THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 Ada Nisbet 
 
 ENGLISH READING ROOM
 
 MY NOVEL.
 
 "MY NOVEL" 
 
 OR 
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE 
 
 BY PISISTRATUS CAXTON 
 
 BY 
 
 SIR EDWARD BULWERJLYTTON, BART. 
 
 ' Neque enim notare singulos mens est mihi, 
 Veram ipsam vitam et mores hominum ostendere." 
 
 Phadrvs. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO. 
 31 EAST i7TH ST. (UNION SQUARE)
 
 J3VCM YM 
 
 4 t 
 
 
 
 THE MBRSHON COMPANY PRESS, 
 RAHWAY, N. J. 
 
 - 
 
 A:<, 
 ,0'. 
 

 
 MY NOVEL, 
 
 BOOK FIRST. INITIAL CHAPTER. 
 
 SHOWING HOW MY NOVEL CAME TO BE WRITTEN. 
 
 SCENE, The Hall in Uncle Roland's Tower Time, Night 
 SEASON, Winter. 
 
 Mr. Caxton is seated before a great geographical globe, which 
 he is turning round leisurely, and " for his own recreation," as, 
 according to Sir Thomas Browne, a philosopher should turn 
 round the orb of which that globe professes to be the representa- 
 tion and effigies. My mother having just adorned a very small 
 frock with a very smart braid, is holding it out at arm's-length, 
 the more to admire the effect. Blanche, though leaning both 
 hands on my mother's shoulder, is not regarding the frock, but 
 glances toward PISISTRATUS, who, seated near the fire, leaning 
 back in the chair, and his head bent Over his breast, seems in a 
 very bad humor. Uncle Rolandj who has become a great novel- 
 reader, is deep in the mysteries Of some fascinating third vol- 
 ume. Mr. Squills has brought The Times in his pocket for his 
 own special profit and delectation, arid is now bending his brows 
 over " the state of the money market," in great doubt whether 
 railway shares cart possibly fall lower ; for Mr. Squills, happy 
 man ! has large savings, and does not know what to do with his 
 money, or, to use his own phrase," how to buy in at the cheap- 
 est, in order to sell out at the dearest." 
 
 MR. CAXTON (musingly). It must have been a monstrous 
 long journey. It would be somewhere hereabouts, I take it, 
 that they would split off. 
 
 MY MOTHER (mechanically, and in order to show Austin that 
 she paid him the compliment of attending to his remarks). 
 Who split off, my dear ? 
 
 " Bless me, Kitty," said my father, in great admiration, " you 
 ask just the question which it is most difficult to answer. An 
 ingenious speculator on races contends that the Danes, whose 
 descendants make the chief part of our northern population 
 (and indeed, if his hypothesis could be correct, we must suppose 
 all the ancient worshippers of Odin), 'are of the same origin as 
 the Etrurians. And why, Kitty I just ask you, why ? " 
 
 My mother shook her head thoughtfully, and turned the frock 
 to the other side of the light.
 
 4 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 " Because, forsooth," cried my father, exploding " because 
 the Etrurians called their gods ' the ^Esaj,' and the Scandina- 
 vians called theirs the ^Esir, or Aser ! And where do you think 
 this adventurous scholar puts their cradle ? " 
 
 "Cradle ! " said my mother, dreamily " it must be in the 
 nursery." 
 
 MR. CAXTON. Exactly in the nursery of the human race 
 just here [and my father pointed to the globe], bounded, you 
 see, by the river Halys, and in that region which, taking its name 
 from Ees, or As (a word designating light or fire), has been im- 
 memorially called Asia. Now, Kitty, from Ees or As our ethno- 
 logical speculator would derive not only Asia, the land, but^Esar, 
 . or Aser,its primitive inhabitants. Hence he supposes the origin 
 of the Etrurians and the Scandinavians. But if we give him so 
 much, we must give him more, and deduce from the same origin 
 the Es of the Celt and the Ized of the Persian, and what will 
 be of more use to him, I dare say, poor man, than all the rest 
 put together the JEs of the Romans, that is, the God of Cop- 
 per-Money a very powerful household god he is to this day ! 
 
 My mother looked musingly at her frock, as if she were tak- 
 ing my .father's proposition into serious consideration. 
 
 " So perhaps," resumed my father, " and not unconformably 
 with sacred records, from one great parent horde caqie all those 
 various tribes, carrying with them the name of their beloved 
 Asia ; and, whether they wandered north, south, or west, exalt- 
 ing their own emphatic designation of ' Children of the Land 
 of Light ' into the title of gods. And to think " (added Mr. 
 Caxton pathetically, gazing upon that speck in the globe OP 
 which his forefinger rested), " to think how little they changed 
 for the better when they got to the Don, or entangled their 
 rafts amidst the icebergs of the Baltic so comfortably off as 
 they were here, if they could but have stayed quiet." 
 
 " And why the deuce could not they ?" asked Mr. Squills. 
 
 " Pressure of population, and not enough to live upon, 1 
 suppose," said my father. 
 
 PISISTRATUS (sulkily). More probably they did away with 
 the Corn Laws, sir. 
 
 " Papce /" quoth my father ; " that throws a new light on 
 the subject." 
 
 PISISTRATUS (full of his grievances, and not caring three 
 straws about the origin of the Scandinavians). I knowjthat if we 
 are to lose ^500 every year on a farm which we hold rent- 
 free, and which the best judges allow to be a perfect model for 
 the whole country, we had better make haste and turn JEsir, or
 
 VARIETIES IN ENOLISH LIFE. 5 
 
 Aser, or whatever you call them, and fix a settlement on the 
 property of other nations otherwise, I suspect, our probable 
 settlement will be on the parish. 
 
 MR. SQUILLS (who, it must be remembered, is an enthu- 
 siastic Free-trader). You have only got to put more capital 
 on the land. 
 
 PISISTRATUS. Well, Mr. Squills, as you think so well of 
 that investment, put your capital on it. I promise that you 
 shall have every shilling of profit. 
 
 MR. SQUILLS (hastily retreating behind The Times). I don't 
 think the Great Western can fall any lower ; though it is 
 hazardous I can but venture a few hundreds 
 
 PISISTRATUS. On our land, Squills ? Thank you. 
 
 MR. SQUILLS. No, no anything but that on the Great 
 Western. 
 
 Pisistratus relaxes into gloom. Blanche steals up coaxingly, 
 and gets snubbed for her pains. 
 
 A pause. 
 
 MR. CAXTON. There are two golden rules of life : one re- 
 lates to the mind, and the other to the pockets. The first is- 
 If our thoughts get into a low, nervous, aguish condition, we 
 should make them change the air; the second is comprised in the 
 proverb, " It is good to have two strings to one's bow." There- 
 fore, Pisistratus, I tell you what you must do Write a Book J 
 
 PISISTRATUS. Write a Book ! Against the abolition of the 
 Corn Laws ? Faith, sir, the mischief's done. It takes a much 
 better pen than mine to write down an Act of Parliament. 
 
 MR. CAXTON. I only said " Write a book." All the rest is 
 the addition of your own headlong imagination. 
 
 PISISTRATUS (with the recollection of The Great Book rising 
 before him). Indeed, sir, I should think that that would just 
 finish us ! 
 
 MR. CAXTON (not seeming to heed the interruption). A book 
 that will sell. A book that will prop up the fall of prices! A book 
 that will distract your mind from its dismal apprehensions, and 
 restore your affection to your species, and your hopes in the ulti- 
 mate triumph of sound principles by the sight of a favorable 
 balance at the end of the yearly accounts. It is astonishing 
 what a difference that little circumstance makes in our views of 
 things in general. I remember when the bank in which Squills 
 had incautiously left ^1,000 broke, one remarkably healthy 
 year, that he became a great alarmist, and said that the country 
 was on the verge of ruin ; whereas you see now, when, thanks 
 to a long succession of sickly seasons, he has a surplus capital
 
 6 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 to risk in the Great Western, he is firmly persuaded that England 
 was never in so prosperous a condition. 
 
 MR. SQUILLS (rather sullenly). Pooh, pooh. 
 
 MR. CAXTON. Write a book," my son write a book. Need 
 I tell you that Money or Moneta, according to Hyginus, was 
 the mother of the Muses ? Write a book. 
 
 BLANCHE and my MOTHER (in full chorus).' O yes, Sisty 
 a book a book ! you must write a book. 
 
 " I am sure," quoth my Uncle Roland, slamming down the 
 volume he had just concluded, " he could write a devilish deal 
 better book than this ; and how I come to read such trash, 
 night after night, is more than I could possibly explain to the 
 satisfaction of an intelligent jury, if I were put^into a witness- 
 bdx, and examined in the mildest manner by my own counsel." 
 
 MR. CAXTON. You see that Roland tells us exactly what 
 sort of a book it shall he. 
 
 PISISTRATUS. Trash, sir ? 
 
 MR. CAXTON. No, that is, not necessarily trash but a 
 book of that class which, whether trash or not, people can't 
 help reading. Novels have become a necessity of the age ; 
 you must write a novel. 
 
 PISISTRATUS (flattered, but dubious). A novel ! But every 
 subject on which novels can beiwritten is preoccupied. There 
 are novels of low life, novels of high life, military novels, naval 
 novels, novels philosophical, novels religious, novels historical, 
 novels descriptive of India, the Colonies, Ancient Rome, and 
 the Egyptian Pyramids. From what bird, wild eagle, or barn- 
 door fowl, can I 
 
 " Pluck ofte unwearied plume from Fancy's wing?" 
 
 MR. CAXTON (after a little thought). You remember the 
 story which Trevanion (I beg his pardon, Lord Ulswater) told 
 us the other night. That gives you something of the romance 
 of real life for your plot puts you chiefly among scenes with 
 which you are familiar, and furnishes you with characters which 
 have been very sparingly dealt with since the time of Fielding. 
 You can give us the Country Squire, as you remember him in 
 your youth; it is a specimen of a race worth preserving the old 
 idiosyncrasies of which are rapidly dying off, as the railways bring 
 Norfolk and Yorkshire within easy reach of the manners of Lon- 
 don. You can give us the old-fashioned Parson, as in all essen- 
 tials he may yet be found ; but before, you had to drag him out 
 of the great Tractarian bog ; and for the rest, I really think that 
 while, as I am told, many popular writers are doing their best, 
 especially in France, and perhaps a little in England, to set class
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 7 
 
 against class, and pick up every stone in the kennel to shy at a 
 gentleman with a good coat on his back, something useful might 
 be done by a few good-humored sketche^of those innocent crim- 
 inals a. little better off than their neighbors, whom, however we 
 dislike them, I take it for granted we shall have to endure, in 
 one shape or another, as long as civilization exists ; and they 
 seem, on the whole, as good in their present shape as we are 
 likely to get, shake the dice-box of society how we will. 
 
 PISISTRATUS.^ Very wellsaid, sir; but this rural country-gentle- 
 man life is not so new as you think. There's Washington Irving 
 
 MR. OAXTON. Charming ; but rather the manners of the last 
 century than this. You may as well cite Addison and Sir Rog- 
 er de Coverley. 
 
 J _ . _ 
 
 PISISTRATUS. Tremaine and De Vere. 
 
 MR. CAX TON. Nothing can be more graceful, nor more un- 
 like what I mean. The Pales and Terminus I wish you to put 
 up in the fields are familiar images, that you may cut out of an 
 oak-tree not beautiful marble statue^ on porphyry pedestals, 
 twenty feet high. 
 
 1 Pisisf RATUS. M-iss Austen ; Miss Gore in her masterpiece of 
 Mrs. Armytage ; Mrs. Marsh, too ; and then (for Scotch man- 
 ners) Miss Ferrjfr ! 
 
 MR. CAXTON (growing cross). Oh, if you cannot treat on 
 bucolics, but what you must hear some Virgil or other cry " Stop 
 thief," you deserve to be tossed by one of your own "short-horns." 
 [Still more contemptuously] rl am sure J don't know why we 
 spend so much money on sendingour sons tp school to learn Latin, 
 when that Anachronism of yours, Mrs. Caxton, can't even construe 
 aline and a half of 'Phgedrus.. Phsedrus, Mrs. Caxton a book 
 which is in Latin what Gpody Two-Shoes is in the vernacular ! 
 
 Mrs. CAXTON (alarmed and indignant), Fie! Austin! I 
 am sure you can construe Phaedrus, dear. 
 
 Pisistratus prudently preserves silence. 
 
 Mr. CAXTON I'll try him- 
 
 " Sua cuique sit animi cogitatio > 
 Colorque propius." 
 
 What does that mean ? 
 
 PisiSTRATUs(smiling). That every man h^s some coloring 
 matter within him, to give his own tinge to 
 
 "His own novel," interrupted my father. " Contentusperagis!" 
 
 During the latter part of this dialogue, Blanche had sewn to- 
 gether three quiresofthebest Bath paper,andshenowplaced them 
 on a little table before me, with her own inkstand and steel pen. 
 
 My mother put her finger to her lip, and said, " Hush ! " my
 
 8 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 father returned to the cradle of the ^Esar ; Captain Roland 
 leant his cheek on his hand, and gazed abstractedly on the fire ; 
 Mr. Squills fell into a placid doze ; and, after three sighs that 
 would have melted a heart of stone, I rushed into MY NOVEL. 
 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " THERE has never been occasion to use them since I've 
 been in the Parish," said Parson Dale. 
 
 " What doth that prove ? " quoth the Squire, sharply, and 
 looking the Parson full in the face. 
 
 " Prove J " repeated Mr. Dale, with a smile of benign, yet 
 too conscious superiority -"W^hat does experience prove ?" 
 
 " That your forefathers were great blockheads, and that their 
 descendant is not a whit the wiser." 
 
 " Squire," replied the Parson, " although that is a melan- 
 choly conclusion, yet if you mean it to apply universally, and 
 not to the family of the Dales in particular, it is not one which 
 my candor as a reasoner, and my humility as a mortal, will 
 permit me to challenge." 
 
 " I defy you," said Mr. Hazeldean, triumphantly. " But to 
 stick to the subject (which it is monstrous hard to do when one 
 talks with a parson), I only just ask you to look yonder, and tell 
 me onjyour conscience I don't even sayas a parson, but as a par- 
 ishioner whether you ever saw a more disreputable spectacle?" 
 
 While he spoke, the Squire, leaning heavily on the Parson's 
 left shoulder, extended his cane in a line parallel with the right 
 eye of that disputatious ecclesiastic, so that he might guide the 
 organ of sight to the object he had thus unflatteringly described. 
 
 " I confess," said the Parson, " that, regarded by the eye of the 
 senses, it is a thing that in its best day had small pretensions to 
 beauty, and is not elevated into the picturesque even by neglect 
 and decay. But, my friend, regarded by the eye of the inner 
 man of the rural philosopher and parochial legislator I say it 
 is by neglect and decay that it is rendered a very pleasing feature 
 in what I may call ' the moral topography of a parish.' " 
 
 The Squire looked at the Parson as if he could have beaten 
 him ; and, indeed, regarding the object in dispute not only with 
 the eye of the outer man, but the eye of law and order the eye 
 of a country gentleman and a justice of the peace, the spectacle 
 was scandalously disreputable. It was moss-grown ; it was worm- 
 eaten ; it was broken right in the, middle ; through its four sock- 
 etless eyes, neighbored by the nettle, peered the thistle : the 
 thistle ! a forest of thistles -'and to complete the degradation of
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 9 
 
 the whole, those thistles had attracted the donkey of an itinerant 
 tinker; and the irreverent animal was in the very act of taking 
 its luncheon out of the eyes and jaws of -THE PARISH STOCKS. 
 
 The Squire looked as if he could have beaten the Parson ; 
 but, as he was not without some slight command of temper, 
 and a substitute was luckily at hand, he gulped down his re- 
 sentment, and made a rush at the donkey ! 
 
 Now the donkey was hampered by a rope to its forefeetyto the 
 which was attached a billet of wood, called technically "a clog," 
 so that it had no fair chance of escape from the assault its sacri- 
 legious luncheon had justly provoked. But,the ass turning round 
 with unusual nimbleness at the first stroke of the cane, the Squire 
 caught his foot in the rope, and went head over heels among the 
 thistles. Thedonkey gravely bentdown, and thrice smelt or sniffed 
 its prostrate foe; then,having convinced itself that it had nothing 
 farther to apprehend for the present,and very willing to make the 
 best of the reprieve,accordingtothepoetical admonition, "Gather 
 your rosebuds while you may," it cropped a thistle in full bloom 
 close to the ear of the Squire; so close, indeed, that the Parson 
 thoughttheearwasgone; andwith the more probability,inasmuch 
 as the Squire, feeling the warm breath of the creature, bellowed 
 out with all the force of lungs accustomed to give a View-hallo ! 
 
 " Bless me, is it gone ? " said the Parson, thrusting his per- 
 son between the ass and the Squire. 
 
 " Zounds and the dev^l ! " cried the Squire, rubbing himself 
 as he rose to his feet. 
 
 " Hush," said the Parson, gently. " What a horrible oath ! " 
 
 "Horrible oath! If you had my nankeens on," said the 
 Squire, still rubbing himself, " and had fallen into a thicket of 
 thistles, with a donkey's teeth within an inch of your ear ! " 
 
 " It is not gone, then ? " interrupted the Parson. 
 
 " No that is, I think not," said the Squire,dubiously ; and he 
 clapped his hand to the organ in question. "No ! it is not gone !" 
 
 u Thank Heaven ! " said the good clergyman, kindly. 
 
 " Hum," growled the Squire, who was now once more en- 
 gaged in rubbing himself. " Thank Heaven indeed, when I am 
 as full of thorns as a porcupine ! I should like to know what 
 use thistles are in the world." 
 
 " For donkeys to eat, if you will let them, Squire," answered 
 the Parson. 
 
 " Ugh, you beast ! " cried Mr. Hazeldean, all his wrath re- 
 awakened, whether by reference to the donkey species, or his 
 inability to reply to the Parson, or perhaps by some sudden 
 prick too sharp for humanity especially humanity in nan-
 
 io MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 keens to endure without kicking ; " Ugh, you beast ! " he ex- 
 claimed, shaking his cane at the donkey, which, at the inter- 
 position of the ParSon, had respectfully recoiled a few paces, 
 and now stood switching its thin tail, and trying vainly to lift 
 one of its fore-legs for the flies teased it. 
 
 - ^ Poor thing ! " said the Parson, pityingly. " See, it has a raw- 
 place on the shoulder, and the flies have found out the sore." 
 
 " I am devilish glad to hear it," said the Squire, vindictively. 
 
 "Fie, fie!" 
 
 " It ifc very well to say ' Fie, fie.' It was not you who fell 
 among the thistles. What's the man about now, I wonder ? " 
 
 The parson had walked toward a chestnut-tree that stood on 
 the village green; he broke off a bough returned to the don- 
 key whisked- away the flies, and then tenderly placed the broad 
 leaves over the Sore, as a protection from the swarms. The don- 
 key turned round its head, and looked at him with mild wonder. 
 
 " I would bet a shilling," said the Parson, softly, "that this 
 is the first act of kindness thou hast met with this many a day. 
 And slight enough it is, Heaven knows." 
 
 With that the Parson put his hand into his pocket, and drew 
 out an apple. It was a fine, large, rose-cheeked apple one 
 of the last winter's store, from the celebrated tree in the par- 
 sonage garden 1 ; and 'fre was taking it as a present to a little boy 
 in the village, who had notably distinguished himself in the 
 Sunday-schooL " Nay, in common justice, Lenny Fairfield 
 should have the preference," muttered the Parson. The ass 
 pricked up one of its ears, and advanced its head timidly. 
 " But Lenny Fairfield would be as much pleased with twopence ; 
 and what could twopence do to thee ? " The ass's nose now 
 touched the apple. " Take it, in the name of Charity," quoth 
 the Parson ; "Justice is accustomed to be served last "; and 
 the ass took the apple. " How had you the heart ? " said the 
 Parson, pointing to the Squire's carre. 
 
 The ass stopped munching, and looked askant at the Squire. 
 
 " Pooh ! eat on ; he'll not beat thee now." 
 
 " No," said the Squire, apologetically. " But, after all, he is 
 not an Ass of the Parish ; he is a vagrant, and he ought to be 
 pounded. But the pound is in as bad a state as the stocks, 
 thanks to your new-fashioned doctrines." ' 
 
 " New-fashioned ? " cried the Parson, almost indignantly, for 
 he had a great disdain of new fashions " They are as old as 
 Christianity ; nay, as old as Paradise, which, you will observe, 
 is derived from a Greek or rather a Persian word, and means 
 something more than 'garden,' corresponding," -pursued the
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. II 
 
 Parson, rather pedantically, "with the Latin vivarium, viz., 
 grove, or park full of innocent dumb creatures. Depend on it, 
 donkeys were allowed to eat thistles there." 
 
 "Very possibly," said the Squire, dryly. "But Hazeldean, 
 though a very pretty village, is not Paradise. The stocks shall 
 be mended to-morrow ay, and the pound too, and the next 
 donkey found trespassing shall go into it, as sure as my name's 
 Hazeldean." 
 
 " Then," said the Parson, gravely, " I can only hope that the 
 next parish may not follow your example; and that you and I may 
 never be caught straying." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Parson Dale and Squire Hazeldean parted company ; the 
 latter to inspect his sheep, the former to visit some of his par- 
 ishioners, including Lenny Fairfield, whom the donkey had 
 defrauded of his apple. 
 
 Lenny Fairfield was sure to be in the way, for his mother 
 rented a few acres of grass-land from the Squire, and it was 
 now hay-time. And Leonard, commonly called Lenny, was an 
 only son, and his mother a widow. The cottage stood apart, 
 and somewhat remote, in one of the many nooks of the long, 
 green, village lane. And a thoroughly English cottage it was 
 three centuries old at least ; with walls of rubble let into oak 
 frames, and duly whitewashed every summer, a thatched roof, 
 small panes of glass, an old doorway raised from the ground by 
 two steps. There was about this little dwelling all the homely 
 rustic elegance which peasant life admits of ; a honeysuckle 
 was trained over the door ; a few flower-pots were placed on the 
 window-sills ; the small plot of ground in front of the house 
 was kept with great neatness, and even taste ; some large rough 
 stones on either side the little path having been formed into 
 a sort of rock-work, with creepers that were now in flower ; 
 and the potato-ground was screened from the eye by sweet-peas 
 and lupine. Simple elegance, all this, it is true ; but how well 
 it speaks for peasant and landlord, when you see that the peas- 
 ant is fond of his home, and has some spare time and heart to 
 bestow upon mere embellishment. Such a peasant is sure to 
 be a bad customer to the ale-house, and a safe neighbor to the 
 Squire's preserves. All honor and praise to him, except a small 
 tax upon both, which is due to the landlord ! 
 
 Such sights were as pleasant to the Parson as the most 
 beautiful landscapes of Italy can be to the dilettante. He 
 paused a moment at the wicket to look around him, and dis-
 
 1.2 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 tended his nostrils voluptuously to inhale the smell of the sweet- 
 peas, mixed with that of the new -mown hay in the fields behind, 
 which a light breeze bore to him. He then moved on, care- 
 fully scraped his shoes, clean and well-polished as they were 
 for Mr. Dale was rather a beau in his own clerical way, on 
 the scraper without the door, and lifted the latch. 
 
 Your virtuoso looks with artistical delight on the figure of 
 some nymph painted on an Etruscan vase, engaged in pouring 
 out the juice of the grape from her classic urn. And the Par- 
 son felt as harmless if not as elegant a pleasure in contempla- 
 ting Widow Fairfield brimming high a glittering can, which she 
 designed for the refreshment of the thirsty haymakers. 
 
 Mrs. Fairfield was a m-iddle-aged, tidy woman, with that alert 
 precision of movement which seems to come from an active, or- 
 derly mind ; and as she now turned her head briskly at the sound 
 of the Parson's footstep, she showed a countenance prepossess- 
 ing, though not handsome a countenance from which a plea- 
 sant, hearty smile, breaking forth at that moment, effaced some 
 lines that in repose spoke " of sorrows, but of sorrows past "; and 
 her cheek, paler than is common to the complexions even of the 
 fair sex, when born and bred amidst a rural population, might 
 have favored the guess that the earlier part of her life had been 
 spent in the languid air and"within-doors"occupations of a town. 
 
 " Never mind me," said the Parson, as Mrs. Fairfield 
 dropped her quick curtsey, and smoothed her apron ; "if you 
 are going into the hay-field, I will go with you; I have some- 
 thing .to say to Lenny an excellent boy." 
 
 WIDOW. Well, sir, and you are kind to say it ; but so he is. 
 
 PARSON. He reads uncommonly well, he writes tolerably ; 
 he is the best lad in the whole school at his Catechism and in 
 the Bible lessons ; and I assure you, when I see his face at 
 church, looking up so attentively, I fancy that I shall read my 
 sermon all the better for such a listener ! 
 
 WIDOW (wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron). 
 'Deed, sir, when my poor Mark died, I never thought I could 
 have lived on as I have done. But that boy is so kind and 
 good, that when I look at him sitting there in dear Mark's 
 chair, and remember how Mark loved him, and all he used to 
 say to me about him, I feel somehow or other as if my good- 
 man smiled on me, and would rather I was not with him yet, 
 till the lad had grown up, and did not want me any more. 
 
 PARSON (looking away, and after a pause). You never hear 
 anything of the old folks at Lansmere ? 
 
 " 'Deed, sir, sin' poor Mark died, they han't noticed me nor
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 13 
 
 the boy; but," added the Widow, with all a peasant's pride, 
 "it isn't that I wants their money; only it's hard to feel 
 strange-like to one's own father and mother ! " 
 
 PARSON. You must excuse them. Your father, Mr. Avenel, 
 was never quite the same man after that sad event which 
 but you are weeping, my friend ; pardon me. Your mother 
 is a little proud ; but so are you, though in another way. 
 
 WIDOW. I proud ! Lord love ye, sir, I have not a bit o* pride 
 in me ! and that's the reason they always looked down on me. 
 
 PARSON. Your parents must be well off ; and I shall apply 
 to them in a year or two on behalf of Lenny, for they promised 
 me to provide for him when he grew up, as they ought. 
 
 WIDOW (with flashing eyes). I am sure, sir, I hope you will 
 do no such thing ; for I would not have Lenny beholden to them 
 as has never given him a kind word sin' he was born ! 
 
 The Parson smiled gravely, and shook his head at poor Mrs. 
 Fairfield's- hasty confutation of her own self-acquittal from the 
 charge of pride; but he saw that it was not the time for effectual 
 peace-makinginthemost irritable of all rancors,viz.,that nourish- 
 ed against one's nearest relations. He therefore dropped the sub- 
 ject, and said: ''Well, time enough to think of Lenny's future 
 prospects; meanwhile, we are forgetting the haymakers. Come." 
 
 The widow opened the back door, which led across a little 
 apple-orchard into the fields. 
 
 PARSON. You have a pleasant place here ; and I see that my 
 friend Lenny should be in no want of apples. I had brought 
 him one, but I have given it away on the road. 
 
 WIDOW. Oh, sir, it is not the deed it is the will, as I felt 
 when the Squire, God bless him ! took two pounds off the 
 rent the year he that is, Mark died. 
 
 PARSON. If Lenny continues to be such a help to you, it will 
 not be long before the Squire may put the, two pounds on again. 
 
 "Yes, sirj" said the Widow, simply ; " I hope he will." 
 
 " Silly woman ! " muttered the Parson. " That's not exactly 
 what the schoolmistresswouldhavesaid. Youdon'treadnorwrite, 
 Mrs. Fairfield ; yet you express yourself with great propriety." 
 
 " You know Mark was a schollard, sir, like my poor, poor 
 sister ; and though I was a sad stupid girl afore I married, I 
 tried to take after him when we came together." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THEY were now in the hay-field ; and a boy of about six- 
 teen, but, like most country lads, to appearance much younger
 
 14 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 than he was, looked up from his rake, with lively blue 
 beaming forth under a profusion of brown curly hair. 
 
 Leonard Fairfield was indeed a very handsome boy not so 
 stout nor so ruddy as one would choose for the ideal of rustic 
 beauty ; nor yet so delicate in limb and keen in expression as 
 are those children in cities, in whom the mind is cultivated at 
 the expense of the body ; but still he had the health of the 
 country in his cheeks, and was not without the grace of the 
 city in his compact figure and easy movements. There was in 
 his physiognomy something interesting from its peculiar 
 character of innocence and simplicity. You could see that he 
 had been brought up by a woman, and much apart from fa- 
 miliar contact with other children ; and such intelligence as 
 was yet developed in him was not ripened by the jokes and 
 cuffs of his coevals, but fostered by decorous Jecturings from 
 his elders, and good-li.ttle-boy maxims in good-little-boy books. 
 
 PARSON. Come hither, Lenny. You know the benefit of 
 school, I see ; it can teach you nothing better than to be a 
 support to your mother. 
 
 LENNY (looking down sheepishly, and with a heightened glow 
 over his face). Please, sir, that may come one of these days. 
 
 PARSON. That's right, Lenny. Let me see ! why, you must 
 be nearly a rnan. How old are you ? 
 
 Lenny looks up inquiringly at his mother. 
 
 PARSON. You ought to know, Lenny ; speak for yourself. 
 Hold your tongue, Mrs. Fairfield. 
 
 LENNY (twirling his -hat, and in great perplexity). Well, 
 and there is Flop, neighbor Dutton's old sheep-dog. He be 
 very old now. 
 
 PARSON. I am not asking Flop's age, but your own. 
 
 LENNY. 'Deed, sir, I have heard say as how Flop and I 
 were pups together. That is, I I- 
 
 For the Parson is laughing, and so is Mrs. Fairfield ; and 
 the haymakers, who have stood still to listen, are laughing too. 
 And poor Lenny has quite lost his head, and looks as if he 
 would Jike to cry. 
 
 PARSON (patting the curlylocks encouragingly). Nevermind; 
 it is not so badly answered after all. And how old is Flop ? 
 
 LENNY. Why, he must be fifteen year or more. 
 
 PARSON. How old, then, are you ? 
 
 LENNY (looking up, with a beam of intelligence). Fifteen 
 year and more. 
 
 Widow sighs ami nods her head. 
 
 " That's what we call putting two and two together," said
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 1$ 
 
 the Parson. " Or, hi other words," an d, here he raised his eyes 
 majestically toward the haymakers "in other words thanks 
 to his love for his book simple as he stands here, Lenny Fair- 
 field has shown himself capable of INDUCTIVE RATIOCINATION. 
 
 At those words, delivered ore rotundo, the haymakers 
 ceased laughing ; for even in lay matters they held the Parson to 
 be an oracle, and words so long must have a great deal in them. 
 
 Lenny drew up his head proudly. 
 
 " You are very fond of Flop, I suppose ? " 
 
 '"Deed he is," said the Widow, "and of all poor dumb 
 creatures." 
 
 " Very good. Suppose, my lad, that you had a fine apple, 
 and that you met a friend who wanted it more than you ; what 
 would you do with it ? " 
 
 " Please you, sir, I would give him half of it," 
 
 The Parson's tape fell. " Not the whole, Lenny ? " 
 
 Lenny considered. r>" If he was a friend, sir, he would not 
 like me to give him all ? " 
 
 " Upon my word, Master Leonard^ you speak so well that I 
 must e'en tell the truth. I brought you an apple, as a prize 
 for good conduct in school; but I met by the way a poor 
 donkey, and some one beat him for eating a thistle, so, I thought 
 I would make it up by giving him the apple. Ought I only to 
 have given him the half?" 
 
 Lenny's innocent face became all smile ; his interest was 
 aroused. "And did the donkey like the apple? " 
 
 " Very much," said the Parson, fumbling in his pocket ; but 
 thinking of Leonard Fairfield's years and understanding ; and 
 moreover, observing, in the pride of his heart, that there were 
 many spectators to his deed, he thought the meditated two-pence 
 not sufficient, and he generously produced a silver sixpence. 
 
 " There, my man, that will pay for the half-apple which you 
 would have kept for yourself." The parson again patted the 
 curly locks, and, after a hearty word or two with the other 
 haymakers, and a friendly " Good-day ".. to Mrs. Fairfield, 
 struck into the path that led toward his own glebe. . 
 
 He had just crossed the stile, when he heard hasty but timo- 
 rous feet behind him. He turned, and saw his friend Lenny. 
 
 LENNY (half-crying, and holding out the sixpence). indeed, 
 sir, I would rather not, I would have given all to the Neddy. 
 
 PARSON. Why, then, my man, you have a still greater riyht 
 to the sixpence. 
 
 LENNY. No, sir, 'cause you only ga^e it to. make up for the 
 half-apple. And if I had given him the whole, as 1 ought to
 
 l6 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 have done, why, I should have had no right to the sixpence. 
 Please, sir, don't be offended ; do take it back, will you ? 
 
 The Parson hesitated. And the boy thrust the sixpence 
 into his hand, as the ass had poked its nose there before in 
 quest of the apple. 
 
 " I see," said Parson Dale, soliloquizing, " that if one don't 
 give !-' Justice the first place at the table, all the other Virtues 
 eat up her share." 
 
 Indeed, the case was perplexing. Charity, like a forward, 
 impudent baggage as she is, always thrusting herself in the way, 
 and taking other people's apples to make her own little pie, 
 had defrauded Lenny of his due ; and now "Susceptibility, who 
 looks like a shy, blush-faced,- awkward Virtue in her teens 
 but who, nevertheless, is always engaged in picking the pockets 
 of her sisters, tried to filch from him his lawful recompense. 
 The case was perplexing ; forrthe Parson held Susceptibility in 
 great h'onor, despite her hypocritical tricks, and did not like to 
 give her a slap in the face, which might frighten her away for 
 ever. So Mr. Dale stood irresolute, glancing from the six- 
 pence to Lenny, and from Lenny to the sixpence. 
 
 " Buon giornoy Good-day to you," said a voice behind, in an 
 accent slightly but unmistakably foreign, and a strange-look- 
 ing figure presented itself at the stile. 
 
 Imagine a tall and exceedingly meagre man, dressed in a 
 rusty suit of black the pantaloons tight at the calf and ankle, 
 and there forming a loose gaiter over thick shoes, buckled high 
 at the instep ; an old cloak, lined with red, was thrown over 
 one shoulder, though the day was sultry ; a quaint, red, out- 
 landish umbrella, with a carved brass handle, was thrust under 
 one arm, though the sky was cloudless ; a profusion of raven 
 hair, in waving curls that seemed as fine as silk, escaped from 
 the sides of a straw hat of prodigious brim ; a complexion 
 sallow and swarthy, and features which, though not without 
 considerable beauty to the eye of the artist, were not only un- 
 like what we fair, well-fed, neat-faced Englishmen are wont to 
 consider comely, but exceedingly like what we are disposed to 
 regard as awful and Satanic to wit, a long hooked nose, 
 sunken cheeks, black eyes, whose piercing brilliancy took 
 something wizard-like and mystical from the large spectacles 
 through which they shone ; a mouth round which played an 
 ironical smile, and in which a physiognomist would have re- 
 marked singular shrewdness, and some closeness, complete the 
 picture. Imagine this figure, grotesque, peregrinate, and to 
 the eye of a peasant certainly diabolical ; then perch it on the
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 17 
 
 Itile in the midst of those green English fields, and .n sight of 
 thatjprimitive English village ; there let it sit straddling, its long 
 legs dangling down, a short German pipe emitting clouds from 
 one corner of those sardonic lips, its dark eyes glaring through 
 the spectacles full upon the Parson, yet askant upon Lenny 
 Fairfield. Lenny Fairfield looked exceedingly frightened. 
 
 "Upon my word, Dr. Riccabocca,"said Mr. Dale, smiling, " you 
 come in good time to solvea very nice question in casuistry"; and 
 herewith the Parson explained the case, and put the question 
 " Ought Lenny Fairfield to have the sixpence, or ought he not? " 
 
 "Cospetto! " said the Doctor, " if the hen would but hold her 
 tongue nobody would know that she had laid an egg." 
 
 . 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 " GRANTED," said the Parson ; " but what follows ? The 
 saying is good, but I don't see the application." 
 
 " A thousand pardons ! " replied Dr. Riccabocca, with all 
 the urbanity of an Italian ; "but it seems to me that if you had 
 given the sixpence to the fanciulio that is, to this good little 
 boy without telling him the story about the donkey, you 
 would never put him and yourself into this awkward dilemma." 
 
 " But, my dear sir," whispered the Parson mildly, as he in- 
 clined his lips to the Doctor's ear, " I should then have lost the 
 opportunity of inculcating a moral lesson you understand." 
 
 Dr. Riccabocca shrugged his shoulders, restored his pipe 
 to his mouth, and took a long whiff. It was a whiff eloquent, 
 though cynical a whiff peculiar to your philosophical smoker 
 a whiff that implied the most absolute, but the most placid 
 incredulity as to the effect of the Parson's moral lesson. 
 
 " Still you have not given us your decision," said the Parson, 
 after a pause. 
 
 The Doctor withdrew his pipe. " Cospetto ! " said he " He 
 who scrubs the head of an ass wastes his soap." 
 
 " If you scrubbed, mine fifty times over with those enigmati- 
 cal proverbs of yours," said the Parson, testily, "you would not 
 make it any the wiser." 
 
 " My good sir," said the Doctor, bowing low from his perch 
 on the stile, " I never presumed to say that there were more 
 asses than one in the story ; but I thought that I could not bet- 
 ter explain my meaning, which is simply this you scrubbed 
 the ass's head, and therefore you must lose the soap. Let the 
 fanciulio have the sixpence ; and a great sum it is too, for a 
 little boy, who may spend it all as pocket-money ! "
 
 l8 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 "There, Lenny^you hear ? " said the Parson, stretching out 
 the sixpence. But Lenny retreated, and cast on the umpire a 
 look of great aversion and disgust. 
 
 " Please, Master Dale," said he, obstinately, " I'd rather not." 
 
 " It is a matter of feeling, you see," said the Parson, turning 
 to the umpire ; " and I believe the boy is right." 
 
 " If it be a matter of feeling," replied Dr. Riccabocca, " there 
 is rio more to be said on it. When Feeling comes in at. the 
 door, Reason has nothing todo.but to jump out of the window." 
 
 "Go, my good boy," said the Parson, pocketing the coin; " but 
 stop! givremeyourhand first. 77^;-^ I understand you;good-by !" 
 
 Lenny's eyes glistened as the Parson shook him by 'the hand, 
 and, not trusting himself to speak, he walked off sturdily. The 
 Parson wiped his forehead, and sat himself down on the stile 
 beside the Italian. The view before them was lovely, and 
 both enjoyed it (though not equally) enough to.be silent .for 
 some moments. On the other side the iane seen between gaps 
 in the old oaks and chestnuts that hung over the moss-grown 
 pales of Hazeldean Park, rose gentle, verdant slopes, dotted 
 with sheep and herds .of. .deer ; a stately avenue stretched far 
 away to the left, and ended. at the right-hand, within a few 
 yards of a haha that divided the park from a level sward of 
 table-land gay with shrubs and flower-pots, relieved by the 
 shade of two mighty cedars. And on this platform, only seen 
 in part, stood the Squire's old-fashioned house, red-brick, with 
 stone mullions, gable-ends, and quaint chimney-pots. On this 
 side the road, immediately facing the two gentlemen, cottage 
 after cottage whitely emerged from the curves in the lane, 
 while, beyond, the ground declining, gave an extensive pros- 
 pect of woods and corn-fields, spires and farms. 'Behind, from 
 a belt of lilacs and evergreens, you caught a peep of the par- 
 sonage-house, backed by woodlands, and a little noisy rill 
 running in front. . The birds were still in the hedge-rows, 
 only, as if from the very heart of the most distant woods, 
 there came now and then the mellow note of the cuckoo. 
 
 " Verily," said Mr.. Dale, softly, " my lot has fallen on a 
 goodly heritage." 
 
 The Italian twitched his cloak over him, and sighed almost 
 inaudibly. Perhaps he thought of his own Summer Land, and 
 felt that, amidst all that fresh verdure of the North, there was no 
 heritage for the stranger. 
 
 However, before the Parson could notice the sigh, or con- 
 jecture the cause, Dr. Riccabocca's thin lips toqk an expression 
 almost malignant.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 19 
 
 u Per Bacco ! "said he ; " in every country I observe that the 
 rockssettlewherethetreesare thefinest. I am surethat,whenNoah 
 first landed on Ararat, he must have found some gentleman in 
 black already settled in the pleasantest part of the mountain, and 
 waiting tor his tenth of the cattle as they came out of the Ark." 
 
 The Parson fixed his meek eyes on the philosopher, and there 
 was in them something so deprecating, rather than reproachful, 
 that Dr. Riccabocca turned away his face, and refilled his pipe. 
 Dr. Riccabocca abhorred priests ; but though Parson Dale was 
 emphatically a parson, he seemed at that moment so little of 
 what Dr. Riccabocca understood by a priest, that the Italian's 
 heart smote him for his irreverent jest on the cloth. Luckily 
 at this moment there was a diversion to that untoward com- 
 mencement of conversation, in the appearance of no less a per- 
 sonage than the donkey himself I mean the donkey who ate 
 the apple. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE Tinker was a stout swarthy fellow, jovial and musical 
 withal, for he was singing a stave as he flourished his staff, and 
 at the end of each refrain down came the staff on the quarters 
 of the donkey. The Tinker went behind and sung, the donkey 
 went before and was thwacked. 
 
 "Yours is a droll country," quoth Dr. Riccabocca; "in mine,it 
 is not the ass that walks first in the procession that gets the blows." 
 
 The Parson jumped from the stile, and looking over the 
 hedge that divided the field from the road " Gently, gently," 
 said he ; " the sound of the stick spoils the singing ! O, Mr. 
 Sprott, Mr. Sprott ! a good man is merciful to his beast." 
 
 The donkey seemed to recognize the voice of. its friend, for 
 it stopped short, pricked one ear wistfully, and looked up. 
 
 The Tinker touched his hat and looked up too. " Lord bless 
 your reverence ! he does not mind it, he likes it. I vould not 
 hurt thee ; vould I, Neddy ? " 
 
 The donkey shook his headand shivered; perhaps a fly had set- 
 tled on the sore, which the chestnut-leaves no longer protected. 
 
 " I am sure you did not mean to hurt him, Sprott," said the 
 Parson, more politely I fear than honestly for he had seen 
 enough of that cross-grained thing called the human heart, even 
 in the little world of a country parish, to know that it requires 
 management, and coaxing, and flattering, to interfere success- 
 fully between a man and his own donkey " I am sure you did 
 not mean to hurt him ; but he has already got a sore on his 
 shoulder as big as my hand, poor thing ! "
 
 20 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Lord love 'un ! yes ; that was done a-playing with the man- 
 ger, the day I gave 'un oats !" said the Tinker. 
 
 Dr. Riccabocca adjusted his spectacles, and surveyed the ass. 
 The ass pricked up his other ear, and surveyed Dr. Riccabocca. 
 In this mutual survey of physical qualifications, each being 
 regarded according to the average symmetry of its species, it 
 may be doubted whether the advantage was on the side of the 
 philosopher. 
 
 The Parson had a great notion of the wisdom of his friend, 
 in all matters not purely ecclesiastical : 
 
 " Say a good word for the donkey ! " whispered he. 
 
 " Sir," said the Doctor, addressing Mr. Sprott, with a respect- 
 ful salutation, " there's a great kettle at my house the Casino 
 which wants soldering ; can you recommend me a tinker ?" 
 
 " Why, that's all in my line," said Sprott, " and there ben't a 
 tinker in the country that I vould recommend like myself, thof 
 J say it." 
 
 " You jest, good sir," said the Doctor, smiling pleasantly. " A 
 man who can't mend a hole in his own donkey; can never de- 
 mean himself by patching up my great kettle." 
 
 " Lord, sir ! " said the Tinker, archly, "if I had known that 
 poor Neddy had had two sitch friends in court, I'd had seen he 
 vas a gintleman, and treated him as sitch." 
 
 " Corpo di Bacco ! " quoth the Doctor, " though that jest's 
 not new, I think the Tinker comes very well out of it." 
 
 " True ; but the donkey ?" said the Parson ; "I've a great 
 mind to buy it." 
 
 " Permit me to tell you an anecdote in point," said Dr. Ricca- 
 bocca. 
 
 " Well ? " said the Parson, interrogatively. 
 
 " Once in a time," pursued Riccabocca : , " the Emperor Adrian, 
 going to the public baths, saw an old soldier, who had served 
 under him, rubbing his back against the marble wall. The Em- 
 peror, who was a wise, and therefore a curious, inquisitive man, 
 sent for the soldier, and asked him why he resorted to that sort 
 of friction. ' Because,' answered the veteran, ' I am too poor 
 to have slaves to rub me down.' The Emperor was touched, 
 and gave him slaves and money. The next day, when Adrian 
 went to the baths, all the old men in the city were to be seen 
 rubbing themselves! against the marble as hard as they could. 
 The Emperor sent for them, and asked them the same question 
 which he had put to the soldier ; the cunnin'g old rogues, of 
 course, made the same answer. ' Friends,' said Adrian, ' since 
 there are so many of you, you will just rub one another ! ' Mr.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 21 
 
 Dale, if you don't want to have all the donkeys in the country with 
 holes in their shoulders, you had better not buy the Tinker's ! " 
 
 " It is the hardest thing in the world to do the least bit of 
 good," groaned the Parson, as he broke a twig off the hedge ner- 
 vously, snapped it in two, and flung away the fragments ; one of 
 them hit the donkey on the nose. If the ass could have spoken 
 Latin, he would have said, " Et tit, Brute! " As it was, he hung 
 down his ears, and walked on. 
 
 "Gee hup !" said the Tinker; and he followed the ass. 
 Then stopping, he looked over his shoulder, and seeing the par- 
 son's eyes were gazing mournfully on his/r<?/^/, " Never fear, 
 your reverence," cried the Tinker, kindly ; " I'll not spite 'un." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " FOUR o'clock," cried the Parson, looking at his watch ; " half 
 an hour after dinner-time, and Mrs. Dale particularly begged me 
 to be punctual, because of the fine trout the squire sent us. Will 
 you-venture on what our homely languagecalls 'pot luck, "Doctor?" 
 .Now Riccabocca was a professed philosopher, and valued 
 himself on his penetration into the motives of human conduct. 
 And when the Parson thus invited him to pot luck, he smiled 
 with a kind of lofty complacency ; for Mrs. Dale enjoyed the 
 reputation of having what her friends styled," her little tempers." 
 And, as well-bred ladies rarely indulge " little tempers" in the 
 presence of a third person not of the family, so Dr. Riccabocca 
 instantly concluded, that he was invited to stand between the 
 pot and the luck ! Nevertheless as he was fond of trout, and 
 a much more good-natured man than he ought to have been ac 
 cording to his principles he accepted the hospitality; but he did 
 so with a sly look from over his spectacles, which brought a blush 
 into the guilty cheeks of the Parson. Certainly Riccabocca had 
 for once guessed right, in his estimate of human motives. 
 
 The two walked on, crossed a little bridge that spanned the rill, 
 and entered the parsonage lawn. Two dogs, that seemed to have 
 sate on watch for their master, sprang toward him, barking; and 
 the sound drew the noticeof Mrs. Dale,who,with parasol in hand, 
 sallied out from the sash windowwhich opened on the lawn. Now, 
 Oreader ! I knowthat, in thysecret heart, thou art chuckling over 
 thewantof knowledge in the sacred arcana of thedomestic hearth, 
 betrayed by the author; thou art saying to thyself, " A pretty way 
 to conciliate ' little tempers,' indeed, to add to the offence of 
 spoiling the fish the crime of bringing an unexpected friend to eat 
 it, Pot luck, quotha, when the pot's boiled over this half hour ! "
 
 22 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 But, to thy utter shame and confusion, O reader! learn that both 
 the author and Parson Dale knew very well what they were about. 
 
 Dr. Riccabocca was the special favorite of Mrs. Dale, and the 
 only person in the whole country who never put her out, by drop- 
 ping in. In fact, strange though it may seem at first glance, Dr. 
 Riccabocca had that mysterious something about him, which we 
 of his own sex can so little comprehend, but which always pro- 
 pitiates the other. He owed this, in part, to his own profound 
 but hypocritical policy ; for he looked upon woman as the nat- 
 ural enemy to man against whom it was necessary to be always 
 on the guard ; whom it was prudent to disarm by every species 
 of fawning servility and abject complaisance. He owed it also, 
 in part, to the compassionate and heavenly nature of the angels 
 whom his thoughts thus villainously traduced for women like 
 one whom they can pity without despising ; and there was some- 
 thing in Signor Riccabocca's poverty, in his loneliness, in his 
 exile, whether voluntary or compelled, that excited pity ; while, 
 despite the threadbare coat, the red umbrella, and the wild hair, 
 he had, especially when addressing ladies, that air of gentleman 
 and cavalier, which is or was more innate in an educated Italian, 
 of whatever rank, than perhaps in the highest aristocracy of any 
 any other country in Europe. For, though I grant that nothing 
 is more exquisite than the politeness of your French marquis 
 of the Old regime nothing more frankly gracious than the cor- 
 dial address of a high-bred English gentleman nothing more 
 kindly prepossessing than the genial good-nature of some patri- 
 archal German, who will condescend to forget his sixteen quar- 
 terings in the pleasure of doing you a favor yet these speci- 
 mens of the suavity of their several nations are rare ; whereas 
 blandness and polish are common attributes with your Italian. 
 They seem to have been immemorially handed down to him, 
 from ancestors emulating the urbanity of Caesar, and refined by 
 the grace of Horace. 
 
 " Dr. Riccabocca consents to dine with us," cried the Parson, 
 hastily. 
 
 " If Madame permit ? " said the Italian, bowing over the hand 
 extended to him, which, however, he forbore to take, seeing it 
 was already full of the watch. 
 
 " I am only sorry that the trout must be quite spoiled," be- 
 gan Mrs. Dale, plaintively. 
 
 " It is not the trout one thinks of when one dines with Mrs. 
 Dale," said the infamous dissimulator. 
 
 " But I see James coming to say that dinner is ready," ob- 
 served the Parson.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFF. 23 
 
 " He said that three quarters of an -hour ago, Charles dear," 
 retorted Mrs. Dale, taking the arm of Dr. Riccabocca. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ' 
 
 WHILE the Parson and his wife are entertaining their guest, I 
 propose to regale the reader with a small -treatise apropos of that 
 " Charles dear," murmured by Mrs. Dale a treatise expressly 
 written for the benefit of THE DOMESTIC CIRCLE. 
 
 It is an old jest that there is not a word in the language that 
 conveys so little endearment as the word " dear." But though 
 the saying itself, like most truths, be trite and hackneyed, no 
 little novelty remains to the search of the inquirer into the vari- 
 eties of inimical import comprehended in that . malign mono- 
 syllable. For instance, I submit to the experienced that thtf 
 degree of hostility it betrays is in much proportion to its colloca* 
 tion in the sentence. When, gliding indirectly through the rest of 
 the period, it takes its stand at the close,as in that "Charles.dear" 
 of Mrs.- Dale, it has spilt so much of its natural bitterness by the 
 way that it assumes even a smile, "amara lento temperet risu." 
 Sometimes the smile is plaintive, sometimes arch. Ex. gr. 
 
 (Plaintive.}^-" I know very well that whatever I do is wrong, 
 Charles dear." 
 
 " Nay, I am very glad you amused yourself so much without 
 me, Charles dear." 
 
 " Not quite so loud ! If you had but my poor head, Charles 
 dear," etc. 
 
 (Arch.} "If you could spill the ink any where but on the best 
 table-cloth, Charles dear ! " 
 
 " But though you must always have your own way, you are not 
 quite faultless, own, Charles dear ! " etc, 
 
 When the enemy stops in the middle of the sentence its venom 
 is naturally less exhausted. Ex. gr. 
 
 " Really, I must say, Charles dear, that you are the most 
 fidgety person," etc. 
 
 " And if the house bills were so high last week, Charles dear, 
 I should just like to know whose fault it was that's all." 
 
 " But you know, Charles dear, that you care no more for me 
 and the children than "etc. 
 
 But if the fatal word spring up, in its primitive freshness, at 
 the head of the sentence, bow your head to the storm. It then 
 assumes the majesty of " my" before it ; it is generally more 
 than objurgation -it prefaces a sermon. My candor obliges me 
 to confess that this is the mode in which the hateful mono-
 
 24 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 syllable is more usually employed by the marital part of the one 
 flesh ; and has something about it of the odious assumption of 
 the Petruchian pater-familias the head of the family boding, 
 not perhaps "peace and love, and quiet life," but certainly 
 " awful rule and right supremacy." Ex. gr. 
 
 " My dear Jane I wish you would just put by that ever- 
 lasting crochet, and listen to me for a few moments," etc. 
 
 " My dear Jane I wish you would understand me for once- 
 don't think I am angry no, but I am hurt. You must consider," 
 etc. 
 
 " My dear Jane I don't know if it is your intention to ruin 
 me, but I only wish you would do as all other women do who 
 care three straws for their husband's property," etc. 
 
 " My dear Jane I wish you to understand that I am the 
 last person in the world to be jealous ; but I'll be d d if that 
 puppy, Captain Prettyman," etc. 
 
 Now, few so carefully cultivate the connubial garden, as to 
 feel much surprise at the occasional sting of a homely nettle 
 or two ; who ever expected, before entering that garden, to find 
 himself pricked and lacerated by an insidious exotical "dear," 
 which he had been taught to believe only lived in a hothouse, 
 along with myrtles and other tender and sensitive shrubs, which 
 poets appropriate to Venus ? Nevertheless Parson Dale, being a 
 patient man, and u pattern to all husbands, would have found no 
 faultwith his garden, though there had not been a single specimen 
 of "dear," whether the dear humilis, or the &Qa.*superbaj the dear 
 pallida,rubra,mnigra; the dear suav/s,or the dear horrida ; no, 
 not a single " dear " in the whole horticulture of matrimony, 
 which Mrs. Dale had not brought to perfection. But this was far 
 from being thecase Mrs. Dale,livingmuchinretirement, was un- 
 aware of the modern improvements,in variety of color and sharp- 
 ness of prickle, which have rewarded the persevering skill of our 
 female florists. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IN the cool of the evening Dr. Riccabocca walked home 
 across the fields. Mr. and Mrs.Dalehad accompanied him half- 
 way; and as they now turned back to the parsonage, they Iqoked 
 behind to catch a glimpse of the tall, outlandish figure winding 
 slowly through the path amidst the waves of the green corn. 
 
 " Poor man !" said Mrs. Dale, feelingly; " and the button was 
 off his wristband ? What a pity he has nobody to take care of 
 him ! He seems very domestic. Don't you think, Charles, it 
 would be a great blessing if we could get him a good wife ? "
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 25 
 
 " Um," said the Parson ; " I doubt if he values the married 
 state as he ought." 
 
 " What do you mean, Charles ? I never saw a man more 
 polite to ladies in my life." 
 
 " Yes, but" 
 
 "But what ? You are always so mysterious, Charles dear." 
 
 " Mysterious ! No, Carry ; but if you could hear what the 
 Doctor says of the ladies sometimes." 
 
 " Ay, when you men get together, my dear. I know what 
 that means pretty things you say of us. But you are all 
 alike ; you know you are, love ! " 
 
 "I am sure," said the Parson simply, "that I have good cause to 
 speak well of the sex whenlthink of you, and my poor mother." 
 
 Mrs. Dale, who, with all her " tempers," was an excellent 
 woman and loved her husband with the whole of her little 
 heart, was touched. She pressed his hand, and did not call 
 him dear all the way home. 
 
 Meanwhile the Italian passed the fields, and came upon the 
 high-road about two miles from Hazeldean. On one side stood 
 an old-fashioned solitary inn, such as English inns used to be 
 before they became railway hotels square, solid, old-fash- 
 ioned, looking so hospitable and comfortable, with their great 
 signs swinging from some elm-tree in front, and the long row 
 of stables standing a little back, with a chaise or two in'the yard, 
 and the jolly landlord talking of the crop to some stout farmer, 
 whose rough pony halts of itself at the well-known door. 
 Opposite this inn, on the other side of the road, stood the 
 habitation of Dr. Riccabocca. 
 
 A few years before the date of these annals, the stage-coach 
 on its way to London from a seaport town stopped at the inn, as ' 
 was its wont, for a good hour, that its passengers might dine like 
 Christian Englishman not gulp down a basin of scalding soup, 
 like everlasting heathen Yankees, with that cursed railway whis- 
 tle shrieking like a fiend in their ears ? It was the best dining- 
 place on the whole road, for the trout in the neighboring rill were 
 famous,and so was the mutton which came from Hazeldean Park. 
 
 From the outside of the coach had descended two passengers, 
 who, alone insensible to the attraction of mutton and trout, re- 
 fused to dine two melancholy-looking foreigners, of whom one 
 was Signor Riccabocca, much the same as we see him now, only 
 that the black suit was less threadbare, the tall form less meagre, 
 and he did hot then wear spectacles ; and the other was his ser- 
 vant. " They would walk about while the coach stopped." Now 
 the Italian's eye had been caught by a mouldering, dismantled
 
 26 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 house on the other side of the road, which nevertheless was well 
 situated ; half-way up a green hill, with its aspect due south, a 
 little cascade falling down artificial rock-work, a terrace with a 
 balustrade, and a few broken urns and statues before its Ionic por- 
 tico ; while on the roadside stood a board, with characters al- 
 ready half-effaced, implying that the house was " To be let un- 
 furnished, with or without land." 
 
 The abode that looked so cheerless, and which had soevident- 
 ly hung long on hand, was the property of Squire Hazeldean. 
 It had been built by his grandfather on the female side a coun- 
 try gentleman who had actually been in Italy (a journey rare 
 enough to boast of in those days), and who, on his return .home, 
 had attempted a miniature imitation of an Italian villa. He left 
 an only daughter and sole heiress, who married Squire Hazel- 
 dean's father. ; and since that time, the house,. abandoned-by its 
 proprietors for the larger residence of the Hazeldeans, had been 
 uninhabited and neglected. Several tenants, indeed, had offered 
 themselves ; but your true country squire is slow in admitting 
 upon his own property a rival neighbor. Some wanted shooting. 
 "That," said the Hazeldeans, who were great sportsmen and 
 strict preservers, " was quite out <?f the question." Others were 
 fine folks from London. " London servants," said the Hazel- 
 deans, who were moral and prudent people, " would corrupt their 
 own, and bring London prices." Others, again, were retired 
 manufacturers, at whom the Kazeldeans turned up their agricult- 
 ural noses. In -short, some were too grand, and others too 
 vulgar. Some were refused because they were known so well : 
 "Friends are best at a distance," said the Hazeldeans. Others 
 because they were not known at all : " No good comes of stran- 
 gers," said the Hazeldeans, And finally, ,as the house fell more 
 and more into decay, no one would take it unless it was put 
 into thorough repair : " As if ope was made of money ! " said 
 the H'az.eldeans. In short, there stood the house unoccupied 
 and ruinous ; and there, on its terrace, stood the two forlorn 
 Italians, surveying it with a smile at each other, as, for the 
 first time since they set foot in England, they recognized, in 
 dilapidated pilasters and broken .statues, in a weed-grown 
 terrace, and the,remains of an orangery, something that remind- 
 ed them of. the. land they had left behind. 
 
 On returning to the inn, Dr. Ricc.abocca took the occasion to 
 learn from the innkeeper(who was indeed a tenant of the Squire's) 
 such particulars as he could collect ; and a few days after- 
 ward Mr. Hazeldean received a letter from a solicitor of re- 
 pute in London, stating that a very respectable foreign gentle-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 2"J 
 
 man had commissioned him to treat for Clump Lodge, otherwise 
 called the "Casino "; that the said gentleman did not shoot 
 lived in great seclusion and, having no family, did not care 
 about the repairs of the place, provided only it were made 
 weather-proof if the omission of more expensive reparations 
 could render the rent suitable to his finances, which were very 
 limited. The offer came at a fortunate moment when the stew- 
 ard had just been representing to the Squire the necessity of 
 doing something to keep the Casino from falling into positive 
 ruin, and the Squire was cursing the fates which, had put the 
 Casino into an entail so that he could not pull it down for the 
 building materials. Mr Hazeldean therefore caught at the pro- 
 posal even as a fair. lady, who has refused the best offers in the 
 kingdom, catches, at last, at some battered old captain on half- 
 pay, and replied that, as for rent, if the solicitor's client was a 
 quiet, respectable man, he did not care for that, but that the 
 gentleman might have it for the first year rent-free, on con- 
 dition of paying the taxes and putting the place a little in order. 
 If they suited each other, they could then come to terms. Ten 
 days subsequently to this gracious reply, Signer Riccabocca 
 and his servant arrived ; and, before the year's end, the Squire 
 was so contented with his tenant that he gave him a running 
 lease of seven, fourteen, or twenty-one years, at a renjt merely 
 nominal, on condition that Signer Riccabocca would put and 
 maintain the place in repair, barring the roof and fences, 
 which the Squire generously renewed at his own expense. It 
 was astonishing, by little and little, what a pretty place the 
 Italian had made of it, and, what is more astonishing, ho\v little 
 it had cost him. He had, indeed, painted the walls of the hall, 
 staircase, and the rooms appropriated to himself, with his own 
 hands. His servant had done the greater part of the upholstery. 
 The two between them had got the garden into order. The Ital- 
 ians seemed to have taken a joint love to the place, and to deck it 
 as they would have done some favorite chapel to their Madonna. 
 It was long before the natives reconciled themselves to the 
 odd ways of the foreign settlers the first thing that offended 
 them was the exceeding smallness of their household bills. 
 Three days out of the seven, indeed, both man and master 
 dined on nothing else but the vegetables in the garden, and the 
 fishes in the neighboring rill ; when no trout could be caught, 
 they fried the minnows (and certainly, even in the best streams, 
 minnows are more frequently caught than trouts). The next 
 thing, which angered the natives quite as much, especially the 
 female part of the neighborhood, was the very sparing employ-
 
 28 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 ment the two he-creatures gave to the sex usually deemed so 
 indispensable in household matters. At first, indeed, they had 
 no woman servant at all. But this created such horror, that 
 Parson Dale ventured to hint upon the matter, which Ricca- 
 bocca took in very good part, and an old woman was forthwith 
 engaged, after some bargaining at three shillings a week to 
 wash and scrub as much as she liked during the daytime. She 
 always returned to her own cottage to sleep. The man-servant, 
 who was styled in the neighborhood " Jackeymo," did all else 
 for his master smoothed his room, dusted his papers, pre- 
 pared his coffee, cooked his dinner, brushed his clothes, and 
 cleaned his pipes, of which Riccabocca had a large collection. 
 But however close a man's character, it generally creeps out in 
 driblets; andonmanylittle occasionstheltalian hadshown acts of 
 kindness, and, on some more rare occasions, even of generosity, 
 which hadservedtosilencehiscalumniators,andbydegrees he had 
 established averyfair reputation suspected, it is true, of being a 
 little inclined totheBlackArt,and of a strange inclination to starve 
 Jackeymo and himself, and in other respects harmless enough. 
 
 Signer Riccabocca had become very intimate, as we have seen, 
 at the parsonage. But not so at the hall. Forthough the Squire 
 was inclined to be very friendly to all his neighbors, he was, 
 like most country gentleman, rather easily huffed. Riccabocca 
 had, if with great politeness, still with great obstinacy, refused 
 Mr. Hazeldean's earlier invitations to dinner ; and when the 
 Squire found that the Italian rarely declined to dine at the par- 
 sonage, he was offended in one of his weak points viz., his pride 
 in the hospitality of Hazeldean Hall and he ceased altogether 
 invitations so churlishly rejected. Nevertheless, as it was im- 
 possible for the Squire, however huffed, to bear malice, he now 
 and then reminded Riccabocca of his existence by presents of 
 game, and would have called on him more often than he did, bat 
 thnt Riccabocca received him with such excessive politeness, that 
 the blunt country gentleman felt shy and put out, and used to 
 say that" to call on Rickeybockey was as bad as going to court." 
 
 But we have left Dr. Riccabocca on the high-road. By this 
 time he has ascended a narrow path that winds by the side of 
 the cascade ; he has passed 'a trellis-work covered with vines, 
 from the which Jackeymo has positively succeeded in making 
 what he calls wine a liquid, indeed, that if the cholera had been 
 popularly known in those days, would have soured the mildest 
 member of the Board of Health ; for Squire .Hazeldean, though 
 a robust man, who daily carried off his bottle of. port with im- 
 punity, having once rashly tasted it, did not recover the effect
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 89 
 
 till he fiad had a bill from the apothecary as long as his own arm. 
 Passing this trellis, Dr. Riccabocca entered upon the terrace, 
 with its stone pavement smoothed and trimmed as hands could 
 make it. Here, on neat stands, all his favorite flowers were 
 arranged ; here four orange-trees were in full blossom ; here a 
 kind of summer-house or belvidere, built by Jackeymo and him- 
 self, made his chosen morning room from May till October ; and 
 from this belvidere there was as beautiful an expanse of pros- 
 pect as if our English nature had hospitably spread on her green 
 board all that she had to offer as a banquet to the exile. 
 
 A man without his coat, which was thrown over the balus- 
 trade, was employed in watering the flowers ; a man with move- 
 ments so mechanical, with a face so rigidly grave in its tawny 
 hues, that he seemed like an automaton made out of mahogany. 
 
 "Giacomo," said Dr. Riccabocca, softly. 
 
 The automaton stopped its hand, and turned its head. 
 
 " Put by the watering-pot, and come hither," continued Ric- 
 cabocca, in Italian; and moving toward the, balustrade, he leaned 
 over it. Mr. Mitford, the historian, calls Jean Jacques '"''John 
 James." Following that illustrious example, Giacomo shall be 
 Anglified into Jackeymo. Jackeymo came to the balustrade 
 also, and stood a little behind his master. 
 
 *' Friend," said Riccabocea, "enterprises have not always suc- 
 ceeded with us. Don't you think, after all, it is tempting our 
 evil star to rent those fields from the landlord ? " Jackeymo 
 crossed himself, and madfc some strange movement with a little 
 coral charm which he wore set in a ring on his finger. 
 
 ." If the Madonna send us luck, and we could hire a lad 
 cheap ? " said Jackeymo, doubtfully. 
 
 " Piu vale un presente che dui futuri" said Riccabocea (" A 
 bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.") 
 
 " Chi non fa quando pub, nonpub y fare quando vuole " (" He 
 who will not when he may, when he will it shall have nay "), 
 answered Jackeymo, as sententiously as his master. " And the 
 Padrone should think in time that he must lay by for the dower 
 of the poor signorina " (young lady). 
 
 Riccabocea sighed, and made no reply. 
 
 " She must be that high now ! " said Jackeymo, putting his 
 hand on some imaginary line a little above the balustrade. Ric- 
 cabocca's eyes, raised over the spectacles, followed the hand. 
 
 " If the Padrone could but see her here " 
 
 " I thought I did ! " muttered the Italian. 
 
 " He would never let her go from his side till she went to a 
 husband's," continued Jackeymo.
 
 30 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " But this climate she could never stand it," said Ricca- 
 bocca, drawing his cloak round him, as the north wind took 
 him in the rear. 
 
 " The orange-trees blossom even here with care," said Jackey- 
 mo, turning back to draw down an awning where the orange- 
 trees faced the north. " See ! " he added, as he returned with 
 a sprig in full bud. 
 
 Dr. Riccabocca bent over the blossom, and then placed it 
 in his bosom. 
 
 " The other one should be there too," said Jackeymo. 
 
 " To die as this does already ! " answered Riccabocca. 
 " Say no more." 
 
 Jackeymo shrugged his shoulders ; and then, glancing at his 
 master, drew his hand over his eyes. 
 
 There was a pause. Jackeymo was the first to break it. 
 
 " But, whether here or there, beauty without money is the 
 orange-tree without shelter. If a lad could be got cheap, I 
 would hire the land, and trust for the crop to the Madonna." 
 
 " I think I know of such a lad, "said Riccabocca, recovering 
 himself, and with his sardonic smile once more lurking about 
 the corners of his mouth, " a lad made for us." 
 
 " Diavolo !" 
 
 " No, not the Diavolo ! Friend, I have this day seen a boy 
 who refused sixpence ! " 
 
 " Cosa stupenda ! " (Stupendous thing !) exclaimed Jackey- 
 mo, opening his eyes, and letting fall the watering-pot. 
 
 " It is true, my friend." 
 
 "Take him, Padrone, in Heaven's name, and the fields will 
 grow gold." 
 
 " I will think of it, for it must require management to catch such 
 a boy," said Riccabocea. " Meanwhile, light a candle in the par- 
 lor, and bring from my bedroom that great folio of Machiavelli." 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 IN my next chapter I shall present Squire Hazeldean in patri- 
 archal state not exactly under the fig-tree he has planted, but 
 before the stocks he has reconstructed Squire Hazeldean and 
 his family on the village green ! The canvas is all ready for 
 the colors. 
 
 But in this chapter I must so far afford a glimpse into ante- 
 cedents as to let the reader know that there is one member of 
 the family whom he is not likely to meet at present, if ever, on 
 the village green at Hazeldean.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 31 
 
 Oar Squire lost his father two years after his birth ; his 
 mother was very handsome and so was her jointure ; she mar- 
 ried again at the expiration of her year of mourning; the ob- 
 ject of her second choice was Colonel Egerton. 
 
 In every generation of Englishmen (at least since the lively 
 reign of Charles II.) there are a few whom some elegant genius 
 skims off from the milk of human nature, and reserves for the 
 cream of society. Colonel Egerton was one of these ter quatuor- 
 que beati, and dwelt apart on a top shelf in that delicate porce- 
 lain dish not bestowed upon vulgar buttermilk which per- 
 sons of fashion call The Great World. Mighty was the marvel 
 of Pall Mall, and profound was the pity of Park Lane, when 
 this super-eminent personage condescended to lower himself 
 into a husband. But Colonel Egertort was "not a mere gaudy 
 butterfly ; he had the provident instincts ascribed to the bee. 
 Youth Had passed from him, and carried off much solid prop- 
 erty in its flight ; he saw that a time was fast coming when a 
 home, with a partner who could help to maintain it, would be 
 conducive to his comforts, and an occasional hum-drum even- 
 ing by the fireside beneficial to his health. In the midst of one 
 season at Brighton, to which gay place he had accompanied the 
 Prince of Wales, he saw a widow who, though in the weeds of 
 mourning, did not appear inconsolable. Her person pleased his 
 taste the accounts of her jointure satisfied his understanding: 
 he contrived an introduction, and brought a brief wooing to a 
 happy close. The late Mr. Hazeldean had so anticipated the 
 chance of the young widow's second espousals, that, in case of 
 the event, he transferred, by his testamentary dispositions, the 
 guardianship of his infant heir from the mother to two squires, 
 whom he had named his executors. This circumstance com- 
 bined with her ne'w ties somewhat to alienate Mrs. Hazeldean 
 from the pledge of her former loves ; and when she had borne 
 a son to Colonel Egerton, it was upon that child that her mater- 
 nal affections gradually concentrated. 
 
 William Hazeldean was sent by his guardians to a large pro- 
 vincial academy, at which his forefathers had received their 
 education time out of : rnind. At first he spent his holidays 
 with Mrs. Egerton ; but as she now resided either in London, or 
 followed her lord to Brighton, to partake of the gaieties at the 
 Pavilion^ so, as he grew older, William, who had a hearty af- 
 fection for country life, and of whose bluff manners and rural 
 breeding Mrs. Egerton (having grown exceedingly refined) was 
 openly ashamed, asked and obtained permission to spend his 
 vacations either with his guardians or at the old Hall. He
 
 2 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 went late to a small college at Cambridge, endowed in the fif- 
 teenth century by some ancestral Hazeldean; and left it, on com- 
 ing of age, without taking a degree. A few years afterward 
 he married a young lady, country born and bred like himself. 
 
 Meanwhile his half-brother, Audley Egerton, may be said to 
 have begun his initiation into the beau monde before he had well 
 cast aside his coral and bells ; he had been fondled in the lap of 
 duchesses, and had galloped across the room astride on the 
 canes of ambassadors and princes^ For Colonel Egerton was 
 not only very highly connected not only one of the Dii majores 
 of fashion but he had the still rarer good fortune to be an 
 exceedingly popular man with all who knew him ; so popular, 
 that even the fine ladies whom he had adored and abandoned 
 forgave him for marrying out of "the set," and continued to be 
 as friendly as if he had not married at all. People who were 
 commonly called heartless were never weary of doing kind 
 things to the Egertons. When the time came for Audley to 
 leave the preparatory school at which his infancy budded forth 
 amongst the stateliest of the little lilies of the field, and go to 
 Eton, half the fifth and sixth forms had been canvassed to be 
 exceedingly civil to young Egerton. The boy soon showed that 
 he inherited his father's talent for acquiring popularity, and 
 that to this talent he added those which put popularity to use. 
 Without achieving any scholastic distinction, he yet contrived 
 to establish at Eton the most desirable reputation which a boy 
 can obtain namely, that among his own contemporaries, the 
 reputation of a boy who was sure to do something when he grew 
 to be a man. As a gentleman commoner at Christ Church, 
 Oxford, he continued to sustain this high expectation, though 
 he won no prizes, and took but an ordinary degree ; and at 
 Oxford the future " something " became more defined it was 
 " something in public life " that this young man was to do. 
 
 While he was yet at the university,both his parents died with- 
 in a few months of each other. And when Audley Egerton came 
 of age, he succeeded to a paternal property which was supposed 
 to be large, and indeed had once been so ; but Colonel Eger- 
 ton had been too lavish a man to enrich his heir, and about 
 ^1500 a year was all that sales and mortgages left of an estate 
 fhat had formerly approached a rental of j 10,000. 
 
 Still, Audley was considered to be opulent, and he did not 
 dispel that favorable notion by any imprudent exhibition of 
 parsimony. On entering the world of London, the Clubs flew 
 open to receive him, and he woke one morning to find himself, 
 not indeed famous but the fashion. To this fashion he at once
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 33 
 
 ave a certain gravity and value he associated as' much as possi- 
 ble with public men and political ladies he succeeded in con- 
 firming the notion that he was " born to ruin or to rule the State.'* 
 
 The dearest and most intimate friend of Audley Egerton was 
 Lord L'Estrange, from whom he had been inseparable at Eton ; 
 and who now, if Audley Egerton was the fashion, was abso- 
 lutely the rage in London. 
 
 Harley, Lord L'Estrange, was the only son of the Earl of 
 Lansmere, a nobleman of considerable wealth, and allied, by in- 
 termarriages, to the loftiest and most powerful families in Eng- 
 land. Lord Lansmere, nevertheless, was but little known in the 
 circles of London. He lived chiefly on his estates, occupying 
 himself with the various duties of a great proprietor, and when he 
 came to the metropolis, it was rather to save than to spend ; so 
 that he could afford to give his son a very ample allowance, when 
 Harley, at the age of sixteen (having already attained to the sixth 
 form at Eton), left school for one of the regiments of the Guards. 
 
 Few knew what to make of Harley L'Estrange and that was, 
 perhaps, the reason why he was so much thought of. He had 
 been by far the most brilliant boy of his time at Eton not only 
 the boast of the cricket-ground, but the marvel of the school- 
 room ; yet so full of whims and oddities, and seeming to achieve 
 his triumphs with so little aid from steadfast application, that 
 he had not left behind him the same expectations of solid emi- 
 nence which his friend and senior, Audley Egerton, had ex- 
 cited. His eccentricities his quaint sayings, and out-of-the- 
 way actions, became as notable in the great world as they had 
 been in the small one of a public school. That he was very clever 
 there was no doubt, and that the cleverness was of a high order 
 might be surmised, not only from the originality but from the 
 independence of his character. He dazzled the world, without 
 seeming to care for its praise or its censure dazzled it,as it were, 
 because he could not help shining. He had some strange notions, 
 whether political or social, which rather frightened his father. 
 According to Southey, " A man should be no more ashamed of 
 having been a republican than of havingbeen young." Youth and 
 extravagant opinions naturally go together. Idon't know whether 
 Harley L'Estrange was a republican at the age of eighteen ; but 
 there was no young man in London who seemed to care less for 
 being heir to an illustrious name and some forty or fifty thousand 
 pounds a year. It was a vulgar fashion in that day to play the 
 exclusive, and cut persons who wore bad neckcloths, and called 
 themselves Smith or Johnson. Lord L'Estrange never cut any 
 one, and it was quite enough to slight some worthy man because
 
 34 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 of his neckcloth or his birth, to insure to the offender the pointed 
 civilities of thiseccentricsuccessor to theBelfortsandtheWildairs. 
 
 It was the wish of his father that Harley, as soon as he came 
 of age, should represent the borough of Lansmere (which said 
 borough was the single plague of the Earl's life.) But this wish 
 was never realized. Suddenly, when the young idol of London 
 still wanted some two or three years of his majority, a new whim 
 appeared to seize him. He withdrew entirely from society 
 he left unanswered the most pressing three-cornered notes of 
 inquiry and invitation that ever strewed the table of a young 
 Guardsman ; he was rarely seen anywhere in his former haunts 
 when seen, was either alone or with Egerton ; and his gay spirits 
 seemed wholly to have left him, A profound melancholy was 
 written on his countenance, and breathed in the listless- tones of 
 his voice. About this time a vacancy .happening to occur for 
 the representation of Lansmere, Harley made it his special re- 
 quest to his father that the family interest might be given to 
 Audley Egerton a request which, was backed by all the influ- 
 ence of his lady mother, who shared in the esteem which her son 
 felt for his friend. The Earl yielded ; and. Egerton, accom- 
 panied by Harley, went down to Lansmere Park, which adjoined 
 the borough, in order to be introduced to the electors. This 
 visit made a notable epoch in. the history of many personages 
 who figure in my narrative ; but. at present I content myself with 
 saying, that circumstances arose which, just as the canvass for 
 the new election commenced, caused both L'Estrange and Aud- 
 ley to absent themselves from the scene of action, and that the 
 last even wrote to Lord Lansmere expressing his intention of de- 
 clining to contest the borough. 
 
 Fortunately for the parliamentary career of Audley Egerton, 
 the election had become to Lord Lansmere not only a matter 
 of public importance, but of personal feeling. He resolved that 
 the battle should be fought out, even in the absence of the can- 
 didate, and at his own expense. Hitherto the contest for this 
 distinguished borough had been, to use the language of Lord 
 Lansmere, "conducted in the spirit of gentlemen," that is to 
 say, the only opponents to the Lansmere interest had been found 
 in one or the other of two rival families in the same county ; 
 and as the Earl was a hospitable, courteous man, much respected 
 and liked. by the neighboring gentry, so the hostile candidate 
 had interlarded his speeches with profuse compliments to his 
 Lordship's high : character, and civil expressions to his Lord- 
 ship's candidate. But, thanks to successive elections, one of 
 these two families had come to an end, and its actual r.epre-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 35 
 
 sentative was now residing within the Rules of the Bench ; the 
 head of the other family was the sitting member, and by an ami- 
 cable agreement with the Lansmere interest, he remained as 
 neutral as it is in the power of any sitting member to be amidst 
 the passions of an intractable committee. Accordingly, it had 
 been hoped that Egerton would come in without opposition, 
 when, the very day on which he had abruptly left the place, a 
 handbill, signed " Haverill Dashmore, Captain R. N., Baker 
 Street, Portman Square," announced, in .very spirited language, 
 the intention of that gentleman " to emancipate :the borough 
 from the unconstitutional domination of an oligarchical faction, 
 not with a view to his own political aggrandizement indeed, 
 at great personal inconvenience but actuated solely by abhor- 
 rence to tyranny,and patriotic passion for the purity of election.'.' 
 
 This announcement was followed, within two' hours, by the 
 arrival of Captain Dashmore himself, in a carriage and four, 
 covered with yellow favors, and filled, inside and out, with 
 harum-scarum-looking friends, who had come down with him 
 to share the canvass and partake the fun. 
 
 Captain Dashmore was a thorough sailor, who had; however, 
 conceived a disgust to the profession from the date in which 
 a minister's nephew had been appointed to the command of a 
 ship to which the Captain considered himself unquestionably 
 entitled. It is just to the minister to add, that Captain Dash- 
 more had shown as little regard to orders from a distance, as 
 had immortalized Nelson himself ; but then the disobedience 
 had not achieved the same redeeming success as that of Nelson, 
 and Captain Dashmore ought to have thought himself fortunate 
 in escaping a severer treatment than the loss of promotion. But 
 no man knows when he is well off ; and retiring on half-pay, 
 Just as he came into unexpected possession of some forty or 
 fifty thousand pounds, bequeathed by a distant relation, Captain 
 Dashmore was seized with a vindictive desire to enter Parlia- 
 ment, and inflict oratorical chastisement on the Administration. 
 
 A very few hours sufficed to show the sea-captain to be a 
 most capital electioneerer for a popular but not enlightened con- 
 stituency. It is true that he talked the saddest nonsense ;ever 
 heard from an open window ; but then his jokes were so broad, 
 his manner so hearty, his voice so big, that in those dark days, 
 before the schoolmaster was abroad, he would have beaten your 
 phidosophical Radical and moralizing Democrat hollow. More- 
 over, he kissed all the women, old arid- young, with, the zest of 
 a sailor who has known what it is. to be three years at sea with- 
 out sight of a beardless lip; he threw 'open all the public
 
 36 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 houses, asked a numerous committee every day to dinner, and, 
 chucking his purse up in the air, declared " he would stick to 
 his guns, while there was a shot in his locker." Till then, there 
 had been but little, political difference between the candidate 
 supported by Lord Lansmere's interest and the opposing par- 
 ties for country gentlemen, in those days, were pretty much 
 of the same way of thinking, and the question had been really 
 local viz., whether the Lansmere interest shoulder should not 
 prevail over that of the two squirearchical families who had 
 alone, hitherto, ventured to oppose it. But though Captain 
 Dashmore was really a very loyal man, and much too old a 
 sailor to think that the State (which, according to established 
 metaphor, is a vessel par excellence) should admit Jack upon 
 quarter-deck, yet, what with talking against lords and aristoc- 
 racy, jobs and abuses, and searching through no very refined 
 .vocabulary for the strongest epithets to apply to those irritat- 
 ing nouns-substantive, his bile had got the better of his under- 
 standing, and he became fuddled, as it were, by his own elo- 
 quence. Thus, though as innocent of Jacobinical designs as he 
 was incapable of setting the Thames on fire, you would have 
 guessed him, by his speeches, to be one of the most determined 
 incendiaries that ever applied a match to the combustible mate- 
 rials of a contested election ; while, being by; no means accus- 
 tomed to respect his adversaries, he could not have treated the 
 Earl of Lansmere with less ceremony if his Lordship had been 
 a Frenchman. He usually designated that respectable noble- 
 man, who was still in the prime of life, by the title of " Old 
 Pompous"; and the Mayor, who was never seen abroad but in 
 top-boots, and the solicitor, who was of a large build, received 
 from his wit the joint sobriquet of " Tops and Bottoms ! " Hence 
 the election had now become, as I said before, a personal matter 
 with my Lord, and indeed, with the great heads of the Lansmere 
 interest. The Earl seemed to consider his very coronet at stake 
 in the question. " The man from Baker Street," with his pre- 
 ternatural audacity, appeared to him a being ominous and aw- 
 ful not so much to be regarded with resentment as with super- 
 stitious terror ; he felt as felt the dignified Montezuma, when 
 that ruffianly Cortez, with his handful of Spanish rapscallions, 
 bearded him in his own capital and in the midst of his Mexican 
 splendor. The gods were menaced if man could be so insolent ! 
 wherefore, said my Lord, tremulously " The Constitution is 
 gone if the man from Baker Street comes in for Lansmere ! " 
 
 But, in the absence of Audley Egerton, the election looked 
 extremely ugly, and Captain Dashmore gained ground hourly,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 37 
 
 when the Lansmere solicitor happily bethought him of a not- 
 able proxy for the missing candidate. The Squire of Hazel- 
 dean, with his young wife, had been invited by the earl in honor 
 of Audley ; and in the Squire, the solicitor beheld the only mor- 
 tal who could cope with the sea-captain a man with a voice 
 as burly and a face as bold a man who, if permitted for the 
 nonce by Mrs. Hazeldean, would kiss all the women no less 
 heartily than the captain kissed them; and who was, moreover, a 
 taller, and a handsomer, and a younger man all three great rec- 
 ommendations in the kissing department of a contested election. 
 Yes, to canvass the borough, and to speak from the windows, 
 Squire Hazeldean would be even more popularly presentable than 
 the London-bred and accomplished Audley Egerton himself. 
 
 The Squire, applied to and urged on all sides, at first said 
 bluntly, " that he would do anything in reason to serve his 
 brother, but that he did not like, for his own part, appearing, 
 even in proxy, as a lord's nominee ; and moreover, if he was to 
 be sponsor for his brother, why, he must promise and vow, in 
 his name, to be staunch and true to the land they lived by ! 
 And how could he tell that Audley, when he once got into the 
 House, would not forget the land, and that he, William Hazel- 
 dean, would be made a liar, and look like a turncoat ! " 
 
 But thesescruples beingoverruled by the arguments of the gen- 
 tlemen, and the entreaties of the ladies, who took in the election 
 that intense interest which those gentle creatures usually do take 
 in all matters of strife and contest, the Squire at length consented 
 to confront the Man from Baker Street, and went accordingly in- 
 to the thing with that good heart andold English spirit with which 
 he went into everything whereon he had once made up his mind. 
 
 The expectations formed of the Squire's capacities for popu- 
 lar electioneering were fully realized. He talked quite as much 
 nonsense as Captain Dashmore on every subject except the land- 
 ed interest ; there he was great, for he knew the subject well 
 knew it by the instinct that comes with practice, and compared 
 to which all your showy theories are mere cobwebs and moonshine. 
 
 The agricultural outvoters many of whom, not living under 
 Lord Lansmere, but being small yeomen, had hitherto prided 
 themselves on their independence, and gone against my Lord 
 could not in their hearts go against one who was every inch the 
 farmer's friend. They began to share in the Earl's personal inter- 
 est against the Man from Baker Street; and big fellows, with legs 
 bigger round than Captain Dashmore'stight littlebody,andhuge 
 whips in their hands, were soon seen entering the shops, " intimi- 
 dating the electors," as Captain Dashmore indignantly declared.
 
 38 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 These new recruits made a great difference in the muster- 
 roll of the Lansmere books; and when the day for polling arrived, 
 the result was a fair question for even betting. At the last hour, 
 after a neck-and-neck contest, Mr. Audley Egerton beat the 
 Captain by two votes. And the names of these voters were 
 John Avenel, resident, freeman, and his son-in-law, Mark Fair- 
 field, an outvoter, who, though a Lansmere freeman, had set- 
 tled in Hazeldean, where he had obtained the situation of head 
 carpenter on the Squire's estate. 
 
 These votes were unexpected ; for, though Mark Fairfield 
 had come to Lansmere on purpose to support the Squire's 
 brother, and though the Avenels had been always staunch 
 supporters of the Lansmere Blue interest, yet a severe affliction 
 (as to the nature of which, not desiring to sadden the opening 
 of. my story, I am. considerately silent) had befallen both these 
 persons, and they had left the town on the very day after Lord 
 L'Estrange and Mr. Egerton had quitted Lansmere Park. - 
 
 Whatever might have been the gratification of the Squire, as 
 a' canvasser and a brother, at Mr. Egerton's triumph, it; was 
 much damped when, on leaving the dinner given in honor of 
 the victory at the Lansmere Arms, and about, with no steady 
 step, to enter the carriage which was to convey him to his lord- 
 ship's house, a letter was put into his hands by one of the gen- 
 tlemen who had accompanied the Captain to the scene of 
 action; and the persual of that letter, and a few whispered 
 words from the bearer thereof, sent the Squire back to Mrs. 
 Hazeldean a much soberer man than she had ventured to hope 
 for. The fact was, that on the day of nomination, the Captain 
 having honored Mr. Hazeldean with many poetical and figura- 
 tive appellations such as " Prize Ox," " Tony Lumpkin," 
 "Blood-sucking Vampire," and " Brotherly Warming-pan," the 
 Squire had retorted by a joke about " Salt-water Jack"; and 
 the Captain, who, like all satirists, was extremely susceptible 
 and thin-skinned could not consent to to be called " Salt-water 
 Jack " by a " Prize Ox " and a ''Bloodsucking Vampire." 
 
 The letter, therefore, now conveyed to Mr. Hazeldean by a 
 gentleman, who, being from the Sister Country, was deemed the 
 most fitting accomplice in the honorable destruction of a brother 
 mortal, contained nothing more nor less than an invitation to 
 single' combat ; and the bearer thereof, with the suave polite- 
 ness enjoined by etiquette on such well-bred homicidal occa- 
 sions, suggested the expediency of appointing the place of meet- 
 ing in the neighborhood of London, in order to prevent interfer- 
 ence from the suspicious authorities of Lansmere.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 39 
 
 The natives of some countries the warlike French in par- 
 ticular think little of that formal operation which goes by the 
 name of DUELLING. Indeed, they seem rather to like it than 
 otherwise. But there is nothing your thorough-paced English- 
 man a Hazeldean of Hazeldean considers with more repug- 
 nance and aversion, than that same cold-blooded ceremonial. It 
 is not within the range of an Englishman's ordinary habits of 
 thinking. He prefers going to law a much more destructive 
 proceeding of the two. Nevertheless, if an Englishman must 
 fight, why, he will fight. 'He says " it is very foolish "; he is sure 
 " it is mostunchristianlike "; he agrees with all that Philosophy, 
 Preacher, and Press have laid down on the subject ; but he 
 makes his will, says his prayers, and goes out like a heathen. 
 
 It never, therefore, occurred to the Squire to show the white 
 feather upon this unpleasant occasion. The next day, feigning 
 excuse to attend the sale of a hunting stud at Tattersall's, he 
 ruefully went up to London-, after taking a peculiarly affection- 
 ate leave of his wife. Indeed, the Squire" felt convinced that 
 he should never return home except in a coffin. " It stands 
 to reason," said he to himself, " that a man who has been actu- 
 ajly paid by the King's Government for shooting people ever 
 since he was a little boy, in a midshipman's jacket, must be a 
 dead hand at the job. 1 should not mind if it was with double- 
 barrelled Mantons and small shot ; but, ball and pistol ! they 
 aren't human nor sportsmanlike !" However, the Squire, af- 
 ter settling his worldly affairs, and hunting up an old college 
 friend who undertook to be his second, proceeded to a seques- 
 tered cornerof Wimbledon Common, and plan ted himself, not side- 
 ways, as one ought to do in such encounters (the which posture 
 the Squire swore was an unmanly way of shirking), but full front 
 tothe mouth of hisadversary's pistol, with such sturdy composure, 
 that Captain Dashmore, who, though an excellent shot, was at 
 bottom as good-natured a fellow as ever lived, testified his admir- 
 ation by letting bff his gallant opponent with a ball in the fleshy 
 part of the shoulder, after which he declared himself perfectly 
 satisfied. The parties then shook hands, mutual apologies were 
 exchanged, and the Squire, much astonished to find himself still 
 alive, was conveyed to Limmer's Hotel, where, after a considerable 
 amount of anguish, the ball was extracted and the wound healed. 
 Now it was all over, the Squire felt very much raised in his own 
 conceit ; and when he was in a humor more than ordinarily 
 fierce, that perilous event became a favorite allusion with him. 
 
 He considered, moreover, that his brother had incurred at 
 his hand the most lasting obligations ; and that, having pro-
 
 4o MY NOVEL ; on, 
 
 cured Audley's return to Parliament, and defended his interests 
 at risk of his own life, he had an absolute right to dictate to 
 that gentleman how to vote upon all matters, at least, con- 
 nected with the landed interest. And when, not very long after 
 Audley took his seat in Parliament (which he did not do for some 
 months), he thought proper both to vote and to speak in a 
 manner wholly belying the promises the Squire had made on his 
 behalf, Mr. Hazeldean wrote him such a trimmer that it could not 
 but produce an unconciliatory reply. Shortly afterward, the 
 Squire's exasperation reached the culminating point ; for having 
 to pass through Lansmere on a market-day, he was hooted by the 
 very farmers whom he had induced to vote for his brother ; and 
 justly imputing the disgrace to Audley, he never heard the name 
 of that traitor to the land mentioned without a heightened color 
 and an indignant expletive. Monsieur de Ruqueville who was 
 the greatest wit of his day had, like the Squire, a half-brother, 
 with whom he was not on the best of terms, and of whom he 
 always spoke as his " frere de loin ! " Audley Egerton was thus 
 Squire Hazeldean's " distant brother ! " Enough of these ex- 
 planatory antecedents let us return to the Stocks. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE Squire's carpenters were taken from the park pales, and 
 set to work at the Parish Stocks. Then came the painter and 
 colored them a beautiful dark blue, with white border and a 
 white rim round the holes with an ornamental flourish in the 
 middle. It was the gayest public edifice in the whole village 
 though the village possessed no less than three other monu- 
 ments of the Vitruvian genius of the Hazeldeans to wit, the 
 almshouse, the school, and the parish pump. 
 
 A more elegant, enticing, coquettish pair of stocks never glad- 
 dened the eye of a justice of the peace. 
 
 And Squire Hazeldean's eye was gladdened. In the pride of 
 his heart he brought all the family down to look at the stocks. 
 The Squire's family (omitting the frere de loin) consisted of 
 Mrs. Hazeldean, his wife ; next, of Miss Jemima Hazeldean, 
 his first-cousin ; thirdly, of Mr. Francis Hazeldean, his only 
 son ; and fourthly, of Captain Barnabas Higginbotham, a dis- 
 tant relation who, indeed, strictly speaking, was not of the 
 family, but only a visitor ten months in the year. Mrs. Hazel- 
 dean was every inch the lady the lady of the parish. In her 
 comely, florid, and somewhat sunburnt countenance, there was 
 an equal expression of majesty and benevolence ; she had a blue
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 41 
 
 ye that invited liking, and an aquiline nose that commanded 
 respect. Mrs. Hazeldean had no affectation of fine airs no 
 wish to be greater and handsomer and cleverer than she was. 
 She knew herself, and her station, and thanked heaven for it. 
 There was about her speech and manner something of the short- 
 ness and bluntness which often characterize royalty ; and if 
 the lady of a parish is not a queen in her own circle, it is never 
 the fault of a parish. Mrs. Hazeldean dressed her part to 
 perfection. She wore silks that seemed heirlooms so thick 
 were they, so substantial and imposing. And over these, when 
 she was in her own domain, the whitest of aprons ; while at her 
 waist was seen no fiddle-faddle chatelaine, with breloques and 
 trumpery, but a good honest gold watch to mark the time, and 
 a long pair of scissors to cut off the dead leaves from her 
 flowers for she was a great horticulturist. When occasion 
 needed, Mrs. Hazeldean could, however, lay by her more sump- 
 tuous and imperial raiment for a stout riding-habit, of blue 
 Saxony, and canter by her husband's side to see the hounds 
 throw off. Nay, on the days on which Mr. Hazeldean drove 
 his famous fast- trotting cob to the market-town, it was rarely 
 that you did not see his wife on the left side of the gig. She 
 cared as little as her lord did for wind and weather, and in the 
 midst of some pelting shower, her pleasant face peeped over the 
 collar and capes of a stout dreadnought, expanding into smiles 
 and bloom as some frank rose, that opens from its petals and 
 rejoices in the dews. It was easy to see that the worthy couple 
 married for love ; they were as little apart as they could help it. 
 And still, on the first of September, if the house was not full, of 
 company which demanded her cares, Mrs. Hazeldean " stepped 
 out " over the stubbles by her husband's side,with as light a tread 
 and as blithe an eye as when, in the first bridal year, she had 
 enchanted the Squire by her genial sympathy with his sports. 
 
 So there now stands Harriet Hazeldean, one hand leaning 
 on the Squire's broad shoulder, the other thrust into her apron, 
 and trying her best to share her husband's enthusiasm for his 
 own public-spirited patriotism, in the renovation of the parish 
 stocks. A little behind, with two fingers resting on the thin 
 arm of Captain Barnabas, stood Miss Jemima, the orphan daugh- 
 ter of the Squire's uncle, by a runaway imprudent marriage 
 with a young lady who belonged to a family which had been at 
 war with the Hazeldeans since the reign of Charles the First, 
 respecting a right of way to a small wood (or rather spring) of 
 about an acre, through a piece of furze land, which was let to 
 a brickmaker at twelve shillings a-year. The wood belonged
 
 42 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 to the Hazeldeans, the furze land to the Sticktorights (an old 
 Saxon family, if ever there was one). Every twelfth year, when 
 the fagots and timber were felled, this feud broke out afresh ; 
 for the Sticktorights refused to the Hazeldeans the right to cart 
 off the said fagots and timber through the only way by which 
 a cart could possibly pass. It is just to the Hazeldeans to say 
 that they had offered to buy the land at ten times its value. 
 But the Sticktorights, with equal magnanimity, had declared 
 that they would not " alienate the family property for the con- 
 venience of the best squire that ever stood upon shoe-leather." 
 Therefore, every twelfth year, there was always a great breach 
 of the peace on the part of both Hazeldeans and Stcktorights, 
 magistrates and deputy-lieutenants though they were. The 
 question was fairly fought out by their respective dependents, 
 and followed by various actions for assault and trespass. As 
 the legal question of right was extremely obscure, it never had 
 been properly decided ; and indeed, neither party wished it 
 to be decided, each at heart having some doubt of the propriety 
 of its own claim. A marriage between a younger son of the 
 Hazeldeans, and a younger daughter of the Sticktorights, was 
 viewed with equal indignation by both families ; and the con- 
 sequence had been that the runaway couple, unblessed and un- 
 forgiven, had scrambled through life as they could, upon the 
 scanty pay of the husband, who was in a marching regiment, 
 and the interest of ^rooo, which was the wife's fortune inde- 
 pendent of her parents. They died and left an only daughter 
 (upon whom the maternal 1000 had been settled), about the 
 time that the Squire came of age and into possession of the es- 
 tates. And though he inherited all the ancestral hostility to- 
 ward the Sticktorights, it was not in his nature to be unkind to 
 a poor orphan, who was, after all, the child of a Hazeldean. 
 Therefore, he had educated and fostered Jemima with as much 
 tenderness as if she had been his sister ; put out her 1000 
 at nurse, and devoted, from the ready money which had ac- 
 crued from the rents during his minority, as much as made her 
 fortune (with her own accumulated at compound interest), no 
 less than ^4000, the ordinary marriage portion of the daughters 
 of Hazeldean. On her coming of age, he transferred this sum 
 to her absolute disposal, in order that she might feel herself 
 independent, see a little more of the world than she could at 
 Hazeldean, have candidates to choose from if she designed to 
 marry ; or enough to live upon, if she chose to remain single: 
 Miss Jemima had somewhat availed herself of this liberty, by 
 occasional visits to Cheltenham and other watering-places.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 4| 
 
 But her grateful affection to the Squire was such, that she could 
 never bear to be long away from the Hall. And this was the more 
 praise to her heart, inasmuch as she was far from taking kindly 
 to the prospect of being an old. maid. And there were so few 
 bachelors in the neighborhood of Hazeldean, that she could not 
 but have that prospect before her eyes whenever she looked 
 out of the Hall windows. Miss Jemima was indeed one of the 
 most kindly and affectionate of beings feminine ; and if she 
 disliked the thought of single blessedness, it really was fro'm 
 those innocent and womanly instincts toward the tender chari- 
 ties of hearth and home, without which a lady, however other- 
 wise estimable, is little better than a Minerva in bronze. But 
 whether or not, : despite her fortune and her face, which last, 
 though not strictly handsome, was pleasing, and would have 
 been positively pretty if she had laughed more often (for when, 
 she laughed there, appeared three charming dimples, invisible 
 when she was grave) whether or not, I say, it was the fault of 
 our insensibility or her own fastidiousness, Miss Jemima ap- 
 proached her thirtieth year, and was still Miss Jemima. Now, 
 therefore that beautifying laugh of hers was very rarely heard, 
 and she had of late become confirmed in two opinions, not at all 
 conducive to laughter. One was a conviction of the general 
 and progressive, wickedness of the male, sex, and the other was 
 a decided and lugubrious belief that the world was coming to 
 an end. Miss Jemima was now accompanied by a small canine 
 favorite, true Blenheim, with a snub nose. It was advanced in, 
 life, and somewhat obese. It sate on its haunches, with its 
 tongue : but of its mouth,. except when it snapped at the flies. 
 There was a strong platonic friendship between Miss Jemima 
 and Captain Barnabas Higginbotham; for he too was unmarried, 
 and he had the same ill opinion of your sex, my dear madam, that 
 Miss Jemima had of ours. The Cap.tain.was a man of a slim and 
 elegant figure; the less said about the face the better, a truth of 
 which theCaptainhimself was sensible, for itwas a favorite maxim 
 of his " that in a man, everything is a slight, gentlemanlike fig- 
 ure." Captain Barnabas did not absolutely deny that the world 
 was coming to an end, only he thought it would last his time. 
 
 Quite apart from all the rest, with the nonchalant survey of 
 virgin dandyism, Francis Hazeldean looked over one of the high 
 starched neckcloths which were then the fashion a handsome 
 lad, fresh from Eton for the summer holidays, but at that 
 ambiguous age, when one disdains the sport of the boy, and 
 has not yet arrived at the resources of the man. 
 
 "I should be glad, Frank," said the Squire, suddenly turning
 
 44 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 round to his son, " to see you take a little more interest in duties 
 which, one day or the other, you may be called upon to discharge. 
 I can't bear to think that the property should fall into the hands 
 of a fine gentleman, who will let things go to rack and ruin 
 instead of keeping them up as I do." 
 
 And the Squire pointed to the stocks. 
 
 Master Frank's eye followed the direction of the cane, as 
 well as his cravat would permit ; and he said dryly 
 
 "Yes, sir; but howcame the stocks to besolongout of repair?" 
 
 " Because one can't see to everything at once," retorted the 
 Squire, tartly. "When a man has got eight thousand acres to 
 look after, he must do a bit at a time." 
 
 " Yes," said Captain Barnabas. " I know that by experience." 
 
 " The deuce you do ! " cried the Squire, bluntly. " Experi- 
 ence in eight thousand acres ! " 
 
 " No ; in my apartments in the Albany No. 3 A. I have 
 had them ten years, and it was only last Christmas that I 
 bought my Japan cat." 
 
 " Dear me," said Miss Jemima ; "a Japan cat ! that must be 
 very curious. What sort of a creature is it ? " 
 
 " Don't you know? Bless me, a thing with three legs, and 
 holds toast ! I never thought of it, I assure you, till my friend 
 Cosey said to me, one morning when he was breakfasting at my 
 rooms ' Higginbotham how is it that you, who like to have 
 things comfortable about you, don't have a cat ! ' ' Upon 
 my life,' said I, 'one can't think of everything at a time ; ' just 
 like you, Squire." 
 
 "Pshaw," said Mr Hazeldean, gruffly "not at all like ir.e. 
 And I'll thank you another time, Cousin Higginbotham, not to 
 put me out, when I am speaking on matters of importance ; 
 poking your cat into my stocks ! They look something like 
 now, my stocks don't they, Harry ? I declare that the whole 
 village seems more respectable. It is astonishing how much a 
 little improvement adds to the to the " 
 
 " Charm of the landscape," put in Miss Jemima, sentimentally. 
 
 The Squire neither accepted nor rejected the suggested 
 termination ; but, leaving his sentence uncompleted, broke sud- 
 denly off with 
 
 "And if I had listened to Parson Dale " 
 
 "You would have done a very wise thing," said a voice 
 behind, as the Parson presented himself in the rear. 
 
 " Wise thing ! Why, surely, Mr. Dale," said Mrs. Hazeldean, 
 with spirit, for she always resented the least contradiction to 
 her lord and master perhaps as an interference with her own
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 45 
 
 special right and prerogative ! " why, surely if it is necessary 
 to have stocks, it is necessary to repair them." 
 
 " That's right go it, Harry ! " cried the Squire, chuckling, 
 and rubbing his hands as if he had been setting his terrier at 
 the Parson ; " St St at him ! Well, Master Dale, what do 
 you say to that ?" 
 
 " My dear ma'am," said the Parson, replying in preference to 
 the lady, " there are many institutions in the country which are 
 very old, look very decayed, and don't seem of much use ; but 
 I would not pull them down for all that." 
 
 " You would reform them, then," said Mrs. Hazeldean, doubt- 
 fully, and with a look at her husband, as much as to say, " He 
 is on politics now that's your business." 
 
 "No, I would not, ma'am," said the Parson, stoutly. 
 
 " What on earth would you do, then ? " quoth the Squire. 
 
 " Just let 'em alone," said the Parson. " Master Frank, there's 
 a Latin maxim which was often in the mouth of Sir Robert 
 Walpole, and which they ought to put into the Eton grammar 
 ' Quieta non movere? If things are quiet, let them be quiet ! I 
 would not destroy the stocks, because that might seem to the 
 ill-disposed like a license to offend ; and I would not repair the 
 stocks, because that puts it into people's heads to get into them." 
 
 The Squire was a staunch politician of the old school, and he 
 did not like to think that, in repairing the stocks, he had perhaps 
 been conniving at revolutionary principles. 
 
 " This constant desire of innovation," said Miss Jemima, 
 suddenly mounting the more funereal of her two favorite hob- 
 bies, " is one of the great symptoms of the approaching crash. 
 We are altering, and mending, and reforming, when in twenty 
 years at the utmost the world itself may be destroyed ! " The 
 fair speaker paused and 
 
 Captain Barnabas said thoughtfully "Twenty years! the 
 insurance offices rarely compute the best life at more than four- 
 teen." He struck his hand on the stocks as he spoke, and 
 added, with his usual consolatory conclusion " The odds are, 
 that it will last our time, Squire." 
 
 But whether Captain Barnabas meant the stocks or the world, 
 he did not clearly explain, and no one took the trouble to inquire. 
 
 " Sir," said Master Frank to his father, with that furtive spirit 
 of quizzing, which he had acquired amongst other polite accom- 
 plishments at Eton " sir, it is no use now considering whether 
 the stocks should or should not have been repaired. The only 
 question is, whom you will get to put into them ? " 
 
 " True," said the Squire, with much gravity.
 
 46 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Yes, there it is ! " said the Parson, mournfully. " If you 
 would but learn ' non guieta movere ! ' ' 
 
 " Don't spout your Latin at me, Parson ! "cried the Squire, 
 angrily ; " I can give you as good as you bring, any day. 
 ' Propria quse maribus tribuuntur mascula dicas. 
 As in prsesenti, perfectum format in avi.' " 
 
 There," added the Squire, turning triumphantly toward his 
 Harry, who looked with great admiration at this unprecedented 
 burst of learning on the part of Mr. Hazeldean " there, two can 
 play at that game ! And now that we have all seen the stocks-, 
 we may as well go home, and drink tea. Will you come up and 
 play a rubber, Dale ? 'No ! hang it, man, I've not offended 
 you you know my ways." 
 
 " That I do, and they are among the things I would not have 
 altered," cried the Parson holding out his hand cheerfully. 
 The Squire gave it a hearty shake, and Mrs. Hazeldean has- 
 tened to do the same. 
 
 " Do eome; I am afraid we've been very rude; we are sad blunt 
 folks. Do come; that's a dear good man ; and of course, poor 
 Mrs. Dale too," Mrs. Hazeldean's favorite epithet for Mrs. 
 Dale was -poor, and for reasons to be explained hereafter. 
 
 " I fear my wife has got one of her bad headaches,butl will give 
 heryourkind message, andatalleventsyoumaydependuponme." 
 
 '* That's right," said the Squire ; " in half-an-hour, eh ? How 
 dy'e do, my little man ? " as Lenny Fairfield, on his way home 
 from some errand in the village, drew aside and pulled off his 
 hat with both hands. " Stop you see those stocks eh ? Tell 
 all the bad boys in the parish to take care how they get into 
 them a sad disgrace you'll never be in such a quandary?" 
 
 "That at least I will answer for," said the' Parson. 
 
 " And I too," added Mrs. Hazeldean, patting the boy's curly 
 head. " Tell your mother I shall come and have a good chat 
 with her to-morrow evening." 
 
 And so the party passed on, and Lenny stood still on the 
 road, staring hard at the stocks, which stared back at him from 
 its four great eyes. 
 
 But Lenny did not remain long alone. As soon as the great folks 
 had fairly disappeared, a large number of small folks emerged 
 timorously from the neighboring cotta'ges, and approached the 
 site of the stocks with much marvel, fear, and curiosity. 
 
 In fact, the renovated appearance of this monster & propos 
 de bottes, as one may say had already excited considerable sensa- 
 tion among the population of Hazeldean. And even as when 
 an unexpected owl makes his appearance in broad daylight, all
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 47 
 
 the little birds rise from tree and hedgerow, and cluster round 
 their ominous enemy, so now gathered all the much-excited 
 villagers round the intrusive and portentous phenomenon. 
 
 " D'ye know what the diggins the Squire dit it for, Gaffer 
 Solomons ?" asked one many-childed matron, with a baby in arms, 
 an urchin three years old clinging fast to her petticoat, and her 
 hand .maternally holding back'a more adventurous hero of six, 
 whohad a greatdesire tothrust his head intoone of the grislyaper- 
 tures/ All eyes turned to a sage old man, the oracle of the village, 
 who, leaning both hands on his crutch, shook his head bodingly. 
 
 " Maw be," said Gaffer Solomons, " some of the boys ha' 
 been robbing the orchards." 
 
 ' Orchards!"cried a big lad, who seemed to think himself per- 
 sonally appealed to " Why, the bud's scarce off the trees yet!" 
 
 " No more it in't ! " said the dame with many children, and 
 she breathed more freely. 
 
 " Maw be," said Gaffer Solomons, " some o' ye has been sit- 
 ting .snares." 
 
 " What for ? " said a stout, sullen-looking young fellow, whom 
 conscience possibly pricked to reply " what for, when it bean't 
 the season ? And if a poor man did find a hear in his pocket 
 i' the hay-time, I should like to know if ever a Squire in the 
 world would let un off with the stocks eh ? " 
 
 This last question seemed a settler, and the wisdom of Gaffer 
 Solomons went down fifty per cent, in the public opinion of 
 Hazeldean. 
 
 " Maw be," said the Gaffer this/time with a thrilling effect, 
 which restored his reputation " maw be some o' ye ha* been 
 getting drunk, and making beestises o' yoursels ! " 
 
 There was a dead pause, for this suggestion applied too gen- 
 erally to be met with a solitary response. At last one of the 
 women said, with a meaning glance at her husband, " God bless 
 the Squire ; he'll make some on us happy women, if that's all! " 
 
 There then arose an almost unanimous murmur of approba- 
 tion among the female part of the audience ; and the men 
 looked at each other, and then at the phenomenon, with a very 
 hang-dog expression of countenance. 
 
 "Or, maw be," resumed Gaffer Solomons, encouraged to a 
 fourth suggestion by the success of its predecessor " maw be 
 some o' the Misseses ha' been making a rumpus, and scolding 
 their goodmen. I heard say in my gran fey thir's time, that arter 
 old Mother Bang nigh died o' the ducking-stool, them ere stocks 
 were first made for the women, out o' compassion like J And ev- 
 ery one knows the Squire is a koind-hearted man,God bless un! "
 
 48 MY NOVEL J OR 
 
 " God bless un ! " cried the men heartily ; and they gathered 
 lovingly round the phenomenon, like heathens of old round a 
 tutelary temple. But then there rose one shrill clamor among 
 the females, as they retreated with involuntary steps toward the 
 verge of the green, whence they glared at Solomons and the 
 phenomenon with eyes so sparkling, and pointed at bothwith ges- 
 tures so menacing, that Heaven only knows if a morsel of either 
 would have remained much longer to offend the eyes of the justly 
 enraged matronage of Hazeldean, if fortunately Master Stirn, 
 the Squire's right-hand man, had not come up in the nick of time. 
 
 Master Stirn was a formidable personage more formidable 
 than the Squire himself as, indeed, a Squire's right hand is 
 generally more formidable than the head can pretend to be. 
 He inspired the greater awe, because, like the stocks, of which 
 he was deputed guardian, his powers were undefined and ob- 
 scure, and he had no particular place in the out-of-door estab- 
 lishment. He was not the steward, yet he did much of what 
 ought to be the steward's work; he was not the farm-bailiff, for 
 the Squire called himself his own farm-bailiff ; nevertheless, 
 Mr. Hazeldean sowed and ploughed, cropped and stocked, 
 bought and sold very much as Mr. Stirn condescended to ad- 
 vise. He was not the park-keeper, for he neither shot the 
 deer nor superintended the preserves ; but it was he who always 
 found out who had broken a park-pale or snared a rabbit. In 
 short, what may 'be called the harsher duties of a large landed 
 proprietor devolved, by custom and choice, upon Mr. Stirn. If 
 a laborer was to be discharged, or a rent enforced, and the 
 Squire knew that he should be talked over and that the stew- 
 ard would be as soft as himself, Mr. Stirn was sure to be the 
 avenging ayyeXo? or messenger, to pronounce the words of 
 fate ; so that he appeared to the inhabitants of Hazeldean like 
 the Poet's Sceva Necessitas, a vague incarnation of remorseless 
 power, armed with whips, nails, and wedges. The very brute 
 creation stood in awe of Mr. Stirn. The calves knew that it 
 was he who singled out which should be sold to the butcher, 
 and huddled up into a corner with beating hearts ; at his grim 
 footstep ; the sow grunted, the duck quacked, the hen bristled 
 her feathers and called to her chicks when Mr. Stirn drew near. 
 Nature had set her stamp upon him. Indeed, it may be ques- 
 tioned whether the great M. de Chambray himself, surnamed the 
 brave, had an aspect so awe-inspiring as that of Mr. Stirn; albeit 
 the face of that hero was so terrible, that a man who had been 
 his lackey, seeing his portrait after he had been dead twenty 
 years, fell a-trembling all over like a leaf !
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 49 
 
 " And what the plague are you all doing here ? " said Mr. 
 Stirn, as he waved and smacked a great cart- whip which he held 
 in his hand, " making such a hullabaloo, you women, you ! that 
 I suspect the Squire will be sending out to know if the village 
 is on fire. Go home, will ye ? High time indeed to have the 
 stocks ready, when you get squalling and conspiring under the 
 very nose of a justice of the peace, just as the French revolu- 
 tioners did afore they cut off their king's head ; my hair stands 
 on end to look at ye." But already, before half this address 
 was delivered, the crowd had dispersed in all directions the 
 women still keeping together, and the men sneaking off toward 
 the ale-house. Such was the beneficent effect of the fatal stocks, 
 on the first day of their resuscitation ! 
 
 However, in the break-up of every crowd there must always 
 be one who gets off the last ; and it so happened that our 
 friend Lenny Fairfield, who had mechanically approached close 
 to the stocks, the better to hear the oracular opinions of Gaffer 
 Solomons, had no less mechanically, on the abrupt appearance 
 of Mr. Stirn, crept, as he hoped, out of sight behind the trunk 
 of the elm-tree which partially shaded the stocks; and there now, 
 as if fascinated, he still cowered, not daring to emerge in full 
 view of Mr. Stirn, and in immediate reach of the cart-whip 
 when the quick eye of the right-hand man detected his retreat. 
 
 " Hallo you, sir what the deuce, laying a mine to blow up 
 the stocks ! just like Guy Fox and the Gunpowder Plot, I de- 
 clares ! What ha' you got in your willanous little fist there ?" 
 
 " Nothing, sir," said Lenny, opening his palm; 
 ." Nothing urn!" said Mr. Stirn, much dissatisfied ; and then, 
 as he gazed more deliberately, recognizing the pattern boy of 
 the village, a cloud yet darker gathered over his brow for Mr. 
 Stirn, whovalued himself nuichon his learning andwho,indeed, 
 by dint of more knowledge as well as more wit than his neighbors, 
 had attained his present eminent station of life was extremely 
 anxious that his only son should also be a scholar ; that wish 
 
 " The gods dispersed in empty air." 
 
 Master Stirn was a notable dunce at the Parson's school, while 
 Lenny Fairfield was the pride and boast of it ; therefore Mr. 
 Stirn was naturally, and almost justifiably, ill-disposed toward 
 Lenny Fairfield, who had appropriated to himself the praises 
 which Mr. Stirn had designed for his own son. 
 
 " Um ! " said the right-hand man, glowering on Lenny malig- 
 nantly, " you are the pattern boy of the village, are you? Very 
 well, sir then I put these here stocks under your care and 
 you'll keep off the other boys from sitting on 'em, and picking
 
 5O MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 off the paint, and playing three-holes and chuck-farthing, as I 
 declare they've been a-doing, just in front of the elewation. 
 Now, you knows your 'sponsibilities, little boy and a great 
 honor they are too, for the like o' you. If any damage be done, 
 it is to you I shall look ; d'ye understand ? and that's what the 
 Squire says to me. So you see what it is to be a pattern boy, 
 Master Lenny ! " 
 
 With that Mr. Stirn ; gave a loud crack of the cart-whip, by 
 way of military honors, over the head'of the vicegerent he had 
 thus created, and strode off to pay a visit to two young unsus- 
 pecting pups, whose ears and tails he had graciously promised 
 their proprietor to crop that evening. Nor, albeit few charges 
 could be more obnoxious than that of deputy-governor, or 
 charge" d'affaires extraordinaire* to the Parish Stocks, nor one 
 more likely to render Lenny Fairfield odious to his 'contem- 
 poraries; ought he to have been insensible 'to the signal advan- 
 tage of .his condition over that of the two sufferers, against 
 whose ears and tails Mr. Stirn had no special motives of resent- 
 ment. To every bad there is a worse and fortunately for little 
 boys, and even for grown men, whom the Stirns of the world 
 regard malignly, the majesty of law protects their ears, and the 
 merciful forethought of nature deprived their remote ancestors 
 of the privilege of entailing tails upon them. Had it been other- 
 wise considering what handles tails would have given to the 
 oppressor, how many traps envy would have laid for them, how 
 often they must have been scratched and mutilated by the 
 briars of life, how many good excuses would have been found 
 for lopping, docking, and trimming thenv I fear that only the 
 lap-dogs of Fortune would have gone to the grave tail-whole. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE card-table was set out in the drawing-room at Hazel^ 
 dean Hall ; though the little party were still lingering in the 
 deep recess of the large bay-window which (in itself of dimen- 
 sions that would have swallowed up a moderate-sized London 
 parlor) held the great round tea-table, with all appliances and 
 means to boot for the beautiful summer moon shed on the 
 sward so silvery a luster, and the trees cast so quiet a shadow, 
 and the flowers and new-mown hay sent up so grateful a per- 
 fume, that, to close the windows, draw the curtains; arid call for 
 other lights than those of heaven, would have been an abuse of 
 the prose of life which even Captain Barnabas,who regarded whist 
 as the business of town and the holiday of the country, shrank
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 51 
 
 from suggesting. Without, the scene, beheld by the clear moon- 
 light, had the beauty peculiar to the garden-ground round those 
 old-fashioned country residences which, though a little modern- 
 ized, still preserve their original character ; the velvet lawn, 
 studded with large plots of flowers, shaded and scented here, 
 to the left, by lilacs, laburnums, and rich seringas there, to the 
 right, giving glimpses, over low-clipped yews, of a green bowling- 
 alley, with the white colums of a summer-house built after the 
 Dutch taste, in the reign of William III.; and in front steal- 
 ing away under covert of those still cedars, into the wilder land- 
 scape of the well-wooded undulating park. Within, viewed by 
 the placid glimmer of the moon, the scene was no less character- 
 istic of the abodes of that race which has no parallel in other 
 lands, and which, alas ! is somewhat losing its native idiosyn- 
 cracies in this the stout country gentleman, not the fine gentle- 
 man of the country the country gentleman somewhat softened 
 and civilized from the mere sportsman or farmer, but still plain 
 and homely, relinquishing the old hall for the drawing-room, 
 and with books not three months old on his table, instead of 
 Frfx's Martyrs and Baker's Chronicle yet still retaining many a 
 sacred old prejudice, that, like the knots in his native oak, rather 
 adds to the ornament of the grain than takes from the strength 
 of the tree. Opposite to the window, the high chimney-piece 
 rose to the heavy cornice of the ceiling, with dark panels glisten- 
 ing against the moonlight. The broad and rather clumsy chintz 
 sofas and settees of the reign of George III., contrasted at in- 
 tervals with the tall-backed chairs of a far more distant genera- 
 tion, when ladies in fardingales and gentlemen in trunk hose 
 seem never to have indulged in horizontal positions. The walls, 
 of shining wainscot, were thickly covered, chiefly with family 
 pictures ; though now and then some Dutch fair, or battle- 
 piece, showed that a former proprietor had been less exclusive 
 in his taste for the arts. The pianoforte stood open near the 
 fire-place ; a long dwarf bookcase at the far end added its sober 
 smile to the room. That bookcase contained what was called 
 "The Lady's Library," a collection commenced by the Squire's 
 grandmother, of pious memory, and completed by his m6ther, 
 who had more taste for the lighter letters, with but little addition 
 from the bibliomaniac tendencies of the present Mrs. Hazeldean, 
 who, being ho great reader,contented herself with subscribing to 
 the Book Club. In this feminine Bodleian, the sermons collected 
 by Mrs. Hazeldean, the grandmother, stood cheek-by-jowl be- 
 side the novels purchased by Mrs. Hazeldean, the mother. 
 " Mixtaqiie ridenti colocasia fundet acantho ! "
 
 52 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 But, to be sure, the novels, in spite of very inflammatory titles, 
 such as " Fatal Sensibility," " Errors of the Heart/' etc., were 
 so harmless, that I doubt if the sermons could have had much 
 to say against their next-door neighbors and that is all that 
 can be expected by the best of us. 
 
 A parrot dozing on his perch some gold-fish fast asleep in 
 their glass bowl -two or three dogs, on the rug, and Flimsey, 
 Miss Jemima's spaniel, curled into a ball on the softest sofa : 
 Mrs. Hazeldean's work-table rather in disorder, as if it had been 
 lately used the St. James's Chronicle dangling down from a 
 little tripod near the Squire's arm-chair a high screen of gilt 
 and stamped leather fencing off the card-table; all these, dis- 
 persed about a room large enough to hold them all and not 
 seem crowded, offered many a pleasant resting-place for the eye, 
 when it turned from the world of nature to the home of man. 
 
 But see, Captain Barnabas, fortified by his fourth cup of tea, 
 has at length summoned courage to whisper to Mrs. Hazeldean, 
 " Don't you think the Parson will be impatient for his rubber ? " 
 Mrs. Hazeldean glanced at the Parson, and smiled ; but she gave 
 the signal to the Captain, and the bell was rung, lights were 
 brought in, the curtains let down ; in a few moments more, the 
 group ; had collected round the card-table. The best of us are 
 but human that is not a new truth, I confess, but yet people 
 forget it every day of their lives and I dare say there are many 
 who are charitably thinking at this very moment, that my Parson 
 ought not to be playing at whist. All I can say to those rigid 
 disciplinarians is, " Everyman has his favorite sin : whist was 
 Parson Dale's ! ladies and gentleman, what is yours ? " In 
 truth, I must not set up my poor parson now-a-days, as a pattern 
 parson it is enough to have one pattern in a village no bigger 
 than Hazeldean, and we all know that Lenny Fairfield has be- 
 spoken that place, and got the patronage of the stocks for his 
 emoluments ! Parson Dale was ordained, not indeed so very long 
 ago, but'rstill at a time when churchmen took it a great deal more 
 easily than they do now. The elderly parson of that day played 
 his rubber as a matter of course, the middle-aged parson was 
 sometimes seen riding to cover (I knew a schoolmaster, a doctor 
 of divinity, and an excellent man, whose pupils were chiefly taken 
 from the highest families in England, who hunted regularly three 
 times aweek during the season), and the young parson would often 
 sing a capital song not composed by David and join in those 
 rotatory dances, wJiichcertainlyDavidneverdancedbeforetheark. 
 
 Does it need so long an exordium to excuse thee, poor Parson 
 Dale, for turning up that ace of spades with so triumphant a
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 53 
 
 smile at thy partner ? I must own that nothing which could 
 well add to the Parson's offence was wanting. In the first place, 
 he did not play charitably, and merely to oblige other people. 
 He delighted in the game he rejoiced in the game his whole 
 heart was in the game neither was he indifferent to the mam- 
 mon of the thing, as a Christian pastor ought to have been. 
 He looked very sad when he took his shillings out of his purse, 
 and exceedingly pleased when he put the shillings that had just 
 before belonged to other people into it. Finally, by one of those 
 arrangements common with married people, who play at the 
 same table, Mr. and Mrs. Hazeldean were invariably partners, 
 and no two people could play worse ; while Captain Barnabas, 
 who had played at Graham's with honor and profit, necessarily 
 became partner to Parson Dale, who himself played a good 
 steady parsonic game. So that, in strict truth, it was hardly 
 fair play it was almost swindling the combination of these 
 two great dons against that innocent married couple ! Mr. 
 Dale, it is true, was aware of this disproportion of force, and 
 had often proposed either to change partners or to give odds 
 propositions always scornfully scouted by the Squire and his 
 lady, so that the Parson was obliged to pocket his conscience, to- 
 gether with the ten points which made his average winnings. 
 
 The strangest thing in the world is the different way in which 
 whist affects the temper. It is no test of temper, as some pre- 
 tend not at all ! The best-tempered people in the world grow 
 snappish dt whist ; and I have seen the most testy and peevish 
 in the ordinary affairs of life bear their losses with the stoicism 
 of Epictetus. This was notably manifested in the contrast be- 
 tween the present adversaries of the Hall and Rectory. The 
 Squire, who was esteemed as choleric a gentleman as most in 
 the country, was the best-humored fellow you could imagine 
 when you set him down to whist opposite the sunny face of his 
 wife. You never heard one of those incorrigible blunderers 
 scold each other ; on the contrary, they only laughed when they 
 threw away the game, with four by honors in their hand. The 
 utmost that was ever said was a " Well, Harry, that was the oddest 
 trump of yours ! Ho ho ho ! " or " Bless me, Hazeldean 
 why, they made three tricks in clubs, and you had the ace in 
 your hand all the time ! Ha ha ha ! " 
 
 Upon which occasions Captain Barnabas, with great good- 
 humor, always echoed both the Squire's Ho ho ho ! and Mrs. 
 Hazeldean's Ha ha ha ! v 
 
 Not so the Parson. He had so keen and sportsmanlike an 
 interest in the game, that even his adversaries' mistakes ruffled
 
 54 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 him. And you would hear him, with elevated voice and agi- 
 tated gesture, laying down the law, quoting Hoyle, appealing 
 to all the powers of memory and common sense against the very 
 delinquencies by which he was enriched a waste of eloquence 
 that always heightened the hilarity of Mr. and Mrs. Hazeldean. 
 While these four were thus engaged, Mrs. Dale, who had come 
 with her husband despite her headache, sat on the sofa beside 
 Miss Jemima,or rather beside Miss Jemima's Flimsey, which had 
 already secured the center of the sofa, and snarled at the very 
 idea of being disturbed. 
 
 Master Frank at a table by himself-^-was employed some- 
 times in looking at his pumps, and sometimes at Gilray's Cari- 
 catures, which his mother had provided for his intellectual re- 
 quirements. Mrs. Dale in her heart liked Miss Jemima better 
 than Mrs. Hazeldean, of whom she was rather in awe, notwith- 
 standing they had been little -girls together, and occasionally 
 still called each other Harry and Carry. But those tender 
 diminutives belonged to the "Dear" genus, and were rarely em- 
 ployed by the ladies, except at times when had they been little 
 girls still, and the governess out of the way, they would have 
 slapped and pinched each other. Mrs. Dale was still a very 
 pretty woman, as Mrs. Hazeldean was still a very fine woman. 
 Mrs, Dale painted in water colors, and sang, and made card- 
 racks and pen-holders, and was called an " elegant, accomplished 
 woman." Mrs. Hazeldean cast up the Squire's accounts, wrote 
 the best part of his letters, kept a large establishnient in excel- 
 lent order, and was called " a clever, sensible woman." Mrs. 
 Dale had headaches and nerves, Mrs. Hazeldean had neither 
 nerves nor headaches. Mrs. Dale said " Harry had no real harm 
 in her, but was certainly very masculine." Mrs. Hazeldean said 
 " Carry would be a good creature but for her airs and graces." 
 Mrs. D*le said Mrs Hazeldean was "just made to be a country 
 squire's lady." Mrs. Hazeldean said " Mrs. Dale was the last 
 person in the world who ought to have been a parson's wife." 
 Carry, when she spoke of Harry to a third person, said, " Dear 
 Mrs. Hazeldean." Harry, when she referred incidentally to 
 Carry, said " Poor Mrs. Dale." And now the reader knows why 
 Mrs. Hazeldean called Mrs. Dale " poor," at least as well as I 
 do. For, after all, the word belonged to that class in the female 
 vocabulary which may be called " obscure significants," re- 
 sembling the Konx Onvpax, which hath so puzzled the inquirers 
 into the Elusinian Mysteries ; the application is rather to be 
 illustrated than the meaning to be exactly explained. 
 
 " That's really a sweet little dog of yo.urs, Jemima," said Mrs,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 55 
 
 Dale, who was embroidering the word CAROLINE on the border 
 of a cambric pocket-handkerchief, but edging a little farther 
 off, as she added, " he'll not bite, will he ? " " Dear me, no ! " 
 said Miss Jemima ; but (she added in a confidential whisper) 
 " don't say he 'tis a lady dog ! " " Oh," said Mrs. Dale, edg- 
 ing off still farther, as if that confession of the creature's sex did 
 not serve to allay her apprehensions " Oh, then, you carry your 
 aversion to the gentlemen even to lap-dogs that is being con- 
 sistent, indeed, Jemima ! " 
 
 Miss JEMIMA. I had a gentleman dog once; a pug ! pugs- 
 are getting very scarce now. I thought he was so fond erf me 
 he snapped at every one else the battles I fought for him ! 
 Well, will you believe I had been staying with my friend, Miss 
 Smilecox, at Cheltenham. Knowing that William is so hasty, 
 and his boots are so thick, I trembled to think what a kick might 
 do. So on coming here, I left Buff that was his name with 
 Miss Smilecox. (A pause.) 
 
 MRS. DALE (looking up languidly).-^Well, my love ? 
 
 Miss JEMIMA. Will you believe it, I say, when I returned to 
 Cheltenham, only three months afterward,. Miss: Smilecox had 
 seduced his affections from me, and the ungrateful creature did 
 not even know me again. A pug, too- yet people Joy pugs are 
 faithful ! ! ! I am sure they ought to be, nasty things. I have 
 never had a gentleman dog since they are all alike, believe me, 
 heartless, selfish creatures. 
 
 MRS. DALE. Pugs ? I dare say they are ! 
 
 Miss JEMIMA (with spirit). MEN ! 1 told you it was a gentle- 
 man dog ! 
 
 MRS. DALE (apologetically). True, my love, but the whole 
 thing was so mixed up ! 
 
 Miss JEMIMA. You saw that cold-blooded case of Breach of 
 Promise of Marriage in the papers an old wretch, too, of sixty- 
 four. No age makes them a bit better. And when one thinks 
 that the end of all flesh is approaching, and that 
 
 MRS. DALE (quickly, for she prefers Miss Jemima's other 
 hobby to that black one upon which she is preparing to precede 
 the bier of the universe). Yes, my love, we'll avoid that subject, 
 if you please. Mr. Dale has his own opinions, and it becomes 
 me, you know, as a parson's wife (said smilingly ; Mrs. Dale has 
 as pretty a dimple as any of Miss Jemima's, and makes more of 
 that one than Miss Jemima of three), to agree with him rthat 
 is in theology. 
 
 Miss JEMIMA (earnestly). But the thing is so clear, if you 
 will but look into
 
 56 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 MRS. DALE (putting her hand on Miss Jemima's lips play- 
 fully). Not a word more. Pray, what do you think of the 
 Squire's tenant at the Casino, Signer Riccabocca? An interest- 
 ing creature, is not he ? 
 
 Miss JEMIMA. Interesting ! not to me. Interesting ? Why 
 is he interesting ? 
 
 Mrs. Dale is silent, and turns her handkerchief in her pretty 
 little white hands, appearing to contemplate the R in Caroline. 
 
 Miss JEMIMA (half pettishly, half coaxingly). Why is he in- 
 teresting ? I scarcely ever looked at_him ; they say he smokes, 
 and never eats. Ugly, too ! 
 
 MRS. DALE. Ugly no. A fine head very like Dante's 
 but what is beauty ? 
 
 Miss JEMIMA. Very true ; what is it, indeed ? Yes, as you 
 say, I think there is something interesting about him ; he looks 
 melancholy, but that may be because he is poor. 
 
 MRS. DALE. It is astonishing how little one feels poverty 
 when one loves. Charles and I were very poor once rbefore 
 the Squire (Mrs. Dale paused, looked toward the Squire, and 
 murmured a blessing, the warmth of which brought tears into 
 her eyes). Yes (she added after a pause), we were very poor, 
 but we were happy even then more thanks to Charles than to 
 me (and tears from a new source again dimmed those quick, 
 lively eyes, as the little woman gazed fondly on her husband, 
 whose brows were knit into a black frown over a bad hand.) 
 
 Miss JEMIMA. It is only those horrid men who think of 
 money as a source of happiness. I should be the last person 
 to esteem a gentleman less because he was poor. 
 
 MRS. DALE. I wonder the Squire does not ask Signor Ricca- 
 bocca here more often. Such an acquisition we find him ! 
 
 The Squire's voice from the card-table. " Whom ought I to 
 ask more often, Mrs. Dale ? " 
 
 Parson's voice, impatiently. " Come come come, Squire; 
 play to my queen of diamonds do ! " 
 
 SQUIRE. There, I trump it pick up the trick, Mrs. H. 
 
 PARSON. Stop ! stop ! trump my diamond ? 
 
 The CAPTAIN (solemnly). Trick turned ; play on, Squire. 
 
 SQUIRE. The king of diamonds. 
 
 MRS. HAZELDEAN. Lord ! Hazeldean; why that's the most 
 barefaced revoke ha ha ha ! trump the queen of diamonds 
 and play out the king? well I never ha ha ha ! 
 
 CAPTAIN BARNABAS (in tenor). Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 SQUIRE. Ho ho ho ! bless my soul ; ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 CAPTAIN BARNABAS (in base). Ho ho ho !
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 57 
 
 Parson's voice raised, but drowned by the laughter of his ad- 
 versaries and the firm, clear tone of Captain Barnabas " Three 
 to our score ! game ! " 
 
 SQUIRE (wiping his eyes). No help for it,Harry deal for me! 
 Whom ought I to ask, Mrs. Dale? (waxing angry). First time 
 I ever heard the hospitality of Hazeldean called in question ! 
 
 MRS. DALE. My dear sir, I beg a thousand pardons, but 
 listeners you know the proverb. 
 
 SQUIRE (growling like a bear). I hear nothing but proverbs 
 ever since we had that Mounseer among us. Please to speak 
 plainly, ma'am. 
 
 MRS. DALE (sliding into a little temper at being thus roughly 
 accosted). It was of Mounseer, as you call him, that I spoke, 
 Mr. Hazeldean. 
 
 SQUIRE. What ! Rickeybockey. ? 
 
 MRS. DALE (attempting the pure Italian accentuation). 
 Signer Riccabocca. 
 
 PARSON (slapping his cards on the table in despair). Are 
 we playing at whist, or are we not ? 
 
 The Squire, who is fourth player, drops the king to Captain 
 Higginbotham's lead of the ace of hearts. Now the Captain has 
 left queen, knave, and two other hearts four trumps to the 
 queen and nothing to win a trick with in the two other suits. 
 This hand is therefore precisely one of those in which, espe- 
 cially after the fall of that king of hearts in the adversary's hand, 
 it becomes a matter of reasonable doubt whether to lead trumps 
 or not. The Captain hesitates, and not liking to play out his 
 good hearts with the certainty of their being trumped by the 
 Squire, nor, on the other hand, liking to open the other suits, in 
 which he has not a card that can assist his partner, resolves, as 
 becomes a military man, in such dilemma, to make a bold push 
 and lead out trumps, in the chance of finding^his partner strong, 
 and so bringing in his long suit. 
 
 SQUIRE" (taking advantage of the much meditating pause made 
 by the Captain). Mrs. Dale, it is not my fault. I have asked 
 Rickeybockey time out of mind. But I suppose I am not fine 
 enoughfor those foreignchaps. He'll notcome that's all Iknow. 
 
 PARSON (aghast at seeing theCaptain play out trumps,of which 
 he, Mr. Dale, has only two, wherewith he expects to ruff the suit 
 of spades of which he has onlyone the cards all falling in suits 
 while he has not a single other chance of a trick in his hand). 
 Really, Squire, we had better give up playing if you put out my 
 partner in this extraordinary way jabber jabber jabber ! 
 
 SQUIRE. Well, we must be good children, Harry. Whai ! '
 
 58 MY NOVEL ; OR 
 
 trumps, Barney ? Thank ye for that ! And the Squire might 
 well be grateful, for the unfortunate adversary has led up to ace 
 king knave with two other trumps. Squire takes the Parson's 
 ten with his knave, and plays out ace king ; then, having cleared 
 all the trumps except the Captain's queen and his own remain- 
 ing two, leads off tierce major in that very suit of spades of 
 which the Parson has only one and the Captain, indeed, but two 
 forces out the Captain's queen, and wins the game in a canter. 
 
 PARSON (with a look at the Captain which might have become 
 the awful bfows'-of Jove, when about to thunder).' That, I sup- 
 pose, is the new-fashioned London play ! In my time the rule 
 was, " First save the game, then try to win it." 
 
 CAPTAIN. Could not save it, sir. 
 
 PARSON (exploding). Not save it ! two ruffs in my own 
 hand two tricks certain till you took them out ! Monstrous ! 
 The rashest trump- 1 Seizes the cards spreads them on the 
 table, lip quivering, hands trembling tries to show how five 
 tricks could have been gained (N.B. It is short whist, which 
 Captain Barnabas had introduced at the Hall) can't make out 
 more than four Captain smiles triumphantly Parson in a pas- 
 sion, and not at all convinced, mixes all the cards together 
 again, and falling back in his chair, groans, with tears in his 
 voice " The cruelest trump ! the most wanton cruelty ! " 
 
 The Hazeldeans in chorus: " Ho ho ho -! Ha ha ha!" 
 .The r Captain, who does not laugh this time, and whose turn 
 it'is to deal, shuffles the cards for the conquering game of the 
 rubber with as much caution 'and prolixity as Fabius might have 
 employed in posting his men. The Squire gets up to stretch 
 his legs, and, the insinuation against his hospitality recurring 
 to his thoughts, calls out to his wife " Write to Rickeybockey 
 to-morrow yourself, Harry, and ask him to come and spend 
 two or three days here. There, Mrs. Dale, you hear me ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Dale, putting her hands to her ears in 
 implied rebuke at the loudness of the Squire's tone. " My dear 
 sir, do remember that I'm a sad nervous creature," 
 
 'Beg pardon," muttered Mr. Hazeldean, turning to his son, 
 who, having got tired of the caricatures, had fished out for him- 
 self the great folio County History, which was the only book in 
 the library that the Squire much valued, and which he usually 
 kept under lock and key, in his study, together with the field- 
 books and steward's accounts, but which he had reluctantly 
 taken into the drawing-room that day, in order to oblige Cap- 
 tain Higginbotham. For the Higginbothams an old Saxon 
 family, as the name evidently denotes had once possessed
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 59 
 
 lands in that very county. And the Captain, during his visits 
 to Hazeldean Hall, was regularly in the habit of asking to 1'ook 
 into the County History, for the purpose of refreshing his eyes, 
 and Renovating his sense of ancestral dignity, with the following 
 paragraph therein : "To the left of the village of Dunder, and 
 pleasantly situated in a hollow, lies Botham Hall, the residence 
 of the ancient family of Higginbotham, as it is now commonly 
 called. Yet it appears by the county rolls, and sundry old 
 deeds, that the family formerly styled itself Higges, till the 
 Manor House lying in Botham, they gradually assumed the 
 appellation of Higges-in-Botham, and in process of time, yield- 
 ing to the corruptions of the vulgar, Higginbotham." 
 
 " What, Frank ! my County History !" : cried the Squire. 
 "Mrs. H., he has got my County History ! " 
 
 " Well, Hazeldean, it is time lie should know something about 
 the County." 
 
 " Ay, and History too," said Mrs. Dale malevolently, for the 
 little : temper was by no means blown over. 
 
 FRANK. I'll not hurt it, I assure you, sir. But I'm very 
 much interested just at present. 
 
 The Captain (putting down the cards to cut). You've got 
 hold of that passage about Botham Hall, page 706, eh ? 
 
 FRANK. No ; I was trying to make out how far it is to Mr. 
 Leslie's place, Rood HalK Do you know, mother ? 
 
 MRS. HAZELDEAN. I can't say I do. The Leslies don't mix 
 with the county ; and Rood lies very much out of the way. 
 
 FRANK. Why don't they mix with the county ? 
 
 MRS. HAZELDEAN. I believe they are poor, and therefore I 
 suppose they are proud ; they are an old family. 
 
 PARSON (thrumming on the table with great impatience). 
 Old Fiddiedee ! taking of old families when the cards have 
 been shuffled this half-hour ! 
 
 CAPTAIN BARNABAS. Will you cut for your partner, ma'am ? 
 
 SQ.UIRE (who has been listening to Frank's inquiries with a 
 musing air).- Why do you want 'to know the distance to Rood 
 Hall? 
 
 FRANK (rather hesitatingly). Because Randal Leslie is there 
 for the holidays, sir. 
 
 PARSON. Your wife has cut for you, Mr. Hazeldean ; I don't 
 think it was quite fair ; and my partner has turned up a deuce 
 deuce of hearts. Please to come and play, if you mean to play. 
 
 The Squire returns to the table, and in a few minutes the game 
 is, decided by a dexterous finesse of the Captain against the 
 Haze/deans. The clock strikes ten; the servants enter with a
 
 60 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 tray ; the Squire counts up his own and his wife's losings ; and 
 the Captain and Parson divide sixteen shillings between them. 
 
 SQUIRE. There, Parson, I hope now you'll be in a better 
 humor. You win enough out of us to set up a coach-and-four. 
 
 " Tut ! " muttered the Parson ; " at the end of the year, I'm 
 not a penny the richer for it all." 
 
 And indeed, monstrous as that assertion seemed, it was perfectly 
 true, for the Parson portioned out his gains into three divisions. 
 One-third he gave to Mrs. Dale, for her own special pocket- 
 money ; what became of the second third he never owned even 
 to his better half ; but certain it was, that every time the Parson 
 won seven-and-sixpence, half-a-crown, which nobody could 
 account for, found its way to the poor-box ; while the remaining 
 third the Parson, it is true, openly and avowedly retained ; but 
 I have no manner of doubt that, at the year's end, it got to the 
 poor quite as safely as if it had been put into the box. 
 
 The party had now gathered round the tray, and were helping 
 themselves to wine and water, or wine without water except 
 Frank, who still remained poring over the map in the County 
 History, with his head leaning on his hands, and his ringers 
 plunged in his hair. 
 
 " Frank," said Mrs. Hazeldean, " I never saw you so studious 
 before." 
 
 Frank started up and colored, as if ashamed of being accused 
 of too much study in anything. 
 
 The SQUIRE (with a little embarrassment in his voice). 
 Pray, Frank, what do you know of Randal Leslie ? 
 
 " Why, sir, he is at Eton." 
 
 " What sort of a boy is he ?" asked Mrs. Hazeldean. 
 
 Frank hesitated, as if reflecting, and then answered, " They 
 say he is the cleverest boy in the school. But then he saps." 
 
 " In other words," said Mr. Dale, with proper parsonic gravity, 
 " he understands that he was sent to school to learn his lessons, 
 and he learns them. You call that sapping, I call it doing his 
 duty. But, pray, who and what is this Randal Leslie, that you 
 look so discomposed, Squire ?" 
 
 " Who and what is he ? " repeated the Squire, in a low growl. 
 " Why, you know, Mr. Audley Egerton married Miss Leslie, the 
 great heiress ; and this boy is a relation of hers. -T may say," 
 added the Squire, " that he is a near relation of mine, for his 
 grandmother was a Hazeldean. But all I know about the Leslies 
 is, that Mr. Egerton, as I am told, having no children of his 
 own, took up young Randal (when his wife died, poor woman), 
 pays for his schooling, and has, I suppose, adopted the boy as-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 6l 
 
 his heir. Quite welcome. Frank and I want nothing from Mr. 
 A'udley Egerton, thank Heaven ! " 
 
 "I can well believe in your brother's generosity to his wife's 
 kindred," said the Parson sturdily, " for I am sure Mr. Egerton 
 is a man of strong feeling." 
 
 " What the deuce do you know about Mr. Egerton ? I don't 
 suppose you could ever have even spoken to him." 
 
 "Yes," said the Parson, coloring up, and looking confused, 
 " I had some conversation with him once "; and observing the 
 Squire's surprise, he added, " when I was curate at Lansmere, 
 and about a painful business connected with the family of one 
 of my parishioners." 
 
 " Oh ! one of your parishioners at Lansmere, one of the con- 
 stituents Mr. Audley Egerton threw over, after all the pains I 
 had taken to get him his seat. Rather odd you should never 
 have mentioned this before, Mr. Dale ! " 
 
 " My dear sir," said the Parson, sinking his voice, and in a 
 mild tone of conciliatory expostulation, " you are so irritable 
 whenever Mr. Egerton's name is mentioned at all." 
 
 " Irritable ? " exclaimed the Squire, whose wrath had long 
 been simmering, and now fairly boiled over. " Irritable, sir ! 
 I should think so ; a man for whom I stood godfather at the 
 hustings, Mr. Dale ! a man for whose sake I was called a ' prize 
 ox,' Mr. Dale ! a man for whom I was hissed at in a market- 
 place, Mr. Dale ! a man for whom I was shot at, in cold blood, 
 by an officer in his Majesty's service, who lodged a ball in my 
 right shoulder, Mr. Dale ! a man who had the ingratitude, after 
 all this, to turn his back on the landed interest, to deny that 
 there was any agricultural distress in a year which broke three of 
 the best farmers I ever had, Mr. Dale ! a man, sir, who made a 
 speech on the Currency, which was complimented by Ricardo, 
 a Jew ! Good Heavens ! a pretty parson you are, to stand up 
 for a fellow complimented by a Jew ! Nice ideas you must 
 have of Christianity. Irritable, sir ? " now fairly roared the 
 Squire, adding to the thunder of his voice the cloud of a brow 
 which evinced a menacing ferocity that might have done honor 
 to Bussy d'Amboise or Fighting Fitzgerald. u Sir, if that man 
 had not been my own half-brother, I'd have called him out. 
 I have stood my ground before now. I have had a ball in my 
 right shoulder. Sir, I'd have called him out." 
 
 "Mr. Hazeldean ! ;Mr. Hazeldean ! I'm shocked at you, ' cried 
 the Parson, and, putting his lips close to the Squire's ear, he went 
 on in a whisper, "What an example to your son! You'll have him 
 fighting duels oneof thesedays,andnobody toblamebutyourself."
 
 62 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 This warning cooled Mr. Hazeldean ; and muttering, " Why 
 the deuce did you set me off ? " he fell back into his chair, and 
 began to fan himself with his pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 The parson skillfully and remorselessly pursued the advan- 
 tage he had gained. "And now, that you may have it in your 
 power to show civility and kindness to the boy whom Mr. Eger- 
 ton has taken up. out of respect to his wife's memory a kins- 
 man, you say, of your own, and who has never offended you, 
 a boy whose diligence in his studjes proves him to be an ex- 
 cellent companion to yopr son Frank (here the parson raised 
 his voice), I suppose you would like to call on young Leslie, as 
 you were studying the county map so attentively ?" 
 
 ." Why, yes," answered Frank, rather, timidly, " if my father 
 does not object to it. Leslie has been very kind to me, though 
 he is in the sixth form, and, indeed,-almost the head of the school." 
 
 "Ah ! " said Mrs. Hazeldean, "one studious boy has a fellow- 
 feeling for another ; and though you enjoy your holidays, Frank, 
 I am sure you read hard at school." 
 
 Mrs. Dale openedhereyes very wide, and stared in astonishment. 
 
 Mrs. Hazeldean retorted that look with great animation. 
 " Yes, Carry," said she, tossing her head, " though jwf in ay not 
 think Frank clever, his masters find him so. He got a prize 
 last half. That beautiful-book, Frank hold up your head, my 
 love, ywhat did you .get it for ?." 
 
 FRANK (reluctantly). Verses, ma'am. ; 
 
 MRS. HAZELDEAN (with triumph). Verses ! there, Carry, 
 verses ! 
 
 FRANK(in a hurried tone). Yes,but Leslie wrote them for me. 
 
 MRS. HAZELDEAN (recoiling). Oh, Frank ! a prize for what 
 another did for you that was mean. 
 
 FRANK (ingenuously). You can't be more ashamed, mother, 
 than I was when they gave me the prize. 
 
 MRS. DALE (though previously provoked at being snubbed 
 by Harry, now showing the triumph of generosity over temper). 
 I beg your pardon, Frank. Your mother must be as proud 
 of thatdiame as she was of the prize. 
 
 Mrs.: Hazeldean puts her arm round Frank's neck, smiles 
 beamingly on Mrs. Dale, and converses with her son in a low 
 tone about Randal Leslie. Miss Jemima no,w approached Carry, 
 and said in an " aside,"- "But we are forgetting poor Mr. Ricca- 
 bocca. Mrs. Hazeldean, though the dearest creature in the 
 world, has such a blunt way of inviting people don't you think 
 if you were to say a word to him, Carry ? " 
 
 MRS. DALE (kindly, as she wraps her shawl round her). Sup-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 63 
 
 pose you write the note yourself. Meanwhile, I shall see him, no 
 doubt. 
 
 PARSOH (putting his hand on the Squire's shoulder). You for- 
 give my impertinence, my kind friend. We parsons, you know, are 
 apt to take strange liberties, when wehonorand love folks, as I do. 
 
 " Pish," said the Squire ; but his hearty smile came to his lips 
 in spite of himself. " You always get your own way, and I sup- 
 pose Frank must ride over and see this pet of my " 
 
 "'jBroiner s" quoth the Parson, concluding the sentence in a tone 
 which gave tothesweetwordsosweetasoundthattheSquirewould 
 not correct the Parson, as he had been about to correct himself. 
 
 Mr. Dale moved on ; but as he passed Captain Barnabas, the 
 benignant character of his countenance changed sadly. 
 
 " The cruelest trump, Captain Higginbotharn ! ". said' he 
 sternly, and stalked by majestic. 
 
 The night was so fine that the Parson and his wife, as they 
 walked home, made a little detour through the shrubbery. 
 
 M RS. DALE. I think I have done a good piece of work to-night. 
 
 PARSON (rousing himself from a reverie). Have you, 
 Carry ? it will be a very pretty handkerchief.. 
 
 MRS. DALE. Handkerchief ! nonsense, dear. Don't you 
 think it would be a very happy thing for both, if Jemima and 
 Signor Riccabocca could be brought together ! 
 
 PARSON. Brought together.! 
 
 MRS. DALE. You do snap up one so, my dear I mean, if I 
 could make a match of it. 
 
 PARSON. I think P>iccabocca is a match already, not only 
 for Jemima, but yourself into the bargain. 
 
 MRS. DALE (smiling loftily). Well, we shall see. Was not 
 Jemima's fortune about ^4000 ! 
 
 PARSON (dreamily, for he. is relapsing fast into his interrupted 
 reverie). Ay ay-r- 1 dare say. . 
 
 MRS. DALE. And she miist have saved ! I dare say it is 
 nearly ^6000 by this time ; eh ! Charles dear, you really 
 are so good gracious, what's that ! 
 
 As Mrs. Dale made this exclamation, they had just emerged 
 from the shrubbery into the village green. 
 
 PARSON. What's what? 
 
 MRS. DALE (pinching her husband's arm very nippingly). 
 That thing there there ! 
 
 PARSON. Only the new stocks, Carry ; I don't wonder they 
 frighten you, for you are a very sensible woman. I only wish 
 they would frighten the Squire.
 
 64 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SUPPOSED TO BE A LETTER FROM MRS. HAZELDEAN TO A. RICCA- 
 BOCCA, ESQ., THE CASINO ; BUT EDITED, AND INDEED COM- 
 POSED, BY MISS JEMIMA HAZELDEAN. 
 
 " DEAR SIR, To a feeling heart it must always be painful to 
 give -pain to another, and (though I am sure unconsciously) you 
 have given the greatest pain to poor Mr. Hazeldean and myself, 
 indeed to rt//our little circle, in so cruelly refusing our attempts to 
 become better acquainted with a gentleman we so highly ESTEEM. 
 Do, pray, dear sir, make us the amende honorable, and give us the 
 pleasure of your company for a few days at the Hall ! May we 
 expect you Saturday next ? our dinner hour is six o'clock. 
 
 " With the best compliments of Mr. and Miss Jemima Hazel- 
 dean, Believe me, my dear Sir, yours truly, 
 
 " Hazeldean Hall. H. H." 
 
 Miss Jemima having carefully sealed this note, which Mrs. 
 Hazeldean had very willingly deputed her to write, tpok it her- 
 self into the stable-yard, in order to give the groom proper 
 instructions to wait for an answer. But while she was speaking 
 to the man, Frank, equipped for riding with more than his usual 
 dandyism, came into the yard, calling for his pony in a loud voice, 
 and singling out the very groom whom Miss Jemima was address- 
 ing for, indeed, he was the smartest of all in the Squire's stables 
 told him to saddle the gray pad, and accompany the pony. 
 
 "No, Frank," said Miss Jemima, " you can't have George ; 
 your father wants him to go on a message you can take Mat." 
 
 " Mat, indeed !" said Frank, grumbling with some reason ; 
 for Mat was a surly old fellow, who tied a most indefensible 
 neckcloth, and always contrived to have a great patch in his 
 boots ; besides, he called Frank " Master," and obstinately 
 refused to trot down hill ; " Mat, indeed ! let Mat take the 
 message, and George go with me." 
 
 But Miss Jemima had also her reasons for rejecting Mat. Mat's 
 foible was not servility, and he always showed true English in- 
 dependence in all houses where he was not invited to take his 
 ale in the servant's hall. Mat might offend Signor Riccabocca, 
 and spoil all. An animated altercation ensued, in the midst of 
 which the Squire and hiswife entered the yard, with the intention 
 of driving in the conjugal gig to the market-town. The matter 
 was referred to the natural umpire by both the contending parties. 
 
 The Squire looked with great contempt on his son. "And 
 what did you want a groom at all for ! Are you afraid of tum- 
 bling off the pony ? "
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 65 
 
 FRANK. No, sir ; but I like to go as a gentleman, when I 
 pay a visit to a gentleman ? 
 
 SQUIRE (in high wrath). You precious puppy ! I think I'm 
 as good a gentleman as you any day, and I should like to know 
 when you ever saw me ride to call on a neighbor with a fellow 
 jingling at ray heels, like that upstart Ned Spaokie, whose father 
 kept a cotton-mill. First time I ever h.eardvof a Hazeldean 
 thinking a livery-coat was necessary to prove his gentility ! 
 
 MRS. HAZELDEAN (observing Frank coloring, and about to 
 reply). Hush, Frank, never answer your father and you are 
 going to call on Mr. Leslie ? 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, and I am very much obliged to my father for 
 letting me," said Frank, taking the Squire's hand. 
 
 "Well, but Frank," continued Mrs. Hazeldean, "I think 
 you heard that the Leslies were very poor." 
 
 FRANK. Eh, mother ? 
 
 MRS.H AZELDEAN. And would you run the chance of wound- 
 ing the pride of a gentleman, as well born as yourself, by affect- 
 ing any show of being richer than he is ? 
 
 SQUIRE (with great admiration). Harry, I'd give ten pounds 
 to have said that ! 
 
 FRANK (leaving the Squire's hand to take his mother's). 
 You're quite right, mother nothing could be more snobbish ! 
 
 SQUIRE. Give us your fist, top, sir ; you'll be a chip of the 
 old block, after, all. 
 
 Frank smiled, and walked off to his pony. 
 
 MRS. HAZELDEAN (to Miss Jemima). Is that the note you 
 were to write for me ? 
 
 Miss JEMIMA. Yes ; I supposed you did not care about see- 
 ing it, so I have sealed it, and given it to George. 
 
 MRS. HAZELDEAN. But Fr,ank will pass close by the Casino 
 on his way to the Leslies'. It may be more civil if he leaves 
 the note himself. 
 
 Miss JEMIMA (hesitatingly). Do you think so ? 
 
 MRS. HAZELDEAN. Yes, certainly. Frank Frank- as you 
 pass by the Casino, call on Mr. Riccabocca, give this note and 
 say we shall be heartily glad if he will come. 
 
 Frank nods. 
 
 " Stop a bit," cried the Squire. "If Rickeybockey's at home, 
 'tis ten to one if he don't ask you to take a glass of wine ! If he 
 does, mind., 'tis worse than asking you to take a turn on the rack. 
 Faugh! you remember,Harry ? I thought it was all up with me." 
 
 " Yes," cried Mrs. Hazeldean ; " for Heaven's sake, not a 
 Wine, indeed ! "
 
 66 MY NOVEL ORj 
 
 " Don't talk of it," cried the Squire, making a wry face. 
 
 "I'll take care, sir!" said Frank, laughing as he disappeared 
 within the stable, followed by Miss Jemima, who now coaxingly 
 makes it up with him, and does not leave off her admonitions 
 to be extremely pojite to the poor foreign gentleman till Frank 
 gets his foot into the stirrup, and the pony, who knows whom 
 he has got to deal with, gives a preparatory plunge or two, and 
 then darts out of the yard. 
 
 BOOK SECOND. INITIAL CHAPTER. 
 
 INFORMING THE READER HOW THIS WORK GAME TO. HAVE 
 INITIAL CHAPTERS. 
 
 " THERE can't be a doubt," said my father, " that to each of 
 the main divisions of your work whether you call them Books 
 or Parts you should prefix an Initial or Introductory Chapter." 
 
 PISISTRATUS. Can't be a doubt, sir ! Why so ? 
 
 MR. CAXTON. Fielding lays it down as an indispensable 
 rule, which he supports by his example ; and Fielding was an 
 artistical writer, and knew what he was about. 
 
 PISISTRATUS. Do you remember any of his reasons, sir ? 
 
 MR. CAXTON. Why, indeed, Fielding says very justly,that he 
 is not bound to assign any reason ; but he does assign a good 
 many, here and there to find which, I refer you to Tom Jones. 
 I will only observe, that one of his reasons, which is unanswer- 
 able, funs to the effect that thus, in every Part or Book, the 
 reader has the advantage of beginning at the fourth or fifth page 
 instead of the first " a matter by no means of trivial conse- 
 quence," saith Fielding, " to persons who read books with no 
 other view than to say they have read them a more general 
 motive to reading than is commonly imagined; and from which 
 not only law books and good books, but the pages of Homer 
 and Virgil, of Swift and Cervantes, have been often turned 
 over." There, cried my father triumphantly; I will lay a shill- 
 ing to twopence that I have quoted the very words. : 
 
 MRS. CAXTON. Dear me! that only means skipping; I don't 
 see any great advantage in writing a chapter, merely for people 
 to skip it. 
 
 PISISTRATUS. Neither do I. 
 
 MR.CAXTON(dogmatically). It is the repose in the picture-^- 
 Fielding calls it " contrast " (still more dogmatically) I say 
 there can't be a doubt about it. Besides (added my father 
 after a pause), besides, this usage gives you opportunities to ex-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 67 
 
 plain what has gone before, or to prepare for what's coming ; 
 or since Fielding contends, with great truth, that some learning 
 is necessary for this kind of historical composition, it allows you, 
 naturally and easily, the introduction of light and pleasant orna- 
 ments of that nature. At each flight in the terrace, you may give 
 the eye the relief of an urn or a statue. Moreover, when so in- 
 clined, you create proper pausing places for reflection ; and com- 
 plete by a separate, yet harmonious ethical department, the de- 
 sign of a work, which is but a mere Mother Goose's tale if it does 
 notembraceageneralviewof thethoughtsand actionsof mankind. 
 
 PISISTRATUS. But then, in these initial chapters, the author 
 thrusts himself.forward ; and just when you want to get on with 
 the dramatis persona, you find yourself face to face with the 
 poet himself. 
 
 MR. CAXTON. Pooh ! you can try to prevent that ! Imitate 
 the chorus of the Greek stage, who fill up the intervals between 
 the action by saying what the author would otherwise say in 
 his own person. 
 
 PISISTRATUS (slily). That's a good idea, sir ; and I have a 
 chorus, and a choregus too, already in my eye. 
 
 MR. CAXTON (unsuspectingly). Aha ! you are not so dull a 
 fellow as you would make yourself out to be ; and, even if an 
 author did thrust himself forward, what objection is there to 
 that ? It is a mere affectation to suppose that a book can come 
 into the world without an author. Every child has a father 
 one father at least, as the great Conde says very well in his poem. 
 
 PISISTRATUS. The great Conde a poet ! I never heard that 
 before. 
 
 MR. CAXTON. I don't say he was a poet, but he sent a poem 
 to Madame de Montansier. Envious critics think that he must 
 have paid somebody else to write it ; but there is no reason 
 why a great captain should not write a poem ; I don't say a good 
 poem, but a poem. I wonder, Roland, if the Duke ever tried 
 his hand at " Stanzas to Mary," or " Lines to a sleeping babe." 
 
 CAPTAIN ROLAND. Austin, I'm ashamed of you. Of course 
 the Duke could write poetry if he pleased something, I dare 
 say, in the way of the great Conde" ; that is something warlike 
 and heroic, I'll be bound. Let's hear. 
 MR. CAXTON (reciting). 
 
 " Telle est du Ciel la loi severe 
 Qu'il faut qu'un enfant ait un pere ; 
 On dit meme quelquefois 
 Tel enfant en a jusqu'i trois."* 
 
 * Paraphrase: " That each child has a father But to judge by a rumor, 
 
 Is Nature's decree Some children have thre. M
 
 68 M No\nEL ; OR, 
 
 CAPTAIN ROLAND (greatly disgusted). Conde write such 
 stuff ! I don't believe it. 
 
 PISISTRATUS. I do, and accept the quotation; you and 
 Roland shall be joint fathers to my child as well as myself. 
 t " Tel enfant en a jusqu'a trois." 
 
 MR. CAXTON (solemnly). Irefusethe proffered paternity; but 
 sofarasadministeringa little wholesome castigation, now and then, 
 I have no objection to join in the discharge of a father's duty: 
 
 PISISTRATUS, Agree'd. Have you anything to say against 
 the infant hitherto ? 
 
 MR. CAXTON. He is in long clothes at present ; let us wait 
 till he can walk. 
 
 ' BLANCHE. -But pray, whom do you mean for a hero-* and 
 is Miss Jemima your heroine ? 
 
 CAPTAIN ROLAND. There is some mystery about the 
 
 PISISTRATUS (hastily).- Hush, -uncle; no letting the cat but 
 of the bag yet. Listen all of you ! I teft Frank Hazeldean on 
 his way to the Casino. 
 
 rTTAPTFTJ TT 
 CHAI 1EKI1. 
 
 "IT is a sweet, pretty place," thought Frank, asJie opened 
 the gate which led' across the fields to the Casino, that smiled 
 down upon him with its plaster pilasters. " I wonder, though, 
 that my father, who is so particular in general, suffers the 
 carriage-road to be so-full of holes and weeds. Mounseer does 
 not receive many visits, I take it." > 
 
 But when Frank .got into the ground immediately ; before the 
 house, he saw no cause of complaint as to want of order and re- 
 pair. Nothing could be kept more neatly, f Frank was ashamed 
 of the dint make by the pony's hoofs in the smooth gravel ; he 
 dismounted, tied the animal to the wicket, and .went on foot to- 
 ward the glass-idoor in front. 
 
 He rang the bell once, twice^ but nobody came, for the old 
 woman-servant, who was'hard o,f hearing, was far away in the 
 yard, searching for any eggs, which the hen might have scan- 
 dalously hidden from culinary purposes ; and Jackeymo wias 
 fishing for the sticklebacks and minnows, which were, when 
 caught, to assist the eggs, when found, in keeping together the 
 bodies and souls of himself and his master. The old woman had 
 been lately putupon board-wages -luckyold, woman! Frank rang 
 a third time, and with the impetuosity of his .age. A face peeped 
 from the belvidere on the terrace. " Diavolp!" said Dr. Ricca- 
 bocca to himself. "Youngcoc'kscrowhard on theirown dunghill; 
 it. must be acock of a high race to crow so loud at another's."
 
 VARIETIES iN ENGLISH LIFE. 69 
 
 Therewith he shambled out of the summer-house, and appear- 
 ed suddenly before Frank, in a very wizard-like dressing-robe 
 of black serge, a red cap on his head, and a cloud of smoke 
 coming rapidly from his lips, as a final consolatory whiff, before 
 he removed the pipefrom them. Frank had indeed seen the doc- 
 tor before, but never in so scholastic a costume, and he was a 
 little startled by the apparition at his elbow, as he turned round. 
 
 " Signorino " (young gentleman), said the Italian, taking off 
 his cap with his usual urbanity, " pardon the negligence of my 
 people^ I am too happy to receive your commands in person." 
 
 " Dr. Rickeybockey ? " stammered Frank, much confused by 
 this polite address, and the low,yet stately, bow with'which it was 
 accompanied. " I I have a ftote from the Hall. Mamma 
 that is, my mother and Aunt Jemima beg their best compli- 
 ments, and hope you will come, sir." 
 
 The doctor took the note with another bow, and, opening the 
 glass door, 'invited Frank to enter. - ; 
 
 The young gentleman, with schoolboy's usual bluntness, was 
 about to say that he was in a hurry, and had rather not ; but Dr. 
 Riccabocca's grand manner awed him, while a glimpse of the 
 hall excited his curiosity so he silently obeyed the invitation. 
 
 The hall, which w*as of an octagon shape, had been originally 
 panelled off into compartments, and in these the Italian had 
 painted landscapes, rich with the warm sunny light of his native 
 climate. Frank was no judge of the art displayed ; but he was 
 greatly struck with the scenes depicted ; they were all views of 
 some lake, real or imaginary in all, dark-blue shining waters 
 reflected dark-blue placid skies. In one, a flight of steps de- 
 scended to the lake, and a gay group was seen feasting on the 
 margin ; in another, sunset threw its rose-hues over a vast villa 
 or palace, backed by Alpine hills, and flanked by long arcades 
 of vines, while pleasure-boats skimmed over the waves below. In. 
 short, throughout all the eight compartments, the scene, though 
 it differed in details, preserved the same general character, as 
 if illustrating some favorite locality. The Italian did not, how- 
 ever, evince any desire to do the honors of his own art, but, pre- 
 ceding Frank across the hall, opened the door of his usual sit- 
 ting-room, and requested him to enter. Frank did so, rather 
 reluctantly, and seated himself with unwonted bashfulness on 
 the edge of a chair. But here new specimens of the Doctor's 
 handicraft soon riveted attention. The room had been originally 
 papered ; but Riccabocca had stretched canvas over the walls, 
 and painted thereon sundry satirical devices, eachseparated from 
 the other by scroll-works of fantastic arabesques. Here a Cupid
 
 70 MY NOVEL ; OR 
 
 was trundling a wheelbarrow full of hearts which he appeared to 
 be selling to an ugly old fellow, with a money-bag in his hand 
 probably Plutus. There Diogenes might be seen walking through 
 a market-place, with his lanterninhishand,in search of an honest 
 man, whilst thechildren jeered at him, and the curs snapped at his 
 heels. In another place, a lion was seen half dressed in a fox's 
 hide, while a wolf in a sheep's mask was conversing very amicably 
 with a young lamb. Here again might be seen the geese stretch- 
 ing out their necks from the Roman Capitol in full cackle, while 
 the stout invaders were beheld in the distance, running off as hard 
 as they could. In short, in all these quaint entablatures some pithy 
 sarcasm was symbolically conveyed; only over the mantelpiece 
 was the design graver and more touching. It was the figure of a 
 man in a pilgrim's garb,chained to the earth by small but innu- 
 merable ligaments, whileaphantomlikenessof himself, his shadow, 
 was seen hastening down what seemed an interminable vista ; 
 and underneath were written the pathetic words of Horace 
 " Patrise quis exul 
 Se quoque fugit ? " 
 
 (" What exile from his country can also fly from himself ? ") The 
 furniture of the room was extremely simple, and somewhat 
 scanty ; yet it was arranged so as to impart an air of taste and 
 elegance to the room. Even a few plaster busts and statues, 
 though bought but of some humble itinerant, had their classical 
 effect, glistening from out stands of flowers that were grouped 
 around them, or backed by graceful screen-works formed from 
 twisted osiers, which, by the simple contrivance of trays at the 
 bottom filled with earth, served for living parasitical plants,with 
 gay flowers contrasting thick ivy leaves, and gave to the whole 
 room the aspect of a bower. 
 
 " May I ask your permission ?" said the Italian, with his fin- 
 ger on the seal of the letter. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Frank with naivcti. 
 
 Riccabocca broke the seal, and a slight smile stole over his 
 countenance. Then he turned a little aside from Frank, shaded 
 his face with his hand, and seemed to muse. " Mrs. Hazel- 
 dean," said he at last, " does me very great honor. I hardly 
 recognize her handwriting, or I should have been more impa- 
 tient to open the letter." The dark eyes were lifted over the 
 spectacles, and went right into Frank's unprotected and undi- 
 plomatic heart. The doctor raised the note, and pointed to the 
 characters with his forefinger. 
 
 " Cousin Jemima's hand," said Frank, as directly as if the 
 question had been put to him.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. ?I 
 
 The Italian smiled. " Mr. Hazeldean has company staying 
 with him ?" 
 
 " No ; that is, only Barney the Captain. There's seldom 
 much company before the shooting season," added Frank, with 
 a slight sigh ; "and then, you know, the holidays are over. For 
 my part, I think we ought to break up a month later." 
 
 The Doctor seemed re-assured by the first sentence in Frank's 
 reply, and, seating himself at the table, wrote his answer not 
 hastily, as we English write, but with care and precision, like 
 one accustomed to weigh the nature of words in that stiff Italian 
 hand, which allows the writer so much time to think while he 
 forms his letters. He did not, therefore, reply at once to Frank's 
 remark about the holidays, but was silent till he had concluded 
 his note, read it three times over, sealed it by the taper he slowly 
 lighted, and then, giving it to Frank, he said 
 
 "For your sake, young gentleman, I regret that your holidays 
 are so early; for mine, I must rejoice, since I accept the kind invita- 
 tion you have rendered doubly gratifying by bringing it yourself." 
 
 " Deuce take the fellow and his fine speeches ! One don't 
 know which way to look," thought English Frank. 
 
 The Italian smiled again, as if this time he had read the boy's 
 heart, without need of those piercing black eyes, and said, less 
 ceremoniously than before, " You don't care much for compli- 
 ments, young gentleman ? " 
 
 " No, I don't indeed," said Frank heartily. 
 
 " So much the better for you, since your way in the world is 
 made ; it would be so much the worse, if you had to make it!" 
 
 Frank looked puzzled ; the thotight was too deep for him 
 so he turned to the pictures. 
 
 " Those are very funny," said he; " they seem capitally done. 
 Who did 'em ? " 
 
 " Signorino Hazeldean, you are giving me what you refused 
 yourself." 
 
 "Eh ?" said Frank inquiringly. 
 
 " Compliments ! " 
 
 " Oh I no ; but they are well done ; ar'n't they, sir?" 
 
 " Not particularly ; you speak to the artist." 
 
 " What ! you painted them ? " 
 
 " Yes." ' 
 
 '* And the pictures in the hall ? " 
 
 " Those too." 
 tl Taken from nature, eh ? " 
 
 " Nature," said the Italian sententiously, perhaps evasively, 
 "lets nothing be taken from her."
 
 7 2 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Oh-! " said Frank, puzzled again. " Well, I must wish you 
 good morning, sir ; I am very glad you are coming." 
 
 " Without compliment ? " 
 
 " Without compliment." 
 
 "A rivedersir-good-by for the present, my young Signorino. 
 This way," observing Frank make a bolt toward the wrong door. 
 
 " Can I offer you a glass of wine ! it is pure, of our own 
 making." 
 
 " No, thank you:, indeed, sir," cried Frank, suddenly recollect- 
 ing his father's, admonition. " Good-by, don't tro.uble your- 
 self, sir ; I know my way now." 
 
 But the bland Italian followed his guest to the wicket, where 
 Frank had left the pony. The young gentleman, afraid lest so 
 courteous a host should hold the stirrup for him, twitched off 
 the bridle, and mounted in haste, not even staying to ask if the 
 Italian could put him in the way to Rood Hall, of which way 
 he was profoundly ignorant. , The Italian's eye followed the 
 boy as ae rode up the ascent in the lane, and the doctor sighed 
 heavily. "' The wiser we grow," said he to himself, " the more 
 we regret the age of our follies ; it is better to gallop with a 
 light heart up the stony hill than sit in the summer-house and 
 cry ' How true ! ' to the stormy* truths of Machiavelli '! " 
 
 With that he turned back into the belvidere>; but he could 
 not resume his studies. He remained some minutes gazing on 
 the prospect, till the 'prospect reminded him of the fields which 
 Jackeymo was bent on his hiring, and the fields reminded him 
 of Lenny F airfield. He returned to the house, and in a few mo- 
 ments re-emerged in his out,-of-door trim, with cloak and um- 
 brella, re-lighted his pipe, and strolled toward Hazeldean village. 
 . Meanwhile Frank, after cantering on for some distance, 
 stopped at a cottage, and there learned that there was a short 
 cut across the: field to Rood Hall, by which he could save 
 nearly three miles. Frank, however, missed the short cut, and 
 came out into the high road; a turnpike keeper, after first taking 
 his toll, put him back again into the short cut ; and finally, he 
 got into some green lanes, where a dilapidated finger-post di- 
 rected him to Rood. Late at noon, having ridden fifteen miles 
 in the desire to reduce ten to seven, he came suddenly upon' a 
 wild and primitive piece of ground, that seemed half chase, half 
 common, with crazy tumble-down cottages of villanous aspect 
 scattered about in odd nooks and corners ; idle, dirty children 
 were making mud pies on the road ; slovenly-looking women 
 were plaiting straw at the thresholds ; a large but forlorn and 
 decayed church, that seemed to say that the generation which
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 73 
 
 saw it built was more pio.us than tl?e generation which now re- 
 sorted to it, stood boldly and nakedly out by the roadside. 
 
 " Is; this the village of Rood ? " asked Frank of a stout young 
 man breaking siones on the road sad sign that no better labor 
 could be found for him. 
 
 The man sullenly nodded, and continued his work. 
 
 " And where's the Hall Mr. Leslie's ? " 
 
 The man looked up in stolid surprise, and this time touched 
 his hat. 
 
 " Be you going, there ? " 
 
 " Yes, if 1 can find out where it is." 
 
 " I'll show your honor," said the boor alertly. 
 
 Frank reined in the pony, and the man walked by his side. 
 3c Frank. was much of his father's son, despite the difference of 
 age, and that more fastidious change of manner which charac- 
 terizes each succeeding grace in the progress of civilization. 
 Despite all his Eton finery, he was familiar with peasants, and 
 had the quick eye of one country-born as to country matters. 
 
 " You don't seem very well off in this village, my man ? " 
 said he, knowingly. 
 
 " Noa ; there be a deal of distress here in the winter time, 
 and summer too, for that matter ; and the. parish ben't much 
 help to a single man." 
 
 " But,surely,the farmers want work here as well as elsewhere?" 
 
 " 'Deed, and there ben't much farming work here most o' 
 the parish be all wild ground loikei" 
 
 " The poor have a right .of common, I suppose," said Frank, 
 surveying a large assortment of vagabond birds and quadrupeds. 
 
 " Yes ; neighbor Timnvons keeps his geese on the common, 
 and some has a cow and them be neighbor Jowlas's pigs. I 
 don't know if there's a right, loike ; but the folks at the Hall 
 does all they can to help us, and that ben't much ; .they ben't 
 as rich as some folks ; but," added the peasant proudly, " they 
 be as good blood as any in the shire." 
 
 " I'm glad to see you like them, at all events." 
 
 " Oh yes, I loikesthem well eno' ; mayhap you are at school 
 with the young gentleman ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Frank. 
 
 "Ah ! I heard the clergyman say as how Master Randal was 
 a mighty clever lad, and would get rich some day. I'se sure 
 I wish he would, for a poor squire makes a poor parish. There's 
 the Hall, sir." 
 
 ..) - -
 
 74 MY NOVEL ; OR. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 FRANK looked right ahead, and saw a square house that, in 
 spite of modern sash-windows, was evidently of remote antiq- 
 uity ; a high conical roof ; a stack of tall quaint chimney-pots 
 of red baked clay (like those at Sutton Place, in Surrey) dom- 
 inating over isolated vulgar smoke-conductors, of the ignoble 
 fashion of present times ; a dilapidated groin-work, encasing 
 within a Tudor arch a door of the comfortable date of George 
 III., and the peculiarly dingy and weather-stained appearance 
 of the small finely finished bricks, of which the habitation was 
 built all showed the abode of former generations adapted with 
 tasteless irreverence to the habits of descendants unenlightened 
 by Pugin, or indifferent to the poetry of the past. The house 
 had emerged suddenly upon Frank out of the gloomy waste land, 
 for it was placed in a hollow, and sheltered from sight by a dis- 
 orderly group of ragged, dismal, valetudinarian fir-trees, until 
 an abrupt turn of the road cleared that screen, and left the deso- 
 late abode bare to the discontented eye. Frank dismounted ; 
 the man held his pony ; and after smoothing his cravat, the 
 smart Etonian sauntered up to the door, and startled the solitude 
 of the place with a loud peal from the modern brass knocker a 
 knock which instantly brought forth an astonished starling who 
 had built under the eaves of the gable roof, and called up a cloud 
 of sparrows, tomtits, and yellow-hammers, who had been regaling 
 themselves amongst the litter of a slovenly farm-yard that lay in 
 full sight to the right of the house, fenced off by a primitive, 
 paintless wooden rail. In process of time a sow, accompained 
 by a thriving and inquisitive family, strolled up to the gate of the 
 fence, and leaning her nose on the lower bar of the gate, con- 
 templated the visitor with much curiosity and some suspicion. 
 
 While Frank is still without, impatiently swingeing his 
 white trousers with his whip, we will steal a hurried glance 
 toward the respected members of the family within. Mr. 
 Leslie, the pater-familias, is in a little room called his " study," 
 to which he regularly retires every morning after breakfast, 
 rarely reappearing till one o'clock, which is his unfashion- 
 able hour for dinner. In what mysterious occupations Mr. Les- 
 lie passes those hours, no one ever formed a conjecture. At 
 the present moment he is seated before a little rickety bureau, 
 one leg of which (being shorter than the other) is propped up by 
 sundry old letters and scraps of newspapers ; and the bureau is 
 open, and reveals a great number of pigeon-holes and divisions, 
 filled with various odds and ends, the collection of many years.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 75 
 
 Tn one of these compartments are bundles of letters,very yellow, 
 and tied in packets with faded tape ; in another, all by itself, 
 is a fragment of plum-pudding stone,which Mr.Leslie has picked 
 up in his walks, and considered a rare mineral, It is neatly la- 
 belled, " Found in Hollow Lane, May 2ist, 1804, by Maunder 
 Slugge Leslie,Esq." The next division holds several bits of iron 
 in the shape of nails, fragments of horse-shoes, etc., which Mr. 
 Leslie has met with in his rambles, and according to a harmless 
 popular superstition, deemed it highly unlucky not to pick up, 
 and, once picked up, no less unlucky to throw away. Item, in 
 the adjoining pigeon-hole, a goodly collection of pebbles with 
 holes in them, preserved for the same reason. In company 
 with a crooked sixpence ; item, neatly arranged in fanciful mo- 
 saics, several periwinkles, Blackmoor's teeth (I mean the shell so 
 called), and other specimens of the conchiferous ingenuity of 
 Nature, partly inherited from some ancestral spinster, partly 
 amassed by Mr. Leslie himself in a youthful excursion to the sea- 
 side. There were the farm-bailiff's accounts,several files of bills, 
 an old stirrup, three sets of knee and shoe buckles, which had 
 belonged to Mr. Leslie's father, a few seals tied together by a 
 shoe-string, a shagreen toothpick case, a tortoise-shell magnify- 
 ing-glass to read with, his eldest son's first copy-books, his sec- 
 ond son's ditto, his daughter's ditto, and a lock of his wife's hait 
 arranged in a true lover's knot, framed and glazed. There were 
 also a small mouse-trap; a patent corkscrew,too good to be used 
 in common; fragments of a silver tea-spoon, that had, by natural 
 decay, arrived at a dissolution of its parts, a small brown Holland 
 bag,containing halfpence of various dates, as far back as Queen 
 Anne, accompanied by two French sous, and a German silber 
 gros; the which miscellany Mr. Lesliemagniloquently called" his 
 coins"and had lef tin his will as afamily heirloom. There weremany 
 other curiosities of a congenial nature and equal value qua nunc 
 describere longum esf. Mr. Leslie was engaged at this time in what 
 is termed " putting things to rights " an occupation he per- 
 formed with exemplary care once a week. This was his day ; and 
 he had just counted his coins, and was slowly tying them up again 
 in the brown Holland bag, when Frank's knock reached his ears. 
 
 Mr. Maunder Slugge Leslie paused, shook his head as if in- 
 credulously, and was about to resume his occupation, when he 
 was seized with a fit of yawning which prevented the bag being 
 iied for full two minutes. 
 
 While such the employment of the study, let us turn to the 
 recreations in the drawing-room, or rather parlor. A drawing- 
 room there was on the first floor,with a charming look-out,not oa
 
 )6 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 the dreary fir-trees, but on the romantic undulating forest-land; 
 but the drawing-room had not been used since the death of the 
 last Mrs. Leslie. It was deemed too good to sit in, except when 
 there was company; there never being compariy,it was never sate 
 in. Indeed, now the paper was falling off the walls with the damp, 
 and the rats, mice and moths those " edaces rerum" had 
 eaten, between them, most of the chair-bottoms and a consid- 
 erable part of the floor. Therefore, the parlor was the sole gen- 
 eral sitting-room ; and being breakfasted in, dined and supped 
 in. and, after supper, smoked in by Mr. Leslie to the accompani- 
 ment of rum-and-water, it is- impossible to deny that it had^vhat 
 is called " a smell " a comfortable, wholesome family smell 
 speaking of numbers, meals, and miscellaneous social habitation. 
 There were two windows: one looked fullon the fir-tres ; the 
 other on the farm-yard, with the pig-sty closing the view. Near 
 the fir-tree window sate Mrs. Leslie; before her,' on a high stool, 
 was a basket of the children's clothes that wanted mending. A 
 work-table of rosewood inlaid with brass, which had beeii a wed- 
 ding-present, and was a costly thing originally, but in that par- 
 ticular taste which is vulgarly called"Brumagen," stood at hand; 
 the brass had started in several places, and occasionally made 
 great havoc in the children's fingers arid in Mr-s. Leslie's gown; 
 in fact, it was the liveliest piece of furniture -in the house, thanks 
 to that petulant brass-work, and could not have been more mis- 
 chievous if it had been a monkey. Upon the work-table lay a 
 housewife and a thimble, and scissors, and skeins 6f worsted and 
 thread, and little scraps of linen and cloth for patches. But 
 Mrs.Leslie was not actually working she was preparing to work; 
 she had been preparing to work for the last hour and a half. 
 Upon her lap she supported a novel, by a lady who wrote much 
 for a former generation, under the name of " Mrs. Bridget Blue 
 Mantle." She had a small needle in her left hand, and a very 
 thick piece of thread in Her right ; occasionally she applied the 
 end of the said thread to her lips, and then her eyes fixed on 
 the novel made a blind, vacillating attack at the eye of the 
 needle. But a camel would have gone through it with quite as 
 much ease. Nor did the novel alone engage Mrs. Leslie's 
 attention, for ever and anon she interrupted herself to scold the 
 children, to inquire "what o'clock it was"; to observe that 
 " Sarah would never suit "; and to wonder "why Mr. Leslie 
 would not see that the work-table was mended." 'Mrs. Leslie 
 has been rather a pretty woman. In spite of a dress at once 
 slatternly and economical, she has still the air of a lady rather 
 too much so, the hard duties of her situation considered. She
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 77 
 
 is proud of the antiquity of her family on both sides; her mother 
 was of the venerable stock of the Dandles of Daudle Place, a 
 race that existed before the Conquest. Indeed, one has only 
 to read our earliest chronicles, and to glance over some of those 
 long-winded moralizing poems which delighted the thanes and 
 ealdermen of old, in order to see that the Dandles must have 
 been a very influential family before William the First turned 
 the country topsy-turvy. While the mother's race was thus in- 
 dubitably Saxon, the father's had not only the name but the 
 peculiar idiosyncrasy of the Normans, and went far to establish 
 that crotchet of the brilliant author of Sibyl, or the Two Nations, 
 as to the continued distinction between the conquering and con- 
 quered populations. Mrs. Leslie's father boasted the name of 
 Montfydget ; doubtless of the same kith and kin as those great 
 barons Montfichet, who once owned such broad lands and such 
 turbulent castles. A high-nosed, thin, nervous, excitable prog- 
 eny, those same Montfydgets, as the most troublesome Norman 
 could pretend to be. This fusion of race was notable to the 
 most ordinary physiognomist in \.\\e physique and in the morale oi 
 Mrs. Leslie. She had the speculative blue eye of the Saxon, 
 and the passionate high no.se of the Norman ; she had the mus- 
 ing do-notliihgness of the Dandles, arid the reckless ha-ve-at- 
 every-thjngnessof the Montfydgets. At Mrs. Leslie's feet, a little 
 girl with 'her hair about her ears (and beautiful hair it was too) 
 was amusing herself with a broken-nosed doll. At the far end 
 of the room, before a high desk, sate Frank's Eton school-fellow, 
 the eldest son. A minute or two before Frank's alarum had dis- 
 turbed the tranquillity of the household, he had raised his eyes 
 from the books on the desk to glance at a very tattered copy 
 of the Greek Testament, in which his brother Oliver had found 
 a'drfficulty that he 'came to Randal to solve. As the young 
 Etonian's face was turned to the light, your first impression, on 
 seeing it, would have been melancholy, but respectful, interest 
 for the face had already lost the joyous character of youth : there 
 was a wrinkle between the brows ; and the lines that speak of 
 fatigue were already visible under the eyes and about the mouth; 
 the complexion was 'sallow, the lips were pale. Years of study 
 had already sown in the delicate organization the seeds of many 
 an infirmity and many a pain ; but if your look had rested long 
 on that countenance, gradually your compassion might have 
 given place to some feeling uneasy and sinister ^a feeling akin 
 to fear. There was in the whole expression so much of cold, 
 calm force, that it belied the debility of the frame. You saw 
 there the evidence of a mind that wascultivated,and you felt that
 
 78 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 in that cultivation there was something formidable. A notable 
 contrast to this countenance, prematurely worn, and eminently 
 intelligent, was the round healthy face of Oliver, with slow blue 
 eyes fixed hard on the penetrating orbs of his brother, as 
 if trying with might and main to catch from them a gleam 
 of that knowledge with which they shone clear and frigid as 
 a star. 
 
 At Frank's knock, Oliver's slow blue eyes sparkled into ani- 
 mation, and he sprang from his brother's side. The little girl 
 flung back the hair from her face, and stared at her mother with 
 a look which spoke wonder and affright. 
 
 The young student knit his brows, and then turned wearily 
 back to the books on his desk. 
 
 " Dear me," cried Mrs. Leslie, " who can that possibly be ? 
 Oliver,come from the window, sir,this instant ; you will be seen \ 
 Julia,run ring the bell no,go to the head of the kitchen stairs, 
 and call out to Jenny, ' Not at home.' Not at home on any 
 account," repeated Mrs. Leslie, nervously, for the Montfydget 
 blood was now in full flow. In another minute or so, Frank's 
 loud, boyish voice was distinctly heard at the outer door. 
 
 Randal slightly started. - 
 
 "Frank Hazeldean's voice," said he ; "I should like to see 
 him, mother." 
 
 " See him," repeated Mrs. Leslie, in amaze ; " see him ! and 
 the room in this state ! " 
 
 Randal might have replied that the room was in no worse 
 state than usual; but he said nothing. A slight flush came and 
 went over his pale face; and then he leaned his cheek on his 
 hand, and compressed his lips firmly. 
 
 The outer door closed with a sullen, inhospitable jar, and a 
 slip-shod female servant entered with a car.d between her finger 
 and thumb. 
 
 " Who is that for ? give it to me, Jenny," cried Mrs. Leslie. 
 
 But Jenny shook her head, laid the card on the desk beside 
 Randal, and vanished without saying a word. 
 
 "Oh look, Randal, look up," cried Oliver, who had again 
 rushed to the window; " such a pretty gray pony! " 
 
 Randal did look up; nay, he went deliberately to the window, 
 and gazed a moment on the high-mettled pony, and the well- 
 dressed, spirited rider. In that moment changes passed over 
 Randal's countenance more rapidly than clouds over the sky in 
 a gusty day. Now envy and discontent, with the curled lip and 
 the gloomy scowl; now hope and proud self-esteem, with the 
 clearing brow and the lofty smile; and then again all became
 
 VARIETIES: IN ENGLISH LIFE. 79 
 
 cold, firm, and close, as he walked back to his books, seated him- 
 self resolutely, and said, half aloud 
 
 "Well, KNOWLEDGE IS POWER." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MRS. LESLIE came up in fidget and in fuss; she leaned over 
 Randal's shoulder and read the card. Written in pen and ink, 
 with an attempt at imitation of printed Roman character, there 
 appeared first " MR. FRANK HAZELDEAN "; but just over these 
 letters, and scribbled hastily and less legibly in pencil, was 
 
 " Dear Leslie sorry you were out come and see us Do /" 
 
 " You will go, Randal ? " said Mrs. Leslie, after a pause. 
 
 " I'm not sure." 
 
 " Yes, you can go; you have clothes like a gentleman; you can 
 go anywhere, not like those children"; and Mrs. Leslie glanced 
 almost spitefully at poor Oliver's coarse threadbare jacket, and 
 little Juliet's torn frock. 
 
 " What I have I owe at present to Mr. Egerton, and I should 
 consult his wishes; he is not on good terms with these Hazel- 
 deans." Then turning toward his brother, who looked morti- 
 fied, he added, with a strange sort Of haughty kindness, "What 
 I may have hereafter, Oliver, I shall owe to myself; and then 
 if I rise, I will raise my family." 
 
