "mFE. 
 
 The gentlemen whom Captain Grasy had honoured Avith his 
 custom, considered it a prudent measure to assemble at a 
 tavern called The Keys. The assembly was a well-attended 
 one, for the gallant captain had not allowed any man to en- 
 gross his patronage. Hence five tailors made their appearance ; 
 four bootmakers ; three hairdressers, whose united genius had 
 cultivated the debtor's whiskers to a high state of beauty ; 
 seven hosiers; twelve glovers; three livery-stable keepers, 
 one of whom declared that the fugitive debtor had broken the 
 wind of four of his best " 'osses," to say nothing of the damage 
 done to innumerable whips ; and fourteen tavern-keepers, who 
 unanimously bore witness to the cultivated taste of their 
 debtor's palate : " it was no use trying to give him the second- 
 rate for the first-rate port." This highly respectable and 
 learned body voted Mr. Toddy, tailor, and principal creditor, 
 to the chair. Mr. Toddy, who clipped the Queen's English as 
 though the said language were a piece of superfine Saxony, 
 rose amid the plaudits of his felloAv-sufferers, and said — 
 
 " Gen'lemen, — ^We ha' met here on an extremely unpleasant 
 business — there 's no doubt about it — very unpleasant. I an't 
 accustomed to speechifying in the least ; it isn't my business 
 in no way ; but I may say, \\-ithout rousin' the hindignation 
 of my co-tailors, (if I may be allowed the expression,) tliat I 
 am fust fiddle in my line. Capting Grasy has chose to make 
 hisself scarce, without payin' us poor tradesmen a farden. Now 
 what I want to know — and I dare say what you all want to 
 know likewise, and veiy natural — is, what Capting Grasy's 
 firm is worth? Gen'lemen, I don't b'heve it's worth a shillin'. 
 Well, what course is left to us— that 's what we 've met for to 
 decide. Well, gen'lemen, I must leave it to your cleverness 
 to suggest— that is to say, to point out some course whereby 
 we may recover some of the worth of our respective goods. 
 So, gen'lemen, I shall take the liberty of settin' myself down." 
 (Vigorous cheering.) Mr. Toddy resumed his seat with the
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 255 
 
 air of a man ^vho had settled the fate of an empire. He 
 glanced at his blue satin ^Yaistcoat, and felt in his heart that 
 he was the first of tailors. 
 
 Mr. Brandyton, liverj-stahle keeper, then rose. Mr. Brandy- 
 ton was a corpulent, red-faced, puffy individual, troubled with 
 a " short breath." He gasped once or t\Yice, and then said, 
 pompousl}' — 
 
 " Gen'lemen, — Fate 's a wixen, an ovit-aud-out Anxen, as 
 does good to nobody, and plays the fool with everybody. 
 When Captain Grasy called on me for the first time, and said, 
 says he, ' Brandyton, your best hack — mind, no cat's-meat — 
 I 'm a bit of a judge, I can tell you ' — I clapped my hand on 
 the left side of my waistcoat, and gave him my best 'oss. Well, 
 gen'lemen, the captain was such a knowin' hand, and such a 
 henthusiastic rider, that I thought with his recommendation 
 to back me up my fortun' was made. Now I see the truth of 
 ■what my good woman told me at the time. ' Brandyton,' says 
 she, ' that 'ere captain an"t a uonerable captain : he '11 shove 
 you into the Bench afore you can sa}' Jack Robinson ! ' ' Get 
 along, Sally,' says I, at the time, for I'm nat'rally exceeding 
 dignified ; ' get along ; you knows nuffin of the matter, and 
 shouldn't presume to give an opinion.' Well, gen'lemen, I've 
 come sharp round to my wife's way of thinkin' ; and what I 
 mean to do at once, and without further ceremony or talk, is 
 to hand my case over to my lawful adviser." 
 
 Mr. Brandyton resumed his seat amid the congratulations 
 and plaudits of the assembly. At this point, a hairdresser, a 
 bootmaker, and a tavei-n-keeper rose simultaneously, and cla- 
 moured respectively for preference. The hairdresser only 
 wished to ask the company one single question ; namely, could 
 he, if he met the captain, take his wig from his debtor's head, 
 as the debtor had not paid even for the peruke he wore. He 
 only wished he could spoil the whiskers he had brought to 
 such an enviable state of perfection ; it would be a little 
 revenge. The bootmaker wished to know if he would be jus- 
 tified in keeping a pair of boots which the captain had worn, 
 but which had been left with him to have spurs fixed in them. 
 " Ah ! to spur my 'osscs, the blackguard ! " interrupted a 
 livery-stable keeper; and the tavern-keeper wished to ascer- 
 tain whether he could legally claim certain charges for waiters 
 who h;id attended upon the captain. The entire assembly 
 asked questions of the entire assembly, and the eutke assem-
 
 256 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY, 
 
 l)]y was ignorant of the law upon the various points at issue. 
 The meeting was a most stormy one, and would have ended 
 in various personal encounters, if a gentleman, who had 
 hitherto remained silent, had not interfered to quell the cla- 
 mour. Tliis timely peacemaker was Henry Gospitch, who 
 had attended at the request of his wife, to make matters as 
 easy as possible to the sick wife of a heartless, cowardly, and 
 dissipated man. Henry rose, obtained silence, and said: — 
 
 " Gentlemen, I appear before you in the position of Captain 
 Grasy's creditor. I have been Captain Grasy's friend. I 
 sympathize, believe me, heartily with you all. I acknowledge 
 that you have been unfairly and cruelly treated ; and I must 
 add, that the captain's conduct has blotted him from my list 
 of friends. Gentlemen, I and Captain Grasy are henceforth 
 strangers. (Immense cheering.) It is perfectly natural, gen- 
 tlemen, that you should view the career of Captain Grasy with 
 indignation, and that you should determine to visit his treat- 
 ment of you with the utmost penalty of the law ; but ere you 
 decide upon this course, I would have you listen to an appeal 
 that will come home to you all, and soften, at least for a time, 
 your plans with regard to your debtor. I believe that Captain 
 Grasy has fled to the continoit. This, however, I know : he 
 has left a young wife — and oh ! gentlemen, how worthy slie is 
 of all happiness! — to die alone, in poverty, and with a broken 
 heart. Stretched on a bed, delirious, and in daily danger of 
 death, her aching heart demands, has sacred calls upon your 
 pity. A dying woman is at your mercy : spare her. She 
 will not last long : and is it much I ask of you, pleading for 
 the bare comforts of a dying Englishwoman before English- 
 men ? Do not send the wolf to teaze a dying lamb ! " 
 
 This appeal, made energetically and earnestly, had its de- 
 sired effect. The hearts of the clamorous creditors were 
 softened, and they agreed unanimously, that they would not 
 urge their claims for the space of one month. 
 
 Mr. Blowman — the man in possession — thoroughly enjoyed 
 the downfall of the Grasys, and he did not conceal liis gratifi- 
 cation. His frequent jests upon the subject of the captain's 
 flight were especially palatable to Mrs. Grasy's servants. 
 They only remained to see if it was possible " to recover some- 
 thing from the wreck," as Mr. Blowman termed partial pay- 
 ments ; and, to pass the time pleasantly,, they and Mr. Blow- 
 man feasted themselves, regardless of expense. The man in
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILT. 257 
 
 possession was not in possession of any very considerable amount 
 of property. The abode of the Grasys was ready furnished — ■ 
 the only property of the tenants consisting of some feather- 
 beds, arm-chairs, and other small luxuries, which the captain's 
 sense of personal comfort had induced him to add to the hard 
 couch and chairs provided by his landlord. But Mr. Blow- 
 man's equanimity was not disturbed by this discovery. The 
 captain owed him nothing, and so he was quite safe. This 
 agreeable philosophy did not suit the position in which the 
 servants suddenly found themselves with regard to their em- 
 ployers — they were creditors, and would act as such. Blow- 
 man's legal acquirements and acute rhetoric were called into 
 play, and he was about to communicate his advice : and to 
 give the said advice extraordinary effect had dipped his hands 
 into his trousers' pockets, when the emptiness of these recep- 
 tacles reminded him of what was due to the dignity of his pro- 
 fession ; whereupon he declared to the cook, housemaid, and 
 foo*^^mau, that he should be guilty of a gross violation of pro- 
 fessional etiquette were he to give legal counsel gratuitously. 
 
 "Gratuitously! ^Vliy whatever does that mean? Does it 
 mean gracious — free — for nothing ? " asked the housemaid. 
 
 " Precisely so. It 's hard to take money of poor folks— ^ 
 but the etiquette of the profession must be attended to — must 
 indeed. I 'm sorry for you, but I dare not advise you upon 
 the subject. It 'd ruin my prospects for my life if the Chan- 
 cery bar were to come to know on it; shouldn't be able to 
 hold up my head in court agin." 
 
 " What shall we do !" exclaimed the cook. 
 
 " Do without the advice, to be sure," said Nathaniel ; " with- 
 out Mr. Blowman can let us have that commodity uncommon 
 cheap, Givin' advice is like givin' a friend a shabby present 
 — it 's always chucked away." 
 
 " I 'm not anxious to give opinions, Mr. Nathaniel, so don't 
 think it. Mi/ opinions arc the result of study. 3Iy advice 
 an't 60 empty, and, if I may say it, so humbugging as some 
 people's." 
 
 " Well, then, no flummcrj% liow much for this here splendid 
 bit of advice?" asked Nathaniel. 
 
 " My fee for a consultation is half a sovereign — not a fardcn 
 less." And Mr. Blowman's cheeks swelled with the import- 
 ance of his position.
 
 258 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 ♦' Goodness gracious, there's the money to come from?" 
 asked the frightened housemaid. 
 
 " I '11 subscribe my three-and-four-pence," said the cook. 
 
 " So '11 I," said Nathaniel. 
 
 " Well, I s'pose I must too." 
 
 The money was forthwith collected. The cook extracted 
 some greasy and hot silver from her bosom ; the housemaid 
 dived among the ragged contents of a dresser drawer for her 
 contribution ; and Nathaniel flung his share of the subscrip- 
 tion on the table, with the careless air of the mightiest banker. 
 
 Mr. Biowman collected the money, placed it securely in his 
 trousers' pocket, and proceeded at once to deliver himself of 
 his legal judgment upon the merits of the case. He said : — 
 
 " Mr. Nathaniel, Mary, and Susan, — I have an arduous 
 dooty to perform— a dooty the importance of which I feel 
 most acutely. During the whole course of my long pro- 
 fessional experience I do not remember to have been engaged 
 upon a case calling for a more profound and (if I may be 
 allowed the expression) a more responsible opinion. My 
 clients, you are a standin' between the Scylla of humbugging 
 and the Charybdis of bein' humbugged. It remains for 
 your own honest minds to decide whether you will be the 
 humbuggers, or the humbuggees. If I may be allowed to 
 guide you " 
 
 " Allowed ! ^Vliy what did you pocket the ten and six for?" 
 asked Nathaniel, with hardened contempt for the majesty of a 
 lawyer. 
 
 " Sir," continued Biowman, with added pomp, " I must not 
 be interrupted in my capacity of legal adviser. I say again, 
 that it remains with you to decide whether you will be the 
 humbuggers, or the humbuggees. If I may be allowed to 
 guide you, I should say decidedly that your most advantageous 
 step would be to assume the part of humbuggers. If you 
 agree with me, and adopt this course, then is the road clear 
 as mid-day. I apprehend that you mistake the precise mean- 
 ing which I am anxious to convey to you. In other words, 
 then, I would advise you to remain in your present respective 
 situations until your employers are finally disposed of. I 
 would, moreover, counsel you to be vigilant and attentive ; they 
 may then pay you your full account, (for I believe there is 
 some bit of an estate in Ireland belonging to the scarce cap-
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. S59 
 
 tain,) wliile on the other hand, should you decide to throw up 
 your respective engagements at once, certain am I that you 
 ■will not receive sixpence in the pound." Here Mr. Blowman 
 resumed his seat, amid the thanks of his delighted audience. 
 
 " How clever," said Maiy. 
 
 " How full o' learning," said the cook. 
 
 " You "re up to a thing or two," said Nathaniel. 
 
 It was thus decided that they (the servants) should remain 
 peaceably in their places, and do theu* work respectively, as 
 became decent and well-behaved folks. 
 
 A loud double knock called Nathaniel to the street door. 
 Mrs. De Gospitch had arrived, and was admitted. She waited 
 in the drawing-room to know if her sister was in a state to re- 
 ceive her. Presently the nurse made her appearance, droj)ped 
 a low curtsey, and said : 
 
 " Mrs. Grasy is in an exceeding critical state, ma'am — doc- 
 tor's been, and says she 's to be kep' quiet. She 's asleep now, 
 maam. I Ve seen people worse." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Mrs. De Gospitch. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, ma'am. The last lady I attended — it was a has- 
 matic case — she drew her breath as if she was makin' steam 
 on a window pane to draw on ! well, she recovered in three 
 weeks, and now is as hearty as can be." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " Another case was a fever one. The lady was exceeding 
 violent at times, and wouldn't let her friends come anigh her, 
 but with me she was as gentle as a lamb, bless her— she died. 
 I laid her out in such a beautiful coffin — mahogany outside, 
 and silver mountings and handles — quite a luxurious thing it 
 was altogether. She was a beautiful lady, and a good lady 
 too — she left me a very handsome sum for my services, which 
 I can assure you, ma'am, I was uncommon glad of, seehig that 
 I had scarce a fartbin' to bless myself with at the time." 
 
 " Perhaps your mistress is awake now — go and see." 
 
 The woman obeyed, and perhaps thought that the meek 
 sufferer above had a better heart than her haughty, unbend- 
 ing listener. The nurse remained away. Presently Na- 
 thaniel ushered a strange liidy into the drawing-room giving 
 her name — Mrs. Henry Gospitch ! 
 
 IMarian advanced to meet Mrs. De Gospitch. The latter 
 rose from her seat, gave effect to her full height, gave a curl 
 to her lip, and said slowly and frostily — ■
 
 260 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 " To -what circumstance am I, or is my sister, indebted for 
 this visit, madam ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Grasy does not need aid then : I heard that she had 
 not a bed to lie on." 
 " Madam ! " 
 
 " I am sorry — I did not come to— Madam you will permit 
 me to retire." Marian bowed, and retreated precipitately. 
 Mrs. De Gospitch was overwhelmed with indignation at the 
 impertinence and presumption of ]\Irs. Henry Gospitch. She 
 had already suffered sufficient annoyance on her sister's ac- 
 count, and now, to complete the disagreeableness of the case, 
 a woman presumed to offer alms to her relation ! To her re- 
 lation I to her sister ! She could have cursed the almsgiver 
 from her soul. She saw the petty motives — the spirit of an- 
 noyance that in its utter badness sought its instrument of tor- 
 tui-e in a dying woman ! Henry Gospitch — the foul blot on 
 her husband's escutcheon — the pettifogging tradesman — would 
 be the family's everlasting degradation. How could they hold 
 up their head in " first rate society," while neighbours could 
 point to kindred behind a counter ! It was enough to know 
 that the family had low relations, without having the horrible 
 reality thrust before one in this degrading manner. So 
 thought Mrs. De Gospitch. She ascended to her sister's bed- 
 room, and found the patient calm and weak. 
 
 " Who do you think I have seen below?" said Susannah, 
 addressing Mary. " Why Mrs. Henry Gospitch ! " 
 
 Mary started, raised herself, and asked impatiently if 
 Henry's wife was still below. 
 
 " My dear Mary, you could not think of receiving her. 
 Just consider, dear, the society she moves in. I had a short 
 conversation with her, and of all the vulgar people— well, it 's 
 no use talking about the creature — she 's gone, and there 's an 
 end of it. She won't come here again I take it— she had no 
 very flattering reception from me." 
 