 " Dear Randal," said Mrs. Leslie, fondly kissing him on the 
 forehead, " what a good heart you have ! " 
 
 " No, mother; my books don't tell me that it is a good heart 
 that gets on in the world; it is the hard head," replied Randal, 
 With a rude and scornful candor. " But I can read no more 
 just now; come out, Oliver." 
 
 So saying, he slid from his mother's hand, and left the room. 
 
 When Oliver joined him, Randal was already on the common; 
 and, without seeming .to notice his brother, he continued to 
 walk quickly, and with long strides, in profound silence. At 
 length he paused under the shade of an old oak, that, too old 
 to. be of value save for firewood, had escaped the axe. The 
 tree stood on a knoll, and the spot commanded a view of the 
 decayed house the: dilapidated church the dreary village. 
 
 " Oliver," said Randal, between his teeth, so that his voice 
 had the sound of a hiss, "it was under this tree that I first re- 
 solved to " 
 
 He paused. 
 
 ]| What, Randal?" 
 
 " Read hard: knowledge is power ! " 
 
 " But you are so fond of reading."
 
 8O MY NOVEL ; OR 
 
 . " 1 1 " cried Randal. "Do you think, when Wolsey and 
 Thomas-a-Becket became priests, they were fond of telling their 
 beads and pattering aves? I fond of reading ! " 
 
 Oliver stared; the historical allusions were beyond his com- 
 prehension. 
 
 "You know," continued Randal, "that we Leslies were not 
 always the beggarly poor gentlemen we are now. You know 
 that there is a man who lives in Grosvenor Square, and is very 
 rich very. : His riches come to him from a Leslie: .that man 
 is my patron, Oliver, and he is very good to me." 
 
 Randal's smile was withering as he spoke. "Come on," he 
 said, afjter a pause "(ome'.on." Again the walk was quick, 
 and the brothers were silent. 
 
 They came at length to a. little shallow brook, across which 
 some large stones had been .placed at short intervals, so that the 
 boys walked over the ford dry-shod. " Will you pull down that 
 bough, Oliver ? " said Randal, abruptly, pointing to a tree. 
 Oliver obeyed mechanically; and Randal, stripping the leaves, 
 and snapping off ,the twigs, left a fork at the end; with this he 
 began to rernove the stepping-stones. 
 
 " What are you about, Randal ? " asked Oliver, wonderingly. 
 
 ".We are on the other side of the brook now, and we shall 
 not come back this way. We don't want the stepping-stones 
 any more ! away with them ! " 
 
 JlC'jd : 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE morning after this" visit of Ffank Hazeldean's to Rood 
 Hall, the Right Honorable Audley Egerton, member of Parlia- 
 ment, privy councillor, and minister of a high department in the 
 state just below the rank of the cabinet was seated in his 
 library, awaiting the. delivery of the post, before he walked down 
 to his office. In the meanwhile, he sipped his tea, and glanced 
 over the newspapers with that quick and- half-disdainful eye 
 with which your practical man in public life is wont to regard 
 the abuse or the eulogium of the Fourth Estate. 
 
 There is very little likeness between Mr. Egerton and his half- 
 brother ; none, indeed, except that they are both of tall ''stature, 
 and strong, sinewy, English build. But even in this last 
 they do not resemble each other ; for the Squire's athletic shape 
 is already beginning to expand into that portly embonpoint which 
 seems the natural development of contented men as they ap- 
 proach middle life. Audley, on the contrary, is inclined to be 
 spare ; and his figure, though the muscles are as firm as iron,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 8l 
 
 has enough of the slender to satisfy metropolitan ideas of ele- 
 gance. His dress, his look his tout ensemble are those of the 
 London man. In the first, there is more attention to fashion than 
 is usual amongst the busy members of the House of Commons; 
 but then Audley Egerton has always been something more than 
 a mere busy member of the House of Commons. He has always 
 been a person of mark in the best society ; and one secret of his 
 success in life has been his high reputation as "a gentleman." 
 As he now bends over the journals, there is an air of distinc- 
 tion in the turn of the well-shaped head, with the dark brown 
 hair dark in spite of a reddish tinge cut close behind, and 
 worn away a little toward the crown, so as to 'give additional 
 height to a commanding forehead. His profile is very hand- 
 some, and of that kind of beauty which imposes on men if it 
 pleases women ; and is, therefore, unlike that of your mere pretty 
 fellows; a positive advantage in public life. It is a profile with 
 large features clearly cut, masculine, and somewhat severe. 
 The expression of his face is not open, like the Squire ? s ; nor has 
 it the cold closeness which accompanies the intellectual charac- 
 ter of young Leslie's ; but it is reserved and dignified, and sig- 
 nificant of self-control, as should be the physiognomy of a man 
 accustomed to think before he speaks. When you look at him, 
 you are not surprised to learn that he is not a florid orator nor a 
 smart debater he is a " weighty speaker." He is fairly read, 
 but without any great range either of ornamental scholarship or 
 constitutional lore. - He has not milch humor ; but he has that 
 kind of wit which is essential to grave and serious irony. He 
 has not much imagination, nor remarkable subtlety in reasoning; 
 but if he does not dazzle, he does not bore : he is too much of 
 the man of the world for that. He is considered to have Sound 
 serise and accurate judgment. Withal, as he now lays aside the 
 journals, and his face relaxes its austerer lines, you will not be 
 astonished to hear that he is a man who is said to have been 
 greatly beloved by women, and still to exercise much influence 
 in drawing-rooms and boudoirs. At least, no one was surprised 
 when the great heiress, Clementina Leslie, kinswoman and ward 
 to Lord Lansmere a young lady who had' refused three earls 
 and the heir-apparent to a dukedom was declared by her dear- 
 est friends to be dying of love for Audley Egerton. It had been 
 the natural wish of the Lansmeres that this lady should marry 
 their son, Lord L'Estrange. But that young gentleman, whose 
 opinions oamatrimony partook of the eccentricity of his general 
 character, could never be induced to propose/ and had, accord- 
 ing to the tf-/#/j of town, been the principal party to make up
 
 82 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 the match between Clementina and his friend Audley ; for the 
 match required making-up,despite the predilections of the young 
 heiress. Mr. Egerton had had scruples of delicacy. He avowed, 
 for the first time, that his fortune was much less than had been 
 generally supposed, and he did not like the idea of owing all to 
 a wife, however highly he might esteem and admire her. Now, 
 Lord L'Estrange (not long after the election at Lansmere, which 
 had given to Audley his first seat in Parliament) had suddenly 
 exchanged from the battalion of the Guards to which he be- 
 longed, and which was detained at home, into a cavalry regi- 
 ment on .active service in the Peninsula. Nevertheless, even 
 abroad, and amidst the distractions of war, his interest in all that 
 could forward Egerton's career was unabated ; and, by letters 
 to his father, and to his cousin Clementina, he assisted in the 
 negotiations for the marriage between Miss Leslie and his friend; 
 and, before the year in which Audley was returned for Lansmere 
 had expired, the young senator received the hand of the great 
 .heiress. The settlement of her fortune, which was chiefly in the 
 funds, had been unusually advantageous to the husband ; for 
 though the capital was tied up so long as both survived for the 
 benefit of any children they might have yet, in the event of one 
 of the parties dying without issue by the marriage, the whole 
 passed without limitation to the survivor. Miss Leslie, in spite 
 of all remonstrance from her own legal adviser, had settled this 
 clause with Egerton's confidential solicitor, one Mr. Levy, of 
 whom we shall see more hereafter ; and Egerton was to be kept 
 in ignorance of it till after the marriage. If in this Miss Leslie 
 showed a generous trust in Mr. Egerton, she still inflicted no 
 positive wrong on her relations, for she had none sufficiently 
 near to her to warrant their claim to the succession. Her near- 
 est kinsman, and therefore her natural heir, was Harley L'Es- 
 trange; and if he was contented, no one had a right to com- 
 plain. The tie of blood between herself and the Leslies of Rood 
 Hall was, as we shall see presently, extremely distant. 
 
 It was not till after his marriage that Mr. -Egerton took an 
 active part in the business of the House of Commons. He was 
 then at the most advantageous starting-point for the career of 
 ambition. His words on the state of the country took importance 
 from his stake in it. His talents from accessories in the opu- 
 lence of Grosvenor Square, the dignity of a princely establish- 
 ment, the respectability of one firmly settled in life, the reputa- 
 tion of a fortune in reality very large, and which was magnified 
 by popular report into the revenues of a Croesus. Audley Eger- 
 ton succeeded in Parliament beyond the early expectations
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 8} 
 
 formed of him. He took, from the first, that station in the 
 House which it requires tact to establish, and great knowledge of 
 the world to free from the charge of impracticability and crotch- 
 et, but which, once established, is peculiarly imposing from the 
 rarity of its independence; that is to say, the station of the mode- 
 rate man, who belongs sufficiently to a party to obtain its support, 
 but is yet sufficiently disengaged from a party to make his vote 
 and word, on certain questions,matter of anxiety and speculation. 
 
 Professing Toryism (the word Conservative, which would 
 have suited him better, was not then known), he separated him- 
 self from the country party, and always avowed great respect 
 for the opinions of the large towns. The epithet given to the 
 views of Audley Egerton was " enlightened." Never too much 
 in advance of the passion of the day, yet never behind its move- 
 ment, he had that shrewd calculation of odds which a consum- 
 mate mastery of the world*soinetimes bestows on politicians, 
 perceived the chances for and against a certain question being 
 carried within a certain time, and nicked the question. between 
 wind and water. He was so good a barometer of that change- 
 ful weather called Public Opinion, that he might have had a 
 hand in the Times newspaper. He soon quarrelled, and purpose- 
 ly, with his Lansmere constituents ; nor had he ever revisited 
 that borough, perhaps because it was associated with unpleas- 
 ant reminiscences in the shape of the Squire's epistolary trim- 
 mer, and in that of his own effigies which his agricultural con- 
 stituents had burned in the corn-market. But the speeches that 
 produced such indignation at Lansmere had delighted one of the 
 greatest of our commercial towns, which at fhe next general elec- 
 tion honored him with its representation. In those days, before 
 the Reform Bill, great commercial towns chose men of high mark 
 for their members; and a proudstation it was for himwhowasdel- 
 egated to speak the voice of the princely merchants of England. 
 
 Mrs. Egerton survived her marriage but a few years; she left 
 no children ; two had been born, but died in their first infancy. 
 The property of the wife, therefore, passed without control or 
 limit to the husband. 
 
 Whatever might have been the grief of the widower, he dis- 
 dained to betray it to the world. Indeed, Audley Egerton was a 
 man who had early taught himself to conceal emotion. He buried 
 himself in the country, none knew where, for some months. 
 When he returned, there was a deep wrinkle on his brow ; but no 
 change in his habits and avocations, except that shortly after- 
 ward he accepted office, and thus became more busy than ever. 
 
 Mr. Egerton had always been lavish and magnificent in money
 
 84 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 matters. A rich man in public life has many claims on his for- 
 tune, and no one yielded to those claims with an air so regal as 
 Audley Egerton. But amongst his many liberal actions there 
 was none which seemed more worthy of panegyric than the gen- 
 erous favor he extended to the son of his wife's poor and distant 
 kinsfolk, the Leslies of Rood Hall. 
 
 Some four generations back, there had lived a certain Squire 
 Leslie, a man of large acres and active mind. He had cause to 
 be displeased with his eldest son, and though he did not disin- 
 herit him, he left half his property to a younger. 
 
 The younger had capacity and spirit, which justified the pa- 
 rental provision. He increased his fortune, lifted himself into 
 notice and consideration by public services and a noble alliance. 
 His desc'endants followed his. example, and took rank among the 
 first commoners in England, till the last mate, dying, left his sole 
 heiress and representative in one' daughter, Clementina, after- 
 ward married to Mr. Egerton. - 
 
 Meanwhile the elder son of the foremeritioned squire had mud- 
 dled and 'sotted away much of his share in the Leslie property, 
 and by low habits and mean society, lowered in repute his rep- 
 resentation of the name. 
 
 His successors imitated him, till nothing was left to Randal's 
 father, Mr. Maunder Slugge Leslie, but the decayed house, which 
 was what the Germans call -the stamm schloss or "stem hall " of 
 the race, and the wretched lands immediately around it. 
 
 Still, though all intercourse between the two branches of the 
 family had ceased, the younger had always felt a respect for the 
 elder, as the head of the house. And it \yas supposed that, on 
 her death-bed, Mrs. Egerton had recommended her impoverished 
 namesakes and kindred to the care of her husband ; for, when 
 he returned to town, after Mrs. Egerton's death, Audley had 
 sent to Mr. Maunder Slugge Leslie the sum of ,5000, which he 
 said his wife, leaving no written will, had orally bequeathed as 
 a legacy to that gentleman; and he requested permission to 
 charge himself with the education of the eldest son. 
 
 Mr. Maunder Slugge Leslie might have done great things for 
 his little property with those ^5006, or even (kept in the Three 
 per Gents) the interest would have afforded a material addition 
 to his comforts. But a neighboring solicitor, havfng caught 
 scent of the legacy, hunted it down into his own hands, on pre- 
 tence of having found a capital in vestment in a canal. And when 
 the Solicitor had got possession of the : ^566o, he went off with 
 them to America. 
 
 Meanwhile Randal, placed by Mr. Egerton at an excellent
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 85 
 
 preparatory school, at first gave no signs of industry or talent : 
 but just before he left it, there came to the school, as classical 
 tutor, an ambitious young Oxford man; and his zeal for he 
 was a capital teacher produced a great effect generally on the 
 pupils, and especially on Randal Leslie, lie talked to them 
 much in private on the advantages of learning, and shortly after- 
 ward he exhibited those advantages in his own person ; for, hav- 
 ing edited a Greek play with much subtle scholarship, his col- 
 lege, which some slight irregularities of his had displeased, re- 
 called him to its venerable bosom by the presentation of a fel- 
 lowship. After jthis he. took orders, became a college tutor, dis- 
 tinguished himself yet more by a treatise on the Greek accent, 
 got a capital living, and was considered on the high road to a 
 bishopric. This young man, then, communicated to Randal the 
 thirst for knowledge ; and when the boy went; afterwardito Eton, 
 he applied with such earnestness: and resolve, that- his fame soon 
 reached the ears of Audley; and that person, who had the sympa- 
 thy for talentjand yet moare forpurpoSe^which often characterizes 
 ambitious men, went to Eton to see him. From that time Audley 
 evinced great and almost fatherly interestin thebriHiant Etonian ; 
 and Randal always spent with him some days in each vacation. 
 I have said that Egerton's conduct with respect to this boy 
 was more praiseworthy than most of those generous actions for 
 which he was renowned, since to this the world gave no applause. 
 What a man does within the range of his family connections 
 does not darry with it.that falat which invests a munificence ex- 
 hibited on public occasions. Either people care nothing about 
 it, or tacitly suppose it to be but his duty. It was true, too, as 
 the Squire had observed, that Randal Leslie was even less dis- 
 tantly related to the Hazeldeans than to Mrs. Egerton, since 
 Randal's grandfather had actually married a Miss Hazeldean 
 (the highest worldly connection that branch of. the family had 
 formed since the great split I have commemorated). But Aud- 
 ley Egerton never appeared aware of that fact. As he was not 
 himself descended from the Hazeldeans, he did not trouble him- 
 self about their genealogy ; and he took care to impress it upon 
 the Leslies that his generosity on their behalf was solely to be 
 ascribed to his respect for his wife's memory and kindred. Still 
 the Squire had felt as if his " distant brother " implied a rebuke 
 on his own neglect of these poor Leslies, by the liberality Aud- 
 ley evinced toward them : and this had made him doubly sore 
 when the name of Randal Leslie was mentioned. But the fact 
 really was, that the Leslies of Rood had so shrunk out of all no>- 
 tice that the Squire had actually forgotten their existence, until
 
 86 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Randal became thus indebted to his brother ; and then he felt a 
 pang of remorse that any one save himself, the head of the Hazel- 
 deans, should lend a helping hand to the grandson of aHazeldean. 
 But having thus, somewhat too tediously, explained the po- 
 sition of Audley Egerton, whether in the world or in relation 
 to his young protfg^\ may now permit him to receive and to 
 read his letters. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MR. EGERTON glanced over the pile of letters placed beside 
 him, and first he tore up some, scarcely read, and threw them into 
 the waste-basket. Public men have such odd, out-of-the-way 
 letters, that their waste-baskets are never empty : letters from 
 amateur financiers proposing new ways to pay off the National 
 Debt ; letters from America (never free), asking for auto- 
 graphs ; letters from fond mothers in country villages, recom- 
 mending some miracle of a son for a place in the King's ser- 
 vice ; letters from freethinkers in reproof of bigotry ; letters 
 from bigots in reproof of freethinkers; letters signed Brutus 
 Redivivus, containing the agreeable information that the writer 
 has a dagger for tyrants, if the Danish claims are not forthwith 
 adjusted^ letters signed Matilda or Caroline, stating that Caro- 
 line or Matilda has seen the public man's portrait at the Exhi- 
 bition, and that a heart sensible to its attractions may be found 
 at No. , Piccadilly ; letters from beggars, impostors, mono- 
 maniacs, speculators, jobbers all food for the waste-basket. 
 
 From the correspondence thus winnowed, Mr. Egerton first 
 selected those on business, which he put methodically together 
 in one division of his pocket-book : and secondly, those of a 
 private nature, which he as carefully put into another. Of 
 these last there were but three one from his steward, one from 
 Harvey L'Estrange, one from Randal Leslie. It was his cus- 
 tom to answer his correspondence at his office ; and to his 
 office, a few minutes afterward, he slowly took his way. Many 
 a passenger turned back to look again at the firm figure, which, 
 despite the hot summer day, was buttoned up to the throat ; 
 and the black frock-coat thus worn well became the erect air 
 and the deep, full chest of the handsome senator. When he 
 entered Parliament Street, Audley Egerton was joined by one 
 of his colleagues, also on his way to the cares of office. 
 
 After a few observations on the last debate, this gentleman said : 
 
 " By the way, can you dine with me next Saturday, to meet 
 Lansmere ? He comes up to town to vote for us on Monday." 
 
 " I had asked some people to dine with me," answered Egerton,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 87 
 
 " but I will put them off. I see Lord Lansmere too seldom to 
 miss any occasion to meet a man whom I respect so much." 
 
 " So seldom ! True, he is very little in town ; but why don't 
 you go and see him in the country ? Good shooting pleasant, 
 old-fashioned house." 
 
 " My dear Westbourne, his house is ' nimium vicina Cremona,' 
 close to a borough in which I have been burned in effigy." 
 
 " Ha ha yes I remember you first came in Parliament 
 for that snug little place ; but Lansmere himself never found 
 fault with your votes, did he ? " 
 
 " He behaved very handsomely, and said he had not pre- 
 sumed to consider me his mouth-piece ; and then, too, I am 
 so intimate with L'Estrange." 
 
 "Is that queer fellow ever coming back to England ?" 
 
 " He comes, generally, every year, for a few days, just to see 
 his father and motherland then returns to the Continent." 
 
 " I never met him." 
 
 " He comes in September, or October, when you, of course, 
 are not in town, and it is in town that the Lansmeres meet him." 
 
 " Why does he not go to them ? " 
 
 " A man in England but once a year, and for a few days, has 
 so much to do in London, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Is he as amusing as ever ? " 
 
 Edgerton nodded. 
 
 " So distinguished as he might be ! " remarked Lord West- 
 bourne. 
 
 " So distinguished as he is ! " said Egerton formally ; " an 
 officer selected for praise, even in such fields as Quatre Bras 
 and Waterloo ; a scholar, too, of the finest taste ; and as an ac- 
 complished gentleman, matchless ! " 
 
 "I like to hear one man praise another so warmly in these 
 ill-natured days," answered Lord Westbourne. "But still, 
 though L'Estrange is doubtless all you say, don't you think he 
 rather wastes his life- living abroad ? " 
 
 " And trying to be happy, Westbourne ? Are you sure it is 
 not we who waste our lives ? but I can't stay to hear your an- 
 swer. Here we are at the door of my prison." 
 
 "On Saturday, then ?" 
 
 " On Saturday. Good-day." 
 
 For the next hour, or more, Mr. Egerton was engaged on the 
 affairs of the state. He then snatched an interval of leisure 
 (while awaiting a report, which he had instructed a clerk to 
 make him), in order to reply to his letters. Those on public 
 business were soon despatched ; and throwing his replies aside,
 
 88 
 
 to be sealed by a subordinate hand, he drew out the letters 
 which he had put apart as private. 
 
 He attended first to that of his steward ; the steward's letter 
 was long, the reply was contained in three lines. Pitt himself 
 was scarcely more negligent of his private interests and con- 
 cerns than Audley Egerton yet^ withal, Audley Egerton was 
 said by his enemies to be an egotist. 
 
 The next letter he wrote was to Randal, and that, though 
 longer, was far from prolix : it ran thus 
 
 " Dear Mr. Leslie, I appreciate your delicacy in consulting 
 me whether you should accept Frank Hazeldean's invitation to 
 call at the Hall. Since you are asked, I can see no objection to it. 
 I should be sorry if you appeared to force yourself there; and for 
 the rest, as a general rule, I think a young man who has his r own 
 way to make in life had better avoid all intimacy with those of his 
 own age who have no kindred objects nor congenial pursuits. 
 
 " As soon as this visit is paid, I wish you to come to London. 
 The report 1 receive of your, progress at Eton renders it un- 
 necessary, in my judgment, that you should return there. If 
 your father has no objection, I propose that you should go to 
 Oxford at the ensuing term. Meanwhile, I have engaged a 
 gentleman, who is a fellow of Baliol, to, read with you. He is 
 of opinion, judging only by your .high repute at Eton, that you 
 may at once obtain a scholarship in that college. If you do so, 
 I shall look upon your career in li|fe as assured. 
 
 " Your affectionate friend, and sincere well-wisher, 
 
 " A. E." 
 
 The reader will remark that, in this letter, there is a certain 
 tone of formality. Mr, Egerton does not call \i\sprotfyt " Dear 
 Randal," as would seem natural, but coldly and stiffly, " Dear 
 Mr. Leslie.-" He hints, also that the boy has his own way to 
 make in life. Is this meant to guard against too sanguine 
 notions of inheritance, which his generosity may have excited ? 
 
 The letter to Lord L'Estrange was of a very different kind 
 from the others. It was long, and full of such little scraps of 
 news and gossip as may interest friends in a foreign lapd ; it 
 was written gayly, and as with a wish to cheer his friend ; you 
 could see that it was a reply to a melancholy letter ; and in the 
 whole tone and spirit there was an affection, even to tenderness, 
 of which those who most liked Audley Egerton would have 
 scarcely supposed him capable. Yet, notwithstanding, there 
 was a kind of constraint in the letter, which perhaps only the 
 fine tact of a woman would detect. It had not the abandon, 
 that hearty self-outpouring, which you might expect would char-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 89 
 
 acterize the letters of two such friends, who had been boys at 
 school together, and which did breathe indeed in all the abrupt 
 rambling sentences of his correspondent. But where was the 
 evidence of the constraint ? Egerton is off-hand enough where 
 his pen runs glibly through paragraphs that'relate to others ; it 
 is simply that he says nothing about himself that he avoids all 
 reference to the inner world of sentiment and feeling. < But per- 
 haps, after all, the man has no sentiment and feeling ! How 
 can you expect that a steady personage in practical life, whose 
 mornings, are' spent in Downing Street, -and whose nights, are 
 consumed in watching Government bills through a committee, 
 can write in the same style as an idle dreamer amidst the pines 
 of Ravenna, or on the banks of Como ? 
 
 Audley had just finished this epistle, such as it was, when the 
 attendant in waiting announced the arrival of a deputation from 
 a provincial trading town, the members of which deputation he 
 had appointed to meet at two o'clock. There was no office in' 
 London at which deputations were kept waiting less than at 
 that over which Mr. Egerton presided. 
 
 The deputation entered some score or so of middle-aged, 
 comfortable-looking persons, who, nevertheless, had their griev- 
 ance and considered their own interests, and those of thecoun try, 
 menaced by a certain clause in a bill brought in by Mr. Egerton. 
 
 The Mayor of the town was the chief spokesman, and he spoke 1 
 well but in a style to which the dignified official was not accus- 
 tomed. It was a slap-dash style unceremonious, free, and easy 
 an-.American style. And, indeed, there was something altogether 
 in the appearance and bearing of the Mayor which savored of 
 residence in the Great Republic. He was a very handsome man, 
 but with a look sharp and domineering the look of a man who 
 did not care a straw for president or monarch, and who enjoyed 
 the liberty to speak his mind and "wallop his own nigger ! " 
 
 His fellow-burghers evidently regarded him with great re- 
 spect ; and Mr. Egerton had penetration enough to perceive that 
 Mr. Mayor must be a rich man, as well as an eloquent one, to 
 have overcome those impressions of soreness or jealousy which 
 his tone was calculated to create to the self love of his equals. 
 
 Mr. Egerton was far too'Wise to be easily offended by mere 
 manner ; and, though he stared somewhat haughtily when he 
 found his observations actually pooh-poohed, he was not above 
 being convinced. There was much sense and much justice in 
 Mr. Mayor's arguments,' and the statesman civilly promised to 
 take them into full consideration. 
 
 He then bowed out the deputation ; but scarcely had the door
 
 QO MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 closed before it opened again, and Mr. Mayor presented himself 
 alone, saying aloud to his companions in the passage, " I forgot 
 something I had to say to Mr. Egerton wait below for me." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Mayor," said Audley, pointing to a seat, " what 
 else would you suggest ? " 
 
 The Mayor looked round to see that the door was closed ; 
 and then, drawing his chair close to Mr. Egerton's, laid his 
 forefinger on that gentleman's arm, and said, " I think I speak 
 to a man of the world, sir ? " . ; 
 
 Mr. Egerton bowed, and made no reply by word, but he 
 gently removed his arm from the touch of the forefinger. 
 
 MR. MAYOR. You observe, sir, that I did not ask the members 
 whom we return to Parliament to accompany us. Do better with- 
 out 'em. You know they are both in Opposition out-and-outers. 
 
 MR. EGERTON. It is a misfortune which the Government 
 cannot remember, when the question is whether the trade of 
 the town itself is to be served or injured. 
 
 MR. MAYOR. Well, I guess you speak handsome, sir. But 
 you'd be glad to have two members to support Ministers after 
 the next election. 
 
 MR. EGERTON (smiling). Unquestionably, Mr. Mayor. 
 
 MR. MAYOR. And I can do it, Mr. Egerton. I may say I 
 have the town in my pocket; so I ought I spend a great deal of 
 money in it. Now, you see, Mr. Egerton, I have passed apart of 
 my life in a land of liberty the United States and I come to the 
 point when I speak to a man of the world. I'm a man of the world 
 myself, sir. And so, if the Government will do something for me, 
 why, I'll do something for the Government. Two votes for a 
 free and independent town like ours that's something, isn't it ? 
 
 MR. EGERTON (taken by surprise). Really, I 
 
 MR. MAYOR (advancing his chair still nearer, and interrupt- 
 ing the official). No nonsense, you see, on one side or the 
 other. The fact is, that I've taken it into my head that I should 
 like to be knighted. You may well look surprised, Mr. Egerton 
 trumpery thing enough, I dare say; still, every man has his weak- 
 ness, and I should like to be Sir Richard. Well, if you can get me 
 made Sir Richard, you may just name your two members for the 
 next election that is, if they belong to your own set, enlightened 
 men, up to the times. That's speaking fair and manful, isn't it? 
 
 MR. EGERTON (drawing himself up). I am at a loss to guess 
 why you should select me, sir, for this very extraordinary propo- 
 sition. 
 
 MR. MAYOR (nodding good-humoredly). Why, you see, I 
 don't go along with theGovernment; you're the best of the bunch.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 9! 
 
 And maybe you'd like to strengthen your own party. This is 
 quite between you and me, you understand: honor's a jewel ! 
 
 MR. EGEKTON (with great gravity). Sir, I am obliged by 
 your good opinion ; but I agree with my colleagues in all the 
 great questions that affect the Government of the country,and 
 
 MR. MAYOR (interrupting him). -Ah, of course, you must say 
 so; very right. But I guess things would go differently if you 
 were Prime Minister. However, I have another reason for speak- 
 ing to you about my little job. You see you were member for 
 Lansmere once, and I think you only came in by a majority of 
 two, eh ? 
 
 MR. EGERTON. I know nothing of the particulars of that 
 election; I was not present. 
 
 MR. MAYOR. No ; but luckily for you, two relations of 
 mine were, and they voted for you. Two votes, and you came 
 in by two. Since then, you have got into very snug quarters 
 here, and I think we have a claim on you ' 
 
 MR. EGERTON. Sir,l acknowledge no such claim; I was and 
 am a stranger to Lansmere; and, if the electors did me the honor 
 to return me to Parliament, it was in compliment rather to 
 
 MR. MAYOR (again interrupting the official). Rather to Lord 
 Lansmere, you were going to say ; unconstitutional doctrine 
 that, I fancy. Peer of the realm. But never mind, I know the 
 world : and I'd ask Lord Lansmere to do my affair for me, only 
 he is a pompous sort of man ; might be qualmish : antiquated 
 notions. Not up to snuff like you and me. 
 
 MR. EGERTON (in great disgust, and settling his papers before 
 him). Sir, it is not in my department to recommend to his 
 Majesty candidates for the honor of knighthood, and it is still 
 less in my department to make bargains for seats in Parliament. 
 
 MR. MAYOR. Oh, if that's the case you'll excuse me ; I 
 don't know much of the etiquette in these matters. But I 
 thought that, if I put two seats in your hands, for your own 
 friends, you might contrive to take the affair into your depart- 
 ment, whatever it was. But since you say you agree with your 
 colleagues, perhaps it comes to the same thing. Now, you must 
 not suppose I want to sell the town, and that I can change and 
 chop my politics for my own purpose. No such thing ! I 
 don't like the sitting members: I'm all for progressing, but 
 they go too much ahead for me ; and, since the Government is 
 disposed to move a little, why, I'd as lief support them as not. 
 But, in common gratitude, you see (added the Mayor coaxingly), 
 I ought to be knighted ! I can keep up the dignity, and do 
 credit to his Majesty.
 
 92 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 MR. EGERTON (without looking up from his papers). I can 
 only refer you, sir, to the proper quarter. 
 
 MR. MAYOR '(impatiently). Proper quarter ! Well, since 
 there is so much humbug in this-old country of ours, that one 
 must go through all the forms and get at the job regularly, Just 
 tell me whom I ought to go to. 
 
 MR. EGERTON (beginning to be amused as well as indig- 
 nant). If you want a knighthood, Mr. Mayor, you must ask 
 the Prime Minister ; if you want to give the Government in- 
 formation relative to seats in Parliament, you must introduce 
 yourself to Mr. , the Secretary of the Treasury. 
 
 MR. MAYOR. And if I go to the last chap, what do you 
 think he'll say ? 
 
 MR. EGERTON (the amusement preponderating over the in- 
 dignation). He will say, I suppose, that you must not put the 
 thing in the light in which you have put it 'to me that the 
 Government will be very'prouol to Have the confidence of your- 
 self and your brother electors ; "and that a gentleman like you, 
 in the proud position of Mayor, may well hope to be knighted 
 on some fitting occasion, but that you must not talk about the 
 knighthood just at present, and must confine yourself to con- 
 verting the unfortunate political opinions of the town. 
 
 MR. MAYOR. Well, I guess that chap there would want to 
 dome* Not quite so green, Mr. Egerton. Perhaps I had 
 better go at Onee to the fountain-head. How do you think 
 the Premier would take it? 
 
 MR. EGERTON (the indignation preponderating over the 
 amusement).' Probably just aslam al>oiit to do. 
 
 Mr. Egerton rang the bell ; the' attendant appeared. 
 
 " Show Mr. Mayor the way out," said the Minister. 
 
 The Mayor turned round sharply, and his face was purple. 
 He walked straight to the door ; but suffering the attendant to 
 precede him along the corridor, -he came back with a rapid 
 stride, and clenching his hands, and with a voice thick with 
 passion, cried, " Some day or other I will make you smart for 
 this, as sure as my name's Dick Avenel." 
 
 " Avenel ! " repeated Egerton, recoiling " Avenel ! " 
 
 But the Mayor was gone. : 
 
 Audley fell into a deep and musing reverie, which seemed 
 gloomy, and lasted till the attendant announced that the horses 
 were at the door. 
 
 He then looked up, still abstractedly, and saw his letter to 
 Harley L'Estrange open on the table. He drew it toward him, 
 and wrote, 4< A man has just left me, who calls himself Aven "
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 93 
 
 In the middle of the name his pen stopped. " No, no," mut- 
 tered the writer, " what folly tore-open the old wounds there" 
 and he carefully erased the words. 
 
 Audley Egerton did not ride in the Park that day, as was his 
 wont, but dismissed his groom ; and, turning his horse's head 
 toward Westminster Bridge, took his solitary way into the coun- 
 try. He rode ajt first slowly, as if in thought ; then fast, as if 
 trying to escape from thought. He wa"s later than usual at the 
 House that evening, and he looked pale and fatigued. But he 
 had to speak, and he spoke well. 
 
 IN spite of all his Machiavellian wisdom, Dr. Riccabocca had 
 been foiled in his attempt to seduce Leonard Fairfield into his 
 service, even though he succeeded in partially winning over the 
 widow to his views, . For to her he represented the worldly ad- 
 vantages of the thing. Lenny would beam to be fit for more than 
 a day-laborer ; he would learn gardening in all its branches 
 rise some day to be a head gardener. " And," said Riccabocca, 
 " I will take care of his book-learning, and teach him whatever 
 he has a head for." 
 
 " He has a head for everything,'' said the widow. 
 
 " Then," said the wise man, "everything shall go into it." 
 
 The widow was certainly dazzled ; for, as we have seen, she 
 highly prized scholarly distinction, and she knew that the Par- 
 son looked upon Riccabocca as a wondrous learned man. But 
 still Riccaboeca was said to be a Papist^ and suspected to be a 
 conjurer. Her scruples on both these points the Italian, who was 
 an adept in the art of talking over the fair sex, would no doubt 
 have dissipated, if there had been any use in it ; but Lenny put 
 a dead stop to all negotiations. He had taken a mortal dislike 
 to Riccabocca : he was very much frightened by him ami the 
 spectacles, the pipe, the cloak, the long hair, and. the red um- 
 brella; and said so sturdily, in reply to every overture " Please, 
 sir, I'd rather not ; I'd rather stay along with mother," that 
 Riccabocca was forced to suspend all further experiments in his 
 Machiavellian diplomacy. He was not at all cast down, how- 
 ever, by his first failure ; on -the contrary, he was one of those 
 men whom opposition stimulates, And what before had been 
 but a suggestion of prudence, became an object bf desire. Plenty 
 of other lads might no doubt be had, on as reasonable terms as 
 Lenny Fairneld ; but the moment ^Lenny presumed to baffle the 
 Italian's designs upon 'him, the-special acquisition of Lenny be- 
 came of paramount importance in the eyes of Riccabocca.
 
 94 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Jackeymo, however, lost all his interest in the traps, snares, 
 and gins which his master proposed to lay for Leonard Fairfield, 
 in the more immediate surprise that awaited him on learning 
 that Dr. Riccabocca had accepted an invitation to pass a few 
 days at the Hall. 
 
 " There will be no one there but the family," said Riccabocca. 
 " Poor Giacomo, a little chat in the servants' hall will do you 
 good ; and the Squire's beef is more nourishing, after all, than the 
 stickle-backs and minnows. It will lengthen your life." 
 
 "The Padrone jests," said Jackeymo, statelily; "as if any 
 one could starve in his service." 
 
 " Urn," said Riccabocca. " At least, faithful friend, you have 
 tried that experiment as far as human nature will permit "; and 
 he extended his hand to his fellow-exile with that familiarity which 
 exists between servant and master in the usages of the Continent. 
 Jackeymo bent low, and a tear fell upon the hand he kissed. 
 
 " Cospeito / " said Dr. Riccabocca, " a thousand mock pearls 
 do not make up the cost of a single true one ! The tears of 
 women we know their worth ; but the tear of an honest 
 
 man Fie, Giacomo ! at least I can never repay you this ! 
 
 Go and see to our wardrobe." 
 
 So far as his master's wardrobe was concerned, that order was 
 pleasing to Jackeymo ; for the Doctor had in his drawers suits 
 which Jackeymo pronounced to be as good as new, though 
 many a long year had passed since they left the tailor's hands. 
 But when Jackeymo came to examine the state of his own 
 clothing department, his face grew considerably longer. It was 
 not that he was without other clothes than those on his back 
 quantity was there, but the quality ! Mournfully he gazed on 
 two suits complete in the three separate members of which man's 
 raiments are composed ; the one suit extended at length upon 
 his bed, like a veteran stretched by pious hands after death; the 
 other brought piecemeal .to the invidious light the torso placed 
 upon a chair, the limbs dangling down from Jackeymo's melan- 
 choly arm. No bodies long exposed at the Morgue could 
 evince less sign of 'resuscitation than those respectable defuncts ! 
 For, indeed, Jackeymo had been less thrifty of his apparel more 
 profusus sui than his master. In the earliest days of their exile, 
 he preserved the decorous habit of dressing for dinner it was a 
 respect due to the Padrone and that habit had lasted till the 
 two habits on which it necessarily depended had evinced the first 
 symptoms of decay; then the eveningclothes had been taken into 
 morning wear,in which hard service they had breathed their last. 
 
 The Doctor, notwithstanding his general philosophical ab-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 95 
 
 straction from such household details, had more than once said, 
 rather in pity to Jackeymo than with an eye to that respectability 
 which the costume of the servant reflects on the dignity of the 
 master, "Giacomo, thou wantest clothes; fit thyself out of 
 mine!" 
 
 And Jackeymo had bowed his gratitude, as if the donation 
 had been accepted ; but the fact was, that that same fitting-out 
 was easier said than done. For though thanks to an exist- 
 ence mainly upon stickle-backs and minnows both Jackeymo 
 and Riccabocca had arrived at that state which the longevity 
 af misers proves to be most healthful to the human frame 
 viz.: skin and bone yet the bones contained in the skin of 
 Riccabocca all took longitudinal directions ; while those in the 
 skin of Jackeymo spread out latitudinally. And you might as 
 well have made the bark of a Lombardy poplar serve for the 
 trunk of some dwarfed and pollarded oak in whose hollow the 
 Babes of the Wood could have slept at their ease as have fitted 
 out Jackeymo from the garb of Riccabocca. Moreover, if the 
 skill of the tailor could have accomplished that undertaking, the 
 faithful Jackeymo would never have had the heart to avail him- 
 self of the generosity of his master. He had a sort of religious 
 sentiment, too, about those vestments of the Padrone. The 
 ancients, we know, when escaping from shipwreck, suspended 
 in the votive temple the garments in which they had struggled 
 through the wave. Jackeymo looked on those relics of the 
 past with a kindred superstition. " This coat the Padrone wore 
 on such an occasion. I remember the very evening the Padrone 
 last put on those pantaloons ! " And coat and pantaloons were 
 tenderly dusted, and carefully restored to their sacred rest. 
 
 But now, after all, what was to be done ? Jackeymo was much 
 too proud to exhibit his person to the eyes of the Squire's but- 
 ler, in habiliments discreditable to himself and the Padrone. 
 In the midst of his perplexity the bell rang, and he went down 
 into the parlor. 
 
 Riccabocca was standing on the hearth, under his symbolical 
 representation of the "Patriae Exul." 
 
 " Giacomo," quoth he, " I have been thinking that thou hast 
 never done what I told thee, and fitted thyself out from my 
 superfluities. But we are going now into the great world ; visit- 
 ing once begun, Heaven knows where it may stop ! Go to the 
 nearest town, and get thyself clothes. Things are dear in Eng- 
 land. Will this suffice ? " and Riccabocca extended a ^5 note. 
 
 Jackeymo, we have seen, was more familiar with his master 
 than we formal English permit our domestics to be with us. But
 
 96 MY NOVEL ; OR 
 
 in his familiarity he was usually respectful. This time, how- 
 ever, respect deserted him. 
 
 " The Padrone is mad ! " he exclaimed ; " he would fling away 
 his whole fortune if I would let him. Five pounds English, or 
 a hundred and twenty-six pounds Milanese !* Santa Maria ! 
 Unnatural father ! And what is to become of the poor Signo- 
 rina ? Is this the way you are to marry her in the foreign land ? " 
 
 " Giacomo," said Riccabocca, bowing his head to the storm, 
 " the Signorina to-morrow ; to-day the honor of the house. Thy 
 small-clothes, Giacomo. Miserable man, thy small-clothes ! " 
 
 " It is just," said Jackeymo, recovering himself, and with 
 humility ; "and the Padrone does right to blame me, but not 
 in so cruel a way. It is just the Padrone lodges and boards 
 me, and gives me handsome wages, and he has a right to. expect 
 that I should not go in this figure." 
 
 " For the board and the lodgment, .good," said Riccabocca. 
 " For the handsome wages, they are the visions of thy fancy ! " 
 
 " They are no such things," said Jackeymo; " they are only in 
 arrear. As if the Padrone could not pay them some day or other 
 as if I was demeaning myself by serving a master who did not 
 .intend to pay his servants ! And can't I wait ? Have I not my 
 savings too ? But be cheered, be cheered ; you shall be contented 
 with me. I have two beautiful suits still. I was arranging 
 them when you rang for me. You shall see, you shall see." 
 
 And Jackeymo hurried from the room, hurried back into his 
 own chamber, unlocked a little trunk which he kept at his bed 
 head, tossed out a variety of small articles, and from the deep- 
 est depth extracted a leather purse. He emptied the contents 
 on the bed. They were chiefly Italian coins, some five-franc 
 pieces, a silver medallion, enclosing a little image of his patron 
 saint San Giacomo one solid English guinea, and somewhat 
 more than a pound's worth in English silver. Jackeymo put back 
 the foreign coins, saying, prudently, " One will lose on them 
 here": he seized the English coins, and counted them out. "But 
 are you enough, you rascals ! " quoth- he, angrily, giving them a 
 good shake. His eye caught sight of the medallion :he paused; 
 and after eyeing the tiny representation of the saint, with great 
 deliberation, he added in -a sentence which; he must have picked 
 up from the proverbial aphorisms of his master 
 
 " What's the difference between the enemy who does not hurt 
 me, and the friend who does not serve me ? Monsignort San 
 Giacomo^ my patron saint, you are of very little use tome in the 
 leather bag. But i/ you help me to get into a new pair of small- 
 
 ' * By the pounds Milanese, Giacomo means the Milanese lira.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 97 
 
 clothes on this important occasion, you will be a friend indeed. 
 Alia bisogna. Monsignore." Then, gravely kissing the medallion, 
 he thrust it into one pocket, the coins into the other, made up a 
 bundle of the two defunct suits, and muttering to himself, 
 " Beast, miser that I am, to disgrace the Padrone, with all these 
 savings in his se-rvice ! " ran down stairs into his pantry, caught 
 up his hat ^nd stick, and in a few moments more was seen trudg- 
 ing off to the neighboring town of L . 
 
 Apparently the poor Italian succeeded, for he came back that 
 evening, in time to prepare the thin gruel which made his mas- 
 ter's supper, with a suit of black a little threadbare, but still 
 highly respectable two shirt fronts, and two white cravats. But, 
 out of all this finery, Jackeyrno held the small-clothes in especial 
 veneration ; for, as they had cost exactly what the medallion had 
 sold for, so it seemed to him that San Giacomo had heard his 
 prayer in that quarter to which he had more exclusively directed 
 the saint's attention. The other habiliments came to him in 
 the merely human process of sale and barter ; the smallclothes 
 were the personal gratuity of San Giacomo ! 
 ; " 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 . 
 LIFE has been subjected to many ingenious comparisons ; and 
 
 if we do not understand it any better, it is not for want of what 
 is called "reasoning by illustration." Amongst other resem- 
 blances, there are moments when, to a quiet contemplator, it 
 suggests the imag^of one of those rotatory entertainments com- 
 monly seen in fairs and known by the name of " whirligigs or 
 roundabouts," in which each participator of the pastime, seated 
 on his hobby, is always apparently in the act of pursuing some 
 one before him, while he is pursued by some one behind. Men, 
 and women too, are naturally animals of chase ; the greatest 
 still find something to follow, and there is no one too humble not 
 to be an object of prey to another. Thus, confining our view to 
 the village of Hazeldean we behold in this whirligig Dr. Ricca- 
 bocca spurring his hobby after Lenny Fairfield ; and Miss Je- 
 mima, on her decorous side-saddle, whipping after Dr. Ricca- 
 bocca. Why, with so long and intimate a conviction of the 
 villany of our sex, Miss Jemima should resolve upon giving the 
 male animal one more chance of redeeming itself in her eyes, I 
 leave to the explanation of those gentlemen who profess to find 
 " their only books in woman's looks." Perhaps it might be from 
 the over-tenderness and clemency of Miss Jemima's nature; 
 perhaps it might be that, as yet, she had only experienced the vil-
 
 98 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 lany of man born and reared in these cold northern climates ; 
 and in the land of Petrarch and Romeo, of the citron and myrtle, 
 there was reason to expect that the native monster would be 
 more amenable to gentle influences, less obstinately hardened in 
 his iniquities. Without entering further into these hypotheses, 
 it is sufficient to say, that, on Signer Riccabocca's appearance in 
 the drawing-room at Hazeldean, Miss Jemima felt more than 
 ever rejoiced that she had relaxed in his favor her general hos- 
 tility to men. In truth, though Frank saw something quizzical 
 in the old-fashioned and outlandish cut of the Italian's sober 
 dress ; : in his long hair, and the chapeau bras, over which he 
 bowed so gracefully and then pressed it, as if to his heart, be- 
 fore tucking it under his arm, after the fashion in which the 
 gizzard reposes under the wing of a roasted pullet ; yet it was 
 impossible that even Frank could deny to Riccabocca that praise 
 which is due to the air and mannerof anunmistakablegentleman. 
 And certainly as, after dinner, conversation grew more familiar, 
 and the Parson and Mrs. Dale, who had been invited to meet their 
 friend, did their best to draw him out, his talk, though sometimes 
 a little too wise for his listeners, became eminently animated and 
 agreeable. It was the conversation of a man who, besides the 
 knowledge which is acquired from books and life, had studied the 
 art which becomes a gentleman that of pleasing in polite society. 
 
 The result was that all were charmed with him, and that even 
 Captain Barnabas postponed the whist-table for a full houi 
 after the usual time. The 'Doctor did not play he thus became 
 the property of the two ladies, Miss Jemima and Mrs. Dale. 
 
 Seated between the two, in the place rightly appertaining to 
 Flimsey, who this time was fairly dislodged, to her great won^ 
 der and discontent, the Doctor was the emblem of true Domes* 
 tic Felicity, placed between Friendship and Love. 
 ; Friendship, as became her, worked quietly at the embroid- 
 ered pocket-handkerchief, and left Love to more animated 
 operations. "You must be very lonely at the Casino," said 
 Love, in a sympathizing tone. 
 
 "Madam," replied Riccabocca gallantly, "I shall think so 
 when I leave you." 
 
 Friendship cast a sly glance at Love-r Love blushed, or look- 
 ed down on the carpet, which comes to the same thing. " .Yet,'' 
 began Love again "yet solitude to a feeling heart " 
 
 Riccabocca thought of the note of invitation, and involun- 
 tarily buttoned his coat, as if to protect the individual, organ, 
 thus alarmingly referred to. 
 
 " Solitude, to a feeling heart, has its charms. It is so hard
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 99 
 
 even for us poor ignorant women to find a congenial compan- 
 ion rbut for you /" Love stopped short, as if it had said too 
 much, and smelt confusedly at its bouquet. 
 
 Dr. Riccabocca cautiously lowered his spectacles, and darted 
 one glance, which, with the rapidity and comprehensiveness of 
 lightning, seemed to envelop and take in, as it were, the whole 
 inventory of Miss Jemima's personal attractions. Now, Miss 
 Jemima, as I have before observed, had a mild and pensive ex- 
 pression of countenance, and she would have been positively 
 pretty had the mildness looked a little more alert, and the pen- 
 siveness somewhat less lackadaisical. In fact, though Miss 
 Jemima was constitutionally mild, she was not de naturd pen- 
 sive; she had too much of the Hazeldean blood in her veins for 
 that sullen and viscid humor called melancholy, and therefore 
 this assumption of pensiveness really spoiled her character of 
 features, which only wanted to be lighted up by a cheerful 
 smile to be extremely prepossessing. The same remark might 
 apply to the figure, which thanks to the same pensiveness 
 lost all the undulating grace which movement and animation 
 bestow on the fluent curves of the feminine form. The figure 
 was a good figure, examined in detail a little thin, perhaps, but 
 by no means -emaciated with just and elegant proportions, and 
 naturally light and flexible. But that same unfortunate pensive- 
 ness gave to the whole a character of inertness and languor; and 
 when Miss Jemima reclined on the sofa, so completeseemedthere- 
 laxation of nerve and muscle that you would have thought she had 
 loSt the use of her limbs. Over her face and form, thus defrauded 
 of the charms Providence had bestowed on them, Dr. Riccaboc- 
 ca's eye glanced rapidly; and then moving nearer to Mrs. Dale 
 "Defend me" (he stopped a moment, and added) "from the 
 charge of not being able to appreciatecongenial companionship." 
 
 "Oh, I did not say that !" cried Miss Jemima. 
 
 " Pardon me," said the Italian, " if I am so dull as to misun- 
 derstand you. One may welMose one's head, at least, in such 
 a neighborhood as this." He rose as he spoke, and bent over 
 Frank's shoulder to examine some Views of Italy, which Miss 
 Jemima (with what, if wholly unselfish, would have been an at- 
 tention truly delicate) had extracted from the library in order 
 to gratify the guest. 
 
 " Most interesting creature, indeed," sighed- Miss Jemima, 
 "but too too flattering." 
 
 " Tell; me," said Mrs. Dale, gravely, "do you think, love, that 
 you could put off the end of the world a little longer, or must 
 we make haste in order to be in time ? "
 
 100 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 " How wicked you are ! " said Miss Jemima, turning aside. 
 
 Some few minutes afterward, Mrs. Dale contrived it so that 
 Dr. Riccabocca and herself were in a further corner of the 
 room, looking at a picture said to be by Wouvermans. 
 
 MRS. DALE. She is very amiable, Jemima, is 'she not ? 
 
 RICCABOCCA. Exceedingly so. Very fine battle-piece ! 
 
 MRS. DALE. So kind-hearted. 
 
 RICCABOCCA. All ladies are. How naturally that warrior 
 makes his desperate cut at the runaway ! 
 
 MRS. DALE. She is not what is called regularly handsome, 
 but she has something very winning. 
 
 RICCABOCCA (with a smile). -So winning, that it is strange 
 she is not won. That gray mare in the foreground stands out 
 very boldly ! 
 
 MRS. DALE (distrusting the smile of Riccabocca, and throw- 
 ing in a more effective grape charge). 'Not won yet; and it fs 
 strange ! she will have a very pretty fortune. 
 
 RICCABOCCA. Ah ! 
 
 MRS.DALE. Six thousand pounds, I dare say certainly four. 
 
 RICCABOCCA (suppressing a sigh, and with his wonted ad- 
 dress). If Mrs. Dale werti still single, she would never need a 
 friend to say what her portion might be; but Miss Jemima is 
 so good that I am quite sure it is not Miss Jemima's fault that 
 she is still Miss Jemima ! 
 
 The foreigner slipped away as he spoke, and sate himself 
 down beside the whist-players. 
 
 Mrs. Dale was disappointed, but certainly not offended. "It 
 would be such a good thing for both," muttered she, almost 
 audibly. 
 
 " Giacomo," said Riccabocca, as he was undressing that night 
 in the large, comfortable, well-carpeted English bed-room, with 
 that great English four-posted bed in the recess which seems 
 made to shame folks out of single-blessedness " Giacomo, I 
 have had this evening the offer of probably six thousand pounds 
 certainly of four thousand." 
 
 " Cosa meravigliosa ! " exclaimed Jackeymo "miraculous 
 thing ! " and he crossed himself with great fervor. " Six thou- 
 sand pounds English ! why, that must be a hundred thousand 
 blockhead that I am ! more than a hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand pounds Milanese ! " And Jackeymo, who was consider- 
 ably enlivened by the Squire's ale, commenced a series of ges- 
 ticulations and capers', in the midst of which he stopped and 
 cried, " But not for nothing ? " 
 
 " Nothing ! no."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. IO1 
 
 " These mercenary English! the Government wants to bribe 
 you." 
 
 "That's not it." 
 
 "The priests want you to turn heretic." 
 
 " Worse than that," said the philosopher. 
 
 " Worse than that ! O Padrone ! for shame ! " 
 
 " Don't be a fool, but pull off my pantaloons they want me 
 never to wear these again ! " 
 
 " Never to wear what ?" exclaimed Jackeymo, staring outright 
 at his master's long legs in theirlinen drawers "never to wear " 
 
 " The breeches," said Riccabocca, laconically. 
 
 " The barbarians ! " faltered Jackeymo. 
 
 " My nightcap ! and never to have any comfort in this," said 
 Riccabocca, drawing on the cotton head-gear; "and never to 
 have any sound sleep-.in that," pointing to the four-posted bed. 
 "And to be a bondsman and a slave," continued Riccabocca, 
 waxing wroth; " and lobe wheedled and purred at, and pawed, 
 and clawed, and scolded, and fondled, and blinded, and deaf- 
 ened, and bridled, and saddled -bedevilled and married ! " 
 
 " Married ! " said Jackeymo, more dispassionately " that's 
 very bad, certainly; but more than a hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand lire, and perhaps a pretty young lady, and " 
 
 " Pretty young lady! " growled Riccabocca, jumping into bed 
 and drawing the clothes fiercely over him. " Put out the can- 
 dle, and get along with you do, you villanous old incendiary!" 
 
 ' , . 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 i 
 
 IT was not many days since the resurrection of those ill- 
 omened stocks, and it was evident already, to an ordinary ob- 
 server, that something wrong had got into the village. 'The peas- 
 ants wore a sullen expression of countenance; when the Squire 
 passed, they took off their hats with more than ordinary formality, 
 but they did not return the same broad smile to his quick, hearty 
 "Good-day,my man." The women peered at him from the thresh- 
 old of the casement, but did not, as was their wont (at least the 
 wont of the prettiest), take occasion to come out to catch his pass- 
 ing compliment on their good looks,or their tidy cottages. And 
 th echildren, who used to play after work on the site of theold stocks, 
 no\vshunnedtheplace,and, indeed, seemed toceaseplay altogether. 
 
 On the other hand, no man likes to build, or rebuild, a great 
 public work for nothing. Now that the Squire had resuscitated 
 the stocks, and made them so exceedingly handsome, it was 
 natural that he should wish to put somebody into them. More-
 
 io2 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 over, his pride and self-esteem had been wounded by the Par- 
 son's opposition ; and it would be a justification to his own 
 forethought, and a triumph over the Parson's understanding, if 
 he could satisfactorily and practically establish a proof that 
 the stocks had not been repaired before they were wanted. 
 
 Therefore, unconsciously to himself, there was something 
 about the Squire more burly, and authoritative, and menacing 
 than heretofore. Old Gaffer Solomons observed, that " they 
 had better "moind well what they were about, for that the 
 Squire had a wicked look in the tail of his eye just as the 
 dun bull had afore it tossed neighbor Barnes's little boy." 
 
 For two or three days these mute signs of something brewing 
 in the- atmosphere had been rather noticeable than noticed, 
 without any positive overt act of tyranny on the one hand, or 
 rebellion on the other. But on the very Saturday night in 
 which Dr. Riccabocca was installed in the four-posted bed in 
 the chintz chamber, the threatened revolution commenced. In 
 the dead of that night, personal outrage was committed on the 
 stocks. And on Sunday morning, Mr. Stirn, who was the earliest 
 riser in the parish, perceived, on going to the farm-yard, that the 
 knob of.the column that flanked the board had been feloniously- 
 broken off ; that the four holes .were bunged up with mud ; and 
 that some Jacobinical villain had carved on the very centre of the 
 flourish or scroll-work, "Damthestoks!" Mr. Stirn 'wasmuch too 
 vigilant a right-hand man, much too zealous a friend olaw and 
 order,not to regard such proceedings withhorror and alarm. And 
 when theSquirecameinto his dressing-room at half-pastseven, his 
 butler (who fulfilled also the duties of valet) informed him, with a 
 rnysteriousair,thatMr.Stirnhadsomething"verypartiklertocom- 
 municate, about a most howdacious midnight 'spiracy and 'sault." 
 
 The Squire stared, and bade Mr. Stirn be admitted. 
 
 " Well ?" cried the Squire, suspending the operation of strop- 
 ping his razor. 
 
 Mr. Stirn .groaned. 
 
 "Well, man, what now?" 
 
 "I never knowed such a thing in this here parish afore," 
 began Mr. Stirn, " and I can only 'count for it by s'posing that 
 them foreign Papishers have been semminating " 
 
 " Been what ?" 
 
 " Semminating " 
 
 " Disseminating, you blockhead disseminating what?" 
 " Damn the stocks," began Mr. Stirn, plunging right in medias 
 res, and by a fine use of one of the noblest figures in rhetoric.> 
 
 "Mr. Stirn !" cried the Squire, reddening, "did you say
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 103 
 
 ' Damn the stocks ? ' damn my new handsome pair of stocks ! " 
 
 " Lord forbid, sir ; that's what they say ; that's what they have 
 digged on it with knives and daggers, and they have stuffed mud 
 in its four holes, and broken the capital of the elewation." 
 
 The Squire took the napkin off his shoulder, laid down strop 
 and razor ; he seated himself in his arm-chair majestically, 
 crossed his legs, and, in a voice that affected tranquillity, said : 
 
 "Compose yourself, Stirn ; you have a deposition to make^ 
 touching an assault upon can I trust my senses ? upon my 
 new stocks. Compose yourself be calm. NOW ! What the 
 devil is come to the parish ? " 
 
 "Ah, sir, what indeed?" replied Mr. Stirn ; and then laying 
 the fore-finger of the right hand on the palm of the left, he 
 narrated the case. 
 
 "And whom do you suspect ? Be calm now ; don't speak in 
 a passion. You are a witness, sir a dispassionate, unprejudiced 
 witness. Zounds and fury ! this is the most insolent, unpro- 
 voked, diabolical but whom do you suspect, I say ? " 
 
 Stirn twirled his hat, elevated his eyebrows, jerked his thumb 
 over his shoulder, and whispered " I hear as how the two 
 Papishers slept at your honor's last night." 
 
 " What, dolt ! do- y6u suppose Dr. Rickeybockey got out of 
 his warm bed to bung up the holes in my new stocks?" 
 
 "Noa; he's too cunning to do it himself, but he may have been 
 semminating. He'smighty thick with Parson Dale,andyourhonor 
 knows as how the Parson set his face ag'in the stocks. Wait a 
 bit, sir don't fly at me yet. There be a boy in this here parish " 
 
 " A boy ah, fool, now you are nearer the mark. The Parson 
 write ' Damn the stocks,' indeed ! What boy do you mean ? " 
 
 "And that boy be cockered up much by Mr. Dale; and the 
 Papisher went and sat with him and his mother a whole hour 
 t'other day, and that boy is as deep as a well ; and I seed him 
 lurking about the place, and hiding hisself under the tree the 
 day the stocks was put up and that 'ere boy is Lenny Fail-field." 
 
 " Whew," said the Squire, whistling, " you have not your usual 
 sense about you to-day, man. Lenny Fairfield pattern boy of 
 the village. Hold your tongue. I dare say it is not done by 
 any one in the parish, after all; some good-for-nothing vagrant 
 that cursed tinker, who goes about with a very vicious donkey 
 donkey that I caught picking thistles out of the very eyes of the 
 old stocks ! Shows how the tinker brings up his donkeys ! Well, 
 keep a sharp look-out. To-day is Sunday; worst day of the 
 week, I'm sorry and ashamed to say, for rows and depredations. 
 Between the services, and after evening church, there are al-
 
 104 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 ways idle fellows from all the neighboring country about, as you 
 know too well. Depend on it, the real culprits will be found 
 gathering round the stocks, and will betray themselves ; have 
 your eyes, ears, and wits about you, and I've no doubt we shall 
 come to the rights of the matter before the day's out. And if we 
 do," added the Squire, "we'll make an example of the ruffian ! " 
 
 " In course,"' said Stirn; " and if we don't find him, we must 
 make an example all the same. That's what it is, sir. That's 
 why the stocks ben't respected; they has not had an example 
 yet we want an example." 
 
 "On my word, I believe that's very true; and we'll clap in 
 the first idle fellow you catch in anything wrong, and keep him 
 there for two hours at least." 
 
 "With the biggest pleasure, your honor that's what it is." 
 
 And Mr. Stirn, having now got what he considered a com- 
 plete and unconditional authority over all the legs and wrists 
 of Hazeldean parish, quoad the stocks, took his departure. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "RANDAL," said Mrs. Leslie, on this memorable Sunday 
 " Randal, do you think of going to Mr. Hazeldean's ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," answered Randal. " Mr. Egerton does not 
 object to it; and as I do not return to Eton, I may have no 
 Other opportunity of seeing Frank for some time. I ought not 
 to fail in respect to Mr. Egerton 's natural heir." 
 
 "Gracious me ! " cried Mrs. Leslie, who, like many women 
 of her cast and kind, had a sort of worldliness in her notions, 
 which she never evinced in her conduct "gracious me! 
 natural heir to the old Leslie property ! " 
 
 " He is Mr. Egerton's nephew, and, "added Randal, ingenuously 
 letting out his thoughts, "I am no relation to Mr. Egerton at all." 
 
 " But," said poor Mrs. Leslie, with tears in her eyes, " it 
 would be a shame in the man, after paying your schooling and 
 sending you to Oxford, and having you to stay with him in the 
 holidays, if he did not mean anything by it," 
 
 "Anything, mother yes but not the thing you suppose. 
 No matter. It is enough that he has armed me for life, and I 
 shall use the weapons as seems to me best." 
 
 Here the dialogue was suspended by the entrance of the 
 other members of the family, dressed for church. 
 
 "It can't he time for church ! No ! it can't ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Leslie. She was never in time for anything. 
 
 " Last bell ringing," said Mr. Leslie, who, though a slow man,
 
 VARIETIES IN-ENGLISH LIFE. 10$ 
 
 was methodical and punctual. Mrs. Leslie made a frantic rush 
 at the door, the Montfydget blood being now in a blaze dashed 
 up the stairs burst into her room, tore her best bonnet from 
 the peg, snatched her newest shawl from the drawers, crushed 
 the bonnet on her head, flung the shawl on her shoulders, thrust 
 a desperate pin into its folds, in order to conceal a buttonless 
 yawn in the body of her gown, and then flew back like a whirl- 
 wind. Meanwhile the family were already out of doors, in 
 waiting ; and just as the bell ceased, the procession moved from 
 the shabby house to the dilapidated church. 
 
 The church was a large one, but the congregation was small, 
 and so was the income of the Parson. It was a lay rectory, 
 and the great tithes had belonged to the Leslies, but they had 
 been long since sold. The vicarage, still in their gift, might be 
 worth a little more than ;ioo a year. The present incumbent 
 had nothing else to live upon. He was a good man, and riot 
 originally a stupid one ; but penury and the anxious cares for 
 wife and family, combined with what may be called solitary con- 
 finement for. the cultivated mind, when, amidst the two-legged 
 creatures round, it sees no other cultivated mind with which it 
 can exchange one extra-parochial thought had lulled him into 
 a lazy mournfulness, which at times was very like imbecility. 
 His income allowed him to do no good to the parish, whether in 
 work, trade, or charity ; and'thus he had no moral weight with 
 the parishioners beyond the example of his sinless life, and such 
 negative effect as might be produced by his slumberous exhor- 
 tations. Therefore his parishioners troubled him very little ; 
 and but for the influence which, in hours of Montfydget activity, 
 Mrs. Leslie exercised over the most tractable that is, the chil- 
 dren and the aged not half a dozen persons would have known 
 or cared whether he shut up his church or not. 
 
 But our family were seated in state in their old seignorial pew, 
 and Mr. Dumdrum, with a nasal twang, went lugubriously 
 through the prayers ; and the old people who could sin no more, 
 and the children who had not yet learned to sin, croaked forth 
 responses that might have come from the choral frogs in Aristo- 
 phanes. And there was a long sermon Apropos to nothing 
 which could possibly interest the congregation being, in fact, 
 some controversial homily, which Mr. Dumdrum had composed 
 and preached: years before. And when this discourse was over 
 there was a loud universal grunt, as if of relief and thanksgiv- 
 ing, and a great clatter of shoes and the old hobbled, and the 
 young scrambled, to the church door. 
 
 Immediately 1 after .church, the Leslie family dined; and as
 
 106 MY NOVEL ; OR 
 
 soon as dinner was Over, Randal set out on his foot journey to 
 Hazeldean Hall. 
 
 Delicate and even feeble though his frame, he had the en- 
 ergy and quickness of movement which belongs to nervous tem- 
 peraments ; and ; he tasked the slow stride of a peasant, whom 
 he took to serve him as a guide for the first two or three miles. 
 Though Randal had not the gracious, open manner with the 
 poor which Frank inherited from his father, he was still (des- 
 pite many a secret hypocritical vice at war with the character of 
 a gentleman) gentleman enough to have nochurlish pride to his 
 inferiors. He talked little, but he suffered;his guide to talk; and 
 the boor, who was the same whom Frank had accosted, indulged 
 in eulogistic comments on that young gentleman's pony, from 
 which he diverged in to some compliments on the young gentleman 
 himself. Randal drew his hat over his brows. There is a wonder- 
 ful tact and fine breeding in your agricultural peasant; and though 
 Tom Stowell was buta brutish specimen of the class, he suddenly 
 perceived that he was giving pain. He paused, scratched his head, 
 and glancing affectionately toward his companion, exclaimed 
 
 " But I shall live to see you on a handsomer beastis than that 
 little: pony, Master Randal ; and sure I ought, for you be as 
 good a gentleman as any in the land." 
 
 " Thank you," said Randal. " But I like walking better 
 than riding I am more used to it." 
 
 " Well, and you walk bra'ly there ben't a better walker in 
 the country. And very pleasant it is walking ; and 'tis a pretty 
 country afore you, all the way to the Hall." 
 
 Randal strode on, as if impatient of these attempts to flatter 
 or to soothe ; and, coming at length into a broader land, said 
 " I think I can find my way now. Many thanks to you, Tom "; 
 and he forced a .shilling into Tom's horny palm; The man 
 took it reluctantly, and a tear started to his eye. He felt more 
 grateful for that shilling than he had for Frank's liberal half- 
 crown ; and he thought of the poor fallen family, and forgot 
 his o\vn dire wrestle with the wolf at his door. 
 
 He stayed lingering in the lane till the figure of Randal was 
 out of sight, and then returned slowly. Young Leslie continued 
 to walk on at a quick pace. With all his intellectual culture, 
 and his restless aspirations, his breast afforded him no thought 
 so generous, no sentiment so poetic, as those with which the 
 unlettered clown crept slouchingly homeward. 
 
 As Randal gained a point where several lanes met on a broad 
 piece of waste land, he began to feel tired, and his step slack- 
 ened. Just then a gig emerged from one of these by-roads,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 107 
 
 and took the same direction as the pedestrian. The 1 road was 
 rough and hilly, and the driver proceeded at a foot's pace ; so 
 that the gig and the pedestrian went pretty well abreast. 
 
 "You seem tired, sir," said the driver, a'stout young farmer 
 of the higher class of tenants and he looked down compassion- 
 ately on the boy's pale countenance and weary stride, " Per- 
 haps we are going the same way, and I can.give you a lift ? " 
 
 It was Randal's habitual policy to make use of every advan- 
 tage proffered to him, and he accepted the proposal frankly 
 enough to please the honest farmer. 
 
 " A nice day, sir," said the latter, as Randal sat by his side. 
 " Have you come far ? " 
 
 "From Rood Hall." 
 
 " Oh, you be young Squire Leslie," said the farmer, more 
 respectfully, and lifting his hat. 
 
 " Yes, my name is Leslie. You know Rood, then ? " 
 
 " I was brought up on your father's land, sir. You may 
 have heard of Farmer Bruce ? " 
 
 RANDAL. I remember, when I was a little boy, a Mr. Bruce who 
 rented, I believe, the best part of our land^and who used to bring us 
 cakes when he called to see my father. He is a relation of yours? 
 
 FARMER BRUCE.-i-He was my uncle. He is dead now, poor 
 man. 
 
 RANDAL. Dead ! I am grieved to hear it. He was very kind 
 to us children:. But it is long since he left my father's fafm. 
 
 FARMER BRUCE (apologetically). I am' sure he was very 
 sorry to go. But, you see, he had an unexpected legacy 
 
 RANDAL. And retired from business ? 
 
 FARMER BRUCE. No. But, having capital, he could afford 
 to pay a good rent for a. real good farm. 
 
 RANDAL (bitterly). All capital seems to fly from the lands 
 of Rood. And whose farm did he take ? 
 
 FARMER BRUCE. He took Hawleigh, under Squire Hazel- 
 dean. I rent it now. We've laid out a power o' money on it. 
 But I don't complain. It pays well. 
 
 RANDAL. Would the money have paid ais well, sunk on my 
 father's land ? 
 
 FARMER BRUCE. Perhaps it might, in the long run. But 
 then, sir, we wanted new premises barns and cattle-sheds, and 
 a deal more which the landlord should do ; but it is not every 
 landlord as can afford that. Squire Hazeldean's a rich man. 
 
 RANDAL. ^Ay ! 
 
 The road now became pretty good, and the farmer put his 
 horse into a brisk trot.
 
 108 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " But which way be you going, sir ? I don't care for a few 
 miles more or less, if I can be of service." 
 
 " I am going to Hazeldean," said Randal, rousing himself 
 from a reverie. " Don't let me take you out of your way." 
 
 " Oh, Hawleigh Farm is on the other side of the village, so it 
 be quite my way, sir." 
 
 The farmer, then, who was really a smart young fellow one 
 of that race which the.application of capital to land has pro- 
 duced, and which, in point of education and refinement, are at 
 least on a par with the squires of a former generation began 
 to talk about his handsome horse, about horses in general, about 
 hunting and coursing ; he handled all these subjects with spirit, 
 yet with modesty. Randal pulled his hat still lower down over his 
 brows, and did not interrupt him till they passed the Casino, when, 
 struck by the classic air of the place, and catching a scent from 
 the orange-trees, the boy asked abruptly "Whose house is that?" 
 
 "Oh, it belongs to Squire Hazeldean, but it is let or lent to a 
 foreign Mounseer. They say he is quite'the gentleman, but un- 
 commonly poor." 
 
 "Poor," said Randal, turning back to gaze on the trim garden, 
 the neat terrace, the pretty belvidere, and (the door of the house 
 being open) catching a glimpse of thepainted hall within *"poor? 
 the place seems well kept. What do you call poor, Mr. Bruce ? " 
 
 The farmer laughed. " Well, that's a home question, sir. 
 But I believe the Mounseer is as poor as a man can be who 
 makes no debts and does not actually starve." 
 
 " As poor as my father ? " asked Randal, openly and abruptly. 
 
 " Lord, sir ! your father be a very rich man'compared to him." 
 
 Randal continued to gaze, and his mind's eye conjured up the 
 contrast of his slovenly shabby home, with all its neglected ap- 
 purtenances ! No trim garden at Rood Hall, no scent from 
 odorous orange-blossoms. Here poverty at least was elegant 
 there, how squalid ! He did not comprehend at how cheap a 
 rate the luxury of the Beautiful can be effected. They now ap- 
 proached the extremity of the Squire's park pales ; and Randal, 
 seeing a little gate, bade the farmer stop his gig, and descended. 
 The boy plunged amidst the thick oak-groves ; the farmer went 
 his way blithely, and his mellow merry whistle came to Randal's 
 moody ear as he glided quick under the shadow of the trees. 
 
 He arrived at the Hall, to find that all the family were at 
 church ; and, according to the patriarchal custom, the church- 
 going family embraced nearly all the servants. It was therefore 
 an old invalid housemaid who opened the door to him. She was 
 rather deaf, and seemed so stupid that Randal did not ask leave to
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. lot, 
 
 enter and wait for Frank'sreturn. He therefore said briefly that he 
 would just stroll on the lawn, and call again when church was over. 
 
 The old woman stared, and strove to hear him ; meanwhile 
 Randal turned round abruptly, and sauntered toward the gar- 
 den side of the handsome old house, 
 
 There was enough to attract any eye in the smooth greensward 
 of the spacious lawn in the numerous parterres of variegated 
 flowers in the venerable grandeur of the two mighty cedars, 
 which threw the"ir still shadows over the grass and in the pic- 
 turesque building, with its projecting mullions and heavy gables; 
 yet I fear that it was with no poet's nor painter's eye that this 
 young old man gazed on the scene before him. 
 
 He beheld the evidence of wealth and the envy of wealth 
 jaundiced his soul. 
 
 Folding his arms on his breast, he stood awhile, looking all 
 around him, with closed Hps and lowering brow ; then he walked 
 slowly on, his eyes fixed on the ground, and muttered to himself 
 
 " The heir to this property is little better than a dunce ; and 
 they tell me I have talents and learning, and I have taken to my 
 heart the maxim, ' Knowledge is power.' And yet, with all my 
 struggles, will knowledge ever place me on the same level as that 
 on which this dunce is born ? I don't wonder that the poor 
 should hate the rich. But of all the poor, who should hate the 
 rich like the pauper gentleman? I suppose Audley Egerton 
 means me to come into Parliament, and be a Tory like himself ! 
 What ! keep things as they are ! No ; for me not even Democ- 
 racy, unless there first come Revolution. I understand the cry 
 of a Marat 'More blood !"' Marat had lived as a poor man, 
 and cultivated science in the sight of a prince's palace." 
 
 He turned sharply round, and glared vindictively on the poor 
 old Hall, which, though a very comfortable habitation, was cer- 
 tainly no palace ; and, with his arms still folded on his breast, 
 he walked backward^ as if not to lose the view, nor the chain of 
 ideas it conjured up. 
 
 " But," he continued to soliloquize " but of revolution there 
 is no chance. Yet the same wit and will that would thrive in 
 revolutions should thrive in this common-place life. Knowledge 
 is power. Well, then, shall I have no power to oust this block- 
 head ? Oust him what from ? His father's halls ? Well, but 
 if he were dead, who would be the heir of Hazeldean ? Have 
 I not heard my mother say that I am as near in blood to this 
 Squire as any one, if he had no children ? Oh, but the boy's life 
 is worth ten of mine ! Oust him from what ? At least from the 
 thoughts of his Uncle Egerton-: an uncle who has never even
 
 110 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 seen him ! That, at least, is more feasible. 'Make my way in 
 life,' sayest them, Audley Egerton. Ay and to the fortune thou 
 hast robbed from my ancestors. Simulation simulation. Lord 
 Bacon allows simulation. Lord Bacon practised it and " 
 
 Here the soliloquy came to a sudden end ; for as, rapt in his 
 thoughts, the boy had continued to walk backward, he had come 
 to the verge, where the lawn slided off into the ditch of the ha-ha; 
 and, just as he was fortifying himself by the precept and practice 
 of my Lord Bacon, the ground went from under him, and slap 
 into the ditch went Randal Leslie ! 
 
 It so happened that the Squire, whose active genius was al- 
 ways at some repair or improvement, had been but a few days 
 before widening and sloping off the ditch just in that part, so 
 that the earth was fresh and damp, and not yet either turfed or 
 flattened down. Thus when Randal, recovering his first sur- 
 prise and shock, rose to his feet, he found his clothes coveted 
 with mud; while the rudeness of the fall was evinced by the fan- 
 tastic and -extraordinary appearance of his hat, which, hollowed 
 here/ bulging there, and crushed out of all recognition generally, 
 was as little like the hat of a decorous, hard reading young gen- 
 tleman protigtvi the dignified Mr. Audley Egerton as any hat 
 picked out of a kennel after some drunken brawl possibly could be. 
 
 Randal was dizzy, and stunned, and bruised, and it was some 
 moments before he took heed of his raiment. When he did 
 so, his spleen was greatly aggravated. He was still boy enough 
 not to like the idea of presenting himself to the unknown 
 Squire, and the dandy Frank, in such a trim ; he resolved in- 
 continently to regain the lane and turn home, without accom- 
 plishing the object of his journey ; and seeing the footpath 
 right before him, which led to a gate that he conceived wbuld 
 admit him into the highway sooner than the path by which he 
 had come, he took it at once. 
 
 It is surprising how little we human Creatures heed the warn- 
 ings of our good genius. I have no doubt that some benignant 
 power had precipitated Randal Leslie into the ditch, as a sig- 
 nificant hint of the fate of all who choose what is, now-a-days, 
 by no means an uncommon step in the march of intellect viz., 
 the walking backward, in order to gratify a vindictive view of 
 one's neighbor's property ! I suspect' that, before this century 
 is out, many a fine fellow will thus have found his ha-ha, and 
 scrambled out of the ditch with a much shabbier coat than he 
 had on when he fell into it. But Randal did not thank his 
 good genius for giving him a premonitory tumble; and I 
 never .yet knew a man who did !
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. Ill 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE Squire was greatly ruffled at breakfast that morning. He 
 was too much of an Englishman to bear insult patiently, and he 
 considered that he had been personally insulted in the outrage 
 offered to his recent donation to the parish. His feelings, too, 
 were hurt as well as his pride. There was something so un- 
 grateful in the whole thing, just after he had taken so much 
 pains, not only in the resuscitation, but the embellishment of the 
 stocks. It was not, hovvever,so rare an occurrence for the Squire 
 to be ruffled, as to create any remark. Riccabocca, indeed, as. a 
 stranger, and Mrs. Hazeldean,as a wife, had the quick tact to per- 
 ceive that the host wasglum and the husband snappish; buttheone 
 was too discreet, and the other too sensible, to chafe the new sore, 
 whatever it might be; and shortly after breakfast the Squire re- 
 tired into his study, and absented himself from morning service. 
 
 In his delightful Life of Oliver Goldsmith, Mr. Forster takes 
 care to touch our hearts by introducing his hero's excuse for not 
 entering the priesthood: "He did not fee! himself good 
 enough." Thy Vicar of Wakefield, poor Goldsmith, was an ex- 
 cellent substitute for. thee ; and Dr. Primrose at least will be 
 good enough for the world until Miss Jemima's fears are real- 
 ized. N6\v, Squire Hazeldean had a tenderness of conscience 
 much less reasonable than Goldsmith's. There were occasion- 
 ally days in which he did not feel good enough 1 I don't say 
 for a priest, but even for one of the congregation -" days in 
 which," -said the Squire in his own blunt way, " as I have never 
 in my life m-et a worse devil than a devil of a temper, I'll not 
 carry mine into the family pew. He shan't be growling out hypo- 
 critical responses from my poor grandmother's prayer-book." So 
 theSquireand hisdemon stayed at home. But the demon was'gen- 
 erally cast out before the day was over; and, on this occasion, when 
 the bell rang for afternoon service, it may be presumed that the 
 Squire had reasoned or fretted himself into a proper state of mind ; 
 for he was then seen sallying forth from the porch of hishall,arm- 
 in-arm with his wife, and at the'head of his household. The sec- 
 ond service was (as is commonly the case in rural districts) more 
 numerously 1 attended than the first one ; and it was our Par- 
 son's wont to devote to this service his most effective discourse. 
 
 Parson Dale, though a very fair scholar, had neither the deep 
 theology nor the archaeological learning that distinguishes the 
 rising generation of the'clergyi I much doubt if he could have 
 passed what would now : be called a creditable examination in the
 
 112 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Fathers ; and as for all the nice formalities in the Rubric, he 
 would never have been the man to divide a congregation or 
 puzzle a bishop. Neither was Parson Dale very erudite in ec- 
 clesiastical architecture; he did not much care whether all the de- 
 tails in the church were purely Gothic or not; crockets and finials, 
 round arch and pointed arch, were matters, I fear, on which he had 
 never troubled his head. But one secret Parson Dale did possess, 
 which is perhaps of equal importance with those subtler mysteries 
 he knew how to fill his church ! Even at morning service no 
 pews were empty, and at evening service the church overflowed. 
 Parson Dale, too, may be considered, now-a-days, to hold but 
 a mean idea of the spiritual authority of the Church. He had 
 never been known to dispute on its exact bearing with the State 
 whether it was incorporated with the State, or above the 
 State, whether it was antecedent to the Papacy or formed from 
 'the Papacy, etc., etc. According to his favorite maxim, Quieta 
 non movere (not to disturb things that are quiet), I have no doubt 
 that he would have thought that the less discussion is provoked 
 upon such matters the better for both Church and laity. Nor 
 had he ever been known to regret the disuse of the ancient cus- 
 tom of excommunication, nor any other diminution of the pow- 
 ers of the priesthood, whether minatory or militant ; yet, for all 
 this, Parson Dale had a great notion of the sacred privilege of 
 a minister of the gospel to advise to deter to persuade to 
 reprove. And it was for the evening service that he prepared 
 those sermons, which may be called " sermons that preach at 
 you." He preferred the evening for that salutary discipline, 
 not only because the congregation was more numerous, but also 
 because, being a shrewd man in his own innocent way, he knew 
 that people bear better to be preached at after dinner than be- 
 fore ; that you arrive more insinuatingly at the heart when the 
 stomach is at peace. There was a genial kindness in Parson 
 Dale's way of preaching at you. It was done in so impercepti- 
 ble, fatherly a manner, that you never felt offended. He did it, 
 too, with so much art that nobody but your own guilty self knew 
 that you were the sinner he was exhorting. Yet he did not 
 spare rich nor poor ; he preached at the Squire, and that great 
 fat farmer, Mr. Bullock, the churchwarden, as boldly as at 
 Hodge the ploughman and Scrub the hedger. As for Mr. Stirn, 
 he had preached at him more often than at any one in the par- 
 ish ; but Stirn, though lie had the sense to know it, never had 
 the grace to reform. There was, too, in Parson Dale's sermons 
 something of that boldness of illustration which would have been 
 scholarly if he had not made it familiar, and which is found in
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 113 
 
 the discourses of our elder divines. Like them, he did not 
 scruple, now and then, to introduce an anecdote from history, 
 or borrow. an allusion from some non-scriptural author, in order 
 to enliven the attention of his audience, or render an argument 
 more plain. And the good man had an object in this, a little 
 distinct from, though wholly subordinate to, the main purpose 
 of his discourse. He was a friend to knowledge but to knowl- 
 edge accompanied by religion ; and sometimes his references to 
 sources not within the ordinary reading of his congregation 
 would spirit up some farmer's son, with an evening's leisure on 
 his hands, to ask the Parson for farther explanation, and so to be 
 lured on to a little solid or graceful instruction, under a safeguide. 
 
 Now, on the present occasion, the, Parson, who had always his 
 eye and heart on his flock, and who had seen with great grief 
 the realization of his fears at the revival of the stocks ; seen 
 that a spirit of discontent was already at work amongst the 
 peasants, and that magisterial and inquisitorial designs were 
 darkening the natural benevolence of the Squire ; seen, in short, 
 the signs of a breach between classes, and the precursors of the 
 ever-inflammable feud between the rich and the poor, meditated 
 nothing less than a great Political Sermon -a sermon that should 
 extract from the rootsof social truths a healingyirtuef or the wound 
 that lay sore, but latent, in the breast of his parish of Hazeldean. 
 
 And thus ran 
 
 THE POLITICAL SERMON OF PARSON DALE. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 . 
 
 " For every man shall bear his own burden." GAL., vi., 5. 
 " BRETHREN, every man has his burden. If God designed 
 our lives to end at the grave, may we not believe that he would 
 have freed an existence so brief from the cares and sorrows to 
 which, since the beginning of the world, mankind has been sub- 
 jected ? Suppose that I am a kind father, and have a child .whom 
 I dearly love, but I know by a Divine revelation that he will die 
 at the age of eight years, surely I should not vex his infancy by 
 needless preparations for the duties of life. .If I am a rich man, 
 I should not send him from the caresses of his mother to the 
 stern discipline of school. If I am a poor man, I should not take 
 him with me to hedge and dig, to scorch in the sun, to freeze in 
 the winter's cold ; why inflict hardships on his childhood for 
 the purpose of fitting him for manhood, when I know that he is 
 doomed not to grow into man ? But if, on the other hand, I 
 believe my child is reserved for a more durable existence, then 
 should I not, out of the very love I bear to him, prepare his
 
 114 MY NdVEL ; OR, 
 
 childhood for the struggle of life, according to that station in 
 which he is born, giving- many a toil, many a pain, to the infant, 
 in order to rear and strengthen him for his duties as man ? So it 
 is with our Father that is in heaven. Viewing this life as our in- 
 fancy, and the next as our spiritual maturity, where, 'in the ages 
 to come, he may show the exceeding riches of his grace,' it is in 
 his tenderness, as in his wisdom, to permit the toil and the pain 
 which, in tasking the powers and developing the virtues of the 
 soul, prepare it for ' the earnest of our inheritance.' Hence it is 
 that every man has his burden. Brethren, if you believe that 
 God is good, yea, but as tender as a human father, you will know 
 that your troubles in life are a proof that you are reared for an 
 eternity. But each man thinks his own burden the hardest to 
 bear ; the poor man groans under his poverty, the rich man un- 
 der the cares that multiply with wealth. For, so far from wealth 
 freeing us from trouble, all the wise men who have written in 
 all the ages have repeated, with one voice, the words of the 
 wisest : ' When goods increase, they are increased that eat them; 
 and what good is there to the owners thereof, saving the behold- 
 ing them with their eyes ?' And this is literally true, my breth- 
 ren ; for, let a man be as rich as was the great King Solomon 
 himself, unless he lock up all his gold in a chest, it must go 
 abroad to be divided amongst others; yea, though, like Solomon, 
 he make him great works though he build houses and plant 
 vineyards, and make him gardens and orchards, still the gold 
 that he spends feeds but the mouths he employs; and Solomon 
 himself could not eat with a better relish than the poorest ma- 
 son who builded the house,ortrie humblest laborer who planted 
 the vineyard. Therefore, ' when goods increase, they are in- 
 creased thateat them.' And this, my brethren, may teach us tolera- 
 tion and compassion for the rich. We share their riches, whether 
 they willor not; we do not share their cares. The profane history 
 of our own country telfs us that a princess, destined to be thegreat- 
 est queen that ever sat on this thron-e, envied the milkmaid sing- 
 ing; and a profane poet, whose wisdom was only less than that of 
 the inspired writers, represents the man who by force and wit had 
 risen to be a king, sighing for the sleep vouchsafed to the meanest 
 of his subjects all bearing out the words of the son of David: 
 ' The sleep of the laboring man is sweet, whether he eat little or 
 much; but the abundance of the rich will not suffer him to sleep.' 
 "Amongst my brethren now present, there is doubtless some 
 one who has been poor, and by honest industry has made him- 
 self comparatively rich. Let his heart answer me 'while I speak; 
 are not the chief cares that now disturb him to be found in the
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 11$ 
 
 goods he hath acquired ? has he not both vexations to his 
 spirit and trials to his virtue, which he knew not when he went 
 forth to his labor, and took no heed of the morrow ? But it is 
 right, my brethren, that to every station there should be its 
 care to every man his burden ; for if the poor did not some- 
 times so far feel poverty to be a burden as to desire to better 
 their condition, and (to use the language of the world) 'seek to 
 rise in life/ their most valuable energies would never be aroused; 
 and we should not witness that spectacle, which is so common 
 in the land we live in- namely, the successful struggle of manly 
 labor against adverse fortune a struggle in which the triumph 
 of one gives hope to the thousands. It is said that necessity is 
 the mother of invention; and the social blessings which are now 
 as common to us as air and sunshine, have come from that law 
 of Our nature which makes us aspire toward indefinite improve- 
 ment, enriches each successive generation by the labors of the 
 last, and in free countries often lifts the child of the laborer to 
 a place amongst the rulers'of the land. Nay, if necessity is the 
 mother of invention, poverty is the creator of the arts. If there 
 had been no poverty, and no sense of poverty, where would have 
 been that which we call the wealth of a country ? Subtract from 
 civilization all that has been produced by the poor, and what re- 
 mains ? the state of the savage. Where you now see laborer 
 and prince, you would see equality indeed the equality of wild 
 men. No ; not even equality there ! For there brute force be- 
 comes lordship and woe to the weak ! Where you now see 
 some in frieze, some in purple, you would see nakedness in all. 
 Where stands the palace and the cot, you would behold but mud 
 huts and caves. As far as the peasant excels the king among 
 savages, so far does the society exalted and enriched by the strug- 
 gles of labor excel the state in which Poverty feels no disparity v 
 andToil sighs for no ease. On the other hand, if the rich were per- 
 fectly contented with theirwealth,theirhearts would becomehard- 
 ened in the sensual enjoyments it procures. It is that feeling, by 
 Divine Wisdom implanted in the soul, that there is vanity and vex- 
 ation of spirit in the thingsof Mammon, which still leaves the rich 
 man sensitive to the instincts of heaven, and teacheshim toseek for 
 happiness in those beneficent virtues which distributees wealth 
 to the profit of others. If you could exclude the air from the rays 
 of the fire, the fire itself would soon languish and die in the midst 
 of its fuel; and so a man's joy in his wealth is kept alive by the 
 air which it warms; and if pent within itself is extinguished. 
 " And this, my brethren, leads me to another view of the vast 
 cubject opened to us by the words of the apostle ' Every man
 
 Il6 MVT NOVEL J OR, 
 
 shall bear his own bvirden.' The worldly conditions of life are 
 unequal. Why are they unequal ? O my brethren, do ye not per- 
 ceive? Think you that, if it had been better for our spiritual 
 probation that there should be neither great nor lowly, rich nor 
 poor,Providence would not so have ordered the dispensations of 
 the world, and so, by its mysterious but merciful agencies, have 
 influenced the framework and foundations of society? But if 
 from the remotest period of human annals, and in all the num- 
 berless experiments of government which the wit of man has 
 devised, still this inequality is ever found to exist, may we not 
 suspect that there is something.in the very principles of our na- 
 ture to which that inequality is necessary and essential ? Ask 
 why this inequality ? Why ? as well ask why life is the sphere 
 of duty and the nursery of virtues! For if all men were equal, 
 if there were no suffering and no ease, no .poverty and no wealth, 
 would you not sweep with one blow the half, at least, of human 
 .virtues from the world ? If there were no penury and no pain, 
 what would become of fortitude ? what of patience ? -what of 
 resignation ? If there were no greatness and no wealth, what 
 would become of benevolence, of charity, of the blessed human 
 .pity, of temperance in the midst of luxury, of justice in the exer- 
 cise of power ? Carry the question further; grant all conditions 
 the same no reverse, no rise, and no fall nothing to hope for, 
 nothing to fear what a moral death you would at once inflict 
 upon all the energies of the soul, and what a link between the 
 Heart of man and the Providence of God would -be snapped 
 asunder! If we could annihilate evil, we should annihilate hope; 
 and hope, my brethren, is the avenue to faith. If there be 'a time 
 to weep and a time to laugh,' it is that he who mourns may turn 
 to eternity for comfort, and he who rejoices may bless God for 
 the happy hour. Ah ! my brethren, were it possible to annihilate 
 the inequalities of human life, it would be the banishment of our 
 worthiest virtues, the torpor of our spiritual nature, the palsy of 
 our mental faculties. The moral world, like the world without 
 us, derives its health and its beauty from diversity and contrast. 
 "'Every man shall bea,r hisown. burden.' True; but now turn 
 to an earlier verse in the same chapter, 'Bear ye one another's 
 burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.' Yes; while heaven or- 
 dains to each his peculiar suffering, it connects the family of roan 
 into one household, by that feeling which, more perhaps than any 
 other, distinguishes us from the brute creation I mean the feel- 
 ing to which we give the name of sympathy the feeling for each 
 other! The flock heedeth not the sheep that creep into the shade 
 to die; but man hath sorrow and joy not in himself alone, but in
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 117 
 
 the joy and sorrow of those around him. He who feels only for 
 himself abjures his very nature as man; fordo we not say of one 
 who has no tenderness for mankind that he is inhuman ? and do 
 we not call him who sorrows with the sorrowful, humane ? 
 
 " Now, brethren, that which especially marked the divinemis- 
 sion of our Lord, is the direct appeal to this sympathy which dis- 
 tinguishes us from the brute. He seizes, not upon some faculty 
 of genius given but to few, but upon that ready impulse of heart 
 which is given to us all; and in saying ' Love one another,' 'Bear 
 ye one another's burdens,' he elevates the most delightful of our 
 emotions into the most sacred of his laws. The lawyer asks our 
 Lord, ' Who is my neighbor ? ' Our Lord replies by the parable 
 of the good Samaritan. The priest and the Levite saw the wound- 
 ed man that fell among the thieves, and passed by on the other 
 side. That priest might have been austere in his doctrine, that Le- 
 vite might have been learned in the law; but neither to the learn- 
 ing of the Levite, nor to the doctrine of the priest, does our Sa- 
 viour even deign to allude. He cites but the action of the Sa- 
 maritan, and saith to the lawyer : ' Which now of these three, 
 thinkest thou,was neighbor unto him that fell amongthe thieves? 
 And he said, He that showed mercy unto him. Then said Jesus 
 unto him, Go, and do thou likewise.' 
 
 "O shallowness of human judgments ! It was enough to be 
 born a Samaritan in order to be rejected by the priest, and de- 
 spised by the Levite. Yet now, what to us the priest and the 
 Levite of God's chosen race though they were? They passed 
 from the hearts of men when they passed the sufferer by the way- 
 side ; while this loathed Samaritan, half thrust from the pale of 
 the Hebrew, becomes of our family, of our kindred ; a brother 
 amongst the brotherhood of Love, so long as Mercy and afflic- 
 tion shall meet in the common thoroughfare of Life ! 
 
 '"Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of 
 Christ.' Think not, O my brethren, that this applies only to 
 almsgiving to that relief of distress which is commonly called 
 charity to the obvious duty of devoting, from our superfluities, 
 something that we scarcely miss, to the wants of a starving brother. 
 No. I appeal to the poorest amongst ye, if the worst burdens are 
 those of the body if the kind word and the tender thought have 
 not of ten lightened your hearts more than bread bestowed with a 
 grudge, and charity that humbles you by a frown. Sympathy is a 
 beneficence at the command of us all, yea, of the pauper as of 
 the king; and sympathy isChrist's wealth. Sympathy is brother- 
 hood. The rich are told to have charity for the poor, and the poor 
 are enjoined to respect their superiors. Good; I say not to the
 
 Il8 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 contrary. But I say also to the poor, ' In your turn have charity 
 for the rich' ; and I say to the rich, 1 In your turn respect the poor.' 
 
 '"Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of 
 Christ.' Thou, O poor man, envy not nor grudge thy brother 
 his larger portion of worldly goods. Believe that he hath his 
 sorrows and crosses like thyself, and perhaps, as more delicately 
 nurtured, he feels them more ; nay, hath he not temptations so 
 great that our Lord hath exclaimed ' How hardly shall they that 
 have riches enter into the kingdom of heaven ! ' And what are 
 temptations but trials ? what are trials but perils .and sorrows ? 
 Think not that you can bestow no charity on the rich man, even 
 while you take your sustenance from his hands. Aheathen writer, 
 often cited by the earliest preachers of thegospel,hath truly said 
 'Wherever there is room for a man, there is place fora benefit.' 
 
 " And I ask any rich brother among you, when he hath gone 
 forth to survey his barns and his granaries, his gardens and his 
 orchards, if suddenly, in the vain pride of his heart, he sees the 
 scowl on the brow of the laborer if he deems himself hated in 
 the midst of his wealth if he feels that his least faults are 
 treasured up against him with the hardness of malice, and his 
 plainest benefits received with the ingratitude of envy I ask, 
 I say, any rich man, whether straightway all pleasure in his 
 worldly possessions does not fade from his heart, and whether 
 he does not feel what a wealth of gladness it is in the power of 
 the poor man to bestow ! For all these things, of Mammon pass 
 away ; but there is in the smile of him whom we have served, a 
 something that we may take with us into heaven. If, then, ye 
 bear one another's burdens, they who are poor will have, mercy 
 on the errors, and compassion for the griefs, of the rich. To all 
 men it was said, yes, to Lazarus as to Dives, ' Judge not, that 
 ye be not judged.' But think not, O rich man, that we preach 
 only to the poor. If it be their duty not to grudge thee thy sub- 
 stance, it is thine to do all that may sweeten their labor. Re* 
 member that when our Lord said, ' How hardly shall they t,hat 
 have riches enter into the kingdom of heaven,' he replied also 
 to them who asked, ' Who then shall be saved ? ' ' The things 
 which are impossible with men are possible with God ' ;..that is, 
 man left to his own temptations would fail ; but, strengthened 
 by God, he shall be saved. If thy riches are the tests of thy 
 trial, so may they also be the instruments of thy virtues. Prove 
 by thy riches that thou art compassionate and tender, temper- 
 ate and benign ; and thy riches themselves may become the 
 evidence at once of thy faith and of thy works. 
 
 " We have constantly on our lips the simple precept, ' Do unto
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 119 
 
 others as you would be done by.' Why do we fail so often in the 
 practice ? Because we neglect to cultivate that SYMPATHY which 
 nature implants as an instinct, and the Saviour exalts as a com- 
 mand. If thou wculdst do unto thy neighbor as thou wouldst 
 be done by, ponder well how thy neighbor will regard the action 
 thou art about to do to him. Put thyself into his place. If 
 thou art strong and he is, weak, descend from thy strength and 
 enter into his weakness ; lay aside thy burden for the while, 
 and buckle on his own ; let thy sight see as through his eyes 
 thy heart beat as in his bosom. Do this, and thou wilt often 
 confess that what had seemed just to thy power will seem harsh 
 to, .his weakness. Fo.r ' as a zealous man hath not done his duty 
 when he calls his brother drunkard and beast,'* even so an 
 administrator of the law mistakes his object if he writes on the 
 grand column of society only warnings that irritate the bold and 
 terrify the timid. ; and a man will be no more in love with law 
 than with virtue, ' if he be forced to it with rudeness and incivili- 
 ties.' f If, then, ye would bear the burden of the lowly, O ye 
 great, feel not only/0/- them but with! Watch that your pride 
 does not chafe them your power does not wantonly gall. Your 
 worldly inferior is of the class from which the Apostles were 
 chosen amid which the Lord of Creation descended from a 
 throne above the seraphs." 
 
 The Parson here paused a moment, and his eye glanced to- 
 ward the pew near the pulpit, where sat the magnate of Hazel- 
 dean. The Squire was leaning his chin thoughtfully on his 
 hand, his brow inclined downward, and the natural glow of his 
 complexion much heightened. 
 
 " But," resumed the Parson softly, without turning to his 
 book, and rather as if prompted by the suggestion of the mo- 
 ment "but he who has cultivated sympathy commits not these 
 errors, or, if committing them, hastens to retract. So natural is 
 sympathy to the good man, that he obeys it mechanically when 
 he suffers his heart to be the monitor of his conscience, in this 
 sympathy behold the bond between rich and poor ! By this 
 sympathy, whatever our varying worldly lots, they become what 
 they were meant to be exercises for the virtues more peculiar 
 to each ; and thus, if in the body each man. bear his own bur- 
 den, yet in the fellowship of the soul all have common relief in 
 bearing the burdens of each other. 
 
 " This is the law of Christ fulfil it, O my flock ! " 
 
 Here the parson closed his sermon, and the congregation 
 bowed their heads. 
 
 * JBRKMY TAYLOR Of Christian Prudtnce. Part II. t Ibid,
 
 120 MY NOVEL ; OR 
 
 BOOK THIRD. INITIAL CHAPTER. 
 
 SHOWING HOW MY NOVEL CAME TO BE CALLED "MY NOVEL." 
 
 " I AM not displeased with your novel, so far as it has gone," 
 said my fattier, graciously; "though as for the Sermon ' 
 
 Here I trembled! but the ladies, Heaven bless them! had taken 
 Parson Dale under their special protection ; and, observing that 
 my father was puckering up his brows critically, they rushed 
 boldly forward in defence of The Sermon, and Mr. Caxton was 
 forced to beat a retreat. However, like a skilful general, he 
 renewed the assault upon outposts less gallantly guarded. But 
 as it is not my business to betray my weak points, I leave it to 
 the ingenuity of cavillers to discover the places at which the 
 author of Human Error directed his great guns. 
 
 " But," said the Captain "you are 1 a lad of too much spirit, 
 Pisistratus, to keep us always in the obscure country quarters 
 of Hazeldean you will march us out into open service before 
 you have done with us?" 
 
 PISISTRATUS (magisterially, for he has been somewhat nettled 
 by Mr. Caxton's remarks and he puts on an air of dignity in 
 order to awe away minor assailants). Yes, Captain Roland 
 ndt yet awhile, but all in good time. I have not stinted myself 
 in canvas, and behind my foreground of the Hall and the Par- 
 sonage I propose, hereafter, to open some lengthened perspec- 
 tive of the varieties of English life" 
 
 MR. CAXTON. Hum ! 
 
 BLANCHE (putting her hand on my father's lip). We shall 
 know better the design, perhaps, when we know the title. Pray, 
 Mr. Author, what is the title? 
 
 MY MOTHER (with more animation than usual). Ay, Sisty 
 the title ! 
 
 PISISTRATUS (startled). The title ! By the soul of Cer- 
 vantes ! I have never thought of a title 1 ! 
 
 CAPTAIN ROLAND (solemnly). There is a great deal in a 
 good title. As a novel-reader, I know that by experience. 
 
 MR. SQUILLS. Certainly ; there is riot a catchpenny in the 
 world but what goes down, if the title be apt and seductive. 
 Witness " Old Parr's Life Pills." Sell by the thousand, sir, 
 when my " Pills for Weak Stomachs," which I belreve to be 
 just the same compound, never paid for the advertising. 
 
 MR. CAXTON. Parr's Life Pills ! a fine stroke of Genius ! It 
 is not every one wno has a weak stomach, or time to attend to
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 121 
 
 it, if he have. But who would not swallow a pill to live to a 
 hundred and fifty-two ? 
 
 PISISTRATUS (stirring the fire in great excitement.) My 
 title ! my title ! .what shall be my title ? 
 
 MR. CAXTON (thrusting his hand into his waistcoat, and in his 
 most didactic of tones). From a remote period, the choice of a 
 title has perplexed the scribbling portion of mankind. We may 
 guess how their invention has been racked by the strange con- 
 tortions it has produced. To begin with the Hebrews, " The 
 Lips of the Sleeping " (Labia Dormienfiutii) what book doyou 
 suppose that title to designate ? A Catalogue of Rabbinical 
 Writers ! Again, imagine some young lady of old captivated by 
 the sentimental title of " The Pomegranate with its Flower," and 
 opening on a Treatise on the Jewish Ceremonials ! Let us turn 
 to the Romans. Aulus Gellius commences his pleasant gossip- 
 ing " Noctes " with a list of the titles in fashion in his day. 
 For instance, "The Muses " and "The Veil" "The Cornucopia" 
 "The Beehive" and " The Meadow." Some titles, indeed, were 
 more truculent, and promised food to those who love to sup upon 
 horrors such as "The Torch," "The Poniard" " The Stiletto " 
 
 PISISTRATUS (impatiently). Yes,sir; buttocometoMy Novel. 
 
 MR. CAXTON (unheeding the interruption). You see you 
 have a fine choice here, and of a nature pleasing and not un- 
 familiar, to a classical reader : or you may borrow a hint from 
 the early Dramatic Writers. 
 
 PISISTRATUS (more hopefully). Ay ! there is something in 
 the Drama akin to the Novel. Now, perhaps, I may catch an idea. 
 
 MR. CAXTON. For instance, the author of the Curiosities o/ 
 Literature (from whom, by the way, I am plagiarizing much of 
 the information I bestow upon you) tells us of a Spanish gen- 
 tleman who wrote a Comedy, by which he intended to serve 
 what he took for Moral Philosophy. 
 
 PISISTRATUS (eagerly.) Well, sir ? 
 
 MR. CAXTON. And called it " The Pain of the Sleep of the 
 World." 
 
 PISISTRATUS Very comic indeed, sir. 
 
 MR. CAXTON. Grave things were then called Comedies, as 
 old things are now called Novels. Then there are all the titles 
 of early Romance itself at your disposal " Theagines and Char- 
 iclea," or " The Ass " of Longus, or " The Golden Ass " of Ap- 
 uleius ; or the titles of Gothic Romance, such as " The most ele- 
 gant, delicious, mellifluous, and delightful History of Percefor- 
 est,Kingof Great Britain." And therewith my father ran over a 
 list of names as long as the Directory, and about as amusing.
 
 124 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "Well, to my taste," said my mother, " the novels lused to read 
 when agirl (for Ihavenot read many since, I am ashamed tosay,) " 
 
 MR. CAXTON. 'No,youneed not be at all ashamed of it.Kitty. 
 
 My MOTHER (proceeding). Were much more inviting than 
 any you mention, Austin. 
 
 THE CAPTAIN. True. 
 
 MR. SQUILLS. Certainly. Nothing like them nowadays ! 
 
 MY MOTHER. " Says she to her Neighbor, What ? " 
 
 THE CAPTAIN. " The Unknown, or the Northern Gallery " 
 
 MR. SQUILLS. " Then is a Secret / find it out ! " 
 
 PISISTRATUS (pushed to the verge of human endurance, and 
 upsetting tongs, poker, and fire-shovel). What nonsense you 
 are talking, all of you ! For heaven's sake, consider what an im- 
 portant matter we are called upon to decide. It is not now- 
 the titles of j those very respectable works' which issued from 
 the Minerva Press that I ask you to remember it is to invent 
 a title for mhle My NoVel ! 
 
 MR. CAXTON (clapping his hands gently). Excellent capi- 
 tal! Nothing can be better; simple, natural, pertinent, concise 
 
 PISISTRATUS. AVhat is -it, sir what is it ? Have you really 
 thought of a title to My Novel ? 
 
 MR. CAXT'ON. You have hit it yourself " My Novl." It 
 is your Novel people will know it is your Novel. Turn and 
 twist the English language as "you will '"be as allegorical as He- 
 brew, Greek, Roman Fabulist or Puritan still, after all, it is 
 your Novel, and nothing more nor less than your Novel. 
 
 PISISTRATUS (-thoughtfully, and sounding the words various 
 ways). " My Novel " urn -urn ! " My Novel ! " rather 
 bold and curt, eh?. 
 
 MR. CAXTON. Add what you say you intend to depict 
 Varieties in English Life. 
 
 MY MOTHER. " My Novel ; or, Varieties in English Life " 
 I don't think it sounds amiss. What say you, Roland? 
 Would it attract you in a catalogue ?;:;M Off 
 
 My uncle hesitates, when Mr. Caxton exclaims imperiously 
 " The thing is settled ! Don't disturb Gamarina." 
 
 SQUILLS. If it be not too great a liberty, pray who or what 
 is Camarina ? 
 
 MR. CAXTON. Camarina, Mr. Squills, was a lake, apt to be 
 low, and then liable to be muddy ! and " Don't disturb Camar- 
 ina," was a Greek proverb derived from an Oracle of Apollo ; 
 and from that Greek proverb, no doubt, comes the origin of the 
 injunction, " Quieta non ntovere" which became the favorite 
 maxim of Sir Robert Walpole and Parson Dale/ The Greek
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 123 
 
 line, Mr. Squills (here my father's memory began to warm), 
 is preserved by STEPHANUS BYZANTINUS. de Urbibus, 
 
 " M^ KIVEI Ka/udpivav, anivrjToq yap afieivuv," 
 
 ZENOBIUS explains it in his proverbs ; SUIDAS repeats ZENO- 
 BIUS : LUCIAN alludes to it ; so does VIRGIL in the Third 
 Book of the ^ENEID ; and SILIUS ITALICUS imitates Virgil 
 
 " Et cui non licitum fatis Camarina moveri." 
 
 Parson Dale, as a clergyman and a scholar, had, no doubt, these 
 authorities at his fingers' end. "And I wonder he did not 
 quote them," quoth my father : " but, to be sure, he is repre- 
 sented as a mild man, and so might not wish to humble the 
 Squire overmuch in the presence of his family. Meanwhile, My 
 Novel "is My Novel ; and now that the matter is settled, perhaps 
 the tongs, poker, and sliovel may be picked up, the children may 
 go to bed, Blanche and Kitty may speculate apart upon the fu- 
 ture dignities of the Neogilos, taking care, nevertheless, to 
 finish the new pinbefores he requires for the present ; Roland 
 may cast up his account-book, Mr. Squills have his brandy-and- 
 water, and all the world be comfortable, each in his own way. 
 Blanche, come away from the screen, get me my slippers, and 
 leave. Pisistratu.s to himself. Mr/ nivei Kajtdpirav don't dis- 
 turb Camarina. You see, my dear," added my father kindly, 
 as, after settling himself into his slippers, he detained Blanche's, 
 hand in his own " you see, my dear, every house has its Ca- 
 marina. Man, who is a lazy animal, is quite content to let it 
 alone ; but woman, being the more active, bustling, curious 
 creature, is always for giving it a sly stir." 
 
 BLANCHE (with female dignity). I assure you, that if Pisis- 
 tratus had not called me, I should not have 
 
 MR. CAXTON (interrupting her, without lifting his eyes from 
 the book he has already taken). Certainly you would not. I 
 am now in the midst of the great Oxford Controversy. Mrf 
 KIVSI Ka/Jidpivav don't disturb Camarina. 
 
 A dead silence for half an hour, at the end of which 
 
 PISISTRATUS (from behind the screen). Blanche, my dear, 
 I want to consult you. 
 
 Blanche does not stir. 
 
 PISISTRATUS. Blanche, I say. 
 
 Blanche glances in triumph toward Mr. Caxton. 
 
 MR. CAXTON (laying down his theological tract, and rub- 
 bing his spectacles mournfully). I hear him, child ; I hear 
 him, I retract my vindication of man. Oracles warn in vain : 
 so long as there is a woman on the other side of the screen, 
 it is all up with Camarina.
 
 124 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IT is greatly to be regretted that Mr. Stirn was not present at 
 the Parson's Discourse but that valuable functionary was far 
 otherwise engaged indeed, during the summer months he was 
 rarely seen at the afternoon service. Not that he cared for being 
 preached at not he ; Mr. Stirn would have snapped his fingers 
 at the thunders of the Vatican. But the fact was, that Mr. Stirn 
 chose to do a great deal of gratuitous business upon the day of 
 rest. The Squire allowed all the persons who chose to walk about 
 the park on a Sunday ; and many came from a distance to stroll 
 by the lake, or recline under the elms. These visitors were ob- 
 jects of great suspicion, nay, of positive annoyance, to Mr. Stirn 
 and, indeed, not altogether withoutreason, for we English have 
 a natural love for liberty, which we are even more apt to display 
 in the grounds of other people than in those we cultivate our- 
 selves. Sometimes, to his inexpressible and fierce satisfaction, 
 Mr. Stirn fell upon a lot of boys pelting the swans : sometimes 
 he missed a young sapling, and found it in felonious hands, con- 
 vertedintoa walking-stick; sometimes hecaught a hulking fellow 
 scrambling up the ha-ha, to gather a 'nosegay for his sweetheart 
 from one of poor. Mrs. Hazeldean's pet parterres ; not unfre- 
 quently, indeed, when all the family were fairly at church, some 
 curious impertinents forced or sneaked their way into the gar- 
 dens, in order to peep in at the windows. For these, and various 
 other offences of like magnitude, Mr. Stirn had long, but vainly, 
 sought to induce the Squire to withdraw a permission so villan- 
 ously abused. But though there were times when Mr. Hazeldean 
 grunted and growled, and swore " that he would shut up the park 
 and fill it (illegally) with man-traps and spring-guns," his anger 
 always evaporated in words. The park was still open to all the 
 world on a Sunday; and that blessed day was therefore converted 
 into a day of travail and wrath to Mr. Stirn. But it was from the 
 last chime of the afternoon service bell until dusk, that the spirit 
 of this vjgilant functionary was most perturbed ; for, amidst the 
 flocks that gathered from the little hamlets round to the voice of 
 the Pastor, there was always some stray sheep, or rather climb- 
 ing, desultory, vagabond goats, who struck off in all perverse 
 directions, as if for the special purpose of distracting the ener- 
 getic watchfulness of Mr. Stirn. As soon as church was over, if 
 the day were fine the whole park became a scene animated with 
 red cloaks, or lively shawls, Sunday waistcoats, and hats stuck 
 
 full of wild flowers which last Mr. Stirn often stoutly main- 
 
 J
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 125 
 
 tained to be Mrs. Hazeldean's newest geraniums. Now, on this 
 Sunday, especially, there was an imperative call upon an extra 
 exertion of vigilance on the part of the superintendent he had 
 not only to detect ordinary depredators and trespassers ; but, 
 first to discover the authors of the conspiracy against the 
 stocks ; and, secondly, to " make an example." 
 
 He had begun his rounds, therefore, from the early morning ; 
 and just as the afternoon bell was sounding its final peal he 
 emerged upon the village-green from a hedgerow, behind which 
 he had been at watch to observe who had the most suspiciously 
 gathered round the stocks. At that moment the place was de- 
 serted. At a distance, the superintendent saw the fast disappear- 
 ing forms of some belated groups hastening toward the church ; 
 in front, the stocks stood staring at him mournfully from its four 
 great eyes, which had been cleansed from the mud, but still 
 looked bleared and stained with the marks of the recent outrage. 
 Here Mr. Stirn paused, took off his hat, and wiped his brows. 
 
 " If I had sum un to watch here," thought he,-" while I takes 
 a turn by the water- side, p'r'aps sumrnat might come out ; 
 p'r'aps them as did it ben't gone to church, but will come sneak- 
 ing round to look on their villany ! as they says murderers are 
 always led back to the place where they ha' left the body. But 
 in this here village there ben't a man, woman, nor child, as has 
 any consarn for Squire or Parish, barring myself." It^was just 
 as he arrived at that misanthropical conclusion, that Mr. Stirn 
 beheld Leonard Fairfield walking very fast from his own home. 
 The superintendent clapped on his hat, and stuck his right arm 
 akimbo. " Hallo, you sir," said he, as Lenny now came in 
 hearing, "where be you going at that rate?" 
 
 " Please, sir, I be going to church." 
 
 "Stop, sir; stop,MasterLenny. Goingtochurch why,thebell's 
 done; and you knows the Parson is very angry at them as comes 
 in late, disturbing the congregation. You can't go to churchnow ! " 
 
 " Please, sir ' 
 
 " I says you can't go to church now. You must learn to think 
 of others, lad. You sees how I sweats to serve the Squire ! 
 and you must serve him too. Why, your mother's got the house 
 and premishes almost rent free ; you ought to have a grateful 
 heart, Leonard Fairfield, and feel for his honor ! Poor man ! 
 his heart is well nigh bruk, I am sure, with the goings on." 
 
 Leonard opened his innocent blue eyes, while Mr.: Stirn 
 dolorously wiped his own. 
 
 " Look at that 'ere dumb cretur," said Stirn, suddenly point- 
 ing to the stocks " look at it. If it could speak, what would
 
 126 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 it say, Leonard Fairfield? Answer me that! 'Damn the 
 stocks,' indeed !" 
 
 " It was very bad in them to write such naughty words," 
 said Lenny, gravely. " Mother was quite shocked when she 
 heard of it this morning." 
 
 MR. STIRN. I dare say she was, considering what she pays 
 for the premishes ; (insinuatingly) you does not know who did 
 it eh, Lenny ? 
 
 LENNY. No, sir ; indeed I does not ! 
 
 MR. STIRN. Well, you see, you can't go to church prayers 
 half over by this time. You recollex that I put them stocks 
 under your " sponsibility," and see the way you's done your 
 duty by 'em. I've half a mind to 
 
 Mr. Stirn cast his eyes on the eyes of the stocks. 
 . " Please, sir," began Lenny again, rather frightened. 
 
 " No, I won't please ; it ben't pleasing at all. But I forgives 
 you this time, only keep a sharp lookout, lad, in future. Now 
 you just stay here no, there under the hedge, and you watches 
 if any person comes to loiter about or looks at the stocks, or 
 laughs to hisself, while I go my rounds. I shall be back either 
 afore church is over or just arter ; so you stay till I comes, and 
 give me your report. Be sharp, boy or it will be worse for you 
 and your mother; I can let the premishes for four pounds a-year 
 more to-morrow." 
 
 Concluding with that somewhat menacing and very signifi- 
 cant remark, and not staying for an answer, Mr. Stirn waved 
 his hand, and walked off. 
 
 Poor Lenny remained by the stocks, very much dejected, and 
 greatly disliking the neighborhood to which he was consigned. 
 At length he slowly crept off to the hedge, and sate himself down 
 in the place of espionage pointed out to him. Now, philosophers 
 tell us that what is called the point of honor is a barbarous feudal 
 prejudice. Amongst the higher classes, wherein those feudal 
 prejudices may be supposed to prevail, Lenny Fairfield's occu- 
 pation would not have been considered peculiarly honorable ; 
 neither would it have seemed so to the more turbulent spirits 
 among the humbler orders, who have a point of honor of their 
 own which consists in the adherence to each other in defiance of 
 all lawful authority. But to Lenny Fairfield, brought up much 
 apart from other boys, and with profound and grateful reverence 
 for the Squire instilled into all his' habits of thought, notions of 
 honor bounded themselves to simple honesty and straightforward 
 truth ; and as he cherished an unquestioning awe of order and 
 constitutional authority, so it did not appear to him that -there
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 127 
 
 was anything derogatory and debasing in thus being set to watch 
 an offender. On the contrary, as he began to reconcile himself 
 to the loss of the church service, and to enjoy the cool of the 
 summer shade, and the occasional chirp of the birds, he got to 
 look on the bright side of the commission to which he was de- 
 puted. In youth, at least, everything has its bright side even 
 the appointment of Protector to the Parish Stocks. For the 
 stocks itself Leonard had no affection, it is true ; but he had no 
 sympathy with its aggressors, and he could well conceive that 
 the Squire would be very much hurt at the revolutionary event 
 of the night. " So," thought poor Leonard in his simple heart 
 " so, if I can serve his honor, by keeping off mischievous boys, 
 or letting him know who did the thing, I'm sure it would be a 
 proud day for mother." Then he began to consider that, however 
 ungraciously Mr. Stirn had bestowed on him the appointment, 
 still it was a compliment to him showed trust and confidence 
 in him, picked him out from Iris contemporaries as the sober 
 moral pattern boy : and Lenny had a great deal of pride in 
 him, especially in matters of repute and character. 
 
 All these things considered, I say, Leonard Fairfield reclined 
 on his lurking-place, if not with positive delight and intoxicating 
 rapture, at least with tolerable content and some complacency. 
 
 Mr. Stirn might have been gone a quarter of an hour, when 
 a boy came through a little gate in the park, just opposite to 
 Lenny's retreat in the hedge, and, as if fatigued with walk- 
 ing, or oppressed by the heat of the day, paused:on the green 
 for a moment or so, and then advanced under the shade of the 
 great tree which overhung the stocks. 
 
 Lenny pricked up h-is ears, and peeped out jealously. 
 
 He had never seen the boy before; it was a strange face to him. 
 
 Leonard Fairfield was not fond of strangers ; moreover, he 
 had a vague belief that strangers .were at the bottom of that 
 desecration of the stocks. The boy, then, was a stranger ; but 
 what was his rank ? Was he of that grade in society in which 
 the natural offences are or are not consonant to, or harmonious 
 Math, outrages upon stocks ? On that Lenny Fairfield did not 
 feel quite assured. According to all the experience of the vil- 
 lager, theboy was not dressedlikeayoung gentleman. Leonard's 
 notions of such aristocratic costume were naturally fashioned 
 upon the model of Frank Hazeldean. They represented to him 
 a dazzling vision of snow-white trowsers, and beautiful blue 
 coats, and incomparable cravats. Now the dress of this stranger, 
 though not that of a peasant nor of a farmer, did not in any 
 way correspond with Lenny's notions of the costume of a young
 
 128 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 gentleman ; it looked to him highly disreputable : the coat was 
 covered with mud, and the hat was all manner of shapes, with 
 a gap between the side and crown. 
 
 Lenny was puzzled, till it suddenly occurred to him that the 
 gate through which the boy had passed was in the direct path 
 across the park from a small town, the inhabitants of which were 
 in very bad order at the Hall they had immemorially fur- 
 nished the most daring poachers to the preserves, the most trou- 
 blesome trespassers on the park, the most unprincipled orchard 
 robbers, and the most disputatious asserters of various problem- 
 atical rights of way, which, according to the Town, were public, 
 and, according to the Hall, had been private since the Conquest. 
 It was true that the same path led also directly from the Squire's 
 house, but it was not" probable that the wearer of attire so equiv- 
 ocal had been visiting there. All thing considered, Lenny 
 had no doubt in his mind but that the stranger was a shop-boy 
 or 'prentice from the -town of Thorndyke; and the notorious re- 
 puteof that town, coupled with the presumption, made it probable 
 that Lenny now saw before him oneof the midnight desecrators of 
 the stocks. As if to confirm the suspicion, which passed through 
 Lenny'smindwith a rapidity wholly disproportionate to thenum* 
 ber of lines it costs me to convey it, the boy, now standing right 
 before the stocks, bent down and read that pithy anathema with 
 which it was defaced. And having read it he repeated it aloud, 
 and Lenny actually sawhim smile sucha smile! sodisagreeable 
 and sinister ! Lenny had never before seen the smile Sardonic. 
 
 But what were Lenny's pious horror and dismay when this 
 ominous stranger fairly seated himself on the stocks, rested his 
 heels profanely on the lids of two of the four round eyes, 
 and, taking out a pencil and a pocket-book, began to write. 
 Was this audacious Unknown taking an inventory of the church 
 and the Hall for the purposes of conflagration ? He looked at 
 one, and at the other, with a strange, fixed stare as he wrote 
 not keeping his eyes on the paper, as Lenny had been taught to 
 do when he sat down to his copy-book. The fact is, that Randal 
 Leslie was tired and faint, and he felt the shock of his fall the more, 
 after the few paces he had walked, so that he was glad to rest him- 
 self a few moments; and lie took that opportunity to write a line 
 to Frank, to excuse himself for not calling again, intending to tear 
 the leaf on which he wrote out of his pocket-book and leave it at 
 at the first cottage hepassed, with instructions to take it to the Hall. 
 
 While Randal was thus innocently engaged, Lenny came up 
 to him, with the firm and measured pace of one who has re- 
 solved, cost what it may, to do his duty. And as Lenny, though
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 129 
 
 brave, was not ferocious, so the anger he felt, and the suspicions 
 he entertained, only exhibited themselves in the following sol- 
 emn appeal to the offender's sense of propriety, 
 
 " Ben't you ashamed of yourself ? Sitting on the Squire's 
 new stocks! Do get up, and go along with you!" 
 
 Randal turned round sharply ; and though, at .any other mo- 
 ment, he would have had sense enough to extricate himself 
 very easily from his false position, yet, Nemo mortalium, etc. 
 No one is always wise. And Randal was in an exceeding bad 
 humor. The affability toward his inferiors, for which I lately 
 praised him, was entirely lost in the contempt of impertinent 
 snobs natural to an insulted Etonian. 
 
 Therefore, eying Lenny with great disdain, Randal answered 
 briefly, 
 
 "You are an insolent young blackguard." 
 
 So curt a rejoinder made Lenny's blood fly to his face. Per- 
 suaded before that the intruder was some lawless apprentice or 
 shop-lad, he was now more confirmed in that judgment, not 
 only by language so uncivil, but by the truculent glance which 
 accompanied it, and which certainly did not derive any impos- 
 ing dignity from the mutilated, rakish, hang-dog, ruinous hat, 
 under which it shot its sullen and menacing fire. 
 
 Of all the various articles of which our male Attire is com- 
 posed, there is perhaps not one which has so much character 
 and expression as the top covering. A neat, well-brushed, 
 short-napped, gentleman-like hat, put on with a certain air, 
 gives a distinction and respectability to the whole .exterior ; 
 whereas, a broken, squashed, higgledyTpiggledy sort of a. hat, 
 such as Randal Leslie had op, would go far toward transform- 
 ing the stateliest gentleman who ever walked down St. James's 
 Street into the ideal of a ruffianly scamp. 
 
 Now, it is well known that there is nothing more antipathetic 
 to your peasant-boy than a shop-boy. Even .on grand political 
 occasions, the rural working-class can rarely be coaxed into sym- 
 pathy with the trading town-class. Your true English peasant 
 is always an aristocrat. Moreover, and irrespectively of this 
 immemorial grudge of class,there is something peculiarly hostile 
 in the relationship between boy and boy when their backs are 
 once up, and they are alone on a quiet bit of green. Something of 
 the game-cock feeling something that tends to keep alive, in the 
 population of this island (otherwise so lamb-like and peaceful), 
 the martial propensity to double the thumb tightly over the four 
 fingers, and make what is called "a fist of it." Dangerous symp- 
 toms of these mingled and aggressive sentiments were visible in
 
 130 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Lenny Fairfield at the words and the look of the unprepossessing 
 stranger. And the stranger seemed aware of them ; for his pale 
 face grew more pale, and his sullen eye more fixed and vigilant. 
 " You get off them stocks," said Lenny, disdaining to reply to 
 the coarse expressions bestowed on him ; and, suiting the action 
 to the word, he gave the intruder what he meant for a shove, 
 but what Randal took for a blow. The Etonian sprang up, and 
 the quickness of his movement, aided by a slight touch of his 
 hand, made Lenny lose his balance, and sent him neck and crop 
 over the stocks. Burning with rage, the young villager arose 
 alertly, and flying at Randal, struck out right and left. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AID me, O ye Nine ! whom the incomparable Persius satirized 
 his contemporaries for invoking, and then, all of a sudden, in- 
 voked on his own behalf aid me to describe that famous battle 
 by the stocks, and in defence of the stocks, which was waged by 
 the two representatives of Saxon and Norman England. Here, 
 sober support of law and duty and delegated trust -pro arts et 
 focis; there, haughty invasion, and bellicose spirit of knight- 
 hood, and that respect for name and person, which we call 
 " honor." Here, too, hardy physical force there, skilful disci- 
 pline. Here The Nine are as deaf as a post, and as cold as a 
 stone ! Plague take the jades! I can do better without them. 
 
 Randal was a year or two older than Lenny, but he was not so 
 tall nor so strong, nor even so active ; and after the first blind 
 rush, when the two boys paused, and drew back to breathe, 
 Lenny, eyeing the slight form and hueless cheek of his opponent, 
 and seeing blood trickling from Randal's lip, was seized with an 
 instantaneous and generous remorse. "It was not fair," he 
 thought, "to fight one whom he could beat so easily." So, retreat- 
 ing still farther, and letting' his arms fall to his side, he said mild- 
 ly "There, let's have no more of it; but go home and be good." 
 
 Randal Leslie had no remarkable degree of that constitutional 
 quality called physical courage; but he had some of those 
 moral qualities which supply its place. He was proud he was 
 vindictive he had high self-esteem hehadthedestructiveorgan 
 more than the combative ; what had once provoked his wrath 
 it became his instinct to sweep away. Therefore, though all his 
 nerves \vere quivering, and hot tears were in his eyes, he ap- 
 proached Lenny with thesternnessof a gladiator, and said, between 
 his teeth, which he set hard, chokingback the sob of rage and pain. 
 
 "You have struck rne and you shall hot stir from this ground
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 131 
 
 till I have made you repent it. Put up your hands defend 
 yourself." 
 
 Lenny mechanically obeyed ; and he had good need of the 
 admonition ; for if before he had had the advantage, now that 
 Randal had recovered the surprise to his nerves, the battle was 
 not to the strong. 
 
 Though Leslie had not been a fighting boy at Eton, still his 
 temper had involved him in some conflicts when he was in the 
 lower forms, and he had learned something of the art as well as 
 the practice in pugilism an excellent thing too, I am barbarous 
 enough to believe, and which I hope will never quite die out of 
 pur public schools. Ah, many a young duke has been a better 
 fellow for life from a fair set-to with a trader's son ; and many a 
 trader's son has learned to look a lord more manfully in the face 
 on the hustings, from the recollection of the sound thrashing he 
 once gave to some little Lord Leopold Dawdle. 
 
 So Randal now brought his experience and art to bear ; put 
 aside those heavy roundabout blows, and darted in his own, 
 quick and sharp supplying to the natural feebleness of his arm 
 the due momentum of pugilistic mechanism. Ay, and the arm, 
 too, was no longer so feeble ; for strange is the strength that 
 comes from passion and pluck ! 
 
 Poor Lenny, who had never fought before, was bewildered; his 
 sensations grew so entangled that he could never recall them dis- 
 tinctly; he had a dim reminiscence of some breathless impotent 
 rush of a sudden blindnessfollowed by quick flashes of intolera- 
 able light of a deadly faintness, from which he was aroused by 
 sharp pangs here there everywhere; andthenallhe could re- 
 memberwas, that he waslyingontheground, huddled up, and pant- 
 ing hard, while his adversary bent over him with a countenance as 
 dark and lividasLara himself might have bent Over the fallenOtho. 
 For Randal Leslie was not one who, by impulse and nature, sub- 
 scribed to the noble English maxim "Never hit a foe whenhe is 
 down " ; and it costhim a strong if brief self-struggle, not to set his 
 heel on that prostratef orm. It was the mind, not the heart, that sub- 
 dued thesavagewithinhim,asmutteringsomethinginwardly cer- 
 tainlynotChristian forgiveness the victor turned gloomily away. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 JUST at that precise moment, who should appear but Mr. 
 Stirn ! For, in fact, being extremely anxious to get Lenny into 
 disgrace, he had hoped that he should have found the young 
 villager had shirked the commission entrusted to him ; and the
 
 . 132 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Right-hand Man-had slily come back, to see if that amiable 
 expectation were realized. He now beheld Lenny risiivg with 
 some difficulty still panting hard and with hysterical sounds 
 akin to what is vulgarly called blubbering his fine new waist- 
 coat sprinkled with his Own blood, which flowed from his nose- 
 nose that seemed to Lenny Fairfield's feelings to be a nose no 
 more,- but a 'swollen, gigantic, mountainous Slawkenbergian 
 excrescence ; in fact, he felt all nose ! Turning aghast from 
 this spectacle, Mr. Stirn surveyed, with no more respect than 
 Lenny had manifested, the stranger boy, who had again seated 
 himself on the stocks (whether to recover his breath, or whether 
 to show that his victory was consummated, and that he was 
 in his rights of possession). " Hollo," said Mr. Stirn, "what 
 is all this ? what's the matter, Lenny, you blockhead ? " 
 
 " He will sit there," answered Lenny, in broken gasps, "and 
 he has beat me because I, would not let him ; but I doesn't 
 mind that," added the villager, trying hard to suppress his tears, 
 "and I'm ready again for him that I am." -/X.MJ 
 
 "And what do yotidolollopopingthereon them blessed stocks?" 
 
 " Looking at the landscape ; out of my light, raan ! " 
 
 This tone instantly inspired Mr. Stirn with misgivings ; it was 
 a tone so disrespectful to him, that he was seized with involun- 
 tary respect ; who but a gentleman could speak so to Mr. Stirn ? 
 
 " And may I ask who you be? " said Stirn, falteringly, and 
 half inclined to touch his hat. " What's your name, pray? 
 what's your bizness ? " 
 
 " My name is Randal Leslie, and my business was to visit 
 your master's family that is, if you are, as I guess from your 
 manner, Mr. Hazeldean's ploughman !" 
 
 So saying, Randal rose ; and moving on a few paces, turned, 
 and throwing half-a-cfown on the road, said to Lenny, " Let 
 that pay you for your bruises, and remember another time how 
 you speak to a gentleman. As for you, fellow," and he pointed 
 his scornful hand toward Mr. Stirn, who, with his mouth open 
 and his hat now fairly off, stood bowing, to the earth " as for 
 you, give my compliments to Mr. Hazeldean, and say that, when 
 he does us -the honor to visit us at Rood Hall, I trust that the 
 manners of our villagers will make him ashamed of Hazeldean." 
 
 O my poor Squire ! Rood Hall Ashamed of Hazeldean ! If 
 that message had been delivered to you, you would never have 
 looked up again ! 
 
 With those bitter words, Randal swung himself over the stile 
 that led into the Parson's glebe, and left Lenny Fairfield still 
 feeling his nose, and Mr. Stirn still bowing to the earth.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 133 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 RANDAL LESLIE had a very long walk home ; he was bruised 
 and sore from head to foot, and his mind was still more sore 
 and more bruised than his body. But if Randal Leslie had 
 rested himself in the Squire's gardens, without walking back- 
 ward, and indulging in speculations suggested by Marat, and 
 warranted by My Lord Bacon, he would have passed a most agree- 
 able evening, and really availed himself of the Squire's wealth by 
 going home in the Squire's carriage. But, because he chose to take 
 so intellectual a view of property, he tumbled into a ditch; because 
 he tumbled intoaditch, hespoiled his clothes; because he spoiled 
 his clothes, he gave up'his visit; because he gave up his visit, he 
 got intothe village-green, and sat on the stocks with a hatthat gave 
 him the air of a fugitive from the treadmill; because he sat on 
 the stocks-'-with that hat,and a cross face under it he had been 
 forced into the most discreditable squabble with a clod-hopper, 
 and was now limping home, at war with gods and men; erg0(this 
 is a moral that will bear repetition) ergo, when you walk in a 
 a rich man's grounds, be contented to enjoy whatis yours, namely, 
 the prospect ; I dare say you will enjoy it more than he does ! 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IF, in the simplicity of his heart, and the crudity of his experi- 
 ence, Lenny Fairfield had conceived it probable that Mr. Stirn 
 would address to him some words in approbation of his gallan- 
 try, and in 'sympathy for his bruises, he soon found himself wo- 
 f ully mistaken. That truly great man, worthy prime-minister of 
 Hazeldean, might, perhaps,pardon a dereliction from his orders, 
 if such dereliction proved advantageous to the interest of the 
 service, or redounded to the credit of the chief; but he was in- 
 exorable to that worst of diplomatic offences and ill-timed, 
 stupid, over-zealous obedience to orders, which, if it established 
 the devotion of the employe, got the employer into what is popu- 
 larly called a scrape! And though, by those unversed in the in- 
 tricacies of the human heart, and unacquainted with the especial 
 hearts of prime-ministers and right-hand men, it might have 
 seemed natural that Mr. Stirn, as lie stood still, hat in hand, in 
 the middle of the road, stung, humbled, and exasperated by the 
 mortification he had received from the lips of Randal Leslie; 
 would have felt that that young gentleman was the proper ob- 
 ject of his resentment; yet such a breach of all the" etiquette of
 
 134 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 diplomatic life as resentment toward a superior power, was the 
 last idea that would have suggested itself to the profound intel- 
 lect of the Premier of Hazeldean. Still, as rage, like steam, must 
 escape somewhere, Mr. Stirn, on feeling as he afterward ex- 
 pressed it to his wife that his " buzzom was a-burstin', M turned 
 with the natural instinct of self-preservation to the safety-valve 
 provided for the explosion; and the vapors within him rushed 
 into vent upon Lenny Fairfield. He clapped his hat on his head 
 fiercely, and thus relieved his " buzzom." 
 
 " You young willain! you howdacious wiper! and so all this 
 blessed Sabbath afternoon, when you ought to have been in 
 church on your marrow-bones, a-praying for your betters, you 
 has been a-fitting with that young gentleman, and a wisiter to 
 your master, on the wery place of the parridge hinstitution that 
 you was to guard and pertect; and a-bloodying it all over, I de- 
 clares, with your blackguard little nose! " Thus saying, and as 
 if to mend the matter,Mr.Stirn aimed an additional stroke at the 
 offending member; but Lenny, mechanically putting up both 
 arms to defend his face,Mr.Stirn struck his knuckles against the 
 large brass buttons that adorned the cuff of the boy's coat-sleeve 
 an incident which considerably aggravated his indignation. 
 And Lenny, whose spirit was fairly roused at what the narrow- 
 ness of his education conceived to be a signal injustice, placing 
 the trunk of the tree between Mr. Stirn and himself, began that 
 task of self-justification which it was equally impolitic to con- 
 ceive and imprudent to execute, since, in such a case, to justify 
 was to recriminate. 
 
 " I wonder at you, Master Stirn, if mother could hear you! 
 You know it was you who would not let me go to church; it 
 was you who told me to " 
 
 " Fit a young gentleman, and break the Sabbath," said Mr. 
 Stirn, interrupting him with a withering sneer. " Oh yes! I told 
 you to disgrace his honor the Squire, and me, and the parridge, 
 and bring us all into trouble. But the Squire told me to make 
 an example, and I will!" With those words, quick as lightning 
 flashed upon Mr. Stirn's mind the luminous idea of setting 
 Lenny in the very slocks which he had too faithfully guarded. 
 Eureka! the "example" was before him! Here he could gratify 
 his long grudge against the pattern boy; here by such a selec- 
 tion of the very best lad in the parish, he could strike terror into 
 the worst; here he could appease the offended dignity of Randal 
 Leslie; here was a practical apology to the Squire for the affront 
 put upon his young visitor; here, too, there was prompt obedi- 
 ence to the Squire's pwn wish that the stocks should be provided
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 135 
 
 as soon as possible with a tenant. Suiting the action to the 
 thought, Mr. Stirn made a rapid plunge at his victim, caught 
 him by the skirt of his jacket, and, in a few seconds more, the 
 jaws of the stocks had opened, and Lenny Fairfield was thrust 
 therein a sad spectacle of the reverse of fortune. This done, 
 and while the boy was too astounded, too stupefied by the sud- 
 denness of the calamity for the resistance he might otherwise 
 have made nay, for more than a few inaudible words Mr. 
 Stirn hurried from the spot, but not without first picking up and 
 pocketing the half-crown designed for Lenny, and which, so 
 great had been his first emotions, he had hitherto even almost 
 forgotten. He then made his way toward the church, with the 
 intention to place himself close by the door, catch the Squire as 
 he came out, whisper to him what had passed, and lead him, 
 with the whole congregation at his heels, to gaze upon the sacri- 
 fice offered up to the joint Powers of Nemesis and Themis. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 UNAFFECTEDLY I say it upon the honor of a gentleman, and 
 the reputation of an author, unaffectedly I say it no words of 
 mine can do justice to the sensations experienced by Lenny Fair- 
 field, as he sat alone in that place of penance. He felt no more 
 the physical pain of his bruises; the anguish of his mind stifled 
 and overbore all corporeal suffering an anguish as great as the 
 childish breast is capable of holding. For first and deepest of 
 all, and earliest felt,was the burning sense of injustice. He had, 
 it might be with erring judgment, but with all honesty, earnest- 
 ness,and zeal, executed the commission intrusted to him; he had 
 stood forth manfully in discharge of his duty: he had fought for 
 it, suffered for it, bled for it. This was his reward! Now, in 
 Lenny's mind there was pre-eminently that quality which dis- 
 tinguishes the Anglo-Saxon race 'the sense of justice. It was 
 perhaps the strongest principle in his moral constitution ; and 
 the principle had never lost its virgin bloom and freshness by 
 any of the minor acts of oppression and iniquity which boys of 
 higher birth often suffer from harsh parents, or in tyrannical 
 schools. So that it was for the first time that that iron entered 
 into his soul, and with it came its attendant feeling the wrath- 
 ful, galling sense of impotence. He had been wronged, and he 
 had no means to right himself. Then came another sensation, 
 if not so deep, yet more smarting and envenomed for the time 
 shame! He, the good boy of all good boys he, the pattern of 
 the school, and the pride of the Parson he, whom the Squire,
 
 136 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 in sight of all his contemporaries, had often singled out to slap on 
 the back, and the grand Squire's lady to pat on the head, with a 
 smiling gratulation on his young and fair repute 'he,- who had 
 already learned so dearly to prize the sweets of an honorable 
 name he, to be made, as it were, in the twinkling of an eye, a 
 mark for opprobrium,a butt of scorn, a jeer, and a by-word! The 
 streams of life were poisoned at the fountain. And then came a 
 tenderer though t of his moth er! of the shock this would be to her 
 she who had already begun tolook up to hi mas her stay and support: 
 he bowed his head, and the tears, long suppressed, rolled down. 
 Then he wrestled and struggled, and strove to wrench his limbs 
 from that hateful bondage; for he heard steps approaching. 
 And he began to picture to himself the arrival of all the villagers 
 from church, the sad gaze of the Parson, the bent brow of the 
 Squire, the idle ill-suppressed titter of all the boysjealous of his 
 unspotted character a character of which the original whiteness 
 could never, never be restored! He would always be the boy who 
 had sat in the stocks! And the words uttered by the Squire came 
 back on his soul, like the voice of conscience in the ears of some 
 doomed .Macbeth. " A sad disgrace, Lenny you'll never be in 
 such a quandary." " Quandary," the word was unfamiliar to 
 him; it must mean something awfully discreditable. The poo! 
 boy could have prayed for the earth to swallow him. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 . 
 
 "KETTLES and frying-pans I what has us here?" cried the 
 Tinker. 
 
 This time Mr. Sprott was without his donkey ; for it being 
 Sunday, it is to be. presumed that the donkey was enjoying his 
 Sabbath on the Common, The Tinker was in his Sunday's best, 
 clean and smart, about to take his lounge in the Park. 
 
 Lenny Fairfield made no answer to the appeal. 
 
 "You in the wood, my baby ! Well, that's the last sight I should 
 ha'thoughttosee. Butjweall lives to larn, "added the Tinker, sen- 
 tentiously. "Who gave you them leggings? Can'tyou speak, lad?" 
 
 "Nick Stirn." 
 
 " Nick Stirn ! Ay, I'd ha ta'en my davy on that ; and cos vy?" 
 
 " 'Cause I did as he told me, and fought a boy as was tres- 
 passing on these very stocks ; and he beat me but I don't care 
 for that ; and that boy was a young gentleman, and going to 
 visit the Squire ; and so Nick Stirn "Lenny stopped short, 
 choked by rage and humiliation. 
 
 " Augh," said the Tinker,staring, "you fit with a young gentle-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 137 
 
 man, did you ? Sorry to hear you confess that, my lad ! Sit 
 there, and be thankful you ha' got off so cheap. 'Tis salt and 
 battery to fit with your betters, and a Lunnon justice o' peace 
 would have given you two months o* the treadmill. But vy 
 should you fit cos he trespassed on the stocks? It ben't your 
 natural side for fitting, I takes it." 
 
 Lenny murmured something not very distinguishable about 
 serving the Squire, and doing as he was bid. 
 
 " Oh, I sees, Lenny," interruped the Tinker, in a tone of 
 great contempt, " you be one of those who would rayther 'unt 
 with the 'ounds than run with the 'are ! You be's the good pattern 
 boy, and would peach agin your own horder to curry favors with 
 the grand folks. Fie, lad ! you be sarved right ; stick by your 
 horder, then you'll be 'spected when you gets into trouble, and 
 not be 'varsally 'spised as you'll be arter church-time ! Veil, 
 I can't be seen 'sorting with you, now you .are in this drogotary 
 fix ; it might hurt my cracter, both with them as built the stocks, 
 and them as wants, to pull 'em down. Old kettles. to mend ! 
 Vy, you makes me forgit the Sabbath. Sarvent, my lad, and 
 wish you well out of it ; 'specks to your mother, and say we can 
 deal for the pan and shovel all the same for your misfortin." 
 
 .The Tinker went his way. Lenny's eye followed him with 
 the sullenness of despair. The Tinker, like all the tribe of hu- 
 man comforters, had only watered the brambles to invigorate 
 the prick of the thorns. Yes, if Lenny had been caught break- 
 ing the stocks, some at least would have pitied him ; but to be in- 
 carcerated for defending them, you might as well have expected 
 that the widows and orphans of the Reign of Terror would have 
 pitied Dr. Guillotin when he slid through the grooves of: his own 
 deadly machine. And even the Tinke^ itinerant, ragamuffin 
 vagabond as he was, felt ashamed to be found with the pattern 
 boy ! Lenny's head sank again on his breast heavily, as if it had 
 been of lead. Some few minutes thus passed, when the unhappy 
 prisoner became aware of the presence of another spectator to 
 his shame : he heard no step,but he saw a shadow thrown over the 
 sward. He held his breath, and would not look up, with some 
 vague idea that if heref used to see him, he might escapebeing seen. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Per Bacco!" said Dr.Ricc abocca, putting his hand on Lenny's 
 shoulder, and bending down to look into his face ~"'Pcr Baccv ! 
 *ny young friend ; do you sit here from choice or necessity ? " 
 
 Lenny slightly shuddered, and winced under the touch of one
 
 138 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 whom he had hitherto regarded with a sort of superstitious 
 abhorrence. 
 
 " I fear," resumed Riccabocca, after waiting in vain for an 
 answer to his question, " that, though the situation is charming, 
 you did not select it yourself. What is this?" -and the irony of 
 the tone vanished " what is this, my poor boy? You have been 
 bleeding, and I see that those tears which you try to check come 
 from a deep well. Tell v&z povero fanciullo mio (the sweet Italian 
 vowels, thoughLennydidnotunderstand them,soundedsoftlyand 
 soothingly) tell me, my child, how all this happened. Perhaps I 
 can help you we have all erred; we should all help each other." 
 . Lenny's heart,that just before had seemed bound in brass,found 
 itself a way as the Italian spoke thus kindly, and the tears rushed 
 down ; but he again stopped them, and gulped out sturdily 
 
 " I have not done no wrong ; it ben't my fault and 'tis that 
 which kills me ! " concluded Lenny, with a burst of energy. 
 
 "You have not done wrong? Then," said the philosopher, 
 drawing out his pocket-handkerchief with great composure, and 
 spreading it on the ground" then I may sit beside you. I 
 could only stoop pityingly over sin, but I can lie down on equal 
 terms with misfortune." 
 
 Lenny Fairfield did not quite comprehend the words, but 
 enough of their general meaning was apparent to make him cast 
 a grateful glance on the Italian. Riccabocca resumed, as he 
 adjusted the pocket-handkerchief, " I have a right to your con- 
 fidence, my child, for I have been afflicted in my day ; yet I too 
 say with thee, ' I have not done wrong.' Cospetto ! " and here 
 the Doctor seated himself deliberately, resting one arm on the 
 side-column of the stocks, in familiar contact with the captive's 
 shoulder, while his eye wandered over the lovely scene around 
 " Cospetto ! my prison, if they had caught me, would not havei 
 had so fair a look-out as this. But, to be sure, it is all one ; 
 there are no ugly loves, and no handsome prisons." 
 
 With that sententious maxim, which, indeed, he uttered in his 
 native Italian, Riccabocca turned round, and renewed his sooth- 
 ing invitations to confidence. A friend in need is a friend in- 
 deed, even if he come in the guise of a Papist and wizard. All 
 Lenny's ancient dislike to the foreigner had gone, and he told 
 him his little tale. 
 
 Dr. Riccabocca was much too shrewd a man not to see ex- 
 actly the motives which had induced Mr. Stirn to incarcerate 
 his agent (barring only that of personal grudge, to which Lenny's 
 account gave him no clue). That a man high in office should 
 make a scape-goat of his watch-dog for an unlucky snap, or even
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 139 
 
 an indiscreet bark, was nothing strange to the wisdom of the 
 student of Machiavelli. However, he set himself to the task of 
 consolation with equal philosophy and tenderness. He began 
 by reminding, or rather informing, Leonard Fairfield of all the 
 instances of illustrious men afflicted by the injustice of others 
 that occurred to his own excellent memory. He told him how 
 the great Epictetus, when in slavery, had a master whose favor- 
 ite amusement was pinching his leg, which, as the amusement 
 ended in breaking that limb, was worse than the stocks. He 
 also told him the anecdote of Lenny's own gallant countryman, 
 Admiral Byng, whose execution gave rise to Voltaire's celebrated 
 witticism. " En Angleterre on hie un amiral pour encourager les 
 autres " (" In England they execute one admiral in order to en- 
 courage the others"). Many other illustrations, still more per- 
 tinent to the case in point, his erudition supplied from the stories 
 of history. But on seeing that Lenny did not seem in the slight- 
 est degree consoled by these memorable examples, he shifted his 
 ground, and reducing his logic to the strict argumentum ad rent, 
 began to prove, ist, that there was no disgrace at all in Lenny's 
 present position that every equitable person would recognize 
 the tyranny of Stirn, and the innocence of its victim ; adly, that 
 if even here he were mistaken for public opinion was not always 
 righteous what was public opinion, after all ?^ " A breath a 
 puff," cried Dr. Riccabocca " a thing without matter without 
 length, breadth, or substance ; a shadow a goblin of our own 
 creating. A man's own conscience is his sole tribunal, and he 
 should care no more for that phantom ' opinion ' than he should 
 fear meeting a ghost if he cross the. church-yard at dark." 
 
 Now,as Lenny did very much fear meeting a ghost if he crossed 
 the church-yard at dark, the simile spoiled the argument, and 
 he shook his head very mournfully. Dr. Riccabocca was about 
 to enter into a third course of reasoning, which, had it come to 
 an end, would doubtless have settled the matter, and reconciled 
 Lenny to sitting in the stocks till doomsday, when the captive, 
 with the quick ear and eye of terror and calamity, became con- 
 scious that church was over, that the congregation in a few 
 seconds more would be flocking thitherwards. He saw vision- 
 ary hats and bonnets through the trees, which Riccabocca saw 
 not, despite all the excellence of his spectacles heard phantas- 
 mal rustlings and murmurings which Riccabocca heard not, 
 despite all that theoretical experience in plots, stratagems, and 
 treasons, which should have made the Italian's ear as fine as a 
 conspirator's or a mole's. And, with another violent but vain 
 effort at escape, the prisoner exclaimed-**
 
 I .J.O MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 " Ob, if I could but get out before they come ! Let me out 
 let me out. Oh,:kind sir, have pity let me out ! " 
 
 " Diavolo ! " said the philosopher, startled, " I wonder that I 
 never thought of that before. After all, I believe he has hit the 
 right nail on the head," and, looking .close, he perceived that 
 though the partition of wood had hitched firmly into a sort of 
 spring-clasp, which defied Lenny's unaided struggles, still it was 
 not locked (for, indeed, the padlock and key were snug in the 
 justice-room of the Squire, who never dreamt that his orders 
 would be executed so literally and summarily as to dispense with 
 all formal appeal to himself). As soon as Dr. Riceabocca made 
 that discovery, it occurred to him that all the wisdom of all the 
 schools that ever existed can't reconcile man or boy to a bad posi- 
 tion themomen t there is a fair opportunity of let ting him out of it. 
 Accordingly, without more ado, he lifted up the creaking board, 
 and LennyFairfield darted forth like a bird from acage- halted 
 a moment as if for breath, or in joy ; and then, taking at once 
 to his heels, fled, as a hare to its form fast to his mother's home. 
 
 Dr. Riceabocca dropped the yawning wood into its place, 
 picked up his handkerchief and restored it to his pocket ; and 
 then, with some curiosity, began to examine the nature of that 
 place of duresse which had caused so much painful emotion to 
 its rescued victim. " Man is a very irrational animal at best," 
 quoth the sage, soliloquizing, "and is frightened by strange bug- 
 aboos ! 'Tis but a piece of wood ! how little it really injures! 
 And, after all, the holes are but rests to the legs, and keep the 
 feet out of the dirt. And this green bank to sit upon under the 
 shade of the elm-tree verily the position must be more pleasant 
 than otherwise ! I've a great mind " Here the Doctor looked 
 around, and seeing the coast still clear, the oddest notion im- 
 aginable took possession of him ; yet not indeed a notion so odd, 
 considered philosophically for all philosophy is based on prac- 
 tical experiment and Dr. Riceabocca felt an irresistible desire 
 practically to experience what manner of thing that punishment 
 of the stocks really was. " I can but try ! only for a moment," 
 he said, apologetically to his own expostulating sense of dignity. 
 " 1 have time to do it before any one comes." He lifted up the 
 partition again ; but stocks -are built on the same principle of 
 English law, and don't easily allow a man to criminate himself 
 it was hard to get into them without the help of a friend. How- 
 ever, as we before noticed, obstacles only whetted Dr. Ricca- 
 bocca's invention. He looked round and saw a withered bit of 
 stick under the tree this he inserted in the division of the 
 stocks, somewhat in the manner in which boys place a stick
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 141 
 
 under a sieve for the purpose of ensnaring sparrows : the fatal 
 wood . thus propped; Dr. Riccabocca sat gravely down on the 
 bank, and thrust his feet through the apertures. 
 
 " Nothing in it ! " cried he triumphantly, after a moment's 
 deliberation. " The evil is only in idea. Such is the boasted 
 reason of mortals'! " With that reflection, nevertheless, he was 
 about to withdraw his feet from their voluntary dilemma, when 
 the crazy stick suddenly gave way, and the partition fell back 
 into its clasp. Dr. Riccabocca was fairly caught " Facilis 
 descensus sed revocart gradum ! " True, his hands were at lib- 
 erty, but his legs were so long that, being thus fixed, they kept 
 the hands from the rescue ; and as Dr. Riccabocca's form was 
 by no means supple, and the twin parts of the wood stuck to- 
 gether with that firmness of adhesion.which things newly painted 
 possess, so, after some vain twists and contortions, in which he 
 succeeded at length (not without a stretch of the sinews that 
 made them crack again) in finding the clasp and breaking his 
 nails -thereon, the victim of his own rash experiment resigned 
 himself to his fate. Dr. Riccabocca was one of those men who 
 never do things by halves. When I say he resigned himself, I 
 mean not only Christian but philosophical resignation.. The posi- 
 tion was not quite so pleasant as, theoretically, he had deemed 
 it ; but he resolved to make himself as comfortable as he could. 
 At'first, as is natural in all troubles to men who have grown famil- 
 iar with that odoriferous comforter which Sir Walter Raleigh is 
 said first to have bestowed upon the Caucasian races, the Doctor 
 made use of his hand to extract from his pocket his pipe, match- 
 box, and tobacco-pouch. After a few whiffs, he would have been, 
 quite^recoiiciled to his situation, but for the discovery that the 
 sun had shifted its place in the heavens, and was no longer 
 shaded from his face by the elm-tree. The Doctor again looked 
 round, and perceived that his red silk umbrella, which he had laid 
 asidewh^n hehad-seated himself by Lenny, was within arm's reach. 
 Possessh g himself of this treasure, he soon expanded its friendly 
 folds. Anc^ thus, doubly fortified within and without, under shade 
 of the umbrella, and his pipe composedly between his lips, Dr. Ric- 
 caboccagazedonhisown incarcerated legs,evenwithcomplacency. 
 
 " ' He who can despise all things,' "said he, in one of his native 
 proverbs, " ' possesses all things ! '- if one despises freedom, one 
 is free ! This seat is as soft as a sofa! I am not sure," he 
 resumed, soliloquizing, after a pause : " I am not sure that there 
 is not something more witty than manly and philosophical in 
 that national proverb of mine which I quoted to the fanciullo, 
 ' that there are no handsome prisons ! ' Did not the son of that
 
 142 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 celebrated Frenchman, surnamed Bras de fer, write a book not 
 only to prove that adversities are more necessary than pros- 
 perities, but that among all adversities a prison is the most pleas- 
 ant and profitable ?* But is not this condition of mine, volun- 
 tarily and experimentally incurred, a type of my life ? Is it the 
 first time I have thrust myself into a hobble ? and if a hobble 
 of mine own choosing, why should I blame the gods ! " 
 
 Upon this, Dr. Riccabocca fel linto a train of musing so remote 
 from time and place, that in a few minutes he no more remem- 
 bered that he was in the parish stocks than a lover remembers 
 that flesh is grass, a miser that mammon is perishable, a philos- 
 opher that wisdom is vanity. Dr. Riccabocca was in the clouds. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE dullest dog that ever wrote a novel (and, entre nous, rea- 
 der but let it go no farther we have a good many dogs among 
 the fraternity that are not Munitosf) might have seen with half 
 an eye that the Parson's discourse had produced a very genial 
 and humanizing effect upon his audience. When all was over, 
 and the congregation stood up to let Mr. Hazeldean and his 
 family walk first down the aisle (for that was the custom of Hazel- 
 dean) moistened eyes glanced at the Squire's sunburned manly 
 face, with a kindness that bespoke revived memory of many a 
 generous benefit and ready service. The head might be wrong 
 now and then the heart was in the right place after all. And 
 the lady, leaning on his arm, came in for a large share of that 
 gracious good feeling. True, she now and then gave a little 
 offence when the cottages were not so clean as she fancied they 
 ought to be and poor folks don't like a liberty taken with their 
 houses any more than the rich do ; true that she was not quite 
 so popular with the women as the Squire was, for, if the husband 
 went too often to the ale-house, , she always laid the fault on the 
 wife, and said, " No man would go out of doors for his com- 
 forts, if he had a smiling face and a clean hearth at his home " ; 
 whereas the Squire maintained the more gallant opinion, that 
 " if Gill was a shrew, it was because Jack did not, as in duty 
 bound, stop her mouth with a kiss!" Still, notwithstanding these 
 more obnoxious notions on her part, and a certain awe inspired 
 by the stiff silk gown and the handsome aquiline nose, it was 
 impossible, especially in the softened tempers of that Sunday 
 afternoon, not to associate the honest, comely, beaming coun- 
 
 * " Kntre tout, f^tat {Tune forison est le plus doux, est te plus profitable ! " 
 t Muni to was the name of a dos famous for his learning (a Porion of a dog) at the date of 
 my childhood. There are no such dogs now-a-days.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 143 
 
 tenance of Mrs. Hazeldean with comfortable recollections of 
 soups, jellies, and wine in sickness, loaves and blankets in win- 
 ter, cheering words and ready visits in every little distress, and 
 pretexts afforded by improvements in the grounds and gardens 
 (improvements which, as the Squire, who preferred productive 
 labor, justly complained, " would never finish ") for little timely 
 jobs of work to some veteran grandsire, who still liked to earn a 
 penny, or some ruddy urchin in a family that " came too fast." 
 Nor was Frank, as he walked a little behind, in the whitest of 
 trousers and the stiffest of neckcloths with a look of suppressed 
 roguery in his bright hazel eye, that contrasted his assumed 
 stateliness of mien without his portion of the silent blessing. 
 Not that he had done anything yet to deserve it ; but we ail give 
 youth so large a credit in the future. As for Miss Jemima, her 
 trifling foibles only rose from too soft and feminine suscepti- 
 bility, too ivy-like a yearning for some masculine oak whereon 
 to entwine her tendrils ; and so little confined to self" was the 
 natural lovingnessof her disposition, that she had helped many a 
 village lass to find a husband, by the bribe of a marriage gift 
 from her own privy purse ; notwithstanding the assurances with 
 which she accompanied the marriage gift, viz., that " the bride- 
 groom would turn out like the rest of his ungrateful sex ; but 
 that it was a comfort to think that it would be all one in the 
 approaching crash." So that -she had her warm partisans, espec- 
 ially amorigst the young ; while the slim Captain, on whose arm 
 she rested her forefinger, was at least a. civil-spoken gentleman, 
 who had never done any harm, and who would, doubtless, do a 
 deal of good if he belonged to the parish. Nay, even the fat 
 footman, who came last, with the family : Prayer-book, had his 
 due share in the general 'association 'of neighborly kindness be- 
 tween hall and hamlet. Few were there present to whom he had 
 not extended the right-hand of fellowship with a full horn of 
 October in the clasp of it; and he was a Hazeldean man, too,born 
 and bred, as two-thirds of the Squire's household (now letting 
 themselves out from their large pew under the gallery) w'ere. 
 
 On his part, too, you could see'that the Squire was " moved 
 withal," and a little humbled moreover. Instead of walking 
 erect, arrd taking bow and curtsey as a matter of course, and of 
 no^ meaning, he hung his head somewhat, and there was a slight 
 blush on his cheek ; and as he glanced upward and round him 
 shyly, as it were and his eye met those friendly looks, it re- 
 turned them with an earnestness that had in it something touch- 
 ing as well as cordial an eye that said, as well as eye could 
 say, " I don't quite deserve it, I fear, neighbors ; but I thank
 
 1 44 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 you far your good-will with my whole heart." And so readily 
 was that glance of the eye understood, that I think, if that scene 
 had taken place out of doors instead of in the church, there 
 would have been a hurrah as the Squire passed out of sight. 
 
 Scarcely had Mr. Hazeldean got clear of the church-yard, ere 
 Mr. Stirn was whisperinginhisear. AsStirn whispered, theSquire's 
 face grew long, and his color rose. The congregation, now flocking 
 outpf the church, exchanged looks with each other; thatominous 
 con j unction between Squire and man chilled back all the efforts of 
 the Parson's sermon. The Squire struck his cane violently into the 
 ground. "I would rather you had told me Black Bess had got the 
 glanders. A-young gentleman, coming to visit my son, struck and 
 insulted in.Hazeldean; a young gentleman 'sdeath, sir, a rela- 
 tion J^is grandmqther was a Hazeldean. I do believe Jemima's 
 right, and the world's coming to an end! But Leonard Fairfield 
 in the stocks? What will theParson say,and after such a sermon ! 
 'Rich man, respect the poor!' ; And the good widow too ; 
 and poor Mark, who almost died in my arms. Stirn, you have 
 a heart of stone ! You confounded, lawless, merciless miscre- 
 ant, who the deuce gave you the right to imprison man or boy 
 in my parish of Hazeldean, without trial, sentence, or warrant ? 
 Run and let the boy out before any one sees him ; run, or I 
 ,'shall " The Squire elevated the cane, and his eyes shot fire. Mr. 
 Stirn did not run, but he walked off very fast. The Squire drew 
 back a few paces, and again ,took his wife's arm. " Just wait a 
 bit for the Parson, while I talk to the congregation. I want to 
 stop 'em all, if I can, from going into the village ; but how ? " 
 
 Frank heard, and replied, readily . 
 
 " Give 'em some beer, sir." 
 
 "Beer! on a Sun day! Forshame, Frank!" cried Mrs. Hazeldean. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Harry. Thank you, Frank," said the 
 Squire, and his brow, grew as clear as the -blue sky above him. 
 I dou})t if Riccabocca could have got him out of his dilemma 
 with the. same ease as Frank had done. 
 
 " Halt there, my men lads and lasses too rthere, halt a bit. 
 JVIrs. Fairfield,do you hear?- halt. I think his reverence has given 
 us a capital sermon. Go up to the Great House all of you, and 
 drink a glass to his health. Frank, go withthem, and tell Spruce to 
 tap one of the casks kept for the haymakers. Harry [this in a 
 whisper], catch, the Parson, and tell him tocome to me instantly." 
 
 ' My dear Hazeldean, what has happened ? You are mad." 
 
 " Don't bother do what I tell you." 
 
 " But where is the Parson to find you ? " 
 
 " Where,' gad zooks, Mrs. H., at the Stocks, to be sure ! "
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 145 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 DR. RICCABOCCA, awakened out of his reverie by the sound 
 of footsteps, was still so little sensible of the indignity of his po- 
 sition, that he enjoyed exceedingly, and with all the malice of his 
 natural humor, the astonishment and stupor manifested by 
 Stirn, when that functionary beheld the extraordinary substi- 
 tute which fate and philosophy had foiind for Lenny Fairfield. 
 Instead of the weeping, crushed, broken-hearted captive whom 
 he had reluctantly come to deliver, he stared, speechless and 
 aghast, upon the grotesque but tranquil figure of the Doctor, 
 enjoying Ms pipe, and coolirig himself under his umbrella, with 
 a sang-froid that was truly appalling and diabolical. Indeed, 
 considering that Stirn always suspected the Papisher of having 
 had a hand in the whole of that black and midnight business, 
 in which the stocks had been broken, bunged up, and consigned 
 to perdition, and that the Papisher rVad the evil reputation of 
 dabbling in the Black Art, the hocus-pocus way in which the 
 Lenny he had incarcerated was transformed into the Doctor he 
 found, conjoined with the peculiarly strange, eldritch, and 
 Mephistophelean physiognomy and person of Riccabocca, could 
 not but strike a thrill of superstitious dismay into'the breast of 
 the parochial tyrant. While to his first confused and stam- 
 mered exclamations and interrogatories, Riccabocca replied with 
 so tragic an air, such ominous shakes of the head, such mysteri- 
 ous, equivocating, long-worded sentences, that Stirn every mo- 
 ment felt more and more convinced that the boy had sold him- 
 self to the Powers of Darkness ; and that he himself prema- 
 turely, and in the flesh, stood face to face with the Arch-Enefny. 
 
 Mr. Stirn had not yet recovered his wonted intelligence, 
 which, to do him justice, was usually prompt enough when the 
 'Squire, followed hard by the Parson, arrived at the spot. In- 
 deed, Mrs. Hazeldean's report of the Squire's urgent message, 
 disturbed manner, and most unparalleled invitation to the par- 
 ishioners, had given wings to Parson Dale's ordinarily slow and 
 sedate movements. And while the Squire, sharing Stirn's 
 amazement, beheld indeed a great pair of feet projecting from 
 the stocks, and saw behind them the grave face of Doctor 
 Riccabocca, under the majestic shade of fh : e umbrella, but not 
 a vestige of the only being his mind could identify with the 
 tenancy of the stocks, Mr. Dale catching him by the arm, and 
 panting hard, exclaimed with a petulance he had never before 
 known to display except at the whist-table,; 
 
 "Mr. Hazeldean, Mr. Hazeldean, I am scandalized^ I am
 
 146 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 shocked at you. I can bear a great deal from you, sir, as I 
 ought to do ; but to ask my whole congregation, the moment 
 after divine service, to go up and guzzle ale at the Hall, and 
 drink my health, as if a clergyman's sermon had been a speech 
 at a cattle-fair ! I am ashamed of you, and of the parish ! 
 What on earth has come to you all ? " 
 
 "That's the very question I wish to Heaven I could answer," 
 groaned the Squire, quite mildly and pathetically" What on 
 earth has come to us all ! Ask Stirn : " (then bursting out) 
 " Stirn, you infernal rascal, don't you hear ? what on earth 
 has come to us all ? " 
 
 , " The Papisher is at the bottom of it, sir," said Stirn, pro- 
 voked out of all temper. " I does my duty, but I is but a mor- 
 tal man, arter all." 
 
 " A mortal fiddlestick where's Leonard Fairfield, I say ? " 
 
 "Him knows best," answered Stirn, retreating mechanically, 
 for safety's sake, behind the parson, and pointing to Dr. Ricca- 
 bocca. Hitherto, though both the Squire and Parson had in- 
 deed recognized the Italian, they had merely supposed him to 
 be seated on the bank. It never entered into their heads that 
 so respectable and dignified a man could by any possibility be 
 an inmate, compelled or voluntary, of the parish stocks. No, 
 not even though, as I before said, the Squire had seen, just un- 
 der his nose, a very long pair of soles inserted in the apertures 
 that sight had only confused and bewildered him, unaccompa- 
 nie,d, as it ought to have been, with the trunk and face of Lenny 
 Fairfield. Those soles seemed to him optical delusions, phantoms 
 of the over-heated brain; but now, catching hold of Stirn, while 
 the Parson in equal astonishment caught hold of him theSquire 
 faltered oat, "Well, this beats cock-fighting! The man's as mad as 
 a March hare,andhas taken Dr. Rickeybockey for little Lenny !" 
 
 "Perhaps," said the Doctor, breaking silence with, a bland 
 smile, and attempting an inclination of the head as courteous 
 as his position would permit " perhaps, if it be quite the same 
 to you, before you proceed to explanations, you will just help 
 me out of the stocks." 
 
 The Parson, despite his perplexity and anger, could not re- 
 press a smile, as he approached his learned friend, and bent 
 down for the purpose of extricating him. 
 
 " Lord love your reverence, you'd better not ! " cried Mr. 
 Stirn. " Don't be tempted he only wants to get you into his 
 claws. I would not go a-near him for all the " 
 
 The speech was interrupted by. Dr. Riccabocca himself, who 
 BOW, thanks to the Parson, had risen into his full height, and
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 147 
 
 half a bead taller than all present even than the tall Squire-r- 
 approached Mr. Stirn, with a gracious wave of the hand. Mr. 
 Stirn retreated rapidly toward the hedge, amidst the branches 
 of which he plunged himself incontinently. 
 
 " I guess whom you take me for, Mr. Stirn," said the Italian, 
 lifting his hat with his characteristic politeness. " It is certainly 
 a great honor ; but you will know better one of these days, 
 when the gentleman in question admits you to a personal inter- 
 view in another, and a hotter world." 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " BUT how on earth did you get into my new stocks ? " asked 
 the Squire, scratching his head. 
 
 "My dear sir, Pliny the eldergot into the crater of MountEtna." 
 
 " Did he, and what for ? " 
 
 " To try what it was like, I suppose," answered Riccabocca. 
 
 The Squire burst out a-laughing. 
 
 " And so you got into the stocks to try what it was like. Well, 
 I can't wonder it is a very handsome pair of stocks," continued 
 the Squire, with a loving look at the object of his praise. 
 " Nobody need be ashamed of being seen in those stocks I 
 should not mind it myself." 
 
 " We had better move on," said the Parson, dryly, "or-we shall 
 have the whole village here presently, gazing on the lord of the 
 manor in the same predicament as that from which we have just 
 extricated the Doctor. Now, pray, what is the matter with Lenny 
 Fairfield ? I can't understand a word of what has passed. You 
 don't mean to say that good Lenny Fairfield (who was absent from 
 church, by-the-by) can have done anything. to get intodisgrace?" 
 
 "Yes, he has though," cried the Squire. "Stirn, I say, Stirn " 
 But Stirn had forced his way through .the hedge and vanished. 
 Thus left to his own powers of narrative at second-hand r Mr. Ha- 
 zeldean now told all he had to communicate; the assault upon 
 Randal Leslie, and the prompt punishment inflicted by Stirn, his 
 own indignation at the ;affront to his young kinsman, and hisgood- 
 natured, merciful desire to save the culpr it frompublic humiliation. 
 
 The Parson, mollified toward the rude and hasty invention of 
 the: beer-drinking, took the Squire by the hand. " Ah, Mr. 
 Hazeldean, forgive me," he said repentantly ; " I ought to have 
 known at once that it was only some ebullition of your heart that 
 could stifle your sense of decorum. But this is a sad story about 
 Lenny, brawling and fighting on the Sabbath-day. So unlike 
 him, too I don't know what to make of it." 
 
 " Like or unlike," said the Squire, " it has been a gross insult
 
 148 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 to young Leslie ; and looks all the worse because I and Audley 
 .are not just the best friends in the world. I can't think what it 
 is," continued Mr. Hazeldean, musingly ; ''but it seems that 
 there must be always some association of fighting connected with 
 that prim half-brother of mine. There was I, son of his own 
 mother who might have been shot through the lungs, only the 
 ball lodged in the shoulder and now his wife's kinsman my 
 kinsman, too grandmother a Hazeldean a hard-reading, 
 sober lad, as I am given to understand, can't set his foot into the 
 quietest parish in the three kingdoms, but what the mildest boy 
 that ever was seen makes a rush at him like a mad bull. It is 
 ; NATALITY ! " cried the Squire, solemnly. I 
 
 "Ancient legends record similar instances of fatality in cer- 
 tain houses," observed Riccabocca. " There was -the House of 
 Pelops and Polynices and Eteocles the sons of OEdipus ! " 
 
 " Pshaw ! " said the Parson ; "but what's to be done ? " 
 
 " Done ? " said the Squire ; " why, -reparation must be nlade 
 to young Leslie. And though I wished to spare Lenny, the 
 .young ruffian, a public disgrace 1 for your sake, Parson Dale, and 
 Mrs. Fairfield's ; yet a good caning in private " 
 
 " Stop, sir ! " said Riccabocca, mildly, " and hear me." The 
 Italian then, with much feeling and considerable tact pleaded 
 the cause of his poor protegt, and explained how Lenny's error 
 arose only from 'mistaken zeal for the Squire's service, and in 
 the execution of the orders received from Mr. Stirn. 
 
 "That alters the matter/' .said the -Squire, softened ; "and 
 all that is necessary -now. will be for him to make a proper 
 apology to my kinsman." 
 
 " Yes, that is just," rejoined the Parson ; "but I still don't 
 learn how he got out of the stocks." 
 
 Riccaboicca then resumed his tale ; and, after confessing his 
 own principal share in Lenny's escape, drew a moving picture of 
 the boy's shame and honest mortification. "Let us march against 
 Philip!" cried the Athenians. when they heard Demosthenes 
 
 "Let us go at once and comfort the child ! " cried the Par- 
 son, before Riccabocca could finish. 
 
 With that benevolent intention all three quickened their pace, 
 and soon arrived at the widow's cottage. But Lenny had caught 
 sight of their approach through the window; and not doubting 
 that, in spite of Riccabocca's intercession, the Parson was com- 
 ing to upbraid, and the Squire to re-imprison, he darted out by 
 the back way, got amongst the woods, and lay there perdu all 
 the evening. Nay, it was not till after dark that his mother 
 who sat wringing her hands in the little kitchen, and trying in
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 149 
 
 vain to listen to the Parson and Mrs. Dale, who (after sending 
 in search of the fugitive) had kindly come to console the moth- 
 er heard a timid knock at the door and a nervous fumble at 
 the latch. She started up, opened the door, and Lenny sprang 
 to her bosom, and there buried his face,, sobbing loud. 
 
 "No harm, my boy," said the Parson tenderly; "you have 
 nothing to fear all is explained and forgiven," 
 
 Lenny looked up, and the veins on his forehead were much 
 swollen. "Sir," said he sturdily, " I don't want to be forgiven - 
 I aint done no wrong. And I've been disgraced and I won't 
 go to school, never no more." 
 
 " Hush, Carry ! " said the Parson to his wife, who, with the 
 usual liveliness of her little temper, was about to expostulate. 
 " Good night, Mrs. Fairfield. I shall come and talk to you to- 
 morrow, Lenny; by that time you will think better of it." 
 
 The Parson then conducted his wife home, and went up to 
 the Hall to report Lenny's safe return; for the Squire was very 
 uneasy about him, and had even in person shared the search. 
 As soon as he heard Lenny was safe --" Well," said the Squire, 
 " let him go the first thing in the morning to Rood Hall, to ask 
 Master Leslie's pardon, and all will be right and smooth again." 
 
 " A young villain ! " cried Frank, with his cheeks the color of 
 scarlet; " to strike a gentleman and an Etonian, who had just 
 been to call on me! I wonder Randal let him off so well any 
 other boy in the sixth form would have killed him ! " 
 
 " Frank," said the Parson sternly, "if we all had our deserts, 
 what should be done to him who not only lets the sun go down 
 on his own. wrath, but strives with uncharitable breath to fan 
 the dying embers of another's ?" 
 
 The clergyman here turned away from Frank, who bit his .lip, 
 and seemed abashed while even his mother said not a word in 
 his exculpation; for when the Parson did reprove in that stern 
 tone, the majesty of the Hall stood awed before the rebuke of 
 the Church. Catching Riccabocca's inquisitive eye, Mr. Dale 
 drew aside the philosopher, and whispered to him his fears that 
 it would be a very hard matter to induce Lenny to beg Randal 
 Leslie's pardon, and that the proud stomach of the pattern boy 
 would not digest the stocks with as .much ease as a long regimen 
 of philosophy had enabled the sage to do. This conference 
 Miss Jemima soon interrupted by a direct appeal to the Doctor 
 respecting the number of years (.even without any previous and 
 more violent incident) that the world could possibly withstand 
 its own wear and tear. 
 
 " Ma'am," said the Doctor, reluctantly summoned away to
 
 150 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 look at a passage in some prophetic periodical upon that inter- 
 esting subject " ma'am, it is very hard that you should make 
 one remember the end of the world, since, in conversing with 
 you, one's natural temptation is to forget its existence." 
 
 Miss Jemima's cheeks were suffused with a deeper scarlet 
 than Frank's had been a few minutes before. Certainly that 
 deceitful, heartless compliment justified all her contempt for 
 the male sex; and yet such is human blindness it went far 
 to redeem all mankind in her credulous and too-confiding soul. 
 
 " He is about to propose," sighed Miss Jemima. 
 
 "Giacomo," said Riccabocca, as he drew on his night-cap, 
 and stepped majestically into the four- posted bed, " I think we 
 shall get that boy for the garden now ! " 
 
 Thus each spurred his hobby, or drove her car, round the 
 Hazeldean whirligig. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 WHATEVER may be the ultimate success of Miss Jemima 
 Hazeldean's designs upon Dr. Riccabocca, the Machiavellian 
 sagacity with which the Italian had counted upon securing the 
 services of Lenny Fairfield was speedily and triumphantly estab- 
 lished by the result. No voice of the Parson's, charmed he 
 ever so wisely, could persuade the peasant-boy to go and ask 
 pardon of the young gentleman, to whom, because he had done 
 as he was bid, he owed an agonizing defeat, and a shameful in- 
 carceration. And, to Mrs. Dale's vexation, the widow took the 
 boy's part. She was deeply offended at the unjust disgrace 
 Lenny had undergone in being put in the stocks ; she shared 
 his pride, and openly approved his spirit. Nor was it without 
 great difficulty that Lenny could be induced to resume his les- 
 sons at school; nay, even to set foot beyond the precincts of 
 his mother's holding. The point of the school at last he yielded, 
 though sullenly; and the Parson thought it better to temporize 
 as to the more unpalatable demand. Unluckily, Lenny's ap- 
 prehensions of the mockery that awaited him in the merciless 
 world of his village were realized. Though Stirn at first kept 
 his own counsel, the Tinker blabbed the whole affair. And 
 after the search instituted for Lenny on the fatal night, all at- 
 tempts to hush up what had passed would have been impossible. 
 So then Stirn told his story, as the Tinker had told his own ; 
 both tales were very unfavorable to Leonard Fairchild. The 
 pattern boy had broken the Sabbath, fought his betters, and 
 been well mauled into the bargain ; the village lad had sided 
 with Stirn and the authorities in spying out the misdemeanors
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 151 
 
 of his equals : therefore Leonard Fairchild, in both capacities 
 of degraded pattern boy and baffled spy, could expect no 
 mercy; he was ridiculed in the one, and hated in the other. 
 
 It is true that, in the presence of the schoolmaster, and under 
 the eye of Mr. Dale, no one openly gave vent to malignant feel- 
 ings ; but the moment those checks were removed, popular per- 
 secution began. 
 
 Some pointed and mowed at him; some cursed him for a sneak, 
 and all shunned his society; voices were heard in the hedgerows, 
 as he passed through the village at dusk, " Who was put in the 
 stocks ?- baa ! " " Who got a bloody nob for playing spy to Nick 
 Stirn ? baa ! " To resist this species of aggression would have 
 teen a vain attempt for a wiser head and a colder temper than 
 our poor pattern-boy's. He took his resolution at once, and his 
 mother approved it ; and the second or third day after Dr. Ric- 
 cabocca's return to the Casino, Lenny Fairfield presented him- 
 self on the terrace with a little bundle in his hand. " Please, 
 sir," said he to the Doctor, who was sitting cross-legged on the 
 balustrade, with his red silk umbrella over his head " please, 
 sir, if you'll be good enough to take me now, and give me any 
 hole to sleep in, I'll work for your honor night and day; and 'as 
 for the wages, mother says, ' just suit yourself, sir.' " 
 
 " My child," said the Doctor, taking Lenny by the hand, and 
 looking at him with the sagacious eye of a wizard^ " I knew you 
 would come ! and Giacomo is already prepared for you ! As to 
 wages, we'll talk of them by and by." '. 
 
 Lenny being thus settled, his mother looked for some even- 
 ings on the vacant chair, where he had so long sate in the place 
 of her beloved Mark ; and the chair seemed so comfortless and 
 desolate, thus left all to itself, that she could bear it no longer. 
 
 Indeed the village had grown as distasteful to her as to Lenny 
 perhaps more so; and one morning she hailed the Steward as he 
 was trotting his hog-maned cob beside the door, and bade him 
 tell the Squire that " she would take it very kind if he would let 
 her off the six months'notice for the land and premises she held 
 there were plenty to step into the place at a much better rent." 
 
 " You're a fool," said the good-natured Steward ; " and I'm 
 very glad you did not speak to that fellow Stirn instead of to me. 
 You've been doing extremely well here and have the place,! may 
 say, for nothing." 
 
 " Nothin' as to rent, sir, but a great deal as to feelin', " said 
 the widow ; " and now Lenny has gone to work with the foreign 
 gentleman, I should like to go and live near him/' 
 
 " Ah, yes I heard Lenny had taken himself off to the Cas-
 
 152 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 ino more fool he ; but, bless your heart, 'tis no distance two 
 miles or so. Can't he come every night after work ? " 
 
 " No, sir," exclaimed the widow, almost fiercely ; " he shan't 
 come home here,to be called bad names and jeered at! he whom 
 my dead good-man was so fond and proud of. No, sir; we poor 
 folks have our feelings, as I said to Mrs. Dale, and as I will say 
 to the Squire hisself. Not that I don't thank him for all favors 
 he be a good gentleman if let alone ; but he says he won't come 
 near us till Lenny goes and axes pardin. Pardin for what, I 
 should like to know ! Poor lamb ! .1 wish you could ha' seen 
 his nose, sir as big as your two fists. Ax pardin! if the Squire 
 had had such a nose as that, I don't think it's pardin he'd been 
 ha' axing. But I let the passion get the better of me I humbly 
 beg you'll excuse it, sir. I'm no scholard as poor Mark was, and 
 Lenny would have been, if the Lord had not visited usotherways. 
 Therefore just get the Squire to let me go as soon as may be ; 
 and as for the bit o' hay and what's on the grounds and orchard, 
 the new comer will no doubt settle that." 
 
 The Steward, finding no eloquence of his could induce the 
 widow to relinquish her resolution, took her message .to the 
 Squire. Mr. Hazeldean, who was indeed really offended at the 
 boy's obstinate refusal to make the amende honorable to Randal 
 Leslie, at first only bestowed a hearty curse or two on the pride 
 and ingratitude both of mother and son. It may be. supposed, 
 however, that his second thoughts were more gentle, since that 
 evening, though he did not go himself to the widow, he sent his 
 " Harry." Now, though Harry was sometimes austere and 
 brusque enough on her own account, and in such business as 
 might especially be transacted between herself and the cottag- 
 ers, yet she never appeared as the delegate of her lord except 
 in the capacity of a herald of peace and mediating angel. It 
 was with good heart, too, that she undertook this mission, since, 
 as we have seen, both mother and son were great favorites of 
 hers. She entered the cottage with the friendliest beam in her 
 bright blue eye, and it Avas with the softest tone of her frank, 
 cordial voice that she accosted the widow. But she was no 
 more successful than the Steward had been. The truth is, that 
 I don't believe the haughtiest duke in the three kingdoms is 
 really so proud as your plain English rural peasant, nor half so 
 hard to propitiate and deal with when his sense of dignity is 
 ruffled. Nor are there many of my own literary brethren (thin- 
 skinned creatures though we are) so sensitively alive to the 
 Public Opinion, wisely despised by Dr. Riccabocca, as that same 
 peasant. He can endure a good deal of contumely sometimes,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 153 
 
 it is true, from his superiors (though, thank Heaven ! that he 
 rarely meets with unjustly); but to be looked down upon, and 
 mocked, and pointed at by his own equals his own little world 
 cuts him to the soul. And if you can succeed in breaking 
 this pride, and destroying this sensitiveness, then he is a lost 
 being. He can never recover his self-esteem, and you have 
 chucked him half-way a stolid, inert, sullen victim to the 
 perdition of the prison or the convict-ship. 
 
 Of this stuff was the nature both of the widow and her son. 
 Hadthehoney of Plato flowed from thetongue of Mrs. Hazeldean, 
 it could not have turned into sweetness the bitter spirit upon 
 which it descended. Biit Mrs. Hazeldean, though an excellent 
 woman, was rather a bluff, plain-spoken one and, after all, she 
 had' some little feeling for the son of a gentleman, and a de- 
 cayed; fallen gentleman, who, even by Lenny's account, had 
 been assailed without any intelligible provocation: nor could 
 she, with her strong common sense, attach all the importance 
 which Mrs. Fairfield did to the unmannerly impertinence of a 
 few young cubs, which she said truly, " would soon die away if 
 no notice was taken of it." The widow's mind was made up, 
 and Mrs. Hazeldean departed with much chagrin and some 
 displeasure. 
 
 Mrs. Fairfield, however, tacitly understood that the request 
 she had made was granted, and early one morning her door was 
 found locked the key left at a neighbor's to be given to the 
 Steward: and, on further inquiry, it was ascertained that her 
 furniture and effects had been removed by the errand-cart, in 
 the dead of the night. Lenny had succeeded in finding a cot- 
 tage on the roadside, not far from the Casino; and there, with 
 a joyous face, he waited to welcome his mother to breakfast, 
 and show how he had spent the night in arranging her furniture. 
 
 "Parson ! " cried the Squire when all this news came upon 
 him, as he was walking arm-in-arm with Mr. Dale, to inspect 
 some proposed improvement in the Alms-house, " this is all your 
 fault. Why did not you go and talk, to that brute of a boy, and 
 that dolt of a woman? You've got 'soft sawder enough,' as 
 Frank calls it in his new-fashioned slang." 
 
 "As if I had not talked myself hoarse to both !" said the 
 Parson, in a tone of reproachful surprise at the accusation. 
 " But it was in vain !, O Squire, if you had taken my advice 
 about the stocks quieta rton movere ! " 
 
 " Bother ! " said the: Squire. " I suppose I am to be held 
 up as a tyrant, a Nero, a Richard the. Third, or a Grand Inquis- 
 itor, merely for having things smart and tidy! Stocks indeed!
 
 154 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 your friend Rickeybockey said he was never more comforta- 
 ble in his life quite enjoyed sitting there. And what did not 
 hurt Rickeybockey's dignity (a very gentleman-like man he is, 
 when he pleases) ought to be no such great matter to Master 
 Leonard Fairfield. But 'tis no use talking! What's to be done 
 now? The woman must not starve; and I'm sure she can't live 
 out of Rickeybockey's wages to Lenny (by the way, I hope he 
 don't board the boy upon his and Jackeymo's leavings: I hear 
 they dine upon newts and sticklebacks faugh !) I'll tell you 
 what, Parson, now I think of it at the back of the cottage 
 which she had taken there are some fields of capital land just 
 vacant. Rickeybockey wants to have 'em, and sounded me as 
 to the rent when he was at the Hall. I only half-promised him 
 the refusal. And he must give up four or five acres of the best 
 land round the cottage to the widow just enough for her to 
 manage and she can keep a dairy. If she wants capital, I'll 
 lend her some in your name only don't tell Stirn; and as for 
 the rent we'll talk of that when we see' how she gets on, thank- 
 less, obstinate jade that she is ! You see," added the Squire,' 
 as if he felt there was some apology due for this generosity to 
 an object whom he professed to consider so ungrateful, " her 
 husband was a faithful servant, and so I wish you would not 
 stand there staring me out of countenance, but go down to the 
 woman at once, or Stirn will have let the land to Rickeybockey, 
 as sure as a gun. And harkye, Dale, perhaps you can contrive, 
 if the woman is so cursedly stiff-backed, not to say the land is 
 mine, or that it is any favor I want to do her or, in short, 
 manage it as you can for the best." Still even this charitable 
 message failed. The widow knew that the land was the Squire's, 
 and worth a good ^"3 an acre. " She thanked him humbly for 
 that and all favors; but she could not afford to buy cows, and 
 she did not wish to be beholden to anyone for her living. And 
 Lenny was welToff at Mr. Rickeybockey's, and coming on won- 
 derfully in the garden way and she did not doubt she could 
 get some washing; at all events, her haystack would bring in a 
 good bit of money, and she should do nicely, thank their honors." 
 Nothing farther could be done in the direct way, but the remark 
 about the washing suggested some mode of indirectly benefiting 
 the widow. And a little time afterward, the sole laundress in 
 that immediate neighborhood happening to die, a hint from the 
 Squire obtained from the landlady of the inn opposite the Casino 
 such custom as she had to bestow, which at times was not incon- 
 siderable. And what with Lenny's wages (whateve-r that mys- 
 terious item might be), the mother and son contrived to live with-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. .155 
 
 out exhibiting any of those physical signs of fast and abstinence 
 which Riccabocca and his valet gratuitously afforded to the stu- 
 dent in animal anatomy. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 OF all the wares and commodities in exchange and .barter, 
 wherein so mainly consists the civilization of our modern world, 
 there is not one which is so carefully weighed so accurately 
 measured so plumbed and gauged so doled and scraped so 
 poured out in minima and balanced with scruples as that neces- 
 sity of social commerce called " an apology ! " If the chemists 
 were half so careful in vending their poisons, there would be a 
 notable diminution in the yearly average of victims to arsenic 
 and oxalic acid. But, alas, in the matter of apology, it is not 
 from the excess of the dose, but the timid, niggardly, miserly 
 manner in which it is dispensed, that poor Humanity is hurried 
 off to the Styx ! How many times does a life depend on the ex- 
 act proportions of an apology ! It is a hair-breadth too short to 
 cover the scratch for which you want it ? Make your will you 
 are a dead man ! A life, do I say ? a hecatomb of lives ! How 
 many wars would have been prevented, how many thrones would 
 be standing, dynasties flourishing commonwealths brawling 
 round a be ma, or fitting out galleys for corn and cotton if an 
 inch or two more of apology had been added to the proffered 
 ell ! But then that plaguy, jealous, suspicious, old vinegar-faced 
 Honor, and her partner Pride as penny-wise and pound-foolish 
 a she-skinflint as herself have the monopoly of the article. And 
 what with the time they lose in adjusting their spectacles, hunt- 
 ing in the precise shelf for the precise quality demanded, then 
 (quality found) the haggling as to quantum considering whether 
 it should be Apothecary's weight or Avoirdupois, or English 
 measure or Flemish and, finally, the hullabaloo they make if 
 the customer is not perfectly satisfied with the monstrous little 
 he gets for his money I don't wonder, for my part, how one loses 
 temper and patience, and sends Pride, Honor, and Apology, all 
 to the devil. Aristophanes, in his comedy of " Peace" insinuates 
 a beautiful allegory by only suffering that goddess, though in fact 
 she is his heroine, to appear as a mute. She takes care never to 
 open her lips. The shrewd Greek knew very well that she would 
 cease to be Peace, if she once began to chatter. Wherefore, O 
 reader, if ever you find your pump under the iron heel of another 
 man's boot, heaven grant that you may hold your tongue, and 
 not make things past all endurance and forgiveness by bawling 
 out for an apology !
 