 Mary listened to her sister eagerly, caught each syllable 
 with avidity, and said in answer, " Susannah — ^j^ou have done 
 wrong." 
 
 " Xow that 's ungrateful, Mary — very ungrateful." 
 
 " How differently we think. I am not the same creature I 
 was three months ago." 
 
 " Well, then, Mary, I '11 tell you at once — she came to offer 
 you pecuniary assistance : she said she had heard that you had
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAM7LT. 261 
 
 not a bed to lie upon. There now, did you ever hear such 
 insulting conduct in your life?" 
 
 "■ How kind ! how good ! See how I have altered, sister." 
 
 " Not for the better," murmured Susannah, almost inaudibly. 
 
 However her sister's quick eye caught the whispered sylla- 
 bles ; and the sufferer said cheerfully, (laying her burning 
 hand upon the jewelled, cold, and pulpy fingers of Susannah's,) 
 " Yes, my dear, good Susannah — for the better. You can't 
 think how beautiful it is to die. Am I not a philosopher?" 
 
 IMary paused, but Susannah answered not. 
 
 " You know how we used to talk of death with horror — it 
 was veiy wicked. But I was a vulgar-minded creature then — 
 too earthly, too arrogant and sinful then — to tiilk of going to 
 heaven. We were vulgar creatures " 
 
 " Mary ! " 
 
 " Yes we were — vulgar, sinful, wicked things. We used to 
 talk ourselves to sleep, and tremble at our ovm hideous fears. 
 We used to say that it was so dreadful to think that one day 
 we should be screwed down in a box, and be put under 
 ground, with pounds and pounds of earth over us ; and we 
 used to think how horrible it would be if we were to wake 
 and find ourselves under ground, and see big worms pushing 
 themselves through the crevices of the cotUn, and feel them 
 winding their cold, damp, soft bodies round us— wasn't this 
 horrible, sister? you remember it." 
 
 " Yes," Mrs. De Gospitch trembled and was pale. The 
 
 sufferer continued • 
 
 • " And then we used to wonder how long we should live ; 
 and we used to hope ; and then try to persuade each other 
 that most people lived till they were seventy ; and then we 
 used to count how many years remained to each of us ; and 
 tlicn — dear, dear Susannali ! — how you cried when we found 
 tliat you would die first. You are pale now. This is foolish — 
 you see how wrong we were ; for I am going to die directly, 
 and you are well and happy, and liavc long years to live. 
 Besides, there 's nothing horrible in death — nothing ; it comes 
 upon me like a rapturous dream — as something glorious, that 
 is to make amends for all my troubles here." 
 
 " Do not talk so, Mary — I cannot l)ear it " 
 
 " Bear it! Oh! sister, if you could feel as I do now — if 
 3-0U could lie awake and see ecstatic visions — if you could see 
 a splendid world of universal harmony — a gorgeous picture of
 
 263 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 happiness — all smiles, but no loud laughter — all happy, but 
 none drunk with happiness. Stay sister — stay. I am not 
 raving — indeed I am not. Nurse, stand back, and let me 
 talk to my dear sister while I have time. — You know I am 
 going away very shortly, and it 's a shame to waste my last 
 moments. There — put my darling boy close — no — closer to 
 me. There; — now leave us for a time. And now, sister 
 Susannah, don't be afraid of me — I am not delirious — feel my 
 hand ; it is as cold as marble (the hand was hot as fire) — come 
 nearer — look how my boy sleeps. Well, you icill, won't you? 
 think of what I 've said. It is so wicked to talk and think as 
 we did. We were so fond of earth — Susannah, how wicked 
 we were ! that— but He will forgive us — w^e forgot our God ! 
 flow could we do so ! But I Ve prayed so for both of us — 
 begged of God to turn our thoughts to him always. We 
 haven't been good — we have both been led astray by the 
 world. We have been too proud — too overbearing. But we 
 will amend — we will do better. Where is he?" 
 
 " Who? — my dear child, you wander! " 
 
 " No — Henry. Where is he?" 
 
 " I 'm sure I don't know." 
 
 " You Avill be reconciled — you will all love him for my sake. 
 We have treated him shamefully, poor fellow. Y^ou must 
 show him every kindness in your power, and try and repair 
 the wrongs we have done him. He deserves to be happy. 
 Susannah, you cannot — will never know or understand what 
 I have suffei'ed the last few days on his account. You know 
 how we were engaged for months, and months, and months — • 
 how kind and good he was to me — liow he humoured me — 
 and you know too well how I — (I do not reproach you, dear) — 
 how I, taught by you, wronged him. What a noble heart he 
 has ! How firm he is ! How affectionate ! And how devoted 
 he was to me ! Idiot that I was to fling away the noble 
 passion of earth's noblest creation, like a feather " 
 
 " Y''ou forget, my dear, that your family demanded the 
 sacrifice " 
 
 " iHy family did not demand it. — You, Mrs. De Gospitch, 
 on the part of your husband, asked it, and obtained it. Not a 
 word about 7nij husband ; I have forgiven him — it is enough — 
 do not call me by his name — I sicken when I hear it. What 
 was the satisfaction of my wicked pride weighed against two 
 broken hearts ? "
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 263 
 
 " You must not talk so vehemently ; the doctor has for- 
 hidclen it." And Mrs, De Gospitch rang for the nurse. 
 " There dear, good-bye for the present ; I have some calls to 
 make. I '11 see you again in the evening." 
 
 Mrs. De Gospitch threw herself into her carriage, and 
 thought of her sister's " ravings." No — she had drawn out 
 her plan, and she would adhere to it throughout. Her pride 
 should be satisfied — Mary was not in her right senses, she 
 was sure. 
 
 Marian returned home from her interview with Mrs. De 
 Gospitch in a state of uncontrollable anger. It was not in her 
 nature to "take things quietly." She had all the gentleness 
 of her sex without its weakness ; she was. as a lady writer 
 says well, " feminine, but not effeminate." She knew perfectly 
 well that the haughty woman who had awed her was her 
 superior in the worlds eye, and her inferior in all that makes 
 a woman a holy and adorable creation. And Marian's heart 
 was impressed with the grandeur of charity and with the 
 pettiness of worldly pride. Yet she was angry — angry with 
 herself. She had suffered herself to be browbeaten by a 
 piece of pomp that should have excited her contempt at once, 
 as it did now. She felt her weakness, and was ashamed of it. 
 Dinah heartily sympathized with her sister, and was equally 
 indignant with her. Dinah proposed to punish Mrs. De 
 Gospitch by putting her in a novel — she would make an 
 exquisite chai'acter ; besides the incident itself was so very 
 dramatic, as an actress once said upon hearing of poor 
 Ilaydon's lamentable death. But this revenge was too severe 
 in the opinion of Marian. 
 
 When Henry returned home in the evening he noticed 
 Marian's sadness, and asked its reason. 
 
 " Mv pride has been wounded," said Marian. 
 
 "Wounded!" 
 
 " Yes ; I have been to Mrs. Grasy's " 
 
 " And she received you badly. On her death-bed too I 
 Good God ! how lost the woman is ! " 
 
 " I did not see Mrs. Grasy ; but I had an interview with 
 her sister." 
 
 " Say no more, Marian — I can understand your mortification 
 now. Heaven be thanked that it was not Mary." 
 
 " Mrs. De Gospitch behaved most rudely." 
 
 " When you say that you had an interview with Mrs. De
 
 264 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 Gospitch, Marian, you fully explain your grievance. Now you 
 must forget all about it." 
 
 Maiian did not forget, but she ceased troubling. 
 ****** 
 
 In the still hour of midnight, when restful sleep was upon 
 the inmates of Carnation Cottage, and policemen held undis- 
 turbed possession of the road, a loud knock rang through the 
 house, putting a full stop to the snoring of the maid servants, 
 and to the peaceful dreams of the inmates generally. This 
 knock was repeated at judicious intervals until Henry made 
 his appearance at the door. 
 
 " It's life and death ! " said the man. 
 
 " I 'm not a doctor," said Henry. 
 
 '•No — but you know Mrs. Grasy, sir, don't you? Your 
 name 's Gospitch, an't it?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Well, then, Mrs. Grasy 's a dyin', and she wants to have 
 a sight of you afore she does die ; so, please sir, you 'd better 
 turn out at once, and see her." 
 
 " I '11 be there directly." And Henry went to consult with 
 his wife upon the subject. She urged him to obey the sum- 
 mons, and he did obey it.
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 205 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 joy's guest. 
 " There is a lean fellow beats all conquerors." 
 
 " Oh ! Joj', most of all, loves to see death at her festive hoard ; for he is 
 himself a joy, and the last rapture of earth. Only the vulgar can confound 
 the heavenward soaring flight of humanity into the tar land of the spring with 
 the mock funereal plienomena on the earth ; in the same manner as they take 
 the hooting of the owls, on their departure for warmer climes, for the rattling 
 of ghosts." RiCUTER. 
 
 A TRAVELLER wlio bas passed the desert and thirsted, and who 
 is upon the borders of a country of sweet springs and luxuriant 
 pasturage, tastes but fointly tlie grand delight of a peaceful 
 death. Paint not Death, worldlings ! (if ye have hope) with 
 ghastly jaws and empty sockets ; paint him rather with brow 
 serene and features grand and comely, for he biingeth joy in 
 his train to all who fear not his presence. The mind was 
 vulgar that conceived Death in the form of a skeleton — as 
 though decay were Death's mightiest handiwork. We call to 
 mind the putrid clay he buries in the earth, too often forget- 
 ting that he saves the kernel ere he destroj^s the shell: 
 Death — the Emancipator ; not Death — the fell Destroyer. 
 There are few who wish to rise from their death-bed — few 
 who shudder at the touch of the monster they once dreaded. 
 And Mary, dying calmly, thought not of the outer world with 
 regret, nor wished to mingle with it again. Site had sipped 
 sufficiently of the draught of life ; and tlie gall that had been 
 mixed in it for her had done its work. Deatli makes us quafT 
 to his better accpiaintance in bitter cups. Slic felt that she 
 was about to take leave of her earthly fiicnds at the gates 
 of heaven. Not one thought of earth tainted her comj)]eto 
 prej)aration for her fate. Jiow grand and solid the raft fiith 
 builds from the wreck of a life, to bear the soul to the gloiious 
 haven where passi(m is not, and where love knows no abating ! 
 She had prayed for her husband with her whole heart — prayed 
 
 N
 
 266 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 that lie might be spared, and become the just protector of her 
 child. One appeal to the forgiveness of a man she had 
 wronged, and she had done with life — a few short words, and 
 Death might raise his scymitar. 
 
 A messenger disturbed the rest of Mrs. De Gospitch about 
 the same time that the summons reached Henry ; and she 
 arose to visit her sister's couch. 
 
 Within the house, upon the threshold of Avhich stood Death, 
 all was quiet — all voices Avhispered. In the sick-chamber all 
 was terribly gloomy. A long-wicked candle alone lighted the 
 room, and the nurse was so engrossed with her patient that 
 she heeded not the dimness of the flame. Pale as a withered 
 rose, the youthful matron lay on the couch of death — not in 
 agony, not in sleep, but in a state of utter prostration. Her 
 quick and faint breathing told that life was all but spent — 
 that the machine was nearly worn out ; a few hours, and it 
 Avould be broken up. Beside this heavenward-departing beauty 
 a baby boy was nestled, pillowed on his dying mother's arm. 
 Piuddy crimson health was daubed upon the infant's pulpy 
 cheek, and its quiet rest and even respirations showed tho 
 fulness of the life that ran through all its veins. So ill and. 
 pitiable the creature appeared who gasped the close air which 
 her child inhaled so freely, that, at first, the child's state seemed 
 to be preferable to the mother's — one moment's thought, and 
 the preference must be reversed. 
 
 The boy had perhaps years of suffering — of woe and wrong 
 to contend with and conquer ; the mother was on the brink of 
 a glorious eternity — her battle was over, and her victory at 
 hand. 
 
 When Mrs. De Gospitch arrived, Mary was in a swoon. 
 The nurse held her forefinger to her lip, and motioned her 
 patient's sister to be silent. 
 
 " I 'm afeared she "11 go off in one of these swoons," whispered 
 the nurse. 
 
 "Has the doctor been?" 
 
 " He can do nothing. You must be prepared, ma'am ; she 
 can't live through the night." 
 
 Presently I\Iary's eyes unclosed, and a smile — very faint — 
 broke upon her rigid features. She tried to extend her hand ; 
 but her arm trembled convulsively in the effort, and remained 
 upon the bed. Susannah took the damp and heavy palm, and 
 kissed it, and bathed it with scalding tears.
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 267 
 
 The nurse ■withdrew. 
 
 '• My dear Susainiah, do think of Avhat I said this nioruingi 
 I was quite myself when I tohl you how wicked we had been," 
 muiinured Maiy, as she looked at her sister with eyes glittering 
 like a thousand hrilliants. 
 
 Susannah was dumb — she had nothing to say. She had 
 come prepared to see her sister die — not to hear admonitions 
 in such awful moments. There was no escape — she must 
 listen now. The speaker raved not ; the voice that told her 
 her faults was eloquent with love, faith, and charity — not 
 maddened with the heat of a raging fever. 
 
 " Susannah," continued the solemn speaker in a deeper voice; 
 •' do believe me — I have prayed with my whole soul for you — 
 prayed that you may be spared the bitter vengeance outraged 
 Providence has heaped upon me. I have deserved all I "ve 
 suffered tenfold, for I Ve been veiy wicked. I would die at 
 peace with all ; and, above all, with him I have most 
 wronged " 
 
 " Mr. Henry Gospitch is come," whispered the nurse. 
 
 " Here he comes — I cannot support this." 
 
 Henry advanced to the bed-side, and, without noticing ]\Ir3. 
 De Gospitch, fixed his eyes upon tl:e frail form — the phantom 
 of his early passion. Her eyes met his ; and oh, the eloquence 
 of that mute meeting ! The sympathy was too intense for the 
 jarring of words ; forgiveness and love — unutterable love — 
 were in her mute looks, and both were satisfied. Mrs. De 
 Gospitcli retired from the bed-side. • Mary motioned Henry 
 to approach ; she took his hand, tried to raise it to her lips, 
 but failed — the effort was too great for her. 
 
 " Are you happy, Heniy ?" she sobbed almost inaudibly. 
 
 "I am, Mary." 
 
 "So am I now! Heaven! Heaven! this is merciful." A 
 bright smile broke upon her face, like sauj^hine upon a gloomy 
 landscape. She now had strength to raise his hand to her 
 dry and burning lips; and she kissed the hand rapturously — . 
 then turned her large deep eyes, and looked as though she 
 could read his soul's emotion in his face. 
 
 " I thought to meet you a fallen enemy," she said sweetly; 
 " but you see I am vanquished." And almost laughing, and 
 with an awful cheerfulness, she continued—" You ought to be 
 proud of the victory, Henry. See how much you have done. 
 
 N 2
 
 268 THE DISGIIACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 Your brother's position \\as given to him— you have won 
 yours. You should be the prouder man." 
 
 The woman who sat apart — the woman who had "workl" 
 written upon her heart indelibly — frowned upon her dying 
 Bister as she spoke the latter words. 
 
 " Yes, you have done noble things, and we have treated you 
 
 tadly. Your wife " Here Mary paused. His wife ! It was 
 
 she who should have borne that title. 
 
 " Your wife came like an angel to help me in my troubles. 
 Kiss her for me — love her for ber goodness to your old enemy. 
 Now, Henr}' — the words choke me — do — do — yon must forgive 
 me." 
 