 156 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 BUT the Squire and his son, Frank, were large-hearted, gen 
 erous creatures in the article of apology, as in all things less 
 skimpdngly dealt out. And seeing that Leonard Fairfield would 
 offer no plaster to Randal Leslie, they made amends for his 
 stinginess- by their own prodigality. The Squire accompanied 
 his son to Rood Hall, and none of the family choosing to be at 
 home,the Squire in his own hand, and from his own head, indited 
 and composed an epistle which might have satisfied all the 
 wounds which the dignity of the Leslies had ever 1 received. 
 
 This letter of apology ended with a hearty request tllatRandal 
 would come and spend a few days with his son. Frank's epistle 
 was to the same purport, only more Etonian and less legible. 
 
 It was some days before Randal's replies tothese epistleswere 
 received. The replies bore the address of a village near Lon- 
 don, and stated that the writer was now reading with a tutor 
 preparatory to entrance at Oxford, and could riot, therefore, 
 accept the invitation extended to him. 
 
 For the rest, Randal expressed himself with good sense, 
 though not with much generosity. He excused his participation 
 in the vulgarity of such a conflict by a bitter but short allusion 
 to the obstinacy and ignorance of the village boor; and did not 
 do what you, my kind reader, certainly would have done under 
 similar circumstances- viz., intercede in behalf of a brave and 
 unfortunate antagonist. Most of us like a foe better after we 
 have fought him that is, if we are the conquering party ; this 
 was not the case with Randal Leslie. There, so far as the 
 Etonian was concerned, the matter rested. And the Squire, 
 irritated that he could not repair whatever wrong that young 
 gentleman had sustained, no longer felt a pang of regret as he 
 passed by Mrs. Fairfield's deserted cottage. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 LENNY FAIRFIELD continued to give great satisfaction to his 
 new employers, and to profit in many respects by the familiar 
 kindness with which he was treated. Riccabocca, who valued 
 himself on penetrating into character,had,frbm ihe first, seen that 
 much stuff of no common quality and texture was to be found in 
 the disposition and mind of the English village boy. On farther 
 acquaintance, he perceived that, under a child's innocent simpli- 
 city, there were the workings of an acuteness that required but 
 development and direction. He ascertained that the pattern
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 157 
 
 boy'sprogress at the villageschoolproceededfrom something more 
 than mechanical docility and readiness of comprehension. Lenny 
 had a keen thirst for knowledge, and through all the disadvantages 
 of birth and circumstances, there were the indications of that 
 natural genius which convertsdisadvantages themselvesintostim- 
 ulants. Still, with the germs of good qualities lay the embryos of 
 those which, difficult to separate, and hard to destroy, often mar 
 the produce of the soil. With a remarkable and generous pride 
 in self-repute, there was. some stubbornness; with great sensibil- 
 lity to kindness, there was also strong reluctance'to forgive affront. 
 This mixed nature in an uncultivated peasant's breast inter- 
 ested Riccabocca, who, though long secluded from the com- 
 merce of mankind, still looked upon man as the most -various 
 and entertaining volume which philosophical research can ex- 
 plore. He soon accustomed the boy to the tone of a conversa- 
 tion generally subtle and suggestive; and Lenny's language and 
 ideas became insensibly less rustic and more refined. Then 
 Riccabocca selected from, his library,small as it was,books that, 
 though elementary, were of a higher class than Lenny could have 
 found within his reach at Hazeldean. Riccabocca knew the Eng- 
 lish language well better in grammar, construction, and genius 
 than many a not ill-educated Englishman; for he had studied 
 it with the minuteness with which a scholar studies a dead lan- 
 guage, and amidst his collection he had many of the books 
 which had formerly served him for that purpose. These were 
 the first works he lent to Lenny. Meanwhile Jackeymo im- 
 parted to the boy many secrets in practical gardening and mi- 
 nute husbandry, for at that day farming in England (some fav- 
 ored counties and estates excepted) was far below the nicety (o 
 which the art has been immemorially carried in the north of 
 Italy where,indeed,you may travel for miles as through a series 
 of market-gardens so that, all these things considered ? Leonard 
 Fajrfield might be said to have made a change for the better. 
 Yet, in truth/ and looking below the surface, that might be fair 
 matter of doubt. For the same reason which had induced the 
 boy to fly his native village, he no longer repaired to the church 
 of Hazeldean. The old,intirnate intercourse between him and the 
 Parson became necessarily suspended, or bounded to an occa- 
 sional kindly visit from the latter visits which grew more rare, 
 and less familiar, as he found his former pupil in no want of his 
 services,and wholly deaf to his mild entreaties to forget and for- 
 give the past, and come at least to his old seat in the parish 
 church. Lenny still went to church a chur,ch a long way off in 
 another parish but the sermons did not do him the same good
 
 158 MY NOVEL ,- OR, 
 
 as Parson Dale's had done; and the clergy man, who had his own 
 flock to attend to,did not condescend, as Parson Dale would have 
 done,to explain what seemed obscure,and enforce what was pro- 
 fitable, in private talk, with that stray lamb from another's fold. 
 
 Now I question much if all Dr. Riccabocca's maxims, though 
 they were often very moral, and generally very wise, served to 
 expand the peasant boy's native good qualities, and correct his 
 bad, half so well as the few simple words, not at all indebted to 
 Machiavelli,which Leonard had once reverently listened to when 
 he stood by Mark's elbow-chair, yielded up for the moment to 
 the good Parson, worthy to sit in it ; for Mr. Dale had a heart 
 in which all the fatherless of the parish found their place. Nor 
 was this loss of tender, intimate, spiritual lore so counterbal- 
 anced by the greater facilities for purely intellectual instruction, 
 as modern enlightenment might presume. For, without dis- 
 puting the advantage of knowledge in a general way, knowledge, 
 in itself, is not friendly to content. Its tendency, of course, is 
 to increase the desires, to dissatisfy us with what is, in order to 
 urge progress to what may be ; and, in that progress, what un- 
 noticed martyrs among the many must fall, baffled and crushed 
 by the way ! To how large a number will be given desires they 
 will never realize, dissatisfaction of the lot from which they will 
 never rise ! Allans ! one is viewing the dark side of the question. 
 It is all the fault of that confounded Riccabocca, who had already 
 caused Lenny Fairchild to lean gloomily on his spade, and, after 
 looking round and seeingno onenearhim, groan out querulously 
 
 " And am I born to dig a potato-ground ? " 
 , PardieujKiy friend Lenny,if you live to be seventy, and ride in 
 your carriage, and by the help of a dinner-pill digest a spoonful 
 of curry, you may sigh to think what a relish there was in potatoes 
 roasted in ashes after you had digged them out of that ground 
 with your own stout young hands. Dig on, Lenny Fairchild, dig 
 on! Dr. Riccabocca will tell you that there was once an illustri- 
 ous personage* who made experience of two very different occu- 
 pations one was ruling men, the other was planting cabbages ; 
 he thought planting cabbages much the pleasanter of the two ! 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 DR. RICCABOCCA had secured Lenny Fairfield, and might 
 therefore be considered to have ridden his hobby in the great 
 whirligig with adroitness and success. But Miss Jemima was 
 still driving round in her car, handling the reins, and flourishing 
 the whip, without apparently having got an inch nearer to the 
 flying form of Dr. Riccabocca. 
 
 * The Emperor Diocletian.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 159 
 
 Indeed, that excellent and only too susceptible spinster, with 
 all her experience of the villany of man, had never conceived the 
 wretch to be so thoroughly beyond the reach of redemption as 
 when Dr. Riccabocca took his leave, and once more interred 
 himself amid the solitudes of the Casino, without having made 
 any formal renunciation of his criminal celibacy. For some days 
 she shut herself up in her own chamber, and brooded with more 
 than her usual gloomy satisfaction on the certainty of the ap- 
 proaching crash. Indeed, many signs of that universal calamity, 
 which, while the visit of Riccabocca lasted, she had permitted 
 herself to consider ambiguous, now became luminously apparent. 
 Even the newspaper, which during that credulous and happy 
 period had given half a column to Births and Marriages, now bore 
 an ominously long catalogue of Deaths; so that it seemed as if 
 the whole population had lost heart, and had no chance of repair- 
 ing its daily losses. The leading articles spoke, with the obscurity 
 of a Pythian, of an impending CRISIS. Monstrous turnips sprouted 
 out from the paragraphs devoted to General News. Cows bore 
 calves with two heads, whales were stranded in the Humber, 
 showers of frogs descended in the High Street of Cheltenham. 
 
 All these symptoms of the world's decrepitude and consum- 
 mation, which by the side of the fascinating Riccabocca might 
 admit of some doubt as to their origin and cause, now conjoined 
 with the worst of all, viz., the frightfully progressive wickedness 
 of man left to Miss Jemima no ray of hope save that afforded 
 by the reflection that she could contemplate the wreck of mat- 
 ter without a single sentiment of regret. 
 
 Mrs. Dale, however, by no means, shared the despondency of 
 her fair friend,and,having gained access to Miss Jemima's cham- 
 ber, succeeded, though not without difficulty, in her kindly at- 
 tempts to cheer the droopingspirits of that female misanthropist. 
 Nor, in her benevolent desire to speed the ear of Miss Jemima to 
 its hymeneal,goal,was Mrs. Dale so cruel toward her male friend, 
 Dr. Riccabocca, as she seemed to her husband. For Mrs. Dale 
 was a woman of shrewdness and penetration, as most quick-tem- 
 pered women are; and she knew that Miss Jemima was one'of 
 those excellent young ladies who are likely to value a husband 
 in pro-portion to the difficulty of obtaining him. In fact, my 
 readers of both sexes must often have met, in the course of their 
 experience, with that peculiar sort of feminine disposition, which 
 requires the warmth of the conjugal hearth to develop all its 
 native good qualities; nor is it to be blamed overmuch if, inno- 
 cently aware of this tendency in its nature, it turns towa-rd what 
 is best fitted for its growth and improvement, by laws akin to
 
 l6o MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 those which make the sunflower turn to the sun, or the willow 
 to the stream. Ladies of this disposition, permanently thwarted 
 in their affectionate bias, gradually languish away into intellec- 
 tual inanition, or sprout out into those abnormal eccentricities 
 which are classed under the general name of "oddity," or "char- 
 acter." But, once admitted to their proper soil, it is astonishing 
 what healthful improvement takes place how the poor heart, 
 before starved and stinted of nourishment, thows out its suckers, 
 and bursts into bloom and fruit. And thus many a belle, from 
 whom the beaux have stood aloof, only because the puppies 
 think she could be had for the asking, they see afterward settled 
 down into true wife and fond mother, with amaze at their former 
 disparagement, and a sigh at their blind hardness of heart. 
 
 In all probability, Mrs. Dale took this view of the subject; and 
 certainly, in addition to all the hitherto dormant virtues which 
 would be awakened in Miss Jemima when fairly Mrs.Riccabocca, 
 she counted somewhat upon the mere worldly advantage which 
 such a match would bestow upon the exile. So respectable a con- 
 nection with one of the oldest, wealthiest, and most popular fam- 
 ilies in the shire, would in itself give:him a position not to be des- 
 pised by a poor stranger in the land; and though the interest in 
 Miss Jemima's dowry might not be much, regarded in the light 
 of English pounds (not Milanese lire), still it would suffice to pre- 
 vent that gradual process of dematerialization which the length- 
 ened diet upon minnows and sticklebacks had already made ap- 
 parent in the fine and slow-evanishing form of the philosopher. 
 
 Like all persons convinced of the expediency of a thing, Mrs. 
 Dale saw nothing wanting but opportunities to insure its suc- 
 cess. And that these might be forthcoming, she not. only re- 
 newed with greater frequency, and more urgent instance than 
 ever, her friendly invitations to Riccabocca to drink tea and 
 spend the evening, but she so artfully chafed the Squire on his 
 sore point of hospitality, that the Doctor received weekly a 
 pressing solicitation to dine and sleep ,at the Hall. 
 
 At first the Italian pished and grunted, and said Cospeito, and 
 Per Bacco, and Diavolo, and tried to creep out of so much prof- 
 fered courtesy. But, like all single gentlemen, he was a "little 
 under the tyrannical influence of his faithful servant: and Jack- 
 eymo, though he could bear starving as well as his master, when 
 necessary, still^when he had the option, preferred roast-beef and 
 plum-pudding. Moreover,that vain and incautious confidence of 
 Riccabocca, touching the vast sum at his command, .and with no 
 heavier drawback than that of so amiable a lady as Miss Jemima 
 who had already shown him (Jackeymo) many little delicate
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. l6l 
 
 attentions had greatly whetted the cupidity which was in the 
 servant's Italian nature; a cupidity the more keen because, long 
 debarred its legitimate exercise on his own mercenary interests, 
 he carried it all to the account of his master's ! 
 
 Thus tempted by his enemy, and betrayed by his servant, the 
 unfortunate Riccabocca fell, though with eyes not blinded, into 
 the hospitable snares extended for the destruction of his celi- 
 bacy ! He went often to the Parsonage, often to the Hall, and 
 by degrees the sweets of the social domestic life, long denied 
 him, began to exercise their enervating charm upon the stoicism 
 of our poor exile. Frank had now returned to Eton. An unex- 
 pected invitation had carried off Captain Higginbotham to pass 
 a few weeks at Bath with a distant relation, who had' lately re- 
 turned from India, and who, as rich as Croesus, felt so estranged 
 and solitary in his native isle,-that, when the Captain " claimed 
 kindred there," to his own amaze, " he had his claims allow.ed"; 
 while a very protracted sitting of Parliament still delayed in Lon- 
 don the Squire's habitualvisitors during the later summer; so that 
 a chasm thus made in his society Mr. Hazeldean welcomed 
 with no hollow cordiality the diversion or distraction he found in 
 the foreigner's companionship. Thus,wilh pleasure to all parties, 
 and strong hopes to the two female conspirators, the intimacy 
 between the Casino and Hall rapidly thickened; but still not a 
 word resembling a distinct proposal did Dr. Riccabocca breathe. 
 And still, if such an idea obtruded itself on his mind, it was 
 chased therefrom with so determined a: Diavolo, that perhaps, 
 if not the end of the world, at least the end of Miss Jemima's 
 tenure of it, might have approached, and seen her still Miss 
 Jemima, but for "a certain letter with a foreign post-mark that 
 reached the Doctor one Tuesday morning. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE. servant saw that something had gone wrong, and, under 
 pretence of syringing the orange-trees, he lingered near his mas- 
 ter, and peered through the sunny leaves upon Riccabocca's 
 melancholy brows. 
 
 The doctor sighed heavily. Nor did he, as was his wont, 
 after some such sighs, mechanically take up that dear comforter 
 the pipe. But though the tobacco-pouch lay by his side on the 
 balustrade, and the pipe stood against the wall between his knees, 
 childlike lifting up its lips to the customary caress he heeded 
 neither the one nor the other, but laid the letter silently on his 
 lap, and fixed his eyes upon the ground. 
 
 " I.t must be bad news, indeed ! " thought Jackeymo, and de-
 
 162 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 sisted from his work. Approaching his master, he took up the 
 pipe and the tobacco-pouch, and filled the bowl slowly, glanc- 
 ing all the while toward that dark musing face, on which, when 
 abandoned by the .expression of intellectual vivacity or the ex- 
 quisite smile of Italian courtesy, the deep .downward lines re- 
 vealed the characters of sorrow. Jackeymo did not venture to 
 speak ; but the continued silence of his master disturbed him 
 much. He laid that peculiar tinder which your smokers use 
 upon the steel, and struck the spark still not a word, nor did 
 Riccabocca stretch forth his hand. 
 
 " I never knew him in this taking before," thought Jackeymo ; 
 and delicately he insinuated the neck of the pipe into the nerve- 
 less fingers of the hand that lay supine on those quiet knees. 
 The pipe fell to the ground. 
 
 Jackeymo crossed himself, and began praying to his sainted 
 .namesake with great fervor. 
 
 The doctor rose slowly, and as if with an effort ; he walked 
 once or twice to and fro the terrace ; and then he halted ab- 
 ruptly, and said 
 
 " Friend ! " 
 
 " Blessed Monsignore San Giacomo, I know thou wouldst hear 
 me ! " cried the servant ; ard he raised his master's hand to 
 his lips, then abruptly turned away and wiped his eyes. 
 
 *' Friend," repeated Riccabocca,and this time with a tremulous 
 emphasis, and in the softest tone of a voice never wholly without 
 the music of the sweet South, "I would talk to thee of my child." 
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " THE letter, then, relates to the Signorina. She is well ? " 
 
 " Yes, she is well now. She is in our native Italy." 
 
 Jackeymo raised his eyes involuntarily toward the orange- 
 trees, and the morning breeze swept by and bore to him the 
 odor of their blossoms. 
 
 "Those are sweet even here, with care," said he pointing to 
 the trees. " I think I have said that before to the Padrone." 
 
 But Riccabocca was now looking again at the letter, and did 
 not notice either the gesture or the remark of his servant. 
 
 " My aunt is no more ! " said he, after a pause. 
 
 " We will pray for her soul ! " answered Jackeymo solemnly. 
 " But she was very old, and had been a long time ailing. Let 
 it not grieve the Padrone too keenly ; at that age, and with 
 those infirmities, death comes as a friend." 
 
 " Peace be to her dust ! " returned the Italian. " If she had
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 163 
 
 her faults, be they now forgotten ; and in the hour of my danger 
 and distress she sheltered my infant! That shelter is destroyed. 
 This letter is from the priest her confessor. And the home of 
 which my child is bereaved falls to the inheritance of my enemy." 
 
 "Traitor ! " muttered Jackeymo ; and his right hand seemed 
 to feel for the weapon which the Italians of the lower rank often 
 openly wear in their girdles. 
 
 "The priest," resumed Riccabocca, calmly, " has rightly 
 judged in removing my child as a guest from the house in which 
 that traitor enters as lord." 
 
 " And where is the Signorina ?" 
 
 "With the poor priest. See, Giacomo here, here this is 
 her handwriting at the end of the letter the first lines she ever 
 traced to me." 
 
 Jackeymo took off his hat, and looked reverently on the 
 large characters of a child's writing. But large as they were, 
 they seemed indistinct, for the paper was blistered with the 
 child's tears ; and on the place where they had not fallen, there 
 was a round, fresh, moist stain of the tear that had dropped from 
 the lids of the father. Riccabocca renewed " The priest 
 recommends a convent." 
 
 "To the devil with the priest!" cried the servant; then 
 crossing himself rapidly, he added, " I did not mean that, Mon- 
 signore-San Giacomo forgive me ! But your Excellency * does 
 not think of making a nun of his only child ! " 
 
 " And yet why not ? " said Riccabocca, mournfully ; "what 
 can I give her in the world ? Is the land of the stranger a better 
 refuge than the home of peace in her native clime ?" 
 
 " In the land of the stranger beats her father's heart ! " 
 
 " And if that beat were stifled, what then ? Ill fares the life 
 that a single death can bereave of all. In a convent at least 
 (and the priest's influence can obtain her that asylum amongst 
 her equals and amidst her sex) she is safe from trial and from 
 penury to her grave." 
 
 " Penury ! Just see how rich we shall be when we take those 
 fields at Michaelmas." 
 
 "Pazzief" (follies) said Riccabocca, listlessly. "Are these 
 suns more serene than ours, or the soil more fertile ? Yet in our 
 own Italy, saith the proverb, ' he who sows land reaps more care 
 than corn.' It were different," continued the father, after a 
 pause, aind in a more resolute tone, " if I had some independence, 
 however small,to count on nay, if among all my tribe of dainty 
 
 * The title of Excellency does not, in Italian, necessarily express any exalted rank ; but is 
 often given by servants to their masters.
 
 I'6'4 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 relatives there were but one female who would accompany Vio- 
 lante to the exile's hearth Ishmael had his Hagar. But how 
 can we two rough-bearded men 'provide for all the nameless 
 wants and cares of a frail female child ? And she has been so 
 delicately reared- the woman child heeds the fostering hand 
 and tender eye of a woman." 
 
 " And with a word," said Jackeymo, resolutely, " the Padrone 
 might secure to his child all that he needs to save her from the 
 sepulchre of a convent ; and ere the autumn leaves fall, she 
 might be sitting on his knee. Padrone, do not think that you 
 can conceal from me the truth, that you love your child better 
 than all things in the world now the Patria is as dead to you 
 as the dust of your fathers- and your heart-strings would crack 
 with the effort to tear her from them, and consign her to a eon- 
 vent. Padrone, never again to hear her voice-~never again to 
 see her face ! Those little arms that twined round your neck 
 that dark night, when we fled fast for life and freedom, ; a-nd you 
 said, as you felt their clasp, ' Friend, all 5s not yet lost/'" 
 
 *' Giacomo ! " exclaimed the father reproachfully, and his 
 voice seemed to choke him. Riccabocca turned away, and 
 walked restlessly to and fro the terrace ; then, lifting his arms 
 with a wild gesture, as he still continued his long,irrggular Strides, 
 he muttered, " Yes, heaven is my witness that I could have borne 
 reverse and banishment without a murmur; had I permitted 
 myself that young partner in exile and privation. Heaven is 
 my witness that, if I hesitate no\v,it is because I would nbt listen 
 to my own selfish heart. Yet never, never to see her again my 
 child ! And it was but as the infant that I beheld her ! O friend, 
 friend " (and stopping short with a burst of uncontrollable 
 emotion, he bowed his head upoh his servant's shoulder)- 1 ^ thou 
 knowest what I have endured and suffered at my hearth, as in my 
 country; thewrong,theperfidy,the ; the " His voice again failed 
 him; he clung to his servant's breast, and his whole frame shook, 
 
 "But your child, the innocent one think now only of;her! " 
 faltered Giacomo, struggling with his own sobs. 
 
 " True, only of her," replied the exile, raising his face" only 
 of her. Put aside thy thoughts for thyself, friend counsel me. 
 If I were to send for Violante, and if, transplanted to these keen 
 airs, she drooped and died look, look the priest says that she 
 needs such tender care; or if I myself were summoned from the 
 world,' to leave her in it alone, friendless, homeless, breaddess per- 
 haps, at the age of woman's sharpest trial against temptation, 
 would she not live to mourn the cruel egotism that closed OH her 
 infant innocence the gates of the House of God ? "
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 165 
 
 Jackeymo was appalled by this appeal; and indeed, Riccabocca 
 had never before thus reverently spoken of the cloister. In his 
 hours of philosophy, he was want to sneer at monks and nuns, 
 priesthood and superstition. 
 
 But now, inrthat hour of emotion, the Old Religion reclaimed 
 her empire; and the sceptical world-wise man, thinking only of 
 his child, sp9ke and felt with a child's .simple faith. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 "'Bur again I say,"murmered Jackeymo, scarce audibly, and 
 after a kmg silence, "if the Padrone would make up his mind 
 to marry ! " 
 
 He expected that his master would start up in his customary 
 indignation at such a suggestion nay, he might not have, been 
 sorry so to have changed the current of feeling; but the poor 
 Italian only winced slightly,and mildly withdrawing himself from 
 his servant's supporting arm;again paced the terrace, but this time 
 quietly and in silence.' A quarter of an hour thus passed. " Give 
 me the pipe," said Dr.Riccabc-cca, passing into the belvidere. 
 
 Jackeymo again struck the spark, and', wonderfully relieved at 
 the Padrone's return to the habitual adviser, mentally besought 
 his sainted namesake to bestow a double portion of soothing 
 wisdom on the benignant influences of the weed. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 , . . _ ' i... 
 
 DR. RICCABOCCA had been some time in the solitude of the bel- 
 videre,when Lenny Fairfield, not .knowing that his employer was 
 therein, entered to lay down a book which the Doctor had lent 
 him, with injunctions to leave it on a certain table when done with. 
 Riccabocca looked upat the sound of the young peasant'ssteps. 
 
 " I beg your honor's pardon I did not know " 
 
 " Never mind; lay the. book there. I wish to speak with you. 
 You look well, my child ; this air agrees with you as well as 
 that of Hazeldean ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir !" 
 
 " Yet it is higher ground more exposed ? " 
 
 " That cap hardly be, sir," said Lenny; " there are many plants 
 grow here which don't flourish at the Squire's. The hill yonder 
 keeps off the east wind, and the place lays to the south." 
 
 " Lies, not lays, Lenny. What are the principal complaints 
 in these parts ? " 
 
 "Eh, sir?" 
 
 " I mean what maladies, what diseases ! "
 
 1 66 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " I never heard tell of any, sir, except the rheumatism." 
 
 " Now low fevers? no consumption ?" 
 
 "Never heard of them, sir." 
 
 Riccabocca draw a long breath, as if relieved. 
 
 " That seems a very kindly family at the Hall." 
 
 " I have nothing to say against it," answered Lenny, bluntly. 
 " I have notbeen treated justly. But as that book says, sir, ' It 
 is not every one who comes into the world with a silver spoon 
 in his mouth.' " 
 
 Little thought the Doctor that, those wise maxims may leave 
 sore thoughts behind them. He was too occupied with the sub- 
 ject most at his own heart to think then of what was in Lenny 
 Fairfield's. 
 
 " Yes; a kind, English domestic family. Did you see much 
 of Miss Hazeldean ? " 
 
 " Not so much as the Lady." 
 
 "'Is. she liked in the village, think you ?" 
 
 "Miss Jemima ? Yes. She never did harm. Her little dog 
 bit .me once she did not ask me to beg its pardon, she asked 
 mine ! She's a very nice young lady ; .the girls say she is very 
 affable ; and," added Lenny with a smile, " there are always 
 more weddings going on when she is down at the Hall." 
 
 "Oh ! " said Riccabocca. Then, after a long whiff, " Did 
 you ever see her play with the little children ? Is she fond of 
 children, do you think ?" s T M t 
 
 " Lord, sir, you guess everything ! She's never so pleased as 
 when she's playing with the babies." 
 
 " Humph ! " grunted Riccabocca. " Babies well, that's 
 woman-like. I don't mean exactly babies, but when they're 
 Older little girls ?" 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I dare say; but," said Lenny, primly, " I never 
 as yet kept company with the little girls." 
 
 " Quite right, Lenny ; be equally discreet all your life. Mrs. 
 Dale is very intimate with Miss Hazeldean more than with 
 the Squire's lady. Why is that, think you ? " 
 
 " Well, sir," said Leonard, shrewdly, " Mrs. Dale has her little 
 tempers, though she's a very good lady ; and Madam Hazel- 
 dean is rather high, and has a spirit. But Miss Jemima is so 
 soft ; any one could live with Miss Jemima, as Joe and the 
 servants say at the Hall ! " 
 
 ' : " Indeed ! Get my hat out of the parlor, and just bring a 
 clothes-brush, Lenny. A fine sunny day for a walk." 
 
 After this most mean and dishonorable inquisition into the 
 character and popular repute of Miss Hazeldean, Signor Ricca-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 167 
 
 bocca seemed as much cheered up and elated as if he had com- 
 mitted some very noble action ; and he walked forth in the di- 
 rection of the Hall with a far lighter and livelier step than that 
 with which he had paced the terrace. 
 
 " Monsignore San Giacomo, by thy help and the pipe's, the 
 Padrone shall have his child ! " muttered the servant, looking 
 up from the garden. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 YET Dr. Riccabocca was not rash. The man who wants his 
 wedding garment to fit him must allow plenty of time for the 
 measure. But, from that day, the Italian notably changed his 
 manner toward Miss Hazeldeah. He ceased that profusion of 
 compliment in which he had hitherto carried off in safety all 
 serious meaning. For indeed the Doctor considered that com- 
 pliments to a single gentleman were what the inky liquid it dis- 
 penses is to the cuttle-fish, that by obscuring the water sails 
 away from its enemy. Neither did he, as before, avoid pro- 
 longed conversations with the young lady, and contrive to es- 
 cape from all solitary rambles by her side. On the contrary, he 
 now sought every occasion to be in her society ; and, entirely 
 dropping the language of gallantry, he assumed something of 
 the earnest tone of friendship. He bent down his intellect to 
 examine and plumb her own. To use a very homely simile, he 
 blew away that froth which there is on the surface of mere ac- 
 quaintanceships, especially -with the opposite sex ; and which, 
 while it lasts, scarce 'allows you to distinguish between small 
 beer and double X. Apparently Dr. Riccabocca was satisfied 
 with his scrutiny -at all events, under that froth there was no 
 taste of bitter. The Italian might not find any great strength 
 of intellect in Miss Jemima, but he found that, disentangled 
 from many little whims and 'foibles which he had himself the 
 sense to perceive were harmless enough if they lasted, and not 
 so- absolutely constitutional but what they might be removed by 
 a tender hand Miss Hazeldean had quite enough sense to com- 
 prehend the plain duties of married life ; and if the sense could 
 fail, it found a substitute in good old homely English princi- 
 ples, and the instincts of amiable, kindly feelings. 
 
 I know not how it is, but your very clever man never seems 
 to care as much as your less gifted mortals for cleverness in his 
 helpmate. Your scholars, and poets, and ministers of state, are 
 more often than not found assorted with exceedingly humdrum, 
 good sort of women, and apparently like them all the better for 
 their deficiencies, just see how happily Racine lived with his
 
 1 68 MY NOVEL ; OR 
 
 wife, and what an angel he thought her, and yet she had never 
 read his plays. Certainly Goethe never troubled the lady who 
 called him " Mr. Privy Councillor " with whims about " mo- 
 nads," and speculations on color, nor those stiff metaphysical 
 problems on which one breaks one's shins in the Second Part of 
 .the Faust. Probably it may be that such great geniuses know- 
 ing that, as compared with themselves, there is little difference 
 between your clever woman and your humdrum woman merge 
 at once all minor distinctions, relinquish all attempts at sympa- 
 thy in hard intellectual pursuits, and are quite satisfied to estab- 
 lish that tie which, after all, best resists wear and tear viz., the 
 tough household bond between one human heart and another. 
 At all events this, I suspect, was the reasoning of Dr. Ric- 
 cabocca, when one morning, after a long walk with Miss 
 Hazeldean, he muttered to himself 
 
 i; ji:d " Buro con duro 
 Non fece mai buon muro." 
 
 Which may bear the paraphrase, " Bricks without mortar would 
 make a very bad wall." There was quite enough in Miss 
 Jemima's disposition to, make excellent mortar;, the Doctor 
 took the bricks to himself. ;t ^<j pj Q. 
 
 When his examination was concluded, our philosopher sym- 
 bolically evinced the result he had arrived at by a very simple 
 proceeding on his part, which would have puzzled you greatly if 
 you had nor paused, and meditated thereon, till you saw all that 
 it implied. Dt\ Riccabocca took off his spectacles ! He wiped them 
 .carefully, put them, into their. .shagreen case,, and locked them 
 inhis-bureau; that is to say, he left off wearing his spectacles. 
 
 You will observe that thejre was a wonderful depth of mean- 
 ing in that critical symptom, whether it be regarded as a sign 
 outward, positive, and explicit ; or a sign metaphysical, mys- 
 tical, and esoteric. For, as to the last, it denoted that the task 
 of tlie spectacles was over ; that, when a philosopher has made up 
 his mind to marry, it is better henceforth to be short-sighted 
 nay, even somewhat purblind than to be always scrutinizing the 
 domestic felicity, to which he is about to resign himself through 
 a pair of cold, unillusofy barnacles. And for the things be- 
 yond the hearth, if he cannot see without spectacles, is he not 
 about to ally to his own defective vision a good, sharp pair of 
 eyes, never at fault where his interests are concerned ? On the 
 other hand, regarded positively, categorically, and explicitly, 
 Dr. Riccabocca, by laying aside those spectacles, signified that 
 he was about to commence that happy imitation of courtship 
 when every man, be he ever so much of a philosopher, wishes
 
 VARIETIES iN ENGLISH LIFE. 169 
 
 to look as young and handsome as time and nature will allow. 
 Vain task to speed the soft language of the eyes through the 
 medium of those glassy interpreters ! I remember, for my own 
 part, that once, on a visit to the town of Adelaide, I Pisistra- 
 tus Caxton was in great danger of falling in lOve with a young 
 lady, too, who would have brought me a very good fortune, when 
 she suddenly produced from her reticule a very neat pair of No. 4, 
 set in tortoise-shell, and fixing upon me their Gorgon gaze, froze 
 the astonished Cupid into stone ! And I hold it a great proof of 
 the wisdom of Riccabocca, and of his vast experience in man- 
 kind, that he was not above the consideration of what your 
 pseudo sages would have regarded as foppish and ridiculous 
 trifles. It argued all the better for that happiness which is our 
 being's end and aim, thatin condescending to play the lover, he 
 put those unbecoming petrifiers under lock and key. 
 
 And certainly, now the spectacles were abandoned, it was 
 impossible to deny that the Italian had remarkably handsome 
 eyes. Even through the spectacles, or lifted a little above 
 them, they were always bright and expressive, but with- 
 out those adjuncts, the blaze was softer and more tempered ; 
 they had that look which the French call veloutc, or velvety ; 
 and he appeared altogether ten years younger. If our Ulysses, 
 thus rejuvenated by his Minerva, has not fully made up his mind 
 to make a Penelope of Miss Jemima, all I can say is, that he is 
 worse than Polyphemus, who was only an Anthropophagos ; 
 
 He preys upon the Weaker sex, and is a Gynopophagite ! 
 
 - 
 
 r'TTAPTTTT? "VVTTT 
 
 CHAPIER XXIII. 
 
 " AND you commission me, then, to speak to our dear 
 Jemima?" said Mrs. Dale, joyfully, and without any bitterness 
 whatever in that " dear." 
 
 DR. RiccABOCCA.---Nay, before speaking to Miss Hazeldean, 
 it would surely be proper to know how far my addresses would 
 be acceptable to the family. 
 
 MRS. DALE. Ah ! 
 
 DR. RICCABOCCA. The Squire is, of course, the head of the 
 family. 
 
 MRS. DALE (absent and distraite}. The Squire yes, very 
 true quite proper (then looking up, and with naivete} can you 
 believe me, I never thought of the Squire ! And he is such an 
 odd man, and has so many English prejudices, that really dear 
 me, how vexatious that it should never once have occurred to me 
 that Mr. Hazeldean had a voice in the matter ! Indeed the rela-
 
 IJO MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 tionship is so distant; it is not like beingher father; and Jemima 
 is of age, and can do as she pleases; andbut, as you say, it is 
 quite proper that hejshould be consulted, as the headof thefamily. 
 
 DR. RICCABOCCA. And you think that the Squire of Hazel- 
 dean might reject my alliance ? Pshaw ! that's a grand word, 
 indeed ; I mean, that he might object very reasonably to his 
 cousin's marriage with a foreigner, of whom he can know noth- 
 ing, except that which in all countries is disreputable, and is 
 said in this to be criminal poverty ? 
 
 MRS. DALE (kindly). You misjudge us poor English people, 
 and you wrong the Squire, Heaven bless him ! for we were poor 
 enough when he singled out my husband from a hundred for the 
 minister of his parish, for his neighbor and his friend. I will 
 speak to him fearlessly 
 
 DR. RICCABOCCA. And frankly. And now I have used that 
 word, let me go on with the confession which your kindly read- 
 iness, my fair friend, somewhat interrupted. I said that if I 
 might presume to think my addresses would be acceptable to 
 Miss Hazeldean and her family, I was too sensible of her 
 amiable qualities not to not to 
 
 MRS. DALE (with demure archness). Not to be the happiest 
 of men ; that's the customary English phrase, Doctor. 
 
 RICCABOCCA (gallantly). There can not be a better. But, 
 continued he, seriously, I wish it first to be understood that I 
 have been married before. 
 
 MRS. DALE (astonished). Married before ! 
 
 RICCABOCCA. And that I have an only child, dear to me in- 
 expressibly dear. That child, a daughter, has hitherto lived 
 abroad ; circumstances now render it desirable that she should 
 make her home with me. And I own fairly that nothing has so 
 attached me to Miss Hazeldean,nor so induced my desire for our 
 matrimonial connection, as my belief that she has the heart and 
 the temper to become a kind mother to my little one. 
 
 MRS. DALE (with feeling and warmth). You judge her 
 rightly there. 
 
 RICCABOCCA. Now in pecuniary matters, as you may conjec- 
 ture from my mode of life, I have nothing to offer to Miss Hazel- 
 dean corresponding with her own fortune, whatever that may be ! 
 
 MRS. DALE.- That difficulty is obviated by settling Miss Ha- 
 zeldean's fortune on herself, which is customary in such cases. 
 
 Dr. Riccabocca's face lengthened. " And my child, then?" 
 said he, feelingly. There was something in that appeal so alien 
 from all sordid and merely personal mercenary motives, that 
 Mrs. Dale could not have had the heart to make the very rational
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 171 
 
 suggestion, " But that child is not Jemima's, and you may have 
 children by her." 
 
 She was touched, and replied, hesitatingly, "But, from what 
 you and Jemima may jointly possess, you can save something 
 annually, you can insure your life for your child. We did so 
 when our poor child whom we lost was born (the tears rushed into 
 Mrs. Dale's eyes), and I fear that Charles still insures his life 
 for my sake, though Heaven knows that that--" 
 
 The tears burst out. That little heart, quick and petulant 
 though it was, had not a fibre of the elastic muscular tissues 
 which are mercifully bestowed on the hearts of predestined 
 widows. Dr. Riccabocca could not pursue the subject of life 
 insurances further. But the idea which had never occurred 
 to the foreigner before, though so familiar to us English people 
 when only possessed of a life income pleased him greatly. I 
 will do him the justice to say that he preferred it to the thought 
 of actually appropriating to himself and to his child a portion 
 of Miss Hazeldean's dower. 
 
 Shortly afterward he took his leave, and Mrs. Dale hastened 
 to seek her husband in his study, inform him of the success of 
 her matrimonial scheme, and consult him as to the chance of 
 the Squire's acquiescence therein. " You see," she said, hesi- 
 tatingly) " though the Squire might be glad to see Jemima mar- 
 ried to some Englishman, yet if he asks who and what is this 
 Dr. Riccabocca, how am I to answer him ? " 
 
 " You should have thought of that before," said Mr. Dale, 
 with unwonted asperity ; "and, indeed, if I had ever believed 
 anything serious could come out of what seemed to me so absurd, 
 I should long since have requested you not to interfere in such 
 matters. Good heavens! " continued the Parson, changing color, 
 " if we should have assisted, underhand, as it were, to introduce 
 into the family of a man to whom we owe so much, a connection 
 that he would dislike! how base we should be! how ungrateful!" 
 
 Poor Mrs. Dale was frightened .by this speech, and still more 
 by her husband's consternation and displeasure. To do Mrs. 
 Dale justice, whenever her mild partner was really either grieved 
 or offended, her little temper vanished she became as meek as 
 a lamb. As soon as she recovered the first shock she experi- 
 enced, she hastened to dissipate the Parson's apprehensions. She 
 assured him that she was convinced that, if the Squire disap- 
 proved of Riccabocca's pretensions, the Italian would withdraw 
 them. at once, and Miss Hazeldean would never know of his pro- 
 posals. Therefore, in that case, no harm would be done. 
 
 This assurance, coinciding with Mr. Dale's convictions as to
 
 172 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Riccabocca's scruples on the point of honor, tended much to 
 compose the good man ; and if he did not, as my reader of the 
 gentler sex would expect from him, feel alarm lest Miss Jemima's 
 affections should have been irretrievably engaged, and her hap- 
 piness thus put in jeopardy by the Squire's refusal, it was not that 
 the Parson wanted tenderness of heart, but experience in 
 womankind ; and he believed, very erroneously, that Miss Jem- 
 ima Hazeldean was not one upon whom a disappointment of 
 that kind would produce a lasting impression. Therefore Mr, 
 Dale, after a pause of consideration, said kindly 
 
 " Well, don't vex yourself and I was to blame quite as much 
 as you. But, indeed, I should have thought it easier for the 
 Squire to have transplanted one of his tall cedars into hiskitchen- 
 garden, than for you to inveigle Dr. Riccabocca into matrimo- 
 nial intentions. But a man who could voluntarily put himself 
 into the parish stocks for the sake of experiment, must be capa- 
 ble of anything ! However, I think it better that I, rather than 
 yourself, should speak to the Squire, and I will go at once." 
 
 ; 
 
 ' ' 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE Parson put on the shovel-hat which conjoined with 
 other details in his dress peculiarly clerical, and already, even 
 then, 'beginning to be out of fashion with churchmen had served 
 to fix upon him, emphatically, the dignified but antiquated style 
 and cognomen of " Parson," and took his way toward thellome 
 Farm, at which he expected to find the Squire. But he' had 
 scarcely entered upon the village-green when he beheld Mr. 
 Hazeldean, leaning both hands on his stick, and gazing intently 
 upon the parish stocks; Now, sorry am I to say that, ever since 
 the Hegira of Lenny and his mother, the Anti-Stockian and 
 Revolutionary spirit in Hazeldean, which the memorable ho'mily 
 of our Parson had awhile averted or suspended, had broken 
 forth afresh. For though, while Lenny was present to be mowed 
 and jeered at, there had been no pity for him, yet no sooner was 
 he removed from the scene of trial, than a universal compassion 
 for the barbarous usage he had received' produced what is called 
 " the reaction of public opinion." Not that those who, had 
 mowed and jeered repented them of their mockery, or con- 
 sidered themselves in the slightest degree the cause of his expa- 
 triation. No ; they, with the rest of the villagers, laid all the 
 blame upon the stocks. It was not to be expected that a i'ad of 
 such exemplary character could be thrust into that place of ig- 
 nominy, and not be sensible of the affront. And who, in the
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 173 
 
 whole village, was safe, if such goings-on and puttings-in were to 
 be tolerated in silence, and at the expense of the very best and 
 quietest lad the village had ever known ? Thus, a few days after 
 the widow's departure, the stocks was again the object of mid- 
 night desecration; it was bedaubed and bescratched it was 
 hacked and hewed it was scrawled over with pithy lamentations 
 for Lenny, and laconic execrations. on tyrants. Night after night 
 new inscriptions appeared, testifying the sarcastic wit and the vin- 
 dictive sentiment of the parish. And perhaps the stocks was only 
 spared from axe and bonfire by the convenience it afforded to the 
 malice of the disaffected ; it became the Pasquin of Hazeldean. 
 jtA-s dissatisfaction naturally produces a correspondent vigor in 
 authority, so affairs had been lately administered with greater 
 severity than had been hitherto wont in the easy rule of the 
 Squire and his predecessors. Suspected persons were naturally 
 marked out by Mr. Stirn, and reported to his employer, who, too 
 proud or too pained to charge them openly with ingratitude, at 
 first only passed them by in his walks with a silent and stiff in- 
 clination of his head ; and afterward, gradually yielding to the 
 baleful influence of : Stirn, the Squire grumbled forth " that he 
 did not see why he should be always putting himself out of his 
 way to show kindness to those who made such a return. There 
 ought to be a difference between the good and the bad." En- 
 couraged by this admission, Stirn had conducted himself toward 
 the suspected parties, and their whole kith and kin, with the iron- 
 handed justice that belonged to his character. For some, ha- 
 tyitutal donations of milk from the dairy, and vegetables from the 
 gardens, were surlily suspended ; others were informed that 
 their pigs were always trespassing on the woods in search of 
 acorns ; or that they were violating the Game Laws in keeping 
 lurchers. A beer-house, popular in the neighborhood, but of 
 late -resorted to overmuch by the grievance-mongers (and no 
 wonder, since they had become the popular party), was threat- 
 ened with an application to the magistrates for the withdrawal 
 of its license. Sundry old women, whose grandsovis were notori- 
 ously ill-disposed toward the stocks, were interdicted from gath- 
 ering dead sticks under the avenues, on pretence that they broke 
 d$wn the live boughs ; and, what was more obnoxious to the 
 younger members of the parish than most other retaliatory meas- 
 ures, three chestnut trees,one walnut, and two cherry trees, stand- 
 ing at the bottom of the Park, and which had,! from time im- 
 memorial, been given up to the youth of Hazeldean, were now 
 solemnly placed under the general defence of "private property." 
 And the crier had announced that, henceforth, all depredators
 
 174 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 on the fruit trees of Copse Hollow would be punished with 
 the utmost rigor of the law. 
 
 Stirn, indeed, recommended much more stringent proceed- 
 ings than all these indications of a change of policy, which, he 
 averred, would soon bring the parish to its senses such as dis- 
 continuing many little jobs of unprofitable work that employed 
 the surplus labor of the village. But there the Squire, falling 
 into the department, and under the benigner influence of his 
 Harry, was as yet not properly hardened. When it came to a 
 question that affected the absolute quantity of loaves to be con- 
 sumed by the graceless mouths that fed upon him, the milk of 
 human kindness with which Providence has so bountifully sup- 
 plied that class of the mammalia called the " Bucolic," and of 
 which our Squire had an extra "yield" burst forth, and washed 
 away all the indignation of the harsher Adam. 
 
 Still your policy of half measures, which irritates without 
 crushing its victims, which flaps an exasperated wasp-nest with 
 a silk pocket-handerchief, instead of blowing it up with a match 
 and train, is rarely successful ; and, after three or four other 
 and much guiltier victims than Lenny had been incarcerated in 
 the stocks, the parish of Hazeldean was ripe for any enormity. 
 Pestilent Jacobinical tracts,' conceived and composed in the 
 siriks of manufacturing towns found their way into the popu- 
 lar beer-house heaven knows how, though the Tinker was sus- 
 pected of being the disseminator by all but Stirn, who still, in a 
 whisper, accused the Papishers. And, finally, there appeared 
 amongst the other graphic embellishments which the poor stocks 
 had received, the rude gravure of a gentleman in a broad- 
 brimmed hat and top-boots, suspended from a gibbet, with 
 the inscription beneath "A warniiv to hall tirans mind your 
 'hi ! -sighnde Captin sTraw." 
 
 It was upon this significant and emblematic portraiture that 
 the Squire was gazing when the Parson joined him. 
 
 "Well, Parson/' said Mr. Hazeldean, with a smile which he 
 meant to be pleasant and easy, but which was exceedin gly bitter 
 and grim, :" I wish you joy of your flock you see they have 
 just hanged me in effigy ! " 
 
 The Parson stared, and though greatly shocked, smothered 
 his emotions; and attempted, with the wisdom of the serpent and 
 the mildness of the dove, to find another original for the effigy. 
 
 "It is very bad, but not so bad as all that, Squire ; that's not 
 the shape of your hat. It is evidently meant for Mr. Stirn." 
 
 " Do you think so ?" said the Squire, softened. "Yet the 
 top-boots-r-Stirn never wears top-boots."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 175 
 
 " No more do you, except in the hunting-field. If you look 
 again, those are not tops they are leggings Stirn wears leg- 
 gings. Besides, that flourish, which is meant for a nose, is a kind 
 of a hook, like Stirn's; whereas your nose though by no means 
 a snub rather turns up than not, as the Apollo's does, accord- 
 ing to the plaster cast in Riccabocca's parlor." 
 
 " Poor Stirn ! " said the Squire, in a tone that evinced com- 
 placency, not unmingled with compassion, "that's what a man 
 gets in this world by being a faithful servant, and doing his duty 
 with zeal for his employer. But you see that things have come 
 to a strange pass, and the question now is, what course to pur- 
 sue. The miscreants hitherto have defied all vigilance,and Stirn 
 recommends the employment of a regular night-watch, with a 
 lanthorn and blijdgeon." 
 
 " That may protect the stocks, certainly ; but will it keep 
 those detestable tracts out of the beer-house ?"' 
 
 "We shall shut the beer-house up the next sessions." 
 
 "Thetractswillbreakoutelsewhere,the humor's in the blood!" 
 
 " I've half a mind to run off to Brighton or Leamington for 
 a year, just to let the rogues see how they can get on without me!" 
 
 The Squire's lip trembled. 
 
 " My dear Mr. Hazeldean," said the Parson, taking his friend's 
 hand, " I don't want to parade my superior wisdom ; but, if you 
 had taken my advice, quiata non moi>ere ! Was there ever a par- 
 ish so peaceable as this, or a country-gentleman so beloved as 
 you were, before you undertook the task which has dethroned 
 kings and ruined states? that of wantonly meddling with an- 
 tiquity, whether for the purpose of uncalled-for repairs, or the 
 revival of obsolete uses ? " 
 
 At this rebuke, the Squire did not manifest his constitutional 
 tendencies to choler; but he replied almost meekly, "If it were to 
 do again, faith, I would leave the parish to the enjoyment of the 
 shabbiest pair of stocks that ever disgraced a village. Certainly I 
 meant it for the best an ornament to the green; however, now 
 the stocks is rebuilt, the stocks must be supported. Will Hazel- 
 dean is not the man to give way to a set of thankless rapscallions.'' 
 
 "I think," said the Parson, "that you will allow that the House 
 of Tudor, whatever its faults, was a determined, resolute dynasty 
 enough^ high-hearted and strong-headed. A Tudor would never 
 have fallen into the same calamities as the poor Stuart did ! " 
 
 "What the plague has the House of Tudor got to do with my 
 stocks ? " 
 
 "A great deal. Henry VIII. found a subsidy so unpopular that 
 he gave it up ; and the people, in return, allowed him to cut off
 
 -1,76 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 as many heads as he pleased, besides those in his own family. 
 Good Queen Bess, who, I know, is your idol in history 
 " To be sure ! she knighted my ancestor at Tilbury Fort." 
 "Good Queen Bess struggled hard to maintain a certain mo- 
 nopoly ; she saw it would not do, and she surrendered it with 
 that frank heartiness, which becomes a sovereign, and makes 
 surrender a grace.." 
 
 " Ha ! and you would have me give up the stocks ? " 
 " I would much rather the stocks had remained as it was be- 
 fore you touched it ; but, as it is, if you could find a good plausi- 
 ble pretext and there is an excellent ; one at hand : the stern- 
 est kings open prisons, and grant favors, upon joyful occasions 
 now a marriage in the royal family is of course a joyful occa- 
 sion ! and so it should be in that of the King of Hazeldean." 
 Admire that artful turn in the Parson's eloquence! it was worthy 
 'of Riccabocca himself. Indeed, Mr. Dale had profited much 
 by his companionship witl^that Machiavellian intellect. 
 . " A marriage yes j but Frank, has only just got into coat-tails!" 
 " I did not allude to Frank, but to your cousin Jemima ! " 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 j 
 
 : THE Squire staggered as if the breath had been knocked out 
 of him, and, for want of a better seat, sat down on the stocks. 
 
 All the female heads in the neighboring cottages peered, 
 themselves unseen, through the casements. What could the 
 Squire .be about ? what new mischief did he meditate ? Did he 
 mean to fortify. the stocks? Old Gaffer Solomons, who had an 
 indefinite idea of the lawful power of squires, and who had been 
 for the last ten minutes at watch on his threshold, shook his head 
 and said " Them as a cut out the mon a-hanging, as a put it 
 in the Squire's head ! " ; ..a i>dj z 
 
 " Put what ? " asked, his granddaughter. 
 
 " The gallus ! " answered Solomons " he be a-going to have 
 it hung from the great elm-tree. And the Parson, good mon, 
 is a-quoting Scripture agin it you see he's a taking off his 
 gloves, and a-putting his two han's together, as he do when he 
 pray for the sick, Jeany." 
 
 That description of the Parson's mien and manner, which, 
 with his usual niceness of observation, Gaffer Solomons thus 
 sketched off, will convey to you some idea of the earnestness 
 with which the Parson pleaded the cause he had undertaken to 
 advocate. He dwelt much upon the sense of propriety which 
 the foreigner had evinced in requesting that the Squire might
 
 . VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 177 
 
 be consulted before any forinal communication to his cousin . 
 and he repeated Mrs. Dale's assurance, that such were Ricca- 
 bocca's high standard of honor and belief in the sacred rights of 
 hospitality, that, if the Squire withheld his consent to his pro- 
 posals, the Parson was convinced that the Italian would instant- 
 ly retract them. Now, considering that Miss Hazcldean was, 
 to say the least, come to years of discretion, and -the Squire had 
 long since placed her property entirely at her own disposal, Mr. 
 Hazeldean was forced to acquiesce in the Parson's corollary 
 remark, " That this was a delicacy which could not be expected 
 from every English pretender to the lady's hand." Seeing that 
 he had so far cleared ground, the Parson went on to intimate, 
 though with great tact, that since Miss Jemima would probably 
 marry sooner or later (and, indeed, that the Squire could not 
 wish to prevent her), it might be better for all parties concerned 
 that it should be with some one who, though a foreigner, was set- 
 tled in the neighborhood, and of whose character what was 
 known was certainly favorable, rather than run the hazard of her 
 being married for her money by some adventurer, or Irish for- 
 tune-hunter, at the watering-places she yearly visited. Then he 
 touched lightly on Riccabocca's agreeable and companionable 
 qualities ; and concluded with a skilful peroration upon the ex- 
 cellent occasion the wedding would afford to reconcile Hall and 
 Parish, by making a voluntary holocaust of the stocks. 
 
 As he concluded, the Squire's brow, : before thoughtful, though 
 not sullen, cleared up benignly. To say truth,, the Squire was 
 dying to get rid of the stocks, if he could but do so handsome- 
 ly and with dignity ; and had all the stars in the astrological 
 horoscope conjoined together to give Miss Jemima "assurance 
 of a husband," they could not so have served her with the 
 Squire, as that conjunction between the altar and the stocks 
 which the Parson had effected t 
 
 Accordingly, when Mr. Dale had come to an end, the Squire 
 replied, with great placidity and good sense, " That Mr. Rick- 
 eybockey had behaved very much like a gentleman, ami that he 
 was very much obliged to him ; that he (the Squire) had no right 
 to interfere in the matter, farther than with his advice ; that 
 Jemima was old enough to choose for herself,and that, as the Par- 
 son had implied, after ail, she might go farther and fare worse 
 indeed, the farther she went (that is the longer she waited), the 
 worse she was likely to fare. -I own, for my part," continued 
 the Squire, " that though I like Rickeybockey very much, I 
 never suspected that Jemima was caught with his long face ; but 
 - there's no accounting for tastes. My Harry, indeed, was more
 
 178 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 shrewd, and gave me many a hint, for which I only laughed at 
 her. Still I ought to have thought it looked queer when Moun- 
 seer took to disguising himself by leaving off his glasses, ha 
 ha ? I wonder what Harry will say ; let's go and talk to her." 
 
 The Parson, rejoiced at this easy way of taking the matter, 
 hooked his arm into the Squire's,.and they walked amicably tow- 
 ard the Hall. But on coming first into the gardens they found Mrs. 
 Hazeldean herself, clipping dead leaves or fading flowers from 
 her rose-trees. The Squire stole slyly behind her,and startled her 
 in her turn by putting his arm round her waist, and saluting her 
 smooth cheek with one of his hearty kisses ; which, by the way, 
 from some association of ideas, was a conjugal freedom that he 
 usually indulged whenever a wedding was going on in the village. 
 
 " Fie, William ! " said Mrs. Hazeldean, coyly, and blushing as 
 she saw the Parson. " Well, who's going to be married now ? " 
 
 " Lord, was there ever such a woman? she's guessed it! "cried 
 the Squire, in great admiration. " Tell her all about it,Parson." 
 
 The Parson obeyed. 
 
 Mrs. Hazeldean, as the reader may suppose, showed much 
 less surprise than her husband had done ; but she took the news 
 graciously, and made much the same answer as that which had 
 occurred to the Squire, only with somewhat more qualification 
 and reserve. " Signer Riccabocca had behaved very handsome- 
 ly ; and though a daughter of the Hazeldeans of Hazeldean 
 might expect a much better marriage in a worldly point of view, 
 yet as the lady in questiomhad deferred finding one so long, it 
 would be equally idle and impertinent now to quarrel witlv her 
 choice-? if indeed she should decide on accepting Signpr Ric- 
 cabocca. As for fortune, that was a consideration for the two 
 contracting parties. Still, it ought to be pointed out to Miss 
 Jemima that the interest of her fortune would afford but a very 
 small income. That Dr. Riccabocca was a widower was an- 
 other matter for deliberation ; and it seemed rather suspicious 
 thiat he should have been hitherto so close upon all matters con- 
 nected with his former life. Certainly his manners were in his 
 favor, and as long as he was merely an acquaintance, and at 
 most a tenant, no one had a right to institute inquiries of a 
 strictly private nature ; but that, when he was'about-to marry a 
 Hazeldean of Hazeldean, it became the Squire at least to know 
 a little more about him who and what he was. Why did he 
 leave his own country ? English people went abroad to save ; 
 no foreigner would choose England as a country in which to save 
 money ! She supposed that . a foreign doctor was no very great 
 things ; probably he had : been a professor in soirte Italian uni-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 179 
 
 versity. At all events, if the Squire interfered at all, it was on 
 such points that he should request information." 
 
 " My dear madam," said the Parson, " what you say is ex- 
 tremely just. As to the causes which have induced our friend 
 to expatriate himself, I think we need not look far for them. 
 He is evidently one of the many Italian refugees whom political 
 disturbances have driven to a land of which it is the boast to re- 
 ceive all exiles of whatever party. For his respectability of birth 
 and family, he certainly ought to obtain some vouchers. And if 
 that be the only objection, I trust we may soon congratulate Miss 
 Hazeldean on a marriage with a man who, though certainly very 
 poor, has borne privations without a murmur; has preferred all 
 hardship to debt; has scorned to attempt betraying the young 
 lady into any clandestine connection; who, in short, has shown 
 himself souprightand honest, that I hope my dear Mr. Hazeldean 
 will forgive him if he is only a doctor probably of Laws and 
 not, as most foreigners pretend to be, a marquis or!i baron at least." 
 
 "As to that," cried the Squire, " 'tis the best thing I know 
 about Rickeybockey, that he don't attempt to humbug us by 
 any such foreign trumpery. Thank heaven, the Hazeldean.s of 
 Hazeldean were never tuft-hunters and title-mongers; and if I 
 never ran after an English lord, I should certainly be devilish 
 ashamed of a brother-in-law whom I was forced to call markee 
 or count ! I should feel sure he was a courier, or runaway val- 
 ley-de-sham. Turn up your nose at a doctor, indeed, Harry; 
 pshaw, good English style that ! Doctor ! my aunt married a 
 Doctor of Divinity excellent man wore a wig, and was made 
 a dean ! So long as Rickeybockey is not a doctor of physic, I 
 don't care a button. If he's that, indeed, it would be suspicious; 
 because, you see, those foreign doctors of physic are quacks, and 
 tell fortunes, and go about on a stage with a Merry-Andrew." 
 
 " Lord, Hazeldean ! where on earth did you pick up that 
 idea?" said Harry^ laughing. 
 
 " Pick it up ! why, I saw a fellow myself at the cattle-fair last 
 year when I was buying short-horns- with a red waistcoat and 
 a cocked-hat, a little like the Parson's shoVel. He called himself 
 Doctor Phoscophornio- and sold pills ! The Merry-Andrew was 
 the funniest creature in salmon-colored tights- turned head 
 over heels, and said he came from Timbuctoo. No, no ; if 
 Rickeybockey's a physic doctor, we shall have Jemima in a pink 
 tinsel dress, tramping about the country in a caratan ! " 
 
 At' this notion both the Squire and his wife laughed soheart- 
 - ily, that the Parson felt the thing was settled, and slipped away, 
 with the intention of making his 1 report to Riccabocca.
 
 l8o MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 IT was with a slight disturbance of his ordinary suave and 
 well-bred equanimity that the Italian received the information, 
 that he need apprehend : iio obstacle to his suit from the insular 
 prejudices or the worldly views of the lady's family. Not that 
 he was mean and cowardly enough to recoil from the near and 
 unclouded prospect of that felicity which he had left off his 
 glasses to behold with unblinking .naked eyes ; no, there his 
 mind was made up ; but he had met in life with much that in- 
 clines a man toward misanthropy, and he was touched not only 
 . by the interest in his welfare testified by an heretical priest, but 
 jbyjthe generosity with which he was admitted "into a well-born 
 . ;and wealthy family, despite his notorious poverty and his foreign 
 .[descent. He conceded .,, the propriety of the only stipulation, 
 ;. which was conveyed to him by the Parson with all the delicacy 
 that became one long professionally habituated to deal with the 
 subtler susceptibilities of mankind viz., that amongst Ricca- 
 bocca's friends or kindred, some person should be found whose 
 report would conform the persuasion of his respectability enter- 
 tained by his neighbors ; he assented, I say, to the propriety of 
 this condition ; but it was not with alacrity and eagerness. His 
 brow became clouded. The Parson hastened toiassu-re him that 
 the Squire was not a man qui stupet in tUfdis (who was besotted 
 with Jitles,),. that he neither expected nor desired to find an ori- 
 gin and rank for his brother-in-law above that decent mediocrity 
 of condition to which it was evident, from Riccabocca's breed- 
 ing and accomplishments, he could easily establish his claim. 
 V And though," said he, smiling, " the Squire is a warm politi- 
 cian in his own country, and would never see his sister again, I 
 fear, if she married some convicted enemy of our happy consti- 
 tution, yet for foreign politics, he does not care a straw; so that 
 if, as I suspect, your exile arises from some qu'arrel with your 
 Government which, being foreign, he takes for granted must be 
 insupportable he would but consider you as he would a Saxon 
 who fled from the iron hand of William the Conqueror, or a 
 Lancastrian expelled by the Yorkists in our Wars of the Roses." 
 ; The Italian smiled. "Mr. Hazeldean shall be satisfied, "said 
 he simply. " I see, by the Squire's newspaper, that an English 
 gentleman who knew me in my own country has just arrived in 
 London. I will wr.ite.to him for a testimonial, at least to my 
 probity and character; Probably he may be known to you by 
 numq nay, he must be, for he was a distinguished officer in the 
 late war. I allude to Lord L'Estrange/'
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. l8l ' 
 
 The Parson started. 
 
 " You know Lord L'Estrange? a profligate, bad man, I fear." 
 
 " Profligate! bad! " exclaimed Riccabocca. " Well, calumni- 
 ous as the world is, I should never have thought -that such ex- 
 pressions would be applied to one who, though I knew him biit 
 little knew him chiefly by the service he once rendered me 
 first taught me to love and revere the English name ! " 
 
 " He may be changed since " The Parson paused. 
 
 " Since when ?" asked Riccabocca-, with evident curiosity. 
 
 Mr. Dale seemed embarrassed. " Excuse me," said he, "it is 
 many years ago ; and, in short, the opinion I then formed of 
 the nobleman you named was based upon circumstances which 
 I cannot communicate." 
 
 The punctilious Italian bowed in silence, but he still looked 
 as if he should have liked to prosecute inquiry. 
 
 After a pause he said, " Whatever your impression respecting 
 Lord L'Estrange, there is nothing, I suppose,, which would lead 
 you to doubt his honor, or reject his testimonial in my favor ?" 
 
 "According to fashionable morality," said Mr. Dale, rather 
 precisely," I know of nothing that could induce me to suppose 
 that Lord L'Estrange would not, in this instance, speak the 
 truth. And he has unquestionably a high reputation as a soldier 
 and a considerable position in the world." Therewith the Par- 
 son took his leave. A few days afterward, Dr. Riccabocca en- 
 closed to the Squire,in a blank envelope, a letter he had received 
 from Harley L'Estrange. It was evidently intended for the 
 Squire's eye, and to serve as a voucher for the Italian's respecta- 
 bility ; but this object was fulfilled, not in the coarse form of a 
 direct testimonial,but with a tact and delicacy which seemed to 
 show more than the fine breeding to be expected from one in 
 Lord L'Estrange's station. It evinced that most exquisite of all 
 politeness which comes from the heart'; a certain tone of affec- 
 tionate respect (which even the homely sense of the Squire felt, 
 intuitively,proved far more in favor of Riccabocca than the most 
 elaborate certificate of his qualities and antecedents) pervaded 
 the whole,and would have sufficed in itself to remove all scruples 
 from a. mind much more suspicious and exacting than that of 
 the Squire of Hazeldean. But lo, and behold! an obstacle no\v; 
 occurred to the Parson, of which he ought to have thought long 
 before viz., the Papistical religion of the Italian. Dr. Riccaboc- 
 ca was professedly a Roman Catholic. He so little obtruded that 
 fact and, indeed, had assented so readily to any animadver- 
 sions upon the superstition and priestcraft which, according to' 
 Protestants, are the essential characteristics of Papistical com-
 
 182 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 munities that it was not till the hymeneal torch, which -brings 
 all faults to light, was fairly illumined for the altar, that the 
 remembrance of a faith so cast into a shade burst upon the con- 
 science of the Parson. The first idea that then occurred to him 
 was the proper and professional one viz., the conversion of Dr. 
 Riccabocca. He hastened to his study, took down from his 
 shelves long-neglected volumes of controversial divinity, armed 
 himself with an arsenal of authorities, arguments, and texts ; 
 then, seizing the shovel-hat, posted off to the Casino. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE Parson burst upon the philosopher like an avalanche ! 
 He was so full of his subject that he could not let it out in prudent 
 driblets. No, he went souse upon the astounded Riccabocca 
 
 "Tremendo 
 Jupiter ipse ruens tumultu." 
 
 The sage shrinking deeper into his arm-chair, and drawing 
 his dressing-robe more closely round him suffered the Parson 
 to talk for three-quarters of an hour,till, indeed, he had thorough- 
 ly proved his case; and, like Brutus, " paused for a reply." 
 
 Then said Riccabocca, mildly, " In much of what you have 
 urged so ably, and so suddenly, Tarn inclined to agree. But base 
 is the man who formally forswears the creed he has inherited 
 from his fathers, and professed since the cradle up to years of 
 maturity, when the change presents itself in the guise of a bribe; 
 when, for such is human nature, he can hardly distinguish or 
 disentangle the appeal to his reason from the lure lo his interest 
 here a text, and. there a dowry! here Protestantism, there 
 Jemima! Own, my friend, that the spberest casuist would see 
 double under the inebriating effects produced by so mixing his 
 polemical liquors. Appeal, my good Mr.Dale,from Philip drunken 
 to Philip sober! from Riccabocca intoxicated with the assur- 
 ance of your excellent lady, that he is about to be ' the happiest 
 of men,' to Riccabocca accustomed to his happiness, and carry- 
 ing it off with the seasoned equability of one growing familiar 
 with stimulants in a word, appeal from Riccabocca the wooer 
 to Riccabocca the spouse. I may be convertible, but conversion 
 is a slow process; courtship should be a quick one ask Miss 
 Jemima. Fttialnietite^^ry me first, and convert me afterwards!" 
 
 " You take this too jestingly," began the Parson; " and I don't 
 see why, with your excellent understanding, truths so plain and 
 obvious should not strike you at once." 
 
 "Truths," broke in Riccabocca, profoundly, " are the slowest-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 183 
 
 growing things in the world! It took fifteen hundred years from 
 the date of the Christian era to produce your own Luther, and 
 then he flung his Bible at Satan (I have seen the mark made by 
 the book on the wall of his prison in Germany), besides running 
 off with a nun, which no Protestant clergyman would think it 
 proper and right to do now-a-days." Then he added, with seri- 
 ousness, "Look you, my dear sir, I should lose my own esteem 
 if I were even to listen to you now with becoming attention, 
 now, I say, when you hint that the creed I have professed may 
 be in the way of my advantage. If so, I must keep the creed 
 and resign the advantage. But if, as I trust^-not only as a 
 Christian, but a man of honor you will defer this discussion, I 
 will promise to listen to you hereafter; and though, to say the 
 truth, I believe that you will not convert me, I will promise you 
 faithfully never to interfere with my wife's religion." 
 
 " And any children you may have ?" 
 
 " Children ! " said Dr. Riccabocca, recoiling " you are not 
 contented with firing your pocket-pistol right in my face; you 
 must also pepper me all over with small-shot. Children! well, if 
 they are girls, let tham follow the faith of their mother ; and if 
 boys, while in childhood, let them be contented with learning to 
 be Christians; and when they grow into men, let them choose for 
 themselves which is the best form for the practice of the great 
 principles which all sects have in common." 
 
 ." But," began Mr. Dale again, pulling a large book from his 
 pocket. 
 
 Dr. Riccabocca flung open the window, and jumped out of it. 
 
 It was the rapidest and most dastardly flight you could pos- 
 sibly conceive: but it was a great compliment to the argumenta- 
 tive powers of the Parson, and he felt it as such. Nevertheless, 
 Mr. Dale thought it right to have a long conversation, both with 
 the Squire and Miss Jemima herself, upon the subject which his 
 intended convert had so ignominiously escaped. 
 
 The Squire, though a great foe to Popery, politically consid- 
 ered, had also quite as great a hatred to renegades and apos- 
 tates. And in his heart he would have despised Riccabocca if 
 he could have thrown off his religion as easily as he had done 
 his spectacles. Therefore he said simply ".YVell, it is certainly 
 a great pity that Rickeybockey is not of, the.Chu.rch of Eng- 
 land, though, I take it, that would be unreasonable to expect in 
 a man born and bred under the nose of the Inquisition " (the 
 Squire firmly believed that the Inquisition was in full force in 
 all the Italian states, with whips, racks, and thumb-screws ; and, 
 indeed, his chief information of Italy was gathered from a pe-
 
 184 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 rusal he had given in early youth to The One- Handed Monk) ; 
 "but I think he speaks very fairly, on the whole, as to his wife and 
 children. And the thing's gone too far now to retract. It's all 
 ydur fault for not thinking of it before; and I've now just made up 
 my mind as to the course to pursue respecting the d d stocks ! " 
 As for Miss Jemima, the Parson left her with a pious thanks- 
 giving that Riccabocca at least was a Christian, and not a 
 Pagan, Mahometan, or Jew ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THERE is that in a wedding which appeals to a universal sym- 
 pathy. No other event in the lives of their superiors in rank 
 creates an equal sensation amongst the humbler classes. 
 
 From the moment the news that Miss Jemima was to be mar- 
 ried had spread throughout the village, all the old affection for 
 the Squire and his House burst forth the stronger for its tem- 
 porary suspension. Who could think of the stocks in such a 
 season? The stocks was swept out of fashion hunted from 
 remembrance as completely as the question of Repeal or the 
 thought of Rebellion from the warm Irish heart, when the fair 
 young face of the Royal Wife beamed on the sister isle. 
 
 Again cordial curtseys were dropped at the thresholds by 
 which the Squire passed to his own farm ; again the sun-burnt 
 brows uncovered no 'more with sullen ceremony were 
 smoothed into cheerful gladness at hisnod. Nay, the little onesbe- 
 gan again to assembleat theirancientrendezvousbythestocks,as 
 if either familiarized with the phenomenon, or convinced that,in 
 the general sentiment of good- will, its powers of evil were annulled. 
 
 The Squire tasted Once more the sweets of the only popu- 
 larity which is much worth having, and the loss of which a wise 
 mam would reasonably deplore viz., the popularity which arises 
 from a persuasion of our goodness, and a reluctance to recall 
 our faults. Like all blessings, the more sensibly felt from pre- 
 vious interruption, the Squire enjoyed this restored popularity 
 with an exhilarated sense of existence ; his stout heart beat 
 more vigorously ; his stalwart step trod more lightly ; his 
 couiely English face looked comelier and more English than 
 ever you would have been a merrier man for a week, to have 
 come'- within hearing of his jovial laugh. 
 
 He felt grateful to Jemima and to Riccabocca as the special 
 agents of Providence in this general integratio amoris. To have 
 looked at him, you would suppose that it was the Squire who 
 was going to be married a second time to his Harry ! 
 
 One may well conceive that such would have been an inau-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 185 
 
 spicio.us moment for Parson Dale's theological scruples. To 
 have stopped that marriage chilled all the sunshine it diffused 
 over the village seen himself surrounded again by long sulky 
 visages, -I verily believe, though a better friend of -Church and 
 State never stood on a hustings, that, rather than court such a 
 revulsion, the Squire would have found Jesuitical excuses for the 
 marriage if Riccabocca had been discovered to be the Pope in 
 disguise ! As for the stocks, its fate was now irrevocably 
 sealed. In short, the marriage was concluded first privately, 
 according to the bridegroom's creed, by a Roman Catholic 
 clergyman, who lived in a town some miles offhand next pub- 
 licly in the village church of Hazeldean. 
 
 It was the heartiest rural wedding!. Village girls strewed 
 flowers on the way ; a booth was placed amidst the prettiest 
 scenery of the Park on the margin of the lake for there was to 
 be a dance later in the day ; an ox was roasted whole. Even 
 Mr. Stirn no, Mr. Stirn was not present, so much happiness 
 would have been the death of him ! And the Papisher too, 
 who had conjured Lenny out of the stocks ; nay, who had him- 
 self sat in the stocks for the very purpose of bringing them into 
 .contempt the Papisher ! he had as lief Miss Jemima had mar- 
 ried the devil ! Indeed he was persuaded that, in point of fact, 
 it was all one and the same. Therefore Mr. Stirn had asked 
 leave to go and attend his uncle the pawnbroker, about to un- 
 dergo a torturing operation for the stone ! Frank was there, 
 summoned from Eton for the occasion having grown two 
 .inches taller since he left for the one inch of which nature 
 was to be thanked, for the other a new pair of: resplendent 
 Wellingtons. But the boy's joy was less apparent than that of 
 others. For Jemima was. a special favorite with him, as she 
 would have been with all boys for she was always kind and 
 gentle, and made him many pretty presents whenever she came 
 from the watering-places. And Frank knew that he should 
 miss her sadly, and thought she had made a very queer choice. 
 
 Captain Higginbotham had been invited ; but, to the astonish- 
 ment of Jemima, he had replied to the invitation by a letter to 
 herself, marked "private and confidential." " She must have 
 long known," said the letter, " of his devoted attachment to her! 
 motives of delicacy, arising from the narrowness of his income, 
 and the magnanimity of his sentiments, had alone prevented, his 
 formal proposals but now that he was informed (he could scarce- 
 ly believe his senses or command his passions) that her relations 
 wished to force her into a BARBAROUS marriage with a foreigner 
 of MOST FORBIDDING APPEARANCE, and most abject circums tancc*
 
 1 86 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 he lost not a moment inlaying at her feet his own hand and 
 fortune. And he did this the more confidently, inasnruch as 
 he could not but be aware of Miss Jemima's SECRET feelings 
 toward him, while he vizs proud and happy to say, that his dear 
 and distinguished cousin, Mr. Sharpe Currie, had honored him 
 with a warmth of regard, which justified the most brilliant EX- 
 PECTATIONS likely to be soon realized as his eminent relative 
 had contracted a very bad liver complaint in the service of his 
 country, and could not last long ! " 
 
 In all the years they had known each other, Miss Jemima, 
 strange as it may appear, had never once suspected the Captain 
 of any other feelings to her than those of a brother. To say that 
 she was not gratified by learning her mistake, would be to say 
 that she was more than woman. Indeed, it must have been a 
 source of no ignoble triumph to think that she could prove her 
 disinterested affection to her dear Riccabocca, by a prompt re- 
 jection of this more brilliant offer. She couched the rejection, 
 it is true, in the most soothing terms. But the Captain evident- 
 ly considered himself ill used ; he did not reply to the letter, 
 and did not come to the wedding. 
 
 To let the reader into a secret, never known to Miss Jemima, 
 Captain Higgtnbotham was much less influenced by Cupid than 
 by Plutus in the offer he had made. The Captain was one of 
 that class of gentlemen who read their accounts by those corpse- 
 lights, or will-o'-the-wisps, called expectations. Ever since the 
 Squire's grandfather had left him then in short clothes a leg- 
 acy of ^500, the Captain had peopled the future with expec- 
 tations ! He talked of his expectations as a man talks of shares 
 in a Tontine ; they might fluctuate a little be now up and now 
 down but it was morally impossible, if he lived on, but that 
 he should be a millionaire one of these days. Now, though Miss 
 Jemima was a good fifteen years younger than himself, yet she 
 always stood fora good round sum in the ghostly books of 
 the Captain. She was an expectation to the full amount of her 
 ^4000, seeing that Frank was an only child, and it would be 
 carrying coals to Newcastle to leave him anything. 
 
 Rather than see so considerable a cipher suddenly spunged 
 out of his visionary ledger rather than so much money should 
 vanish clear out of the family, Captain Higginbotham had taken 
 what he conceived, if a desperate, at least a certain, step for the 
 preservation of his property. If the golden horn could not be 
 had without the heifer, why, he must take the heifer into the 
 bargain. He had never formed to himself an idea that a heifer 
 so gentle would toss and fling him over. The blow was stunning.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 187 
 
 But no one compassionates the misfortunes of the covetous, 
 though few perhaps are in greater need of compassion. And 
 leaving poor Captain Higginbotham to retrieve his illusory for- 
 tunes as he best may among " the expectations " which gathered 
 round the form of Mr. Sharpe Currie, who was the Grossest old 
 tyrant imaginable, and never allowed at his table any dishes not 
 compounded with rice, which played Old Nick with the Captain's 
 constitutional functions, I return to the wedding at Hazeldean, 
 just in time to see the bridegroom who looked singularly well 
 on the occasion hand the bride (who, between sunshiny tears 
 and affectionate smiles, was really a very interesting and even 
 a pretty bride, as brides go) into a carriage which the Squire 
 had presented to them, and depart on the orthodox nuptial ex- 
 cursion amidst the blessings of the assembled crowd. 
 
 It may be thought strange by the unreflective that these rural 
 spectators should so have approved and blessed the marriage of 
 a Hazeldean of Hazeldean with a poor, outlandish, long-haired 
 foreigner; but, besides that Riccabocca, after all, had become 
 one of the neighborhood, and was proverbially " a civil-spoken 
 gentleman," it is generally noticeable that on wedding occasions 
 the bride so monopolizes interest, curiosity, and admiration, that 
 the bridegroom himself goes for little or nothing. He is merely 
 the passive agent in the affair the unregarded cause of the gen- 
 eral satisfaction. It was not Riccabocca himself that they ap- 
 proved and blessed it was the gentleman in the white waist- 
 coat who had made Miss Jemima Madam Rickeybockey ! 
 
 Leaning on his wife's arm (for it was a habit of the Squire to 
 lean on his wife's arm rather than she on his, when he was spe- 
 cially pleased ; and there was something touching in the sight 
 of that strong, sturdy frame thus insensibly, in hours of happi- 
 ness, seeking dependence on the frail arm of woman) leaning, 
 I say, on his wife's arm, the Squire, about the hour of sunset, 
 walked down to the booth by the lake. 
 
 All the parish young and old, woman arid child were as- 
 sembled there, and their faces seemed to bear one family like- 
 ness, in the common emotion which animated all, as they turned 
 to his frank, fatherly smile. Squire Hazeldean stood at the head 
 of the long table; he filled a horn with ale from the brimming 
 tankard beside him. Then he looked round, and lifted his hand 
 to request silence ; and ascending the chair, rose in full view of 
 all. Every one felt that the Squire was about to make a speech, 
 and the earnestness of the attention was proportioned to the rar- 
 ity of the event; for (though he was not unpractised in the ora- 
 tory of the hustings) only thrice before had the Squire made what
 
 1 88 My NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 could fairly be called " a speech " to the villagers of Hazeldean 
 once on a kindred festive occasion, when he had presented to 
 them his bride once in a contested election for the shire,, in 
 Avhich he took more than ordinary interest, and was not quite so 
 sober as he ought to have been once in a time of great agri- 
 cultural distress, when, in spite of reduction of rents, the farmers 
 had been compelled to discard a large number of their customary 
 laborers; and when the Squire had said" I have given up keep- 
 ing the hounds, because I want to make a fine piece of water." 
 that was the origin of the lake, !-" and to drain all the low lands 
 found the Park. Let every man who wants work come to me ! " 
 and that sad year the parish rates of Hazeldean were not a 
 penny the heavier. 
 
 Now, for the fourth time, the Squire rose, and thus he spoke, 
 At his right hand, Harry ; at his left, Frank. At the bottom of 
 the table, as vice-president, Parson Dale, his little wife behind 
 him, only obscurely seen. She cried. readily, and her handker- 
 chief was already before her eyes. :t;f j} - c :^\f 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 , ....... 
 
 THE SQUIRE S SPEECH. 
 
 " FRIENDS and neighbors, I thank, you kindly for coming 
 round me this day, and for showing so much-interest in me and 
 mine. My cousin was not born amongst you as I was, but you 
 have known her from a child. It is a familiar face, and one 
 that never frowned, which you will miss at your cottage doors, 
 as I and mine will miss it Iqng in the old Hall " 
 
 Here there was a sob from some of the women,and nothing was 
 seen of Mrs. Dale but the white handkerchief. The Squire himself 
 paused, and brushed away a. tear with the back of his hand. Then 
 he resumed, with a sudden change of . voice that was electrical, 
 
 "For we none of us prize a -blessing .till we have lost it ! 
 Now, friends and neighbors ; a little time ago, it seemed as if 
 SAme ill-will had crept in the village ill-will between you and 
 me, neighbors ! why, that is not like Hazeldean ! " 
 
 The audience hung their heads ! You never saw people look 
 so thoroughly ashamed of themselves. The Squire proceeded, 
 
 " I don't say it was all your fault ; perhaps it was.-wine." 
 
 " Noa noa noa," burst forth in a general .chorus. 
 
 " Nay, friends," continued the Squire, humbly, and in one of 
 those illustrative aphorisms which, if less subtle than Riccaboc- 
 ca's, were more within reach of the popular comprehension, 
 " nay, we are all human, and every man has his hobby ; some- 
 times he breaks in the hobby, and sometimes the hobby, if it is
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 189 
 
 very hard in the mouth, breaks in him. One man's hobby has 
 an ill habit of always stopping at the public-house ! (Laughter. ) 
 Another man's hobby refuses tostir a peg beyond the door where 
 some buxom lass patted its neck the week before a hobby I 
 rode pretty often when I went courting my good wife here'! 
 (Much laughter and applause.) Others have a lazy hobby, that 
 there's no getting on ; others, a runaway hobbr, that there's no 
 stopping; but, to cut the matter short, my favorite hobby, as you 
 well know, is always trotted out to any place on my property 
 which seems to want the eye -and hand of the master. I hate," 
 cried the Squire, warming, " to see things neglected and decayed, 
 and going to the dogs ! This land we live in is a good mother 
 to us, and we can't do too much for her. It is very true, neigh- 
 bors, that I owe' her a good many acres, and ought to speak well 
 of her ; but what then ? I live amongst you, and what I take 
 from the rent with one hand, I divide amongst you with the 
 other. (Low but assenting murmurs.) Now, the more I im- 
 prove my property, the more mouths it feeds. My great-grand- 
 father kept a Field-Book, in which were entered, not only the 
 names of all tire farmers, and the quantity of land they held, but 
 the average number of the laborers each employed. My grand- 
 father and father followed his example ; I have done the same. 
 I find, neighbors, that our rents have doubled since my great- 
 grandfather began to make the book. Ay, but there are more 
 than four times the number of laborers employed on the estate, 
 and at much better wages, too ! -Well, my men, that says a great 
 deal in favor of improving property, and not letting it go to the 
 dogs. (Applause.) And therefore, neighbors, you will kindly 
 excuse my hobby; it carries grist to your mill. (Reiterated 
 applause.) Well, but you will say, ' What's the Squire driving 
 at?' Why this, my friends: There was only one worn out, 
 dilapidated, tumble-down thing in the parish of Hazeldean, and 
 it became an eyesore to me ; so I saddled my hobby, and rode 
 at it. Oh ho!- you know what I mean now! Yes, but neighbors, 
 you need not have taken it so to heart. That was a scurvy trick 
 of some of you to hang me in effigy, as they call it." 
 
 "It war'ntyou/'criedavoice in thecrowd; "it warNick : Stirn." 
 The Squire recognized the voice of the Tinker ; but though 
 he now guessed at the ringleader, on that day of general amnesty 
 he had the prudence and magnanimity not to say, " Stand:forth, 
 Sprott ; thou art the man." Yet his gallant English spirit would 
 not suffer him to come off at the expense of his servant. 
 
 " If it was Nick Stirn you meant," said he, gravely, " more 
 shame for you. It showed some pluck to hang the master ; but
 
 1 90 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 to hang the poor servant, who only thought to do. his duty, care- 
 less of what ill-will it brought upon him, was a shabby trick, so 
 little like the lads of Hazeldean, that I suspect the man who 
 taught it to them was never born in the parish. But let bygones 
 be bygones. One thing is clear, you don't take kindly to my new 
 pair of stocks! The stocks has been a stumbling-block and a 
 grievance, and there's no denying that we went on veay pleas- 
 antly without it. I may also say that, in spite of it, we have been 
 coming together again lately. And I can't tell you what good it 
 did me to see your children playing again on the green, and your 
 honest faces, in spite of the stocks, and those diabolical tracts 
 you've been reading lately, lighted up at the thought that some- 
 thing pleasant was going on at the Hall. Do you know, neigh- 
 bors, you put me in mind of an old story which, besides applying 
 to the parish, all who are married, and all who intend to marry, 
 will do well to recollect. A worthy couple, named John and 
 Joan, had lived happily together many a long year, till one un- 
 lucky day they bought a new bolster. Joan said the bolster. was 
 too hard, and John said that it was too soft ; so, of course, they 
 quarrelled. After sulking all day, they agreed to put the bolster 
 between them at night." (Roars of laughter amongst the men ; 
 the women did not know which way to look, except, indeed, Mrs. 
 Hazeldean, who, though she was more than usually rosy, main- 
 tained her innocent, genial smile, as much as to say, " There is no 
 harm in the Squire's jest.") The orator resumed: "Afterthey 
 had thus lain apart for a little time, very silent and sullen, John 
 sneezed. ' God bless you ! ' says Joan, over the bolster. ' Did 
 you say God bless me ? ' cries John ; ' then here goes the bol- 
 ster ! ' ' (Prolonged laughter and tumultuous applause.) 
 . " Friends and neighbors," said the Squire, when silence was 
 restored, and lifting the horn of ale, " I have the pleasure to in- 
 form you that I have ordered the stocks to be taken down, and 
 made into a bench for the chimney-nook of our old friend Gaffer 
 Solomons yonder. But mind me, lads, if ever you make the par- 
 ish regret the loss of the stocks, and the overseers come .to me 
 with long faces, and say, ' the stocks must be rebuilded,' why " 
 Here from all the youth of the village rose so deprecating a 
 clamor, that the Squire would have been the most bungling orator 
 in the world, if he had said a word further on the subject. He 
 elevated the horn over his head, " Why, that's my old Hazel- 
 dean again ! Health and long life to you all ! " 
 
 The Tinker had sneaked out of the assembly, and did not 
 show his face in the village for the next six months. And as to 
 those poisonous tracts, in spite of their salubrious labels, " The
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 191 
 
 Poor Man's Friend," or "The Rights of Labor," you could no 
 more have found one of them lurking in the drawers of the 
 kitchen-dressers in Hazeldean, than you would have found 
 the deadly nightshade on the flower-stands in the drawing-room 
 of the Hall. As for the revolutionary beer-house, there was no 
 need to apply to the magistrates to shut it up it shut itself up 
 before the week was out. : 
 
 O young head of the great House of Hapsburg, what a Hazel- 
 dean you might have made of Hungary ! What a " Moriamur 
 pro rcge nostro " would have rung in your infant reign, if you 
 had made such a speech as the Squire's ! 
 
 BOOK FOURTH. INITIAL CHAPTER. 
 
 COMPRISING MR. CAXTON*S OPINIONS ON THE MATRIMONIAL 
 STATE, SUPPORTED BY LEARNED AUTHORITIES. 
 
 " IT was no bad idea of yours, Pisistratus," said my father, 
 graciously, " to depict the heightened affections and the serious 
 intention of Signor Riccabocca by a single stroke He left off 
 his spectacles ! Good." 
 
 "Yet," quoth my uncle, "I think Shakespeare represents a lover 
 as falling into slovenly habits, neglecting his person, and suffer- 
 ing his hose to be ungartered, rather than paying that attention 
 to his outer man which induces Signor Riccabocca to leave off 
 his spectacles, and look as handsome as nature will permit him." 
 
 " There are different degrees and many phases of this pas- 
 sion," replied my father. " Shakespeare is speaking of an ill- 
 treated, pining, woe-begone lover, much aggrieved by the cruelty 
 of his mistress a lover who has found it of no avail to smarten 
 himself up, and has fallen despondently into the opposite ex- 
 treme. Whereas Signor Riccabocca has nothing to complain 
 of in the barbarity of Miss Jemima." 
 
 " Indeed he has not ! " cried Blanche, tossing her head 
 " forward creature !" 
 
 " Yes, my dear," said my mother, trying her best to look stately, 
 "I am decidedly of opinion that, in that respect, Pisistratus has 
 lowered the dignity of the sex. Not intentionally," added my 
 mother, mildly, and afraid she had said something too bitter ; 
 " but it is very hard for a man to describe us women." 
 
 The Captain nodded approvingly ; Mr. Squills smiled ; my 
 father quietly resumed the thread of his discourse. 
 
 "To continue," quoth he. "Riccabocca has no reason to
 
 1 92 : MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 despair of success in his suit, nor any object in moving his mis- 
 tress to compassion. He may, therefore, very properly tie up 
 his garters and leave off his spectacles. What do you say, Mr. 
 Squills? for, after all, since love-making -cannot fail to be a 
 great constitutional derangement; the experience of a medical 
 man must be the best to consult." 
 
 "Mr. Caxton," replied Squills, obviously flattered, "you are 
 quite right; when a man makes love, the organs of self-esteem 
 and desire of applause are greatly stimulated, and therefore, of 
 course, he sets himself off to the best advantage. It is only, as 
 you observe, when, like Shakespeare's lover, he has given up 
 making love as a bad job, and has received that severe hit on 
 the ganglions which the cruelty of a mistress inflicts,thathe neg- 
 lects his personal appearance ; he neglects it, not because he is in 
 love,but because his nervous' system is depressed. That was the 
 cause,if you remember, with poor Major Prime. He wore his wig 
 all awry when Susan Smart jilted him; but 'I set it right for him." 
 
 " By shaming Miss Smart into repentance, or getting him a 
 new sweetheart ? '.' asked my uncle. 
 
 " Pooh ! "answered Squills, "by quinine and cold bathing." 
 
 "We. may therefore grant," renewed my father, " that, as a 
 general rule, the process of courtship tends to the spruceness, 
 and even foppery, of the individual engaged in the experiment, 
 asVoltatre has very prettily proved somewhere. Nay, the Mexi- 
 cans, indeed, were of opinion, that the lady at least ought to con- 
 tinue those cares of her .person even after marriage. There is 
 extant, in Sahagun's History of JVew Spain, the advice of an 
 Aztec. or Mexican mother to her daughter, in which she says 
 ' That your husband may not take you in dislike, adorn yourself, 
 wash yourself, and let your garment be clean.' Jt is true that the 
 good lady adds ' Do it in moderation ; since, if every day you 
 are washing yourself and your clothes, the world will say that 
 you are over-delicate; and particular people will call you 
 TAPETZON TINEMAXOCH ! ' What those words precisely mean," 
 added my father, modestly,':"! can not say^ since I never had 
 the opportunity to acquire the ancient Aztec language but 
 something very opprobrious and horrible, no doubt." 
 
 "I dare say a philosopher like Signor Riccabocca,*' said my 
 uncle, " was not himself very Tapetzon tine what d'ye call it ? 
 and a good healthy English wife, that poor affectionate Jemima, 
 was thrown away upon him." 
 
 " Roland," said my father, " you don't like foreigners ; a re- 
 spectable prejudice, and quite natural in a man who has been 
 trying his best to hew them in pieces and blow them up into
 
 TARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 193 
 
 splinters. But you don't like philosophers either and for that 
 dislike you have no equally good reason." 
 
 " I only implied that they are not much addicted to soap and 
 water," said my uncle. 
 
 "A notable mistake. Many great philosophers have been 
 very great beaux. Aristotle was a notorious fop. Buffon put 
 on his best laced ruffles when he sat down to write, which implies 
 that he washed his hands first. Pythagoras insists greatly on 
 the holiness of frequent ablutions ; and Horace who, in his 
 own way, was as good a philosopher as any the Romans pro- 
 duced takes care to let us know what a neat, well-dressed, 
 dapper little gentleman he was. But I don't think you ever 
 read the ' Apology of Apuleius ? * ' 
 
 " Not I what is it about ? " asked the Captain. 
 
 " About a great many things. It is that sage's vindication from 
 several malignant charges amongst others, and principally, in- 
 deed,thatof being much too refined and effeminate for a philoso- 
 pher. Nothing can exceed the rhetorical skill with which he ex- 
 cuses himself for using tooth-powder. 'Ought a philosopher,' 
 he exclaims, ' to allow anything unclean about him, especially in 
 the mouth the mouth, which is the vestibule of the soul, the gate 
 of discourse, the portico of thought! Ah, but ^Emilianus [the 
 accuser of Apuleius] never opens ^/V mouth but for slander and 
 calumny tooth-powder would indeed be unbecoming to him ! 
 Or,if he use any,it will not be rrty good Arabian tooth-powder,but 
 charcoal and cinders. Ay, his teeth should be as foul as his 
 language ! And yet even the crocodile likes to have his teeth 
 cleaned ; insects get into them, and horrible reptile though he 
 be, he opens his jaws inoffensively to a faithful dentistical bird, 
 who volunteers his beak for a tooth-pick.* " 
 
 My father was now warm in the subject he had started, and 
 soared miles away from Riccabocca and " My Novel." " And 
 observe," he exclaimed "observe with what gravity this eminent 
 Platonist pleads guilty to the charge of having a mirror. ' Why, 
 what,' he exclaims, ' more worthy of the regards of a human crea- 
 ture than his own image ? ' (nihil respectabilius horriini quamfor- 
 mam suam /) Is not that one of the children the most dear to us 
 who is called ' the picture of his father ? ' But take what pains 
 you will with a picture, it can never be so like you as the face in 
 your mirror! Think it discreditable to look with proper attention 
 on one's-self in the glass! Did not Socrates recommend such 
 attention to his disciples did not he make a great moral agent 
 of the speculum ? The handsome, in admiring their beauty 
 therein, were admonished that handsome is who handsome does ;
 
 194 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 and the more theijgly stared at themselves,!;he more they became 
 naturally anxious to hide the disgrace of their features in the love- 
 liness of their merits. Was not Demosthenes always at his specu- 
 lum? Did he not rehearse his cause before it as before a master in 
 the art? He learned his eloquence from Plato, his dialectics from 
 Eubulides; but as for his delivery there, he came to the mirror! 
 
 " Therefore," concluded Mr. Canton, returning unexpectedly 
 to the subject " therefore, it is no reason to suppose that Ric- 
 cabocca is averse to cleanliness and decent care of the person 
 because he is a philosopher ; and, all things considered,he never 
 showed himself more a philosopher than when he left off his 
 spectacles and looked his best." 
 
 "Well," said my mother kindly, "I only hope it may turn 
 out happily. But I should have been better pleased if Pisistra- 
 tus had not made Dr. Riccabocca so reluctant a w.ooer." 
 
 " Very true," said the Captain,; "the Italian does not shine 
 as a lover. Throw a little more ore into him,.Pisistratus some- 
 thing gallant and chivalrous." 10 j/.'j c.; 
 
 " Fire gallantry chivalry!" cried my father, who had taken 
 Riccabocca under his special protection" why, don't you see 
 that the man is described as a philosopher ? and I should like 
 to know when a philosopher ever plunged into matrimony with- 
 out considerable misgiving and cold shivers. Indeed, it seems 
 that perhaps before he was a philosopher Riccabocca had 
 tried the experiment, and knew what it was. Why, even that 
 plain-speaking, sensible, practical man, Metellus Numidicus, 
 who : was not even a philosopher, but only a Roman Censor, thus 
 expressed himself in an exhortation to the people to perpetrate 
 matrimony 'If, O Quirites, we could do without wives, we 
 should all dispense with that subject of care (ed melestid care- 
 remus}; but since nature has so managed it that we Cannot live 
 with women comfortably, nor without them at all, let us rather 
 provide for the human race than our own temporary felicity." 
 
 Here the ladies set up a cry of such indignation, that both Ro- 
 land and myself endeavored to appease their wrath by hasty 
 assurances that we utterly repudiated the damnable doctrine of 
 Metellus Numidicus. 
 
 My father, wholly unmoved, as soon as a sullen silence was 
 established, recommenced " Do not think, ladies," said he, 
 " that you were without advocates at that day ; there were many 
 Romans gallant enough to blame the Censor for a mode of ex- 
 pressing himself which. they held : to be equally impolite and in- 
 judicious. ' Surely,' said they, with some plausibility, ' if Nu- 
 midicus wished men to marry, he need not have referred so
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGI.JSH LIFE. 195 
 
 peremptorily to the disquietudes of the connection, and thus 
 have made them more inclined to turn away from matrimony 
 than given them a relish for it.' But against these critics one 
 honest man (whose name of Titus Castricius should not be for- 
 gotten by posterity) maintained that Metellus Numidicus could 
 not have spoken more properly : 'For remark,' said he, ' that 
 Metellus was a censor, not a rhetorician. It becomes rhetori- 
 cians to adorn and disguise, and make the best of things ; but 
 Meteilus, sanctusvir a holy and blameless man, grave and sin- 
 cere to wit, and addressing the Roman people in the solemn ca- 
 pacity of Censor was bound to speak the plain truth, especi- 
 ally as he was treating on a subject on which the observation of 
 every day and the experience of every life, could not leave the 
 least doubt upon the mind of his audience.' Still, Riccabocca, 
 having decided to marry, has no doubt prepared himself to bear 
 all the concomitant evils as becomes a professed sage ; and I 
 own I admire the art with which Pisistratus has drawn the kind 
 of woman most likely to suit a philosopher" 
 
 Pisistratus bows and looks round complacently ; but recoils 
 from two very peevish and discontented faces feminine. 
 
 MR.CAXTON (completing his sentence). Not only as regards 
 mildness of temper and other household qualifications, but as 
 regards the very person of the object of his choice. For you evi- 
 dently remember, Pisistratus, the reply of Bias, when asked his 
 opinion on marriage: ""ZZYo* nakrjv %8i^ ff aiff^pav uai 
 si xaXr/v, e<?z? Ttoivrjv si_$r] ctiG%pav sgeiS noiv^v.' 1 ' 
 
 Pisistratus tries to look as if he had the opinion of Bias by 
 heart, and nods acquiescingly. 
 
 MR. CAXTON. That is, my dears, "the woman ,you would 
 marry is either handsome or ugly ; if handsome she is koine,viz., 
 you don't have her to yourself ; if ugly, she is poine -that is, a 
 fury." But, as it is observed in Aulus Gellius (whence I borrow 
 this citation), there is a wide interval between handsome and 
 ugly. And thus Ennius, in his tragedy of Menalippus, uses an 
 admirable expression to designate women to the proper degree 
 of matrimonial comeliness, such as a philosopher would select. 
 He calls this degree statg. forma a rational, mediocre sort of 
 beauty, which is not liable to be either koine or poine. And 
 Favorinus, who was a remarkably sensible man, and came from 
 Provence the male inhabitants of which district have always 
 valued themselves on their knowledge of love and ladies calls 
 this said stata forma the beauty of wives the uxorial beauty. 
 Ennius says;, that women of a stata forma, are always safe and 
 modest. Now, Jemima, you observe, is described as possessing
 
 196 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 this stata forma j and it is the nicety of your observation in 
 this respect, which I like the most in the whole of your descrip- 
 tion of a philosopher's matrimonial courtship, Pisistratus (ex- 
 cepting only the stroke of the spectacles), for it shows that you 
 had properly considered the opinion of Bias,and mastered all the 
 counter-logic suggested in Book V., chapter xi., of Aulus Gellius." 
 
 "For all that," said Blanche, half archly, half demurely, with 
 a smile in the eye and a pout of the lip, " I don't remember that 
 Pisistratus, in the days when he wished to be most complimentary, 
 ever assured me that I had a stata forma a rational, mediocre 
 sort of beauty." 
 
 " And I think," observed my uncle, " that when he comes to 
 his real heroine, whoever she may be, he will not trouble his head 
 much about either Bias or Aulus Gellius." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MATRIMONY is certainly a great change in life. One is aston- 
 ished not to find a notable alteration in one's friend, even if he 
 or she have been only wedded a week. In the instance of Dr. and 
 Mrs. Riccabocca the change was peculiarly visible. To speak first 
 of the lady, as in chivalry bound, Mrs. Riccabocca had entirely 
 renounced that melancholy which had characterized Miss Jem- 
 ima ; she became even sprightly and gay, and looked all the bet- 
 ter and prettier for the alteration. She did not scruple to confess 
 honestly to Mrs. Dale, that she was now of opinion that the world 
 was very far from approaching its end. But, in the meanwhile, 
 she did not neglect the duty which the belief she had abandoned 
 serves to inculcate " She set her house in order." The cold 
 and penurious elegance that had characterized the Casino disap- 
 peared like enchantment .that is, the elegance remained, but the 
 cold and penury fled before the smile of woman. Like Puss-in- 
 Boots, after the nuptials of his master, Jackeymo only now caught 
 minnows and sticklebacks for his o\vn amusement. Jackeymo 
 looked much plumper, and so did Riccabocca. In a. word, the 
 fair Jemima became an excellent wife. Riccabocca secretly 
 thought her extravagant, but like a wise man, declined to look 
 at the house-bills, and ate his joint in unreproachful silence. 
 
 Indeed, there was so much unaffected kindness in the nature 
 of Mrs. Riccabocca beneath the quiet of her manner, there 
 beat so genially the heart of the Hazeldeans that she fairly jus- 
 tified the favorable anticipations of Mrs. Dale. And though the 
 Doctor did not noisily boast of his felicity, nor, as some new- 
 married folks do, thrust it insultingly under the nimis unctis nari- 
 bus the turned-up noses of your surly old married folks nor
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 197 
 
 force it gaudily and glaringly on the envious eyes of the single, 
 you might still see that he was a more cheerful and light-hearted 
 man than before. His smile was less ironical, his politeness less 
 distinct. He did not study Machiavelli so intensely and he did 
 not return to the spectacles ; which last was an excellent sign. 
 Moreover, the humanizing influence of the tidy English wife 
 mightbeseen in the improvement of his outward or artificialman. 
 His clothes seemed to fit him better ; indeed the clothes were 
 new. Mrs. Dale no longer remarked that the buttons were off the 
 wristbands, which was a great satisfaction to her. But the sage 
 still remained faithful to the pipe, the cloak, and the red silk um- 
 brella. Mrs. Riccabocca had (to her credit be it spoken) used 
 all becoming and wife-like arts against these three remnants of 
 theold bachelor Adam, but in vain. ^Anima mia" (soul of mine), 
 said the Doctor, tenderly ; " I hold the cloak, the umbrella, and 
 the pipe, as the sole relics that remain to me of my. native coun- 
 try. Respect and spare them." 
 
 Mrs. Riccabocca was touched, and had the good sense to per- 
 ceive that man, let him be ever so much married, retains certain 
 signs of his ancient independence certain tokens of his old 
 identity, which a wife, the most despotic, will do well toconcede. 
 She conceded the cloak, she submitted to the umbrella, she over- 
 came her abhorrence of the pipe. After all, considering the nat- 
 ural villany of our sex, she confessed to herself t^hat she might 
 have been worse off. But, through all the calm and cheerfulness 
 of Riccabocca, a nervous perturbation was sufficiently percepti- 
 ble ; it commenced after the second week of marriage it went 
 on increasing, till one bright sunny afternoon, as he was stand- 
 ing on his terrace, gazing down upon the road, at which Jack- 
 eyvno was placed lo, a stage coach stopped ! The Doctor made 
 a bound, and put both hands to his heart as if he had been shot ; 
 he then leaped over the balustrade, and his wife from her window 
 beheld him flying down the hill, with his long hair streaming in 
 the wind, till the trees hid him from her sight. 
 
 "Ah," thought she, with a natural pang of conjugal jealousy, 
 ''henceforth I am .only second in his home. He has gone to 
 welcome his child ! " And at that reflection Mrs. Riccabocca 
 shed tears. 
 
 But so naturally amiable was she, that she hastened tocurbher 
 rfmotion, and efface as well as she could the trace of a step-moth- 
 er's grief. ' When this was done, and a silent, self-rebuking prayer 
 murmured over, the good woman descended the stairs with alac- 
 rity, and summoning up her best smiles, emerged on the terrace. 
 
 She was repaid ; for scarcely had she come into the open air,
 
 198 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 when two little arms were thrown around her, and the sweetest 
 voice that ever came from a child's lips, sighed out in broken 
 English, "Good mamma, love me a little." 
 
 : " Love you ? with my whole heart ! " <:ried the step-mother, 
 with all a mother's honest passion. And she clasped the child 
 to her breast. 
 
 " God bless you, my wife," said Riccabbcca in a husky tone. 
 
 " Please take this too," added Jackeymo, in Italian, as well 
 as his sobs would let him and he broke off a great bough full 
 of blossoms from his favorite orange-tree, and thrust it into his 
 mistress's hand. She had not the slightest notion what he 
 meant by it ! 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 VIOLANTE was indeed a" bewitching child a child to whom 
 I defy Mrs. Caudle herself (immortal Mrs. Caudle!) to have 
 been a harsh, step-mother. 
 
 Look at her now, as, released from those kindly arms, she 
 stands, still clinging with one hand to her new mamma, and 
 holding out the other to Riccabocca,^ with those large, dark 
 eyes swimming in happy tears. What a lovely smile! ^what an 
 ingenuous, candid brow ! She looks delicate she evidently 
 requires- care^-she wants the mother. And rare is the woman 
 who would not love her the better for that ! Still, what an in- 
 nocent, infantine bloom in those clear, smooth cheeks ! and 
 in that slight frame, what exquisite natural grace ! 
 
 "And this, I suppose, is your nurse, darling?" said Mrs. Ric- 
 cabocca, observing a dark, foreign-looking woman, dressed very 
 strangely, without cap or bonnet, but a great silver arrow stuck 
 in her hair, and a filigree chain or necklace resting upon her 
 kerchief. 
 
 " Ah, good Anetta," said Violante in Italian. " Papa, she 
 says she is to go back ; but she is not to go back is she ? " 
 
 Riccabocca, who had scarcely before noticed the woman, start- 
 ed at that question exchanged a rapid glance With Jackeymo 
 tind then, muttering 'some inaudible excuse, approached the 
 nurse, and beckoning her to follow him, went away into the 
 grounds. He did not return for more than an hour, nor did the 
 woman then accompany him home. He said briefly to his wife 
 tliat the nurse was obliged to return at once to Italy, and that 
 she would stay in th.evillage to catch the mail ; that indeed she 
 would be of no use in their establish merit, as she could not speak 
 a word of English ; but'that he was sadly afraid Violante would 
 pine for her. And Violante did pine at first. But still, to a
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 199 
 
 child it is so great a thing to find a parent to be at home 
 that, tender and grateful as Violante was, she could not be in- 
 consolable while her father was there to comfort. 
 
 For the first few days, Riccabocca scarcely permitted anyone 
 to be with his daughter but himself. He would not even leave 
 her alone with his Jemima. They walked out together sat to- 
 gether for hours in the belvidere. Then by degrees he began 
 to resign her more and more to Jemima's care and tuition, es- 
 pecially in English, of which language at present she spoke 
 only a few sentences (previously, perhaps, learned by heart), 
 so as to be clearly intelligible. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THERE was one person in-the establishment of Dr. Ricca- 
 bocca, who was satisfied neither with the marriage of his mas- 
 ter nor the arrival of Violante and that was our friend Lenny 
 Fairfield. Previous to the all-absorbing duties of courtship, 
 the young peasant had secured a very large share of Riccaboc- 
 ca's attention. The sage had felt an interest in the growth of 
 this rude intelligence struggling up to light. But what with the 
 wooing, and what with the wedding, Lenny Fairfield had sunk 
 very much out of his artificial position as pupil, into his natu- 
 ral station of under-gardener. And on the arrival of Violante, 
 he saw, with natural bitterness, that he was clean forgotten, not 
 only by Riccabocca, but almost by Jackeymo. It was true that 
 the master still lent him books, and the servant still gave him 
 lectures on horticulture. But Riccabocca had no time nor in- 
 clination now to 'amuse himself with enlightening that tumult of 
 conjecture which the books created. And if Jackeymo had 
 been covetous of those mines of gold buried beneath the acres 
 now fairly taken from the Satire (a'nd good-naturedly added 
 rent-free, as an aid to Jemima's dower), before the advent of 
 the young lady whose future doAvry the produce was to swell 
 now that she was actually Under the eyes of the faithful ser- 
 vant, such a stimulus was given to his industry that he could 
 think of nothing else but the land, and the revolution he de- 
 signed to effect in its natural English crops. The garden, save 
 only the orange-trees, was abandoned entirely to Lenny, and 
 additional laborers were called in for the field-work. Jackeymo 
 had discovered that one part of the soil was suited to lavender, 
 that another would grow camomile. He had in his heart ap- 
 portioned a beautiful field of rich loam to flax ; but against the 
 growth of flax the Squire set his face obstinately. That most lu- 
 crative, perhaps, of all crops, when soil and skill suit, was form-
 
 200 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 erly attempted in England much more commonly than it is now, 
 since you will find few old leases which do not contain a clause 
 prohibitory of flax, as an impoverishment of the land. And 
 though Jackeymo learnedly endeavored to prove to the Squire 
 that the flax itself contained particles which, if returned to the 
 soil, repaid all that the crop took away, Mr. Hazeldean had his 
 old-fashioned prejudices on the matter, which were insuperable. 
 " My forefathers," quoth he, "did not put that clause in their 
 leases without good cause ; and as the Casino lands are en- 
 tailed on Frank, I have no right to gratify your foreign whims 
 at his expense." 
 
 To make up for the loss of the flax, Jackeymo resolved to 
 convert a very nice bit of pasture into orchard ground, which 
 he calculated would bring in 10 net per acre by the time 
 Miss Violante was marriageable. At this the Squire pished a 
 little ; but as it was quite clear that the land would be all the 
 more valuable hereafter for the fruit-trees, he consented to per- 
 mit the " grass-land " to be thus partially broken up. 
 
 All these changes left poor Lenny Fairfield very much to 
 himself at a time when the new and strange devices which the 
 initiation into book knowledge creates made it most desirable 
 that he should have the constant guidance of a superior mind. 
 
 One evening after his work, as Lenny was returning to his 
 mother's cottage, very sullen and very moody, he suddenly 
 came in contact with Sprott the Tinker. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 
 
 THE Tinker was seated under a hedge, hammering away at 
 an old kettle with a little fire burning in front of him and 
 the donkey hard by, indulging in a placid doze. Mr. Sprott 
 looked up as Lenny passed nodded kindly, and said 
 
 " Good evenin', Lenny ; glad to hear you, be so 'spectably 
 sitivated with Mounseer." 
 
 *' Ay," answered Lenny, with a leaven of rancor in his recol- 
 lections, " you're not ashamed to speak to me now that I am 
 not in disgrace. But it was in disgrace, when it wasn't my 
 fault, that the real gentleman was most kind to me." 
 
 " Ar r, Lenny," said the Tinker, with a prolonged rattle in 
 that said Ar r, which was not without great significance. " But 
 you sees the real gentleman, who han't got his bread to get, can 
 hafford to 'spise his cracter in the world. A poor Tinker must 
 be fy.mbersome and nice in his 'sociations. But sit down her* 
 a bit, Lenny ; I've summut to say to ye ! " 
 
 "Tome "
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 204 
 
 "Toye. Givetheneddyashoveouti'thevay,and sitdown,Isay." 
 
 Lenny rather reluctantly, and somewhat superciliously, ac- 
 cepted this invitation. 
 
 " I hears," said the Tinker in a voice made rather indistinct 
 by a couple of nails which he had inserted between his teeth 
 " I hears as how you be unkimmon fond of reading. I ha' sum 
 nice cheap books in my bag yonder sum as low as a penny." 
 
 " I should like to see them," said Lenny, his eyes sparkling. 
 
 The Tinker rose, opened one of the panniers on the ass's 
 back, took out a bag, which he placed before Lenny, and told 
 him to suit himself. The young peasant desired no better. He 
 spread all the contents of the bag on the sward] and a motley 
 collection of food for the mind was there food and poison 
 scrpentes avibus good and evil. Here Milton's Paradise Lost, 
 there the Age of Reason here Methodist Tracts, there True 
 Principles of Socialism Treatises on Useful Knowledge by 
 sound learning actuated by pure benevolence Appeals to Op- 
 eratives by the shallowest reasoners, instigated by the same am- 
 bition that had moved Eratosthenes to the conflagration of a 
 temple ; works of fiction as admirable as Robinson Crusoe, or 
 innocent as the Old English Baron ; besides coarse translations 
 of such garbage as had rotted away the youth of France under 
 Louis Quinze. This miscellany was an epitome, in short, of the 
 mixed World of Books of the vast City of the Press, with its 
 palaces and hovels, its aqueducts and sewers which opens all 
 alike to the naked eye and the curious mind of him to whom you 
 say, in the Tinker's careless phrase, " Suit yourself/' 
 
 But it is not the first impulse of a nature, healthful and still pure, 
 to settle in the hovel and lose itself amidst the sewers; and Lenny 
 Fairfield turned innocently overthebadbooks,andselectingtwoor 
 three of the best, brought them to the Tinker, and asked the price. 
 
 " Why," said Mr. Sprott, putting on his spectacles, " you have 
 taken the werry dearest ; them 'ere be much cheaper, and more 
 hinterestin'." 
 
 " But I don't fancy them," answered Lenny ; " I don't un- 
 derstand what they are about, and this seems to tell one how the 
 steam-engine is made, and has nice plates ; and this is Ro'b- 
 inson Crusoe, which Parson Dale once said he would give me- 
 I'd rather buy it out of my own money." 
 
 " Well, please yourself," quoth the Tinker ; " you shall have 
 the books for four bob, and you can pay me next month." 
 
 " Four bobs four shillings ? it is a great sum," said Lenny ; 
 " but I will lay by, as you are kind enough to trust me ; good 
 evening, Mr. Sprott."
 
 202 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Stay a bit," said the Tinker; " I'll just throw you these two 
 little tracts into the bargain; they be only a shilling a dozen, so 
 'tis but tuppence and when you has read those, vy, you'll be a 
 reglar customer." 
 
 The Tinker tossed to Lenny Nos. i and 2 of Appeals to 
 Operatives, and the peasant took them up gratefully. 
 
 The young knowledge-seeker went his way across the green 
 fields, and under the still autumn foliage of the hedge-rows. He 
 looked first at one book, then at another : he did not know on 
 which to settle. : 
 
 The Tinker rose and made a fire with leaves, and furze, and 
 sticks, some dry and some green. 
 
 Lenny has now opened No. i of the tracts; they are the 
 shortest to read, and don't require so much effort of the mind 
 as the explanation of the steam-engine. 
 
 The Tinker has set on his grimy glue-pot,and the glue simmers. 
 
 ' 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 . 
 
 As Violante became more familiar with her new home, and 
 those around her became more familiar with Violante, she was 
 remarked fora certain stateliness of manner and bearing, which, 
 had it been less evidently natural and inborn^ would have seemed 
 misplaced in the daughter of a forlorn exile, and would have 
 been rare at so early an age among children of the loftiest pre- 
 tensions. It was with the air of a little princess that she pre- 
 sented her tiny hand to a friendly pressure, or submitted her 
 calm clear cheek to a presuming kiss. Yet withal she was so 
 graceful, and her very stateliness was so pretty and captivating, 
 that she was not the less loved for all her grand airs. And, in- 
 deed, she deserved to be loved ; for though she was certainly 
 prouder than Mr. Dale could approve x>f, her pride was devoid 
 of egotism ; and that is a pride by no means common. She had' 
 an intuitive forethought for others ; you could see that she was 
 capable of that grand woman-heroism, abnegation of self : and 
 though she was an original child, and Often grave and musing, 
 with a tinge of melancholy, sweet, but deep, in her character, 
 still she was not above the happy, genial merriment of child- 
 hood only her silver laugh was more attuned, and her gestures 
 more composed, than those of children habituated to many 
 playfellows usually are. Mrs. Hazeldean liked her best when- 
 grave, and said "she would become a very sensible woman." 
 Mrs. Daje liked her best when she was gay, and said " she was 
 born to make many a heart ache "; for which Mrs. Dale was
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 303 
 
 properly reproved by theParson. Mrs. Hazeldean gave hera set of 
 garden tools; Mrs. Dale a picture-book and a beautiful doll. For 
 a long time the book and the doll had the preference. But Mrs. 
 Hazeldean having observed to Riccabocca that the poor child 
 looked pale, and ought to be a good deal in the open air, the wise 
 father ingeniously pretended to Violante that Mrs. Riccaboccahad 
 taken a great fancy to the picture-book, and that he should be very 
 glad to have the doll, upon which Violante hastened to give them 
 both away, and was never so h,appy as when mamma (as she called 
 Mrs. Riccabocca) was admiring the picture-book, and Riccabocca 
 with austere gravity dandled the doll. Then Riccabocca assured 
 her that she could be of gjeat use to him in the garden; and Vio- 
 lanteinstantly put into movement herspade,hoe,anci wheelbarrow. 
 
 This last occupation .brought her into immediate contact 
 with Mr. Leqnard Fairfie,ld ; and that personage one morning, 
 to his great horror, found Miss Violante had nearly extermi- 
 nated a whole celery-bed, which she had ignorantly conceived 
 to be a crop of weeds. 
 
 Lenny w.as extremelyangry. He snatched away the hoe,and said 
 Angrily, "You must not do that, miss; I'll tell your papa, if you " 
 
 Violante drew herself ; up, and never, having been so spoken 
 to before, at least since her arrival. in England, there was some- 
 thing comic in the 'Surprise of her large eyes, as well as some- 
 thing tragic in the dignity of her offended mien. " It is very 
 naughty of you, Miss," continued Leonard in a milder tone, 
 for he was both softened by the eyes and awed by the mien, 
 "and I trust you will not do it again." 
 
 " Non capisco" (I don't understand), murmured Violante, 
 and the dark eyes filled with tears. At that moment, up came 
 Jackeymo ; and Violante, pointing to Leonard, said, with an 
 effort not $o betray her emotion, " 'II fanciullo I molto grosso- 
 lano " (he is a very rude boy). 
 
 Jackeymo turned to Leonard with the look of an enraged 
 tiger. " How you dare, scum of de earth that you are/' cried 
 he,* " how dare you make cry the signorina ? " And his English 
 not supplying familiar vituperatives. sufficiently, he poured out 
 upon Lenny such a profusion of Italian abuse, that- the boy 
 turned red and white, in a breath, with rage and perplexity. 
 
 Violantetookinstantcompassion upon thevictimshe had made, 
 and, with, true feminine caprice, now began to scold Jackeymo 
 for his anger, and, finally approaching Leonard, laid her hand on 
 
 * It need scarcely be observed that Jackeymo, in his conversations with his master or Vio- 
 lante, or his conferences with himself, employs his native language, which is therefore trans- 
 lated withou' the blunders that he is driven to commit when compelled to trust himself to 
 *he tongue of the country in which he is a sojourner.
 
 204 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 his arm, and said with a kindness at once childlike and queenly, 
 and in the prettiest imaginable mixture of imperfect English and 
 softltalian,towhich I cannot pretend todo justice, and shallthere- 
 fore translate; "Don't mind him. I dare say it was all my fault 
 only I did not understand you; are not these things weeds ? " 
 
 " No, my darling signorina," said Jackeymo in Italian, look- 
 ing ruefully at the celery-bed, " they are not weeds, and they sell 
 very well at this time of the year. But still, if it amuses you 
 to pluck them up, I should like to see who's to prevent it." 
 
 Lenny walked away. He had been called " the scum of the 
 earth," by a foreigner too ! He had again bee'n ill-treated for 
 doing what he conceived his duty. He was again feeling the 
 distinction between rich and poor, and he now fancied that that 
 distinction involved deadly warfare, for he had read from be- 
 ginning to end those two damnable tracts which the Tinker had 
 presented to him. But in the midst of all the angry disturb- 
 ance of his mind, he felt the soft touch of the infant's hand, 
 the soothing influence of her conciliating words, and he was 
 half ashamed that he had spoken so roughly to a child. 
 
 Still, not trusting himself to speak, he walked away, and sat 
 down at a distance. " I don't see," thought he, " why there 
 should be rich and poor, master and servant." Lenny, be it 
 remembered, had not heard the Parson's Political Sermon. 
 
 An hour after, having composed himself, Lenny returned to 
 his work. Jack'eymo was no longer in the garden ; he had gone 
 to the fields ; but Riccabocca was standing by the celery-bed, and 
 holding the red silk umbrella over Violante as she sat on the 
 ground, looking up at her father with those eyes already so full 
 of intelligence, and love, and soul. 
 
 " Lenny," said Riccabocca, " my young lady has been telling 
 me that she has been very naughty, and Giacomo very unjust 
 to you. Forgive them both." 
 
 Lenny's sullenness melted in an instant ; the reminiscences 
 of tracts Nos. i and 2, 
 
 " Like the baseless fabric of a vision, 
 Left not a wreck behiad." 
 
 He raised his eyes, swimming with all his native goodness, toward 
 the wise man, and dropped them gratefully on the infant peace- 
 maker. Then he turned away his head and fairly wept. The Par- 
 son was right : " O ye poor, have charity for the rich ; O ye rich, 
 respect the poor."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 20$ 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Now from that day the humble Lenny and regal Violante be- 
 came great friends. With what pride he taught her to distin- 
 guish between celery and weeds^and how proud too was she 
 when she learned that she was useful ! There is not a greater 
 pleasure you can give children, especially female children, than 
 to make them feel they are already of value in the world, and 
 serviceable as well as protected. Weeks and months rolled away, 
 and Lenny still read, not only the books lent him by the Doctor, 
 but those he bought of Mr. Sprott. As for the bombs and shells 
 against religion which the Tinker carried in his bag, Lenny was 
 not induced to blow himself up with them. He had been reared 
 from his cradle in simple love and reverence for the Divine 
 Father, and the tender Saviour, whose life beyond all records 
 of human goodness, whose death beyond all epics of mor- 
 tal heroism, no being whose infancy has been taught to suppli- 
 cate the Merciful and adore the Holy, yea, even though his later 
 life may be entangled amidst the thorns of some desolate pyrrho- 
 nism, can ever hear reviled and scoffed without a shock to the 
 conscience and a revolt to the heart. As the deer recoils 'by 
 instinct from the tiger, as the very look of the scorpion deters you 
 from handling it, though you never saw a scorpion before, so the 
 very first line in some ribald profanity on which the Tinker put 
 his black finger, made Lenny's blood run cold. Safe, too, was 
 the peasant boy from any temptation in works of a gross and 
 licentious nature, not only because of the happy ignorance of his 
 rural life, but because of a more enduring safeguard genius ! 
 Genius, that, manly, robust, healthful as it be, is long before it 
 lose its instinctive Dorian modesty ; shame-faced, because so 
 susceptible to glory genius, that loves indeed to dream, but on 
 the violet bank, not the dunghill. Wherefore, even in the error of 
 the senses, it seeks to escape from the sensual into worlds of 
 fancy, subtle and refined. But apart from the passions, true gen- 
 ius is the most practical of all human gifts. Like the Apollo 
 whom the Greek worshipped as its type, even Arcady is its exile, 
 not its home. Soon weary of the dalliance of Tempe, it ascends 
 to its mission -the Archer of the silver bow, the guide of the car 
 of light. Speaking more plainly, genius is the enthusiasm forself- 
 improvement; it ceases or sleeps the moment it desists from seek- 
 ing some object which it believes of value, and by that object it 
 insensibly connects its self-improvement with the positive ad- 
 vance of the world. At present Lenny's genius had nobias that 
 was not to the Positive and Useful. It took the direction natural
 
 206 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 to its sphere, and the wants therein viz., to the arts which we 
 call mechanical. He wanted to know about steam-engines and 
 Artesian wells; and to kn.ow about them it was .necessary to 
 know something of mechanics and hydrostatics ; so he bought 
 popular elementary works on those mystic sciences, and set all 
 the powers of his mind at work on experiments. 
 
 Noble and generous spirits are ye, who, with small care for 
 fame, and little reward from pelf, have opened to the intellects 
 of the poor the portals of wisdom ! I honor and revere ye ; 
 only do not think ye. have done all that is needful. Consider, I 
 pray ye, whether so good a choice from the Tinker's bag would 
 have been made by a boy whom religion had not scared from the 
 pestilent, and genius had not led to the self-improving. And 
 Lenny did not wholly escape from the mephitic portions of the 
 motley elements from which his awakening mind drew its nur- 
 ture. Think not it was all pure oxygen that the. panting lip drew 
 in. No ; there were still those inflammatory tracts. Political I 
 do not like to call them, for politics, means the art of govern- 
 ment, and -the tracts I speak of assailed all government which 
 mankind has hitherto recognized. Sad rubbish, perhaps, were 
 such tracts to you, O sound thinker, in your easy-chair ! Or, to 
 you practised stateman, at your ppst on the Treasury Bench 
 to you, calm dignitary of a learned Church or to you, my lord 
 judge, who may often have sent from your bar to the dire Orcus 
 of Norfolk's Isle : the ghosts of men whom that rubbish, falling 
 simultaneously on the bumps of acquisitiveness and combative- 
 ness, hath untimely slain ! Sad rubbish to you ! But seems it 
 such rubbish to the poor man, to whom it promises a paradise 
 on the easy terms, of upsetting a world ? For ye see, those "Ap- 
 peals to Operatives" represent that same world-upsetting as the 
 simplest thing imaginable^ a sort of two-and- two-make-four 
 proposition. The poor have only got to set their strong hands 
 to the axle, and heave a-hoy ! ,an.d hurrah for the topsy-turvy ! 
 Then, just put a little wholesome rage into the heave a-hoy ! it 
 is so facile to accompany the eloquence of " Appeals " with a 
 kind of stir-the-bile-up statistics " Abuses of the Aristocracy" 
 - " Jobs of the Priesthood " " Expenses of the Army kept up 
 for Peers' younger sons "" Wars contracted for the villanous 
 purpose of raising the rents of the land-owners r M all arithmet- 
 ically dished up, and seasoned with tales of every gentleman 
 who has committed a misdeed, every clergyman who has dis,- 
 honored his cloth ; as if such instances were fair specimens of 
 average gentlemen and ministers of religion ! All this passion- 
 ately advanced (and observe, never answered, for that literature
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 207 
 
 admits no controversialists, and the writer has it all his own way) 
 may be rubbish ; but it is out 6f such rubbish that operatives 
 build barricades for attack, and legislators prisons for defence. 
 
 Our poor friend Lenny drew plenty of this stuff from the Tink- 
 er's bag. He thought it very clever and very eloquent; and he sup- 
 posed the statistics were as true as mathematical demonstrations. 
 
 A famous knowledge-diff user is looking over my shoulder, and 
 tells me, " Increase education, and cheapen good books, and all 
 this rubbish will disappear ! " Sir, I don't believe a word of it. 
 If you printed Ricardo and Adam Smith at a farthing a volume, 
 I still believe that they would be as little read by the operatives 
 as they are now-a-days by a very large proportion of highly cul- 
 tivated men. I still believe that, while the press works, attacks 
 on the rich, and propositions for heave-a-hoys, will always form 
 a popular portion of the Literature of Labor. There's Lenny 
 Fairfield reading a treatise on hydraulics, and constructing a 
 model for a fountain into the bargain ; but that does not pre- 
 vent his acquiescence in any proposition for getting rid of a 
 National Debt, which- he certainly never agreed to pay, and 
 which he is told makes sugar and tea so shamefully dear. No, 
 I tell you what does a little counteract these eloquent incentives 
 to break his own head against the social walls of the Social Sys- 
 tem it is, that he has two eyes in that head, which are not 
 always employed in reading. And, having been told in- 'print 
 that masters are tyrants, parsons hypocrites or drones in the 
 hive, and land-owners vampires and blood-suckers, he looks out 
 into the little world around him, and, first, he is compelled to 
 acknowledge that his master is not a tyrant (perhaps because he 
 is a foreigner and a philosopher, and, for what I and Lenny 
 know, a republican). But then Parson Dale, though High 
 Church to the marrow, is neither hypocrite nor drone. He has 
 a very good living, it is true much better than he ought to 
 have, according to the "political" opinions of those tracts ! but 
 Lenny is obliged to confess that, if Parson Dale were a penny 
 the poorer, he would do a pennyworth's less good ; and, com- 
 paring one parish with another, such as Rood Hall and Hazel- 
 dean, he is dimly aware that there is no greater CIVILIZER than 
 a person tolerably well off. Then, too, Squire Hazeldean, though 
 as arrant aTory as ever stood upon shoe-leather, is certainly not a 
 vampire nor blood-sucker. He does not feed on the public; agreat 
 many of the public feedonhim; and, therefore, hispracticalexperi- 
 ence a little staggers and perplexes Lenny Fairfield as to the gospel 
 accuracy of his theoretical dogmas. Masters, parsons, and land- 
 owners! having, at the risk of all popularity, just given a coup de
 
 208 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 -patte to certain sages extremely the fashion at present, I am not 
 going to let you off without an admonitory flea in the ear. Don't 
 suppose that any mere scribbling and typevvork will suffice to an- 
 swer the scribbling andtypework set at work to demolish you 
 write down that rubbish you can't live it down you may. If 
 you are rich, like Squire Hazeldean, do good with your money; if 
 you arepoor,like Signer Riccabocca,do good with your kindness. 
 See! there isLenny now receivinghis week's wages; andthough 
 Lenny knows that he can get higher wages in the very next parish, 
 his blue eyes are sparkling with gratitude, not at the chink of the 
 money, but at the poor exile's friendly talk on things apart from all 
 service; while Violante is descending the steps from the terrace, 
 charged by her mother-in-law with a little basket of sago, and. such 
 like delicacies, for Mrs. Fairfield, who has been ailing the last 
 few days. 
 
 ; .Lenny will see the Tinker as he goes home, and he will buy a 
 most Demosthenean "Appeal" a tract of tracts, upon the 
 Propriety of Strikes, and the Avarice of Masters. But, some- 
 how or other, I think a -few words from Signer Riccabocca, that 
 did not cost the Signer a farthing, and the sight of his mother's 
 smile at the contents of the basket, which cost very little, will 
 serve to neutralize the effects of that " Appeal," much more effi- 
 caciously than the best article a Brougham or a Mill could write 
 on the subject. , 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 SPRING had come again; and one beautiful May day, Leonard 
 Fairfield sat beside the little fountain which he had now actually 
 constructed in the garden. The butterflies were hovering over 
 the belt of flowers which he had placed around his fountain, and 
 the birds were singing overhead. Leonard Fairfield was resting 
 from his day's work, to enjoy his abstemious dinner, beside the 
 cool play of the sparkling waters, and, with the yet keener appe- 
 tite of knowledge,he devoured his book as hemunched his crusts. 
 
 A penny tract is the shoeing^horn of literature! it draws on a 
 great many books, and some too tight to be very useful in walk- 
 ing. The penny tract quotes a celebrated writer you long to 
 read him; it props a startling assertion by a grave authority 
 you long to refer to it. During the nights of the past winter, 
 Leonard's intelligence had made vast progress ! he had taught 
 himself more than the elements of mechanics, and put to prac- 
 tice the principles he had acquired, not only in the hydraulical 
 achievement of the fountain, and in the still more notable appli- 
 cation of science,commenced on the stream in which Jackeymo
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 had fished for minnows, and which Lenny had diverted to the 
 purpose of irrigating two fields,but in various ingenious contriv- 
 ancesforthefacilitationor abridgment of labor,which hadexcited 
 great wonder and praise in the neighborhood. On the other hand, 
 those rabid little tracts, which dealt so summarily with the des- 
 tinies of the human race, even when his growing reason, and the 
 perusal of works more classical or more logical, had led him to 
 perceive that they wereilliterate,and to suspect that they jumped 
 from premises to conclusions with a celerity very different from 
 the careful ratiocination of mechanical science, had still, in the 
 citations and references wherewith they abounded, lured him on 
 to philosophers more specious and more perilous. Out of the 
 Tinker's bag he had drawn a translation of Condorcet's Progress 
 0/Man,and another of Rousseau's Social Contract. Works so elo- 
 quent had induced him to select from the tracts in the Tinker's 
 miscellany those which abounded most in professions of philan- 
 thropy, and predictions of some coming Golden Age, to which 
 old Saturn's was a joke tracts so mild and mother-like in their 
 language, that it required a mirch more practical experience than 
 Lenny's to perceive that you would have to pass a river of Wood 
 before you had the slightest chance of setting foot on the flowery 
 banks on which they invited you to repose tracts which rouged 
 poor Christianity on the cheeks, clapped a crown of innocent daf- 
 fodillies on her head, and set her to dancing a pas de zephyr in 
 the pastoral ballet in which St. Simon pipes to the flock he 
 shears; or having first laid it down as a preliminary axiom that 
 " The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself 
 
 Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve," 
 
 substituted in place thereof Monsieur Fourier's symmetrical 
 phalanstere, or Mr. Owen's architectural parallelogram. It was 
 with some such tract that Lenny was seasoning his crusts and 
 his radishes, when Riccabocca, bending his long dark face over 
 the student's shoulder, said abruptly 
 
 " Diavolo, my friend ! what on earth have you got there .' 
 Jast let me look at it, will you ? " 
 
 Leonard rose respectfully, and colored deeply as he surren- 
 dered the tract to Riccabocca. 
 
 The wise man read the first page attentively, the second more 
 cursorily, and only ran his eye over the rest. He had gone 
 through too vast a range of problems political; not to have 
 passed over that venerable Ports Asinorum of Socialism, on 
 which Fouriers and St. Simons sit straddling, and cry aloud 
 that they have arrived at the last boundary of knowledge !
 
 ,a.w MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 : " All this is as old as the hills," quoth Riccabocca, irrever- 
 ently ; "but the hills stand still, and this : there it goes ! " and 
 the sage* pointed to a cloud emitted from his pipe. "Did you 
 fever read Sir .David Brewster on Optical Delusions? No ! 
 Well, I'll lend it to you, You will find therein a story of a lady 
 who always saw a black cat on her hearth-rug. . The black cat 
 -existed only in her fancy, but the hallucination was natural 
 "And reasonable eh what do you think ? " 
 
 " Why, sir," said Leonard, not catching the Italian's meaning, 
 " I don't exactly see that it was natural and reasonable/' 
 
 " Foolish boy, yes ! because black cats are things possible 
 and known. But who ever saw. upon earth a community of 
 men such as sit on the hearth-rugs of Messrs. Owen and Fou- 
 rier ? If the lady's hallucination was not reasonable, what is 
 his who believes in such visions as these ? " 
 
 Leonard bit his lip. 
 
 " My dear boy," cried Riccabocca, kindly, ." the only thing 
 sure and tangible to which these writers would lead you, lies at 
 the first step, and that is what is commonly called a Revolution. 
 Now, I know what that is. I have gone, not indeed through a 
 revolution, -but an attempt at one." 
 
 Leonard raised his eyes toward his master with a- look of 
 profound respect, and great' curiosity. 
 
 " Yes," added Riccabocca, and the face on which the boy 
 gazed exchanged its usual grotesque and sardonic expression for 
 one animated,, noble, and heroic. ;" Yes, not a .revolution for 
 chimeras, but for that cause which the, coldest allow to be good, 
 and which, when successful, all time approves as divine the re- 
 demption of ournative soil from the rule of the foreigner! I have 
 r shared in such an attempt. And, "continued the Italian, mourn- 
 fully, " recalling now-all the evil passions it arouses, all the ties 
 it dissolves,all the blood that it commands to flow, all the health- 
 ful industry it arrests,all the madmen that it arms,all the victims 
 that it dupes,! question whether one man really honest, pure,and 
 humane, who has once-gone through such an ordeal, would ever 
 hazard itagain, unless he wasassured that the victory was.certain 
 ay, and the. object for which he fights not to be wrested from his 
 handsantid theuproar of theelements that the battle had released." 
 
 The Italian paused, shaded his brow with his hand, and re- 
 mained long silent. ./Then gradually assuming his ordinary tone, 
 he continued 
 
 " Revolutions that have no definite objects made clear by the 
 positive experience of history ; .revolutions, in a word, that aim 
 less-at substituting one law or one dynasty for another, than at
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 211 
 
 changing the whole scheme of society, have been little attempted 
 by real statesmen. Even Lycurgus is proved to be a myth who 
 never existed. Such organic changes are but in the day-dreams 
 of philosophers who lived apart from the actual world, and 
 whose opinions (though generally they were very benevolent, 
 good sort of men, and wrote in an elegant poetical style) one 
 would no more take on a plain matter of life,than'Orie would look 
 upon Virgil's Eclogues as a faithful picture of the ordinary pains 
 and pleasures of the peasants who tend our sheep. Read them 
 as you would read poets, and they are delightful: But attempt 
 to shape the world according to the poetry, and fit yourself for 
 a mad-house. The farther off the age is from the realization of 
 such projects, the more these poor philosophers have indulged 
 them. Thus, it was amid the saddest corruption of court man- 
 ners that it became the fashion in Paris to sit for one's picture, 
 with a crook in one's hand, as Alexis or Daphne. Just as lib- 
 erty was fast dying out of Greece, and the successors of Alex- 
 ander were founding their monarchies, and Rome was growing 
 up to crush in its iron grasp all states save its own, Plato with- 
 draws his eyes from the world to open them in his dreamy At- 
 lantis. Just in the grimmest period of English history, with the 
 axe hanging over his head, Sir Thomas More gives you his Uto- 
 pia. Just when the world is to be the theatre of a new Sesos- 
 tris, the sages of France tell you that the age is too enlightened 
 for war, that man is henceforth to be governed by pure reason, 
 and live in a paradise. Very pretty reading all this to a man 
 like me, Lenny, who can admire and smile at it. But to you, to 
 the man who has to work for his living, to the man who thinks 
 it would be so much more pleasant to live at his ease in a phal- 
 anstere than to work eight or ten hours a-day ; to the man of 
 talent, and action, and industry, whose future is invested in that 
 tranquillity and order of a state in which talent, and action, and 
 industry, are a certain capital ; why, Messrs. Coutts, the great 
 bankers, had better encourage a theory to upset the system of 
 banking ! Whatever disturbs society, yea, even by a causeless 
 panic, much more by an actuaLstruggle, falls first upon the mar- 
 ket of labor, and thence affects prejudicially every department 
 of intelligence. In such times the arts are arrested ; literature 
 is neglected ; people are too busy to read any thing save appeals 
 to their passions. And capital, shaken in its sense of security, 
 no longer ventures boldly through the land, calling forth all the 
 energies of toil and enterprise, and extending to every workman 
 his reward. Now, Lenny, take this piece of advice. You are 
 young, clever, and aspiring ; men rarely succeed in changing the
 
 212 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 world ; but a man seldom fails of success, if he lets the world 
 alone, and resolves to make the best of it. You are in the midst 
 of the great crisis of your life ; it is the struggle'between the new- 
 desires knowledge excites, and that sense of poverty,which those 
 desires convert either into hope and emulation, or into envy and 
 despair. I grant that it is an up-hiH work that lies before you ; 
 but don't you think it is always easier to climb a mountain than it 
 is to level it? These books call on you to level the mountain; and 
 that mountain is the property of other people, subdivided among a 
 great many proprietors, and protected by law. At the first stroke 
 of the pickaxe,it is ten to one but whatyou are taken up for a tres- 
 pass. But the path up the mountain is a right of way uncontested. 
 You may be safe at the summit, before (even if theowners are fools 
 enough to let you) you could have leveled a yard. Cospetto!" quoth 
 the doctor,-" it is more than two thousand years ago since poor 
 Plato began to level it, and the mountain is as high as ever ! " 
 Thus saying, Riccabocca came to the end of his pipe, and 
 stalking thoughtfully away, he left Leonard Fairfield trying to 
 extract light from the smoke. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SHORTLY after this discourse of Riccabocca's, an incident oc- 
 curred to Leonard that served to carry his mind into new direc- 
 tions. One evening, when his mother was out, he was at work 
 on a new mechanical contrivance, and had the misfortune to 
 break one of the instruments which he employed. Now, it will 
 be remembered that his father had been the Squire's head car- 
 penter ; the widow had carefully hoarded the tools of his craft, 
 which had belonged to her poor Mark ; and though she occa- 
 sionally lent them to Leonard, she would not give them up to his 
 service. Among these, Leonard knew that he should find the 
 one that he wanted ; and being much interested in his contriv- 
 ance, he could not wait till his mother's return. The tools, with 
 ether little relics of the lost, were kept in a large trunk in Mrs. 
 Fairfield's sleeping-room ; the trunk was not locked, and Leonard 
 went to it without ceremony or scruple. In rummaging for the 
 instrument, his eye fell upon a bundle of MSS., and he suddenly 
 recollected that when he was a mere child, and before he much 
 knew the difference between verse and prose, his mother had 
 pointed to these MSS., and said, " One day or other, when you 
 can read nicely, I'll let you look at these, Lenny. My poor 
 Mark wrote such verses ah, he was a schollard ! " Leonard, 
 reasonably enough, thought that the time had now arrived when 
 be was worthy the privilege of reading the paternal effusions,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 2IJ 
 
 and he took forth the MSS. with a keen but melancholy interest. 
 He recognized his father's handwriting, which he had often seen 
 before in account-books and memoranda, and read eagerly some 
 trifling poems, which did not show much genius, nor much mas- 
 teryo! language and rhythm such poems,in short,as a self -educa- 
 ted man, with poetic taste and feeling, rather than poetic inspira- 
 tion or artistic culture, might compose with credit, butnot for fame. 
 But suddenly,as he turned over these "Occasional Pieces," Leon- 
 ard came to others in a different handwriting a woman's hand- 
 writing, -small,and fine, and exquisitely formed. He had scarce- 
 ly read six lines of these last, before his attention was irresistibly 
 chained. They wereof adifferent order of merit from poorMark's; 
 they bore the unmistakable stamp of genius. Like the poetry of 
 wonlen in general, they were devoted to personal feeling ; they 
 were not the mirror of a world, but reflections of a solitary heart. 
 Yet this i's the kind of poetry most pleasing to the young. And the 
 verses in question had another attraction for Leonard ; they 
 seemed toexpresssome struggleakin to his own, somecomplaint 
 against the actual condition of the writer's life, some sweet, 
 melodious murmurs at fortune. For the rest, they were character- 
 ized by a vein of sentiment so elevated, that if written by a man 
 it would have run into exaggeration ; written by a woman, the ro- 
 mance was carried off by so many genuine revelations of sin- 
 cere, deep, pathetic feeling, that it was always natural, though 
 true to a nature for which you would not augur happiness. 
 
 Leonard was still absorbed in the persual of these poems, when 
 Mrs. Fairfield entered the room. 
 
 " What have you been about, Lenny "-searching in my box ?" 
 
 " I came to look for my father's bag of tools, mother, and I 
 found these papers, which you said I might read some day." 
 
 "I doesn't wonder you did not hear me when I came in," said 
 the widow, sighing. "I used to sit still for the hour together, when 
 my poor Mark read his poems to me. There was such a pretty one 
 about the 'Peasant's Fireside,' Lenny; have you got hold of that?" 
 
 " Yes, dear mother ; and I remarked the allusion to you ; it 
 brought tears to my eyes. But these verses are not my father's, 
 whose are they? They seem in a woman's handwriting." 
 
 Mrs. Fairfield looked, changed color, grew faint, and 
 seated herself. 
 
 " Poor, poor Nora ! " said she, falteringly. " I did not know 
 as they were there; Mark kep 'em; they got among his " 
 
 LEONARD. Who was Nora ? 
 
 MRS. FAIRFIELD. Who ! child who ? Nora was was 
 my own sister.
 
 214 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 LEONARD (in great amaze, contrasting his ideal of the writer 
 of these musical lines, in that graceful hand, with his homely, 
 uneducated mother, who could neither read nor write). Your 
 sister ! is it possible ? My aunt, then. How comes it you never 
 spoke of her before ? Oh ! you should be so proud of her, mother. 
 
 MRS. FAIRFIELD (clasping_her hands).T We were proud of her, 
 all of us father, mother -all ! She was so beautiful and so 
 good, and not proud she ! though she looked like the first lady 
 in the land. Oh ! Nora, Nora ! 
 
 LEONARD (after a pause). But she must have been highly 
 educated ? 
 
 MRS. FAIRFIELD. 'Deed: she was ! 
 
 LEONARD. How was that ? 
 
 MRS. FAIRFIELD (rocking herself to and fro in her chair). Oh ! 
 my Lady was her godmother Lady Lansmerel mean, and took 
 a fancy to her when shewas that high! and had her to stay at the 
 Park, andwaiton her Ladyship; and then sheputhei toschool % and 
 Nora was so clever, that nothing would do but she must go to Lon- 
 don as a governess. But don't talk of it, , boy! don't talk of it ! 
 
 LEONARD.^ Why not, mother ? What has become of her ? 
 where is she ? 
 
 MRS. FAIRFIELD (bursting into a paroxysm of tears). In her 
 grave^ in her cold grave ! Dead, dead'! 
 
 Leonard was inexpressibly grieved and shocked. It is the 
 attribute of the poet to seem always^ living, always a friend. 
 Leonard felt as if some one very dear had been suddenly torn 
 from his heart. He tried to console his mother ; but her^emotion 
 was contagious, and he wept with her. 
 
 "And haw long has she been dead?" he asked, at last, in 
 mournful accents. 
 
 " Many's the long year many; but," added Mrs. Fairfield, 
 rising, and putting her tremulous hand on Leonard's shoulder, 
 " you'll just never talk to me about her I can't bear it it 
 breaks my heart ; L can bear better to talk of Mark. Come 
 down stairs come." ij feoji 
 
 " May I not keep these verses, mother? Do let me." 
 
 " Well, well, those bits o' paper be all she left behind her. Yes, 
 keep them, but put back Mark's. Are they all here ? sure ? " 
 And the widow, though she could not read her husband's verses, 
 looked jealously at the MSS. written in his irregular large scrawl, 
 and, smoothing them carefully, replaced them in the trunk, and 
 resettled over them some sprigs ofjavender, which Leonard had 
 unwittingly disturbed. \ 
 
 " But," said Leonard, as his eye again rested on the beauti-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 215 
 
 ful handwriting of his lost aunt " but you call her Nora I 
 see she signs herself L." 
 
 " Leonora was her name. I said she was my lady's god- 
 child. We called her Nora for.short " 
 
 "Leonora^-and I am Leonard isthathowlcamebythename,?" 
 "Yes, yes do hold your tongue, boy," sobbed poor Mrs. 
 Fairfield ; and she could not be soothed nor coaxed, into con- 
 tinuing or renewing a subject which was evidently associated 
 with insupportable pain. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 IT is difficult to exaggerate the effect that this discovery pro- 
 duced on Leonard's train of thought. Some one belonging to 
 his own humble race had, 'then, preceded him in his struggling: 
 flight toward the loftier regions of Intelligence and Desire. It 
 was like the mariner amidst unknown seas, who finds carved 
 upon some desert isle a familiar household name. . And this 
 creature of genius and of sorrow whose existence he had only-, 
 learned .by her song, and whose death created 'in. the .simple; 
 heart of her sister so passionate a grief, after the lapse of so 
 many years supplied to the- romance awaking 'in his young 
 heart the ideal which it unconsciously sought. He was pleased 
 to hear that she had been beautiful and good. He paused from 
 his books to muse on her, and picture her image to his fancy., 
 That there was some mystery in her fate was evident to him ; 
 and while that conviction .deepened his interest, ,the mystery it- 
 self, by degrees, took a charm which he w,as riot anxious to dis- 
 pel. He resigned himself to Mrs. Fairfield's obstinate silence. 
 He was contented to rank the dead amongst those holy and in- 
 effable images which we do not seek to unveil. Youth and, 
 Fancy have many secret hoards of idea which, they; do not de- 
 sire to impart, even to those most in their confidence. I doubt 
 the depth of feeling in any man who has not certain recesses in 
 his:soul into which none may enter. 
 
 Hitherto, as I have said, the talents of Leonard Fairfield had 
 been more turned to things positive than to the ideal ; to sci- 
 ence and investigation of fact than to, poetry, and that airier 
 truth in which poetry has its element. He had read our greater 
 poets, indeed, but without thought of imitating; and rather, 
 from the general curiosity to inspect all celebrated monuments 
 of the human mind, than from that especial predilection for 
 verse which is too common in childhood and youth to be any ; 
 sure sign of a poet. But now these melodies, unknown to all the 
 world besicte, rang in his ear, mingled with his thoughts set, as
 
 2l6 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 it were, his whole life to music. He read poetry with a differ- 
 ent sentiment it seemed to him that he had discovered its secret. 
 And so reading.the passion seized him, and "the numbers came." 
 
 To many minds, at the commencement of our grave and earn- 
 est pilgrimage, I am Vandal enough to think that the indul- 
 gence of poetic taste and reverie does great and lasting harm ; 
 that it serves to enervate the character, give false ideas of life, 
 impart the semblance of drudgery to the noble toils 'and duties 
 of the active man. All poetry would not do this not, for in- 
 stance, the Classical, in its diviner masters not the poetry of 
 Homer, of Virgil, of Sophocles not, perhaps, even that of the 
 indolent Horace. But the poetry which youth usually loves and 
 appreciates the best the poetry of mere sentiment does so in 
 minds already over-predisposed to the sentiment, and which 
 require bracing to grow into healthful manhood. 
 
 On the other hand, even this latter kind of poetry, which is 
 peculiarly modern, does suit many minds of another mould-^- 
 minds which our modern life, with its hard positive forms, tends 
 to produce. And as in certain climates plants and herbs, par- 
 ticularly adapted as antidotes to those diseases most prevalent 
 in the atmosphere, are profusely sown, as it were, by the benig- 
 nant providence of nature so it may be that the softer and 
 more romantic species of. poetry, which comes forth in harsh, 
 money-making, unromantic times, is intended as curatives and 
 counter-poisons. The world is so much with us, now-a-days, 
 that we need have something that prates to us, albeit even in 
 too fine an euphuism, of the moon and stars. 
 
 Certes, to Leonard Fairfield, at that period of his intellectual 
 life, the softness out of Helicon descended as healing dews. In 
 his turbulent and unsettled ambition, in his vague grapple with 
 the gianJ forms of political truths, in his bias toward the appli- 
 cation of science to immediate practical purposes, this lovely 
 vision of the Muse came in the white robe of the Peacemaker ; 
 and with upraised hand, pointing to serene skies, she opened to 
 him fair glimpses of the Beautiful, which is given to Peasant as 
 to Prince showed to him that on the surface of the earth there 
 is something nobler than fortune that he who can view the 
 world as a poet is always at soul a king ; while to practical pur- 
 pose itself, that larger and more profound invention, which 
 poetry stimulates, supplied the grand design and the subtle 
 view leading him beyond the mere ingenuity of the mechanic, 
 and habituating him to regard the inert force of the matter at 
 his command with the ambition of the Discoverer. But above 
 all, the discontent that was within him finding a vent, not in de
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 21? 
 
 liberate war upon this actual world, but through the purifying 
 channels of song in the vent itself it evaporated, it was lost. 
 By accustoming ourselves to survey all things with the spirit 
 that retains and reproduces them only in their lovelier or grand- 
 er aspects, a vast philosophy of toleration for what we before 
 gazed on with .scorn or hate insensibly grows upon us. Leon- 
 ard looked into his heart after the Enchantress had breathed 
 upon it ; and through the mists of the fleeting and tender mel- 
 ancholy which betrayed where she had been, he beheld a new 
 sun of delight and joy dawning over the landscape of human life. 
 
 Thus, though she was dead and gone from his actual knowl- 
 edge, this mysterious kinswoman " a voice, and nothing more " 
 had spoken to him, soothed, elevated, cheered, attuned each 
 discord into harmony ; and, if now permitted from some serener 
 sphere to behold the life that her soul thus strangely influenced, 
 verily with yet holier joy,the saving and lovelier spirit might have 
 glided onward in the Eternal Progress. 
 
 We call the large majority of human lives obscure. Presump- 
 tuous that we are ! How know we wha.t lives a single thought 
 retained from the dust of nameless graves may have lighted to 
 renown ? 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 IT was about a year after Leonard's discovery of the family 
 MSS. that Parson Dale borrowed the quietest pad mare in the 
 Squire's stables, and set out on an equestrian excursion. He 
 said that he was bound on business connected with his old par- 
 ishioners of Lansmere ; for, as it has been incidentally implied 
 in a previous chapter, he had been connected with that borough 
 town (and, I may here add, in the capacity of curate) before he 
 had been inducted into the living of Hazeldean. 
 
 It was so rarely that the Parson stirred from home, that this 
 journey to a town more than twenty miles off was regarded as a 
 most daring adventure, both at the Hall and at the Parsonage. 
 Mrs. Dale could not sleep the whole previous night with think- 
 ing of it; and though she had naturally one of herworst nervous 
 headaches on the eventful morn, she yet suffered no hands less 
 thoughtful than her own to pack up the saddle-bags which the 
 Parson had borrowed along with the pad. Nay, so distrustful was 
 she of the possibility of the good man exerting the slightest com- 
 mon sensein her absence, that she kept him close at her sidewhile 
 she was engaged in that same operation of packing up showing 
 him theexact spot inwhichtheclean shirt was put,and how nicely 
 the old slippers were packed up in one of his own sermons. Sh
 
 2l8 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 implored him not to mistake the sandwiches for his shaving-soap, 
 and made him observe how carefully she had provided against 
 such confusion, by placing them as far apart from each other as the 
 nature of saddle-bags will admit. The poor Parson who was 
 really by no means an absent man, but as little likely to shave him- 
 self with sandwiches and lunch upon soap as the most common- 
 place mortal may be listened with con jugalpatience,and thought 
 that man never had such a wife before; nor was it without tears in 
 his own eyes that he tore himself from the farewell embrace of 
 his weeping Carry. 
 
 I confess, however, that it was with some apprehension that 
 lie set his foot in the stirrup, and trusted his person to the mer- 
 cies of an unfamiliar animal. For, whatever might be Mr. 
 Dale's minor accomplishments as man and parson, horseman- 
 ship was not \\v~> forte ; indeed, I doubt if he had taken the reins 
 in his hand more than twice since he had been married. 
 
 The Squire's surly old groom, Mat, was in attendance with 
 the pad ; and to the Parson's gentle inquiry whether Mat was 
 quite sure that the pad was quite safe, replied laconically, 
 "Oi, oi, give her her head ! " 
 
 " Give her her head!" repeated Mr. Dale, rather amazed, for he 
 hadnottheslightestintentionof takingaway that partof the beast's 
 frame so essential to its vital ecoriomy 'Give her her head ! " 
 
 " Oi, oi ; and don't jerk her up like that, or she'll fall a" 
 doincing on her hind legs." 
 
 The Parson instantly slackened the reins ; and Mrs. Dale- 
 who had tarried behind to control her tears now running to 
 the door for "more last words," he waved his hand with 
 courageous amenity, and ambled forth into the lane. 
 
 Our equestrian was absorbed at first in studying the idiosyn- 
 cracies of the pad-mare, and trying thereby to arrive at some 
 notion of her general character; guessing, for instance, why 
 she raised one ear and laid down the other ; why she kept bear- 
 ing so close to the left that she brushed his leg against the 
 hedge ; and why, when she arrived at a little side-gate in the 
 fields, which led toward the home-farm, she came to a full stop, 
 and fell to rubbing her nose against the rail -an occupation from 
 which the Parson, finding all civil remonstrances in vain, at 
 length diverted her by a timorous application of the whip. 
 
 This crisis on the road fairly passed, the pad seemed to com- 
 prehend that she had a journey before her, and giving a petu- 
 lant whisk of her tail, quickened her amble into a short trot, 
 which soon brought the Parson into the highrroad, and nearly 
 apposite the Casino.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 219 
 
 Here, sitting on the gate which led to his abode, and shaded 
 by his umbrella, he beheld Dr. Riccabocca. 
 
 The Italian lifted his eyes from the book he was reading, and 
 stared hard at the Parson : and he -not venturing to withdraw 
 his whole attention from the pad (who, indeed, set up both her 
 ears at the apparition of Riccabocca, and evinced symptoms of 
 that surprise and superstitious repugnance at unknown objects, 
 which goes by the name of "shying") looked askance at 
 Riccabocca. 
 
 " Don't stir, please," said the Parson, "or I fear you'll alarmthis 
 creature ;itseemsanervous, timid thing; soho gently gently." 
 
 And he fell to -patting the mare with great unction. 
 
 The pad, thus encouraged, overcame her first natural aston- 
 ishment at the sight of Riccabocca and the red umbrella ; and 
 having before been at the Casino on sundry 1 occasions, and 
 sagaciously preferring places within the range of her experi- 
 ence to bournes neither cognate nor conjecturable, she moved 
 gravely up toward the gate on which the Italian sat ; artd after 
 eyeing him a moment as much as to say, " I wish you would 
 get off,"- came to a dead lock. 
 
 " Well," said Riccabocca, " since your horse seems more dis- 
 posed to be polite to me than yourself, Mr. Dale, I take the 
 opportunity of your present involuntary pause to congratulate 
 you on your elevation in life, and to breathe a friendly prayer 
 that pride may not have a fall ! " 
 
 "Tut," said the Parson, affecting an easy air, though ; still 
 contemplating the pad, who appeared to have fallen into a quiet 
 doze, " it is true that I have not ridden much of late years, and 
 the Squire's horses are very high-fed and spirited ; but there is 
 no more harm in them than their master when one once knows 
 their ways." 
 
 " Chi va piano, va sano, 
 E chi va sano va lontano," 
 
 said Riccabocca, pointing to the saddle-bags. " You go slowly, 
 therefore safely ; and he who goes safely may go far. You 
 seem prepared for a journey ? " 
 
 " I am," said the Parson ; "and on a matter that cdncerns 
 you a little." 
 
 " Me ! " exclaimed Riccabocca" concerns me ! " 
 
 "Yes, so far as the chance of depriving you of a servant 
 whom you like and esteem affects you." 
 
 " Oh," said Riccabocca, " I understand ; you have hinted to 
 me very often that I, or knowledge, or both together, have un- 
 fitted Leonard Fairfield for service."
 
 220 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " I did not say that exactly; I said that you had fitted him for 
 something higher than service. But do not repeat this to him. 
 And I cannot yet say more to you, for I am very doubtful as to 
 the success of my mission; and it will not not do to unsettle poor 
 Leonard until we are sure that we can improve his condition." 
 
 " Of that you can never be sure," quoth the wise man, shak- 
 ing his head; " and I can't say that I am unselfish enough not to 
 bear you a grudge for seeking to decoy away from me an invalu- 
 able servant faithful, steady, intelligent, and " added Ricca- 
 bocca, warming as he approached the climacteric.adjective, "ex- 
 ceedingly cheap ! Nevertheless go, and Heaven speed you. I 
 am not an Alexander^ to stand between man and the sun." . 
 
 " You are a noble, great-hearted creature, Signor Riccabocca, 
 in spite of your cold-blooded proverbs and villanous books." 
 The Parson, as he said this, brought down the whip-hand with 
 so indiscreet an enthusiasm on the pad's shoulder,that the. poor 
 beast, startled o.ut of her innocent doze, made a bolt forward, 
 which nearly precipitated Riccabocca from his seaton the stile, 
 and then turning round as the Parson tugged desperately at the 
 rein caught the bit between her teeth; and set off at a canter, 
 The Pardon lost both his stirrups; and when he regained :them(as 
 the pad slackened her pace), and had time to breathe and. look 
 about him, Riccabocca and the Casino were both out of sight. 
 
 "Certainly," quoth Parson Dale, as he settled himself with 
 great complacency, and a conscious triumph that he was still on 
 the pad's back " certainly it is true ' that the noblest conquest 
 ever made by man was that of the horse '; a fine creature it is 
 a very fine creature and uncommonly difficult to sit qn, espe- 
 cially without stirrups." Firmly in his stirrups the Parson plant- 
 ed his feet; and the heart within him was very proud. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE borough town of Lansmere was situated in the county 
 adjoining that which contained the village of Hazeldean. Late 
 at noon the Parson crossed the little stream which divided the 
 two shires, and came to an inn which was placed at an angle 
 where the great main road branched off into two directions 
 the one leading toward Lansmere, the other going more direct 
 to London. At this inn the pad stopped, and put down both ears 
 with the air of a pad who had made up her mind to bait. And 
 the Parson himself,feeling very warm and somewhat sore, said to 
 thepad benignly: "It is just thou shall havecorn and water ! " 
 
 Dismounting, therefore, and finding himself very stiff, as soon 
 as he reached terra firma, the Parson consigned the pad to thf
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 221 
 
 ostler, and walked into the sanded parlor of the inn, to repose 
 himself on a very hard Windsor chair. 
 
 He had been alone rather more than half an hour, reading a 
 county newspaper which smelled much of tobacco, and trying 
 to keep off the flies that gathered round him in swarms, as if 
 they had never before seen a parson, and were anxious to as- 
 certain how the flesh of one tasted, when a stage-coach 
 stopped at the inn. A traveller got out with his carpet-bag in 
 his hand, and was shown into the sanded parlor. 
 
 The Parson rose politely, and made a bow. 
 
 The traveller touched his hat, without taking it off looked 
 at Mr. Dale from top to toe then walked to the window, and 
 whistled a lively, impatient tune, then strode toward the fire- 
 place and rang the bell ; then stared again at the Parson ; and that 
 gentleman having courteously laid down the newspaper, the 
 traveller seized it, threw himself into a chair, flung one of his 
 legs over the table, tossed the other up on the mantelpiece, and 
 began reading the paper, while he tilted the chair on its hind- 
 legs with so daring a disregard to the ordinary position of chairs 
 and their occupants, that the shuddering Parson expected every 
 moment to see him come down on the back of his skull. 
 
 Moved, therefore, to compassion, Mr. Dale said mildly 
 
 " Those chairs are very treacherous, sir. I'm afraid you'll 
 be down." 
 
 " Eh ! " said the traveller, looking up much astonished 
 " Eh ! down ? oh, you're satirical, sir." 
 
 " Satirical, sir ? upon my word, no ! " exclaimed the Parson, 
 earnestly. 
 
 "I think every free-born man has a right to sit as he pleases in his 
 own house," resumed the traveller, with warmth ; "and an inn is his 
 own house, I guess, so long as he pays his score. Betty, my dear." 
 
 For the chambermaid had now replied to the bell. 
 
 " I han't Betty, sir ; do you want she ? " 
 
 "No, Sally cold brandy-and-water, and a biscuit." 
 
 " I han't Sally, either," muttered the chambermaid ; but the 
 traveller, turning round, showed so smart a neck-cloth and so 
 comely a face, that she smiled, colored, and went her way. ; 
 
 The traveller now rose, and flung down the paper. He took 
 out a penknife, and began paring his nails. Suddenly desist- 
 ing from this elegant occupation, his eye caught sight of the 
 Parson's shovel-hat, which lay on a chair in the corner. 
 
 "You're a clergyman, I reckon, sir," said the traveller, with 
 a slight sneer. 
 
 Again Mr. Dale bowed bowed in part deprecatingly in part
 
 . : 2;22 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 with dignity. It was a bow that said, " No offence, sir, but I 
 am a clergyman, and I'm not ashamed of it." 
 
 " Going far ? " asked the traveller. 
 
 PARSON. Not very. 
 
 TRAVELLER. In a chaise or fly ? If so, and we are going the 
 same way halves. 
 
 PARSON. Halves ? 
 ; TRAVELLER. Yes, I'll pay half the damage pikes inclusive. 
 
 PARSON. You are very good, sir. But [spoken with pride] 
 I am on horseback. 
 
 TRAVELLER. On horseback ! Well, I should not have guessed 
 jtjiat ! You don't look like it. Where did you say you were going? 
 
 "I did not say where I was going, sir," said the Parson dryly, for 
 he was much offended at that vague and ungrammatical remark 
 applicable to his horsemanship, that "he did not look like it." 
 
 "Close! "saidthetraveller,laughing;"anoldtraveller, Ireckon." 
 
 The Parson made no reply, but he took up his shovel-hat, 
 and, with a bow more majestic than the previous one, walked 
 out to see if his pad had finished her corn. 
 
 The animal had indeed finished all the corn afforded to her, 
 which was not much, and in a few minutes more Mr. Dale re- 
 sumed his journey. He had performed about three miles, when 
 the .sound of wheels behind him made him turn his'h^ad^ and 
 he perceived a chaise driven very fast, while out of the windows 
 thereof dangled strangely a pair of human legs. The pad began 
 to curvet as the post-horses rattled behind, and the Parson had 
 only ; , an indistinct vision of 'a human face supplanting those 
 human legs. The traveller peered out at him as he whirled 
 by saw Mr. Dale tossed up and down on the saddle, and cried 
 out," How's the leather ? " 
 
 " Leather ! " soliloquized the Parson, as the pad recomposed 
 herself. "What does; he mean by that ? Leather! a very vul- 
 gar man. But I got rid of him cleverly." 
 
 Mr. Dale arrived, without farther adventure at Lansmere. 
 He put up at the principal inn refreshed himself by a general 
 ablution and sat down with good appetite to his beef-steak and 
 pint of port. 
 
 TheParson was a better judge of the physiognomy of man than 
 thatof thehorse; and after a satisfactory glance atthe civil smirk- 
 inglandlord, who removed the cover and set on the wine: he ven- 
 tured on, an Attempt at conversation. "Is my lord atthe Park?" 
 
 LANDLORD (still more qivilly than before). No, sir ; his lord- 
 ship and my lady have gone to town to meet Lord L'Estrange." 
 " Lord L'Estrange ? He is in England, then ? "
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 223 
 
 " Why, so 1 heard," replied the landlord ; " but we never see 
 him here now*' I remember him a very pretty young man. 
 Every one- was fond of him and proud of him. But what pranks 
 he did play when he was a lad ! We hoped he would come in 
 for our boro' some of these days, but he has taken to foreign 
 parts more'sthe pity. I am a reg'lar Blue, sir, as I ought to 
 be. The Blue candidate always does rne the honor to come t6 
 the Lansmere Arms. 'Tis only the low party puts up with the 
 Boar," added the landlord, with a look of ineffable disgust. " I 
 hope you like the wine, sir ? " 
 
 " Very good, and seems old." 
 
 " Bottled these eighteen years, sir. I had in the cask for the 
 great election of Dashmore and Egerton. I have little left of 
 it, and I never give it but to old friends like for, I think, sir, 
 though you be grown stout, and look more grand, I may say 
 that I've had the pleasure of seeing you before." 
 
 " That's true, I dare say, though I fear I was never a very good 
 customer." 
 
 "Ah, it j'sMr. Dale, then! I thought so when you cameintothehall. 
 I hope your lady is quite ; well, and the Squire, too; fine pleasant- 
 spoken gentleman; nofaultof his,if Mr. Egerton went wrong. Well, 
 we have never seen him I mean Mr. Egerton-^since thattime. I 
 don't wonder he stays away; but my lord's son, who was brought 
 up here, itan't nat'rallike that/ie should turn his back on us ! " 
 
 Mr. Dale made no reply, and the landlord 1 was about to retire, 
 when the Parson, pouring out another glass of port, said 
 " There must be great changes in the parish. Is Mr. Morgan, 
 the medical man, still here?" 
 
 " No, indeed ; he took out his ploma after you left, arnd be- 
 came a real doctor ; and a pretty practice he-' had too, when he 
 took, all of a sudden, to some new-fangled way of physicking; 
 I think they call it frdmy something." 
 
 " Homoeopathy ? " 
 
 "That'sit something againstall reason ; and sohelost hisprac- 
 tice here and went up to Lunnun. I've not heard of him since." 
 
 " Do the Avenels still reside in their old house ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes ; and are pretty well off, I hear say. John is al- 
 ways poorly , though he still goes now and then to the Odd 
 Fellows, and takes his glass ; but his "wife comes and fetches 
 him away before he can do himself any harm." 
 
 " Mrs. Avenel is the same as ever ? " 
 
 "'She holds her head higher, I think," said the landlord, 
 smiling. . " She was always not exactly proud like, but what I 
 calls gumptious."
 
 224 MY NOVEL | OR, 
 
 " I never heard that word before," said the Parson, laying 
 down his knife and fork. "Bumptious, indeed, though I be- 
 lieve it is not in the dictionary, has crept into familiar parlance,, 
 especially amongst young folks at school and college." 
 
 " Bumptious is bumptious, and gumptious is gumptious," said 
 the landlord, delighted to puzzle a parson. " Now, the town 
 beadle is bumptious, and Mrs. Avenel is gumptious." 
 
 " She is a very respectable woman/' said Mr. Dale, some- 
 what rebukingly. 
 
 " In course, sir; all gumptious folks are; they value themselves 
 on their respectability, and looks down on their neighbors." 
 
 PARSON (still philologically occupied,) "Gumptious gump- 
 tious. I think I remember the substantive at school not that 
 my master taught it to me. ' Gumption,' it means cleverness." 
 
 LANDLORD (doggedly). "There's gumption and gumptious ! 
 Gumption is knowing ; but when I say that sum un is gump- 
 tious, I mean though that's more vulgar like sum un who does 
 not think small beer of hisself. You take me, sir ? " 
 
 "I think I do,"saidtheParson, half-smiling. "I believe the A ve- 
 nels have only two of their children alive still their daughter, 
 who married Mark Fairfield, and a son who went to America ? " 
 
 " Ah, but he made his fortune there, and has come back." 
 
 "Indeed! I am very glad to hear it. HehassettledatLansmere?" 
 
 " No, sir. I hear as he's bought a property a long way off, But 
 he comes to see his parents pretty often so John tells me 
 but I can't say that I ever see him. I fancy Dick doesn't like to 
 be seen by folks who remember him playing in the kennel." 
 
 " Not unnatural," said the Parson, indulgently; " but he visits 
 his parents ; he is a. good son at all events, then ? " 
 fj " I've nothing to say against him. Dick was a wild chap be- 
 fore he took himself off. I never thought he would make his for- 
 tune ; but the Avenels are a clever set. Do you remember poor 
 Nora the Rose of Lansmere, as they called her ? Ah, no, I 
 think she went up to Lunnun afore your time, sir." 
 
 " Humph ! " said the Parson, dryly. " Well, I think you 
 may take away now. It will be dark soon, and I'll just stroll 
 out and look about me." 
 
 " There's a nice tart coming, sir." 
 
 " Thank you, I've dined." 
 
 The Parson put on his hat and sallied forth into the streets. 
 He eyed the houses on either hand with that melancholy and 
 wistful interest with which, in middle life, men- revisit scenes 
 familiar to them in youth surprised to find either so little 
 change or so much, and recalling, by fits and snatches, old asso/
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 225 
 
 jiations and past emotions. The long High Street which he 
 threaded now began to change its bustling character, and slide, 
 as it were gradually, into the high-road of a suburb. On the 
 left, the houses gave way to the moss-grown pales of Lansmere 
 Park; to the right, though houses still remained, they were sepa- 
 rated from each other by gardens, and took the pleasing appear- 
 ance of villas such villas as retired tradesmen or their widows, 
 old maids, and half-pay officers, selectfortheeveningof their days. 
 
 Mr. Dale looked at these villas with thq deliberate attention 
 of a man awakening his power of memory, and at last stopped 
 before one, almost the last on the road, and which faced the 
 broad patch of sward that lay before the lodge of Lansmere Park. 
 An old pollard oak stood near it, and from the oak there came a 
 low discordant sound ; it was the hungry cry of young ravens, 
 awaiting the belated return of the parent-bird. Mr. Dale put his 
 hand to his brow, paused a moment, and then, with a hurried 
 step, passed through the little garden, and knocked act the door. 
 A light was burning in the parlor, and Mr. Dale's eye caught 
 through the window a vague outline of three forms. There was 
 an evident bustle within at the sound of the knock. One of 
 the forms rose and disappeared. A very prim, neat, middle- 
 aged maid-servant now appeared at the threshold, and austerely 
 inquired the visitor's business. 
 
 "I want to see Mr. or Mrs. Avenel. Say that I have come 
 many miles to see them ; and take in this card." 
 
 The maad-servant took the card, and half closed the door. 
 At least three minutes elapsed before she reappeared. 
 
 " Missis says it's late, but walk in." 
 
 The Parson accepted the not very gracious invitation, stepped 
 across the little hall, ; and entered the little-; parlor. 
 
 Old John Avenel, a mild-looking man, who seemed slightly 
 paralytic, rose slowly from his. arm-chair. Mrs, Avenel, in an 
 awfully stiff, clean, Calvinistical cap, and a gray dress, every fold 
 of which bespoke respectability and staid repute stood erect on 
 the floor, and fixing on the Parson a cold and cautious eye, said 
 
 "You do the like of us great honor, Mr. Daletake a chair ! 
 You call upon business?" 
 
 "Of which I apprised Mr. Avenel, by letter." 
 
 " My husband is very poorly." 
 
 " A poor creature ! " said John, feebly, and as if in compassion 
 of himself. " I can't get about as I used to do. But it ben't near 
 election time, be it, sir? " 
 
 "No, John, "said Mrs. Avenel, placing her husband's arrn within 
 her own. "You must lie down a bit, while I talk to the gentleman."
 
 226 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "I'm a real good Blue," said poor John ; "but I ain't quite 
 the man I was"; and leaning heavily on his wife he left the 
 room, turning round at the threshold, and saying with great 
 urbanity "Anything to oblige, sir ! " 
 
 Mr. Dale was much touched. He had remembered John Avenel 
 thecomeliest,the most active, and the most cheerful man in Lans- 
 mere; great at glee-club and cricket (though then somewhat 
 stricken in years), greater in vestries; reputed greatest in elections. 
 
 " Last scene of all," murmured the Parson; "and oh well, 
 turning from the poet, may we cry with the disbelieving phil- 
 osopher, ' Poor, poor humanity ! ' " * 
 
 In a few minutes Mrs. Avenel returned. She took a chair 
 at some distance from the Parson's, and resting one hand on 
 the elbow of the chair, while with the other she stiffly smoothed 
 the stiff gown, she said 
 
 "Now, sir.". 
 
 That " Now, sir," had in its sound something sinister and 
 warlike. This the shrewd Parson recognized with his usual 
 tact. He edged his chair nearer to Mrs. Avenel, and placing 
 his hand on hers 
 
 " Yes, now then, as friend to friend." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 MR. DALE had been more than a quarter of an hour convers- 
 ing with Mrs. AVenel, and had seemingly made little progress 
 in the object of his diplomatic mission, for now, slowly drawing 
 on his gloves, hfc'said 
 
 " I grieve to think, Mrs. Avenel, that you should have so 
 hardened your heart yes-^you must pardon me it is my vo- 
 cation to speak stern truths. You cannot say that I have not 
 kept faith with you, but I must now invite you to remem'ber 
 that I specially reserved to myself the right of exercising a dis- 
 cretion to act as I judged best fot the child's interests, on any 
 future, occasion ; and it was upon this understanding that you 
 gave n?e' the promise, which you would now evade, of providing 
 for him when he dame into manhood." 
 
 "I say I will provide for him. I say that you -may 'prentice 
 him in any distant town; and by-and^by we will stock a shbp for 
 him. What would you have more, sir, from folks like us, who 
 have kept shop ourselves ? It ain't reasonable what you ask, sir." 
 
 tf My dear friend," said the Parson, " what I ask of you at 
 present is but to see him to receive him kindly to listen to his 
 
 * Mr. Dale probably here alludes to Lord Bolingbroke's ejaculation as he stood by the 
 dying Pope ; but his memoi-y 'does not serve him with the exact words.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 227 
 
 conversation to judge for yourselves. We can have but a com- 
 mon object that your grandson should succeed in life, and do 
 you credit. Now, I doubt very much whether we can effect 
 this by making him a small shopkeeper." 
 
 " And has Jane Fairfield, who married a common carpenter, 
 brought him up to despise small shopkeepers ? " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Avenel, angrily. 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! Some of the first men in England have 
 been the sons of small shopkeepers. But is it a crime in them, 
 or in their parents, if their talents have lifted them into such 
 rank or renown as the haughtiest duke might envy ?. England 
 were not England if a man must rest where his father began." 
 
 " Good !" said, or rather grunted, an approving voice, but 
 neither Mrs. Avenel nor the Parson heard it. 
 
 " All very fine," said Mrs, Avenel, bluntly. " But. to send aboy 
 like that to the university where's the money to come from ? " 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Avenel," said the Parson, coaxingly, " the cost 
 need not be great at a small college at Cambridge ; and if .you 
 will pay half the expense, I will pay the other half. I have no 
 children of my own, and can afford it." 
 
 ." That's very handsome in you, sir," said Mrs. Avenel, some- 
 what touched, yet still not graciously. " But the money is not 
 the only point." 
 
 " Once at Cambridge," continued Mr. Dale, speaking rapjdly, 
 " at Cambridge, where the studies are mathematical that is, of 
 a nature for which he has shown so great an aptitude and I 
 have no doubt he will distinguish himself ; if he does, he will 
 obtain, on leaving, what is called a fellowship .that is, a col- 
 legiate dignity accompanied by an income on which he could 
 maintain himself until he made his way in life. Come, Mrs. 
 Avenel, you are well off ; you have no relations nearer to you 
 in want of your aid. Your son, I hear, has been very fortunate." 
 
 " Sir," said Mrs. AveneJ, interrupting the. Parson, "it is not be- 
 cause my son Richard is an honor to us, and is a good son r and 
 has made his fortin, that we are to rob him of what we have to 
 leave,and give it to a boy whom we know nothing about,and.who, 
 in spite of what you say, can't bring upon us any credit at all." 
 
 " Why ? I don't see that." 
 
 " Why ! " exclaimed Mrs. Avenel, fiercely "why ! you know 
 why. No, I don't want him to rise, in life ; I don't want folks to 
 be spoiling and asking about him. I think it is a very wicked 
 thing to have put fine notions in his head, and I am, sure my 
 daughter Fairfield could not have done it herself. And now, to 
 ask me to rob Richard, and bring out a great boy who's been a
 
 228 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 gardener or ploughman, or such like to disgrace a gentleman 
 who keeps his carriage, as ray son Richard does I would have you 
 to know, sir. No! I won't do it, and there's an end of the matter." 
 
 During the last two or three minutes, and just before that ap- 
 proving "good"' had responded to the Parson's popular senti- 
 ment, a door communicating with an inner room had been gently 
 opened, and stood ajar ; but this incident neither party had even 
 noticed. But now the door was thrown boldly open, and the 
 traveller whom the Parson had met at the inn walked up to Mr. 
 Dale, and said, " No ! that's not the end of the matter. You 
 say the boy's a 'cute, clever lad ? " 
 
 "Richard, have you been listening ? " exclaimed Mrs. Avenel. 
 
 " Well, I guess, yes the last few minutes." 
 
 " And what have you heard ? " 
 
 "Why, that this reverend gentleman thinks so highly of my 
 sister Fairfield's boy, that he offers to pay half of his keep at 
 college. Sir, I'm very much obliged to you, and there's my 
 hand, if you'll take it." 
 
 The Parson jumped up overjoyed,and with a triumphant glance 
 toward Mrs. Avenel, shook hands heartily with Mr. Richard. 
 
 " Now," said the latter, "just put on your hat, sir, and take a 
 stroll with me,and we'll discuss the thing business-like. Women 
 don't understand business ; never talk to women on business." 
 
 With these words, Mr. Richard drew out a cigar-case, select- 
 ed a cigar,which he applied to the candle,and walked into the hall. 
 
 Mrs. Avenel caught hold of the Parson. " Sir, you'll be on 
 your guard with Richard. Remember your promise." 
 
 " He does not know all, then ?" 
 
 " He ? No ! And you see he did not overhear more than 
 what he says. I'm sure you're a gentleman, and won't go against 
 your word." 
 
 "My wordwasconditional; but Iwill promise you nevertobreak 
 the silence without more reason than 1 think there is here for it. 
 Indeed, Mr. Richard Avenel seems to save all necessity for that." 
 
 "Are you coming, sir?" cried Richard, as he opened the 
 street-door. 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE' Parson joined Mr. Richard Avenel on the road. It was 
 a fine night, and the moon clear and shining. 
 
 " So then," said Mr. Richard, thoughtfully, " poor Jane, who 
 was always the drudge of the family, has contrived to bring up 
 her son well; and the boy is really what you say, eh ? could 
 make a figure at college ? "
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 229 
 
 "I am sure of it," said the Parson, hooking himself on to the 
 arm which Mr. Avenel proffered. 
 
 " I should like to see him," said Richard. " Has he any 
 manner ? Is he genteel ? or a mere country lout ? " 
 
 " Indeed, he speaks with so much propriety, and has so much 
 modest dignity about him, that there's many a rich gentleman 
 who could be proud of such a son." 
 
 "It is odd,"observed Richard, "what difference there is in fami- 
 lies. There's Jane, now who can't read nor write, and was just fit 
 to be a workman's wife had not a thought above her station ; and 
 when I think of my poor sister Nora you would not believe it, sir, 
 but she was the most elegant creature in theworld yes, even as a 
 child (she was but a child when I went off to America). And often, 
 as I was getting on in life, often I used to say to myself, 'My little 
 Nora shall be a lady after all.' Poor thing but she died young." 
 
 Richard's voice grew husky. 
 
 The Parson kindly pressed the arm on which he leaned, and 
 said, after a pause 
 
 " Nothing refines us like education, sir. I believe your sister 
 Nora had received much instruction, and had the talents to 
 profit by it; it is the same with your nephew." 
 
 " I'll see him," said Richard, stamping his foot firmly on the 
 ground, " and if I like him, I'll be as good as a father to him. 
 Look yoUj Mr. what's your name, sir ? " 
 
 " Dale." 
 
 '' Mr. Dale, look you, I'm a single man. Perhaps I may marry 
 some day; perhaps I shan't. I'm not going to throw myself away. 
 If I can get a lady of quality, why but that's neither here nor 
 there; meanwhile I should be glad of a nephew whom I need not 
 be ashamed of. You see, sir, I am a new man, the builder of 
 my own fortunes; and though I have picked up a little education 
 - I don't well know how as I scrambled on, still, now I come 
 back to the old country, I'm well aware that I am not exactly a 
 match for those d d aristocrats; don't show so well in a drawing- 
 room as I could wish. I could be a Parliament man if 1 liked, but I 
 >mightmake a gooseof myself; so, all things considered, if I can get 
 a sort of junior partner to do the polite work, and show off the 
 goods, I think the house of Avenel and Co. might become a pretty 
 considerable honor to the Britishers. You understand me, sir ?" 
 
 "Oh, very well," answered Mr. Dale, smiling, though rather 
 gravely. 
 
 " Now," continued the New Man, " I'm not ashamed to have 
 risen in life by my own merits; and I don't disguise what I've 
 been. And when I'm in my own grand house,I'm fond of saying,
 
 230 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 ' I landed in New York with^io in my purse, and here I am! ' 
 But it would not do to have the old folks with me. People take 
 you with all your faults if you're rich; but they won't swallow 
 your family into the bargain. So if I don't have at my house 
 my own father and mother, whom I love dearly, and should like 
 to see sitting at table, with my servants behind their chairs, I 
 could still less have sister Jane. I recollect her very well, and 
 she can't have got genteeler as she's grown older. Therefore I 
 beg you'll not set her on coming after me; it would not do by 
 any manner of means. Don't say a. word about me to her. But 
 send the boy down here to his grandfather, and I'll see him 
 quietly, you understand." 
 
 "Yes, but it will be hard to separate her from her boy." 
 " Stuff! all boys are separated from their parents when they 
 go into the world. So that's settled. Now, just tell me. I 
 know the old folks always snubbed Jane that is, mother did. 
 My poor dear father never snubbed any of us. Perhaps mother 
 has not behaved well to Jane. But we must not blame her for 
 that; you see this is:how it happened. There were a good many 
 of us, while father and mother kept shop in the High Street, so 
 we were all to be provided for anyhow; and Jane, being very 
 useful and handy at work, got a place when she was a little girl 
 and had no time for learning. Afterward my father made a lucky 
 hit, in getting my Lord Lansmere's custom after an election, in 
 which he did a great deal for the Blues (for which he was a 
 famous electioneer, my poor father). My Lady stood godmother 
 to Nora; and then all my brothers, and two of my sisters, died 
 off, and father retired from business ; and when he took Jane 
 from service she was so common-like that mother could not help 
 contrasting her with Nora. You see Jane was their child when 
 they were poor little shop-people, with their heads scarce above 
 water;, and Nora was their child when they were well off, and 
 had retired from trade, and lived genteel; so that makes a great 
 difference. And mother did not quite look on her as on her 
 own child. But it was Jane's own fault; for. mother would have 
 made it up with her if she had married the son of our neighbor the 
 great linen-draper, as she might have done; but she would take 
 Mark Fairfield, a common carpenter. Parents like best those 
 of their children who succeed best in life. Natural. Why, they 
 did not care, for me till I came back the man I am. But to re- 
 turn to Jane. I'm afraid they've neglected her. How is she off?" 
 " She earns her livelihood, and is poor, but contented." 
 " Ah, just be good -enough to give her this" (and Richard 
 took a bank-note of ^50 from his pocket-book). " You can say
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 23! 
 
 the old folks sent it to her ; or that it is a present from Dick, 
 without telling her he has come back from America." 
 
 " Mydear sir," said the Parson, " I am more and more thank- 
 ful to have made your acquaintance. This is a very liberal gift of 
 yours; but your best plan will be to send it through your mother. 
 For,though I don'twant tobetray any confidence you placein me, I 
 should not know what to answer if Mrs. Fairfield began to ques- 
 tion me about her brother. I never had but one secret to keep, and 
 I hope I shall never have another. A secret is very like a lie ! " 
 
 " You had a secret then ! " said Richard, as he took back the 
 bank-note. He had learned, perhaps in America, to be a very 
 inquisitive man. He added point-blank, " Pray, what was it ? " 
 
 " Why, what it would not be if I told you," said the Parson, 
 with a forced laugh "a secret ! " 
 
 " Well, I guess we're in a land of liberty. Do as you like. 
 Now, I dare say you think me a very odd fellow to come out of 
 my shell to you in this off-hand way. But I liked the look. of you, 
 even when we were at the inn together. And just now I was 
 uncommonly pleased to find that, though you are a parson, you 
 don't want to keep a man's nose down to a shop-board, if he has 
 anything in him. You're not one of the aristocrats " 
 
 " Indeed," said the Parson, with imprudent warmth, " it is 
 not the character of the aristocracy of this country to keep peo- 
 ple down. They make way amongst themselves for any man, 
 whatever hisbirth^who has the talent and energy to aspire to their 
 level. That's the especial boast of the British Constitution, sir ! " 
 
 ." Oh, you think so, do you ! " said Mr. Richard looking sourly 
 at the Parson. " I dare say those are the opinions in which you 
 have brought up the lad. Just keep him yourself, and let the 
 aristocracy provide for him ! " . 
 
 The Parson's generous and patriotic warmth evaporated at 
 once,at this sudden inlet of cold air into the conversation. He per- 
 ceived that he had made a terrible blunder; and, as it was not his 
 businessat that moment to vindicate theBritish constitution, but to 
 serve Leonard Fairfield, he abandoned the cause of the aristocracy 
 with the most poltroon and scandalous abruptness. . Catching at 
 thearm which Mr. Avenelhad withdrawn from him, heexclaimed 
 
 " Indeed, sir, you are mistaken ; I have never attempted to 
 influence your nephew's political opinions. On the contrary, if> 
 at his age,, he can be said to have formed any opinions, I am 
 greatly afraid that is, I think his opinions are by no means 
 sound that is, constitutional. I mean, I mean " And the 
 poor Parson, anxious to select a word that weuld.net offend his 
 listener, stopped short in lamentable confusion of idea.
 
 232 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Mr. Avenel enjoyed his -distress for a moment, with a satur- 
 nine smile, and then said 
 
 " Well, I calculate he's a Radical, Natural enough, if he has 
 not got a sixpence to lose all come right by-and-by. I'm not 
 a Radical at least not a Destructive much too clever a man for 
 that, I hope. But I wish to see things very different from what they 
 are. Don't fancy that I want the common people, who've got noth- 
 ing, to pretend to dictate to their betters, because I hate to see a 
 parcel of fellows, who are called lordsandsquires,trying to rulethe 
 roast. I think, sir, that it is men like me who ought to be at the topof 
 the tree! and that's the long and the short of it. What do you say?" 
 
 " I've not the least objection," said the crestfallen Parson, 
 basely. But, to do him justice, I must add, that he did not 
 the least know what he was saying ! 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 UNCONSCIOUS of the change in his fate which the diplomacy 
 of the Parson sought to effect, Leonard Fairfield was enjoying 
 the first virgin sweetness of fame ; for the principal town in his 
 neighborhood had followed the then growing fashion of the 
 age, and set up a Mechanics' Institute ; and some worthy per- 
 sons interested in the formation of that provincial Athenaeum 
 had offered a prize for the best Essay on the Diffusion of 
 Knowledge, a very trite subject, on which persons seem to 
 think that they can never say too much, and on which there is, 
 nevertheless, a great deal yet to be said. This prize Leonard 
 Fairfield had recently won. His Essay had been publicly com- 
 plimented by a full meeting of the Institute; it had been printed 
 at the expense of the Society, and had been rewarded by a silver 
 medal delineative of Apollo crowning Merit (poor Merit had 
 not a rag to his back ; but Merit, left only to the care of Apollo, 
 never is too good a customer to the tailor !) And the " County 
 Gazette " had declared that Britain had produced another prod- 
 igy in the person of Dr. Riccabocca's self-educated gardener. 
 ' Attention was now directed to Leonard's mechanical con- 
 trivances. The Squire, ever eagerly bent on improvements, had 
 brought an engineer to inspect the lad's system of irrigation, 
 and the engineer had been greatly struck by the simple means 
 by which a very considerable technical difficulty had been over- 
 come. The neighboring farmers now called Leonard "Mr. 
 Fairfield," and invited him, on equal terms, to their houses. 
 Mr. Stirn had met him on the high road, touched his hat, and 
 hoped that "he bore no malice." All this, I say, was the first 
 sweetness of fame ; and if Leonard Fairfield comes to be a great
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 233 
 
 man, he will never find such sweets in the after-fruit. It was 
 this success which had determined the Parson on the step which 
 he had just taken, and which he had long before anxiously 
 meditated. For, during the last year or so, he had renewed 
 his old intimacy with the widow and the boy ; and he had 
 noticed, with great hope and great fear,. the rapid growth of an 
 intellect, which now stood out from the lowly circumstances 
 that surrounded it in bold and unharmonizing relief. 
 