 " Forgive you ! " 
 
 •' Yes. Generous to the last. Oh, what a heart I flung 
 from me ! You know, Henry, that I have wronged you — 
 cruelly, badly wronged you. Forgive me — do ; but I must 
 tell you all. I have prayed for strength to accomplish my 
 bitter undertaking. When you embarked in trade — a step for 
 which I honour you now — I was taught to despise you. There 
 is a sneer on your lip — oh, Henry, in mercy hear me ! You 
 do not, shall not, know who taught me so bad a lesson ; you 
 shall not hear how I struggled with myself before I fell." 
 
 Henry started. "Fell!" Mrs. DeGospitch started. "Fell!" 
 
 " I know your thoughts, Henry. I ivas married ; but when 
 I swore to love a man I loved not — when I shared the bed of 
 him whose heart I shared not — then, though my fault was 
 sanctioned by worldly precept, I fell — fell as low as woman- 
 kind can fall. Forgive me — do " 
 
 " I have — long ago." 
 
 The mother held her child to her bosom, and wept, and 
 ■wondered what would become of it when she was gone. 
 
 " The father of your child is away— may I replace him?" 
 
 " Now I am happy. Hem-y, my last breath shall be laden 
 with a blessing for you." Mary fell back upon her pillow; 
 Mrs. De Gospitch and the nurse advanced and watched her 
 motionless form. The boy was still upon her arm, and she 
 held his little hand in hers. Her breathing was inaudible. 
 Half an hour was so passed, in terrible suspense — the wit- 
 nesses of this solemn part of life were worn out. Presently 
 the sufferer's lips quivered, her hand grasped the child's 
 fingers till the little fellow cried with pain, and then her
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY, 269 
 
 entire form was almost imperceptibly agitated ; and then all 
 ■was calm and motionless for ever. The angels had gained a 
 sister spirit, and the undertakers — a customer. 
 Death is but the last line of a chapter. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 " I u-ill have feathers to the hearse," declared Mrs. De 
 Gospitch. " The dignity of your family, De Gospitch, de- 
 mands it." 
 
 " The dignity of mij family is not at stake, Susannah." 
 
 " But the dignity of mine is. What would those De Bruns, 
 who live a few doors off, say to see a bit of a hearse, with two 
 ill-looking horses, drive to the door, and carry poor dear Mary 
 away like a pauper? I tell you, De Gospitch, my sister shall 
 be buried respectably. I 'm ashamed to hear you talk of 
 money at such a moment." 
 
 " Do as you will. Have a procession reaching from the 
 house to the cemeterj- if you please ; only don't bother me 
 about it. I 've other matters to think about." 
 
 "John, show IMr. Blackjack in." 
 
 Mr. Blackjack was worth knowing; his heart was in his 
 profession. And when we say that he was a first-rate under- 
 taker, we accord him no mean praise. It requires more than 
 mediocre talent to become a good undertaker — to " perform" 
 funerals well. The actor on the stage is applauded for his 
 performance ; but the modest undertaker, who, for the price 
 of a walking funeral, assumes the part of a melancholy man, 
 and, in consideration of the e.\tra fees attendant upon a car- 
 riage burial, acts the part of a sobbing, irreconcilable mourner, 
 is never crowned with laurels. This is palpably unjust. In 
 what is the jilay actor the superior of the funeral performer? 
 "Ay — in what?" echoes Mr. Blackjack. Mr. I31ackjack 
 appeared before Mrs. De Gospitch, looking the very picture 
 of sorrow — a sorrow too deep for tears.
 
 270 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 " I come to receive your orders, madam, on tliis very 
 melancholy occasion. A carriage funeral, of course?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " And, if your deep sorrow, madam, will permit you to give 
 attention to such a subject — what coffin shall I say — oak, I 
 presume — and lead. Some prefer mahogany and velvet — ■ 
 mahogany is the most fashionable now." 
 
 " Mahogany then." 
 
 " Precisely so, madam. Four horses, of course?" 
 
 "Yes— four." 
 
 " And two coaches — also four horses?" 
 
 "Yes." ^ 
 
 "Feathers?" 
 
 " Yes— feathers." 
 
 " And feather-bearers. In fact, a funeral becoming the sta- 
 tion of the deceased lady. Sliall we put name and age on the 
 plate?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " The hour and day, if you please, madam ! " 
 
 " On Saturday, at twelve." 
 
 " Very well, madam, your orders shall be punctually at- 
 tended to. Good morning, madam — good morning, sir. — I 
 beg vour pardon, madam — mutes, I presume." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Thank you, madam — your humble servant." 
 
 And so the all-absorbing pride of Mrs De Gospitch outlived 
 her dying sister's repentant admonitions. Susannah professed 
 to regard Mary's last words as the delirious mumbling of one 
 insane with fever ; and to the world — that is to say, to her 
 "world — she told a very pathetic history of tlie deceased's 
 resignation and peace, and regretted to that world that it had 
 fallen to her sister's lot to be so miserably abandoned. Yet, 
 in the relation of the captain's short-comings, did Mrs. De 
 Gospitch condescend to draw upon her imagination for her 
 facts — making her wishes realities, . She told her world that 
 the captain's difficulties were unforeseen — occasioned by some 
 imprudent expenditure, and a distressing tightness in the 
 money market — and that the valiant soldier had retired to 
 France in a state of utter dejection. He was man enougli to 
 bear his pecuniary embarrassments ; but his sympathetic na- 
 ture blecl when he found that it \^'as absolutely necessary to 
 leave his charmim^ little wife behind him. She trembled 
 
 o
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 271 
 
 (before lier world) when she thought of the captain ; for she 
 felt assured that he would do something despei'ate when he 
 was made aware of the eternal desolation of his hearth — he 
 would never survive it. 
 
 Men are wonderfully adaptable — they can bend themselves 
 to any fate ; they are as willow trees, pliant before the storm ; 
 the storm once over, aud they are erect again. Mrs. De 
 Gospitchs version of her sister's household difficulties and 
 death fell from her lips smoothly as oil ; and her hearers 
 departed with physiognomies expressive of profoundest pity. 
 " Poor thing ! Only been married eighteen months ! How 
 shocking ! " 
 
 Perhaps the story was really shocking to some of Mrs. De 
 Gospitch's acquaintance : but it must be put forth as evidence 
 of the pliability of noble man's nature, that Captain Grasy 
 did survive the loss of his partner. So heroic was his fortitude 
 under tliis severe calamity, that he was seen to smile, and 
 smoke, and drink, and distinguish hearts from spades, only 
 two days after the news had reached him. Valiant soldier 
 that he was, he laughed — some said, at the misfortune — and 
 called upon the Fates to do their worst. 
 
 The captain left many friends in London who would have 
 been delighted to hear of his whereabouts ; but the soldier 
 was a modest, retiring individual, and though, he felt ex- 
 tremely flattered by the anxiety of certain Londoners, he did 
 not care to satisfy their veiy warm and earnest curiosity. 
 Strange as this delicate forbearance may appear in a rough 
 soldier, it was nevertheless in perfect harmony with the 
 characteristics of the captain's nature. The captain, probably, 
 had very good reasons for his determination — some friends 
 whispered to him that there was a possibility of exchanging 
 certain English bills with foreign brokers; whereupon Grasy 
 emphatically declared, in a true spirit of Christian charitj% 
 that he would not be the means of ruining a respectable 
 foreigner by allowing a close-fisted Jew to do him, as he 
 assuredly would, if he persuaded the poor fellow to buy paper 
 that never would be of any value whatever to its owner. Wo 
 may trace in this heroic determination tlie glorious mag- 
 nanimity of the captain's conduct generally. If he did any 
 body, he knew who to do, and, it must be added, how to do 
 them. Ho did not go to work in a sneaking manner — he 
 patronised royalty's tradesmen at once ; and it was hard, he
 
 S72 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAJtlLT. 
 
 said— extremely hard — if, Avith some thousand tailors in 
 Loudon, a man witli mustachios, wliatever his income might 
 be, could not continue to dress well. He hated mono^ioly in 
 any shajoe ; and, to prove that he was an anti-monopolist in 
 practice as well as in theory, he was proud in being able to 
 gay, upon his honour, as a gentleman and a soldier, that he. 
 Captain Grasy, had patronised no less than eight tailors 
 within the year — a profusion of patronage that must awaken 
 the best sentiments of gratitude in the bosoms of the very 
 braid of the worshipful Merchant Tailors' Company. 
 