 It was the evening after his return home that the Parson 
 strolled up to the Casino. He put Leonard Fairfield's Prize Essay 
 in his pocket. For he felt that he could not let the young man go 
 forth into the world without a preparatory lecture, and he intended 
 to scourge poor Merit with the very laurel wreath which it had re- 
 ceived from Apollo. But in this he wanted Riccabocca's assist- 
 ance; orrather he feared that, if he did not get the Philosopher on 
 his side, the Philosopher might undo all the work of the Parson. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A SWEET sound came through the orange boughs, and floated 
 to the ears of the Parson, as he wound slowly up the gentle 
 ascent so sweet, so silvery, he paused in delight unaware, 
 wretched man ! that he was thereby conniving at Papistical 
 errors. Soft it came and sweet; softer and sweeter "'Ave 
 Maria!" Violante was chanting the evening hymn to the 
 Virgin Mother. The Parson at last distinguished the sense of 
 the words, and shook his head with the pious shake of an ortho- 
 dox Protestant. .He-broke from the spell resolutely, and walked 
 on with a sturdy step. Gaining the terrace, he found the little 
 family seated under an awning, Mrs. Riccabocca knitting ; the 
 Signorwith his arms folded on his breast ; the book he had been 
 reading a few moments before had fallen on the ground, and his 
 dark eyes were soft and dreamy. Violante had finished her 
 hymn, and seated herself on the ground between the two, pillow- 
 ing her head on her step-mother's lap, but with her hand resting 
 on her father's knee, and her gaze fixed fondly on his face. 
 
 " Good evening," said Mr. Dale. Violante stole up to him, 
 and, pulling him so as to bring his ear nearer to. her lip, whis- 
 pered, " Talk to papa, do and cheerfully ; he is sad." 
 
 She escaped from him as she said this, and appeared to busy 
 herself with watering the flowers arranged on stands round the 
 awning. But she kept her swimming, lustrous eyes wistfully 
 on her father. 
 
 " How fares it with you, my dear friend ? " said the Parson,
 
 234 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 kindly, as he rested his hand on the Italian's shoulder. "You 
 must not let him go out of spirits, Mrs. Riccabocca." 
 
 "lam very ungrateful to her if lever am so,"said thepoor Italian, 
 with all hisnatural gallantry. Many a good wife, who thinks it is a 
 reproach to her if her husband is ever "out of spirits," might have 
 turned peevishly from that speech,'more elegant than sincere, and 
 so have made bad worse. But Mrs. Riccabocca took her hus- 
 band's proffered hand affectionately, and said with great naivete- 
 
 " You see I am so stupid, Mr. Dale ; I never knew I was so 
 stupid till I married. But I am very glad you are come. You 
 can get on some learned subject together, and then he will not- 
 miss so much his " 
 
 " His what ? " asked Riccabocca, inquisitively. 
 
 " His country. Do you think that I cannot sometimes read 
 your thoughts ? " 
 
 "Very often.. But you did not read them just then. The 
 tongue touches where the tooth aches, but the best dentist cannot 
 guess at the tooth unless one open one's mouth Basta! Can 
 we offer you some wine of our own making, Mr. Dale? it is pure." 
 
 " I'd rather have some tea," quoth the Parson, hastily. 
 
 Mrs. Riccabocca, too pleased to be in her natural element of 
 domestic use, hurried into the house to prepare our national 
 beverage. And the Parson, sliding into her chair, said 
 
 "But you are dejected, then ? Fie ! If there's a virtue in the 
 world at which we should al \vays aim, it is cheerfulness." 
 
 "I don't dispute it," said Riccabocca with a heavy sigh. "But 
 though it is said by some Greek, who, I think, is quoted by your 
 favorite Seneca, that a wise man carries his country with him at 
 the soles of his feet, he can't carry also the sunshine over his head." 
 
 " I lell you what it is," said the Parson, bluntly, " you would 
 have a much keener sense of happiness if you had much less 
 esteem of philosophy." 
 
 " Cospetto ! " said the Doctor, rousing himself. " Just explain, 
 will you ? " 
 
 " Does not the search after wisdom induce desires not satis- 
 fied in this small circle to which your life is confined ? It is not 
 so much your country for which you yearn, as it is space to your in- 
 tellect,employment for yourthoughts, career for your aspirations." 
 
 " You have guessed at the tooth which aches," said Riccabocca 
 with admiration. 
 
 " Easy to do that," answered the Parson. " Our wisdom-teeth 
 come last, and give us the most pain. And if you would jast 
 starve the mind a little, and nourish the heart more, you would 
 be less a philosopher and more of a " The Parson had the
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 235 
 
 word " Christian " at the end of his tongue; he suppressed a word 
 that,so spoken, would have been exceedingly irritating,and substi- 
 tuted, with inelegant antithesis, " and more of a happy man ! " 
 " I do all I can with my heart," quoth the Doctor. 
 ."Not you ! For a man with such a heart as yours should 
 never feel the want of the sunshine. My friend, we live in an 
 age of over-mental cultivation. :We neglect too much the 'sim- 
 ple,- healthful outer life, in which there is so much positive 
 joy. In turning to the world within us, we grow blind to this 
 beautiful world without; in studying ourselves as men, we almost 
 forget to look up to heaven, and warm to the smile of God." 
 
 The philosopher mechanically shrugged his -shoulders, as he 
 always did when another man moralized especially if the mor- 
 alizer were a priest ; but there was no irony in his smile, : as he 
 answered, thoughtfully 
 
 " There is sprue truth in: what you say. I own that we live too 
 much as if we were all brain. Knowledge has its penalties and 
 pains, as well as its prizes." 
 
 "That is just what I want you to say to Leonard." 
 " How have you settled the object of your journey ? " 
 "I will tell you as we walk down to him after tea. At present, 
 I am rather too much occupied with you." . 
 
 " Me ? The tree is formed- try only to bend the-young twig." 
 " Trees are trees, and twigs twigs," said the Parson dogmatic- 
 ally; " but man is always growing till he falls into the grave. I 
 think I have heard you say that you once had a narrow escape 
 of a prison ? " 
 " Very narrow." 
 
 " Just suppose that you were now in that prison, and that a : 
 fairy conjured up the prospect ofthis quiet home in a Safe land; 
 that you saw the orange-trees in flower, felt the evening breeze 
 on your cheek ; beheld: your child gay or sad, as you smiled or 
 knit your brow ; that within this phantom home was a Vvoma'n, 
 not, indeed, all your young romance might have dreamed of, 
 but faithful and true, every beat of her heart all your o\vn : 
 would you not:cry from the depth of the dungeon, .'O fairy ! 
 such a change were a paradise.' Ungrateful man! you want in- 
 terchange for your mind, ancLyour heart should suffice for all! " 
 Riccabocca was touched and silent. 
 
 ''Come hither, my child," said Mr. Dale, turning round to 
 
 Violante, who still stood among t!he flowers, out of hearing, but 
 
 with watchful eyes. " Come hither," he said, opening his arms. 
 
 Violante bounded forward,and nestled to the good man'sheart. 
 
 " Tell me,Violante, when you are alone in the fields or the gar-
 
 236 MY NOVEL ; OR 
 
 den, and have left your father looking pleased and serene, so 
 that you have no care for him at your heart, tell me, Violante, 
 though you are alone, with the flowers below, and the birds sing- 
 ing overhead, do you feel that life itself is happiness or sorrow? " 
 
 " Happiness ! " answered Violante, half shutting her eyes, 
 and in a measured voice. 
 
 " Can you explain what kind of happiness it is ? " 
 
 " Oh no, impossible ! and it is never the same. Sometimes 
 it is so still so still, and sometimes so joyous, that I long for 
 wings to fly up to God, and thank him ! " 
 
 "O friend," said the Parson, " this is the true sympathy be- 
 tween life and nature, and thus we should feel ever, did we take 
 more care to preserve the health and innocence of a child. We 
 are told that we must become as little children to enter into the 
 kingdom of heaven ; methinks we should also become as chil- 
 dren to know what delight there is in our heritage of earth ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE maid-servant (for Jackeymo was in the fields) brought 
 the table under the awning, and with the English luxury of tea, 
 there were other drinks as cheap and as grateful on summer 
 evenings drinks which Jackeymo had retained and taught from 
 the customs of the south -unebriate liquors, pressed from cool- 
 ing fruits, sweetened with honey, and deliciouslyiced; ice should 
 cost nothing in a country in which one is frozen up half the year ! 
 And Jackeymo, too, had added to our good, solid, heavy English 
 bread, preparations of wheat much lighter, and more propitious 
 to digestion with those crisp grissins, which seemed to enjoy 
 being eaten, they make so pleasant a noise between one's teeth. 
 
 The Parson esteemed it a little treat to drink tea with the 
 Riccaboccas. There was something of elegance and grace in 
 that homely meal at the. poor exile's table, which pleased 'the 
 eye as well as taste. And the very utensils, plain Wedgewood 
 though they were, had a classical simplicity which made Mrs. 
 Hazeldean's old India delf, and Mrs. Dale's best Worcester 
 china, look tawdry and barbarous in comparison. ' For it was 
 Flaxman who gave designs to Wedgewood, and the most truly 
 refined of all our manufactures in porcelain (if we do not look 
 to the mere material) is in the reach of the most thrifty. 
 
 The little banquet was at first rather a silent one ; but Ricca- 
 bocca threw off his gloom, and became gay and animated. Then 
 poor Mrs. Riccabocca smiled, and pressed the grissins; and 
 Violante, forgetting all her stateliness, laughed and played tricks 
 on the Parson, stealing away his cup of warm tea when his head
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 237 
 
 was turned, and substituting iced cherry juice. Then the Parson 
 got up and ran after Violante, making angry faces, and Violante 
 dodged beautifully, till the Parson, fairly tired out, was too glad 
 to cry " Peace," and come back to the cherry juice. ThUstime 
 rolled on, till they heard afar the stroke of the distant church 
 clock, and Mr. Dale started up and cried " But we shall be too late 
 for Leonard. Come, naughty little girl, get your father his hat." 
 
 " And umbrella ! " said Riccabocca, looking up at the cloud- 
 less moonlit sky. . / 
 
 " Umbrella against the stars ? " asked the Parson, laughing. 
 
 " The stars are no friends of mine," said Riccabocca, " and 
 one never knows what may happen ! " 
 
 The Philosopher and the Parson walked on amicably. 
 
 "You have done me good," said Riccabocca, " but I hope I 
 am not so unreasonably melancholic as you seem to suspect. 
 The evenings will sometimes appear long and dull too, to a man 
 whose thoughts on the past are almost his sole companions." 
 
 " Sole companions ? -your child ? " 
 
 " She is so young." 
 
 " Your wife ? " 
 
 " She is so ," the bland Italian appeared to check some dis- 
 paraging adjective, and mildlyjadded, "so good, I allow; but you 
 must own that she and I cannot have much in common." 
 
 " I own nothing of the sort. You have your house and your in- 
 terests, your happiness and your lives, in common. We men are 
 so exacting, we expect to find ideal nymphs and goddesses when 
 we condescend to marry a mortal; and if we did, our chickens 
 would be boiled to rags,andour mutton comeupascold as astone." 
 
 " Per Bacco, you are an oracle," said Riccabocca, laughing. 
 ." But I am not so sceptical as you are. I honor the fair sex too 
 much. There are a great many women who realize the ideal 
 of men to be found in the poets ! " 
 
 " There's my dear Mrs. Dale/' resumed the Parson, not heed- 
 ing this sarcastic compliment to the sex, but sinking his voice 
 into a whisper,and looking round cautiously " There's my dear 
 Mrs. Dale, the best woman in the world an angel, I would say, 
 if the word was not profane ;.BUT " 
 
 " What's the BUT ? " asked the Doctor, demurely. 
 
 " BUT I too might say that ' she and I have not much in com- 
 mon,' if I were only to compare mind to mind, and when my 
 poor Carry says something less profound than Madame de Stael 
 might have said, smile on her in contempt from the elevation of 
 logic and Latin. Yet when I remember all the little sorrows and 
 joys that we have shared together, and feel how solitary I should
 
 238 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 have been without her* oh, theh, I. am instantly aware that there 
 is between us in common something infinitely closer and. better 
 than if the same course of study had given us the equality of ideas; 
 and I was forced to brace myself for a combat of intellect, as 
 I am wlren I fall in with a tiresome sage like yourself. I don't pre- 
 tend to say that Mrs. Riccaboccais a. Mrs. Dale, "added the Par- 
 son, with.lofty candor " there is but one Mrs. Dale in the world; 
 but still, you Ixave drawn a prize in the wheel matrimonial ! Think 
 of Socrates, and yet he was content even with his Xantippe ! " 
 
 Dr. Riccabocca called to mind Mrs. Dale's "little tempers," 
 and inly rejoiced that no second Mrs. Dale had existed to fall 
 to his own lot. His placid Jemima gained by the contrast. 
 Nevertheless, he had the ill grace to reply, " Socrates was a man 
 beyond, all imitation ! -Yet I believe that even he spent very 
 fewiof his evenings at home. But revenons a nos moutons, we 
 are nearly at Mrs. Fairfield's cottage, and you have not yet told 
 me. what you; have settled as to Leonard:"' '" 
 
 The Parson halted, took Riccabocca by the button, and in- 
 formed him, in very few words, that Leonard was; to go to Lans- 
 mere to see some relations there, who had the fortune, if they 
 had the will, to give. full career to his abilities. - 
 
 " The great thingj in the meanwhile," said, the Parson, "would 
 be to enlighten him a little as to what he calls- enlightenment." 
 
 "Ah ! " said Riccabocca, diverted, and rubbing his hands, 
 " I shall listen with interest to what you say on that subject." 
 
 "And must aid me : for the first step in this modern march 
 of enlightenment is to leave the poor Parson behind ; and if one 
 calls out ' Hold! and look at the sign-post,' the traveller hurries 
 on the faster, saying to himself, ' Pooh, pooh ! that is only the 
 cry, of the Parson ! ' .But my gentleman, when he doubts me, 
 will listen to you you're a philosopher ! " 
 
 "\Vephilosophersareofsomeusenowand then,even to parsons!" 
 
 " If you were not so conceited a set of deluded poor creatures 
 already, I would say 'Yes,' " replied the Parson generously ; 
 and, taking hold of Riccabocca's umbrella, he applied the brass 
 handle, thereof, by way of a knocker, to the cottage door. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 CERTAINLY it is a glorious fever that desire To Know ! And 
 there are few sights in the moral world more sublime than that 
 which many a garret might afford/if Asmodeus would bare the 
 roofs to our survey^-fvia., a brave, patient, earnest human being 
 toiling his own arduous way, athwart the iron walls of penury, 
 into the magnificent Infinite, which is luminous with starry souls.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 239 
 
 '. So there sits Leonard the Self-taught in the little cottage alone ; 
 for; though- scarcely past the hour in which great folks dine, it 
 is the hour in which small folks go to bed, and Mrs. Fairfield 
 has retired to rest, while Leonard has settled to his books. 
 
 He had placed his table under the lattice, and from time to 
 time he looked up and enjoyed the stillness of the moon. Well 
 for him that, in reparation for those hours stolen from night, 
 the hardy physical labor commenced with the dawn. Students 
 would not be the sad dyspeptics they are, if they worked as 
 many hours in the open air as my scholar-peasant. But even 
 in him you could see that the mind had begun a little to affect 
 the frame. They who task the intellect must pay the penalty 
 with the body. Ill, believe me, would this Work-day world get 
 on if all within it were hard-reading, studious animals, playing 
 the deuce with the ganglionic apparatus. 
 
 Leonard started as he heard the knock at the door; the. Par- 
 son's well-known voice reassured him. In some surprise he 
 admitted his visitors. 
 
 "We are come to talk to you, Leonard," said Mr. Dale, "but 
 I fear we shall disturb Mrs. Fairfield/' 
 
 "Oh no, sir! the door to the staircase is shut, and she. sleeps 
 soundly." 
 
 " Why, this is a French book do you read French,. Leon- 
 ard ? " asked Riccabocca. 
 
 "I have not found French difficult, sir. Once over the 
 grammar, and the language is so.. clear; it seems the very lan- 
 guage for reasoning." 
 
 "True, Voltaire said justly, 'Whatever is obscure is not 
 French, '.".observed Riceabpcca.' 
 
 " I wish I could say the same of English," muttered the Parson. 
 
 " But what is this ? Latin too ? Virgil ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir. But I find I make little way there without a mas- 
 ter. I fear I must give it up " (and Leonard sighed). 
 
 The two gentlemen exchanged looks and seated themselves. 
 The young peasant remained standing modestly, and in his air 
 and mien there was something that touched the heart while it 
 pleased the eye. He was no longer the timid boy who had shrunk 
 from the frown of Mr. Stirn, nor that rude personation of sim- 
 ple physical strength, roused to undisciplined bravery, which 
 had received its downfall on the village-green of Hazeldean. 
 The power of thought was on his brow somewhat inquiet still, 
 but mild and earnest. The features had attained that refine- 
 ment which is often attributed to race, but comes, in truth, from 
 elegance of idea, whether caught from our parents or learned
 
 240 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 from books. In his rich brown hair, thrown carelessly from his 
 temples, and curling almost to the shoulders in his large blue 
 eye, which was deepened to the hue of the violet by the long 
 dark lash -in .that firmness of lip, which comes from the grap- 
 ple with difficulties, there was considerable beauty, but no longer 
 the beauty of the mere peasant. And yet there was still about 
 the whole countenance that expression of goodness and purity 
 which a painter would give to his ideal of the peasant lover 
 such as Tasso would have placed in the Aminta, or Fletcher 
 have admitted to. the side of the Faithful Shepherdess. 
 
 " You must draw a chair here, and sit down between us, Leon- 
 ard," said the Parson. 
 
 " If any one," said Riccabocca, " has a right to sit, it is the 
 one who is to hear the sermon ; and if any one ought to stand, 
 it is the one who is about to preach it." 
 
 " Don't be frightened, Leonard," said the Parson, graciously; 
 " it is only a criticism, not a sermon "; and he pulled out Leon- 
 ard's Prize Essay. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 PARSON. You take for your motto this aphorism* " KnowU 
 edge is Power." BACON. 
 
 RICCABOCCA. Bacon make such an aphorism ! The last man 
 in the world to have said anything so pert and so shallow. 
 
 LEONARD (astonished). Do you mean to say, sir, that that 
 ap-horism is not in Lord Bacon ? Why, I have seen it quoted 
 as his in almost every newspaper, and in almost every speech 
 in favor of popular education. 
 
 RICCABOCCA Then that should be a warning to you never 
 again to fall into the error of the would-be-scholar viz., quote 
 second-hand. Lord Bacon wrote a great book to show in what 
 knowledge is power, how that power should be defined, in what 
 it might be mistaken. And, pray, do you think so sensible a man 
 ever would have taken the trouble to write a great book upon the 
 subject, if he could have packed up all he had to say into the port- 
 able dogma, ' Knowledge is power "? Pooh! no such aphorism 
 is to be found in Bacon from thefirst page of his writings to the last. 
 
 master of inductive philosophy, bacon has, it is true, repeatedly dwelt on the power of 
 knowledge, but with so many explanations and distinctions, that nothing could be more un- 
 just to bis general meaning than the attempt to.cramp into a sentence what it costs him a 
 volume to define. Thus, if in one page he appears to confound knowledge with power, in 
 another he sets them in the strongest antithesis to each other, as follows "Adeo, signanter 
 Deus opera potentise et sapientise discriminavit." Hut it would be as unfair to Bacon to 
 convert into an aphorism the sentence that discriminates between knowledge and power, as 
 Jtjs to convert into an aphorism any sentence that confounds them.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 241 
 
 PARSON (candidly). Well, /supposed it was Lord Bacon's, 
 and I am very glad to hear that the aphorism has not the sanc- 
 tion of his authority. 
 
 LEONARD (recovering his surprise); But why so ? 
 
 PARSON. -Because it either says a great deal too much, or 
 just nothing at all. 
 
 LEONARD. At least, sir, it seems to me undeniable. 
 
 PARSON. Well, grant that it is undeniable. Does it prove 
 much in favor of knowledge ? Pray, is not ignorance power too? 
 
 RICCABOCCA. And a power that has had much the best end 
 of the quarter-staff. 
 
 PARSON. All evil is power, and does its power make it any- 
 thing the better ? 
 
 RICCABOCCA. Fanaticism is power and a power that has 
 often swept away knowledge like a whirlwind. The Mussul- 
 man burns the library of a world and forces the Koran and the 
 sword from the schools of Byzantium to the colleges of Hfndostan. 
 
 PARSON (bearing on with a new column of illustration). 
 Hunger is power. The barbarians, starved out of their forests 
 by their own swarming population, swept into Italy and anni- 
 hilated letters. The Romans, however degraded, had more 
 knowledge, at least, than the Gaul and the Visigoth. 
 
 RICCABOCCA (bringing up the reserve). And even in Greece, 
 when Greek met Greek, the Athenians our masters in all knowl- 
 edge were beat by the Spartans, who held learning in contempt. 
 
 PARSON. Wherefore you see,Leonard,that though knowledge 
 be power,it is only one of the powersof the world ; that thereare oth- 
 ers as strong, and often much stronger; and the assertion either 
 means but a barren truism, not worth so frequent a repetition, or 
 it means something that you would find it very difficult to prove. 
 
 LEONARD. One nation may be beaten by another that has 
 more physical strength and more military discipline; which last, 
 permit me to say, sir, is a species of knowledge. 
 
 RICCABOCCA. Yes ; but your knowledge-mongers at present 
 call upon us to discard military discipline, and the qualities that 
 produce it, from the list of the useful arts. And in your own 
 Essay, you insist upon knowledge as the great disbander of 
 armies, and the foe of all military discipline ! 
 
 PARSON. Let the young man proceed. Nations, you say, 
 may be beaten by other nations less learned and civilized ? 
 
 LEONARD. But knowledge elevates a class. I invite the 
 members of my own humble order to knowledge, because 
 knowledge will lift them into power. 
 
 RICCABOCCA. What do you say to that, Mr. Dale ?
 
 242 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 PARSCXN, -In the first place.is it true that the class which has the 
 most knowledge gets the most power? I suppose philosophers, like 
 my friend Dr.Riccabocca, think they have the most knowledge. 
 And pray, in what age have philosophers governed the world ? 
 Are they not always grumbling that nobody attends to them ? 
 
 RICCABOCCA. Per Bacco, if people had attended to us, it 
 would have been a droll sort of world by this time ! 
 
 PARSON. Very likely. But, as a general rule, those have the 
 knowledge who give themselves up to it the most. Let us put 
 out of the question philosophers (who are often but ingenious 
 lunatics), and speak only of erudite scholars, men of letters and 
 practical science, professors, tutors, and fellows of colleges. I fan- 
 cy any member of Parliament would tell us that there is no class of 
 men which has less actual influenceon public affairs. These schol- 
 ars have more knowledge than manufacturers and ship-owners, 
 squires and farmers; but, do you find that they have more power 
 over the Government and the votes of the House of Commons ? 
 
 " They ought to have," said Leonard. 
 
 " Ought they ? " said the Parson ; " we'll consider that later. 
 Meanwhile, you must not escape from your own proposition, 
 which, is, that knowledge is power not that it ought to be. 
 Now, even granting your corollary, that the power of a class is 
 therefore proportioned to its knowledge pray, do you suppose 
 that while your order, the operatives, are instructing themselves, 
 all the rest of , the community are to be at a stand-still ! Dif- 
 fuse knowledge as you may, you will never produce equality of 
 knowledge. : Those who have most leisure, application, and apti- 
 tude for learning, will still know the most. Nay, by a very 
 natural law, the more general the appetite for knowledge, the 
 more the increased competition will favor those most adapted 
 to excel by circumstance and nature. At this day, there is a 
 vast increase of knowledge spread overall society, compared 
 with that in the Middle Ages; but, is there not a still greater dis- 
 tinction between the highly educated gentleman and the intelli- 
 gent mechanic, then there was then between the baron who could 
 not sign his name and the churl at the plough ? between the 
 accomplished statesman, versed in all historical lore, and the 
 voter whose politics are formed by his newspapers, than there 
 was between the legislator who passed laws against witches, and 
 the burgher who defended his guild from some feudal aggression? 
 between the enlightened scholar and the dunce of to-day, than 
 there was between the monkish alchemist and the blockhead of 
 yesterday? Peasant, voter, and dunce of this century are no 
 doubt wiser than the churl, burgher,and blockhead of the twelfth.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 243 
 
 But the gentleman, statesman, and scholar of the present age 
 are at least quite as favorable a contrast to the alchemist, witch- 
 burner, and baron of old. As the progress of enlightenment has 
 done hitherto, so will it ever do. Knowledge is like capital ; 
 the more there is in a country, the greater the disparities in wealth 
 between one man and another. Therefore, if the working class 
 increase in knowledge, so do the other classes; and if the working 
 class rise peacefully and legitimately into power, it is not in propor- 
 tion to their own knowledge alone, but rather according as it seems 
 to the knowledge of the other orders of the community, that such 
 augmentation of proportional power is just, and safe, and wise." 
 
 Placed between the Parson and the Philosopher, Leonard felt 
 that his position was not favorable to the display of his forces. 
 Insensibly he edged his chair somewhat away, and said mourn- 
 fully 
 
 " Then, according to you, the reign of knowledge would be no 
 great advance in the aggregate freedom and welfare of man ? " 
 
 PARSON. Let us define. By knowledge, do you mean intel- 
 lectual cultivation ? by the reign of knowledge, the ascendency 
 of the most cultivated minds ? 
 
 LEONARD (after a pause). Yes. 
 
 RICCABOCCA. Oh, indiscreet young man ! that is an unfortu- 
 nate concesssion of yours : for the ascendency of the most cul- 
 tivated minds would be a terrible oligarchy ! 
 
 PARSON. Perfectly true ; and we now reply to your asser- 
 tion, that men who, by profession, have most learning, ought to 
 have more influence than squires and merchants, farmers and 
 mechanics. Observe, all the knowledge that we mortals can 
 acquire is not knowledge positive and perfect, but knowledge 
 comparative, and subject to the errors and passions of humanity. 
 And suppose that you could establish, as the sole regulators of 
 affairs, those who had the most mental cultivation, do you ; think 
 they would not like that power well enough to take all means 
 which their superior intelligence could devise to keep it to them- 
 selves ? The experiment was tried of old by the priests of 
 Egypt ; and in the empire of China, at this day, the aristocracy 
 are elected from those who have most distinguished themselves 
 in learned colleges. If I may call myself a member of that body, 
 "the people," I would rather bean Englishman, however much 
 displeased -with dull Ministers and blundering Parliaments, than 
 I would be a Chinese under the rule of the picked sages of the 
 Celestial Empire. Happily, therefore, my dear Leonard, nations 
 are governed by many things besides what is commonly called 
 knowledge; andthe greatest practical ministers,who,like Themis-
 
 244 MY tfOVEL ; OR, 
 
 .tocles.have made small statesgreat and themostdominant races, 
 who, like the Romans, have stretched their rule from a village half 
 over the universe have been distinguished, by various qualities 
 which a philosopher would sneer .at, and a knowledge-monger 
 would call " sad prejudices," and ''lamentable errors of reason." 
 
 LEONARD (bitterly). Sir, you make use of knowledge itself 
 to argue against knowledge. 
 
 . PARSON. I make use of the little I know to prove the fool- 
 ishness of idolatry. I do not argue against knowledge, I argue 
 against knowledge-worship. For here, I see in your Essay, that 
 you are not contented with raising human knowledge into some- 
 thing like divine omnipotence, you must also confound her with 
 virtue. According to you, it is but to diffuse the intelligence of 
 the few among the many, and all at which we preachers aim is 
 accomplished. Nay, more ; for, whereas, we humble preachers 
 have never presumed to say, with the heathen Stoic, that even 
 virtue is sure of happiness below (though it be the best road to 
 it), you tell us plainly that this knowledge of yours gives not only 
 the virtue of a saint, but bestows the bliss of a god. Before the 
 steps of your idol, the evils of life disappear. To hear you, one 
 has but " to know," in order to be exempt from the sin and sor- 
 rows of the ignorant. Has it ever been so? Grant that you 
 diffuse amongst the many all the knowledge ever attained by the 
 few. Have the wise few been so unerring and so happy ? You 
 supposed that your motto was accurately cited from Bacon. 
 What was Bacon himself ? The poet tells you 
 
 " The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind !" 
 
 Can you hope to bestow upon the vast mass of your order the 
 luminous intelligence of this " Lord Chancellor of Nature !" 
 Grant that you do so and what guarantee have you for the vir- 
 tue and the happiness which you assume as the concomitants of 
 the gift ? See Bacon himself : what black ingratitude ! what mis- 
 erable self-seeking ! what truckling servility ! what abject and 
 pitiful spirit ! So far from intellectual knowledge, in its highest 
 form and type, insuring virtue and bliss, it is by no means uncom- 
 mon to find great mental cultivation combined with great moral 
 corruption. [Aside to Riccabocca "Push on, will you ?"} 
 
 RICCABOCCA. A combination remarkable in eras as in indi- 
 viduals. Petronius shows us a state of morals at which a common- 
 place devil would blush, in the midst of a society more intellectual- 
 ly cultivated than certainly was that which produced Regulusor the 
 Horatii. And the most learned eras in modern Italy were precise- 
 ly those which brought the vices into the most ghastly refinement, 
 
 LEONARD (rising in great agitation, and clasping his hands).
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 245 
 
 I cannot contend with you, who produce agumst information 
 so slender and crude as mine the stores which have been locked 
 from my reach. But I feel that there must be another side to 
 this shield a shield that you will not even allow to be silver. 
 And, oh, if you thus speak of knowledge, why have you encour- 
 aged me to know ? 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 "An, my son!" said the Parson, "if I wished to prove the value 
 of Religion, would you think I served it much, if I took as my 
 motto, ' Religion is power ' ? Would not that be a base and sor- 
 did view of its advantages? And would you not say, he who re- 
 gards religion as a power intends to abuse it as a priestcraft ? " 
 
 " Well put ? " said Riccabocca. 
 
 "Waitamoment letme think ! Ah I see, sir ! "said Leonard. 
 
 PARSON. If the cause be holy, do not weigh it in the scales 
 of the market ; if its objects be peaceful, do not seek to arm it 
 with the weapons of strife ; if it is to be the cement of society, 
 do not vaunt it as the triumph of class against class. 
 
 LEONARD (ingenuously). You correct me nobly, sir. Knowl- 
 edge is power, but not in the sense in which I have interpreted 
 the saying. 
 
 PARSON. Knowledge is one of the powers in the moral world, 
 but one that, in its immediate result, is not always of the most 
 worldly advantage to the possessor. It is one of the slowest, be- 
 cause one of the most durable, of agencies. It may take a thou- 
 sand years for a thought to come into power ! and the thinker 
 who originated it might have died in rags or in chains. 
 
 RICCABOCCA. Our Italian proverb saith that "the teacher is 
 like the candle, which lights others in consuming itself." 
 
 PARSON. : Thereforehewho hasthetrueambition of knowledge 
 should entertain it for the power of his idea, not for the power it 
 may bestow on himself ; it should be lodged in the conscience, 
 and, like the conscience, look for no certain reward this side of 
 the grave. And since knowledge is compatible with good and 
 with evil, would not it be better to say, " Knowledge is a trust "? 
 
 "You are right, sir," said Leonard, cheerfully ; "pray proceed." 
 
 PARSON. You ask me why we encourage you to KNOW. First, 
 because (as you say yourself in your Essay) knowledge, irre- 
 spective of gain, is in itself a delight, and ought to be something 
 far more. Like liberty, like religion, it may be abused ; but I 
 have no more right to say that the poor shall be ignorant, than I 
 have to say that the rich only shall be free, and that the clergy 
 alone shall learn the truths of redemption. You truly observe in
 
 246 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 your treatise that knowledge opens to us other excitements than 
 those of the senses, and another life than that of the moment. 
 The difference between us is this, that you forget that the same 
 refinement which brings us new pleasures, exposes us to nevvpains 
 the horny hand of the peasant feels not the nettles which sting 
 the fine skin of the scholar. You forget also, that whatever widens 
 the sphere of the desires, opens to them also new temptations. 
 Vanity, the desire of applause, pride, the sense of superiority 
 gnawing discontent where that superiority is not recognized 
 morbid susceptibility, which comes with all new feelings the 
 underrating of simple pleasures apart from the intellectual the 
 chase of the imagination, often unduly stimulated, for things 
 unattainable below all these are surely amongst the first temp- 
 tations that beset the entrance into knowledge. 
 
 Leonard shaded his face with his hand. 
 
 "Hence," continued the Parson, benignantly "hence, so far 
 from considering that we do all that is needful to accomplish 
 ourselves as men, when we cultivate only the intellect, we should 
 remember that we thereby continually increase the range of our 
 desires, and therefore of our temptations; and we should en- 
 deavor, simultaneously, to cultivate both those affections of the 
 heart which prove the ignorant to be God's children no less than 
 the wise, and those moral qualities which have made men great and 
 good when reading and writing were scarcely known: to wit., pa- 
 tienceand fortitude underpovertyanddistress:humilityandbenef- 
 icence amidst grandeur and wealth; and, in counteraction to that 
 egotism which all superiority, mental or worldly, is apt to inspire, 
 Justice, the father of all the more solid virtues, softened by Char- 
 ity, which is their loving mother. Thus accompanied, Knowledge 
 indeed becomesthemagnificentcrownpf humanity, nottheimpe- 
 rious despot,but the checked and tempered sovereign of the soul." 
 
 The Parson paused, and Leonard, coming near him, timidly 
 took his hand, with- a child's affectionate and grateful impulse. 
 
 RICCABOCCA. -And if, Leonard, you are not satisfied with our 
 Parson's excellent definitions, you have only to read what Lord 
 Bacon himself has said upon the true ends of knowledge, to 
 comprehend at once how angry the'poor great man whom Dr. 
 Dale treats so harshly, would have been with those who have 
 stinted his elaborate distinctions and provident cautions into 
 that coxcombical little aphorism, and then misconstrued all he 
 designed to prove in favor of the commandment, and authority 
 6f learning. For [added the sage, looking up as a man does when 
 he is taxing his memory] I think it is thus that, after saying the 
 greatest error of all is the mistaking pr misplacing the end of
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 247 
 
 knowledge, and denouncing the various objects for which it is 
 vulgarly sought I think it is thus that Lord Bacon proceeds. . . . 
 " Knowledge is not a shop for profit or sale, but a rich store- 
 house for the glory of the Creator,and the relief of men's estate."* 
 
 PARSON (remorsefully). Are those Lord Bacon's words ? I 
 am very sorry I spoke so uncharitable of his life. I must ex- 
 amine it again. I may find excuses for it now that I could not 
 when I first formed my judgment. I was then a raw lad at Ox- . 
 ford. But I see, Leonard, there is still something, on your mind. 
 
 LEONARD. It is true, sir ; I would but ask whether it is not 
 by knowledge that we arrive at the qualities and virtues you so 
 well describe, but which you seem to consider as coming to us 
 through channels apart from knowledge ? 
 
 PARSON. If you mean by the word knowledge something 
 very different from what you express in your Essay; and which 
 those contending for mental instruction, irrespective of religion 
 and ethics, appear also to convey by the word, you are right ; 
 but remember, we have already agreed that by the word knowl- 
 edge we mean culture purely intellectual. 
 
 LEONARD. That is true, we so understood it. 
 
 PARSON. Thus, when this great Lord Bacon erred, you may 
 say that he erred from want of knowledge the knowledge which 
 moralists and preachers would convey. But Lord Bacon had 
 read all that moralists and preachers could say on such matters; 
 and he certainly did not err from want of intellectual cultiva- 
 tion. Let me here, my child, invite you to observe, that He who 
 knew most of our humarJ hearts and our immortal destinies, did 
 not insist on this intellectual culture as essential to the virtues 
 that form our well-being here, and conduce to our salvation 
 hereafter. Had it been essential, the Allwise One would not have 
 selected humble fishermen for the teachers of His doctrine, in- 
 stead of culling His disciples from Roman portico or Athenian 
 academe. And this, which distinguishes so remarkably the Gos- 
 pel from the ethics of heathen philosophy, wherein knowledge 
 is declared to be necessary to virtue, is a proof how slight was 
 
 * " But the greatest error of all the rest is the mistaking or misplacing of the last or farthest . 
 end of knowledge ; for men have entered into a desire of learning and' knowledge, so'me- 
 times upon a natural curiosity and inquisitive appetite ; sometimes to entertaiij their minds 
 with variety and delight ; sometimes for ornament and reputation ; and sometimes to en- 
 able them to victory Ol wit and contradiction ; and most times for lucre and profession " 
 [that is, for most of those objects which are meant by the ordinary citers of the sayings 
 " Knowledge is power "1 " and seldom sincerely to give a true account of these gifts of 
 reason to the benefit and usr of men ; as if there were sought in knowledge a couch where- 
 upon to ret a searching and restless spirit ; or a terrace for a wandering and variable mind 
 to walk up and down, with a fair prospect ; or a tower of state for a proud mind to raise itself 
 upon, or a fort or commanding ground for strife and contention ; or a shopforprofit or sale 
 and not a rich storehouse for the glory of the Creator, and the relief of men's estate." Ap- 
 VANCBMKNT OF LEARNING, Book I.
 
 248 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 the heathen sage's insight into the nature of mankind, when 
 compared with the Saviour's ; for hard, indeed, would it be to 
 men, whether high or low, rich or poor, if science and learning, 
 or contemplative philosophy, were the sole avenues to peace and 
 redemption ; since,in this state of ordeal requiring active duties, 
 very few in any age, whether they be high or low, rich or poor, 
 ever are or can be devoted to pursuits merely mental. Christ 
 does not represent heaven as a college for the learned; therefore 
 the rules of the Celestial Legislator are rendered clear to tha 
 simplest understanding as to the deepest. 
 
 RICCABOCCA. And that which Plato and Zeno, Pythagora* 
 and Socrates, could not do, was done by men whose ignorance 
 would have been a by- word in the schools of the Greek. The 
 gods of the vulgar were dethroned ; the face of the world was 
 changed ! This thought may make us allow, indeed, that there 
 are agencies more powerful than mere knowledge, and ask, aftei 
 all, what is the mission which knowledge should achieve ? 
 
 PARSON. The Sacred Book tells us even that ; for after es^ 
 tablishing the truth that, for the multitude, knowledge is not es. 
 sential to happiness and good, it accords still to knowledge itn 
 sublime part in the revelation prepared and announced. When 
 an instrument of more than ordinary intelligence was required 
 fora purpose divine, when the Gospel recorded by the simple, 
 was lo be explained by the acute, enforced by the energetic, 
 carried home to the doubts of the Gentile, the Supreme Will 
 joined to the zeal of the earlier apostles the learning and genius 
 of St. Paul-^-not holier than others, calling himself the least, 
 yet laboring more abundantly than them all, making himself 
 all thirtgs unto all men, so that some might be saved. The ig- 
 norant may be saved no less surely than the wise; but here comes 
 the wise man who helps to save ! And how the fulness and ani- 
 mation of this grand Presence, of this indomitable Energy, seem 
 to vivify the toil, and to speed the work!" In journeyings often, 
 in perils of waters, in perils of robbers, in perils of mine own 
 countrymen; in perils by the heathen, in perils in the city, in 
 perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea, in perils among false 
 brethren." Behold, my son ! does not Heaven here seem to 
 reveal the true type of Knowledge, a sleepless activity, a per- 
 vading agency, a dauntless heroism, an all-supporting faith ? 
 a power a power indeed, a power apart from the aggrandize- 
 ment of self, a power that brings to him who owns and trans- 
 mits it but " weariness and painfulness ; in watchings often, in 
 hunger. and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness," 
 but a power distinct from the mere circumstance of the man,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 249 
 
 rushing from him as rays from the sun ; borne through the air, 
 and clothing it with light, piercing under earth, and calling 
 forth the harvest ! Worship not knowledge, worship not the 
 sun, O my child ! Let the sun but proclaim the Creator ; let 
 the knowledge but illumine the worship ! 
 
 The good man, overcome by his own earnestness, paused ; 
 his head drooped on the young student's breast, and all three 
 were long silent. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 WHATEVER ridicule may be thrown upon Mr. Dale's disserta- 
 tions by the wit of the enlightened, they had a considerable, and 
 I think a beneficial, effect upon Leonard Fairfield an effect 
 which may perhaps create less surprise when the reader remem- 
 bers that Leonard was unaccustomed to argument 'and still re- 
 tained many of the prejudices natural to his rustic breeding. 
 Nay, he actually thought it possible that, as both Riccabocca 
 and Mr. Dale were more than double his age, and had had 
 opportunities not only of reading twice as many books, but of 
 gathering up experience in wider ranges of life he actually, I 
 say, thought it possible that they might be better acquainted 
 with the properties and distinctions of knowledge than, himself. 
 As all events, the Parson's words were so far well-timed, that 
 they produced in Leonard very much of that state of mind which 
 Mr. Dale desired to effect before communicating to him the 
 startling intelligence that he was to visit relations whom he had 
 never seen, of whom he had heard but little, and that it was at 
 least possible that the result of that visit might be to open to him 
 greater facilities for instruction, and a higher degree in life. 
 
 Without some such preparation, I fear that Leonard would 
 have gone forth into the world with an exaggerated notion of 
 his own acquirements, and with a notion yet more exaggerated 
 as to the kind of power that such knowledge as he possessed 
 would obtain for itself. As it was, when Mr. Dale broke to him 
 the news of the experimental journey before him, cautioning him 
 against being over-sanguine, Leonard received the intelligence 
 with a serious meekness, and thoughts that were nobly solemn. 
 
 When the door closed on his visitors,he remained for some mo- 
 ments motionless, and in deep meditation ; then he unclosed 
 the door and stole forth. The night was already far advanced, the 
 heavens were luminous with all the host of stars. "I think," said 
 the student, referring, in later life, to that crisis in his destiny 
 " I think it was then, as I stood alone, yet surrounded by worlds so 
 numberless, that I first felt the distinction between w/Wand soul,"
 
 250 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Tell me," said Riccabocca, as he parted company with Mr. 
 Dale, " whether you would have given to Frank Hazeldean, on 
 entering life, the same lecture on the limits and ends of knowl- 
 edge which you have bestowed on Leonard Fairfield ?-" 
 
 " My friend," quoth the Parson, with a touch of human conceit, 
 "|I have ridden on horseback, and I know that some horses should 
 be guided by the bridle, and some should be urged by the spur." 
 
 " Cospetto!" said Riccabocca, " you contrive to put every ex- 
 perience of yours to some use even your journey on Mr.Hazel- 
 dean'spad. And now I see why, in this little world of a village, 
 you have picked up so general an acquaintance with life." 
 
 " Did you ever read White's Natural History of Selbortie? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Do so, and you will find that you need not go far to learn 
 the habits of birds, and know the difference between a swallow 
 and a swift. Learn the difference in a village, and you know 
 the difference wherever swallows and swifts skim the air." 
 
 " Swallows and swifts 1 true : but men " 
 
 " Are with us all the year round which is more than we can 
 say of swallows and swifts." 
 
 " Mr. Dale," said Riccabocca, taking off his hat with great 
 formality, " if ever again I find myself in a dilemma, I will come 
 to you instead of to Machiavelli." 
 
 " Ah ! ". cried the Parson, " if I could but have a calm hour's 
 talk with you on the errors of the Papal relig " 
 
 Riccabocca was off like a shot. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE next day, Mr. Dale had a long conversation with Mrs. 
 Fairfield. At first, he found some difficulty in getting over her 
 pride, and inducing her to accept overtures from parents who 
 had so long slighted both Leonard and herself. And it would 
 have been in vain to have put before the good woman the 
 worldly advantages which such overtures implied. But when 
 Mr. Dale said, almost sternly, " Your parents are old, your father 
 infirm; their least wish should be as binding to you as their com- 
 mand," the widow bowed her head, and said = 
 
 " God bless them, sir, I was very sinful ' Honor your father 
 and mother.' I'm no scollard, but I know the Commandments. 
 Let Lenny go. But he'll soon forget me, and mayhap he'll 
 learn to be ashamed of me." 
 
 "There I will trust him," said the Parson ; and he contrived 
 easily to reassure and soothe her. 
 
 It was not till all this was settled that Mr. Dale drew forth
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 251 
 
 an unsealed letter which Mr. Richard Avenel, taking his hint, 
 had given to him as from Leonard's grandparents, and said 
 " This is for you, and it contains an enclosure of some value." 
 
 " Will you read it, sir? As I said before, I'm no scollard." 
 
 " But Leonard is, and he will read it to you." 
 
 When Leonard returned home that evening, Mrs. Fairfield 
 showed him the letter. It ran thus 
 
 " DEAR JANE, Mr. Dale will tell you that we wish Leonard 
 to come to us. We are glad to hear that you are well. We for- 
 ward, by Mr. Dale, a bank-note for ^50, which comes from 
 Richard, your brother. So no more at present from your affec- 
 tionate parents, JOHN AND MARGARET AVENEL." 
 
 The letter was in a stiff female scrawl, and Leonard observed 
 that two or three mistakes in spelling had been corrected, either 
 in another pen or in a different hand. 
 
 " Dear brother Dick, ,how good in him ! " cried the widow. 
 " When I saw there was money, I thought it must be him. How 
 I should like to see Dick again ! But I s'pose he's in Amerikay. 
 Well, well, this will buy clothes for you." 
 
 "No;youmustkeepitall,mother,andputitintheSavings Bank." 
 
 " I'm not quite so silly as that," cried Mrs. Fairfield, with 
 contempt ; and she put the fifty pounds into a cracked teapot. 
 
 " It must not stay there when I'm gone. You may be 
 robbed, mother." 
 
 " Dear me, dear me, that's true. What shall I do with it ? 
 what do I want with it, too ? Dear me, I wish they hadn't sent 
 it. I shan't sleep in peace. You must e'en put it in your pouch, 
 and button it up tight, boy." 
 
 Lenny smiled, and took the note ; but he gave it to Mr. Dale, 
 and begged him to put it into the Savings Bank for his mother. 
 
 The day following he went to take leave of his master, of Jack- 
 eymo, of the fountain, the garden. But after he had gone through 
 thefirstof these adieus, with Jackeymo who, poorman, indulged 
 in all the lively gesticulations of grief which make half the elo- 
 quence of his countrymen, and then, absolutely blubbering, hur- 
 ried away Leonard himself was so affected that he could not 
 proceed at once to the house, but stood beside the fountain, try- 
 ing hard to keep back his tears. 
 
 "You, Leonard and you are going! "said a soft voice; and the 
 tears fell faster than ever, for he recognized the voice of Viol-ante. 
 
 " Do not cry," continued the child, with a kind of tender 
 gravity. " You are going, but papa says it would be selfish in us 
 to grieve, for it is for your good ; and we should be glad. But I 
 am selfish, Leonard, and I do grieve. I shall miss you sadly."
 
 252 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " You, young lady you miss me ? " 
 
 " Yes. But I do not cry, Leonard, for I envy you, and I wish 
 I were a boy ; I wish I could do as you." 
 
 The girl clasped her hands, and reared her slight form, with 
 a kind of passionate dignity. 
 
 " Do as me, and part from all those you love ! " 
 
 " But to serve those you love. One day you will come back to 
 your mother's cottage, and say, ' I have conquered fortune.' O 
 that I could go forth and return, as you will ! But my father 
 has no country, and his only child is a useless girl." 
 
 As Violante spoke, Leonard had dried his tears ; her emotion 
 had distracted him from his own. 
 
 "Oh,"continuedViolante,againraisingher head loftily, "whatit 
 istobeaman! A womansighs'Iwish/butamanshouldsay'Iwill." " 
 
 Occasionallybefore Leonard had noted fitful flashestof anature 
 grand and heroic in the Italian child, especially of late flashes 
 the more remarkable from their contrast to a form most exqui- 
 sitely feminine, and to a sweetness of temper which made even 
 her pride gentle. But now it seemed as if the child spoke with 
 the command of a queen almost with the inspiration of aMuse. 
 A strange and new sense of courage entered within him. 
 
 " May I remember these words ! " he murmured, half audibly. 
 
 The girl turned and surveyed him with eyes brighter for their 
 moisture. She then extended her hand to him, with a quick move- 
 ment, and as he bent over it, with a grace taught to him by genuine 
 emotion, she said, " And if you do, then, girl and child as I am, shall 
 think I have aided a brave heart in the great strife for honor ! " 
 
 She lingered a moment, smiled as if to herself, and then r 
 gliding away, was lost among the trees. 
 
 .After a long pause, in which Leonard recovered slowly from 
 the surprise and agitation into which Violante had thrown his 
 spirits -previously excited as they were he went, murmuring 
 to himself, toward the house. But Riccabocca was from home. 
 Leonard turned mechanically to the terrace, and busied himself 
 with the flowers. But the dark eyes of Violante shone on his 
 thoughts, and her voice rang in his ear. 
 
 At length Riccabocca appeared on the road, attended by a 
 laborer, who carried something indistinct under his arm. 
 
 The Italian beckoned to Leonard to follow him into the par- 
 lor, and after conversing with him kindly, and at some length, 
 and packing up, as it were a considerable provision of wisdom 
 in the portable shape of aphorisms and proverbs, the sage left 
 him alone for a few moments. Riccabocca then returned wit* 
 his wife, and bearing a small knapsack:
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 253 
 
 " It is not much we can do for you, Leonard, and money is 
 the worst gift in the world for a keepsake ; but my wife and I 
 have put our heads together to furnish you with a little outfit. 
 Giacomo, who was in our secret, assures us that the clothes will 
 fit; and stole, I fancy, a coat of yours, to have the right measure. 
 Put them on when you go to your relations : it is astonishing 
 what a difference it makes in the ideas people form of us, ac- 
 cording as our coats are cut one way or another. I should not 
 be presentable in London thus; and nothing is more true than 
 that a tailor is often the making of a man." 
 
 " The shirts, too, are very good holland," said Mrs. Ricca- 
 bocca, about to open the knapsack. 
 
 " Never mind details, my dear," cried the wise man; " shirts 
 are comprehended in the general principle of clothes. And, 
 Leonardos a remembrance somewhat morepersonal,accept this, 
 which I have worn many a year -when time was a thing of im- 
 portance to me, and nobler fates than mine hung on a moment. 
 We missed the moment, or abused it ; and here I am, a waif on 
 a foreign shore. Methinks I have done with Time." 
 
 The exile, as he thus spoke, placed in Leonard's ' reluctant 
 hands" a watch that would have delighted an antiquary, and 
 shocked a dandy. It was exceedingly thick, having an outer 
 case of enamel, and an inner one of gold. The hands and the 
 figures of the hours had originally been formed of brilliants; 
 but the brilliants had long since vanished. Still, even thus be- 
 reft, the watch was much more in character with the giver than 
 the receiver, and was as little suited to Leonard as would have 
 been the red silk umbrella. 
 
 "It is old-fashioned," said Mrs. Riccabocca; " but it goes 
 better than any clock in the county. I really think it will la$t 
 to the end of the world." 
 
 " Carissima mia /" cried the Doctor, "I thought I had con- 
 vinced you that the world is by no means come to its last legs." 
 
 " Oh, I did not mean anything, Alphonso," said Mrs. Ricca- 
 bocca, coloring. 
 
 " And that is all we do mean when we talk about that of which 
 wecan know nothing/'saidtheDoctor, less gallantly than usual, for 
 he resented thatepithetof "old : fashioned, "as applieditothewatch. 
 
 Leonard, we see, had been silent all this time; he could not 
 speak literally and truly, he could not speak. How he got 
 out of his embarrassment, and how he got out of the room, he 
 never explained to my satisfaction; but, a few; minutes after- 
 ward, he was seen Hurrying down the road very briskly. 
 
 Riccabocca and his wife stood at the window gazing after him.
 
 254 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 " There is a depth in that boy's heart," said the sage, " which 
 might float an Argosy." 
 
 " Poor dear boy ! I think we have put everything into the 
 knapsack that he can possibly want," said good Mrs. Ricca- 
 bocca, musingly. 
 
 The DOCTOR (continuing his soliloquy). They are strong, 
 but not immediately apparent. 
 
 MRS. RICCABOCCA (resuming hers). They are at the bottom 
 of the knapsack. 
 
 The DOCTOR. They will stand long wear and tear. 
 
 MRS. RICCABOCCA. Ayear,atleast,!withpropercareatthewash. 
 
 The DOCTOR (startled). Care at the wash ! What on earth 
 are you talking. of, ma'am ? 
 
 MRS. RICCABOCCA (mildly). The shirts, to be sure, my love! 
 And you ? 
 
 The DOCTOR (withaheavysigh). Thefeelings,ma'am! [Then, 
 after a pause, taking his wife's hand affectionately] But you 
 did quite right to think of the shirts; Mr. Dale said very truly 
 
 MRS. RICCABOCCA. What? 
 
 The DOCTOR. That there was a great deal in common be- 
 tween us even when I think of feelings, and you but of shirts! 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 MR. and Mrs. Avenel sat within the parlor Mr. Richard 
 stood on the hearth-rug, whistling Yankee Doodle. " The Par- 
 son writes word that the lad will come to-day," said Richard, 
 suddenly " let me see the letter ay, to-day. If he took the 
 
 coach as far as , he might walk the- rest of the way in. two or 
 
 three hours. He should be pretty nearly here. I have a great 
 mind to go and meet him ; it will save his asking question?, and 
 hearing about me. I can clear the town by the back w,ay, and 
 get out at the high-road." 
 
 "You'll not know him from any one else," said Mrs. Avenel. 
 
 " Well, that is a good one ! Not know an Avenel ! We've 
 all the same cut of the jib have not we, father ?" 
 
 Poor John laughed heartily, till the tears rolled down his Cheeks. 
 
 " We were always a well-favored fam'ly," said John, recompos- 
 inghimself. " There was Luke, but he's gone ; andHarry,but 
 he's dead too ; and Dick, but he's in Amerikay - no, he's here ; 
 and my darling Nora, but " 
 
 "Hush ! " interrupted Mrs. Avenel ; "hush, John ! " 
 
 The old man stared at her, and then put his tremulous hand 
 to his brow. "And Nora's gone top ! " said he, in a voice of
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 255 
 
 profound woe. Both hands then fell on his knees, and his head 
 drooped on- his breast. 
 
 Mrs. Avenel rose, kissed her husband on the forehead, and 
 walked away to the window. Richard: took up his hat r and brushed 
 the nap carefully with his handkerchief; but his lips quivered. 
 
 " I'm going," said he abruptly. " Never mind, mother, not a 
 word about Uncle Richard yet ; we must first see how we like 
 each other, and," in a low whisper, " you'll try and get that into 
 my poor father's head ? " 
 
 " Ay, Richard," said Mrs. Avenel, quietly. Richard put on 
 his hat and went out by the back way. He stole along the fields 
 that skirted the town, and had only once to cross the street be- 
 fore he got into the high-road. 
 
 He walked on till he came to the first milestone. There he 
 seated himself,lighte.d his cigar.and awaited his nephew. It was 
 now nearly the hour of sunset, and the road before him lay west- 
 ward. Richard, from time to time, looked along the road, 
 shading his eyes with his hand ; .and at length, just as the disc 
 of the sun had half sunk down the horizon, a solitary figure came 
 up the way. It emerged suddenly from the turn in the road ; 
 the reddening beams colored all the atmosphere around it. 
 Solitary and silent, it came as from a Land of Light. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 "You have been walking far, young man?" said Richard Avenel. 
 
 " No, sir, not very. That is Lansmere before me, is it not?" 
 
 " Yes, it is Lansmere ; you stop there, I guess ? " 
 
 Leonard made. a sign in the affirmative, and walked on a few 
 paces ; then, seeing the stranger who had accosted him still by 
 his side, he said 
 
 " If you know the town, sir, perhaps you will have the good- 
 ness to tell me whereabouts Mr. Avenel lives ? " 
 
 " I can put you into a straight cut across the fields, that will 
 bring you just behind the house." 
 
 " You are very kind,, but it will take you out of your way." 
 
 " No, it is in my way. So you are going to Mr. Aven'el's ? 
 a good old gentleman." 
 
 " I've. always heard so ; and Mrs.. : Avenel " 
 
 " A particular superior woman," said Richard. "Any one 
 else to ask after ? I know the family well." 
 
 " No, thank you, sir." 
 
 " They have a son, I believe ; but he's in America, is not he ?" 
 
 "J believe he is, sir."
 
 256 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 ' V.I see the Parson has kept faith with me," muttered Richard. 
 
 " If you can tell me anything about him" said Leonard, " I 
 should be very glad." 
 
 " Why so, young man ? perhaps he is hanged by this time." 
 
 " Hanged ! " 
 
 u He was a sad dog, I am told." 
 
 "Then you have been told very falsely," said Leonard, coloring. 
 
 <; A sad wild dog his parents were so glad when he cut and 
 rim went off to the States. They say he made money; but, 
 if so, he neglected his relations shamefully." 
 
 " Sir," said Leonard, " you are wholly misinformed. He has 
 been most generous to a relation who has little claim on him; 
 and I never heard his namementioned but with love and praise." 
 
 Richard instantly fell to whistling Yankee Doodle, and walked 
 on several paces without saying a word. He then made a slight 
 apology for his impertinence hoped no offence and, with his 
 usual bold but astute style of talk, contrived to bring out some- 
 thing of his companion's mind. He was evidently struck with 
 clearness and propriety with which Leonard expressed himself, 
 raised his eyebrows in surprise more than once, and looked him 
 full in the face with an attentive arid-pleased survey. Leonard 
 had put on the new clothes with which Riceabocca arrd wife had 
 provided him. They were those appropriate to a young country 
 tradesman in good circumstances; but as Leonard did not think 
 about the clothes, so he had unconsciously something of the 
 ease of the gentleman. 
 
 They now came into the fields. Leonard paused before a slip 
 of ground sown with rye. 
 
 " I should have thought grass land would have answered 
 better, so near a town," said he. 
 
 " No doubt it would," answered Richard; " but they are sadly 
 behindhand in these parts. You see the great park yonder, on 
 the other side of the road ? That would answer better for rye 
 than grass ; but then, what would become of my Lord's deer ? 
 The aristocracy eat us up, young man." 
 
 " But the aristocracy did not sow this piece with rye, I sup- 
 pose ! " said Leonard, smiling. 
 
 " And what do you conclude from that ? " 
 
 " Let every man look to his own ground," said Leonard, with 
 a cleverness of repartee caught from Dr. Riceabocca. 
 
 " 'Cute lad you are/' said Richard; "and we'll talk more ef 
 these matters another time." 
 
 They now came within sight of Mr. Avenel's house.. 
 
 " You can get through the gap in the hedge, by the old pol-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 257 
 
 lard oak," said Richard, " and come round by the front, of the 
 house. Why, you're not afraid are you ?" 
 " I am a stranger." 
 
 "Shall I introduce you? I told you that I knew the old couple." 
 " Oh no, sir ! I would rather meet them alone." 
 "Go; and wait a bit harkye, young man, Mrs. Avenel is 
 a cold-mannered woman ; but don't be abashed by that." 
 
 Leonard thanked the good-natured stranger, crossed the field, 
 passed the gap, and paused a moment under the stinted shade 
 of the old hollow-hearted oak. The ravens were returning to 
 their nests. At the sight of a human form under the tree, they 
 wheeled round, and watched him from afar. From the thick 
 of the boughs, the young ravens sent their hoarse low cry. * 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE young man entered the neat, prim, formal parlor. 
 
 ** You are welcome ! " said Mrs. Avenel, in a firm voice. 
 
 " The gentleman is heartily welcome," cried poor John. 
 
 " It is 3 r our grandson, Leonard Fairfield," said Mrs. Avenel. 
 
 But John, who had risen with knocking knees, gazed hard at 
 Leonard, and then fell on his breast, sobbing aloud " Nora's 
 eyes ! he has a blink in his eye like Nora's." 
 
 Mrs. Avenel approached with a steady step, and drew away 
 the old man tenderly. 
 
 "He is a poor creature," she whispered ta Leonard " you 
 excite him. Come away, I will show you your jroom." 
 
 Leonard followed her up the stairs, and came into a room 
 neatly, and even prettily, furnished. The carpet and curtains 
 were faded by the sun, and of old-fashioned pattern; there was 
 a look about the room as if it had been long disused. 
 
 Mrs. Avenel sank down on the first chair on entering. 
 
 Leonard drew his arm round her waist affectionately. " I 
 fear that I have put you out sadly my dear. grandmother." 
 
 Mrs. Avenel glided hastily from his arm, and her countenance 
 worked much every nerve in it twitching, as it .were ; then, 
 placing her hand on his locks, she said with passion, " Goc} bless 
 you, my grandson," and left the room. 
 
 Leonard dropped his knapsack'on the floor, and lookedaround 
 him wistfully. The room seemed as if it had once been occupied 
 by a female. There was a workrbox on the chest of drawers, and 
 over it hanging shelves for books, suspended by ribbons that had 
 
 * It so rarely happens that ravens are found to build near a dwelling-house, that it is per- 
 haps necessary to observe that the instance here referred to is^founded on a fact stated to the 
 author on good authority.
 
 258 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 once been blue, with silk and fringe appended to each shelf, and 
 knots and tassels here and there the taste of a woman, or rather 
 of a girl, who seeks to give a grace to the commonest things 
 around her. With the mechanical habits of a student, Leonard 
 took down one or two of the volumes still left on the shelves. 
 He found SPENSER'S Fairy Queen, RACINE in French, TASSO in 
 Italian ; andon thefly-leaf of each volume, in theexquisitehand- 
 writing familiar to his memory, the name " Leonora." He kissed 
 the books, and replaced them with a feeling akin both to tender- 
 ness and awe. 
 
 He had not been alone in the room more than a quarter of an 
 hour, before the maid-servant knocked at his door and sum- 
 moned him to tea. 
 
 Poor John had recovered his spirits, and his wife sat by his 
 side holding his hand m hers. Poor John was even gay. He 
 asked many questions about his daughter Jane, and did not wait 
 for the answers. Then he spoke about the Squire, whom he con- 
 founded with Audley Egerton, and talked of elections and the 
 Blue party, and hoped Leonard would always be a good Blue ; 
 and then he fell to his tea and toast, and said no more. 
 
 Mrs. Avenel spoke little, but she eyed Leonard askant, as it 
 were, from time to time ; and, after each glance, the nerves of 
 the poor severe face twitched again. 
 
 A little after nine o'clock, Mrs. Avenel lighted a candle, and 
 placing it in Leonard's hand, said, " You must be tired you 
 know your own room now. Good-night." 
 
 Leonard took the light, and, as was .his wont with his mother, 
 kissed Mrs. Avenel on the cheek. Then he look John's hand.and 
 kissed him too. The old man was half asleep, and murmured 
 dreamily, " That's Nora." 
 
 Leonard had retired to his room about half an hour, when 
 Richard Avenel entered the house softly, and joined his parents. 
 
 " Well, mother ? " said he. 
 
 " Well, Richard ) r ou have seen him?" 
 
 'And like him. Do you know, he has a great look of poor 
 Nora ? more like her than Jane." 
 
 " Yes; he is handsomer than Jane ever was, but more like your 
 fatherthananyone. Johnwassocomely. You taketotheboy, then!" 
 
 " Ay, that I do. Just tell him in the morning that he is to go 
 with a gentlemen who will be his friend, and don't say more. 
 The chaise shall be at the door after breakfast. Let him get 
 into it ; I shall wait for him out of the town. What's the room 
 you gave him ? " 
 
 " The room you would not take."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 259 
 
 " The room in which Nora slept ? Oh no ! I could not have 
 slept a wink there. What a charm there was in that girl how 
 we all loved her ! But she was too beautiful and good for us 
 too good to live ! " 
 
 " None of us are too good," said Mrs. A vend, with great 
 austerity," and I beg you will not talk in that way. Good night 
 I must get your poor father to bed." 
 
 When Leonard opened his eyes the next morning, they rested 
 on the face of Mrs. Avenel, which was bending over his pillow. 
 But it was long before he could recognize that countenance, so 
 changed was its expression so tender, so mother-like. Nay, 
 the face of his own mother had never seemed to him so: soft 
 with a mother's passion. 
 
 " Ah ! " he murmured, half rising and flinging his young arms 
 around her neck. Mrs. Avenel, this time taken by, surprise, 
 warmly returned the embrace ; she clasped him to her breast, 
 she kissed him again and again. At length, with a quick start, 
 she escaped, and walked up and down the room, pressing her 
 hands tightly together. When she halted, her face had recovered 
 its usual severity and cold precision. 
 
 " It is time for you to rise, Leonard," said she. " You will 
 leave us to-day. A gentleman has promised to take charge of 
 you, and do for you more than we can. A chaise jvill be at the 
 door soon make haste." 
 
 John was absent from the breakfast-table; His wife said that 
 he never rose till late, and must not be disturbed. 
 
 The meal was scarcely over before a chaise and pair came to 
 the door. 
 
 " You must not keep the chaise waiting the gentleman is 
 very punctual." 
 
 " But he is not come." 
 
 " No ; he has walked on before, and will get in after you are 
 out of the town." 
 
 "Whatishisname, and why shouldhe care forme, grandmother?" 
 
 " He will tell you himself. Be quick." 
 
 "But you will bless meagain,grandmother. I love you already." 
 
 " I do bless you," said Mrs. Avenel, firmly. " Be honest and 
 good, and beware of the first false step." She pressed his hand 
 with a convulsive grasp, and led him to the outer door. . 
 
 The postboy clanked his whip, the chaise rattled off. Leonard 
 put his head out of the window to catch a last glimpse of the aid 
 woman; but the boughs of the pollard oak, and its gnarled 
 decaying trunk, hid her from his eye ; and look as he would, 
 till the road turned, he saw but the melancholy tree.
 
 260 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 BOOK FIFTH. INITIAL CHAPTER. 
 
 CONTAINING MR.C AXTON's UNA VAILING CAUTION NOT TO BE DULL. 
 
 " I HOPE, Pisistratus," said my father, " that you do not intend 
 to be dull ?" 
 
 " Heaven forbid, sir ! What could make you ask such a ques- 
 tion ? Intend! No ! if I am dull, it is from innocence." 
 
 " A very long discourse upon knowledge ! " said my father; 
 " very long. I should cut it out ! " 
 
 I looked upon my father as a Byzantian sage might have looked 
 on a Vandal. " Cut it out! "' 
 
 " Stops the action, sir ! " said my father, dogmatically. 
 
 " Action ! But a novel is not a drama." 
 
 " No, it is a great deal longer twenty times as long, I dare 
 say," replied Mr. Caxton, with a sigh. 
 
 " Well, sir well ! I think my Discourse upon Knowledge has 
 much to do with the subject ris vitally essential to the subject; 
 does not stop the action only explains and elucidates the ac- 
 tion. And I am astonished, sir, that you, a scholar, and a cul- 
 tivator of knowledge " 
 
 " There there ! " cried my father, deprecatingly. " I yield 
 I yield. What better could I expect when I set up for a critic! 
 What author ever lived that did not fly into a passion, even with 
 his own father, if his father presumed to say-' Cut out ! ' ' 
 
 MRS. CAXTON. -My dear Austin,! am sure Pisistratus did not 
 mean to offend vou, and I have no doubt he will take your 
 
 PISISTRATUS (hastily). Advice for the future, certainly. I 
 will quicken the action, and * 
 
 " Go on with the Novel," whispered Roland, looking up from 
 his eternal account book. " We have lost ^200 by our barley!" 
 
 Therewith I plijnged my pen into the ink, and my thoughts 
 into the " Fair Shadow-land." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 "HALT!" cried a voice: and not a little surprised was 
 Leonard when the stranger who had accosted him the preced- 
 ing evening got into the chaise. 
 
 " Well," said Richard, " I am not the sort of man you expect- 
 ed, eh? Take time to recover yourself." And with these words 
 Richard drew forth a book from his pocket, threw himself back, 
 .and began to read. Leonard stole many a glance at the acute, 
 hardy, handsome face of his companion, and. gradually recog- 
 nized a family likeness to poor John, in whom, despite age : and
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 261 
 
 infirmity, the traces of no common share of physical beauty were 
 still evident. And, with that quick link in ideas which mathe- 
 matical aptitude bestows, the young student at once conjectured 
 that he saw before him his uncle Richard. He had the discre- 
 tion, however, to leave that gentleman free to choose his own 
 time for introducing "himself, and silently revolved the new 
 thoughts produced by the novelty of his situation. Mr. Rich- 
 ard read with notable quickness sometimes cutting the leaves 
 of the book with his penknife, sometimes tearing them open with 
 his four fingers, sometimes skipping whole pages altogether. 
 Thus he galloped to the end of the volume flung it aside 
 lighted his cigar, and began to talk. 
 
 He put many questions to Leonard relative to his rearing, and 
 especially to the mode by which he had acquired his education ; 
 and Leonard, confirmed in the idea that he was replying to a 
 kinsman, answered frankly. 
 
 Richard did not think it strange that Leonard should have 
 acquired so much instruction with so little direct tuition. Rich- 
 ard Avenel himself had been tutor to himself. He had lived 
 too longjwith our go-ahead brethren, who Stride the world on the 
 other side of the Atlantic with the seven-leagued boots of the 
 Giant-killer, not to have caught their glorious fever for reading. 
 But it was for a reading wholly different from that which was 
 familiar to Leonard. The books he read must be new; to read old 
 books would have seemed to him going back in the world. He 
 fancied that new books necessarily contained new ideas a com-, 
 mon mistake and our lucky adventurer was the man of his day. 
 
 Tired with talking, he at length chucked the book he had run 
 through to Leonard, and, taking out a pocket-book and pencil, 
 amused himself with calculations on some detail of his busi- 
 ness, after which he fell into an absorbed train of thought-^- 
 part pecuniary, part ambitious. 
 
 Leonard found the book interesting ; it was one of the nu- 
 merous works, half statistic, half declamatory, relating to the 
 condition of the working-classes, which peculiarly distinguish 
 our century, and ought to bind together rich and poor, by prov- 
 ing the grave attention which modern society bestows upon all 
 that can affect the welfare of the last. 
 
 " Dull stuff theory claptrap/'said Richard, rousing himself 
 from his reverie at last ; " it can't interest you." 
 
 "All books interest me, I think," said Leonard, "and this es- 
 pecially; for it relates to the working-class, and I am one of them." 
 
 "You were yesterday, but you mayn't be to-morrow," an- 
 swered Richard good-humor'edly, and patting him on the shoul-
 
 262 MY HOVEL ; OR, 
 
 fler. " You see, my lad, that it is the middle-class which ought 
 to govern the country. What the book says about the ignorance 
 of country magistrates is very good ; but the man writes pretty 
 considerable trash when he wants to regulate the number of 
 hours a free-born boy should work at a factory only ten hours 
 a day ^pooh ! and so lose two hours to -the nation ! Labor is 
 wealth: and if we could get men to work twenty-four hours a day, 
 we should be just twice as rich. If the march of civilization 
 is to proceed," continued Richard, loftily, "men, and boys too, 
 must not lie abed doing nothing all night, sir." Then, with a com- 
 placent tone "We shall get to the twenty -four hours at last ; and, 
 by gad, we must, or we shan't flog the Europeans as we do now." 
 
 On arriving at the inn at which Richard had first made ac- 
 quaintance with Mr. Dale, the coach by which he had intended 
 to perform the rest of the journey was found to be full. Rich- 
 ard continued to perform the journey in post-chaises, not with- 
 out some grumbling at the expense, and incessant orders to the 
 post-boys to make the best of their way. "Slow country this, in 
 spite of all its brag,"said he "very slow. Time is money they 
 know that in the States; for why, they are all men of business 
 there. Always slow in a country where a parcel of lazy, idle 
 lords, and dukes, and baronets, seem to think 'time is pleasure.' ' 
 
 Toward evening the chaise, approached the confines of a very 
 large town, and Richard began to grow fidgety. His easy, cav- 
 alier air was abandoned. He withdrew his legs from the win- 
 dow, out of which they had been luxurioiisly dangling ; pulled 
 down his waistcoat; buckled more tightly his stock; it was clear 
 .that he was resuming the decorous dignity that belongs to state. 
 He was like a monarch, who, after travelling happy and incog- 
 nito, returns to his capital. Leonard divined at once that they 
 were nearing their journey's end. 
 
 Humble foot-passengers now looked at the chaise, and touched 
 their hats. Richard returned the salutation with a nod a nod less 
 gracious than condescending. The chaise turned rapidly to the 
 left,and stopped before(asmalllodge,very new, very white,adorned 
 with two Doric columns in stucco, andflanked by a large pair of 
 gates. " Hollo ! " cried the post-boy, and cracked his whip. 
 
 Two children were playing before the lodge, and some clothes 
 were hanging out to dry on the shrubs and pales round the neat 
 little building. 
 
 " Hang those brats ! they are actually playing," growled 
 Dick. "As Hive, the jade has been washing again! Stop, boy." 
 During this soliloquy, a good-looking young woman had rushed 
 from the door t-slapped the children as, catching sight of tV-*
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 263 
 
 chaise.theyran toward the house opened the gates,anddropping 
 a curtsey to the ground, seemed to wish that she could drop into 
 it altogether, so frightened and so trembling seemed she to shrink 
 from the wrathfulf ace which the master now put out of the window. 
 
 " Did I tell you, or did I not," said Dick, " that I would not 
 have those horrid, disreputable cubs of yours playing just be- 
 fore my lodge-gates ? " 
 
 " Please, sir- " 
 
 " Don't answer me. And did I tell you, or did I not, that the 
 next time I saw you making a drying-ground of my lilacs, you 
 should go out, neck and crop" 
 
 "Oh, please, sir " 
 
 "You leave my lodge next Saturday ! 'drive on, boy. The 
 ingratitude and insolence of those common people are disgrace- 
 ful to human nature," muttered Richard, with an accent of the 
 bitterest misanthropy. 
 
 The chaise wheeled along the smoothest and freshest of gravel 
 roads, and through fields of the finest land, in the highest state 
 of cultivation. Rapid as was Leonard's survey, his rural eye de- 
 tected the signs of a master in the art agronomial. Hitherto 
 he had considered the Squire's model farm as the nearest ap- 
 proach to good husbandry he had seen; for Jackeymo's finer 
 skill was developed rather on the minute scale of market-garden- 
 ing than what can fairly be called husbandry. But the Squire's 
 farm was degraded by many old-fashioned notions, and conces- 
 sions to the whim of the eye, which would not be found in model 
 farms now-a-days- large tangled hedgerows, which, though they 
 constitute one of the beauties most picturesque in old England, 
 make sad deductions from produce; great trees, overshadowing 
 the corn, and harboring the birds; little patches of rough sward 
 left to waste} and angles of \yoodland running into fields, ex- 
 posing them to rabbits, and blocking out the sun, these and 
 such-like blots on a gentleman-farmer's agriculture, common- 
 sense and Giacomo had made clear to the acute comprehension 
 of Leonard. No such faults were perceptible in Richard Ave- 
 nel's domain. The fields lay in broad divisions, the hedges were 
 clipped and narrowed into their proper destination of mere 
 boundaries. Not a blade of wheat withered under the cold shade 
 of a tree; not a yard of land lay waste; not a weed was to be seen, 
 not a thistle to waft its baleful seed through the air; some young 
 plantations were placed, not where the artist would put them, but 
 just where the farmer wanted a fence from the wind. Was there no 
 beauty in this? Yes, there was ; beauty of its kind beauty at once 
 recognizable to the initiated-- beauty of use and profit beauty
 
 64 MY NOVEL ; OR 
 
 that could bear a monstrous high rent. And Leonard uttered a cry 
 of admiration which thrilled through the heart of Richard Avenel. 
 
 "This is farming ! " said the villager. 
 
 " Wellj I guess it is," answered Richard, all his ill-humor van- 
 ishing. " You should have seen the land when I bought it. 
 But we new men, as they call us (damn their impertinence) 
 are the new blood of this country." 
 
 Richard Avenel never said anything more true. Long may 
 the new blood circulate through the veins of the mighty giantess; 
 but let the grand heart be the same as it has beat for proud ages. 
 
 The chaise now passed through a pretty shrubbery, and the 
 house came into gradual view a house with a portico all 
 the offices carefully thrust out of sight. 
 
 The post-boy dismounted, and rang the bell. 
 
 " I almost think they are going to keep me waiting," said Mr. 
 Richard, well-nigh in the very words of Louis XIV. 
 
 But that fear was not realized the door opened ; a well-fed 
 servant out of livery presented himself. There was no hearty 
 welcoming smile -on his face, but he opened the chaise-door 
 with demure and taciturn respect. 
 
 " Where's George ? why does not he come to the door ? " 
 askeid Richard, descending from the chaise slowly, and leaning 
 on the. servant's outstretched arm with as much precaution as 
 if he had had the gout. 
 
 Fortunately George here came into sight, settling himself 
 hastily into his livery-coat. 
 
 " See to the things, both of you," said Richard, as he paid 
 the post-boy. 
 
 Leonard stood on the gravel sweep, gazing at the square 
 white house. 
 
 " Handsome elevation classical, I take it eh ? " said Rich- 
 ard, joining him. " But you should see the offices." 
 
 He then, with familiar kindness, took Leonard by the arm, 
 and drew him within. He showed him the hall, with a carved 
 mahogany stand for hats -, he showed him the drawing-room, 
 and pointed out all its beauties though it was summer, tlve 
 drawing-room looked cold, as will look rooms newly furnished, 
 with walls newly papered, in houses newly built. The furniture 
 was handsome, and suited to the rank of a rich trader. There 
 was no pretense about it, and therefore no vulgarity, which is 
 more than can be said for the houses of many ah honorable Mrs. 
 Somebody in Mayfair, with rooms twelve feet square, chokeful 
 of buhl, that would have had its proper place in the Tuileries t 
 Then Richard showed him the library,Avith 'mahogany book'
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 265 
 
 cases and plate-glass, and the fashionable authors handsomely 
 bound. Your new men are much better friends to living authors 
 than your old families who live in the country, and at most sub- 
 scribe to a book-club. Then Richard took him upstairs, and 
 led him through the bed-rooms-; all very clean and comforta- 
 ble, and wjth every modern convenience ; and, pausing in a 
 very pretty single-gentleman's chamber, said, " This is your den. 
 And now, can you guess who I am ? " 
 
 " No one but my uncle Richard could be so kind," answered 
 Leonard. 
 
 But the compliment did not flatter Richard. He was ex- 
 tremely disconcerted and disappointed. He had hoped that he 
 should be taken for a lord at least, forgetful of all that he had 
 said in,, disparagement of lords. 
 
 " Pish ! " said he at last, biting his lip " so you don't think 
 that I look like a gentleman ? Come, now, speak honestly." 
 
 Leonard, wonderingly, saw he had given pain, and, with the 
 good-breeding which comes instinctively from good-nature, re- 
 plied" I judge you by your heart, sir, and your likeness to my 
 grandfather otherwise I should never have presumed to fancy 
 we could be relations." 
 
 " Hum ! " answered Richard. " You can just wash your 
 hands, and then come down to dinner ; you will hear the gong 
 in ten minutes. There's the bell ring for what you want." 
 
 With that he turned on his heel ; and, descending the stairs, 
 gave a look into the dining-room, and admired the plated silver 
 on the sideboard, and the king's-pattern spoons and forks on the 
 table. Then he walked to the looking-glass over the mantel- 
 piece ; and, wishing to survey the whole effect of his form, 
 mounted a chair. He was just getting into an attitude which 
 be thought imposing, when the butler entered, and, being Lon- 
 don bred, had the discretion to try to escape unseen ; but Rich- 
 ard caught sight of him in the looking-glass, and colored up to 
 the temples. 
 
 " Jarvis," said he, mildly " Jarvis, put me in mind to have 
 these inexpressibles altered.". 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 APROPOS of the inexpressibles, Mr. Richard did not forget to 
 provide his nephew with a much larger wardrobe than could 
 have been thrust into Dr. Riccabocca's knapsack. There was 
 a very good tailor in the town, and the clothes were very well 
 made. And, but for an air more ingenuous, and a cheek that, 
 despite study and night vigils, retained much of the sunburnt
 
 266 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 bloom of the rustic, Leonard Fairfield might now have almost 
 passed, without disparaging comment, by the bow-window at 
 White's. Richard burst into an immoderate fit of laughter when 
 he first saw the watch which the poor Italian had bestowed 
 upon Leonard ; but, to atone for the laughter, he made him 
 a present of a very pretty substitute, and bade him "lock up his 
 turnip." Leonard was more hurt by the jeer at his old patron's 
 gift than pleased by his uncle's. But Richard Avenel had no 
 conception of sentiment. It was not for many days that Leon- 
 ard could reconcile himself to his uncle's manner. Not that the 
 peasant could pretend to judge of its mere conventional de- 
 fects but there is an ill-breeding to which,whatever our rank and 
 nurture, we are almost equally sensitive the ill-breeding that 
 comes from want of consideration for others. Now, the Squire 
 was as homely in his way as Richard Avenel, but the Squire's 
 bluntness rarely hurt the feelings; and when it did so, the Squire 
 perceived and hastened to repair his blunder. But Mr. Rich- 
 ard, whether kind or cross, was always wounding you in some 
 little delicate fibre not from malice, but from the absence of 
 any little delicate fibres of his own. He was really, in many re 
 spects, a most excellent man, and certainly a very valuable citi- 
 zen. But his merits wanted the fine tints and fluent curves that 
 constitute beauty of character. He was honest, 'but sharp in 
 his practice, and with a keen eye to his interests. He was just, 
 but as a matter of business. He made no allowances, and did 
 not leave to his justice the large margin of tenderness alid mercy. 
 He was generous, but rather from an idea of what was due to 
 himself than with much thought of the pleasure he'gave to 
 others ; and he even regarded generosity as a capital put out to 
 interest. He expected a great deal of gratitude in return, and, 
 when he obliged a man, considered that he had bought a slave. 
 Every needy voter knew where to come, if he wanted relief or a 
 loan ; but woe to him if he had ventured to express hesitation 
 when Mr. Avenel told him how he must vote. 
 
 In this town Richard had settled after his return from 
 America, in which country he had enriched himself -first, by 
 spirit and industry lastly, by bold speculation and good luck. 
 He invested his fortune in business became a partner in a large 
 brewery soon bought out his associates 1 and then took a prin- 
 cipal share in a flourishing corn-mill. He prospered rapidly- 
 bought a property of some two or three hundred acres, built a 
 house, and resolved to enjoy himself, and make a figure. He 
 had now became the leading man of the town, and the boast to 
 Audley Egerton that he could return one of the members, per-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 2&J 
 
 haps both, was by no means an exaggerated estimate of his power. 
 Nor was his proposition, according to his own views, so unprin- 
 cipled as it appeared to the statesman. He had taken a great 
 dislike to both the sitting members a dislike natural toa sensible 
 man of moderate politics, who had something to lose. For Mr. 
 Slappe, the active member who was head-over-ears in debt 
 was one of the furious democrats rare before the Reform Bill 
 and whose opinions were held dangerous even by the mass of a 
 liberal constituency; while Mr. Sleekie, the gentleman member, , 
 who laid by ^5000 every year from his dividends in the Funds, 
 was one of those men whom Richard justly pronounced to be 
 " humbugs "men who curry favor with the extreme party by 
 voting for measures sure not to be carried ; while, if there was 
 the least probability of coming to a decision that would lower 
 the money-market, Mr. Sleekie was seized with a well-timed in- 
 fluenza. Those politicians are common enough now. Propose 
 to march to the Millenium, and they are your men. Ask them to 
 march a quarter of a mile, and they fall to feeling their pockets, 
 and trembling for fear of the footpads. They are never so joyful 
 as when there is no chance of a victory. Did they beat the min- 
 ister, they would be carried out of the House in a fit. 
 
 Richard Avenel despising both these gentlemen, and not tak^ 
 ing kindly to the Whigs since the great Whig leaders were lords 
 had looked with a friendly eye to the Government as it then 
 existed, and especially to Audley Egerton, the enlightened 
 representative of commerce. But in giving Audley and his col- 
 leaguesthebenefit of his influence, through conscience, hethought 
 it all fair and right to have a quid pro guo, and, as he had so 
 frankly confessed, it was his whirrr to rise up "- Sir Richard." 
 For this worthy citizen abused the aristocracy much on the same 
 principle as the fair Olivia depreciated Squire Thorn hiH-'-he 
 had a sneaking affection for what he abused. The society of 
 Screwstown was, like most provincial capitals > composed of two 
 classes the commercial and the exclusive.' These last dwelt 
 chiefly apart, around the ruins of an old abbey ; they affected 
 its antiquity in their pedigrees, and had much of its ruin in their 
 finances. Widows of rural thanes in the neighborhood gen- 
 teel spinsters officers retired on half-pay -younger sons of rich 
 squires, who had now become old bachelors-^-in short, a very 
 respectable, proud, aristocratic set who thought more of them- 
 selves than do al'l the Gowers and Howards, Courtenays and 
 Seymours put together. It had early been the ambition of Richard 
 Avenel to be admitted into this sublime coterie ; and, strange 
 to say, he had partially succeeded. He was never more happy
 
 268 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 than when he was asked to their card-parties, and never more 
 u-nhappythan when he was actually there. Variouscircumstances 
 combined to raise Mr. Avenel into this elevated society. First, 
 he was unmarried, still very handsome, and in that society there 
 was a large proportion of unwedded females. Secondly, he was 
 the only rich trader in Screwstown who kept a good cook, and 
 professed to give dinners, and the half-pay captains and colonels 
 swallowed the host for the sake of the venison. Thirdly, and 
 principally, all these exclusives abhorred the two sitting mem- 
 bers, and idem nolle idem velle de republicd, ea fir ma ami c Hie 
 esf; that is, congeniality in politics pieces porcelain and crock- 
 ery together better than the best diamond cement. The sturdy 
 Richard Avenel- who valued himself on America independence 
 held these ladies and gentlemen in an awe that was truly Brah- 
 minical. Whether it was that, in .England, all notions, even of 
 liberty, are mixed up historically, traditionally, socially, with 
 that fine and subtle element of ariistocracy which, like the press, 
 is the air we breathe ; or whether Richard imagined that he 
 really became magnetically imbued with the virtuesof these-silver 
 pennies and gold seven-shilling pieces, distinct from the vulgar 
 coinage in popular use, it is hard to say. But the truth must be 
 told Richard Avenel was a notable tuft-hunter. He had a great 
 longing to marry out of this society, but he had not yet seen any 
 onefeufficiently high-born and high-bred tO: satisfy his aspirations. 
 In the meanwhile, he had convinced himself that his way would 
 belsmoothcould,he offer to make his ultimate choice" My Lady "; 
 and he felt that it would be a proud hour in his life when he 
 could walk before stiff Colonel Pompley to the sound of "Sir 
 Richard." Still, however disappointed at the ill success of his 
 bluff diplomacy with Mr. Egerton, and however yet cherishing 
 the most vindictive resentment against that individual he did 
 not, as many would have done, throw up his political convictions 
 out of personal spite. He reserved his private grudge for some 
 special occasion, and continued still to support the Adminis- 
 tration, and to hate one of the Ministers. 
 
 But, duly to appreciate the value of Richard Avenel, and in 
 just counterpoise to all his foibles, one ought to have seen what he 
 had effected for the town. Well might he boast of "new blood"; 
 he had done as much for the town as he had for his fields. His 
 energy, his quick comprehension of public utility, backed by his 
 r ealth,and bold, bullying, imperious character, had sped the work 
 of civilization as if with the celerity and force of a steam-engine. 
 
 If the town were so well paved and so well lighted if half a 
 dozen squalid lanes had been transformed into a stately street
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 269 
 
 if half the town no longer depended on tanks for their water 
 if the poor-rates were reduced one-third, praise to the brisk new 
 blood which Richard Avenel had infused into vestry and cor- 
 poration. And his example itself was contagious! "There 
 was not a plate-glass window in the town when I canrre into it," 
 said Richard Avenel; "and now look down the High Street !" 
 He took the credit to himself, and justly; for, though his own 
 business did not require windows of plate-glass, he had awak 
 ehed the spirit of enterprise which adorns a whole city. 
 
 Mr. Avenel did not present Leonard to his friends formore than 
 a fortnight. He allowed him to wear off his rust. He then gave 
 a grand dinner, at which his nephew was formally introduced^ 
 and, to his great wrath and disappointment, never opened his 
 lips. How could he, poor youth, when Mrs. Clarina Mowbray 
 only talked upon high life; till proud Colonel Pompley went in 
 state through the history of the Siege of Seringapatam ? 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WHILE Leonard accustoms himself gradually to the splendors 
 that surround him, and often turns with a sigh to the remem- 
 brance of his mother's Cottage and the sparkling fount in the Ital- 
 ian's flowery garden, we will make with thee, O reader, a rapid 
 flight to the metropolis, and drop ourselves amidst the gay groups 
 that loiter along the dusty ground, or loll over the roadside pal- 
 ings of Hyde Park. The season is still at its height; but the 
 short day of fashionable London life, which commences two 
 hours after noon, is in its decline. The crowd in Rotten Row 
 begins to thin. Near the statue of Achilles, and apart from all 
 other loungers, a gentleman, with one hand thrust into his waist- 
 coat, and the other resting on his cane, gazed listlessly on the 
 horsemen and carriages in the brilliant ring. He was still in the 
 prime of life, a't the age when man is usually the most social 
 when the acquaintances of youth have ripened into friendships, 
 and a personage of some rank and fortune has become a well- 
 known feature in the mobile face of society. But though, when his 
 contemporaries were boys scarce at college, this gentleman had 
 blazed foremost amongst the princes of fashion, and though he 
 had all the qualities of nature and circumstance which either 
 retain fashion to the last, or exchange its false celebrity for a 
 graver repute, he stood as a stranger in that throng of his coun- 
 trymen. Beauties whirled by to the toilet statesmen passed on 
 to the senate dandies took flight to the clubs; and neither 
 nods, nor becks, nor wreathed smiles said to the solitary spec-
 
 270 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 tator, "..Follow us thou art one of our set." Now and then, some 
 middle-aged beau, nearing the post of the loiterer, turned round 
 to. look again; but the second glance seemed to dissipate the 
 recognition of the first, and the beau silently continued his way. 
 
 " By the tombs of my fathers ! " said the solitary to himsels, 
 " I know now what a dead man might feel if he came to life 
 again, and took a peep at the living." 
 
 ; !tirne passed on the evening shades descended fast. Our 
 stranger in London had well-nigh the Park to himself. He 
 seemed to breathe more freely as he saw that the space was clear, 
 
 " There's oxygen in the atmosphere now," said he, half aloud; 
 " and I can walk without breathing in the gaseous fumes of the 
 .multitude. O those chemists what dolts they are ! They tell 
 us that crowds taint the air, byt they never guess why ! Pah, 
 it is not the lungs that poison the element it is the reek of bad 
 hearts. . When a periwig-pated fellow breathes on me, I swallow 
 a mouthful of care. Allans ! my friend Nero; now for a stroll." 
 He touched with his cane a large Newfoundland dog, who lay 
 stretched near his feet; and dog and man went slow through the 
 growing twilight, and over the brown dry turf. At length our 
 solitary paused, and threw himself on a bench under a tree. 
 " Half-past eight ! " said he, looking at his watch" one may 
 smoke one's cigar without shocking the world." 
 
 He took out his cigar-case, struck a light, and in another mo- 
 ment reclinedatlength on the bench seemed absorbed in regard- 
 ing the .smoke, that scarce colored, ere it vanished into the air. 
 
 " ft is the most barefaced lie in the world; my Nero," said he, 
 addressing his dog, " this boasted liberty of man ! Now here am 
 I, a free-born Englishman, a citizen of the world, caring I often 
 say to myself caring not a jot for Kaisar or Mob; and yet I no 
 more dare smoke this cigar in the Park at half-past six, when all 
 the world is abroad, than I dare pick my Lord Chancellor's 
 pocket, or hit the Archbishop of Canterbury a thump on the 
 nose, yet no law in England forbids me my cigar, Nero ! What 
 is law at half-past eight was not crime at six and a half \ Bri- 
 tannia says, ' Man, thou art free,' and she lies like a common- 
 place woman. O Nero, Nero ! you enviable dog ! you serve but 
 from liking. No thought of the world costs you one wag of the 
 tail. Your big heart and true instinct suffice you for reason and 
 law. You would want nothing to your felicity, if in these mo- 
 ments of ennui you would but smoke a cigar. Try it, Nero! try 
 it J " And, rising from his incumbent posture, he sought to force 
 the end of the weed between the teeth of the dog. 
 
 While thus gravely engaged, two figures had approached the
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 271 
 
 place. The one was a man who seemed weak and sickly: his 
 threadbare coat was buttoned to the chin, but hung large on his 
 shrunken breast. The other was a girl' who might be from 
 twelve to fourteen, on whose arm he leant heavily: her cheek 
 was wan, and there was a patient sad look on her face, which 
 seemed so settled that you would think she could never have 
 known the mirthfulness of childhood. 
 
 " Pray rest here, papa," said the child softly; and she pointed 
 to the bench, without taking heed of itsp're-occupant, who now, 
 indeed, confined to one corner of the seat, was almost hidden 
 by the shadow of the tree. 
 
 The man sate down, with a feeble sigh; and then, observing the 
 stranger,raisedhishat,andsaid,in that tone of voice which betrays 
 theusages of polished society, "Forgivemeif lintrudeon you, sir." 
 
 The stranger looked up from his dog, and seeing that the girl 
 was standing,rose at once,as if to make room for her on the bench. 
 
 But still the girl did not heed him. . She hung aver her father, 
 and wiped his brow .tenderly with a little kerchief which she 
 took from her own neck for the purpose. 
 
 Nero, delighted to escape the cigar, had taken to some unwieldy 
 curvets and gambols, to vent theexcitement into which he had been 
 thrown; and now returning, approached the bench with a low 
 growl of surprise, and sniffed at the intruders on his master's 
 privacy. 
 
 "Come here, sir," said the master. " You need not fear him," 
 he added, addressing himself to the girl. 
 
 But the girl,without turning round to him, cried in a voice rath- 
 er of anguish than alarm," He has fainted ! Father ! father ! " 
 
 The stranger kicked aside his dog, which was in the way, and 
 loosened the poor man's stiff military stock. While thus 
 charitably engaged, the moon broke out, and the light fell full 
 .on the pale careworn face of the unconscious sufferer. 
 
 " This face seems not unfamiliar to rne,though sadly changed," 
 said the stranger to himself ; and bending toward the girl, who 
 had sunk on her knees, and was chafing her father's hands, he 
 asked, " My child, what is your father's name ? " 
 
 The child continued her task, too absorbed to answer. 
 
 The stranger put his hand on her shoulder, and repeated, the 
 question. 
 
 " Digby," answered the child, almost unconsciously ; and as 
 
 she spoke, the man's senses began to return. In a few minutes 
 
 more he had sufficiently recovered to falter forth his thanks to 
 
 >the stranger. But the last took his hand, and said, in a voice 
 
 at once tremulous and soothing,/' Is it possible that I see once
 
 272 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 more an old brother in arms ? Algernon Digby, I do not for- 
 get you ; but it seems England has forgotten." 
 
 A hectic flush spread over the soldier's face, and he looked 
 away from the speaker as he answered 
 
 " My name is Digby, it is true, sir; but I do notthink we have 
 met befofe. Come, Helen, I am well now we will go home." 
 
 ".Try and play with that great dog, my child," said the 
 stranger, " I want to talk with your father." 
 
 The child bowed her submissive head, and moved away ; but 
 she did not play with the dog. 
 
 " I must reintroduce myself formally,! see,"quoth the stranger. 
 " You were in the same regiment with myself, and my name is 
 L'Estrange." 
 
 " My lord," said the soldier, rising, " forgive me that" 
 
 " I don't think that it was the fashion to call me ' my lord 'at 
 the mess-table. Come, what has happened to you? on half-pay?" 
 
 Mr. Digby shook his head mournfully. 
 
 "Digby, old fellow, can you lend me jioo?" said LordL'Es- 
 trange,clapping his '-dtow// brother officer on the shoulder, and in 
 a tone of voice that seemed like a boy's so impudent was It, and 
 devil-me-carish. "No! Well, that's lucky, for lean /lend it'to you/' 
 
 Mr. Digby burst into tears. 
 
 Lord L'Estrange did not seem to observe the emotion, btit 
 went on carelessly 
 
 " Perhaps you don't know that, besides being heir to 'a father 
 who is not only very rich but very liberal, I inherited, on coming 
 of age, from a maternal relation, a fortune so large that it wbuld 
 bore me to death if I were obliged to live up to it. But in the 
 days of our old acquaintance, I fear we were both extravagant 
 fellows, and I dare say I borrowed of you pretty freely." 
 
 " Me ! Oh, Lord L'Estrange ! " 
 
 " You have married since then, and refonried, I suppose. 
 Tell me, old friend, all about it." 
 
 Mr. Digby, who by this time had succeeded in restoring some 
 calm to his shattered nerves, now rose, and said in brief sen- 
 tences, but clear firm tones, 
 
 " My lord, it is idle to talk to me useless to help me. I am fast 
 dying. But my child there, my only child, "he paused for an in- 
 stant, and went on rapidly "I have relations in a distant county, 
 if I could but get to them I think they would, at least, provide 
 for her. This has been for weeks my hope, my dream, my prayer. 
 I cannot afford the journey except by your help. I havebegged 
 without shame for myself; shall I beashamed,theTi,tobegforher?" 
 
 " Digby," said L'Estrange, with some grave alteration of man-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 273 
 
 ner, " talk neither of dying nor begging. You were nearer death 
 when the balls whistled round you at Waterloo. If soldier meets 
 soldier and says/ Friend, thy purse,' it is not begging, but brother- 
 hood. Ashamed! Bythesouljof Belisarius! if I needed money, 
 I would stand at a crossing with my Wate'rloo medal over my 
 breast, and say to each sleek citizen I had helped to save from the 
 sword of the Frenchman, ' It is your shame if I starve.' Now, 
 lean upon n<e; I see you should be at home which way? " 
 
 The poor soldier pointed his hand toward Oxford Street, and 
 reluctantly accepted the proffered arm. 
 
 " Arid when yoa return from your relations, you will call on 
 me. What ! hesitate ? Come, promise." 
 
 " I will." 
 
 " On your honor." 
 
 " If I live, on my honor." 
 
 " I am staying at present at Knightsbridge, with my father; 
 but you will always hear of my address at No. Grbsyenor 
 Square, Mr. Egerton's. So you have a long journey before you ?" 
 
 "Very long." 
 
 " Do not fatigue yourself travel slowly. Ho, you foolish 
 child ! I see you are jealous of me. Your father has another 
 arm to spare you." 
 
 Thus talking, and getting but short answers, Lord L'Estrange 
 continued to exhibit those whimisical peculiarities of character, 
 which had obtained for him the repute of heartlessness in the 
 world. Perhaps the reader may think the world was not in the 
 right. But if ever the world does judge rightly of the character 
 of a man who does not live for the world, nor talk for the'world, 
 feel with the world, it will be centuries after the soul of Harley 
 
 L'Estrange has done with this planet. 
 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LORD L'ESTRANGE parted company with Mr. Digby at the 
 entrance of Oxford Street. The father and child there took a 
 cabriolet. Mr. Digby directed the driver to go down the Edge- 
 ware Road. He refused to tell L'Estrange his address, and this 
 with such evident pain, from the sores of pride, that L'Estrange 
 could not press the point. Reminding the soldier of his promise 
 to call, Harley thrust a pocket-book into his hand, and walked 
 off hastily toward Grosvenor Square. 
 
 He reached Audley Egerton's door just as that gentleman was 
 getting out of his carriage; and the two friends entered the 
 house together. 
 
 " Does the nation take a nap to-night?" asks L'Estrange.
 
 274 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Poor old lady ! She hears so much of her affairs, that she 
 may well boast of her constitution: it must be of iron," 
 
 " The House is still sitting," answered Audley, seriously, and 
 with small heed of his friend's witticism. " But it is not a Gov- 
 ernment motion, and the division will be late, so I came hcyne; 
 and if I had not found you here, I should have gone into the Park 
 to look for you." 
 
 " Yes-i-one always knows where to find me at this hour, 9 
 ; o'clock, P.M. cigar Hyde Park. There is not a man in Eng- 
 land so regular in his habits." 
 
 Here the friends reached a drawing-room in which the Mem- 
 ber of Parliament seldom sat, for his private apartments were 
 all on the ground-floor. 
 
 " But it is the strangest whim of yours, Harley," said he. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "To affect detestation of ground-floors." 
 r" Affect ! O sophisticated man, of the earth, earthy-! Affect! 
 nothing less natural to the human soul than a ground-floor. We 
 are quite far enough from heaven, mount as many stairs as we 
 will, without grovelling by preference." 
 
 " According to that symbolical view of the case," said Audley, 
 " you should lodge in an attic." 
 
 " So I would, but that I abhor new slippers. As for hair- 
 brushes, I am different." 
 
 ' What have slippers and hair-brushes to do with attics ? " 
 
 ' Try ! Make your bed in an attic, and the next morning 
 you will have neither slippers nor hair-brushes ! " 
 
 ' What shall I have done with them ! " 
 
 'Shied them at the cats ! " 
 
 'What odd things you say, Harley?" 
 
 ' Odd ! By Apollo and his nine spinsters ! there is no human 
 being who has so little imagination as a distinguished member 
 . of Parliament. Answer me this, thou solemn Right. Honora- 
 ble, Hast thou climbed to the heights of august contemplation ? 
 . Hast thou gazed on the stars with the rapt eye of song ? Hast 
 thou dreamed of a love known to the angels, or sought to seize 
 in the Infinite the mystery of life ?" 
 
 " Not I, indeed, my poor Harley." 
 
 /'Then no wonder, poor Audley, that you cannot conjecture 
 why he who makes his bed in an attic, disturbed by base catter- 
 wauls, shies his slippers at cats. Bring a chair into the balcony. 
 Nero spoiled my cigar to-night. I am going to smoke now. You 
 never smoke. You can look on the shrubs in the square." 
 
 Audley slightly shrugged his shoulders, but he followed his
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 275 
 
 friend's counsel and example, and brought his chair into the bal- 
 cony. Nero came too, but at sight and smell of the cigar prudently 
 retreated, and took refuge under the table. 
 
 " Audley Egerton, I want something from Government/' 
 
 " I am delighted to hear it." 
 
 " There was a cornet in my regiment, who would have done 
 better not to have come into it. We were, for the most part of 
 us, puppies and fops." 
 
 " You all fought well, however." 
 
 " Puppies and fops do fight well. Vanity and valor generally 
 go together. Caesar, who scratched histhead with due, -care of his 
 scanty curls, and even, in dying, thought of the folds in his toga ; 
 Walter Raleigh, who could not walk twenty yards, because of the 
 gems in his shoes ; Alcibiades, who lounged into the Agora with 
 doves in his bosom, and an apple in his hand ; Murat, bedizened 
 in gold lace and furs ; and Demetrius, the City-Taker, who made 
 himself up like a French Marquise were all pretty good fellows 
 at fighting. A slovenly hero like Cromwell is a paradox in nature, 
 and a marvel in history. But to return to my cornet. We were 
 rich ; he was poor. When the pot of clay swims down the stream 
 with the brass pots, it is sure of a smash. Men said Digby was 
 stingy ; I saw he was extravagant. But every one, I fear, would 
 be rather thought stingy than poor. Bref. I left the army, and 
 saw him no more till to-night. There was never shabby poor 
 gentleman on the stage more awfully shabby, more pathetically 
 gentleman. But, look ye, this man has fought for England. It 
 was no child's play at Waterloo, let me tell you, Mr. Ege-rton ; 
 and, but for such men, you would be at best a sons-prtfet, and 
 your Parliament a Provincial Assembly. You must do some- 
 thing for Digby. What shall it be?" 
 
 " Why, really, my dear Harley, this man was no great friend 
 of yours- eh ? " 
 
 " If he were, he would not want the Government to help him 
 he would not be ashamed of taking money from me." 
 
 "That is all very fine, Harley; but there are so many poor 
 officers, and so little to give. It is the most difficult thing in the 
 world that which you ask me. Indeed, I know nothing can be 
 done : he has his half-pay ? " 
 
 " I think not ; or, if he has it, no doubt it all goes on his debts. 
 That's nothing to us: the man and his child are starving." 
 
 " But if it is his own fault, if he has been imprudent ? " 
 
 " Ah well, well. Where the devil is Nero ? " 
 
 " I am so sorry I can't oblige yon. If it were anything else: " 
 
 " There is something else. My valet I can't turn him
 
 276 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 adrift excellent fellow, but gets drunk now and then. Will 
 you find him a place in the Stamp-office ? " 
 
 "With pleasure." 
 
 "^o,now I think of it theman knowsmy ways: I must keephim, 
 But my old wine-merchant civil man, never dunned is a bank- 
 rupt. I am under obligationsto him, and he hasaveryprettydaugh- 
 ter. Do you thinkyou could thrust him intosomesmallplacein the 
 colonies,ormakehimaKing'sMessenger,orsomethingofthesort?" 
 
 " If you very much wish it, no doubt I can." 
 
 " My dear Audley, I am but feeling my way : the fact is, I 
 tfant something for myself." 
 
 " Ah, that indeed gives me pleasure ! " cried Egerton, with 
 animation. 
 
 "The mission to Florencewill soon bevacant Iknowitprivate- 
 ly. The place would quite suit me. Pleasant city; thebestfigsinlt- 
 aly very little to do. Youcould sound Lord on the subject." 
 
 " I will answer beforehand. Lord would be enchanted 
 to secure to the public service a man so accomplished as your- 
 self, and the son of a peer like Lord Lansmere." 
 
 Harley L'Estrange sprang to his feet, and flung his cigar in 
 the face of a stately policeman who was looking up at the balcony. 
 
 "Infamous and bloodless official! " cried Harley L'Estrange; 
 "so you could providefor a pimple-nosed lackey, for awine-mer- 
 chantwhohasbeen poisoningthe king'ssubjects with white-leador 
 sloe-juice, ^foranidlesybarite,whowouldcomplainof a crumpled 
 rose-leaf; and nothing, in all the vast patronage of England for a 
 broken-down soldier, whose dauntless breast was her rampart." 
 
 " Harley," said the Member of Parliament, with his calm, sen- 
 sible smile, " this would be a very good clap-trap at a small 
 theatre; but there is nothing in which Parliament demands such 
 rigid economy as the military brarjch of the public service; and 
 no man for whom it is so hard to effect what we must plainly call 
 a job as a subaltern officer who has done nothing more than his 
 duty and all military men do that. Still, as you take it so 
 earnestly, I will use what interest I can at the War Office, and 
 get him, perhaps, the mastership of a barrack." 
 
 "You had better ; for, if you do not, I swear I will turn 
 Radical, and come down to your own city to oppose you, with 
 Hunt and Cobbett to canvass for me." 
 
 " I should be very glad to see you come into Parliament, even 
 as a Radical, and at my expense," said Audley, with great kind- 
 ness. " But the air is growing cold, and you are not accus- 
 tomed to our climate. Nay, if you are too poetic for catarrhs 
 and rheums, I'm not come in."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 277 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LORD L'ESTRANGE threw himself onasofa,and leant his cheek 
 on his hand thoughtfully. Audley Egerton sate near him, with 
 his arms folded, and gazed on his friend's face with a soft ex- 
 pression of aspect, which was very unusual to the firm outline 
 of his handsome features. The two men were as dissimilar in 
 person as the reader will have divined that they were in char- 
 acter. All about Egerton was so rigid, all about L'Estrange so 
 easy. In every posture of Harley's there was the unconscious 
 grace of a child. The very fashion of his garments showed his 
 abhorrence of restraint. His clothes were wide and loose; his 
 neckcloth, tied carelessly, left his throat half bare. You cQuld 
 see that he had lived much in warm and southern lands, and 
 contracted a contempt for conventionalities ; there was as little 
 in his dress as in his talk of the North. He was three or four 
 years younger than Audley, but .he looked a,t least twelve years 
 younger. In fact, he was one of. those men to whom old age 
 seems impossible voice,look,figure, had all the charm of youth; 
 and perhaps it was from this gracious youthfulness at all events 
 it was characteristic of the kind of love he inspired-^ that neither 
 his parents, nor the few friends admitted into his intimacy, ever 
 called him, in their habitual intercourse, by the name of his title. 
 He was not L'Estrange with them, he was Haiiey ; and by that 
 familiar baptismal I will usually designate him. He was not 
 one of those men whom author or reader wish to view at a dis- 
 tance, and remember as "my Lord," it was so rarely that he re- 
 membered it himself. For the rest, it-had been said of him by 
 a shrewd: wit," He is so natural, that every one calls him 
 affected." Harley L'Estrange was not so critically handsome 
 as Audley Egerton ; to a commonplace observer he was only 
 rather good-looking than otherwise. But women said that he 
 had "a beautiful countenance" and they were not wrong. He 
 wore his hair, which was of a fair chestnut, long, and in loose 
 curls ; and instead of the Englishman's whiskers, indulged in 
 the foreigner's mustache. His complexion was, delicate, though 
 not effeminate; it was rather the delicacy of a student than of a 
 woman. But in his clear gray eye there was wonderful vigor of 
 life. A skilful physiologist, looking only into that eye, would have 
 recognized rare stamina of constitution,-^-a nature so rich, that 
 while easily disturbed, it would require all the effects, of time, 
 or all the fell combinations of passion and grief, to exhaust it. 
 Even now, though'so thoughtful, and even sad, the rays otf that eye 
 were concentrated and steadfast as the light of the diamond.
 
 278 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "You were only, then, in jest," said Audley, after a long 
 silence, " when you spoke of this mission to Florence ? You 
 have still no idea of entering into public life ? " 
 
 "None." 
 
 " I had hoped better things when I got your promise to pass 
 one season in London. But indeed, you have kept your promise 
 to the ear to break it to the spirit. I could not presuppose that 
 you would shun all society, and be as much of a hermit here as 
 under the vines of Como." 
 
 " I have sate in the Strangers' Gallery, and heard your great 
 speakers; I have been in the pit of the opera, and seen your fine 
 ladies; I have walked your streets; I have lounged in your 
 parks, and I say that I can't fall in love with a faded dowager, 
 because she fills up her wrinkles with rouge." 
 
 4< Of what dowager do you speak ? " asks the matter-of-fact 
 Audley. 
 
 " She has a great many titles. Some people call her Fashion 
 you busy men, Politics: it is all one tricked out and artificial. 
 I mean London Life. 'No, I can't fall in love with he^ fawning 
 old harridan ! " 
 
 "'I wish you could fall in love with something." 
 
 " I wish I could, with all my heart." 
 
 " But you are so blast." 
 
 " On the contrary, I am so fresh. Look out of the window 
 what do you see ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Nothing ! " 
 
 " Nothing but houses and dusty lilacs, my coachman dozing 
 on his box, and two women in pattens crossing the kennel." 
 
 " I see not those where I lie on the sofa. I see but the stars. 
 And I feel for them as I did when I was a school-boy at Eton. 
 It is you who are bias/, and not I. Enough of this. You do 
 not forget my commission with respect to the exile who has 
 married into your brother's family ?" 
 
 " No; but here you set me a task more difficult than that of 
 saddling your cornet on the War Office." 
 
 " I know it is difficult, for the counter influence is vigilant and 
 strong; but on the other hand, the enemy is so damn able a traitor 
 that one must have the Fates and the household gods on one side." 
 
 " Nevertheless," said the practical Audley, bending over a 
 book on 'the table; " I think that the best plan would be to at- 
 tempt a compromise with the traitor." 
 
 - *' To ju<3ge of others by myself," answered Harle-y, with spirit, 
 " it were less bitter to put up with wrong than to palter with it
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 279 
 
 for compensation. And such wrong ! Compromise with the 
 open foe that may be done with honor: but with the perjured 
 friend that were to forgive the perjury ! " 
 
 "You are too vindictive," said Egerton; " there may be ex- 
 cuse's for the friend, which palliate even " 
 
 " Hush ! Audley, hush ! or I shall think the world has indeed 
 corrupted you. Excuse for the friend who deceives, who be- : 
 trays ! No, such is the true outlaw of Humanity; and the Furies 
 surround Turn even while he sleeps in the temple." 
 
 The man of the world lifted his eye slowly on the animated 
 face of one still natural enough for the passions. He then once 
 more returned to his book, and said, after a pause, " It is time 
 you should marry, Harley." 
 
 "No," answered L'Estrange, with a smile at this turn in the 
 conversation "not time yet; for my chief objection to that 
 change in life is, that the women nowadays are too old for me, 
 or I am too young for them. A few, indeed, are so infantine 
 that one is ashamed to be their toy; but most are so knowing 
 that one is afraid to be their dupe. The first, if they conde- 
 scend to love you, love you as the biggest doll they have yet 
 dandled, and for a doll's good qualities your pretty blue eyes 
 and your exquisite millinery. The last, if they prudently ac- 
 cept you, do so on algebraical principles; you are but the X or Y 
 that represents a certain aggregate of goods matrimonial pedi- ' 
 gree, title, rent-roll, diamonds, pin-money, opera-box. They 
 cast you up with the help of mamma, and you wake some morn- 
 ing to find that plus wife minus affections equals the Devil ! " 
 
 "Nonsense," said Audley with his quiet grave laugh. "I 
 grant that it is often the misfortune of a man in your station to be 
 married rather for what he has, than for what he is; but you are 
 tolerably penetrating, and not likely to be deceived in the char- 
 acter of the woman you court." 
 
 " Of the woman I court ? No ! But of the woman I marry, 
 very likely indeed. Woman is a changeable thing, as our Virgil 
 informed us at school; but her change par excellence is from the 
 fairy you woo to the brownie you wed. It is not that she has 
 been a hypocrite, it is that she is a transmigration. You marry 
 a girl for her accomplishments. She paints charmingly, or 
 plays like St. Cecilia. Clap a ring on her finger, and she never 
 draws again except perhaps your caricature on the back of a 
 letter, and never opens a piano after the honeymoon. You 
 marry her for sweet temper; and next year, her nerves are so 
 shattered that you can't contradict her but you are whirled into 
 a storm of hysterics. You marry her because she declares she
 
 28o MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 hates balls and likes quiet; and ten to one but what she becomes 
 a patroness at Almack's, or a lady-in-waiting." 
 
 " Yet most men marry, and most men survive the operation." 
 
 " If it were only necessary to live, that would be a consola- 
 tory and encouraging reflection. But. to live with peace, to live 
 with dignity, to live with freedom, to live in harmony with your 
 thoughts, your habits,your aspirations and this in the perpetual 
 companionship of a person to whom you have given the power 
 to wound your peace, to assail your dignity, to cripple your 
 freedom, to jar on each thought and each habit, and bring you 
 down to the meanest details of earth, when you invite her, poor 
 soul, to soar to the spheres that makes the To Be 01 Not To 
 Be, which is the question." 
 
 '* If I were you, Harley, I would do as I have heard the author 
 of Sanford and Merton did choose out a child and educate her 
 yourself, after your own heart." 
 
 " You have hit it," answered Harley, seriously. "That has 
 long been my idea a very vague one, I confess. But I fear I 
 shall be an old man before I find even the child." 
 
 " Ah ! " he continued, yet more earnestly, while the whole 
 character of his varying countenance changed again " Ah ! if 
 indeed I could discover what I seek- one who, with the heart 
 of a child, has the mind of a woma.n; one who beholds in nature 
 the variety, the charm, the never feverish, ever healthful ex- 
 citement that others vainly seek in the bastard sentimentalities of 
 a life false with artificial forms, one who can comprehend, as by in- 
 tuition, the rich poetry with which creation is clothed poetry 
 so clear to the child when enraptured with the flower.or when won- 
 dering at the star ! If on me. such, exquisite companionship 
 were bestowed why, then " -He paused, sighed deeply, and, 
 covering his face with his hand, resumed, in faltering accents, 
 
 " But once but once only, did such vision of the Beautiful 
 made Human rise before me rise amidst '.golden exhalations 
 of the dawn.' It beggared my life iu vanishing. You know 
 only you only how^how " 
 
 He bowed his head, and the tears forced themselves through 
 his clenched fingers. 
 
 " So long ago ! " said Audley, sharing his friend's emotion. 
 " Years so long and so weary, yet still thus tenacious of a mere 
 boyish memory ! " 
 
 "Away with it then! " cried Harley, springing to his feet, and 
 with a laugh of strange merriment. "Your carriage still waits: 
 set me home before you go to the House." 
 
 Then laying his hand lightly on his .friend's shoulder, he said,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 251 
 
 " Is it for you, Audley Egerton, to speak sneeringly of boyish 
 memories ? What else is it that binds us together? What else 
 warms my heart when I meet you? What else draws your thoughts 
 from blue-books and beer-bills, to waste them on a vagrant like 
 me ? Shake hands. Oh, friend of my boyhood ! recollect the 
 oar that we plied and the bats that we wielded in the old time, 
 or the murmured talk on the moss-grown bank, as we sate to- 
 gether,building in the summer air castles mightier than Windsor. 
 Ah! they are strong ties, those boyish memories, believe me! I 
 remember, as if it were yesterday, my translation of that lovely 
 passage in Persius, beginning let me see ah ! 
 
 1 Qaum primum patido custos mihi purpura cernet,' 
 that passage on friendship which gushes out so livingly from the 
 
 stern heart of the satirist: And whenold complimented me 
 
 on my verses, my eye sought yours. Verily, I now say as then, 
 ' Nescio quod, certe est quod me tibi temperet astrum.' " * 
 
 Audley turned away his head as he returned the grasp of his 
 friend's hand; and while Harley, with his light elastic footstep, 
 descended the stairs, Egerton lingered behind, and there was 
 no trace of the worldly man upon his countenance when he took 
 his place in the carriage by his companion's side. 
 
 Two hours afterward, weary cries of " Question, question ! " 
 "Divide, divide ! " sank into reluctant silence as Audley Eger- 
 ton rose to conclude the debate the man of men to speak late 
 at night, and to impatient benches: a man who would be heard; 
 whom a Bedlam broke loose would not have roared down; 
 with a voice clear and sound as a bell, and a form firmly set on 
 the ground as a church-tower. Aiid while, on the dullest of dull 
 questions, Audley Egerton thus, not too lively himself, enforced 
 attention, where was Harley L'Estrange ? Standing alone by 
 the river at Richmond, and murmuring low fantastic thoughts 
 as he gazed on the moonlit tide. 
 
 When Audley left him at home, he had joined his parents, 
 made them gay with his careless gayety, seen the old-fashioned 
 folks retire to rest, and then while they, perhaps, deemed him 
 once more the hero of ball-rooms and the cynosure of clubs 
 he drove slowly through the soft summer night, amidst the per- 
 fumes of many a garden and many a gleaming chestnut grove, 
 with no other aim. before him than to reach the loveliest margin 
 oflEngland'Siloveliest river, at the hour when the moon was fullest 
 and the song of the nightingale most sweet. And so eccentric a 
 humorist was this man, that I believe, as he there loitered no one 
 
 * " What was the star I know not, but certainly some star it was that attuned me unW 
 thee."
 
 282 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 near to cry " How affected ! " or " How romantic !' ' he enjoyed 
 himself more than if he had been exchanging the politest " how- 
 d'ye-dos " in the hottest of London drawing-rooms, or betting 
 His hundreds on the odd trick with Lord DeR for his partner. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 LEONARD had been about six weeks with his uncle, and those 
 weeks were well spent. Mr. Richard had taken him to his count- 
 ing-house, and initiated him into business and the mysteries of 
 double-entry ; and, in return for the young man's readiness and 
 zeal in matters which the acute trader instinctively felt not exactly 
 to his tastes, Richard engaged the best master the town afforded 
 to read with his nephew in the evening. This gentleman was the 
 head usher of a large school who had his hours to himself after 
 eight o'clock and was pleased to vary the dull routine of en- 
 forced lessons by instruction to a pupil who took delightedly 
 even to the Latin grammar. Leonard made rapid strides, and 
 learned more in those six weeks than many a cleverish boy does 
 in twice as many months. These hours which Leonard devoted 
 to study Richard usually spent from home sometimes at the 
 houses of his grand acquaintances in the Abbey Gardens, some- 
 times in the Reading-room appropriated to those aristocrats. If 
 he stayed at home, it was in company with his head clerk, and 
 for the purpose of checking his account-books, or looking over 
 the names of doubtful electors. 
 
 Leonard had naturally wished to communicate his altered pros- 
 pects to his old friends, that they, in turn, might rejoice his mother 
 with such good tidings. But he had not been two days in the house 
 before Richard had strictly forbidden all such correspondence. 
 
 " Look you," said he, " at present we are on an experiment 
 we must see if we like each other. Suppose we don't, you will 
 only have raised expectations in your mother which must end in 
 bitter disappointment; and suppose we do, it will be time 
 enough to write when something definite is settled.'' 
 
 " But my mother will be so anxious " 
 
 " Make your mind easy on that score. I will write regularly 
 to Mr. Dale, and he dan tell her that you are well and thriving. 
 No more words, my man when I say a thing, I say it." Then, 
 observing that Leonard looked blank and dissatisfied, Richard 
 added, with a good-humored smile, "I havetny reasons for all 
 this you shall know them later. And I tell you what, if you 
 do as I bid you, it is my intention to settle something handsome 
 onyourmother; butif you don't, devil apenny she'll get from me."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 283 
 
 With that, Richard turned on his heel, and in a few moments 
 his voice was heard loud in objurgation with some of his people. 
 
 About the fourth week of Leonard's residence at Mr. Avenel's, 
 his host began to evince a certain change of manner. He was 
 no longer quite so cordial with Leonard, nor did he take the 
 same interest in his progress. About the same period he was fre- 
 quently caught by the London butler before the looking-glass. 
 He had always been a smart man in his dress, but he was now 
 more particular. He would spoil three white cravats when- he 
 went out of an evening, before he could satisfy himself as to the 
 tie. He also bought a " Peerage," and it became his favorite 
 study at odd quarters of an hour. All these symptoms proceeded 
 from a cause, and that cause was woman. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE first people at Screvvstown were indisputably the Pompleys. 
 Colonel Pompley was grand, but Mrs. Pompley was grander. 
 The Colonel was stately in right of his military rank and his 
 services in India ; Mrs. Pompley was majestic in right of her 
 connections. Indeed, Colonel Pompley himself would have been 
 crushed under the weight of the dignities which his lady heaped 
 upon him, if he had not been enabled to prop his position with a 
 " connection " of his own. He would never have held his own, 
 nor been permitted to have an independent opinion on matters 
 aristocratic, but for the well-sounding name of his relations, 
 " the Digbies." Perhaps on the principle that obscurity increases 
 the natural size of objects, and is an element of the Sublime, the 
 Colonel did not too accurately define his relations "theDigbies" : 
 he let it be casually understood that they were theDigbies to be 
 found in Debrett. But if some indiscreet Vulgarian (a favorite 
 word with both the Pompleys) asked point-blank if he meant 
 " my Lord Digby," the Colonel, with a lofty air, answered 
 " The elder branch, sir." No one at Screwstown had ever seen 
 these Digbies : they lay amidst the Far the Recondite even 
 to the wife of Colonel Pompley 's bosom. Now and then, when 
 the Colonel referred to the lapse of years, and the uncertainty 
 of human affections, he would say " When young Digby and I 
 were boys together," and then add with a sigh, " but we shall 
 never meet again in this world. His family interest secured him 
 a valuableappointmentin a distant part of the British dominions." 
 Mrs. Pompley was always rather cowed by the Digbies. She 
 could not be skeptical as to this connection, for the Colonel's 
 mother was certainly a Digby, and the Colonel impaled the Digby
 
 284 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 arms. En revanche, as the French say, for these marital con- 
 nections, Mrs. Pompley had her own favorite affinity, which she 
 specially selected from all others when she most desired to pro- 
 duce effect ; nay, even upon ordinary occasions the name rose 
 spontaneously to her lips the name of the Honorable Mrs. 
 M'Catchley. Was the fashion of a gown or cap admired, her 
 cousin, Mrs. M'Catchley, had just sent to her the pattern from 
 Paris. Was it a question whether the ministry would stand, Mrs. 
 M'Catchley was in the secret, but Mrs. Pompley had been 
 requested not to say. Did it freeze, " My cousin, Mrs. M'Catchley, 
 had written word that the icebergs at the Pole were supposed to 
 be coming this way." Did the sun glow with more than usual 
 fervor, Mrs. M'Catchley had informed her " that it was Sir Henry 
 Halford's decided opinion that it was on account of the.cholera." 
 The good people knew all that was doing at London, at court, 
 in this world nay, almost in the other through the medium of 
 the'HonorableMrs. M'Catchley. Mrs. M'Catchley was, moreover, 
 the most elegant of women, the wittiest creature, the dearest. 
 King George the Fourth had presumed to.admire Mrs. M 'Catchley ; 
 but Mrs. M'Catchley, though no prude, let him see that shewas 
 proof against the corruptions of a throne. So long had the ears 
 of Mrs. Pompley's friends been filled with the renown of Mrs. 
 M'Catchley, that at last Mrs. M'Catchley was secretly supposed 
 to be a myth, a creature of the elements, a poetic fiction of Mrs. 
 Pompley's. Richard Avenel, however, though by no means a 
 credulous man, was an implicit believer in Mrs. M'Catchley. 
 He had learned that she was a widow an honorable by birth, 
 an honorable by marriage living on her handsome jointure, and 
 refusing offers every day that she so lived. Somehow or other, 
 whenever Richard Avenel thought of a wife, he thought of the 
 Honorable Mrs. M'Catchley. Perhaps that romantic attachment 
 to the fair invisible preserved him heart-whole amongst the 
 temptations of Strewstotvn. Suddenly, to the astonishment of 
 the Abbey Gardens, Mrs. M'Catchley proved her identity, and 
 arrived at Colonel Pompley's in a handsome travelling-carriage, 
 attended by her maid and footman. She had come to stay some 
 weeks a tea-party was given in her honor. Mr. Avenel and his 
 nephew were invited. Colonel Pompley, who kept his head clear 
 in the midst of the greatest excitement, had a desire to get from 
 the Corporation a lease of a piece of ground adjoining his garden, 
 and he no sooner saw Richard Avenel enter, than he caught him 
 by the button, and drew him into a quiet corner, in order to secure 
 his interest. Leonard, meanwhile, was borne on by the stream, 
 till his progress was arrested by a sofa-table at which sate Mrs;
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 285 
 
 M'Catchley herself, with Mrs. Pompley by her side. For, on this 
 great occasion the hostess had abandoned her proper post at the 
 entrance, and, whether to show her respect to Mrs. M'Catchley, 
 or to show Mrs. M'Catchley her well-bred contempt for the people 
 of Screwsto.wn, remained in state by her friend, honoring only 
 the elite of the town with introductions to the illustrious visitor. 
 
 Mrs. M'Catchley was a very fine woman a woman who jus- 
 tified Mrs. Pompley 's pride in her. Her cheek-bones were rather 
 high, itis true, but that proved thepurity of her Caledonian descent; 
 for the rest,she hada brilliantcomplexion, heightened by &&oup$on 
 of rouge good eyes and teeth, a showy figure, and all the ladies of 
 Screwstown pronounced herdress to be perfect. She might have 
 arrived at that age at which one intends to stop for the next ten 
 years, but even a Frenchman would not have called her passe'e 
 that is, for a widow. For a spinster, it would have been different. 
 
 Looking round her with a glass, which Mrs. Pompley was in 
 the habit of declaring that " Mrs. M'Catchley used like an angel," 
 this lady suddenly perceived Leonard Fairfield; and his quiet, 
 simple, thoughtful air and look so contrasted with the stiff beaux 
 to whom she had been presented, that, experienced in fashion as 
 so fine apersonage must be supposed to be, she was nevertheless 
 deceived into whispering to Mrs. Pompley 
 
 " That young man has really an air distingue who is he ? " 
 
 " Oh," said Mrs. Pompley, in affected surprise, " that is the 
 nephew of the rich Vulgarian I was telling you of this morning." 
 
 " Ah ! and you say that he is Mr. Arundel's heir ? "' 
 
 " Avenel not Arundel my sweet frierid." 
 
 " Avenel is not a bad name," said Mrs. M'Catchley. "But 
 is the uncle really so rich ? " 
 
 " The Colonel was trying this very day to guess what he is 
 worth; but he says it is impossible to guess it." 
 
 "And the young man is his ; heir ? " 
 
 " It is thought so; and reading for College, I hear. They say 
 he is clever." 
 
 "Present him, my love; I like clever people," said .Mrs, 
 M'Catchley, falling back languidly. 
 
 About ten minutes afterward, Richard Avenel having effected 
 his escape from the Colonel, and his gaze being attracted to- 
 ward the sofa-table by the buzz of the admiring crowd, beheld; 
 his nephew in animated conversation with the long-cherished idol 
 of his dreams. A fierce pang of jealousy shot through his breast. 
 Hisnephew had never looked so handsome and so intelligent; in 
 fact, poor Leonard had never before been drawn out by a woman 
 of the world, who had learned how to make the most of what little
 
 286 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 she knew. And, as jealousy operates like a pair of bellows on 
 incipient flames, so, at first sight of the smile which the fair widow 
 bestowed upon Leonard, the heart of Mr. Avenel felt in a blaze. 
 He approached with a step less assured than usual, and over- 
 hearing Leonard's talk, marvelled much at the boy's audacity. 
 Mrs. M'Catchley had been speaking of Scotland and the Waver- 
 ley Novels, about which Leonard knew nothing. But he knew 
 Burns, and on Burns he grew artlessly eloquent. Burns the poet 
 and peasant; Leonard might well be eloquent on him. Mrs. 
 M'Catchley was amused and pleased with hisfreshnessandmrnv//, 
 so unlike anything she had ever heard or seen, and she drew him 
 on and on, till Leonard fell to quoting: And Richard heard, with 
 less respect for the sentiment than might be supposed, that 
 
 " Rank is but the guinea stamp, 
 
 The man's the gowd for a' that." 
 6 
 
 " Well ! " exclaimed Mr. Avenel . "Pretty piece of polite- 
 ness to tell, that to a lady like the Honorable Mrs. M'Catchley. 
 You'll excuse him, ma'am." 
 
 " Sir ! " said Mrs. M'Catchley, startled, and lifting her glass. 
 Leonard, rather confused, rose and offered his chair to Richard, 
 who dropped into it. The lady, without waiting for formal in- 
 troduction, guessed that she saw the rich uncle. 
 
 " Such a sweet poet Burns ! " said she, dropping her glass. 
 "And it is so refreshing to find so much youthful enthusiasm," 
 she added, pointing her fan toward Leonard, who was receding 
 fast among the crowd. 
 
 "<Well, he is youthful, my nephew rather green ! " 
 
 " Don't say green ! " said Mrs. M'Catchley. Richard blushed 
 scarlet. Hewasafraidhehadcommittedhimselftosomeexpression 
 low and shocking. The lady resumed, "Say unsophisticated ! " 
 
 " A tarnation long word," thought Richard ; but he prudently 
 bowed, and held his tongue. 
 
 " Young men nowadays," continued Mrs. M'Catchley, reset- 
 tling herself on the sofa, " affect to be so old. They don't dance, 
 and they don't read, and they don't talk much; and a great many 
 of them wear toupets before they are two and twenty ! " 
 
 Richard mechanically passed his hand through his thick curls. 
 But he was still mute; he was still ruefully chewing the cud of 
 the epithet green. What occult, horrid meaning did the word 
 convey to ears polite ? Why should he not say " green ? " 
 
 "A very fine young man, your nephew, sir," resumed Mrs. 
 M'Catchley. 
 
 Richard grunted.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 287 
 
 " And seems full of talent. Not yet at the University? Will 
 he go to Oxford or Cambridge ? " 
 
 " I have not made up my mind, yet, if I shall send him to the 
 University at all." 
 
 " A young man of his expectations!" exclaimed Mrs. M'Catch- 
 ley, artfully. 
 
 " Expectations!" repeated Richard, firing up. " Has he been 
 talking to you of his expectations ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, sir. But the nephew of the rich Mr. Avenel ! 
 Ah, one hears a great deal, you know, of rich people ; it is the 
 penalty of wealth, Mr. Avenel ! " 
 
 Richard was very much flattered. His crest rose. 
 
 " And they say," continued Mrs. M'Catchley, dropping out 
 her words very slowly, as she adjusted her blonde scarf, " that 
 Mr. Aivenel has resolved not to marry." 
 
 "The devil they do, ma'am ! " bolted out Richard, gruffly; 
 and then, ashamed. of his lapsus lingua, screwed up his lips 
 firmly, and glared on the company with an eye of indignant fire. 
 
 Mrs. M'Catchley observed him over her fan. Richard turned 
 abruptly,and she withdrew her eyes modestly,and raised the fan. 
 
 " She's a real beauty," said Richard, between his teeth. 
 
 The fan fluttered. 
 
 Five minutes afterward, the widow and the bachelor seemed 
 so much at their ease that Mrs. Pompley who had been forced 
 to leave her friend, in order to receive the Dean's lady could 
 scarcely believe her eyes when she returned to the sofa. 
 
 Now, it was from that evening that Mr. Richard Avenel ex- 
 hibited the change of mood which I have described. And from 
 that evening he abstained from taking Leonard with him to any 
 of the parties in the Abbey Gardens. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SOME days after this memorable soirtfe, Colonel Pompley sat 
 alone in his study (which opened .pleasantly on an old-fashioned 
 garden) absorbed in the house bills. For Colonel Pompley did 
 not leave that domestic care to his lady perhaps she was too 
 grand for it. Colonel Pompley with his own sonorous voice 
 ordered the joints, and with his own heroic hands dispensed the 
 stores. In justice to the Colonel, I must add ^at whatever risk 
 of offence to the fair sex that there was not a house at Screws- 
 town so well managed as the Pompley's: none which so success- 
 fully achieved the difficult art of uniting economy with show. 
 I should despair of conveying to you an idea of the extent to 
 which Colonel Pompley made his income go. It was but seven
 
 288 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 hundred a year ; and many a family contrive to do less upon 
 three thousand. To be sure, the Pompleys had no children to 
 sponge upon them. What they had they spent all on themselves. 
 Neither, if the Pompleys never exceeded their income, did they 
 pretend to live much within it. The two ends of the year met 
 at Christmas just met, and no more. 
 
 Colonel Pompley sate at his desk. He was in his well-brushed 
 blue coat buttoned across his breast his gray trousers fitted 
 tight to his limbs, and fastened under his boots with a link 
 ehain. He saved a great deal of money in straps. No one ever 
 saw Colonel Pompley in dressing-gown and slippers. He and 
 his house were alike in order always fit to be seen 
 " From morn till noon, from noon to dewy eve." 
 
 The Colonel was a short compact man, inclined to be stout 
 with a very red face, that seemed not only shaved, but rasped. 
 He wore his hair cropped close, except just in front, where it 
 formed what the hair-dresser called a feather ; but it seemed a 
 feather of iron, so stiff and so strong was it. Firmness and pre- 
 cision were emphatically marked on the Colonel's countenance. 
 There was a resolute strain on his features, as if he was always 
 employed in making the two ends meet ! 
 
 So he sate before his house-book, with his steel-pen in his 
 hand, and making crosses here and notes of interrogation there. 
 " Mrs. M'Catchley's maid," said the Colonel to himself, " must 
 be put upon rations. The tea that she drinks! Good Heavens!-^ 
 tea again ! " 
 
 There was a modest ring at the outer door. " Too early for 
 a visitor!" thought the Colonel. " Perhaps it is the Water-rates." 
 
 The neat man-servant never seen beyond the offices, save in 
 grande tenue, plushed and powdered entered and bowed. 
 
 "A gentleman, sir, wishes to see you." 
 
 "A gentleman," repeated the- Colonel, glancing toward the 
 clock. " Are you sure it is a gentleman--?" 
 
 The man hesitated. " Why, sir, I ben't exactly sure; but he 
 .speaks like a gentleman. He do say he comes from London 
 to see you, sir." 
 
 A long and interesting correspondence was then being held 
 between the Colonel and one of his wife's trustees touching the in- 
 vestment of, Mrs.Pompley's fortune. It must be the trustee nay, 
 it must be. The trustee had tjalked of running down to see him. 
 
 " Let him come in," said the Colonel, " and when I ring 
 sandwiches and sherry ! " 
 | Beef, sir ?| " 
 
 " Ham."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 289 
 
 The Colonel put aside his house-book, and wiped his pen. 
 
 In another minute the door opened, and the servant announced 
 MR. DIGBY. 
 
 The Colonel's face fell, and he staggered back. 
 
 The door closed, and Mr. Digby stood in the middle of the 
 room, leaning on the great writing-table for support. The poor 
 soldier looked sicklier and shabbier, and nearer to the end of 
 all things in life and fortune, than when Lord L'Estrange had 
 thrust the pocket-book into his hands. But still the servant 
 showed knowledge of the world in calling him gentleman ; 
 there was no other word to apply to him. 
 
 " Sir," began Colonel Pompley, recovering himself, and with 
 great solemnity, " I did not expect this pleasure." 
 
 The poor visitor stared round him dizzily, and sank into a chair, 
 breathinghard. TheColonellookedasamanonlylooksuponapoor 
 relation, andbuttonedup first one trouserpocket and then theother, 
 
 " I thought you were in Canada," said the Colonel at last. 
 
 Mr. Digby had now got breath to speak, and he said meekly, 
 " The climate would have killed my child, and it is two years 
 since I returned." 
 
 " You ought to have found a very good place in England, to 
 make it worth your while to leave Canada." 
 
 "She could not have lived through another winter in Canada 
 the doctor said so." 
 
 " Pooh," quoth the Colonel. 
 
 Mr. Digby drew a long breath. " I would not come to you, 
 Colonel Pompley, while you could think that I came as a beggar 
 for myself." 
 
 The Colonel's brow relaxed. " A very honorable sentiment, 
 Mr. Digby." 
 
 " No ; I have gone through a great deal ; but you see, Col- 
 onel," added the poor relation, -with a faint smile, " the cam- 
 paign is well-nigh over, and peace is at hand." -' 
 
 The Colonel seemed touched. 
 
 " Don't talk so, Digby I don't like it. You are younger than 
 I am nothing more disagreeable than these gloomy views of 
 things. You have got enough to live upon,yousay atleastso I un- 
 derstand you. I am very glad to hear it ; and, indeed, Icould not 
 assist you so many claims on me. So it is all very well, Digby." 
 
 " Oh, Colonel Pompley," cried the soldier, clasping his hands, 
 and with feverish energy, "I am a suppliant, not for myself, but my 
 child ! I have but one only one a girl.- She has been so good to 
 me. She will cost you little. Take her when I die ; promise her a 
 shelter a home. I ask no more. You are my nearest relative. 1
 
 290 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 have no other to look to. You have no children of your own. She 
 will be a blessing to you, as she has been all upon earth to me ! " 
 
 If Colonel Pompley's face was red in ordinary hours, no epi- 
 thet sufficiently rubicund or sanguineous can express its color 
 at this appeal. " The man's mad," he said, at last, with a tone 
 of astonishment that almost concealed his wrath " stark mad ! I 
 take his child ! lodge and board a great, positive, hungry child! 
 Why, sir, so many and many a time have I said to Mrs. Pompley, 
 ' 'Tis a mercy we have no children. We could never live in this 
 style.ifwehad children -never make both ends meet. 'Child the 
 most expensive, ravenous, ruinous thing. in the world' a child ! " 
 
 " She has been accustomed to starye," said Mr. Digby, plain- 
 tively. " Oh, Colonel, let me see your wife. Her heart I can 
 touch she. is a woman." 
 
 Unlucky father ! ,A more untoward, unseasonable request the 
 Fates could not have put into hts lips. 
 
 Mrs. Pompley see the Digbies ! Mrs, Pompley learn the con- 
 dition of the Colonel's grand connections ! The Colonel would 
 never have been his own man again. At the bare idea, he felt as 
 if he could have sunk into the earth with shame. In his alarm he 
 made a stride to .the door, with the intention of locking it. Good 
 Heavens, if Mrs. Pompley should come in ! And the man, too, had 
 been announced by name. Mrs. Pompley might have learned al- 
 ready that a Digby was with her husband she might be actually 
 dressing to receive him worthily there was not amoment tolose. 
 
 The Colonel exploded. " Sir, . J. wonder at your impudence. 
 See Mrs. Pompley !. Hush, sir, hush ! hold your tongue. I 
 have disowned your connection. I will not have my wife ;i 
 woman, sir, of the first family' disgraced by it. Yes; you need 
 not fire up. John Pompley is not a man to be bullied in his own 
 house. I say disgraced. Did not you run. into debt, and spend 
 your fortune ? Did not you marry a low creature a vulgarian 
 a tradesman's daughter ? and your poor father such a respecta- 
 ble man a beneficed clergyman ! Did not you sell your com- 
 mission? Heaven knows what becanje of the 'money ! Did not 
 you turn (I shudder to ; say it) a common stage-player, sir ? And 
 then, when you were on your last legs, did I not give you ^200 
 out of my own purse to go to Canada ? And now here you are 
 again-^-anjd ask me, with coolness that that takes away my 
 breaths-takes away my breath, sir to provide for the child you 
 have thought proper to have; a child whose connections on the 
 mother's side are of the most abject and discreditable condition. 
 Leave my house, leave it good heavens, sir, not thatway N this." 
 And the Colonel opened the glass-door that led into the garden.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 2 Q t 
 
 "I will let you out this way. If Mrs. Pornpley should see you! " 
 And with that thought the Colonel absolutely hooked his arm 
 into his poor relation's and hurried him into the garden. 
 
 Mr. Digby said not a word, but he struggled ineffectually to 
 escape from the Colonel's arm; and his color went and came, 
 came and went, with a quickness that showed that in those 
 shrunken veins there were still some drops of a soldier's blood. 
 
 But the Colonel had now reached a little postern-door in the 
 garden-wall. He opened the latch and thrust out his poor cousin. 
 Then looking down the lane, which was long, straight, and nar- 
 row, and seeing it was quite solitary, his eye fell upon the forlorn 
 man, and remorse shot through his heart. For a moment the 
 hardest of all kinds of avarice, that of t\ie genteel, relaxed its gripe. 
 For a moment the most intolerant of all forms of pride, that 
 which is based upon false pretences, hushed its voice, and the 
 Colonel hastily drew out his purse. " There," said he " that 
 is all I can do for you. Do leave the town as quick as you can, 
 and don't mention your name to any one. Your father was such 
 a respectable man^beneficed clergyman ! " 
 
 "And paid for your commission, Mr. Pompley. My name! 
 I am not ashamed of it. But do not fear I shall claim your re- 
 lationship. No; I am ashamed of you." 
 
 The poor cousin put aside the purse, still stretched toward 
 him, with a scornful hand, and walked firmly down the lane. 
 
 Colonel Eompley stood irresolute. At that moment a window 
 in his house was thrown open. He heard the noise, turned 
 round, and saw his wife looking out. 
 
 Colonel Pompley sneaked back through the shrubbery, hid- 
 ing himself amongst the trees. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " ILL-LUCK is a. Wise," said the great Cardinal Richelieu; and 
 on the long run, I fear, his eminence was right. If you could 
 drop Dick Avenel and Mr. Digby in the middle of Oxford 
 Street Dick in a fustian jacket, Digby in a suit of superfine 
 Dick with five shillings in his pocket, Digby with a thousand 
 pounds and if, at the end of ten years, you looked up your two 
 men, Dick would be on his road to a fortune, Digby what we 
 have seen him ! Yet Digby had no vice; he did not drink, nor 
 gamble. What was he, then ? Helpless. He had been an only 
 son a spoiled child brought up as a " gentleman; " that is, 
 as a nian who was not expected to be able to turn his hand to 
 anything. He entered, as we have seen, a very expensive regi- 
 ment,wherein he found himself,at his father's death, with ^4000,
 
 292 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 and the incapacity to say " No." Not naturally extravagant, 
 but without an idea of the value of money the easiest, gentlest, 
 best tempered man whom example ever led astray. This part 
 of his career comprised a very common history the poor man 
 living on equal terms with the rich. Debt; recourse to usurers; 
 bills signed sometimes for others, renewed at twenty ; per cent. 
 the ^4000 melted like snow; pathetic appeal to relations; rela- 
 tions have children of their own; small help given grudgingly, 
 eked out by much advice,and coupled with conditions. Amongst 
 the conditions there was a very proper and prudent one ex- 
 change into a less expensive regiment. Exchange effected ; 
 peace ; obscure country quarters ; ennui, flute-playing, and 
 idleness. Mr. Digby had no resources on a rainy day except 
 flute-playing ; pretty girl of inferior rank ; all the- officers after 
 her ; Digby smitten ; pretty girl very virtuous ; Digby forms 
 honorable intentions; excellent sentiments; imprudent mar- 
 riage. Digby falls in life ; colonel's lady will not associate 
 with Mrs. Digby; Digby cut by his whole kith and kin; many 
 disagreeable circumstances in regimental life; Digby sells out; 
 love in a cottage; execution in ditto. Digby had been much ap- 
 plauded as an amateur actor; thinks of the stage; genteel com- 
 edy a gentleman-like profession. Tries in a provincial town, 
 under another name; unhappily succeeds; life of an actor; hand- 
 to-mouth life; illness; chest affected; Digby's voice becomes 
 hoarse and feeble; not aware of it; attributes failing to ignorant 
 provincial public; appears in London; is hissed; returns to the 
 provinces; sinks into very small parts; prison; despair; wife dies; 
 appeal again to relations; a subscription made to get rid of him; 
 send him out of the country; place in Canada superintendent 
 to an estate, ^150 a year; pursued by ill-luck; never before fit for 
 business, not fit now; honest as the day, but keeps slovenly ac- 
 counts; child cannot bear the winter of Canada; Digby wrapped 
 up in the child; return home; mysterious life for two years; child 
 patient, thoughtful, loving; has learned to work; manages for 
 father ; often supports him ; constitution rapidly breaking ; 
 thought of what will become of his child worst disease of all. 
 Poor Digby ! Never did a base, cruel, unkind thing in his life; 
 and here he is, walking down the lane from Colonel-Pompley's 
 house ! Now, if Digby had but learned a little of the world's 
 cunning, I think he would have succeeded even with Colonel 
 Pompley. Had he spent the ^"100 received from Lord L'Es- 
 trange with a view to effect had he bestowed a fitting wardrobe 
 On himself and his pretty Helen; had he stopped at the last stage, 
 taken thence a smart chaise and pair, and presented himself at
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 293 
 
 Colonel Pompley's in a way that would not have discredited the 
 Colonel's connection, and then, instead of praying for home and 
 shelter, asked the Colonel to become guardian to his child in 
 case of his death, I have a strong, notion that the Colonel, in 
 spite of his avarice, would have stretched both ends so as to take 
 in Helen Digby. But our poor friend had no such arts. Indeed, 
 of the ^100 he had already very little left, for before leaving 
 town he had committed what Sheridan considered the extreme 
 of extravagance frittered away his money in paying his debts; 
 and as for dressing up Helen and himself if that thought had 
 ever occurred to him, he would have rejected it as foolish. He 
 would have thought that the more he showed his poverty, the 
 more he would be pitied the worst mistake a poor cousin can 
 commit. According to Theophrastus, the partridge of Paphla- 
 gonia has two hearts; so have most men; it is the common mis- 
 take of the unlucky to knock at the wrong one. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 MR. DIGBY entered the room of the inn in which he had left 
 Helen. She was seated by the window, and looking out wistfully 
 on the narrow street, perhaps at the children at play. There had 
 never been a play-time for Helen Digby. She sprang forward 
 as her father came in. His coming was her holiday. 
 
 " We must go back to London," said Mr. Digby, sinking help- 
 lessly on the chair. Then with his sort of sickly smile for he 
 was bland even to his child 1 -" Will you kindly inquire when the 
 first coach leaves ? " 
 
 All the active cares of their careful life devolved upon that 
 quiet child. She kissed her father, placed before him a cough mix- 
 ture which he had brought from London, and went out silently 
 to make the necessary inquiries, and prepare for thejourney back. 
 
 At eight o'clock the father and child were seated in the night- 
 coach, withoneother passenger--aman muffled up to thechin. Af- 
 ter the first mile, the man let down one of the windows. Though it 
 wassummer,theairwaschilland raw. Digby shivered and coughed. 
 
 Helen placed her hand on the window, and, leaning toward 
 the passenger, whispered softly. 
 
 "Eh! "said the passenger, " draw up the windows! You 
 have got your own window ; this is mine. Oxygen, young 
 lady," he added solemnly, " oxygen is the breath of life. Cott, 
 child!" he continued with suppressed choler, and a Welsh pro- 
 nunciation, " Cott ! let us breathe and live." 
 
 Helen was frightened, and recoiled.
 
 294 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Her father, who had not heard, or had not heeded, this col- 
 loquy, retreated into the corner, put up the collar of his coat, 
 and coughed again. - 
 
 " It is cold, my dear," said he languidly to Helen. 
 
 The passenger caught the word, and replied indignantly, but 
 as if soliloquizing n 
 
 " Cold ugh! I do believe the English are the stuffiest people! 
 Look at their four-post beds! all the curtains drawn, shutters 
 closed, board before the chimney- not a house with a ventila- 
 tor ? Cold ugh ! " 
 
 The window next Mr. Digby did not fit well into its frame. 
 
 " There is a sad draught," said the invalid. 
 
 Helen instantly occupied herself in stopping up the chinks of 
 the window with her handkerchief. Mr. Digby glanced ruefully 
 at ' the :*ther window. The look, which was very eloquent, 
 aroused yet more the traveller's spleen. 
 
 " Pleasant ! " said he. " Cott! I suppose you will ask me to 
 go outside next! But people who. travel in a coach should 
 know the law of a coach. I don't interfere with your window; 
 you have no business to interfere with-mine." 
 
 " Sir, I did not speak," said Mr. Digby, meekly. 
 
 "But Miss here did." 
 
 "Ah, sir ! "said Helen, plaintively, " if you knew how papa suf- 
 fers ! " And her hand again moved toward the obnoxious window. 
 
 " No, my dear; the gentleman is in his right," said Mr. Digby; 
 and, bowing with his wonted suavity, he added, " Excuse her, 
 sir. She thinks a great deal too much of me." 
 
 The passenger said nothing, and Helen nestled closer to her 
 father,- and strove to screen him from the air. 
 
 The. passenger moved uneasily. " Well," said he, with a sort 
 of snort, " air is air, and right is right : but here goes " and 
 he hastily drew up the window. 
 
 Helen turned her face full toward the passenger with a grate- 
 ful expression, visible even in the dim light. 
 
 " Yoti are very kind, sir," said poor Mr. Digby; "I am 
 ashamed to" his cough choked the rest of the sentence. 
 
 The passenger, who was a plethoric, sanguineous man, felt as 
 if he was stifling. But he took off his wrappers, and resigned the 
 oxygen like a hero. 
 
 Presently he drew nearer to the sufferer, and laid hand on his 
 wrist. 
 
 " You are feverish. I fear. I am a medical man. St! one 
 two. Cott ! you should not travel ; you are not fit f oar it." 
 
 Mr. Digby shook his head ; ; he was too feeble to reply.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 295 
 
 The passenger thrust his hand into his coat-pocket, and drew 
 out what seemed a cigar-case, but what, in fact, was a leathern 
 repertory, containing a variety of minute phials. From one of 
 these phials he extracted two tiny globules. " There," said he, 
 " open your mouth put those on the tip of your tongue. They 
 will lower the pulse check the fever. Be better presently but 
 should not travel want rest you should be in bed. Aconite! 
 Henbane ! hum ! Your papa is of fair complexion a timid 
 character, I should say a horror of. work, perhaps. Eh, child?" 
 
 " Sir ! " faltered Helen, astonished and alarmed. Was the 
 man a conjuror? 
 
 "A case f or Phosphor!" cried the passenger : "that fool Browne 
 would have said arsenic. Don't be persuaded to take arsenic ! " 
 
 " Arsenic, sir !" echoed the. mild Digby. " No ; however 
 unfortunate a man may be, I think, sir, that suicide is tempting, 
 perhaps, but highly criminal." 
 
 "Suicide," said the passenger tranquilly "suicide is my 
 hobby ! You have no symptom of that kind, you say ! " H 
 
 " Good heavens ! No sir." 
 
 " If ever you feel violently compelled to drown yourself, take 
 puhatilla. But if you feel a preference toward blowing out your 
 brains, accompanied with weight in the limbs, loss of appetite, 
 dry cough,and bad corns Sulphuret of antimony. Don't forget." 
 
 Though poor Mr. Digby confusedly thotiight that the gentle- 
 man was out of his mind, yet he tried politely to say "thathe was 
 much obliged, and would be sure to remember"; but his tongue 
 failed him, and his own ideas grew perplexed. His head fell back 
 heavily, and he sank into a silence which seemed that of sleep. 
 
 The traveller looked hard at Helen, as she gently drew her 
 father's head on her shoulder, and there piilowed it with a ten- 
 derness which was more that of mother than child. 
 
 " Moral affections soft compassionate! a good child, and 
 would go well with puhatilla." , 
 
 Helen held up her finger, and glanced from her father to the 
 traveller, and then to her father again. 
 
 " Certainly pukatilla ! " muttered the homosopathist ; and, 
 ensconcing himself in his own corner, he also sought to sleep.; But 
 after vain efforts, accompanied by restless gestures and move- 
 ments, he suddenly started up,and again extracted his phial-book. 
 
 " What the deuce are they to me ! " ,he muttered. " Morbid 
 sensibility of character Coffee? No!- accompanied by vivacity 
 and violence nux/" He brought his book to the window, con- 
 trived to read a label on a pigmy bottle. "Nux ! that's it," he 
 said and he swallowed a globule!
 
 296 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 *' Now," quoth he, after a pause, " I don't care a straw for.the 
 misfortunes of other people nay, I have half a mind to let 
 down the window." 
 
 Helen looked up. 
 
 " But I'll not," he added resolutely ; and this time he fell 
 fairly asleep. 
 
 . CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE coach stopped at eleven o'clock to allow the passengers to 
 sap. The homceopathist woke up, got out, gave himself a shake, 
 and inhaled the fresh air into his vigorous lungs with an evident 
 sensation of delight. He then turned and looked into the coach. 
 
 " Let your father get out, my dear," said he, with a tone more 
 gentle than usual. " I should like to see him in-doors perhaps 
 I can do him good." 
 
 But what was Helen's terror when she found that her father 
 did not stir! He was in a deep swoon, and still quite insensi- 
 ble when they lifted him from the carriage. When he recovered 
 his senses, his cough returned, and the effort brought up blood. 
 
 It was impossible for him to proceed farther. The homceopa- 
 thist assisted to undress and put him to bed. And having ad- 
 ministered another of his mysterious globules, he inquired of the 
 landlady how far it was to the nearest doctor for the inn stood 
 by itself in a small hamlet. There was the parish apothecary 
 three miles off. But on hearing that the gentlefolks employed 
 Dr. Dosewell, and it was a good seven miles to his house, the 
 homoeopathist fetched a deep breath. The coach only stopped 
 a quarter of an hour. 
 
 " Cott ! " said he angrily, to himself u the nux was a failure. 
 My sensibility is chronic. I must go through a long course to 
 get rid of it. Hollo, guard ! get out my carpet-bag. I shan't 
 go on to-night." 
 
 And the good man, after a very slight supper, went up stairs 
 again to the sufferer/- iw. :' 
 
 "Shall I send for Dr. Dosewell, sir ?" asked the landlady, 
 stopping him at the door. 
 
 Hum ! At what hour to-morrow does the next coach to 
 London pass ? " 
 
 " Not before eight, sir." 
 
 " Well, send for the doctor to be here at seven. That leaves 
 us at least some hours free from allopathy and murder," grunted 
 the disciple of Hahnemann, as he entered the room. 
 
 Whether it was the globule that the homceopathist had ad- 
 ministered; or the effect of nature aided by repose, that checked
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 297 
 
 the effusion of blood, and restored some temporary strength to 
 the poor sufferer, is more than it becomes one not of the faculty to 
 opine. But certainly Mr. Digby seemed better, and he gradually 
 fellintoaprofoundsleep, but not till thedoctor had put his ear tohis 
 chest, tapped it with his hand,and asked several questions; after 
 whichthehomceopathistretiredintoacornerof the room, and lean- 
 ing his face on his hand, seemed to meditate. From his thoughts he 
 was disturbed by a gentle touch. Helen was kneeling at his feet. 
 
 " Is he very ill- very ? " said she; and her fond wistful ; eyes 
 were fixed on the physician's with all the earnestness of despair. 
 
 "Your father very ill," replied ; the doctpr,-after a short 
 pause. " He cannot move hence for some days at least. I am 
 going to London shall I call on your relations, and tell some 
 of them to join you ?" . . 
 
 " No, thank you, sir," answered Helen, coloring, " But do 
 not fear; I can nurse papa. I think he has been worse before 
 that is, he has complained more." 
 
 The homoeopathist rose, and took two strides across the room, 
 then he paused by the bed, and listened to the breathing of the 
 sleeping man. 
 
 He stole back to the child who was still kneeling, took her in 
 his arms and kissed her. " Tam it," said, he angrily, and putting 
 her down, " go to bed now you are not wanted any more." 
 
 " Please, sir," said Helen, " I cannot leave him so. If he 
 wakes, he would miss me." 
 
 The doctor's hand trembled; he had recourse to his globules. 
 " Anxiety grief suppressed," muttered he. "Don't you want to 
 cry, my dear ? Cry do ! ' ' 
 
 " I can't," murmured Helen. 
 
 " Pulsatilla! " said the doctor, almost with triumph. " I said 
 so from the first. Open your mouth here ! Good night. My 
 room is opposite No. 6; call me if he wakes." 
 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 AT seven o'clock Dr. Dosewell arrived, and was shown into 
 the room of the homoeopathist, who, already up and dressed, 
 had visited his patient, 
 
 " My name is Morgan," said the homceopathist " I aim a 
 physician. I leave in your hands a patient whom, I fear, neither 
 you nor I can restore. Come and look at him." 
 
 The two doctors went into the sick-room. Mr. Digby was 
 very feeble,, but he had recovered his consciousness, aod in- 
 clined his head courteously.
 
 298 MY NOVEL ; OR 
 
 " I am sorry to cause so much trouble/' said he. The homos- 
 opathist drew away Helen; the allopathist seated himself by the 
 bedside and put his questions, felt the pulse, sounded the lungs, 
 and looked at the tongue of the patient. Helen's eye was fixed 
 on the strange doctor, and her color rose, and her eye sparkled 
 when he got up cheerfully, and said in a pleasant voice, ''You 
 my have a little tea." 
 
 " Tea ! " growled the homoeopathist -" barbarian ! " 
 
 " He is better, then, sir ? " said Helen, creeping to the allo- 
 pathist. 
 
 "Oh, yes, my dear certainly; and we shall do very well, I 
 hope." 
 
 The two doctors then withdrew. 
 
 " Last about a week ! " said Dr. Dosewell, smiling pleasantly, 
 and showing a very white set of teeth. 
 
 " I ! should have said a month; but our systems are different," 
 replied Dr. Morgan, dryly. 
 
 DR. DOSEWELL (courteously). -We country doctors bow -to 
 our metropolitan superiors; what would you advise ? You would 
 venture, perhaps, the experiment of bleeding. 
 
 DR. MORGAN (spluttering and growing Welch, which he never 
 did but in excitement) . Pleed ! Cott in heaven! do you think 
 I am a putcher a'n- executioner ? Pleed ! Never. 
 
 DR. DOSEWELL.- I don't find it answer, myself, when both 
 lungs are gone ! But perhaps you are for inhaling. 
 
 DR. MORGAN. Fiddlededee ! 
 
 DR. DOSEWELL (with some displeasure). What would you ad- 
 vise, then, in order to prolong our patient's life for a month. 
 
 DR. MORGAN. Give him Rhm ! 
 
 DR. DOSEWELL. Rhus, sir ! Rhus ! I don't know that medi- 
 cine. Rhus ! 
 
 DR. MORGAN. Rhus Toxicodendron ! 
 
 The length of the last word excited Dr. Dosewell's respect. 
 A word of five syllables this was something like ! He bowed 
 deferentially, but still looked puzzled. At last he said, smiling 
 frankly, " You great London practitioners have so many new 
 medicines; may I ask what Rhus toxico toxico 
 
 " Dendron." 
 
 "Is?" 
 
 " The juice of trie Upas vulgarly called the Poison-Tree." 
 
 Dr. Dosewell started. 
 
 "Upas poison-tree little birds that come under the shade 
 fall down dead ! You give upas-juice in these desperate cases - 
 what's the dose ? "
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 Df. Morgan grinned maliciously, and produced a globule the 
 size of a small pin's head. 
 
 Dr. Dosewell recoiled in disgust. 
 
 " Oh ! " said he very coldly, and assuming, at once an air of 
 superb superiority, " I see a homceopathist, sir ! " 
 
 " A homceopathist ! " 
 
 " Urn ! " 
 
 " Urn ! " 
 
 "A strange system, Dr. Morgan," said Dr. Dosewell, recover- 
 ing his cheerful smile, but with a curl of. contempt in it, " and 
 would soon do for the druggists." 
 
 "Serve 'em right. The" druggists soon do for the patients." 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 DR. DOSEWELL {with dignity). You don't know, perhaps, 
 Dr. Morgan, that I am an apothecary as well as a surgeon. In 
 faqt (he added, with a certain grand humiJUy), I have. not yet 
 taken a diploma, and am but Doctor by courtesy. 
 
 DR. MORGAN. All one, sir ! Doctor signs the death-warn! 
 rant r'pothecary does the deed ! 
 
 DR. DOSEWELL (with a withering sneer). 'Certainly we don't 
 protCcS to. keep a dying man alive upon the juice of the deadly 
 upas-tree. 
 
 DR. MORGAN (complacently). Of course you don't. . There 
 are no poisons with us. That's just the difference between you 
 and me, Dr. Dosewell. 
 
 DR. DOSEWELL (pointing to the homoeopathist's travelling 
 pharmacopoeia, and with affected candor). Indeed, I have 
 always said that if you can do no good you can do no harm, 
 with: your infinitesimals. 
 
 Dr. Morgan, who had been obtuse to the insinuation of pois- 
 oning, fires up violently at the charge of doing no harm. 
 
 "You know nothing about it ! 1 could kill quite as many 
 people as you, if I chose it ; but I don't choose." 
 
 DR. DOSEWELL (shrugging his shoulders), Sir ! 'tis no use 
 arguing; the thing's against common sense. In short, it is my 
 firm belief that it is is a complete 
 
 DR. MORGAN. A complete what? 
 
 DR. DOSEWELL (provoked to the utmost).- Humbug ! 
 
 DR. MORGAN. Humpug ! Cott in heaven ! You old 
 
 DR. DOSEWELL. 'Old what, sir? 
 
 DR. MORGAN (at home in a series of alliteral vowels, which 
 none but a Cimbrian could have uttered without gasping). 
 Old allopathical anthropophagite I
 
 300 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 DR. DOSEWELL (starting up, seizing by the back the chair on 
 which he had sate, and bringing it down violently on its- four 
 legs). Sir ! 
 
 DR. MORGAN (imitating the action with his own chair).-^- Sir ! 
 
 DR. DOSEWELL. You're abusive. 
 
 DR. MORGAN. You're impertinent. 
 
 DR. DOSEWELL. Sir ! 
 
 DR. MORGAN. Sir! 
 
 The two rivals fronted each other.' 
 
 They were both athletic men, and fiery men. Dr. Dosewell 
 was the taller, but Dr. Morgan was the stouter. Dr. Dosewell on 
 the mother's side was Irish ; but Dr. Morgan on both sides was 
 Welsh. All things considered, I would have backed Dr. Morgan 
 if it had come to blows. But, luckily for the honor of science, 
 here the chambermaid knocked at the door, and said, : "The 
 coach is coming, sir." 
 
 Dr. Morgan recovered his temper and his manners at that 
 announcement. " Dr. Dosewell," said he, "I have been too 
 hot I apologize." 
 
 "Dr. Morgan," answered the allopathist, "I forgot myself. 
 Your hand, sir." 
 
 DR. MORGAN. We are both devoted to humanity, though 
 with different opinions. We should respect each other. 
 
 DR. DOSEWELL. Where look for liberality, if men of science 
 are illiberal to their brethren? . 
 
 DR. MORGAN (aside). The old hypocrite! He would pound 
 me in a mortar if the law would let him. 
 
 DR. DOSEWELL (aside). The wretched charlatan ! I should 
 like to pound him in a mortar. 
 
 DR. MORGAN. Good bye, my esteemed and worthy brother. 
 
 DR. DOSEWELL. My excellent friend, good bye. 
 
 DR. MORGAN (returning in haste). I forgot. I don't think 
 our poor patient is very rich. I confide him to your disinterested 
 benevolence. (Hurries away.) 
 
 DR. DOSEWELL (in a rage).- Seven miles at six o'clock in the 
 morning, and perhaps done out of my fee ! Quack ! Villain ! 
 
 Meanwhile Dr. Morgan had returned to the sick-room. 
 
 "I must wish you farewell," said he to poor Mr. Digby, who 
 was languidly sipping his tea. "But you are in the hands of a 
 of a gentleman in the profession." 
 
 "You have been too kind I am shocked," said Mr. Digby. 
 "Helen, where's my purse?" 
 
 Dr. Morgan paused. 
 
 He paused, first, because it must be owned that his practice
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 301 
 
 was restricted, and a fee gratified the vanity natural to unap- 
 preciated talent, and had the charm of novelty, which is sweet 
 to human nature itself. Secondly, he was a man 
 
 /' Who knew his rights; and, knowing, dared maintain." 
 He had resigned a coach-fare stayed anight and thought he 
 had relieved his patient. He had a right to his fee. 
 
 On the other hand, he paused, because, though he had small 
 practice, he was tolerably well off, and did not care for money in 
 itself, and he suspected, his patient to be no Croesus. 
 
 Meanwhile the purse was in Helen's hand. He took it from 
 her, and saw but a few sovereigns within the well-worn net- work. 
 He drew the child a little aside. 
 
 " Answer me, my dear, frankly is your papa rich ? " And he 
 glanced at the shabby clothes strewed on the chair, and Helen's 
 faded frock. 
 
 " Alas, no ! " said Helen, hanging her head. 
 
 "Is that all you have?" 
 
 "All." 
 
 "I am ashamed, to offer you two guineas," said Mr. Digby'a 
 hollow voice from the bed. 
 
 "And I should be still more ashamed to take them. Good 
 bye, sir. Come here, my child. Keep your money, and don't 
 waste it on the other doctor more than you can help. His medi- 
 cines can do your father no good. But I suppose you must have 
 some. He's no physician, therefore there's no fee. He'll send a 
 bill itcan'ibemuch. You understand. And now, God bless you." 
 
 Dr. Morgan was off. But, as he paid the landlady his bill, 
 he said, considerately, " The poor people up-stairs can pay you, 
 but not that doctor and he's of no use. Be kind to the little 
 girl, and get the doctor to tell his patient: (quietly of course) to 
 write to his friends soon youunderstand. Somebodymust take 
 charge of the poor child. And stop hold your hand; take cafe 
 these globules for the little girl when her father dies (here' the 
 Doctor muttered to himself, 'grief dw/te,)-^and if she cries 
 too much afterward these (don't mistake). Tears caustic!" 
 
 ".Come, sir," cried the coachman. 
 
 "Coming; tears caustic" repeated the homceopathist, pull- 
 ing out his handkerchief and his phial-book together as he got 
 into the coach; and he hastily swallowed his anti-lachrymal. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 RICHARD AVENEL was in a state of great nervous excitement. 
 He proposed to give an entertainment of a kind wholly new to
 
 302 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 the experience of Screwstown. Mrs. M'Catchley had described 
 ' with much eloquence the DJjedners datisants of her fashionable 
 friends residing in the elegant suburbs of Wimbledon and Ful- 
 ham. She declared that nothing was so agreeable. She had even 
 said point-blank toMr. Avenel, "Why don't you give a Dtjefincr 
 dansant ? " And, therewith, a DtjeAncr dansant Mr. Avenel te- 
 solved to give. 
 
 The day was fixed, and Mr. Avenel entered into all the requi- 
 site preparations^ with the energy of a man and the providence 
 of a woman. 
 
 One morning as he stood musing on the lawn, irresolute as to 
 the best site for the tents, Leonard came up to him with an open, 
 letter, in his hand. 
 
 "My dear uncle," said he, softly. 
 
 "Ha !" exclaimed Mr. Avenel, with a start. "Ha well 
 what now ? " 
 
 " I have just received a letter from Mr. Dale/ He tells me 
 that my mother is very restless and uneasy, because he cannot 
 assure her that he has heard 'from me ; and his letter requires an 
 answer. Indeed I shall seem very ungrateful to him to all 
 if I do not write." 
 
 Richard Avenel's brows met. He uttered an impatient "pish!" 
 and turned away. Then coming back, he fixed his clear hawk- 
 eye on Leonard's ingenuous countenance, linked his arm in his 
 nephew's and drew him into the shrubbery. 
 
 " Well, Leonard," said he, after a pause, " it is time that I 
 should give you some idea of my. plans with regard to you. You 
 . have seen my manner of living-^some difference from what you 
 ever saw before, I calculate ! Now I have given you, what no 
 one gave me, a lift in the world ; and where I place you, there 
 you must help yourself." 
 
 "Such is my .duty, and my desire-" said Leonard heartily. 
 
 " Good. You are a clever lad, and a genteel lad, and will do 
 Kre.credit I have had doubts of what is best for you. At one 
 time I thought of sending you to college. That, I know, is Mr. 
 Dale's wish ; perhaps it is your own. But I have given up that 
 idea ; I have something better for you. You have a clear head 
 for business, and are a' capital arithmetician. I think of bring- 
 ing you up to superintend my business ; by*and-by I will admit 
 you into partnership ; and before you are thirty you will be a 
 rich man. Come, does that suit you ?" 
 
 " My dear uncle," said Leonard, frankly, but much touched by 
 this generosity, "it is not for me' to have a choice. I should have 
 preferred going to college, bc'ctuisc there! might gain independ-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. $6;$ 
 
 ence for myself, and cease to be a burden on you. Moreover, 
 my heart moves me to studies more congenial with the college 
 than the counting-house. But all this is nothing compared with 
 my wish to be of use to you, and to prove in any way, however 
 feebly, my gratitude for all your kindness." 
 
 " You're a good, grateful, sensible lad," exclaimed Richard, 
 heartily; "and believe me, though I'm a rough diamond, I have 
 your true interest at heart. You can be of use to me, and in 
 being so you will best serve yourself. To tell you the truth, I 
 have some idea of changing my condition. There's a lady of 
 fashion and quality who,I think, may condescend to become Mrs. 
 Avenel; and if so, I shall probably reside a great part of the year 
 in London. I don't want to give up my business. No other in- 
 vestment will yield the same interest. But you can soon learn 
 to superintend it for me, as some day or other I may retire, and 
 then you can step in. Once a member of our great commer- 
 cial class, and with your talents you may be anything member 
 of. Parliament^ and after that, minister of state, for what I know. 
 And my wife-> hem ! that is to be 'has great connections, and 
 you shall marry well; and oh, the Avenels will hold their head 
 ."with the highest, after. all ! Damn the aristocracy we clever 
 fellows will be the aristocrats >eh?" Richard rubbed his hands. 
 
 Certainly, as we have seen, Leonard, especially in his earlier 
 steps to knowledge, had repined at his position in the many de- 
 grees of life certainly he was still ambitious certainly he could 
 not now have returned contentedly to the humble occupation he 
 had left ; and woe to the young man who does not hear with a 
 quickened pulse, and brightening eye, words that promise inde- 
 pendence, and flatter with the hope of distinction. -Still, it was 
 with all the reaction of chill and mournful disappointment that 
 Leonard, a few hours after this dialogue with his uncle, found 
 himself alone in the fields, .and pondering over the prospects 
 before him. He had set his heart upon completing his intellec- 
 tual education, upon developing those powers within him which 
 yearned for an arena of literature, and revolted from the routine 
 of trade. But to his credit be it said, that he vigorously resisted 
 this natural disappointment, and by degrees schooled himself 
 to look cheerfully on the path imposed on his duty, and sanc- 
 tioned by the manly sense that was at the core of his character. 
 
 I believe that this self-conquest showed thattheboy had true ge- 
 nius. The false genius would have written sonnets and despaired. 
 
 But still, Richard Avenel left his nephew sadly perplexed as 
 to the knotty question from which their talk on the future had 
 diverged viz., should he write to the Parson,and assure the fears
 
 304 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 of his mother? How do so without Richard's consent, when Rich- 
 ard had on a former occasion so imperiously declared that, if he 
 did, it would lose his mother all that Richard intended to settle 
 on her ? . While he was debating this matter with his conscience, 
 leaning against a stile that interrupted a path to the town. Leon- 
 ard Fairfield was .startled by an exclamation. He looked up, 
 and beheld Mr. Sprott, the tinker. 
 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 . : ' . . : 
 
 THE tinker, blacker and grimmer then ever, stared hard at the 
 altered person of his old acquaintance, and extended his sable 
 fingers, as if inclined to convince himself by the^sense of touch 
 that it was Leonard in the flesh :that he beheld, under vestments 
 so marvellously elegant and preternaturally spruce. 
 
 JLeonard shrunk mechanically from the contact, while in great 
 surprise he falteredr-^ '.t,ai n 
 
 "Youhere,Mr.Sprott! What could bringyou so farfromhome?" 
 
 "'Ome ! " echoed the tinker, "I 'as no 'ome ! or rather, d'ye 
 see, Muster. Fairfilt, I makes myself at 'ome verever I goes ! Lor' 
 Jove ye, I ben't settled on no parridge. I vanders here and I 
 vanders there, and that's my 'ome verever I can mend my kettles 
 and sell my tracks ! " . 
 
 So saying, the : tinker slid his panniers on the ground, gave a 
 grunt of release and satisfaction, and seated himself with great 
 composure on the stile, from which Leonard had retreated. 
 
 "But, dash my vig," resumed Mr. Sprott, as he once more 
 surveyed Leonard, " vy, you bees a rale gentleman, now sure/y / 
 Vot's the dodge eh?" 
 
 "Dodge ! " repeated Leonard mechanically " I don't under- 
 stand you." Then, thinking ^that it was neither necessary nor 
 expedient to keep up his acquaintance with Mr. Sprott, nor pru- 
 dent to expose himself to the battery of questions which he fore- 
 saw that further parley would bring upon him, he extended a 
 crown-piece to the tinker; and saying with a half-smile, " You 
 must excuse me for leaving you I have business in the town; 
 and dome the favor to accept this trifle," he walked briskly off. 
 
 The Tinker looked long at the crown-piece, and then sliding 
 it into his pocket, said to himself-! 
 
 "Ho 'ush money ! No go, my swell cove." 
 
 After venting that brief soliloquy, he sat silent a little while, 
 till Leonard was nearly out of sight, then rose, resumed his fardel, 
 and creeping quick along out of sight along the hedge-rows, fol- 
 lowed Leonard toward the town. Just in the last field, as he
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 35 
 
 looked over the hedge, he saw Leonard accosted by a gentleman 
 of comely mien and important swagger. That gentleman soon 
 left the young man, and came, whistling loud, up the path, and 
 straight toward the tinker. Mr. Sprott looked round, but the 
 hedge was too neat to allow of a good hiding-place, so he put a 
 bold front on it, and stepped forth like a man. -But, alas for 
 him ! before he got into the public path, the proprietor of the land, 
 Mr. Richard A venel (for the gentleman was no less a personage), 
 had spied out the trespasser, and called to him with a "Hillo, fel- 
 low," that bespoke all. the dignity of a man who owns acres and all 
 the wrath of a man who beholds those acres impudently invaded. 
 
 The Tirtker stopped, and Mr. Avenel stalked up to him. 
 
 " What the devil are you doing on my property, lurking by 
 my hedge? I suspect you are an incendiary !" 
 
 "I be a tinker," quoth Mr. Sprott, not louting low (fora sturdy 
 republican was Mr. Sprott), but, like a lord of human-kind, 
 " Pride in his port, defiance in his eye." 
 
 Mr. AveneTs fingers itcheid to knock the tinker's villanous 
 hat off his Jacobinical head, but he repressed the undignified 
 impulse by thrusting both hands deep into his trousers pockets. 
 
 "A tinker! "he cried "that's a vagrant; and I'm a magistrate, 
 and I've a great mind to send you to the tread-mill that I have. 
 What do you do here, I say? Youhavenotansweredmyquestion? ' 
 
 " What does I do 'ere ? " said Mr. Sprott. " Vy you had better 
 ax my crakter of the young gent I saw you talking with just now; 
 he knows me ! " 
 
 " What ! my nephew knows you ? " 
 
 " W hew," whistled the Tinker, "your nephew, is it, sir? I 
 have a great respeck for your family. I've known Mrs. Fairfilt, 
 the vasher-voman, this many a year. I 'umbly ax your pardon," 
 And he took off his hat this time. 
 
 Mr. Avenel turned red and white in a breath. He growled 
 out something inaudible, turned on his heel, and strode off. 
 
 The Tinker watched him as he had watched Leonard, and then 
 dogged the uncle as he had dogged the nephew. I don't pre- 
 sume to say that there was cause and effect in what happened 
 that night, but it was what is called a " curious coincidence " that 
 that night one of Richard Avenel's ricks was seton fire; and that 
 that day he had called Mr. Sprott an incendiary. Mr. Sprott was 
 a man of a very high spirit, and did not forgive an insult .easily. 
 His nature was inflammatory, and so was that of the lucifers 
 which he always carried about him, with his tracts and glue-pots. 
 
 The next morning there was an inquiry made for the Tinker, 
 but he had disappeared from the neighborhood.
 
 306 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 IT was a fortunate thing that the dejedner dansant so absorbed 
 Mr. Richard Avenel's thoughts, that even the conflagration of 
 his rick could not scare away the graceful and poetic images 
 connected with that pastoral festivity. He was even loose and 
 careless in the questions he put to Leonard about the Tinker ; 
 nor did he send justice in pursuit of that itinerant trader ; for, 
 to say truth, Richard Avenel was a man accustomed to make 
 enemies amongst the lower orders ; and though he suspected Mr. 
 Sprott of destroy ing his rick, yet, when he once set abbut suspect- 
 ing, he found he had quite as good cause to suspect fifty other 
 persons. How on earth could a man puzzle himself about ricks 
 and tinkers, when all his cares and energies were devoted to a 
 (ttjcdncr .dansant? It was a maxim of Richard Avenel's, as it 
 ought to be of every clever, man, "to do one thing at a time" ; 
 and therefore he postponed all other considerations till the 
 dtfe&iifr dansant was fairly done with. Amongst these consider- 
 ations was the letter which Leonard wished to write to the Parson. 
 " Wait a bit, and we will both write ! " said Richard, good- 
 jmmoredly, "the moment the deje&ner dansant is over ! " 
 
 It must be owned that this fete was no ordinary provincial 
 ceremonial. Richard Avenel was a man to do a thing well when 
 he set about it 
 
 " He soused the cabbage with a bounteous heart." 
 
 By little and little his first notions had expanded, till what had 
 been meant to be only neat and elegant now embraced the costly 
 and magnificent. Artificers accustomed to dfyetiners dansants 
 came all the way from London to assist, to direct, to create. 
 Hungarian singers, and Tyrolese singers, and Swiss peasant- 
 women who were to chaunt the Ranz des Vachcs, and milk cows, 
 or make syllabubs, were engaged. The great marquee was decor- 
 ated as aGothic banquet-hall; the breakfast itself was to consist of 
 "all the delicacies of the season." In short, as Richard Avenelsaid 
 to himself. " It is a thing once in away; a thing on which I don't 
 object to spend money, provided that the thing is the thing ! " 
 
 It had been a matter of grave meditation how to make the 
 society worthy of the revel ; for Richard Avenel \vas not contented 
 with a mere aristocracy of the town his ambition had grown 
 with his expenses. "Since it will cost so much," said he, "I may 
 as well come it strong, and get in the county." 
 
 True, that he was personally acquainted with very few of what 
 are called county families. But still, -when a man makes himself a
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 307 
 
 mark in a large town, and can return one of the members whom 
 that town sends to Parliament ; and when, moreover, that man 
 proposes to give some superb and original entertainment, in which 
 the old can eat and the young can dance, there is no county in 
 the island that has not families enow who will be delighted by 
 an invitation from THAT MAN. And so Richard, finding that, as 
 the thing got talked of, the Dean's lady, and Mrs. Pompley, and 
 various other great personages, took the liberty to suggest that 
 Squire this, and Sir Somebody that, would be so pleased if they 
 were asked, fairly took the bull by the horns, and sent out his 
 cards to Park, Hall, and Rectory, within a circumference of twelye 
 miles. He met with but few refusals, and he now counted upon 
 five hundred guests. 
 
 " In for a penny, in for a pound," said Mr. Richard Avenel. 
 " I wonder what Mrs. M-'CatchVey will say ? " Indeed, if the whole 
 truth must be known, Mr. Richard Avenel not only gave, that 
 dtjefiner dansant in honor of Mrs. M'Catchley, but he had fixed 
 in his heart of hearts upon that occasion (when surrounded by 
 all his splendor, and assisted by the seductive arts of Terpsichore 
 and Bacchus), to whisper to Mrs. M'Catchley those soft words 
 which -but why not here let Mr. Richard Avenel use his own 
 idiomatic and unsophisticated expression ? " Please the pigs, 
 then," said Mr. Avenel to himself, "I shall pop the question !" 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE Great Day arrived at last ; and Mr. Richard Avenel, from 
 his dressing-room window, looked on the scene below as Hanni- 
 bal or Napoleon looked from the Alps on Italy. It was a scene 
 to gratify the thought 'of conquest, and reward the labors of 
 ambition. Placed on a little eminence stood the singers from 
 the mountains of the Tyrol, their high-crowned hats and filigree 
 buttons and gay sashes gleaming in the sun. Just seen from his 
 place of watch, though concealed from the casual eye, the Hun- 
 garian musicians lay in ambush amidst a little belt of laurels and 
 American shrubs. Far to the right lay what had once been called 
 (fwrresco referens] the duck-pond, where Dulce sonant tenui 
 gutture carmen aves. But the ruthless ingenuity of thelhead artificer 
 had converted the duck-pond into a Swiss lake, despite grievous 
 wrong and sorrow to the assuetum innocuumque genus- the famil- 
 iar and harmless inhabitants, whohad been allexpatriated and ban- 
 ished from their native waves. Large poles twisted with fir-branch- 
 es, stuck thickly around the lake, gave to the waters the becoming 
 Helvetian gloom. And here, beside three cows all bedecked with
 
 308 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 ribbons, stood theSwissmaidensdestined to startle the shades with 
 iheRanzdes Vetches. To the left, full upon the sward, which it al- 
 most entirely covered, stretched the great Gothjcmarquee, divided 
 iato two grand sections one for the dancing, one for the deje&ner. 
 
 The day was propitious not a cloud in the sky. The musi- 
 cians were already tuning their instruments ; figures of waiters 
 hired of Gunter trim and decorpus, in black trousers and white 
 waistcoats passed to and fro the space between the house and 
 marquee. Richard looked and looked; and as he looked he drew 
 mechanically his razor across the-strop; and when he had looked 
 his fill, he turned reluctantly to the glass and shaved ! All that 
 blessed morning hehadbeen too busy ,till then, to thinkof shaving. 
 
 There is a vast deal of character in the way that a man per- 
 forms that operation of shaving! You should have seen Rich- 
 ard Avenel shave! You could have judged at once how he would 
 shave his neighbors, when you saw the celerity, the completeness 
 with which he shaved himself-fra forestroke and a backstroke, 
 and tondenti barba cadebat ! Cheek and chin were as smooth as 
 glass. You would have buttoned up your pockets instinctively, 
 if you had seen him. 
 
 But the rest of Mr. Avenel's toilet was ,not completed with 
 correspondent despatch. On his bed, and on his chairs, and 
 on his sofa, and on his drawers,lay trousers,and vests, and cravats 
 enough to distract the choice of a Stoic. And first one pair of 
 trousers was tried on, and then another and one waistcoat, and 
 then a second, and then a third. Gradually that chef-d 'ceuvre 
 oflCivilization a man dressed grew into development and form ; 
 and, finally, Mr. Richard Avenel emerged into the light of day. 
 He had been lucky in his costume he felt it. It might not suit 
 every one in color or cut, but it suited him. 
 
 And this was his. garb. On such occasions, what epic poet 
 would not describe the robe and tunic of a hero? 
 
 His surtout in modern phrase, his frock-coat was blue, a 
 rich blue a blue that the rpyaj brothers of George the Fourth 
 were wont to favor. And the surtout,single-breasted, was thrown 
 open gallantly ; an,d in the second button-hole thereof was a 
 moss-rose. The vest was white, and the trousers a pearl-gray, 
 with what tailors style "a handsome fall over the boot." A 
 blue and white silk cravat, tied loose and debonnair.e ; an ample 
 field of shirt-frprit,with plain gold studs; a pair of lemon-colored 
 kid gloves, and a white hat, placed somewhat too knowingly on 
 one side, complete the description, and "give the world assur- 
 ance of the man." And,withhisjignt,firm, well-shaped figure,his 
 qlear complexion, his keen, bright eye, and features that bespoke
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 309 
 
 the courage, precision, and alertness of his character that is to 
 say, features bold, not large, well-defined and regular you might 
 walk long through town or country before you would see a hand- 
 somer specimen of humanity than our friend, Richard Avenel. 
 
 Handsome, and feeling that he was handsome ; rich, and feel- 
 ing that he was rich ; lord of the fete, and feeling that he was 
 lord of the fete, Richard Avenel stepped out upon his lawn. 
 
 And now the dust began to rise along the road, and carriages, 
 and gigs, and chaises, and flies^might be seen at near intervals, 
 and in quick procession. People camepretty much about the same 
 time as they do in the country Heaven reward them for it! 
 
 Richard Avehel was not quite at his ease at first in receiving 
 his guests, especially those whom he did not know by sight. 
 But when the dancing began, and he had secured the fair hand 
 of Mrs. M'Catchley for the initiatory quadrille, his courage and 
 presence of mind returned to him; and, seeing that many people 
 whom he had not received at all seemed to enjoy themselves 
 very much, he gave up the attempt to receive those who came 
 after and that was a great relief to all parties. 
 
 Meanwhile Leonard looked on the animated scene with a silent 
 melancholy, which he in vain endeavored to shake off a mel- 
 ancholy more common amorlgstvery young men in such scenes 
 than we are apt to suppose. Somehow or other, the .pleasure 
 was not congenial to him ; he had no Mrs. M'Catchley to endear 
 it -he knew very few people he was shy he felt his position 
 with his uncle was equivocal he had not the habit of society 
 he heard incidentally many ah ill-natured remark upon his uncle 
 and the entertainment he felt indignant and mortified. He 
 had been a great deal happier eating his radishes, and reading 
 his book by the little fountain in Riccabocca's garden. He re- 
 tired to a quiet part of the grounds, and seated himself under a 
 tree, leaned his cheek on his hand, arid mused. He was soon 
 far away ; happy age, when, whatever the present, the future 
 seems so far and so infinite ! 
 
 But now the (tijedncr had succeeded the earlier dances ; and, 
 as champagne flowed royally, it is astonishing how the entertain- 
 ment brightened. 
 
 The sun was beginning to slope toward the west when, during 
 a temporary cessation of the dance, all the guests had assem- 
 bled in such space as the tent left on the lawn, or thickly, filled 
 the walks immediately adjoining it. The gay dresses of the 
 ladies, the joyous laughter heard everywhere, and the brilliant 
 sunlight ovef all, conveyed even to Leonard the notion, not of 
 mere hypocritical pleasure, but actual healthful happiness. He
 
 310 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 was attracted from his reverie,- and timidly mingled with the 
 groups. But Richard Avenel, with the fair Mrs. M'Catchley her 
 complexion more vivid, and her eyes more dazzling, and her step 
 more elastic than usual had turned from the gaiety just as Leon- 
 ard had turned toward it, and was now on the very spot (remote, 
 obscure, shaded by the few trees jabove five years old that Mr. 
 A venel'sproperty boasted) whichthe young dreamer had deserted. 
 
 And then ! Ah, then ! moment so meet for the sweet ques- 
 tion of questions, place so appropriate for the delicate, bashful, 
 murmured popping thereof ! suddenly from the sward before, 
 from the groups .beyond, there .floated to the ears of Richard 
 Avenel an indescribable, mingled, ominous sound-^-a sound as 
 of a general titter, a horrid, malignant, but low each in.nation. 
 And Mjs. M' Catch-ley, stretching forth her parasol, exclaimed, 
 " Dear me, Mr. Avenel, what can they be all crowding there for? " 
 
 There are certain sounds and certain-sights the one indis- 
 tinct, the other vaguely conjecturable which, nevertheless, we 
 know, by an instinct, bode some diabolical .agency at work in 
 our affairs. And if any man gives an entertainment, and hears 
 afar a general, ill-suppressed, decisive titter, and sees all his 
 guests hurrying toward one spot, I defy him to remain unmoved 
 and uniriquisitive. I defy him still more to take that precise 
 occasion (however much he may have before designed it) to 
 drop gracefully on his right knee before the handsomest Mrs. 
 M'Catchley in the universe, and, pop the question ! Richard 
 Avenel blurted out something very. like an oath ; and, half guess- 
 ing that something must ha^e happened that it would not be 
 pleasing to bring immediate!) under the notice of Mrs. M'Catch- 
 ley, he said hastily " Excuse me, I'll just go and see what is 
 the matter; pray, stay till I come back." With that he sprang 
 forward ; inaminutehewas in the.midstofthe group, that parted 
 aside with the most obliging < omplacency to make way for him. 
 
 "But what's the matter ?" he asked, impatiently, yet fearfully. 
 Not a voice answered. He strode on, and beheld his nephew 
 in the arms of a woman ! 
 
 " God bless my soul ! " said Richard Avenel. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 AND such a woman ! 
 
 She had on a cotton gown very neat, I dare say for an 
 under-housemaid ; and such thick shoes ! She had on a little 
 black straw bonnet ; and a kerchief, that might have cost ten- 
 pence, pinned across her waist instead of a shawl ; and she
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 311, 
 
 looked altogether respectable, no doubt, but exceedingly dusty! 
 And she was hanging upon Leonard's neck, and scolding, and 
 caressing, and crying, very loud. "God bless my soul !" said 
 Mr. Richard Avenel. 
 
 As he uttered that innocent self-benediction, the woman hastily 
 turned round, and, darting from Leonard, threw herself right 
 upon Richard Avenel burying under her embrace blue coat, 
 moss-rose, white waistcoat and all with a vehement sob and a 
 loud exclamation ! 
 
 "Oh ! brother Dick ! dear, dear brother Dick ! And I lives 
 to see thee agin ! " And then came two such kisses you might 
 have heard them a mile off ! The situation of brother Dick 
 was appalling ; and the crowd, that had before only tittered: 
 politely, could not now resist the effect of this sudden embrace. 
 There was a general explosion !- It was a roar.- That roar would 
 have killed a weak man ; but it sounded to the strong heart of 
 Richard Avenel like the defiance of a foe, and it plucked forth 
 in an instant from all conventional let 'and barrier the native 
 spirit of the Anglo-Saxon. 
 