 * * :;-- * * :',; 
 
 Marian lived to feel a mother's happiness ; she also lived to 
 see Maiy Grasy "s boy grow fond of herself and husband. 
 
 Miss Dinah Jackson has fulfilled her threat — she has given 
 her love adventures and trials to the world ; but the harsh, 
 ungrateful world has not ordered many copies of her produc- 
 tion, though the critic of the "Devil's Dyke Gazette" did his 
 utmost in the way of puffing. The said critic vowed with a 
 critic's eloquence that A Lover's Faithlessness should be in eveiy 
 lady's boudoir ; and that he could only say that he hoped 
 every body woidd peruse the work with as much interest, and 
 as much gratitude to the fair authoress, as he had gathered 
 from its delightful pages. 
 
 Miss Dinah Jackson treasured one firm conviction in her 
 tender bosom— it was this : that the above-quoted critic was a 
 man of sound and impartial judgment. The young authoress 
 was a philosopher, inasmuch as she did not mourn the ill 
 success of her three volumes ; and she found delight in read- 
 ing passages therefrom to the select and agreeable circle in 
 which she moved. That this circle was amused with these 
 readings, we cannot venture to affirm ; but it is certain that 
 the guests at Carnation Cottage often left at an extremely 
 early hour : whether this early retirement was necessitated by 
 over-excitement or a soporific propensity, the reader shall de- 
 termine for himself. Laudanum is elTective in certain cases ; 
 but it is not half so potent as a good heavy pamphlet on the 
 Banking Question, read by a thorough bass voice. We should 
 certainly recommend doctors to prescribe certain books when 
 they want to send their patients to sleep. For instance, in a 
 mild case of hysteria, wh}^ not, instead of so many ounces of 
 laudanum, prescribe a certain number of pages to be read to 
 the patient from the heaviest political pamphlet — or, if the
 
 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAJ^ILY, 275 
 
 patient be in a very critical state and a strong soporific is re- 
 quired, why not administer a leader from the " Morning Herald " 
 in the morning, and one from the " Standard " in the evening ? 
 
 * >i; 5^ * * * 
 
 If the reader vdW follow us — will without trembling accom- 
 pany us into one of those localities known to ladies as 
 " horrid nasty places, where a set of men sit together and 
 drink till nobody knows what hour," and listen witli us to the 
 settlement of a profound argument between Mr. Blandly 
 Reeks and Mr. Shakspeare Sheridan Jackson, we shall have 
 much pleasure in enabling him to hear the eloquence of these 
 gentlemen. Persons who dislike arguments will not derive 
 any amusement from the following pages ; and so we warn 
 them that they had better close the book at this point. 
 
 The two authors sat together in close conference on the 
 evening in question. Coarse laughter and ribald jesting was 
 going on around them ; but they were so wrapt up in their 
 argument, that they heeded not nor heard the licentiousness 
 of their neighbours. Before them stood two tumblers of grog, 
 which they sipped at intervals to clear their throats, so often 
 dry with talking. Blandly Reeks was a very young man — so 
 young, in fact, that the old gentlemen of his club would cast 
 their eyes heavenwards when he called for spirits. Blandly 
 Reeks Avas often told by elderly friends that he ought to 
 " rough it " — that it was the vocation of a young man to bear 
 the brunt of monetary distresses, and feel the difference be- 
 tween comfort and discomfort. The said elderly gentlemen 
 would observe, when Mr. Reeks had the temerity to order a 
 second course, that they were glad to see young fellows could 
 do it ; and that all they knew Avas, that when they were his 
 age they were glad to get a mutton-chop every day, they 
 could tell him. And, though these elderly individuals were 
 experienced men in their several capacities, they did not show 
 their sense or their logical profundity in this matter. Per- 
 haps it is ver}' proper and very useful that young men should 
 "rough it ;" but it will take a long time to persuade them to 
 undergo the annoyances of roughing it while they have means 
 at hand to smooth it. It has been shrewdly doubted whether 
 early unhappiness and penury teach a man benevolent aspira- 
 tions or show to him the better part of life. To return how- 
 ever to the liigiciiins whose conversation we have undertaken 
 to report. The argument began in this way : —
 
 274 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAillLT. 
 
 Mr. Shakspeare Jackson. Have you heard the sad news 
 about the Grasys ? The captain 's off, and his wife s dead 
 and buried. The captain is terrifically involved ; and when 
 Mrs. Grasy died there was a man in possession. 
 
 Mr. Blandly Reeks. Terrible ! terrible ! And what does 
 Mrs. De Gospitch say to this ? Does she bear the misfortune 
 well ? 
 
 Mr. Shakspeare Jackson. She bears it hke a lady. Mrs. 
 De Gospitch is a noble woman. Slie had a splendid funeral 
 for her sister, no end of feathers — in ftict, a perfect thing in 
 its way. 
 
 Mr. Blandly Beeks. What has become of the boy ? There 
 was a young boy, was there not ? 
 
 Mr. Shakspeare Jackson. Oh, yes. A squalling voung 
 buffer, miserably like his father. I don't know what""s be- 
 come of him. I suppose they 've packed him off into the 
 country to feed upon pork and porridge. 
 
 Mr. Blandly Beeks. Kind— extremely affectionate — the re- 
 sult, Shakspeare, of worldly wisdom. Give me the wisdom 
 of the heart. 
 
 Mr. Shakspeare Jackson. Oh, nonsense ! The wisdom of 
 the heart is a capital thing in theory, and if one gets a good 
 plot, works it up into a good marketable novel, as a moral ; 
 but in every-day life it doesn't do. I suppose you would 
 have let the girl marry De Gospitch's scampish 'brother— 
 a grocer ! Pretty she would have looked serving moist and 
 good cheap sixes to plebeian purchasers. The thing, as a 
 wind up for a story, would be capitally romantic, but very 
 disagreeable when it combes to the rub. I shouldn't mind 
 manying a sister to a retail tradesman, in a hook, but I should 
 be disgusted to hear of Arabella's marriage with any body 
 who was not a gentleman by birth and in a good position. 
 And you know very well — as well as I do — that you wouldn't 
 like a connection of yours to stand behind a retail counter. 
 
 Mr. Blandly Beeks. We know very little of each other, 
 Jackson — very little. You mistake me. My principles are 
 in my heart, yours are in your mouth— a wide difference, 
 depend upon it. You say that I should blush to own a small 
 tradesman for my kindred: do I blush? 
 
 Mr. Shakspeare Jackson. Certainly not. 
 
 Mr. Blandly Beeks. You see, then, how wrong you are. 
 I am the brother of a linen-draper- the brother of a man
 
 
 
 
 _ -'ii.Kzis 
 
 /•////// /// 
 
 //•//////
 
 ^ 
 
 %IE'-
 
 THE DISGKACE TO THE FAMILY. 275 
 
 ■^hom I respect and love. Aud now, Jackson, let me beg of 
 jou to throw aside the foolish pride allowable in purse-exalted 
 women, but beneath the dignity of a man. I can understand 
 the blindness of a woman in such matters ; but it puzzles me 
 to comprehend how a man can forget all in his pride. For- 
 give me for quoting myself, but I wrote a great truth when 
 I wrote — 
 
 But high-bom womanhood oft will, with pride. 
 Beckon the craving mendicant aside. 
 Woman will pity all those scourged by fate ; 
 She seldom stoops to love below her state. 
 
 I have studied the characters of the De Gospitches ; and, if 
 you have patience to hear me out, I will explain the result of 
 my observations. 
 
 I now tell you in confidence that I was once ashamed 
 of my brother — once, in my ignorance of the relative duties 
 of man, conceived that there' was an indelible brand in the 
 latter that sejiarated the man with a profession from the man 
 ■with retail trading for his means of living. Mark the ex- 
 treme narrowness of my views. I did not object to whole- 
 sale commerce, I should not have been afraid to own a 
 city man for a relation ; but it was the retail commerce — the 
 small dealing — that was the blot upon the man, in my eyes. 
 And so I have kept the fact of my brother's trade a secret. 
 I am alive to new impressions — I notice every thing — little 
 that comes before me escapes my attention. Aud when I 
 mixed with men, and saw their petty distinctions, I was al- 
 most ashamed of my fellow-creatures. I saw that the man 
 who sold a hogshead of sugar was an invited guest at the 
 tables of fashionable people, while the man who sold pounds 
 of the same commodity was a proscribed person. I reasoned 
 with myself upon the point calmly, and, I think, impartially. 
 At first I saw some show of reason in the distinction. I 
 thought that it might be a fair conclusion to suppose that 
 a man engaged in large and intricate speculations, and with 
 adequate means within his power to perfect himself in the ac- 
 comi)lishments of a gentleman, was more likely to be entitled 
 to the position of a conventional gentleman than the small 
 trader, whose business was confined to his counter and whose 
 means were generally sufficiently limited. I thought, too, 
 that it was necessary to draw the line somewhere, and then 
 I began to consider whether society had not drawn it veiy
 
 276 THK DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 fairly. Now listen — De Gospitch's grandfather was a small 
 tradesman — a man shut out by society from its more intel- 
 lectual circles; judge whether he deserved this exclusion. 
 Josiah Gospitch (the De is a recent addition to the patronymic) 
 was the son of a very wealthy and accomplished squire, who 
 owned considerable property in North Wales ; but, like many 
 squires, he was prodigal, ruined his property, and died, leav- 
 ing his son, Josiah, an accomplished beggar. Josiah, though 
 he did not shine as a scholar, was what society calls a well- 
 educated man. He could write, read, draw, and understood 
 music as well as most gentlemen, and he could speak French 
 tolerably. It was no fault of his that his intellect was nei- 
 ther vigorous nor comprehensive. He was not competent 
 to earn an immediate livelihood by a profession — none of 
 his friends had interest in town, and so he was compelled 
 to take a shop in Chester, where he struggled for many 
 years. In this lowly abode — in this retail trading-house — 
 De Gospitch's father first saw the light. Meanwhile old 
 Josiah worked hard — fought hard — fought as a desperate man 
 fights — till he became a very wealthy and influential man. 
 He died in the zenith of his commercial successes, leaving 
 the bulk of his property to De Gospitch's father. I dare say 
 you have heard all about old Gospitch. 
 
 Mr. Shahspeare Jackson. He was an absurd character, I 
 believe. 
 
 Mr. Blandly Beehs. He wasn't a genius, by all accounts. 
 He was a proud fellow — was engrossed in the formation of 
 plans that were to make his family prominent in the country. 
 You know very well that I am perhaps the last person in the 
 world to quarrel with a man's ambition ; and yet I do believe 
 that ambition, blindly worked out, is a positive sin. That 
 there are linked with ambition all the bitter yearnings of our 
 nature, I thoroughly and at once admit; but you must allow 
 that ambition, like all other passions, may carry a man to 
 dangerous excesses. Old Gospitch Avas madly ambitious on 
 this point. To effect the conventional advancement of his 
 family was the sole aim — the one exclusive purpose of his 
 life ; and any means were welcome that advanced his point. 
 Well, he taught his child this maxim, so full of hazard, — 
 " Piise, never mind how— rise !" and De Gospitch, schooled to 
 follow this dangerous path, has obeyed his tutor's instructions 
 to the letter. The old man forgot that, in inculcating a reck-
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 277 
 
 lessness of means, he made expediency tlie one grand virtue 
 of life. Now, the point to \Yhich I wish to draw your attention 
 particularly is this — did not old Josiah Gospitch deserve to be 
 ranked as a gentleman ? You will say, perhaps, that I found 
 a rule upon a single example ; but, if you will take the trouble 
 to examine more nearly the construction of society, you wU 
 see that I am contending for a very large class of the com- 
 munity. The great majority of tradesmen are well educated 
 men — fully equal in the grand essentials of education to pro- 
 fessional men, and as fully entitled to an honourable position 
 in society. How many Josiah Gospitches are now looked down 
 upon because they have descended to the hidignities of retail 
 trading! Mark, for instance, the conduct pursued by De 
 Gospitch with regard to his brother Henry. Do you call it 
 considerate, genei'ous, or even manly ? I make every allow- 
 ance for his wife's influence and innate haughtiness ; but I 
 really think, nevertheless, that no liberal person can commend 
 his beliaviour in the matter. And the fate of Mrs. Grasy will, 
 I hope, have a beneficial influence over her sister and De 
 Gospitch. I always pitied her as Miss Maturin; she was ill 
 at ease in her sister's house. I could see that she was not 
 happy — that a troubled conscience was making rapid inroads 
 upon that fragile frame. I watched her more narrowly than 
 you may have supposed, and I saw plainly that she did not 
 give her heart to her husband. She was conning her sisters 
 task of pride, and she was rapidly learning her governess's 
 maxims. She was determined to get the black into the nine 
 (as a friend has forcibly expressed it) as soon as possible. 
 But, Jackson, if you had watched the hourly torture of this 
 weak spirit, if you had taken the trouble to analyse her 
 heart's misgivings, and the wretched pride that racked her 
 inmost being, you would now say with me that those petty, 
 those paltry and absurd distinctions are ridiculous and bar- 
 barous in a countiy that pretends to extraordinary refinement. 
 Upon my word, I believe we are a nation of shopkeepers ; and 
 many of our worthy citizens nail their intellects to their 
 counters like valueless coinage. We boast of our commerce, 
 and despise our smaller trades. We rejoice in our enormous 
 trade, yet tuni our noses up at the huml)lc men connected with 
 trade. Our commercial relations are our prop ; yet we despise 
 the splinters of tliat prop. I can understand pride of birth — 
 I might myself be proud of a lineage reaching to the Con-
 
 278 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 quest ; but this pride is only good so long as it is an incentive 
 to noble deeds. I know no more contemptible being than the 
 hollow-skulled descendant of a house of heroes ; but I know 
 no more gratif3-ing position than that of enjoying the renown 
 for personal brilliancy that has descended through many- 
 generations. I should like to have a link in a chain of heroes ; 
 but I must confess that I should prefer obscurity and humble 
 birth to a glory wholly borrowed from ancestry. Isn't it a 
 pitiful state of things to see such a girl as Mary Maturia 
 flung to miseiy, to satisfy the paltiy pride of an auctioneer's 
 daughter? Or when you think over tbe matter seriously — 
 when you put the woman's heart in the balance — what an 
 utterly ridiculous proceeding it appears altogether ! Worldly 
 prudence is a virtue ; but, when the heart is at war -with this 
 virtue, better sacrifice the virtue than yield up the heart. 
 Where the heart is not fed, the daintiest food palls upon the 
 palate. How ridiculous, too, to make this sacrifice for Captain 
 Grasy — a gambler, without money to pay his debts, or a heart 
 to feel for his victims ! 
 