 He lifted abruptly his handsome masculine head, and looked 
 round the ring of his ill-bred visitors with a haughty stare of 
 rebuke and surprise. 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen," then said he very coolly, "I don't 
 see what there is to. laugh at? A brother and sister meet after 
 many years' separation, and the sister cries, poor thing ! For my 
 part I think it very natural that she should cry; but not that. you 
 should laugh!" In an instant the whole shame was removed from 
 Richard Avenel, and rested in full weight upon the bystanders. 
 It is impossible to say how foolish and sheepish they all looked, 
 nor how slinkingly each tried to creep off. 
 
 Richard Avenel seized his advantage with the promptitude of 
 a man who had got on in America, and was, therefore, accus- 
 tomed to make the best of things. He drew Mrs. Fairfield's arm' 
 in his, and led her into the house; but when he had got her safe 
 into his parlor Leonard following all the'time and the door was 
 closed upon those three, thf.n Richard Avenel's ire burst forth. 
 
 "You impudent, ungrateful, audacious drab!" 
 
 Yes, drab was the word. I was shocked to say it, but the 
 duties of an historian are stern, and the word was drab. 
 
 " Drab ! " faltered poor Jane Fairfield; and she clutched hold 
 of Leonard to save herself from falling. 
 
 "Sir!" cried Leonard, fiercely. 
 
 You might as well have cried " Sir " to a mountain torrent 
 Richard hurried on, for he was furious.
 
 312 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "You nasty, dirty, dusty dowdy ! How dare you come here 
 to disgrace me in my own house and premises, after my sending 
 you fifty pounds ! To take the very time too, when when " 
 
 Richard gasped for breath; and the laugh of his guests rang 
 in his ears, and got into his chest, and choked him. Jane Fair- 
 field drew herself up, and her tears were dried. 
 
 " I did not come to disgrace you ; I came to see my boy and " 
 
 "Ha!" interrupted Richard, "to see him" 
 
 He turned to Leonard : "You have written to this woman,then ?" 
 
 "No, sir, I have not." 
 
 "I believe you lie." 
 
 "He does not lie; and he is as good as yourself and better, 
 Richard Avenel," exclaimed Mrs. Fairfield; "and I won't stand 
 here and hear him insulted that's what I won't. And as for 
 your fifty pounds, there are forty-five of it; and I'll work my 
 fingers to the bone till I pay back the other five. And don't be 
 afeard I shall disgrace you, for I'll never look on your face agin; 
 and you're a wicked, bad man that's what you are." 
 
 The poor woman's voice was so raised and so shrill, that any 
 other and- more remorseful feeling which Richard might have 
 conceived was drowned in his apprehension that she would be 
 overheard by his servants or his guests a masculine apprehen- 
 sion, with which females rarely sympathize; which, on the con- 
 trary, they are inclined to consider a mean and cowardly terror 
 on the part of their male oppressors. 
 
 "Hush! hold your infernal squall- do!" said Mr. Avenel, in 
 a tone 'that he meant to be soothing. "There sit down and 
 don't stir till I come back again, and can talk to you calmly. 
 Leonard, follow me, and help to explain things to our guests." 
 
 Leonard stood still, but shook his head slightly. 
 
 "What do you mean, sir?" said Richad Avenel, in a very por- 
 tentous growl. " Shaking your head at me ? Do you intend to 
 disobey me? You had better take care! " 
 
 Leonard's front rose; he drew one arm round his mother, and 
 thus he spoke: 
 
 " Sir, you have been kind to me, and generous, and that thought 
 alone silenced my indignation, when I heard you address s<uch 
 language to my mother; for I felt that, if I spoke, I should say 
 too much. Now I speak, and it is to say, shortly, that " 
 
 "Hush, boy," said poor Mrs. Fairfield,, frightened; "don't 
 mind me. I did not come to make mischief, and ruin your pros- 
 pex. I'll go !" 
 
 "Will you ask her pardon, Mr. Avenel ?" said Leonard, firmly; 
 and he advanced toward his uncle.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 313 
 
 Richard, naturally hot and intolerant of contradiction, was 
 then excited, not only by the angry emotion, which, it must be 
 owned, a man so mortified, and in the very flush of triumph, 
 might well experience, but by much more wine than he was in 
 the habit of drinking; and when Leonard approached him, he 
 misinterpreted the movement into one of menace and aggression. 
 He lifted his arm: "Come a step nearer," said he, between his 
 teeth, "and I'll knock you down." Leonard advanced the for- 
 bidden step; but as Richard caught hiseye, there was something 
 in that eye not defying, not threatening, but bold and daunt- 
 less which Richard recognized and respected, for that some- 
 thing spoke the Freeman. The uncle's arm mechanically fell 
 to his side. 
 
 "You cannot strike me, Mr. Avenel," said Leonard, "for you 
 are aware that I could not strike again my mother's brother. As 
 her son,. I once more say to you ask her pardon." 
 
 " Ten thousand devils ! Are you mad ? or do you want to 
 drive me mad? you insolent beggar, fed and clothed by my 
 charity. Ask her pardon ! what for ? That she has made me 
 the object of jeer and ridicule with that d d cotton gown, and 
 those double d d thick shoes. I vow and protest they've got 
 nails in them ! Hark ye, sir, I've been insulted by her, but I'm 
 not to be bullied by you. Come with me instantly, or I discard 
 you; not a shilling of mine shall you have as long as I live. 
 Take your choice be a peasant, a laborer, or " 
 
 "A base renegade to natural affection, a degraded beggar in- 
 deed!" cried Leonard, his breast heaving, and his cheeks in a 
 glow. " Mother, mother, come away. Never fear I have strength 
 and youth, and we will work together as before." 
 
 But poor Mrs. Fairfield, overcome by her excitement, had sunk 
 down into Richard's own handsome morocco leather easy-chair, 
 and could neither speak nor stir. 
 
 "Confound you both !" muttered Richard. "You can't be 
 seen creeping out of my house now. Keep her here, you young 
 viper, you; keep her till I come back; and then, if you choose 
 to go, go and be " 
 
 Not finishing his sentence, Mr. Avenel hurried out of the 
 room, and locked the door, putting the key into his pocket. He 
 paused fora moment in the Hall, in order to collect his thoughts 
 drew three or four deep breaths gave himself a great shake 
 and, resolved to be faithful to his principle of doing one thing 
 at a time, shook off in that shake all disturbing recollection of 
 his mutinous captives. Stern as Achilles when he appeared to 
 the Trojan, Richard Avenel stalked back to his lawn.
 
 314 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 BRIEF as had been his absence, the host could see that, in the 
 interval, a great and notable change had come over the spirit of 
 his company. Some of those who lived in the town were evi- 
 dently preparing to return home on foot; those who live'd at a 
 distance,and whose carriages(having been sent away,and ordered 
 at a fixed hour) had not yet arrived, were gathered together in 
 small knots and groups; all looked sullen and displeased, and 
 all instinctively turned from their host as he passed them by. 
 They felt they had been lectured, and they were more put out 
 than Richard himself. They did not know if they might not be 
 lectured again. This vulgar man, of what might he not be capable? 
 
 Richard's shrewd sense comprehended in an instant all the 
 difficulties of his position; but he walked on deliberately and 
 directly toward Mrs. M'Catchley, who was standing near the 
 grand marquee with the Pompleys and the Dean's lady. As 
 these personages saw him make thus boldly toward them, there 
 was a flutter. " Hang the fellow! " said the Colonel, intrenching 
 himself in his stock, "he is -coming here. Low and shocking 
 what shall we do? Let us stroll on." 
 
 But Richard threw himself in the way of the retreat. 
 
 "Mrs. M'Catchley," said he, very gravely, and offering her 
 his arm, "allow me three words with , you." 
 
 The poor widow looked very much discomposed. Mrs. Pomp- 
 ley pulled her by the sleeve. Richard still stood gazing into her 
 face, with his arm extended. She hesitated a minute, and 
 then took the arm. 
 
 " Monstrous impudent ! " cried the Colonel. 
 
 "Let Mrs. M'Catchley alone, my dear," responded Mrs. 
 Pompley; "she will know how to give him a lesson." 
 
 ".Madam," said Richard, as soon as he and his companion 
 were out of hearing, "I rely on you to do me a favor." 
 
 "On me?" 
 
 " On you, and you alone. You have influence with all those 
 people, and a word from you w.ill effect what I desire. Mrs. 
 M'Catchley," added Richard, with a solemnity that was actually 
 imposing, " I flatter myself that you have some friendship for 
 me, which is more than I can say of any other soul in these 
 grounds will you do me this favor, ay or no ? " 
 
 " What is it, Mr. Avenel ?" asked Mrs. M'Catchley, much dis- 
 turbed, and somewhat softened for she was by no means a 
 woman without feeling; indeed, she considered herself nervous.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGL\H LIFE. 315 
 
 " Get all y6ur friends all the company, in short to come back 
 into the tent for refreshments for anything. I want to say a 
 few words to them." 
 
 " Bless me ! Mr. Avenel a few words ! " cried the widow ; 
 " but that's just what they're all afraid of! You must pardon 
 me, but you really can't ask people to a cttjedner dansant, and 
 then scold 'em ! " 
 
 " I'm not going to scold them, "said Mr. Avenel, very seriously 
 " upon my honor, I'm not ! I'm going to make all right, and I 
 even hope afterward that the dancing may goon and that you 
 will honor me again with your'hand. I leave you to your task 
 and believe me, I'm not an ungrateful man." He spoke, and 
 bowed not without some dignity -^and vanished within the 
 breakfast division of the marquee. There he busied himself in- 
 re-collecting the waiters, and directing them to rearrange the 
 mangled remains of the table as they best could. Mrs. M'Catch- 
 ley, whose curiosity and interest werearoused 5 executed the com- 
 mission with all the ability and tact of a woman of the world, and 
 in less than a quarter of an hour the marquee was filled the 
 corks flew the champagne bounced and sparkled people drank 
 in silence, munched fruits and cakes, kept up their courage with 
 thecon scions sense of numbers, and felt a great desire to know wh at 
 was coming. Mr. Avenel, at the head of the table, suddenly rose. 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen," said, he, *' I have taken the liberty 
 to invite you once more into this tent, in order to ask you to 
 sympathize with me upon an occasion which took us all a little 
 by surprise to-day. 
 
 "Of course, you all know I am a new man the maker of rny 
 own fortunes." 
 
 A great many heads bowed involuntarily, The words were 
 said manfully, and there-was a general feeling of respect. 
 
 "Probably, too," resumed 'Mr. Avenel, "you may know that 
 I am the son of very honest trades-people. I say honest, and 
 they are not ashamed of me I say trades-people, and I'm not 
 ashamed of them. My sister married and settled at a distance. 
 I took her son to educate and bring up. But I did not tell her 
 where he was, nor even that Iliad returned from America I 
 wished to choose my own time for that, when I could give her 
 the surprise, not only of a rich brother, but of a son whom I in- 
 tended to make a gentleman, so far as manners and education 
 can make one. Well, the poor dear woman has found me out 
 sooner than I expected, and turned the tables on me by giving 
 me a surprise of her own invention. Pray, forgive the confusion 
 this little family scene has created ; and though I own it was
 
 316 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 very .laughable at the moment, and I was wrong to say otherwise, 
 yet I am sure I don't judge ill of your good hearts when I ask 
 you to think what brother and sister must feel who parted from 
 each other when they were boy and girl. To me (and Richard 
 gave a great gulp for he felt that a great gulp alone could 
 swallow the abominable lie he was about to utter) to me this 
 has been a -very happy occasion ! I'm a plain man ; no one can 
 take ill what I've said. And, wishing that you may be all as 
 happy in your family as I in mine humble though it be I beg 
 to drink your very good healths ! ". 
 
 There was a universal applause when Richard sat down ; and 
 so well in his plain way had he looked the thing, and done the 
 thing, that at least half of those present who till then had cer- 
 tainly disliked and half-despised him suddenly felt that they 
 were proud of his acquaintance. For however aristocratic this 
 country of ours may be, and however especially aristocratic be 
 the genteeler classes in provincial jtowns and coteries there is 
 nothing which English folks, fronr.the highest to the lowest, in. 
 their hearts so respect as a man who has risen from nothing, and 
 owns it frankly. Sir Compton Delaval, an old baronet, with a 
 pedigree as long as a Welshman's^ who had been reluctantly de- 
 coyed to the feast by his three unmarried daughters not one of 
 whom, however, had hitherto condescended even to bow to the 
 host now rose. It was his right- he was the first person there 
 in rank and station. 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen," quoth Sir Compton Delaval, " I am 
 sure that I express the feelings of all present when I say that we 
 have heard with great delight and admiration the words ad- 
 dressed to us by our excellent host. (Applause.) And if any 
 of us, in what Mr. Avenel describes justly as the surprise of the 
 moment, were betrayed into an unseemingly merriment at at-^- 
 (the Dean's lady whispered 'some of the ') some of the " re- 
 peated Sir Compton, puzzled, and coming to a dead lock 
 ('holiest sentiments,' whispered the Dean's lady) "ay, some of 
 the holiest sentiments in our nature I beg him to accept our 
 sincerest apologies. I can only say, for my part, that I am proud 
 to rank Mr. Avenel amongst the gentlemen of the county (here 
 Sir Compton gayeasounding thump on the table), .and to thank 
 him for one of the most brilliant entertainments it has ever been 
 my lot to witness. If he won his fortune honestly, he knows 
 how to spend it nobly." 
 
 Whiz went a fresh bottle of champagne. 
 
 "I am not accustomed to'public speaking, butlcouldnotrepress 
 my sentiments. And I've now only to propose to you the health
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 317 
 
 of our host, Richard Avenel, Esquire; and to couple with that the 
 health of his very interesting sister, and long life to them both." 
 
 The sentence was half-drowned in enthusiastic plaudits and in 
 three cheers for Richard Avenel, Esquire, and his very interest- 
 ing sister. 
 
 " I'm a cursed humbug," thought Richard Avenel, as he wiped 
 his forehead ; "but the world t's such a humbug." 
 
 Then he glanced toward Mrs. M'Catchley, and, to his great satis- 
 faction, sawMrs.M'Catchley with her handkerchief before her eyes. 
 
 Truth must be told although the fair widow might certainly 
 have contemplated the probability of accepting Mr. Avenel as a 
 husband, she had never before felt the least bitinlovewitlvhim ; 
 and now she did. There is something in courage and candor 
 at a word, in manliness that all women, the most worldly,, do 
 admire in men ; and Richard Avenel, humbug though his con- 
 science said he was, seemed to Mrs. M'Catchley like a hero. 
 
 The host saw his triumph. " Now for another dance ! " said he, 
 gaily ; and he was about to offer his hand to Mrs. M'Catchley, when 
 Sir Compton Delaval, seizing it, and giving it a hearty shake, cried, 
 "You have not yet danced with my eldest daughter; so,if you'll not 
 ask her,\vhy,I must offer her to you as your partner. Here Sarah." 
 
 Miss Sarah Delaval, who was five feet eight, and as stately as 
 she was tall, bowed her head graciously ; and Mr. Avenel, before 
 he knew where he was, found her leaning on his arm. But as he 
 passed into the next division of the tent, he had to run She gauntlet 
 of all the gentlemen, who thronged round to shake hands with 
 him. Their warm English hearts could not be satisfied till they 
 had so repaired the sin of their previous haughtiness and mockery. 
 Richard Avenel might then have introduced his sister, gown, ker- 
 chief, thick shoes and all, to thecrowd ; but he had no such thought. 
 He thankedHenven devoutly that she wassafelyunderlockandkey. 
 'It was not till the third dance that he could secure Mrs. 
 M'Catchley's hand, and then it was twilight. The carriages were 
 at the door, but no one yet thought of going. People were really 
 enjoying themselves. Mr. Avenel had had time, in the interim, 
 to mature all his plans for completing and consummating that 
 triumph which his tact and pluck had drawn from his momentary 
 disgrace. Excited as he was with wine and suppressed passion, 
 he had yet the sense to feel that, when all the halo that now sur- 
 rounded him had evaporated, and Mrs. M'Catchley was re-deliv- 
 ered up to the Pompleys, whom he felt to be the last personshisinter- 
 est could desire for her advisers the thought of his low relations 
 could return with calm reflection. Now was the time. The iron was 
 hot now was the time to strike it, and forge the enduring chain.
 
 318 MY- NOVEL J OR, 
 
 As he led Mrs. M'Catchley after the dance into the lawn he 
 therefore said tenderly 
 
 " How shall I thank you for the favor you have done me?" 
 
 " Oh ! "said Mrs. M'Catchley, warmly, "it was no favor and 
 I am so glad " She stopped. 
 
 "You're notashamedof me, then, in spite of whathashappened?" 
 
 "Ashamed of you! Why, I should be so proudof you, if I were " 
 
 " Finish the sentence and say 'your wife ! ' there, it is out. 
 My dear madam, I am rich, as you know ; I love you very 
 heartily. With your help, I think I can make a figure in a larger 
 world than this ; and that, whatever my father, my grandson at 
 least will be but it is time enough to speak of him. What say 
 you? you turn away. I'll not tease you it is not my way. I 
 said before, ay or no ; and your kindness so. emboldens me that 
 I say it again ay or no ?" 
 
 "But you take me so unawares -so so Lord, my dear Mr. 
 Avenel ; you are so hasty I I " And the widow actually 
 blushed, and was genuinely bashful. 
 
 "Those horrid Pompleys! " thought Richard, as he saw the 
 Colonel bustling up with Mrs. M'Gatchley's cloak on his arm. 
 
 "I press for your answer," continued the suitor, speaking very 
 fast. "I shall leave this place to-morrow, if you will not give it." 
 
 "Leave this place leave me.?" 
 
 "Then you will be mine! " 
 
 "Ah, Mr, Avenel!" said the widow, languidly, and leaving 
 her hand, in his; " who can resist you ? " 
 
 Up- came Colonel Pompley; Richard took the shawl. "No 
 hurry for that now, Colonel Mrs. M'Catchley feels already at 
 home here." 
 
 Ten minutes afterward, Richard Avenel so contrived that it 
 was known by the whole company that their host was accepted 
 .by the Honorable Mrs. M'Catchley. And every one said, "He 
 is a very clever man, and a very good fellow," except the Pomp- 
 leys and the Pompleys were frantic. Mr. Richard Avenel had 
 forced his way into the aristocracy of the country; the husband 
 of an Honorable connected with peers ! 
 
 "He will stand for our city Vulgarian! " cried the Colonel. 
 
 "And his wife will walk out before me," cried the Colonel's 
 lady "nasty woman! " And she burst into tears. 
 
 The guests were gone; and Richard had now leisure) to con- 
 sider what course to pursue with regard to his sister and her son. 
 
 His victory over his guests had in much softened his heart to- 
 ward his relations; but he still felt bitterly aggrieved at Mrs. 
 Fairfield's unseasonable intrusion, and his pride was greatly
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 319 
 
 chafed by the boldness of Leonard. He had tio idea of any man 
 whom he had served, or meant to serve, having a will of his 
 own having a single thought in opposition to his pleasure. He 
 began, too> to feel that words had passed between him and Leon- 
 ard which could not be well forgotten by either, and would ren- 
 der their close connection less pleasant than heretofore. He, the 
 great Richard Avenel, beg pardon of Mrs. Fairfield, the washer- 
 woman! No; she and Leonard must beg his. "That must be 
 the first step," said Richard Avenel; "and I suppose they have 
 come to their senses." With that expectation he unlocked the 
 door of his parlor, and foi:nd himself in complete solitude. The 
 moon, lately risen, shone full into the room, and lit up every cor- 
 ner. He stared round bewildered the birds. had flown. " Did 
 they go through the keyhole ?"said;Mr. Avenel. "Hal I. see! 
 the window is open! " The window reached to the ground. Mr. 
 Avenel, in his excitement, had forgotten that easy mode of egress. 
 
 "Well," said he, throwing himself into his easy-chair, "I sup- 
 pose I shall soon, hear from them; they'll be wanting my money 
 fast enough, I fancy." His eye caught sight of a letter, unsealed, 
 lying on the table. He opened it,. and saw bank-notes to the 
 amount of ^5 o the widow's forty-five country notes, and a new 
 note, Bank of England, that he had lately given to Leonard. 
 With the money were these lines, written in Leonard's bold, clear 
 writing, though a word or two here and there showed that the 
 hand had- trembled 
 
 " I thank you for all you have done to one whom you regarded 
 as the object of charity. My mother and I forgive what has 
 passed. I depart with her. You bade me make my choice, 
 and I have made it. LEONARD FAIRFIELD." 
 
 The. paper dropped from Richard's. hand, and he remained 
 mute and remorseful for a moment. He soon felt, however, 
 that he had no help for it but working himself up into a rage. 
 "Of all people in the world," cried Richard, stamping his foot 
 on the floor, " there are none so disagreeable, insolent, and un- 
 grateful as poor relations. I wash my hands of them! " 
 
 BOOK SIXTH. INITIAL CHAPTER. 
 
 WHEREIN MR. CAXTON IS PROFOUNDLY METAPHYSICAL. 
 
 : 
 
 "LIFE," said my father, irk his most dogmatical tone, 'Ms a 
 certain quantity in time, which may be regarded in two ways 
 ist, as life Integral / 2nd, as life Fractional. Life integral is
 
 320 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 that complete whole, expressive of a certain value, large or 
 small, which each man possesses in himself. Life fractional is 
 that same whole seized upon and invaded by other people, and 
 subdivided amongst them. They who get a very large slice of 
 it say 'A very valuable life this !' those who get but a small 
 handful say, ' So, so ; nothing very great!' those who get none 
 of it in the scramble exclaim, 'Good for nothing!' " 
 
 "I don't understand a word you are saying," growled^Captain 
 Roland. 
 
 My father surveyed his brother with compassion "I will 
 make it all clear, even to your understanding. When I sit down 
 by myself in my study, having carefully locked the door on all 
 of you, alone with my books and thoughts, I am in full posses- 
 sion of my integral life. I am totus, tcres, atque rotundus a 
 whole human being equivalent in value, we will say, for the sake 
 of illustration, to a fixed round sum ^100 for example. But 
 when I go forth into the common apartment, each of those to 
 whom I am of any worth whatsoever puts his ringer into the bag 
 that contains me, and takes out of me 'what he wants. Kitty 
 requires me to pay a bill ; Pisistratus to save him the time and 
 trouble of looking into a score or two of books ; the children 
 to tell them stories, or play at hide-and-seek ; and so on through- 
 out thecircle to which I have incautiously given myself up for plun- 
 der and subdivision. The ;ioo which I represented in my study 
 is now parcelled out ; I am worth ^40 or ^50 to Kitty, 20 
 to Pisistratus, and perhaps 303. to the children. This is life 
 fractional. And I cease to be an integral till once more return- 
 ing to my study, and again closing the door on all existence but 
 my own. Meanwhile, it is perfectly clear that, to those who, 
 whether I am in the study, or whether I am in the common sit- 
 ting-room, get nothing at all out of me, I am not worth a farth- 
 ing. It must be wholly indifferent to a native of Kamtschatka 
 whether Austin Caxton be or b* not raised out of the great 
 account-book of human beings. 
 
 "Hence," continued my father, "hence it follows that the 
 more fractional a life \s-idest, the greater the number of persons 
 among whom it can be subdivided why, the more there are to 
 say, ' A very valuable life that ! ' Thus, the leader of a political 
 party, a conqueror, a king, an author who- is amusing hundreds, 
 or thousands, or millions, has a greater number of persons whom 
 his worth interests and affects than a Saint Simon Stylites could 
 have when he perched himself at the top of a column ; although, 
 regarded each in himself, Saint Simon, in his grand mortifica- 
 tion of flesh, in the idea that he thereby pleased his Divine Bene-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 32! 
 
 factor, might represent a larger sum of moral value per se, than 
 Buonaparte or Voltaire." 
 
 PISISTRATUS. Perfectly clear, sir ; but I don't see what it has 
 to do with My Novel. '' 
 
 MR. CAXTON. Everything. Your novel, if it is to be a full 
 and comprehensive survey of the " Quicquid ag-unt homines " 
 (which it ought to be, considering the length and breadth to which 
 I foresee, from the slow development of your story, you meditate 
 extending and expanding it), will embrace the two views of exist- 
 ence the integral and the fractional. You have shown us the 
 former in Leonard, when he is sitting in his mother's cottage, or 
 resting from his work by the little fount in Riccabocca's garden. 
 And in harmony with that- view of his life, you have surrounded 
 him with comparative integrals, only subdivided by the tender 
 hands of their immediate families and neighbors -your Squires 
 and Parsons, your Italian exile and his Jemima. With all these 
 life is, more or less, the life Natural, and this is always, more or 
 less^the life Integral. Then comes the life Artificial, which is 
 always, more or less, the life Fractional. In the life Natural, 
 wherein we are swayed but by our native impulses and desires, 
 subservient only to the great silent law of Virtue (which has per- 
 vaded the universe since it swung out of chaos), a matt is of worth 
 from what he is in himself Newton was as worthy before the 
 apple fell from the tree as when all Europe applauded the dis- 
 coverer of the Principle of Gravity. But in the life Artificial we 
 are only of worth inasmuch as we affect others. And, relative 
 to that life, Newton rose in value more than a million per cent, 
 when down fell the apple from which, ultimately, sprang up his 
 discovery. In order to keep civilization^ gorng, and spread over 
 the world the light of the human intellect, we have certain de- 
 sires within us, ever swelling beyond the ease and independence 
 which belongs to us as integrals. Cold man as Newton might 
 be (he once took a lady's hand in his own, Kitty, and used her 
 forefinger for his tobacco-stopper; great philosopher!) cold as 
 he might be, he was yet moved into giving his discoveries to the 
 world, and that from motives very little differing in their quality 
 from the motives that made Dr. Squills communicate article's to 
 the Phrenological Journal upon the skulls of Bushmen and Wom- 
 bats. For it is the property of light to travel. When a man 
 has light in him, forth it must go. But the first passage of Genius 
 from its integral state (in which it has-been reposing on its own 
 wealth) into the fractional, is usually thought a hard and vulgar 
 pathway. It leaves behind it the reveries of solitude, that self- 
 contemplating rest which may be called the Visionary, and enters
 
 322 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 suddenly into the state that may be called the Positive and Act- 
 ual. There, it sees the operations of money on the outer life 
 all the ruder and commoner springs of action sees ambition 
 without nobleness love without romance is bustled about, and 
 ordered, and trampled, and cowed in short, it passes an appren- 
 ticeship with some Richard Avenel, and does not yet detect what 
 good and what grandeur, what addition even to the true poetry 
 of the social universe, fractional existences like Richard A venel's 
 bestow ; for the pillars that support society are like those of the 
 Court of the Hebrew Tabernacle they are of brass, it is true, 
 but they are filleted with silver. From such intermediate state 
 Genius is expelled and driven on in its way, and would have 
 been so in this case had Mrs. Fairfield (who is but the represen- 
 tative of the homely natural affections, strongest ever in true 
 genius for light is warm) never crushed Mr. Avend's mossrose 
 on her sisterly bosom. Now, forth from this passage and defile 
 of transition into the larger world, must Genius go on, working 
 outjts natural destiny amidst things and forms the most artificial. 
 Passions that move and influence the world are at work around 
 it. Often lost sight of itself, its very absence is a silent contrast 
 to the agencies present. Merged and vanished for a while amidst 
 the Practical World, yet we ourselves feel all the while that it is 
 there; is at work amidst the workings around it. This practical 
 world that effaces it, rose out of some genius that has gone be* 
 fore ; and to each man of genius, though we never come across 
 him, as his operations proceed, in places remotefromour thorough- 
 fares, is yet influencing the practical world that ignores him, foi 
 ever and ever. That is GENIUS ! We can't describe it in books ^ 
 we can only hint and suggest it, by the accessories which we art- 
 fully heap about it. The entrance of a true Probationer into the 
 terrible ordeal of Practical Life is like that into the miraculous 
 cavern, by which, legend informs us,St. Patrick converted Ireland. 
 
 BLANCHE. What is that legend? I never heard of it. 
 
 MR. CAXTON. My dear, you will find it in a thin folio at the 
 right on entering my study, written by Thomas Messingham, 
 and called "F-Jprilegium Insulae Sanctorum," etc. The account 
 therein is confirmed by the relation of an honest soldier, one 
 Louis Ennius, who had actually entered the cavern. In short, 
 the truth of the legend is undeniable, unless you mean to say, 
 which I can't for a moment suppose, that Louis Ennius was a 
 liar. Thus it runs : St. Patrick, finding that the Irish pagans 
 were incredulous as to his pathetic assurances of the pains and 
 torments destined to those who did not expiate their sins in this 
 world, prayed for a miracle to convince them. His prayer was
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 323 
 
 heard ; and a certain cavern, so small that a man could not 
 stand up therein at his ease, was suddenly converted into a Purga- 
 tory, comprehending tortures sufficient to convince the most 
 incredulous. One unacquainted with human nature might con- 
 jecture that few would be disposed to venture voluntarily into 
 such a place ; on the contrary, pilgrims came in crowds. Now, 
 all who entered from vain curiosity, or with souls unprepared, 
 perished miserably ; but those who entered with deep and earnest 
 faith, conscious of their faults, and if bold, yet humble, not only 
 came out safe and sound, but purified, as if from the waters of a 
 second baptism. See Savage and Johnson, at night in Fleet 
 Street ; and who shall doubt the truth of St. Patrick's Purga- 
 tory." (Therewith my father sighed closed his Lucian, which 
 had lain open on the table, and would read none bul; "good 
 books " for the rest of the evening.) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ON their escape from the prison to which Mr. Avenel had con- 
 demned them, Leonard and his mother found their way to ,a 
 small public^house that lay at a little distance from the town, and 
 on the outskirts of the high-road. With his arm round his 
 mother's waist, Leonard supported her steps, and soothed her 
 excitement. In fact, the poor woman's nerves were greatly 
 shaken, and she felt an uneasy remorse at the injury her intrusion 
 had inflicted on the young man's worldly prospects. As the shrewd 
 reader has guessed already, that infamous Tinker was the prime 
 agent of evil in this critical turn in the affairs of his quondam 
 customer. For, on his return to his haunts around Hazeldean 
 and the Casino, the Tinker had hastened to apprise Mrs. Fair- 
 field of his interview with Leonard, and, on finding that she was 
 not aware that the boy was under the roof of his uncle, the pesti- 
 lent vagabond (perhaps from spite against Mr. Avenel, or per- 
 haps from that pure love of mischief by which metaphysical 
 critics explain the character of lago, and which certainly formed 
 a main element in the idiosyncrasy of Mr. Sprott) had so im- 
 pressed on the widow's mind the haughty demeanor of the uncle 
 and the refined costume of the nephew, that Mrs. Fairfield had 
 been seized with a bitter and insupportable jealousy. There 
 was an intention to rob her of her boy! he was to be made too 
 fine for her. His silence was now accounted for. This sort of 
 jealousy, always more or less a feminine quality, is often very 
 strong amongst the poor; and it was the more strong, in Mrs. 
 Fairfield, because, lone woman that she was, the boy was all in 
 all to her. And though she was reconciled to the loss of his
 
 324 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 presence, nothing could reconcile her to the thought that his 
 affections should be weaned from her. Moreover, there were in 
 her mind certain impressions, of the justice of which the reader 
 may better judge hereafter, as- to the gratitude more than or- 
 dinarily filial which Leonard owed to her. In short, she did 
 not like, as she phrased it, "to beshakenoff "; andafter a sleep- 
 less night she resolved to judge for herself, much moved thereto 
 by the malicious suggestions to that effect made by Mr. Sprott, 
 who mightily enjoyed the idea of mortifying the gentleman by 
 whorn he had been so disrespectfully threatened with the tread- 
 mill. The widow felt angry with Parson Dale, and with the Ric- 
 caboccas; she thought they were in the plot against her; she 
 communicated, therefore, her intentions to none and off she set, 
 performing the journey partly on the top of thecoach, and partly 
 on foot. No wonder that she^was dusty, poor woman I 
 
 "And, O boy!" said she, half-sobbing, "when I got through 
 the lodge-gates, came on the lawn, and saw all that power o' fine 
 folk I said to myself, says I (for I felt fritted) I'll just have 
 a look at him and go back. But ah, Lenny, when I saw thee, 
 looking so handsome and when thee turned and cried 'mother,' 
 my heart was just ready to leap out o' my mouih -and so I could 
 not help hugging thee, if I had died for it. And thou wert so 
 kind, that I forgot all Mr : Sprott had said about Dick's pride, 
 or thought he had told a fib about. that, as he had wanted me to 
 believe a fib about thee.: Then Dick came up and I had not 
 seen him for so many long years and we come o' the same father 
 and mother; and so andsO- " The widow's sobs here fairly 
 choked her. "Ah," she said, after giving vent to her passion, 
 and throwing her arms round Leonard's neck, as they sat in the 
 little sanded parlor of the public house -"Ah, and I've brought 
 thee to this. Go back ; go back, boy, and never mind me." 
 
 With some difficulty Leonard pacified poor Mrs. Fairfield, and 
 got her to retire to bed; for she was, indeed, thoroughly ex- 
 hausted. He then stepped forth into the road r musingly. All 
 the stars were out ; and Youth, in its-troubles, instinctively looks 
 
 ,up to the stars. Folding his arms, Leonard gazed on the heavens, 
 and his lips murmured. 
 
 From this trance, for so it might be called, he was awakened 
 by a voice' in a decidedly London accent ; and, turning hastily 
 round, sa\t Mr. Avenel's very gentlemanlike butler. Leonard's 
 first idea was that his uncle had repented, and sent in search of 
 him. But the butler seemed as much surprised at the rencontre 
 
 ' as himself ; that personage, indeed, the fatigues of the day being 
 overy was accompanying one of Mr. Gunter's waiters to the
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 325 
 
 public-house (at which. the latter had secured his lodging), hav- 
 ing discovered an old friend in the waiter, and proposing to re- 
 gale himself with a cheerful glass, and (that, of course) abuse of 
 his present sitiz/ation. 
 
 " Mr. Fairfield ! " exclaimed the butler, while the waiter 
 walked discreetly on. 
 
 Leonard looked, and said nothing. The butler began to think 
 that som.e apology was due for leaving his plate and his pantry, 
 and that he might as well secure Leonard's propitiatory influence 
 with his master. 
 
 "Please, sir," said he, touching his hat, "I was just a^showing 
 Mr. Giles the way to the Blue Bells, where he puts up for the 
 night. I hope my master will not be offended. If you are 
 agoing back, sir, would you kindly mention it? " 
 
 " I am not going back, Jarvis," answered Leonard, after a 
 patrse ; " I am leaving Mr. Avenel's house to accompany my 
 mother, rather suddenly. I should be very much obliged to you 
 if you would bring some things of mine to me at the Blue Bells. 
 I will give you the list, if you will step with me to the inn." 
 
 Without waiting f r ^ reply, Leonard then turned toward the 
 inn, and made his humble inventory : item, the clothes he had 
 brought with him from the Casino ; item, the knapsack that had 
 contained them ; item, a few books, ditto : item, Dr. Riccabocca's 
 watch; item, --sundry MSS., on which the young student now 
 built all his hopes of fame and fortune. This list he put into 
 Mr. Jarvis's hand. 
 
 "Sir," said the butler, twirling the paper between his finger and 
 thumb," you're not a-going for long, I hope?" and helookedon the 
 face of the young man; who had always been ''civil-spoken tohim," 
 with as much curiosity and as much compassion as soapathetic and 
 princely a personage could experience in .matters affecting a fami- 
 ly less aristocratic than he had hitherto condescended to serve. 
 
 "Yes," said Leonard, simply and briefly ; "and your master 
 will no doubt excuse you for rendering me this service." 
 
 Mr. Jarvis postponed for the present his glass and chat with 
 the waiter, and went back at once to Mr. Avenel. That gentleman, 
 still seated in his library, had not been aware of the butler's 
 absence ; and when Mr. Jarvis entered and told him that he 
 had met Mr. Fairfield, and, communicating the commission with 
 which he was intrusted, asked leave to execute it, Mr. Avenel 
 felt the man's inquisitive eye was on him, and conceived new 
 wrath against Leonard for a new humiliation to. his pride. It 
 was awkward to give no explanation of his nephew's departure, 
 still more awkward to explain.
 
 326 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 After, a. short pause, Mr. Avenel said, sullenly, "My nephew 
 is going away on business for some time do what he tells you " ; 
 and then turned his back, and lighted his cigar. 
 
 " That beast of a boy," said he, soliloquizing, " either means 
 this as an affront, or an overture ; if an affront, he is indeed well 
 got rid of ! if an overture, he will soon make a more respectful 
 and proper one. After all, I can't have too little of relations till 
 I have fairly secured Mrs. M'Catchley. An Honorable ! I 
 wonder if that makes me an Honorable too ? This cursed Debrett 
 contains no practical information on those points." 
 
 The next morning, the clothes and the watch with which Mr. 
 Avenel presented Leonard were returned, with a note meant to 
 express gratitude but certainly written with very little knowledge 
 of the world, and so full of that somewhat over-resentful pride 
 which had in earlier life made Leonard fly from Hazeldean, and 
 refuse all apology to Randal, that it is not to be wondered at 
 that Mr. Avenel's last remorseful feelings evaporated in ire. " I 
 hope he will starve ! " said the uncle, vindictively. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " LISTEN to me, my dear mother," said Leonard the nextmorn- 
 ing, as with knapsack on his shoulder and Mrs. Fairfield on his 
 arm, he walked along the high-road ; " I do assure you, from 
 my heart, that I do not regret the loss of favors which I see 
 plainly would have crushed out of me the very sense of indepen- 
 dence. But do not fear for me ; I have education and energy 
 I shall do well for myself, trust me. No, I cannot, it is true, go 
 back to our cottage I cannot be a gardener again. Don't ask 
 me I should be discontented, miserable. But I will go up to Lon- 
 don ! That's the place to make a fortune and a name; I will make 
 both. O yes, trust me, I will. You shallsoon be proud of your Leon- 
 ard ; andthen we will always live together always! Don't cry." 
 
 " But what can you do in Lunnon such a big place, Lenny ?" 
 
 " What ! Every year does not some lad leave our village, and 
 ,go and seek his fortune, taking with him but health and strong 
 hands ? I have these, and I have more : I have brains, and 
 thoughts,and hopes, that again I say, no, no never fear for me!" 
 
 The boy threw back his head proudly; there was something 
 sublime in his ycung.trust in the future. 
 
 " Well. But you will write to Mr. Dale, or to me ? I will get 
 Mr. Dale or the good Mounseer (now I know they are not agin 
 me) to read your letters." 
 
 "I will, indeed!"
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 327 
 
 M And, boy, you have nothing in your pockets. We have paid 
 Dick; these, at least, are my own, after paying the coach-fare." 
 And she would thrust a sovereign and some shillings into Leon- 
 ard's waistcoat-pocket. 
 
 After some resistance, he was forced to consent. 
 
 "And there's a sixpence with a hole in it. Don't part with 
 that,- Lenny; it will bring thee good luck." 
 
 Thus talking, they gained the inn where the three roads met, 
 and from which a coach went direct to the Casino. And here, 
 without entering the inn, they sat on the greensward by the hedge- 
 roWj waiting the arrival of the coach. Mrs. Fairfield was much 
 subdued in spirits, and there was evidently on her mind some- 
 thinguneasy somestrugglewithherconscience. Shenotonlyup- 
 braided herself for her rash visit, but she kept talking of her dead 
 Mark. And what would he say of her,if he could see her in heaven? 
 
 "It was so selfish in me, Lenny." 
 
 "Pooh, pooh ! Has not a mother a right to her child ?" 
 
 "Ay, ay, ay!" cried Mrs. Fairfield. " I do love you as a 
 child my own child. But if- 1 was not your mother, after all, 
 Lenny, and cost you all this oh,what would you say of me then? " 
 
 "Notmyownmother!"said Leonard, laughing, as he kissedher. 
 "Well, I don't know what I should say then differently from what 
 I say now- that you, who brought me up, and nursed and cher- 
 ished me, had a right to my home and my heart, wherever I was." 
 
 " Bless' thee ! " cried Mrs. Fairfield, as she pressed him to her 
 heart. " But it weighs here it weighs," she said, starting up. 
 
 At that instant the coach appeared, and Leonard ran forward 
 to inquire if there was an outside place. Then there was a short 
 bustle while the horses were being changed; and Mrs. Fairfield 
 was lifted up to the roof of the vehicle. So all farther private 
 conversation between her and Leonard ceased. But as the coach 
 whirled away, and she waved her hand to the boy, who stood on 
 the roadside gazing after her, she still murmured " It weighs 
 here it weighs ! " 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 LEONARD walked sturdily on in the high-road to the Great 
 City. The day was calm and sunlit, but with a gentle breeze from 
 gray hills at the distance ; and with each mile that he passed, his 
 step seemed to grow more firm/and his front more elate. Oh ! it is 
 such joy in youth to be alone with one's day-dreams. And 
 youth feels so glorious a vigor in the sense of its own strength, 
 though the world be before and against it ! Removed from that 
 chilling counting-house from the imperious will of a patron
 
 328 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 and master all friendless, but all independent the young ad- 
 venturer felt a new being felt his grand nature as Man. And 
 on the Man rushed the genius long interdicted and thrust aside 
 rushing back, with the first breath of adversity, to console no! 
 the Man needed not consolation-^-to kindle, to animate, to re- 
 joice ! If thereHs a being, in the 'world worthy of our envy, after 
 we have grown wise philosophers of the fireside, it is not the 
 palled voluptuary, nor the careworn statesman, nor even the great 
 prince of arts and letters, already crowned with the laurel, whose 
 leaves are as fit : for poison as for garlands ; it is the young child 
 of adventure and hope. Ay, and the emptier his purse, ten to 
 one but the richer his heartland the wider the domains which 
 his fancy enjoys as he goes on. with kingly step to the Future. 
 
 Not till toward the evening did our adventurer slacken his 
 pace, and think of rest and refreshment. There, then, lay before 
 him on either side the road, those wide patches of unenclosed 
 land, which in England -often denote ;the entrance to a village. 
 Presently one or two neat cottages came in sight then a small 
 farm-house, with its yard and:barns. And some way farther yet, 
 he saw the sign swinging before an inn of some pretensions/- the 
 sort of inn often found on a long stage between two great towns, 
 commonly called " The Halfway House." But the inn stood back 
 from the road, having, its own separate sward in front, whereon 
 was 'a 'great beechrtree (from which the sign extended) and a 
 rustic arbor so that to gain the inn, the coaches that stopped 
 there took a sweep from the main thoroughfare. Between our 
 pedestrian and the inn there stood, naked and alone, on the 
 common land, a church ; our ancestors never, would have chosen 
 that site for it ; therefore it .was a. modern church modern 
 Gothic handsome to an eye not versed in the attributes of ec- 
 clesiastical architecture-i-very. barbarous to an eye that was. 
 Somehow or other the church 'looked cold and raw and uninvit- 
 ing. It looked achurch for show much too big for the scattered 
 hamlet and void of all the venerable associations which give 
 their peculiar and unspeakable Atmosphere of piety to the 
 churches in which succeedirig generations have knelt and wor- 
 shipped: Leonard paused and surveyed the edifice with an un- 
 learn edbutpoetical gaze it dissatisfied him. And he wasyet pon- 
 dering why^ when a young girl passed slowly before him, her eyes 
 fixed on the ground j opened the little gate that led into the church- 
 yard, and vanished. He did not seethe child's face; but there was 
 something in her movements so utterly listless, forlorn, and sad, 
 that his heart was touched. What did she there? He approached 
 the low wall with a noiseless step, and looked over it wistfully.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 329 
 
 There, by a grave evidently quite recent, with no wooden tomb 
 nor tombstone like the rest, the little girl had thrown herself, 
 and she was sobbing loud and passionately. Leonard opened 
 the gate, and approached her with a soft step. Mingled with her 
 sobs, he heard broken sentences, wild and vain, as all human 
 sorrowings over graves must be. 
 
 " Father ! oh, father ! do you not really hear me ? I am so 
 lone so lone ! Take me to you take me ! " And she buried 
 her face in the deep grass. 
 
 " Poor child !" said Leonard, in a half-whisper" he is not 
 there. Look above ! " 
 
 The girl did not heed him he put his arm round her waist 
 gently she made a gesture of impatience and anger, but she 
 would not turn her face "andshelclwigtothe grave withher hands. 
 
 After clear sunny days the dews fall more heavily ; and now, 
 as the sun set, the herbage was' bathed in- a vaporous haze a 
 dim mist rose around. The young man seated himself beside 
 her, and tried to draw the child to his breast. Then she turned 
 eagerly, indignantly, and pushed him aside with jealous arms. He 
 profaned the 'grave. He understood her with his deep poet-* 
 heart, and rose. There was a pause. 
 
 Leonard was the first to break it. 
 
 " Come home with me, my child, and we will talk of him by 
 the way." 
 
 " Him ! Who are you ? You did not know him ! " said 
 the girl, still with anger. "Go away why do you disturb me? 
 I do no one harm. Go-go ! " 
 
 "You do yourself harm, and that -will grieve him if he sees 
 you yonder.? Come!" 
 
 The child looked at him through her blinding tears, and his 
 face softened and soothed her. 
 
 " Go ! " she said, very plaintively, and in subdued accents. " I 
 will but stay a minute more. :I I have so much to say yet." 
 
 Leonard left the church-yard, and waited without ; and in a 
 short time the child came forth, waved him aside as he ap- 
 proached her, and hurried away. He followed her at a dis- 
 tance, and saw her disappear within the inn. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " HIP HIPHURRAH ! " Such was. the sound that greeted 
 our young traveller as he reached the inn-door a sound joyous 
 in- itself, but sadly out of harmonywith the feeling which the 
 child sobbing on the tombless grave had left at his heart. The
 
 330 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 sound came from within, and was followed by thumps and stamps, 
 and the jingle of glasses. A strong odor of tobacco was wafted 
 to his olfactory sense. He hesitated a moment at the thres- 
 hold. Before him, on benches Under the beech-tree and within 
 the arbor, were grouped sundry athletic forms with " pipes in 
 the liberal air." 
 
 The landlady, as she passed across the passage to the tap- 
 room, caught sight of his form at the door-way, and came for- 
 word. Leonard still stood irresolute. He would have gone on 
 his way, but for the child ; she had interested him strongly. 
 
 " You seem full, ma'am," said he. " Can I have accommoda- 
 tion for the night ? " 
 
 " Why, indeed, sir," said the landlady, civilly, " I can give you 
 a bed-room, but I don't know where to put you meanwhile. The 
 two parlors and the tap-room and the kitchen are all choke-full. 
 There has been a great cattle-fair in the neighborhood, and I sup- 
 pose we have as many as fifty farmers and drovers stopping here." 
 
 " As to that, ma'am, I can sit in the bed-room you are kind 
 enough to give me ; and if it does not cause you much trouble 
 to let me have some tea there, I should be glad ; .but I can wait 
 your leisure. Do not put yourself out of the way for me." 
 
 The landlady was touched by a consideration she was not 
 much habituated to receive from her bluff customers. 
 
 " You speak very handsome, sir, and we will do our best to 
 serve you, if you will excuse all faults. This way, sir." Leon- 
 ard lowered his knapsack, stepped into the passage, with some 
 difficulty forced his way through a knot of sturdy giants in top- 
 boots or leathern gaiters, who were swarming in and out of the 
 tap-room, and followed his hostess up-stairs to a little bed-room 
 at the top of the house. 
 
 " It is small, sir, and high," said the hostess, apologetically. 
 "But there be four gentlemen farmers that have come a great 
 distance, and all the first floor is engaged ; you will be more 
 out of the noise here." 
 
 " Nothing can suit me better. But, stay pardon me "; and 
 Leonard, glancing at the garb of thehostess,observed she was not 
 in mourning. " A little girl whom I saw in the church-yard, yon- 
 der,weeping very bitterly is she a relation of yours? Poor child, 
 she seems to have deeper feelings than are common at her age." 
 
 " Ah, sir," said the landlady, putting the corner of her apron 
 to her eyes, " it is a very sad story I don't know what to do. 
 Her father was taken ill on his way to Lunnon, and stopped 
 here, and has been buried four days. And the poor little girl 
 seems to have no relations and where is she to go ? Lawyer
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 331 
 
 Jones says we must pass her to Marybone parish, where her 
 father lived last ; and what's to become of her then ? My heart 
 bleeds to think on it." Here there rose such an uproar from 
 below, that it was evident some quarrel had broken out ; and the 
 hostess, recalled to her duties, hastened to carry thither her pro- 
 pitiatory influences. 
 
 Leonard seated himself pensively by the little lattice. Here 
 was some one more alone in the world than he. And she, poor 
 orphan, had no stout man's heart to grapple with fate, and no 
 golden manuscripts that were to be as the " Open-Sesame " to 
 the treasures of Aladdin. By-and-by the hostess brought him up 
 a tray with tea and other refreshments, and Leonard resumed 
 his inquiries. " No relatives ? " said he ; " surely the child must 
 have some kinsfolk in London ? Did her father leave no direc- 
 tions, or was he in possession of his faculties? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; he was quite reasonable like to the last. And I 
 asked him if he had not anything on his mind, and he said, 'I 
 have.' And I said, ' Your little girl, sir ? ' And he answered 
 me, ' Yes, ma'am '; and laying his head on his pillow, he wept 
 very quietly. I could not say more myself, for it set me off to see 
 him cry so meekly; but my husband is harder nor I, and he said, 
 'Cheer up,Mr. Digby; had not you better write to yourfriends?' " 
 
 " ' Friends !' said the gentleman, in such a voice ! ' Friends ! 
 I have but one, and I am going to Him ! I cannot take her 
 there ? ' Then he seemed suddenly to recollect hisself, and 
 called for his clothes, and rummaged in the pockets as if look- 
 ing for some address, and could not find it. He seemed a for- 
 getful kind of gentleman, and his hands were what I call help- 
 less hands, sir ? And then he gasped out, ' Stop stop ! I never 
 had the address, Write to Lord Les- ,' something like Lord 
 Lester ; but we could not make out the name. Indeed he did 
 not finish it, for there was a rush of blood to his lips; and though 
 he seemed sensible when he recovered (and knew us and his little 
 girl too, till he went off smiling), he never spoke word more." 
 
 " Poor man !" said Leonard, wiping his eyes. " But his little 
 girl surely remembers the name that he did not finish ?." 
 
 " No. She says he must have meant a gentleman whom they 
 had met in the Park not long ago, who was very kind to her 
 father, and was Lord something ; but she don't remember the 
 name, for she never saw him before or since, and her father 
 talked very little about any one lately, but thought he should 
 find some kind friends at Screwstown, and travelled down there 
 with her from Lunnon. But she supposes he Was disappointed, 
 for he went out, came back, and merely told her to put up the
 
 332 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 things, as they must go back to Lunnon. And on his way there 
 he died. Hush, what's that? I hope she did not overhear us. 
 No, we were talking low. She has the next room to your'n, sir. 
 I thought I heard her sobbing. Hush ! " 
 
 "In the next room? I hear nothing. Well, with your leave I 
 will speak to her before I quit you. And had her father no 
 money with him ? " 
 
 " Yes, a few sovereigns, sir ; they paid for his funeral, and there 
 is a little left still enough to take her to town ; for my husband 
 said, says he, ' Hannah, the widow gave her mite, and we must 
 not take the orphan's'; and my husband is a hard man, too, 
 sir bless him ! " 
 
 "Let me take your hand, ma'am. God reward you both ! " 
 
 "La, sir! why, even Dr. Dosewellsaid,rather'grumpily though, 
 'Nevermind my bill;: but don't call me up at six o'clock in the 
 morning again, without knowing a little more about people.' 
 And I never afore knew Dr. Dpsewell go without his bill being 
 paid. He said it was a trick o' the other Doctor to spite him." 
 
 "What other Doctor?" 
 
 " Oh, a very good gentleman, who got out with Mr. Digby 
 when he was taken ill, and stayed till the next morning ; and our 
 Doctor says his name is Morgan, and he lives in Lunnon, and 
 is a homy something." 
 
 "Homicide," suggested, Leonard, jgnorantly. 
 
 "Ah homicide ; something like that, only a deal longer and 
 worse. But he left some of the tiniest little balls you ever see, sir, 
 to give the child ; but,: bless you, they did her no good how 
 should they ?" : . 
 
 "Tiny balls, oh homceopathist I understand. And the 
 Doctor was kind to her ; perhaps he may help her. Have you 
 written to him ? " : 
 
 "But we don't knowhis address, and Lunnon is a vast place, sir." 
 
 " I am going to London, and will find it out." 
 
 "Ah, sir, you seem very kind ; and sin' she must go to Lun- 
 non (for what can we do with her here ? she's too genteel for 
 service), ; I wish she was going with you." 
 
 "With me '."said Leonard, startled -"with me! Well, why not !" 
 
 "I am sure she comes of good blood, sir. You would have 
 known her father was quite the gentleman, only to see him die, 
 sir. He went off so kind and ciyil .like, as if he was ashamed to 
 give so much trouble quite a gentleman, if ever there was one. 
 And so are you, sir, I'm sure," snid the landlady, cburtesying ; 
 "I know what gentlefolk be. I've been a housekeeper in the first 
 of families in this very shire, sir, though I can't say I've served in
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 333 
 
 Ltmnon ; and so, as gentlefolks know each other, I've no doubt 
 you could find outjier relations. Dear dear ! Coming, coming !" 
 
 Here there were loud cries for the' hostess, and she hurried 
 away. The farmers and drovers were beginning to depart, and 
 their bills were to be made out and paid. Leonard saw his hostess 
 no more that night. The last hip hip ^hurrah, was heard ; 
 some toast, perhaps to the health of the county members ; and 
 the chamber of woe, beside Leonard's, rattled with the shout. 
 By-and-by silence gradually succeeded the various dissonarit 
 sounds below. The carts and gigs rolled away : the clatter of 
 hoofs on the road ceased : there was then a dumb dull sound as 
 of locking-up, and low humming voices' belovfr and footsteps 
 mounting the stairs to bed, with now an'd then a drunkerr hic- 
 cough or maudlin laugh, as some conquered votary of Bacchus 
 was fairly carried up to his domicile. 
 
 All, then, at last was silent, just as the clock from the church 
 sounded the stroke of eleven. 
 
 Leonard, meanwhile, had been looking over his MSS. There 
 was first a project for an improvement on tfre steam-engine, a 
 project that had long lain in his mind, begun with the first knowl- 
 edge of mechanics that he had gleaned from his purchases of 
 the Tinker. He put that aside now it required too great an 
 effort of the reasoning faculty to re-examine. 
 
 He glanced less hastily over a collection of essays' on various 
 subjects some that .he thought indifferent, some that he thought 
 good. He then lingered over a collection of verses, written in 
 his best hand, with loving care verses first inspired by his per- 
 usal of Nora's melancholy memorials. . These verses were as a 
 diary of his heart and his fancy those deep unwitnessed strug- 
 gles which the boyhood of all more thoughtful natures'has passed 
 in its-bright yet murky storm of the cloud and lightning flash, 
 though but few boys pause to record the crisis from which slowly 
 emerges Man. Aird these first desultory grapplings with the fugi- 
 tive airy images that flit thrbugh the dim chambers of the brain, 
 had becorhe with each effort more sustained and vigorous, till 
 the phantoms were spelled, the flying ones arrested, the Imma- 
 terial seized, and clothed with Form. Gazing on his last effort, 
 Leonard felt that there, at lengtfc, spoke forth the Poet. It was 
 a wdrk which, though as yet but half completed, came from a 
 strong hand ; not that shadow trembling on unsteady waters, 
 which' is but the pale reflex and imitation of some bright mind, 
 sphered out -of reach and afar, but an original substance a life 
 a thing of the Creative' Faculty, breathing back already the 
 breath it had received. This work had pauised during Leonard's
 
 334 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 residence with Mr.. Avenel, or had only now and then, in stealth, 
 and at night, received a rare touch. Now, as with a fresh eye, 
 he ; re-perused it, and with that strange innocent admiration, not 
 of self for a man's work is not, alas ! himself, it is the beauti- 
 fied and idealized essence (extracted, he knows not how, from 
 his own human elements of clay), admiration known but to 
 poets their purest delight, often their sole reward. And then, 
 with a warmer and more earthly beat of his full heart, he rushed 
 in fancy to the Great City, where all rivers of Fame meet, but 
 not to be merged and lost) sallying forth again, individualized 
 and separate, to flow through that: one vast Thought of God 
 which we call THE WORLD. 
 
 Heput up his papers, and opened his window, as was his ordi- 
 nary qustom, before he retired to rest for he had many odd 
 habits; and he loved to look out into the night, when he prayed, 
 pis soul seemed to, escape from the body, to mount on the 
 air, to gain more rapid access to the far Throne in the Infi- 
 nite, when his breath went forth among the winds, and his eyes 
 rested fixed on the stars of heaven, , 
 
 So the boy prayed silently ; and after his prayer, he was about, 
 lingering, to close the lattice, when he heard distinctly sobs close 
 at hand. He paused, and held his breath ; then looked gently 
 out ; the casement next his own was also open. Some one was 
 also at watch by that casement perhaps also praying. He lis- 
 tened yet more intently, and caught, soft and low, the words, 
 " Father, father, do you hear me now ? " 
 
 vv OIK.* gnr/of d 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 -, i - : 
 
 LEONARD opened his door, and stole toward that of the room 
 adjoining ; for his natural impulse had been to enter and con- 
 sole. But when his. touch. was on. the : handle, he drew back. 
 Child though the mourner was, her sorrows were rendered yet 
 more sacred from intrusion by her sex. Something, he knew 
 not what, in his yQung ignorance, withheld him from the thresh- 
 old. TO have crossed it then would have seemed to him profan- 
 ation ; so he returned, and for hours yet he occasionally heard 
 the sobs, till they died away, and childhood wept itself to sleep. 
 
 But the next morning, when he heard his neighbor astir, he 
 knocked gently at her door ; there was no answer. He entered 
 softly, and saw her seated very listlessly in the center of the 
 room as if it .had no familiar nook or corner, as the rooms of 
 home have, her hands drooping on her lap, and her eyes gaz- 
 ing desolately on the floor. Then he approached and spoke to her.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 335 
 
 Helen was very subdued, and silent. Her tears seemed dried 
 up ; .and it was long before she gave sign or token that she 
 heeded him. At length, however, he gradually succeeded in 
 rousing her interest ; and the first symptom of his success was 
 in the quiver of her lip, and the overflow of her downcast eyes. 
 
 By little and little he wormed himself into her confidence ; 
 and she told him,: in broken whispers, her simple story. But 
 what moved him the most was, that, beyond her sense of loneli- 
 ness, she did not seem to feel her own unprotected state. She 
 mourned the object she had nursed, and heeded, and cherished; 
 for she had been rather the protectress than the protected to the 
 helpless dead. He could not gain from her any more satisfactory 
 information than the landlady had already imparted, as to friends 
 and prospects ; but she permitted him passively to look among 
 the effects her father had left save only that, if his hand touched 
 something that seemed to her associations especially holy, she 
 waved him back, or drew it quickly away. There were many 
 bills receipted in the name of Captain Digby old yellow faded 
 music- scores for the flute, extracts of parts from Prompt 
 Books, gay parts of lively comedies, in which heroes have so 
 noble a contempt for money fit heroes for a Sheridan and a 
 Farquhar; close by these were several pawnbroker's tickets; and 
 not arrayed smoothly, but crumpled up, as if with an indignant, 
 nervous clutch of the helpless hands, some two or three letters. 
 He asked;Helen's permission to glance at these, for they might 
 afford a clue to frknds. Helen gave the permission by a silent 
 bend of the head. The letters, however, were but short and freez- 
 ing answers from what appeared to be distant connections, or 
 former friends, or persons to whom the deceased had applied 
 for some situation. They were all very disheartening in their 
 tone. Leonard next endeavored to refresh Helen's memory as 
 to the name of the nobleman which had been last on her father's 
 lips ; but there he failed wholly. For it may be remembered 
 that Lord L'Estrange, when he pressed his loan on Mr. Digby, 
 and subsequently told that gentleman to address to him at Mr. 
 Egerton's, had, from a natural delicacy, sent the child on, that 
 she might not witness the charity bestowed on the father ; and 
 Helen said truly, that Mr. Digby had sunk latterly into an ha- 
 bitual silence on all his affairs. She might have heard her father 
 mention the name, but she had not treasured it up ; all she could 
 say was, that she should know the stranger again if she met him, 
 and his dog too. Seeing that the child had grown calm, Leon- 
 ard was then going to leave the room, in order to confer with the 
 hostess ; when she rose suddenly though noiselessly, and put her
 
 336 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 little band in his, as if to detain him. She did not say a word- 
 the action said all said, " Do not desert me." And Leonard's 
 
 .heart rushed to his lips, and he answered to the. action, as he bent 
 down and kissed her cheek, " Orphan will you go with me? We 
 have one Father yet to both of us, and He will guide us on earth. 
 
 -I am fatherless, like you/' h She raised her eyes to his looked 
 at him long and theri leant her head confidingly on his strong 
 young shoulder. 
 
 TRAPTFR VTT 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AT:noon"that same day, the young man and the child were on 
 their road >o London, The host had at first a little demurred 
 at trusting Helen to so young a companion ; but Leonard, in his 
 happy ignorance, had talked so^anguinely of finding out this lord, 
 or some adequate protectors for the child ; and in so grand a strain, 
 though with all sincerity had spoken of his own great prospects 
 in the metropolis (he did not say what they were !) that had he 
 been the craftiest impostor,.he could not more have taken in the 
 rustic host. And while the landlady still cherished the illusive 
 fancy, that all gentlefolks must know each other an London, as 
 'they did in a county^ the landlord believed, at least, that a young 
 : man, so respectably dressed, although but a foot-traveller who 
 talked in^so confident a tone, and who was willing to undertake 
 what might be rather a burdensome charge, unless he saw how to 
 ; rid himself of it woul'dbesuretohavMriends, older and wiser than 
 'himself, who would j udge what coulB best be done for the orphan. 
 
 And what was the host to do with her-? Better this volun- 
 teered escort, at least, than vaguely passing her on from parish to 
 parish, and leaving her friendless at- last in the streets of London. 
 Helen, too, smiled for the fir&t time on being asked her wishes, 
 and again put her hand in Leonard's. In short, so it was settled. 
 
 The little girl made up a bundle of the things she most prized 
 or needed. Leonard did not feel the additional load, as he slung 
 it to : his knapsack ; the rest of the luggage was to be sent to Lon- 
 don as soon as Leonard wrote (which he promised to do soon), 
 'arid gave an address. , 
 
 Helen paid her last visit to the church-yard; and she joined 
 her companion as he stood on the road, without the solemn pre- 
 icihcts. ti And now they had gone on some hours ; and when he 
 asked if she were tired, she still answered " No." But Leonard 
 .was merciful, and made their day's journey short ; and it took 
 them some days to reach London. By the long lonely way they 
 grew so intimate, at the end of the second day, they called each 
 other brother and sister ; and Leonard, to his delight, found that
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 337 
 
 as her grief, with the bodily movement and the change of scene, 
 subsided from its first intenseness and its insensibility to other 
 impressions, she developed a quickness of comprehension far be- 
 yond her years. Poor child ! that had been forced upon her by 
 Necessity. And she understood him in his spiritual consola- 
 tions half,poetical,half religious; and she listened tohisown tale, 
 and the story of his self-education and solitary struggles those, 
 too, she understood; But when he burst out with his enthusiasm, 
 his glorious hopes, his confidence in the fate before them, then 
 she would shake her head very quietly and very sadly. Did she 
 compreherid them,? Alas ! perhaps too well She knew more as 
 to real life than he did. Leonard was at first their joint treas- 
 urer ; but before the second day was over, Helen seemed to dis- 
 cover that. he was too lavish ; and she told him so with a pru- 
 dent grave look, putting her hand on his arm -as he was about to 
 enter an inn to dine ; and the .gravity would have been comic, 
 but that the eyes through their moisture were so meek and grate- 
 ful. She felt he was:about to incur that ruinous extravgance on 
 her account. .Somehow or other, the purse found its way into 
 her keeping,and then she looked proud and in her natural element. 
 
 Ah! what happy mealsunderhercarewereprovided; so much 
 more enjoyable than in dull, sanded inn parlors, swarming with 
 flies, and reeking, with stale tobacco^. She would leave him ^t 
 the entrance of a village, bound forward, and cater, and return 
 with a little basket and a pretty blue jug which she had bought 
 on the road the last filled with new milk ; the first with new 
 bread and some special dainty in radishes or water-cresses. And 
 she had such a talent, for finding out the prettiest spot whereon 
 to halt and dine ; sometimes in the heart of a wood so still, it 
 ' was like a forest in fairy tales,- the hare stealing through the 
 alleys, or the squirrel peeping at them from the boughs ; some- 
 times by a little brawling. stjieam, with the fishes; seen under the 
 clear wave and sliootin g round the crumbs thrown to them. They 
 made an Arcadia of the dull road up to their dread Thermopylae 
 therwar against the million that waited them on the other side 
 of their pass through Tempe. 
 
 " Shall we be as happy when we are great? "said Leonard, in 
 his grand simplicity. 
 
 Helen sighed, and the wise little head was shaken. vori 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ; 
 
 AT last they'ca*ne within easy reach of Loddon ; but Leonard 
 .had resolved not to enter the metropolis fatigued. and exhausted
 
 338 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 as a wanderer needing refuge, but fresh and elate, as a conqueror 
 coming in triumph to take possession of the capital. Therefore 
 they halted early in the evening of the day preceding this im- 
 perial entry, about six miles from the metropolis, in the neighbor- 
 hood of Baling (for by that route lay their way). They were 
 not tired. on arriving at their inn, The weather was singularly 
 lovely, with that combination of softness and brilliancy which is 
 only known to the rare true summer days of England ; all be- 
 low so green, above so blue days of which we have about tix 
 in the year, and recall vaguely when we read of Robin Hood and 
 Ma'id Marian, of damsel and knight in Spenser's golden Summer 
 Song or of Jacques, dropped under the oak-tree, watching the 
 deer amidst the dells of Ardennes. So, after a little pause at their 
 inn, they strolled forth, not for travel but pleasure, toward the 
 cool of sunset, passing by the grounds that once belonged to the 
 Duke of Kent, and catching a glimpse of the shrubs and lawns 
 of that beautiful domain through the lodge-gates ; then they 
 crossed into some fields, and came to a little rivulet called the 
 Brent. Helen had been more sad that day than on any during 
 their journey. Perhaps because, on approaching London, the 
 memory of her father became more vivid ; perhaps from her pre- 
 cocious knowledge of life, and her foreboding of what was to be- 
 -all them, children that they both were. But Leonard was selfish 
 that day; he could not be influenced'by his companion's sorrow; 
 he Was so full of : his own sense of being, and he had already caught 
 from the atmosphere the fever that belongs to anxious capitals. 
 
 " Sit here, sister," said he imperiously, throwing. himself under 
 the shade of a pollard tree that overhung the winding brook, 
 "sit here and talk." 
 
 He flung off his hat, tossed back his rich curls, and sprinkled 
 his brow from the stream that eddied round the roots of the tree 
 that bulged out, bald and gnarled, from the bank, and delved 
 into the waves below. Helen quietly obeyed him, and nestled 
 close to his side. 
 
 " And so this London is really very vast ? VERY ? " he re- 
 peated inquisitively. 
 
 " Very," answered Helen, as, abstractedly,she plucked the cow- 
 slips near her, and let them fall into the running waters. " See 
 how the flowers are carried down the stream? They are. lost 
 now. London is to us what the river is to the flowers very 
 vast very strong "; and she added, after a pause "very cruel ! " 
 
 " Cruel ! Ah, it has been so to you ; but noiv ! now I will take 
 care of you!" He smiled triumphantly ; and his smile was 
 beautiful both in its pride and its kindness. It is astonishing
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 339 
 
 how Leonard had altered since he had left his uncle's : he was 
 both younger and older ; for the sense of genius, when it snaps 
 its shackles, makes us both older and wiser as to the world it soars 
 to younger and blinder as to the world it springs from. 
 
 " And it is not a very handsome city either, you say ? " 
 
 " Very ugly, indeed," said Helen, with some fervor, " at least 
 all I have seen of -it." 
 
 " But there must be parts prettier than others ? You say there 
 are parks: why should we not lodge near them, and look upon 
 the green trees ?" 
 
 " That would be nice," said Helen, almost joyously : " but " 
 and here the head was shaken " there are no lodgings for us 
 except in courts and alleys." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Why ? " echoed Helen, with a smile, and she held up the purse. 
 
 "Pooh! always that horrid purse ; as if, too, we were not going 
 to fill it. Did not I tell you the story of Fortunio ? Well, at all 
 events, we will go first to the neighborhood where you last lived, 
 and learn there all we can ; and then the day after to-morrow, I 
 will see this Dr. Morgan, and find out the lord." 
 
 The tears started to Helen's soft eyes : "You want to get rid 
 of me soon, brother." 
 
 " I ! Ah, I feel so happy to have you with me, it seems to me 
 as if I had pined for you all my life, and you had come at last ; 
 for I never had brother, nor sister, nor any one to love r that 
 was not older than myself, except " 
 
 " Except the young lady you told me of," said Helen, turning 
 away her face ; for children are very jealous, 
 
 " Yes, I loved her, love her still. But that was different," said 
 Leonard. "I could never have talked to her as to you : to you I 
 open my whole heart; you are my little Muse, Helen : I confess 
 to you my wild whims and fancies as frankly as if I were writing 
 poetry." As he said this, a step was heard, and a shadow fell 
 over the stream. A belated angler appeared on the margin, draw- 
 ing his line impatiently across the water, as if to worry some doz- 
 ing fish into a bite before it finally settled itself for the night. 
 Absorbed in his occupation, the angler did not observe the young 
 persons on the sward under the tree, and he halted there, close 
 upon them. 
 
 " Curse that perch ! " said he aloud. 
 
 " Take care, sir ! " cried Leonard ; for the man, in stepping 
 back, nearly trod upon Helen. 
 
 .The angler turned. " What's the matter ? Hist! you have 
 frightened my perch. Keep still, can't you ?"
 
 34? MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 'Helen drew herself out of the way, and Leonard remained 
 motionless : he remembered Jackeymo, and felt a sympathy for 
 the angler. 
 
 " It is the most extraordinary perch, that!" muttered the 
 stranger, soliloquizing. " It has the devil's own luck. It must 
 have been born with a silver spoon in its mouth, that damned 
 perch ! I shall never catch it never ! Ha I- no only a weed. 
 I give.it up." With this, he indignantly jerked his rod from the 
 water and began to disjoint it. While leisurely engaged in this 
 occupation, he turned to Leonard. 
 
 11 Humph ! are you intimately acquainted with this,'stream, sir ? " 
 
 " No," answered Leonard ; " I never saw it before." 
 
 ANGLER (solemnly). Then, young man, take my advice, and 
 do not give way to its fascinations. Sir, I am a martyr to this 
 stream ; it has been the Delilah of my existence. 
 
 LEONARD (interested : the last sentence seemed to him poeti- 
 cal). The Delilah, sir ! the Delilah ! 
 
 ANGLER. ^-The Delilah. Young man, listen, and be warned by 
 iexample. When I was about your age, I first came to this stream 
 to fish. Sir, on that fatal day, about 3 P.M., I hooked up a fish 
 such a big one, it must have weighed a pound and a half. Sir, 
 it was that length [and the angler put finger to wrist]. And just 
 when I had got it nearly ashore by the very place where you are 
 sitting, on that shelving bank, young man, the line broke, and 
 the perch twisted himself amongst those roots and cacodcemon 
 that he was ran off, hook and ail. Well, that fish haunted me ; 
 never before -had I seen such a fish. Minnows I had caught in 
 the Thames and elsewhere, also gudgeons, and occasionally a 
 dace. But a ! fish like that a PERCH all his fins up, like the 
 sails of a nranfOf-war-^a monster perch a whale of a perch I- 
 No, never till then had I known what leviathans lie hid within 
 thedeeps. I could not sleep till Ih ad returned ; and, again, sir, 
 I caught that perch. And this.' time, I pulled him fairly out of 
 the water. He escaped; and how did he escape? Sir, he left his 
 eye behind him on the hook. -i Years, long years, have passed 
 since thent;< but nevter shall I forget the agony of that moment. 
 
 LEONARD. To the perch, sir? 
 
 ANGLER. ^Perch ! agony to him ! He enjoyed it : agony to 
 me. I gazed on that eye, and the eye looked as sly and as wicked 
 as if it was laughing in my face. Well, sir, I had heard that there 
 is no ,better bait for a perch than a perch's eye. 1 adjusted that 
 eyeonthe hook, and dropped in the line gently. The water was 
 unusually clear ; in two minutes, I saw that perch return. He 
 approached the hook ; he recognized his eye frisked his tail
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 34! 
 
 made a plunge and, as I live, carried off the eye, safe and sound : 
 and I saw him digesting it by the side of that water-lily. The 
 mocking fiend ! Seven times since that day, in the course of a 
 varied and eventful life, have I caught that perch, and seven 
 times has that perch escaped. 
 
 LEONARD (astonished). It can't be the same perch ; perches 
 are very tender fish a hook inside of it, and an eye hooked out 
 of it no perch could withstand such ! havoc in its constitution. 
 
 ANGLER (with an appearance of awe). -It does seem super- 
 natural. But it is that perch ; for, harkye, sir, there is ONLY ONE 
 perch in the whole brook ! All the years I have fished here, I 
 have never caught another perch ; and this solitary inmate of the 
 watery element I know by sight better than I knew my own lost 
 father. For each time that I. have raised it out of the water, its 
 profile has been turned to me, and I have seen, with a shudder, 
 that it has only One Eye ! It is a most mysterious and a most 
 diabolical phenomenon, thatperch! It hasbeentheruin of my pros- 
 pects in life. I was offered a situation in Jamaica; I could not go 
 with that perch left here in triumph. I might afterward have had 
 an appointment in India,butl couldnotput theoceanbetweenfmy- 
 self and that -perch; ; thus have I frittered away my existence in the 
 fatal metropolis of my native land. And once a week, from Feb- 
 ruary to December, I come hither. Good Heavens ! if I should 
 catch the perch at last, the occupation of my existencewill be gone. 
 
 Leonard gazed curiously at the angler, as the last thus mourn- 
 fully concluded. The ornate turn of his periods did not suit 
 with his costume : he looked woefully threadbare and.shabby- 
 a genteel sort of shabbiness too^ shabbiness in black. There 
 was humor in the corners of his lip ; and his hands, though they 
 did not seem very clean ^indeed his occupation was not friendly 
 to such niceties were those of a man who had not known manual . 
 labor. His face was pale and puffed, but the tip of the nose Was i 
 red ; he did not seem as if the watery element was as. familiar 
 to himself as to his Delilah the perch. 
 
 "Such is Life!" .recommenced the angler, in a moralizing 
 tone, as he slid his rod into its canvas case. "If a man knew 
 what it was to fish all one's life in a stream that has only one 
 perch ; to catch that one perch nine times in all, and nine times 
 to see it fall back into the water, plump ; if ia man knew what 
 it was why, then" here the angler looked over his shoulder 
 full at Leonard: '' why then,-young sir,, he. would know what hu- 
 man life is to vain ambition. Good-evening." 
 
 Away he went, treading over the d usies and king-cups. Hel- 
 en's eyes followed him wistfully.
 
 342 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 "What a strange person ! " said Leonard, laughing. 
 
 " I think he is a very wise one," murmured Helen ; and she 
 came close up to Leonard, and took his hand in both hers, as if 
 she felt already that he was in need of a Comforter the line 
 broken, and perch lost! 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AT noon the next day, London stole upon them through a 
 gloomy, thick, oppressive atmosphere ; for where is it that we 
 can say London bursts on the sight ? It stole on them through 
 one of its fairest and most gracious avenues of approach by the 
 stately gardens of Kensington along the side of Hyde Park, 
 and so on to Cumberland Gate. 
 
 - Leonard was not the least struck. And yet, with a very little 
 money, and a very little taste, it would be easy to render this en- 
 trance to London as grand and as imposing as that to Paris from 
 the Champs Elysfas. As they came near the Edgeware Road, 
 Helen took her new brother by the hand and guided him; for she 
 knewall that neighborhood, and she wasacquainted with a lodging 
 near that occupied by her father (to that lodging itself she could 
 not have gone for the world), where they might be housed cheaply. 
 
 But just then the sky, so dull and overcast since morning, 
 seemed one mass of black cloud. There suddenly came on a 
 violent storm of rain. The boy and girl took refuge in a covered 
 mews, in a street running out of the Edgeware Road. This shel- 
 ter soon became crowded ; the two young pilgrims crept close 
 to the wall, apart from the rest Leonard's arm round Helen's 
 waist, sheltering her from the rain that the strong wind contend- 
 ing with it beat in through the passage. Presently a young gentle- 
 man of better mien and dress than the other refugees, entered, 
 not hastily but rather with a slow and proud step, as if, though 
 he deigned to take shelter, he scorned to run it. He glanced 
 somewhat haughtily at the assembled group passed on through 
 the midst of it came near Leonard took off his hat, and shook 
 the rain from its brim. His head thus uncovered, left all his 
 features exposed ; and the village youth recognized, at the first 
 glance, his old victorious assailant on the green at Hazeldean. 
 
 Yet Randal Leslie was altered. His dark cheek was as thin 
 as in boyhood, and even yet more wasted by intense study and 
 night vigils ; but the expression of his face was at once more 
 refined and manly, and there was a steady concentrated light in 
 his eye, like that of one who has been in the habit of bringing 
 all his thoughts to one point. He looked older than he was. 
 He was dressed simply in black, a color which became him; and
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 343 
 
 altogether his aspect and figure were not showy indeed, but dis- 
 tinguished. He looked to the common eye a gentleman ; and 
 to the more observant, a scholar. 
 
 Helter-skelter ! pell-mell ! the group in the passage now 
 pressed each on each now scattered on all sides making way 
 rushing down the mews against the walls, as a fiery horse darted 
 under shelter. The rider,a young man, with a very handsome face, 
 and dressed with that peculiar care which wecommonly call dandy- 
 ism, cried out,good-humoredly,"Don'tbe afraid; the horse shan't 
 hurt any of you a thousand pardons so ho! so ho!" He patted 
 the horse, and it stood as still as a statue filling up the centre of 
 the passage. The groups resettled Randal approached the rider. 
 
 *'* Frank Hazeldean ! " 
 
 " Ah is it indeed Randal Leslie ! " 
 
 Frank was off his horse in a moment, and the bridle was con- 
 signed to the care of a slim 'prentice-boy holding a bundle. 
 
 " My dear fellow, how glad I am to see you ? How lucky it 
 was that I should turn in here ! Not like me either, for I don't 
 much care for a ducking. Staying in town, Randal ? " 
 
 "Yes; at your uncle's, Mr. Egerton. I have left Oxford." 
 
 " For good ? " 
 
 " For good." 
 
 " But you have not taken your degree, I think ? We Etonians 
 all considered you booked fora double-first. Oh! we have been 
 so proud of your fame you carried off all the prizes." 
 
 " Not all ; but some, certainly. Mr. Egerton offered me my 
 choice to stay for my degree, or to enter at once into the Foreign 
 Office. I preferred the end to the means ; for, after all, what 
 good are academical honors but as the entrance to life ? To 
 enter now, is to save a step in a long way, Frank." 
 
 " Ah ! you were always ambitious, and you will make a great 
 figure, I am sure." 
 
 " Perhaps so if I work for it. Knowledge is power ! " 
 
 Leonard started. 
 
 " And you ! " resumed Randal, looking with some curious 
 attention at his old school-fellow "You never came to Oxford. 
 I did hear you were going in the army." 
 
 "Jam in the Guards," said Frank, trying hard not to look too 
 conceited as he made that acknowledgment. " The Governor 
 pished a little, and would rather I had come to live with him in 
 the old Hall, and take to farming. Time enough for that eh ? 
 By Jove, Randal, how pleasant a thing is life in London ! Do 
 you go to Almack's to-night ? " 
 
 " No ; Wednesday is a holiday in the House ! There is a
 
 344 MY. NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 great Parliamentary dinner at Mr. Egerton's. He is in the cabi- 
 net now, you know ; but you don't see much of your uncle,! think." 
 
 " Our sets are different," said the young gentleman, in a tone 
 of voice worthy of Brummell. " AH those Parliamentary fellows 
 are- devilish dull. The rain's over. I don't know whether the 
 Governor would like me to call at Grosvenor Square ; .but pray 
 come and see me. Here's my card to remind you ; you must 
 dine at our mess. Such capital fellows! What day will you fix ?" 
 
 " I will call and let you know. Don't. you find it rather ex- 
 pensive in the Guards? I remember that you thought the Gov- 
 ernor, as you call him, used to chafe a little when you wrote for 
 more pocket-money ; and the only time I eyer saw you with tears 
 in your eyes, was when Mr. Hazeldean, in sending you flvepounds, 
 reminded you that his estates were not entailed were at his. own 
 disposal, and they should never go to an extravagant spend thrift. 
 It was not a pleasant threat that, Frank." 
 
 " Oh !" cried the young man, coloring deeply ; "it was not 
 the threat that pained roe ; it was that my father could thinlcso 
 meanly of -me as '.to fancy that Well well, but those were 
 school-boy days: and: my fajther was always more generous than 
 I deserved. We must see a great deal of each other, Randal. 
 How good-natured you were at Eton, making my longs and 
 shorts for me ; I shall never forget it. Do call soon." 
 
 Frank swung himself into his saddle, and rewarded the slim 
 youth with half a crown a largess four times more ample than 
 his father would have deemed sufficient. A jerk of the reins and 
 a touch of the heel off bounded the fiery horse and the gay 
 young rider. Randal mused ; and as the rain had now ceased, 
 the passengers under shelter dispersed and went their way. Only 
 Randal, Leonard, and Helen, remained behind. . Then, as Ran- 
 dal, still musing, lifted his eyes, they fell upon. Leonard's face. 
 He started, passed his hand quickly over his brow looked 
 again, hard and piercingly ; and the change in his pale cheek to 
 a shade still paler a quick compression and nervous gnawing 
 of his lip showed that he too jecognised an old foe. -Then, his 
 glance ran x>ver Leonard's dress, which was somewhat dust- 
 stained, but far above the- class amongst which the peasant was 
 born. .Randal raised his brows in surprise, and .with a smile 
 slightly supercilious the smile stung Leonard ; and with a slow 
 step Randal left the passage, and took his way toward Grosve- 
 nor Square. The Entrance of Ambition was clear to ////;/. 
 
 Then the little girl once more took Leonard by the hand, and 
 led him through rows of humble, obscure, dreary streets. It 
 seemed almost like an allegory personified, as the sad, silent
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 345 
 
 child led on the penniless and low-born adventurer of genius by 
 the squalid shops, and through the winding lanes, which grew 
 meaner and meaner till both their forms vanished from view. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "BUT do come ; qhange your dress, return and dine with me ; 
 you will have just time, Harley. You will meet the most emi- 
 nent men of our party ; surely they are worth your study, phil- 
 osopher that you affect to be." 
 
 Thus said Audley Egerton to Lord L'Estrange, with whom 
 he had been riding (after the toils of his office). The two gentle- 
 man were in Audley's library. Mr Egerton, as usual, buttoned 
 up, seated in his chair, in ; the erect posture of a man who scorns 
 ''inglorious ease," Harley, as usual, thrown at length on the sofa, 
 his long hair in caueless curls, his neckcloth loose, his habili- 
 ments flowing simplex munditiis, indeed his grace all his own; 
 seemingly negligent, never slovenly; at ease everywhere and with 
 every one, even with Mr. Audley Egerton, who chilled or awed 
 the ease put of most people. 
 
 "Nay, my dear Audley, forgive me. But your eminent men 
 are all men of one idea, and that not a diverting one, politics ! 
 politics ! politics ! The storm in the saucer." 
 
 " But what is your life,Harley? the saucer without the storm?" 
 
 " Do you know, that's very well said, Audley ? I did not think 
 you had so much liveliness of repartee. Life life ! it is insipid, 
 it is shallow. No launching Argosies in the saucer. Audley, 
 I have the oddest fancy " 
 
 " That of course," said Audley, dryly : "you never have any 
 other. What is the new one?" 
 
 HARLEY (with great gravity). Do you believe in Mesmerism ? 
 AUDLEY. Certainly not. 
 
 HARLEY.-J If it were in the power of an animal magnetizer to 
 get me out of my own skin into somebody else's ! That's my 
 fancy ! I am so tired of myself so tired ! I have run through 
 all my ideas know every one of them by heart. When some 
 pretentious impostor of an idea perks itself up and says, Look 
 at me I'm anew acquaintance, I. just give it a nod, and say, 
 Not at all you have only got a new coat on ; you are the same 
 old wretch that has bored me these last twenty years ; get away. 
 But if one could be in a new skin ! if I could be for half an hour 
 your tall porter,oroneof your eminent matter-of-fact men, I should 
 then' really travel into anew world.* Every man's brain must bo 
 
 * If, at the date in which Lord L'F.strange held this conversation with Mr. Egerton, Al 
 ired de Mussel had written his comedies, we should suspect that his lordship had plagia*
 
 346 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 a world in itself, eh ? If I could but make a parochial settlement 
 even in yours, Audley run overall your thoughts and sensations. 
 Upon my life, I'll go and. talk to thatFrenchmesmerizer about it. 
 
 AUDLEY (who does not seem to like the notion of having his 
 thoughts and sensations rummaged, even by his friend, and even 
 in fancy). Pooh, pooh, pooh ! Do talk like a man of sense. 
 
 H ARLEY. Man of sense ! Where shall I find a model ? I don't 
 knowamanof sense! never met such a creature. Don't believe 
 it ever existed. At one time I thought Socrates must have been 
 a man of sense ; a delusion ; he would stand gazing into the 
 air, and talking to his Genius from sunrise to sunset. Is that like 
 a man of sense? Poor Audley; how puzzled he looks! Well, I'll 
 tryand talk sense to oblige'you. And first [here Harley raised him- 
 self on his elbow] first, is it true, as I have heard vaguely that 
 you are paying court to the sister of that infamous Italian traitor ? 
 
 "Madame di Negra? No: lam not paying court to her," 
 answered Audley, with a cold smile. "But she is very handsome ; 
 she is very clever ; she is Useful to me ^1 need not say how or 
 why; that belongs to my m/tieras a politican. But I think, if you 
 will take my advice, or get your friend to take it, I could obtain 
 from her brother, through my influence with her, some liberal con- 
 cessions to your exile. She is very anxious to know where he is." 
 
 "You have not told her?" 
 
 " No ; I promised you I would keep that secret." 
 
 "Be sure you do; it is only for some mischief, some snare, 
 that she could desire such information. Concessions ! pooh ! 
 This is no question of concessions, but of rights." 
 
 "I think you should leave your friend to judge of that." 
 
 "Well, I will write to him. Meanwhile, beware of this woman. 
 I have heard much of her abroad, and she has the character of 
 her brother for duplicity and " 
 
 "Beauty," interrupted Audley, turning the conversation with 
 practised adroitness. " I am told that the Count is one of the 
 handsomest men in Europe, much handsomer than his sister, still, 
 thoughnearly twice her age. Tut tut Harley; fearnotforme. 
 lam proof against all feminine attractions. This heart is dead." 
 
 " Nay, nay ; it is not for you to speak thus leave that to me. 
 But even / will not say it. The heart riever dies. And you ; 
 what have you lost? a wife ; true : an excellent noble-hearted 
 woman. But was it love that you felt for her? Enviable man, 
 have you ever loved ? " 
 
 "Perhaps not, Harley," said Audley, with a sombre aspect, 
 
 ized from one of them the whimsical idea that he here vents upon Audley. In repeating 
 it, the author at least cannot escape from the charge of obligation to a writer whose humor 
 is sufficiently opulent to justify the loan.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 347 
 
 and in dejected accents; "very few men ever have loved, at 
 least as you mean by the word. But there are other passions 
 than love that kill the heart, and reduce us to mechanism." 
 
 While Egerton spoke, Harley turned aside, and his breast 
 heaved. There was a short silence ; Audley was the first to breakjt. 
 
 "Speaking of my lost wife, I am sorry that you do not approve 
 of. what I have done for her young kinsman, Randal Leslie." 
 
 HARLEY (recovering himself with an effort). Is it true kind- 
 ness to bid him exchange manly independence for the protec- 
 tion of an official patron ? 
 
 AUDLEY. I did not bid him. I gave him his choice. At his 
 age, I should have chosen as he has done. 
 
 HARLEY. I trust not : I think better of you. But answer me 
 one question frankly, and then I will ask another. Do you mean 
 to make this young man your heir? 
 
 AUDLEY (with a slight embarrassment). Heir, pooh ! I am 
 young still. J may live as long as he time enough to think of that. 
 
 HARLEY. Then now to my second question. Have you told 
 this youth plainly that he may look to you for influence, but not 
 for wealth ? 
 
 AUDLEY (firmly). I think I have ; but I shall repeat it more 
 emphatically. 
 
 HARLEY. Then I am satisfied as to your conduct, but not as 
 to his. For he has too acute an intellect not to know what it is 
 to forfeit independence ; and, depend on it, he has made his cal- 
 culations, and would throw you into the bargain in any balance 
 that he could strike in his favor. You go by your experience in 
 judging men ; I by my instincts. Nature warns us as it does the 
 inferior animals only we are too conceited, we bipeds, to heed 
 her. My instincts of soldier and gentleman recoil from .that old 
 young man. He has the soul of the Jesuit. I see it in his eye I 
 hear it in the tread of his foot \voltosciolto\iQ. hasnot ; ipcnsieristretti 
 he has. Hist ! I hear now his step in the hall. I should know it 
 from a thousand. That's his very touch on the handle of the door. 
 
 Randal Leslie entered. Harley who, despite his disregard 
 for forms, and his dislike, to Randal, was too high-bred not to 
 be polite to his junior in age or inferior in rank : rose and bowed. 
 But his bright piercing eyesdidnotsoften as they caught and bore 
 down thekleeperandmorelatentfire in Randal's. Harleydidnot re- 
 sume his seat,but removed to the mantel-piece and leant against it. 
 
 RANDAL. I have fulfilled your commission, Mr. Egerton. I 
 went first to Maida Hill, and saw Mr. Burley. I gave him the 
 check, but he said " it was too much, and he should return .half 
 to the banker"; he will write the article as you suggested. I then
 
 348 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 AUDLEY. Enough, Randal ! we will not fatigue Lord L'Es- 
 trange with these little details of a life that displeases him the 
 life political. 
 
 HARLEY. But these details do not displease me ; they recon- 
 cile me to my own life. Go on, pray, Mr. Leslie. 
 
 Randal had too much tact to need the cautioning glance of 
 Mr. Egerton. He did not continue, but said, with a soft voice> 
 " Do you think, Lord L'Estrange, that th,e contemplation of the 
 mode of life pursued by others can reconcile a man to his own, 
 if he had before thought it needed a reconciler ?" Harley 
 looked pleased, for the question was ironical ; and if there was 
 a thing in the world that he abhorred,- it was flattery. 
 
 " Recollect your Lucretius, Mr. Leslie, the Suave mare, etc., 
 'pleasant from the cliff to see the mariners tossed on the ocean.' 
 Faith, I think that sight reconciles one to the cliff though, be^ 
 fore, one might have been teased by the' splash. from the spray, 
 and deafened by the scream of the sea-gulls. But I. leave you, 
 Audley. Strange that I have heard no more of my soldier. Re- 
 member I have your promise when J come to claim it. Good-bye, 
 Mr. Leslie, I hope that Burley's article will be worth the^ check." 
 
 Lord L'Estrange mounted his horse, which was still at the 
 door, and rode through the Park. But he was no longer now 
 unknowri by sight ; -bows and nods saluted him on every side. 
 
 " Alas, I am found out, then,'" said he to himself. "That 
 terrible Duchess of Knaresborough, too I must fly my-country." 
 He pushed his horse into a canter, ami was soon out of the Park. 
 As he dismounted at his father's sequestered house, you would 
 have hardly supposed him the same :: whimsical, fantastic, but 
 deep and subtle humorist that delighted in perplexingthe material 
 'Audley-'-for riis expressive face was unutterably serious ; but the 
 moment he came into the presence of his parents, the counte- 
 nance was again lighted and cheerful it brightened the whole 
 room like sunshine. 
 
 - 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " MR. LESLIE," said Egerton', wl^ti Harley had left the library. 
 "You did not act with your usual discretion in touching upon 
 matters connected with politics in the presence of a third party." 
 
 " I feel that already, sir ; my excuse is, that I held Lord 
 L'Estrange to be your most intimate friend." 
 
 " A public man, Mr. Leslie, would ill serve his country if he 
 were not especially reserved toward his private friends when 
 they do not belong to his party." 
 
 "But, pardon me my ignorance, Lord Lansmere is so well
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 349 
 
 known to be one of your supporters, that I fancied his son must 
 share his sentiments, and be in your confidence." 
 
 Egerton's brows slightly contracted, and gave a stern expres- 
 sion to a countenance always firm and decided. He, however, 
 answered in a mild tone : 
 
 " At the entrance into political life, Mr. Leslie, there is noth- 
 ing in which a young man of your talents should be more on his 
 guard than thinking for himself; he will nearly always think 
 wrong. And I believe that is one reason why young men of 
 talent disappoint their friends, and remain so long out of office." 
 
 A haughty flush passed over Randal's brow, and faded away 
 quickly ; he bowed in silence. 
 
 Egerton resumed, as if in explanation, and even in kindly 
 apology 
 
 " Look at Lord L'Estrange himself. What young man could 
 come into life with brighter auspices ? Rank, wealth, high ani- 
 mal spirits (a great advantage those same spirits, Mr. Leslie), 
 courage, self-possession, scholarship as brilliant perhaps as your 
 own ; and now see how his life is wasted ! Why'? He always 
 thought fit to think for himself. He could never be broken into 
 harness and never will be. The State coach, Mr. Leslie, requires 
 that all the horses should pull, together." 
 
 "With submission, sir," answered Randal, " I should think 
 that there were other reasons why Lord L'Estrange, whatever 
 be his talents and of these you must be indeed an adequate 
 judge would never do anything in public life." 
 
 "Ay, and what ? " said Egerton, quickly. 
 
 " First," said Randal, shrewdly, "private life has done too much 
 for him. What could public life give to one who needs nothing 1 ? 
 Born at the top of the social 1 ladder, why should he put himself 
 voluntarily at the last step, for the sake of climbing up again ? 
 And secondly,LordL'Estrangeseemstomeaman in whose organ- 
 ization ^//w<?/ usurps too large a share for practical existence." 
 
 "You have a keen eye," said Audley, with some admiration - 
 " keen for one so young. Poor Harley ! " 
 
 Mr. Egerton's last words were said to himself. He resumed, 
 quickly 
 
 " There is something on my mind, my young friend. Let us -1 
 be frank with each other.- I placed before you fairly the advan- 
 tages and disadvantages of the choice I gave you. To take your ' 
 degree with such honors as no doubt you would have won, to 
 obtain your fellowship, to go to ,the bar, : with those credentials 
 in favor of your talents : this was one career. To come at once 
 into public life, to profit by my experience, avail yourself of my
 
 350 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 interest, to take the chances of rise or fall with a party : this 
 was another. You chose the last. But, in so doing, there was 
 a consideration which might weigh with you ; and on which, in 
 stating your reasons for your option, you were silent." 
 
 " What is that, sir ? " 
 
 " You might have counted on my fortune, should the chances 
 of party fail you; speak and without shame, if so ; it would 
 be natural in a young man, who comes from the elder branch 
 of the house whose heiress was my wife." 
 
 " You wound me, Mr. Egerton," said Randal, turning away. 
 
 Mr. Egerton's cold glance followed Randal's movement ; the 
 face was hid from the glance, and the statesman's eye rested On 
 the figure, which is often as self-betraying as the countenance it- 
 self. Randal baffled Mr. Egerton's penetration the young man's 
 emotion might be honest pride, and pained and generous feel- 
 ing; or it might be something else. Egerton continued, slowly 
 
 " Once for all, then; distinctively and emphatically, I say 
 never count upon that ; count upon all else that I can do for 
 you, and forgive me when I advise harshly or censure coldly ; 
 ascribe this to my interest in your career. Moreover, before 
 decision becomes irrevocable, I wish you to know practically all 
 that is disagreeable or even humiliating in the first subordinate 
 steps of him who, without .wealth or station, would rise in public 
 life. I will not consider your choice settled till the end of a year 
 at least your name will be kept on the college books till then; 
 if, on experience, you should prefer to return to Oxford, and pur- 
 sue the slower but surer path to independence and distinction, 
 you can. And now give me your hand, Mr. Leslie, in sign that 
 you forgive my bluntness ; it is time to dress." 
 
 Randal, with his face still averted, extended his hand. Mr. 
 Egerton held it a moment, then, dropping it, left the room. 
 Randal turned as the door closed. And there was in his dark 
 face a power of sinister passion, that justified all Harley's warn- 
 ings. His lips moved, but not audibly ; then, as if struck by a 
 sudden thought, he followed Egerton into the hall. 
 
 " Sir," said he, " I forgot to say, that on returning from Maida 
 Hill, I took shelter from the rain under a covered passage, and 
 there I met, unexpectedly, with your nephew, Frank Hazeldean." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Egerton, indifferently, " a fine young man ; in 
 the Guards. It is a pity that my brother has such antiquated 
 notions ; he should put his son into Parliament, and under 
 my guidance ; I could push him. Well, and what said 
 Frank ? " 
 
 " He invited me to call on him. I remember that you once
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 351 
 
 rather cautioned me against too intimate an acquaintance with 
 those who have not got their fortune to make." 
 
 " Because they are idle, and idleness is contagious. Right 
 better not to be intimate with a young Guardsman." 
 
 "Then you would not have me call on him, sir ? We were 
 rather friends at Eton ; and if I wholly reject his overtures, 
 might he not think that you " 
 
 " I ! " interrupted Egerton. " Ah, true ; my brother might 
 think I bore him a grudge ; absurd. Call then, and ask the 
 young man here. Yet still, I do not advise intimacy." ; 
 
 Egerton turned into his dressing-room. " Sir," said his valet, 
 who was in waiting, " Mr. Levy is here he says, by appoint 
 ment ; and Mr. Grinders is also just come from the country." 
 
 "Tell Mr. Grinders to come in first," said Egerton, seating 
 himself. " You need not wait ; I can dress without you. Tell 
 Mr. Levy I will see him in five minutes." 
 
 Mr. Grinders was steward to Audley Egerton. 
 
 Mr. Levy was a handsome man, who wore a camelia in his 
 button-hole drove, in his cabriolet, a high-stepping horse that 
 had cost ; 2 ; was well known to young men of fashion, and 
 considered by their fathers a very dangerous acquaintance. 
 ir/iiu O9iK.x}({f:.?!b nonj 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 As the company assembled in the drawing-rooms, Mr. Egerton 
 introduced Randal Leslie to his eminent friends in a way that 
 greatly contrasted the distant and admonitory manner which he 
 had exhibited to him in private. The presentation was made with 
 that cordiality and that gracious respect by which those who are in 
 station command notice for those who have their station yet to win. 
 
 " My dear Lord, let me introduce to you a kinsman of my late 
 wife's [in a. whisper] the heir to the eldest branch of her family. 
 Stanmore, this is Mr. Leslie, of whom I spoke to you. You, who 
 were so distinguished at Oxford, will not like him the worse for 
 the prizes he gained there. Duke, let me present to you Mr. Les- 
 lie. The duchess is angry with me for deserting her balls; I shall 
 hope to make my peace by providing myself with a younger and 
 livelier substitute. Ah, Mr. Howard, here is a young gentleman just 
 fresh from Oxford, who will tell us all about the new sect spring- 
 ing up there. He has not wasted his time on billiards and horses." 
 
 Leslie was received with all that charmirrg courtesy which is 
 the To Kalon of an aristocracy. 
 
 After dinner, conversation settled on politics, Randal listened 
 with attention, and in silence, till Egerton drew him gently out ;
 
 352 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 just enough, and no morejust enough to make his intelligence 
 evident, without subjecting him to the charge of laying down the 
 law. Egerton knew how to draw out young men l a difficult art. 
 It was one reason why he was so peculiarly popular with the 
 m'ore rising members of his party. 
 
 The party broke up early. 
 
 "We are in time for Almack's."- said Egerton, glancing at the 
 clock, "and I have a voucher for you; come." 
 
 Randal followed his patron into the carriage. By the way, 
 Egerton thus addressed him : 
 
 "I shalUritroduce you to the principal leaders of society; know 
 them and study them. I do not advise you to attempt to do more j 
 that is, to attempt to become the fashion. It is a very expensive 
 ambition; some men it helps, most men it ruins. On the whole, 
 you have better cards in your hands. Dance or not, as it pleases 
 you don't flirt. If you flirt, people will inquire into your fortune 
 an inquiry that will do you little good; and flirting entangles a 
 young man into marrying; that would never do. Here we are." 
 
 In two minutes more they 'were in the great ball-room, and 
 Randal's eyes were dazzled with the lights, the diamonds, the 
 blaze of beauty. Audle'y presented him in quick succession to 
 some dozen ladies, and then disappeared amidst the crowd. Ran- 
 dal was not at a loss; hewas without shyness; orifhe had that dis- 
 abling infirmity, he concealed it. He answered the languid ques- 
 tions put to him with a certain spirit that kept up talk, and left a 
 favorable impression of his agreeable qualities. But the lady with 
 whom he got on the best, was one who had no daughters out, a hand- 
 some and witty woman of the world-^Lady: Frederick Coniers. 
 
 "It is your first ball at Almack's then, Mr. Leslie?" 
 
 "My first." 
 
 " And you have not secured a partner ? Shall I frnd you one ? 
 What 'do you think of that pretty girl in pink ?" 
 
 "I see her but I cannot think of her." 
 
 "You are rather, perhaps, like a diplomatist in a new court, 
 and your first object is to know who is who." 
 
 "I confess that on beginning to study the 'history of my own 
 day, I should like to distinguish the portraits that illustrate the 
 memoir." 
 
 "Give me your arm; then, and we will come into the next room. 
 We shall see the different notability enter one by one, and observe 
 without being observed. This is the least I can do for a friend 
 of Mr. Egerton's." 
 
 "Mr. Egerton, then," said Randal (as they threaded their way 
 through the space without the rope that protected the dancers)
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 353 
 
 Mr. Egerton has had the good fortune to win your esteem, 
 even for his friends, however obscure? " 
 
 "Why, to say the truth, I think no one whotn Mr. Egerton 
 calls his friend need long remain obscure, if he has the ambition 
 to be otherwise; for Mr. Egerton holds it a maxim never to 
 forget a friend, nor a service." 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! " said Randal, surprised. 
 
 " And, therefore," continued Lady Frederick, " as he passes 
 through life, friends gather round him. He will rise even 
 higher yet. Gratitude, Mr: Leslie, is a very good policy." 
 
 " Hem ! "muttered Mr. Leslie. 
 
 They had now gained the room where tea and bread-and-butter 
 were the homely refreshments to the habitues of what at that day 
 was the most exclusive assembly in London. They ensconced 
 themselves in a corner by a window, and Lady Frederick per- 
 formed her task of cicerone with lively ease, accompanying each 
 notice of the various persons who passed panoramically before 
 them with sketch and anecdote, sometimes good-natured, gen- 
 erally satirical, always graphic and amusing. 
 
 By-and-by, Frank Hazeldean, having on his arm a young lady 
 of haughty air, and with high though delicate features, came to 
 the tea-table. 
 
 "The last new Guardsman," said Lady Frederick; "very hand- 
 some, and notyetquite spoiled. Buthehasgotintoadangerousset." 
 
 RANDAL. : The young lady with him is handsome enough to 
 be dangerous. 
 
 LADY FREDERICK (laughing). No danger for him there, as 
 yet at least. Lady Mary (the Duke of Knaresborough's daughter) 
 is only in her second year. The first year, nothing under an 
 earl', the second, nothing under a baron. It will be full four 
 years before she comes down to a commoner. Mr. Hazeldean's 
 danger is of another kind. He lives much with men who are 
 not exactly mauvais ton, but certainly not of the best taste. 'Yet 
 he is very young ; he may extricate himself leaving half his 
 fortune behind him. What, he nods to you! You know him?" 
 
 " Very well ; he is nephew to Mr. Egerton." 
 
 " Indeed ! I did not know that. Hazeldean is a new name 
 in London. I heard his father was a plain country gentleman, 
 of good fortune, but not that he was related to Mr. Egerton." 
 
 " Half-brother," 
 
 " Will Mr. Egerton pay the young gentleman's debts ? He 
 has no sons himself." 
 
 RANDAL. Mr. Egerton's fortune comes from his wife, from 
 my family from a Leslie, and not from a Hazeldean.
 
 354 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Lady Frederick turned sharply, looked at Randal's counte- 
 nance with more attention than she had yet vouchsafed to it, and 
 tried to talk of the Leslies. Randal was very short there. 
 
 An hour afterward, Randal, who had not danced, was still in 
 the refreshment-room, but Lady Frederick had long quitted him. 
 He was talking with some old Etonians who had recognized 
 him, when there entered a lady of very remarkable appearance, 
 and a murmur passed through the room as she appeared. 
 
 She might be three or four and twenty. She was dressed in 
 black velvet, which contrasted with the alabaster whiteness of 
 her throat and the clear paleness of her complexion, while it set 
 off the diamonds with which she was profusely covered. Her 
 hair was of the deepest jet, and worn simply braided. Her eyes, 
 too, were dark and brilliant, her features regular and striking ; 
 but their expression, when in repose, was not prepossessing to 
 such as love modesty and softness in the looks of woman. But 
 when she spoke and smiled, there was so much spirit and vivacity 
 in the countenance, so much fascination in the smile, that all 
 which might before have marred the effect of her beauty 
 strangely and suddenly disappeared. 
 
 " Who is that very handsome woman ? " asked Randal. 
 
 " An Italian a Marchesa something,"said one of the Etonians. 
 
 " Di Negra," suggested another, who had been abroad : "she 
 is a widow ; her husband was of the great Genoese family of 
 Negra' a younger branch of it." 
 
 Several men now gathered thickly around the fair Italian. A 
 few ladies of the highest rank spoke to her, but with a more distant 
 courtesy than ladies of high rank usually show to foreigners of such 
 quality as Madame di Negra. Ladies of a rank less elevated seemed 
 rather shy of her; that might be from jealousy. As Randal 
 gazed at the Marchesa with more admiration than any woman. per- 
 haps, had before excited in him, he heard a voice near him say 
 
 " Oh, Madame di Negra is resolved to settle amongst us and 
 marry an Englishman." 
 
 " If she can find one sufficiently courageous," returned a 
 female voice. 
 
 " Well, she's trying hard for Egerton ; and he has courage 
 enough for anything." 
 
 The female voice replied, with a laugh, " Mr. Egerton knows 
 the world too well, and has resisted too many temptations, 
 to be " 
 
 " Hush ! there he is." 
 
 Egerton came into the room with his usual firm step and erect 
 mien. Randal observed that a quick glance was exchanged be-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIKE. 355 
 
 tween him and the Marchesa ; but the minister passed her by 
 with a bow. 
 
 Still Randal watched, and, in ten minutes afterward, Egerton 
 and the Marchesa was seated apart in the very same convenient 
 nook that Randal and Lady Frederick had occupied an hour 
 or so before. 
 
 " Is this the reason why Mr. Egerton so insultingly warns me 
 against counting on his fortune ? " muttered Randal. " Does 
 he mean to marry again ? " 
 
 Unjust suspicion ! for, at that moment, these were the words 
 that Audley Egerton was dropping forth from his lips of bronze 
 
 " Nay, dear madame, do not ascribe to my frank admiration 
 more gallantry than it merits. Your conversation charms me, 
 your beauty delights me ; your society is as a holiday that I look 
 forward to in the fatigues of my life. But I have done with 
 love, and I shall never marry again." 
 
 " You almost pique me into trying to win, in order to reject 
 you," said the Italian, with a flash from her bright eyes. 
 
 " I defy even you, "answered Audley, with his cold hard smile. 
 " But to return to the point : You have more influence, at least, 
 over this subtle ambassador ; and the secret we speak of I rely 
 on you to obtain me. Ah, madame, let us rest friends. You see 
 I have conquered the unjust prejudices against you ; you are re- 
 ceived an&fetee everwhere,as becomes your birth and attractions. 
 Rely on me ever, as I on you. But I shall excite too much envy 
 if I stay here longer, and am vain enough to think that I may 
 injure you if I provoke the gossip df the ill-natured. As the 
 avowed friend, I can serve you as the supposed lover, No " 
 Audley rose as he said this, and, standing by the chair, added 
 carelessly, " Apropos, the sum you do me the honor to borrow 
 will be paid to your bankers to-morrow." 
 
 " A thousand thanks ! my brother will hasten to repay you." 
 
 Audley bowed. " Your brother, I hope, will repay me in 
 person, not before. When does he come ? " 
 
 " Oh, he has again postponed his visit to London ; he is so 
 much needed in Vienna. But while we are talking of him, allow 
 me to ask if your friend, Lord L'Estrange, is indeed still so 
 bitter against that poor brother of mine ? " 
 
 " Still the same." 
 
 "It is shameful ! "cried the Italian, with warmth ; "what has 
 my brother ever done to him that he should actually intrigue 
 against the Count in his own court." 
 
 "Intrigue! I think you wrong Lord L'Estrange; hebutrepre- 
 sented what hebelievedto be thetruth,indefence of aruined exile."
 
 356 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " And you will not tell me where that exile is, or if his 
 daughter still lives ? " 
 
 " My dear Mafchesa, I have called you friend, therefore I will 
 not aid L'Estrange to injure you or yours. But I call L'Estrange 
 a friend also ; and I cannot violate the trust that" Audley 
 stopped short, and bit his lip.. "You understand me/' he re- 
 sumed, withamoregenialsmile than usual ; and he took his leave. 
 
 The Italian's brows met as her eye followed him ; then, as 
 she too rose, that eye encountered Randal's. 
 
 " That young man has the eye of ah Italian," said the Mar- 
 chesa to herself, as she passed by him into the ball-room. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 LEONARD and Helen settled themselves in two little chambers 
 in a small lane. The neighborhood was dull enough the 
 accommodation humble; but their landlady had a smile. That 
 was the reason, perhaps, why Helen chose the lodgings ; a smile 
 is not always found on the face of a landlady when the lodger 
 is poor. And out of their windows they caught sight of a green 
 tree, an elm, that grew up fair and tall in a carpenter's yard at 
 the rear. That tree was like another smile to the place. They 
 saw the birds come and go to its shelter ; and they even heard, 
 when a breeze arose, the pleasant murmur of its boughs. 
 
 Leonard went the same evening to Captain Digby's old lodg- 
 ings ; but he could learn there no intelligence of friends or pro- 
 tectors for Helen. The people were rude and surly, and said 
 that the Captain still owed them^i 175. The claim, however, 
 seemed very disreputable, and was stoutly denied by Helen. 
 The next morning Leonard set off in search for Dr. Morgan. 
 He thought his best plan was to inquire the address of the 
 Doctor at the nearest chemist's ; and the chemist civilly looked 
 into the Court Guide, and referred him to a house in Balstrode 
 Street, Manchester Square. To this street Leonard contrived 
 to find his way, much marvelling at the meanness of London : 
 Screwstown seemed to him the handsomer town of the two. 
 
 A shabby man-servant opened the. door, and Leonard remarked 
 that the narrow passage was choked with boxes, trunks,and various 
 articles of furniture. He was shown into a small room containing a 
 very large round table, whereon were sundry works on homoeo- 
 pathy, Parry's Cymbrian Phitarch, Davies's Celtic Researches, and 
 a Sunday newspaper. An -engraved portrait of the illustrious 
 Hahnemann occupied the place of honor, over the chimney- 
 piece.. .In a few minutes the door to an inner room opened, and 
 Dr. Morgan appeared, and said, politely, "Come in, sir."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 357 
 
 The Doctor seated himself at a desk, looked hastily at Leonard, 
 and then at. a great chronometer lying on the table. "My time's 
 short, sir -going abroad : and now that I am going, patients 
 flock to me. Too late. London will repent its apathy. Let it." 
 
 The Doctor paused majestically, and not remarking on Leon- 
 ard's face the consternation he had anticipated, he repeated, 
 peevishly, "I am going abroad, sir, but I will make a synopsis 
 of your case, and leave it to my successor. Hum ! Hair chestnut ; 
 eyes what color? Lopk this way blue, dark blue. Hem! 
 Constitution nervous. What are the symptoms?" 
 
 "Sir," began Leonard, "a little girl " 
 
 DR. MORGAN (impatiently). Little girl! Never mind the histo- 
 ry of your sufferings ; stick to the symptoms,stick to the symptoms. 
 
 LEONARD. You mistake me, Doctor ; I have nothing the 
 matter with me. A little girl 
 
 DR. MORGAN. Girl again ! I understand ! it is she who is ill ! 
 Shall I go to her? She must describe her own symptoms I can't 
 judge from your talk. You'll be telling me she has consumption, 
 or dyspepsia, or some such disease that don't exist : mere allo- 
 pathic inventions symptoms, sir, symptoms. . 
 
 LEONARD (forcing his way). You attended her poor father, 
 Captain Digby, when he was taken ill in the coach with you. 
 He is dead, and his child is an orphan. 
 
 PR. MORGAN (fumblinginhismedical pocket-book.) Orphan! 
 nothing for orphans, especially if inconsolable, like aconite and 
 chamomilla* 
 
 With some difficulty Leonard succeeded in bringing Helen to 
 the recollection of the homoeopathist, stating how he came in 
 charge of her, and why he sought Dr. Morga^i. 
 
 The Doctor was much moved. 
 
 " But, really," said he, after a pause, " I don't see how I can 
 help the poor child. I know nothing of her relations. This Lord 
 Les whatever his name is I know of no lords in London. I 
 knew lords, and physicked them too, when I was a blundering 
 allopathist. There was the Earl of Lansmere- has had many a 
 blue pill from me, sinner that I was. His son was wiser ; never 
 would take physic. Very clever boy was Lord L'Estrange " 
 
 " Lord L'Estrange ! that name begins with Les- " 
 
 ".Stuff ! He's always abroad shows his. sense. I'm going 
 abroad too. No development for science in this horrid city 
 full of prejudices, sir, and given up to the most barbarous allo- 
 pathical andphlebotomical propensities. I'm going to the land of 
 Hahnemann, sir, sold my good- will, lease, and furniture, and 
 
 * It may be necessary to observe that homoeopathy professes to deal with our moral affec- 
 tions as well as with our physical maladies, and has a globule for every sorrow.
 
 358 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 have bought in on the Rhine. Natural life, there, sir homoeo- 
 pathy needs nature : dine at one o'clock, get up at four tea 
 little known, and science appreciated. But I forget. Cott ! 
 what can I do for the orphan?" 
 
 "Well, sir," said Leonard, rising, " Heaven will give me 
 strength to support her." 
 
 The Doctor looked at the young man attentively. "And yet," 
 said he, in a gentler voice, "you, young man, are,by your account, 
 a perfect stranger to her, or were so when you undertook to bring 
 her to London. You have a good heart always keep it. Very 
 healthy thing, sir. a good heart that is, when not carried to 
 excess. But you have friends of your own in town?" 
 
 LEONARD. Not yet, sir ; I hope to make them. 
 
 DOCTOR. Pless me, you do ? How ? I can't make any. 
 
 Leonard colored and hung hishead. He longed,to say "Authors 
 find friends in their readers I am going to be an author." But he 
 felt that the reply would savor of presumption, and held his tongue. 
 
 The Doctor continued to examine him, and with friendly 
 interest. 
 
 " You say you walked up to London was that from choice 
 or economy ? " 
 
 LEONARD. Both, sir. 
 
 DOCTOR. Sit down again, and let us talk. I can give you a 
 quarter of an hour, and I'll see if I can help either of you, pro- 
 vided you tell me all the symptoms I mean all the particulars. 
 
 Then, with that peculiar adroitness which belongs to experi- 
 ence in the medical profession, Dr. Morgan, who was really an 
 acute and able man, proceeded to put his questions, and soon 
 extracted from Leonard the boy's history and hopes. But when 
 the Doctor, in admiration at a simplicity which contrasted so 
 evident an intelligence, finally asked him his name and connec- 
 tions, and Leonard told them, the homoeopathist actually started. 
 " Leonard Fairfield, grandson of my old friend, John Avenel, 
 ofLansmere! I must shake you by the hand. Brought up by Mrs. 
 Fairfield! Ah, now I look, strong family likeness very strong!" 
 
 The tears stood in the Doctor's eyes. " Poor Nora ! "said he. 
 
 " Nora ! Did you know my aunt ? " 
 
 " Your aunt ! Ah ? ah ! ah ; yes yes ! Poor Nora ! she 
 died almost in these arms so young, so beautiful. I remem- 
 ber it as if yesterday." 
 
 The Doctor brushed his hand across his eyes, and swallowed 
 a globule ; and before the boy knew what he was about, had in 
 his benevolence thrust another between Leonard's quivering lips. 
 
 A knock was heard at the door.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 359 
 
 " Ha ! that's my great patient," cried the Doctor, recovering 
 his self-possession " must see him. A chronic case excellent 
 patient tic, sir, tic. Puzzling and interesting. If I could take 
 that tic with me, I should ask nothing more from Heaven. Call 
 again on Monday ; I may have something to tell you then as to 
 yourself. The little girl can't stay with you wrong and non- 
 sensical. I will see after her. Leave me your address write 
 it here. I think I know a lady who will take charge of her. 
 Good-bye. Monday next, ten o'clock." 
 
 With this the Doctor thrust out Leonard, and ushered in his 
 grand patient, whom he was very anxious to take with him to 
 the banks of the Rhine. 
 
 Leonard had now only to discover the nobleman whose name 
 had been so vaguely uttered by poor Captain Digby. He had 
 again recourse to the Court Guide y and rinding the address of 
 two or three lords, the first syllable of whose titles seemed simi- 
 lar to that repeated to him, and all living pretty near to each 
 other, in the regions of May-Fair, he ascertained his way to that 
 quarter^ and, exercising his mother-wit, inquired at the neigh- 
 boring shops as to the personal appearance of these noblemen. 
 Out of consideration for his rusticity he got very civil and clear 
 answers ; but none of the lords in question corresponded with 
 the description given by Helen. One was old, another was ex- 
 ceedingly corpulent, a third was bed-ridden none of them was 
 known to keep a great dog. It is needless to say that the name 
 of L'Estrange (no habitant of London), was not in the Court 
 Guide ; and Mr. Morgan's assertion that that person was always 
 abroad unluckily dismissed from Leonard's mind the name the 
 homceopathist had so casually mentioned. But Helen was not 
 disappointed when her young protector returned, late in the day, 
 and teld her of his ill-success. Poor child ! she was so pleased 
 in her heart not to be separated from her new brother ; and 
 Leonard was touched to see how she had contrived in his absence 
 to give a certain comfort and cheerful grace to the bare room 
 devoted to himself. She had arranged his few books and papers 
 so neatly, near the window, in sight of the one green elm. She 
 had coaxed the smiling landlady out of one or two extra articles 
 of furniture, especially a walnut-tree bureau, and some oddsand 
 ends of ribbon with which last she had looped up the curtains. 
 Even the old rush-bottom chairs had a strange air of elegance, 
 from the mode in which they were placed. The fairies had 
 given sweet Helen the art that adorns a home, and brings out 
 a smile from the dingiest corner of hut and attic. 
 
 Leonard wondered and praised. He kissed his blushing
 
 360 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 minislrant gratefully, and they sate down in joy to their abstemi- 
 ous meal; when suddenly his face was overclouded there shot 
 through hirh the remembrance of Dr.Morgan's words "Thelittle 
 girl can't stay with you wrong and nonsensical. J think I 
 know a lady who will take charge of her." 
 
 "Ah," cried Leonard, sorrowfully, " how could I forget?" 
 And he told Helen what grieved him. Helen at first exclaimed, 
 " that she would not go." Leonard, rejoiced, then began to 
 talk as usual of his great prospects ; and, hastily finishing his 
 meal, as if .there was no time to lose, sate down at once to his 
 papers. Then :Helen. contemplated. him sadly, as he bent over 
 his delighted work. And when, lifting his radiant eyes from his 
 manuscripts, he exclaimed, " No, no, you shall not go. This 
 must succeed and we shall live together in some pretty cottage, 
 where we can see more than one tree "; then Helen sighed, and 
 did not answer this time, " No, I will not go." 
 
 Shortly after, she stole from the room, and into her own ; and 
 there, kneeling down, she prayed, and her prayer was something 
 like this: " Guard, me against my own selfish heart; may I 
 never be a burden to him who has shielded me." 
 
 Perhaps, as the Creator looks down on this world, whose won- 
 drous beauty beams on us more and m.ore in proportion as our 
 science would take it from poetry into law perhaps He beholds 
 nothing so beautiful as the pure heart of a simple, loving child. 
 
 n ? f i 1 
 CHAPTER XIV;-' 
 
 LEONARD went out the next day with his precious manuscripts. 
 He had read sufficient of modern literature to know the names 
 of the .principal London publishers ; and to these he took his 
 way with a bold step, though a beating heart. 
 
 That day he was out longer than the last; and when he returned, 
 and cdme into the little room, Helen uttered a cry, for she scarcely 
 recognized him ; there was on his face so deep, so silent, and so 
 concentrated a despondency. He sate down listlessly, and did not 
 kiss her this time, as she stole toward him. He felt so humbled. 
 He was a king deposed. He take charge of another life ! He ! 
 
 She coaxed him^ at last, into communicating his day's chroni- 
 cle. The reader beforehand knows too well what it must be, to 
 need detailed repetition. Most of the. publishers had absolutely 
 refused to look at his manuscripts; oneortwoha,d good-naturedly 
 glanced over and returned them at once, with a civil word or two 
 of flat rejection. One publisher alone himself a man of letters 
 and who in youth had gone through the same bitter process o'
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 30! 
 
 disillusion that now awaited the village genius volunteered some 
 kindly though stern explanation and counsel to the unhappy boy. 
 This gentleman read a portion of Leonard's principal poem with 
 attention, and even with frank admiration. He could appreciate 
 the rare promise that it manifested. He sympathized with the 
 boy's history, and even with his hopes ; and then he said, in 
 bidding him farewell, . 
 
 " If I publish this poem for you, speaking as a trader, I shall 
 be a considerable loser. Did I publish all i admire, out of sym- 
 pathy with the author, I should be a ruined man. But suppose 
 that, impressed as I really am with the evidence of no common 
 poetic gifts in this manuscript, I publish it, not as a trader, but 
 a lover of literature, I shall in reality, I fear, render you a great 
 disservice, and perhaps unfit your whole life for the exertions 
 on which you must rely for independence." 
 
 *' How, sir?" cried Leonard " Not that I would ask you to 
 injure yourself for me," he added, with proud tears in his eyes." 
 
 " How, my young friend ? I will explain. There is enough 
 talent in these verses to induce very flattering reviews in some 
 of the literary journals. You will read these, find yourself pro- 
 claimed a poet, will cry, 'I am on the road to fame.' You will 
 come to me, 'And my poem, how does it sell ? ' I shall point 
 to some groaning shelf, and say, ' Not twenty copies ! ' The 
 journals may praise, but the public will not buy it. ' But you 
 have got a name, 1 you say. Yes, a name as a poet just suffi- 
 ciently known to make every man in practical business disinclined 
 to give a fair trial to your talents in a single department of posi- 
 tive life; none like to employ poets, a name that will not put 
 a penny in your purse ; worse still, that will operate as a barrier 
 against every escape into the ways whereby men get to fortune. 
 But, having once tasted praise, you will continue to sigh for it; 
 you will perhaps never again get a publisher to bring forth a poem, 
 but you will hanker round the purlieus of the Muses, scribble for 
 periodicals fall, at last into a bookseller's drudge. Profits will 
 be so precarious and uncertain, that to avoid debt may be impossi- 
 ble; then, you who now seem so ingenuous and so proud, will sink 
 deeper still into the literary mendicant begging, borrowing " 
 
 " Never never never ! " cried Leonard, veiling his face with 
 his hands. 
 
 "Such would have been my career," continued the publisher ; 
 "but I, luckily, had a rich relative, a trader, whose calling I 
 despised as a boy, who kindly forgave my folly, bound me as an 
 apprentice, and here J am; and now I can afford to write books, 
 as well as sell them. Young man, you . must have respectable
 
 362 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 relations go by their advice and counsel ; cling fast to some 
 positive calling. Be anything in this city rather than poet by 
 profession." 
 
 " And how, sir, have there ever been poets ? Had they other 
 callings?" 
 
 " Read their biography, and then envy them ! " 
 
 Leonard was silent a moment; but, lifting his head, answered 
 loud and quickly, " I have read their biography. True, their 
 lot was poverty perhaps hunger. Sir, I envy them ! " 
 
 " Poverty and hunger are small evils," answered the book- 
 seller, with a grave, kind smile ; " there are worse, debt, and 
 degradation, and despair!" 
 
 " No, sir, no you exaggerate ; these last are not the lot of 
 all poets." 
 
 " Right ; for most of our greatest poets had some private means 
 of their own. And for others why, all who have put into a lottery 
 have not drawn blanks. But who could advise another man to set 
 his whole hope of fortune on the chance of a prize in a lottery? 
 And such a lottery!" groaned the publisher, glancing toward 
 sheets and reams of dead authors, lying like lead upon his shelves. 
 
 Leonard clutched his manuscripts to his heart, and hurried 
 away. 
 
 " Yes," he muttered, as Helen clung to him, and tried to console 
 " yes, you were right; London is very vast, very strong, and very 
 cruel"; and his kead sank lower and lower yet upon his bosom. 
 
 The door was flung widely open, and in, unannounced, walked 
 Dr. Morgan. 
 
 The child turned to him, and at the sight of his face she 
 remembered her father ; and the tears that, for Leonard's sake, 
 she had been trying to suppress, found way. 
 
 The good Doctor soon gained all the confidence of these two 
 young hearts. And after listening to Leonard's story of his para- 
 dise lost in a day, he patted him on the shoulder and said, "Well, 
 you will call on me on Monday, and we will see. Meanwhile, 
 borrow these of me"; and he tried to slip three sovereigns into 
 the boy's hand. Leonard was indignant. The bookseller's warn- 
 ing flashed on him. Mendicancy! Oh no, he had not yet 
 come to that ! He was almost rude and savage in his rejection ; 
 and the Doctor did not like him the less for it. 
 
 "You are an obstinate mule," said the homceopathist, reluc- 
 tantly putting up his sovereigns. "Will you work at something 
 practical and prosy, and let the poetry rest awhile?" 
 
 "Yes," said Leonard, doggedly, "I will work." 
 
 "Very well, then. I know an honest bookseller, and he shall
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 363 
 
 give you some employment ; and meanwhile, at all events, you 
 will be among books, and that will be some comfort." 
 
 Leonard's eyes brightened " A great comfort, sir." Repressed 
 the hand he had before put aside to his grateful heart. 
 
 "But," resumed the Doctor, seriously, "you really feel a 
 strong predisposition to make verses?" 
 
 "I did, sir." 
 
 "Very bad symptom indeed, and must be stopped before a 
 relapse ! Here, I have cured three prophets and ten poets with 
 this novel specific." 
 
 While thus speaking, he had got out his book and a globule. 
 " Agaricus muscarius dissolved in a tumbler of distilled water 
 teaspoonful whenever the fit comes on. Sir, it would have cured 
 Milton himself. And now for you, my child," turning to Helen 
 "I have found a lady who will be very kind to you, not a menial 
 situation ; she wants some one to read to her, and tend oh her 
 she is old, and has no children. She wants a companion, and 
 prefers a girl of your age to one older. Will this suit you?" 
 
 Leonard walked away. 
 
 Helen got close to the Doctor's ear, and whispered, "No, I 
 cannot leave him now he is so sad." 
 
 " Cott ! " grunted the Doctor, " you two must have been reading 
 Pautand Virginia. If I could but stay in England, I would try 
 what ignatia would do in this case interesting experiment ! 
 Listen to me little girl ; and go out of the room, you, sir." 
 
 Leonard, avertinghis face, obeyed. Helen made an involuntary 
 6tep after him the doctor detained and drew her on his knee. 
 
 "What's your Christian name? I forget." 
 
 "Helen." 
 
 " Helen, listen. In a year or two you will be a young woman, 
 and it would be very wrong then to live alone with that young man. 
 Meanwhile, you have no right to cripple all his energies. He 
 must not have you leaning on his right arm you would weigh 
 it down. I am going away, and when I am gone there will be 
 no one to help you, if you reject the friend I offer you. Do as 
 I tell you, for a little girl so peculiarly susceptible (a thorough 
 pulsatilla constitution) cannot be obstinate and egotistical." 
 
 " Let me see him cared for and happy, sir," said she firmly, 
 "and I will go where you wish." 
 
 " He shall be so ; and to-morrow, while he is out, I. will come 
 and fetch you. Nothing so painful as leave-takingshakes the 
 nervous system, and is a mere waste of the animal economy." 
 
 Helen sobbed aloud ; then, writhing from the Doctor, she ex- 
 claimed, " But he may know where I am ? We may see each
 
 364 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 other sometimes ? Ah, sir, it was at my father's grave that we first 
 met, and I think Heaven sent him to me. Do not part us for ever!'' 
 "I should have a heart of stone if I did," cried the Doctor l 
 vehemently ; "and Miss Starke shall let him come and visit you 
 once a week I'll give her something to make her. She is nat- 
 urally indifferent to others ; I will alter her whole constitution, 
 and melt her into sympathy with rhododendron and arsenic!" 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 BEFORE he went, the doctor wrote a line to " Mr. Prickett, 
 Bookseller, Holborn," and told Leonard to take it, the next 
 morning as addressed. " I will call on Prickett myself to-night, 
 and. prepare him for your visit; but I hope and trust you will 
 only have to stay there a few days." 
 
 He then turned the conversation, to communicate his plans 
 for Helen. Miss Starke lived at Highgate a worthy woman, 
 stiff and prim, as old maids sometimes are ; but just the place 
 for a little girl like Helen, and Leonard should certainly be al- 
 lowed to call and see her. 
 
 Leonard listened and made no opposition ; now that his day- 
 dream was dispelled, he had no right to pretend to be Helen's 
 protector. He could have prayed her to share his wealth and 
 his fame ; his penury and his drudgery no. 
 
 It was a very sorrowful evening that between the adven- 
 turer and the child. They sate up late, till their candle had 
 burned down to the socket ; neither did they talk much; but his 
 hand clasped hers all the time, and her head pillowed itself on 
 his shoulder. I fear, when they parted it was not for sleep. 
 
 And when Leonard weat forth the next morning, Helen stood 
 at the street-door watching him depart slowly, slowly. No 
 doubt, in that humble lane there were many sad hearts ; but no 
 heart so heavy as that of the still, quiet child, when the form she 
 had watched was to be seen no more, and still standing on the 
 desolate threshold, she gazed into space and all was vacant. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MR. PRICKETT was a believer in homoeopathy, and declared, 
 to the indignation of all the apothecaries round Holborn, that 
 he had been cured of a chronic rheumatism by Dr. Morgan. 
 The good Doctor had, as he promised, seen Mr. Prickett when 
 he left Leonard, and asked him as a favor to find some light oc- 
 cupation for the boy, that would serve as an excuse for a modest 
 weekly salary. " It will not be for long," said the Doctor ; " his
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 365 
 
 relations are respectable and well off. I will write to hisgrand- 
 parents, and in a few days I hope to relieve you of the charge. Of 
 course,if you don't want him, I will repay what hecosts meanwhile." 
 
 Mr. Prickett, thus prepared for Leonard, received him Very 
 graciously, and, after a few questions, said Leonard was just the 
 person he wanted to assist him in cataloguing his books, and of- 
 fered him most handsomely i a week for the task. 
 
 Plunged at once into a world of books vaster than he had ever 
 before won admission to, that old divine dream of knowledge, 
 out of which poetry had sprung, returned to the village student 
 at the very sight of the venerable volumes. The collection of 
 Mr. Prickett was, however, in reality by no means large ; but 
 it comprised not only the ordinary standard works, but several 
 curious and rare ones. , And Leonard paused in making the 
 catalogue, and took many a hasty snatch of the contents of each 
 tome, as it passed through his hands. .The bookseller, who was 
 an enthusiast for old books, was pleased to see a kindred feeling 
 (which his shop-boy had never exhibited) in his new assistant ; 
 and he talked about rare editions and scarce copies, and initia- 
 ted Leonard into many of the mysteries of the bibliographist. 
 
 Nothing could be more dark and dingy than the shop. There 
 was a booth outside, containing cheap books and old volumes, 
 round which there was always an attractive group; within, a gas- 
 lamp burned night and day. 
 
 But time passed quickly to Leonard. He missed not the 
 green fields, he forgot his disappointments; he ceased to remem- 
 ber even Helen. O strange passion of knowledge ! nothing like 
 thee for strength and devotion. 
 
 Mr. Prickett was a bachelor, and asked Leonard to dine with 
 : him on a cold shoulder of mutton. During dinner, the shop- 
 boy kept the shop, and Mr. Prickett was really pleasant^ as well 
 as loquacious. He took a liking to Leonard and Leonard told 
 him his adventurers with the publishers, at which Mr. Prickett 
 rubbed his hands and laughed, as at a capital joke. "Oh, give 
 up poetry, and stick to a shop," cried he; "and, to cure you 
 forever of the mad whim to be an author, I'll just lend you the 
 Life and Works of Chatterton. You may take it home with you 
 and read before you go to bed. You'll come back quite a new 
 man to-morrow." 
 
 Not till night, when the shop was closed, did Leonard return 
 to his lodging. And when he entered the room, he was struck 
 to the soul by the silence, by the void ; Helen was gone ! 
 
 There was a rose-tree in its. pot on the table at which he 
 wrote, and by it a scrap of paper, on which was written
 
 366 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Dear, dear brother Leonard, God bless you. I will let you 
 know when we can meet again. Take care of this rose, brother, 
 and don't forget poor HELEN." 
 
 Over the word "forget" there was a big round blistered spot 
 that nearly effaced the word. 
 
 Leonard leant his face on his hands, and the first time in his life 
 he felt what solitude really is. He could not stay long in the room. 
 Hewalked outagain,andwandered objectless toand fro the streets. 
 He passed that stiller and humbler neighborhood, he mixed with 
 the throng that swarmed in the more populous thoroughfares; hun- 
 dreds and thousands passed him by, and still still such solitude. 
 
 He came back, lighted his candle, and resolutely drew forth 
 the " Chatterton" which the bookseller had lent him. It was an 
 old edition, in one thick volume. It had evidently belonged 
 to some contemporary of the poet's apparently an inhabitant 
 of Bristol some one who had gathered up many anecdotes re- 
 specting Chatterton's habits, and who appeared even to have 
 seen him, nay been in his company ; for the book was inter- 
 leaved, and the leaves covered with notes and remarks, in a stiff 
 clear hand-^all evincing personal knowledge of the mournful, 
 immortal dead. At first, Leonard read with an effort, then the 
 strange and fierce spell of that dread life seized upon him 
 seized M r ith pain, and gloom, and terror this boy dying by his 
 own hand, about the age Leonard had attained himself. This 
 wondrous boy, of a genius beyond all comparison the greatest 
 that ever yet was developed^ and extinguished at the age of 
 eighteen ! self-taught self-struggling ^self-immolated. Noth- 
 ing in literature like that life and that death! 
 
 With intense interest Leonard perused the tale of the brilliant 
 imposture, which had been so harshly and so absurdly construed 
 into the crime of a forgery, and which was (if not wholly inno- 
 cent) so akin to the literary devices always in other cases viewed 
 with indulgence, and exhibiting in this intellectual qualities in 
 themselves so amazing such patience, such forethought, such 
 labor, such courage, such ingenuity the qualities that, well di- 
 rected, make men great, notonly in books, but action. And, 
 turning from the history of the imposture to the poems them- 
 selves, the young reader bent before their beauty, literally awed 
 and breathless. How this strange Bristol boy tamed and mas- 
 tered his rude and motley materials into a music that compre- 
 hended every tune and key, from the simplest to the subh'mest! 
 He turned back to. the biography he read on he saw the proud, 
 daring, mournful spirit, alone in the Great City like himself. He 
 followed its dismal, career, he saw it falling with bruised and
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 367 
 
 soiled wings into the mire. He turned again to the later works, 
 wrung forth as tasks for bread the satires without moral gran- 
 deur, the politics without honest faith. He shuddered and sick- 
 ened as he read. True, even here his poet mind appreciated 
 (what perhaps only poets can) the divine fire that burned fitful- 
 ly through that meaner and more sordid fuel he still traced in 
 those crude, hasty, bitter offerings to dire Necessity, the hand 
 of the young giant who had built up the stately verse of Rowley. 
 But, alas! how different from that "mighty line." How all 
 serenity and joy had fled from these later exercises of art degrad- 
 ed into journey-work ! Then rapidly came on the catastrophe 
 the closed doors the poison the suicide the manuscripts 
 torn, by the hands of despairing wrath, and strewed round the 
 corpse upon the funeral floors. It was terrible ! The spectre of 
 the Titan boy (as described in the notes written on the margin), 
 with his haughty brow, his cynic smile, his lustrous eyes, 
 haunted all the night the baffled and solitary child of song. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 IT will often happen that what ought to turn the human mind 
 from some peculiar tendency produces the opposite effect. One 
 would think that the perusal in the newspapers of some crime 
 and capital punishment would warn away all who had ever medi- 
 tated the crime, or dreaded the- chance of detection ; yet it is 
 well known to us that many a criminal is made by pondering over 
 the fate of some predecessor in guilt. There is a fascination in 
 the Dark and Forbidden, which, strange to say, is only lost in 
 fiction. No man is more inclined to murder his nephews, or stifle 
 his wife, after reading Richard the Third or Othello. It is the 
 reality that is necessary to constitute the danger of contagion. 
 Now, it was this reality in the fate, and life, and crowning suicide 
 of Chatterton, that forced itself upon Leonard's thoughts, and 
 sate there like a visible evil thing, gathering evil like cloud around 
 it. There was much in the dead poet's character, his trials and 
 his doom, that stood out to Leonard like a bold and colossal 
 shadow of himself and his fate. Alas!, the bookseller in one re- 
 spect, had said truly; Leonard came back to him thenextdaya 
 new man ; anditseem.ed even to himself as if he had lost a good 
 angel in losing Helen. "Oh, that she had been by my side," 
 thought he; "oh, that I could have felt the touch of her con- 
 fiding hand that, looking up from the scathed and dreary ruin 
 of this life, that had sublimely lifted itself from the plain, and 
 sought to tower aloft from a deluge, her mild look had spoken to
 
 368 MY NOVEL ; OR 
 
 me of innocent, humble, unaspiring childhood ! Ah! if indeed I 
 were still necessary to her still the sole guardian and protector 
 then could I say to myself, 'Thou must not despair and die ! 
 thou hast her to live and to strive for.' But no, no ! Only this 
 vast and terrible London the solitude of the dreary garret, and 
 those lustrous ey^s glaring alike through the throng and through 
 the solitude." 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 ON the following Monday, Dr. Morgan's shabby man-servant 
 opened the door to a young man in whom he did not at first 
 remember a former visitor. A few days before, embrowned with 
 healthful travel serene light in his eye, simple trust in his careless 
 lip Leonard Fail-field had stood at that threshold. Now again 
 he stood there, pale and haggard, with a cheek already hollowed 
 into those deep anxious lines that speak of working thoughts and 
 sleepless nights; and a settled sullen gloom resting heavily on 
 his whole aspect. 
 
 "I call by appointment," said the boy, testily, as the servant 
 stood irresolute. The man gave way. " Master is just gone out 
 to a patient ; please to wait, sir";, and he showed him into, the 
 little parlor. In a few moments, two other patients were admitted. 
 These were women, and they began talking very loud. They 
 disturbed Leonard's unsocial thoughts. He saw that the door 
 into the Doctor's receiving-room was half-open, and ignorant of 
 the etiquette which holds such penetralia as sacred, he walked in 
 to escape from the gossips. He threw himself into the Doctor's 
 own well-worn chair, and muttered to himself, '! Why did he tell 
 me to come? What new can he think of for me? And if a 
 favor, should I take it? He has given me the means of bread by 
 work; that, is all. I have a right to ask from him, from any 
 man all I should accept." . 
 
 While thus soliloquizing, his eye fell on a letter lying open on 
 the table. He started.. He recognized the handwriting' the same 
 ;as that of the letter which had enclosed ^50 to his mother the 
 letter of his grandparents. He saw his ownt name; ;he saw some- 
 thing more words that made his heart stand still, and his blood 
 seem like ice in his veins. As he thus stood aghast, a hand was laid 
 on the letter, and a voice, in an angry growl, muttered, " How dare 
 you come into my room, and be reading my letters? Er r r !" 
 
 Leonard placed his own hand on the Doctor's firmly, and said, 
 in a fierce tone, " This letter relates to me belongs to me 
 crushes me. I have seen enough to know that. I demand to 
 read all learn all."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 369 
 
 The Doctor looked round, and seeing the door into the wait 
 ing-room still open, kicked it with his foot, and said under hi? 
 breath, " What have you read ! Tell me the truth." 
 
 "Two lines only; and I am called I am called "Leon- 
 ard's frame shook from head to foot, and the veins on his fore- 
 head swelled like cords. He could not complete the sentence. 
 It seemed as if an ocean was rolling up through his brain, and 
 roaring in his ears. The Doctor saw at a glance that there was 
 physicaldanger in this state,and hastily and soothingly answered 
 " Sit down, sit down calm yourself you shall know all read 
 all drink this water"; and he poured into a tumbler of the pure 
 liquid a drop or two from a tiny phial. Leonard obeyed mechanic- 
 ally, for he was no longer able to stand. He closed his eyes, 
 and for a minute or two life seemed to pass from him ; then he 
 recovered, and saw the good Doctor's gaze fixed on him with 
 great compassion. He silently stretched forth his hand toward 
 the letter. ''Wait a few moments," said the physician, judi- 
 ciously, " and hear me, meanwhile. It is very unfortunate you 
 should have seen a letter never meant for your eye, and containing 
 allusions to a secret you were never to have known. But, if I tell 
 you more, will you promise me, on your word of honor, that you 
 will hold the confidence sacred from Mrs. Fairfield, the Avenels 
 from all ? I myself am pledged to conceal a secret, which I can 
 only share with you on the same condition." 
 
 " There is nothing," announced Leonard, indistinctly, and 
 with a bitter smile on his lip " nothing, it seems, that I should 
 be proud to boast of. Yes, I promise the letter, the letter." 
 
 The Doctor placed it in Leonard's right hand, and quietly 
 slipped to the wrist of the left his forefinger and thumb, as physi- 
 cians are said to do when a victim is stretched on the rack. 
 " Pulse decreasing," he muttered ; "wonderful thing, Aconite /" 
 Meanwhile Leonard read as follows, faults in spelling and all : 
 
 "DR. MORGAN. Sir, I received your favur duly, and am 
 glad to hear that the pore boy is safe and Well. But he has been 
 behaving ill, and ungrateful to my good son Richard, who is a 
 credit to the whole Famuly, and has made himself a Gentleman, 
 and Was very kind and good to the boy, not knowing who and 
 What he is God forbid ! I don't want never to see him again 
 the boy. Pore John was ill and Restless for days afterward. 
 John is a poor cretur now, and has had paralyticks. And hfe 
 Talked of nothing but Nora the boy's eyes were so like his 
 Mother's. I cannot, cannot see the Child of Shame. He can't 
 cum here for our Lord's sake, sir, don't ask it he can't, so 
 Respectable as we've always been ! and such disgrace ! Base
 
 370 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 born base born.- Keep him where he is, bind him prentis, I'll 
 pay anything for That. You says, sir, he's clever, and quick at 
 learning ; so did Parson Dale, and wanted him to go to Collidge 
 and make a Figur then all would cum out. It would be my 
 death, sir ; I could not sleep in my grave, sir. Nora, that we 
 were all so proud of. Sinful creturs that we are ! Nora's good 
 name that we've saved now, gone, gone. And Richard, who is 
 so grand, and who was so fond of pore, pore Nora ! He would 
 not hold up his Head again. Don't let him make a Figur in the 
 world let him be a tradesman, as we were afore him any trade 
 he takes to and not cross us any more while he lives. Then I 
 shall pray for -him, and wish him happy. And have not we had 
 enuff of bringing up children to be above their birth ? Nora, that 
 I used to say was like the first lady o'the land oh, but we were 
 rightly punished ! So now, sir, I leave all to you, and will Pay 
 all you want for the boy. . And be sure that the secret's kept. 
 For we have never heard from the father, and, at leest, no one 
 knows that Nora has a living son but. I and my daughter Jane, 
 and Parson Dale and you and you Two are good Gentlemen 
 and Jane will keep her word, and I am old, and shall be in my 
 grave Soon, but I hope it wont be while poor John needs me. 
 What could he do without me? And if that got wind, it would 
 kill me straight, sir. Pore John is a helpless cretur, God bless him. 
 So no more from your servant in all dooty, M. AVENEL." 
 
 Leonard laid down this letter very calmly, and, except by a 
 slight heaving at his breast, and a deathlike whiteness of his lips, 
 the emotions he felt were undetected. And it is a proof how 
 much exquisite goodness there ;was in his heart, that the first 
 words he spoke were " Thank Heaven ! " 
 
 The Doctor .did not expect that thanksgiving, and he was so 
 startled that he exclaimed, "For what?" 
 
 "I have nothing to pity or excuse in the woman I knew and 
 honored as a mother. I am not her son her " 
 
 He stopped short. 
 
 " No ; but don't be hard on your true mother poor Nora ! " 
 
 Leonard staggered and then burst into a sudden paroxysm 
 of tears. 
 
 ** Oh, my own mother! my dead mother! Thou for whom I felt 
 so mysteriously a love thou from whom I took this poet soul 
 pardon me,pardon me! Hardonthee! Would that thou wert living 
 yet, that I might comfort thee! What thou must have suffered ! " 
 
 These words were sobbed forth in broken gasps from the 
 depth of his heart. Then he caught up the letter again, and his 
 thoughts were changed as his eyes fell upon the writer's shame
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 371 
 
 and fear, as it were, of his very existence. All his native haught- 
 iness returned to him. His crest rose, his tears dried. " Tell her," 
 he said, with a stern, unfaltering voice " tell M rs. Avenel that she 
 is obeyed that I will never seek her roof, never cross her path, 
 never disgrace herwealthy son. But tell her, also, that I will choose 
 ray own way in life that I will not take from her a bribe for con- 
 cealment. Tell her that I am nameless, and will yet make a name." 
 
 A name ! Was this but an idle boast, or was it one of those 
 flashes of conviction which are never belied, lighting up our 
 future for one lurid instant, and then fading into darkness? 
 
 "I do not doubt it my prave poy," said Dr. Morgan, growing 
 exceedingly Welsh in his excitement ; "and perhaps you may 
 find a father who 
 
 "Father who is he what is he? He lives, then ! But he 
 has deserted me he must have betrayed her ! I need him not. 
 The law gives me no father." 
 
 The last words were said with a return of bitter anguish; then, 
 in a calmer tone, he resumed, "But I should know who he is 
 as another one whose path I may not cross." 
 
 Dr. Morgan looked embarrassed, and paused in deliberation. 
 "Nay," said he at length, "as you know so much, it is surely 
 best that you should know all." 
 
 The Doctor then proceeded to detail with some circumlocu- 
 tion what we will here repeat from his account more succinctly. 
 
 Nora Avenel, while yet very young, left her native village, or 
 rather the house of Lady Lansmere, by whom she had been edu- 
 cated and brought up, in order to accept the place of compan- 
 ion to a lady in London. One evening, she suddenly presented her- 
 self at her father's house, and at the sight of her mother's face 
 she fell down insensible. She was carried to bed. Dr. Morgan 
 (then the chief medical practitioner of the town) was sent for; 
 that night Leonard came into the world, and his mother died. 
 She never recovered her senses, never spokeintelligibly from the 
 time she entered the house. " And never, therefore, named your 
 father," said Dr. Morgan. "We knew not who he was." 
 
 " And how," cried Leonard, fiercely " how have they dared 
 to slander this dead mother? How knew they that I was 
 was was not the child of wedlock ?" 
 
 "There was no wedding-ring on Nora's finger never any 
 rumor of her marriage; her strange and sudden appearance at her 
 father's house her emotions on entrance, so unlike those natural 
 to a wife returning to a parent's home; these are all the evidence 
 against her. But Mrs. Avenel deemed them strong, and so did I. 
 You have a right to think we j udged too harshly perhaps we did."
 
 372 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 ''And no inquiries were ever made?" said Leonard mourn- 
 fully, and after a long silence " no inquiries to learn who was 
 the father of the motherless child ?" 
 
 " Inquiries ! Mrs. Avenel would have died first. Your grand- 
 mother's nature is very rigid. Had she come from princes, 
 from Cadwallader himself," said the Welshman, "she could not 
 more have shrunk from the thought of dishonor. Even over her 
 dead child, the child she had loved the best, she thought but 
 how to save that child's name and memory from suspicion. There 
 was luckily no servant in the house, only Mark Fairfield and his 
 wife (Nora's sister) ; they had arrived the same day on a visit. 
 
 " Mrs. Fairfield was nursing her own infant, two or three months 
 old; she took charge of you; Nora was buried, and the secret kept. 
 None of the family knew of it but myself and the curate of the town 
 Mr.Dale. Thedayafteryourbirth, Mrs. Fairfield, to prevent dis- 
 covery, moved to a village at some distance. There her child died ; 
 and when she returned to Hazeldean, where her husband was set- 
 tled, you passed as the son she had lost. Mark, I know, was asa fath- 
 er to you, for he had loved Nora; they had been children together." 
 
 " And she came to London London is strong and cruel," 
 .muttered Leonard. " She was friendless and deceived. I see 
 all I desire to know no more. This father, he must indeed have 
 been likertliose whom I have read of in books. To love, to wrong 
 her that I can conceive ; but then to leave, to abandon ; no visit 
 to her grave no remorse no search for his own child. Well, 
 well ; Mrs. Avenel was right. Let us, think of him no more." 
 
 The man-servant knocked at the door, and then put in his head. 
 " Sir, the ladies are getting very impatient, and say they'll go." 
 
 " Sir," said Leonard, with a strange calm return to the things 
 about him, " I ask your pardon for taking up your tirpe so long, I go 
 now. I will never mention to my moth I mean to Mrs. Fairfield 
 what I have learned, nor to any one. I will work my way somehow. 
 If Mr. Prickett will keep me, Iwill stay with him at present ; butl re- 
 peat, I cannot take Mrs. Avenel's money and be bound apprentice. 
 Sir, you have been good and patient with me,Heaven reward you." 
 
 The Doctor was too moved to answer. He wrung Leonard's 
 hand, and in another minute the door closed upon the nameless 
 boy. He stood alone in the streets of London .;, and the sun 
 .flashed on him, red and menacing, like the eye of a foe ! 
 
 -. f; 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 LEONARD did not appear at the shop of Mr. Prickett that day. 
 Needless it is to say where he wandered: what he suffered 
 what thought what felt. All within was storm. Late at night
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 373, 
 
 he returned to his solitary lodging. On his table, neglected since 
 the morning,was Helen's rose-tree. It looked parched and fading. 
 His heart smote him ; he watered the poor plant perhaps with 
 his tears. 
 
 Meanwhile Dr. Morgan, after some debate with himself, 
 whether or not to apprise Mrs. Avenel of Leonard's discovery 
 and message, resolved to spare her an uneasiness and alarm that 
 might be dangerous to her health, and unnecessary in itself. 
 He replied shortly, that she need not fear Leonard's coming to 
 her house that he was disinclined to bind himself an appren- 
 tice, but that he was provided for at present : and in a few weeks, 
 when Dr. Morgan heard more of him through the tradesman by 
 whom he was employed, the doctor would write to her from Get- 
 many. He then went to Mr. Prickett's told the willing book- 
 seller to keep the young man for the present -tobekindtohim, 
 watch over his habits and conduct, and to report to the Doctor 
 in his new home, on the Rhine, what avocation he thought Leon- 
 ard would be best suited for, and most inclined to adopt. The 
 charitable Welshman divided with the bookseller the salary given 
 to Leonard, and left a quarter of his moiety in advance. It is true 
 that he knew he should be repaid on applying to Mrs. Avenel ; 
 but being a man of independent spirit himself, he so sympathized 
 with Leonard's present f eelings,that he felt as if he should degrade 
 the boy did he maintain him, even secretly, out of Mrs. Avenel's 
 money money intended not to raise, but keep him down in life. 
 At the worst, it was a sum the Doctor could afford, and he had 
 brought the boy into the world. 
 
 Having thus, as he thought, safely provided for his two young 
 charges, Helen and Leonard, the Doctor then gave himself up 
 to his final preparations for departure. He left a short note for 
 Leonard with Mr. Prickett, containing some brief advice, some 
 kind cheering ; a postscript to the effect that he had not com- 
 municated to Mrs. Arenel the information Leonard had ac- 
 quired, and that it was best to leave her in that ignorance ; and 
 six small powders to be dissolved in water, and a teaspoonful 
 every fourth hour "Sovereign against rage and sombre thoughts," 
 wrote the Doctor. 
 
 By the evening of the next day, Dr. Morgan, accompanied by 
 his pet patient, with the chronic tic, whom he had talked into 
 exile, was on the steamboat on his way to Ostend. 
 
 Leonard resumed his life at Mr. Prickett's ; but thechangein 
 him did not escape the bookseller. All his ingenuous simplicity 
 had deserted him. He was very distant and very taciturn ; he 
 seemed to have grown much older. I shall not attempt to analyze
 
 374 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 metaphysically this change. By the help of such words as Leonard 
 may himself occasionally let fall, the reader will dive into the 
 boy's heart, and see how there the change has worked, and is 
 working still. The happy, dreamy, peasant-genius, gazingon Glory 
 with inebriate, undazzled eyes, is no more. It is a man, suddenly 
 cut off from the old household holy ties conscious of great 
 powers, and confronted on all sides by barriers of iron alone 
 with hard Reality, and scornful London ; and if he catches a 
 glimpse of the lost Helicon, he sees, where' he saw the Muse, a 
 pale melancholy spirit veiling its face in shame the ghost of the 
 mournful mother, whose child has no name, not even the hum- 
 blest, among the family of men. 
 
 On thesecond evening afterDr. Morgan's departure, as Leonard 
 was just about to leave the shop, a customer stepped in with a book 
 in his hand, which he had snatched from the shop-boy, who was 
 removing the volumes for the night from the booth without. 
 
 " Mr. Prickett, Mr. Prickett ! " said the customer, " I am 
 ashamed of you. You presume to put upon this work, in two 
 volumes, the sum of eight shillings." 
 
 Mr. Prickett stepped forth from the Cimmerian gloom of some 
 recess, and cried, "What! Mr. Burley, is that you? But for 
 your voice, I should not have known you." 
 
 "Man is. like a book, Mr. Prickett; the commonalty only 
 look to his binding. I am better bound, it is very true." 
 
 Leonard glanced toward the speaker, who now stood under the 
 gas-lamp, and thought he recognized his face. He looked again. 
 Yes ; it was the perch-fisher whom he had met on the banks of the 
 Brent, and who had warned him of the lost fish and the broken line. 
 
 MR. BURLEY (continuing). But the "Art of Thinking!" 
 you charge eight shillings for the "Art of Thinking." 
 
 MR. PRICKETT. Cheapenough, Mr. Burley. A vevy clean copy. 
 
 MR. BURLEY. Usurer ! I sold it to you for three shillings. 
 It is more than 150 per cent, you propose to gain from my 
 Art of Thinking." 
 
 MR. PRICKETT (stuttering, and taken aback). You sold it to 
 me! Ah, no\v I remember. But it was more than three shillings I 
 gave. You forget two glasses of brandy-and-water. 
 
 MR. BURLEY. Hospitality, sir, is not to be priced. If you sell 
 your hospitality, you are not worthy to possess my "Art of Think- 
 ing." I resume it. There are three shillings, and a shilling more 
 for interest. No; on second thoughts, instead of that shilling, I 
 will return your hospitality; and the first time you come my way 
 you shall have two glasses of brandy-and-water. 
 
 Mr. Prickett did not look pleased, but he made no objection ;
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 375 
 
 and Mr. Burley put the book into his pocket, and turned to ex- 
 amine the shelves. He bought an old jest-book, a stray volume 
 of the "Comedies of Destouches " paid for them put them 
 also into his pocket, and was sauntering out -when he perceived 
 Leonard, who was now standing at the doorway. 
 
 "Hem! who is that?" he asked, whispering Mr. Prickett. 
 
 "A young assistant of mine, and very clever." 
 
 Mr. Burley scanned Leonard from top to toe. 
 
 "Wehavemet before, sir. But you look as if you had returned 
 to the Brent, and been fishing for my perch." 
 
 " Possibly, sir," answered Leonard. " But my line is tough and 
 is not yet broken, though the fish drags it amongst the weeds, 
 and buries itself in the mud." 
 
 He lifted his hat, bowed slightly, and walked on. 
 
 "Hew clever," said Mr. Burley to the bookseller ; "he under- 
 stands allegory." 
 
 MR. PRICKETT. Poor youth ! He came to town with the idea 
 of turning author; you know what that is, Mr. Burley. 
 
 MR. BURLEY (with an air of superb dignity). Bibliopole, yes ! 
 An author is a being between gods and men, who ought to be 
 lodged in a palace, and entertained at the public charge upon 
 ortolans and Tokay. He should be kept lapped in down, and 
 curtained with silken awnings from the cares of life have noth- 
 ing to do but to write books upon tables of cedar, and fish for 
 perch from a gilded galley. And that's what will come to pass 
 when the ages lose their barbarism, and know their benefactors. 
 Meanwhile, sir, I invite you to my rooms, and will regale you 
 upon brandy-and-water as long as I can pay for it ; and when I 
 cannot you shall regale me." 
 
 Mr. Prickett muttered, "A very bad bargain, indeed," as Mr. 
 Burley, with his chin in the air, stepped into the street. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 AT first Leonardhad always returnedhome through the crowded 
 thoroughfares the contact of numbers had animated his spirits. 
 But the last two days, since his discovery of his birth, he had taken 
 his way down the comparatively unpeopled path of the New Road. 
 
 He had just gained that part of this outskirt in which the stat- 
 uaries and tomb-makers exhibit their gloomy wares furniture 
 alike for gardens and for graves and, pausing, contemplated a 
 column, on which was placed an urn half covered with a funeral 
 mantle, when his shoulder was lightly tapped, and, turning quick- 
 ly, he saw Mr, Burley standing behind him..
 
 376 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 " Excuse me, sir, but you understand perch-fishing; and since we 
 find ourselves on the same road, I should like to be betteracquaint- 
 ed with you. I hear you once wished to be an author. I am one." 
 
 Leonard had never before, to his knowledge, seen an author, 
 andamournfulsmilepassedhis lips as hesurveyed the perch-fisher. 
 
 Mr. Burley was indeed very differently attired since the first 
 interview by the brooklet. He looked much less like an author 
 but more perhaps like a perch-fisher. He had a new white hat, 
 stuck on one side of his head a new green overcoat new gray 
 trousers, and new boots. In his hand was a whalebone stick, with a 
 silver handle. Nothing could be more vagrant, devil- me-carish, 
 and, to use a slang word, tigrish, than his whole air. Yet, vulgar as 
 was his costume, he did not himself seem vulgar, but rather eccen- 
 tric lawless something out of the pale of convention. His face 
 looked more pale and more puffed than before, the tip of his nose 
 redder ; but the spark in his eye was of livelier light, and there 
 was self-enjoyment in the corners of his sensual, humorous lip. 
 
 "You are an author, sir," repeated Leonard. "Well. And 
 what is your report of the calling ? Yonder column props an urn. 
 The column is tall, and the urn is graceful. But it looks out of 
 place by the roadside ; what say you?" 
 
 Mr. BURLEY. It would look better in the churchyard. 
 
 LEONARD. So I was thinking. And you are an author ! 
 
 MR. BURLEY.- Ah, I said you had a quick sense of allegory. 
 And so you think an author looks better in a churchyard, when 
 you see him but as a muffled urn under the moonshine, than 
 standing beneath the gas- lamp in a white hat, and with a red tip 
 to his nose. Abstractedly, you are right. But with your leave, 
 the author would rather be where he is. Let us walk on. 
 
 The two men felt an interest in each other, and they walked 
 some yards in silence. 
 
 " To return to the urn," said Mr. Burley "you think of fame 
 and churchyards. Natural enough, before illusion dies ; but I 
 think of the moment, of existenceand I laugh at fame. Fame, 
 sir not worth a glass of cold without! And as for a glass of wann, 
 with sugar and five shillings in one's pocket to spend as one 
 pleases what isthere in Westminster Abbey tocompare with it ? " 
 
 " Talk on, sir I should like to hear you talk. Let me listen 
 and hold my tongue." Leonard pulled his hat over his brows, 
 and gave up his moody, questioning, turbulent mind to his new 
 acquaintance. 
 
 And John Burley talked on. A dangerous and fascinating talk 
 it was the talk of a great intellect fallen. A serpent trailing its 
 length on the ground, and showing bright, shining, glorious hues
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 377 
 
 a* it grovelled. A serpent, yet without the serpent's guile. If 
 John Burley deceived and tempted, he meant it not he crawled 
 and glittered alike honestly. No dove could be more simple. 
 
 Laughing at Fame, he yet dwelt with an eloquent enthusiasm 
 on the joy of composition. "What do I care what men without are 
 to say and think of the words that gush forth on my page ? " cried 
 he. "If you think of the public, of urns, and laurels, while you 
 write, you are no genius : you are not fit to be an author. I write 
 because it rejoices me because it is my nature. Written, I care 
 no more what becomes of it than the lark for the effect that the 
 song has on the peasant it wakes to the plough. The poet, like 
 the lark, sings ' from his watchtower in the skies.' Is this true ? " 
 
 "Yes, very true ! " 
 
 "What can rob us of this joy ? The bookseller will not buy ; 
 the public will not read. Let them sleep at the foot of the ladder 
 of the angels we climb it all the same. And then one settles 
 down into such good-tempered Lucianic contempt for men. One 
 wants so little from them, when one knows what one's-self is worth, 
 and what they are. They are just worth the coin one can ex- 
 tract from them, in order to live. Our life that is worth so much 
 to us. And then their joys, so vulgar to them, we can make them 
 golden and kingly. Do you suppose Burns drinking at the ale- 
 house, with his boors around him, was drinking, like them, only 
 beer and whiskey? No, he was drinking nectar he was imbib- 
 ing his own ambrosial thoughts shaking with the laughter of 
 the gods. The coarse human liquid was just needed to unlock 
 his spirit from the clay take it from jerkin and corduroys, and 
 wrap it in the ' singing robes' that floated wide in the skies ; the 
 beer or the whiskey needed but for that, and then it changed 
 at once into the drink of the Hebe. But come, you have not 
 known this life you have not seen it. Come, give me this night. 
 I have moneys about me I will fling them abroad as liberally 
 as Alexander himself, when he left to his share but hope. Come !" 
 
 "Whither?" 
 
 " To my throne. On that throne last sat Edmund Kean 
 mighty mime. I am his successor. We will see whether in truth 
 these wild sons of genius, who are cited but 'to point a moral and 
 adorn a tale,' were objects of compassion Sober-suited cits to 
 lament over a Savage and a Morland a Person and a Burns ! " 
 
 "Or a Chatterton," said Leonard, gloomily. 
 
 "Chatterton was an impostor in all things ; he feigned ex- 
 cesses that he never knew. He a bacchanalian a royster* 
 HE ! no. We will talk of him. Come !" 
 
 Leonard went.
 
 378 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 THE ROOM! And the smoke-reek, and the gas-glare of it! 
 The whitewash of the walls, and the prints thereon of the actors 
 in their mime robes, and stage postures; actors as far back as their 
 own lost Augustan era, when the stage was a real living influence 
 on the manners and the age ! There was Betterton in wig and 
 gown asCato, moralizing on the soul's eternity, and halting be- 
 tween Plato and the dagger. There was Woodward as " The 
 Fine Gentleman," with the inimitable rake-hell air in which the 
 heroes of Wycherly and Congreve and Farquhar live again 
 There was jovial Quin as Falstaff, with round buckler and "fair 
 round belly." There was Colley Gibber in brocade taking 
 snuff as with "his Lord," the thumb and forefinger raised in air 
 and looking at you for applause. There was Macklin as Shylock, 
 with knife in hand ; andKemble in the solemn weeds of the Dane; 
 and Kean in the place of honor over the chimney-piece. 
 
 When we are suddenly taken from practical life, with its real 
 work-day men, and presented to the portraits of those sole heroes 
 of a world Phantastic and Phantasmal, in the garments wherein 
 they did "strut and fret their hour upon the stage," verily there 
 is something in the sight that moves an inner sense within our- 
 selves for all of us have an inner sense of some existence, apart 
 from the one that wears away our days ; an existence, that afar 
 from St. James's and St. Giles's, the Law Courts and Exchange, 
 goes its way in terror or mirth, in smiles or in tears, through a 
 vague magic land of the poets. There, see those actors they 
 are the men who lived it to whom our world was the false one, 
 to whom the Imaginary was the Actual ! And did Shakspeare 
 himself, in his life, ever hearken to such applause as thundered 
 round the personators of his airy images ? Vague children of the 
 most transient of the arts, fleet shadows on running waters, 
 though thrown down from the steadfast stars, were ye not hap- 
 pier than we who live in the Real? How strange you must feel 
 in the great circuit that ye now take through eternity ! No 
 prompt-books, no lamps, no acting Congreve and Shakspeare 
 there ! For what parts in the skies have your studies on the 
 earth fitted you ? Your ultimate destinies are very puzzling. 
 Hail to your effigies, and pass we on ! 
 
 There, too, on the whitewashed walls, were admitted the por- 
 traits of ruder rivals in the arena of fame yet they, too, had 
 known an applause warmer than his age gave to Shakspeare ; 
 the Champions of the Ring Crib and Molyneux, and Dutch 
 Sam. Interspersed with these was an old print of Newmarket in
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 379 
 
 the early part of the last century, and sundry engravings from 
 Hogarth. But poets, oh ! they were there too; poets who might 
 be supposed to have been sufficiently good fellows to be at home 
 with such companions. Shakspeare, of course, with his placid 
 forehead ; Ben Jonson, with his heavy scowl ; Burns and Byron 
 cheek by jowl. But the strangest of all these heterogeneous speci- 
 mens of graphic art was a full-length print of William Pitt ! 
 William Pitt, the austere and imperious. What the deuce did he 
 do there amongst prize-fighters, and actors, and poets? It seemed 
 an insult to his grand memory. Nevertheless there he was, very 
 erect, and with a look of ineffable disgust in his upturned nostrils. 
 The portraits on the sordid walls were very like the crambo in 
 the minds of ordinary men very like the motley pictures of the 
 FAMOUS hung up in your parlor, O my Public ! Actors and prize- 
 fighters, poets and statesmen, all without congruity and fitness, 
 all whom you have been to see or to hear for a moment, and whose 
 names have stared out in your newspapers, O my Public ! 
 
 And the company? Indescribable ! Comedians, from small 
 theatres, out of employ ; pale, haggard-looking boys, probably 
 the sons of worthy traders, trying their best to break their fathers' 
 hearts ; here and there the marked features of a Jew. Now and 
 then you might see the curious puzzled face of some greenhorn 
 about town, or perhaps a Cantab ; and men of grave age, and 
 gray-haired, were there, and amongst them a wondrousproportion 
 of carbuncled faces and bottle noses. And when John Burley 
 entered, there was a shout that made William Pitt shake in his 
 frame. Such stamping and hallooing, and such hurrahs for 
 "Burly John." And the gentleman who had filled the great high 
 leathern chair in his absence gave it up to John Burley ; and 
 Leonard, with his grave, observant eye, and lip half sad and half 
 scornful, placed himself by the side of his introducer. There 
 was a nameless expectant stir through the assembly, as there is 
 in the pit of the opera when some great singer advances to the 
 lamps, and begins, " Di tanti palpiti." Time flies. Look at the 
 Dutch clock over the door. Half-an-hour. John Burley begins 
 to warm. A yet quicker light begins to break from his eye ; his 
 voice has a mellow, luscious roll in it. 
 
 " He will be grand to-night," whispered a thin man, who looked 
 like a tailor, seated on the other side of Leonard 
 
 Time flies an hour ! Look again at the Dutch clock. John 
 Burley is grand, he is in his zenith, at his culminating point. 
 What magnificent drollery ! what luxuriant humor ! How the 
 Rabelais shakes in his easy-chair ! Under the rush and the roar 
 of this fun (what word else shall describe it?) the man's intellect
 
 380 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 is as clear as gold sand under a river. Such wit and such truth, 
 and, at times, such a flood of, quick eloquence. All now are 
 listeners :silent, save in applause. And Leonard listened too. 
 Not, as he would some nights ago, in innocent, unquestioning 
 delight. No ; his mind has passed through great sorrow, great 
 passion, and it comes out unsettled, inquiring, eager, brooding 
 over joy itself as over a problem. And the drink circulates, and 
 faceschange ; andthere are gabblingand babbling; andBurley's 
 head sinks in his bosom, and he is silent. And up starts a wild, 
 dissolute^ bacchanalian glee for seven voices. And the smoke- 
 reek grows denser and thicker, and the gaslight looks dizzy 
 through the haze. And John Burley's eyes reel. 
 
 Look. again at the Dutch clock. Two hours have gone. John 
 Burley has broken put again from his silence, his voice thick and 
 husky, and his laugh cracked ; and he talks, O ye Gods ! such 
 rubbish and ribaldry ; and the listeners roar .aloud, and think it 
 finer than before. And Leonard, who had hithertobeen measuring 
 himself in his mind against the giant, and saying inly, " He soars 
 out of my reach," finds the giant sink smaller and smaller,and saith 
 to himself, " He is but of man's common standard, after all ! " 
 
 Look again at the Dutch clock. Three hours have passed. Is 
 John Burley now of man's common standard ? Man himself seems 
 to have vanished from the scene ; his soul stolen from him, his 
 form gone away with the fumes of the smoke, and the nauseous 
 steam from that fiery bowl. And Leonard looked round and saw 
 but the swine of Circe some on the floor, some staggering against 
 the walls, some hugging each other on the tables, some-fighting, 
 some bawling, some weeping. The divine spark had fled from 
 the human face ; the Beast is everywhere growing more and 
 more out of the thing that had been Man. And John Burley, still 
 unconquered, but clean lost to his senses, fancies himself a 
 preacher, and drawls forth the most lugubrious sermon upon the 
 brevity of life that mortal ever heard, accompanied with unctuous 
 sobs ; and now and then, in the midst of balderdash, gleam? out 
 a gorgeous sentence, that Jeremy Taylor might have envied ; 
 drivelling away again into cadence below the rhetoric of a Mug- 
 gletonian. And the waiters choked up the doorway, listening and 
 laughing, and prepared to call cabs and coaches ; and suddenly 
 some one turned off the gas-light, and all was dark as pitch- 
 howls and laughter, as of the damned, ringing through the Pan- 
 demonium. Out from the black atmosphere stepped the boy- 
 poet ; and the. still stars rushed on his sight, as they looker* 
 over the grimy roof-tops.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 381 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 WELL, Leonard, this is the first time thou hast shown that thou 
 hast in thee the iron out of which true manhood is forged and shap- 
 ed. Thou hast the power to resist. Forth, unebriate, unpolluted, he 
 came from the orgy, as yon star above him came from the cloud. 
 
 He had a latch-key to his lodgings. He let himself in, and 
 walked noiselessly up the creaking, wooden stair. It was dawn. 
 He passed on to his window and threw it open. The green elm- 
 tree from the carpenter's yard looked as fresh and fair as if rooted 
 in solitudes, leagues away from the smoke of Babylon. 
 
 " Nature, Nature !" murmured Leonard, "I hear thy voice 
 now. This stills this strengthens. But the struggle is very 
 dread. Here, despair of life there, faith in life. Nature thinks 
 of neither, and lives serenely on." 
 
 By-and-by a bird slid softly from the heart of a tree, and 
 dropped on the ground below out of sight. But Leonard heard its 
 carol. It awoke its companions wings began to glance in the 
 air, and the clouds grew red toward the east. 
 
 Leonard sighed and left the window. On the table, near Hel- 
 en's rose-tree, which he bent over wistfully, lay a letter. He had 
 not observed it before. It was in Helen's hand. He took it to 
 the light, and read it by the pure healthful gleams of morn: 
 
 "Oh, my dear brother Leonard, will this find you well, and 
 (more happy I dare not say, but) less sad than when we parted? 
 I write kneeling, so that it seems to me as if I wrote and prayed 
 at the same time. You may come and see me' to-morrow even- 
 ing, Leonard. Do come, do we shall walk together in this 
 pretty garden ; and there is an arbor allcovered with jessamine 
 and honeysuckle, from which we can look down on London. I 
 have looked from it so many times so many trying if I can 
 guess the roofs in OUT poor little street, and fancying that I do 
 see the dear elm-tree. 
 
 "Miss Starke is very kind to me; and I think after I have 
 seen you, that I shall be happy here that is, if you are happy. 
 
 "Your own grateful sister, 
 " Ivy Lodge. HELEN. 
 
 "P. S. Anyone will direct you to our house ; it lies near the 
 top of the hill, a little way down the lane that is overhung on one 
 side with chestnut trees and lilacs. I shall be watching for you 
 at the gate." 
 
 Leonard's brow softened, he looked again like his former self. 
 Up from the dark sea at his heart smiled the meek face of a 
 child, and the waves lay still as at the charm of a spirit.
 
 382 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 "AND what is Mr. Burley, and what has he written?" asked 
 Leonard of Mr. Prickett, when he returned to the shop. 
 
 Let us reply to that question in our own words, for we know 
 more about Mr. Burley than Mr. Prickett does. 
 
 John Burley was the only son of a poor clergyman, in a village 
 near Ealing, who had scraped, and saved, and pinched, to send 
 his son to an excellent provincial school in a northern county, 
 and thence to college. At the latter, during his first year, young 
 Burley was remarked by the undergraduates for his thick shoes 
 and coarse linen, and remarkable to the authorities for his assi- 
 duity and learning. The highest hopes were entertained of him 
 by the tutors and examiners. At the beginning of the second 
 year, his high animal spirits, before kept down by study, broke 
 out. Reading had become easy to him. He knocked off his tasks 
 with a facile stroke, as it were. He gave up his leisure hours to 
 symposia by no means Socratical. He fell into an idle, hard- 
 drinking set. He got into all kinds of scrapes. The authorities 
 were at first kind and forbearing in their admonitions, for they 
 respected his abilities, and still hoped he might become an honor 
 to the university. But at last he went drunk into a formal ex- 
 amination, and sent in papers, after the manner of Aristophanes, 
 containing capital jokes upon the Dons and Bigwigs themselves. 
 The offense was greater, and seemed the more premeditated, for 
 being clothed in Greek. John Burley was expelled. He went 
 home to his father's a miserable man, for, with all his follies, he 
 had a good heart. Removed from ill example, his life for a year 
 was blameless. He got admitted as usher into the school in 
 which he had received instruction as a pupil. The school was 
 in a large town. John Burley became a member of a club formed 
 among the tradesmen, and spent three evenings a week there. 
 His astonishing convivial and conversational powers began to 
 declare themselves. He grew the oracle of the club ; and, from 
 being the most sober, peaceful assembly in which grave fathers 
 of a family ever smoked a pipe or sipped a glass, it grew under 
 Mr. Burley's auspices, the parent of revels as frolicking and fran- 
 tic as those out of which the old Greek Goat Song ever tipsily 
 rose. This would not do. There was a great riot in the streets 
 one night, and the next morning the usher was dismissed. For- 
 tunately for John Burley's conscience, his father had died before 
 this happened died believing in the reform of his son. During 
 his ushership Mr. Burley had scrnped acquaintance with the edi- 
 tor of the county newspaper, and given him some capital political
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 383 
 
 articles; for Burley was, like Parr and Person, a notable politician. 
 The editor furnished him with letters to the journalists in Lon- 
 don, and John came to the metropolis and got employed on a very 
 respectable newspaper. At college he had known Audley Eger- 
 ton, though but slightly ; that gentleman was then just rising into 
 repute in Parliament. Burley sympathized with some question 
 on which Audley had distinguished himself, and wrote a very 
 good article thereon an article so good that Egerton inquired 
 into the authorship, found out Burley, and resolved in his own 
 mind to provide for him whenever he himself came into office. 
 But Burley was a man whom it was impossible to provide for. 
 He soon lost his connection with the newspaper. First, he was 
 so irregular that he could never be depended upon. Secondly, 
 he had strange, honest, eccentric twists of thinking, that could 
 coalesce with the thoughts of no party in the long run. An article 
 of his, inadvertently admitted, had horrified all the proprietors, 
 staff and readers of the paper. It was diametrically opposite to 
 the principles the paper advocated, and compared its pet poli- 
 tician to Catiline. Then John Burley shut himself up and wrote 
 books. He wrote two or three books, very clever, but not at all 
 to the popular taste abstract and learned, full of whims that 
 were cavaire to the multitude, and larded with Greek. Neverthe- 
 less they obtained for him a little money, and among literary 
 men some reputation. No\v Audley Egerton came into power, 
 and got him, though with great difficulty for there were many 
 prejudices against this scampish, harum-scarum son of the 
 Muses a place in a public office. He kept it about a month, and 
 then voluntarily resigned it. "My crust of bread and liberty !" 
 quoth John Burley, and he vanishedinto a garret. From that time 
 to the preseni he lived Heaven knows how! Literature is abusi- 
 ness, like everything else ; John Burley grew more and more in- 
 capable of business. "He could not do task-work," he said; he 
 wrote when the whim seized him, or when the last penny was in 
 his pouch, or when he was actually in the spunging-houseor the 
 Fleet migrations which occurred to him, on an average, twice 
 a-year. He could generally sell what he had actually written, but 
 no one would engage him beforehand. Editors of magazines 
 and other periodicals were very glad to have his articles, on the 
 condition that they were anonymous ; and his style was not 
 necessarily detected, for he could vary it with the facility of a prac- 
 tised pen. Audley Egerton continued his best supporter, for 
 there were certain questions on which no one wrote with such 
 force as John Burley questions connected with the metaphys- 
 ics of politics, such as law reforms and economical science. And
 
 384 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Audley Egerton was the only man John Burley put himself out 
 of the way to serve, and for whom he would give up a drinking 
 bout and do task-work / for John Burley was grateful by nature, 
 and he felt that Egerton had really tried to befriend him. In- 
 deed, it was true, as he had stated to Leonard by the Brent, that 
 even after he had resigned his desk in the London office, he had 
 the offer of an appointment in Jamaica, and a place in India, 
 from the Minister. But probably there were other charms then 
 than those exercised by the one-eyed perch that kept him to the 
 neighborhood of London. With all his grave faults of character 
 and conduct, John Burley was not without the fine qualities of 
 a large nature. He was most resolutely his own enemy, it is true, 
 but he could hardly be said to be any one else's. Even when he 
 criticised some more fortunate writer, he was good-humored in 
 his very satire ; he had no bile, no envy. And as for freedom 
 from malignant personalities, he might have been a model to all 
 critics. I must except politics, however, for in these he could 
 be rabid and savage. He had a passion for independence, which, 
 though pushed to excess, was not without grandeur. No lick- 
 platter, no parasite, no toad-eater, no literary beggar, no hunter 
 after patronage and subscriptions ; even in his dealings with Aud- 
 ley Egerton, he insisted on naming the price for his labors. He 
 took a price, because, as the papers required by Audley de- 
 manded much reading and detail, which was not at all to his 
 taste, he considered himself entitled fairly to something more 
 than the editor of the journal wherein the papers appeared was 
 in the habit of giving. But he assessed this extra price himself, 
 and as he would have done to a bookseller. And when in debt 
 and in prison, though he knew a line to Egerton would have ex- 
 tricated him, he never wrote that line. He would depend alone 
 on his pen dipped it hastily in the ink, and scrawled himself 
 free. The most debased pointabout him was certainly the in- 
 corrigible vice of drinking, and with it the usual concomitant 
 of that vice the love of low company. To be King of the Bo- 
 hemians^-to dazzle by his wild humor, and sometimes to exalt 
 by his fanciful eloquence, the rude, gross natures that gathered 
 round him this was a royalty that repaid him for all sacrifice 
 of solid dignity; a foolscap crown that he would not have changed 
 for an emperor's diadem. Indeed, to appreciate rightly the tal- 
 ents of John Burley, it was necessary to hear him talk on such oc- 
 casions. As a writer, after all, he was now only capable of unequal 
 desultory efforts. But as a talker, in his own wild way, he was origi- 
 nal and matchless. And the gift of talk is one of the most dan- 
 gerous gifts a man can possess for his own sake the applause is
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 385 
 
 so immediate, and gained with so little labor. Lower, and lower, 
 and lower, had sunk John Burley, not only in the opinion of all 
 who knew his name, but in the habitual exercise of his talents. 
 And this seemed wilfully from choice. He would write for 
 some unstamped journal of the populace, out of the pale of the 
 law, for pence, when he could haVe got pounds from journals of 
 high repute. He was very fond of scribbling off penny ballads^ 
 and then standing in the street to hear them sung. He actu- 
 ally once made himself the poet of an-advertising tailor, and en- 
 joyed it excessively. But that did not last long, for John Burley 
 was a Pittite not a Tory, he used to say, but a Pittite. And if you 
 had heard' him talk of Pitt, you would never have known what 
 to make of that great statesman. He treated him as the German 
 commentators do Shakspeare, and invested him with all imagin- 
 ary meanings and objects, that would have turned die grand 
 practical man into a sybil. Well, he was a Pittite; the tailor a 
 fanatic for Thelwall and Cobbett. Mr. Burley wrote a poem, 
 wherein Britannia appeared to the tailor, complimented him 
 highly on the art he exhibited in adorning the persons of her sons; 
 and, bestowing upon him a gigantic mantle, ; said that he, and 
 he alone, might be enabled to fit it to the shoulders of living 
 men. The rest of the poem was occupied in Mr. Snip's unavail- 
 ing attempts to adjust the mantle to the eminent politicians of 
 the day, when, just as he had sunk down in despair, Britannia 
 re-appeared to him, and consoled him with the information that 
 he had done all mortal man could do, and that she had only de- 
 sired to convince pigmies that no human art could adjust to their 
 proportions the mantle of William Pitt. Sic itur ad astra she 
 went back to the stars, maatle and .all ! Mr. Snip was exceed- 
 ingly indignant at this allegorical effusion, and with wrathful 
 shears cut the tie between himself and his poet. 
 
 Thus, then, the reader has, we trust, a pretty good idea of John 
 Btrrley? a specimen of his genus, not. very common in any age, 
 and now happily almost -extinct, since authors of all degrees 
 share in the general improvement in order, economy, and sober 
 decorum, which has obtained in the national manners. Mr. 
 Prickett, though icntering into less historical detail than we have 
 done conveyed to Leonard a .tolerably accurate notion of the 
 man, representing him as a person of great powers and learning, 
 who had thoroughly thrown himself away. . 
 
 Leonard did not, however, see how much Mr.Burley himself was 
 
 to be blamed for his waste of life ; he could not conceive a man of 
 
 genius voluntarily seating himself at the lowest step in the social 
 
 ladder. He rather supposed he had been thrust down by Necessity.
 
 386 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 And when Mr. Prickett, concluding said, " Well, I should think 
 Burley would cure you of the desire to be an author even more 
 than Chatterton," the young man answered, gloomily, " Perhaps,' 5 
 and turned to the book-shelves. 
 
 With Mr. Prickett's consent, Leonard was released earlier than 
 usual from his task, andalittle before sunset he took his way to 
 Highgate. He was fortunately directed to take the new road by 
 the Regent's Park, and' so on through a very green and smiling 
 country. The walk, the freshness of the air, the songs of the 
 birds, and, above all, when he had got half-way, the solitude of 
 the road, served to rouse him from his stern and sombre medi- 
 tations. And .when he came into the lane overhung' with chest- 
 nut trees, andsuddenly caught sight of Helen's watchful and then 
 brightening face,as ; she stood by the wicket and under the shadow 
 of cool murmurous boughs, the blood rushed gaily through his 
 veins, and his heart beat loud and gratefully. 
 
 : , 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 < , . - . ' ; 
 
 SHE drew him into the garden with such true childlike joy. : 
 
 Now behold them seated in the arbor a perfect bpwerof sweets 
 and blossoms ; the wilderness of roof-tops and spires stretching 
 below, broad and far ; London seen dim and silent, a& in a dream. 
 
 She tobk his hat from his b'"rows ! gently, and looked him in the 
 face, with tearful, penetrating eyes. 
 
 She did not say, M You are changed." She said, "Why, 
 why did I leave you ? " and then turned away. 
 
 "Never mind me, Helen; I am man, and rudely born 
 speak of yourself. This lady is kind to you then?" 
 
 "Does she not let me see you.? Oh! very : kind-^-and look here." 
 
 Helen pointed to fruits and cakes set out on the table. " A 
 feast, brother." 
 
 And she began to press her hospitality with pretty winning 
 ways, more playful than was usual to her, and talking very East, 
 and with forced, but; silvery, laughter. 
 
 By degrees she stole him from his gloom and reserve ; arid 
 though he could not reveal to her the cause of his bitterest sor- 
 ro'w, he owned that he had suffered much. He would not, have 
 owned that to another living being. And then, quickly turning 
 from this brief confession, with assurances that the worst was 
 over, he sought to' amuse her by speaking of his new acquaint- 
 ance with the perch-fisher. But when he spoke of this man with 
 a kind of reluctant admiration, mixed with Compassionate yet 
 gloomy interest, and drew a grotesque, though subdued, sketch
 
 VARIETIES m ENGLISH LIFE. 387 
 
 of the wild scene in which he had been spectator, Helen grew 
 alarmed and grave. 
 
 "Oh, brother, do not go there again do not see more of this 
 bad man." 
 
 " Bad! -no! Hopeless and unhappy, he has stooped to stimu- 
 lants and oblivion ; but you cannot understand these things, 
 my pretty preacher." 
 
 "Yes,I do, Leonard. What is the difference between being good 
 and bad ? The good do not yield to temptations, andthe bad do." 
 
 The definition was so simple and so wise, that Leonard was 
 more struck with it than he might have been by the most elabor- 
 ate sermon by Parson Dale. 
 
 " I have often murmured to myself, since I lost you, 'Helen 
 was my good angel 1 ; say on. For my heart is dark to myself, 
 and while you speak : light seeuis to dawn on it." 
 
 This praise so confused Helen, that it was long before she could 
 obey the command annexed to it. But, by little and little, words 
 came to both more frankly. And then he told her the sad, tale 
 of Chatterton, and waited, anxious to hear her comments. 
 
 "Well," he said, seeing that she remained silent, " how can 1 
 hope, when this mighty genius labored and despaired! What did 
 he want, save birth and fortune, and friends, and human justice?" 
 
 " Did he pray to God ? " asked Helen, drying her tears. 
 
 Again Leonard was startled. In reading the life of Chatter- 
 ton, he had not much noted the scepticism, assumed or real, of 
 the ill-fated aspirer to; earthly immortality. At Helen's ques- 
 tion, that scepticism struck him forcibly. 
 
 "Why do you ask that, Helen.?/ 1 
 
 " Because, when we pray ofteri, wfegrowso very, very patient," 
 answered the child. "Perhaps, had he been patieutaf ew months 
 more, all would have been won by him, as it will be by you, 
 brother; for you pray, and yoiv will be patient." 
 
 Leonard bowed his head in deep thought, and this time the 
 thought was not gloomy. Then out from that awful lite there 
 glowed another passage, which before had he not heeded T duly, 
 but regarded rather as one of the darkest mysteries in the fate 
 of Chatterton. 
 
 At the very first -time the despairing poet had locked himself 
 up in his garret, to dismiss his soul from its earthly ordeal, his 
 genius had just found its way into the light of renown. Good, 
 and learned, and powerful men we're preparing to serve and 
 save him. Another year nay, perchance another month and 
 he might have stood acknowledged and sublime in the foremost 
 rank of his age.
 
 388 MV NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Oh, Helen ! " cried Leonard, raising his brows from which 
 the cloud had passed, "why, indeed, did you leave me ?" 
 . Helen started in her turn as he repeated this regret, and iri her 
 turn grew thoughtful. At length she asked him if he had written 
 for the box which had belonged to her father, and been left at 
 the inn. 
 
 And Leonard, though a little chafed at what he thought a 
 childish interruption to themes of greater interest, owned, with 
 self-reproach, that he had forgotten to do so. Should he not 
 write now to order the box to be sent to her at Miss Starke's ? 
 
 "No ; let it be sent to you. Take care of it. I should like 
 to know that something of mine is with you ; and perhaps I may 
 not stay here long." 
 
 " Not stay here ? That you must, my dear Helen---at least as 
 long as Miss Starke will keep you, and is kind. By-and-by " 
 (added Leonard, with something of his former sanguine tone) 
 " I may yet make my way, and we shall have our cottage to our- 
 selves. But Oh, Helen ! I forgot you wounded me; you left 
 your money with me. I only found it in my drawers the other 
 1 day. Fie ! I have brought it back." 
 
 " It was not mine it is> yours. We were to share together 
 you paid all ; and how ean I want it here, too ? " 
 
 But Leonard was obstinaite ; and as Helen mournfully received 
 back all that of fortune her father had bequeathed to her, a tall 
 female figure stood at the; entrance of the arbor, arid said, in a 
 voice that scattered- all sentiment to the winds "Young man, 
 it is time to go." 
 
 PRApf FR YYV 
 
 L.-tlAl'i&K AAV. 
 
 " ALREADY ?" said Helen, with faltering accents as she crept 
 to 'Miss Starke's side, while Leonard rose and bowed. "lam 
 very grateful to you, madam." said he, with the grace that comes 
 from all refinement of idea, " for allowing me to see Miss Helen. 
 Do not let me abuse your kindness." n 
 
 Miss Starke seemed struck with his look and manner, and 
 make a stiff half-curtsey. 
 