 Mr. Shahspeare Jackson. Yes ; I must confess I always 
 thought they made too much of him. I had a letter from 
 the fellow the other day, brought over by a friend and put 
 into the post in London. By the by, I think I have it in my 
 pocket : yes ; I '11 read it : — 
 
 " Deae Shakspeaee, — I have no doubt my sudden de- 
 parture surprised you and the fellows at the club ; but there 
 was no help for it : I was obliged to bolt. I have just heard 
 that my wife 's dead : poor thing ! She was only three-and- 
 twenty ; but I never thought slie 'd live long. If I may be 
 permitted a bit of facetiousness on so solemn a subject — I 
 thought that her vital spark would soon have an extinguisher. 
 You see I Avas right. I hear that Mr. Henry Gospitch has 
 taken charge of the baby : I 'm glad to hear it, for, by what 
 I 've seen of him, I should think he must be a decent sort of 
 fellow, and will do the best he can for the young one. If you 
 should come across him by any chance, perhaps you would not 
 mind telling him from me, tliat if it should ever be in my 
 power to reward his attention to the child, he may rely, upon 
 my honour as a soldier and a gentleman, that I shall not fail 
 to do so. I 've had some fun since I 've been away : nothing 
 wonderfully great, but pleasant, on the whole. I 've met
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAJHLY. 279 
 
 Lieutenant Rattat. "^^liat a jolly fellow lie is ! We went to 
 the Boulogne races together. They'd some veiy decent 
 horse-flesh there — hut a great deal of cat's-meat. I think 
 foreign races are always failures. However, all the jockeys 
 ■were Englishmen, and all the English horses won — two facts 
 that made me still prouder of Old England. I did not back 
 for much — but I betted well, and won in each case. It 's a 
 pity I did not go in for larger sums, but it s no use regretting 
 my stupid prudence now. 
 
 " I 've been to Paris again. Little was doing there, so I 
 left in disgust. By the by, Battat has grown a tremendous 
 pair of whiskers — and mustachios to match — a prodigality in 
 hair quite fearful to contemplate. It must cost him a con- 
 siderable item to provide these bushy appendages with the re- 
 quisite grease. He seems to be flourishing : he talks largely 
 ■ — spends largely — and grows largely. He is as fat as a por- 
 poise. 
 
 " Who do you think I saw outside the Academie Ptoyale? 
 Clara Crummy. You recollect Clara ? She is the pretty 
 balletrgirl who had a lobster-salad with us one night at 
 Lynn's, when she would persist in having half-and-half, 
 though we all wanted her to take bottled stout in preference. 
 She is doing the exceedingly- grand at Paris — she aspires to 
 the dignities of first-fiddle playing, and no mistake. No 
 second-rate business for her now. She has got an ogress of 
 a mother with her, and goes in for the premiere dauseuse and 
 propriety. Whether she will maintain these assumptions long 
 is a matter of speculation. All I know is. Lord Foppus is at 
 the theatre whenever she performs ; and I have noticed that 
 the instant she appears on the stage his glass is applied to his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Tantaut, the celebrated billiard-player, is dead. I was 
 much grieved to hear of his death — exceedingly grieved. He 
 was a very good fellow, and looked over me at the table. He 
 has pocketed a pretty sixpence or two of mine in his time ; 
 and so you will perceive that my report is unalloyed with self- 
 ishness. I am free to confess that he thrashed me regularly 
 at billiards ; 'Init I was his superior at cards, and he knew it, 
 for he professed, in my presence, to eschew card-playing as an 
 effeminate game. 
 
 " That Dumas has been cutthig an extraordinary figure in 
 Paris. The grand olject of his eccentric life seems to be to
 
 280 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 do every thing unlike every body else : and, if tliis be so, be 
 succeeds a merveille. 
 
 " I hear they are papering and painting the club: one com- 
 fort — I 'm away. If there s one thing I detest more than 
 another in this world, it 's the smell of paint. Really there 
 ought to be a measure introduced into the House to compel 
 painters to mix their colours with Eau de Cologne, or even 
 lavender water would be an imj^rovement upon the present 
 detestable compound. The measure might be called the 
 Anti-Nausea Bill. Make a present of this suggestion to the 
 Hon. George Grows, M.P., or, if you particularly wish to keep 
 it for your own use, you might introduce it into one of your 
 leaders. 
 
 " I don't know that, I 've any thing more to say — ^_yes — I 
 had almost forgotten it — can you oblige me with the loan of 
 y620 ? You shall be repaid punctually in the course of a few 
 months, when my next quarter's rents come in. The deuce 
 take it that my estates are in Ireland I If they were in Eng- 
 land, I might get my rent without running the risk of being 
 shot for my audacity in asking for it. If you can so oblige 
 me, you can direct to me at the Poste Restante, Paris. They 
 will forward any thing to me all right. 
 
 " Your old friend, 
 
 " Grast. 
 " To Shakspeare Sheridan Jackson." 
 
 I haven't sent him any money, and I 've peculiar and 
 very substantial reasons for not doing so — I haven't a six- 
 pence to spare. I can't make out why he married Miss 
 Maturiu : she hadn't any money — not a farthing, to my cer- 
 tain knowledge, and she was not wonderfully handsome. 
 
 3Tr. Blandly Becks. — That is exactly the point I 've lately 
 mastered. He married her, thinking she had money. lie 
 knew that she was not an heiress in her own right, but he 
 also knew that her brother-in-law was an extremely rich man 
 — fond of making an appearance in the world ; and so he 
 shrewdly calculated that De Gospitch would give IMiss Matu- 
 rin something in the shape of dowry. But in this he was dis- 
 appointed ; his wife did not bring him a sixpence. I never 
 thought very highly of the captain, but I did not suspect 
 that he was capable of the brutality with which he has sent 
 his miserable wife to an early grave. The De Gospitches are
 
 THE DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY. 281 
 
 aristocrats run mad. I could excuse or applaud political am- 
 bition, fairly fought for; but it seems to me such a small 
 grasping to aim at family distinction, with money only for the 
 arrow. 
 
 Mr. Shakspeare Jackson. — Now for a quotation, Reeks. You 
 know what you said about ambition in the opening passages 
 of your satirical poem ? — 
 
 " Ambition ! mightiest of human springs; 
 By statesmen courted, and caressed by kings— 
 The poet's fire, and the patriot's prop — 
 The cant of fools — the plaything of the fop — 
 Spirit of all the nobler flights that move 
 Man to treat manhood with a brother's love. 
 Ambition stalks uncheck'd throughout the land^ 
 The insane leader of a desp'rate band 
 Of preachers, patriots, and lynx-eyed fools 
 "Who spit their venom on the man that rules ; 
 Envy their principle, and dull cant their gain. 
 False priests in philanthropy's holy train." 
 
 That's touching them off rather severely; but the fellows 
 deserve it. 
 
 Mr. Blandly Eeelcs. — Deser\-e it — ay, they deserve any 
 treatment. I honour earnest men, be their creed Mahom- 
 medanism, and tlieir opinions despotic ; but I hate canters, 
 be their professed religion the most enlightened, and their 
 political creed universal brotherhood. You know veiy well 
 that I am not for reducing society to a dead level ; I know 
 that, so long as human passions last, superiority and inferiority 
 will be felt and known ; but I should certainly wish to see 
 distinctions more sensibly made, and classes more equitably 
 moulded. I sigh not for Utopian regulations ; I ask uothitig 
 preposterous ; I ask for a fair recognition of every man's 
 capabilities, be they small or grand. I ask that a man may 
 be judged by his intellect, not by the weight of his jiurse — by 
 his gentleness, refinement, and acquirements — not by the ex- 
 tent of his warehouses. 
 
 Mr. Shdhspeare Jackson. — We shall never agree; it's no 
 use arguing the question. I acknowledge the aristocratic ten- 
 dency of my principles. I shouldn't like to be persuaded 
 that I was no better than my shoe-maker. It 's very pleas- 
 iii^T to believe that one is a somebody — removed above the 
 vulgar crowd. 1 look upou society as one vast crockery shop,
 
 282 THE DISGEACE TO THE FAMILY. 
 
 and jou innovators as mad bulls frisking about in the shop, 
 now breaking an old pattern to pieces, now trampling upon 
 an antique vase. Well, to carry out the simile, I look upon 
 myself as one of the choice specimens of Dresden skill, put 
 high above the vulgar porcelain, in a cozy nook, where no 
 harm can come to me. By the by, have you seen the new 
 piece at the Haymarket ? 
 
 Mr. Blandly Eeehs. — No — is it worth any thing ? 
 
 Mr. Shakspeare Jackson. — I believe you. Let us put the 
 British constitution in our pockets, and be off to see it : it 's 
 the second piece. Waiter, what have we to pay ? 
 
 THE END. 
 
 G. Woodfall and Son, Printers, Angel Court, Skinner Street, London.
 
 
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