 A form more rigid than Miss Starke's it was hard to Conceive. 
 She was like the Grim White Woman in the nursery ballads. 
 Yet, apparently, there was a good-nature in allowing the stranger 
 to enter her trim garden, and providing for him and her little 
 charge these fruits and cakes, which belied her aspect. " May 
 I go with him to the gate ? " whispered Helen, as Leonard had 
 already passed up the path. 
 
 " You may, child ; but do not loiter. And then : come back,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 389 
 
 and lock up the cakes and cherries, or Patty will get at them." 
 
 Helen ran after Leonard. 
 
 " Write to me, brother write to me ; and do not, do not be 
 friends with this man, who took you to that wicked, wicked place." 
 
 " Oh, Helen, I go from you strong enough to brave worse 
 dangers than that," said Leonard, almost gaily. 
 
 They kissed each other at the little wicket gate, and parted. 
 
 Leonard walked home under the summer moonlight, and on 
 entering his chamber looked first at his rose-tree. The leaves 
 of yesterday's flowers lay strewn around it ; but the tree had put 
 forth new buds. 
 
 " Nature ever restores," said the young man. He paused a 
 moment and added, " Is it that Nature is very patient ? " 
 
 His sleep that night was not broken by the fearful dreams he 
 had lately known. He rose refreshed, and went his way to his 
 day's work, not stealing along the less-crowded paths, but, with 
 firm step, through the throng of men. Be bold, adventurer: 
 thou hast more to suffer ! Wilt thou sink ? I look into thy 
 heart, and I cannot answer. 
 
 NOTE ON HOMOEOPATHY. 
 
 A gentleman who practises Homoeopathy, and who rejoices in the name of Luther, has 
 done me the honor to issue a pamphlet in grave vindication of the art of Hahnemanrv from 
 what he conceives to be the assault thereon perpetrated in " My Novel." Luther the First, 
 though as combative as Luther the Second, did not waste his polemical vigor upon giants 
 of his own making- It is true that, though in " My Novel" Dr. Morgan is represented as 
 an able und warm-hearted man, there is a joke at his humors what then ? Do I turn the 
 art itself into ridicule? As well might some dignitary of the Church accuse me of satiriz- 
 ing his sacred profession, whenever the reader is invited to smile at the expense of Parson 
 Dale, or a country gentleman take up his pen to clear the territorial class from participa- 
 tion in the prejudices assigned to the Squire of Hazeldean. Nay, as well might some liter- 
 ary allopathist address to me a homily on profaning the dignity of the College of Physi- 
 cians, by the irreverent portraiture of Dr. Dosewell. " My Novel" is intended as a survey 
 of varieties in English life, chiefly through >he medium of the prevailing, humors in various 
 modifications of character. Like other enthusiasts, Dr. Morgan puSnes his favorite idea 
 into humorous extravagance and must bear the penalty of a good-natured banter. If I were 
 opposed altogether to Homoeopathy, I should take a very different mode of dealing with 
 it ; and Dr. Morgan, instead of being represented as an experienced practitioner in allo- 
 pathy, converted to the honiceopathical theory by honest convictions, and redeeming his 
 foibles by shrewd observation and disinterested benevolence, would be drawn as an ignorant 
 charlatan and a greedy impostor. 
 
 But the fact is, that, if I do n >t think Homoeopathy capable of all the wonders ascribed 
 to it by some of its professors, or the 'only scientific mode of dealing with human infirmities, 
 I sincerely believe that it is often resorted to with very great benefit nay, I myself have 
 frequently employed, and even advised it, I opine, with advantage. And if it had done 
 nothing else than introduce many notable reforms in aHopathical- practice it would be 
 entitled to the profound gratitude of all, with stomachs no longer over-irrigated by the 
 apothecary, and veins no longer under-drained by the phlebotomist. 
 
 But Dr. Luther assumes that I have no authority for the crotchets ascribed to Dr; Mor- 
 gan that it is monstrous in me to assert that Homoeopathy professes to have globules for 
 the mind as well as the body, that I have evidently only read some 1 shallow catch-penny 
 treatises on the subject, etc., etc. Unlucky Dr. Luther ! Does he profess to be a Hotnoe 
 opathist, and yet forget his JAHR ! Will he tell me that JAHR is not the great original 
 manual of the science the Blackstone of Homoeopathy ?' And what says this master tex't- 
 book ? I quote therefrom, not for the purpose only, of justifying Mr. Morgan and myself 
 from the charges so inconsiderately brought against Us by Dr. Luther, but also' for the pur- 
 pose of proving to the general reader, that J)r. Morgan has full authority for prescribing 
 CAUSTIC for tears, and AtTARicus MUSCARIUS for the propensity to indulge in Terse-making. 
 Nay, I will add that there is not a single prescription for mental disturbance suggested bj
 
 3QO MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Dr. Morgan for which, strange as it may seem to tlie uninitiated, he is not warranted liter- 
 ally by 'that worthy J AUK, which is the ground-work of all homceopathical literature. 
 Imprimis, O too oblivious Luther, does not JAHR assign a large section of his manual to 
 Moral Affections? Open vol. iii. of the Paris Edition in 4 vols., 1850.- go on to page 236. 
 Docs not JAHK precribe ARSENIC for la Melancolie noire, HELLEBORE for la Melancolie 
 'douce, and, with the nice distinction only known to homoeopathical philosophy, GOLD for 
 la Melancolie religieuse? If it be the patient's inclination to rest silent, must he not take 
 IGNATJA if he have a desire to drown himself, should not the globule be PULSATILLA ? 
 
 JAHR give you O frowning Luther a wide choice from BELLADONNA to VEK ATRIUM ? 
 Nay< if it be in a close apartment rather than the open air that the attack seizes you, 
 should you not ingurgitate a pin's head of platinum? JAHR,- JAHR! O Dr. Luther, would 
 you have fallen into such a scrape, if you had consulted your JAHR ? 
 
 Turn to the same volume, p. 30, on M-oral Emotions, is there not aglobule for an Amour 
 malheureux for a lover disappointed are there not Hvos : IGN : PHOS-AC ? Nay, to svim 
 up and clench the whole by the very proposition which I undertook to prove, does not 
 JAHB, vol. iii, p, 255, recommend AGARICUS for the disposition afaire des ners (to make 
 verses),and more than once or twice throughout the same volume, is not CAUSTIC the remedy, 
 by preference, for a tendency to shed tears, provided, of course, other symptoms invite its 
 application ? 
 
 And, O Dr. Luther, do you mean to tell us that the enthusiast of an art, to which this 
 book, by JAHR, is an acknowledged text-book, may not, whatever the skill of the man or 
 the. excellence of the art, or the value of the text-book, jncur every one of the extravagances 
 imputed to Dr. Morgan, or not freely lay himself open to the gall-less pleasantries of a 
 writer in search of the" Humorous ? 
 
 Dr. Morgan is represented as one of the earliest disciples of Hahnemann in this country, 
 and therefore likely, in the zeal of a tyroj and the passion of a convert, aprunt consumere 
 fotiim which Horatian elegancy pur vernacular has debased into the familiar vulgarism, 
 " Go the whole hog." But even in the present day, I assure Dr. Luther, and my readers 
 generally, that I have met, abroad, Homoeopathic physicians of considerable eminence, who 
 have seriously contended for the application of globules to the varieties of mental .affliction 
 and human vicissitude ; who have solemnly declared that, while the rest of the family have 
 been plunged into despair at the death of its head, one of the bereaved children resorting 
 to Homoeopathy has been preserved from the depressing consequence of s^rief, and been as 
 cheerful as usual ; that a lover who meditated suicide at the perfidy of his beloved, has in 
 ten days been homoeopathically reduced into felicitous indifference ; and that there are 
 secrets, in the science professed by Dr. Luther, that cannot be too earnestly urged on his 
 own attention, by which an irritable man may be taught to control his temper, and a dull 
 man to comprehend a joke. 
 
 BOOK SEVENTH. INITIAL CHAPTER. 
 
 MR. CAXTON UPON COURAGE AND PATIENCE. 
 
 "WHAT is courage ?" said my Uncle Roland, rousing himself 
 from a reverie into which lie had fallen, after the sixth book in 
 this history had been read to our family circle. 
 
 " What is courage ? " he repeated more earnestly. " Is it insensi- 
 bility to fear? That may be the mere accident of constitution ; 
 and, if so, there is no more merit in being courageous than in 
 being this table." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear you speak thus," observed Mr. Caxton, 
 "for I should not like to consider myself a coward ; yet I am 
 very sensible to fear in all dangers, bodily and moral." 
 
 " La, Austin, how can you say so ? " Cried my mother, firing up ; 
 "was it not only last week that you faced the great bull that was 
 rushing after Blanche and the children? "
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 391 
 
 Blanche at that recollection stole to my father's chair, and, 
 hanging .over his shoulder, kissed his forehead. 
 
 MR, CAXTON (sublimely unmoved by those flatteries). I don't 
 deny that I faced thebull, but I assert that I was horribly frightened. 
 
 ROLAND. The sense of honor which conquers fear is the true 
 courage of chivalry : you could not run away when others were 
 looking on no gentleman could. 
 
 MR. CAXTQN. Fiddlededee ! It was not on my gentility that I 
 stood, Captain. I should have run fast enough, if it had done 
 any good. I stood upon my understanding. As the bull could 
 run faster than I could, the only chance of escape was to make 
 the brute as frightened as myself. 
 
 BLANCHE. Ah, you did not think of that; your only thought 
 was to save me and the children. 
 
 MR. CAXTON. Possibly, my dear very possibly I might have 
 been afraid for you too ; but I was very much afraid for myself. 
 However, luckily, I had the umbrella, and I sprang it up and 
 spread it forth in the animal's stupid eyes, hurling at him sim- 
 ultaneously the biggest lines I could think of in the First Chorus 
 of the "Seven against Thebes." I began with ELEDEMNUS PEDI- 
 OPLOKTUPOS; and when I came to the grand howl of 'loo ioo, 
 iaOj ico, the beast stood appalled as at the roar of a lion. I shall 
 never forget his amazed snort at the Greek. Then he kicked up 
 his hind legs, and went bolt through the gap in the hedge. Thus 
 armed with ^Eschylus and the umbrella, I remained master of 
 the field : but, (continued Mr. Caxton, ingenuously)! shauld not 
 like to go through that half-minute again. 
 
 "No man would, "said the Captain, kindly. "I should be very 
 sorry to face a bull myself, even with a bigger umbrella than 
 yours, and even though I -had yEschylus, and Homer to boot, 
 at my fingers' ends." 
 
 MR. CAXTON, You would not have minded if it had been a 
 Frenchman with a sword in his hand ? 
 
 CAPTAIN. Of course not. Rather liked it than otherwise, he 
 added, grimly. 
 
 MR. CAXTON. Yet many a Spanish matador, who doesn't care 
 a button for a bull, would take to his heels at the first lunge en 
 quart from a Frenchman.; Therefore, in fact, if courage be a 
 matter of constitution, it is also a matter of custom. We face 
 calmly the dangers we are habituated to, and recoil from those of 
 which we have .no familiar experience. I doubt if Marshal Tur- 
 enne himself would have been quite at his ease on the tight-rope ; 
 and a rope-dancer, who seems disposed to scale the heavens with 
 Titanic temerity, might possibly object to charge on a cannon.
 
 392 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 CAPTAIN ROLAND. Still either this is not the courage I mean, 
 or it is another kind of it. I mean by courage that which is the 
 especial force and dignity of the human character, without which 
 there is no reliance on principle, no constancy in virtue a some- 
 thing,- continued my uncle gallantly, and with a half-bow toward 
 my mother, which your sex shares with our own. When the lover, 
 for instance, clasps the hand of his betrothed, and says, "Wilt 
 thoube true to me, in spite of absence and time, in spite of haz- 
 ard and fortune, though my foes malign me, though thy friends 
 may dissuade thee, and our lot in life may be rough and rude?" 
 and when the betrothed answers, "I will be true," does not the 
 lover trust to her courage as well as her love ? 
 
 " Admirably put,Roland," said my father. "But Apropos of 
 what do you puzzle us with these queries on courage?" 
 
 CAPTAIN .ROLAND (with a slight blush). I was led to the 
 inquiry (though, perhaps, it may be frivolous to take so nruch 
 thought of .what, no doubt, costs Pisistratus so little)by the last 
 chaptersin my nephew's- story. I see this poor boy Leonard alone 
 witli his fallen hopes (though very irrational they were), and his 
 sense of shame. And I read his heart, I dare say; better than 
 Pisistratus does, for I could feel like .that boy if I had been in 
 the same position ; and conjecturing what he and thousands like 
 him must go through, I asked myself," What can save him and 
 them?" I answered, as a soldier would answer, "Courage!" 
 Very well. But pray, Austin, what is courage? 
 
 MR, CAXTON (prudently backing out of a reply). -Paptef 
 Brother, since you have; just complimented the ladies on that 
 quality, you had better address yotor question to them. 
 
 Blanche here leant both hands on my father's chair, and said, 
 looking down at first bashfully, but afterward warming with the 
 subject, "Do you not think, sir, that little Helen has already sug- 
 gested, if not what is courage, what at least is the real essence of 
 all courage that endures and -conquers, that ennobles and hallows, 
 and redeems? Is it not PATIENCE^ father? and that is why we 
 women have a courage of our own. Patience does not affect to be 
 superior toifear, but at least it never admits despair." 
 
 PISISTRATUS. Kiss me, my Blanche, for you have come near 
 to the truth which perplexed the isoldier and puzzled the sage. 
 
 MR. CAXTON (tartly). If you mean me by the sage, I was not 
 puzzled at all. Heaven knows you d6 right to inculcate patience 
 it is la virtue very much* required in your readers. Nevertheless 
 (added my father, softening with the enjoyment of his joke )-^- 
 nevertheless Blanche and i Helen are quite right. Patience is the 
 courage of. the conqueror ; it is the virtue,'/#r excellence, of Man
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 393 
 
 against Destiny of- the One against the World, and of the Soul 
 against Matter. Therefore this is the courage of the Gospel ; 
 and its importance, in a social view its importance to races and 
 institutions cannot be too earnestly inculcated. What is it that 
 distinguishes the Anglo-Saxon from all other brandies of the 
 human family, peoples deserts with his children, and consigns 
 to them the heritage of rising worlds? What but his faculty to 
 brave, to suffer, to endure the patience that resists firmly, and 
 innovates slowly. Compare him with the Frenchman. The 
 Frenchman has plenty of valor that there is no denying ; but 
 as for fortitude, he has not enough to cover the point of a-pin. 
 He is ready to rush out of the world if he is bitten by a flea. 
 
 CAPTAIN ROLAND. There was a case in the papers the other 
 day, Austin, of a Frenchman who actually did destroy himself 
 because he was so teased by the little creatures you speak of. 
 He left a paper on -his table, saying that "life was hot worth 
 having at the price of such torments."* 
 
 MR. CAXTON (solemnly). Sir, their whole political history, 
 since the great meeting of the TiersJStat, has been the history of 
 men who would rather go to the devil than be bitten by a flea. 
 It is the record of human impatience, that seeks to force time, 
 and expects to grow forests from the spawn of a mushroom. 
 Wherefore, running through all extremes of constitutional experi- 
 ment, when they are nearest to democracy they are next door to a 
 despot ; and all they have really done is to destroy whatever 
 constitutes the foundation of every tolerable government. :A 
 constitutional monarchy cannot exist without aristocracy, nor a 
 healthful republic endure with corruption of manners. The cry of 
 Equality is incompatible with Civilization, which, of necessity, 
 contrasts poverty with wealth and, in short, whether it be an 
 emperor or a- mob f that is to rule, Force is the sole hope of 
 order, and the government is but an army. 
 
 "Impress, O Pisistratus ! impress the value of patience asre- 
 gards.man and men. You touch there on the kernel ofthesocial 
 system: the secret that fortifies the individual and disciplines 
 the million. I care not, for my part, if you are tedious, so Ion gas 
 you are earnest. Be minute and detailed. Let the real Human 
 Life,init&warwithCircumstance,standout. Never mind if one can 
 read you but slowly better chance of being lessquickly forgotten. 
 
 * Fact. In a work by M. GIBERT, a celebrated French physician on diseases of the 
 skin, he states that that minute, troublesome kind of rash, known by the name of 'prurifo, 
 though not dangerous in itself, has often driven the individual afflicted by it to- suicide, 
 I believe that our more varying climate, and our more heating drinks and aliments, render 
 this skin complaint more common in England: than in France, yet I doubt if any English 
 physician could state that it had ever driven orie of his English patients 'to ;Suicide. 
 
 t Published more than a year before the dale of the French empire under Louis Napoleon.
 
 394 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Patience, patience! By the soul of Epictetus, your readers shall set 
 you an example ! " 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 LEONARD had written twice to Mrs. Fairfield, twice to Ric- 
 cabocca, and once to Mr. Dale ; and the poor proud boy could 
 not bear to betray his humiliation. He wrote as with cheerful 
 spirits as if perfectly satisfied with his prospects. He said that 
 he was well employed, in the midst of books, and that he had 
 found kind friends. Then he turned from himself to write about 
 those whom he addressed, and the affairs and interests of the 
 quiet world wherein they lived. He did not give his own ad- 
 dress, nor that of Mr. Prickett. He dated his letters from a 
 small coffee-house near the bookseller's, to which he occasion-* 
 ally went for his simple meals. He had a motive in this. He 
 did not desire to be found out. Mr. Dale replied for himself 
 and for Mrs. Fairfield, to the epistles addressed to these two, Ric- 
 cabocca wrote also. Nothing could be more kind than' the replies 
 of both. They came to Leonard in a very dark period in his life, 
 and they strengthened him in the noiseless battle with despair. 
 
 If there be a good in the world that we do without knowing 
 it, without conjecturing the effect it may have upon a human 
 soul, it is when we show kindness to the young in the first bar- 
 ren foot-path up the mountain of life. 
 
 Leonard's face resumed its serenity in his intercourse with his 
 employer ; but he did not recover his boyish ingenuous frank- 
 ness. The undercurrents flowed again pure from the turbid 
 soil and the splintered fragments uptorn from the deep ; but 
 they- were still too strong and too rapid to allow transparency 
 to the surface. And now he stood in the sublime world of books, 
 still and earnest as a seer who invokes the dead. And thus, face 
 to face with knowledge, hourly he discovered how little he knew. 
 Mr. Prickett lent him such works as he selected and asked to 
 take home with him. He spent whole nights in reading ; and no 
 longer desultorily. He read no -more poetry, no more Lives of 
 Poets. He read what^poets must read if they desire to be great 
 Sapere principium ctfons strict reasonings on the human mind r 
 the relations between motive and conduct, thought and action, the 
 grave and solemn truths of the past world; antiquities, history, 
 philosophy. He was taken out of himself. , He was.carried along 
 the ocean of the universe. In that ocean, O seeker, study the 
 law of the tides ; and seeing Chance nowhere Thought presid- 
 ing over all, Fate,that dread phantom, shall vanish from crea- 
 tion, and Providence alone be visible in heaven and on earth !
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 39$ 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THERE was to be a considerable book-sale at a country house 
 one day's journey from London. Mr. Prickett meant to have 
 attended it on his own behalf, and that of several gentlemen who 
 had given him commissions for purchase ; but, on the morning 
 fixed for his departure, he was seized with a severe return of his 
 old foe, the rheumatism. He requested Leonard .to attend in- 
 stead of himself. Leonard went, and was absent for the three 
 days during which the sale lasted. He returned late in the: even-, 
 ing, and went at once to Mr. Prickett's house. The shop was 
 closed ; he knocked at the private entrance ; a strange person 
 opened the door to him, and in reply to his question if Mr. Prick- 
 ett was at home, said with a long and funereal face " Young man, 
 Mr. Prickett, senior, is gone to his long home, but Mr. Richard 
 Prickett will see you." 
 
 At this moment a very grave-looking man, with lank hair, 
 looked forth from the side-door communicating between the shop 
 and the passage, and then stepped forward "Come in, sir,,; ;you 
 are my late uncle's assistant, Mr. Fairfield, I suppose?" 
 
 " Your late uncle ! Heavens, sir, do I understand aright cam 
 Mr. Prickett be dead since I left London? " 
 
 "Died, sir, suddenly last night. Itwasanaffectioriof the heart.* 
 The doctor thinks the rheumatism attacked that organ. He had 
 small time to provide for hi& departure, and his account-books 
 seem in sad disorder ; I am his executor." .-.-,, 
 
 Leonard had now followed the nephew into the shop. There 
 still burned the gas-lamp. The place seemed more dingy and 
 cavernous than before. Death always makes its presence felt 
 in the house it visits. 
 
 Leonard was greatly affected and yet more, perhaps, by the 
 utter want of feeling which the nephew exhibited. In fact, the 
 deceased had not been on friendly terms with this person, his 
 nearest relative and heir-at law, who was also a bookseller, 
 
 "You were engaged but by the week,. I find, young man, on 
 reference to my late uncle's papers. He gave you^raweek a 
 monstrous sum ! I shall not require your services any further. I 
 shall move these books- to my own house. You will be good enough 
 to send me a list of those you bought at the sale, and your account 
 of travelling expenses, etc. What may be due to you shall be 
 sent to your address. Good evening." 
 
 Leonard went home, shocked and saddened at the sudden 
 death of his kind employer. He did not think much of himself 
 that night! but, when he rose the next day, he suddenly felt that
 
 396 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 the world of London lay before him, without a friend, without 
 a calling, without an occupation for bread. 
 
 This time it was no fancied sorrow, no poetic dream disap- 
 pointed. Before him, gaunt and palpable, stood Famine. 
 
 Escape f -yes. Back to the village ; his mother's cottage ; the 
 exile's garden ; the radishes and the fount. Why could .he not 
 escape? Ask why civilization cannot escape its ills, and fly back 
 to the wild and the wigwam. 
 
 Leonard could not have returned to the cottage, even if the 
 Famine that faced had already seized him with her skeleton 
 hand. London releases not so readily her fated step-sons. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ONE day three persons were standing before an old book-stall 
 in a passage leading from Oxford Street into Tottenham Court 
 Road. Two were gentlemen ; the third, of the class and appear- 
 ance of those who more habitually halt at old book-stalls. 
 
 "Look," said one of the gentlemen to the other, "I have dis- 
 covered here what I have searched for in vain the last ten years^- 
 the Horace of 1580, the Horace of the Forty Commentators a 
 perfect treasury of learning, and marked only fourteen shillings ! " 
 
 " Hush, Norreys," said the other, " and observe what is yet more 
 worth your study " ; and he pointed to the third bystander, whose 
 face, sharp and attenuated, was bent with an absorbed, and, as it 
 were, with -a hungering attention over an old wormeaten volume. 
 
 "What 1 is the book; my lord?" whispered Mr. Norreys. 
 '-- His companion smiled, and replied by another question, 
 "What is the man who reads the book?" 
 
 Mr. Norreys moved a few paces, and looked over the student's 
 shoulder. " Preston's translation of BOETHIUS. The Consolations 
 of Philosophy" he said, coming back to his friend. 
 
 "He looks as if he wanted all the consolations Philosophy 
 can give him, poor boy." 
 
 At this moment a fourth passenger paused at the book-stall, 
 and, recognizing the pale student, placed his hand on his shoulder, 
 and said, "Aha, young sir, we meet again. So poor Prickett is 
 dead. But you are still haunted by associations. Books books 
 magnets to which all iron minds move insensibly. What is this ? 
 BOETHIUS! Ah, a book written in prison, but a little time before 
 the advent of the only philosopher who solves to the simplest 
 understanding every mystery of life^" 
 
 "And that philosopher?" 
 
 "Is Death f" saiid Mr. Burl ey. " How can you be dull enough
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 597 
 
 to ask? Poor Boethius, rich, nobly born, a consul, his sons 
 consuls the world one smile to the Last Philosopher of Rome. 
 Then suddenly, against this type of the old world's departing 
 WISDOM, stands frowning the new world's grim genius, FORCE 
 Theodoric the Ostrogoth condemning Boethius the Schoolman ; 
 and Boethius, in his Pavian dungeon, holding a dialogue with the 
 shade of Athenian Philosophy. It is the finest picture upon which 
 lingers the glimmering of the Western golden day, before night 
 rushes over time." 
 
 "And," said Mr. Norreys, abruptly, "Boethius comes back to 
 us with the faint gleam of returning light, translated by Alfred 
 the Great. And, again, as the sun of knowledge bursts forth in 
 all its splendor, by Queen Elizabeth. Boethius influences us as 
 we stand in this passage ; and that is the best of all 'the consola- 
 tions of Philosophy eh, Mr. Burley?" 
 
 Mr. Burley turned and bowed. 
 
 The twomen lookedateachother; youcouldnotseeagreatercon- 
 trast. Mr. Burley, in his gay green dress already shabby and soiled, 
 with a rent in theskirts, and hisfacespeakingof habitual night-cups. 
 Mr. Norreys, neat and somewhat precise irt dress, with firm, lean 
 figure, and quiet, collected, vigorous energy in his eye and aspect. 
 
 "If," replied Mr. Burley, " a poor devil like me may argue with 
 a gentleman who may command his own price with the book- 
 sellers, I should say it is no consolation at all, Mr. Norreys. 
 And I should like to see any man of sense accept the condition 
 of Boethius in his prison, with some strangler or headsman wait- 
 ing behind the door, upon the promised proviso that he should 
 be translated, centuries afterward, by Kings and Queens, and 
 help indirectly to influence the minds of Northern barbarians, 
 babbling about him in an alley, jostled by passers-by who never 
 heard the name of Boethius, and who don't care a fig for phil- 
 osophy. Your servant, sir young man come, and talk." 
 
 Burley hooked his arm within Leonard's, and led the boy 
 passively away. 
 
 " That is a clever man," said Harley L'Estrange. "But I ana 
 sorry to see yon young student, with his bright, earnest eyes, and 
 his lip that has the quiver of passion and enthusiasm, leaning on 
 the arm of a guide who seems disenchanted of all that gives pur- 
 pose to learning, and links philosophy with Use to the world. 
 Who and what is this clever man whom you call Burley ?" 
 
 " A man who might have been famous, if he had condescended 
 to be respectable ! The boy listening to us both so attentively 
 interested me too I should like to have the making of him. But 
 I must buy this Horace."
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 The shopman, lurking within his hole like a spider for flies, 
 was now called out. And when Mr. Norreys had bought the 
 Horace, and given an address where to send it, Harley asked the 
 shopman if he knew the youngmanwhohadbeenreadingBoethius. 
 
 "Only by sight. He has come here every day the last week, 
 and spends hours at the stall. When once he fastens on a book, 
 he reads it throu.gh." 
 
 " And never buys ?" said Mr. Norreys. 
 
 "Sir," said the shopman, with a good-natured smile, "they 
 \yho buy seldom tead. The poor boy pays me twopence a day 
 to read as long as he pleases. I would not take it, but he is proud." 
 .;/'! have known rnen amass great learning in that way," said 
 Mr.- Norreys. " Yes, I should like to have that boy in my hands. 
 And now, my lord, I am at -your service, and we will go to the 
 studio of your artist." 
 
 The two gentleman walked on toward one of the streets out 
 of Fitzroy Square,? f;i ;;O:H'V 
 
 1ft a few minutes more Harley L'Estrange was in his element, 
 seated carelessly on a deal table, smoking his cigar, and discuss- 
 .ing art with the gusto of a man who honestly loved, and the 
 taste of a man who thoroughly understood it. The young artist, 
 in his dressing r robe, adding slow touch upon touch, paused often 
 to listen the better. : And Henry Norreys, enjoying a brief res- 
 pite, from a, life of great labor, was gladly reminded of idle hours 
 under rosy skies ; for these three men had formed their friend- 
 ship in Italy, w : here the bands of friendship are woven by the hands 
 of the Graces, 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 
 
 LEONARD and Mr. Burley walked on into the suburbs round 
 the north road from London, and Mr. Burley offered to find 
 literary employment for Leonard an offer eagerly accepted. 
 
 Then they went into a public-house by the wayside. Burley 
 demanded a private room, called for pen, ink, and paper ; and 
 placing these implements before Leonard, said, "Write what 
 you please in prose, five sheets of letter-paper, twenty-two-lines 
 to a page neither more nor less. * 
 
 "I cannot write so." 
 
 " Tut, 'tis for bread." 
 
 The boy's face crimsoned. 
 
 " I must forget that," said he. 
 
 "There is:an arbor in the garden, under a weeping ash," re- 
 turned Burley. "Go there, and fancy yourself in Arcadia." 
 
 Leonard was too pleased to obey. He found out the little
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 399 
 
 arbor at one end of a deserted bowling-green. All was still 
 the 'hedge-trow shut out the sight of the inn. ; The sun lay warm 
 on the grass; and glinted pleasantly through the leaves of the ash. 
 And Leonard there wrote the first essay from his hand as Author 
 by profession. What was it that he wrote? His dreamy im- 
 pressions of London? an anathema on its streets, and its hearts 
 of stone? murmurs against poverty ? dark elegies on fate? 
 
 Oh no ! little knowest thou true genius, if thou askest such 
 questions, or thinkest that there, under the weeping ash, the 
 taskwork for bread was. remembered; or that the sunbeam glinted 
 but over the practical world, which, vulgar and sordid, iay 
 around. Leonard wrote a fairy taleone of the loveliest you 
 can conceive, with a delicate touch of playful humor in a style 
 all flowered over with happy fancies. He smiled as he wrote, the 
 last word he was happy. In rather more than hour Mr. Burley 
 came to him, and found him with that smile on his lips; 
 
 Mr. Burley had a glass of brandy-and-water in his hand ; it was 
 his third. He too smiled he too looked happy. He read the 
 paper aloud, and well. He was very complimentary. " You will 
 do ! " said he, clapping Leonard on the back. " Perhaps some 
 day you will catch my one-eyed perch." Then he folded up the 
 MS., scribbled off a note, put the. whole in one envelope and 
 they returned to London: ; 
 
 Mr. Burley disappeared within a dingy office near Fleet Street, 
 on which was inscribed " Office of the Beehive" and^oon came 
 forth with a golden sovereign in his hand Leonard's first-fruits. 
 Leonard thought Peru lay before him. He accompanied Mr. 
 Burtey to that gentleman's -lodging in Maida Hill. The walk 
 had been very long; Leonard wa's not fatigued. He listened 
 with a livelier attention than before to Burley's talk. And when 
 they reached the apartments of the latter, and Mr. Burley sent to 
 the cookshop, and their joint supper was taken out of the golden 
 sovereign, Leonard felt proud, and for the first time for weeks he 
 laughed the heart's laugh. The two writers grew more and 
 more intimate and cordial. And there was a vast deal in Burley 
 by which any young man might be made the wiser. There was 
 no apparent evidence of poverty in the apartments clean, new, 
 well-furnished; but all things in the most horrible litter all 
 speaking of the huge literary sloven. 
 
 For several days Leonard almost lived in those rooms. He 
 wrote continuously save when Burley's conversation fascinated 
 him into idleness. Nay, it was not idleness his knowledge 
 grew larger as he listened; but the cynicism of the talker began 
 slowly to work its way. That cynicism in which there was no
 
 400 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 faith, no hope, no vivifying breath from Glory from Religion. 
 The cynicism of the Epicurean, more degraded in his sty than 
 ever was Diogenes in his tub; and yet presented with such ase 
 and such eloquence, with such art and such mirth, so adorned 
 with illustration and anecdote, so unconscious of debasement ! 
 Strange and dread philosophy that made it a maxim to 
 squander the gifts of mind on the mere care for matter, and fit the 
 soul to live but as from day to day, with its scornful cry," A fig for 
 immortality and laurels !" An author for bread! Oh, miserable 
 calling ! was there something grand and holy, after all, even in 
 Chatterton's despair ? 
 
 TRAPTFR VT 
 ^.rlAr 1 Eiis. VI. 
 
 THE villanous Beehive ! Bread was worked out of it, certainly; 
 but fame, but hope for the future certainly not. Milton's Pafa- 
 dise Lost would have perished without a sound, had it appeared 
 in the Beehive. 
 
 Fine things were there in a fragmentary crude state, composed 
 by Burley himself. At the end of a week they were dead and for- 
 gotten never read by one man of education and taste; taken sim- 
 ultaneously and indifferently with shallow politics and wretched 
 essaysy yet selling, perhaps, twentyor thirty thousand copies an 
 immense sale and nothing gotout of them but bread and brandy! 
 
 " What more would you have ? " cried John Burley. " Did not 
 stern old Sam Johnson say he could never write but from want ?" 
 
 " He-might say it, ?> answered Leonard; "but he never meant 
 posterity to believe ihim. And he would have died of want, I 
 suspect, rather than have written Rasselas for the Beehive ! Want 
 is a grand thing," continued the boy, thoughtfully, " a parent of 
 grand things. Necessity is strong, and should give us its own 
 strength; but Want should shatter asunder with its very writh- 
 ings the walls of our prison-house, and not sit contented with the 
 allowance the jail gives us in exchange for our work." 
 
 " There is no prison-house to a man who calls upon Bacchus 
 stay-^-I will translate to you Schiller's Dithyramb 'Then see I 
 Bacchus then up come Cflpid and Phoebus, and all the Celes- 
 tials are filling my dwelling/.?' ' 
 
 Breaking into* impromptu careless rhymes, Burley threw off 
 a rude but spirited translation of that divine lyric. 
 
 " O materialist ! "cried the boy, with his bright eyes suffused. 
 "Schiller calls on the gods to take him to their heaven with 
 them ; and you would debase the gods to a gin-palace." 
 
 " Ho, ho ! " cried Burley, with his giant laugh. " Drink, and 
 you will understand the Dithyramb."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 4ot 
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SUDDENLY one morning, as Leonard sat with Burley, a fashion- 
 able cabriolet, with a very handsome horse, stopped at the door 
 a loud knock a quick step oh the stairs, and Randal Leslie 
 entered. Leonard recognized him, and started. Randal glanced 
 at him in surprise, and then, with a tact that showed he had 
 already learned to profit by London life, after shaking hands 
 with Burley, approached, and said, with some successful attempt 
 at ease, " Unless I am not mistaken, sir, we have met before. If 
 you remember me, I hope al! boyish quarrels are forgotten ? " 
 
 Leonard bowed, and his heart was still good enough to be 
 softened. 
 
 " Where could you two ever have met ? " asked Burley. 
 
 " In a village green, and in single combat," answered Randal, 
 smiling : and then told the story of trr Battle of the Stocks, with 
 a well-bred jest on himself. Burley laughed at the story. "But," 
 said Tie, when this laugh was over, " my young friend had better 
 have remained guardian of the village stocks, than come to Lon- 
 don in search of such fortune as lies at the bottom of an ink-horn." 
 
 " Ah," said Randal,, with the secret contempt which men 
 elaborately cultivated are apt to feel for those who seek to edu- 
 cate themselves " ah, you make literature your calling, sir ? At 
 what school, did you conceive a taste for letters not very com- 
 mon at our great public schools." 
 
 " Iamatschoolnq\vforthefirsttime,"answered Leonard, drily. 
 
 " Experience is the best school-mistress, "said Burley ; "and 
 that was the maxim of Goethe, who had book-learning enough 
 in all conscience." 
 
 Randal slightly shrugged his shoulders, and, without wasting 
 another thought on Leonard, peasant-born and self-taught, took 
 his seat, and began to talk to Burley upon a political question, 
 which made tire then war-cry between the two great Parlia- 
 mentary parties. It was a subject in which Burley showed much 
 general knowledge : and Randal, seeming to differ from him, 
 drew forth alike his information and his argumentative powers. 
 The conversation lasted more than an hour. 
 
 " I can't quite agree with you," said Randal, taking his leave ; 
 "but you must allow me to call again will the same hour to- 
 rn efrow suit you ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Burley. 
 
 Away went the young man in his cabriolet. Leonard watched 
 him from the window. 
 
 For five days, consecutively, did Randal call and discuss the
 
 :402 .... MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 question in all its bearings ; and Burley, after the second day, 
 got interested in the matter, looked up his authorities refreshed 
 his memory and even spent an hour or two, in the Library of 
 the British Museum. 
 
 By the fifth day, Burley had really exhausted all that could 
 well be said on his side of the question. 
 
 Leonard, during these colloquies, had sat apart seemingly 
 absorbed in reading, and secretly stung by Randal's disregard 
 : of his presence. For indeed that young, man, in, his superb self- 
 esteem, and in the absorption of his ambitious projects, scarc.e 
 felt even curiosity as to Leonard's rise above his earlier station, 
 and looked on him as a mere journeyman of Burley's. But the 
 self-taught are keen and quick observers. And Leonard had re- 
 marked that Randal seemed more as one playing a part for some 
 private purpose, than arguing in earnest ; and that, when he rose 
 and said, " Mr. Burley, you have convinced me," it was not with 
 the modesty of a sincere reasoner, but the triumph of one who 
 has gained his end. But so struck, meanwhile, was our unheeded 
 and silent listener with Burley'spower of generalization, and the 
 ' wide, surface over which his information extended, that when 
 Randal left the room the boy looked at the slovenly, purposeless 
 man, and said aloud " True ; knowledge is not power," 
 
 "Certainly not," said Burley, drily "the weakest thing in 
 the world." i&:fjy{ TO") 
 
 " Knowledge is power," muttered Randal Leslie, as, with a 
 smile on his. lip, he drove from the door. 
 
 Not many days after this last interview .there appeared a short 
 pamphlet; anonymous, but one which made a great impression on 
 the town. It was on the subject discussed between Randal and 
 Burley. It was quoted at great length in the newspapers. And 
 $urley started to his feet one morning and exclaimed, " My own 
 thoughts! my very words! Who the devil is thispamphleteer?" 
 
 Leonard took the newspaper from Burley's hand. The most 
 flattering encomiums preceded the extracts, and the extracts 
 were as stereotypes of Burley's talk. 
 
 " Can you doubt the author?" cried Leonard, in deep disgust 
 and ingenious scorn. " The young man who came to steal your 
 brains and turn your knowledge " 
 
 " Into power," interrupted Burley, with alaugh, but it was one of 
 pain. "Well,thiswasverymean; I shall tell himso when becomes." 
 
 "He will come no more," said Leonard. Nor did Randal come 
 again. But he sent Mr- Burley a copy of the pamphlet with a po- 
 lite note, saying, with candid but careless acknowledgment, that 
 "he had profited much by Mr. Burley's hints and remarks."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 403 
 
 And now it was in all the papers, that the pamphlet which had 
 made so great a noise was by a very young man, Mr. Audley 
 Egerton's relation. .And high hopes were expressed respecting 
 the future career of Mr. Randal Leslie. 
 
 Burley slill attempted to laugh, and still his pain was visible. 
 Leonard most cordially despised and hated Randal Leslie, and 
 his heart moved to Burley with noble but perilous compassion. 
 In his desire to soothe and comfort the man whom he deemed 
 cheated out of fame, he forgot the caution he had hitherto im- 
 posed on himself, and yielded more and more to the charm of 
 that wasted intellect. He accompanied Burley now to the haunts 
 to which his friend went to spend his evenings; and more and 
 more though gradually and with many a, recoil and self-rebuke 
 there crept over him the cynic's contempt for glory, and miser- 
 able philosophy of debased content. 
 
 , Randal had risen into grave repute upon the strength of Bur- 
 ley's knowledge. But, had Burley written the pamphlet, would 
 the same repute have attended him 1 Certainly not. Randal Les- 
 lie brought to that knowledge qualities all his own a style, sim- 
 ple, strong, and logical; a certain tone of good society, and allu- 
 sions to men and to parties that showed his connection with a cab- 
 inet minister, and proved that he had profited no less by Eger- 
 ton's. talk than Burley's. ; 
 
 Had Burley written the pamphlet, it would have shown more 
 genius, it would have had humor and wit, but have been so full of 
 whims and quips, sins against taste, and defects in earnestness, 
 that it would have failed to create any curious sensation.. Here, 
 then, there was something else besides knowledge, by which 
 knowledge became power. Knowledge must not smell of the 
 brandy -bottle. 
 
 Randal Leslie might be mean in his plagiarism, but he turned 
 the useless into use. And so far he was original. 
 
 But one's admiration, after all, rests where Leonard's rested 
 with the poor, riotous, lawless, big, fallen man. 
 
 Burley took himself off to the Brent,and.fished again forthe one- 
 eyed perch. Leonard accompanied him. His feelings were indeed 
 different from what they had been when he had reclined under 
 the old tree, and talked with Helen of the future. But it was al- 
 most pathetic to see how Burley's nature seemed to alter, as he 
 strayed along the banks of the rivulet, and discoursed of his 
 own boyhood. The man then seemed restored to something of -the 
 innocence of the child, He cared, in truth, little for the perch, 
 which continued intractable, but he enjoyed the air and the sky, 
 the rustling grass and the murmuring waters. These excursions
 
 404 MY NOVEL ; OK, 
 
 to the haunts of youth seemed to rebaptize him, and then his elo- 
 quence took a pastoral character, and Isaac Walton himself would 
 have loved to hear him. But as he got back into the smoke of the 
 metropolis, and the gas-lamps made him forget the ruddy sunset 
 and the soft evening star, the gross habits resumed their sway, and 
 on he went with his swaggering recklessstep to the orgies in which 
 his abused intellect flamed forth, and then sank into the socket 
 quenched and rayless. 
 
 ^ 
 , CH API ER VIII. 
 
 HELEN was seized with profound and anxious sadness. Leon- 
 ard had been three or four times to see her, and each time she 
 saw a change : in him that excited all her fears He seemed, it is 
 true, more shrewd, more worldly-wise, more fitted, it might be, 
 for coarse daily life; but, on the other hand, the freshness and 
 glory of his youth were waning slowly. His aspirations dropped 
 earthward. He had not mastered the Practical, and moulded its 
 uses with the strong hand of the Spiritual Architect, of the Idea 
 Builder; the Practical was overpowering himself. She grew pale 
 when he talked of Burley, and shuddered, poor little Helen! 
 when she found he was daily and almost nightly in a companion- 
 ship which, with her native honest prudence, she saw so unsuited 
 to strengthen him in his struggles, and aid him against tempta- 
 tion. She almost groaned when, pressing him as to his pecuniary 
 means, she found his old terror of debt seemed fading away, 
 and the solid 'healthful principles he had taken from his village 
 were loosening fast. Under all, it is true, there was what a wiser 
 and older person than Helen would have hailed as the redeeming 
 promise. But that something w-as^r/V/ a sublime grief in his own 
 sense of falling in his own impotence against the Fate he hadpro- 
 VOke'd and coveted. The sublimity of that grief Helen could not 
 detect; she saw only that it way grief, and she grieved with it, let- 
 ting it excuse every fault making her more anxious to comfort, 
 in order that she might save. Even from the first, when Leonard 
 ha<} exclaimed, "Ah, Helen, why did you ever leave me ?" she 
 had revolved the idea of that return to him ; and when in the 
 boy's last visit he told her that Burley, persecuted by duns, was 
 about to fly from his present lodgings, and take his abode with 
 Leonard in the room she had left vacant, all doubt was over. She 
 resolved to sacrifice the safety and shelter of the home assured 
 her. She resolved to come back and share Leonard's penury and 
 struggles, and save the Old room, wherein she had prayed forhim, 
 from the tempter's dangerous presence. Should she burden him? 
 No ; she had assisted her father by many little female arts in
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 405 
 
 needle and fancy work. She had improved herself in these dur- 
 ing her sojourn with Miss Starke. She could bring her share to 
 the common stock. Possessed with this idea, she determined to 
 realize it before the day on which Leonard had told her Burley 
 was to move his quarters. Accordingly she rose very early one 
 morning ; she wrote a pretty and grateful note to Miss Starke, 
 who was fast asleep, left it on the table, and, before any one was 
 astir, stole from the house, her little bundle on her arm. She lin- 
 gered an instant at the garden-gate, with a remorseful sentiment 
 a feeling that she had ill-repaid the cold and prim protection 
 that Miss Starke had shown her. But sisterly love: carried all be- 
 fore it. : She closed the gate with a sigh, and went on. 
 
 She arrived at the lodging-house before Leonard was up, took 
 possession of her old chamber, and presenting herself to Leonard, 
 as he was about to go forth, said (story-teller that she was), " I 
 am sent away, brother, and I have. come to you to take care of me. 
 Do not let us part again. But you must be very cheerful and very 
 happy, or I shall think that. I am sadly in your way." 
 
 Leonard at first did look cheerful, and even happy; but thea-he 
 thought of Burley, and then of hi&:ow# means of supporting 
 Helen, and was embarrassed, and began questioning her as to the 
 possibility of reconciliation with Miss Starke. And Helen said 
 gravely, "Impossible do "not ask it, and do not go near her." 
 
 Then Leonard thought she hadbeen humbled and insulted, and 
 remembered that she was a- gentleman's child, and felt for her 
 wounded pride he was so proud himself. Yet still he was em- 
 barrassed. 
 
 "Shall I keep the purse again, Leonard?" said Helen, >coax- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Alas ! " replied Leonard, the purse -is empty." 
 
 " That is very naughty in the purse," said Helen, "since you 
 put so much into it." 
 
 "I?" 
 Did not you say that you made, at least, a guinea a, week?" 
 
 " Yes ; but Burley takes the money ; and then, poor fellow ! as 
 I owe all to him, I have not the heart to prevent him spending it 
 as he likes." 
 
 "Please, I wish you could settle the month's rent," said the 
 landlady, suddenly showing herself. She said it civilly, but with 
 firmness. 
 
 Leonard colored. "It shall be paid to-day." 
 
 Then he pressed his hat on his head, and putting Helen gently 
 aside, went forth. 
 
 " Speak to me in future, kind Mrs. Smedley," said Helen, with
 
 406 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 the air of a housewife. " He is always in study, and must not be 
 disturbed." 
 
 The landlady a good woman, though she liked her rent 
 smiled benignly. She was fond of Helen, whom she had known 
 of old. 
 
 " I am so glad you are come back; and perhaps now the young 
 man will not keep such late hours. I meant to give him warning, 
 but" 
 
 " But he will be a great man one of these days, and you must 
 bear with him now." And Helen kissed Mrs. Smedley, and 
 sent her away half inclined to cry. 
 
 Then Helen busied herself in the rooms. She found her 
 father's box, which had been duly forwarded. She re-examined 
 its contents, and wept, as she touched each humble and pious 
 relic. But her father's memory itself thus seemed to give this 
 home a sanction which the former had not ; and she rose quietly, 
 and began mechanically to put things in order, sighing, as she 
 saw all so neglected, till she came to the rose-tree, and that alone 
 showed heed and care. " Dear Leonard ! " she murmured, and 
 the smile resettled ori her lips. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 NOTHING, perhaps, could have severed Leonard from Burley 
 but Helen's return to his care. It was impossible for him, even 
 had there been another room in the house vacant (which there 
 was not), to install this noisy, riotous son of the Muse by Bac- 
 chus, talking at random, and smelling of spirits, in the same 
 dwelling with an innocent, delicate, timid, female child. And 
 Leonard could not leave her alone all the twenty-four hours. 
 She' restored a home to him, and imposed its duties. He there- 
 fore told Mr. Burley that in future he should write and study in 
 his own room, and hinted, with many a blush, and as delicate- 
 ly a$ he could, that it seemed to him that whatever he obtained 
 from his pen ought to be halved with Burley, to whose interest 
 he owed the employment, and from whose books or whose 
 knowledge he took what helped to maintain it ; but that the 
 other half, if his, he could no longer afford to spend upon feasts 
 or libations. He had another life to provide for. 
 
 Burley pooh-poohed the notion of taking half his coadjutor's 
 earning with much grandeur, but spoke very fretfully of Leon- 
 ard's sober appropriation of the other half ; and, though a good- 
 .natured, warm-hearted man, felt extremely indignant at the sud- 
 den interposition of poor Helen. However, Leonard was firm ;
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 407. 
 
 and then Burley grew sullen, and so they parted. But the rent 
 was still to be paid. How ? Leonard for the first time thought 
 of the pawnbroker. He had clothes to spare, and Riccabocca's 
 watch. No; that last he shrank from applying to such base uses. 
 
 He : went home at noon, and met Helen at the street-door. She, 
 too, had been out, and her soft cheek was rosy-red with unwonted 
 exercise and the sense of joy. She had still preserved the few- 
 gold pieces which Leonard had taken back to her on his first visit 
 to Miss Starke's. She had now gone out and bought wools and 
 implements for work ; and meanwhile she had paid the rent. . 
 
 Leonard did not object to the work, but he blushed deeply 
 when he knew about the rent, and was very angry. He paid 
 back to her that night what she had advanced ; and Helen 
 wept silently at his pride, and wept more when she saw the 
 next day a woeful hiatus in his wardrobe. 
 
 But Leonard now worked at home, and worked resolutely ; 
 and Helen sat by his side, working too ; so that next day, and 
 the next, slipped peacefully away, and in the evening of the 
 sec'ond he asked her to walk out in the fields. She. sprang up 
 joyously at the invitation, when bang went the door, and in 
 reeled John Burley drunk ; and so drunk ! 
 
 
 
 TRAPTTn? v 
 CrlAr 1 H,Js A. 
 
 
 
 AND with Burley there reeled in' another man^ a friend of 
 his a man who had been a wealthy trader and once well to. 
 do, tout who, unluckily, had" literary tastes, and was fond of 
 hearing Burley talk. So, since he had known the wit, his busi- 
 ness had fallen from him, and he had passed through the Bank- 
 rupt Court. A very shabby-looking dog he was, indeed, and 
 his hose was redder than Burley's. 
 
 John made a drunken dash at poor Helen. "So you are the 
 Pentheus in petticoats who defies Bacchus," cried he ; and 
 therewith he roared out a verse from Euripides. Helen ran 
 away, and Leonard interposed. 
 
 " For shame, Burley !" 
 
 " He's drunk," said Mr. Douce, the bankrupt trader "very 
 drunk don't mind him. I say, sir, I hope we don't intrude. 
 Sit Still, Burley, sit still, and talk, do that's a good man. 
 You should hear him ta ta talk, sir." 
 
 Leonard meanwhile had got Helen out of the room, into her 
 own, and begged her not to be alarmed, and keep the door 
 locked. He then returned to Burley, who had seated himself 
 on the bed, trying wondrous hard to keep himself upright;
 
 408 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 while Mr. Douce was striving to light a short pipe that he car- 
 ried in his button-hole without having filled it and, natur- 
 ally failing in that attempt, was-now beginning to weep. 
 
 Leonard was deeply shocked and revolted for Helen's sake ; 
 but it was hopeless to make Burley listen to reason. And how 
 could the boy turn out of his room the man to whom he was 
 under obligations ? 
 
 Meanwhile there smote upon Helen's shrinking ears loud jar- 
 ring talk and maudlin laughter, and cracked attempts r at jovial 
 songs. Then she heard Mrs. Smedley in Leonard's room, re- 
 monstrating ; and Burley's laugh was louder than before, and 
 Mrs. Smedley, who was a weak woman, evidently got frightened, 
 and was heard in precipitate retreat. Long and loud talk re- 
 commenced, Burley's great voice predominant, Mr. Douce 
 chiming in with hiccupy broken treble. Hour after hour this 
 lasted, for want of the drink that would have brought it to a pre- 
 mature close. And Burley gradually began to talk himself $ome- 
 what sober. Then, Mr. Douce was heard descending the stairs, 
 and silence followed. At dawn, Leonard: knocked at Helen's 
 door. She opened it at once, for she had not gone to bed. 
 
 " Helen," said he, very sadly, "you cannot continue here. I 
 must find out some proper home for you. This man has served 
 me when all London was friendless, and he tells me that he has 
 nowhere else to go that the bailiffs are after him. He has 
 now fallen asleep. I will go and find you some lodging close 
 at hand for I cannot expel him who has protected me ; and 
 yet you cannot be under the same roof with him. My own good 
 angel, I must lose you." : 
 
 He did not wait for her answer, but hurried down the stairs. 
 
 The morning looked through the shutterless panes in Leon- 
 ard's garret, and the birds began to: chirp from the elm-tree, 
 when Burley rose and shook himself, and stared round. He 
 could .not quite make out where he was. He got hold of the 
 water-jug, which he emptied at three draughts, and felt greatly 
 refreshed. He then began to reconnoitre the chamber looked 
 at Leonard's MSS. peeped into the drawers wondered where 
 the devil Leonard himself had gone to and finally amused him- 
 self by throwing down the fire-irons, ringing the bell, and making 
 all the noise he could, in the hopes of attracting the attention of 
 somebody or other, and procuring himself his morning dram. 
 
 In the midst of this charivari the door opened softly, but as 
 if with a resolute hand, and the small, quiet form of Helen stood 
 before the threshold. Burley turned round, and the two looked 
 at sach other for ; some moments with silent scrutiny.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 409 
 
 BURLEY (composing his features into their most friendly ex- 
 pression). Come hither, my dear. So you arc the little girl whom 
 I saw with Leonard on the banks of- the Brent, and you have come 
 back to live with him and I have come to live with him too. 
 You shall be our little housekeeper, and I will tell you the story 
 of Prince Prettyman, and a great many others not to be found 
 in Mother Goose. Meanwhile, my dear little girl, here's six- 
 pence just run out and change this for its worth in rum. 
 
 HELEN (coming slowly up to Mr. Burley, and stiR gazing 
 earnestly into his face) Ah, sir, Leonard says you have a kind 
 heart, and that you have served him he cannot ask you to 
 leave the house ; and so I, who have never served him, am to 
 go hence and live alone. 
 
 BURLEY (moved). You go, my little lady ? and why ? Can 
 we not all live together ? 
 
 HELEN. No, sir. I left everything to come to Leonard, for 
 we had met first at my father's grave. But you rob me of him, 
 and I have no other friend on earth. 
 
 BURLEY (discomposed). Explain yourself. Why must you 
 leave him because I come ? 
 
 Helen looks at Mr. Burley again, long and wistfully, but 
 makes no answer. 
 
 BURLEY (with a gulp). Is it because he thinks I am not fit 
 company for you ? 
 
 Helen bowed her head. 
 
 Burley winced,and after a moment's pause, said " He is right." 
 
 HELEN (obeying the impulse at her heart, springs forward and 
 takes Burley's hand). "Ah, sir," she cried, "before he knew 
 you, he was so different : then he was cheerful then, even when 
 his first disappointment came, I grieved and wept ; but I felt 
 he 'would conquer still for his heart was so good and pure. 
 Oh, sir, don't think I reproach you ; but what is to become of 
 him if if No, it is not for myself I speak. I know that if I 
 was here, that if he had me to care for, he would come home 
 early and work patiently and and that I might save him. 
 But now when I am gone, and you live with him you to whom 
 he is grateful, you whom he would follow against his own con- 
 science (you must see that, sir), what is to become of him ? " 
 
 Helen's voice died in sobs. 
 
 Burley took three or four long strides through the room; 
 he was greatly agitated. " I am a demon," he murmured. " I 
 never saw it before but it is true I should be this boy's ruin." 
 Tears stood in his eyes, and he paused abruptly, made. a clutch 
 at his hat, and turned to the door.
 
 410 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 Helen stopped the way, and taking him gently by the arm, 
 said "Oh, sir, forgive me^-I have, pained you ;" and looked up 
 at him with a compassionate expression, that indeed made. the 
 child's sweet face as that of an angel. 
 
 Burley bent down as if to kiss her, and then drew back- per- 
 haps with a sentiment that his lips were not worthy to touch 
 that innocent brow. 
 
 " If I had had asister a child like you, little one," he muttered, 
 " perhaps Itoo might have been saved in time. Now " 
 
 " Ah, now you may stay, sir ; I don't fear you anymore." 
 
 " No, no ; you would fear me again ere night-time, and I might 
 not be always, in the right mood to listen to a voice like yours, 
 child. Your Leonard has a noble heart and rare gifts. He should 
 rise yet, and he shall. I will not drag him into the. jnire. Good- 
 bye you will see me no more." He broke from Helen, cleared 
 the stairs with a bound, and was out of the house. 
 
 When Leonard returned, he was surprised to hear his unwel- 
 come guest was gone but Helen did .not venture to tell him of 
 her interposition. She knew instinctively how such officious- 
 ness would mortify and offend the pride of man but she never 
 again spoke harshly of poor Burley. .Leonard supposed tha,t he 
 should either see or hear of the humorist in the course ofthe day. 
 Finding he did not, he went in search of him at his old haunts ; 
 but no trace. He inquired at the Beehive if they knew there of 
 his new address, but no tidings of Burley could be obtained. 
 
 As :he came home disappointed and anxious, for he felt 
 uneasy as to the disappearance of hiswild friend, Mrs. Stnedley 
 met him at the door. 
 
 " Please, sir, suit yourself with another lodging," said she ; " I 
 can have no such singings and shoutings going on in my house. 
 And that poor little girl, too! you should beashamedof yourself." 
 
 Leonard frowned, and passed by. 
 
 . 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 MEANWHILE, on leaving Helen, Burley strode on ; and, as if 
 by some better instinct, for he. was unconscious of his owp steps, 
 he took the way toward the still green haunts of his youth. 
 When he paused at length, he was already .before the door of 
 a rural cottage, standing alone in the midst of .fields, with a lit- 
 tle farm-yard at the back ; and far through the trees in front 
 wasicaught a glimpse of the winding Brent. 
 
 With this cottage Burley was familiar ; it was inhabited, by a 
 good old couple who had known, him from a boy. There he habit-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 411 
 
 ually left his rods and fishing-tackle ; there, for intervals in>his 
 turbid, riotous life, he had sojourned for two or three days to- 
 gether fancyingtlie first day that the country was a heaven, and 
 convinced before. the third that it was a. purgatory. 
 
 An old woman, of neat and tidy exterior,came forth to greet him. 
 
 " Ah, Master John," said she, clasping his nerveless hand 
 " well, the fields be pleasant now I hope you are come to stay 
 a bit ? Do ; it will freshen you ; you lose all the fine color you 
 had once, in Lunnon town." 
 
 "I will stay with you, my kind friend," said Burley, with tin- 
 usual meekness "I can have the old room, then ?." 
 
 " Oh, yes, come and look at it. I never let it now to anyone 
 but you never have let it since that dear beautiful lady with 
 the angel's face went away. Poor thing, what could have 
 become of her?" 
 
 Thus speaking, while Burley listened not, the old woman drew 
 him within the cottage, and led him up the stairs into a room that 
 might have well become a better house, for it was furnished with 
 taste, and even elegance. A small cabinet piano-forte stood oppo- 
 site the fire-place,and the windowlooked upon pleasant meads and 
 tangled hedge-rows, and the narrow winding of the blue rivulet. 
 Burleysat down exhausted, and gazed wistfully from the casement. 
 
 " You have not breakfasted? " said the hostess, anxiously. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Well, the eggs are fresh laid, and you would like a rasher of 
 bacon, Master John ? And if you will have brandy in your 
 tea, I have some that you left long ago in your own: bottle." 
 
 Burley shook his head. " No brandy, Mrs. Goodyer ; only 
 fresh milk. I will see whether I can yet coax Nature." 
 
 Mrs. Goodyer did not know vyhat was meant by coaxing 
 Nature, but she said, "Pray do, Master John," and. vanished. 
 
 That day Burley went out with his rod, and he fished hard 
 for the one-eyed perch ; but in vain. Then he roved along the 
 stream with his hands in his pockets, whistling. He returned 
 to the cottage at sunset, partook of the fare provided for him, 
 abstained from the brandy, and felt dreadfully low. He called 
 for pen, ink, and paper, and sought to write, but could not 
 achieve two lines. He summoned Mrs. Goodyer. " Tell your 
 husband to come and sit and talk." 
 
 Up came old Jacob Goodyer, and the. great wit bade him tell 
 him all the news of the village. Jacob obeyed -willingly, and 
 Burley at last felt asleep. The, next day it was much the sarne, 
 only at dinner he had up the brandy-bottle, and finished it ; 
 and he did not have up Jacob, but he contrived to write.
 
 412 MY NOVEL ; OR 
 
 The third day it rained incessantly. " Have you no books, 
 Mrs. Goodyer ?" asked poor John Burley. 
 
 " Oh, yes, some that the dear lady left behind her ; and per- 
 haps you would like to look at some papers in her own writing?" 
 
 "Not, not the papers all women scribble, and all scribble 
 the same things. Get me the books." 
 
 The books were brought up poetry and essays John knew 
 them by heart. He looked out on the rain, and at evening the 
 rain had ceased. He rushed to his hat, and fled. 
 
 " Nature, Nature ! " he exclaimed, when he was out in the 
 air and hurrying by the dripping hedge-rows, " you are not to be 
 coaxed by me ! 1 have jilted you shamefully, I own it '; you are 
 a female, and unforgiving. I don't complain. You may be very 
 pretty, but you are the stupidest and most tiresohie companion 
 that ever I met with. Thank heaven, I am not married to you !" 
 
 Thus John Burley made his way into town, and paused at the 
 first public-house. Out of that house he came with a jovial air, 
 and on he strode toward the heart of London. Now he is in 
 Leicester Square, and he gazes on the foreigners who stalk that 
 region, and hums a tune ; and now from yonder alley two forms 
 emerge, and dog his careless footsteps; now through the maze 
 of passages toward St. Martin's he threads his path, and antici- 
 pating an orgy as he nears his favorite haunts, jingles the silver 
 in his pockets ; and now the two forms are at his heels. 
 
 " Hail to thee, O Freedom ! " muttered John Burley, " thy 
 dwelling is in cities, and thy palace is the tavern." 
 
 " In the king's name," quoth a gruff voice ; and John Bur- 
 ley feels the horrid and familiar tap on the shoulder. 
 
 The two bailiffs who dogged have seized their prey. 
 
 " At whose suit ? " asked John Burley, falleringly. 
 
 "Mr. Cox, the wineMiierchant." 
 
 " Cox ! A man to whom I gave a cheque on my bankers 
 not three months ago ! '' 
 
 " But it warn't cashed." 
 
 " What does that signify ?-- the intention was the same. A 
 good heart takes the will for the deed. Cox is a monster of 
 ing-ratitude, and I withdraw my custom." 
 
 " Sarve him right. Would your honor like a jarvey ? " 
 
 " I would rather spend the money on something else," said 
 John Burley. " Give me your arm, I am not proud. After 
 all, thank heaven, I shall not sleep in the country." 
 
 And John Burley made a night of it iiv the Fleet 
 I
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 413 
 
 YTT 
 Ali. 
 
 Miss STARKE was one of those ladies who pass their lives in 
 the direst of all civil strife war with their servants. She looked 
 upon the members of that class as the unrelenting and sleep- 
 less enemies of the unfortunate householders condemned to 
 employ them. She thought they ate and drank to their villan- 
 ous utmost, in order to ruin their benefactors that they lived 
 in one constant conspiracy with one another and the trades- 
 men, the object of which was to cheat and pilfer. " Miss Starke 
 was a miserable woman. As she had no relations or friends who 
 cared enough for her to share her solitary struggle against her 
 domestic foes ; and her income, though easy, was an annuity 
 that died with herself, thereby reducing various' nephews, nieces, 
 or cousins, to the strict bounds of a natural affection that did 
 not exist ; and as she felt the want of some friendly face amidst 
 this world of distrust and hate, so she had tried the resource of 
 venal companions. But the venal companions had never stayed 
 long 'either they disliked Miss Starke, or Miss Starke disliked 
 them. Therefore the poor woman had resolved upon bringing 
 up some little girl whose heatft, as she said ta herself, would be 
 fresh and uncorrupted, and from whom she might expect grati- 
 tude. She had been contented, on the whole, with Helen, and 
 had : meant to keep that child in her house as long as she (Miss 
 Starke) remained upon the earth perhaps some thirty years 
 longer ; and then, having carefully secluded her from marriage, 
 and other friendship, to leave her nothing but the regret of- Wav- 
 ing lost so kind a benefactress. Conformably with this notion, 
 anti in order to secure the affections of the child, Miss Starke 
 had relaxed the frigid austerity natural to her manner and mode 
 of thought, and been kind to Helen in an iron-way. She had 
 neither slapped n'or pinched frer, neither had she starved. She 
 had allowed her to see Leonard, according to the agreement 
 made with 'Dr. Morgan, and had laid out tenpence on cakes, 
 besides contributing fruit from her garden for the first inter- 
 view a hospitality she did not think it fit to renew on subse- 
 quent occasions. In return for this, she conceived she had pur- 
 chased the right to Helen bodily and spiritually, and nothing 
 could exceed her indignation when she rose one morning and 
 found the child' had gone. As it never had occurred to her to 
 ask Leonard's address, though she suspected Heleii had gone 
 to him, she was at a loss what to do, and remained for twenty- 
 four hours in a state of inane depression. But then she began 
 to miss the child so much that her energies woke, and she per-
 
 4*14 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 suaded herself that she was actuated by the purest benevolence 
 in trying to reclaim this poor creature from the world into 
 which Helen had thus rashly plunged. 
 
 Accordingly, she put an advertisement into the Times, to the 
 following effect, literally imitated from one by which, in former 
 years, she had recovered a favorite Blenheim :^ 
 
 TWO GUINEAS REWARD. 
 
 STRAYED, from Ivy Cottage, Highgate, a Little Girl answers to the 
 name of Helen ; with blue eyes and brown hair ; white muslin frock, 
 and straw hat with blue ribbons. Whoever will bring the same to Ivy Cot- 
 tage, shall receive the above Reward. N.B. Nothing more will be offered. 
 
 Now, it so happened that Mrs. Smedley had put an .advertise- 
 ment in the -TYww-pn.her own account, relating to a niece of hers 
 who was coming from thecountry,and for whom she desired to find 
 a situation. So contrary to her usual habit, she sent for the news- 
 paper, and, close by her own advertisement, she saw Miss Starke's. 
 
 It was impossible that she could mistake the description of 
 Helen ; and, as this advertisement caught her eye the very day 
 after the .whole .house had been disturbed and scandalized by 
 Mr. Burley-'s noisy visit, and on which she had resolved to get 
 rid of a lodger, who received such visitors, .the good-hearted 
 woman was delighted to think that she could restore Helen to 
 some safe home. While thus thinking, Helen herself entered 
 the kitchen where. Mrs. Smedley sat, and the landlady had the 
 imprudence to point out the advertisement, and talk, as she 
 called it, " seriously " to the little girl. : . 
 
 Helen in vain and with tear$,entreated her to take no step in 
 reply to the advertisement. Mrs. Smedley felt it was an affair 
 of dirty,. : and was obdurate, and shortly afterward put on 'her 
 bonnet and left the house. Helen conjectured that she was on 
 her way. to Miss Starke's, and her whole soul was ben ton flight. 
 Leonard had gone to the office of the Beehive with his MSS- ; 
 but she packed up all their joint effects, and just as she had 
 dop.e so, he returned. She communicated the : ne\vs of the 
 advertisement, and said she should be so miserable if compelled 
 to go back to Miss Starke's, and implored him so pathetically 
 to save her from such sorrow, that :he at once assented to her 
 proposal of flight. Luckily, little was owing to the landlady 
 that little was left with the maid-servant ; and, profiting by Mrs. 
 Smedley's.absence, they-escaped without scene or conflict. Their 
 effects were taken by Leonard to a stand of hackney vehicles, 
 and then left at a coach-office, while they went in 'search of 
 lodgings. It was wise to choose an entirely new and remote 
 district; and before night they were settled in an attic in Lambeth.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 415 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 As the reader will expect, no trace of Barley could be found; 
 the humorist had ceased to communicate with the Beehive. But 
 Leonard grieved for Burley's sake; and, indeed, he missed the 
 intercourse of the large wrong mind. But he settled down by 
 degrees to the simple loving society of his child-companion, and 
 in that presence grew more tranquil. The hours in the daytime 
 that he did not pass at work, he spent as before, picking up knowl- 
 edge at book-stalls ; and at dusk he and Helen would stroll out 
 sometimes striving to escape from the long suburb into fresh 
 rural air, more often wandering to and fro the bridge that led to 
 glorious Westminister London's classic land and watching 
 the vague lamps reflected on the river. This haunt suited the 
 musing melancholy^ boy. He would stand long and with wistful 
 silence by the balustrade Seating Helen thereof that she too 
 might look along the dark mournful waters which, dark though 
 they be, still have their charm of mysterious repose. 
 
 As the river flowed between the world of roofs, and the roar 
 of human passions on either side, so in those two hearts flowed 
 Thought and all they knew of London was its shadow. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 . i o 
 
 THERE appeared in the Beehive certain very truculent political 
 papers-* papers very like the tracts in the Tinker's bag. Leonard 
 did not heed them much, but they made far more sensation in 
 the public that read the Beehive than Leonard's papers^ full of 
 rare promise though the last were. They greatly increased the 
 sale of the periodical in the manufacturing towns,: and began to 
 awake the drowsy vigilance of the Home Office. Suddenly a 
 descent was made upon the Beehive, and all its papers and plant. 
 The- editor saw himself threatened with a criminal prosecution, 
 and the certainty of two ^years' imprisonment ; he did not. like 
 the prospect, and disappeared. One evening, when Leonard, 
 unconscious of these mischances, arrived at the door of the office, 
 he found it closed. An agitated mob was before it, and a voice 
 that was not new to his ear was haranguing the bystanders,iwith 
 iinany imprecations against "tyrants." He looked, and to his 
 amaze, recognized in the orator Mr./Sprott the Tinker. 
 
 The police came in numbers to disperse the crowd, and Mr. 
 Sprott prudently vanished. Leonard learned, then, whatrhad be- 
 fiallen, and again saw himself without employment and the means 
 of bread.
 
 416 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Slowly he walked back. " knowledge, knowledge ! power- 
 less, indeed ! " he murmured 
 
 As he spoke thus a handbill in large capitals met his eyes on 
 a dead wall' "Wanted, a few smart young men for Irjdia." 
 
 A crimp accosted him "You would make a fine soldier, my 
 man. You have stout limbs of your own." 
 
 Leonard moved on. 
 
 " It has come back, then, to this. Brute physical force after 
 all ! O Mind, despair ! O Peasant, be a machine again ! " 
 
 He entered his attic noiselessly, and gazed upon Helen as she 
 sate at work, straining her eyes by the open window with tender 
 and deep compassion. She had not heard him enter, nor was she 
 aware of his presence. . Patient and still she sat, and the small 
 fingers plied busily. He gazed, and saw that her cheek was pale 
 and hollow, and the hands looked so thin ! His heart was deeply 
 touched, and at that moment he had not one memory of the 
 baffled Poet, one that proclaimed the Egotist. 
 
 He approached her gently, laid his hand on her shoulder 
 "Helen, put on your shawl and bonnet, and walk out I have 
 much to say." ^k,,. - i: , 
 
 In a few minutes she was ready, and they took their way to 
 their favorite haunt upon the bridge. Pausing in one of the 
 recesses, or nooks, Leonard then began " Helen, we must part." 
 
 "Part? Oh, brother!" 
 
 "Listen, AH work that depends on mind is over for me 
 nothing remains but the labor of thews and sinews. I cannot 
 go back to my village and say to all, ' My hopes were self-con- 
 ceit, and my intellect a delusion !' I cannot. Neither in this 
 sordid city can 1 tu'rn rneriial or porter. I might be born to that 
 drudgery, but my 'mind has, it ; may be unhappily, raised me 
 above my birth. What, then, shall I do ? I know not yet' serve as 
 a soldier, or push my way to some wilderness afar, as an emi- 
 grant, perhaps. But whatever my choice, I must henceforth be 
 alone ; I have a home no more. But there is a home for you, 
 Helen, a very humble one (for yoiij too, so well born), but very 
 safe the roof of of my peasant mother. She wilt love you 
 for my sake, 'and and " 
 
 Helen clung to him trembling, and sobbed oat,' "Anything, 
 anything you will. But I can work; I can make^money, Leonard. 
 I do, indeed, make money- you do not know how much "but 
 enough for us both till better times -come to you. Do not let 
 us part." 
 
 " And Ia man, and born to labor, to be maintained by the 
 work of an infant ! No, Helen, do not so degrade me."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 417 
 
 She drew back as she looked on his flushed brow, bowed her 
 head submissively, and murmured, " Pardon." 
 
 "Ah ! " said Helen, after a pause, "if now we could but find 
 my poor father's friend ! I never so much cared for it before." 
 " Yes, he would surely provide for you." 
 "For me!" repeated Helen, in a tone of soft deep reproach, 
 and she turned away her head to conceal her tears. 
 
 "You are sure you would remember him, if we met him by 
 chance?" 
 
 " Oh yes. He was so different from all we see in this terrible city, 
 and his eyes were like yonder stars, so clear and so bright; yet the 
 light seemed to come from afar off, as the light does in yours, when 
 your thoughts are away from all things round you. And then, too, 
 his dog, whom he called Nero I could not forget that." 
 " But his dog may not be always with him." 
 " But the bright clear eyes are ! Ah, now you look up to 
 heaven, and yours seem to dream like his." 
 
 Leonard did not answer, for his thoughts were indeed less on 
 earth than .struggling to pierce into that remote and mysterious 
 heaven. 
 
 Both were silent long; the crowd passed, them by unheed- 
 ingly. Night deepened over the river, but the reflection of the 
 lamp-lights on its waves was more visible than that of the stars. 
 The beams showed the darkness of the strong current, and the 
 craft that lay eastward on the tide, with sail-less spectral masts and 
 black dismal rhulks, looked death-like in their stillness. 
 
 Leonard looked down, and the thought of Chatterton.'s grim 
 suicide came back to his soul ; and a pale scornful face, with 
 luminous haunting eyes, seemed to look tip from the stream, and 
 murmur from livid lips " Struggle no more against the tides 
 on the surface all is calm and rest within the deep." > . 
 
 Starting in terror from the gloom, of his reverie, the boy 
 began to talk fast to Helen, and tried to soothe her with de- 
 scriptions of the lowly home which he had offered. 
 
 He spoke of the light cares which she would participate with his 
 mother (forby that name he still called the widow), and dwelt, 
 with an eloquence that the contrast round him imade sincere and 
 strong, on the happy rural life, the shadowy woodlands, the rip- 
 pling corn-fields, the solemn lone church-spire scaring fronvthe 
 tranquil landscape. Flatteringly her painted the flowery terraces 
 of the Italian exile, and the playful fountain that, even as he spoke, 
 was flinging up its spray to the stars, through serene air un- 
 troubled by the smoke of cities, and untainted by the sinful sighs 
 of men. He promised her the love and protection of natures
 
 418 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 akin to the happy scene; the simple affectionate mother the 
 gentle pastor the exile wise and kind Violante, with dark 
 eyes full, of the mystic thoughts that solitude calls from child- 
 hood, Violante should be her companion. 
 
 " And, oh !" cried Helen, " if life be thus happy there, re- 
 turn with me, return return ! " 
 
 " Alas ! "murmured the boy, " if the hammer once strike the 
 spark from the anvil, the spark must fly upward; it can not fall 
 back to earth until light has left it. Upward still, Helen let 
 me go upward still ! " 
 
 ^TTAT>Tt7T> v , r 
 
 THE next morning Helen was very ill so ill that, shortly after 
 rising, she was forced to creep back to bed. Her frame, shiv- 
 ered her eyes were heavy -her hand burned like fire. Fever 
 had set in. Perhaps she might have caught cold on the bridge 
 perhaps her emotions had proved too much for her frame. 
 Leonard, in great alarm, called in the nearest apothecary. The 
 apothecary looked grave, and said there was danger. And dan- 
 ger soon declared itself Helen became delirious. For several 
 days .she lay in this state, between life and death. Leonard 
 then felt that all the sorrows of earth are light, compared with 
 the fear of losing what we love. How valueless the envied 
 laurel seemed beside the dying rosev.b :*((} 
 
 Thanks, perhaps, more to his heed and tending than to medical 
 skill, she recovered sense at last immediate peril was over. 
 But she was very weak and reduced her ultimate recovery 
 doubtful convalescence, at best, likely to be very slow. 
 
 But when she learned how long she had been thus ill, she 
 looked anxiously at Leonard's face as he bent over her, and fal- 
 tered forth, " Give nie my work : I am strong enough for that 
 now it would amuse me." 
 
 Leonard burst into tears. 
 
 Alas! he had no work' himself ; all their joint money had 
 melted away. The apothecary was not like good Dr. Morgan ; 
 the medicines were to be paid for and the rent. Two days 
 before, Leonard had pawned Riccabocca's watch ; and when the 
 last shilling thus raised was gone, how should he support Helen ? 
 Nevertheless he conquered his tears, and assured her that he had 
 employment ; and that so earnestly, that she believed him, and 
 sank into soft sleep. He listened to her breathing, kissed her 
 forehead, and left the room. He turned into his own neighboring 
 garret, and, leaninghis face on his hands,collected all his thoughts. 
 
 He must' be a beggar at last. He must write to Mr. Dale for
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 419 
 
 money Mr. Dale, too, who knew the secret of his birth. He 
 would rather have begged of a stranger it seemed to add a new 
 dishonor to his mother's memory for the child to beg of one who 
 was acquainted with her shame. Had hehimself been the only 
 one to want and to starve, 'he would have sunk inch by inch into 
 the grave of famine, before he would have so subdued his pride. 
 But Helen, there on tliat bed Helen needing, for weeks per- 
 haps, 'all support, and illness ma'king luxuries themselves like 
 necessaries ! .Beg he must. And when he so resolved, had you. 
 but seen the proud bitter soul he conquered, you would have 
 said " This; which he thinks is degradation this is heroism." 
 Oh strange human heart ! no epic ever written achieves the 
 Sublime and the Beautiful which are graven, unread by human 
 eye, in thy secret leaves. Of whom else should he beg? His 
 mother had nothing, Riccabocca was poor, and the stately Vio- 
 lante, who had exclaimed, "Would that I were a man ! "he 
 could not endure the thought that she should pity him, and de- 
 spise. The Avenels ! No thrice no. He drew toward -him 
 hastily ink and paper, and wroite rapid lines, that were wrung 
 from him as from the bleeding strings of life. 
 
 But .the 'hour for the post had passed the letter must wait 
 till the next day ; and three days at least would elapse before he 
 could receive an answer. He left the letter on the table, and, 
 stifling as for air, went forth. He crossed the bridge he passed 
 on mechanically and was borne along by a crowd pressing to- 
 ward the doors of Parliament. A debate that excited popular 
 interest was fixed for that evening, and many bystanders col- 
 lected in the street to see the members pass to and fro, or hear 
 what speakers had yet risen to take part in the debate, or try to 
 get orders for the gallery. 
 
 He halted amidst these loiterers, with no interest, indeed, in 
 common with them, but looking over their heads abstractedly 
 toward the tall Funeral Abbey imperial Golgotha of Poets, 
 and Chiefs, and Kings; 
 
 Suddenly his attention was diverted to those around by the 
 sound of a name-^displeasingly known to him. " How are 
 you, Randal Leslie ? coming to hear the debate ?" said a mem- 
 ber, who; was passing through the street. 
 
 "Yes; Mr. Egerton promised to get me under the gallery. He is 
 to speak himself to-night, and I have never heard him. Asyouare 
 going into the House, will you remind him of his promise to me?" 
 
 " I cah't'now, for he is speaking already and well too. I 
 hurried from the Athenaeum, where I was dining, on purpose to 
 be in time, as I heard that his speech 'was making a great effect."
 
 420 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 4< This is very unlucky," said Randal. " I had no idea he 
 Irould speak so early." 
 
 " C brought him up by a direct personal attack. But fol- 
 low me ; perhaps I can get you into the House ; and a man like 
 you, Leslie, from whom we expect great things some day, lean 
 tell you, should not miss any such opportunity of knowing what 
 this House of ours is on a field night. Come on ! " 
 
 The member hurried toward the door; and as Randal fol- 
 Jowed him, a bystander cried " That is the young man who 
 wrote the famous pamphlet Egerton's relation." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! '' said another. " Clever man, Egerton I am 
 waiting for him." 
 
 " So am L" 
 
 " Why, you are not a constituent ; as I am." 
 
 " No ; but he has been very kind to my nephew, and I must 
 thank him. You are a'constituent heis an honor to your town." 
 
 " So he is ; enlightened man ! " 
 
 "And so generous ! " 
 
 "Brings forward really good measures," quoth the politician. 
 
 " And clever young men," said the uncle. 
 
 Therewith one or two others joined in the praise of, Audley 
 Egerton, and many anecdotes of his liberality were told. 
 
 Leonard listened at first listlessly, at last with thoughtful 
 attention. He had heard Burley, too, speak highly of this 
 generous statesman, who, without pretending to genius himself, 
 appreciated it in : others. He suddenly remembered, too, that 
 Egerton was half-brothqr to the Squire. Vague notions of some 
 appeal to this eminent person, not for charity, but employment 
 to his mind, gleamed across him- inexperienced boy that he yet 
 was ! And while thus meditating, the door of the House opened, 
 and out came Audley Egerton himself. A partial cheering, fol- 
 low.ed by a general murmur, apprised Leonard of the presence of 
 the popular 'Statesman. Egerton was caught hold of by some 
 five or six persons in succession ; a shake of the hand, a nod, a 
 brief whispered word or two, sufficed the practised member for 
 graceful escape ; and soon, freed from the crowd, his tall, erect 
 figure passed on, and turned toward the bridge. He pau.sed at 
 the angle and took out. his watch, looking at it by the lamplight. 
 
 " Harley will be here soon,';' he muttered " he is always 
 punctual ; and now that I have 1 spoken, I can give him an hour 
 or so. That is well." 
 
 As. he replaced the watch in his pocket and rebwttoned his 
 v coat over his firm, broad chest, he lifted his eyes, and saw a 
 young man standing before him..
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 421 
 
 " Do you want me ? " asked the statesman with the direct 
 brevity of his practical character. 
 
 " Mr. Egerton," said the young man, with a voice that slightly 
 trembled, and y'et was manly amidst emotion, " you have a great 
 name, and great power I stand here in these streets of Lon- 
 don without a friend, arid without employment. I believe that I 
 have it in me to do some nobler work than that of bodily labor, 
 had I but one friend one opening for my thoughts. And now 
 I have said thrs, I scarcely know how, or why, but from despair, 
 and the sudden impulse which that despair took from the praise 
 that follows your success I have nothing more to add." 
 
 Audley Egerton'was silent for a moment, struck by the tone 
 and address of the stranger; but the consummate and wary 
 man df the world, accustomed to all manner of strange appli- 
 cations, and all varieties of imposture, quickly recovered from 
 a passing and slight effect. 
 
 "Are you a native of ?" (naming the town which the 
 
 statesman represented.) 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Well, young man, I am very sorry for you ; but the good 
 sense which you must possess (for I judge of that by the educa- 
 tion you have evidently received) must tell you that a public man, 
 whatever be his patronage, has it to6 fully absorbed by claimants 1 
 who have a right to demand it, to be able to listen to strangers." 
 
 He paused a moment, and, as Leonard stood silent, added, 
 with more kindness than most public men so accosted would 
 have shown 
 
 " You say you are friendless ; poor fellow. In early life 
 that happens to many of us, who find friends enough before 
 the close. Be honest, and well-conducted ; lean on yourself, 
 not on strangers; work with the body if you can't with the 
 mind ; and, believe me, that advice is all I can give you, unless 
 this tri'fte," and the minister held out a crown piece. 
 
 Leonard bo\ved, shook his head sadly, and walked away. 
 Egerton looked after him with a slight pang. 
 
 " Pooh !" said he to himself, "there must be thousands in 
 the same state in these streets of London. I cannot redress 
 the necessities of civilization. Well educated ! It is not from 
 ignorance henceforth that society will suffer it is from over- 
 educating the hungry thousands who, thus unfitted for manual 
 toil, and with no career for mental, will some day or other stand 
 like that boy in our streets, and puzzle wiser ministers than I am." 
 
 As Egerton thus mused, and passed on to the bridge, a bugle- 
 horn rang merrily from the box of a gay four-in-hand. A drag-
 
 422 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 coach with superb blood-horses rattled over the causeway, and in 
 the driver Egerton recognized his nephew Frank Hazeldean. 
 
 The young Guardsman was returning, with a lively party of 
 men, from dining at Greenwich ; and the careless laughter of 
 these children of pleasure floated far over the still water; it vexed 
 the ear of the careworn statesman sad, perhaps, with all his 
 greatness, lonely amidst all his crowd of friends. It reminded 
 him, perhaps, of his own- youth, when such parties and compan- 
 ionships were familiar to him, though thrqugh them all .he had 
 borne an ambitious, aspiring soul " Lejeu, vaut-il la chandelle ? ' ' 
 said he, shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 -The coach rolled rapidly past Leonard, as he stood leaning 
 against the corner of the bridge, and the mire of the kennel 
 splashed over him from the hoofs of the fiery horses. The laughter 
 smote on his ear more discordantly than on the minister's, but 
 it begot no envy. 
 
 " Life is a dark riddle," said he r smiting his breast. 
 
 And he walked slowly on, gained the recess where he had stood 
 several nights before with Helen, and, dizzy with want of food, 
 and. worn out for want of sleep, he sank down into the dark 
 corner; while the river that rolled under the arch of stone mut- 
 tered dirge-like in his ear asunder the social key-stone wails and 
 rolls on for ever the mystery of Human Discontent. Take com- 
 fort, O Thinker by the stream ! 'Tis the river that founded and 
 gave pomp to the city; and without the discontent, where were 
 progress =what were Man ? Take comfort^ THINKER! where- 
 ever the stream over which thou bendest, or beside which thou 
 sinkest, weary and desolate, frets the arch that supports thee; 
 never dream that, by destroying the bridge, thou canst silence 
 the moan of the wave ! 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 BEFORE a table, in the apartments appropriated to hirn in his 
 father's house at Knightsbridge, sat Lord L'Estrange, sorting or 
 destroying letters and papers an ordinary symptom of change 
 of residence. There are certain trifles by which a shrewd ob- 
 server may judge of a man's disposition. Thus, ranged on the 
 table, with some elegance, but with soldierlike precision, were 
 sundry little relics of former days, hallowed by some sentiment 
 of memory, or perhaps endeared solely by custom ; which^whether 
 he was in Egypt, Italy, or England, always made part of the furni- 
 ture of Harley's room. Even the small, old-fashioned, and some- 
 what inconvenient inkstand into which he dipped the pen as he 
 labelled th letters he ;put aside, belonging to the writing-desk
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 423 
 
 which had been his pride as a schoolboy. Even the books that 
 lay scattered round were not new works, not those to which we 
 turn to satisfy the curiosity of an hour, or to distract our graver 
 thoughts ; they were chiefly either Latin or Italian poetSj with 
 many a pencil-mark on the margin ; or books which, making 
 severe demand on thought, require slow and frequent perusal, 
 and become companions. Somehow or other, in remarking that 
 even in dumb, inanimate things the man was averse to change, 
 and had the habit of attaching himself to whatever was connected 
 with old associations, you might guess that he clung with perti- 
 nacity to affections more important, and you could better com- 
 prehend the freshness of his friendship for one so dissimilar in 
 pursuits and character as Audley Egerton. An affection once 
 admitted into the heart of Harley L'Estrange, seemed never to 
 be questioned or reasoned with ; it became tacitly fixed, as it 
 were, into his own nature; and little less than a revolution of his 
 whole system could dislodge or disturb it. 
 
 Lord L'Estrange's hand rested now upon a letter in a stiff, 
 legible Italian character; and instead of disposing of it at once 
 as he had done with the rest, he spread it before him, and re-read 
 the contents. It was a letter from Riccabocca, received a few 
 weeks since, and ran thus: 
 
 Letter from Signor Riccabocca to Lord L'Estrange. 
 
 " I thank you, my noble friend, for judging of me with faith 
 in my honor, and respect for my reverses. 
 
 "No, and thrice no, to all concessions, all overtures, all treaty 
 with Giulio Franzini. I write the name, and my emotions choke 
 me. I must pause, and cool back into disdain. It is over. Pass 
 from that subject. But you have alarmed me. This sister! I 
 have not seen her since her childhood; but she was brought up 
 under his influence she can but work as his agent. She wish 
 to learn my residence! It can be but. for some hostile and malig- 
 nant purpose. I may trust in you I know that. You say I may 
 trust equally in the discretion of your friend. Pardon me my 
 confidence is not so elastic. A word may give the clue to my 
 retreat. But, if discovered, what harm can ensue? An English 
 roof protects me from Austrian despotism, true; but not the brazen 
 tower of Danae could protect me from Italian craft. And, were 
 there nothing worse, it would be intolerable to me to live under 
 the eyes of a relentless spy. Truly saith our proverb, * He sleeps 
 ill whom the enemy wakes.' Look you, my friend, I have done 
 with my old life I wish to cast it from me as a snake its skin. 
 I have denied myself all that exiles deem consolation. No pity 
 for misfortune, no message from sympathizing friendship, no
 
 424 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 news from a lost aud bereaved country, follow me to my hearth 
 under the skies of the stranger. From all these I have volun- 
 tarily cut myself off. I am as dead to the life I once lived as if 
 the Styx rolled between it and me. With that sternness which 
 is admissible only to the afflicted, I have denied myself even the 
 consolation of your visits. I have told you- fairly and simply 
 that your presence would unsettle all my enforced and infirm 
 philosophy, and remind me only of the past, which I seek to.blot 
 from remembrance. You have complied on the one condition, 
 that whenever I really want your aid I will ask it; and, meanwhile, 
 you have generously sought to obtain me justice from the cabi- 
 nets of ministers and in the courts of kings. I did not refuse 
 your heart this luxury; for I have a child (Ah! I have taught 
 that child already to revere your name, and in her prayers it is 
 not forgotten). But now that you are convinced that even your 
 zeal is unavailing, I a.sk you to 'discontinue attempts which may 
 but bring the spy upon my track, and involve me in new misfor- 
 tunes. Believe me, O brilliant Englishman, that I am satisfied 
 and contented with my lot. I am sure it would not be for my 
 happiness to change it. ' Chi non haprovato il malenonconosce 
 il bene." (One does not know when one is well off till one has 
 known misfortune.) You ask me how I live I answer allagior- 
 nata (to the day),-^not for the morrow, as I did, once. I have 
 accustomed myself to the calm existence of a village. I take 
 interest in its details. There is my wife, good creature, sitting 
 opposite to me, never asking what I write, Or to whom, but ready 
 to throw, aside her work and talk the moment the pen is out 
 of my hand. Talk and what about? Heaven knows! Bull 
 would rather hear that talk, though on the affairs of a hamlet, 
 than babble again with recreant nobles and blundering professors 
 a,bout commonwealths and constitutions. When I want to see 
 how little those last influence the happiness of wise men, have I 
 not Machiavelli and Thucydides ? Then, by and by, the Parson 
 will drop in, and we argue. He never knows when he is beaten, 
 so the argument is everlasting. On fine days I ramble out by a 
 winding rill with my Violante, or stroll to my friend the Squire's 
 and see how healthful a thing is true pleasure; and on wet days 
 I shut myself up and mope, perhaps, till, hark! a gentle tap at 
 the door, and in comes Violante, with her dark eyes, that shine 
 out through reproachful tears reproachful that I should mourn 
 alone, while she is under my roof-iso she puts her arms around 
 me, and in five minutes all is sunshine within. What care we 
 for your English gray clouds without ? 
 
 " Leave, me, my dear Lord leave me to this quiet happy pas
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 4*5 
 
 sage toward oldage,serener than theyouth that I wasted sowildly; 
 and guard 'well the : secret on which my happiness depends. 
 
 " Now to yourself, before I close. Of that same yourself you 
 speak too little, as of me too much. But I so wellcomprehend'the 
 profound melancholy that lies beneath the wild and fanciful 
 humor with which you but suggest, as in sport, what you feel so in 
 earnest. The laborious solitude of cities weighs on you. You are 
 flying back to the dolce far niente to friends few, but intimate; 
 to life monotonous, but unrestrained; and even there the sense 
 of loneliness will again seize upon you; and you do not seek, as 
 I do, the annihilation of memory; your dead past ions are turned 
 to ghosts that haunt you, and unfit you for the living world. I 
 see it all I see it still, in your hurried, fantastic lines, as I saw 
 it when we two sat amidst the pines and beheld the .blue lake 
 stretched below; I troubled by the shadow of the Future, you 
 disturbed by that of the Past. 
 
 "Well, but you say, half seriously, half in jest, ' I will escape 
 from this prison-house of memory; I will form new ties, like other 
 men, and before it be too late; I will marry Ay, but I must 
 love there is the difficulty' difficulty yes, and Heaven be 
 thanked for it ! Recall all the unhappy marriages that have come 
 to your knowledge pray have not eighteen out of twenty been 
 marriages for love ? It always has been so, and it always will. 
 Because, whenever we love deeply, we exact so much and forgive 
 so little. Be content to find some one with whom your hearth 
 and your honor are safe. You will grow to love what never 
 wounds 'your heart you will soon grow out of. love with what 
 must always disappoint your imagination. Cospetto ! I -wish 
 my Jemima had a younger sister for you. Yet it was with a 
 deep groan that I settled myself to a Jemima. 
 
 " Now, I have written you a long letter, to prove how little I 
 need of your compassion or your zeal. Once more let there be 
 long silence between us. It is not easy for me to correspond with 
 a man of your rank, and not incur the curious gossip of my still 
 little pool of a world which the splash of a pebble can break into 
 circles. I must take this over to a post-town some ten miles off, 
 and drop it into the box by stealth. 
 
 " Adieu, dear and noble friend, gentlest heart and subtlest fancy 
 that I have met in my walkthrough life. Adieu. Write me word 
 when you have abandoned a day-dream and found a Jemima. 
 
 " ALtHONSO. 
 
 " P.S. For heaven's sake, caution and recaption your friend 
 the minister not to drop a word to this woman that may betray 
 my hiding-place."
 
 420 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 "Is he really happy?" murmured Harley, as he closed the 
 letter ; and he sank for a few moments into a reverie. 
 
 "This life in a village this wife in a lady who puts down her 
 work to talk about villagers what a contrast to Audley's full 
 existence ! And I cannot envy nor comprehend either yet my 
 own existence what is it ? " 
 
 He rose, and moved toward the window, from which a rustic 
 stair descended to a green lawn studded with larger trees than 
 are often found in the grounds of a suburban residence. There 
 were calm and coolness in the sight, and one could scarcely have 
 supposed that London lay so near. 
 
 The door opened softly, and a lady past middle age entered ; 
 and approaching Harley, as he still stood musing by the window, 
 laid her hand on his shoulder. What character there is in a hand ! 
 Hers was a hand that Titian would have painted with elaborate 
 care ! Thin, white, and delicate^with the blue veins raised 
 from the surface. Yet there was something more than mere 
 patrician elegance in the form and texture. A true physiologist 
 would have said at once, "There are intellect and pride in that 
 hand, which seems to fix a hold where it rests; and lying so 
 lightly, yet will not be as lightly shaken off." 
 
 "Harley," said the lady and Harley turned "you -do not 
 deceive me by that smile," she continued, sadly ; " you were 
 not smiling when I entered." 
 
 " It is rarely that we smile to ourselves,'' my dear mother ; and I 
 havedonenothinglately so foolish as tocause me tosiuilert/myself." 
 
 "My son, "said Lady Lansmere, somewhat abruptly, but with 
 great earnestness, "you come from a line of illustrious ances- 
 tors ; and methinks they ask from their tombs why the last of 
 their race has no aim and no object no interestno home in the 
 land which they served, and which rewarded them with its honors." 
 
 " Mother," said the soldier, simply, " when the land was in 
 danger, I served it as my forefathers served and my answer 
 would be the scars on my breast." 
 
 "Is it only in danger that a country is served only in war that 
 duty is fulfilled ? Do you think that your father, in his plain 
 manly life of country gentleman, does not fulfil; though perhaps 
 too obscurely, the objects for which aristocracy is created, and 
 wealth-is bestowed?" 
 
 " Doubtless he does, ma'am and better than his vagrant son 
 ever can." 
 
 "Yet his vagrant son has received such gifts from nature 
 his youth was so rich in promise his boyhood so glowed at the 
 dream of glory ! "
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 427 
 
 "Ay," said Harley, very softly, "it is possible and all to be 
 buried in a single grave ! " 
 
 The Countess started, and withdrew her hand from Harley's 
 shoulder. 
 
 Lady Lansmere's countenance was not one that much varied 
 in expression. She had in this, as in her cast of features, little 
 resemblance to her son. 
 
 Her features were slightly aquiline the eyebrows of that arch 
 which gives a certain majesty to the aspect ; the lines round the 
 mouth were habitually rigid and compressed. Her face was that 
 of one who had gone through great emotion and subdued it. 
 There was something formal, and even ascetic, in the character 
 of her beauty, which was still considerable in her air and in 
 her dress. She might have suggested to you the idea of some 
 Gothic baroness of old, half chatelaine, half abbess; you would 
 see at a glance that she did not live ; ri the light world around 
 her, and disdained its fashion and its mode of thought ; yet with 
 all this rigidity it was still the face of the woman who has known 
 human ties and human affections.' And now, as she gazed long 
 on Harley's quiet, : saddened brow, it was the face of a mother. 
 
 "A single grave," she said, after a long pause. "And you were 
 then but a boy, Harley ! Can such a memory influence you even 
 to this day! It is scarcely possible ; it does not seem torhe-within 
 the realities of -man's life though it might be of woman's." 
 
 "I believe," said Harley, half -soliloquizing, "that I have a 
 great deal of the woman in me. Perhaps men who live much 
 alone, and care not. for men's objects, do grow tenacious of im- 
 pressions, as your sex does. But oh," he cried, aloud; and with a 
 sudden change of countenance, "oh, the hardest and the coldest 
 man would have felt as I do, had he known her had he loved 
 her. She was like no other woman I have ever met. Bright and 
 glorious creature of another sphere. She descended on this earth, 
 and darkened it when she passed away. It is no use striving. 
 Mother, I have as much courage as our steel-clad fathers ever had. 
 I have dared in battle and in deserts against man and the wild 
 beast against the storm and the ocean against the rude powers 
 of Nature dangers as dread as ever pilgrim or Crusader rejoiced 
 to brave. But courage against thatone memory? no, Ihavenone!" 
 
 " Harley, Harley, you break my heart !" cried the Countess, 
 clasping her hands. 
 
 "Itis astonishing," continued her son, so wrapped inhisown 
 thoughts that he did not, perhaps, hear her outcry. "Yea, verily, 
 it is astonishing that, considering the thousands of women I have 
 seen and spoken with, I never see a face like hers never hear a
 
 428 MY NOVEL j OR, 
 
 voice so sweet. And all this universe of life cannot afford me one 
 look and one tone that can restore me to .man's privilege love. 
 Well, well, well, life has other things yet Poetry and Art live 
 still still smiles the heaven, and still wave the trees. Leave 
 me to happiness in my own way." 
 
 The Countess was about to reply, when the door was thrown 
 hastily open, and Lord Lansmere walked in. 
 
 The Earl was some years older than the Countess, but his 
 placid face showed less wear and tear a benevolent, kindly face, 
 without any evidence of commanding intellect, but with no lack 
 of sense in its pleasant lines. His form not tall, but upright; and 
 withan air of consequence a little pompous, butgood-humoredly 
 so. The pomposity of the grand seigneur > who has lived much in 
 provinces whose will has been rarely disputed, and whose im- 
 portance has been so felt and acknowledged as to react insensibly 
 on himself ; -an excellent man ; but when you glanced toward 
 the high brow and dark eye of the Countess, you marvelled a 
 little how the two had come together, and, according to common 
 report, lived so happily in the union. 
 
 "Hp, ho! my dear Harley," cried Lord Lansmere, rubbing 
 his hands with an appearance of much satisfaction, "I have 
 just been paying a visit tP the Duchess." 
 
 " What duchess, my dear father ? " 
 
 "Why, your mother's first-cousin, to be sure the Duchess of 
 Knaresborough, whom, to oblige me, you condescended to call 
 upon ; and delighted I am to hear that you admire Lady Mary " 
 
 "She is very . high-bred, and rather- high-nosed/' answered 
 Harley. Then, observing that his mother looked pained, and 
 his father disconcerted, he added seriously, " But handsome, 
 certainly." 
 
 "Well, Harley," said the Earl, recovering himself," the Duchess, 
 taking advantage of our connection to speak freely, has intimated 
 to me that Lady Mary has been no less struck with yourself ; 
 and, to come to the point, since you allow that it is time you 
 should think of marrying, I do not know a more desirable 
 alliance. Wha;t do you say, Catherine ? " 
 
 "The Duke is of a family that ranks in history before the Wars 
 of the Roses," said Lady Lansmere, with an air of deference to 
 her husband ; " and there has never been one scandal in its annals, 
 nor one blot in its scutcheon. But I am sure my dear lord must 
 think that the Duchess should not have made the first overture 
 even to a friend and a kinsman?" 
 
 "Why, we are old-fashioned people," said the Earl, rather 
 embarrassed, "and the Duchess is a woman pf the world."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 429 
 
 "Let us hope," said the Countess, mildly, "that her daughter 
 is not." 
 
 "I would not marry Lady Mary, if all the rest of the female 
 sex were turned into apes," said Lord L'Estrange, with delib- 
 erate fervor. 
 
 ''Good heavens !" cried the Earl, " what extraordinary lan- 
 guage is: this? And pray why, sir?" 
 
 HARLEY. I can't say there is no why in these cases. But, 
 my dear father, you are not keeping faith with me. 
 
 LORD LANSMERE. How ? 
 
 HARLEY. You and my lady here entreat me to marry ; I 
 promise to do my best to obey you ; but on one condition that 
 I choose for myself, and take my time about it. Agreed on both 
 sides. Whereon, off goes youtf lordship actually before noon, 
 at an hour when no lady, without a shudder, could think of cold 
 bjonde and damp orange-flowers off goesyour Lordship, I say, 
 and commits poor Lady Mary and your unworthy son to a mu- 
 tual admiration- 1 which neither of us ever felt. Pardon me, my 
 father, but this is grave. Again : let me claim your promise 
 full choice for myself, and no reference to the Wars of the 
 Roses. What war of the roses like that between Modesty and 
 Love upon the cheek of the Virgin ! 
 
 LADY LANSMERE. Full choice for yourself, Harley so be it. 
 But we, too, named a condition did we not, Lansmere ? 
 
 The EARL (puzzled). Eh did we ? Certainly we did. 
 
 HARLEY. What was it ? 
 
 LADY LANSMEKE. The son of Lord Lansmere can only 
 marry the daughter of a gentleman. 
 
 The EARL.^Of course of course. 
 
 The blood rushed over Harley's fair face, and then as sud- 
 denly left it pale. 
 
 He walked away to the window ; his mother followed him, 
 and again laid her hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " You were cruel," said he gently, and in a whisper, as he 
 winced under the touch of the hand. Then turning to the Earl, 
 who was gazing at him in blank surprise (it never occurred to 
 Lord Lansmere that there could be a doubt of his son's marry- 
 ing beneath the rank modestly stated by the Cou~ntess)-^-Harley 
 stretched forth his hand, and said in his soft winning tone, "You 
 have ever been most gracious to me, and most forbearing ; it is 
 but just that I should sacrifice the habits of an egotist, to gratify 
 a wish which you so warmly entertain. I agree with you, too, 
 that our race should not close in me-^Noble$se oblige. But you 
 know I was ever romantic ; and I must love where I marry
 
 . MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 .or, if not love, I must feel that my wife is worthy of all the love 
 I could once have bestowed. Now, as to the vague word " gen- 
 tleman," that my mother employs a word that means so differ- 
 ently on different lips, I confess that I have a prejudice 
 against young ladies brought up in the "excellent foppery of the 
 world," as the daughters of gentlemen of our rank mostly are ; 
 I crave, therefore, the most liberal interpretation of this word 
 V gentleman." And so long as there be nothing mean or sordid 
 'in the birth, habits,. and education of the father of this bride to 
 be, I trust you will both agree to demand nothing more 1 neither 
 titles nor pedigree." 
 
 " Titles no, assuredly," said Lady Lansmere ; "theydonot 
 make gentlemen." . 
 
 "Certainly not," said the Earl ; "many of our best families 
 are untitled." 
 
 "Titles no," repeated Lady Lansmere ; "but ancestors yes," 
 
 " Ah, my mother," said Harley, with his most sad and quiet 
 smile, "it is fated that we shall never agree. The first of our 
 race is ever the one we are roost proud of ; and, pray, what an- 
 cestors had he? Beauty, virtue, modesty, intellect- if these are 
 not nobility, enough for a man, he is a slave to the dead." 
 
 With these words, Harley took up his hat, and made toward 
 the door. 
 
 " You said yourself, ' Noblesse -oblige, 1 " said the Countess, fol- 
 lowing hjm to the threshold ; :"we have nothing more to add." 
 
 Harley slightly shrugged his shoulders, kissed his mother's 
 hand, \yhistled, to Nero, who started up froma doze by the win- 
 dow, and went his way. 
 
 " Does he really go abroad next week ? " said -the. Earl. 
 
 " So he says." 
 
 " I am afraid there is no chance for Lady. Mary," resumed 
 Lord Lansmere, with a plight but melancholy smile. 
 
 "She has not intellect enough to charm him. She is not 
 worthy of Harley,'-' said the proud mother.. 
 
 " Between you and me," rejoined the Earl, rather timidly, " I 
 don't see what good his intellect does him. He could not be 
 more unsettled, and useless if he were the merest dunce in the 
 three kingdoms. And so ambitious as he was when a boy ! 
 Katherine, I sometimes fancy that you know what changed him." 
 
 " 1 ! Nay, my dear lord, it is a common change enough with 
 the young, when of such fortunes ; who find, when they enter 
 life, that there is really little left for them to strive for. Had 
 Harley been a poor man's son, it might have been different." 
 
 " I was born to the same fortunes as Harley," said ih*
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 43* 
 
 shrewdly ; " and yet I flatter myself I am of some use to Old 
 England." 
 
 The Countess seized upon the occasion, complimented herlord, 
 and turned the subject. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 HARLEY spent his day in his usual desultory, lounging man- 
 ner dined in his quiet corner at his favorite club Nero, not 
 admitted into the club, patiently waited for him outside the door. 
 The dinner-over, dog and man, equally indifferent to the cro\vd, 
 sauntered down that thoroughfare which, to the few who can 
 comprehend the Poetry of London, has associations of glory and 
 of woe sublime as any that the ruins of the dead elder world can 
 furnish thoroughfare that traverses what was once the court- 
 yard of Whitehall, having to its left the site of the palace that 
 lodged the royalty of Scotland gains, through a narrow strait, 
 that old isle of Thorney, in which Edward the Confessor re- 
 ceived the ominous visit of the Conqueror and widening once 
 more by the Abbey and the Hall of Westminster, then loses it- 
 self, like all memories' of earthly grandeur, amidst humble pas- 
 sages and mean defiles. 
 
 Thus thought Harley L'Estrange -eVerless amidst the actual 
 world around him, than the images invoked by his own solitary 
 soul as he gained the bridge, and saw the dull, lifeless craft 
 sleeping on the " Silent Way," once loud and glittering with the 
 gilded barks of the antique Seignorie of England. 
 
 It was on that bridge that Audley Egerton had appointed to 
 meet L'Estrange, at an hour when he calculated he Could best 
 steal a respite from debate. For Harley, with his fastidious dis- 
 like to all the resorts of his equals, had declined to seek his 
 friend in the crowded regions of Bellamy's. 
 
 Harley's eye, as he passed along the bridge, was attracted by 
 a still form, seated on the stones in one of the nooks, with its 
 face covered by its hands. "If I were a sculptor," said he to 
 himself, " I should remember that image whenever I wished to 
 convey the idea of Despondency ! " He lifted his looks and saw, 
 a little before him, in the midst of the causeway, the firm erect 
 figure of Audley Egerton. The moonlight was full on the 
 bronzed countenance of 'the strong public man with its lines 
 of thought and care, and its vigorous but cold expression of in- 
 tense self-control. 
 
 " And looking yonder," continued Harley's soliloquy, " I 
 should remember that form, when I wished tohewout from the 
 granite the idea of Endurance"
 
 432 .MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " So you are come, arid punctually," said Egerton, linking M 
 arm in Harley's. 
 
 HARLEY. Punctually, of course, for I respect your time, and 
 I will not detain you long. I presume you will speak to-night ? 
 
 EGERTON. I have spoken. 
 
 HARLEY (with interest). And well, I hope ? 
 
 EGERTON. With effect, I suppose, for I have been loudly 
 cheered,, which does not always happen to me. 
 
 HARLEY. And that gave you pleasure ? 
 
 EGE,RTON (after a moment's thought), No, not the least. 
 
 IjARLEY.-^-What, then, attaches you ; so much to this life 
 constant drudgery, constant warfare the more pleasurable fac- 
 ulties dormant, all the harsher ones aroused, if even its rewards 
 (and I take the best of those to be applause) do not please you? 
 
 EGERTON. What? Custom. 
 
 HARLEY. Martyr ! 
 
 EGERTON. You say it. But turn to yourself ; you have de- 
 cided, then, to leave England next week ? 
 
 HARLEY (moodily), Yes. This life in a capital, where all 
 are so active, myself so objectlessj preys on me like a low fever. 
 Nothing here amuses me, nothing interests, nothing comforts 
 and consoles. But I am resolved, before it be too late, to make 
 one great struggle out of the Past, and iftto the natural world of 
 men. In a word, I have resolved' to marry. 
 
 EGERTON. Whom ? ; 
 
 HARLEY (seriously)-: Upon my life, my dear fellow, you are a 
 great philosopher. You have hit the exact question. You see 
 I cannot marry a dream ; and where, out of tdrearns, shall I find 
 this " whom " ? 
 
 EGERTON. You did not search for her. 
 
 HARLEY. Do we ever search for love? Does it not flash upon 
 us when we-least expect it ? Is it not like the inspiration to the 
 muse ? What poet sits down and says, " I will write a poem ?" 
 What man looks outandsays <<f lwill fall in love?" No! Hap- 
 piness, as the great German tells us, " falls suddenly from the 
 bosom of the gods " ; so does love. 
 
 EGERTON.- You remember the old line in Horace : " The tide 
 flows away while the boor sits on the'margin and waits for the ford." 
 
 HARLEY. An idea which incidentally dropped from you some 
 weeks.ago,andwhich I had before half-meditated, has since haunt- 
 ed me. If I could but find some child with sweet.dispositions and 
 fair inteUectnot yet formed, and train herup,accordingtomyideal. 
 I am still young enough to wait a few years. And meanwhile I shall 
 have gained what I so sadly want an object in life.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 433 
 
 EGERTON. You are ever the child of romance. But what 
 
 Here the Minister was interrupted by a messenger from the 
 House of. Commons; whom Audley had instructed to seek him on 
 the bridge should his presence be required "Sir, the Opposition 
 are taking advantage of the thinness of the House to call for a divi- 
 sion. Mr.- is put up to speak for time, but they won't hear him." 
 
 Egerton turned nastily to Lord L'Estrange " You see, you 
 must excuse me now. To-morrow I must go to Windsor for 
 two days ; but we shall meet on my return." 
 
 " It does not matter," answered Harley ; "I stand out of the 
 pale of your advice, O practical man of sense. And if," added 
 Harley, with affectionate and mournful sweetness "if I weary 
 you with complaints .which you cannot understand, it is only 
 because of old schoolboy habits. I can have no trouble 1 that I 
 do not confide to you." 
 
 Egerton's hand trembled asitpressed his friend's; and without 
 a word, he hurried aw-ay abruptly. Harley remained motion- 
 less for some seconds, in deep and quiet reverie ; then he called 
 to his dog, and turned back- toward Westminster. 
 
 He passed the nook in which had sate the still figure of Des- 
 pondency. But the figure had now risen, and was leaning against 
 the balustrade. The dog, who preceded his, master, -passed by 
 the solitary form, and sniffed it suspiciously. 
 
 " Nero, sir, come here," said Harley. 
 
 " Nero," that was the name by which Helen had said that her 
 father's friend had called his dog. And the sound startled Leon- 
 ard as he leant, sick at heart, against the stone. He lifted his 
 head and looked wistfully, eagerly into Harley's face. Those 
 eyes, bright, clear, yet so strangely deep and absent, which Helen 
 had described, met his own, and chained them. For L'Estrange 
 halted also ; the boy's countenance was not unfamiliar ,to him. 
 He returned the inquiring look fixed on his own, and recog- 
 nized the student by the book-stall. 
 
 "The dog is quite harmless, sir," said L'Estrange, with a smile. 
 
 "And you call him, ' Nero ?'" said Leonard, still gazing on 
 the stranger. 
 
 Harley mistook the drift of the question. 
 
 "Nero, sir ; but he is free from the sanguinary propensities 
 of his Roman namesake." Harley was about to pass on, when 
 Leonard said, falteringly, 
 
 "Pardon me, but can it be possible that you are one whm I 
 have sought in vain, on behalf of the child of Captain- Digbiy ? " 
 
 Harley stopped short. " Digby ! " he exclaimed, " where is he ? 
 He should have found me easily. I gave him an address."
 
 434 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Ah, Heaven be thanked ! " cried Leonard. " Helen is saved 
 she will not die/' and he burst into tears. 
 
 A very few moments, and a very few words sufficed to explain 
 to Harley the state of his old fellow-soldier's orphan. And Harley 
 himself soon stood in the young sufferer's room, supporting her 
 burning temples on his breast, : and whispering into ears that heard 
 him as. in- a happy dream, "Comfort; comfort ; your father yet 
 lives in me." 
 
 And then Helen, raising her eyes, said, ''But Leonard is my 
 brother- more than brother and he needs a father's care 
 more than I do." 
 
 "Hush, hush, Helen. I need no one-t-nothing now ! " cried 
 Leonardj and his tears gushed over the little hand that clasped 
 his own. > . 
 
 CHAPTER. XVII. 
 
 HARLEY^L'ESTRANGE was a man whom all things that belong 
 to the romintic and poetic side of our human life deeply im- 
 pressed. When he came to learn the ties between these two 
 Chilldren of Nature, standing side by side, alone amidst the 
 storms of fate, his heart was more deeply moved than it had been 
 for many years. In those dreary attics, overshadowed by the 
 smoke and reek of the humble suburb the workday world in its 
 harshest and tritest forms below and around them he recog- 
 nized that divine poem which comes out from all union between 
 the mind and the heart. Here, on the rough deal table (the ink 
 scarcely dry)-, lay the writings of the young wrestler for fame 
 and bread ; there, On : the other side the partition, on that mean 
 pallet, lay the boy's sole comforter the all that warmed his 
 heart with living mortal affection. On one side the wall, the 
 world of imagination ; on the other, this world of grief and of 
 love. And in both, a spirit equally sublime unselfish Devo- 
 tion "the something afar from the sphere of our sorrow." 
 
 He lookod round the room into which he had followed Leon- 
 ard, on quitting Helen's bedside." He noted the MSS. on 1 the 
 table, and, pointing to them, said gently, " And these are the 
 labors by which you supported the soldier's dfphan ? soldier 
 yourself in a hard battle ! " 
 
 " The battle was lost I could not support her," replied Leon- 
 ard, mournfully. 
 
 "But you did not desert her. When Pandora's box was 
 opened, they say Hope lingered last " 
 
 " False, false," said Leonard : " a heathen's notion. There are 
 deities that linger behind Hope Gratitude, Love, and Duty."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 435 
 
 "Yours is no common nature," exclaimed Harley, admiringly, 
 " but I must sound it more deeply hereafter ; at present I hasten 
 for the physician ; I shall return with him. We must move that 
 poor child from this low, close air as soon as possible. Mean- 
 while, let me qualify your rejection of the old fable. Wherever 
 Gratitude, Love, and Duty remain t6 man, believe me that 
 Hope is there too, though she may be often invisible, hidden 
 behind the sheltering wings of the nobler deities." 
 
 Harley said this with that wondrous smile of his, which cast 
 a brightness over the whole room and went away. 
 
 Leonard stole softly toward the grimy window ; and looking 
 up toward the stars that shone pale over the roof-tops, he mur- 
 mured, " O thou, the All-seeing and All-merciful ! how it com- 
 forts me now to think that, though my dreams of knowledge may 
 have sometimes obscured the Heavens, I never doubted that 
 Thou wert there !-^-as luminous and everlasting, though behind 
 the cloud ! " So, for a few minutes, he prayed silently then 
 passed into Helen's room, and sat beside her motionless, for she 
 slept. She woke just as Harley returned with a physician ; ' and 
 then Leonard, returning to his own room, saw amongst his papers 
 the letter he had written to Mr. Dale; and muttering, "I need not 
 disgrace ray calling I need not be the mendicant now " held 
 the letter to the flame of the candle. And while he said this, and 
 as the burning tinder dropped on the floor, the sharp hunger, 
 nnfelt during his late anxious emotions, gnawed at his entrails. 
 Still, even hunger could not reach that noble pride which had 
 yielded to a sentiment nobler than itself and he smiled, as he 
 repeated, " No mendicant ! the life that I was sworn to guard 
 is saved. I can raise against Fate the front of Man once more." 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A FEW days afterward, and Helen, removed to -a pure air, and 
 tinder the advice of the first physicians, was out of all danger. 
 
 It was a pretty detached cottage, with its windows lookingover 
 the wild heaths of Norwood, to which Harley rode daily to watch 
 the convalescence of his young charge ; an object in life was 
 already found. As she grew better and stronger, he coaxed her 
 easily into talking, and listened to her with pleased surprise. The 
 heart so infantine, and the sense so womanly, struck him much 
 by its rare contrast and combination. Leonard, whom he had 
 insisted on placing also in the cottage, had stayed there willingly 
 till Helen's recovery was beyond question. Then he came to 
 Lord L'Estrange, as the latter was about one day to leave the
 
 43 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 cottage, and said, quietly, "Now, my lord, that Helen is safe, 
 and now that she will need me no more, I can no longer be a 
 pensioner on your bounty. I return to London." 
 
 "You are my visitor, not my pensioner, foolish boy," said 
 Harley, who had already noticed the pride which spoke in that 
 farewell ; " come into the garden and let us talk." 
 
 Harley seated himself on a bench on the little lawn ; Nero 
 crouched at his feet ; Leonard stood beside him. 
 
 " So," said Lord L'Estrange, " you would return to London ? 
 What to do ? " 
 
 "Fulfil my fate." 
 
 " And that ? " 
 
 " I cannot guess. Fate is the Isis whose veil no mortal can 
 ever raise." ; i 
 
 " You should be born for great things," said Harley, abruptly. 
 " I am sure that you write well. I have seen that you study with 
 passion. Better than writing and better than study, you have 
 a noble heart, and the proud desire of independence. Let me 
 see your MSS., or any copies of what you have already printed. 
 Do not hesitate I ask but to be a reader. I don't pretend to 
 be a patron ; it is a word I hate." 
 
 .: Leonard's eyes sparkled through their sudden moisture. He 
 brought out his portfolio, placed it on the bench beside Harley, 
 And then went softly to: the further part of the garden. Nero 
 looked after ;him, and then rose and followed him slowly. The 
 boy seated himself on the turf and Nero rested his dull head on 
 the loud heart of the poet. 
 
 Harley took up the various papers before him, and read them 
 through leisurely. Certainly he was no critic. He was net 
 accustomed to analyze what pleased or displeased him ; but his 
 perceptions were quick, and his taste exquisite. As he read, his 
 countenance, always so genuinely expressive, exhibited now 
 doubt and now admiration. He was soon struck by the con- 
 trast, ,in the boy's writings, between the pieces that sported with 
 fancy, and those that grappled with thought. In the first, the 
 young poet seemed so unconscious of his own individuality. 
 His imagination, afar and aloft from, the scenes; of his suffering!, 
 ran riot amidst a paradise of happy golden creations. But in 
 the last, the THINKER stood out alone and mournful, questioning, 
 in troubled sorrow, the hard world on which he gazed. All ii 
 the thought was unsettled, tumultuous ; all in the fancy serene 
 and peaceful. The genius seemed divided into twain shapes ; the 
 one bathing; its wings amidst the starry dews of heaven ; the 
 other wandering " melancholy, slow," amidst desolateand bound-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 437 
 
 less sands. Harley gently laid down the paper, and mused a little 
 while. Then he rose and walked to Leonard, gazing on his coun- 
 tenance as he neared the boy, with a new and a deeper interest. 
 
 " I have read your papers," he said, "and recognize in them, 
 two men, belonging to two worlds, essentially distinct." 
 
 Leonard started, and murmured, " True, true ! " 
 
 "I apprehend," resumed Harley, "that one Of these inen.must 
 either destroy the other, or that the two must become fused and 
 harmonized into a single existence. Get your hat, mount my. 
 groom's horse, and come with me to London ; we will converse 
 by the way. Look you, I believe you and I agree in this, that the 
 first object of every nobler spirit is independence. It is toward 
 this independence that I alone presume to assist you ; and this is 
 a service which the proudest man can receive without a blush." 
 
 Leonard lifted his eyes toward Harley 's, and those eyes s.wam 
 with grateful tears ; but this heart was too full to answer. 
 
 "I am not one of those," said Harley, when they. were on the 
 road, " who think that because a young man writes poetry he is 
 fit for nothing else, and that he must be a poet or a pauper. I 
 have said that in you there seem to me to be two men, the man 
 of the Actual world, the man of the Ideal. To each of these 
 men I can offer a separate icareer. The first is perhaps more 
 tempting. It is the interest of the state to draw into its service 
 all the talent and industry it can obtain ; and under his native 
 state every citizen of a free country should be proud to take ser- 
 vice. I have a friend w-ho is a minister, and who is known to 
 encourage talent Audley Egerton. I have but to say to him, 
 ' There is a -young. man who will well repay to the government 
 whatever the government bestows on him ' ; and you will rise to- 
 morrow independent in means, and with fair occasions to attain 
 to fortune and distinction. This is one offer what say you to it ? " 
 
 Leonard thought bitterly of his interview with Audley Eger- 
 ton, and the minister's ;proffered crown-piece. He shook his 
 head, and replied 
 
 ! " Oh, my lord, how have I deserved such kindness ? Do with 
 me what you will ; but if I have the option, I would rather follow 
 my own. calling. This is not the ambition which inflames me." 
 
 " Hear, then, the other offer. I have a friend with whom I 
 am less intimate than Egerton, and who has nothing in his gift 
 to bestow. I speak of a man of letters Henry Norreys of 
 whom you have doubtless: heard, who, I should say, conceived 
 an interest in you when he observed you reading in the book- 
 stall. I have often heard him say, ' that literature as a profes- 
 sion is misunderstood, and that rightly followed, with the same
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, : 
 
 pains and the same prudence which are brought to bear on other 
 professions, a competence at least can be always ultimately ob- 
 tained.' But the way may be long and tedious and it leads to 
 no -power but over thought; it rarely attains to wealth ; and, 
 though reputationvhzy be certain, fame, such as poets dream of, 
 is the lot of few. What say you to this course ? " 
 
 "My lord, I decide," said Leonard, firmly; and then, his 
 young face lighting up with enthusiasm, he'exclaimed, " Yes, if, 
 as you say, there be two men within me, I feel that were I con- 
 demned wholly to the mechanical and practical world, one 
 would indeed destroy the other. And the conqueror would be 
 the ruder and the coarser. Let me pursue those ideas that, 
 though they have but flitted across me, vague and formless 
 have ever soared toward the sunlight. No matter whether or not 
 they lead to fortune or to fame, at least they will lead me upward! 
 Knowledge for itself I desire what care I if it be not power ! " 
 
 "Enough," said Harley, with a pleased smile at his young 
 companion's outburst. " As you decide so shall it be settled. 
 And now permit me, if not impertinent, to ask you a few ques- 
 tions. Your name is Leonard Fairfield ? " 
 
 The boy blushed deeply, and bowed his head as if in assent. 
 
 "Helen says you are self-taught ; for the rest she refers me 
 to you ; thinking, perhaps, that I should esteem you less rather 
 than yet more highly- if she said you were, as I presume to con- 
 jecture, of humble birth." 
 
 " My birth," said Leonard, slowly, " is very-^very humble." 
 
 "The name of Fairfield is not unknown to me. There was 
 one of that name who married into a family in Lansmere 
 married an Avenel," continued Harley, and his voice quivered. 
 "You change countenance. Oh, could your mother's name 
 have been Avenel ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Leonard, between his set teeth. ; Harley laid his 
 hand on the boy's shoulder. "Then, indeed, I have a right to 
 serve any of that family." 
 
 Leonard looked at him in surprise. 
 
 " For," continued Harley, recovering himself, " they always 
 served my family ; and my recollections of Lansmere, though 
 boyish, are indelible." He spurred on his horse as the words 
 closed and again there was a long pause ; but from that time 
 Harley always spoke to Leonard in a soft voice, and often 
 gazed on him with earnest and kindly eyes. 
 
 They reached a house in a central though not fashionable 
 street. A man-servant of a singularly grave and awful aspect 
 opened the door a man who had lived all his life with authors.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 439 
 
 Poor fellow, he was indeed prematurely old ! the care on his 
 lip and the pomp on his brow- no mortal's pen can describe ! 
 
 " Is Mr. Norreys at home ? " asked Harley. 
 
 " He is at home to his friends, my lord," answered the man, 
 majestically ; and he stalked across the hall with the step of a 
 Dangeau ushering some Montmorenci into the presence of Louis 
 le Grand. 
 
 "Stay show this gentleman into another room. I will go 
 first into the library; wait for me, Leonard." The man nodded, 
 and conducted Leonard into the dining-room. Then pausing 
 before the door of the library, and listening an instant, as if 
 fearful to disturb some mood of inspiration, ; opened it very softly. 
 To his ineffable disgust, Harley pushed before, and entered ab- 
 ruptly. It was a large room, lined with books from the floor to 
 the ceiling. Books were on all the tables books were on all 
 the chairs. Harley seated himself on a folio of Raleigh's His- 
 tory of the World, and cried 
 
 " I have brought you a treasure ! "" 
 
 "What is it?" said Norreys, good-humoredly, looking up 
 from his desk. 
 
 " A mind ! " 
 
 " A mind ! " echoed Norreys, vaguely, " Your own ? " 
 
 " Pooh ! I have none I have only a heart and a fancy. Listen. 
 You remember the boy we saw reading at the book-stall. I have 
 caught him for you, and you shall train him into a man. I have the 
 warmest interest in his future for I know some of his family 
 and one of that family was very dear to me. As for money, he has 
 not a shilling, and not a shilling would he accept gratis from you 
 or me either. ! But he comes with bold heart to work and work 
 you must find him.*' Harley then rapidly told his friend of the 
 two offers he had made to Leonard and Leonard's choice. 
 
 " This promises very well ; for letters a man must have a strong 
 vocation as he should have for law^-I will do all that you wish." 
 
 Harley rose with alertness shook Norreys cordially by the 
 hand hurried out of the room, and returned with Leonard.. 
 
 Mr. Norreys eyed the young man with attention. He was 
 naturally rather severe than cordial in his manner to strangers - 
 contrasting in this, as in most things, the poor vagabond Bur- 
 ley. But he was a good judge of the human countenance, and 
 he liked Leonard's. After a pause he held out his hand. 
 
 " Sir," said he, " Lord L'Estrange tells me that you wish to 
 enter literature as a calling, and no doubt to study it as an art. 
 I may help you in this, and you meanwhile can help me, ; I want 
 an amanuensis I offer you that place. The salary will be pro-
 
 440 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 portioned to the services you will render me. I have a room in 
 my -house at your disposal. When I first came up to London, I 
 made the same choice that I hear you have done. I have no 
 cause, even in a worldly point of view, to repent my choice. It 
 gave me an income larger than my .wants. I trace my success to 
 these maxims,which are : applicable to all professions ist, Never 
 to trust to genius for what can be obtained by labor; zdly, Never 
 to profess to teach what we have not. studied to understand; 3dly, 
 Never to engage our word to what we do not our best to execute. 
 
 " With these rules, literature provided a man does not mis- 
 take his vocation for it, and will, under good advice, go through 
 preliminary discipline of natural powers, which all vocations 
 require -is as good a calling as any other. Without them, a 
 shoeblack's is infinitely better." 
 
 " Possibly enough," muttered Harley; "but there have been 
 great writers who observed none of your maxims." 
 
 "Great writers, probably, but very unenviable men. My 
 lord, my lord, don't corrupt the pupil you bring to me." 
 Harley smiled and took his departure,, and left Genius at school 
 with Common Sense and Experience. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 WHILE Leonard Fail-field had been obscurely wrestling against 
 poverty, neglect, hunger, and dread temptation, bright had been 
 the opening day, and smooth the upward path, of Randal Leslie. 
 Certainly no young man, able and ambitious, could enter life 
 under fairer auspices; the connection and avowed favorite of a 
 popular and energetic statesman, the brilliant writer of apoliti- 
 cal work, that had lifted him at once into a station of his own 
 received and courted in those highest circles, to which neither 
 rank nor fortune alone, suffices for a familiar passport the cir- 
 cles above fashion itself the circles of POWER with every 
 facility of augmenting information, and learning the world be- 
 times through the talk of its acknowledged masters, Randal 
 had but to move straight onward, and success was sure. But 
 his tortuous spirit delighted in scheme and intrigue for their 
 own sake. In scheme and intrigue he saw shorter paths to for- 
 tune, if not to fame. His besetting sin was also his besetting 
 weakness. He did :not aspire he coveted. Though in a far 
 higher social position than Frank Ha^eldean, despite the worldly 
 prospects of his old school-fellow, he coveted the very things 
 that kept Frank Hazeldean below him coveted his idle gaieties, 
 his careless pleasures, his very .waste of youth. Thus, also,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 44! 
 
 Randal less aspired to Audley Egerton's repute than he coveted 
 Audley Egerton's wealth and pomp, his princely expenditure, 
 and his Castle >Rackrent in Grosvenor Square, It was the mis- 
 fortune of his birth to be so near to both these fortunes near 
 to that of Leslie, as the future head of that fallen house,: near 
 even to that of Hazeldean, since, as we have seen before, if the 
 Squire had no son, Randal's descent from the Hazeldeans sug- 
 gested himself as the one on whom these broad lands should 
 devolve. Most young men, brought into intimate contact with 
 Audley Egerton, would have felt for that personage a certain 
 loyal and admiring, if not very affectionate respect. For there 
 was something grand in Egerton something that commands 
 and fascinates the young. His determined courage,, his ener- 
 getic will, his almost regal liberality, contrasting a simplicity in 
 personal tastes and habits that was almost austere his rare and 
 seemingly unconscious power of charming even the women 
 most wearied of homage, and persuading even the men most 
 obdurate to counsel all served to invest the practical man 
 with those spells which are usually confined to the ideal one. 
 But, indeed, Audley Egerton was an ideal the ideal of the 
 Practical. Not the mere vulgar, plodding, red-tape machine of 
 petty business, but the man of strong sense, inspired by inflex- 
 ible energy, and guided to definite earthly objects. In a disso- 
 lute and corrupt form of government, under a decrepit monar- 
 chy, or a vitiated republic, Audley Egerton might have been a 
 most dangerous citizen ; for his ambition was so resolute, and 
 his sight to its ends was so clear. But there is something in 
 public life in England which compels the really ambitious man 
 to honor, unless his eyes are jaundiced and oblique, like Randal 
 Leslie's. It is so necessary in England to be a gentleman. 
 And thus Egerton was emphatically considered a gentleman.* 
 Without the least pride in other matters, with little apparent 
 sensitiveness, touch him on the point of gentleman, and no one 
 so sensitive and so proud. As Randal saw. more of him, and 
 watched his moods with the lynx-eyes of the household spy, he 
 could perceive that this hard, mechanical man was subject to 
 fits of melancholy, even of gloom; and though they did not last 
 long, there was even in his habitual coldness an evidence of 
 something compressed, latent, painful, lying deep within his 
 memory. This would have interested the kindly feelings of a 
 grateful heart. But Randal detected and watched it only as a 
 clue to some secret it might profit him to gain. For Randal 
 Leslie hated Egerton; and hated him the more because, with all 
 his book-knowledge and his conceit in his own talents, he could
 
 442 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 not despise his patron because he had not yet-succeeded in 
 making his patron the mere tool or stepping-stone because he 
 thought that Egerton's keen eye saw through his -wily heart, even 
 while, as if in profound disdain, the minister helped the//tf/<4V. 
 But this last suspicion was unsound. Egerton had not detected 
 Leslie's corrupt and treacherous nature. He might have other 
 reasons for keeping him at a certain distance, but he inquired 
 too little into Randal's feelings toward himself to question the 
 attachment, or doubt the sincerity, of one who owed to him so 
 much. But that which more than all embittered Randal's feel- 
 ings toward Egerton, was 'the careful and deliberate frankness 
 with which the latter had, more than once, repeated and en- 
 forced the odious announcement, that Randal had nothing to 
 expect from the minister's WILL;- nothing to expect from that 
 wealth which glared in the hungry eyes of the pauper heir to 
 the Leslies of Rood. To whom, then, could Egerton mean to 
 devise his fortune? To whom but Frank Hazeldean ? Yet 
 Audley took so little notice of his nephew seemed so indiffer- 
 ent to him, that that supposition, however natural, was exposed 
 to doubt. The astuteness of Randal was perplexed. Mean- 
 while, however, the less he himself could rely upon "Egerton for 
 fortune, the more he revolved the possible chances of ousting 
 Frank from the inheritance of Hazeldean in part, at least, if 
 not wholly. To one less scheming, crafty, and remorseless than 
 Randal Leslie, such a project would have seemed the wildest 
 delusion. But there was something fearful in the manner in 
 which this young man sought to turn knowledge into power, and 
 make the study of all weakness in others subservient to his own 
 ends. He wormed himself thoroughly into Frank's confidence. 
 He learned, through Frank, all the Squire's peculiarities of 
 thought and temper, and pondered over each word in the father's 
 letters, which the son gradually got into the habit of showing to 
 the perfidious eyes of his friend. Randal saw that the Squire 
 had two characteristics, which are very common among pro- 
 prietors, and which might be invoked as antagonists to his warm 
 fatherly love. First, the Squire was as fond of his estate as if it 
 were a living thing, and part of his own flesh and blood; and in 
 his lecture to Frank upon the sin of extravagance, the Squire 
 always let out this foible: " What was to become of the estate 
 if it fell into the hands of a spendthrift ? No man should make 
 ducks and drakes of Hazeldean; let Frank beware of that" etc. 
 Secondly,; the Squire was not only fond of his lands, but he was 
 jealous of them that jealousy which even the tenderest fathers 
 sometimes entertain toward their natural heirs. He could not
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 443 
 
 bear the notion that Frank should count on his death ; and he 
 seldom closed an admonitory letter without repeating the infor- 
 mation that Hazeldean was not entailed ; that it was his to do 
 with as he pleased through life and in death. Indirect menace 
 of this nature rather wounded and galled than intimidated Frank; 
 for the young man was extremely generous and high-spirited by 
 nature, and was always more disposed to some indiscretion after 
 such warnings to his self-interest, as if to show that those were 
 the last kinds of appeal likely to influence him. By the helpof 
 such insights into the characterof father and son, Randal thought 
 he saw gleams of daylight illuminating his own chance to the 
 lands of Hazeldean. Meanwhile it appeared to him obvious 
 that, come what might of it, his own interests could not lose, and 
 might most probably gain, by whatever could alienate the Squire 
 from his natural heir. Accordingly, though with consummate 
 tact, he instigated Frank toward the very excesses most calcu- 
 lated to irritate the Squire, all the while appearing rather to 
 give the counter advice, and never sharing in any of the follies 
 to which he conducted his thoughtless friend. In this he worked 
 chiefly through 'others, introducing Frank to every acquaint- 
 ance most dangerous to youth, either from the wit that laughs at 
 prudence, or the spurious magnificence that subsists so hand- 
 somely upon bills endorsed by friends of " great expectations." 
 
 The minister and his/ra^/were seated at breakfast, the first 
 reading the newspaper, the last glancing over his letters ; for 
 Randal had arrived at the dignity of receiving many letters 
 ay, and notes too, three-cornered, and fantastically embossed. 
 Egerton uttered an exclamation, and laid down the newspaper. 
 Randal looked up from his correspondence. The minister had 
 sunk into one of his absent reveries. 
 
 After a long silence, observing that Egerton did not return 
 to the newspaper, Randal said, " Ehem sir, I have a note from 
 Frank Hazeldean, who wants much to see me ; his father has 
 arrived in town unexpectedly." 
 
 "What brings him here?" asked Egerton, still abstractedly. 
 
 " Why, it seems that he has heard some vague reports of poor 
 Frank's extravagance, and Frank is rather afraid, or ashamed, to 
 meet him." 
 
 " Ay a very great fault extravagance in the young ! destroys 
 independence ; ruins or enslaves the future. Great fault very ! 
 And what does youth want that it should be extravagant ? Has 
 it not everything in itself merely because it is? Youth is youth 
 what needs it more ? " 
 
 Egerton rose as he said'this, and retired to his writing-table, and
 
 444 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 in his turn opened his correspondence. Randal look up the news- 
 paper, and endeavored,lbut in vain, to conjecture what had excited 
 the minister's exclamation, and the reverie that succeeded it. 
 
 Egerton suddenly and sharply turned round in his chair " If 
 you have done with the Times, have the goodness to place it here." 
 
 Randal had just obeyed, when a knock at the street-door was 
 heard, and presently Lord L'Estrange came into the room, with 
 somewhat a quicker step, and somewhat a gayer mien than usual. 
 
 Audley's hand, as if mechanically, fell upon the newspaper 
 fell upon that part of the columns devoted to births, deaths 
 and marriages. Randal stood by, and noted ; then, bowing to 
 L '.Estrange, left the room. 
 
 " Audley,"said L'Estrange, "I have had an adventure since I 
 saw you an adventure that re-iopened the past, and may influ- 
 ence my future." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " In the first place I have met with a relation of of the 
 Avenels." 
 
 " Indeed ! Whom Richard Avenel ! " 
 
 "Richard Richard who is he? Oh, I remember; thewild lad 
 who went off to America; but that was when I was a mere child." 
 
 "That Richard Avenel is now a rich, thrivingtrader,and his mar- 
 riageis in this newspaper married toanHonorableMrs.M'Catch- 
 ley. Well in thiscouritry who should plume himselfon birth ?" 
 
 " You did not say so always, Egerton," replied Harley, with 
 a tone of mournful reproach. 
 
 " And I say so now, pertinently to a Mrs. M'Catchley, not to the 
 heir of the L'Estranges. But no more of these the Avenels." 
 
 " Yes, more of Them. I tell you I have met a relation of 
 theirs a nephew of of " 
 
 "Richard Avenel's ?" interrupted Egerton; and then added, 
 in the slow, deliberate, argumentative tone in which he was 
 wqnt to speak in public, " Richard Avenel, the trader ! I saw 
 him once a presuming and intolerable man." 
 
 " The nephew has not those sins. He is full of promise, of 
 modesty, yet of pride. And his countenance oh, Egerton, he 
 has her eyes." 
 
 Egerton made no answer, and Harley resumed 
 
 "I had thought of placing him under your care. I knew you 
 would provide for him." 
 
 "I will.. Bring him hither," cried Egerton, eagerly. "All 
 that I can do to prove my regard for a wish of yours/' 
 
 Harley pressed his friend's hand warmly. 
 
 ,'"1 thank you from my heart: the Audley of my boyhood
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 445 
 
 speaks now. But the young man has decided otherwise ; and I 
 do not blame him. Nay, I rejoice that he chooses a career in 
 which, if he find hardship, he may escape dependence." 
 
 " And that career is " 
 
 " Letters." 
 
 " Letters literature ! " exclaimed the statesman. " Beggary ! 
 No, no, Harley, this is your absurd romance." 
 
 " It will not be beggary, and it is not my romance ; it is the 
 boy's. Leave him alone ; he is my care and my charge hence- 
 forth. He is of her blood, and I said that he had her eyes." 
 
 " But you are going abroad ; let me know where he is ; I will 
 watch over him." 
 
 "And unsettle a right ambition for a wrong one? No^-you 
 shall know nothing of him till he can proclaim himself. I think 
 that day will come." 
 
 Audley mused a moment, and then said, "Well, perhaps you are 
 right. After all, as you say, independence is a great blessing, and 
 my ambition has not rendered myself the better or the happier." 
 
 "Yet, my poor Audley, you ask me to be ambitious." 
 
 "I only wish you to be consoled, "cried Egerton, with passion. 
 
 " I will try to be so ; and by the help of a milder remedy 
 than yours. I said that my adventure might influence ray fu- 
 ture ; it brought me acquainted not only with the young man I 
 ;speak of, but the most winning, affectionate child a girl." 
 
 " Is this child an Avenel too ? " 
 
 "No, she is of gentle blood a soldier's daughter ; the daughter 
 O.f that Captain Digby on whose behalf I was a petitioner to 
 your patronage. He is dead, and in dying my name was on his 
 lips. He meant me, doubtless, to be the guardian to his orphan. 
 I shall be so. I have at last an object in life." 
 " But can you seriously mean to take this child with you abroad ?" 
 
 "Seriously, I do." 
 
 "And lodge her in your own house ? " 
 
 "For a year or so, while she is yet a child. Then, as she 
 approaches youth, I shall place her elsewhere." 
 
 "You may grow to love her. It is clear that she will love you?- 
 not mistake gratitudeforlove? It is averyhazardousexperiment." 
 
 "So was. William the Norman's -still he was William the 
 Conqueror. Thou biddest me move on from the Past, and be 
 consoled, yet thou wouldat make me as inapt to progress, as the 
 mule in Slawkenbergius's tale, with thy cursed interlocutions, 
 'Stumbling, by St. Nicholas, every step. Why,, atrthis ra.te, we 
 shall be all night in getting into ' Happiness ! Listen," con- 
 tinued Harley, setting off, full pelt, into, one of his wild,
 
 446 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 sical humors. " One of the sons of the prophet in Israel, felling 
 wood near the River Jordan, his hatchet forsook the helve, and fell 
 to the bottom of the river; so he prayed to have it again (it was but 
 asmall request,mark you); and having a stfongfaith, he did not 
 throw the hatchet after the helve, but the helve after the hatchet. 
 Presently, two great miracles were seen. Up springs the hatchet 
 from the bottom of the water, and fixes itself to its old acquaint- 
 ance, the helve. Now, had he wished to coach it up to heaven 
 in a fiery chariot, like Elias, be as rich as Job, strong as Samson, 
 and beautiful as- Absalom, would he have obtained the wish, do 
 you think ? In truth, my friend, I question it very much." 
 
 " I can't comprehend what you mean. Sad stuff you are talking." 
 
 " I can not help that ; Rabelais is to be blamed for it. I am 
 quoting him, and it is to be found in his Prologue to the Chapters 
 on the Moderation of Wishes. And ci propos of ' moderate 
 wishes in point of hatchet,' I want you to understand that I 
 ask but little from Heaven; I fling but the helve /after the 
 hatchet that has sunk into the silent stream. I want the other 
 half of the weapon that is buried fathom 'deep, and for want of 
 which the thick woods darken round me by the S'acred River, 
 and I can catch not a glimpse of the stars." 
 
 "In plain English," said Audley Egerton, "you want " he 
 stopped short, puzzled. 
 
 "Twant my purpose and my will, and my old character, and 
 the nature God gave me. I want the half of my soul which has 
 fallen from me. I want such love as may replace me to the van- 
 ished affections. Reason not I throw the helve after the hatchet. " 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 RANDAL LESLIE, on leaving Audley, repaired to Frank's lodg- 
 ings, and after being closeted with the young Guardsman an 
 hour or so, took his way to Limner's hotel, and asked for Mr. 
 Hazeldean. He was shown into the coffee-room,while the waiter 
 went upstairs with his card, to see if the Squire was within, and 
 disengaged. The Times newspaper lay sprawling on one of the 
 tables, and Randal, leaning over it, looked with attention into 
 the 'column containing births, deaths, and marriages.- But in 
 that long and miscellaneous list, he could not. conjecture the 
 name which had so excited Mr. EgeFton's interest. :- 
 
 " Vexatious ! " he muttered ; ":there is no knowledge which 
 has power more useful than that of the secrets of men." 
 
 He turned as the waiter entered and said that Mr. Hazeldean 
 would be glad to see him.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 447 
 
 As Randal entered the drawing-room, the Squire, shaking 
 hands with him, looked toward the door as if expecting some 
 one else, and his honest face assumed a blank expression of 
 disappointment when the door closed, and he found that Ran- 
 dal was unaccompanied. 
 
 " Well," said he, bluntly, " I thought your old school-fellow, 
 Frank, ; might have been with you." 
 
 " Have not you seen him yet, sir ? " 
 
 " No, I came to town this morning ; travelled outside the 
 mail ; sent to his barracks, but the young gentleman does not 
 sleep there has an apartment of his own ; he never told me 
 that. We are a plain family, the Hazeldeans young, sir ; and 
 I hate beinig kept in the dark, by my own son, too." 
 
 Randal made no answer, but looked sorrowful. The Squire, 
 who had never before seen his kinsman, had a vague idea that 
 it was not polite to entertain a stranger, though a connection to 
 himself,with his family troubles,and so resumed good-naturedly 
 
 "I am very glad to make your acquaintance at last, Mr. Les- 
 lie. You know, I hope, that you have good Hazeldean blood 
 in your veins?" 
 
 RANDAL (smiling). I am not likely to forget that; it is the 
 boast of our pedigree. 
 
 SQUIRE (heartily). Shake hands again on it, my boy. You 
 don't want a friend, since my grandee of a half -brother has taken 
 you up ; but if ever you should, Hazeldean is not very far from 
 Rood. Can't get on with your father at all, my lad more's the 
 pity, for I think I could have given him a hint or two as to the 
 improvement of his property. If he would plant those ugly com- 
 mons ^larch and fir soon come into profit, sir; and there are some 
 lowlands about Rood that would take mighty kindly to draining. 
 
 RANDAL. My poor father lives a life so retired, and you can 
 not wonder at it. Fallen trees lie still, and so do fallen families. 
 
 SQUIRE. ^-Fallen families can get up again, which fallen trees 
 can't. 
 
 RANDAL. Ah, sir, it often takes the energy of generations to 
 repair the thriftlessness and extravagance of a single owner. 
 
 SQUIRE (his brow lowering). That's very true. Frank ts 
 d d extravagant ; treats me very coolly, toonot coming ; 
 near three o'clock. By the bye, I suppose he told you where 
 I was, otherwise how did you find me out ? 
 
 RANDAL (reluctantly). Sir, he did; and to speak frankly, 
 I am not surprised that he has not yet appeared. 
 
 SQUIRE. Eh ! 
 
 RANDAL. We have grown very ultimate.
 
 448 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 SQUIRE. So he writes me word and I am glad of it. Our 
 member, Sir John, tells me you are a very clever fellow,, and a 
 very steady one. And Frank say stha.t he wishes he had your pru- 
 dence, if he can't have your talents. He has a good heart, Frank 
 [added the father, reluctantly]. But zounds, sir, you say you 
 are not surprised he has not come to welcome his own father ! 
 
 " My dear sir," said Randal, " you wrote word to Frank that 
 you had heard from Sir John and others of his- goings-on, and 
 that you were not satisfied with his replies to your letters." 
 "Well." 
 
 "And then you suddenly come up to town." 
 
 "Well." 
 
 "Well. And Frank is ashamed to meet you. For, as you 
 say, he has been extravagant, and he has exceeded his allow- 
 ance ; and knowing my respect for you, and my great affection 
 for himself, Jie has asked we to prepare you to receive his con- 
 fession and forgive him. I know I am taking a great liberty. 
 I have no right to interfere between father and son ; but pray 
 pray think I mean for the best." ,.,,'lj ^ 
 
 "Humph!" said the Squire,recovering himself very slowly,and 
 showing evident pain, " I knew already that Frank had spent 
 more than he ought ; but I think he should not have employed a 
 third person to prepare me to forgive him. (Excuse me no of- 
 fence. ) And if he wan ted a third, person, washot there his own moth- 
 er ? What the devil ! [firing upj, am I a tyrantr-a .bashaw that 
 my own son is afraid to speak to.ine ? Gad, I'll give it to him ! " 
 
 "Pardon me, sir," said Randal, assuming at once that. air of 
 authority which superior intellect so well carries off and ex- 
 cuses, " but I strongly advise you not to. express any anger at 
 Frank's confidence in me. At present I have influence over him. 
 Whatever you may think of his extravagance, I have saved him 
 from many an indiscretion, and many a debt a young man will 
 listen. to one of. his own age so much more, readily than even to 
 the kindest friend of graver years. Indeed, sir, 1 speak for your 
 sake as well as for Frank's. Let me keep thi$/ influence over 
 him ; and don't reproach him for the confidence he placed in 
 me. ! Nay, let him rather thuvk that I have softened any dis- 
 pleasure you might otherwise have felt." 
 
 There se&med so much good sense in vrhat Randal said, and 
 the kindness of it seemed so disinterested, that the Squire's 
 native .shrewdness was deceived. 
 
 "You are a fine young fellow, "said fee, " and I am very much 
 obliged to you. Well, I suppose there is no putting old heads 
 upon you^g shoulders ; : and I promise you I'll not say an angry
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 449 
 
 word to Frank. I dare say, poor boy, he is very much afflicted, 
 and I long to shake hands with him. So, set his mind at ease." 
 
 "Ah, sir," said Randal, with much apparent emotion, " your 
 son may well love you ; and it seems to be a hard matter for so 
 kind a heart as yours to preserve the proper firmness with him." 
 
 "Oh, I can be firm enough," quoth the Squire "especially 
 when I don't see him handsome dog that he is, very like his 
 mother don't you think so ? " 
 
 " I never saw his mother, sir." 
 
 "Gad! Not seen my Harry? No more you have; you must come 
 and pay us a visit. I suppose my half-brother will let you come ? " 
 
 "To be sure,sir. Will you not call on him while you are in town?" 
 
 " Not I. He would think I expected to get something from 
 the Government. Tell him the ministers must go on a little 
 better, if they want my vote for their member. But go. I see 
 you are impatient to tell Frank that all's forgot and forgiven. 
 Come and dine with him here at six, and let him bring his bills 
 in his pocket. Oh, I shan't scold him." 
 
 "Why, as to that," said Randal, smiling, " I think (forgive me 
 still) that you should not take it too easily ; just as I think that 
 you had better not blame him for his very natural and praise- 
 worthy shame in approaching you, so I think, also, that you should 
 do nothing that would tend to diminish that shame it is such a 
 check on him. And therefore, if you can contrive to affect to 
 be angry with him for his extravagance, it will do good." 
 
 "You speak like a book, and I'll try my best." 
 
 "If you threaten, for instance, to take him out of the army, 
 and settle him in the country.it would have a very good effect." 
 
 " What ! would he think it so great a punishment to come 
 home and live with his parents ? " 
 
 " I don't say that ; but he is naturally so fond of London. 
 At his age, with his large inheritance, that is natural." 
 
 " Inheritance ! " said the Squire, moodily " inheritance ! he 
 is not thinking of that, I trust. Zounds, sir, I have as. good a 
 life as his own. Inheritance ! to be sure the Casino property 
 is entailed on him ; but as for the rest, sir, I am no tenant for 
 life. I could leave the Hazeldean lands to my ploughman, if 
 I chose it. Inheritance, indeed ! " 
 
 " My dear sir, I did not mean to imply that Frank would en- 
 tertain the unnatural and monstrous idea of calculating on your 
 death ; and all we have to do is to get him to sow his wild oats 
 as soon as possible marry, and settle down into the country. 
 For it would be a thousand pities if his own habits and tastes grew 
 permanent a bad thing for the Hazeldean property, that! And,"
 
 450 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 added Randal, laughing, " 1 feel an interest in the old place, since 
 my grandmother comes of the stock. So just force yourself to 
 seem angry, and grumble a little when you pay the bills." 
 
 " Ah, ah, trust me," said the Squire, doggedly, and with a very 
 altered air. " I am much obliged to you for these hints, my 
 young kinsman." And his stout hand trembled a little as he 
 extended it to Randal. 
 
 Leaving Limner's, Randal hastened to Frank's rooms in St. 
 James's Street. " My dear fellow," said he, when he entered, " it 
 is very fortunate that I persuaded you to let me break matters to 
 your father. You might well say he is rather passionate ; but I 
 have contrived to soothe him. You need not fear that he will not 
 pay your debts." 
 
 "'I never feared that,"said Frank, changing color, "I only feared 
 his anger. But, indeed, I fear his kindness still more. What a 
 reckless hound I have been ! However, it shall be a lesson to me! 
 And my debts once paid, I will turn as economical as yourself." 
 
 " Quite right, Frank. And, indeed, I am a little afraid that, 
 when your father knows the total, he may execute a threat that 
 would be very unpleasant to you." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " Make you sell out, and give up London." 
 
 "The devil ! "exclaimed Frank,with fervent emphasis; "that 
 would be treating me like a child." 
 
 "Why, it would make you seem rather ridiculous to your set, 
 which is not a very rural one. And you, who like London so much, 
 and are so much the fashion." 
 
 " Don't talk of it," cried Frank, walking to and fro the room 
 in great disorder. 
 
 " Perhaps, on the whole, it might be well not to say all you owe, 
 at once. If you named half the sum, your father would let you off 
 with a lecture ; and really I tremble at the effect of the total." 
 
 "But how shall I pay the other half?" 
 
 "Oh, you must save from your allowance; it is a very liberal 
 one ; and the tradesmen are not pressing." 
 
 "No but the cursed bill-brokers " 
 
 "Always renew to a young man of your expectations. And if 
 I get into an office, I can help you, my dear Frank." 
 
 "Ah, Randal, I am not so bad as to take advantage of your 
 friendship," said Frank warmly. " But it seems to me mean, after 
 all, and a sort of a lie, indeed, disguising the real state of my af- 
 fairs. I should not have listened to the idea from any one else. 
 But you are such a sensible, kind, honorable fellow." 
 
 "After epithets so flattering, I shrink from the responsibility
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 451 
 
 of advice. But apart from your own interests, I should be glad to 
 save your father the pain he would feel at knowing the whole ex- 
 tent of the scrape you have got into. And if it entailed on you 
 the necessity to lay by and give up Hazard, and not be secur- 
 ity for other men why, it would be the best thing that could hap- 
 pen. Really, too, it seems hard upon Mr. Hazeldean, that he 
 should be the only sufferer, and quite just that you should bear 
 half your own burdens." 
 
 " So it is, Randal ; that did not strike me before. I will take 
 your counsel ; and now I will go at once to Limner's. My dear 
 father ! I hope he is looking well ?" 
 
 " Oh, very. Such a contrast to the sallow Londoners ! But 
 I think you had better not go till dinner. He has asked me to 
 meet you at six. I will call for you a little before, and we can go 
 together. This will prevent a great deal of gene and constraint. 
 Good-bye till then. Ha ! by the way, I think if I were yon, I 
 would not take the matter too seriously and penitentially. You 
 see, the best of fathers like to keep their sons under their thumb, 
 as the saying is. And if you want at your age to preserve your 
 independence, and not be hurried off and buried in the country, 
 like a school-boy in disgrace, a little manliness of bearing would 
 not be amiss. You can think over it." 
 
 The dinner at Limner's went off very differently from what it 
 ought to have done. Randal's words had sunk deep, and 
 rankled sorely in the Squire's mind ; and that impression im- 
 parted a certain coldness to his manner which belied the hearty, 
 forgiving, generous impulse with which he had come up to Lon- 
 don, which even Randal had not yet altogether whispered away. 
 On the other hand, Frank, embarrassed both by the sense of dis- 
 ingenuousness, and a desire " not to take the thing too seriously," 
 seemed to the Squire ungracious and thankless. 
 
 After dinner the Squire began to hum and haw, and Frank to 
 color up and shrink. Both felt discomposed by the presence of 
 a third person ; till, with an art and address worthy of a better 
 cause, Randal himself broke the ice, and so contrived to remove 
 the restraint he had before imposed, that at length each was 
 heartily glad to have matters made clear and brief by his dex- 
 terity and tact. 
 
 Frank's debts were not, in reality, large ; and when he named 
 the half of them looking down in shame the Squire, agreea- 
 bly surprised, was about to express himself with a liberal heart- 
 iness that would have opened his son's excellent heart at once to 
 him. But a warning look from Randal checked the impulse; and 
 the Squire thought it right, as he had promised, to affect an an-
 
 452 MY Is'OVEL ; OR, 
 
 ger he did not feel, and let fall the unlucky threat, " that it was 
 all very well once in a way to exceed his allowance; but if Frank 
 did not in future, show more sense than to be led away by a set 
 of London sharks and coxcombs, he must cut the army, come 
 home and take to farming." 
 
 Frank imprudently exclaimed, "Oh, sir, I have no taste for 
 farming. And after London, at my age, the country would be so 
 horribly dull." 
 
 " Aha ! " said the squire, very grimly and he thrust back into 
 his pocket-book some extra bank-notes which his fingers had 
 itched to add to those he had already counted out. " The coun- 
 try is terribly dull, is it ? Money goes there not upon follies and 
 vices, but upon employing honest laborers, and increasing the 
 wealth of the nation. It does not please you to spend money in 
 that way: it is a pity you should ever be plagued with such duties." 
 
 " My dear father " 
 
 " Hold your tongue, you puppy. Oh, I dare say, if you were in 
 my shoes, you would cut down the oaks, and mortgage the prop- 
 erty sell it, for what I know all go on a cast of the dice! Aha, 
 sir very well, very well the country is horribly dull, is it? 
 Pray stay in town." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Hazeldean," said Randal, blandly, and as if 
 with the wish to turn off into a joke what threatened to be serious, 
 "you must not interpret a hasty expression so literally. Why 
 
 would you make Frank as bad as Lord A , who wrote word to 
 
 his steward to cut down more timber; and when the steward re- 
 plied. ' There are only three sign-posts left on the whole estate,' 
 wrote back, ' They've done growing at all events down with 
 them ! ' You ought to know Lord A , sir ; so witty ; and 
 Frank's particular friend." 
 
 "Your particular friend, Master Frank ? Pretty friends ! " 
 and the Squire buttoned up the pocket to which he had trans- 
 ferred his note-book, with a determined airi 
 
 "But I'm his friend, too," said Randal kindly ; "and I preach 
 to him properly, I can tell you." Then, as if delicately anxious 
 to change the subject, he began to ask questions upon crops, and 
 the experiment of bone manure. He spoke earnestly and with 
 gusto, yet with the deference of one listening to a great practical 
 authority. Randal had spent the afternoon in cramming the 'sub- 
 ject from agricultural journals and Parliamentary reports ; and 
 like all practical readers, had really learned in a few hours more 
 than many a man, unaccustomed to study, could gain from books 
 in a year. The Squire was surprised and pleased at the young 
 scholar's information and taste for such subjects.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 453 
 
 " But, to be sure," quoth he, with an angry look at poor Frank, 
 "you have good Hazeldean blood in you, and know a bean from 
 a turnip." 
 
 "Why, sir," said Randal ingenuously, "I am training myself 
 for public life; and what is a public man worth if he do not study 
 the agriculture of his country ? " 
 
 " Right what is he worth ? Put that question, with my com- 
 pliments, to my half-brother. What stuff he did talk, the other 
 night, on the malt tax, to be sure ! " 
 
 " Mr. Egerton has had so many other things to think of, that 
 we must excuse his want of information upon one topic, however 
 important. With his strong sense he must acquire that informa- 
 tion, sooner or later ; for he is fond of power ; and, sir, knowl- 
 edge is power ! " 
 
 " Very true ; very fine saying," quoth the poor Squire, unsus- 
 piciously, as Randal's eye rested on Mr. Hazeldean's open face, 
 and then glanced toward Frank, who looked sad and bored. 
 
 " Yes," repeated Randal, " knowledge is power "; and he shook 
 his head wisely, as he passed the bottle to his host. 
 
 Still, when the Squire who meant to return to the Hall next 
 morning, took leave of Frank, his heart warmed to his son ; and 
 still more for Frank's dejected looks. It was not Randal's policy 
 to push estrangement too far at first, and in his own presence. 
 
 "Speak to poor Frank kindly now, sir do"; whispered he, 
 observing the Squire's watery eyes, as he moved to the window. 
 
 The Squire, rejoiced to obey, thrust out his hand to his son 
 " My dear boy," said he, " there, don't fret pshaw ! it was but 
 a trifle after all. Think no more of it." 
 
 Frank took the hand, and suddenly threw his arm round his 
 father's broad shoulder. 
 
 " Oh, sir, you are too good too good." His voice trembled so 
 that Randal tookalarm, passed byhim,andtouched himmeaningly. 
 
 The Squire pressed his son to his heart heart so large, that 
 it seemed to fill the whole width under his broadcloth. 
 
 " My dear Frank, "said he, half blubbering, " it is not the mon- 
 ey ; but, you -see, it so vexes your poor mother; you must be care- 
 ful in the future; and, zounds,boy,it will be all yours one day; only 
 don't caculate on it ; I could not bear that I could not indeed." 
 
 " Calculate ! " cried Frank. " Oh, sir, can you think it ? " 
 
 "I am so delighted that I had some slight hand in your com- 
 plete reconciliation with Mr. Hazeldean," said Randal,, as the 
 young men walked from the hotel. " I saw that you were dis- 
 heartened, and I told him to speak to you kindly." 
 
 " Did you ! Ah ! I am sorry he needed telling."
 
 454 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " I know his character so well already," said Randal, " that I 
 flatter myself lean always keep things between you as they 
 ought to be. What an excellent man ! " 
 
 " The best man in the world," cried Frank, heartily ; and 
 then, as his accents dropped, " yet I have deceived him. I have 
 a great mind to go back " 
 
 "And tell him to give you twice as much money as you had 
 asked for. He would think you had only seemed so affectionate 
 in order to take him in. No, no, Frank save lay by econo- 
 mize ; and then tell him that you have paid half your own debts. 
 Something high-minded in that." 
 
 "So there is. Your heart is as good as your head. Good-night." 
 
 "Are you going home so early? Have you no engagements?" 
 
 " None that I shall keep." 
 
 " Good-night, then." 
 
 They parted, and Randal walked into one of the fashionable 
 clubs. He neared a table, where three or four young men 
 (younger sons, who lived in the most splendid style, heaven 
 knew how) were still over their wine. 
 
 Leslie had little in common with these gentlemen, but he 
 forced his nature to be agreeable to them, in consequence of a 
 very excellent piece of worldly advice given to him by Audley 
 Egerton. "Never let the dandies call you a prig," said the 
 statesman. " Many a .clever fellow fails through life because the 
 silly fellows, whom half a word well spoken could make his 
 claqueurs, turn him into ridicule. Whatever you are, avoid the 
 fault of most reading men; in a word, don't be a prig ! " 
 
 " I have just left Hazeldean," said Randal ; "what a good 
 fellow he is ! " 
 
 "Capital!" said the'HonorableGeorgeBorrowell. "Where is he?" 
 
 " Why, he is gone to his rooms. He has had a little scene with 
 his father, a thorough, rough, country squire. It would be an act 
 of charity if you would go and keep him company, or to take him 
 with you to some place a little more lively than his own lodgings." 
 
 " What ! the old gentleman has been teasing him ! a horrid 
 shame I Why, Frank is not extravagant, and he will be very 
 rich eh ? " 
 
 "An immense property," said Randal, "and not a mortgage 
 on it ; an only son," he added, turning away. 
 
 Ampng these young gentlemen there was a kindly and most 
 benevolent whisper, and presently they all rose, and walked away 
 toward Frank's lodgings. 
 
 "The wedge is in the tree," said Randal to himself, "and there 
 is a gap already between the bark and the wood."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 45$ 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 HARLEY L'ESTRANGE is seated beside Helen at the lattice- 
 window in the cottage at Norwood. The bloom of reviving 
 health is on the child's face, and she is listening with a smile, 
 for Harley is speaking of Leonard with praise, and of Leonard's 
 future with hope. " And thus," he continued, " secure from his 
 former trials, happy in his occupation, and pursuing the career he 
 has chosen, we must be content, my dear child, to leave him." 
 
 " Leave him ! " exclaimed Helen, and the rose on her cheek 
 faded. 
 
 Harley was not displeased to see her emotion. He would 
 have been disappointed in her heart if it had been less sus- 
 ceptible to affection. 
 
 " It is hard on you, Helen," said he, " to be separated from one 
 who has been to you as a brother. Do not hate me for doing 
 so. But I consider myself your guardian, and your home as yet 
 must be mine. We are going from this land of cloud and mist, 
 going as into the world of summer. Well, that does not content 
 you. You weep, my child ; you mourn your own f riend,.but do not 
 forget your father's. I am alone, and of ten sad, Helen; will you 
 not comfort me ? You press my hand, but you must learn to smile 
 on me also. You are born to be the Comforter. Comforters are 
 not egotists ; they are always cheerful when they console." 
 
 The voice of Harley was so sweet, and his words went so home 
 to the child's heart, that she looked up and smiled in his face as he 
 kissed her ingenuous brow. But then she thought of Leonard, 
 and felt so solitary so bereft that tears burst forth again. 
 Before these were dried, Leonard himself entered, and, obeying 
 an irresistible impulse, she sprang to his arms, and leaning her 
 head on his shoulder, sobbed out, "I am going from you, 
 brother -do not grieve do not miss me." 
 
 Harley was much moved ; he folded his arms, and contem- 
 plated them both silently and his own eyes were moist. 
 " This heart," thought he, " will be worth the winning ! " 
 
 He drew aside Leonard, and whispered, " Soothe, but encour- 
 age and support her. I leave you together ; come to me in 
 the garden later." 
 
 It was nearly an hour before Leonard joined Harley. 
 
 " She was not weeping when you left her ? " asked L'Estrange. 
 
 " No ; she has more fortitude than we might suppose. Hea- 
 ven knows how that fortitude has supported mine. I have 
 promised to write to her often."
 
 450 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Harley took two strides across the lawn, and then, coming 
 back to Leonard, said, " Keep your promise, and write often for 
 the first year. I would then ask you to let the correspondence 
 drop gradually." 
 
 " Drop ! Ah ! my lord ! " 
 
 " Look you, my young friend, I wish to lead this fair mind 
 wholly from the sorrows of the Past. I wish Helen to enter, not 
 abruptly, but step by step, into a new life. You love each other 
 now as do two children as brother and sister. But later, if 
 encouraged, would the love be the same ? And is it not better 
 for both of you, that youth should open upon the world with 
 youth's natural affections free and unforestalled ?" 
 
 " True ! And she is so above me," said Leonard, mournfully. 
 
 " No one is above him who succeeds in your ambition, Leon- 
 ard. It is not that, believe me." 
 
 Leonard shook hishead* 
 
 "Perhaps," said Harley, with a smile, " I rather feel that you 
 are above me. For what vantage-ground is so high as youth ? 
 Perhaps I may become jealous of you. It is well that she should 
 learn to like one who is to be henceforth her guardian and pro- 
 tector. Yet, how can she like me as she ought, if her heart is 
 to be full of you ? " 
 
 The boy bowed his head ; and Harley hastened to change the 
 subject, and speak of letters and of glory. His words were elo- 
 quent and his voice kindling: for he had been an enthusiast for 
 fame in his boyhood ; and in Leonard's, his own seemed to revive. 
 But the poet's heart gave back no echo suddenly it seemed void 
 and desolate. Yet when Leonard walked back by the moonlight, 
 he muttered to himself,"Strange strange somerea child; this 
 cannot be love! Still what else to love is there left to me ? " 
 
 And so he paused upon the bridge where he had so often 
 stood with Helen, and on which he had found the protector that 
 had given her a home to himself a career. And life seemed 
 very long, and fame but a dreary {phantom. Courage, still, 
 Leonard ! These are the sorrows of the heart that teach thee 
 more than all the precepts of sage or critic. 
 
 Another day and Helen had left the shores of England, with 
 her fanciful and dreaming guardian. Years will pass before our 
 tale reopens. Life in all the forms we have seen it travels on. 
 And the Squire farms and hunts; and the Parson preaches and 
 chides and soothes. And Riccabocca reads his Machiavelli, and 
 sighs and smiles as he moralizes on Men and States. And Vio- 
 lante's dark eyes grow deeper and more spiritual in their lustre ; 
 and her beauty takes thought from solitary dreams. And M
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 457 
 
 Richard Avenel has his house in London, and the Honorable 
 Mrs. Avenel her opera-box ; and hard and dire is their struggle 
 into fashion, and hotlydoes the new man, scorningthearistocracy, 
 pant to become aristocrat. And Audley Egerton goes from the 
 office to the Parliament, and drudges, and debates, and helps to 
 govern the empire on which the sun never sets. Poor Sun, how 
 tired he must be but not more tired than the Government ! 
 And Randal Leslie has an excellent place in the bureau of a, 
 minister, and is looking to the time when he shall resign it to 
 come into Parliament, and on that large arena turn knowledge 
 into power. And meanwhile, he is much where he was with Aud- 
 ley Egerton ; but he has established intimacy with the Squire, 
 and visited Hazeldean twice, and examined the house and the 
 map of the property, and very nearly fallen a second time into the 
 Ha-ha, and the Squire believes that Randal Leslie alone can keep 
 Frank out of mischief, and has spoken rough words to his Harry 
 about Frank's continued extravagance: and Frank does continue 
 to pursue pleasure, and is very miserable, .and horribly in debt. 
 And Madame di Negra has gone from London to Paris, and taken 
 a tour into Switzerland, and come back to London again, and has 
 grown very intimate with Randal Leslie ; and Randal has intro- 
 duced Frank to her; and- Frank thinks her the loveliest woman 
 in the world, and grossly slandered by certain evil tongues. And 
 the brother of Madame di Negra is expected in England at last ; 
 and what with his repute for beauty and for wealth, people 
 anticipate a sensation. And Leonard, and Harley, and Helen? 
 Patience they will all reappear. 
 
 : 
 
 BOOK EIGHTH. INITIAL CHAPTER. 
 
 THE ABUSE OF INTELLECT. 
 
 THERE is at present so vehement a flourish of trumpets, and 
 so prodigious a roll of the drum, whenever we are called upon 
 to throw up our hats, and cry "Huzza. " to the "March of En- 
 lightenment," that, out of that very spirit of contradiction nat- 
 ural to all rational animals, one is tempted to stop one's ears, 
 and say, " Gently, gently ; LIGHT is noiseless ;,' how comes ' En- 
 lightenment ' to make such a clatter? Meanwhile, if it be not 
 impertinent, pray, where is Enlightenment marching to ?," Ask 
 that question of any six of the loudest bawlers in the procession, 
 and I'll wager tenpence to California that you get six very 
 unsatisfactory answers. One respectable gentleman, who, to our 
 great astonishment, insists upon calling himself "a slave," but.
 
 458 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 has a remarkably free way of expressing his opinions, will reply 
 " Enlightenment is marching toward the seven points of the 
 Charter." Another, with his hair d lajeune France, who has 
 taken a fancy to his friend's wife, and is rather embarrassed 
 with his own, asserts that Enlightenment is proceeding toward 
 the Rights of Women, the reign of Social Love, and the anni- 
 hilation of Tyrannical Prejudice. A third, who has the air of a 
 man well to do in the middle class, more modest in his hopes, 
 because he neither wishes to have his head broken by his errand- 
 boy, nor his wife carried off to an. Agapemone by his apprentice, 
 does not take Enlightenment a step farther than a siege on De- 
 brett, and a cannonade on the Budget. Illiberal man! the march 
 that he swells will soon trample him under foot. No one fares 
 so ill in a crowd as the man who is wedged in the middle. A 
 fourth, looking wild and dreamy, as if he had come out of the 
 cave of Trophonius, and who is a mesmerizer and a mystic, 
 thinks Enlightenment is in full career toward the good old days 
 of alchemists and necromancers. A fifth, whom one might take 
 for a Quaker, asserts that the march of Enlightenment is a cru- 
 sade for universal philanthropy, vegetable diet, and the perpetu- 
 ation of peace by means of speeches, which certainly do pro- 
 duce a very contrary effect from the Philippics of Demosthenes! 
 The sixth (good fellow without a rag on his back) does not 
 care a straw where the march goes. He can't be worse off than 
 he is ; and it is quite immaterial to him whether he goes to the 
 dog-star above, or the bottomless pit below. I say nothing, how- 
 ever, against the march, while we take it altogether. Whatever 
 happens, one is in good company ; and though I am somewhat 
 indolent by nature, and would rather stay at home with Locke 
 and Burke (dull dogs though they were), than have my thoughts 
 set off helter-skelter with those cursed trumpets and drums, 
 blown and dub-a-dubbed by fellows whom I vow to heaven I 
 would not trust with a five-pound note still, if I must march, I 
 must ; and so deuce take the hindmost. But when it comes to 
 individual marchers upon their own account privateers and 
 condottieri of Enlightenment who have filled their pockets 
 with lucifer-matches, and have a sublime contempt for their 
 neighbors' barns and hay-ricks, I don't see why I should throw 
 myself into the seventh heaven of admiration and ecstasy. 
 
 If those who are eternally rhapsodizing on the celestial bless- 
 ings that are to follow Enlightenment, Universal Knowledge, 
 and so forth, would just take their eyes out of their pockets, and 
 look about them, I would respectfully inquire if they have never 
 met any very knowing and enlightened gentleman whose ac-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 459 
 
 quaintance is by no means desirable. If not, they are monstrous 
 lucky. Every man must judge by his own experience ; and the 
 worst rogues I have ever encountered were amazingly well- 
 informed clever fellows! From dunderheads and dunces we 
 can protect ourselves, but from your sharp-witted gentleman, all 
 enlightenment and no prejudice, we have but to cry, " Heaven 
 defend us ! " It is true, that the rogue (let him be ever so 
 enlightened) usually comes to no good himself (though not before 
 he has done harm enough to his neighbors). But that only 
 shows that the world wants something else in those it rewards, 
 besides intelligence per se and in the abstract ; and is much too 
 old a world to allow any Jack Homer to pick out his plums for his 
 own personal gratification. Hence a man of very moderate intel- 
 ligence, who believes in God, suffers his heart to beat with human 
 sympathies, and keeps his eyes off your strong-box, will perhaps 
 gain a vast deal more power than knowledge ever gives to a rogue. 
 Wherefore, though I anticipate an outcry against me on the 
 part of the blockheads, who, strange to say, are the most credu- 
 lous idolaters of enlightenment, and, if knowledge were power, 
 would rot on a dunghill; yet, nevertheless, I think all really 
 enlightened men will agree with me, that when one falls in with 
 detached sharp-shooters from the general March of Enlighten- 
 ment, it is no reason that we should make ourselves a target, be- 
 cause Enlightenment has furnished them with a gun. It has, 
 doubtless, been already remarked by the judicious reader, that of 
 the numerous characters introduced into this work, the larger por- 
 tion belong to that species which we call the INTELLECTUAL 
 that through them are analyzed and developed human intel- 
 lect, in various forms and directions. So that this History, 
 rightly considered, is a kind of humble familiar Epic, or, if you 
 prefer it, a long Serio-Comedy, upon the Varieties of English 
 Life in this our Century, set in movement by the intelligences 
 most prevalent. And where more ordinary and less refined 
 types of the species round and complete the survey of our pass- 
 ing generation, they will often suggest, by contrast, the deficien- 
 cies which mere intellectual culture leaves in the human being. 
 Certainly, I have no spite against intellect and enlightenment 
 Heaven forbid I should be such a Goth! I am only the advo- 
 cate for common sense and fair play. I don't think an able 
 man necessarily an angel ; but I think if his heart match his 
 head, and both proceed in the Great March under the divine Ori- 
 flamme, he goes as near to the angel as humanity will permit: if 
 not, if he has but a penn'orth of heart to a pound of brains, I 
 say, " Bon jour, mon ange ! I see not the starry upward wings,
 
 460 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 but the grovelling cloven-hoof." I'd rather be offuscated by 
 the Squire of Hazeldean, than enlightened by Randal Leslie. 
 Every man to his taste. But intellect itself (not in the philo- 
 sophical, but the ordinary sense of the term) is rarely, if ever, 
 one completed harmonious agency; it is not one faculty, but a 
 compound of many, some of which are often at war with each 
 other, and mar the concord of the whole. Few of us but have 
 some predominant faculty, in itself a strength; but which, usurp- 
 ing unseasonably dominion over the rest, shares the lot of all 
 tyranny, however brilliant, and leaves the empire weak against 
 disaffection within, and invasion from without. Hence, intellect 
 may be perverted in a man of evil disposition, and sometimes 
 merely wasted in a man of excellent impulses, for want of the 
 necessary discipline, or of a strong ruling motive. I doubt if 
 there be one person in the world, who has obtained a high repu- 
 tation for talent, who has not met somebody much cleverer than 
 himself, which said somebody has never obtained any reputa- 
 tion at all ! Men like Audley Egerton are constantly seen in 
 the great positions of life; while men like Harley L'Estrange, 
 who could have beaten them hollow in anything equally striven 
 for by both, float away down the stream, and, unless some sud- 
 den stimulant arouse their dreamy energies, vanish out of sight 
 into silent graves. If Hamlet and Polonius were living now, 
 Polonius would have a much better chance of being a Cabinet 
 Minister, though Hamlet would unquestionably be a much more 
 intellectual character. What would become of Hamlet? Heaven 
 knows! Dr. Arnold said, from his experience of a school, that the 
 difference between one man and another was not mere ability 
 it was energy. There is a great deal of truth in that saying. 
 
 Submitting these hints to the judgment and penetration of 
 the sagacious, I enter on the fresh division of this work, and see 
 already Randal Leslie gnawing his lips on the background. The 
 German poet observes, that the Cow of Isis is to some the divine 
 symbol of knowledge, to others but the milch cow, only regarded 
 for the pounds of butter she will yield. O tendency of our age, 
 to look on Isis as the milch cow ! Q prostitution of the grandest 
 desires to the basest uses ! Gaze on the goddess, Randal Leslie, 
 and get ready thy churn and thy scales. Let us see what the 
 butter will fetch in the market.: 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A NEW Reign has commenced. There has been a general 
 election ; the unpopularity of the Administration has been appar- 
 ent at the hustings. Audley Egerton, hitherto returned by vast
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 46! 
 
 majorities, has barely escaped defeat thanks to a majority of 
 five. The expenses of his election are said to have been pro- 
 digious. " But who can stand against such wealth as Egerton's 
 no doubt backed, too, by the Treasury purse ? " said the defeated 
 candidate. It is toward the close of October ; London is already 
 full : Parliament will meet in less than a fortnight. 
 
 In one of the principal apartments of that hotel in which 
 foreigners may discover what is meant by English comfort, and 
 the price which foreigners must pay for it, there sat two persons 
 side by side, engaged in close conversation. The one was a 
 female, in whose pale clear complexion and raven hair in whose 
 eyes, vivid with a power of expression rarely bestowed on the 
 beauties of the north, we recognize Beatrice, Marchesa di Negra. 
 Undeniably handsome as was the Italian lady, her companion, 
 though a man, and far advanced into middle age, was yet more 
 remarkable for personal advantages. There was a strong family 
 likeness between the two ; but there was also a striking contrast 
 in air, manner, and all that stamps on the physiognomy the 
 idiosyncrasies of character. There was something of gravity, 
 of earnestness and passion, in Beatrice's countenance when care- 
 fully examined ; her smile at times might be false, but it was 
 rarely ironical, never cynical. Her gestures, though graceful, 
 were unrestrained and frequent. You could see she was a 
 daughter of the south. Her companion, on the contrary, preserved 
 on the fair, smooth face, to which years had given scarcely a line 
 or wrinkle, something that might have passed, at first glance, for 
 the levity and thoughtlessness of a gay and youthful nature ; but 
 the smile, though exquisitely polished, took at times the derision 
 of a sneer. In his manners he was as composed and as free from 
 gesture as an Englishman. His hair was of that red brown with 
 which the Italian painters produce such marvellous effects of 
 color ; and, if here and there a silver thread gleamed through 
 the locks, it was lost at once amidst their luxuriance. His eyes 
 were light,and hiscomplexion, though without much color, was sin- 
 gularly transparent. His beauty, indeed, would have been rather 
 womanly than masculine, but for the height and sinewy spare- 
 ness of a frame in which muscular strength was rather adorned 
 than concealed by an admirable elegance of proportion. You 
 would never have guessed this man to be an Italian ; more likely 
 you would have supposed him a Parisian. He conversed in 
 French, his dress was of French fashion, his mode of thought 
 seemed French. Not that he was like the Frenchman of the 
 present day an animal either rude or reserved ; but your ideal 
 of the Marquis of the old regime the rout of the Regency.
 
 462 MY NOVEL ; Oft, 
 
 Italian, however, he was, and of a race renowned in Italian 
 history. But, as if ashamed of his country and his birth, he 
 affected to be a citizen of the world. Heaven help the world 
 if it hold only such citizens ! 
 
 " But, Giulio," said Beatrice di Negra, speaking in Italian, 
 " even granting that you discover this girl, can you suppose that 
 her father will even consent to your alliance ? Surely you know 
 too well the nature of your kinsman ? " 
 
 " Tu te trompes, ma sczur" replied Giulio Franzini, Count di 
 Peschiera, in French, as usual " tu te trompes; I knew it before 
 he had gone through exile and penury. How can I know it now ? 
 But comfort yourself, my too anxious Beatrice ; I shall not care 
 for his consent till I've made sure of his daughter's." 
 
 " But how win that in spite of the father ? " 
 
 " Eh^mordieur interrupted the Count, with true French gaiety; 
 "what would become of all the comedies ever written, if mar- 
 riages were not made in despite of the father ? Look you," he 
 resumed with a very slight compression of his lip, and a still 
 slighter movement of his chair " look you, this is no question 
 of ifs and buts ! it is a question of must and shall, a question 
 of existence to you and to me. When Danton was condemned 
 to the guillotine, he said, flinging a pellet of bread at the nose 
 of his respectable judge, ' Monindividu sera bientot dans le 
 nJantj My patrimony is there already ! I am loaded with debts. 
 I see before me, on one side, ruin or suicide : on the other side, 
 wedlock and wealth." 
 
 " But from those vast possessions which you have been per- 
 mitted to njoy so long, have you really, saved nothing against 
 the time when they might be reclaimed at your hands ? " 
 
 " My sister," replied the Count, "do I look like a man who 
 saved ? Besides, when the Austrian Emperor, unwilling to raze 
 from his Lombard domains a name and a house so illustrious as 
 our kinsman's, and desirous while punishing that kinsman's 
 rebellion, to reward my adherence, forebore the peremptory con- 
 fiscation of those vast possessions, at which my mouth waters 
 while we speak, but, annexing them to the crown during pleasure, 
 allowed me, as the next male kin, to retain the revenues of one- 
 half for the same very indefinite period, had I not every reason 
 to suppose that, before long, I could so influence his Imperial 
 Majesty, or his minister, as to obtain a decree that might trans- 
 fer the whole, unconditionally and absolutely, to myself ? And 
 methinks I should have done so, but for this accursed, inter- 
 meddling English Milord, who has never ceased to besiege the 
 court or the minister with alleged extenuations of our cousin's
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 463 
 
 rebellion, and proof-less assertions that I shared it in order to 
 entangle my kinsman, and betrayed it in order to profit by his 
 spoils. So that, at last, in return for all my services and in answer 
 to all my claims, I received from the minister himself this cold 
 reply ; 'Count of Peschiera, your aid was important, and your 
 reward has been large. That reward it would not be for your 
 honor to extend, and justify the ill opinion of your Italian country- 
 men by formally appropriating to yourself all that was forfeited 
 by the treason you denounced. A name so noble as yours should 
 be dearer to you than fortune itself.' " 
 
 "Ah, Giulio," cried Beatrice, her face lighting up, changed in 
 its whole character. " those were words that might make the 
 demon that tempts to avarice fly from your breast in shame." 
 
 The Count opened his eyes in great amaze ; then he glanced 
 round the room, and said quietly, 
 
 " Nobody else hears you, my dear Beatrice ; talk common 
 sense. Heroics sound well in mixed society ; but there is noth- 
 ing less suited to the tone of a family conversation." 
 
 Madame di Negra bent down her head abashed, and that sudden 
 change in the expression of her countenance which had seemed to 
 betray susceptibility to generous emotion,faded as suddenly away. 
 
 " But still," she said, coldly, " you enjoy one-half of those 
 ample revenues, why talk, then, of suicide and ruin ? " 
 
 " I enjoy them at the pleasure of the crown ; and what if it 
 be the pleasure of the crown to recall our cousin, and reinstate 
 him in his possessions ? " 
 
 "There is ^.probability, then, of that pardon? When you first 
 employed me in your researches, you only thought there was a 
 possibility" 
 
 " There is a great probability of it, and therefore I am here. 
 I learned some little time since that the question of such recall 
 had been suggested by the Emperor, and discussed in council. 
 The danger to the State which might arise from our cousin's 
 wealth, his alleged abilities (abilities! bah !) and his popular 
 name, deferred any decision on the point ; and, indeed, the 
 difficulty of dealing with myself must have embarrassed the 
 minister. But it is a mere question of time. He cannot long re- 
 main excluded from the general amnesty already extended to the 
 other refugees. The person who gave me this information is high 
 in power, and friendly to myself ; and he added a piece of advice, 
 on which I acted. ' It was intimated,' said he, ' by one of the 
 partisans of your kinsman, that the exile could give a hostage 
 for his loyalty in the person of his daughter and heiress ; that 
 she had arrived at marriageable age ; that if she were to wed, with
 
 464 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 the Emperor's consent, some one whose attachment to the Aus- 
 trian crown was unquestionable, there would be a guarantee both 
 for the faith of the father, and for the transmission of so impor- 
 tant a heritage to safe and loyal hands. Why not,' continued 
 my friend, ' apply to the Emperor for his consent to that alliance 
 for yourself? you, on whom he can depend ; you who, if the 
 daughter should die, would be the legal heir to those lands ? ' 
 On that line I spoke." 
 
 "You saw the Emperor?" 
 
 " And after combating the unjust prepossessions against me, 
 I stated that, so far from my cousin having any fair cause of re- 
 sentment against me, when all was duly explained to him, I did 
 not doubt that he would willingly give me the hand of his child." 
 
 *' You did ! " cried the Marchesa, amazed. 
 
 "And," continued the Count, imperturbably, as he smoothed, 
 with careless hand, the snowy plaits of his shirtfront, "and that 
 I 'should thushave the happinessofbecomingmyself the guarantee 
 of my kinsman's loyalty, the agent for the restoration of his 
 honors, while in the eyes of the envious and malignant, I should 
 clear up my own name from all suspicion that I had wronged 
 him." 
 
 "And the Emperor consented?" 
 
 " Pardieu, my dear sister ; what else could his majesty do ? 
 My proposition smoothed every obstacle, and reconciled policy 
 with mercy. It remains, therefore, only to find out what has 
 hitherto baffled all our researches, the retreat of our dear kins- 
 folk, and to make myself a welcome lover to demoiselle. 
 There is some disparity of years, I own, but unless your sex 
 and my glass flatter me over-much I am still a match for many 
 a gallant of five-and-twenty." 
 
 The Count said this with so charming a smile, and looked so 
 pre-eminently handsome, that he carried off the coxcombry of 
 the words as gracefully as if they had been spoken by some 
 dazzling hero of the grand old comedy of Parisian life. 
 
 Then interlacing his fingers, and lightly leaning his hands, 
 thus clasped, upon his sister's shoulder, he looked into her face, 
 and said slowly " And now, my sister, for some gentle but de- 
 served reproach. Have you not sadly failed me in the task I 
 imposed on your regard for my interests ? Is it not some years 
 since you first came to England on the mission of discovering 
 these worthy relations of ours ? Did I not entreat you to se- 
 duce into your toils the man whom I knew to be my enemy, and 
 who was indubitably acquainted with our cousin's retreat a 
 secret he has hitherto locked within his bosom ! Did you not tell
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 465 
 
 me, that though he was then in England, you could find no oc- 
 casion even to meet him, but that you had obtained the friend- 
 ship of the statesman to whom I had directed your attention, as 
 his most intimate associate? And yet you, whose charms are 
 usually so irresistible, learn nothing from the statesman, as you 
 see nothing of Milord. Nay, baffled and misled, you actually 
 suppose that the quarry has taken refuge in France. You go 
 thither you pretend to search the capital the provinces, Switz- 
 erland, que sais-je all in vain, though -foi de gentilhomme 
 your police costs me dearly you return to England the same 
 chase, and the same result. Palsambleu, ma saur, I do too 
 -much credit to your talents not to question your zeal. In a 
 word, have you been in earnest or have you not had some 
 womanly pleasure in amusing "yourself arid abusing my trust?" 
 
 " Giulio," answered Beatrice, sadly, " you know the influence 
 you have exercised over my character and my fate. Your re- 
 proaches are not just. I made such inquiries as were in my 
 power, and I have now cause to believe that I know one who is 
 possessed of this secret, and .can guide us to it." 
 
 " Ah, you do ! " exclaimed the Count. Beatrice did not heed 
 the exclamation, and hurried on. 
 
 " But grant that my heart shrunk from the task you imposed 
 on me, would it not have been natural ? When I first came 
 to England, you informed me that your object in discovering 
 the exiles was one which I could honestly aid. You naturally 
 wished first to know if the daughter lived ; if not, you were the 
 heir. If she did, you assured me you desired to effect, through 
 my mediation, some liberal compromise with Alphonso, by which 
 you would have sought to obtain his restoration, provided he 
 would leave you for life in the possession of the grant you hold 
 from the crown. While these were your objects, I did my best, 
 ineffectual as it was, to obtain the information required." 
 
 "And what made me lose so important, though so ineffectual 
 an ally ? " asked the Count, still smiling ; but a gleam that be- 
 lied the smile shot from his eye. 
 
 " What ! when you bade me receive and co-operate with the 
 miserable spies the false Italians whom you sent over, and 
 seek to entangle this poor exile, when found, in some rash cor- 
 respondence to be revealed to the court; when you sought 
 to seduce the daughter of the Count of Peschiera, the descend- 
 ant of those who had ruled in Italy, into the informer, the cor- 
 rupter, and the traitress ! No, Giulio ; then I recoiled ; and 
 then, fearful of your own sway over me, I retreated into France. 
 I have answered you frankly."
 
 466 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 The Count removed his hands from the shoulder on which 
 they had reclined so cordially. 
 
 "And this," said he, " is your wisdom, and this your grati- 
 tude. You, whose fortunes are bound up in mine you, who 
 subsist on my* bounty you, who " 
 
 "Hold," cried the Marchesa, rising, and with a burst of emo- 
 tion, as if stung to the utmost, and breaking into revolt from the 
 tyranny of years "hold gratitude! bounty! Brother,brother 
 what, indeed, do I owe to you? The shame and misery of a life. 
 While yet a child, you condemned me to marry against my will 
 against my heart against my prayers and laughed at my tears 
 when I knelt to you for mercy. I was pure then, Giulio pure and 
 innocent as the flowers in my virgin crown. And now now- " 
 
 Beatrice stopped suddenly, and clasped her hands before her 
 face. 
 
 "Now you upbraid me," said the Count, unruffled by her sud- 
 den passion, " because I gave you in marriage to a man young 
 and noble ? " 
 
 " Old in vices, and mean in soul ! The marriage I forgave you. 
 You had the right, according to the customs of our country, to 
 dispose of my hand. But I forgave you not the consolations 
 that you whispered in the ear of a wretched and insulted wife." 
 
 ''Pardon me the remark," replied the Count, with a courtly 
 bend of his head, "but those consolations were also conformableto 
 the customs of our country, and I was not aware till now that you 
 had wholly disdained them. And," continued the Count, "you 
 were not so long a wife that the gall of the chain should smart still. 
 You were soon left a widow free, childless, young, beautiful." 
 
 " And penniless." 
 
 " True, Di Negra was a gambler, and very unlucky ; no fault 
 of mine. I could neither keep the cards from his hands, nor 
 advise him how to play them." 
 
 " And my own portion ? Oh, Giulio, I knew but at his death 
 why you had condemned me to that renegade Genoese. He 
 owed you money, and against honor, and I believe against law, 
 you had accepted my fortune in discharge of the debt." 
 
 " He had no other way to discharge it a debt of honor must 
 be paid : old stories these. What matters ? Since then my 
 purse has been open to you." 
 
 "^Yes, not as your sister, but your instrument your spy ! 
 Yes, your purse has been open with a niggard hand." 
 
 "Unpeu de conscience, ma chere, you are so extravagant. But 
 come, be plain. What would you ? " 
 
 " I would be free from you."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 467 
 
 " That is, you would form some second marriage with one of 
 those rich island lords. Ma fot, I respect your ambition." 
 
 " It is not so high. I aim but to escape from slavery to be 
 placed beyond dishonorable temptation. I desire/'cried Beatrice, 
 with increased emotion -"I desire to re-enter the life of woman." 
 
 " Eno' ! " said the Count, with a visible impatience ; "is there 
 anything in the attainment of your object that should render 
 you indifferent to mine ? You desire to marry, if I comprehend 
 you right. And to marry, as becomes you, you should bring to 
 your husband not debts, but a dowry. Be it so. I will restore 
 the portion that I saved from the spendthrift clutch of the Gen- 
 oese the moment that it is mine to bestow the moment that 
 I am husband to my kinsman's heiress. And now, Beatrice, 
 you imply that my former notions revolted your conscience ; my 
 present plan should content it : for by this marriage shall our 
 kinsman regain his country, and repossess, at least, half his 
 lands. And if I am not an excellent husband to the demoiselle, 
 it will be her own fault. I have sown my wild oats. Je suis 
 bon prince, when I have things a little my own way. It is my 
 hope and my intention, and certainly it will be my interest, to 
 become digne e'poux et irrfyrochable pZre de famille. I speak 
 lightly 'tis my way. I mean seriously. The little girl will be 
 very happy with me, and I shall succeed in soothing all resent- 
 ment her father may retain. Will you aid me then yes or no ? 
 Aid me, and you shall indeed be free. The magician will release 
 the fair spirit he has bound to his will. Aid me not, ma ch^re, 
 and mark, I do not threaten I do but warn aid me not ; grant 
 that I become a beggar, and ask yourself what is to become of 
 you still young, still beautiful, and still penniless ? Nay, 
 worse than penniless; you have done me the honor " (and here 
 the Count, looking on the table, drew a letter from a portfolio 
 emblazoned with his arms and coronet), " you have done me 
 the honor to consult me as to your debts." 
 
 "You will restore my fortune ?" said the Marchesa, irresolute- 
 ly and averting her head from an odious schedule of figures. 
 
 " When my own, with your aid, is secured." 
 
 " But do you not overrate the value of my aid ? " 
 
 " Possibly," said the Count, with a caressing suavity and he 
 kissed his sister's forehead. " Possibly ; but, by my honor, I 
 wish to repair to you any wrong, real or supposed, I may have 
 done you in past times. I wish to find again my own dear sis- 
 ter. I may overvalue your aid, but not the affection from which 
 it comes. Let us be friends, cara Beatrice mt'a," added the 
 Count; for the first time employing Italian words.
 
 468 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 The Marchesa laid her head on his shoulder and her tears 
 flowed softly. Evidently this man had great influence over her 
 and evidently, whatever her cause for complaint, her affection 
 for him was still sisterly and strong. A nature with fine flashes of 
 generosity, spirit, honor, and passion, was hers but uncultured, 
 unguided spoilt by the worst social examples easily led into 
 wrong not always aware where the wrong was letting affections 
 good or bad whisper away her conscience or blind her reason. 
 Such women are often far moredangerouswhen induced to wrong, 
 than those who are thoroughly abandoned such women are the 
 accomplices men like theCount of Peschiera most desire to obtain. 
 
 "Ah, Giulio," said Beatrice, after a pause, and looking up at 
 him through her tears, "when you speak to me thus, you know 
 you can do with me what you will. Fatherless and motherless, 
 whom had my childhood to love and obey but you?" 
 
 "Dear Beatrice," murmured the Count tenderly and he 
 again kissed her forehead. " So," he continued, more careless- 
 ly " so the reconciliation is effected, and our interests and our 
 hearts re-allied. Now, alas ! to descend to business. You say 
 that you know some one whom you believe to be acquainted 
 with the lurking-place of my father-in-law that is to be ! " 
 
 " I think so. You remind me that I have an appointment 
 with him this day : it is near the hour I must leave you." 
 
 "To learn the secret? Quick quick. I have no fear of 
 your success, if it is by his heart that you lead him ! " 
 
 " You mistake ; on his heart I have no hold. But he has a 
 friend who loves me, and honorably, and whose cause he pleads. 
 I think here that I have some means to control or persuade him. 
 If not ah, he is of a character that perplexes me in all but his 
 worldly ambition; and how can we foreigners influence him 
 thfough that ? " 
 
 " Is he poor, or is he extravagant ?" 
 
 " Not extravagant, and not positively poor, but dependent." 
 
 "Then we have him," said the Count, composedly. "If his 
 assistance be worth buying, we can bid high for it. Sur man dine, 
 I never yet. knew money fail with any man who was both worldly 
 and dependent. I put him and myself in your hands," 
 
 Thus saying, the Count opened the door, and conducted his 
 sister with formal politeness to her carriage. He then returned, 
 reseated himself, and mused in silence. As he did so, the mus- 
 cles of his countenance relaxed. The levity of the Frenchman 
 fled from his visage, and in his eye, as it gazed abstractedly into 
 space, there was that steady depth so remarkable in the old por- 
 traits of Florentine diplomatist or Venetian Oligarch. Thus
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 469 
 
 seen, there was in that face, despite all its beauty, something 
 that would have awed back even the fond gaze of love ; some- 
 thing hard, collected, inscrutable, remorseless. But this change 
 of countenance did not last long. Evidently thought, though in- 
 tense for the moment, was not habitual to the man. Evidently he 
 had lived a life which takes all things lightly so he rose with a 
 look of fatigue, shook and stretched himself, as if to cast off, or 
 grow out of, an unwelcome and irksome mood. An hour after- 
 ward, the Count of Peschiera was charming all eyes, and pleas- 
 ing all ears, in the saloon of a high-born beauty, whose acquaint- 
 ance he had made at Vienna, and whose charms, according to 
 that old and never-truth speaking oracle, Polite Scandal, were 
 now said to have attracted to London the brilliant foreigner. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE Marchesa regained her house,which was in Curzon Street, 
 and withdrew toher own room, to readjust her dress, and remove 
 from her countenance all trace of the tears she had shed. 
 
 Half an hour afterward she was seated in her drawing-room, 
 composed and calm ; nor, seeing her then, could you have 
 guessed that she was capable of so much emotion and so much 
 weakness. In that stately exterior, in that quiet attitude, in that 
 elaborate and finished elegance which comes alike from the arts 
 of the toilet and the conventional repose of rank, you could see 
 but the woman of the world and the great lady. 
 
 A knock at the door was heard, and in a few moments there 
 entered a visitor, with the easy familiarity of intimate acquaint- 
 ance a young man, but with none of the bloom of youth. His 
 hair, fine as a woman's, was thin and scanty, but it fell low over 
 the forehead, and concealed that noblest of our human features. 
 11 A gentleman," says Apuleius, "ought to wear his whole mind 
 on his forehead."* The young visitor would never have com- 
 mitted so frank an imprudence. His cheek was pale, and in his 
 step and his movements there was a languor that spoke of 
 fatigued nerves or delicate health. But the light of the eye and 
 the tone of the voice were those of a mental temperament con- 
 trolling the bodily vigorous and energetic. For the rest, his 
 general appearance was distinguished by a refinement alike 
 intellectual and social. Once seen, you would not easily forget 
 him. And the reader, no doubt, already recognizes Randal Les- 
 lie. His salutation, as I before said, was that of intimate famil- 
 iarity : yet it was given and replied to with that unreserved open- 
 ness which denotes the absence of a more tender sentiment. 
 
 * " Hominem liberum et roagnificum debere, si queat, in priraori fronte, animum gestarc,"
 
 47 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Seating himself by the Marchesa's side, Randal began first to 
 converse on the fashionable topics and gossip of the day; but it 
 was observable that, while he extracted from her the current an- 
 ecdote and scandal of the great world, neither anecdote nor scan- 
 dal did he communicate in return. Randal Leslie had already 
 learned the art not to commit himself, nor to have quoted against 
 him one ill-natured remark upon the eminent. Nothing more 
 injures the man who would rise beyond the fame of the salons, 
 than to be considered backbiter and gossip; "yet it is always use- 
 ful," thought Randal Leslie, "to know the foibles the small 
 social and private springs by which the great are moved. Criti- 
 cal occasions may arise in which such knowledge may be power." 
 And hence, perhaps (besides a more private motive, soon to be 
 perceived), Randal did not consider his time thrown away in 
 cultivating Madame di Negra's friendship. For, despite much 
 that was whispered against her, she had succeeded in dispelling 
 the coldness with which she had at first been received in the Lon- 
 don circles. Her beauty, her grace, and her high birth, had raised 
 her into fashion; and the homage of men of the first station, while 
 it perhaps injured her reputation as woman, added to her celeb- 
 rity as fine lady. So much do we English, prudes though we 
 be, forgive to the foreigner what we avenge on the native. 
 
 Sliding at last from these general topics into very well-bred 
 and elegant personal compliment, and reciting various eulogies, 
 which Lord this and the Duke of that had passed on the Mar- 
 chesa's charms, Randal laid his hand on hers, with the license 
 of admitted friendship, and said 
 
 " But since you have deigned to confide in me, since when 
 (happily for me, and with a generosity of which no coquette 
 could have been capable) you, in good time, repressed into 
 friendship feelings that might else have ripened into those you 
 are formed to inspire and disdain to return, you told me with 
 your charming smile, ' Let no one speak to me of love who does 
 not offer me his hand, and with it the means to supply tastes 
 that I fear are terribly extravagant '; since thus you allowed me 
 to divine your natural objects, and upon that understanding our 
 intimacy has been founded, you will pardon me for saying that the 
 admiration you excite among these grands seigneurs I have named 
 only serves to defeat your own purpose, and scare away admirers 
 less brilliant, but more in earnest. Most of these gentlemen are 
 unfortunately married ; and they who are not belong to those 
 members of our aristocracy who, in marriage, seek more than 
 beauty and wit namely, connections to strengthen their political 
 station, or wealth to redeem a mortgnge and sustain a title."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 471 
 
 " My dear Mr. Leslie," replied the Marchesa and a cer- 
 tain sadness might be detected in the tone of the voice and the 
 droop of the eye "I have lived long enough in the real world 
 to appreciate the baseness and the falsehood of most of those 
 sentiments which take the noblest names. I see through the 
 hearts of the admirers you parade before me, and know that 
 not one of them would shelter with his ermine the woman to 
 whom he talks of his heart. Ah," continued Beatrice, with a 
 softness of which she was unconscious, but which might have 
 been extremely dangerous to youth less steeled and self-guarded 
 than was Randal Leslie's " Ah, I am less ambitious than you 
 suppose. I have dreamed of a friend, a companion, a pro- 
 tector, with feelings still fresh, undebased by the low round of 
 vulgar dissipation and mean pleasures of a heart so new, that 
 it might restore my own to what it was in its happy spring. I 
 have seen in your country some marriages, the mere contem- 
 plation of which has filled my eyes with delicious tears. I 
 have learned in England to know the value of home. And with 
 such a heart as I describe, and such a home, I could forget 
 that I ever knew a less pure ambition." 
 
 " This language does not surprise me," said Randal ; " yet 
 it does not harmonize with your former answer to me." 
 
 " To you," repeated Beatrice, smiling, and regaining her 
 lighter manner ; " to you true. But I never had the vanity to 
 think that your affection for me could bear the sacrifices it 
 would cost |you in marriage; that you, with your ambition, 
 could bound your dreams of happiness to home. And then, 
 too," said she, raising her head, and with a certain grave pride 
 in her air " and then, I could not have consented to share my 
 fate with one whom my poverty would cripple. I could not 
 listen to my heart, if it had beat for a lover without fortune, for 
 to him I could then have brought but a burden, and betrayed 
 him into a union with poverty and debt. Now, it may be dif- 
 ferent. Now I may have the dowry that befits my birth. And 
 now I may be free to choose according to my heart as woman, not 
 according to my necessities, as one poor, harassed and despairing." 
 
 " Ah," said Randal, interested, and drawing still closer to- 
 ward his fair companion " ah, I congratulate you sincerely ; 
 you have cause, then, to think that you shall be rich ? " 
 
 The Marchesa paused before she answered, and during that 
 pause Randal relaxed the web of the scheme which he had been 
 secretly weaving, and rapidly considered whether, if Beatrice 
 di Negra would indeed be rich, she might answer to himself as 
 a wife ; and in what way, if so, he had best change his tone
 
 472 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 from that of friendship into that of love. While thus reflect- 
 ing, Beatrice answered 
 
 *' Not rich for an Englishwoman ; for an Italian, yes. My 
 fortune should be half a million " 
 
 " Half a million ! " cried Randal, and with difficulty he 
 restrained himself from falling at her feet in adoration. 
 
 " Of francs ! " continued the Marchesa. 
 
 "Francs ! Ah," said Randal, with a long-drawn breath, and 
 recovering from his sudden enthusiasm, "about twenty thousand 
 pounds? eight hundred a year at four per cent. A very hand- 
 some portion certainly (Genteel poverty ! he murmured to him- 
 self. What an escape I have had ! but I see I see. This will 
 smooth all difficulties in the way of my better and earlier pro- 
 ject. I see) a very handsome portion," he repeated aloud 
 "not for a. grand seigneur, indeed, but still for a gentleman of 
 birth and expectations worthy of your choice, if ambition be 
 not your first object. Ah, while you spoke with such endear- 
 ing eloquence of feelings that were fresh, of a heart that was new, 
 of the happy English home, you might guess that my thoughts 
 ran to my friend who loves you so devotedly, and who so real- 
 izes your ideal. Proverbially, with us, happy marriages and 
 happy homes are found not in the gay circles of London fashion, 
 but at the hearths of our rural nobility our untitled country 
 gentlemen. And who, amongst all your adorers, can offer you 
 a lot so really enviable as the one whom, I see by your blush, 
 you already guess that I refer to ?" 
 
 " Did I blush ? " said the Marchesa, with a silvery laugh. 
 " Nay, I think that your zeal for your friend misled you. But 
 I will own frankly, I have been touched by his honest ingenuous 
 love so evident, yet rather looked than spoken. I have con- 
 trasted the love that honors me with the suitors that seek to 
 degrade ; more I cannot say. For though I grant that your friend 
 is handsome, high-spirited, and generous, still he is not what 
 
 " You mistake, believe me," interrupted Randal. "You shall 
 not finish your sentence. He. is all that you do not yet sup- 
 pose him ; for his shyness, and his very love, his very respect 
 for your superiority, do not allow his mind and his nature to 
 appear to advantage. You, it is true, have a taste for letters 
 and poetry rare among your countrywomen. He has not at 
 present few men have. But what Cimon would not be refined 
 by so fair an Iphigenia? Such . frivolities as he now shows 
 belong but to youth and inexperience of life. Happy the 
 brother who could see his sister the wife of Frank Hazeldean." 
 
 The Marchesa leant her check on her hand in silence. To
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 473 
 
 her, marriage was more than it usually seems to dreaming 
 maiden or to disconsolate widow. So had the strong desire to 
 escape from the control of her unprincipled and remorseless 
 brother grown a part of her very soul so had whatever was 
 best and highest in her very mixed and complex character been 
 galled and outraged by her friendless and exposed position, 
 the equivocal worship rendered to her beauty, the various 
 debasements to which pecuniary embarrassments had subjected 
 her (not without design on the part of the Count, who, though 
 grasping, was not miserly, and who by precarious and seemingly 
 capricious gifts at one time, and refusals of all aid at another, 
 had involved her in debt in order to retain his hold on her) 
 so utterly painful and humiliating to a woman of her pride and 
 her birth was the station that she held in the world that in 
 marriage she saw liberty, life, honor, self-redemption ; and these 
 thoughts, while they compelled her to co-operate with the 
 schemes, by which the Count, on securing to himself a bride, 
 was to beslo\v on herself a dower, also disposed her now to receive 
 with favor Randal Leslie's pleadings on behalf of his friend. 
 
 The advocate saw that he had made an impression, and with 
 the marvellous skill which his knowledge of those natures that 
 engaged his study bestowed on his intelligence, he continued 
 to improve his cause by such representations as were likely to 
 be mast effective. With what admirable tact he avoided pane- 
 gyric of Frank as the mere individual, and drew him rather as 
 the type, the ideal of what a woman in Beatrice's position might 
 desire, in the safety, peace, and honor of a home, in the trust, 
 and constancy, and honest confiding love of its partner! He did 
 not paint an elysium, he described a haven ; he did not glow- 
 ingly delineate a hero of romance he soberly portrayed that Rep- 
 resentative of the Respectable and the Real which a woman turns 
 to when romance begins to seem to her but delusion. Verily, if 
 you could have looked into the heart of the person he addressed, 
 and heard him speak, you would have cried' admiringly, 
 " Knowledge/^ power ; and this man, if as able on a larger field 
 of action, should nlay no mean part in the history of his time." 
 
 Slowly Beatrice roused herself from the reveries which crept 
 over her as he spoke slowly, and with a deep sigh, and said 
 
 " Well, well, grant all you say ; at least before I can listen 
 to so honorable a love, I must be relieved from the base and 
 sordid pressure that weighs on me. I cannot say to the man 
 who woos me, 'Will you pay the debts of the daughter of 
 Franzini, and the widow of di Negra?' ' 
 
 "Nay, your debts, surely, make soslight a portion of yourdowry/
 
 474 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "But the dowry has to be secured"; and here, turning the 
 tables upon her companion, as the apt proverb expresses it, Mad- 
 ame di Negra extended her hand to Randal, and said in the most 
 winning accents, " You are, then truly and sincerely my friend ? " 
 
 ' Can you doubt it? " 
 
 ' I prove that I do not, for I ask your assistance." 
 
 1 Mine ? How ? " 
 
 ' Listen : my brother has arrived in London " 
 
 ' I see that arrival announced in the papers." 
 
 ' And he comes, empowered by the consent of the Emperor, 
 to ask the hand of a relation and countrywoman of his ; an 
 alliance that will heal long family dissensions, and add to his 
 own fortunes those of an heiress. My brother, like myself, has 
 been extravagant. The dowry which by law he still owes me 
 it would distress him to pay till this marriage be assured." 
 
 "I understand," said Randal. "Buthoweanlaidthismarriage?" 
 
 " By assisting us to discover the bride. She, with her father, 
 sought refuge and concealment in England." 
 
 "The father had, then, taken part in some political disaffec- 
 tions, and was proscribed?" 
 
 " Exactly; and so well has he concealed himself, that he has 
 baffled all our efforts to discover his retreat. My brother can 
 obtain him his pardon in cementing this alliance " 
 
 "Proceed." 
 
 "Ah, Randal, Randal, is this the frankness of friendship? 
 You know that I have before sought to obtain the secret of our 
 relation's retreat sought in vain to obtain it from Mr. Egerton, 
 who assuredly knows it'* 
 
 "But who communicates no secrets to living man," said Randal, 
 almost bitterly; "who, close and compact as iron, is as little 
 malleable to me as to you." 
 
 "Pardon me. I know you so well that I believe you could attain 
 to any secret you sought earnestly to acquire. Nay, more, I believe 
 that you knowalready that secret which I ask you to share with me." 
 
 " What on earth makes you think so ? " 
 
 " When, some weeks ago, you asked me to describe the personal 
 appearance and manners of the exile, which I did partly from the 
 recollections of my childhood, partly from the description given 
 to me by others, I could not but notice your countenance, and 
 remark its change; in spite," said the Marchesa, smiling, and 
 watching Randal while she spoke "in spite of your habitual 
 self-command. And when I pressed you to own that you had 
 actually seen some one who tallied with that description, your 
 denial did not deceive me. Still more, when returning recently of
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 475 
 
 your own accord, to the subject, you questioned me so shrewdly 
 as to my motives in seeking the clue to our refugees, and I did 
 not then answer you satisfactorily, I could detect " 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " interrupted Randal, with the low soft laugh by 
 which occasionally he infringed upon Lord Chesterfield's recom- 
 mendations to shun a merriment so natural as to be ill-bred 
 "Ha, ha, you have the fault of all observers too minute and refined. 
 But even granting that I may have seen some Italian exiles 
 (which is likely enough), what could me more natural than my 
 seeking to compare your description with their appearance; and 
 granting that i might suspect some one amongst them to be the 
 man you search for, what more natural, also, than that I should 
 desire to know if you meant him harm or good in discovering his 
 ' whereabout ? ' For ill," added Randal, with an air of prudery 
 " ill would it become me to betray, even to friendship, the retreat 
 of one who would hide from persecution; and even if I did so 
 for honor itself is a weak safeguard against your fascinations 
 such indiscretion might be fatal to my future career." 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 "Do you not say that Egerton knows the secret, yet will not 
 communicate ? and is he a man who would ever forgive in me 
 an imprudence that committed himself ? My dear friend, I will 
 tell you more. When Audley Egerton first noticed my growing 
 intimacy with you, he said, with his usual dryness of counsel, 
 ' Randal, I do not ask you to discontinue acquaintance with 
 Madame di Negra for an acquaintance with women like her 
 forms the manners, and refines the intellect; but charming women 
 are dangerous, and Madame di Negra is a charming woman.' " 
 
 The Marchesa's face flushed. Randal resumed: " * Your fair 
 acquaintance' (I am still quoting Egerton) 'seeks to discover the 
 home of a countryman of hers. She suspects that I know it. 
 She may try to learn it through you. Accident may possibly 
 give you the information she requires. Beware how you betray 
 it. By one such weakness I should judge of your general char- 
 acter. He from whom a woman can extract a secret will never be 
 fit for public life.' Therefore, my dearMarchesa, even supposing 
 I possess this secret, you would be no true friend of mine to 
 ask me to reveal what would imperil all my prospects. For, as 
 yet," added Randal, with a gloomy shade on his brow " as yet I 
 do not stand alone and erect I lean; I am dependent." 
 
 There may be a way," replied Madame di Negra, persist- 
 ing, " to communicate this intelligence, without the possibility 
 of Mr. Egerton's tracing our discovery to yourself; and, though 
 I will not press you farther, I add this You urge me to accept
 
 476 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 your friend's hand; you seem interested in the success of his 
 suit, and you plead it with a warmth that shows how much you 
 regard what you suppose is his happiness; I will never accept his 
 hand till I can do so without a blush for my penury till my 
 dowry is secured, and that can only be by my brother's union 
 with the exile's daughter. For your friend's sake, therefore, 
 think well how you can aid me in the first step to that alliance. 
 The young lady once discovered, and my brother has no fear 
 for the success of his suit." 
 
 "And you would marry Frank if the dower was secured ?" 
 
 "Your arguments in his favor seem irresistible," replied 
 Beatrice, looking down. 
 
 A flash went from Randal's eyes, and he mused a few moments. 
 
 Then slowly rising and drawing on his gloves, he said 
 
 "Well, at least you so far reconcile my honor toward aiding your 
 research, that you now inform me you mean no ill to the exile." 
 
 "Ill ! the restoration to fortune, honors, his native land." 
 
 " And you so far enlist my heart on your side, that you inspire 
 me with the hope to contribute to the happiness of two friends 
 whom I dearly love. I will therefore diligently try to ascertain 
 if, among the refugees I have met with, lurk those whom you 
 seek; and if so, I will thoughtfully consider how to give you the 
 clue. Meanwhile, not one incautious word to Egerton." 
 
 "Trust me I am a woman of the world." 
 
 Randal now had gained the door. He paused and renewed 
 carelessly 
 
 , " This young lady must be heiress to great wealth, to induce a 
 man of your brother's rank to take so much pains to discover her." 
 
 "Her wealth will be vast," replied the Marchesa; "and if 
 anything from wealth or influence in a foreign state could be 
 permitted to prove my brother's gratitude " 
 
 "Ah, fie!" interrupted Randal; and, approaching Madame 
 di Negra, he lifted her hand to his lips, and said, gallantly 
 
 "This is reward enough to your preux chevalier." 
 
 With those words he took his leave. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WITH his hands behind him, and his head drooping on his 
 breast slow, stealthy, noiseless, Randal Leslie glided along the 
 streets on leaving the Italian's house. Across the scheme he 
 had before revolved, there glanced another yet more glittering, 
 for its gain might be more sure and immediate. If the exileV 
 daughter were' heiress to such wealth, might he himself hope '
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 477 
 
 He stopped short even in his own soliloquy, and his breath came 
 quick. Now, in his last visit to Hazeldean he had come in con- 
 tact with Riccabocca, and been struck by the beauty of Violante 
 A vague suspicion had crossed him that these might be the per. 
 sons of whom the Marchesa was in search, and the suspicion 
 had been confirmed by Beatrice's description of the refugee she 
 desired to discover. But as he had not then learned the reason 
 for her inquiries, nor conceived the possibility that he could 
 have any personal interest in ascertaining the truth, he had only 
 classed the secret in question among those the farther research 
 into which might be left to time and occasion. Certainly, the 
 reader will not do the unscrupulous intellect of Randal Leslie 
 the injustice to suppose that he was deterred from confiding to 
 his fair friend all that he knew of Riccabocca, by the refine- 
 ment of honor to which he had so chivalrously alluded. He had 
 correctly stated Audley Egerton's warning against any indiscreet 
 confidence, though he had forborne to mention a more recent and 
 direct renewal of the same caution. His first visit to Hazeldean 
 had been paid without consulting Egerton. He had been passing 
 some days at his father's house, and had gone over thence to the 
 Squire's. On his return to London, he had, however, mentioned 
 this visit to Audley, who had seemed annoyed, and even dis- 
 pleased at it, though Randal knew sufficient of Egerton's char- 
 acter to guess that such feelings could scarce be occasioned 
 merely by his estrangement from his half-brother. This dissat- 
 isfaction had, therefore, puzzled the young man. But as it was 
 necessary to his views to establish intimacy with the Squire, he 
 did not yield the point with his customary deference to his 
 patron's whims. Accordingly, he observed, that he should be 
 very sorry to do anything displeasing to his benefactor, but that 
 his father had been naturally anxious that he should not appear 
 positively to slight the friendly overtures of Mr. Hazeldean. 
 
 " Why naturally ? " asked Egerton. 
 
 " Because you know that Mr. Hazeldean is a relation of 
 mine that my grandmother was a Hazeldean." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Egerton, who, as it has been before said, knew 
 little and cared less about the Hazeldean pedigree," I was either 
 not aware of that circumstance, or had forgotten it. And your 
 father thinks that the Squire may leave you a legacy ? " 
 
 " Oh, sir, my father is not so mercenary such an idea never 
 entered his head. But the Squire himself has indeed said 
 'Why, if any thing happened to Frank, you would be next heir to 
 my lands, and therefore we ought to know each other.' But " 
 
 "Enough," interrupted Egerton. "I am the last man topre-
 
 478 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 tend to the right of standing between you and a single chance of 
 fortune, or of aid to it. And whom did you meetatHazeldean?" 
 
 " There was no one there, sir ! not even Frank." 
 
 " Hum. Is the Squire not on good terms with his parson ? 
 Any quarrel about tithes?" 
 
 " Oh, no quarrel. I forgot Dr. Dale ; I saw him pretty often. 
 He admires and praises you very much, sir." 
 
 " Me and why ? What did he say of me ? " 
 
 " That your heart was as sound as your head ; that he had 
 once seen you about some old parishioners of his ; and that he 
 had been much impressed with the depth of feeling he could 
 not have anticipated in a man of the world, and a statesman." 
 
 " Oh, that was all ; some affair when I was member for Lans- 
 mere ? " 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 Here the conversation had broken off ; but the next time 
 Randal was led to visit the Squire, he had formally asked Eger- 
 ton's consent, who, after a moment's hesitation, had as formally 
 replied, " I have no objection." 
 
 On returning from his visit, Randal mentioned that he had 
 seen Riccabocca ; and Egerton, a little startled at first, said, 
 composedly, " Doubtless one of the political refugees ; take care 
 not to set Madame di Negra on his track. Remember, she is 
 suspected of being a spy of the Austrian government." 
 
 "Rely on me, sir," said Randal ; "but I should think this 
 poor doctor can scarcely be the person she seeks to discover." 
 
 "That is no affair of ours," answered Egerton; "we are English 
 gentlemen, and make not a step toward the secrets of another." 
 
 Now, when Randal revolved this rather ambiguous answer, 
 and recalled the uneasiness with which Egerton had first heard 
 of his visit to Hazeldean, he thought that he was indeed near 
 the secret which Egerton desired to conceal from him and from 
 all viz., the incognito of the Italian whom Lord L'Estrange 
 had taken under his protection. 
 
 " My cards," said Randal to himself, as with a deep-drawn 
 sigh he resumed his soliloquy, " are become difficult to play. 
 On the one hand, to entangle Frank into marriage with this 
 foreigner, the Squire could never forgive him. On the other 
 hand, if she will not marry him without the dowry and that de- 
 pends on her brother's wedding this countrywoman-^-and that 
 countrywoman be, as I surmise, Violante and Violante be this 
 heiress, and to be won by me ! Tush, tush. Such delicate 
 scruples in a woman so placed and so constituted as Beatrice di 
 Negra must be easily talked away. Nay, the loss itself of this
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 479 
 
 alliance to her brother, the loss of her own dowry the very press- 
 ure of poverty and debt, would compel her into the sole escape 
 left to her option. I will then follow up the old plan ; I will go 
 down to Hazeldean, and see if there be any substance in the new 
 one ; and then to reconcile both. Aha the House of Leslie 
 shall rise yet from its ruin and " 
 
 Here he was startled from his reverie by a friendly slap on 
 the shoulder, and an exclamation " Why, Randal, you are 
 more absent than when you used to steal away from the cricket- 
 ground, muttering Greek verses, at Eton." 
 
 " My dear Frank," said Randal, " you you are so brusque, 
 and I was just thinking of you." 
 
 " Were you ? And kindly, then, I am sure," said Frank Haz- 
 eldean, his honest handsome face lighted up with the unsuspect* 
 ing genial trust of friendship ; "and heaven knows," he added, 
 with a sadder voice, and a graver expression on his eye and 
 lip, " heaven knows I want all the kindness you can give me !" 
 
 " I thought," said Randal, " that your father's last supply, of 
 which I was fortunate enough to be the bearer, would clear off 
 your more pressing debts. I don't pretend to preach, but really 
 I must say, once more, you should not be so extravagant." 
 
 FRANK (seriously). I have done my best to reform. 'I have 
 sold off my horses, and I have not touched dice nor cards these 
 six months; I would not even put into the raffle for the last 
 Derby." This last was said with the air of a man who doubted 
 the possibility of obtaining belief to some assertion of preter- 
 natural abstinence and virtue. 
 
 RANDAL. Is it possible ? But with such self-conquest how 
 is it that you can not contrive to live within the bounds of a 
 very liberal allowance ? 
 
 FRANK (despondingly). Why, when a man once gets his head 
 under water, it is so hard to float back again on the surface. 
 You see, I attribute all my embarrassments to that first conceal- 
 ment of my debts from my father, when they could have been 
 so easily met, and when he came up to town so kindly." 
 
 " I am sorry, then, that I gave you that advice." 
 
 "Oh, you meant it so kindly, I don't reproach you ; it was all 
 my own fault." 
 
 "Why, indeed, I did urge you to pay off that moiety of your 
 debts left unpaid, with your allowance. Had you done so, all 
 had been well." 
 
 " Yes; but poor Borrowel got into such a scrape at Goodwood 
 I could not resist him ; a debt of honor that must be paid ; 
 so when I signed another bill for him, he could not pay it, poor
 
 480 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 fellow ! Really lie would have shot himself, if I had not re- 
 newed it. And now it is swelled to such an amount with that 
 cursed interest, that he never can pay it ; and one bill, of course, 
 begets another and to be renewed every three months; 'tis 
 the devil and all ! So little as I ever got for all I have bor- 
 rowed," added Frank, with a kind of rueful amaze. " Not \ 500 
 ready money ; and the interest would cost me almost as much 
 yearly if I had it." 
 
 "Only ^1500 !" 
 
 "Well besides seven large chests of the worst cigars you ever 
 smoked, three pipes of wine that no one would drink ; and a 
 great bear that had been imported from Greenland for the sake 
 of its grease." 
 
 " That should, at least, have saved you a bill with your hair- 
 dresser." 
 
 " I paid his bill with it," said Frank, " and very good natured he 
 was to take the monster off my hands it had already hugged 
 two soldiers and one groom into the shape of a flounder. I tell 
 you what," resumed Frank, after a short pause, " I have a great 
 mind even now to tell my father honestly all my embarrassments." 
 
 RANDAL (solemnly). Hum ! 
 
 FRANK. What? don't you think it would be the best way? 
 I never can save enough never can payoff what I owe ; and it 
 rolls like a snowball. 
 
 RANDAL. Judging by the Squire's talk, I think that with the 
 first sight of your affairs you would forfeit his favor for ever ; 
 and your mother would be so shocked, especially after suppos- 
 ing that the sum I brought you so lately sufficed to pay off every 
 claim on you. If you had not assured her of that, it might be 
 different ; but she who so hates an untruth, and who said to the 
 Squire, " Frank says this will clear him ; and with all his faults, 
 Frank never yet told a lie ! " 
 
 " Oh, my dear mother ! I fancy I hear her ! " cried Frank, 
 with deep emotion. " But I did hot tell a lie, Randal ; I did 
 not say that that sum would clear me." 
 
 " You empowered and begged me to say so," replied Ran- 
 dal, with grave coldness; "and don't blame me if I believed vou." 
 
 " No, no ! I only said it would clear me for the moment." 
 
 " I misunderstood you, then, sadly; and such mistakes involve 
 my own honor. Pardon me, Frank; don "task my aid in future. 
 You see, with the best intentions, I only compromise myself." 
 
 " If you forsake me, I may as well go and throw myself into 
 the river," said Frank, in a tone of despair; " and sooner or 
 later, my father must know my necessities. The Jews threaten
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 4&I 
 
 to go to him already ; and the longer the delay, the more terri- 
 ble the explanation." 
 
 "I don't see \vhyyourfathershouldeverlearnthestateofyour 
 affairs; and it seems to me that you could pay off these usurers,and 
 get rid of these bills,byraisingmoney on comparatively easy terms." 
 
 "How?" cried Frank, eagerly. 
 
 "Why, the Casino property is entailed on you, and you m ight ob- 
 tain a sum upon that,not to be paid till the property becomes yours. ' ' 
 
 "At my poor father's death ? Oh, no no! I can not bear 
 the idea of this cold-blooded calculation on a father's death. I 
 know it is not uncommon ; I know other fellows who have done 
 it, but they never had parents so kind as mine ; and even in 
 them it shocked and revolted me. The contemplating a father's 
 death, and profiting by the contemplation, it seems a kind of 
 parricide; it is not natural, Randal. Besides, don't you remem- 
 ber what the Governor said he actually wept while he said it 
 'Never calculate on my death ; I could not bear that.' Oh, 
 Randal, don't speak of it ! " 
 
 " I respect your sentiments ; but still, all the post-obits you 
 could raise could not shorten Mr. Hazeldean's life by a day. 
 However, dismiss that idea ; we must think of some other device. 
 Ha, Frank ! you are a handsome fellow, and your expectations 
 are great why don't you marry some woman with money ? " 
 
 " Pooh ! " exclaimed Frank, coloring. "You know, Randal, 
 that there is but one woman in the world I can even think of ; 
 and I love her so devotedly, that, though I was as gay as most 
 men before, I really feel as if the rest of her sex had lost every 
 charm. I was passing through the street now merely to look 
 up at her windows." 
 
 " You speak of Madame di Negra ? I have just left her. Cer- 
 tainly she is two or three years older than you ; but if you can 
 get over that misfortune, why not marry her ? " 
 
 " Marry her ! " cried Frank, in amaze, and all his color fled 
 from his cheeks. " Marry her ! are you serious ? " 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " But even if she, who is so accomplished, so admired even 
 if she would accept me, she is, you know, poorer than myself. 
 She has told me so frankly. That woman has such a noble 
 heart ! and and my father would never consent, nor my 
 mother either. I know they would not." 
 
 "Because she is a foreigner ?" 
 
 " Yes partly." 
 
 " Yet the Squire suffered his cousin to marry a foreigner." 
 
 " That was different. He had no control over Jemima ; and
 
 482 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 a daughter-in-law is so different ; and ray father is so English in 
 his notions ; and Madame di Negra, you see, is- altogether so 
 foreign. Her very graces would. .be against her in his eyes." 
 
 " I think you do both your pa-rents injustice. A foreignerof 
 low birth an actress -or singer, for, instance of course would 
 be highly objectionable ; but a woman like Madame di Negra, 
 of such high birth and connections- 1 " : 
 
 Frank shook his head. "I don't think the .Governor would 
 care a straw about her connections, if she were a king's daugh- 
 ter. He considersall foreigners pretty much alike. And then, 
 you know " (Frank's voice sank into a whisper)" you know 
 that one of the very reasons why she is so dear .to me, would be 
 an insuperable objection to the old-fashioned folks at home." 
 
 " I don't understand you, Frank." 
 
 "I love her the more," said young Hazeldean, raising, his 
 front with a noble pride, that seemed to speak of his descent 
 from a race of cavaliers and gentlemen "I love her the more 
 because the world has slandered her name because I believe 
 her to be pure and wronged. But would they at the Hall they 
 who do not see with a Lover's.eyes they who have all the stub- 
 born English notions about the indecorum and license of Con- 
 tinental manners, and will so readily credit the worst? Oh, 
 no I love, I cannot help it but I ;have no hope." 
 
 "It is very possible that you may be right," exclaimed, Ran- 
 dal, as if struck and." half convinced by his companion's argu- 
 ment " very possible ; and .certainly I think that the homely 
 folks at the Hall would fret and fume at first, if they heard you 
 were married to Madame di Negra. Yet still, when your father 
 learned that you had done so, not from passion alone, but to save 
 him from all pecuniary sacrifice to clear yourself of debt to 
 
 " What do you mean ? " exclaimed Frank, impatiently. 
 
 " I have reason to know that; Madame di Negra will have as 
 large a portion as your father could reasonably- expect you to 
 receive with any English wife. And when this is properly stated 
 to the Squire, and the high position and rank of your wife fully 
 established andbroughthometo him- for I must think that these 
 would tell, despite your exaggerated notions of his prejudices 
 and then, when he really sees Madame di Negra, and can judge 
 of her beauty and rare gifts, upon my word, I think, Frank, that 
 there would be no cause for fear. After all, too, you are his only 
 son. He will have no option but to forgive you; and I know how 
 anxiously both your parents wish to see you settled in life." 
 
 Frank's whole countenance became illuminated. " There is 
 no one who understands the Squire like you, certainly^" said he.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 483 
 
 with lively joy. '* He has the highest opinion of your judgment, 
 And you really believe you could smooth matters?" 
 
 " I believe so ; ,but I should be sorry to induce you to runany 
 risk; and if, on tool consideration/you think that risk is incurred, 
 I strongly advise you to avoid all occasion of seeing the poor 
 Marchesa. Ah, you wince ; but I say it for her sake as well as 
 your own. First, you must be aware, that unless you have seri- 
 ous thoughts of marriage, your attentions can but add to the very 
 rumors that, eqttaliy groundless, you so feelingly resent ; and^sec"* 
 ondly, because Won't think.any man has a right to win theaffec- 
 tionsofawoman especially a woman whoseemstomelikely to love 
 with her whole heart and soul merely to gratify his own vanity." 
 
 " Vanity- ! Good heavens ! Can you think so poorly of me ? 
 But as to the Marchesa's affections," continued Frank, with a 
 faltering voice, "do you really and honestly believe that they 
 are to be won by me ? " 
 
 " I fear lest they may be half won already," said Randal, with a 
 smile and a shake of the head ; " but she is too proud to letyou see 
 any effect you may produce on her; especially when, as I takeit for 
 granted, you have never hintedat the hope of obtaining her hand." 
 
 " I never till- now conceived such a hope. My dear Randal, 
 all my cares have vanished I tread upon air I have a great 
 mind to call on her at once." 
 
 (< Stay, stay," said Randal. " Let me 1 give you a caution. , I 
 have just informed you that Madame diNegra will have, what you 
 suspected not before, a fortune suitable to her birth. Any abrupt 
 change in your manner at present might induce her to believe 
 that you were influenced by that intelligence." 
 
 "Ah ! " exclaimed Frank, stopping short as if wounded to 
 the quick. "And I feel guilty feel as if I was influenced by 
 that intelligence. So I am too, when I reflect," he continued, 
 with a fltttf//.that was half pathetic ; " but I hope she will not 
 be very rich if so, I'll not call." 
 
 " Make your mind easy, it is but a portion of some twenty or 
 thirty thousand pounds, that would just suffice to discharge all 
 your debts, clear away all obtacles to your union/arid in. .return 
 for which you would secure a more than adequate jointure and 
 settlement on the Casino property. Now I am on that head, 
 I will be more communicative. Madame di Negra has a noble 
 heart, as you say, and told me herself, that until her brother on 
 his arrival had" assured her of this dowry, she would never have 
 consented to marry you never crippled with her own embar- 
 rassments the man she loves. Ah! with what delight she will 
 hail the thought of assisting you to win back your father's heart !
 
 484 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 But be guarded, meanwhile. And now, Frank, what say you 
 would it not be well if I ran down to Hazeldean to sound your 
 parents ? It is rather inconvenient to me, to be sure, to leave 
 town just at present ; 'but I would do more than that to render 
 you a smaller service. Yes, I'll go to Rood Hall to-morrow, and 
 thence to Hazeldean. I am sure your father will press me to stay, 
 and I shall have ample opportunities to judge of the manner in 
 which he would be likely to regard your marriage with Madame 
 di Negra supposing it were properly put to him. We can then 
 act accordingly." 
 
 " My dear, dear Randal, how can I thank you ? If ever a poor 
 fellow like me can serve you in return but that's impossible." 
 
 "Why, certainly, I will never ask you to be security to a bill of 
 mine," said Randal laughing. "I practise the economy I preach." 
 
 "Ah !" said Frank, with a groan, "that is because your mind 
 is cultivated you have so many resources ; and all my faults 
 have come from idleness. If I had had anything to do on a 
 rainy day, I should never have got into these scrapes." 
 
 " Oh ! you will have enough to do some day managing your 
 property. We who have no property must find one in knowledge. 
 Adieu, mydearFrank^-Imustgohomenow. By the way, you have 
 never,bychance,spokenoftheRiccabpccastoMadamedi Negra?" 
 
 " The Riccaboccas ! No. That's well thought of. It may 
 interest her to know that a relation of mine has married her 
 countryman. Very odd that I never did mention it ; but to 
 say truth, I really do talk so little to her ; she is so superior, 
 and I feel positively shy with her." . 
 
 "Dome the favor, Frank,", said Randal, waiting patiently till 
 this reply ended for he was devising all the time what reason to 
 give for his request " never to allude to the Riccaboccas, either 
 to her or to her brother to whom you are sure to be presented." 
 
 " Why not allude to them ?" 
 
 Randal hesitated a moment. His invention \ras still at fault, 
 and, for a wonder, he thought it best policy to go pretty near 
 the truth. 
 
 " Why, I will tell you. The Marchesa conceals nothing from 
 her brother, and he is one of the few Italians who are in high 
 favor with the Austrian court." 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 "And I suspect that poor Dr. Riccabocca fled his country 
 from some mad experiment at revolution, and is still hiding 
 from the Austrian police." 
 
 ' " But they can't hurt him here," said Frank, with an English- 
 man's dogged inborn conviction of. the sanctity of his native
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 485 
 
 island. " I should like to see an Austrian pretend to dictate to 
 us whom to receive and whom to reject." 
 
 " Hum that's true and constitutional, no doubt ; but Ricca- 
 bocca may have excellent reasons and, to speak plainly, I know 
 he has (perhaps as affecting the safety of friends in Italy) for 
 preserving his incognito, and we are bound to respect those 
 reasons without inquiring further." 
 
 "Still I cannot think so meanly of Madame di Negra," persist- 
 ed Frank(shrewd here,though credulous elsewhere,and both from 
 his sense of honor), " as to suppose that she would descend to be 
 a spy, and injure a poor countryman of her own, who trusts to the 
 same hospitality she receives herself at our English hands. Oh! if 
 I thought that I could not love her! "added Frank, with energy. 
 
 " Certainly you are right. But see in what a false position you 
 would place both her brother and herself. If they knew Ricca- 
 bocca's secret, and proclaimed it to the Austrian government, 
 as you say, it would be cruel and mean' ; but, if they knew it and 
 concealed, it might involve them both in the most serious con- 
 sequences. You know the Austrian policy is proverbially so 
 jealous and tyrannical ! " 
 
 "Well, the newspapers say so, certainly." 
 
 " And, in short, your discretion can do no harm, and your in- 
 discretion may. Therefore, give me your word, Frank. I can't 
 stay to argue' now." 
 
 "I'll not allude to the Riccaboccas, upon my honor," an- 
 swered Frank ; " still, I am sure that they would be as safe with 
 the Marchesa as with " 
 
 "I rely on your honor," interrupted Randal hastily, and 
 hurried off. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 TOWARD the evening of the following day, Randal Leslie 
 walked slowly from a village in the main road (about two miles 
 from Rood Hall), at which he had got out of the coach. He 
 passed through meads and corn-fields, and by the skirts of woods 
 which had formerly belonged to his ancestors, but had been long 
 since alienated. He was alone amidst the haunts of his boyhood, 
 the scenes in which he had first invoked the grand Spirit of 
 Knowledge, to bid the Celestial Still One minister to the com- 
 mands of an earthly and turbulent ambition. He paused often 
 in his path, especially when the undulations of the ground gave 
 a glimpse of the gray church-tower, or the gloomy firs that rose 
 above the desolate wastes of Rood. 
 
 "Here/' thought Randal, with a softening eye "here, how
 
 486 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 often, comparing the fertility of the lands passed away from the 
 inheritance of my fathers, with the forlorn wilds that are left to 
 their mouldering hall here, how often have I said to myself 
 ' J will rebuild the, fortunes of my house.' And straightway Toil 
 lost its aspect of drudge, and grew kingly, and books became 
 as living armies to serve my thoughts. Again again O thou. 
 haughty Past, brace and strengthen me in my battle with the 
 Future." His pale lips writhed as he soliloquized, for his con- 
 science spoke to him while he thus addressed his will, and its 
 voice was heard more audibly in the quiet of the rural landscape, 
 than amidst the turmoil and din of that armed and sleepless camp 
 which we call a city. 
 
 Doubtless, though Ambition have objects more vast and be- 
 neficent than the restoration of a name that in itself is high and 
 chivalrous, and appeals to a strong interest in the human heart. 
 But all emotions, and all ends, of a nobler character, had Seemed 
 to filter themselves free from every golden grain in passing 
 through the mechanism of Randal's intellect, and came forth 
 at last into egotism clear and unalloyed. Nevertheless, it is a 
 strange truth that, to a man of cultivated mind, however per- 
 verted and vicious, there are vouchsafed gleams of brighter sen- 
 timents, irregular perceptions of moral beauty, denied to the 
 brutal unreasoning wickedness of uneducated villany which 
 perhaps ultimately serve as his punishment according to the 
 old thought of the satirist, that there is no greater curse than to 
 perceive virtue yet adopt vice. And as the solitary schemer 
 walked slowly on, and his childhood innocent at least in deed; 
 came distinct :beforq him through the halo of bygone dreams 
 dreams far purer than those from which he now rose each morn- 
 ing to the active world of Man a profound melancholy crept 
 over him, and suddenly he exclaimed aloud, " Then I aspired to 
 be renowned and great now how is it that, so advanced in my 
 career, all that seemed lofty in the end has vanished from me, 
 and the only means that I contemplate are those which my child- 
 hood would have called poor and vile? Ah'! is it that I then 
 read but books, and ; npw my knowledge has passed onward, and 
 men contaminate more than books? But," he continued^ in a 
 lower voice, as if arguing with himself, " if power is only so to 
 be won and of what use is knowledge if it be not power does 
 not success in life justify all things? And who prizes the wise 
 man if he fails?" He con.tinued,his way, but still the soft tran- 
 quillity around rebuked him, and still his reason was- dissatisfied, 
 as well as his conscience. There are times when Nature, like a 
 bath of youth, seems ^o restore to the jaded soul its freshness
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 487 
 
 times from which some men have emerged, as if reborn. The 
 crises of life are very silent. Suddenly the scene opened on 
 Randal Leslie's eyes. The bare desert common the-dilapidated 
 church the old house, partially seen in the dank dreary hollow, 
 into which it seemed to Randal to have sunken deeper and low- 
 lier than when he saw it last. And on the common were some 
 young meo playing hockey. That old-fashioned game, now very 
 uncommon in England, except at schools, was still preserved in 
 the primitive vicinity of Rood by the young yeoman and farmers. 
 Randal stood by the stile and looked on, for among the players 
 he recognized his brother Oliver. Presently the ball was struck 
 toward Oliver, and the group instantly gathered round that 
 young gentleman and snatched him from Randal's eye ; but the 
 elder brother heard a displeasing din, a derisive laughter. Oliver 
 had shrunk from the danger of the thick clubbed sticks that 
 plied round him, and received some strokes across the legs, for 
 his voice rose whining, and was crowned by shouts of, "Go to 
 your mammy. That's Noll Leslie all, aver. Buttershins." 
 
 Randal's sallow face became scarlet. "The jest of boors 
 a Leslie ! " he muttered, and ground his teeth. He sprang over 
 the stifle, and walked : erect and haughtily .across the ground. 
 The players cried out indignantly. Randal raised his hat^ and 
 they recognized him; and stopped the game. For him at least a 
 certain respect was felt. Oliver turned round quickly, and.ran up 
 to. him. Randal caught his arm firmly, and without sayingaword 
 to the rest, drew him away toward the house. Oliver cast a regret- 
 ful, lingering look behind him, rubbed his shins, and then stole a 
 timid glance toward Randal's severe and moody countenance. 
 
 "You are not angry that I was playing at hockey with, our 
 neighbors? " said he, deprecatingly, observing that Randal would 
 not break the silence. 
 
 "No," replied the elder brother; "but, in associating with 
 his inferiors, a gentleman still knows ho.w to maintain his dignity. 
 There is no harmin playing with inferiors, but it is necessary to a 
 gentleman to play so that he is not the laughing-stock of clowns." 
 
 Oliver hung his head, and made no answer. They came into 
 the slovenly precincts of the court, and the pigs stared at them 
 from the palings, as their progenitors had stared, years before, 
 at Frank Hazeldean. 
 
 Mr. Leslie, senior, in a-shabby straw hat, was engaged in feeding 
 the chickens before the threshold, and he performed even that oc- 
 cupation with a maundering,lackadaisical slothfulness,dropping 
 down the grains almost one by one from his inert, dreamy fingers. 
 ..Randal's sister, her hair still and forever hanging about her
 
 488 MY NOVEL ; OR 
 
 ears, was seated on a rush-bottom chair, reading a tattered novel; 
 and from the parlor window was heard the querulous voice of 
 Mrs. Leslie, in high fidget and complaint. 
 
 Somehow or other, as the young heir to all this helpless pov- 
 erty stood in the court-yard, with his sharp, refined, intelligent 
 features, and his strange elegance of dress and aspect, one better 
 comprehended how, left solely to the egotism of his knowledge 
 and his ambition, in such a family, and without any of the sweet 
 nameless lessons of Home, he had grown up into such close and 
 secret solitude of soul how the mind had taken so little nutri- 
 ment from the heart, and how that affection and respect which 
 the warm circle of the hearth usually calls forth had passed with 
 him to the graves of dead fathers, growing, as it were, bloodless 
 and ghoul-like amidst the charnels on which they fed. 
 
 "Ha, Randal, boy," said Mr. Leslie, looking up lazily, "how 
 d'ye do ? who could have expected you ? My dear my dear," 
 he cried, in a broken voice, and as if in helpless dismay, "here's 
 Randal, and he'll be wanting dinner, or supper, or something." 
 But, in the mean while, Randal's sister Juliet had sprung up, and 
 thrown her arms round her brother's neck, and he had drawn 
 her aside caressingly, for Randal's strongest human affection 
 was for his sister. 
 
 "You are growing very pretty, Juliet," said he, smoothing 
 back her hair ; " why do yourself such injustice? why- not pay 
 more attention to your appearance, as I have so often begged 
 you to do ? " 
 
 " I did not expect you, dear Randal ; you always come so 
 suddenly, and catch us en dish-a-bilL" 
 
 " Dish-a-bill ! " echoed Randal, with a groan. " Dis-ha-bilU ! 
 you ought never to be so caught !" 
 
 " No one else does so catch us nobody else ever comes. 
 Heigho ! " and the young lady sighed very heartily. 
 
 " Patience, patience ; my day is coming, and then yours, my 
 sister," replied Randal, with genuine pity, as he gazed upon 
 what a little care could have trained into so fair a flower, and 
 what now looked so like a weed. 
 
 Here Mrs. Leslie, in a state of intense excitement having 
 rushed through the parlor, leaving a fragment of her gown between 
 the yawning brass of the never-mended Brummagem work-table 
 tore across the hall whirled out of the door, scattering the 
 chickens to the right and left, and clutched hold of Randal in 
 her motherly embrace. " La, how you do shake my nerves," she 
 cried, after giving him a most hasty and uncomfortable kiss. 
 "And you are hungry, too, and nothing in the house but cold
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 489 
 
 mutton ! Jenny, Jenny ! I say, Jenny ! Juliet, have you seen 
 Jenny? Where's Jenny? Out with the odd man, I'll be bound." 
 
 " I am not hungry, mother," said Randal; "I wish for nothing 
 but tea." Juliet, scrambling up her hair, darted into the house 
 to prepare the tea, and also to " tidy herself." She dearly loved 
 her fine brother, but she was greatly in awe of him. 
 
 Randal seated himself on the broken pales. "Take care they 
 don't come down," said Mr. Leslie, with some anxiety. 
 
 "Oh, sir, I am very light ; nothing comes down with me." 
 
 The pigs stared up, and grunted in amaze at the stranger. 
 
 "Mother," said the young man, detaining Mrs. Leslie, who 
 wanted to set off in chase of Jenny "mother, you should not 
 let Oliver associate with those village boors. It is time to think 
 of a profession for him," 
 
 " Oh, he eats us out of house and home such an appetite ! But 
 as to a profession what is he fitfor ? He will never be a scholar." 
 
 Randal noddedamoody assent; for, indeed, Oliver had been sent 
 to Cambridge, and supported there out of Randal's income from 
 his official pay ; and Oliver had been plucked for his Little Go. 
 
 "There is the army," said the elder brother "a gentleman's 
 calling. How handsome Juliet ought to be- but I left money for 
 masters and she pronounces French like a chambermaid." 
 
 "Yet she is fond of her book, too. She's always reading, and 
 good for nothing else." 
 
 " Reading ! those trashy novels ! " 
 
 "So like you you always come to scold, and make things 
 unpleasant, ' said Mrs. Leslie, peevishly. " You are grown too 
 fine for us; and! am sure we suffer affronts enough from others, 
 not to want a little respect from our own children." 
 
 " I did not mean to affront you," said Randal, sadly. " Pardon 
 me ; but who else has done so ? " 
 
 Then Mrs. Leslie went into a minute and most.irritating.cata- 
 logueof all the mortifications and insults she had received ; the 
 grievances of a petty provincial family, with much pretension and 
 small power : : of all people, indeed, without the disposition to 
 please withoutftheabilitytcxserve whoexaggeratefeveryfoffence, 
 and are thankful for no kindness. Fanner Jones had insolently 
 refused to send his wagon twenty miles for coals. Mr. Giles, the 
 butcher, requesting the payment of his bill, had stated that the 
 custom at Rood was too small for him to allow credit. Squire 
 Thornhill, who was the present owner of the fairest slice of the 
 old Leslie domains, had taken the liberty to ask permission to 
 shoot over Mr. Leslie's land, since Mr. Leslie did not preserve. 
 Lady Spratt (new people from the city, whg hired a neighbor-
 
 490 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 ingcountry-seat) had taken a discharged servant of Mrs. Leslie's 
 without applying for the character. The Lord-Lieutenari't had 
 given a ball, and had not invited the Leslies. Mr. Leslie's tenants 
 had voted against their landlord's wish at the recent election. 
 More than all, Squire Hazeldean and his Hiarry had called at 
 Rood ; and though Mrs. Leslie had screamed out to Jenny, " Not 
 at home," she had-beeri seen at the window, and the Squire had 
 actually forced his way in, and caught the whole family "in a 
 state not fit to be seen." That was a trifle ; but the Squire had 
 presumed to instruct Mr. Leslie how to manage his property, 
 and Mrs. Hazeldean had actually told Juliet to hold up her head, 
 and tie up her hair, "as if we were her cottagers!" said Mrs. 
 Leslie, with the pride of a Montfydget. 
 
 All these, and various other annoyances, though Randal was 
 too sensible not to preceive their insignificance, s'till galled and 
 mortified the listening heir of Rood. -They showed, at least, even 
 to the well-meant officiousness of the Hazeldeans, the small 
 account in which the fallen family was held. As he sat still on 
 the moss-grown pales, gloomy and taciturn, 'his mother standing 
 beside him, with" her cap awry, Mr. Leslie shamblingly sauntered 
 up and said, in a pensive, dolorous whine- 
 
 " I wish we had a good sum of money, Ra.ndal boy ! " 
 
 To-do Mr.'Leslie justice, he seldom gave Vent to any wish 
 that savored of avarice. His mind must be singularly aroused, 
 to wander out of its normal limits of sluggish dull content. 
 
 So Randal looked at him in surprise, and said, " Do you, 
 sir?-why?" 
 
 " The manors of Rood and Dulmansberry, and all the lands 
 therein, which my great-grandfather sold away, are to be sold 
 again when Squire Thornhill's eldest son comes of age, to cut 
 off the entail. Sir John Spratt talks of buying them. I should 
 like to have them back again ! ; 'Tis a shame to see the Leslie 
 estates hawked about, and bought by Spratts and people. I 
 wish I had a great great sum of ready money." 
 
 The poor gentleman extended his helpless fingers as he spoke, 
 and fell into a dejected reverie. 
 
 Randal sprang from the paling, a movement which frightened 
 the contemplative pigs, ; and 1 set them off squalling and scamper- 
 ing. '" When does yoUng Thornhill come of age ? " 
 
 '" He was nineteen last August. I know it, because, the day 
 he was born I picked up my fossil of tfre sea-horse, just by Dul- 
 mansberry church; when the joy-bells were ringing. My fossil 
 sea-horse '! It will be an heirloom, Randal 
 
 " Two years nearly two years yet ah, ah ! " said Randal ;
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 491 
 
 and his sister now appearing, to announce that tea was ready, he 
 threw his arms round her neck and kissed her. Juliet had ar- 
 ranged her hair and trimmed upherdress. She looked veryprettyj 
 and she had now theair of a gentlewoman something of Randal's 
 own refinement in her slender proportions and well-shaped head. 
 
 " Be patient, patient still, mydear sister," whispered Randal, 
 "and keep your heart whole for two years longer." 
 
 The young man was gay and good-humored over his simple 
 meal, while his family grouped round him. When it was over, 
 Mr. Leslie lighted his pipe, and called for hisbrandy-and-water. 
 Mrs. Leslie began to question about London and Court, and the 
 new King and the new Queen, and Mr. Audley Egerton, and 
 hoped Mr. Egerton would leave Randal all his money, and that 
 Randal would marry a rich woman, and that the King would 
 make him a prime-minister one of these days; and then she should 
 like to see if Farmer Jones would refuse to send his wagon for 
 coals. Andevery now and then, as the word "riches"or "money" 
 caught Mr. Leslie's ears, he shook his head, drew.his pipe from 
 his mouth, " A Spratt should not have what belonged to my 
 great-great-grandfather. If I had a good sum of ready money !- 
 the old family estates! " Oliver and Juliet sat silent, and on their 
 good behavior; and Randal',- indulging' his. own reveries, 
 dreamily heard the words " money," " Spr&tt," " great-great- 
 grandfather," "rich wife," "familyestates"; and they sounded to 1 
 him vague and afar off, like whispers from the world of romance 
 and legend weird prophecies of things to be. 
 
 Such was the hearth which Avarmed the viper that nestled 
 and gnawed at the heart of Randal, poisoning all the aspirations 
 that youth should have rendered pure, ambition lofty, and -knowl- 
 edge beneficent and divine. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WHEN the rest of the household were in deep sleep, Randal 
 stood long at his open window, looking over the dreary, com- 
 fortless scene the moon gleaming from skies half-autumnal, 
 half-wintry, upon squalid decay, through, the ragged fissures of 
 the firs ; dnd when he lay down to rest his sleep was feverish, 
 and troubled by turbulent dreams. 
 
 Ho.veve: he was up early, and with an unwonted color in his 
 cheeks, which his sister ascribed to the country air. After break- 
 fast he -took his way toward Hazeld'eah, mounted upon a toler- 
 able horse, which he borrowed of a neighboring farmer who oc- 
 casionally hunted. Before noon the garden and 'terrace of the 
 Casino came in'sight: He reinecf in his-h'brse^arrd'by the little
 
 492 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 fountain at which Leonard had been wont to eat his radishes 
 and con his book, he saw Riccabocca seated under the shade of 
 the red umbrella. And by the Italian's side stood a form that 
 a Greek of old might have deemed the Naiad of the Fount ; 
 for in its youthful beauty there was something so full of poetry 
 something at once so sweet and so stately that it spoke to the 
 imagination while it charmed the sense. 
 
 Randal dismounted, tied his horse to the gate, and, walking 
 down a trellised alley, came suddenly to the spot. His dark 
 shadow fell over the clear mirror of the fountain just as Ricca- 
 bocea had said, "All here is so secure from evil ! the waves of 
 the fountain are never .troubled like those of the river ! " and 
 Violante had answered in her soft, native tongue, and lifting her 
 dark spiritual eyes " But the fountain would be but a lifeless 
 pool, O my father, if the spray did not mount toward the skies! " 
 i 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 . 
 
 RANDAL advanced " I fear., Signer Riccabocca, that I am 
 guiHy of some want of ceremony." 
 
 ~ " To dispense with ceremony is the most delicate mode of 
 conferring a compliment," replied the urbane Italian, as he re- 
 covered from his first surprise at Randal's sudden address, and 
 extended his hand. 
 
 Violante bowed her graceful head to the young man's respectful 
 salutation. " I am on my way to Hazeldean," resumed Randal, 
 " and, seeing you in the garden, could not resist this intrusion." 
 
 RICCABOCCA. You come from London? Stirring times for you 
 English, but I do not ask you the news. No news can affect us. 
 
 RANDAL (softly). Perhaps, yes. 
 
 RICCABOCCA (startled). How ? 
 
 VIOLANTE. Surely he speaks of Italy, and news from that 
 country affects you still, my father. 
 
 RICCABOCCA. Nay, nay, nothing affects me like this country; 
 its east winds might affect a pyramid ! Draw your^mantle round 
 you, child, and go in ; the air has suddenly grown chill. 
 
 Violante smiled on her father, glanced uneasily toward Ran- 
 dal's grave brow, and went slowly toward the house. 
 
 Riccabocca, after waiting some moments in silence, as if ex- 
 pecting Randal to speak, said with affected carelessness " So 
 you think that you have news that might affect me ? Corpo di 
 Bacco ! I am curious to learn what ! " 
 
 " I may be mistaken that depends on your answer to one 
 question. Do you know the Count of Peschiera ? "
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 493 
 
 Riccabocca winced, and turned pale. He could not baffle 
 the watchful eye of the questioner. 
 
 "Enough,'*said Randal; " I see that I am right. Believeinmy 
 sincerity. I speak but to warn and to serve you. TheCount seeks 
 to discover the retreat of a countryman and kinsman of his own." 
 
 " And for what end ? " cried Riccabocca, thrown off his guard, 
 and his breast dilated, his crest rose, and his eye flashed ; valor 
 and defiance broke from habitual caution and self-control. 
 " But pooh ! " he added, striving to regain his ordinary and 
 half-ironical calm, <r lt matters not to me. I grant, sir, that I 
 know the Count 'di Peschiera ; but what has Dr. Riccabocca to 
 do with the kinsman of so grand a personage ?" 
 
 " Dr. Riccabocca nothing. But " here Randal put his lip 
 close to the Italian's ear, and whispered a brief sentence. Then 
 retreating a step, but laying his hand on the exile's shoulder, he 
 added " Need I say that your secret is safe with me ? " 
 
 Riccabocca made no answer. His eyes rested on the ground 
 musingly. 
 
 Randal c'ontinued " And I shall esteem it the highest honor 
 you can bestow on me, to be permitted to assist you in forestall- 
 ing danger." 
 
 RICCABOCCA (slowly). Sir, I thank you ; ytfu have my secret, 
 and I feel assured it is safe, for I speak to an English gentle- 
 man. There maybe family 1 reasons why I should avoid the 
 Count di Peschiera ; and, indeed, he js safest from shoals who 
 steers clearest of his relations. 
 
 The poor Italian regained his caustic smile as he uttered that 
 wise villanous Italian maxim. 
 
 RANDAL. I know little of the Count of Peschiera save from the 
 current talk of the world. He is said to hold the estate of a kins- 
 man who took part in a conspiracy against the Austrian power. 
 
 RICCABOCCA. It is true. Let that content him ; what more 
 does he desire ? You spoke of forestalling danger ; what dan- 
 ger ? I am on the soil of England, and protected by its laws. 
 
 RANDAL. Allow me to inquire if, had the kinsman np child, 
 the Count di Peschiera would be legitimate and natural heir to 
 the estates he holds ? 
 
 RiccABdccA He would What then? 
 
 RANDAL. Does that thought suggest no danger to the child 
 of the kinsman ? 
 
 Riccabocca recoiled, and gasped forth, " The child ! You 
 do not mean to imply that this man, infamous though he be, 
 can contemplate the crime of an assassin ? " 
 
 Randal paused, perplexed. His ground was delicate. He
 
 494 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 .knew not what causes of resentment the exile entertained against 
 the Count. He knew not whether Riccabocca would not assent 
 to an alliance that might restore him to his country and he re- 
 solved to feel his way with precaution. 
 
 "I- did not," said he, smiling gravely, "mean to insinuate so 
 horrible a charge, against a man whom I have never seen. He 
 seeks you that is all I know. I imagine, from his general 
 character, that in this search he consults his interests. Perhaps 
 all matters might be conciliated by an interview ! " 
 
 " An interview ! " exclaimed Riccabopca ; "there is but one 
 way we should meet foot to foot, .and hand to hand." 
 
 " Is it so ? Then you would not listen to the Count if he pro- 
 posed some amicable compromise if, for instance, he was a 
 candidate for the hand of your daughter? " , 
 
 The poor Italian, so wise and so subtle in his talk, was as rash 
 and blind when it came to action, as ; if he had .been born in 
 Ireland and nourished on.potatoes and Repeal. He bare.d his 
 whole' soul to the merciless eye of Randal. 
 
 " My daughter ! " he exclaimed. . " Sir, yqur very v ques.tion is 
 an insult." 
 
 Randal's way became clear at once. " Forgive me," he said, 
 mildly; "I will, .tell you, frankly all that I know. . I am acquain- 
 ted with: the, Count's sister. I have some little influence over 
 her. It was she who informed me that the. Count had come 
 here, bent upon discovering your, refuge, and resolved to wed 
 your daughter. This is the danger of which I spoke. Andwhen 
 I asked yaur opinion to aid in forestalling it, I only intended 
 to suggest that it might be wise to find some securer home, and 
 that. I, if permitted to know that home.,, and to visit you, could ap- 
 prise you from time to time of the Count's plans and movements." 
 
 " Sir, .1 thank you sincerely," said Riccabocca, with emotion; 
 " but am I not safe here ? " 
 
 "I doubt it. Many pepple have visited/the Squire in the 
 shooting. season, who Will have heard of you perhaps seen you, 
 and who are likely to meet the Count in London. And Frank 
 Hazeldean, .too, who Jsftows the Count's sister " 
 
 " True, true," interrupted Riccabocca. "I see, I see. I will 
 consider. I will reflect, j Meanwhile you are going to Hazel- 
 dean. Do not say a word to the Squire. He. knows not the 
 secret you have discovered." 
 
 With these words Riccabocca turned slightly away, and .Ran- 
 dal took the hint to depart. 
 
 "At all times command and rely on me," said the young traitor, 
 he regained the pal,e to which he .had fastened his horse.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 495 
 
 As he remounted, he cast his eyes toward the place where he 
 had left Ricca.bocca. The Italian was stiU^standing there. Pres- 
 ently the form of Jackeymo was seen emerging from the shrubs. 
 Riccabocca turned hastily round, recognized his servant, uttered 
 an explanation loud enough to reach .Randal's ear, and then, 
 catching Jackeymo by the arm, disappeared with him amidst 
 the deep recesses of the garden. 
 
 " It wjll be indeed in my favor," thought Randal, as he rode 
 on, " if I ean get them intoihe neighborhood of London an oc- 
 casion there to woo, and if expedient, to win the heiress." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " BY the Lord Harry ! " cried the Squire, as he stood with his 
 wife in the park, on a visit of inspection to some first-rate South- 
 downs just added to his stock "By the Lord, if that is ncrt Ran- 
 dal Leslie trying to .get into the park at the back gate ! Hollo, 
 Randal ! you must come round by the lodge, my boy," said he. 
 " You see this gate is locked to keep out trespassers." 
 
 " A pity," said Randal. " I like short cuts, and -you have shut 
 up a very short one." 
 
 " So. the trespassers said," quoth the Squire; " but Stirn in- 
 sisted on it; valuable man, Stirn. But ride round to the lodge. 
 Put up your horse,and you'll joiaus before wecan get tothe house." 
 
 Randal nodded and smiled, and rode briskly on. 
 
 The Squire rejoined his Harry. 
 
 "Ah, William," said she, anxiously, " though certainly Ran- 
 dal Leslie means well, I always dread his visits." . 
 
 "So do I, in one sense," quoth the Squire y "for he always 
 carries away a bank-note for Frank." 
 
 "1 hope he is really Frank's friend," said Mrs. Hazeldean; 
 
 " Who's else can he be ? Not his own, poor fellow, for he will 
 never accept a shilling from me, though; his grandmother was as 
 good a Hazeldean as I am. But, zounds, I like his pride, and 
 his economy too. As for Frank " 
 
 "Hush, William !" cried Mrs. Hazeldean, and put her fair 
 hand before the Squire's mouth. The Squire was softened, and 
 kissed the fair hand gallantly perhaps, he kissed the lips too ; 
 at all- events, the worthy pair were walking lovingly arrti-in-arm 
 when Randal joined them. 
 
 He did hot affect to perceivera certain coldness in themaoner 
 of Mrs. Hazeldean, but began immediately to talk to her about 
 Erank; praise that young gentleman's appearance ;expatiateon his 
 health, his popularity, and his go6d gifts, personal and mental
 
 496 MY NOVEL ; Oft, 
 
 and this with so much warmth, that any dim and undeveloped 
 suspicions Mrs. Hazeldean might have formed soon melted away. 
 
 Randal continued to make himself thus agreeable until the 
 Squire, persuaded that his young kinsman vas a first-rate agricul- 
 turist^nsisted upon carrying him off to the home farm ; and Harry 
 turned toward the house to order Randal's room to be got ready; 
 "For," said Randal, " knowing that you will excuse my morning 
 dress, I venture to invite myself to dine and sleep at the Hall." 
 
 On approaching the farm-buildings, Randal was seized with 
 the terror of an impostor; for, despite all the theoretical learning 
 on Bucolics and Georgics with which he had dazzled the Squire, 
 poor Frank, so despised, would have beat him hollow when it 
 came to the judging of the points of an ox, or the show of a crop. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " cried the Squire, chuckling, "I long to see how 
 you will astonish Stirn. Why, you'll guess in a moment where 
 we put the top-dressing; and when you have come to handle 
 my short-horns, I dare swear you'll know to a pound how much 
 oil-cake has gone into their sides." 
 
 " Oh, you do me too much honor indeed you do. I only know 
 the general principles of agriculture; the details are eminently 
 interesting, but I have not had the opportunity to acquire them." 
 
 " Stuff ! " cried the Squire. " How can a man know general 
 principles unless he has first studied the details? You are too 
 modest, my boy. Ho ! there's Stirn looking out for us!" 
 
 Randal saw the grim visage of Stirn peering out of a cattle- 
 shed, and felt undone. He made a desperate rush toward 
 changing the Squire's humor. 
 
 "Well, sir, perhaps Frank may soon gratify your wish, and 
 turn farmer himself." 
 
 "Eh!" quoth the Squire, stopping short "what now?" 
 
 '* Suppose he were to marry?" 
 
 :"I'd give him the two best farms on the property rent free. 
 Ha, ha! Has he seen the girl yet? I'd leave him free to choose; 
 sir, I chose for myself every man should. Not but MissStick- 
 torights is an heiress, and, I hear, a very decent girl, and that 
 would join the two properties, and put an end to that lawsuit 
 about the right of way, which began in the reign of King Charles 
 the Second, and is likely otherwise to last until the day of judg- 
 ment. But never mind her; let Frank choose to please himself.'' 
 
 "I'll not fail to tell him so, sir. I did fear you might have 
 some prejudices. But here we are at the farm-yard." 
 
 "Burn the farm-yard! How can I think of farm-yards when 
 you talk of Frank's marriage ? Come on this way. What were 
 you saying about prejudices?"
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 " Why, you might wish him to marry an Englishwoman, for 
 instance." 
 
 " English! Good heavens, sir, does he mean to marry a Hin- 
 doo?'' 
 
 " Nay, I don't know that he means to marry at all; I am only 
 surmising; but if he did fall in love with a foreigner " 
 
 "A foreigner! Ah, then Harry was " The Squire stopped 
 short. 
 
 " Who might, perhaps," observed Randal not .truly if he 
 referred to Madame di Negra "who might, perhaps, speak 
 very little English?" 
 
 'Lord ha' mercy!" 
 
 'And a Roman Catholic " 
 
 ' Worshiping idols, and roasting people who don't worship 
 them." 
 
 'Signor RiccabocCa is not so bad as that." 
 
 ' Rickeybockey ! Well, if it was his daughter ! But not 
 speak English ! and not go to the parish church ! By George, if 
 Frank thought of such a thing, I'd cut him off with a shilling. 
 Don't talk to me, sir; I would. I'm a mild man, and an easy 
 man; but when I say a thing, I say it, Mr. Leslie. Oh, but it 
 is a jest you are laughing at me. There's no such painted 
 good-for-nothing creature in Frank's eye eh ?" 
 
 " Indeed, sir, if ever I find there is, I will give you notice in 
 time. At present I was only trying to ascertain what you 
 wished for a daughter-in-law. You said you had no prejudice." 
 
 ' No more I have not a bit of it." 
 
 'You don't like a foreigner and a Catholic ? '' 
 
 'Who the devil would ?" 
 
 ' But if she had rank and title ?" 
 
 ' Rank and title ! Bubble and squeak ! No, not half so good 
 as bubble and squeak. English beef and good cabbage. But 
 foreign rank and title ! foreign cabbage and beef ! foreign 
 bubble and foreign squeak ! " And the Squire made a wry face, 
 and spat forth his disgust and indignation. 
 
 'You must have an Englishwoman?" 
 
 'Of course." 
 
 'Money?" 
 
 ' Don't care, provided she is a tidy, sensible, active lass, with 
 a good. character for her dower." 
 
 ' Character ah, that, is indispensable ? " 
 
 ' I should think so, indeed. A Mrs. Hazeldean of Hazel- 
 dean You frighten me. He's not going to run off with a 
 divorced woman, or a"
 
 498 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 The Squire stopped, and looked so red in the face that Ran 
 dal feared he might be seized with apoplexy before Frank's 
 crimes had made him alter his will. 
 
 Therefore he hastened to relieve Mr. Hazeldean's mind, and 
 assured him that he had only been talking at random-; that Frank 
 was in the habit, indeed, of seeing foreign ladies occasionally, 
 as all persons in the London world were ; but that he was sure 
 Frank would never marry without the full consent and approval 
 of his parents. He. ended by repeating his assurance, that he 
 would yvarri the Squire if ever it became necessary. Still r how- 
 ever, lie left Mr. Hazeldean so disturbed and uneasy that that 
 gentleman forgot all about the farm, and went moodily on in the 
 opposite direction, re-entering the park at its farthest extremity. 
 As soon as they approached the hpuse, the Squire hastened to 
 shut himself with his wife in full paternal consultation ; and 
 Randal, seated upon a bench on the terrace, revolved the mis- 
 chief he had done, and its chances of success. 
 
 While Jhus seate4, and thus thinking, a footstep approached 
 cautiously, and a low voice said, in : broken, English, "Sare, sare, 
 let me speak vid you." 
 
 ; Randal turned in surprise, and beheld a swarthy saturnine 
 face, with grizzled hair and marked features. He recognized the 
 figure that had joined Riccabocca in the Italian's garden. 
 
 "Speak-a you Italian ?" resumed Jackeymo. 
 
 Rand.a.1, who had made himself an excellent linguist, nodded 
 assent ; and Jackeymo, rejoiced, begged him to withdraw into 
 a more private part of the grounds. . 
 
 Randal obeyed, and the two gained the shade of a stately chest- 
 nut avenue. 
 
 " Sir," then said Jackeymo, speaking in his native tongue, and 
 expressing himself with a. certain simple pathos, " I am but a 
 poor man ; my name is Giaeomo. You have Heard of me ; 
 servant to the Signore whom you saw to-dayonly a servant ; 
 but lie honors me with his confidence. We have known danger 
 together, and of all his friends .and followers, I alone came 
 with him to the stranger's land." 
 
 " Good faithful fellow," said Randal, exami-ning the man's 
 face, "say on. Your master confides in you ? He has confided 
 that which I told him this day?" 
 
 " He did. Ah, sir ! the Padrone was too proud to ask you to 
 explain more too proud to show fear of another. . But : he does 
 fear ;he ought to .fear he shall fear" (continued Jackeymo, 
 working himself up to passion), "for the Padrone has a daugh^ 
 ter, and his "enemy is a villain. Oh, sir, tell me all that you did not
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 499 
 
 rell to the Padrone. You hinted that this man might wish to marry 
 the Signorai Marry her ! I could cut his throat at the altar ! " 
 
 " Indeed," said Randal ; "I .believe that such is his object." 
 
 " But why ? He is rich she is penniless ; no, not quite that, 
 for we have saved .but penniless, compared to him." 
 
 "My good friend,! know not yet his motives, but I can easily 
 learn them. If, however, this Count be your master's enemy, it 
 is surely well to guard against him, whatever his designs ; and to 
 do so, you should move into London or its neighborhood. I fear 
 that, \v4iile we speak, the Count may get upon his track." 
 
 "He had better not come here ! " cried the servant, men- 
 acingly, and putting his hand where the knife was not. 
 
 "Beware of your own anger, Giacomo. One act o'f violence, 
 .and you would be .-transported from England, and your master 
 would lose a friend." 
 , Jaekeymo seemed struck by this caution. 
 
 " Andif the Padrone were to meet him, do:you think the Pad- 
 rone would m-eekly say, / Come sta sa Signoria /' The Padrone 
 would strike him dead ! " 
 
 " Hush hush ! You speak of what in England is called murder, 
 and is punished by the gallows. If you really love your master, for 
 Heaven's sake get him from this place get him from all chance 
 of such passion and peril. I go to town to-morrow ; I will find 
 him a house that shall be safe from all spies all discovery. And 
 there, tqo, my f fiend, I can do what I cannot at this distance 
 watch over, him, and keep watch also an his enemy." 
 
 Jaekeymo seized Randal's hand, and lifted it toward his lip ; 
 then, as if struck by a sudden suspicion, dropped the ; hand, and 
 said ^bluntly, " Signore, I think you have seen the Padrone twice. 
 Why do. you take this interest in him?." 
 
 " Is it so uncommon to take interest even in a stranger who 
 is menaced by some peril?" 
 
 Jaekeymo, who believed little in general philanthropy, shook 
 his head, sceptically. 
 
 " Besides," continued Randal, suddenly bethinking himself of 
 a more plausible reason "besides, I am a friend and connection 
 of Mr. Egerton ; and Mr. Egerton's most intimate friend is Lord 
 L'Estrange ; and I have heard that Lord L'Estrange " 
 
 "The good lord ! Oh, now I understand," interrupted 
 ; Jaekeymo, and his brow cleared. "Ah, if he were in England ! 
 But you will let us know when he comes ? " 
 
 "Certainly. Now, tell.me, Giacomo, is this Count really unprin- 
 cipled and dangerous ? Remember, I know himnoi personally." 
 
 " He has neither heart nor conscience."
 
 500 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Tliat defect makes him dangerous to men ; perhaps not less 
 to women. Gould it be possible, if he obtained any interview 
 with the Signora, that he could win her affections?" 
 
 jackeymo crossed himself rapidly and made no answer. 
 
 " I have heard that he is still Very handsome." 
 
 Jackeymo groaned. 
 
 Randal resumed "Enough ; persuade the Padrone to come 
 to town." 
 
 " But if the Count is in town ? " 
 
 " That makes no difference ; the safest place is always the 
 largest city. Everywhere else, a foreigner is in himself an ob- 
 ject of attention and curiosity." 
 
 "True." 
 
 " Let your master, then, come to London, or rather, into its 
 neighborhood. He can reside in one of the suburbs most re- 
 mote from the Count's haunts. In two days I will have found 
 him a lodging and write to him. You trust to me now." 
 
 " I do indeed I do, excellency. Ah, if the Signorina were 
 married, we would not care ! " 
 
 " Married ? But she looks so high ! " 
 
 "Alas ! not now not'here." 
 
 Randal sighed heavily. Jackeymo's eyes sparkled. Rethought 
 he had detected a new motive for Randal's interest a motive 
 to an Italian the most natural, the most laudable of all. 
 
 " Find the house, Signore write to the Padrone. He shall 
 come. I'll talk to him. I can manage him. Holy San Gia- 
 como, bestir thyself now 'tis long since I troubled thee !" 
 
 Jackeymo strode off through the fading trees, smiling and 
 muttering as he went. 
 
 The first dinner-bell rang, and on entering the drawing-room, 
 Randal found Pardon Bale and his wife, who had been invited 
 in haste to meet the unexpected visitor. 
 
 The preliminary greetings over, Mr. Dale took the oppor- 
 tunity afforded by the Squire's absence, to inquire after the 
 health of Mr. Egerton. 
 
 " He is always well," said Randal. " I believe he is made of 
 iron." 
 
 " His heart is of gold," said the Parson. 
 
 " Ah," said Randal, inquisitively, " you told me you had come 
 in contact with him once, respecting, I think, some of your ord 
 parishioners at Lansmere ?" 
 
 The Parson nodded, and there was a moment's silence. 
 
 " Do you remember your battle by the Stocks, Mr. Leslie ?" 
 said Mr. Dale, with a good-humored laugh.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 501 
 
 " Indeed, yes. By the way, now you speak of it, I met my 
 old opponent in London the first year I went up to it." 
 
 "You did ! where?" 
 
 "At a literary scamp's a cleverish man called Burley." 
 
 " Burley ! I have seen some burlesque verses in Greek by a 
 Mr. Burley." 
 
 " No doubt, the same person. He has disappeared gone to 
 the dogs, I dare say. Burlesque Greek is not a knowledge very 
 much in power at present." 
 
 "Well, but Leonard Fairfield ? you have seen him since ?" 
 
 " No/' 
 
 " Nor heard of him ? " 
 
 " No ! have you ? " 
 
 " Strange to say, not for a long time. But I have reason to 
 believe that he must be doing well." 
 
 " You surprise me ! Why ? " 
 
 "Because, twoyearsagohesentforhis mother, Shewenttohim." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 " It is enough ; for he could not have sent for her if he could 
 not maintain her." 
 
 Here the Hazeldeans entered, arm-in-arm, and the fat butler 
 announced dinner. 
 
 The Squire was unusually taciturn Mrs. Hazeldean thought- 
 ful Mrs. Dale languid and headachy. The Parson, who sel- 
 dom enjoyed the luxury of converse with a scholar, save when 
 he quarrelled with Dr. Riccabocca, was animated by Randal's 
 repute for ability, into a great desire for argument. 
 
 " A glass of wine, Mr. Leslie. You were saying before din- 
 ner, that burlesque Greek is not a knowledge very much in power 
 at present. Pray, sir, what knowledge is in power?" 
 
 RANDAL (laconically). Practical knowledge. 
 
 PARSON. What of ? 
 
 RANDAL. Men. 
 
 PARSON (candidly). Well, I suppose that is the most availa- 
 ble sort of knowledge, in a worldly point of view. How does 
 one learn it ? Do books help ? 
 
 RANDAL. According as they are read, they help or injure. 
 
 PARSON. How should they be read in order to help ? 
 
 RANDAL. Read specially to apply to purposes that lead to 
 power. 
 
 PARSON (very much struck with Randal's pithy and Spartan 
 logic). Upon my word, sir, you express yourself very well. I 
 must own that I began to ask questions in the hope of differing 
 from you ; for I like argument.
 
 502 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "That he does," growled the Squire; "the most contradic- 
 tory creature !" 
 
 PARSON. Argument is the salt of talk. But now I am afraid 
 I must agree with you, which I was not at all prepared for. 
 
 Randal bowed and answered "No two men of our educa- 
 tion should dispute upon the application of knowledge." 
 
 PARSON (pricking up his ears). Eh ? what to ? 
 
 RANDAL. Power, of course. 
 
 PARSON (overjoyed). Power ! the vulgarest application of 
 it, or the loftiest ? But you mean the loftiest ? 
 
 RANDAL (in his turn interested and interrogative). What do 
 you call the loftiest, and what the vulgarest 1 ? 
 
 PARSON. The vulgarest, self-interest; the loftiest, beneficence. 
 
 Randal suppressed the half-disdainful smile that rose to his lip. 
 
 " You speak, sir, as a clergyman should do. I admire your sen- 
 timent, and adopt it ; but I fear that the knowledge which aims 
 only at beneficence very rarely in this world gets' any power at all." 
 
 SQUIRE (seriously). That's true; I never get my own way 
 when I want to do a kindness, and Stirn always gets his when 
 he insists on something diabolically brutal and harsh. 
 
 PARSON. Pray, Mr. Leslie, what does intellectual power refined 
 to the utmost, but entirely stripped of beneficence, most resemble? 
 
 RANDAL. Resemble? I can hardly say. Some very great 
 men almost any very great man who has baffled all his foes, 
 and attained all his ends. 
 
 PARSON. I doubt if any man has ever become very great who 
 has not meant to be beneficent, though he might err in the means. 
 Caesar was naturally beneficent, and so was Alexander. But intel- 
 lectual power refined to the utmost, and wholly void of beneficence, 
 resembles only one being, and that, sir, is the Principle of -Evil. 
 
 RANDAL (startled). Do you mean the Devil ? 
 
 PARSON. Yes, sir the Devil ; and even he, sir, did not suc- 
 ceed I Even he, sir, is what your great men would call a most 
 decided failure. 
 
 MRS. DALE: My dear my dear-! 
 
 PARSON. Our religion proves it, my love 1 ; he was an angel, 
 and he fell. 
 
 There Was a solemn pause. : Randal was more impressed than 
 he liked to own to himself. ' By this time the dinner was over, 
 and the servants had retired. Harry glanced at Carry. Carry 
 smoothed 'her gown and rose. The gentlemen remained over 
 their wine ; and the Parson, satisfied 'with what fie deemed a 
 clencherupon his favorite subject of discussion, changed the sub- 
 ject to lighter topics, till, happening to fall upon tithes, the
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 503 
 
 Squire struck in, and by dint of loudness of voice, and tructl j 
 lence of broNv, fairly overwhelmed both his guests, and proved 
 to his own satisfaction that tithes were an unjust and unchris- 
 tianlike usurpation on the part of the Church generally, and a 
 most especial and iniquitous infliction upon the Hazeldean es- 
 tates in particular. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ON entering the drawing-room, Randal found the two ladies 
 seated close together, in a position much more appropriate to 
 the familiarity of their school-days, than to the politeness of the 
 friendship now^ existing between them. Mi's. Hazeltdean's hand 
 hung affectionately over Carry's shoulder, and both those fair 
 English faces were bent over the same book. : It w*as pretty to 
 see these sober matrons, so different from each other in charac- 
 ter and aspect, thus Unconsciously restored to the intimacy of 
 happy maiden youth by the golden link of some Magician from 
 the still land of Truth or Fancy brought together in heart, as 
 each eye rested on the same thought ; closer and closer, as sym- 
 pathy, lost in the-actttal world, grew out of that world which 
 unites in one bond of feeling the readers of.some gentle book. 
 
 "And what work interests you so much?" asked Randal, 
 pausing by the table. 
 
 " One you have read, of course," replied Mrs. Dale, putting a 
 book-mark embroidered by herself into the pag6, kni'd handing 
 thevolumeto Randal. "It has made agreaf sensation- Ibelieve." 
 
 Randal glanced at the title of the work. " True," said he, 
 " I have heard much of it in London, but I have ; riot yet had 
 time to read it." 
 
 MRS.' DALE. I can lend it to you, if you like to look it over 
 to-night, and you can leave it for me with Mrs Hazeldean. 
 
 PARSON (approaching). Oh ! that book ! yes, you must 
 read it. I do not know a work more instructive. 
 
 RANDAL.- Instructive ! Certainly, I will read it then. But I 
 thought it was a mere work of amusement of fancy. It seems 
 so, as I look over it. ' 
 
 PARSON'. So is the Vicar of Wakefieldj yet what book more 
 instructive? 
 
 RANDAL. I should not have said that of the Vicar of Wake- 
 field. A pretty'book enough, though the story is most improb- 
 able. But how is it instructive ? 
 
 PARSON. By its : results ; it leaves us happier : arid better. 
 What can any instruction do more ? Some works instruct through 
 the head, some through the heart. The last reach the widest cir-
 
 504 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 cle, and often produce the most genial influence on the charac- 
 ter. This book belongs t the last. You will grant my propo- 
 sition when you have read it. 
 
 Randal smiled, and took the volume. 
 
 MRS. DALE. Is the author known yet ? 
 
 RANDAL. I have heard it ascribed to many writers, but I be- 
 lieve no one has claimed it. 
 
 PARSON. I think it must have been written by my old col- 
 lege-friend, Professor Moss, the naturalist its descriptions of 
 scenery are so accurate. . 
 
 MRS. DALE. La, .Charles, dear! that snuffy, tiresome, prosy 
 professor ! How can you talk such nonsense ? I am sure the au- 
 thor must be young, there is so much freshness of feeling. 
 
 MRS. HAZELDEAN (positively). Yes, certainly young. 
 
 PARSON (no less positively). I should say just the contrary. 
 Its tone is too serene, and its style too simple, for a young man. 
 Besides,! don't knpw any young man who would send me his book, 
 and this book has been sent me very handsomely bound too, you 
 see. Depend upon it, Moss is the man quite his turn of mind. 
 
 MRS. DALE. You are too provoking, Charles, dear ! Mr. 
 Moss is remarkably plain, too. 
 
 RANdAL. Must an author be handsome? 
 
 PARSON. Ha ! ha ! Answer that if you can, Carry. 
 
 Carry remained mute and disdainful. 
 
 SQUIRE (with great naivete). Well, I don't think there's much 
 in the book, whoever wrote it ; for I've read it myself, and un- 
 derstand every word of it. 
 
 MRS. DALE. I don't see why you should suppose it was writ- 
 ten by a man at all. For my part, I think it must be a woman. 
 
 MRS. H,AZELDEAN. Yes, there's a passage about maternal 
 affection,, which only , a woman could have written. 
 
 PARSON. Pooh ! pooh ! I should like to see a woman who 
 could have written that description of an August evening before 
 a thunder-storm ; every wjld-flower in the hedge-row exactly the 
 flowers of August: every sign in the air exactly those of the 
 month. Bless you ! a woman would have filled the hedge with 
 violets and cowslips. Nobody else but my friend Moss could 
 have written that description. 
 
 SQUIRE. I don't know ; there's a simile about the waste of 
 corn-seed in hand-sowing, which makes me think he must be a 
 farmer. 
 
 MRS. DALE (scornfully). A farmer! In hobnailed shoes, I 
 suppose ! I say it is a woman ! 
 
 MRS. HAZELDEAN, A WOMAN, and a MOTHER !
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 505 
 
 PARSON. A middle-aged man, and a naturalist. 
 
 SQUIRE. No, no, Parson certainly a young man ; for that 
 love-scene puts me in mind of my own young days, when I would 
 have given my ears to tell Harry how handsome I thought her; 
 and all I could say was, " Fine weather for the cropsj miss." 
 Yes, a young man and a farmer. I should not wonder if he 
 had held the plough himself. 
 
 RANDAL (who had been turning over the pages). This sketch 
 of Night in London comes from a man who has liv.ed bhelifeof 
 cities and looked at wealth with the eyes of poverty. Not bad ! 
 I will read the book. 
 
 "Strange," said the Parson, smiling, "that this little work 
 should so have entered into our minds, suggested to all of us 
 different ideas, yet equally charmed all given a new and fresh 
 current to our dull country life animated us as with the sight 
 of a world in our breasts we had never seen before, save in dreams ; 
 a little work like this, by a man we don't know, and never may ! 
 Well, that knowledge is power, and a noble one ! " 
 
 " A sort of power, certainly, sir," said Randal candidly ; and 
 that night, when Randal retired to his own room, he suspended 
 his schemes and projects, and read, as he rarely did, without 
 an object to gain by the reading. 
 
 The work surprised him by the pleasure it gave. Its charm 
 lay in the writer's calm enjoyment of the beautiful. It seemed 
 like some happy soul sunning itself in the light of its own thoughts. 
 Its power was so tranquil and even, that it was only a critic who 
 could perceive how much force and vigor were necessary to 
 sustain the wing that floated aloft with so imperceptible an effort. 
 There was no one faculty predominating tyrannically over the 
 others; all seemed proportioned in the felicitous symmetry of a 
 nature rounded, integral, and complete. And when the work was 
 closed, it left behind it a tender warmth, that played round the 
 heart of the reader, and vivified feelings which seemed unknown 
 before. Randal laid down the book softly; and for five minutes 
 the ignoble and base purposes to which his own knowledgewas 
 applied stood before him, naked and unmasked. 
 
 " Tut ! " said he, wrenching himself violently away from the 
 benign influence, "it was not to sympathize with Hector, but to 
 conquer with Achilles, that Alexander of Macedon kept Homer 
 under his pillow. Such should be the. true 1 use of books to him 
 who has the practical world to subdue ; let parsons and women 
 construe it otherwise, as they may ! " 
 
 And the Principle of Evil descended again upon the intellect, 
 from which the guide of Beneficence was gone.
 
 506 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 
 
 RANDAL rose at the sound of the first breakfast-bell, and on 
 thestaircase met Mrs. Hazeldean. He gave her back the book ; 
 and as he was about to speak, she beckoned to him to follow her 
 into a little morning-room appropriated to herself. No boudoir 
 of white and gold, with pictures by Watteau, but lined with large 
 walnut-tree presses, that held the old heir-loom linen, strewed with 
 lavender stores for the housekeeper, and medicines for the poor. 
 
 Seating herself on a large chair in this sanctum, Mrs. Hazel- 
 dean looked formidably, at home. 
 
 "Pray," said the lady, coming at once to the point, with her 
 usual straightforward- candor^ "what is all this you have been 
 saying to my husband as to the possibility of Frank's marrying 
 a foreigner?" 
 
 RANDAL. Would you be as averse to such a notion as Mr. 
 Hazeldean is ? 
 
 MRS. HAZELDEAN. You ask me a question, instead of answer- 
 ing mine. -. 
 
 Randalwas greatly put out in his fence by these rude thrusts. 
 For indeed he had a double purpose to serve first, thoroughly 
 to know if Frank's marriage with a woman like Madame di Negra 
 would irritate the Squire sufficiently: to ; endanger the son's 
 inheritance ; and, secondly, to prevent Mr. and Mrs. Hazeldean 
 believing seriously that such -a marriage was to be apprehended, 
 lest they should prematurely address Frank on the subject, and 
 frustrate the marriage itself. Yet, withal, he must so express 
 himself, that he could not be afterward accused by the parents 
 of disguising-matters. In his talk to the Squire the preceding 
 day, he had gone a little too far farther than he would have 
 done but for his desire of escaping the cattle-shed and short- 
 horns. While he mused, Mrs. Hazeldean observed him with her 
 honest, sensible eyes, arid finally exclaimed 
 
 "Out with it, Mr. Leslie! " 
 
 "Out with what, my dear madam? The Squire has sadly 
 exaggerated the importance of what was said mainly in jest. 
 But I will own to you plainly, that Frank has appeared to me 
 a little smitten with .a certain fair Italian." 
 
 " Italian*! " cried Mrs. Hazeldean. "Well, I said so from the 
 first. Italian!- that's all, is it?" and she smiled. 
 
 Randal was more and more- perplexed. The pupil of his eye 
 contracted, as it does when we retreat into ourselves, and think, 
 watch, and keep. guard.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 507 
 
 "And perhaps," resumed Mrs. Hazeldean, with a very sunny 
 expression of countenance, "you have noticed this in Frank 
 since he was here?" 
 
 "it is true," murmured Randal; "but I think his heart or his 
 fancy was touched even before." . , 
 
 "'Very natural," said Mrs. Hazeldean; "how could he help 
 it? such a beautiful creature! Well, I must not ask you to 
 tell Frank's secrets; but I guess the object of attraction; and 
 though she will have no fortune to speak of-^-and it is not such 
 a match as he might form still she is soamiablcj and has been 
 so well brought up, and is so little like one's general notions of 
 a Roman Catholic, that I think I could persuade Hazeldean 
 into giving his consent." 
 
 "Ah," said Randal, drawing a long breath, and beginning 
 with his practised acuteness to detect Mrs. Hazeldean's error, 
 " J am very much relieved and rejoiced to hear this; and I may 
 venture to give Frank some hope, if I find him .disheartened: 
 and desponding, poor fellow !.'* 
 
 "I. think you may," replied Mrs. Hazeldean, laughing pleas- 
 antly. " But you should not have frightened popr Williatn so, 
 hinting that ; the lady knew very little English. , She has an accent, 
 to be sure; but she/speaks our tongue very prettily. I always 
 forget that she's not English born ! Ha, ha, poor William! " 
 
 RANDAL. Ha, ha ! 
 
 MRS. HAZELDEAN. We had once thought of another match 
 for Frank a girl of good English family. 
 
 RANDAL. Miss Sticktorights ? 
 
 MRS. HAZELDEAN. No; that's an old whim of Hazeldean's. 
 But I doubt if the Sticktorights would ever merge their prop- 
 erty into ours. Bless you, it would be all off, the moment they 
 came to settlements, and had to give up the right of way. We 
 thought of a very different match; but there's no dictating to 
 young hearts, Mr. Leslie. 
 
 RANDAL. Indeed, no, Mrs. Hazeldean. But since we now 
 understand each other so well, excuse me if I suggest that you 
 had better leave things to themselves, and not write to Frank on 
 the subject. Young hearts, you know, are often stimulated by 
 apparent difficulties, and grow cool when the obstacle vanishes. 
 
 MRS. HAZELDEAN. Very possibly; it was not so with Hazel- 
 dean and me; But I shall not write to Frarik on the subject, for 
 a different reason though I would consent to the match, and 
 so would William ; yet we both would rather, after all, that Frank . 
 married an Englishwoman, and a Protestant. We will not, there- 
 fore, do anything to encourage the idea. But if Frank's hap-
 
 508 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 piness becomes really at stake, then we will step in. In short, 
 we would neither encourage nor oppose. You understand ? 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 "And in the meanwhile, it is quite right that Frank should 
 see the world, and try to distract his mind, or at least to know it. 
 And I dare say it has been some thought of that kind which has 
 prevented his coming here." 
 
 Randal, dreading a farther and plainer Jclaircissement, now 
 rose, and saying " Pardon me, but I must hurry over breakfast, 
 and be back in time to catch the coach " : offered his arm to 
 his hostess, and led her into the breakfast-parlor. Devouring 
 his meal; as if in great haste, he then mounted his horse, and, 
 taking cordial leave of his entertainers, trotted briskly away. 
 
 All things favored his project even chance had befriended 
 him in Mrs. Hazeldean's mistake. She had, not unnaturally, 
 supposed Violante to have captivated Frank on his last visit to 
 the Hall. Thus, while Randal had certified his own mind that 
 nothing could more exasparate the Squire than an alliance with 
 Madame di Negra, he could yet assure Frank that Mrs. Hazel- 
 dean was all on his side. And when the error was discovered, 
 Mrs. Hazeldean would only have to blame herself for it. Still 
 more successful had his diplomacy proved with the Riccaboc- 
 cas; he had ascertained the secret he had come to discover; he 
 should induce the Italian to remove to the neighborhood of Lon- 
 don; and if Violante were the great heiress he suspected her to 
 prove, whom else of her own age would she see but him? And 
 the old Leslie domains, to be sold in two years a portion of the 
 dowry might purchase them! Flushed by the triumph of his 
 craft, all former vacillations of his conscience ceased. In high 
 and fervent spirits he passed the Casino, the garden of which was 
 solitary and deserted, reached his home, and, telling Oliver to be 
 studious,and Juliet to be patient, walked thence to meet the coach 
 and regain the capital. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 VIOLANTE was seated in her own little room, and looking from 
 the window on the terrace that stretched below. The day was 
 warm for the time of year. The orange-trees had been removed 
 under shelter for the approach of winter; but where they had 
 stood sat Mrs. Riccabocca at work. In the belvidere, Ricca- 
 bocca himself was conversing with his favorite servant. But the 
 casements and the door of the belvidere were open; and where 
 they sat, both wife and daughter could seethe Padrone leaning 
 against the wall, with his arms folded, and his eyes fixed on the
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 509 
 
 floor; while Jackeymo, with one finger on his master's arm, was 
 talking to him with visible earnestness. And the daughter from 
 the window, and the wife from her work, directed tender, anx- 
 ious eyes toward the still thoughtful form so dear to both. For 
 the last day or two, Riccabocca had been peculiarly abstracted, 
 even to gloom. Each felt there was something stirring at his 
 heart neither, as yet, knew what. 
 
 Violante's room silently revealed the nature of the education 
 by which her character had been formed. Save a sketch-book, 
 which lay open on a desk at hand, and which showed talent 
 exquisitely taught (for in this Riccabocca had been her teacher), 
 there was nothing that spoke of the ordinary female accomplish- 
 ments. No piano stood open, no harp occupied yon nook, which 
 seemed made for one; no broidery- frame, nor implements of 
 work, betrayed the usual and graceful resources of a girl ; but 
 ranged on shelves against the wall \vere the best writers in Eng- 
 lish, Italian, and French; and these betokened an extent of read- 
 ing, that he who wishes for a companion to his min^d in the sweet 
 commune of a woman, which softens and refines all it gives and 
 takes in interchange, will never condemn as masculine. You 
 had but to look into Violante's face to see how noble was the 
 intelligence that brought soul to those lovely features. Noth- 
 ing hard, nothing dry and stern, was there. Even as you de- 
 tected knowledge, it was lost in the gentleness of grace. In 
 fact, whatever she gained in the graver kinds of information 
 became transmuted, through her heart and her fancy, into spir- 
 itual golden stores. Give her some tedious and arid history, her 
 imagination seized upon beauties other readers had passed by, 
 and, like the eye of the artist, detected everywhere the Pictur- 
 esque. Something in her mind seemed to reject all that was mean 
 and commonplace, and to bring out all that was rare and elevated 
 in whatever it received. Living so apart from all companions of 
 her age, she scarcely belonged to the Present time. She dwelt in 
 the Past, as Sabrina in her crystal well. Images of chivalry 
 of the Beautiful and the Heroic such as, in reading the silvery 
 line of Tasso, rise before us, softening force and valor into love 
 and song haunted the reveries of the fair Italian maid. 
 
 Tell us not that the Past, examined by cold Philosophy, was 
 no better and no loftier than the Present; it is not thus seen by 
 pure and generous eyes. Let the Past perish, when it ceases to 
 reflect on its magic mirror the beautiful Romance which is its 
 noblest Reality, though perchance but the shadow of Delusion. 
 
 Yet Violante was not merely the dreamer. In her, life was so 
 puissant and rich, that action seemed necessary to its glorious
 
 5 10 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 development action, but still in the woman's sphere action to 
 bless, and to refine, and to exalt all around her, ami to pour 
 whatever else of ambition was left unsatisfied into sympathy 
 with the aspirations of man. Despite her father's fears' of the 
 bleak air of England, in that air she had strengthened the delicate 
 health of her childhood. Her elastic step her eyes full Of sweet- 
 ness and light her bloom, at once soft and luxuriant ^-all spoke 
 of the vital powers fit to sustain a mind of such exquisite mould, 
 and the emotions of a heart that, once aroused, could ennoble the 
 passions of 'the South with the purity land devotion of the North. 
 
 Solitude makes some natures more timid, some more bold. 
 Violahte was fearless. When she spoke, her eyes frankly met 
 your oAvn; and she was so ignorant of evil, that as yet she seemed 
 nearly unacquainted with shame. From this courage, combined 
 with affluence of idea, there came -a delightful flow of happy con- 
 verse. Though possessing so imperfectly the accomplishments 
 ordinarily taught to young women, and which may be cultured 
 to the utmost, and yet leave the thoughts so barren, and the talk 
 so vapid she had that accomplishment which most pleases the 
 taste, and commands the love, of the man of talent, especially if 
 his talent be not so actively employed as to make him desire only 
 relaxation where he seeks companionship the accomplishment 
 of facility in intellectual interchange the charm that clothes in 
 musical words beautiful womanly ideas. 
 
 " I hear him sigh at this'distance," said Violante, softly, as she 
 still watched her father ; "and methinks this is a'new grief ; and 
 not for his country. He spoke twice yesterday of that dear 
 English friend, and wished that he were here." 
 
 As she said this, unconsciously the virgin blushed, her hand 
 : drooped oh her knee, and she fell herself into thought as profound 
 as her father's, but less gloomy. From her arrival in' England, 
 Violante had been taught a grateful interest in the name of 
 Harley L'Estrange. Her father, preserving a silence that seemed 
 disdain of all his old Italian intimates, had been pleased to con- 
 verse with open heart of the Englishman who had saved where 
 countrymen had betrayed. He spoke of the soldier, then in the 
 full bloom of youth, who, unconsoled by fame, had nursed the 
 memory of some hidden sorrow amidst the pine-trees, that cast 
 their shadow over the sunny Italian lake ; how Riccabocca, then 
 honored and happy, had courted from his seclusion the English 
 Signore, then the mourner and the voluntaryexile ; how they 
 had grown friends amidst the landscapes in which her eyes had 
 opened to the day ; how Harle'y had vainly warned him from 
 the rash schemes in which he had sought to reconstruct in an
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 511 
 
 hour the ruins of weary ages; how, when abaridoned, deserted, 
 proscribed, pursued, he had fled for life the infant Violante 
 clasped to hisbosom-r-the English soldier had given him '-refuge, 
 baffled the pursuers, armed his servants, accompanied the fugi- 
 tive at night toward the defile in the Apennines, and, when the 
 emissaries of .a perfidious enemy, hot in the chase, came near, 
 had said, "You have your child to save ! Fly on ! Another 
 league, and you are beyond the borders. We will delay the foes 
 with parley ; they will not harm us." And not till escape was 
 gained did the father know that the English friend had delayed the 
 foe, not by parley, but by the sword, holding the pass against num- 
 bers, with a breast as dauntless as Bayard's on the glorious bridge. 
 
 And since then, the same Englishman had never ceased revin- 
 dicate his name, to urge his cause ; and if hope yet remained of 
 restoration to land and honors, it was in that untiring zeal. 
 
 Hence, naturally and insensibly, this secluded and musing girl 
 had associated all that she read in tales of romance and chivalry 
 with the image of the brave and loyal stranger. He it was who 
 animated her dreams of the Past, and seemed born to be, in the 
 destined hour, the deliverer of the Future. Around this image 
 grouped all the charms that the fancy of virgin woman can raise 
 from the enchanted lore of old Heroic Fable. Once in her early 
 girlhood, her father (to satisfy her curiosity, eager for" general 
 description) had drawn from memory a sketch of the features of 
 the Englishman drawn Harley as he was in that first youth, 
 flattered and idealized, no doubt, by art, and by partial grati- 
 tude rbut still resembling him as he was then ; while the deep 
 mournfulness of recent sorrow yet shadowed and concentrate'd 
 all the varying expressions of his countenance ; and to look on 
 him was to say " So sad, yet so young ! " Never did Violante 
 pause to remember that the same years which ripened herself 
 from infancy into woman, were passing less gently over that 
 smooth cheek and dreamy brow that the world might be alter- 
 ing the nature as time the aspect. To herthe hero of the Ideal 
 remained immortal in bloom and youth. Bright illusion, com- 
 mon to us all, where Poetry once hallows the human form ! 
 Who ever^thinks of Petrarch as the old time-worn man? Who 
 does not see him as when he first gazed on Laura? 
 " Ogni altra cosa ogni pensier va fore ; 
 E sol ivi con voi rimanfei Araore ! " 
 
 ' '' - ' ' ' 
 
 , CHAPTER XII. 
 
 AND Violante, thus absorbed in reverie, forgot to keep watch 
 on the belvidere. And the belvidere was not deserted. The
 
 512 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 wife, who had no other ideal to distract her thoughts, saw Ric- 
 cabocca pass into the house. 
 
 The exile entered his daughter's room, and she started to 
 feel his'hand upon her locks and his kiss upon her brow. 
 
 " My child ! " cried Riccabocca, seating himself. " I have 
 resolved to leave for a time this retreat, and to seek the neigh- 
 borhood of London." 
 
 " Ah, dear father, that, then, was your thought ! But what 
 can be your reason ? Do not turn away ; you know how care- 
 fully I have obeyed your command, and kept your secret. Ah, 
 you will confide in me." 
 
 " I do, indeed," returned Riccabocca, with emotion. " I leave 
 this place, in the fear lest my enemies discover me. I shall say to 
 others that you are of an age to require teachers, not to be 
 obtained here. But I should like none to know where we go." 
 
 The Italian said these last words through his teeth, and hang- 
 ing his head. He said them in shame. 
 
 " My mother " (so Violante always called Jemima) " my 
 mother you have spoken to her ? " 
 
 " Not yet. There is the difficulty." 
 
 " No difficulty, for she loves you so well," replied Violante, 
 with soft reproach. " Ah, why not also confide in her? Who 
 so true ? so good ?" 
 
 " Good I grant it," exclaimed Riccabocca. " What then ? 
 ' Da catiiva Don>ia guardati, ed alia buona non fidar niente ' 
 (from the bad woman, guard thyself ; to the good woman trust 
 nothing). And if you must trust," added the abominable man, 
 " trust her with anything but a secret ! " 
 
 "'Fie," said Violante, with arch reproach, for she knew her 
 father's huinors too well to interpret his horrible sentiments 
 literally " fie on your consistency, Padre carissimo. Do you 
 not trust your secret to me ? " 
 
 "You! A kitten is not a cat, and a girl is not a woman. 
 Besides, the secret was already known to you, and I had no 
 choice. Peace, Jemima will stay here for the present. See to 
 what you wish to take with you ; we shall leave to-night." 
 
 Not waiting for an answer, Riccabocca hurried away, and 
 with firm step strode the terrace, and approached his wife. 
 
 " Anima mt'a," . said -the pupil of Machiavelli, disguising in the 
 tenderest words the cruellest intentions for one of his most 
 cherished Italian proverbs was to the effect, that there is no 
 getting on with a mule or a woman unless you coax them. 
 "Anima mia, soul of my being, you have already seen that Vio- 
 lante mopes herself to death here."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 513 
 
 "She, poor child ! Oh no!" 
 
 "She does, core of my heart she does and is as ignorant 
 Of music as I am of tent-stitch." 
 
 " She sings beautifully." 
 
 "Just as birds do, against all the rules, and in defiance of 
 gamut. Therefore, to come to the point, O treasure of. my 
 soul ! I am going to take her with me for a short time, perhaps 
 to Cheltenham or Brighton. We shall see." 
 
 " All places with you are the same to me, Alphonso. When 
 shall we go? " 
 
 " We shall go to-night ; but terrible as it is to part from 
 you you ' 
 
 "Ah! "interrupted his wife,and covered her facewith her hands. 
 
 Riccabocca, the wiliest and most relentless of men in his max- 
 ims, melted into absolute uxorial imbecility at the sight of that 
 mute distress. He put his arm round his wife's waist, with 
 genuine affection, and without a single proverb at his heart 
 " Carissima, do not grieve so ; we shall be back soon, and travel- 
 ling is expensive -/rolling stones gather no moss, and there is so 
 much to see to at home." 
 
 Mrs. Riccabocca gently escaped from her husband's arm. 
 She withdrew her hands from her face and brushed away the 
 tears that stood in her eyes. -. 
 
 "Alphonso," she said touchingly, "hear me! What you 
 think good, that shall ever be good to me. But do not think 
 that I grieve solely because of our parting. No ; I grieve to 
 think that, despite all these years in which I have been the part- 
 ner of your hearth, and slept on your breast all these years in 
 which I had no thought but, however humbly, to do my duty to 
 you and yours, and could have wished that you had read my 
 heart, and seen there but yourself and your child I grieve to 
 think that you still deem me as unworthy your trust as when 
 you stood by my side at the altar." 
 
 "Trust!" repeated Riccabocca, startled and conscience 
 stricken ; "why do you say 'trust ?' In what have I distrusted 
 you ? I am sure," he continued, with the artful volubility of 
 guilt, "that I never doubted your fidelity hook-nosed, long- 
 visaged foreigner though I be ; never pryed into your letters ; 
 never inquired into your solitary walks ; never heeded your flir- 
 tations with that good-looking Parson Dale ; never kept the 
 money ; and never looked into the account-books ! " Mrs. Ric- 
 cabocca refused even a smile of contempt at these revolting eva- 
 sions ; nay, she seemed scarcely to hear them. 
 
 "Can you think," she resumed, pressing her hand on her heart
 
 514 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 to still its struggles for relief in sobs "can you think that I 
 could have watched, and thought, and taxed my poor mind so 
 constantly, to conjecture what might best soothe or please you, 
 and not seen, long since, that you have secrets known to your 
 daughter your servant not to me ? Fear not the secrets can- 
 not be evil, or you would not tell them to your innocent child. 
 Besides, do I not know your nature ? and do I not love you be- 
 cause I know it ? it is for something connected with those se- 
 crets that you leave your home. You think that I should be in- 
 cautious imprudent. You will not take me with you. Be it 
 so. I go to prepare for your departure. Forgive me if I have 
 displeased you, husband." 
 
 Mrs. Riccabocca turned away ; but a soft hand touched the 
 Italian's arm. " O father, can you resist this ? Trust her ! trust 
 her ! I am a woman like her ! I answer for her woman's faith. 
 Be yourself ever nobler than all others, my own father." 
 
 " Diavolo ! Never one door shuts but another opens," groaned 
 Riccabocca. "Are you a fool, child ? Don't you see that it 
 was for your sake only I feared and would be cautious? " 
 
 " For mine ! O then do not make me deem myself mean, and 
 the cause of meanness. For mine ! Am I not your daughter 
 the. descendant of men who never feared?" 
 
 Violante looked sublime while she spoke ; and as she ended 
 she led her father gently on toward the door, which his wife 
 had now gained. 
 
 " Jemima-^Avife mine! pardon, pardon," cried the Italian, 
 whose heart had been yearning to repay such tenderness and 
 devotion," come back to my breast it has been long closed 
 it shall be open to you now and forever.'-' 
 
 In another moment the wife was in her right place on her 
 husband's bosom ; and Violante, beautiful peacemaker, stood 
 smiling awhile at both, and then lifted her eyes gratefully to 
 Heaven, and stole away. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ON Randal's return to town, he heard mixed and contra- 
 dictory rumors in the streets, and at the clubs, of the probable 
 downfall of the government at the approaching session of Par- 
 liament. These rumors had sprung up suddenly, as if in an 
 hour. True that, for some time, the sagacious had shaken their 
 heads and said " Ministers could not last." True; that certain 
 changes in policy, a year or two before, had divided the party 
 on which the government depended, and strengthened that 
 Which opposed it. But still the more important members of that
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 515 
 
 government had been so long identified with official station, and 
 there seemed so little power in the Opposition to form a cabinet of 
 names familiar to official ears, that the general public had antici- 
 pated, at most, a few partial changes. Rumor now went far be- 
 yond this. Randal, whose whole prospects at present were but 
 reflections from the greatness of his patron, was alarmed. He 
 fought Egerton, but the minister was impenetrable, and seemed 
 calm, confident, and imperturbed. Somewhat relieved, Randal 
 then set himself to work to find a safe home for Riccabocca ; 
 for the greater need to succeed in obtaining fortune there, if he 
 failed in getting it through Egerton. He found a quiet house, 
 detached and secluded, in the neighborhood of Norwood. No 
 vicinity more secure from espionage and remark. He wrote to 
 Riccabocca, and communicated the address, adding fresh assur- 
 ances of his own power to be of use. The next morning he was 
 seated in his office, thinking very little of the details, that he 
 mastered, however, with mechanical precision, when the minis- 
 ter who presided over that department of the public service, sent 
 for him into his private room, and begged him to take a letter 
 to Egerton, with whom he wished to consult relative to a very 
 important point to be decided in the Cabinet that day. " I want 
 you to take it," said the minister smiling (the minister was a frank 
 homely man), "because you are in Mr. Egerton's confidence, 
 and he may give you some verbal message besides a written re- 
 ply. Egerton is often over cautious and brief in the litera scripta." 
 
 Randal went first to Egerton's neighboring office Egerton 
 had not been there that day. He then took a cabriolet and drove 
 to Grosvenor Square. A quiet-looking chariot was at the door, 
 Mr. Egerton was at home ; but the servant said, "Dr. F. is with 
 him, sir ; and perhaps he may not like to be disturbed." 
 
 "What is your master ill?" 
 
 "Not that I know of, sir. He never says he is ill. But he 
 has looked poorly the last day or two." 
 
 Randal hesitated a moment ; but his commission might be 
 important, and Egerton was a man who so held the maxim, that 
 health and all else must give way to business, that he resolved 
 to enter ; and unannounced and unceremoniously, as was his 
 wont, he opened the door of the library. He started as he did 
 so. Audley Egerton was leaning back on the sofa, and the doc- 
 tor, on his knees before him, was applying the stethoscope to his 
 breast. Egerton's eyes were partially closed as the door opened. 
 But at the noise he sprang up, nearly Oversetting the doctor. 
 " Who's that ? how dare you ! " he exclaimed, in a voice of great 
 anger. Then recognizing Randal, he changed color, bit his lip,
 
 516 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 and muttered dryly, " I beg pardon for my abruptness ; what 
 do you want, Mr. Leslie?" ,j 
 
 "This letter from Lord ; I was told to deliver it imme- 
 diately into your own hands. I beg pardon " 
 
 " There is no cause," said Egerton, coldly. "I have had a 
 slight attack of bronchitis ; and as Parliament meets so soon, I 
 must take advice from my doctor, if I would be heard by the 
 reporters. Lay the letter on the table, and be kind enough to 
 wait for my reply." 
 
 Randal withdrew. He had never seen a physician in that 
 house before, and it seemed surprising that Egerton should even 
 take a medical opinion upon a slight attack. While waiting in 
 the ante-room there was a knock at the street door, and presently 
 a gentleman, exceedingly well-dressed, was shown in, and honored 
 Randal with an easy and half- familiar bow. Randal remembered 
 to have met this personage at dinner, and af the house of a young 
 nobleman of high fashion, but had not been introduced to him, and 
 did not even know him by name. The visitor was better informed. 
 
 "Our friend Egerton is busy,. I hear, Mr. Leslie," said he, 
 arranging the camelia in his button-hole. 
 
 " Our friend Egerton ! " It must be a very great man to say, 
 "Our friend Egerton." 
 
 "He will not be engaged long, I dare say," returned Randal, 
 glancing his shrewd inquiring eye over the stranger's person. 
 
 " I trust not ; my time is almost as precious as his own. I was 
 not so fortunate as to be presented to you when we met at Lord 
 Spendquick's. Goodfellow,Spendquick; and decidedly clever." 
 
 Lord Spendquick was usually esteemed a gentleman without 
 three ideas. 
 
 Randal smiled. 
 
 In the meanwhile the visitor had taken out a card from an 
 embossed' morocco case, and now presented it to Randal, who 
 read thereon, "Baron Levy, No. , Bruton St." 
 
 The name was not unknown to Randal. It was a name too 
 often on the lips of men of fashion not to have reached the ears 
 of an habiiitd of good society. 
 
 Mr. Levy had been a solicitor by profession. He had of late 
 years relinquished his ostensible calling ; and not long since, in 
 consequence of some services toward the negotiation of a loan, 
 had been created a baron by one of the German kings. The 
 wealth of Mr. Levy was said to be only equalled by his good- 
 nature to all who were in want of a temporary loan, and with 
 sound expectations of repaying it some day or other. 
 . You seldom saw a finer-looking man than Baron Levy about
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 517 
 
 the same age as Egerton,but looking younger; so well preserved 
 such magnificent black whiskers such superb teeth ! Despite 
 his name and his dark complexion, he did not, however, resem- 
 ble a Jew at least externally ; and in fact, he was not a Jew 
 on the father's side, but the natural son of a rich EtiglUhjw/fcf 
 stigncur,\>y a Hebrew lady of distinction in the opera. After 
 his birth, this lady had married a German trader of her own per- 
 suasion, and her husband had been prevailed upon, for the con- 
 venience of all parties, to adopt his wife's son, arid accord to him 
 his own Hebrew name. Mr. Levy, senior, was soon left a wid- 
 ower, and then the real" father, thtfugh never actually owning the 
 boy, had shown him great attention- had him frequently at his 
 houses-initiated him betimes into his own high-born society, for 
 which the boy showed great taste. But when my lord died, 
 and left but a moderate legacy to the younger Levy, who was 
 then about eighteen, that ambiguous person was articled to an 
 attorney by his putative sire, who shortly afterward returned to 
 his native land, and was buried at Prague, where his tombstone 
 may yet be seen. Young Levy, however, contrived to do very 
 well without him. His real birth was generally known, and rather 
 advantageous to him in alittle social point of view. His legacy 
 enabled him to become a partner where he had been a clerk, and 
 his practice became great amongst the fashionableclassesof socie- 
 ty. Indeed he was so useful, so pleasant, so much a man of the 
 world, that he grew intimatewith his clients chiefly young men of 
 rank; was on good terms with both Jew and Christian; and being 
 neither one nor the other resembled (to useSheridan's incompara- 
 ble simile) the blank page between the Old and the New Testament. 
 
 Vulgar, some might call Mr. Levy, from his assurance, but it 
 was not the vulgarity of a man accustomed to low and coarse 
 society rather the mauvais ton of a person not sure of his own 
 position, but who has resolved to swagger into the best one he 
 can get. When it is remembered that he has made his way in 
 the world, and gleaned together an immense fortune, it is need- 
 less to add that he was as sharp as a needle, and as hard as a 
 flint. No man had had more friends, and no man had stuck by 
 them more 'firmly so long as there was a pound in their pockets ! 
 
 Something of this character had Randal heard of theBaron, and 
 he now gazed, first at his card, and then at him, with admiration. 
 
 "I met a friend of yours at Borrowell's the other day," re- 
 sumed the. Baron "Young Hazeldean. Careful fellow quite 
 a man of the world." 
 
 As this was the last praise poor Frank deserved, Randal 
 again smiled.
 
 518 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 The Baron then went on "I hear, Mr. Leslie, that you have 
 much influence over this same Hazeldean. His affairs are in a 
 sad state. I should be very happy to be of use to him, as a re- 
 lation of my friend Egerton's ; but he understands business so 
 well, that he despises my advice." 
 
 "I am sure you do him injustice." 
 
 " Injustice ! I honor his caution. I say to every man, ' Don't 
 come to me I can get you money on much easier terms than 
 any one else ; and what's the result ! You come so often that 
 you ruin yourself ; whereas a regular usurer without conscience 
 frightens you. "Cent, per cent," you say; "oh, I must pull 
 in." ' If you have influence over your friend, tell him to stick 
 to his bill-brokers, and have nothing to do .with Baron Levy." 
 
 Here the minister's bell rang, and Randal, looking through the 
 window, saw Dr. F. walking to his carriage, which had made way 
 for Baron'sLevy's splendid cabriolet a cabriolet in the most per- 
 fect taste Baron'scoronet on thedarkbrown panels horseblack, 
 with such action! harness just relieved with plating. The servant 
 now entered, and requested Randal to step in ; and addressing 
 the Baron, assured him that he would not be detained a minute. 
 
 "Leslie," said the minister, sealing a note, " take this back to 
 Lord , and say that I shall be with him in an hour." 
 
 " No other message ? he seemed to expect one." 
 
 "I dare say he did. Well, my letter is official, my message 
 is not ; beg him to see Mr. ; before we meet he will under- 
 stand all rests upon that interview." 
 
 Egerton then, extending the letter, resumed gravely "Of 
 course, you will not mention to any one that. Dr. F. was with 
 me ; the health of public men is not to be suspected. Hum 
 were you in your own room or the ante-room ? " 
 
 " The ante-room, sir." 
 
 Egerton's brow contracted, slightly. "And Mr. Levy was 
 there, eh ?" 
 
 "Yes the Baron." 
 
 "Baron ! true. Come to plague me about the Mexican loan, 
 I. suppose. I will keep you no longer." 
 
 Randal, much meditating, left the house, and re-entered his 
 hack cab. The Baron was admitted to the statesman's presence. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 
 
 EGERTON had thrown himself at full length on the sofa, a 
 position exceedingly rare with him; and about his whole air and 
 manner, as Levy entered, there was something singularly differ- 
 ent from that stateliness of port common to the austere legislator.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 519 
 
 The very tone of his voice was different. It was as if the states- 
 man the man of business had vanished; it was rather the 
 man of fashion and the idler, who, nodding languidly to his 
 visitor, said, " Levy, what money can I have for a year ? " 
 
 " The estate will bear very little more. My dear fellow, that last 
 election was the very devil. You cannot go on thus much longer." 
 
 "My dear fellow ! " Baron Levy hailed Audley Egerton as 
 " my dear fellow." And Audley Egerton, perhaps, saw nothing 
 strange in the words, though his lip curled. 
 
 " I shall not want to go on thus much longer," answered 
 Egerton, as the curl on his lip changed to a gloomy smile. 
 "The estate must, meanwhile, bear ^5000 more." 
 
 "A hard pull on' it. You had really better sell." 
 
 " I cannot afford to sell at present. I cannot afford men to 
 say ' Audley Egerton is done up his property is for sale.' " 
 
 " It is very sad when one thinks what a rich man you have 
 been and may be yet ! " 
 
 " Be yet ! How ? " 
 
 Baron Levy glanced toward the thick mahogany doors rthick 
 and impervious as should be the" doors of statesmen. "Why, 
 you know that, with three words from you, I could produce an 
 effect upon the stocks of three nations, that might give us each 
 a hundred thousand pounds. We would go shares." 
 
 " Levy," said : Egerton, coldly, though a deep blush over- 
 spread his face, "you are a scoundrel; that is your lookout. I 
 interfere with no man's tastes and conscience. I don't intend 
 to be a scoundrel myself. I have told you that long ago." 
 
 The usurer's brows darkened, but he dispelled the cloud with 
 an easy laugh. 
 
 "Well," said he, "you are neither wise nor complimentary, 
 but you shall have the money. But yet, would it not be better," 
 added Levy, with emphasis, " to borrow it without interest, of 
 your friend L'Estrange ? " 
 
 Egerton started as if stung. 
 
 " You mean to taunt me, sir ! " he exclaimed, passionately. 
 " I accept pecuniary favors from Lord L'Estrange ! I ! " 
 
 " Tut, my dear Egerton, I dare say my lord would not think 
 so ill now of that act in your life which " 
 
 " Hold ! " exclaimed Egerton, writhing. " Hold ! " 
 
 He stopped and paced the room, muttering in broken sen- 
 tences, "To blush before this man! Chastisement, chastisement!" 
 
 Levy gazed on him with hard and sinister eyes. The minis- 
 ter turned abruptly. 
 
 "Look you, Levy," said he, with forced composure "you 
 hate me why, I know not." _ _
 
 520 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Hate you ! How have I shown hatred ? Would you ever 
 have lived in this palace, and ruled this country as one of the 
 most influential of its ministers, but for my management my 
 whispers to the wealthy Miss Leslie ? Come, but for me what 
 would you have been perhaps a beggar ? " 
 
 " What shall I be now, if I live ? And this fortune which 
 my marriage brought to me it has passed for the main part into 
 your hands. Be patient, you will have it all ere long. But 
 there is one man in the world who has loved me from a boy, and 
 woe to you if ever he learn that he has a right to despise me! " 
 
 " Egerton, my good fellow," said Levy, with great composure, 
 " you need not threaten me, for what interest can I possibly 
 have in tale-telling to Lord L'Estrange ? Again, dismiss from 
 your mind the absurd thought that I'hate you. True, you snub me 
 in private, you cut me in public, you refuse to come'to my dinners, 
 you'll not ask me to your own; still there is no man I like better, 
 nor would more willingly serve. When do you want the -^"5000?" 
 
 " Perhaps in one month, perhaps not for three or four. Let 
 it be ready when required." 
 
 " Enough; depend on it. Have you any other commands ?" 
 
 " None." : ,: 
 
 " I will take my leave, then. By-the-bye, what do you sup- 
 pose the Hazeldean rental is worth net ? " 
 
 " I don't know, nor care. You have no designs upon that tool " 
 
 "Weil, I like keeping up family connections. Mr. Frank 
 seems ajiberal young gentleman." 
 
 Before Egerton could answer, the Baron had glided to the 
 door, and, nodding pleasantly, vanished with that nod. 
 
 Egerton remained standing on his solitary hearth. A drear, 
 single man's room it was, from wall to wall, despite its fretted 
 ceilings and official pomp of Bramah escritoires and red boxes. 
 Drear and cheerless no trace of woman's habitation no ves- 
 tige of intruding, happy children. There stood the austere 
 man alone. And then, with a deep sigh, he muttered, "Thank 
 Heaven, not for long it will hot last long." 
 
 Repeating those words, he mechanically locked up his papers, 
 and pressed his hand to his heart for an instant, as if a spasm 
 had shot through it. 
 
 "So I must shun all emotion !" said he.shakihghisheadgently. 
 
 In five minutes more, Audley Egerton was in the streets, his 
 mien erect, and his step firm as ever. 
 
 "That man is made of bronze," said a leader of the Opposi- 
 tion to a friend as they rode past the minister. "What would 
 I not give for his nerves ! "
 
 MY NOVEL. 
 
 BOOK NINTH INITIAL CHAPTER. 
 
 ON PUBLIC LIFE. 
 
 Now that I am fairly in the heart of my story, these prelimin- 
 ary chapters must shrink into comparatively small dimensions, 
 and not encroach upon the space required by the various per- 
 sonages whose acquaintance I have picked up here and. there, 
 and who are now all crowding upon me like poor relations to 
 wh6m one has unadvisedly given a general invitation, arid who 
 descend upon one simultaneously about Christmas time. Where 
 they are to be stowed, and what is to become of them all, Heaven 
 knows; in the meanwhile, the reader will have already observed 
 that the Caxton Family themselves are turned out of their own 
 rooms, sent a-packing, in order to make way for the new comers. 
 
 But to proceed. Note the heading to the. present chapter, 
 " PUBLIC LIFE," a thesis pertinent to this portion of my narra- 
 tive, and if somewhat trite in itself, the greater is the stimulus 
 to suggest thereon some original hints for reflection. 
 
 Were you ever in public life, my dear reader ?, I don't mean, 
 by that question, to ask whether you were ever Lord Chancellor, 
 Prime Minister, Leader of the Opposition, or even a member of 
 the House of Commons. An author hopes to find readers far 
 beyond that very egregious but very limited segment of the Great 
 Circle. Were you ever a busy man in your vestry, active in a, 
 municipal corporation, one of a committee for furthering the 
 interests of an enlightened candidate for your native burgh, town, 
 or shire ? in a word, did you ever resign your private comforts 
 as men in order to share the public troubles of mankind ? If 
 ever you have so far departed from the Lucretian philosophy, 
 just look back was it life at all that you lived ? were you an 
 individual distinct existence a passenger in the railway? or 
 were you merely an indistinct portion of that common flame which 
 heated the boiler and generated the steam, that set off the mon- 
 ster train ? .very hot, very active, veryuseful, no doubt; but all 
 your identity fused in flame and all your forces vanishing in gas.' 
 
 And do you think the people in the railway carriages care for 
 you ? do you think that the gentleman in the worsted wrapper 
 is saying to his neighbor with the striped rug on his comfortable 
 knees, " How grateful we ought to be for that fiery particle which 
 
 is cracking and hissing under the boiler ! It helps us on " ^ac- 
 
 r 
 
 Vol. *
 
 4 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 tion of an inch from Vauxhall to Putney ! " Not a bit of it. Ten 
 to one but he is saying 1 " Not sixteen miles an hour ! What the 
 deuce is the matter with the stoker?" 
 
 Look at our friend, Audley Egerton. You have just had a 
 glimpse of the real being that struggles under the huge copper ; 
 you have heard the hollow sound of the rich man's coffers under 
 the tap of Baron Levy's friendly knuckle heard the strong man's 
 heart give out its dull warning sound to trie scientific ear of Dr. 
 
 F- . And away once more vanishes the separate existence, 
 
 lost again in the flame that heats the boiler, and the smoke that 
 curls into air from the grimy furnace. 
 
 Look to it, O Public Man, whoever thou art, and whatsoever 
 thy degree see if thou canst not compound matters, so as to 
 keep a little nook apart for tlhy private life ; that is for thyself ! 
 Let the great Popkins Question not absorb wholly the individ- 
 ual soul of thee, as Smith or Johnson. Don't so entirely con- 
 sume thyself under that insatiable boiler, that when thy poor 
 little monad rushes out from the sooty furnace, and arrives at the 
 stars, thou mayest find no vocation for thee there, and feel as if 
 thou hadst nothing to do amidst the still splendors of the In- 
 finite. I don't deny to thee the uses of " Public Life "; I grant 
 that it is much to have helped to carry that great Popkins Ques- 
 tion ; but Private Life, my friend, is the life of thy private soul; 
 and there may be matters concerned with that which, on con- 
 sideration, thou mayest allow, cannot be wholly mixed up with 
 the great Popkins Question and were not finally settled when 
 thou didst exclaim "I have not lived in vain the Popkins 
 Question is carried at last ! " Oh immortal soul, for one quar- 
 ter of an hour per diem de-Popkinise thine immortality ' 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IT had not been without much persuasion on the part of Jack- 
 eymo, that Riccabocca had consented to settle himself in the 
 house which Randal had recommended to him. Not that the ex- 
 ile conceived any suspicion of the young man beyond that which 
 he might have shared with Jackeymo, viz., that Randal's inter- 
 est in the father was increased by a very natural and excusable 
 admiration of 'the daughter. But the Italian had the pride com- 
 mon to misfortune he did not like to be indebted to others, 
 and he shrank from the pity of those to whom it was known that 
 he had held a higher station in his own land. These scruples 
 gave way to the strength of his affection for his daughter and his 
 dread of his foe. Good men, however able and brave, who have
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 5 
 
 suffered from the wicked, are apt to form exaggerated notions 
 of the power that has prevailed against them. Jackeymo had 
 conceived a superstitious terror of Peschiera ; and Riccabocca, 
 though by no means addicted to superstition, still had a certain 
 creep of the flesh whenever he thought of his foe. 
 
 But Riccabocca than whom no man was more physically 
 brave, and no man in some respects more morally timid feared 
 the Count less as a foe than as a gallant. He remembered his 
 kinsman's surpassing beauty the power he had obtained over 
 women. He knew him versed in every art that corrupts- and 
 wholly void of the conscience that deters. And Riccabocca had 
 unhappily nursed himself into so poor an estimate of the female 
 character, that even the pure and lofty nature of Violante did 
 not seem to him a sufficient safeguard against the craft and 
 determination of a practised and remorseless intriguer. But of all 
 the precautions he could take, none appeared more likely to con- 
 duce to safety, than his establishing a friendly communication 
 with one who professed to be able to get at all the Count's plans 
 and movements, and who could apprise Riccabocca at once should 
 his retreat be discovered. "Forewarned is forearmed," said hfe 
 to himself, in one of the proverbs common to all nations. : How- 
 ever, as with his usual sagacity he came to reflect upon the 
 alarming intelligence conveyed to him by Randal, viz., that the 
 Count sought his daughter's hand, he divined that there was some 
 strong personal interest under such ambition ; and what could 
 be that interest save the probability of Riccabocca's ultimate ad- 
 mission to the Imperial grace, and the Count's desire to assure 
 himself of the heritage to an estate that he might be permitted 
 to retain no more ? Riccabocca was not indeed aware of the 
 condition (not according to usual customs in Austria) on which 
 the Count held the forfeited domains. He knew riot that they 
 had been granted merely on pleasure ; but he was too well aware 
 of Peschiera's nature to suppose that he would woo a bride 
 without a dower, or be moved by remorse in any overture of recon- 
 ciliation. He felt assured too and this increased all his fears 
 that Peschiera would 'never venture to seek an interview with 
 himself ; all the Count's designs on Violante would be dark, se- 
 cret, and clandestine. He was perplexed and tormented by the 
 doubt,, whether or not to express openly to Violante his appre- 
 hensions of the nature of the danger to be apprehended. He had 
 told her vaguely that it was for her sake that he desired secrecy 
 and concealment. But that might mean anything ; what danger 
 to himself would not menace her? Yet to say more was so con- 
 Vary to a man of his Italian notions and Machiavellian maxims?
 
 6 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 To say to a young girl, " There is a man come over to England 
 on purpose to woo and win you. For Heaven's sake take care 
 of him ; he is diabolically handsome ; he never fails where he sets 
 his heart." " Cospe tto!" cried the Doctor, aloud, as these ad- 
 monitions shaped themselves to speech in the camera-obscura of 
 his brain ; " such a warning would have undone a Cornelia while 
 she was yet an innocent spinster." No, he resolved to say noth- 
 ing to Violante of the Count's intention, only to keep guard, and 
 make himself and Jackeymo all eyes and ears. 
 
 The house Randal had selected pleased Riccaboccaat the first 
 glance. It stood alone, upon a little eminence ; its upper win- 
 dows commanded the high road. It had been a school, and was 
 surrounded by high walls, which contained a garden and a lawn, 
 sufficiently large for exercise. The garden doors were thick, for- 
 tified by strong bolts, and had a little wicket lattice, shut and 
 opened at pleasure, from which Jackeymo could inspect all vis- 
 itors before he permitted them to enter. 
 
 An old female servant from the neighborhood was cautiously 
 hired ; Riccabocca renounced his Italian name, and abjured his 
 origin. He spoke English sufficiently well to think he could pass 
 as an Englishman. He called himself Mr. Richmouth (a liberal 
 translation of Riccabocca). He bought a blunderbuss, two pairs 
 of pistols, and a huge house-dog. Thus provided for, he allowed 
 Jackeymo to write a line to Randal and communicate his arrival. 
 
 Randal lost no time in calling. With his usual adaptability, and 
 his power of dissimulation, he contrived easily to please Mrs. Ric- 
 cabocca, and to increase the good opinion the exile was disposed 
 to form of him. He engaged Violante in conversation on Italy 
 and its poets. He promised to bring her books. He began, though 
 more distantly than he could have desired 'for her sweet stateli- 
 ness awed him the preliminaries of courtship*. He established 
 himself at once as a familiar guest, riding down daily. in the dusk 
 of evening after the toils of office, and retiring at night. In four 
 or five days he thought he had made great progress with all. Ric- 
 cabocca watched him narrowly, and grew absorbed in thought 
 after every visit. At length one night, when he and Mrs. Ric- 
 cabocca were alone in the drawing-room, Violante having retired 
 to rest, he thus spoke as he filled his pipe : 
 
 "Happy is the man who has no children ! Thrice happy he 
 who has no girls ! " 
 
 " My dear Alphonso ! " said the wife, looking up from the wrist- 
 band to which she was attaching a neat mother-o'-pearl button. 
 She said no more ; it was the sharpest rebuke she was in the cus- 
 tom of administering to her husband's cynical and odious obser-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 7 
 
 rations. Riccabocca lighted his pipe with a thread-paper, gave 
 three great puffs, and resumed, 
 
 "One blunderbuss, four pistols, and a house-dog called Pom- 
 pey, who would have made mincemeat of Julius Caesar ! " 
 
 " He certainly eats a great deal, does Pompey! " said Mrs, Ric- 
 cabocca, simply. "But if he relieves your mind !" 
 
 " He does not relieve it in the least, ma'am," groaned Ricca- 
 bocca ; " and that is the point I was coming to. This is a most 
 harassing life, and a most undignified life. And I who have only 
 asked from Heaven dignity and repose ! But if Violante were 
 once married, I should want neither blunderbuss, pistol, nor Pom- 
 pey. And it is that which would relieve my mind, cara mia 
 Pompey only relieves my larder ! " 
 
 Now Riccabocca had been more communicative to Jemima 
 than he had been to Violante. Having once trusted her with 
 one secret, he had every motive to trust her with another; and 
 he had' accordingly spoken out his fears of the Count di Pes- 
 chiera. Therefore she answered, laying down the work, and 
 taking her husband's hand tenderly 
 
 " Indeed, my lovej since you dread so much (though I own 
 that I must think unreasonably) this wicked, dangerous man, it 
 would be the happiest thing in the world to see dear Violante 
 well married; because, you see, if she is married to one person 
 she cannot be married to another; and all fear of this Count, 
 as you say, would be at an end." 
 
 " You cannot express yourself better. It is a great comfort 
 to unbosom one's-self to a wife, after all ! " quoth Riccabocca. 
 
 " But," said the wife, after a grateful kiss "but, where and 
 how can we find a husband suitable to the rank of your 
 daughter ? " 
 
 " There there there," cried Riccabocca, pushing back his 
 chair to the farther end of the room" that comes of unbosom- 
 ing one's-self I Out flies one's secret; it is opening the lid of 
 Pandora's box; one is betrayed, ruined, undone ! " 
 
 "Why, there's not a sour that can hear us!" said Mrs. 
 Riccabocca, soothingly. 
 
 " That's chance, ma'am ! If you once contract the habit of 
 blabbing out a secret when nobody's by, how on earth can you 
 resist it when you have the pleasurable excitement of telling it 
 to all the world ? Vanity, vanity woman's vanity-! Woman 
 never could withstand rank never ! " The doctor went on 
 railing for a quarter of an hour, and was very reluctantly ap- 
 peased by Mrs. Riccabocca's repeated and tearful assurances, 
 that she would never even whisper to herself that her husband
 
 8 MY NOVEL ; OR 
 
 had ever held any other rank than that of Doctor. Riccabocca, 
 with a dubious shake of the head, renewed 
 
 "I have done with -all pomp and pretension. Besides, the 
 young man is a born gentleman ; he seems in good circum- 
 stances; he has energy and latent ambition; he is akin to L'Es- 
 trange's intimate friend; he seems attached to Violante. I 
 don't think it probable that we could do better. Nay, if Pes- 
 chiera fears that I shall be restored to my country, and I learn 
 the wherefore, and the ground to take, through this young man 
 why, gratitude is the first virtue of the noble ! " 
 
 "You speak, then, of Mr. Leslie?" 
 
 " To be sure of whom else ? " 
 
 Mrs. Riccabocca leaned her cheek on her hand thoughtfully. 
 " Npw you have told me that, I will observe him with different 
 eyes." 
 
 " \Anima mt'a, I don't see how the difference of your eyes will 
 alter the object they look upon J " grumbled Riccabocca, shak- 
 ing the ashes out of his pipe. 
 
 "The object alters when we see it in a different point of 
 view ! " -replied Jemima, modestly. " This thread does very 
 well when I look at it in order to sew on a button, but 1 should 
 say it would never do to tie up Pompey in his kennel." 
 
 "Reasoning by illustration, upon my soul!" ejaculated 
 Riccabocca, amazed. 
 
 And, continued Jemima, "when I am to regard one who 
 is to constitute the happiness of that dear child, arid for life, 
 can I regard him as I would the pleasant guest of an evening ? 
 Ah, trust me, Alphonso; I don't pretend to be wise like you; 
 but when a woman considers what a man Is Jikely to prove to 
 woman his sincerity his honor his heart oh, trust me, she 
 is wiser than the wisest man.! " *,.. 
 
 Ricqabocca continued to gaze on Jemima with unaffected 
 admiration and surprise. And, certainly, to use his phrase, 
 since he had unbosomed himself to his better half since he 
 had confided in her, consulted with her, her sense had seemed 
 to quicken, her whole mind to expand. 
 
 " My dear," said the sage, " I, vow and declare that Machia- 
 velli was a fool to you. And I have been as dull as the chair I 
 sit upon, to deny myself so many years the comfort and counsel 
 of such a-'-but, corpo di Bacco ! forget all about rank; and so 
 now to bed. One must not holloa till one's out of the wood," 
 muttered the ungrateful, suspicious villain, as he lighted the 
 chamber-candle. 
 
 .
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 RICCABOCCA could not confine himself to the precincts within 
 the walls to which he condemned Violante. Resuming his 
 spectacles, and wrapped in his cloak, he occasionally sallied 
 forth upon a kind of out-watch or reconnoitring expedition, 
 restricting himself, however, to the immediate neighborhood, 
 and never going quite out of sight of his house. His favorite 
 walk was to the summit of a hillock overgrown with stunted 
 brushwood. Here he would sit himself musingly, often till the 
 hoofs of Randal's horse rang on the winding road, as the sun 
 set over fading herbage, red and vaporous, in autumnal skies. 
 Just below the hillock, and not two hundred yards from his own 
 house, was the only other habitation in view a charming, 
 thoroughly English cottage, though somewhat imitated from 
 the Swiss, with gable-ends, thatched roof, and pretty project- 
 ing casements, opening through creepers and climbing roses. 
 From his height he commanded the gardens of this cottage, and. 
 his eye of artist was pleased, from the first sight, with the beauty 
 which some exquisite taste had given to the ground. Even in 
 that cheerless season of the year, the garden wore a summer 
 smile; the evergreens were so bright and various, and the few 
 flowers still left, so hardy and so healthful. Facing the south, 
 a colonnade, or covered gallery, of rustic wood-work had been 
 formed, and creeping plants, lately set, were already beginning 
 to clothe its columns. Opposite to the colonnade there was a 
 fountain, which 1 reminded Riccabocca of his own at the de- 
 serted Casino. It was indeed singularly like it; the same cir- 
 cular shape, the same girdle of flowers around it But the jet 
 from.it varied everyday fantastic and multiform, like the 
 sports of a Naiad, ^sometimes shooting up like a tree, some- 
 times shaped as a convolvulus, sometimes tossing from its silver 
 spray a flower of vermilion, or a fruit of gold, as if at play with 
 its toy, like a happy child. And near the fountain was a large 
 aviary, large enough to enclose a tree. The Italian could just 
 catch a gleam of rich color from the wings of the birds, as they 
 glanced to and fro within the network, and could hear their 
 songs, contrasting the silence of the freer populace of air, whom 
 the coming winter had already stilled. 
 
 Riccabocca's eye, so alive to all aspects of beauty, luxuriated 
 in the view of this garden. Its pleasantness had a charm that 
 stole him from his anxious fear and melancholy memories. 
 
 He never saw but two forms within the demesnes, and he
 
 16 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 could not distinguish their features. One was a woman, who 
 seemed to him of staid manner and homely appearance; she 
 was seen but rarely. The other a man, often pacing to and fro 
 the colonnade, with frequent pauses before the playful fountain, 
 or the birds that sang louder as he approached. This; latter 
 form would then disappear within a room, the glass door of 
 which was at the extreme end of the colonnade; and if the door 
 were left open, Riccabocca could catch a glimpse of the figure 
 bending over a table covered with books. 
 
 Always, however, before the sun set, the-man would step forth 
 more briskly, and occupy himself with the garden, often work- 
 ing at it with good heart, as if at a task of delight; and then, 
 too, the woman would come out, and stand by, as if talking to 
 her companion. Riccabocca's curiosity grew aroused. He 
 bade Jemima inquire of the old maid-servant who lived at the 
 cottage, and. heard that its owner was a Mr. Oran 'a quiet gen- 
 tleman, and fond of his book. 
 
 While Riccabocca thus amused himself, Randal had not been 
 prevented, either by his official cares or his schemes on Violante's 
 heart and fortune, from furthering the project that was to unite 
 Frank Hazeldean and Beatrice di Negra. Indeed, as to the 
 first, a ray of hope was sufficient to fire the ardent and unsus- 
 pecting lover. And Randal's artful misrepresentation of his 
 conference with Mrs. Hazeldean removed all fear, of parental 
 displeasure from: a mind always too disposed to give itself up 
 to the temptation of the moment. Beatrice, though her feelings 
 for Frank were not those of love,, became more and more influ- 
 enced by Randal's arguments and representations, the more 
 especially as her brother :grew morose, and even menacing, as 
 days slipped on, and she could give no clue to the retreat of 
 those whom he sought for. Her debts, too, were really urgent. 
 As Randal's; profound knowledge of human infirmity had 
 shrewdly conjectured, the scruples of honor and pride, that had 
 made her declare she would not bring to a husband her own 
 encumbrances, began to yield to the pressure of necessity. She 
 listened already, with but faint objections, when Randal urged 
 her not to wait for the uncertain discovery that was to secure 
 her dowry, but by a private marriage with. Frank escape at once 
 into freedom and security. While, though he had first held out 
 to young Hazeldean the inducement of Beatrice's dowry as a 
 reason of self-justification in the eyes of the Squire, it was still 
 easier to drop that inducement, which had always rather damped 
 than fired the high spirit and generous heart of the poor Guards- 
 man, And Randal could conscientiously say, that when he had
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. II 
 
 asked the Squire if he expected fortune with Frank's bride, the 
 Squire had replied, "I don't care." Thus encouraged by his 
 friend and his own heart, and the softening manner of a woman 
 who might have charmed many a colder, and fooled many a 
 wiser man, Frank rapidly yielded to the snares held out for his 
 perdition. And though, as yet, he honestly shrank from pro- 
 posing to Beatrice or himself a marriage without the consent, 
 and even the knowledge, of his parents, yet Randal was quite 
 content to -leave a nature, however good, so thoroughly impul- 
 sive and undisciplined, to the influences of the first strong pas- 
 sion it had -ever known. Meanwhile, it was so easy to dissuade 
 Frank from ever giving a hint to the folks at home. "For," 
 said the wily and able traitor, " though we may be sure of Mrs. 
 Hazeldean's consent, and her power over your father, when the 
 step, is once taken, yet we cannot count for certain on the 
 Squire, he is so choleric and hasty. He might hurry to town, 
 see Madame di Negra, blurt out some passionate, rude expres- 
 sions" which would wake her resentment, and cause her instant 
 rejection; and it might be too late if he repented afterward, 
 as he would be sure to do." 
 
 Meanwhile, Randal Leslie gave a dinner at the Clarendon 
 Hotel (an extravagance most contrary to his habits) and invited 
 Frank, Mr. Borrovvell, ahd : Baron Levy. : 
 
 But this house-spider, which glided with so much ease after 
 its flies, through webs so numerous and mazy, had yet to amuse 
 Madame di Negra with assurances that the fugitives sought 
 for would sooner or later be discovered. Though Randal 
 baffled and eluded her suspicion that he was already acquainted 
 with the exile's (" the persons he had thought of were," he said, 
 "quite different from her description ; " and he even presented 
 to heran old singing-master, and a sallow-faced daughter, as 
 the Italians who had caused his mistake), it was necessary for 
 Beatrice to prove the sincerity of the aid she had promised to 
 her brother, and to introduce Randal to the Count. It was no 
 less desirable to Randal to know, and even win the confidence 
 of, this man his rival. 
 
 The two met at Madame di Negra's house. There is some- 
 thing very strange, and almost mesmerical, in the rapport 
 between two evil natures. Bring two honest men together, 
 and it is ten to one if they recognize each other as honest ; 
 differences in temper, manner, even politics, may make each 
 misjudge the other. But bring together two men, Unprincipled 
 and perverted men who, if born in a cellar, would have been 
 food for the hulks or gallows and they understand each other
 
 12 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 by instant sympathy. The eyes of Franzini, Count di Peschiera, 
 and .Randal Leslie no sooner met, than a gleam of intelligence 
 shot from both. They talked on different subjects weather, 
 gossip, politics what not. They bowed and they smiled ; but, 
 all the while, each was watching, plumbing the other's heart, 
 each measuring his strength with his companion ; each inly 
 saying, "This is a very remarkable rascal ; am I a match for 
 him ? " It was at dinner they met ; and following the English 
 fashion, Madame di Negra left them alone with their wine. 
 
 Then, for the first time, Count di Peschiera cautiously and 
 adroitly made a covered push toward the object of the meeting. 
 
 "You have never been abroad, my dear sir? You must con- 
 trive to visit me at Vienna. I grant the splendor of your Lon- 
 don world ; but, honestly speaking, it wants the freedom of 
 ours -a freedom which unites gaiety with polish. For, as your 
 society is mixed, there are pretension and effort with those who 
 have no right to be in it, and artificial condescension and chill- 
 ing arrogance with those who have to keep their inferiors at a 
 certain distance. With us, all being of fixed rank and acknowl- 
 edged birth, familiarity is at once established. Hence," added the 
 Count, with his French lively smile "hence there is no place like 
 Vienna for ayoungman noplacelikeViennafor&7<?,r/0r/#tf<f.y." 
 
 " Those make the paradise of the idle," replied Randal, "but 
 the purgatory of the busy. I confess frankly to you, my dear 
 Count, that I have as little of the leisure which becomes the 
 aspirer to bonnes fortunes as I have the personal graces which 
 obtain them without an effort "; and he inclined his head as in 
 compliment. 
 
 "So," thought the Count, "woman is not his weak side. 
 What is?" 
 
 " Morbleu ! my dear Mr. Leslie had I thought as you do 
 some years since, I had saved myself from many a trouble. 
 After all, Ambition is the best mistress to woo ; for with her 
 there is always the hope, and never the possession." 
 
 " Ambition, Count," replied Randal, still guarding himself 
 in dry sententiousness, " is the luxury of the rich, and the 
 necessity of the poor." 
 
 "Aha," thought the Count, "it comes as I anticipated from 
 the first comes to the bribe." He passed the wine to Randall, 
 filling his own glass, and draining it carelessly ; " Sur man 
 dme, mon cher" said the Count, " luxury is ever pleasanter than 
 necessity ; and I am resolved at least to give ambition a trial 
 -je vais me rtfugier dans le sein du bonheur domestique a mar- 
 ried life and a settled home. Peste! If it were not for am-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 13 
 
 bition, one would die of ennui. Apropos, my dear sir, I have 
 to thank you for promising my sister your aid in finding a near 
 and dear kinsman of mine, who has taken refuge in your 
 country, and hides himself even from me." 
 
 " I should be most happy to assist in your search. As yet, 
 however, I have only to regret that all my good wishes are 
 fruitless. I should have thought, however, that a man of such 
 rank had been easily found, even through the medium of your 
 own ambassador." 
 
 " Cur own ambassador is no very warm friend of mine ; and 
 the rank would be no clue, for it is clear that my kinsman has 
 never assumed it since he quitted his country." 
 
 " He, quitted it, I understand, not exactly from choice," said 
 Randal, smiling. "Pardon my freedom and curiosity, but will you 
 explain to me a little more than I learn from English rumor (which 
 never accurately reports upon foreign matters still more notori- 
 ous), how a person who had so much to lose, and so little to win, by 
 revolutipn, could put himself into the same crazy boat with a 
 crew of hare-brained adventurers and visionary professors?" 
 
 "Professors ! " repeated the Count ; " I think you have hit 
 on the very answer to your question ; not but what men of 
 high birth were as mad as the canaille. I am the more willing 
 to gratify your curiosity, since it will perhaps serve to guide 
 your kind search in my favor. You must know then, that my 
 kinsman was not born the heir to the rank he obtained. He 
 was but a distant relation to the head of the house which he 
 afterward represented. Brought up in an Italian university, 
 he was distinguished for his learning and his eccentricities. 
 There too, I suppose, brooding over old wives' tales about 
 freedom, and so forth, he contracted his carbonaro, chimerical 
 notions for the independence of Italy. Suddenly, by three 
 deaths, he was elevated, while yet young, to a station and 
 .honors which might have satisfied any man in his senses. Que 
 diable! what could the independence of Italy do for him! He 
 and I were cousins ; we had played together as boys ; but our 
 lives had been separated till his succession to rank brought us 
 necessarily together. We became exceedingly intimate^ And 
 you may judge how I loved him," said the Count, averting his 
 eyes slightly from Randal's quiet, watchful gaze, "when I add 
 that I forgave him for enjoying a heritage that, but for him, 
 had been mine." 
 
 " Ah, you were next heir ? " 
 
 "And it is a hard trial to be very near a great fortune, and 
 yet just to miss it."
 
 14 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "Trite," cried Randal, almost impetuously. The Count now 
 raised his eyes, and again the two men looked into each other's 
 souls. 
 
 " Harder still, perhaps," resumed the Count, after a short 
 pause " harder still might it have been to some : men to forgive 
 the rival as well as the heir." 
 
 "Rival! how?" 
 
 " A lady, who had been destined by her parents to myself, 
 though we had never, I own, been formally betrothed, became 
 the wife of my kinsman." 
 
 " Did he know of your pretensions?" 
 
 "I do him the justice to say he did not. He saw and fell in 
 love with the young lady I speak of. Her parents were daz- 
 zled. Her father sent for me. He apologized he explained ; 
 he set before- me, mildly enough, certain youthful imprudences 
 or errors of my own, as an excuse for his change of mind ; and 
 he asked me not only to resign all hope of his daughter, but to 
 conceal from her new suitor that I had ever ventured to hope." 
 
 " And you consented ? " 
 ' "I consented." 
 
 "That was generous. You must, indeed, have been much 
 attached to your kinsman. As a lover, I cannot comprehend 
 it ; perhaps, my dear Count, you may enable me to understand 
 it better-*-as a man of the world." 
 
 "Well," said the Count, with his most ra//air, "I suppose we 
 are both men of the world." 
 
 "jBoth! certainly," replied Randal, just in the tone which 
 Peachum might have used in courting the confidence of Lockit. 
 
 " As a man of the world, then, I own,'' said the Count, playing 
 with the rings on his fingers, "that if I could not marry the lady 
 myself (and that seemed to me clear), it was very natural that 
 I should wish to see' her married to my wealthy kinsman." 
 
 " Very natural; it might bring your wealthy kinsman and your- 
 self still closer together." 
 
 " This is really a very clever fellow ! " thought the Count, but 
 he made no direct reply. 
 
 " En 'fin, to cut short a long story, my cousin afterward got 
 entangled in attempts, the failure of which is historically known. 
 His projects were detected himself denounced. He fled, and 
 the Emperor, in sequestering his estates, was pleased, with rare 
 and singular clemency, to permit me, as his nearest kinsman, to 
 enjoy the revenues of half those estates during the royal pleas- 
 ure; nor was the other half formally confiscated. It was, no 
 doubt, his Majesty's desire not to extinguish a great Italian name;
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 15 
 
 and if my cousin and his child died in exile, why, of that name, 
 I, a loyal subject of Austria I, Franzini, Count di Peschiera, 
 would become the representative. Such, in a similar case, has 
 been sometimes the Russian policy toward Polish insurgents." 
 
 " I comprehend perfectly; and I can also conceive that you, 
 in profiting so largely, though so justly, by the fall of your kins- 
 man, may have been exposed to much unpopularity even to 
 painful suspicion." 
 
 " Entre nous, mon cher, I care not a stiver for popularity; and 
 as to suspicion, who is he that can escape from the calumny of 
 the envious ? But, unquestionably, it would be most desirable 
 to unite the divided members of our house; and this union I can 
 now effect, by the consent of the Emperor to my marriage with 
 my kinsman's daughter. You see, therefore, why I have so great 
 an interest in this research ?" 
 
 "By the marriage-articles you could, no doubt, secure the 
 retention of the half you hold; and if you survive your kinsman, 
 you would, enjoy the whole. A most desirable marriage; and, if 
 made, I suppose that would suffice to obtain your cousin's am- 
 nesty and grace ?'* 
 
 " You say it." 
 
 " But even without such marriage, since the Emperor's clem- 
 ency has been extended to so many of the proscribed, it is, per- 
 haps, probable that your cousin might be restored?" 
 
 " It once seemed to me possible," said the Count,: reluctantly; 
 "but since I have been in England, I think not. The recent 
 revolution in France, the democratic spirit rising in Europe, tend 
 to throw back the cause of a proscribed rebel. England swarms 
 with revolutionists; my cousin's residence in this country is in itself 
 suspicious. The suspicion is increased by his strange seclusion. 
 There are many Italians here who would aver that they have met 
 with him, and that he was still engaged in revolutionary projects." 
 
 "Aver untruly?" 
 
 "Ma foi it comes to the same thing; les absents onttoujours 
 tort. I speak to a man of the world. No ; without some such 
 guarantee for his faith as his daughter's marriage with myself 
 would give, his recall is improbable. By the heaven above us, 
 it shall be impossible ! " The Count rose as he said this rose as 
 if the mask of simulation had fairly fallen from the visage of 
 crime rose tall and towering, a very image of masculine power 
 and strength, beside the slight, bended form, and sickly face of 
 the intellectual schemer. And had you seen them thus con- 
 fronted and, contrasted, you would have felt that if ever the time 
 did come when the interest of one would compel him openly to
 
 1 6 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 denounce Or boldly to expose the other, the odds were that the 
 brilliant and audacious reprobate would master the weaker nerve 
 but superior wit of the furtive traitor. Randal was startled; but 
 rising also, he said carelessly 
 
 "What if this guarantee can no longer be given ? what if, in 
 despair of return, and in resignation-to his altered fortunes, your 
 cousin has already married his daughter to some English suitor?" 
 
 " Ah, that would indeed be, next to my own marriage with 
 her, the most fortunate thing that could happen to myself." 
 
 " How ? I don't understand ! " 
 
 "Why, if my cousin has so abjured his birthright, and for- 
 sworn his rank if this heritage, which is so dangerous from its 
 grandeur, pass, in case of his pardon, to some obscure English- 
 man a foreigner a native of a country that has no ties with 
 ours a country that is the very refuge of levellers and Carbo- 
 nari mort de ma vie! do you think that such would not anni- 
 hilate all chance of my cousin's restoration, and be an excuse 
 even in the eyes of Italy for formally conferring the sequestrated 
 estates on an Italian? No ; unless, indeed, the girl were to marry 
 an Englishman of such name and birth and connection as would 
 in themselves be a guarantee (and how in poverty is this likely ?) 
 I should go back to Vienna with a light heart, if I could say, 
 * My kinswoman is an Englishman's wife shall her children be 
 heirs to a house so renowned for its lineage, and so formidable 
 for its wealth ? ' Parbleu ! if my cousin were but an adventu- 
 rer, or merely a professor, he had been pardoned long ago. 
 The great enjoy the honor not to be pardoned easily." 
 
 Randal fell into deep but brief thought. The Count observed 
 him, not face to face, but by the reflection of an opposite mir- 
 ror. "This man knows something ; this man is deliberating ; 
 this man can help me," thought the Count. 
 
 But Randal said nothing to confirm these hypotheses. Recov- 
 ering from his abstraction, he expressed courteously his satis- 
 faction at the Count's prospects, either way. " And since, -after 
 all," he added, " you mean so well to your cousin^ it occurs to 
 me that you might discover him by a very simple English process." 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 "Advertise that, if he will come to someplace appointed, he 
 will hear of something to his advantage." 
 
 The Count shook his head. " He would suspect me, and not 
 come." 
 
 " But he was intimate with you. He joined an insurrection ;~ 
 you were more prudent. You did not injure him, though you 
 may have benefited yourself. Why should he shun you ?"
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 17 
 
 "The conspirators forgive none who do not conspire; besides, 
 to speak frankly, he thought I injured him." 
 
 "Could you not conciliate him through his wife whom you 
 resigned to him ?" 
 
 " She is dead died before he left the country." 
 
 " Oh, that is unlucky! Still I think an advertisement might 
 do good. Allow me to reflect on that subject. Shall we now 
 join Madame la Marquise?" 
 
 On re-entering the drawing-room, the gentlemen found Bea- 
 trice in full dress, seated by the fire;, and reading so intently that 
 she did not remark them enter. 
 
 "What so interests you, ma sceur? the last novel by Balzac, 
 no doubt ?" 
 
 Beatrice started, and looking up, showed eyes that were full 
 of tears. "Oh, no! no picture of miserable, vicious Parisian 
 life. This is beautiful; there is soul here." 
 
 Randal took up the book which the Marchesa laid down ; it 
 was the same which had charmed the circle at Hazeldean 
 charmed the innocent and fresh-heartedcharmed now the 
 wearied and tempted votaress of the world. 
 
 " Hum," murmured Randal; " the Parson was right. This is 
 power a sort of a power." 
 
 " How I should like to know the author! Who can he be 
 can you guess ? " 
 
 " Not I. Some old pedant in spectacles." 
 
 " I think not I am sure not. Here beats a heart I have ever 
 sighed to find, and never found." 
 
 " Oh, la naive enfant ! " cried the Count; "comme son imagina- 
 tion s'Jgare en r$ves enchants. And to think that, while you talk 
 like an Arcadian, you are dressed like a princess." 
 
 "Ah, I forgot the Austrian ambassador's. I shall not go 
 to-night. This book unfits me for the artificial world." 
 
 "Just as you will, my sister. I shall go. I dislike the man, 
 and he me; but ceremonies before men! " 
 
 "You are going to the Austrian embassy ? " said Randal; " I, 
 too, shall be there. We shall meet." And he took his leave. 
 
 " I like your young friend prodigiously," said the Count, yawn- 
 ing. "I am sure that he knows of the lost birds, and will stand 
 to them like a pointer, if I can but make it his interest to do so. 
 We shall see." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 RANDAL arrived at the ambassador's before the Count, and 
 contrived to mix with the young noblemen attached to the em-
 
 1 8 MY NOVEL J Ok, 
 
 bassy, and to whom he was known. Standing among these was 
 a young Austrian, on his travels, of very high birth, and with an 
 air of noble grace that suited the ideal of the old German chiv- 
 alry. Randal was presented to him, and, after some talk on 
 general topics, observed, " By the way, Prince, there is now in 
 London a countryman of yours, with whom you are, doubtless, 
 familiarly acquainted the Count di Peschiera." 
 
 " He is no countryman of mine. He is an Italian. I know 
 him but by sight and by name," said the Prince, stiffly. 
 
 "He is of very ancient birth, I believe." 
 
 "Unquestionably. His ancestors were gentlemen." 
 
 " And very rich." 
 
 " Indeed ! I have understood the contrary. He enjoys, it 
 is true, a large revenue." 
 
 A young attach^ less discreet than the Prince, here observed, 
 " Oh, Peschiera ! poor fellow, he is ; too fond of play to be rich," 
 
 "And there is some chance that the kinsman whose revenue 
 he holds may obtain- his pardon, and re-enter into possession of 
 his fortunes so I hear, at least," said Randal, artfully. 
 
 "I shall be glad if it be true," said the Prince, with decision; 
 "and I speak the common sentiment at Vienna. That kinsman 
 had a noble spirit, and was, I believe, equally duped and betrayed. 
 Pardon me, sir; but we Austrians are not so bad as we are painted. 
 Have you ever met in England the kinsman you speak of ? " 
 
 " Never, though he is supposed to reside here ; and the Count 
 tells me that he has a daughter." 
 
 " The Count ha ! I heard something of a scheme a wager 
 of that that Count's ; a daughter! Poor girl ! I hope she 
 will escape his pursuit ; for, no doubt, he pursues her." 
 
 "Possibly she may have already married an Englishman." 
 
 " I trust not," said the Prince, seriously ; " that might at pres 
 ent be a serious obstacle to her father's return." 
 
 "You think so?" 
 
 "There can be no doubt of it," interposed the attache vf'\t\\ a 
 grand and positive air; "unless, indeed, the Englishman were 
 of a rank equal to her own." 
 
 Here there was a slight, well-bred murmur and buzz at the 
 door; for the Count di Peschiera himself was announced ; and 
 as he entered, hi* presence was so striking, and his.beauty so 
 dazzling, that whatever there might be to the prejudice of his 
 character, it seemed instantly effaced or forgotten in that irre- 
 sistible admiration which it is the prerogative of personal attri- 
 butes alone to create. 
 
 The Prince, with a slight curve of his lip at the groups that
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 19 
 
 collected round the Count, turned to Randal and said, " Can you 
 tell me if a distinguished countryman of yours is in England 
 Lord L'Estrange ? " 
 
 " No, Prince he is not. You know him?" 
 
 "Well." 
 
 " He is acquainted with the Count's kinsman ; and perhaps from 
 him you have learned to think so highly of that kinsman?" 
 
 The Prince bowed, and answered as he moved away, " When 
 one man of high honor vouches for another, he commands the 
 belief of all."- 
 
 " Certainly," soliloquized Randal, "I must not be precipitate. 
 Iwas very near falling into a terrible trap. If I were to marry the 
 girl, and only, by so doing, settle away her inheritance on Pes- 
 chiera ! How hard it is to be sufficiently cautious in this world !" 
 
 While thus meditating, a member of Parliament tapped him 
 on the shoulder. 
 
 ' Melancholy, Leslie ! I lay a wager I guess your thoughts." 
 
 ' Guess," answered Randal. 
 
 'You were thinking of the place you are so soon to lose." 
 
 ' Soon to lose ! " 
 
 ' Why, if ministers go out, you could hardly keep it, I suppose." 
 
 This ominous and horrid member of Parliament, Squire Hazel- 
 dean's favorite county member, Sir John, was one of those legisla- 
 tors especially odious to officials an independent, "large-acred " 
 member, who would no more take office himself than he would cut 
 down the oaks in his park, and who had no bowels of human feeling 
 for those who had opposite tastes and less magnificent means. 
 
 ' ' Hem ! " said Randal, rather surlily. " In the first place, Sir 
 John, ministers are not going out." 
 
 " Oh, yes, they will go. You know I vote with them generally, 
 and would willingly keep them in ; but they are men of honor and 
 spirit ; and if they can't carry their measures, they must resign; 
 otherwise,byjove, I would turn round and vote them out myself !" 
 
 " I have no doubt you would, Sir John ; you are quite capa- 
 ble of it ; that rests with you and your constituents. But even 
 if ministers did go out, I am but a poor subaltern in a public 
 office. I am no minister why should I go out too ? " 
 
 " Why ? Hang it, Leslie, you are laughing at me. A young 
 fellow like you could never be mean enough to stay in, under 
 the very men who drove out your friend Egerton ! " 
 
 "It is not usual for those in the public offices to retire with 
 every change of government." 
 
 " Certainly not ; but always those who are the relations of a 
 retiring minister always those who have been regarded as poll-
 
 2O MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 ticians, and who mean to enter Paliament, as of course you will 
 do at the next election. But you know that as well as I do 
 you who are so decided a politician the writer of that admir- 
 able pamphlet! I should not like to tell my friend Hazeldean, 
 who has a sincere interest in you, that you ever doubted on a 
 question of honor as plain as your A, B, C." 
 
 " Indeed, ,Sir John," said Randal, recovering his suavity, while 
 he only breathed a dire anathema on his county member, " I am 
 so new to these things, that what you say never struck me before. 
 No doubt you must be right ; at all events I cannot have a better 
 guide .and adviser than Mr. Egerton himself." 
 
 SIR JOHN. No, certainly perfect gentleman, Egerton ! I 
 wish we could make it up with him and Hazeldean. 
 
 RANDAL (sighing). Ah, I wish we could ! 
 
 SIR JOHN. And some chance of it .now ; for the time is com- 
 ing when all true men of the old school must stick together. 
 
 RANDAL. Wisely, admirably said, my dear Sir John. But, 
 pardon me, I must pay my respects to the ambassador. 
 
 Randal escaped, and passing on, .saw the ambassador himself 
 in the next room, conferring in a corner with Audley Egerton. 
 The ambassador seemed very grave Egerton calm and impene- 
 trable, as usual. Presently the Count passed by, and the am- 
 bassador bowed to hi.m very stiffly. 
 
 As Randal, some time later, was searching for his cloak be- 
 low, Audley Egerton unexpectedly joined him. 
 
 " Ah, Leslie," said the minister, with more kindness than usual, 
 "If you don't think the night air too cold for you, let us walk 
 home together. I have sent away the carriage." 
 
 This condescension in his patron was so singular, that it quite 
 startled Randal, and gave him a presentiment of some evil. 
 When they were in the street, Egerton after a pause, began 
 
 "My dear Mr. Leslie, it was my hope and belief that I had 
 provided for you at least a competence ; and that I might open 
 to you, later, a career more brilliant. Hush! I don't doubt 
 your gratitude; let me proceed.. There is a possible chance, 
 after certain decisions that the Government have come to, that 
 we may be beaten in the House of Commons, and of course re- 
 sign. I tell you this beforehand, for I wish you to have time to 
 consider what,in that case,would be your best course. My power 
 of serving you may then probably be over. It would, no doubt 
 (seeing our close connection, and my views with regard to your 
 future being so well known) no doubt, be expected that you 
 should give up the pla.ce you hold, and follow my fortunes for 
 good or ill. But as I have no personal enemies with the oppo-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 21 
 
 site party and as I have sufficient position in the world to up- 
 hold and sanction your choice, whatever it may be, if you think 
 it more prudent to retain your place, tell me so openly, and I 
 think I can contrive that you may do it without loss of char- 
 acter and credit. In that case, confine your ambition merely to 
 rising gradually in your office, without mixing in politics. If, on 
 the other hand, you should prefer to take your chance of my re- 
 turn to office, and so resign your present place ; and, further- 
 more, should commit yourself to a policy that may then be not 
 only in opposition, but unpopular, I will do my best to introduce 
 you into parliamentary life. I cannot say that I advise the latter." 
 
 Randal felt as a man feels after a severe fall he was liter- 
 ally stunned. At length he faltered out 
 
 " Can you think, sir, that I should ever desert your fortunes 
 your party-^-your cause?" . 
 
 "My dear Leslie," replied the minister, "you are too young 
 to have committed yourself to any men or to any party, except, 
 indeed, in that unlucky pamphlet. This must not be an affair of 
 sentiment, but of sense and reflection. Let us say no more on the 
 point now ; but by considering i\\zpros and the cons,yo\i can better 
 judge what to do, should the time for option suddenly arrive." 
 
 "But I hope that time may not come." 
 
 " I hope so too, and most sincerely," said the minister, with 
 deliberate and genuine emphasis. 
 
 "What could be so. bad for the country?" ejaculated Randal. 
 "It does not seem to me possible, in the nature of things, that 
 you and your party should ever go out ! " 
 
 "And when we are once out, there will be plenty of wiseacres 
 tosay it is out of the nature of things that we should ever come 
 in again. Here we are at the door." 
 . 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 
 
 RANDAL passed a sleepless night ; but, indeed, he was one of 
 those persons who neither need, nor are accustomed to, much 
 sleep. However, toward morning, when dreams are said to:be 
 prophetic, he \;11 into a most delightful slumber a slumber 
 peopled by visions fitted to lure on, through labyrinths of law, 
 predestined chancellors, or wreck upon the rocks of glory the 
 inebriate souls of youthful ensigns- dreams from which Rood 
 Hall emerged crowned with the towers of Belvoir or Raby, and 
 looking over subject lands and manors wrestled fromthenefarious 
 usurpation of Thornhills and .Hazeldeans dreams in which 
 Audley Egerton's;gold and power rooms in Downing Street,
 
 22 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 and saloons in Grosvenor Square had passed away to the smil- 
 ing dreamer, as the empire of Chaldaea passed to Darius the 
 Median. Why visions so belying the gloomy and anxious thoughts 
 that preceded them should visit the pillow of Randal Leslie, sur- 
 passes my philosophy to conjecture. He yielded, however, pas- 
 sively -to their spell, and was startled to hear the clock strike 
 eleven as he descended the stairs to breakfast. He was vexed at 
 tke lateness of the hour, for he had meant to have taken advant- 
 age of the unwonted softness of Egerton, and drawn therefrom 
 some promises or proffers to cheer the prospects which theminister 
 had so chillingly expanded before him the preceding night; and 
 it was only at breakfast that. he usually found the opportunity 
 of private conference with his busy patron. But Audley Egerton 
 would be sure to have sallied forth and sohehad only Randal 
 was surprised to hear that he had gone out in his carriage, instead 
 of on foot, as was his habit. Randal soon despatched his solitary 
 meal, and with a new and sudden affection for his office, thither- 
 ward bent his way. As he passed through Piccadilly, he heard 
 behind a voice that had lately become familiar to him, and turning 
 round, saw Baron Levy walking side by side, though not arm-in- 
 arm, with a gentleman almost as smart as himself, but with a 
 iauntier step and a brisker air a step that, like Diomed's as 
 described by Shakspeare 
 
 " Rises on the toe ; that spirit of his 
 In aspiration lifts him from the earth." 
 
 Indeed, one may judge of the spirits and disposition of a man 
 by his ordinary gait and mien in walking. He who habitually 
 pursues abstract thought, looks down on the ground. He who is 
 accustomed to sudden impulses, or is trying to seize upon some 
 necessary recollection, looks up with a kind of jerk. He who is a 
 steady, cautious, merely practical man, walks on deliberately, 
 his eyes straight before him ; and even in his most musing moods, 
 observes things around sufficiently to avoid a porter's knot or a 
 butcher's tray. But the man with strong ganglions of pushing, 
 lively temperament, who, though practical, is yet speculative 
 the man who is emulous and active, and ever trying to rise in 
 life -sanguine, alert, bold walks with a spring looks rather 
 above the heads of his fellow-passengers but with a quick, easy 
 turn of his own, which is lightly set on his shoulders; his mouth 
 is a little open his eye is bright, rather restless, but penetrative 
 his port has something of defiance-^his form is erect, but without 
 stiffness. Such was the appearance of the Baron's companion. 
 And as Randal turned round at Levy's voice, the Baron said to 
 his companion, "A young man in the first circles you should
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 23 
 
 book him for your fair lady's parties. Ho\v d'ye do, Mr. Leslie ? 
 Let me introduce you to Mr. Richard Avenel." Then, as he 
 hooked his arm into Randal's he whispered, "Man of first-rate 
 talent monstrous rich has two or three parliamentary seats 
 in his pocket wife gives parties her foible." 
 
 "Proud to make your acquaintance, sir," said Mr. Avenel, 
 lifting his hat. " Fine day." 
 
 " Rather cold too," said Leslie, who, like all thin persons with 
 weak digestions, was chilly by temperament ; besides, he had 
 enough on his mind to chill his body. 
 
 " So much the healthier braces the nerves," said Mr. Avenel ; 
 "but you young fellows relax the system by hot rooms and late 
 hours. Fond of dancing, of course, sir?" Then, without waiting 
 for Randal's negative, Mr. Richard continued rapidly, " Mrs. 
 Avenel has a soiree dansanU on Thursday shall be very happy 
 to see you in Eaton Square. Stop, I have a card"; and he drew 
 out a dozen large invitation cards, from which he selected one, 
 and presented it to Randal. The Baron pressed that young 
 gentleman's arm, and Randal replied courteously that it would 
 give him great pleasure to be introduced to Mrs. Avenel. Then, 
 as he was not desirous to be seen under the wing of Baron Levy, 
 like a pigeon under that of a hawk, he gently extricated himself, 
 and pleading great haste, walked quickly on toward his office. 
 
 " That young man will make a figure some day," said the 
 Baron. " I don't know any one of his age with so few prejudices. 
 He is a connection by marriage to Audley Egerton, who " 
 
 "Audley Egerton! "exclaimed Mr. Avenel ; "ad d haughty, 
 aristocratic, disagreeable, ungrateful fellow !" 
 
 " Why, what do you know of him ? " 
 
 " He owed his first seat in Parliament to the votes of two near 
 relations of mine, and when I called upon him some time ago, 
 in his office, he absolutely ordered me out of the room. Hang 
 his impertinence ; if ever I can pay him off, I guess I shan't 
 fail for want of good will ! " 
 
 "Ordered you out of the room ? That's not like Egerton, 
 who is so civil, if formal: at least to most men. You must 
 have offended him in his weak point." 
 
 "A man whom the 1 public pays so handsomely should have 
 no weak point. What is Egerton's?" 
 
 " Oh, he values himself on being a thorough gen tlemaij a 
 man of the nicest honor," said Levy with a sneer. " You must 
 have ruffled his plumes there. How was if?" 
 
 " I forget," answered Mr. Avenel, who was far too well versed 
 in the London scale o* human dignities since hjs
 
 24 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 to look back with a blush at his desire of knighthood. "No 
 use bothering our heads now about the plumes of an arrogant 
 popinjay. To return to the subject we were discussing. You 
 must be sure to let me have this money next week." 
 
 " Rely on it." 
 
 "And you'll not let my bills get into the market ; keep them 
 under lock and key." 
 
 " So we agreed." ; 
 
 " It is but a temporary difficulty royal mourning, such non- 
 sense panic in trade, lest these precious ministers go out. I 
 shall soon float over the troubled waters." 
 
 " By the help of a paper boat," said the Baron, laughing ; and 
 the two gentlemen shook hands and parted. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MEANWHILE Audley Egertori's carriage had deposited him at 
 the door of Lord Lansmere's house, at Knightsbridgei He 
 asked for the Countess, and was shown into the drawing-room, 
 which was deserted. Egerton was paler than usual ; and as 
 the door opened, he wiped the unwonted moisture from hisfore- 
 head, and there was a quiver on his firm lip. The Countess too, 
 on entering, showed an emotion almost equally unusual to her self- 
 control. She pressed Audley's hand in silence, and seating herself 
 by his side, seemed to collect her thoughts. At length she said 
 
 " It is rarely indeed that we meet, Mr. Egerton, in spite of 
 your intimacy with Lansmere and Harley. I go so little into 
 your world, and you will not voluntarily come to me." 
 
 "Madam," replied Egerton, "I might evade your kind reproach 
 by stating that my hours are not at my disposal ; but I answer 
 you with plain truth, it must be painful to both of us to meet." 
 
 The Countess colored and sighedy but did not dispute the 
 assertion. 
 
 Audley resumed. " And therefore I presume that, in sending 
 for me, you have something of moment to communicate?" 
 
 " It relates to Harley," said the Countess, as if in apology ; 
 "and I would take your advice." 
 
 "To Harley! Speak on, I beseech you." 
 
 "My son has probably told you that he has educated and 
 reared a young girl, with the intention to make her Lady L'Es- 
 trange, and hereafter Countess of Lansmere." 
 
 " Harley has no secrets from me," said Egerton, mournfully. 
 
 "This youngladyhasarrived inEngland is here in this house." 
 
 "And Harley too?"
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 25 
 
 " No, she came over with Lady N and her daughters. Har- 
 ley was to follow shortly, and I expect him daily. Here is his 
 letter. Observe, he has never yet communicated his intentions 
 to this young person, now intrusted to my care never spoken 
 to her as a lover." 
 
 Egertontooktheletterandreaditrapidly,thoughwithattention. 
 
 "True," saidhe,ashe returned the letter: "and before he does 
 so, he wishes you to see MissDigbyand tojudgeof heryourself 
 wishes to know if you will approve and sanction his choice." 
 
 " It is on this that I would consult you a girl without rank ; 
 the father, it is true, a, gentleman, though almost equivocally 
 one, but the mother, I know not what. And Harley, for whom 
 I had hoped an alliance with the first houses in England ! " 
 The Countess pressed her hands convulsively together. 
 
 EGERTON. He is no more a boy. His talents have been 
 wasted his life a wanderer's. He presents to you a chance of 
 resettling his mind, of re-arousing his native powers, of a home 
 beside your own. Lady Lansmere, you cannot hesitate ! 
 
 LADY LANSME*E. I do, I do ! After all that I have hoped, 
 after all that I did to prevent 
 
 EGERTON (interrupting her). You owe him now an atone- 
 ment ; that is in your power it is not in mine. 
 
 The Countess again pressed Audley's hand, and the tears 
 gushed from her eyes. 
 
 " It shall be so. I consent I consent. I will silence, I will 
 crush back this proud heart. Alas! it well-nigh broke his own ! 
 I am glad you speak thus. I like to think he Owes my consent 
 to you. In that there is atonement for both." 
 
 "You are too generous, madam," said Egerton, evidently 
 moved, though still, as ever, striving to repress emotion. " And 
 now may I see the young lady? This conference pains me; you 
 see even my strong nerves quiver ; and at this time I have much 
 to go through need all my strength and firmness." 
 
 "I hear, indeed, that the Government will probably retire. But it 
 iswithhonor: it will be soon called back by thevoice of the nation." 
 
 " Let me see the future wife of Harley L'Estrange," said 
 Egerton, without heed of the consolatory exclamation. 
 
 The Countess rose and left the room. In a few minutes she 
 returned with Helen Digby. 
 
 Helen was wondrously improved from the pale, delicate child, 
 with the soft smile and intelligent eyes, who had sate by the side of 
 Leonard in his garret. She was about the middle height, still 
 slight, but beautifully formed; that exquisite roundness of pro- 
 portion which conveys so well the idea of woman, in its undulat-
 
 26 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 ing, pliant grace formed to embellish life, and soften away 
 its rude angles formed to embellish, not to protect. Her face 
 might not have satisfied the critical eye of an artist it was 
 not without defects in regularity ; but its expression was emi- 
 nently gentle and prepossessing ; and there were few who would 
 not have exclaimed, " What a lovely countenance!" The mild- 
 ness of her brow was touched with melancholy her childhood 
 had left its traces on her youth. Her step was slow, and her 
 manner shy, subdued, and timid. 
 
 Audley gazed on her with earnestness as she approached him ; 
 and then coming forward, took her hand and kissed it. 
 
 "I am your guardian's constant friend," said he, and he drew 
 her gently to a seat beside him, in the recess of a window. With a 
 quick glance of his eye toward the Countess, he seemed to imply 
 the wish .to converse with Helen somewhat apart. So the Coun- 
 tess interpreted the glance ; and though she remained in the 
 room, she seated herself at a distance, and bent over a book. 
 
 It was touching to see ihowthe austere man of business lent 
 himself to draw forth themindoffthis quiet, shrinking girl ; and if 
 you had listened, you would have comprehended howhecameto 
 possess such social influence, and how well, some timeor other in 
 the course of his life, he had learned to adapt himself to worn en. 
 
 Hespoke first of Harley L'Estrange spoke with tact and deli- 
 cacy. Helen at first answered by monosyllables, and then, by 
 degrees, with grateful and open affection. Audley's brow grew 
 shaded. He then spoke of Italy, and though no man had less of 
 the poet in his nature, yet, with the dexterity of one long versed 
 in the world, and who has been accustomed to extract evidences 
 from characters most opposed to his own, he suggested such topics 
 as might serve to arouse poetry in others. Helen's replies be- 
 trayed a cultivated taste, and a charming womanly mind ; but 
 they betrayed, also, one accustomed to take its colorings from 
 another's to appreciate, admire, revere the Lofty and the Beau- 
 tiful, but humbly and meekly. There was no vivid enthusiasm, 
 no remark of striking originality,no flash of the self -kindling, crea- 
 tive faculty. Lastly, Egerton turned to England to the critical 
 nature of the times to the claims which the country possessed 
 upon all who had the ability to serve and guide its troubled des- 
 tinies. He enlarged warmly on Harley's natural talents, and 
 rejoiced that he had returned to England, perhaps to commence 
 some great career. Helen looked surprised, but her face caught 
 ho correspondent glow from Audley's eloquence. He rose, and 
 an expression of disappointment passed over his grave, hand- 
 some features, and as quickly vanished
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 27 
 
 " Adieu ! my dear Miss Digby ; I fear I have wearied you, 
 especially with my politics. Adieu, Lady Lansmere ; no doubt 
 I shall see Harley as soon as he returns." 
 
 Then he hastened from the ro'om, gained his carriage, and or- 
 dered the coachman to drive to Downing Street. He drew down 
 the blinds, and leant back. A certain languor became visible in his 
 face, and once or twice he mechanically put his hand to his heart. 
 
 " She is good, amiable, docile will make an excelent wife, 
 no doubt," said : he, murmuringly. "But does she love Harley 
 as he has dreamed of love ? No ! Has she the power and energy 
 to rouse his faculties, and restore to the world the Harley of old ? 
 No ! Meant by Heaven to be the shadow of another's sun^ not 
 herself the sun this child is not the one who can atone for the 
 Past and illume the Future." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THAT evening Harley L'Estrange arrived at his father's house. 
 The fe\v years that had passed since we saw him last had made 
 no perceptible change in his appearance. He still preserved his 
 'elastic youthfnlness of form, and' singular activity and play of 
 countenance. He 'seemed unaffectedly rejoiced to greet his par- 
 ents, and had something of the gaiety and the tenderness of a boy 
 returned from school. His manner to Helen bespoke the chiv- 
 alry that pervaded all the complexities, and curves of his charac- 
 ter. It was affectionate, but respectful. Hers to him, subdued 
 but innocently sweet : and gently 'Cordial. Harley was the chief 
 talker. The aspect of the times was s6 critical, that lie could 
 not avoid questions on politics ; and, indeed, he showed an in- 
 terest in them which he had never evinced before. Lord Lans- 
 mere was delighted. 
 
 " Why, Harley, you love your country* after all ? " 
 
 " The moment she seems in danger yes ! " replied the Pa- 
 trician ; and the Sybarite seemed to rise into the Athenian. 
 
 Then he asked with eagerness about his old friend, Audley ; 
 and, his curiosity satisfied -here, he inquired the last literary news. 
 He had heard much of a book lately published. : He named the 
 one ascribed by Parson Dale to Professor Moss : none of his 
 listeners had read it. 
 
 Harley pished at this, and accused them all of indolence and 
 stupidity, in his own quaint, metaphorical style. Then he 
 said " And town gossip ? " 
 
 " We never hear it," said Lady Lansmere. 
 
 " There is a new plough much talked of at Boodle's," said 
 Lord Lansmere.
 
 28 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " God speed it. But is there not a new man much talked of at 
 White's?" 
 
 " I don't belong to White's." 
 
 " Nevertheless, you may have heard of him a foreigner, a 
 Count di Peschiera." 
 
 "Yes," said Lord Lansmere ; " he was pointed out to me in 
 the Park a handsome man for a foreigner ; wears his hair 
 properly cut ; looks gentlemanlike and English/' 
 
 "Ah, ah ! He is here then ! " And Harley rubbed his hands. 
 
 " Which road did you take ? did you pass the Simplon ? " 
 
 " No ; I came straight from Vienna." 
 
 Then, relating with lively vein his adventures by the way, he 
 continued to delight Lord Lansmere by his gaiety till the time 
 came to retire to rest. As soon as Harley was in his own room, 
 his mother joined him. 
 
 " Well," said he, " I need not ask if you like Miss Digby. 
 Who would not ? " 
 
 " Harley, my own son," said the mother, bursting into tears, 
 "be happy your own way ; only be happy, that is all I ask." 
 
 Harley, much affected, replied gratefully and soothingly to 
 this fond injunction. And then gradually leading his mother on 
 to converse of Helen, asked abruptly "And of the chance of 
 our happiness her happiness as well as mine what is your 
 opinion ? Speak frankly." 
 
 "Of /*<?/- happiness there can be no doubt," replied the mother, 
 proudly. " Of yours, how can you ask me ? Have you not de- 
 cided on' that yourself ? " 
 
 " But still it cheers and encourages one in any experiment, 
 however well considered, to hear the approval of another. 
 Helen has certainly a most gentle temper." 
 
 ' I should conjecture so. But her mind' " 
 
 ' Is very well stored." 
 
 ' She speaks so little " 
 
 ' Yes. I wonder why ? She's surely a woman ! " 
 
 ' Pshaw ! " said the Countess, smiling in spite of herself. 
 " But tell me more of the process of your experiment. You 
 took her as a child, and resolved to train her according to your 
 own ideal. Was that easy ? " 
 
 "It seemed so. I desired to instil habits of truth ; she was 
 already by nature, truthful as the day ; a taste for nature and all 
 things natural that seemed inborn ; perceptions of Art as the 
 interpreter of Nature those were more difficult to teach. I 
 think they may come. You have heard her play and sing ? " 
 
 " No."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 29 
 
 " She will surprise you. She has less talent for drawing ; still, 
 all that teaching could do has been done in a word, she is ac- 
 complished. Temper, heart, mind these are all excellent." Har- 
 ley stopped and suppressed a sigh. "Certainly I ought to be 
 very happy," said he ; and he began to wind up his watch. 
 
 " Of course she must love you ? " said the Countess, after a 
 pause. " How could she fail ? " 
 
 " Love me ! My dear mother, that is the very question I 
 shall have to ask." 
 
 "Ask! Love is discovered by aglance; it has no need of asking." 
 
 "I have never discovered it, then, I assure ypu. The fact is, 
 that before her childhood was passed, I removed her, as you may 
 suppose, from my roof. She resided with an Italian family, 
 near my usual abode. I visited her often, directed her studies, 
 watched her improvement " 
 
 "And fell in love with her?" 
 
 " Fall is such a very violent word. No ; I don't remember 
 to have had a fall. It was all a smooth inclined plane from the 
 first step, until at last I said to myself, 'HarleyL'Estrange, thy 
 time has come. The bud has blossomed into flower. Take it to 
 thy breast.' And myself replied to myself, meekly, ' So be it.' 
 Then I found that Lady N , with her daughters, was coming 
 to England. I asked her ladyship to take my ward to your 
 house. I wrote to you, and prayed your assent ; and, that 
 granted, I knew you would obtain my father's. I am here 
 you give me the approval I sought for. I will speak to Helen 
 to-morrow. Perhaps, after all, she may reject me." 
 
 "Strange, strange you speak thus coldly, thus lightly ; you, 
 so capable of ardent love ! " 
 
 " Mother," said Harley, earnestly, " be satisfied;! / am ! Love, 
 as of old, I feel, alas ! too well, can visit me no more. But gen- 
 tle companionship, tender friendship, the relief and the sunlight 
 of woman's smile hereafter the voices of children music that, 
 striking on the hearts of both parents, wakens the most lasting 
 and the purest of all sympathies : these are my hope. Is the 
 hope so mean, my fond mother ? " 
 
 Again the Countess wept, and her tears were not dried when 
 she left the room. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OH ! Helen, fair Helen type of the quiet, serene, unnoticed, 
 deep-felt excellence of woman. Woman, less as the ideal that a 
 poet conjures from the air, than as the companion of a poet on 
 the earth ! Woman, who, with her clear sunny vision of things
 
 30 MY NOVEl, ; OR, 
 
 actual, and the exquisite fibre of her delicate sense, supplies the 
 deficiencies of him whose foot stumbles on the soil, because his 
 eye is too intent upon the stars ! Woman, the provident the 
 comforting angel whose pinions are folded round the heart, 
 guarding there a divine spring unmarred by the winter of 'the 
 world ! Helen, soft Helen, is it indeed in thee that the wild and 
 brilliant "lord of wantonness and ease" is to find the regenera- 
 tion of his life the re-baptism of his soul? Of what avail thy 
 meek prudent household virtues to one whom Fortune screens 
 from rough trial ! whose sorrows lie remote from thy ken ? 
 whose spirit, erratic and perturbed, now rising, now falling, needs 
 a vision more subtle than thine to pursue, and a strength that 
 can sustain the reason, when it droops, on the wings of enthu- 
 siasm and -passion ? 
 
 And thou, thyself, Oh Nature, shrinking and humble, thatneed- 
 est to be courted forth from the shelter, and developed under the 
 calm and genial atmosphere of holy, happy tove can such af- 
 fection as Harley L J Estrange may proffer suffice to thee ? Will 
 not the blossoms, yet folded in the petal, wither away beneath 
 the shade that may protect them from the storm, and yet shut 
 them from the sun? Thou who, where thou givest love, seek- 
 est, though -tneekly, for love in return, to be the soul's sweet 
 necessity; the life's household partner to him who receives all 
 thy faith and devotion canst thou influence the sources of joy 
 and of sorrow in the heart that d6es not heave at thy name? 
 Hast thou the charm and the force of the moon, that the tides 
 of that wayward sea shall ebb and flow at thy will? Yet who 
 shall say who conjecture how near two hearts can become, when 
 no guilt lies between them, and time brings the ties all its own? 
 Rarest of all things on earth is the union in which both, by their 
 contrasts, mak'e harmonious their blending; each supplying the 
 defects of the helpmate, and completing, by fusion, one strong 
 human soul ! Happiness enough, where even Peace does but 
 seldom preside, when each cari bring to the altar, if not the flame, 
 still the incense. Where man's thoughts are all noble and gen- 
 erous, woman's feelings all gentle and pure, love may follow, if 
 it does not precede; and if not, if the roses be missed from the 
 garland, one may sigh for the rose, but one is safe from the thorn. 
 The morning was mild, yet somewhat overcast by the mist 
 which announces coming winter in London, and Helen walked 
 musingly beneath the trees that surrounded the garden of Lord 
 Lansmere's house. Many leaves were yet left on the boughs; 
 but they were sere and withered. And the birds chirped at 
 -times; but their note was mournful and complaining. All \vitiiin
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 31 
 
 this house, until Harley's arrival, had been strange and sadden- 
 ing to Helen's timid and subdued spirits. Lady Lansmerehad 
 received her kindly, but with a certain restraint; and the loftiness 
 of manner, common to the Countess with all but Harley, had awed 
 and chilled the diffident orphan. Lady Lansmere's very interest 
 in Harley's choice her attempts to draw Helen out of her re- 
 serve her watchful eyes whenever Helen shyly spoke, or shyly 
 moved, frightened the poor child, and made her unjust to herself. 
 
 The very servants, though staid, grave, and respectful, as suited 
 a dignified, old-fashioned household, painfully contrasted the 
 bright welcoming smiles and free talk of Italian domestics. 
 Her recollections of the happy warm Continental manner, which 
 so sets the bashful at their ease, made the stately and cold pre- 
 cision of all around her doubly awful and dispiriting. Lord 
 Lansmere himself, who did not as yet know the views of Harley, 
 and little dreamed that he was to anticipate a daughter in-law in 
 the ward, whom he understood Harley, in a freak of generous 
 romance, had adopted, was familiar and courteous, as became a 
 host. But he looked upon Helen as a mere child, and naturally 
 left her to the Countess. The dim sense of her equivocal posi- 
 tion of ; her comparative humbleness of birth and fortunes, 
 oppressed and pained her; and even her gratitude to Harley was 
 made burthensorne by a sentiment of helplessness. The grate- 
 ful long to requite. And what could she ever do for him ? 
 
 Thus'musing, she wandered alone through the curving walks; 
 and this sort of mock country landscape London loud, and 
 even visible, beyond the high gloomy walls, and no escape from the 
 windows of the square formal house seemed a type of the prison 
 bounds of Rank to one whose soul yearns for simple loving Nature. 
 
 Helen's reverie was interrupted by Nero's joyous bark. He had 
 caught sight of her, and came bounding up, and thrust his large 
 head into her hand. As she stooped to caress the dog, happy at 
 his honest greeting, and tears that had been long gathering to the 
 lids fell silently on his face (for I know nothing that more moves 
 us to tears than the hearty kindness of a dog, when something in 
 human beings has pained or chilled us), sheheardbehindthemusi- 
 cal voice of Harley. Hastily she dried or repressed her tears, as 
 her guardian came up, and drew her arm within his own. 
 
 " I had so little of your conversation last evening, my dear ward, 
 that I may well monopolize you now, even to the privation of 
 Nero. And so you are once more in your native land ? " 
 
 Helen sighed softly. 
 
 " May I not hope that you return under fairer auspices than 
 those which your childhood knew ? "
 
 32 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Helen turned hereyes with ingenuous thankfulness to her guard- 
 ian, and the memory of all she owed to him rushed upon her heart. 
 
 Harley renewed, and with earnest, though melancholy sweet- 
 ness" Helen, your eyes thank me; but hear me before your 
 words do. I deserve no thanks. I am about to make to you 
 a strange confession of egotism and selfishness." 
 
 " You ! oh, impossible ! " 
 
 " Judge yourself, and then decidewhich of us shall have cause 
 to be grateful. Helen, when I was scarcely your age a boy in 
 years, but more, methinks, a man at heart, with man's strong 
 energies and sublime aspirings, than I have ever since been I 
 loved, and deeply " 
 
 He paused a moment, in evident struggle. Helen listened in 
 mute surprise, but his emotion awakened her own; her tender 
 woman's heart yearned to console. Unconsciously her arm 
 rested on his less lightly. 
 
 " Deeply and for sorrow. It is a long tale, that may ber told 
 hereafter. The worldly would call my love a madness. I did not 
 reason on it then I cannot reason on it now. Enough: death 
 smote suddenly, terribly, and to me mysteriously, her whom I 
 loved. The love lived on. Fortunately, perhaps for me. I had 
 quick distraction, not to grief, but to its inert indulgence. I was 
 a soldier; I joined our armies. Men called me brave. Flattery! 
 I was a coward before the thought of life. I sought death: like 
 sleep it does not come at our call. Peace ensued. As when the 
 winds fall, the sails droop so when excitement ceased, all seemed 
 to me flat and objectless. Heavy, heavy was my heart. Perhaps 
 grief had been less obstinate, but that I feared I had cause for 
 self-reproach. Since then I have been a wanderer a self-made 
 exile. My boyhood had been ambitious all ambition ceased. 
 Flames, when they reach the core of the heart, spread, and leave 
 all in ashes. Let me be brief: I did not mean thus weakly to com- 
 plain 1 to whom Heaven has given so many blessings! I felt, as 
 it were, separated from the common objects and joys of men. I 
 grew startled to see how, year by year, wayward humors possessed 
 me. I resolved again to attach myself to some living heart it 
 was my sole chance to rekindle my own. But the one I had loved 
 remained as my type of woman,, and she was different from all I 
 saw. Therefore I said to myself, ' I will rear from childhood some 
 young fresh life, to grow up into my ideal.' As this thought began 
 to haunt me, I chanced to discover you. Struck with the romance 
 of your early life, touched by your courage, charmed by your af- 
 fectionate nature, I said to myself, ' Here is what I seek.' Helen, 
 in assuming the guardianship of your life, in all the culture which
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 33 
 
 I have sought to bestow on your docile childhood, I repeat, that 
 I have been but the egotist. And now, when you have reached 
 that age, when it becomes me to speak, and you to listen now, 
 when you are under the sacred roof of my own mother now I 
 ask you, can you accept this heart, such as wasted years, and griefs 
 too fondly nursed, have left it ? Can you be, at least, my com- 
 forter? Can you aid me to regard life as a duty, and recover those 
 aspirations which once soared from the paltry and miserable 
 confines of our frivolous daily being? Helen, here I ask you, 
 can you be all this, and under the name of Wife?" 
 
 It would be in vain to describe the rapid, varying, indefinable 
 emotions that passed through the inexperienced heart of the 
 youthful listener, as Harley thus spoke. He so moved all the 
 springs of amaze, compassion, tender respect, sympathy, child- 
 like gratitude, that when he'paused and gently took her hand, she 
 remained bewildered, speechless, overpowered. Harley smiled 
 as he gazed upon her blushing, downcast, expressive face. He 
 conjectured at once that the idea of such proposals had never 
 crossed her mind; that she had never contemplated him in the 
 character of wooer; never even sounded her heart as to the 
 nature of such feelings as his image had aroused. 
 
 " My Helen," he resumed, with a calm pathos of voice, " there 
 is some disparity of years between us, and perhaps I may not hope 
 henceforth for that love which youth gives to the young. Per- 
 mit me simply to ask, what you will frankly answer ' Can you 
 have seen in our quiet life abroad, or under the roof of your 
 Italian friends, any one you prefer to me ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, no!" murmured Helen. "How could I? 
 who is like you ? " Then, with a sudden effort for her innate 
 truthfulness took alarm, and her very affection for Harley, 
 child-like and reverent, made her tremble lest she should de- 
 ceive him she drew a little aside, and spoke thus: 
 
 " Oh, my dear guardian, noblest of all human beings, at least 
 in my eyes, forgive, forgive me, if I seem ungrateful, hesitating; 
 but I cannot, cannot think of myself as worthy of you. I never 
 so lifted my eyes. Your rank, your position-" 
 
 " Why should they be eternally my curse ? Forget them, and 
 go on." 
 
 "It is not only they," said Helen, almost sobbing, "though 
 they are much; but I your type, your ideal! I! impossible! 
 Oh, how can I ever be anything even of : use, of aid, of comfort, 
 to one like you ! " 
 
 "You can, Helen you can," cried Harley, charmed by such 
 ingenuous modesty. " May I not keep this hand ? "
 
 34 MV NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 And Helen left her hand in Harley's, and turned away her face, 
 fairly weeping. A stately step passed under the wintry trees. 
 
 11 My mother," said Harley L'Estrange, looking up, "I present 
 to you my future wife." 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WITH a slow step and an abstracted air, Harley L'Estrange 
 bent his way toward Egerton's house, after his eventful inter- 
 view with Helen. He had just entered one of the streets leading 
 into Grosvenor Square, when a young man, walking quickly from 
 the opposite direction, came full against him, and drawing back 
 with a brief apology, recognized him, and .exclaimed, "What! you 
 in England, Lord L'Estrange! Accept my congratulations on 
 your return. But you seem scarcely to remember me." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Mr. Leslie. I remember you now by your 
 smile; but you are of an age, in which it is permitted me to say 
 that you look older than when I saw you last." 
 
 "And yet, Lord L'Estrange, it seems to me that you look 
 younger." ., j v 
 
 Indeed, this reply was so far true; that there appeared less 
 difference of years than before between Leslie and L'Estrange; 
 for the wrinkles in the schemer'smind were visible in his visage, 
 while Harley's dreamy worship of Truth and Beauty seemed to 
 have preserved to the votary the enduring youth of the divinities. 
 
 Harley received the compliment with a supreme indifference, 
 which might have been suitable to a Stoic, but which seemed 
 scarcely natural to a gentleman who had just proposed to a lady 
 many years younger than himself. 
 
 Leslie renewed "Perhaps you are .on your way to Mr. Eger- 
 ton's, If so, you will not find him at home ; he is at his office." 
 
 "Thank you. Then to his office I must re-direct my steps." 
 
 "I am going to him myself," said Randal, hesitatingly. 
 
 L'Estrange had no prepossessions in favor of Leslie, from the 
 little he had seen of that young gentleman; but Randal's remark 
 was an appeal to his habitual urbanity, and he replied, with well- 
 bred readiness, "Let. us be companions so far." 
 
 Randal accepted the arm proffered to him ; and Lord L'Es- 
 trange, as is usual with one long absent from his native land, 
 bore .part as a questioner in the dialogue that ensued. 
 
 " Egerton is always the same man, I suppose too busy for 
 illness, and too firm for sorrow ? " 
 
 " If he ever feel either, he will never stoop to complain. But, 
 indeed, my dear lord, I should like much to know what you 
 think of his health."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 35 
 
 " How ? You alarm me ! " 
 
 " Nay, I do not mean to do that ; and pray do not let him 
 know that I went so far. But I have fancied that he looks a 
 little worn and suffering." 
 
 "Poor Audley ! " said L'Estrange, in a tone of deep affection. 
 "I will sound him, and, be assured, without naming you ; for I 
 know well how little he likes to be supposed capable of human 
 infirmity. I am obliged to you for your hint obliged to you 
 for your interest in one so dear to me." 
 
 And Harley's voice was more cordial to Randal than it had 
 ever been before: He then began to inquire what Randal thought 
 of the rumors that had reached himself as to the probable defeat 
 of the Government, and how far Audley's spirits were affected by 
 such risks. But Randal here, seeing diat Harley could communi- 
 cate nothing, was reserved and guarded. 
 
 "Loss of office could not, I think, effect a man like Audley," 
 observed Lord L'Estrange. " He would be as great in oppo- 
 sition perhaps greater ; and as to emoluments " 
 
 "The emoluments are good," interposed Randal, with a half- 
 sigh. 
 
 " Good enough, I suppose, to pay him back about a tenth of 
 what his place costs our magnificent friend No, I will say one 
 thing for English statesmen, no man amongst them ever yet was 
 the richer for place." 
 
 ; "And Mr. Egerton's private fortune must be large, I take for 
 granted," said Randal, carelessly. 
 
 " It ought to be, if he has time to look to it." 1 
 
 Here they passed the hotel in which lodged the Count diPes- 
 chiera. 
 
 Randal stopped. " Will you excuse me for an instant ? As 
 we are passing this hotel, I will just leave my card here." So 
 saying he gave his card to a waiter lounging by the door. " For 
 the Count di Peschiera," said he aloud. 
 
 L'Estrange started ;>and as Randal again took his arm, said 
 "So that Italian lodges here ? and you know him ?" 
 
 "I know him but slightly, as one knows any foreigner who 
 makes a sensation." 
 
 "He makes a sensation ? " 
 
 " Naturally, for he is handsome, witty, and said to be very rich 
 that is, as long as he receives the revenues of his exiled kinsman." 
 
 " 1 see you are well informed, Mr. Leslie. And what is sup- 
 posed to bring hither the Count di Peschiera?" 
 
 "I did hear something, which I did not quite understand, 
 about a bet of his that he would marry his kinsman's daughter:
 
 36 MY NOVEL', OR, 
 
 and so, I conclude, secure to himself all the inheritance; and that 
 he is therefore : here to discover the kinsman and win the heiress. 
 But probably you know the rights of the story, and can tell me 
 what credit to give to such gossip." 
 
 " I know this at least, that if he did lay such a wager, I would 
 advise you to take any odds against him that his backers may 
 give," said L'Estrange, dryly ; and while his lips quivered with 
 anger, his eye gleamed with arch ironical humor. 
 
 " You think, then, that this poor kinsman will not need such 
 an alliance in order to regain his estates?" 
 
 " Yes ; for I never yet knew a rogue whom I could not bet 
 against, when he backed his own luck as a rogue against Justice 
 and Providence," 
 
 Randal winced, and felt as if an arrow had grazed his heart ; 
 but he soon recovered. 
 
 " And indeed there is another vague rumor that the young 
 lady in question is married already to some Englishman." 
 
 This time it was Harley who winced. " Good Heavens! that 
 cannot be true that would undo all ! An Englishman just at 
 this moment! But some Englishman of correspondent rank, I 
 trust, or at least one known for opinions opposed to what an 
 Austrian would call Revolutionary doctrines ?" 
 
 "I know nothing. But it was supposed, merely a private 
 gentleman of good family. Would not that suffice ? Can the 
 Austrian Court dictate a marriage to the daughter as a condition 
 for grace to the father ? " 
 
 "No not that!" said Harley, greatly disturbed. "But put 
 yourself in the position of any minister to one of the great 
 European monarchies. Suppose a political insurgent, formidable 
 for station and wealth, had been proscribed, much interest made 
 on his behalf, a powerful party striving against it, and just when 
 the minister is disposed to relent, he hears that the heiress to this 
 wealth and this station is married to the native of a country in 
 which sentiments friendly to the very opinions for which the in- 
 surgent was proscribed are popularly entertained, and thus that 
 the fortune to be restored may be so employed as to disturb the 
 national security the existing order of things ; this, too, at the 
 very time when a popular revolution has just occurred in 
 France,* and its effects are felt most in the very land of the 
 exile ; suppose all this, and then say if any thing could be more 
 untoward for the hopes of the banished man, or furnish his ad- 
 versary with stronger arguments against the restoration of his 
 
 *As there have been so many revolutions in France, it m^y be convenient to suggest that, 
 according to the dates of this story, Harley no doubt alludes to that revolution which exiled 
 Charles X.,and placed Louis Philippe on the throne.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 37 
 
 fortune ? But pshaw this must be a chimera! If true. I would 
 have known of it." 
 
 " I quite agree with your lordship there can be no truth in 
 such a rumor. Some Englishman, hearing, perhaps, of the prob- 
 able pardon of the exile, may have counted on an heiress, and 
 spread the report in order to keep off other candidates. By 
 your account, if successful in his suit, he might fail to find an 
 heiress in the bride." 
 
 " No doubt of that. Whatever might be arranged, I can't 
 conceive that he would be allowed to get at the fortune, though it 
 might be held in suspense for his children. But,indeed,it so rarely 
 happens that an Italian girl of high name marries a foreigner, 
 that we must dismiss this notion with a smile at the long face of the 
 hypothetical fortune-hunter. Heaven help him, if he exist ! " 
 
 " Amen," echoed Randal, devoutly. 
 
 " I hear that Peschiera's sister is returned to England. Do 
 you know her too ? " 
 
 "A little." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Leslie, pardon me if I take a liberty not war- 
 ranted by our acquaintance. Against the lady I say nothing. 
 Indeed, I have heard some things which appear to entitle her to 
 compassion and respect. But as to Peschiera, all who prize honor 
 suspect him to be a knave I know him to be one. Now, I think 
 that the longer we preserve that abhorrence for knavery which 
 is the generous instinct of youth, why, the fairer will be our man- 
 hood, and the most reverend our age. You agree with me ? " 
 And Harley suddenly turning, his eyes fell like a flood of light 
 upon Randal's pale and secret countenance. 
 
 "To be sure," murmured the. schemer. 
 
 Harley, surveying him, mechanically recoiled, .and withdrew 
 his arm. 
 
 Fortunately for Randal, who somehow or other felt himself 
 slipped into a false position, he scarce knew howor why, he was 
 here seized by the arm; and a clear, open, manly voice cried, 
 " My dear fellow, how are you ? I see you are engaged now; but 
 look into my rooms when you can, in the course of the day." 
 
 And with a bow of excuse for his interruption, to Lord L'Es- 
 trange, the speaker was then turning away, when Harley said 
 
 " No, don't let me take you from your friend, Mr. Leslie. And 
 you need not be in a hurry to see Egerton; for I shall claim the 
 privilege of older friendship for the first interview." 
 
 " It is Mr, Egerton's nephew, Frank Hazeldean." 
 
 " Pray, call him back, and present me to him. He has a face 
 that would have gone far to reconcile Timon to Athens."
 
 38 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Randal obeyed, and after a few kindly words to Frank, Har- 
 ley insisted on leaving the two young men together, and walked 
 on to Downing Street with a brisk step. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " THAT Lord L-'Estrange seems a very good fellow." 
 
 " So-so an effeminate humorist says the most absurd things, 
 and fancies them wise. Never mind him. You wanted to speak 
 to me, Frank ? " 
 
 . "Yes; I am so obliged to you for introducing me to Levy. I 
 must tell you how handsomely he has behaved." 
 
 " Stop; allow me to remind you that I did not introduce you 
 to Levy; you had met him before at Borrowell's, if I recollect 
 right, and he dined with us at the Clarendon that is all I had to 
 do in bringing you together; Indeed I rather cautioned you 
 against him than not. Pray don't think I introduced you to a man" 
 who,however pleasant and perhaps honest,is still a money-lender. 
 Your father would be justly angry with me if I had done so." 
 
 " Oh, pooh! you are prejudiced against poor Levy. But just 
 hear; I was sitting very ruefully, thinking over those cursed bills, 
 and how the deuce I should renew them, when Levy walked into 
 my rooms; and, after telling me of his long friendship for my 
 uncle Egerton and his admiration for yourself, and (give me your 
 hand, Randal) saying how touched he felt by your kind sym- 
 pathy in my troubles, he opened his pocket-book, and showed 
 me the bills safe and sound in his Own possession." 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 " He had bought them up. 'It must be so disagreeable tome,' 
 he said, ' to have them flying about the London money-market, 
 and those Jews would be sure sooner or later to apply to my 
 father. And now,' added Levy, ' I am in no immediate hurry for 
 the money, and we must put the interest upon fairer terms.' In 
 short, nothing could bemore liberal than his tone. And he says, 
 'he is thinking of a way to relieve me altogether, and will call 
 aboutit in afew days, when his plan is matured.' After all', I must 
 owe this to you, Randal. I dare swear you put it into his head." 
 
 " O no, indeed! On the contrary, I still say, ' Be cautious in 
 all your dealings with Levy.' I don't know, I'm sure, what he 
 means to propose. Have you heard from the Hall lately ?" 
 
 " Yes to-day. Only think the Riccaboccas have disap- 
 peared. My mother writes me word of it a very odd letter. 
 She seems to suspect that I know where they are, and reproaches 
 we for ' mystery ' quite enigmatical. But there is one sen-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 39 
 
 tence in her letter see. here it is in the postscript which seems 
 to refer to Beatrice: 'I don't ask you to tell me your secrets, 
 Frank, but Randal will no doubt have assured you that my first 
 consideration will be for your own happiness, in any matter in 
 which your heart is really engaged.' " 
 
 "Yes," said Randal, slowly; " no doubt this refers to Beatrice; 
 but, as I told you, your mother will not interfere oneway or the 
 other -such interference would weaken her influence with the 
 Squire. Besides, as she said, she can't wish you to marry a foreign- 
 er; though once married, she would But hosv do you stand 
 now with the Marchesa ? Has she consented to accept you ? " 
 
 '* Not quite; indeed, I have not actually proposed. Herman- 
 ner, though much softened, has not so far emboldened me; and, 
 besides, before a positive declaration, I certainly must go down 
 to the Hall ; and speak at least to my mother." 
 
 "You must judge for yourself, but don't do anything rash : 
 talk first to me. ' Here we are at my office. Good-bye; and 
 and pray believe that, in whatever yoii do with Levy, I have no 
 hand in it." 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 TOWARD the evening, Randal was riding fast on the road to 
 Norwood. The arrival of Barley, and the conversation that had 
 passed between that nobleman and Randal, made the latter anx- 
 ious to ascertain how far Riccabocca was likely to learn L'Es- 
 trange's return to England, and to meet with him. For he felt 
 that, should the latter come to know that Riccabocca, in his 
 movements, had gone by Randal's advice, Harley would find 
 that Randal had spoken to him disingenuously; and, on the other 
 hand, Riccbaocca, placed under the friendly protection of Lord 
 L'Estrange, would no longer need Randal Leslie to defend him 
 from the machinations of Peschiera. To a reader happily unac- 
 customed to diveintothe deep and mazyfecesses of a schemer's 
 mind, itmight seem that Randal's interestin retaining a hold over 
 the exile's confidence would terminate with the assurances that 
 had reached him, from more than one quarter, that Violante 
 might cease to be an heiress if she married himself. " But per- 
 haps," suggests some candid and youthful conjecturer "per- 
 haps Randal Leslie is : in love with this fair creature ?" Randal 
 in love! no! He was too absorbed by harder passions for that 
 blissful folly. Nor, if he could have fallen in love, was Violante 
 the one to attract that sullen secret heart; her instinctive noble- 
 ness, the very stateliness of her beauty, womanlike though it 
 was, awed him. Men of that kind may love some soft slave
 
 4O MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 they cannot lift their eyes to a queen. They may look down 
 they cannot look up. But, on the one hand, Randal could not 
 resign altogether the chance of securing a fortune that would 
 realize his most dazzling dreams, upon the mere assurance, how- 
 ever probable, which had so dismayed him .; and, on the other 
 hand, should he be compelled to relinquish all idea of such alli- 
 ance, though he did not contemplate the base perfidy of actually 
 assisting Peschiera's avowed design, still, if Frank's marriage 
 with Beatrice should absolutely depend upon her brother's ob- 
 taining the knowledge, of Violante's retreat, and that marriage 
 should be as conducive to his interests as he thought he could 
 make it, why he did not then push his deductions farther, even 
 to himself they seemed too black ; but he sighed heavily, and 
 that sigh foreboded how weak would be honor and virtue against 
 avarice and ambition. Therefore, on all accounts, Riccabocca 
 was one of those cards in a sequence, which so calculating a 
 player would not throw out. of his hand: it might serve for re- 
 pique, at the worst, it might score well in the game. Intimacy 
 with the Italian was still part and parcel in that knowledge which 
 was the synonym of power. 
 
 While the young man was thus meditating, on his road to 
 Norwood, Riccabocca and his Jemima were close conferring in 
 their drawing-room. And if you could have there seen them, 
 reader, you would have been seized with equal surprise and curi- 
 osityjforsomeextraordinarycommunicationhad certainly passed 
 between them. Riccabocca wag evidently much agitated, and 
 with emotions not familiar to him. The tears stood in his eyes 
 at the same time that a smile, the reverse of cynical or sardonic, 
 curved his lips; while his wife was leaning her head on his 
 shoulder, her hand clasped in his, and, by the expression of her 
 face, you might guess that he had paid her some very gratifying 
 compliment, of a nature more genuine and sincere than those 
 which characterized his habitual hollow and dissimulating gal' 
 lantry. But j ust at this moment Giacomo entered, and Jemima, 
 with her native English modesty, withdrew in haste from Ric- 
 cabocca's sheltering side. 
 
 " Padrone," said Giacomo, who, whatever his astonishment at 
 the connubial position he had disturbed, was much too discreet 
 to betray it "Padrone, I see the young Englishman riding to- 
 ward the house, and I hope, when he arrives, you will not forget 
 the alarming information I gave you this morning." 
 
 " Ah -ah ! " said Riccabocca, his face falling. 
 
 " If the Signorina were but married ! " 
 
 "My very thought my constant thought!" exclaimed Rice*-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 41 
 
 bocca. "And you really believe the young Englishman loves 
 her!" 
 
 " Why else should he come, excellency ? " asked Giacomo, 
 with great naiveti. 
 
 "Very true; why, indeed?" said Riccabocca. "Jemima,! 
 cannot endure the terrors I suffer on that poor child's account. 
 I will open myself frankly to Randal Leslie. And, now, too, 
 that which might have been a serious consideration, in case I 
 return to Italy, will no longer stand in our way, Jemima.'' 
 
 Jemima smiled faintly, and whispered something to Ricca- 
 bocca, to which he replied, 
 
 " Nonsense, anima. mia. I know it will be have not a doubt 
 of it. I tell youitisasnine tofour, according to the nicest calcu- 
 lations. I will speak at once to Randal. He is too young 
 too timid to speak himself." 
 
 " Certainly," interposed Giacomo; "how could he dare to 
 speak, let him love ever so well ? " 
 
 Jemima shook her head. 
 
 "Oh, never fear," said Riccabocca, observing this gesture ; " I 
 will give him the trial. If he entertain but mercenary views, I 
 shall soon detect them. I know human nature pretty-well,! think, 
 my love ; and, Giacomo, just get me my Machiavelli ; that's 
 right. Now leave me, my dear ; I must reflect,and prepare myself." 
 
 When Randal entered the house,Giacomo, with a smile of pecu- 
 liar suavity, ushered him into the drawing-room. He found Ric- 
 cabocca alone, and seated before the fireplace, leaning his face on 
 his hand, with the great folio of Machiavelli lying pen on the table. 
 
 The Italian received him as courteously as usual ; but there 
 was in his manner acertain serious and thoughtful dignity, which 
 was perhaps the more imposing, because but rarely assumed. 
 After a few preliminai y observations,Randal remarked that Frank 
 Hazeldean had informed him of the curiosity which the dis- 
 appearance of the Riccaboccas had excited at the Hall, and in- 
 quired carelessly if the Doctor had left instructions as to the for- 
 warding of any letters that might be directed to him at the Casino. 
 
 "Letters," said Riccabocca, simply; "I never receive any; 
 or, at least, so rarely, that it is not worth while to take an event 
 so little expected into consideration. No ; if any letters do 
 reach the Casino, there they will wait." 
 
 " Then I can see no possibility of indiscretion, no chance 
 of a clue to your address." 
 
 " Nor I either." 
 
 Satisfied so far, and knowing that it was not in Riccabocca's 
 habits to read the newspapers, by which he might otherwise have
 
 42 MY NOVEL ; OR 
 
 learnt of L'Estrange's arrival in London, Randal then proceeded 
 to inquire, with much seeming interest, into the health of Violan- 
 te hoped it did not suffer by confinement,etC; Riccaboccaeyed 
 him gravely while he spoke, and then suddenly rising, that air of 
 dignity to which I have before referred became yet more striking. 
 
 " My young friend," said he, " hear me attentively, and answer 
 me frankly. I know human nature " Here a slight smile of 
 proud complacency passed the sage's lips, and his eye glanced 
 toward his Machiavelli. i ".I know human nature at least I 
 have;studied it," he renewed more earnestly, and with less evi- 
 dent self-conceit ; " and I believe that when a perfect stranger 
 to me exhibits an interest in my affairs, which occasions him no 
 small trouble an interest (continued the wise man, laying his 
 hand on Randal's shoulder) which scarcely a son could exceed, 
 he must be under the influence of some strong personal motive." 
 
 "Oh, sir ! " cried Randal, turning a shade more pale, and with 
 a faltering tone. Riccabocca surveyed him with the tenderness 
 of a superior being, and pursued his deductive theories. 
 
 4i ln your case, what is that motive? Not political ; for I con- 
 elude you share the opinions of your government, and those 
 opinions have not favored mine. Not that of pecuniary or am- 
 bitious calculations'; for how can such calculations enlist you on 
 behalf of a ruined exile? Whatremains? Why, themotive which 
 at your age is ever the most natural and the strongest. I don't 
 blame you. Machiavelli himself allows that such a motive has 
 swayed the wisest minds,and overturned the most solid states. In a 
 word,youngman,you are in love,and with my daughter Violante." 
 
 Randal was so startled by this direct and unexpected charge 
 upon his own masked batteries, that he did not even attempt 
 his defence. His head drooped on his breast, and he remained 
 speechless. ti 
 
 "I do not doubt," resumed the penetrating judge of human 
 nature, "that you would have been withheld, by the laudable 
 and generous scruples which characterize your happy age, from 
 voluntarily disclosing to me the state of your heart. You might 
 suppose that, proud of the position I once held, or sanguine in 
 the hope of regaining my inheritance, I might be over-ambitious 
 in^ my matrimonial views for Violante ; or that you, anticipating 
 my restoration to honors and fortune, might seem actuated by 
 the last motives which influence love and youth. ; and therefore, 
 my dear young friend, I have departed from the ordinary custom 
 in England, and adopted a very common one in my own country. 
 With us a suitor seldom presents himself till he is assured of the 
 consent of the father. I have only to say this if I am right,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 43 
 
 and you love my daughter, my first object in life is to see her 
 safe and secure ; and, in a word you understand me." 
 
 Now, mightily may it comfort and console us ordinary mortals, 
 who advance no pretence to 'superior" wisdom and ability, to see 
 the huge mistake made by both these very sagacious personages 
 Dr. Riccabocca, valuing himself on his profound acquaintance 
 with character, and Randal Leslie, accustomed to grope into 
 every hole and corner of thought and action, wherefrom to ex- 
 tract that knowledge which is power! For whereas the sage, 
 judging not only by his own heart in youth, but by the general 
 influences of the master-passion on the young, had ascribed to 
 Randal sentiments wholly foreign tothabablediplomatist'snature; 
 so no sooner had Riccabocca brought this speech to a close, than 
 Randal, judging also by his own heart, and by the general laws 
 which influence men of the mature age and boasted worldly 
 wisdom of the pupil of Machiavelli, instantly decided that Ric- 
 cabocca presumed upon his youth and inexperience, and meant 
 most nefariously to take him in. 
 
 "The poor youth !" thought Riecabocca, "how unprepared 
 he is for the happiness I give him ?" 
 
 "The cunning old Jesuit !" thought Randal; "he has cer- 
 tainly learned, since, we met last, that he has no chance of re- 
 gaining his patrimony, and so he wants to impose on me thehand 
 of a girl without a shilling. What other motive can he possibly 
 have ? Had his daughter the remotest probability of becoming 
 the greatest heiress in Italy, would he dream of bestowing her 
 on me in this off-hand way? The thing stands to reason." 
 
 Actuated by his resentment at the trap thus laid for him, Ran- 
 dal was about to disclaim altogether the disinterested and absurd 
 affection laid to his charge, when it occurred to him that, by so 
 doing, he might mortally offend, the Italian since the cunning 
 never forgive those who refuse to be duped by them and it 
 might still be conducive to his interest to preserve intimate and 
 familiar terms with Riccabocca; therefore, subduing his first im- 
 pulse, he exclaimed 
 
 "O too generous man ! pardon me if I have so long been un- 
 able to express my amaze, my gratitude; but I cannot no, I 
 cannot, while your prospects remain thus uncertain, avail myself 
 of your inconsiderate magnanimity. Your rare conduct can only 
 redouble my own scruples, if you,. as I firmly hope and believe, 
 are restored to your great possessions you would naturally look 
 so much higher than me. Should these hopes fail, then, indeed, 
 it may be different ; yet even then, what position, what fortune, 
 have I to offer to your daughter worthy of her ? "
 
 44 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "You are well-born ! all gentlemen are equals," said Ricca- 
 bocca,with,a sortof easy nobleness. "You haveyouth, information, 
 talent sources of certain wealth in this happy country power- 
 ful connections ; and, in fine, if you are satisfied with marrying 
 for love, I shall be contented ; if not, speak openly. As to the 
 restoration to my possessions, I can scarcely think that probable 
 while my enemy lives. And even in that case, since I saw you 
 last, something has occurred (added Riccabocca, with a strange 
 smile, which seemed to Randal singularly sinister and malignant) 
 that may remove all difficulties. Meanwhile do not think me so 
 extravagantly magnanimous do not underrate the satisfaction I 
 must feel at knowing Violante safe from the designs of Peschiera 
 safe, and for ever, under a husband's roof. I will tell you an 
 Italian proverb it contains a truth full of wisdom and terror: 
 : ' Hai cinquanta amici ? non basta. Hai.un nemico ? e troppo.' " * 
 
 "Something has occurred ! " echoed Randal, not heeding the 
 conclusion of this speech, and scarcely hearing the proverb which 
 the sage delivered in his most emphatic and tragic tone. " Some- 
 thing has occurred ! My dear friend, be plainer. What has oc- 
 curred?" Riccabocca remained silent. "Something that induces 
 you to bestow your daughter on me ?" 
 
 Riccabocca nodded, and emitted a low chuckle. 
 
 "The very laugh of a fiend," muttered Randal. " Something 
 that makes her not worth bestowing. He -betrays himself. Cun- 
 ning people always do," 
 
 "Pardon me," said the Italian at last, "if I don't answer your 
 question ; you will know later ; but, at- present, this is a family 
 secret. And now I must turn to another and more alarming 
 cause for my frankness to you." Here Riccabocca's face changed, 
 and assumed an expression of mingled rage and fear. "You 
 must know," he added, sinking his voice, "that Giacomo has 
 seen a strange person loitering about the house, and looking up 
 at the windows ; and he has no doubt nor have I that this is 
 some spy or emissary of Peschiera's." 
 
 "Impossible ; how could he discover you?" 
 
 "I know not ; but no one else has any interest in doing so. 
 The man kept at a distance, and Giacomo could not see his face." 
 I " It may be but a mere idler. Is this all ? " 
 
 " No ; the old woman who serves us said that she was asked 
 at a shop ' if we were not Italians ? ' " 
 
 " Arid she answered ? " 
 "No" ; but owned that 'we had a foreign servant, Giacomo.'" 
 
 " I willsee to this. Rely on it that if Peschiera has discovered 
 
 * Have you fifty friends ? -it is not enough; Have you one enemy ? it is too much.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 45 
 
 you, I will learn it. Nay, I will hasten from you in order to 
 commence inquiry." 
 
 " I cannot detain you. May I think that we have now an 
 interest in common ? " 
 
 "Oh, indeed, yes; but but your daughter! how can I 
 dream that one so beautiful, so peerless, will confirm the hope 
 you have extended to me ? " 
 
 " The daughter of an Italian is brought up to consider that it 
 is a father's right to dispose of her hand." 
 
 "But the heart?" 
 
 " Cospetto!" said the Italian, true to his infamous notions as 
 to the sex, " the heart of a girl is like a convent the holier the 
 cloister the more charitable the door." 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 RANDAL had scarcely left the house before Mrs. Riccabocca, 
 who was affectionately anxious in all that concerned Violante, 
 rejoined her husband. 
 
 . " I like the young man very well," said the sage~" very well, 
 indeed. I find him just what I expected, from my general knowl- 
 edge of human nature ; for as love ordinarily goes with youth, so 
 modesty usually accompanies talent. He is young, ergo he is in 
 love ; he has talent, ergo he is modest modest and ingenuous." 
 
 " And you think not in any way swayed by interest in his 
 affections ? " 
 
 "Quite the contrary ; and to prove him the more, I have not 
 said a word as to the worldly advantages which, in any case, would 
 accrue to him from an alliance with my daughter. In any case ; 
 for if 1 regain my country, her fortune is assured ; and if not, I 
 trust (said the poor exile, lifting his brow with stately and becom- 
 ing pride), that I am too well aware of my child's dignity,as well as 
 my own, to ask any one to marry her to his own worldly injury." 
 
 " Eh ! I don't quite understand you, Alphonso. To be sure, 
 your dear life is insured for her marriage-portion ; but " 
 
 " Pazzie stuff ! " said Riccabocca, petulantly ;" her marriage- 
 portion would be as nothing to a young man of Randal's birth 
 and prospects. I think not of that. But listen : I have never 
 consented to profit by Harley L'Estrange's friendship for me ; 
 my scruples would not extend to my son-in-law. This noble 
 friend has not only high rank, but considerable influence influ- 
 ence with the Government influence with Randal's patron 
 who, between ourselves, does not seem to push the young man as 
 he might do ; I judge by what Randal says. I should write there-
 
 46 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 .fore, before anything was settled, to L'Estrange, and I should 
 say to him simply, ' I never asked you to save me from penury, 
 but I do ask you to save a daughter of my house from humiliation. 
 I can give to her no dowry ; can her husband owe to my friend 
 that advance in an honorable career that opening to energy and 
 talent which is more than a dowry to generous ambition ? " 
 
 " Oh, it is in vain you would disguise your rank," cried 
 Jemima, with enthusiasm ; " it speaks in all you utter, when your 
 passions are moved." 
 
 The Italian did not seem flattered by that eulogy. " Pish," 
 said he, " there you are ! rank again ! " 
 
 But Jemima was right. There was something about her hus- 
 band that was grandiose and princely, whenever he escaped from 
 his accursed Machiavelli, and gave fair play to his heart. 
 
 And he spent the next hour or so in thinking over all that he 
 could do for Randal, and devising for his intended son-in-law 
 the agreeable surprises, which Randal was at that very time 
 racking his yet cleverer brains to disappoint. 
 
 These plans conned sufficiently, Riccabocca shut up his Mach- 
 iavelli, and hunted out of his scanty collection of books Buffon on 
 Man, and various other psychological volumes; in which he soon 
 became deeply absorbed. Why were these works the object of 
 the sage's study ? Perhaps he will let us know soon, for it is 
 clearly a secret known to his wife ; and though she has hitherto 
 kept one secret, that is precisely the reason why Riccabocca 
 would not wish long to overburthen her discretion with another. 
 
 : . 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 RANDAL reached home in time to dress for a late dinner at 
 Baron Levy's. 
 
 The Baron's style of living was of that character especially 
 affected both by the most acknowledged exquisites of that day, 
 and, it must be owned, also by the most egregious parvenus. For 
 it is noticeable that it is^your parvenu who always comes nearest 
 injfashion (so far as externals are concerned) to your genuine ex- 
 quisite. It is your parvenu who is most particular as to the cut 
 of his coat, and the precision of his equipage,- and the minutiae 
 of his menage. Those between the piirvenu and the exquisite, 
 who know their own consequence, and have something solid to 
 rest upon, are slow in following all the caprices of fashion, and 
 obtuse in observation as to those niceties which neither give them 
 another ancestor, nor add another thousand to' the account at 
 their banker's ;^-as to the last, rather, indeed, the contrary !
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 47 
 
 There was a decided elegance about the Baron's house and his 
 dinner. If he had been one of the lawful kings of the dandies, 
 you would have cried, " What perfect taste ! " but such is 
 human nature, that the dandies who dined with him said to each 
 other, "He pretend to imitate D ! vulgar dog !". There was 
 little affectation of your more showy opulence. The furniture 
 in the rooms was apparently simple, but, in truth, costly, from 
 its luxurious comfort the ornaments and china scattered about 
 the commodes were of curious rarity and great value ; and the 
 pictures on the walls were gems. At dinner, no plate was admitted 
 on the table. The Russian fashion, then uncommon, now more 
 prevalent, was adopted fruit and flowers in old Sevres dishes of 
 priceless vertu, and in sparkling glass of Bohemian fabric. No 
 livery servant was permitted to wait; behind each guest stood a 
 gentleman dressed so like the guest himself, in fine linen and simple 
 black, that guest and lacquey seemed stereotypes from one plate. 
 
 The viands were exquisite ; the wine came from the cellars of 
 deceased archbishops and ambassadors. The company was 
 select; the party did not exceed eight. Four were the eldest 
 sons of peers (from a baron to a duke) ; one was a professed 
 wit, never to be got without a month's notice, and where & par- 
 venu was host, a certainty of green peas and peaches out of 
 season ; the 'sixth, to Randal's astonishment, was Mr. Richard 
 Avenel ; himself and the Baron made up the complement. 
 
 The eldest sons recognized each other with a meaning smile ; 
 the most juvenile of them, indeed (it was his first year in Lon- 
 don), had the grace to blush and look sheepish. The others 
 were more hardened ; but they all united in regarding with sur- 
 prise both Randal and Dick Avenel. The former was known to 
 most of them personally, and to all, by repute, as a grave, .clever, 
 promising young man, rather prudent than lavish, and never 
 suspected to have got into a scrape. What the deuce did he do 
 there? Mr. Avenel puzzled them yet more. A middle-aged 
 man, said to be in business, whom they had observed " about 
 town " (for he had a noticeable face and figure) that is, seen 
 riding in the Park, or lounging in the pit at the opera, but never 
 set eyes on at a recognized club, or in the coteries of their " set " ; 
 a man whose wife gave horrid third-rate parties, that took up 
 half a column in.the Morning Post with a list of "The Company 
 Present," in which a sprinkling of dowagers fading out of fashion, 
 and a foreign title or two, made the darkness of the obscurer 
 names doubly dark. Why this man should be asked to meet 
 them, by Baron Levy, too a decided tuft-hunter and would-be 
 exclusive called all their faculties into exercise. The wit, who,
 
 48 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 being the son of a small tradesman, but in the very best society, 
 gave himself far greater airs than the young lords, impertinently 
 solved the mystery. " Depend on it," whispered he to Spend- 
 quick "depend on it the man is the X. Y. of the Times, who 
 offers to lend any sum of money from^io to half a million. He's- 
 the man who has all your bills ; Levy is only his jackal." 
 
 "Ton my soul," said Spendquick, rather alarmed, "if that's 
 the case, one may as well be civil to him." 
 
 " You, certainly," said the wit, "But I never have found an X. 
 Y. who would advance me the L. s.; and therefore, I shall not be 
 more respectful to X. Y. than to any other unknown quantity." 
 
 By degrees, as the wine circulated, the party grew gay and so- 
 ciable. Levy was really an entertaining fellow ; had all the gos- 
 sip of the town at his fingers' ends; and possessed, moreover, that 
 pleasant art of saying ill-natured things of the absent, which those 
 present always enjoy. By degrees, too, Mr. Richard Avenel came 
 out ; and, as the whisper had circulated round the table that he 
 was X. Y., he was listened to with profound respect, which greatly 
 elevated his spirits. Nay, when the wit tried once to show him 
 up or mystify him, Dick answered with a bluff spirit, that, though 
 very coarse, was found so humorous by Lord Spendquick and 
 other gentlemen similarly situated in the money-market, that they 
 turned the laugh against the wit, and silenced him for the rest of 
 the night a circumstance which made the party go off much more 
 pleasantly. After dinner, the conversation, quite that of single 
 men, easy and cttbonnaire, glanced from the turf, and the ballet, 
 and the last scandal, toward politics ; for the times were such that 
 politics were discussed everywhere, and three of the young lords 
 were county members. 
 
 Randal said little, but, as was his wont, listened attentively ; 
 and he was aghast to find how general was the belief that the Gov- 
 ernment was doomed. Out of regard to him, and with that deli- 
 cacy of breeding which belongs to a certain society, nothing per- 
 sonal to Egerton was said, except by Avenel, who, however, on 
 blurting out some rude expressions respecting that minister, was 
 instantly checked by the Baron. 
 
 "Spare my friend, and Mr. Leslie's near connection," said he, 
 with a polite but grave smile. 
 
 " Oh," said Avenel, " publicmen, whom we pay, are public prop- 
 ertyaren't they, my lord ? " appealing to Spendquick. 
 
 " Certainly," said Spendquick, with'great spirit " public prop- 
 erty, or why should we pay them ? There must be a very strong 
 motive to induce us to do that ! I hate paying people. In fact," 
 he subjoined in an aside "I never do."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 49 
 
 "However," resumed Mr. Avenel, graciously, "I don't want 
 to hurt your feelings, Mr. Leslie. As to the feelings of our host, 
 the Baron, I calculate that they have got tolerably tough by the 
 exercise they have gone through." 
 
 " Nevertheless," said the Baron, joining in the laugh which 
 any lively saying by the supposed X. Y. was sure to excite 
 "nevertheless, 4 love me, love ray dog,' love me, love my Egerton." 
 
 Randal started, for his quick ear and subtle intelligence caught 
 something sinister and hostile in the tone with which Levy uttered 
 this equivocal comparison, and his eye darted toward the Baron. 
 But the Baron had bent down his face, and was regaling himself 
 upon an olive. 
 
 By-and-by the party rose from table. The four young noble- 
 men had their engagements elsewhere, and proposed to separate 
 without re-entering the drawing-room. As, in Goethe's theory, 
 monads which have affinities with each other are irresistibly drawn 
 together, so these gay children of pleasure had, by a common im- 
 pulse, on rising from table, moved each to each, and formed a 
 group round the fire-place. Randal stood a little apart, musing; 
 the wit examined the pictures through his eye-glass ; and Mr. 
 Avenel drew the Baron toward the sideboard, and there held him 
 in whispered conference. The colloquy did not escape the young 
 gentlemen round the fire-place ; they glanced toward each other. 
 
 "Settling the per-centage on renewal," said one, sottovoce. 
 
 "X. Y. does not seem such a very bad fellow," said another. 
 
 "He looks rich, and talks rich," said a third. 
 
 "A decided independent way of expressing his sentiments ; 
 those moneyed men generally have." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " ejaculated Spendquick, who had been keep- 
 ing his eye anxiously fixed on the pair, "do look ; X. Y. is ac- 
 tually taking out his pocket-book ; he is coming this way. De- 
 pend on it he has got our bills mine is due to-morrow !" 
 
 "And mine too," said another, edging off. " Why, it is a per^ 
 feet guet-apens." 
 
 Meanwhile, breaking away from the. Baron, who appeared anx- 
 ious to detain him, and failing in that attempt, turned aside, as 
 if not to see Dick's movements a circumstance which did not 
 escape the notice of the group, and confirmed all their suspicions, 
 Mr. Avenel, with a serious, thoughtful face, and a slow step, ap- 
 proached the group. Nor did the great Roman general more ner- 
 vously "flutter the dove-cotes in Corioli," than did the advance 
 of the supposed X. Y. agitate the bosoms of Lord Spendquick 
 and his sympathizing friends. Pocket-book in hand, and appar- 
 ently feeling for something formidable within ; its mystic recesses,
 
 50 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 step by step came Dick Avenel toward the fireplace. The group 
 stood still, fascinated by horror. 
 
 " Hum," said Mr. Avenel, clearing his throat. 
 
 "I don't like that hum at all," muttered Spendquick. 
 
 "Proud to have made your acquaintance, gentlemen," said 
 Dick, bowing. 
 
 The gentlemen; thus addressed, bowed in return. 
 
 " My friend the Baron thought this not exactlythe time to " 
 Dick stopped a moment ; you might have knocked down these 
 four young gentlemen, though four finer specimens of humanity 
 no aristocracy in Europecould produce you might haveknocked 
 them down with a feather. "But," renewed Avenel, not finish- 
 ing his sentence, "I have made it a rule in life never to lose se- 
 curing a good opportunity; in short, to make the most of the pres- 
 ent moment. And," added he, with a smile which froze the blood 
 in Lord Spendquick's veins, "the rule has made me a very warm 
 man ! Therefore, gentlemen, allow me to present you each with 
 one of these " every hand retreated behind the back of its well- 
 born owner when, to the inexpressible relief of all, Dick con- 
 cluded with " a little soiree dansante," and.extended.fouf cards 
 of invitation. 
 
 "Most happy !" exclaimed Spendquick. " I don't dance in 
 general ; but to oblige X I mean to have>a better acquaintance, 
 sir, with you I would dance on the tight-rope." 
 
 There .was a good-humored, pleasant laugh at Spendquick's 
 enthusiasm, and a general shaking of hands and pocketing the 
 invitation cards. 
 
 "You don't look like a dancing man,!' said Avenel, turning to 
 the wit, who was plump and somewhat gouty as wits who dine 
 out five days in the week generally are ; "but we shall-have sup- 
 per at one o'clock." 
 
 Infinitely offended and disgusted, the wit replied, dryly, " that 
 every hour of his time was engaged for the rest of the season," 
 and, with a stiff salutation to the Baron, took his departure. The 
 rest, in good spirits, hurf\ed away to their respective cabriolets ; 
 and Leslie was following them into the hall, when the Baron, 
 catching hold of him^ said, "Stay, I want to talk to you." 
 
 fiii :..":> [/,",: ,<v 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE Baron turned into his drawing-room, and Leslie followed. 
 
 " Pleasant young men those," said Levy, with a slight sneer, 
 as he threw himself into an easy-chair and stirred the fire. " And 
 not at all proud ; but, to be sure, they are-bunder great obliga-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 5! 
 
 tions to me. Yes : they owe me a great deal. Apropos, I have- 
 have had a long talk with Frank Hazeldean fine young man 
 remarkable capacities for business. I can arrange his affairs for 
 him 4 I find, on reference to the Will Office, that you were quite 
 right ; the Casino property is entailed on Frank. He will have 
 the fee-simple. He can dispose of the reversion entirely. So 
 that there will be no difficulty in our arrangements." 
 
 "But I told you also that Frank had scruples about borrow- 
 ing on the event of his father's death." 
 
 "Ay you did so. .Filial affection! I never take that into 
 account in matters of business. Such little scruples, though they 
 are highly honorable to~human nature, soon vanish before the 
 prospect of the King's Bench. And, too, as you so judiciously re- 
 marked/Dur clever young friend is in love with MadamediNegra." 
 
 " Did he tell you that?" 
 
 "No; but Madame di Negra did!" 
 
 "You 'know her?" 
 
 " I know most people in good society, who now and then 
 require a friend in the management of their affairs. And hav- 
 ing made sure of the fact you stated, as to Hazeldean's contin- 
 gent property (excuse my prudence), I have accommodated 
 Madame di Negra, and brought up her debts." 
 
 " You have ? You surprise me! " 
 
 " The surprise will vanish on reflection. But you are very 
 new to the world yet, my dear Leslie. By the way, I have had 
 an interview with Peschiera " 
 
 " About his sister's debts?" 
 
 "Partly. A man of the nicest honor is Peschiera." 
 
 Aware of Levy's habit of praising people for the qualities in 
 which, according to the judgment of less penetrating mortals, 
 they were most deficient, Randal only smiled at this eulogy, and 
 waited for Levy to resume. But the Baron sat silent and thought- 
 ful for a minute or two, and then wholly changed the subject. 
 
 " I think your father has some property in shire, and you 
 probably can give me a little information as to certain estates of 
 a Mr. Thornhill, estates which, on examination of the title deeds, 
 I find once, indeed, belonged to your family." The Baron 
 glanced at a very elegant memorandum book. " The manors of 
 Rood and Dulmansberry, with sundry farms thereon. Mr.Thorn-' 
 hill wants to sell them^ an old client of mine, Thornhill. He 
 has applied to me on the matter. Do you think it an improva- 
 ble property ?" 
 
 Randal listened with a livid cheek and a throbbing heart. 
 We have seen that, if there was one ap^'tious scheme in his cal-
 
 52 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 culation which, though not absolutely generous and heroic, still 
 might win its way to a certain sympathy in the undebased human 
 mind, it was the hope to restore the fallen fortunes of his ancient 
 house, and repossess himself of the long-alienated lands that sur- 
 rounded the dismal wastes of the mouldering hall. And now to 
 hear that those lands were getting into the inexorable gripe of 
 Levy tears of bitterness stood in his eyes. 
 
 "Thornhill," continued Levy, who had watched the young 
 man's countenance " Thornhill tells me that that part of his 
 property the old Leslie lands produces ^2000 a-year,and that 
 the rental could be raised. He would take^5o,ooo for it ^10,- 
 
 000 down^and suffer the remaining ^30^000 to lie on mortgage at 
 four per cent. It seemsa very good purchase. Whatdo you say ? " 
 
 " Don't ask me,"' said Randal, stung into rare honesty; " for 
 
 1 had hoped I might live to repossess myself of that property." 
 
 "Ah! indeed. It would be a very great addition to your con- 
 sequence in the world not from the mere size of the estate, but 
 from its hereditary associations. And if you have any idea of 
 the purchase -believe me, I'll not stand in your way." 
 
 "How can I haveiany idea of it?" 
 
 " But I thought you said you had." 
 
 " I understood that these lands could riot be sold till Mr.Thorn- 
 hill's son came of age, and joined in getting rid of the entail." 
 . " Yes, so Thornhill himself supposed, till, on examining the 
 title-deeds, I found he was under a mistake. These lands are 
 not comprised in the settlement made by old Jasper Thornhill, 
 which ties up the rest of the property. The title will be per- 
 fect. Thornhill wants to settle the matter at once losses on 
 the turf, you understand; an immediate purchaser would get still 
 better terms. A Sir John Spratt would give the money but the 
 addition of these lands would make the Spratt property of more 
 consequence in the county than the Thornhill. So my client 
 would rather take a few thousands less from a man who don't set up 
 to be his rival. Balance of power in counties as well as nations." 
 
 Randal was silent. 
 
 , " Well," said Levy, with great kindness of manner, "I see I 
 pain you; and though I am what my very pleasant guests would 
 call a parvenu, I comprehend your natural feelings as a gentle- 
 man of ancient birth. Parvenu! Ah! is it not strange, Leslie, 
 that no wealth, no fashion, no fame, can wipe out that blot? 
 They .call me a parvenu, and borrow my money. < They call our 
 friend, the wit, a parvenu, and submit to all his insolence if they 
 condescend to regard his birth at all provided they can but get 
 him to dinner. They call the best debater in the Parliament of
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 53 
 
 England a. parvenu, and will entreat him, some day or other, to 
 be prime minister, and ask him for stars and garters, A droll 
 world, and no wonder the parvenus want to upset it." 
 
 Randal had hitherto supposed that this notorious tuft-hunter 
 this dandy capitalist this money-lender, whose whole fortune 
 had been wrung from the wants and follies of an aristocracy, 
 was naturally a firm supporter of things as they are how could 
 things be better for men like Baron Levy ? But the usurer's 
 burst of democratic spleen did not surprise his precocious and 
 acute faculty of observation. He had before remarked that it 
 is the persons who fawn most upon an aristocracy, and profit the 
 most by the fawning, who are ever at heart its bitterest dispara- 
 gers. Why is this? Because one full half of democratic opinion 
 is made up of envy; and we can only envy what is brought before 
 our eyes, and what, while very near to us, is still unattainable. 
 No man envies an archangel. 
 
 "But," said Levy, throwing himself back in his chair, "a new 
 order of things is comme'ncing; we shall see. Leslie, it is lucky 
 for you that you did not enter Parliament under the Govern- 
 ment; it would be your political ruin for life." 
 
 " You think, then, that the ministry really cannot last?." 
 
 " Of course I do; and what is more, I think tha.t a ministry 
 of the same principles cannot be restored. You are a young man 
 of talent and spirit; your birth is nothing compared to the rank 
 of the reigning party ; it would tell, to a certain degree, in a 
 democratic one. I say, you should be more civil to Avenel; he 
 could return you to Parliament at the next election." 
 
 "The next election! In six years! We have just had a gen- 
 eral election." 
 
 " There will be another before this year, or half of it, or per- 
 haps a quarter of it, is out." 
 
 " What makes you think so ? " ; 
 
 " Leslie, let there be confidence between us; we can help each 
 other. Shall we be friends ? " 
 
 " With all. my heart. But though you may help me, how can 
 I help you ? " 
 
 " You have helped me already to Frank Hazeldean ,and the 
 Casino estate. All clever men can help me. Come, then, we are 
 friends; and what I say is secret. You ask me why I think there will 
 be a general election so soon ? I will answer you frankly. Of all 
 the public men I ever met with, there is no one who has so clear a 
 vision of things immediately before him as Audley Egerton." 
 
 " He has that character. Not /ar-seeing, but 
 to a certain limit."
 
 54 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Exactly so. No one better, therefore, knows public opin- 
 ion, and its immediate ebb and flow." 
 
 "Granted." 
 
 " Egerton, then, counts on a general election within three 
 months; and I have lent him the money for it." 
 
 " Lent him the money ! Egerton borrow money of you -the 
 rich Audley Egerton! " 
 
 " Rich! " repeated Levy in a tone impossible to describe, and 
 accompanying the word with that movement of the middle fin- 
 ger and thumb, commonly called a "snap," which indicates 
 profound contempt. 
 
 He said no more. Randal sat stupefied. At length the latter 
 muttered, "But if Egerton is really not rich if he lose office, 
 and without the hope of return to it " 
 
 " If so, he is ruined! " said Levy, coldly; "and therefore, from 
 regard to you, and feeling an interest in your future fate, I say 
 Rest no hopes of fortune and career upon Audley Egerton. 
 Keep your place for the present, but be prepared at the next 
 election to stand upon popular principles. Avenel shall return 
 you to Parliament; and the rest is with luck and energy. And 
 now, I'll not detain you longer," said Levy, rising and ringing 
 the bell; The servant entered. 
 
 " Is my carriage here ? " 
 
 "Yes, Baron." 
 
 "Can I set you' down anywhere?-'' 
 
 "No, thank you, I prefer walking." . 
 
 " Adieu, then. And mind you remember the soirA dansante at 
 Mrs. Avenel's." Randal mechanically shook the hand extended 
 to him, and went down the stairs. 
 
 The fresh frosty air aroused his intellectual faculties, which 
 Levy's ominous words had almost paralyzed. 
 
 And the first thing the clever schemer said to himself was 
 this "But what can be the man's motives in what he said tome?" 
 
 The next was "Egerton ruined! What am I, then?" 
 
 And the third was "And that fair remnant of the old Les- 
 lie property! ,20,000 down how to get the sum ? Why 
 should Levy have spoken to trie of this ? " 
 
 And lastly, the soliloquy rounded back "The man's motives ! 
 His motives ! " 
 
 Meanwhile, the Baron threw himself into his chariot the most 
 comfortable easy chariot you can possibly conceive single man's 
 chariot perfect taste- no married man ever had such a chariot ; 
 
 and in a few minutes he was at 's hotel, and in the presence 
 
 of Giulio Franzini, Count di Peschiera.
 
 VARIETIES. IN ENGLISH LIFE. 55 
 
 " Mon cher" said the Baron, in very good French, and in a 
 tone of the most familiar equality with the descendant of the 
 princes and heroes of grand medieval Italy " Moncher, give me 
 pneof your excellent cigars. I think I have put allmattersin train." 
 
 " You have found out " 
 
 " No ; not so fast yet," said the Baron, lighting the cigar ex- 
 tended to him. " But you said that you should be perfectly con- 
 tented if it only cost you ^20,000 to marry off your sister (to whom 
 that sum is legally due), and to marry yourself to the heiress." 
 
 "I did, indeed." 
 
 "Then I have no doubt I shall manage both objects for that 
 sum, if Randal Leslie really knows where the young lady is, and 
 can assist you. Mosi promising, able man is Randal Leslie 
 but innocent as a babe just born." 
 
 "Ha, ha! Innocent? Que-diable!" 
 
 " Innocent as this cigar, mon cher strong certainly, butsmoked 
 
 very easily. Soyez tranquille ! " 
 . 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 WHO has not seen, who not admired; that noble picture by Dan- 
 iel Maclise, which refreshes the immortal name of my ancestor 
 Caxton ! For myself, while with national pride I heard the 
 admiring murmurs of the foreigners who grouped around it 
 (nothing, indeed, of which our nation rnay be more proud had 
 they seen in the Crystal Palace) heard, with no less a pride in 
 the generous nature of fellow-artists, the warm applause of living 
 and deathless masters, sanctioning the enthusiasm of the popular 
 crowd ; what struck me more than the precision of drawing, 
 for which the artist has been always renowned, and the just, 
 though gorgeous affluence of color which he has more recently 
 acquired, was the profound depth of conception, out of which 
 this great work had so elaborately arisen. That monk, with his 
 scowl toward the printer and his back on the Bible over which 
 his form.casts a shadow the whole transition between themedieval 
 Christianity of cell and cloister, and the modern Christianity 
 that rejoices in the daylight, is depicted there, in the shadow 
 that obscures the Book in the scowl that is fixed upon the Book- 
 diffuser ; that sombre, musing face of Richard, Dukeof Glou- 
 cester, with the beauty of Napoleon, darkened to the expression 
 of a Fiend, looking far and anxiously into futurity, as if foreseeing 
 there what antagonism was about to be created to the schemes 
 of secret crime and unrelenting force ; the chivalrous head of 
 the accomplished Rivers, seen but in profile under his helmet, 
 as if the age when Chivalry must defend its noble attributes, in
 
 56 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 steel, was already half passed away ; and, not least grand of all, 
 the rude thews and sinews. of the artisan forced into service on 
 the type, and the ray of intellect, fierce and menacing revolutions 
 yet to be, struggling through his rugged features, and across his 
 low knitted brow ; all this, which showed how deeply the idea 
 of the discovery, in its good and in its evil, its saving light and 
 its .perilous storms, had sunk into the artist's soul, charmed me 
 as effecting the exact union between sentiment and execution, 
 which is the true and rare consummation of the ideal in Art. 
 But observe, while in these personages of the group are depicted 
 the deeper and graver agencies implicated in thebrightbut terrible 
 invention^ observe how little the light epicures of the hour heed 
 the scowl of the monk, or the restless gesture of Richard, or the 
 troubled gleam in the eyes of the artisan King Edward, hand- 
 some Poco curatite, delighted in the surprise of a child, with a 
 new toy ; and Clarence, with his curious, yet careless, glance 
 all the while Caxton himself, calm, serene, untroubled, intent 
 solely upon the manifestation of his discovery, and no doubt 
 supremely indifferent whether the first proofs of it shall be dedi- 
 cated to a Rivers or an Edwa.rd, a Richard or a Henry, Planta- 
 genet or Tudor 'tis all the same to that comely, gentle-looking 
 man. So is it ever with your Abstract Science ! not a jot cares 
 its passionless logic for the woe or weal of a generation or two. 
 The stream, once emerged from its source, passes on into the 
 great Intellectual Sea, smiling over the wretch; that it drowns, 
 or under the keel of the ship which it serves as a slave. 
 
 Now, when about to commence the present chapter on the 
 Varieties of Life, this masterpiece of thoughtful art forced itself 
 on my recollection, and illustrated what I designed to convey. In 
 the surface of every age, it is often that which but amuses, for 
 the moment, the ordinary children of pleasant existence, the Ed- 
 wards and the Clarences (be they kings and dukes, or simplest 
 of simple subjects), which afterward towers out as the great se- 
 rious epoch of the time. When we look back upon human rec- 
 ords, how the eye settles upon WRITERS as the main landmarks 
 of the past ! We talk of the age of Augustus, of Elizabeth, of 
 Louis XIV., of Anne, as the notable eras of the world. Why? 
 Because it is their writers who have made them so. Intervals 
 between one age of authors and another lie unnoticed, as the flats 
 and common lands of uncultured history. And yet, strange to 
 say, when these authors are living amongst us, they occupy a 
 very small portion of our thoughts, and fiH up but desultory in- 
 terstices in the bitumen and tufo wherefrom we build up the 
 Babylon of our lives! So it is, and perhaps so it should be
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 57 
 
 whether it pleases the conceit of penmen or not. Life is meant 
 to be active ; and books, though they give the action to future 
 generations, administer but to the holiday of the present. 
 
 And so, with this long preface, I turn suddenly from theRan- 
 dals and the Egertons, and the Levys, Avenels, and Peschieras 
 from the plots and passions of practical life, and drop the 
 reader suddenly into one of those obscure retreats wherein 
 Thought weaves, from unnoticed moments, a new link to "the 
 chain that unites the ages. 
 
 Within a small room, the single window of which opened on 
 a fanciful and fairy-like garden, that has been before described, 
 sat a young man alone. He had been writing, the ink was not 
 dry on his manuscript, but his thoughts had been suddenly 
 interrupted from his work, and his eyes, now lifted from the let- 
 ter which had. occasioned that interruption, sparkled with de- 
 light. " He will come," exclaimed the young.man! "come here 
 to the home which I owe to him. I have not been unworthy 
 of his friendship. And she " his breast heaved, but the joy 
 faded from his face. "Oh, strange, strange, that I feel sad at 
 the thought to see her again. See her Ah no ! my own com- 
 forting Helen my own Child-angel. Her I can never see again ! 
 The gfown worhan that is not my Helen. And yet and yet 
 (he resumed after a pause), if ever she read the pages in which 
 thought flowed and trembled under her distant starry light if 
 ever she see how her image has rested with me, and feeLthat, 
 while Others believe that I invent, I have but remembered will 
 she not, for a moment, be my own Helen again ! Again, in heart 
 and in fancy, stand by my side on the desolate bridge hand in 
 hand rorphans both, as we stood in the days so sorrowful, yet, 
 as I recall them, so sweet, Helen in England, it is a dream ! " 
 
 He rose, half-consciously, and went to the window. The 
 fountain played merrily before his eyes, and the birds in the 
 aviary caroled loud to his ear. "And in this house," he mur- 
 mured, "I saw her last ! And there, where the fountain now 
 throws its spray on high there her benefactor and mine told me 
 that I was to lose her, that I might win fame. Alas ! " 
 
 At this time a woman, whose dress was somewhat above her 
 mien and air, which, though not without a certain respectability, 
 were very homely, entered the room ; and, seeing the young man 
 standing thus thoughtful by the window, paused. She was used 
 to his habits ; and since his success in life, had learned .to re- 
 spect them. So she did not disturb his reverie, but began softly 
 to arrange the room dusting, with the corner of her apron, the 
 various articles of furniture, putting a stray chair or two in its
 
 58 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 right place, but not touching a single paper. Virtuous woman, 
 and rare as virtuous ! 
 
 The young man turned at last, with a deep, yet not alto- 
 gether painful, sigh 
 
 " My dear 'mother, good-day to you. Ah, you do well to make 
 the room look its best. Happy news ! .1 expect a visitor !" 
 
 " Dear me, Leonard, will he want lunch or what?" 
 
 " Nay, I think not, mother. It is he to- whom we owe all 
 'ffac otia fecit' Pardon my Latin ; it is Lord L'Estrange." 
 
 The face of Mrs. Fairfield (the reader has long since divined 
 the name) changed instantly and betrayed a nervous twitch of all 
 the muscles, which gave her a family likeness to old Mrs. Avenel. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed, mother. He is the kindest '" 
 
 " Don't talk so ; I can't bear it !" cried Mrs. Fairfield. 
 
 " No wonder you are affected by the recollection of all his 
 benefits. But when once you have seen him, you will find your- 
 self ever after at your ease. And so, pray smile and look as good as 
 you are; for I am proud of your open, honest look when you are 
 pleased, mother. And he must see your heart in your face as I do." 
 
 With this, Leonard put his arm around the widow's neck, and 
 kissed her. She clung to him fondly for a moment, and he felt 
 her tremble from head to foot. Then she broke from his em- 
 brace, and hurried out of the room. Leonard thought perhaps 
 she had gone to improve her dress, or to carry her housewife 
 energies to the decoration of the other rooms ; for " the house " 
 was Mrs. Fairfield's hobby and passion ; and now that she 
 worked no more, save for her amusement, it was her main occu- 
 pation. The hours she contrived to spend daily in bustling 
 about those little rooms, and leaving everything therein to all ap- 
 pearance precisely the same, were among the marvels in life which 
 the genius of Leonard had never comprehended. But she was al- 
 ways so delighted when Mr. Norreys or some rare visitor came; 
 and said (Mr. Norreys never failed to do so), " How neatly all is 
 kept here! What could Leonard do with' out you, Mrs. Fairfield? " 
 
 And, to Norreys's infinite amusement, Mrs. Fairfield always re- 
 turned the same answer. " Deed, sir, and thank you kindly, but 
 'tis my belief that the drawin'-room would be awful dusty." 
 
 Once more left alone, Leonard's mind returned to the state 
 of reverie, and his face assumed the expression that had now 
 become to it habitual. Thus seen, he was changed much since 
 we last beheld him. His cheek was more pale and thin, his lips 
 more firmly compressed, his eye more fixed and abstract. You 
 could detect, if I may borrow a touching French expression, 
 that " sorrow had passed by there." But the melancholy on his
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 59 
 
 countenance was ineffably sweet and serene, and on his ample 
 forehead there was that power, so rarely seen in early youth 
 the power that has conquered, and betrays its conquests but in 
 calm. The period of doubt, of struggle, of defiance, was gone 
 perhaps for ever; genius and soul were reconciled to human life. 
 It was a face most lovable ; so gentle and peaceful in its char- 
 acter. No want of fire ; on the contrary, the fire was so clear 
 and so steadfast, that it conveyed but the impression of light. 
 The candor of boyhood, the simplicity of the villager, were still 
 there refined by intelligence, but intelligence that seemed to 
 have traversed through knowledge not with the footstep, but 
 the wing unsullied by the mire tending toward the star seek- 
 ing through the various grades of Being but the lovelier forms 
 of truth and goodness; at home, as should be the Art that con- 
 summates the Beautiful 
 
 " In den heitern Regionen 
 Wo die reinen Formen wohnen." * 
 
 From this reverie Leonard did not seek to rouse himself, till the 
 bell at the garden-gate rang loud and shrill; and then starting up 
 and hurrying into the hall, his hand was grasped in Harley's. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A FULL and happy hour passed away in Harley's questions 
 and Leonard's answers ; the dialogue that naturally ensued be- 
 tween the two, on the first interview after an absence of years 
 so eventful to th'e younger man. 
 
 The history of Leonard during this interval was almost solely 
 internal, the struggle of intellect with its own difficulties, the wan- 
 derings of imagination through its own adventurous worlds. 
 
 The first aim of Norreys, in preparing the mind of his pupil 
 for its vocation, had been to establish the equilibrium of its 
 powers, to calm into harmony the elements rudely shaken by 
 the trials and passions of the old, hard, outer life. 
 
 The theory of Norreys was briefly this. The education of a 
 superior human being is but the development of ideas in one for 
 the benefit of others. To this end attention should be directed 
 ist, To the value of the ideas collected ; zndly, To their dis- 
 cipline ; 3rdly, To their expression. For the first, acquirement 
 is necessary; for the second, discipline; for the third, art. The first 
 comprehends knowledge, purely intellectual, whether derived 
 from observation, memory, reflection, books or men, Aristotle 
 
 * At home "In the serene regions 
 
 Where dwell the pure forms."
 
 60 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 or Fleet Street. The second demands training, not only intel- 
 lectual, but moral ; the purifying and exaltation of motives; the 
 formation of habits : in which method is but a part of a divine 
 and harmonious symmetry an union of intellect and con- 
 science. Ideas of value, stored by the first process; marshalled 
 into force, and placed under guidance, by the second ; it is the 
 result of the third, to place them before the world in the most 
 attractive or commanding form.' This may be done by actions 
 no less than words; but the adaptation of means to end, the 
 passage of ideas from the brain of one man into the lives and 
 souls of all, no less in action than in books, requires study. Ac- 
 tion has its art as well as literature. Here Norreys had but to 
 deal with the calling of the scholar, the formation of the writer, 
 and so to guide the perceptions toward those varieties in the 
 sublime and beautiful, the just combination of which is at once 
 CREATION. Man himself is but a combination of elements. 
 He who combines in nature, creates in art. 
 
 Such, very succinctly and indequately expressed, was the 
 system upon which Norreys proceeded .to regulate and perfect 
 the great native powers of his pupil; and though the reader may 
 perhaps say that no system laid down by another can either form 
 genius or dictate to its results, yet probably nine-tenths at least 
 of those in whom we recognize 1 the luminaries of our race, have 
 passed, unconsciously to themselves (for self-education is rarely 
 conscious of its phases), through each of these processes. And 
 no one who pauses to reflect will deny-, that, according to this 
 theory, illustrated by a man of vast experience, profound knowl- 
 edge, and exquisite taste, the struggles of genius would be in- 
 finitely lessened ; its vision cleared and, strengthened, and the 
 distance between effort and success notably abridged. 
 
 Norreys, however, was far too deep a reasoner to fall into the 
 error of modern teachers, who Suppose that education can dis- 
 pense with labor. No mind becomes muscular without rude and 
 early exercise. 'Labor should be strenuous, but in right direc- 
 tions. All that we can do for it is to save the waste of time in 
 blundering into needless toils. 
 
 The master had thus first employed his neophyte in-arranging 
 and compiling materials for a great critical work in which Norreys 
 himself was engaged. In this stage of scholastic preparation, 
 Leonard was necessarily led to the acquisition of languages, for 
 which he had great aptitude the foundations of a large and com- 
 prehensive erudition were solidly constructed. He traced by 
 the ploughshare the walls of the destined city. Habits of accu- 
 *acy and of generalization became formed insensibly: and that
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 6l 
 
 precious faculty which seizes, amidst accumulated materials, 
 those that serve the object for which they are explored, (that 
 faculty which quadruples all force, by concentrating it on one 
 point) once roused into action, gave purpose to every toil and 
 quickness to each perception. But Norreys did not confine his 
 pupil solely to the mute world of a library; he introduced him 
 to some of the first minds in art, science, and letters and active 
 life; "These," said he, "are the living ideas of the present, out 
 of which books for the future will be written : study them ; and 
 here, as in the volumes of the past, diligently amass and delib- 
 erately compile." 
 
 By degrees Norreys led on that young, ardent mind from the 
 selection of ideas to their aesthetic analysis from compilation 
 to criticism : but criticism severe; close, and logical ^a reason 
 for each word of praise or of blame. Led in this stage of his 
 career to examine into the laws of beauty, a new light broke upon 
 his mind; from amidst the masses of marble he had piled 
 around him, rose the vision of the statue. 
 
 And so, suddenly one day Norreys said to him, "I need a 
 compiler no longer maintain yourself by your own creations." 
 And Leonard wrote, and a work flowered up from the seed deep 
 buried, and the soil well cleared to the rays of the sun and the 
 healthful influence of expanded air. 
 
 That first work did not penetrate to a: very wide circle of 
 readers, not from any perceptible fault of its own there is luck 
 in these things ; the first anonymous work of an original genius 
 is rarely at once eminently successful. But the more experienced 
 recognized the promise of the book. Publishers, who have an 
 instinct in the discovery of available talent, which often fore- 
 stalls the appreciation of the public, volunteered liberal offers. 
 "Be fully successful this time," said Norreys; "think not of 
 models nor of style. Strike at once at the common human 
 heart throw away the corks- swim out boldly. One' word 
 more never write a page till you have walked from your room to 
 Temple Bar, and, mingling with men, and reading the human face, 
 learn why great poets have mostly passed their lives in cities." 
 
 Thus Leonard wrote again, and woke one morning to find him- 
 self famous. So far as the chances of all professions dependent 
 on health will permit, present independence, and, with foresight 
 and economy, th prospect of future competence, were secured. 
 
 "And, indeed," said Leonard, concluding a longer but a 
 simpler narrative than is here told "indeed, there is some chance 
 that I may obtain at once a sum that will leave me free for the 
 rest of my life to select my own subjects and write without care
 
 62 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 for remuneration. This is what I call the true (and perhaps, 
 alas! the rare) independence of him who devotes himself to 
 letters. Norreys, having seen my boyish plan for the improve- 
 ment of certain machinery in the steam-engine, insisted on my 
 giving much time to mechanics. The study that once pleased me 
 so greatly, now seemed dull; but I went into it with good heart; 
 and the result is, that I have improved so far on my original idea 
 that my scheme has met the approbation of one of our most 
 scientific engineers ; and I am assured that the patent for it will 
 be purchased of me upon terms which I am ashamed to name to 
 you, so disproportioned do they seem to the value of so simple a 
 discovery. Meanwhile, I am already rich enough to have real- 
 ized the two dreams of my heart to make a home in the cottage 
 where I had last seen you and Helen I mean Miss Digby; and 
 to invite to that home her who had sheltered my infancy." 
 
 " Your mother, where is she ? Let me see her." 
 
 Leonard ran out to call the widow, but, to his surprise and 
 vexation, learned that she had quitted the house before L'Es- 
 trange arrived. 
 
 He came back perplexed how to explain what seemed ungra- 
 cious and ungrateful, and spoke with hesitating lip and flushed 
 cheek of the widow's natural timidity and sense of her own 
 homely station. " And so overpowered is she," added Leonard, 
 " by the recollection of all that we owe to you, that she never 
 hears your name without agitation OT tears, and trembled like a 
 leaf at the thought of seeing you." 
 
 " Ha ! " said Harley v with visible emotion; " Is it so ? " And 
 he bent down, shading his face with his hamd. "And," he re- 
 newed after a pause, but not looking up " and you ascribe this 
 fear of seeing me, this agitation at my name, solely to an exag- 
 gerated sense of of the circumstances attending my acquaint- 
 ance with yourself?" 
 
 "And, perhaps, to : a sort of shame that the mother of one you 
 have made her proud of is but a peasant." 
 
 "That is all?" said Harley, earnestly,'now looking up and -fix- 
 ing his eyes, in which stood tears, upon Leonard's ingenuous brow. 
 
 " Oh, my dear lord, what else can it be ? Do not judge her 
 harshly." 
 
 L'Estrange arose abruptly, pressed Leonard's hand, muttered 
 something not audible, and then drawing his young friend's arm 
 in his, led him into the garden, and turned the conversation back 
 to its former topics. 
 
 Leonard's heart yearned to ask after Helen, and yet some- 
 -'tbing withheld him from doing so. till, seeing Harley did not
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 63 
 
 volunteer to speak of her, he could not resist his impulse. "And 
 Helen Miss Digby is she much changed ? " 
 
 " Changed, no yes ; very much." 
 
 " Very much ! " Leonard sighed. " I shall see her again ? " 
 
 "Certainly," said Harley, in a tone of surprise. "How can you 
 doubt it ? And I reserve to you the pleasure of saying that you 
 are renowned. You blush ; well, I will say that for you. But 
 you shall give her your books." 
 
 " She has not yet read them, then ? not the last ? The first 
 was not worthy of her attention," said Leonard, disappointed. 
 
 " She has only just arrived in England ; and though your 
 books reached me in Germany, she was not then with me. When 
 I have settled some business that will take me from town, I shall 
 present you to her and my mother." There was a certain em- 
 barrassment in Harley's voice as he spoke ; and turning round 
 abruptly, he exclaimed, " But you have shown poetry even here. 
 I could not have conceived that so much beauty could be drawn 
 from what appeared to me the most commonplace of all subur- 
 ban gardens. Why, surely, where that charming fountain now 
 plays stood the rude bench in which I read your verses." 
 
 " It is true ; I wished to unite all together my happiest asso- 
 ciations. I think I told you, my lord, in one of my letters, that 
 I had owed a very happy, yet very struggling time in my boy- 
 hood to the singular kindness and generous instruction of a 
 foreigner whom I served. This fountain is copied from one that 
 I made in his garden, and by the margin of which many a 
 summer day I have sat and dreamt of fame and knowledge." 
 
 "True, you told me of that; and your foreigner will be pleased 
 to hear of your success, and no less so of your grateful recollec- 
 tions. By the way, you did not mention his name." 
 
 " Riccabocca." 
 
 " Riccabocca ! My own dear and noble friend ! is it possi- 
 ble ? One of my reasons for returning to England is connected 
 with him. You shall go down with me and see him. I meant 
 to start this evening." 
 
 " My dear lord," said Leonard, "I think that you may spare 
 yourself so long a journey. I have reason to suspect that Sig- 
 nor Riccabocca is my nearest neighbor. Two days ago I was in 
 the garden, when suddenly lifting my eyes to yon hillock I per- 
 ceived the form of a man seated amongst the brushwood ; and, 
 though I could not see his features, there was something in the 
 very outline of his figure and his peculiar posture, that irresistibly 
 reminded me of Riccabocca. I hastened out of the garden and 
 ascended the hill, but he was gone. My suspicions were so strong,
 
 *4 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 that I caused inquiry tobemadeat the different shops scattered 
 about, and learned that a family, consisting of a gentleman, his 
 wife, and daughter, had lately come to live in a house that you 
 must have passed in your way hither, standing a little back from 
 the road, surrounded by high walls ; and though they were said 
 to be English, yet from the description given to me of the gen- 
 tleman's person by one who had noticed it, by the fact of a for- 
 eign servant in their employ, and by the very name ' Richmouth,' 
 assigned to the new-comers, I can scarcely doubt that it. is the 
 family you seek." 
 
 "And you have never called to ascertain ?" 
 
 " Pardon me, but the family so evidently shunning observa- 
 tion (no one but the master himself ever seen without the walls), 
 the adoption of another name too led me to infer that Ricca- 
 bocca has some strong motive for concealment ; and now, with 
 improved knowledge of life, and recalling all the past, I cannot 
 but suppose that Riccaboccawasnotwhathe appeared. Hence, 
 I have hesitated on formally obtruding myself upon his secrets, 
 whatever they be, and have rather watched for some chance 
 occasion to. meet him in his walks." 
 
 "You did right, my dear Leonard ; but my reasons for seeing 
 my old friend forbid all scruples of delicacy, and I will go at 
 once to his house." 
 
 "You will tell me, my lord, if I am right." 
 
 "1 hope to be allowed to do so. Pray, stay at home till I re- 
 turn. And now, ere I go, one question more : You indulge con- 
 jectures as to Ricqabocca, because he has changed his name 
 tvhy have you dropped your own ? " < 
 
 "I wished to have no name," said Leonard, coloring deeply, 
 "but that which I could make myself." 
 
 " Proud poet, this I can comprehend. But from what reason 
 did you assume the strange and fantastic name of Oran?" 
 
 The flush on Leonard's face became deeper. "My lord," 
 said he, in a low voice, "it is a childish fancy of mine ; it is an 
 anagram." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " At a time when my cravings after knowledge were likely much 
 to mislead, and perhaps to undo me, I chanced on some poems 
 that suddenly affected my whole mind, and led me up into purer 
 air ; and I was told that these poems were written in youth, by 
 one who had beauty and genius one who was in her grave a 
 relation of my own, and her familiar name was Nora " 
 
 "Ah !" again ejaculated Lord L'Estrange, and his arm pressed 
 \jeavily upon Leonard's.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH UFE. 65 
 
 "So, somehow or other," continued the young author falter- 
 ingly, " I wished that if ever I won a poet's fame, it might be to 
 my own heart, at least, associated with this name of Nora with 
 her whom death had robbed of the fame that she might other- 
 wise have won with her who " 
 
 He paused, greatly agitated. 
 
 Harley was no less so. But, as if by a sudden impulse, the 
 soldier bent down his manly head and kissed the poet's brow ; 
 then he hastened to the gate, flung himself on his horse, and 
 rode away. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 LORD L'ESTRANGE did not proceed at once to Riccabocca's 
 house. He was under the influence of a remembrance too deep 
 and too strong to yield easily to the lukewarm claim of friend- 
 ship. He rode fast and far ; and impossible it would be to de- 
 fine the feelings that passed through a mind soacutely sensible and 
 so rootedly tenacious of all affections. When recalling his duty to 
 the Italian, he once more struck into the road to Norwood, the slow 
 pace of his horse was significant of his own exhausted spirits ; a 
 deep dejection had succeeded to feverish excitement. "Vain 
 task," he murmured, "to wean myself from the dead ! Yet I am 
 now betrothed to another; and she, with all her virtues, is not the 
 one to " He stopped short in generous self-rebuke t " Too late to 
 think of that ! Now, all that should remain to me is to insure the 
 happiness of the life to which I have pledged my own. But" 
 He sighed as he so murmured. On reaching the vicinity of Ric- 
 cabocca's house, he put up his horse at a little inn, and proceeded 
 on foot across the heath-land toward the dull square building, 
 which Leonard's description had sufficed to indicate as the ex- 
 ile's new home. It was long before any one answered his sum- 
 niotvs at the gate. Not till he had thrice rung did he hear a heavy 
 st'ep on the gravel-walk within ; then th^ wicket within the gate 
 was partially drawn aside, a dark eye gleamed out, and a voice 
 In imperfect English asked who was there. 
 
 " Lord L'Estrange ; and if I am right as to the person I seek, 
 that name will at once admit me." 
 
 The door flew open as did that of the mystic cavern at the 
 sound of "Open, Sesame"; and Giacomo, almost weeping with 
 joyous emotion, exclaimed, in Italian, "The good Lord! Holy 
 San Giacomo ! thou hast heard me at last ! We are safe now." 
 And dropping the blunderbuss with which he had taken the pre- 
 caution to arm himself,he lifted Harley's hand to his lips, in tht 
 affectionate greeting peculiar to his countrymen.
 
 66 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 "And the Padrone?" asked Harley, as he entered the jealous 
 precincts. 
 
 "Oh, he is just gone out ; but he will not be long. You will 
 wait for him?" 
 
 " Certainly. What lady is that I see at the far end of the gar- 
 den?" 
 
 "Bless her, it is our Signorina. I will run and tell her you 
 are, come." 
 
 "That I am come ; but she cannot know me even by name." 
 
 ''Ah, Excellency, can you think so ? Many and many a time 
 has she talked to me of you, and I have heard her pray to the 
 holy Madonna to bless you 7 , and in a voice so sweet " 
 
 " Stay, I will present myself to her. Go into the house, and we 
 will wait for the Padrone. Nay, I need the air, my friend. Harley, 
 as he said this, broke from Giacomo, and approached Violante. 
 
 The poor child, in her solitary walk in the obscurer parts of 
 the dull garden, had escaped the eye of Giacom-o when he had 
 gone forth to answer the bell ; and she, unconscious of the fears 
 of which she was the object, had felt something of youthful curi- 
 osity at the summons at the gate, and the sight of a stranger in 
 close and friendly confidence with the unsocial Giacomo. 
 
 As Harley now neared her with that singular grace of movement 
 which belonged to him, a thrill shot through her heart she knew 
 not why. She did not recognize his likeness to the sketch taken 
 by her father from his recollections of Harley's early youth. She 
 did not guess who he was ; and yet she felt herself color, and, nat- 
 urally fearless though she was, turned away with a vague alarm. 
 
 " Pardon my want of ceremony, Signorina," said Harley, in 
 Italian ; "but I am so old a friend of your father's that I cannot 
 feel as a stranger to yourself." 
 
 Then Violante lifted to him her dark eyes, so intelligent and so 
 innocent eyes full of surprise, but not displeased surprise. And 
 Harley himself stood amazed and almost abashed, by the rich and 
 almost marvelous beauty that beamed upon him. " My father's 
 friend," she said, hesitatingly, "and I never to have seen you ! " 
 
 "Ah, Signorina," said Harley (and something of its native 
 humor, half arch, half sad, played round his lip), " you are mis- 
 taken there ; you have seen me before, and you received me much 
 more kindly then ' 
 
 " Signer !" said Violante, more and more surprised, and with 
 a yet richer color on her cheeks. 
 
 Harley, who had now recovered from the first effect of her 
 beauty, and who regarded her as men of his years and character 
 arc apt to regard, ladies in their teens, as more child than woman,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 67 
 
 suffered himself to be amused by her perplexity; for it was in his 
 nature, that the graver and more mournful he felt at heart, the 
 more he sought to give play and whim to his spirits. 
 
 " Indeed,:Signorina," said he demurely, " you insisted then on 
 placing one of those fair hands in mine ; the other (forgive me 
 the fidelity of my recollections) was affectionately thrown around 
 my neck." 
 
 " Signor ! " again exclaimed Violante ; but this time there was 
 anger in her voice, as well as surprise, and nothing could be. more 
 charming thaa her look of pride and resentment. 
 
 Harley smiled again, but with so much kindly sweetness that 
 the anger vanished at once, or rather Violante felt angry with 
 herself that she was no longer angry with him. But she had 
 looked so beautiful in her anger, that Harley wished, perhaps, 
 to see her angry again. So, composing his lips from their pro- 
 pitiatory smile, he resumed, grayely 
 
 "Your flatterers will tell you, Signorina, that you are much 
 improved since then, but I liked you better as you were ; not 
 but what I hope to return someday what you then so generously 
 pressed upon me." 
 
 " Pressed upon you ! I ? Signor, you are under some strange 
 mistake." 
 
 " Ala.s ! no ; but the female heart is so capricious and. 
 You pressed it upon me, I assure you. I own that I was 
 loath to accept it." 
 
 " Pressed it ! Pressed, what ? " 
 
 "Your kiss, my child," said Harley ; and then added, with a 
 serious tenderness, "And I again say that 1 hope to return it 
 someday -when I see you, by the side of father and of husband, 
 in your native land the fairest bride on whom the skies of Italy 
 ever smiled ! And now, pardon a hermit and a soldier for his 
 rude jests, and give your hand, in token of that pardon, to 
 Harley L'Estrange." 
 
 Violante, who, at the first words of his address had recoiled, 
 witlva vague belief that the stranger was out of his mind, sprang 
 forward as it closed, and, in all the vivid enthusiasm of her 
 nature, pressed the hand held out to her, with both her own. 
 " tjarley L'Estrange the preserver of my father's life!" she 
 cried ; and her eyes were fixed on his with such evident grati- 
 tude and revereace that Harley felt at once confused and de- 
 lighted. She did not think at that instant of the hero of her 
 dreams she thought but of him who had saved her father. But, 
 as his e^es sank before her own, and his head uncovered, bowed 
 over the >-'ard he held, she recognized the likeness to the feature*-
 
 68 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 on which she had so often gazed. The first bloom of youth was 
 gone, but enough of youth still remained to soften the lapse of 
 years, and to leave to manhood the attractions which charm the 
 eye. Instinctively she withdrew her hands from his clasp, and, 
 in her turn, looked dowm 
 
 In this pause of embarrassment to both, Riccabocca let him- 
 self into the garden by his own latch-key, and, startled to see a 
 man by the side of Violante, sprang forward with an abrupt and 
 angry cry. Harley heard, and turned. 
 
 As if restored to courage and self-possession by the sense of 
 her father's presence, Violante again took the hand of the visitor. 
 " Father," she said, simply, "it is he he is come at last.'- And 
 then, retiring a few steps, she contemplated them both ', and her 
 face was radiant with happiness^ as if something, long silently 
 missed and looked for, was as silently found, and life had no 
 more a want, nor the heart a void. 
 
 . 
 
 BOOK TENTH. INITIAL CHAPTER. 
 
 UPON THIS FACT THAT THE WORLD IS STILL MUCH THE SAME 
 AS IT ALWAYS HAS BEEN. 
 
 IT is observed by a very pleasant writer read now-a-days 
 only by the brave pertinacious few who still struggle hard to 
 rescue from the House of Pluto, the souls of departed authors, 
 jostled and chased as those souls are by the noisy footsteps of 
 the living it is observed by the admirable Charron,that "judg- 
 ment and wisdom is not only the best, but the happiest portion 
 God Almighty hath distributed amongst men ; for though this 
 distribution be made with a very uneven hand, yet nobody thinks 
 himself stinted or ill-dealt with, but he that hath never so little 
 is contented in this respect." * 
 
 And, certainly, the present narrative may serve in notabl'e illus- 
 tration of the remark so dryly made by the witty and wise preacher. 
 For whether our friend Riccabocca deduce theories for dally 
 life from the great folio of Machiavelli, or that promising young 
 gentleman, Mr. Randal Leslie, interpret the power of knowledge 
 into the art of being too knowing for dull honest folks to cope 
 with him ; or acute Dick Avenel push his way up the social 
 ascent with a blow for those before, and a kick for those behind 
 him, after the approved fashion of your strong New Man ; or 
 
 * Translation of Charrdn on Wisdom. By G. STANHOPE, D.D., late Dean of Canter-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 69 
 
 himself to the Magnetic Rock in the Arabian tale, to which the 
 nails in every ship that approaches the influence of the loadstone 
 fly from the planks, and a shipwreck per day adds its waifs to 
 Baron Levy that cynical impersonation of Gold compare 
 the Rock : questionless at least it is, that each of those person- 
 ages believes that Providence has bestowed on him an elder son's 
 inheritance of wisdom. Nor, were we to glance toward the ob- 
 scurer paths of life, should we find good Parson Dale deem him- 
 self worse off than the rest of the world in this precious com- 
 modity as, indeed, he has signally evinced of late in that shrewd 
 guess of his touching Professor Moss ; even plain Squire Haze^ 
 dean takes it for' granted that he could teach Audley Egerton a 
 thing or two worth knowing in politics ; Mr. Stirn thinks that 
 there is no branch of useful lore on which he .could hot instruct 
 the Squire ; while Sprott, the tinker, with his bag fulF of tracts 
 and lucifer-matches, regards the whole framework of modern 
 society, from a rick to a constitution, with the profound disdain 
 of a revolutionary philosopher. Considering that every individual 
 thus brings into the stock of the world so vast a share of intelli- 
 gence, it cannot but excite our wonder to find that Oxenstiern 
 is popularly held to be right when he said, "See, my son, how 
 little wisdom it requires to govern States "; that is, Men ! That 
 so many millions of persons, each with a profound assurance that 
 he is possessed of an exalted sagacity, should concur in the 
 ascendancy of a few inferior intellects, according to a few stupid, 
 prosy, matter-of-fact rules as old as the hills, is a phenomenon 
 very discreditable to the spirit and energy 6f the aggregate human 
 species ! It creates no surprise that on e sensible watch-dog should 
 control the movements of a flock of silly grass-eating sheep ; but 
 that two or three silly gross-eating sheep should give the law to 
 whole flocks of such mighty sensible watch dogs Diavolo ! Dr. 
 Riccabocca, explain (hat if you can ! And wonderfully strange 
 it is, that notwithstanding all the march of enlightenment, not- 
 withstanding our progressive discoveries in the laws of nature 
 our railways, steam engines, animal magnetism, and electro- 
 biology we have never made any improvement that is generally 
 acknowledged, since Men ceased to be troglodytes and nomads, 
 in the old-fashioned gamut of flats and sharps, which attunes 
 into irregular social' jog-trot all the generations that pass from the 
 cradle to the grave ; still, " the desire for something we have not " 
 impels all the energies that keep us in movement, for good or for 
 ill, according to the checks or thedirectionsof each favorite desire. 
 A friend of mine once said to a millionaire, whom he saw for 
 ever engaged in making money which he never seemed to have
 
 y MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 any pleasure in spending, " Pray, Mr. , will you answer me 
 
 one question : You are said to have two millions, and you spend 
 ^600 a.-year. In order to rest arid enjoy,what will content you ? " 
 
 "A little more," answered the millionaire. That ''little more" 
 is the main-spring of civilization. Nobody ever gets it ! 
 
 "Philus," saith a Latin writer, "was not so rich as Lselius ; 
 Laslius was not so rich as Scipio; Scipio was not so rich as Crassus ; 
 and Crassus was not so rich as he wished to be ! " If John Bull 
 were once contented, Manchester might shut up its mills. It is 
 the " little more" that makes a mere trifle of the National Debt ! 
 Long life to it ! 
 
 Still, mend our law-books as we will, one is forced to confess 
 that knaves are often seen in fine linen, and honest men in the 
 most shabby old rags ; and still, notwithstanding the exceptions, 
 knavery is a very hazardous game ; and honesty, on the whole, 
 by far the best policy. Still, most of the Ten Commandments 
 remain at the core of all Pandects and Institutes that keep our 
 hands off our neighbors' throats, wives, and pockets ; still, every 
 year shows that the Parson's maxim non quieta mover e is as 
 prudent for the health of communities as when Apollo recom- 
 mended his votaries not to rake up a fever by stirring the Lake 
 Camarina; still people, thank Heaven, decline to reside in paral- 
 lelograms ; and the surest token that we live under a free gov- 
 ernment is, when we are governed by persons whom we have a 
 full right to imply, by our censure and ridicule, are blockheads 
 compared to ourselves ! Stop that delightful privilege, and, by 
 Jove ! sir, there is nekher pleasure nor honor in being governed 
 at all ! You might as well be^ a Frenchman ! 
 
 , 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 - 
 
 THE Italian and his friend are closeted together. 
 
 "And .why have you left your home in shire ? and why 
 
 this new change of name ? " 
 
 " Peschiera is in England," 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 "And bent on- discovering me ; and, it is said, of stealing from 
 me my child." 
 
 " He has had the assurance to lay wagers that he will win the 
 hand of your heiress. . I know that too ; and therefore I have 
 come to England first to baffle his design^ for I do not think 
 your fears altogether exaggerated and next to learn from you 
 how to follow up a clue which, unless I am too sanguine, may 
 lead to his ruin, and your unconditional restoration. Listen to
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. >t 
 
 me. You are aware that, after the skirmish with Peschiera's 
 armed hirelings sent in search of you, I received a polite mes- 
 sage from the Austrian Government, requesting me to leave its 
 Italian domains. Now, as I hold it the obvious duty of a for- 
 eigner, admitted to the hospitality of a State, to refrain from all 
 participation in its civil disturbances, so I thought my honor as- 
 sailed at this intimation, and went at once to Vienna to explain 
 to the Minister there (to whom I was personally known), that 
 though I had, as became man to man, aided to protect a refugee, 
 who had taken shelter under my roof, from the infuriated sol- 
 diers at the command of his private foe, I had not only not shared 
 in any attempt at revolt, but dissuaded, as far' as I could, my Ital- 
 ian friends from their enterprise ; and that because, without dis- 
 cussing its merits, I believed, as a military man and a cool spec- 
 tator, the enterprise could only terminate in fruitless bloodshed. 
 I was enabled to establish my explanation by satisfactory proof; 
 and my acquaintance with the Minister assumed something of 
 the character of friendship. I was then in a position to advo- 
 cate your cause, and to state your original reluctance to -enter 
 into the plots of the insurgents. I admitted freely that you had 
 such natural desire for the independence of your native land, 
 that, had the standard of Italy been boldly hoisted by its legiti- 
 mate chiefs, or at the common uprising of its whole people, you 
 would have been found in the van, amidst the ranks of your 
 countrymen; but I maintained that you would never have shared 
 in a conspiracy frantic in itself, and defiled by the lawless schemes 
 and sordid ambition of its main projectors, had you not been be- 
 trayed and decoyed into it by the misrepresentations and do- 
 mestic treachery of your kinsman the very man who denounced 
 you. Unfortunately, of this statement I had no proof but your 
 own word. I made, however, so far an impression in your fa- 
 vor, and, it may be, against the traitor, that your property was 
 not confiscated to the State, nor handed over, upon the plea of 
 your civil death, to your kinsman." 
 
 " How ! I do not understand. Peschiera has the property?" 
 " He holds the revenues but of ofie-half upon pleasure, and they 
 would be withdrawn, Could I succeed in establishing the case that 
 exists against him. I was forbidden before to mention this to you ; 
 the Minister, not inexcusably, submitted you to the probation of 
 unconditional exile. Your grace might depend upon your own 
 forbearance from future conspiracies forgive the word. I need 
 not say I was permitted to return to Lombardy. I found, on my 
 arrival, that that your unhappy wife had been to my house, 
 and exhibited great despair at hearing of my departure."
 
 72 MY NOVEL ; ok, 
 
 Riccabocca knit his dark brows, and breathed hard. 
 
 "I did not judge it necessary to acquaint you with this cir- 
 cumstance, nor did it much affect me. I believed in her guilt 
 and what could now avail her remorse, if remorse she felt ? 
 Shortly afterward, I heard that she was no more." 
 
 ."Yes," muttered Riccabocca, "she died in the same year 
 that I left Italy. It must be a strong reason that can excuse a 
 friend for reminding me even that she once lived ! " 
 
 "I come at once to that reason," said L'Estrange gently. 
 " This autumn I was roaming through Switzerland, and, in one 
 of my pedestrian excursions amidst the mountains, I met with 
 an accident, which confined me for some days to a sofa at a little 
 inn in an obscure village. My hostess was an Italian ; and, as 
 I had left my servant at a town at some distance, I required her 
 attention till I could write to him to come to me. 1 was .thank- 
 ful for her care, and amused by her Italian babble. We became 
 very good friends. . She. told me she had been servant to a lady 
 of great rank, who had died in Switzerland ; and that, being en- 
 riched by the generosity of her mistress, she had married a Swiss 
 inn-keeper, and his people had become hers. My servant ar- 
 rived, and my hostess learned my name, which she did not know 
 before. She came into my room greatly agitated. In brief, this 
 woman had been servant tp your wife. She had accompanied 
 her to my villa, and known of her anxiety to see me, as your 
 friend. The Government had assigned to your wife your palace 
 at Milan, with a competent income. .She had refused to accept 
 either. Failing to see me, she had set off toward England, re- 
 solved upon seeing yourself ; for the journals had stated that to 
 England you had escaped." 
 
 "She dared ! shameless.! And see, but a moment before, I 
 had forgotten all but her grave in a foreign soil -and these .tears 
 had forgiven her,," murmured, the Italian. 
 
 " Let them forgive her still," said Harley, with all his exquisite 
 sweetness of look and tone. -".I resume. . On entering Switzer- 
 land, your wife's health, which you know was always delicate, 
 gave way. To fatigue and anxiety succeeded fever, and delirium 
 ensued. She had taken with her but this one female attendant 
 the sole one she could trust on leaving home. She suspected 
 Peschiera to have bribed her household. In the presence of this 
 woman she raved of her innocence in accents of terror and 
 aversion, denounced your kinsman and called on you to vin- 
 dicate her name and your own." 
 
 "Ravings indeed! Poor Paulina !" groaned Riccabocca, 
 covering his face with both hands.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 73 
 
 "But in her delirium there were lucid intervals. In one of 
 these she rose, in spite of all her servant could do to restrain her, 
 took from her desk several letters, and reading them over, ex- 
 claimed piteously, ' But how to get them to him ? whom to trust? 
 And his friend is gone ! ' Then an idea seemed suddenly to 
 flash upon her, for she uttered a joyous exclamation, sat down, 
 and wrote long and rapidly ; enclosed what she wrote with all 
 the letters, in one packet, which she sealed carefully, and bade 
 her servant carry to the post, with many injunctions to take it 
 with her own hand, and pay the charge upon. it. ' For oh. !' said 
 she (I repeat the words as my informant told them to me) ' for. 
 oh ! this is my sole chance to prove to my husband that, though 
 I have erred, I am not the guilty thing he believes me ; the 
 sole chance, too, to redeem my error, and restore, perhaps, to 
 my husband his country, to my child her heritage.' The ser- 
 vant took the letter to the post ; and when she returned, her lady 
 was asleep, with a smile upon her face. But from that sleep 
 she woke again delirious, and before the next morning her soul 
 had fled." Here Riccabocea lifted one hand from his face and 
 grasped Harley's arm, as if mutely beseeching him to pause. 
 The heart of the man struggled hard with his pride and his phil- 
 osophy ; and it was long before Harley could lead him to regard 
 the worldly prospects which this last communication from his 
 wife might open to his ruined fortunes, Not, indeed, till Ric- 
 cabocea had persuaded himself, and, half-persuaded Harley (for 
 strong, indeed, was all presumption of guilt against the dead) 
 that his wife's protestations of innocence from all but error 
 had been but ravings. 
 
 "Be this as it may," said Harley, " there seems every reason to 
 suppose that the letters enclosed were Peschiera's correspond- 
 ence, and that, if so, these would establish the proof of his influ- 
 ence over your wife, and of his perfidious machinations against 
 yourself. I resolved, before Coming hither, to go round by Vienna. 
 There I heard, with dismay, that Peschiera had not only obtained 
 the imperial sanction to demand your daughter's hand, but had 
 boasted to his profligate circle that he should Succeed and he was 
 actually on his road to England. I saw at once that could. this 
 design, by any fraud or artifice, be successful with Violante (for 
 of your consent, I need not say, I did not dream), the discovery of 
 the packet, whatever its contents, would be useless; Peschiera's 
 end would be secured, I saw also that his success would suffice 
 forever to clear his name for his success must imply your con- 
 sent (it would be to disgrace your daughter, to assert that she had 
 married without it), and your consent would be his acquittal. I
 
 74 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 saw, too, with alarm, that to all means-for the accomplishment of 
 his project he would be urged by despair; for his debts are great, 
 and his character nothing but new wealth can support. I knew 
 that he was able, bold, determined, and that he had taken with him 
 a large supply of money borrowed upon usury ; in a word, I 
 trembled for you both. I have now seen your daughter, and I 
 tremble no more. Accomplished seducer as Peschiera boasts 
 himself, the first look upon her face, so sweet yet so noble, con- 
 vinced me that she is proof against a legion of Peschiefas. Now, 
 then, return we to this all-important subject to this packet. It 
 never reached you. Long years have passed since then. Does it 
 exist still ? Into whose hands would it have fallen ? Try to sum- 
 mon up all your recollections. The servant could not remember 
 the name of the person to whom it was addressed; she only in- 
 sisted that the name began with a B, that it was directed to Eng- 
 land, and that to England she accordingly paid the postage. 
 Whom then, with a name that begins with B, or (in case the ser- 
 vant's memory here misled her) who did you or your wife know, 
 during your visit to England, with sufficient intimacy to make it 
 probable that she would select such a person for her confidant?" 
 
 "I cannot conceive," said Riccabocca, shaking his head. " We 
 came to England shortly after our marriage. Paulina was affected 
 by the climate. She spoke hot a word of English, and indeed not 
 even French, as might have been expected from her birth, for her 
 father was poor, and thoroughly Italian. She refused all society. 
 I went, it is true, somewhat into the London world enough to 
 induceme to shrink from the contrast that my second visit as a 
 beggared refugee would have made to the reception I met withon 
 my first; but I formed ho intimate friendships. I recall no one 
 whom she could have written to as intimate with me." [c 
 
 "But," persisted ttarley, ''think again. Was there no lady 
 well acquainted with Italian, and with whom, perhaps, for that 
 very reason, your wife became familiar ? " 
 
 "'Ah, it is true. There was one old kdy of retired habits, 
 but who had been much in Italy. Lady Lady I remember 
 Lady Jbne Horton." 
 
 " Horton Lady Jane ! "exclaimed Harley; "again ! thrice in 
 one day is this wOtind never to scar over ? " Then, noting Ricca- 
 bocca's look of surprise, he said, " Excuse me, my friend ; I listen 
 to you -frith renewed interest. Lady Jane was a distant relation of 
 my own; she judged me, perhaps, harshly and I have some 
 painful associations with her name ; but she was a woman of 
 many virtues. Your wife knew her ?" 
 
 " Not, however, intimately still, better than any one else in
 
 VARIETIES 1M ENGLISH LIFE. 75 
 
 London. But Paulina would not have written to her; she knew 
 that Lady Jane had died shortly after her own departure from 
 England. I fnyself was summoned back to Italy on pressingbusi- 
 ness;. she was too unwell to journey with me as rapidly as I was 
 obliged to travel; indeed, illness detained her several weeks in 
 England. In this interval she might have made acquaintances. 
 Ah, now I see; I guess. You say the name began with B. Paulina, 
 in my absence, engaged a companion -a. Mrs. Bertram. This 
 lady accompanied her abroad. Paulina became excessively at- 
 tached to her, she knew Italian so well. Mrs. Bertram left her on 
 the road and returned to England, for some private affairs of 
 her own. I forget why of wherefore; if, indeed, I ever asked 
 or learned. Paulina missed her sadly, often talked of her, 
 wondered why she never heard from her. No doubt it Was to 
 this Mrs. Bertram that she wrote ! " 
 
 "And you don't know the lady's friends, or address? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Nor who recommended her to your wife ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Probably Lady Jane Horton ? " 
 
 " It may be so. Very likely." 
 
 "I will follow up this track, slight as it is." 
 
 "But if Mrs. Bertram received the communication, how comes 
 it that it never reached myself O, fool that I am, how should 
 it ! I, who guarded so carefully my incognito ! " 
 
 "True. This your wife could not foresee; she Would naturally 
 imagine that your residence in England would be easily dis- 
 covered. But many years must have passed since your wife lost 
 sight of this Mrs. Bertram, if their acquaintance was made soon 
 after your marriage; and now it is along time to retrace ^before 
 even your Violante was born." 
 
 " Alas ! yes. I lost two fair sons in the interval. Violante 
 was born to me as a child of sorrow." 
 
 "And to make sorrow lovely ! how beautiful she is !" 
 
 The father smiled proudly. 
 
 "Where, in the loftiest houses of Europe, find a husband 
 worthy of such a prize ?" 
 
 "You forget that I am still an exile she still dowerless. You 
 forget that I am pursued by Peschiera; that I would rather see 
 her a .beggar's wife than Pah, 'the very thought maddens me, 
 it is so foul. Corpo di Bacco ! I have been glad to find her a 
 husband already." 
 
 " Already ! Then that young man spoke truly / " 
 
 " What young man ? "
 
 76 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "Randal Leslie. How ! yqu know him?" Here a brief ex> 
 planation followed. Harley heard with attentive ear, and 
 marked vexation, the particulars of Riccabocca's connection 
 and implied engagement with Leslie. 
 
 " There is something very suspicious to me in all this," said he. 
 " Why should this young man have so sounded me as to Vio- 
 lante's chance of losing fortune if she married an Englishman?" 
 
 " Did he ? Oh, pooh ! excuse him. It was but his natural 
 wish to seem ignorant of all about me. He .did not know 
 enough of my intimacy with you to betray my secret." 
 
 " But he knew enough of it must have known enough to 
 have made it right that he should tell you I was in England 
 He does not seem to have done so." 
 
 " No that is strange yet scarcely strange; for, when we last 
 met, his head was full of other things love and marriage. 
 Basta! youth will be youth." 
 
 "He has no youth left in him !" exclaimed Harley, passionately. 
 " I doubt if he ever had any. He is one of those men who ,come 
 into the world with the pulse of a centenarian. You and I never 
 shall be as old as he was in long-clothes. Ah, you may laugh; 
 but I am never wrong in my instincts. I disliked him at the first 
 his eye, his smile, his voice, his very footstep. It is madness 
 in you to countenance such a marriage; it may destroy all 
 chance of your restoration." 
 
 " Better that than infringe my word once passed." 
 
 " No, no," exclaimed Harley; " your word is not passed it 
 shall not be passed. Nay, never look so piteously at me. At 
 all events, pause till we know more of this young man. If he 
 be worthy of her without a dower, why, then, let him lose you 
 your heritage? I should have no more to say." 
 
 "But why lose me my heritage ? There isno law in Austria which 
 candictate to a father what husband to choose for his daughter." 
 
 " Certainly not. But you are out of the pale of law itself just at 
 present; and it would surely be a reason for state policy to with- 
 hold your pardon, and it would be to the loss of that favor with 
 your own countrymen, which would now make that pardon so 
 popular, if it were known that the representative of your name 
 were debased by your daughter's alliance with an English ad- 
 venturera clerk in a public office ! O, sage in theory, why 
 are you such a simpleton in action ? " 
 
 Nothing moved by this taunt, Riccabocca rubbed his handa^ 
 and then spread them comfortably over the fire. 
 
 "My friend," said he, "the representation of my name 
 would pass to my son."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 77 
 
 " But you have no son ? " 
 
 "Hush! I am going .to have one; :my Jemima informed me 
 of it yesterday morning; and it was upon that information that 
 I resolved to speak to Leslie. Am I a simpleton now?" 
 
 "Going to have a son," repeated Harley, looking very bewil- 
 dered; *' how do you know it is to be a son ? " 
 
 " Physiologists- are agreed," said the sage, positively, " that 
 where the husband is much older than the wife, and there has been 
 a long interval without children before she condescends to in- 
 crease the population of the world she (that is, it is at least as 
 nine to four) she brings into the world a male. I consider 
 that point, therefore, as settled, according to the calculations of 
 statisticians and the researches of naturalists." 
 
 Harley could not help laughing, though he was still angry 
 and disturbed. 
 
 "The same man as ever; ahvays the fool of philosophy." 
 
 "V.$/W/0/"said Riccabocca. "I am rather the philosopher 
 of fools. And talking of that, shall I present you to my Jemima ?" 
 
 "Yes ; but in turn I must present you to one who remembers 
 with gratitude your kindness, and whom your philosophy, for a 
 wonder, has not ruined. Some time or other you must explain 
 that to me. Excuse me for a moment ; I will go for him." 
 
 "For him; for whom? In my position I must be cautious 
 and " 
 
 " I will answer for his faith and discretion. Meanwhile, order 
 dinner, and let me and my friend stay to share it." 
 
 " Dinner ! Corpo di Bacco! not that Bacchus can help us 
 here. What will Jemima say ? " 
 
 " Henpecked man, settle that with your connubial tyrant. 
 But dinner it must be." 
 
 I leave the reader to imagine the delight of Leonard at seeing 
 once more Riccabocca. unchanged, and Violante so improved ; 
 and the kind Jemima too. And their wonder at him and his 
 history, his books and his fame. He narrated his struggles and 
 adventures with a simplicity that .removed from si.story so per- 
 sonal the character of egotism. But when he came to speak of 
 Helen, he was brief and reserved. 
 
 Violante would have questioned more closely ; but, to Leon- 
 ard's relief, Harley interposed. 
 
 "You shall see her whom he speaks of before long, and ques- 
 tion her yourself." 
 
 With these words, Harley : turned the young man's narrative 
 into new directions ; and Leonard's words again flowed freely. 
 Thus the evening passed away happily to all save Riccabocca,
 
 7$ MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 For the thought of his dead wife rose ever and anon before the 
 exile; but when it did, and became too painful, he crept rrearer 
 to Jemima, and looked in her simple face, and pressed her cordial 
 hand. And yet the monster had implied to Harley that his 
 comforter was a fool so she was, to love so contemptible a 
 slanderer of herself and her sex. 
 
 Violante was in a state of blissful excitement ; she could not 
 analyze her 6wn joy. But her conversation was chiefly with Leon- 
 ard ; and the most silent of all was Harley. He sat listening 
 to Leonard's warm, yet unpretending eloquence that eloquence 
 which flows so naturally from genius, when thoroughly at its ease, 
 and hot chilled back on itself by hard, unsympathizing hearers 
 listened, yet more charmed, to the sentiments less profound, yet 
 no less earnest sentiments so feminine, yet so noble, with which 
 Violante's fresh, virgin heart responded to the poet's kindling 
 soul. Those sentiments of hers were so unlike all he heard in 
 the common world so akin to himself in his gone youth ! 
 Occasionally at some high thought of her own, or some lofty- 
 line from Italian song, that she cited with lighted eyes, and in. 
 melodious accents occasionally he reared his knightly head, 
 and his lip quivered, as if he 'had heard the sound of a trumpet. 
 The inertness of long years was shaken. The Heroic, that lay 
 deep beneath all the humors of his temperament, was reached, 
 appealed to ; and stirred within him, rousing up all the bright 
 associations connected with it, and long dormant. When he 
 arose to take leave, surprised at the lateness of the hour, Harley 
 said, in a tone that bespoke the sincerity of the compliment, " I 
 thank you. for the happiest hours I have known for years." His 
 eye dwelt J oh Violante as he spoke. But timidity returned to 
 her with his words at his look ; and it was no longer the in- 
 spired muse, but the bashful girl that stood before him. 
 
 " And when shall I see you again ?" asked Riccabocca, dis- 
 consolately, following his guest to the door. 
 
 "When! Why, of course, to'morrow. Adieu! my dear 
 friend. No wonder you have l)6rne your : exile so patiently, 
 with such a child ! " 
 
 He took Leonard's arm, and walked with him to the inn where 
 he had left his horse. Leonard 1 spoke of Violante with enthu- 
 siasm. Harley was silent. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE next day a somewhat old-fashioned, but exceedingly 
 patrician, equipage stopped at Riccabocca's garden-gate. Gia- 
 como, who, from a bed-room window, had caught sight of its
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 79 
 
 winding toward the house, was seized with undefinable terror 
 when he beheld it pause before their walls, and heard the shrill 
 summons at the portal. He rushed into his master's presence, 
 and implored him not to stir not to allow any one to give in- 
 gress to the enemies the machine might disgorge, " I have 
 heard," said he,"howatown in Italy Ithink it was Bologna 
 was once taken and given up to the sword, by incautiously ad- 
 mitting a wooden horse, full of the troops of Barbarossa, and all 
 manner of bombs and Congreve rockets." 
 
 "The story is differently told in Virgil," quoth Riccabocca, 
 peeping out of the window. " Nevertheless, the machine looks 
 very large and suspicious ; unloose Pompey." 
 
 " Father," said Violante, coloring, "it is, your friend Lord 
 L'Estrange ; I hear his voice." 
 
 "Are you sure ? " 
 
 " Quite. How can I be mistaken ? " 
 
 " Go then, Giacomo : but take Pompey with thee and give 
 the alarm if we are deceived." 
 
 But Violante was right; and in a few moments Lord L'Estrange 
 was seen walking up the garden, and givio'g the arm to two lad?-s. 
 
 "Ah," said Riccabocca, composing his dresing-robe around 
 him, "go, my child, and summon Jemima. Man to man ; but, 
 for Heaven's sake, woman to woman." 
 
 Harley had brought his mother and Helen, in compliment to 
 the ladies of his friend's household. 
 
 .The proud Countess knew that she was in the presence of 
 Adversity, and her salute to Riccabocca was only less respectful 
 than that by which she would have rendered homage to her 
 sovereign. But Riccabocca, always gallant to the sex that he 
 pretended to despise, was not to be outdone in ceremony ; and the 
 bow which replied to the curtsey would have edified the rising 
 generation, and delighted such surviving relics of the old Court 
 breeding as may linger yet amidst the gloomy pomp of the Fau- 
 bourg St. Germain. These dues paid to etiquette, the Countess 
 briefly introduced Helen as Miss Digby,and seated herself near 
 the exile. In a few moments the two elder personages became 
 quite at home with each other ; and, really, perhaps Riccabocca 
 had never, since we have known him, showed to such advantage 
 as by the side of his polished, but somewhat formal visitor. Both 
 had lived so little with our modern ill-bred age ! They took 
 out their manners of a former race, with a sort of pride in air- 
 ing once more such fine lace and superb brocade. Riccabocca 
 gavetruce to the shrewd but homely wisdom of his proverbs per- 
 haps he remembered that Lord Chesterfield denounces proverbf
 
 8.0 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 as vulgar ; and gaunt though his figure, and far from elegant 
 though his dressing-robe, there was that about him which spoke 
 undeniably of the grand seigneur of one to whom a Marquis de 
 Dangeau would have offered zfauteuil by the side of theRohans 
 and Montmorencies. 
 
 Meanwhile Helen and Harley seated themselves a little apart, 
 and were both silent-^the first, from timidity, the second from 
 abstraction. At length the door opened, and Harley suddenly 
 sprang to his feet Violante and Jemima entered. Lady Lans- 
 mere's eyes first rested on the daughter, and she could scarcely 
 refrain from an exclamation of admiring surprise ; but then, when 
 she caught sight of Mrs. Riccabocca's somewhat humble, yet 
 not obsequious mien looking a little shy, a little homely, yet 
 still thoroughly a gentlewoman (though of your plain rural kind 
 of that genus) she turned from the daughter, and with the 
 savoir vivre of the fine old school, paid her first respects to the 
 wife ; respects literally, for her manner implied respect, but it 
 was more kind, simple, and cordial than the respect- she had 
 shown to Riccabocca; as the sage himself had said, here"it was 
 Woman to Woman." And then she took Violante's hand in both 
 hers, and gazed on her as if she could not resist^the pleasure of 
 contemplating so 'much beauty. " My son," she said, softly, and 
 with a half-sigh " my son in vain told me not to be surprised. 
 This is the first time I have ever knownreality exceeddescription !" 
 
 Violante's blush here made her still more beautiful ; and as the 
 Countess returned to Riccabocca, she stole gently to Helen's side. 
 
 "Miss Digby, my ward," said Harley, pointedly, observing 
 that his mother had neglected her duty of presenting Helen to 
 the ladies. He then reseated himself, and conversed with Mrs; 
 Riccabocca ; but his bright quick eye glanced over at the two 
 girls. They were about the same age and youth was all that, 
 to the superficial eye, they seemed to have in common. A greater 
 contrast could not well be conceived ; and, what is more strange, 
 both gained by it. Violante's brilliant loveliness seemed yet more 
 dazzling, and Helen's fair gentle face yet more winning. Neither 
 had mixed much with girls of her own age ; each took to the other 
 at first sight. Violante, as the less shy, began the conversation. 
 
 "You are his ward Lord L'Estrange's?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 -"Perhaps you came with him from Italy?" 
 
 ''No, not exactly. But I have been in Italy for some years.' 1 
 
 "Ah! you regret nay, I am foolish you return to your na- 
 tive land. But the skies in Italy are so blue here it seems as 
 if nature wanted colors."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 8 1 
 
 " Lord L'Estrange says that you were very young when you left 
 Italy; you remember it well. He, too, prefers Italy to England." 
 
 4< He! Impossible! " 
 
 " Why impossible, fair sceptic ? " cried Harley, interrupting 
 himself in the midst of a speech to Jemima. 
 
 Violante had not dreamed that she could be overheard she 
 was speaking low; but, though vividly embarrassed, she answered 
 distinctly 
 
 " Because in England there is the noblest career for noble 
 minds." 
 
 Harley was startled, and replied, with a slight sigh, "At your 
 age I should have said as you do. But this England of ours is 
 so crowded with noble minds, that they only jostle each other, 
 and the career is one cloud of dust." 
 
 " So, I have read, seems a battle to the common soldier, but 
 not to the chief." 
 
 " You have read good descriptions of tattles, I see." 
 
 Mrs. Riccabocca, who thought this remark a taunt Upon her 
 step-daughter's studies, hastened to Violante's relief. 
 
 " Her papa made her read the history of Italy, and that I 
 believe is full of battles." 
 
 HARLEY. All history is, and all women are fond of war and 
 warriors. I wonder why ? 
 
 VIOLANTE (turning to Helen, and in a very low voice resolved 
 that Harley should not hear this time}, We can guess why 
 can we not ? 
 
 HARLEY (hearing every word, as if it had been spoken in St. 
 Paul's WhisperingGallery). If you can guess, Helen, pray tell me. 
 
 HELEN (shaking her pretty head, and answering, with a livelier 
 smile than usual). But I am not fond of war and warriors. 
 
 HARLEY (to Violante). Then I must appeal at once to you, 
 self-convicted Bellona that you are. Is it from the cruelty 
 natural to the female disposition ? 
 
 VIOLANTE (with a sweet musical laugh). From two propen- 
 sities still more natural to it. 
 
 HARLEY. You puzzle me: what can they be ? 
 
 VIOLANTE. Pity and admiration; we pity the weak and ad- 
 mire the brave. 
 
 Harley inclined his head and was silent. 
 
 Lady Lansmere had suspended her conversation with Ricca- 
 bocca to listen to this dialogue. "Charming!" she cried. "You 
 have explained what has often perplexed me. Ah, Harley, I am 
 glad to see that your satire is foiled; you have no reply to that." 
 
 " No; I willingly own myself defeated, too glad to claim the
 
 8| MV NOVEL. ; OR, 
 
 Signorina's pity, since my cavalry-sword hangs on the wall, and 
 I can no longerhave a professional pretenoe to heradmiration." 
 
 He then rose, and glanced toward the window. " But I see 
 a rn,ore formidable disputant for my conqueror to encounter is 
 coming into the field--one whose profession it is to substitute 
 some other romance for that of camp and siege." 
 
 " Our friend Leonard," said Riccabocca, turning his eyes also 
 toward the window. "True; as Quevedo says wittily, 'Ever 
 since there has been so great a demand for type, there has been 
 much less lead to spare for cannon-balls.' " 
 
 Here Leonard entered. Hurley had sent 'Lady Lansmere's 
 footman to him with a note, that prepared him to meet Helen. 
 As he came into the room, Harley took him by the hand and led 
 him to Lady Lansmere. 
 
 " The friend of whom I spoke. Welcome him novy for my 
 sake, ever after for his own"; and then, scarcely allowing time 
 for the Countess's elegant and gracious response, he drew Leon- 
 ard toward Helen. "Children," said he, with a touching voice, 
 that thrilled through the hearts of both, "go and seat yourselves 
 yonder, and talk together of the past. Signorina, I invite you 
 to renewed discussion upon the abstruse metaphysical subject 
 you have started; let us see if we cannot find getler sources 
 for pity and admiration than war and warriors." He took Vio- 
 lante aside to the window. " You remember that Leonard, in 
 telling you his history last night, spoke, you thought, rather too 
 briefly, of the little girl who had been his companion in the 
 rudest time of his trials. When you would have questioned more, 
 I interrupted you, and said, ' You should see her shortly, and 
 question her yourself.' And now what do you think of Hejen 
 Digby? Hush, speak low. But her ears are not so sharp as mine." 
 
 VioLANTE.Ah ! that is the fair creature whom Leonard 
 called his child-angel ? What a lovely innocent face ! the angel 
 is there still. 
 
 ; .HARLEY (pleased both at the praise and with her w-ho gave 
 it). You think so; and you are right. Helen is not ; communi- 
 cative. But fine natures are like fine poems, a glance at the 
 first two lines suffices for a gues.s into the beauty that waits 
 you if you read on. 
 
 Violante gazed on Leonard and Helen, as they sat apart. 
 Leonard was the speaker, Helen the listener; arid though the 
 former had, in his narrative the night before, been indeed brief 
 as to the episode in his life connected with the orphan, enough 
 had been said to interest Violante in the pathos of their former 
 position toward each other, and in the happiness they must feel
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 83 
 
 in their meeting again separated for years on the wide sea of 
 life, now both saved from the storm and shipwreck. The tears 
 came into her eyes. " True," she said, very softly, " there is 
 more here to move pity and admiration than in " She paused. 
 
 HARLEY. Complete the sentence. Are you ashamed to re- 
 tract? Fie on your pride and obstinacy ! 
 
 VIOLANTE. No; but even here there have been war and hero- 
 ism the war of genius with adversity, and heroism in the com- 
 forter who shared it and consoled. Ah! wherever pity and admi- 
 ration are both felt, something nobler than mere sorrow must 
 have gone before; the -heroic must exist. 
 
 " Helen does not know what the word heroic means," said 
 Harley, rather sadly; "you must teach her." 
 
 "Is it possible," thought he, as he spoke, "that a Randal Les- 
 lie could have charmed this grand creature? No 'Heroic,' 
 surely, in that sleek young placeman." " Your father," he said 
 aloud, and fixing his eyes on her face, " sees much, he tells me, 
 of a young man about Leonard's age, as to date; but I never 
 estimate the age of men by the parish register; and I should 
 speak of that so-called young man as a contemporary of my great- 
 grandfather; I mean Mr. Randal Leslie. Do you like him?" 
 
 "Like him?" said Violante, slowly, as if sounding her own 
 mind: " Like him ? yes." 
 
 " Why?" asked Harley, with dry and curt indignation. 
 
 "His visits seem to please my dear father. Certainly I like him." 
 
 " Hum. He professes to like you, I suppose ? " 
 
 Violante laughed unsuspiciously. She had half a mind to 
 reply, " Is that so strange? " But her respect for Harley stopped 
 her. The words would have seemed to her pert. 
 
 " I am told he is clever," resumed Harley. 
 
 " Oh, certainly." 
 
 "And he is rather handsome. But I like Leonard's face belter." 
 
 " Better that is not the word. Leonard's face is as that of 
 one who has gazed so often upon Heaven; and Mr. Leslie's 
 there is neither sunlight nor starlight reflected there." 
 
 " My dear Violante!" exclaimed Harley, overjoyed; and he 
 pressed her hand. 
 
 The blood rushed over the girl's cheek and brow; her hand 
 trembled in his. But Harley's familiar exclamation might have 
 come from a father's lips. 
 
 At that moment Helen softly approached them, and looking 
 timidly into her guardian's face, said, " Leonard's mother is 
 with him: he asks me to call and see her. May I ?" 
 
 "May you! A pretty notion the Signorina must form of
 
 84 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 your enslaved state of pupilage, when she hears you ask that 
 question. Of course you may." 
 
 " Will yo.u come with us ? " 
 
 Harley looked embarrassed. He thought of the widow's agi- 
 tation at his name; of that desire to shun him, which Leonard 
 had confessed, and of which he thought he had divined the 
 cause. And so divining, he, too, shrank from such a meeting. 
 
 "Another time, then," said he, after a pause. 
 
 Helen looked disappointed, but said no more. 
 
 Violante was surprised at this ungracious answer. She would 
 have blamed it as unfeeling in another. But all that Harley did 
 was right in her eyes. 
 
 "Cannot I go with Miss Digby ?" said she; "and my mother 
 will go too. We both know Mrs. Fairfield. We shall be so 
 pleased to see her again." 
 
 "So be it," said Harley; "I will wait here with your father 
 till you come back. Oh, as to my mother, she will excuse the 
 excuse Madame Riccabocca, and you too. See how charmed 
 she is with your father. I must stay to watch over the conju- 
 gal interests o mine" 
 
 But Mrs. Riccabocca had too much good old country breeding 
 to leave the Countess; and Harley was forced himself to appeal 
 to Lady Lansmere. When he had explained the case in point, 
 the Countess rose and said, 
 
 " But I will call myself with Miss Digby." 
 
 " No," said Harley, gravely, but in a whisper "no I would 
 rather not. I will explain later." 
 
 " Then," said the Countess aloud, after a glance of surprise 
 at her son, " I must insist on your performing this visit, my dear 
 madam, and you, Signorina. In truth, I have something to say 
 confidentially to " 
 
 "Tome!" interrupted Riccabocca, "Ah, Madame la Corri- 
 tesse, you restore me to five-and-twenty. Go, quick O jealous 
 and injured wife; go, both of you quick; and you too, Harley." 
 
 " Nay," said Lady Lansmere, in the same tone, " Harley must 
 stay, for my design is not at present upon destroying your matri- 
 monial happiness, whatever it may be later. It is a design so 
 innocent, that my son will be a partner in it." 
 
 Here the Countess put her lips to Harley's ear, and whispered. 
 He received her communication in attentive silence ; but when 
 she had done, pressed her hand and bowed his head, as if in 
 assent to a proposal. 
 
 In a few minutes the three ladies and Leonard were on their 
 road to the neighboring cottage.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 85 
 
 Violante, with her usual delicate intuition, thought that Leon- 
 ard and Helen must have much to say to each other ; and 
 (ignorant, as Leonard himself was, of Helen's engagement to 
 Harley) began already, in the romance natural to her age, to pre- 
 dict for them happy and united days in the future. So she 
 took her step-mother's arm, and left Helen and Leonard to follow. 
 
 " I wonder," she said, musingly, "how Miss Digby became 
 Lord L'Estrange's ward. I hope she is not very rich, nor very 
 high-born." 
 
 " La, my love," said the good Jemima, "that is not like you ; 
 you are not envious of her, poor girl ! " 
 
 "Envious! Dear mamma, what a word! But don't you 
 think Leonard and Miss Digby seem born for each other ? And 
 then the recollections of their childhood the thoughts of child- 
 hood are so deep, and its memories so strangely soft ! " The 
 long lashes drooped over Violante's musing eyes as she spoke. 
 "And therefore," she said, after a pause "therefore I hoped 
 that Miss Digby might not be very- rich nor very high-born." 
 
 " I understand you now, Violante," exclaimed Jemima, her 
 own early passion for match-making instantly returning to her ; 
 " for as Leonard, however clever and distinguished, is still the 
 son of Mark Fairfield, the carpenter, it would spoil all, tf -Miss 
 Digby was, as you say, rich and high-born. I agree with you- 1 a 
 very pretty match a very pretty match, indeed. I wish dear Mrs. 
 Dale were here now she is so clever in settling such matters." 
 
 Meanwhile Leonard and Helen walked side by side a few 
 paces in the rear. He had not offered her his arm. They had 
 been silent hitherto since they left Riccabocca's house. 
 
 Helen now spoke first. In similar cases it is generally the 
 woman, be she ever so timid, who does speak first. And here 
 Helen was the bolder; for Leonard did not disguise from himself 
 the nature of his feelings, and Helen was engaged to another; 
 and her pure heart was fortified by the trust reposed in it. 
 
 "And have you ever heard more of the good Dr. Morgan, 
 who had powders against sorrow, and who meant to be so kind to 
 us though," she added, coloring, "we did not think so then?' 
 
 " He took my child-angel from me," said Leonard, with vis- 
 ible emotion; "and if she had not returned, where and what 
 should I be now ? But I have forgiven him. No, I have never 
 met him since." 
 
 "And that terrible Mr. Burley?" 
 
 " Poor, poor Burley ! He, too, is vanished out of my present 
 life. I have made many inquiries after him; all I can hear is 
 that he went abroad, supposed as a correspondent to some
 
 86 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 journal. I shall like so much to see him again, now that per- 
 haps I could help him as he helped me." 
 
 "Helped you ah !" 
 
 Leonard smiled with a beating heart, as he saw again the dear 
 prudent, warning look, and involuntarily drew closer to Helen. 
 She seemed more restored to him and to her former self. 
 
 " Helped me much by his instructions; more, perhaps, by his 
 very faults. You cannot guess, Helen, I beg pardon, Miss 
 Digby but I forgot that we are no longer children : you cannot 
 guess how much we men, and more than all perhaps, we writers, 
 whose task it is to unravel the web of human actions, owe even 
 to our own past errors; and if we learned nothing by the errors 
 of others, we should be dull indeed. We must know where the 
 roads divide, and have marked where they lead to, before we can 
 ereci: our sign-post; and books are the sign-posts in human life." 
 
 " Books ! and I have not yet read yours. And Lord L' Estrange 
 tells me you are famous now. Yet you remember me still the 
 poor orphan child, whom you first saw weeping at her father's 
 grave, and with whom you burdened your own young life, over- 
 burdened already. No, still call me Helen you must always 1 
 be to me a brother! Lord L'Estrafige feels that; he said so 
 to me when he told me that we were to meet again. He is so 
 generous, so noble. " Brother ! " cried Helen, suddenly, and 
 extending her hand, with a sweet but sublime look in her gentle 
 face -"brother, we will never forfeit his esteem; we will both 
 do our best to repay him ! Will we not ? say so ! " 
 
 Leonard felt overpowered by contending and unanalyzed emo- 
 tions. Touched almost to fears by ; the affectionate address 
 thrilled by the hand that pressed his own and yet with a vague 
 fear, a consciousness that something more than the words them- 
 selves was implied something that checked all hope. And this 
 word "brother," once so precious and so dear, why did he shrink 
 from it now ? why could he not too say the sweet word "sister" ? 
 
 " She is above me now and evermore ! " he thought mourn- 
 fully; and the tones of his voice, when he spoke again, were 
 changed. The appeal to renewed intimacy but made him more 
 distant; and to that appeal itself 'he made no direct answer; for 
 Mrs. Riccabocca, now turning round, and pointing to the cottage 
 which came 'in view, with its picturesque gable-ends, cried out 
 
 " But is that your house, Leonard ? I never saw anything 
 so pretty." 
 
 " You do not remember it then," said Leonard to Helen, in 
 accents of melancholy reproach "there where I saw you last ! 
 I doubted whether to keep it exactly as it was, and I said, ' No!
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 87 
 
 the association is not changed because we try to surround it with 
 whatever beauty we can create; the dearer the association, the 
 more the Beautiful becomes to it natural.' Perhaps you don't 
 understand this perhaps it is only we poor poets who do." 
 
 " I understand it," said Helen, gently. She looked wistfully 
 at the cottage. 
 
 " So changed I have so often pictured it to myself never, 
 never like this ; yet I loved it, commonplace as it was to my 
 recollection; and the garret, and the tree in the carpenter's yard." 
 
 She did not give these thoughts utterance. And they now 
 entered the garden. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MRS. FAIRFIELD was a proud woman when she received Mrs. 
 Riccabocca and Violante in her grand house; for a grand house 
 to her was that cottage to which her boy Lenny had brought 
 her home. Proud, indeed, ever was Widow. Fair field; but she 
 thought then, in her secret heart, that if ever she could receive 
 in the drawing-room of that grand house the great Mrs. Hazel- 
 dean, who had so lectured her for refusing to live any longer .in the 
 humble tenement rented of the Squire, the cup of human bliss 
 would be filled, and she could die contentedly of the pride of 
 it. She did not much notice Helen her Attention was too ab- 
 sorbed by the ladies -who renewed their old acquaintance with 
 her, and she carried them all over the house, yea, into the very 
 kitchen; and so, somehow or other, there was a short time when 
 Helen and Leonard found themselves alone. It was in the 
 study. Helen had unconsciously seated herself in Leonard's own 
 chair, and she was gazing with anxious and wistful interest on the 
 scattered papers, looking so disorderly (though, in truth, in thatdis- 
 order there was method, but method only known totheowner), 
 and at the venerable well-worn books, in all languages lying on 
 the floor, on the chairs anywhere. I must confess that Helen's 
 first tidy woman-like idea was,a great desire to arrange the litter. 
 "Poor Leonard," she thought to herself "the rest of ; the house 
 so neat, but no one to take care of his own room and of him ! " 
 
 As if he divined her thought, Leonard smiled and said, " It 
 would be a cruel kindness to the spider, if the gentlest hand in 
 the world tried to set its cobweb to-rights." 
 
 HELEN.-; You were not quite so bad in the .old days. 
 
 LEONARD. -Yet even then, you were obliged to take care of 
 the rqoney. I have more books now, and more money. My 
 present housekeeper lets, me take care of the books, but she is 
 less indulgent as to the money.
 
 88 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 HELEN (archly). Are you as absent as ever ? 
 
 LEONARD. Much more so, I fear ; the habit is incorrigible. 
 Miss Digby 
 
 HELEN. Not Miss Digby sister, if 'you like. 
 
 LEONARD (evading the word that implied so forbidden an 
 affinity). Helen, will you grant me a favor ? Your eyes and 
 your smile say, "yes." Will you lay aside, for one minute, 
 your shawl and bonnet? What! can you be surprised that I 
 ask it ? Can you not understand that I wish for one minute to 
 think that you are at home again under this roof ? 
 
 Helen cast down her eyes, and seemed troubled ; then she 
 raised them, with a soft angelic candor in their dove-like blue, 
 and, as if in shelter from all thoughts of more warm affection, 
 again murmured "brother" and did as he asked her. 
 
 So there she sate, amongst the dull books, by his table, near 
 the open window her fair hair parted on her forehead looking 
 so good, so calm, so happy ! Leonard wondered at his own 
 self-command. His heart yearned to her with such inexpress- 
 ible love his lips so longed to murmur "Ah, as now so could 
 itbeforever! Is the home too mean ?" Butthat word "brother" 
 was as a talisman between her and him. 
 
 Yet she looked so at home perhaps so at home she felt ! 
 more certainly than she had yet learned to do in that stiff 
 stately house in which &he was soon to have a daughter's 
 rights. Was she suddenly made aware of this, that she so 
 suddenly arose, and with a look of alarm and distress on her 
 face 
 
 ' But we are keeping Lady Lansmere too long," she said, 
 falteringly. "We must go now," and she hastily took up her 
 shawl and bonnet. 
 
 Just then Mrs. Fairfield entered with the visitors, and began 
 making excuses for inattention to Miss Digby, whose identity 
 with Leonard's child-angel she had not yet learned. 
 
 Helen received these apologies with her usual sweetness. 
 " Nay," she said, " your son and I are such old friends, how 
 could you stand on ceremony with me ? " ' 
 
 "Old friends!" Mrs. Fairfield stared 'amazed, and then 
 surveyed the fair speaker more curiously than she had yet done. 
 " Pretty nice-spoken thing," thought the widow ; " as nice-spoken 
 as Miss Violante, and humbler-looking like though, as to dress, 
 I never see anything so elegant out of a picter." 
 
 Helen now appropriated Mrs. Riccabocca's arm ; and, after 
 & kind' leave-taking with the widow, the ladies returned toward 
 Riccabocca's house.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 89 
 
 Mrs. Fairfield, however, ran after them with Leonard's hat 
 and gloves, which he had forgotten. 
 
 "'Deed, boy," she said, kindly, yet scoldingly, "but there'd be 
 no more fine books, if the Lord had not fixed your head on 
 your shoulders. You would not think it, marm," she added to 
 Mrs. Riccabocca, "but sin' he's left you, he's not the cute lad 
 he was ; very helpless at times, marm ! " 
 
 Helen could not resist turning round, and looking at Leonard, 
 with a sly smile. 
 
 The widow saw the smikj and catching Leonard by the arm, 
 whispered, " But, where before have you seen that pretty young 
 lady ? Old friends ! " 
 
 "Ah, mother,"said Leonard, sadly, "it is a long tale; you have 
 heard the beginning who can guess the end ? "-^and he escaped. 
 But Helenstill leantonthearm of Mrs. Riccabocca, and, in the walk 
 back, it seemed to Leonard as if the winter had re-settled in the sky. 
 
 Yet he was by the side of Violante, and she spoke to him with 
 such praise of Helen ! Alas ! it is not always so sweet as folks 
 say, to hear the praises of one we love. Sometimes those praises 
 seem to ask ironically, "And what right hast thou to hope because 
 thou lovest? AM love for." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 No sooner had Lady Lansmere found herself alone with Ricca- 
 bocca and Harley, than she laid her hand on the exile's arm, 
 and, addressing him by a title she had not before given him, 
 and from which he appeared to shrink nervously, said-^-" Harley, 
 in bringing me to visit you,; was forced to reveal to me your 
 incognito, for I should have discovered it. You may not reuvem- 
 ber me, in spite of your gallantry. But I mixed more in the 
 world than I do now, during your first visit to England, and once 
 sate next to you at dinner at Carlton House. Nay, no compli- 
 ments, but listen to me. Harley tells me you have cause for some 
 alarm respecting the designs of an audacious and unprincipled 
 adventurer, I may call him; for adventurers are of all ranks. Suf- 
 fer your daughter to come to me, on a visit, as long as you please. 
 With me, at least, she will be safe ; and if you too, and the " 
 
 "Stop, my dear madam," interrupted Riccabocca, with great 
 vivacity, "your kindness overpowers me. I thank you most 
 gratefully for your invitation to my child ; but " 
 
 " Nay," in his turn interrupted Harley, "no buts. I was not 
 aware of my mother's intention when she entered this room. 
 Bm since she whispered it to me, I have reflected on it, and am 
 convinced that it is but a prudent precaution. Your retreat is
 
 90 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 known to Mr. Leslie he is known to Peschiera. .Grant that 
 no indiscretion of Mr. Leslie's betrays the secret ; still I have 
 reason to believe that the Count guesses Randal's acquaintance 
 with you. Audley Egerton this morning told me he had gath- 
 ered that, not from the young man himself, but from questions 
 put to himself by Madame di Negra ; and Peschiera might, and 
 would, set spies to track Leslie to every house that he visits 
 might and would, still more naturally, set spies to track myself. 
 Were this man an Englishman, I should laugh at his machina- 
 tions .; but lie is an Italian, and has been a conspirator. What he 
 could do I know not ; but an assassin can penetrate into a camp, 
 and a traitor can creep through closed walls to one's hearth. With 
 my mother, Violante must be safe ; that you cannot oppose. 
 And why not conic yourself?" 
 
 Riccabocca had no reply to these arguments, so far as they 
 affected Violante ; indeed, they awakened the almost supersti- 
 tious terror with which he regarded his enemy, and he consented 
 at once that Violante should accept the invitation iproffered. 
 But 'hje refused it for himself and Jemima. 
 
 " To say truth," said he, simply, " I made a secret, vow, on 
 re-entering England, that I would associate Avith none who knew 
 the rank I had formerly held in my own land. I felt that all my 
 philosophy was needed to reconcile and habituate myself to my 
 altered circumstances. In order to find in my present existence, 
 however humble, those blessings which make all life noble 
 dignity and peace it was necessary for poor weak human nature 
 wholly to dismiss the past . It would unsettle me sadly, could I 
 come to your house, renew awhile, in your kindness and respect 
 nay, in the very atmosphere of your society the sense of what 
 I ihave been ; and then (should the more than doubtful chance 
 of recall from my exile fail me) to awake, and find myself for 
 the rest of life what I am. And though, were I alone, I might 
 trust myself perhaps to the danger yet my wife ; she is happy 
 and contented now; would she be so if you had once spoiled 
 her, for the simple position of Dr. Riccabocca's wife ? Should I 
 not have. to listen to regrets, and hopes, and fears, that would prick 
 sharpthrough my thin cloak of philosophy? Even as it is, since in a 
 tnomentof weakness I confided my secret to her:, I have had 'my 
 rank ' thrown at me with a careless hand, it is true but it hits 
 hard nevertheless. No stone hurts like one taken from the ruins 
 of one's own home; and the grander the home, why, the -heavier 
 . the stone ! Protect, dear madame protect my daughter, since 
 ,her father doubts his own power to :x3<J so. But ask no more." 
 
 Riccabocca was immovable here. And the matter was settled
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 91 
 
 as he decided, it being agreed that Violante should be still styled 
 but the daughter of Dr. Riccabocca. 
 
 "And now, one word more," said Harley. " Do not confide 
 to Mr. Leslie these arrangements ; do not let him know where 
 Violante is placed at least, until I authorize such confidence 
 in him. It is sufficient excuse, that it is no use to know unless 
 he called to see her, and his movements, as I said before, may 
 be watched. You can give the same reason to suspend his 
 visits to yourself. Suffer me, meanwhile, to mature my judgment 
 on this young man. In the meanwhile, also, I think that I shall 
 have means of ascertaining the real nature of Peschiera's schemes. 
 His sister has sought to know me ; I will give her the occasion. 
 I have heard some things of her in my last residence abroad, 
 which make me believe that she cannot be wholly the Count's 
 tool in any schemes nakedly villanous ; that she has some finer 
 qualities in her than I once supposed ; and that she can be won 
 from his influence. It is a state of war ; we will carry it into 
 the enemy's camp. You will promise me, then, to refrain from 
 all further confidence in Mr. Leslie ? " 
 
 "For the present, yes," said Riccabocca, reluctantly. 
 
 " Do not even say that you have seen me, unless he first tell 
 you that I am in England, and wish to learn your residence. I 
 will give him full occasion to do so. Pish ! don't hesitate ; you 
 know your own proverb 
 
 ' Boccha chiusa, ed occhio aperto 
 Non fece mai nissun deserto.' 
 
 ' The close mouth and the Open eye,' etc." 
 
 "That's very true," said the Doctor, much struck "very true. 
 ' In boccha chiusa non c 1 entrant) mosche one can't swallow flies 
 if one keeps one j s mouth shut. Corpo di Bacco! that's very true 
 indeed." 
 ' 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 VIOLANTE and Jemima were both greatly surprised, as the 
 reader may suppose, when they heard, ort their return, the arrange- 
 ments already made for the former. The Countess insisted on 
 taking her at once, and Riccabocca briefly said, "Certainly, the 
 sooner the better." Violante was stunned and bewildered. 
 Jemima hastened to make up a little bundle of things necessary, 
 with many a woman's sigh that the poor wardrobe contained so 
 few things befitting. But among the clothes she slipped a purse, 
 containing the savings of months, perhaps of years, and with it a 
 few affectionate lines, begging Violante to ask the Countess to buy 
 her all that was proper for her father's child. There is always
 
 92 MY NOVEL ; OR 
 
 something hurried and uncomfortable in the abrupt and unex- 
 pected withdrawal of any member from a quiet household. The 
 small party broke into still smaller knots. Violante hung on her 
 father, and listened vaguely to his not very lucid explanations. 
 The Countess approached Leonard, arid, according to the usual 
 mode with persons of quality addressing young authors, compli- 
 mented him highly on the books she had not read, but which her 
 son assured her were so remarkable. She was a little anxious to 
 know where Harley had first met with Mr. Oran, whom he called 
 his friend ; but she was too high-bred to inquires to express 
 any wonder that rank should be friends with .genius. She took 
 it for granted that they had formed their acquaintance abroad. 
 
 Harley conversed with Helen. " You are not sorry that 
 Violante is coming to- us? She will be just such a companion 
 for you as I could desire ; of your o\vn years too." 
 
 HELEN (ingenuously). It is hard to think. I am not younger 
 than she is. 
 
 HARLEY. Why, my dear Helen ? 
 
 HELEN. She is so brilliant. She tal-ks so beautifully. And I 
 
 HARLEY. And you want but the habit of talking, to do justice 
 to your own beautiful thoughts. 
 
 Helen looked at him gratefully, but shook her head -i it was a 
 common trick of hers, and always when she was praised. 
 
 At last the preparations were made the farewell was said. 
 Violante was in the carriage by Lady Lansmere's side. Slowly 
 moved on the stately equipage with its four horses and trim 
 postilions, heraldic badges on their shoulders, in the style rarely 
 seen in the neighborhood of the. metropolis, ; and no,w fasH vanish- 
 ing even amidst distant counties.' 
 
 .jRiccabocca, Jemima, and Jackeymo, continued to gaze after 
 it from the gate. 
 
 "She is gone," said Jackeymo, brushing his eyes with his coat- 
 sleeve. "But it is a Idad off one's mind." 
 
 "And another load on one's heart," murmured Riccabocca. 
 " Don't cry, Jemima ; it may be, bad for you, and bad for him 
 that is to come. It is astonishing how the humors of the mother 
 may affect the unborn. I should not like to have a son who has 
 a more than usual propensity to tears." 
 
 The poor philosopher tried to smile; but it was a bad attempt. 
 He went slowly in, and shut himself with his books. But he 
 could not read. His whole mind was unsettled. And though, 
 like all parents, he had been anxious to rid himself of a beloved 
 daughterfor life, now that she was gone but for awhile, a string 
 accrued broken in the Music of Home.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 93 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE evening of the same day, as Egerton, who was to entertain 
 a large party at dinner, was changing his dress, Harley walked 
 into his room. 
 
 Egerton dismissed his valet by a sign, and continued his toilet. 
 
 " Excuse me, my dear Harley, I have only ten minutes to givt 
 you. I expect one of the royal dukes, and punctuality is the stern 
 virtue of men of business, and the graceful courtesy of princes." 
 
 Harley had usually a jest for his friend's aphorisms ; but he 
 had none now. He laid his hand kindly on Egerton's shoulder 
 "Before I speak of my business, tell me how you are better?" 
 
 "Better nay, I am always well. Pooh ! I may look a little 
 tired years of toil will tell on the countenance. But that matters 
 little ; the period of life has passed with me when one cares how 
 one looks in the glass." - 
 
 As he spoke, Egerton completed his dress, and came to the 
 hearth, standing there, erect and dignified as usual, still far 
 handsomer than many a younger man, and with a form that 
 seemed to have ample vigor to support for many a year the sad 
 and glorious burthen of power. 
 
 "'So now to your business, Harley." 
 
 "In the first place, I wantjyou to present me, at the earliest oppor- 
 tunity, to \Madame di Negra. You say she wished to know me." 
 
 " Are you serious ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, then, she receives this evening. I did not mean to go; 
 but when my party breaks up " 
 
 " You can call for ine at c The Travellers.' Do ! Nextyou 
 knew Lady Jane Horton better even than I did; at least in the 
 last year of her life." Harley sighed, and Egerton tamed and 
 stirred the fire. " Pray, did you ever see at her house, or hear 
 her speak of, a Mrs. Bertram ? " 
 
 "Of whom ?" said Egerton, in a hollow voice, his face still 
 turned toward the fire. 
 
 " A Mrs. Bertram; but Heavens! my dear fellow, what is the 
 matter? Are you ill? " 
 
 " A spasm at the heart, that is all don't ring I shall be 
 better presently gcr on talking. Mrs. why do you ask?" 
 
 " Why? I haye hardly time to explain ; but I am, as I told 
 you, resolved on righting my old Italian friend, if Heaven will 
 help me, as it ever does help the just when they bestir them- 
 selves; and this Mrs. Bertram is mixed up in my friend's "affairs."
 
 94 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " His ! How is that possible ? " 
 
 Harley rapidly and succinctly explained. Audley listened 
 attentively, with his eyes fixed on the floor, and still seem ing to 
 labor under great difficulty of breathing. 
 
 At last he answered, " I remember something of this Mrs. 
 Mrs. Bertram. But your inquiries after her would be useless. 
 I think I have heard that she is long since dead ; nay, I am 
 sure of it." 
 
 " Dead ? that is most unfortunate. But do you know any of 
 her relations or friends? Can you suggest any mode of tracing 
 this packet, if it came to her hands ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " And Lady Jane had scarcely any friend that I remember, 
 except my mother, and she knows nothing of this Mrs. Bertram. 
 How unlucky ! I think I shall advertise. Yet, no. I could only 
 distinguish this Mrs. Bertram from any other of the same name, 
 by stating with whom she had gone abroad, and that would 
 catch the attention of Peschiera, and set him to counterwork us." 
 
 "And what avails it?" said Egerton. "She whom you seek is 
 no more no more ! " He paused, and went on rapidly" The 
 packet did not arrive in England till years after her death was 
 no doubt returned to the post-office as destroyed long ago." 
 
 Harley looked very much disappointed. Egerton went on in 
 a sort of set mechanical voice, as if not thinking of what he said, 
 butispeaking from the dry practical mode of reasoning which 
 was habitual to him, and by which themaa of the world destroys 
 the hopes of an enthusiast. Then starting up at 'the 'sound of 
 the first thundering knock at the street-door, he said, "Hark ! 
 you must excuse me." 
 
 <.T 1 J A J1 T I.' T ' 1 A 
 
 I leave you, my dear Audley. But I must again ask Are 
 you better now ? " ; (i ^ !t . jv p 
 
 " Much, much quite well. I will call for you probably 
 between, eleven and, twelve." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 IF any one could be more surprised at seeing Lord L'Estrange 
 at the house of Madame di Negra ; ,that evening than the fair 
 hostess herself, it was Randal Leslie. Something instinctively 
 told him that this visit threatened interference with whatever 
 might be his ultimate projects in regard to Riccabocca and 
 Violante. But Randal Leslie was not one of those who shrink 
 from an intellectual combat. On the contrary, he was too confi- 
 dent of his powers of intrigue, not t,o take a delight in tlieir exer- 
 cise. He could not conceive that the indolent Harley could be
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 95 
 
 a match for his own restless activity and dogged perseverance. 
 But in a very few moments fear crept on him. No man of his 
 day could produce a more brilliant effect than Lord L'Estrange, 
 when he deigned to desire it. Without much pretence to that 
 personal beauty which strikes at first sight, he still retained all 
 the charm of countenance, and all the grace of manner, which 
 had made him in boyhood the spoiled darling of Society. 
 Madame di Negra had collected but a small circle round her, 
 still it was of the Slite of the great world ; not, indeed, those 
 more precise and reserved dames de chdteau, whom the lighter 
 and easier of the fair dispensers of fashion ridicule as prudes; 
 but, nevertheless, ladies were there, as unblemished in reputation 
 as high in rank ; flirts and coquettes, perhaps nothing more ; 
 in short, "charming women " the gay butterflies that hover 
 over the stiff parterre. And there were ambassadors and min- 
 isters, and wits and brilliant debaters, and first-rate dandies 
 (dandies, when first-rate, are generally very agreeable men). 
 Amongst all these various persons, Harley, so long a stranger to 
 the London world, seemed to make himself at home with the 
 ease of an Alcibiades. Many of the less juvenile ladies remem- 
 bered him, and rushed to claim his acquaintance, with nods, and 
 becks, and wreathed smiles. He had a ready compliment for 
 each. And few indeed were there, men or women, for whom 
 Harley L'Estrange had not appropriate attraction. Distin- 
 guished reputation as soldier and scholar for the grave ; whim 
 and pleasantry for the gay ; novelty for the sated ; and for the 
 more vulgar natures was he not Lord L'Estrange, unmarried, 
 possessed already of a large independence, and heir to an an- 
 cient earldom, and some fifty thousands a- year? 
 
 Not till he had succeeded in the general effect which, it must 
 be owned, he did his best to create did Harley seriously and 
 especially devote himself to his hostess. And then he seated 
 himself by her side ; and, as if in compliment to both, less 
 pressing admirers insensibly slipped away and edged off. 
 
 Frank Hazeldean was the last to quit his ground behind 
 Madame di Negra's chair; but when he found that the two began 
 to talk in Italian, and he could not understand a word they said, 
 he too fancying, poor fellow, that he looked foolish, and cursing 
 his Eton education that had neglected, for languages spoken by 
 the dead, of which he had learned little, those still in use among 
 the living, of which he had learned naught retreated toward 
 Randal, and asked wistfully, " Pray, what age should you say 
 L'Estrange was ? He must be devilish old, in spite of his looks. 
 Why, he was at Waterloo ! "
 
 $6 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "He is young enough to be a terrible rival," answered Ran- 
 dal, with artful truth. 
 
 Frank turned pale, and began to meditate dreadful blood- 
 thirsty thoughts,of which hair-triggers and Lord's cricket-ground 
 formed the staple. 
 
 Certainly there was apparent ground for a lover's jealousy, for 
 Harley and Beatrice now conversed in a low tone, and Beatrice 
 seemed agitated, and Harley earnest. Randal himself grew more 
 and more perplexed. Was Lord L'Estrange really enamoured 
 of theMarchesa? If so, farewell to all hopes of Frank's marriage 
 with her ! Or was he merely playing a part. in Riccabocca's in- 
 terest; pretending to be the lover, in order to obtain an influence 
 over her mind, rule her through her ambition, and secure anally 
 against her brother ? Was this finesse compatible with Randal's 
 notions of Harley's character? Was it consistent with that 
 chivalric and soldierly spirit of honor which the frank nobleman 
 affected, to make love to a woman in mere ruse de guerre? 
 Could mere friendship for Riccabocca be a sufficient induce- 
 ment to a man, who, whatever his weakness or his errors, seemed 
 to wear on his very forehead a soul above deceit, to stoop to 
 paltry means, even for a worthy end? At this question a new 
 thought flashed upon Randal might. not Lord L'Estrange have 
 speculated himself upon winning Violante? would not that ac- 
 count for all the exertions he had made on behalf of her inheri- 
 tance at the court of Vienna exertions of which Peschiera and 
 Beatrice had both complained? Those, objections which the 
 Austrian government might take to Violante's marriage with some 
 obscure Englishman would probably not exist against a manlike 
 Harley L'Estrange, whose family not only belonged to the high- 
 est aristocracy of England, but had always supported opinions in 
 vogue amongst the leading governments of Europe, Harley him- 
 self, it is true, ; had never taken part in politics, but his notions were, 
 no doubt, those of a high-born soldier, who had fought, in alliance 
 with|Austria,fortherestorationof theBourbons. And this immense 
 wealth-^which Violante might lose, if shemarried one like Randal 
 himself her marriage with the heir of the Lansmeres might actu- 
 ally tend only to secure. Could Harley, with all his own expecta- 
 tions,be indifferent to such a prize? And no doubt he had learned 
 Violante's rare beauty in his correspondence with Rjccabocca. 
 
 Thus considered, it seemed natural to Randal's estimate of 
 human nature, that Harley's more prudish scruples of honor, as 
 regards what is due to women, could not resist a temptation so 
 strong. Mere friendship was. .not a motive powerful enough to 
 shake them, but ambition was.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 97 
 
 While Randal was thus cogitating, Frank thus suffering, and 
 many a whisper, in comment on the evident flirtation between the 
 beautiful hostess and the accomplished guest, reached the ears 
 both of the brooding schemer and the jealous lover, the conver- 
 sation between the two objects of remark and gossip .had taken 
 a new turn. Indeed, Beatrice had made an effort to change it. 
 
 "It is long, my lord, "said she, still speaking Italian, " since I 
 have heard sentiments like those you address to me; and if I do 
 not feel myself wholly unworthy of them, it is from the pleasure 
 I have felt in reading sentiments equally foreign to the language 
 of the world in which I live." She took a book from the table 
 as she spoke: " Have you seen this work ?" 
 
 Harley glanced at the title-page. " To be sure I have, and I 
 know the author." 
 
 " I envy you that honor. I should so like also to know one 
 who has discovered to me deeps in my own heart which I had 
 never explored." 
 
 " Charming Marchesa, if the book has done this, believe me that 
 I have paid you no small compliment formed no over-flatter- 
 ing estimate of your nature ; for the charm of the work is but 
 in its simple appeal to good and generous emotions, and it can 
 charm none in whom those emotions exist not ! " 
 
 " Nay, that cannot be true, or why is it so popular ? " 
 
 "Because good and generous emotions are more common to 
 the human heart than we are aware of till the appeal comes." 
 
 " Don't ask me to think that! I have found the world so base." 
 
 " Pardon me a rude question ; but what do you know of the 
 world ?" 
 
 Beatrice looked first in surprise at Harley, then glanced 
 round the room with significant irony. 
 
 " As I thought; you call this little room* the world!' Be it so. I 
 will venture to say, that if the people in this room were suddenly 
 converted into an audience before a stage, and you were as con- 
 summate in the actor's art as you are in all others that please 
 and command " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " And were to deliver a speech full of sordid and base sen- 
 timents, you would be hissed. But let any other woman, with 
 half your powers, arise and utter sentiments sweet and womanly, 
 or honest and lofty and applause would flow from every lip, and 
 tears rush to many a worldly eye. The true proof of the inher- 
 ent nobleness of our common nature is in the sympathy it betrays 
 with what is noble wherever crowds are collected. Never believe 
 the world is base ; if it were so, no society could hold together
 
 98 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 for a day. But you would know the author of this book ? I 
 will bring him to you." 
 
 "Do." 
 
 ''And now," said Harley, rising, and with his candid, win- 
 ning smile, " do you think we shall ever be friends ? " 
 
 "You have startled me so, that I can scarcely answer. But 
 why would you be friends with me ? " 
 
 " Because you need a friend. You have none ! " 
 
 "Strange flatterer ! " said Beatrice, smiling, though very 
 sadly ; and looking up, her eyes caught Randal's. 
 
 " Pooh," said Harley, " you are too penetrating to believe that 
 you inspire friendship there. Ah, do you suppose that, all the 
 while I have been conversing with you, I have not noticed the 
 watchful gaze of Mr. Randal Leslie ? What tie can possibly 
 connect you together, I know not yet; but I soon shall." 
 
 " Indeed, you talk like one of the old Council of Venice. You. 
 try hard to make me fear you," said Beatrice, seeking to escape 
 from the graver kind of impression Harley had made on her by 
 the affectation partly of coquetry, partly of levity. 
 
 "And I," said L'Estrange, calmly, "tell you already, that I 
 fear you no more." He bowed and passed through the crowd to 
 rejoin Audley, who was seated in a corner whispering with some 
 of his political colleagues. Before Harley reached the minister, 
 lie found himself close to Randal and young Hazeldean. 
 
 He bowed to the first, and extended his hand to the last. Ran- 
 dal felt the distinction, and his sullen, bitter pride was deeply 
 galled a feeling of hate toward Harley passed into his mind. 
 He was pleased to see the cold hesitation with which Frank just 
 touched the hand offered to him. But Randal had not been the 
 only person whose watch upon Beatrice the keen-eyed Harley had 
 noticed. Harley had seen the angry looks of Frank Hazeldean, 
 and divined the cause. So he smiled forgivingly at the slight 
 he had received. 
 
 " You are like me, Mr. Hazeldean/'saidhe. " You think some- 
 thing of the heart should go with all courtesy that bespeaks 
 friendship 
 
 1 The hand of Douglas is his own.' " 
 
 Here Harley drew aside Randal. " Mr. Leslie, a word with you. 
 If I wished to know the retreat of Dr. Riccabocca, in order to 
 render him a great service, would you confide to me that secret ? " 
 
 " That woman has let out her suspicions that I know the ex- 
 ile's retreat," thought Randal; and with quick presence of mind, 
 he replied at once 
 
 " My Lord, yonder stands a connection of Dr. Riccabocca's.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 99 
 
 Mr. Hazeldean is surely the person to whom you should ad- 
 dress this inquiry." 
 
 "Not so, Mr. Leslie; for I suspect that he cannot answer it, and 
 that you can. Well, I will ask something that it seems to me you 
 may grant without hesitation. Should you see Dr. Riccabocca, 
 tell him that I am in England, and so leave it to him to commu- 
 nicate with me or not; but perhaps you have already done so?" 
 
 "Lord L'Estrange," said Randal, bowing low,with pointed for- 
 mality, " excuse me if I decline either to disclaim or acquiesce in 
 the knowledge you impute to me. If I am acquainted with any se- 
 cret intrusted to me by Dr. Riccabocca, it is for me to use my own 
 discretion how best to guard it. And for the rest, after the Scotch 
 earl, whose words your lordship has just quoted, refused to touch 
 the hand of Marmion, Douglas could scarcely have called Mar- 
 mion back in order to give him a message ! " 
 
 Harley was not prepared for this tone in Mr. Egerton's/^/^/, 
 and his own gallant nature was rather pleased than irritated by 
 a haughtiness that at least seemed to bespeak independence of 
 spirit. Nevertheless, L'Estrange's suspicions of Randal were too 
 strong to be easily set aside, and therefore he replied, civilly, but 
 with covert taunt' 
 
 " I submit to your rebuke, Mr. Leslie, though I meant not the 
 offence you would ascribe to me. I regret my unlucky quota- 
 tion yet the more, since the wit of your retort has obliged you to 
 identify yourself with Marmion, who, though a clever and brave 
 fellow, was an uncommonly tricky one." And so Harley, 
 certainly having the best of it, moved on, and joining Egerton, 
 in a few minutes more both left the room. 
 
 " What was L'Estrange saying to you ? " asked Frank; " some- 
 thing about Beatrice, I am sure." 
 
 " No ; only quoting poetry." 
 
 " Then what made you look so angry, my dear fellow ? I know 
 it was your kind feeling for me. As you say, he is a formidable 
 rival. But that can't be his own hair. Do you think he wears a tou- 
 petf I am sure he was praising Beatrice. He is evidently very 
 much smitten with her. But I don't think she is a woman to be 
 caughtbyw<rrankandfortune ! Do you? Whycan'tybu speak?" 
 
 " If you do not get her consent soon, I think she is lost to you," 
 said Randal, slowly; and before Frank could recover his dismay, 
 glided from the house. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 VIOLANTE'S first evening at the Lansmeres had passed more 
 happily to her than the first evening under the same roof had
 
 IOO MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 done to Helen. True that she missed her father much Je- 
 mima somewhat ; but she so identified her father's cause with 
 Harley, that she had a sort of vague feeling that it was to pro- 
 mote the cause that she was on this visit to Harley's parents. 
 And the Countess, it must be owned, was more emphatically 
 cordial to her than she had ever been .to Captain Digby's or- 
 phan. But perhaps the real difference in the heart of either girl 
 was this, that Helen felt awe of Lady Lansmere, and:Violante 
 felt only love for Lord L'Estrange's mother. Violante, too, was 
 one of those persons whom a reserved and formal person, like 
 the Countess, "can get on with," as the phrase goes. Not so 
 poor little Helen so shy herself, and so hard to coax into more 
 than gentle monosyllables. And Lady Lansmere's favorite talk 
 was always of Harley. Helen had listened to such talk with re- 
 spect and interest. Violante listened to it with inquisitive eager- 
 ness with blushing delight. The mother's heart noticed the 
 distinction between the two, and. no wonder that that heart 
 moved more to Violante than to Helen. Lord Lansmere, too, 
 like most gentlemen of his age, clumped all young ladies to- 
 gether, as a harmless, amiable, but singularly stupid class of the 
 genus Petticoat, meant to look pretty, play the piano, and talk 
 to each other about frocks and sweethearts. Therefore, this ani- 
 mated dazzling creature, with her infinite variety of look and play 
 of mind, took him by surprise, charmed him into attention, and 
 warmed him into gallantry. Helen sat in her quiet corner, at 
 her work, sometimes listening with almost mournful, though cer- 
 tainly unenvious, admiration atViolante's vivid, yet unconscious, 
 eloquence of word and thought sometimes plunged deep into 
 her own secret meditations. And all the while the work went 
 on the same, under the small noiseless fingers. This was one of 
 Helen's habits that irritated the nerves of Lady Lansmere. She 
 despised young ladies who were fond of work. She did not com- 
 prehend how often it is the resource of the sweet womanly mind, 
 not from want of thought, but from silence and the depth of it. 
 Violante was surprised, and perhaps disappointed, that Harley 
 had left the house before dinner,and did not return all the evening. 
 But Lady Lansmere, in making excuses for his absence, on the plea 
 of engagements, found so good an opportunity to talk of his ways 
 in general of his rare promise in boyhood of her regret at the 
 inaction of his maturity of her hope to see him yet do justice to 
 his natural powers, that Violante almost ceased to miss him. 
 
 And then Lady Lansmere conducted her to her room, and, kiss- 
 ing her cheek tenderly, said, ' But you are j ust the person Hat ley 
 admires just the person to rouse him from his melancholy
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. IOI 
 
 dreams,of which his wild humors are now but the vain disguise" 
 Violante crossed her arms on her bosom, and her bright eyes, deep- 
 ened in to tenderness, seemed to ask, "He melancholy and why?" 
 
 On leaving Violante's room, Lady Lansmere paused before the 
 door of Helen's;; and, after musing a little while, entered softly. 
 
 Helen had dismissed her maid ;.and, at the moment Lady Lans- 
 mere entered, she was kneeling at the foot of the bed, her hands 
 clasped before her face. 
 
 Her form, thus seen, looked so youthful and child-like the 
 attitude itself was so holy and so touching, that the proud and 
 cold expression on Lady Lansmere's face changed. She shaded 
 the light involuntarily, and seated herself in silence that she might 
 not disturb the act of prayer. 
 
 When Helen rose, she was startled to see the Countess seated 
 by the fire ; and hastily drew her hand across her eyes. She had 
 been weeping. 
 
 Lady Lansmere did not, however, turn to observe those traces 
 of tears, which Helen feared were too visible. The Countess was 
 too absorbed in her own thoughts ; and as Helen timidly ap- 
 proached, said still with her eyes on the clear low fire "I beg 
 your pardon, Miss Digby, for my intrusion ; but my son has left 
 it to me to prepare Lord Lansmere to learn the offer you have 
 done Harley the honor to accept. I have not yet spoken to my 
 lord ; it may be days before I find a fitting occasion to .do so ; 
 meanwhile, I feel assured that your, sense of propriety will make 
 you agree with me that it is due to Lord L'Estrange's father, that 
 strangers should not learn arrangements of such moment in his 
 family, before his own consent be obtained." 
 
 Here the Countess came to a full pause ; and poor Helen, find- 
 ing herself called upon for some reply to this chilling speech, 
 stammered out, scarcely audibly 
 
 " Certainly, madam, I never dreamed of " 
 
 "That is right, my dear," interrupted Lady Lansmere, rising 
 suddenly, and as if greatly relieved. "1 could not doubt your 
 superiority to ordinary girls of your age, with whom these matters 
 are never secret for a moment. Therefore, of course, you will 
 not mention, at present, what has passed between you and Har- 
 ley, to any of the friends with whom you may correspond." 
 
 " I have no correspondents no friends, Lady Lansmere," said 
 Helen, deprecatingly, and trying hard not to cry. 
 
 " I am very glad to hear it, my dear ; young ladies never should 
 have. Friends, especially friends who correspond, are the worst 
 enemies they can have. Good-night, Miss Digby. I need not 
 add, by the way, that though we are bound to show all kindness
 
 102 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 to this young Italian lady, still she is wholly unconnected with 
 our family, and you will be as prudent with her as you would 
 have been with your correspondents had you had the misfortune 
 to have any." 
 
 Lady Lansmere said the last words with a smile, and left an 
 ungenial kiss (the stepmother's kiss) on Helen's bended brow. 
 She then left the room, and Helen sat on the seat vacated by the 
 stately unloving form, and again covered her face with her hands, 
 and again wept. But when she rose at last, and the light fell upon 
 her face, that soft face was sad indeed, but serene serene, as if 
 with some inward sense of duty sad, as with the resignation 
 which accepts patience instead of hope. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE next morning Harley appeared at breakfast. He was in 
 gay spirits, and conversed more freely with Violante than he had 
 yet done. He seemed to amuse himself by attacking all she said, 
 and provoking her to argument. Violante was naturally a very 
 earnest person ; whether grave or gay, she spoke with her heart 
 on her lips, and her soul in her eyes. She did not yet compre- 
 hend the light vein of Harley's irony, so she grew piqued and 
 chafed; and she was so lovely in anger; it so brightened her beauty 
 and animated her words, that no wonder Harley thus maliciously 
 teased her. But what, perhaps, she liked still less than the teas- 
 ing though she could not tell why was the kind of familiarity 
 that Harley assumed with her a familiarity as if he had known 
 her all her life that of a good-humored elder brother, or a bach- 
 elor uncle. To Helen, on the contrary, when he did not address 
 her apart, his manner was more respectful. He did not call for 
 by her Christian name, as he did Violante, but "Miss Digby," 
 and softened his tone and inclined his head when he spoke to 
 her. Nor did he presume to jest at the very few and brief sen- 
 tences he drew from Helen, but rather listened to them with def- 
 erence, and invariably honored them with approval. After break- 
 fast he asked Violante to play or sing; ancj when she frankly owned 
 how little she had cultivated those accomplishments,he persuaded 
 Helen to sit down to the piano, and stood by her side while she 
 did so, turning over the leaves of her music-book with the ready 
 devotion of an admiring amateur. Helen always played well, but 
 less well than usual that day, for her generous nature felt abashed. 
 It was as if she were showing off to mortify Violante. But Vi- 
 olante, on the other hand, was so passionately fond of music, that 
 she had no feeling left for the sense of her own inferiority. Yet
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. IO$ 
 
 she sighed when Helen rose and Harley thanked Miss Digby for 
 the delight she had given him. 
 
 The day was fine. Lady Lansmere proposed to walk in the gar- 
 den. While the ladies went upstairs for their shawls and bonnets, 
 Harley lighted his cigar, and stepped from the window upon the 
 lawn. Lady Lansmere joined him before the girls came out. 
 
 " Harley," said she, taking his arm, " what a charming com- 
 panion you have introduced to us ! I never met with any that 
 both pleased and delighted me like this dear Violante. Most 
 girls who possess some power of conversation, and who have 
 dared to think for themselves, are so pedantic, or so masculine; 
 but she is always so simple, and always still the girl. Ah, 
 Harley ! " 
 
 "Why that sigh, my dear mother?" 
 
 " I was thinking how exactly she would have suited you how 
 proud I should have been of such a daughter-in-law and how 
 happy you would have been with such a wife." . 
 
 Harley started. " Tut," said he, peevishly, " she is a mere child ; 
 you forget my years." 
 
 "Why," said Lady Lansmere, surprised, "Helen is quite as 
 young as Violante." 
 
 " In dates yes. But Helen's character is so staid ; what it 
 will ever be ; and Helen, from gratitude, respect, or pity, con- 
 descends to accept the ruins of my heart ; while this bright Ital- 
 ian has the soul of a Juliet, and would expect in a husband all the 
 passion of a Romeo. Nay, mother, hush. Do not forget that I am 
 engaged and of my own free will and choice ! Poor dear Helen ! 
 Apropos, have you spoken to my father, as you undertook to do ? " 
 
 " Not yet. I must seize the right moment. You know that my 
 lord requires management." 
 
 " My dear mother, that female notion of managing us men, costs 
 you ladies a great waste of time, and occasions us a great deal of 
 sorrow. Men are easily managed by plain truth. We are brought 
 up to respect it, strange as it may seem to you ! " 
 
 Lady Lansmere smiled with the air of superior wisdom, and 
 the experience of an accomplished wife. "Leave it to me, 
 Harley, and rely on my lord's consent." 
 
 Harley knew that Lady Lansmere always succeeded in obtain- 
 ing her way with his father; and he felt that the Earl might 
 naturally be disappointed in such an alliance, and, without due 
 propitiation, evince that disappointment in his manner to Helen. 
 Harley was bound to save her from all chance of such humilia- 
 tion. He did not wish her to think that she was not welcomed 
 into his family; therefore he said, " I resign myself to your prom-
 
 104 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 ise and your diplomacy. Meanwhile, as you love me, be kind 
 to my betrothed." 
 - "Am I not so ?" 
 
 "-Hem. Are you as kind as if she were the great heiress you 
 believe Violante to be? " 
 
 "Is it," answered Lady Lansmere, evading the question, "is 
 it because one is an heiress and the other is not that you make 
 so marked a difference in your own manner to the two; treating 
 Violante as a spoiled child, and Miss Digby as " 
 
 " The destined wife of Lord L'Estrange, and the daughter- 
 hinlaw of Lady Lansmere yes." 
 
 ; The. Countess suppressed an impatient exclamation that rose 
 to her lips, for Harley's brow wore that serious aspect which it 
 rarely assumed, save when he was in; those moods in which men 
 must be soothed, not resisted. And after a pause he went 
 on "I am going to leave you to-day. I have engaged apart- 
 ments at the Clarendon. I intended to gratify your wish, so 
 often expressed, that I should enjoy what are called the pleas- 
 ures of my rank, and the privileges of single-blessedness cele- 
 brate my adieu to celibacy, and blaze once more, with the splen- 
 dor of a setting sun, upon Hyde Park and May Fair." 
 
 " You are a positive enigma. Leave our house, just when you are 
 betrothed to its inmate! Is that the natural conduct of a lover?" 
 
 " How can your woman eyes be so dull, and your woman heart 
 so: : obtuse?" answered. Harley, half-laughing, half-scolding. 
 " Can you not guess that I wish that Helen and myself should 
 both lose the association of mere ward and guardian; that the 
 very familiarity of. our intercourse under the same roof almost 
 forbids us to be lovers; that we lose the joy to meet, and the 
 pang to part. Don't you remember the story of the Frenchman, 
 who for twenty years loved a lady, and never missed passing his 
 evening at her house. She became a widow. ' I wish you joy,' 
 cried his friend: 'you may now marry the woman you have so 
 long adored.' ' Alas,' said the poor Frenchman, profoundly 
 dejected ; 'and if so, where shall I spend my evenings?'" 
 
 Here Violante and Helen were seen in the garden, walking 
 affectionately arm-in-arm. 
 
 " I don't perceive the point of your witty, heartless anecdote," 
 said Lady Lansmere, obstinately. " Settle that, however, with 
 Miss Digby. But, to leave the very day after your friend's 
 daughter comes as a guest! what will she think of it." 
 
 Lord L'Estrange looked steadfastly at his mother, " Does it 
 matter much what she thinks of me ? of a man engaged to 
 another; and old enough to be : "
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 16$ 
 
 " I wish to Heaven you would not talk of your age, Harley; 
 it is a reflection upon mine; and I never saw you look so well 
 nor so handsome." With that she drew him on toward the young 
 ladies; and, taking Helen's arm, asked her, aside, " If she knew 
 that Lord L'Estrange had engaged rooms at the Clarendon; and 
 if she understood .why ?" As while she said this she moved on, 
 Harley was left by Violante's side. 
 
 " You will be very dull here, I fear, my poor child," said he. 
 
 "Dull! But why will you call me child ? Am I so very 
 very child-like ? " 
 
 "Certainly you are to me ^a mere infant. Have I not seen 
 you one; have I not held you in my arms?" 
 
 VIOLANTE. But that was a long time ago! 
 
 HARLEY. True. But if years have not stood still for you, 
 they have not been stationary forme. There is the same differ- 
 ence between us now that there was then. And, therefore, per- 
 mit me still to call you child, and as child to treat you! 
 
 VIOLANTE. I will do no such thing. Do you know that I 
 always thought I was good-tempered till this morning? 
 
 HARLEY. Andwhatundeceivedyou? Didyoubreakyourdoll? 
 
 VIOLANTE (with an indignant flash from her dark eyes). 
 There! again! you delight in provoking me! 
 
 HARLEY. It was the do.ll,. then. Don't cry; I will get you 
 another. 
 
 Violante plucked her arm from him, and walked away toward 
 the Countess in speechless scorn. Harley's brow contracted, in 
 thought and in gloom. He stood still for a moment or so, and 
 then joined the ladies. 
 
 "I am trespassing sadly on your morning; but I wait for a 
 visitor, : whom J sent to before you were up. He is to be here at 
 twelve. With your permission, I will dine with you to-morrow, 
 and you will invite him to meet me." 
 
 " Certainly. And who is your friend? I guess the young 
 author?" 
 
 " Leonard Fairfield," cried Violante, who had conquered, or 
 felt ashamed of her short-lived anger. 
 
 ''Fairfield! " repeated Lady Lansmere. " I thought, Harley, 
 you said the name was Oran ? " 
 
 "He has assumed the latter name. He is the son of Mark 
 Fairfield, who married an Avenel. Did you recognize no family 
 likeness ? none in those eyes mother ? " said Harley, sinking 
 his voice into a whisper. 
 
 " No," answered the Countess, falteringly. 
 
 Harley, observing that Violante was new speaking to Helen
 
 106 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 about Leonard, and that neither was listening to him, resumed 
 in the same law tone, " And his mother Nora's sister shrank 
 from seeing ; me! That is the reason why I wished you not to call. 
 She has not told the young man why she shrank from seeing me; 
 nor have I explained to him as yet. Perhaps I never shall." 
 
 "Indeed, dearest Harley," said the Countess, with great gentle- 
 ness, " I wish you too much to forget the folly well, I will not say 
 that word-^-the sorrows of your boyhood, not to hope that you will 
 rather strive against such painful memories than renew them by 
 unnecessary confidence to anyone ; least of all to the relation of " 
 
 " Enough! don't name her; the very name pains me. And 
 as to confidence, there are but two persons in the world to whom 
 I ever bare the old wounds yourself and Egerton. Let this 
 pass. Ha! a ring at the bell; that is he! " 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 LEONARD entered on the scene and joined the party in the 
 garden. The Countess, perhaps to please her son, was more 
 than civil she was markedly kind to him. She noticed him 
 more attentively than she had hitherto done; and, with all her 
 prejudices of birth, was struck to find the son of Mark Fail-field 
 the carpenter so thoroughly the gentleman. He might not have 
 the exact tone and phrase by which Convention stereotypes those 
 born and schooled in a certain world; but the aristocrats of 
 Nature can dispense with such trite minutiae. And Leonard 
 had lived of late at least in the best society that exists for 
 the polish of language and the refinement of manners, the so- 
 ciety in which the most graceful ideas are clothed in the most 
 graceful forms, the society which really, though indirectly, 
 gives the law to courts, the society of the most classic authors 
 in the various ages in which literature has flowered forth from 
 civilization. And if there was something in the exquisite sweet- 
 ness of Leonard's voice, look and manner, which the Countess 
 acknowledged to attain- that perfection in high breeding, which, 
 under the name of " suavity," steals its way into the heart, so 
 her interest in him was aroused by a certain subdued melancholy 
 which is rarely without distinction, and never without charm. 
 He and* Helen exchanged but few words. There was but one 
 occasion in which they could have spoken apart, and Helen her- 
 self contrived to elude it. His face brightened at Lady Lans- 
 mere's cordial invitation, and he glanced at Helen as he accepted 
 it; but her eye did not meet his own. 
 
 "And now," said Harley, whistling to Nero, whom his ward
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 107 
 
 was silently caressing, " I must take Leonard away. Adieu! all 
 of you, till to-morrow at dinner. Miss Violante, is the doll to 
 have blue eyes or black ?" 
 
 Violante turned her own black eyes in mute appeal to Lady 
 Lansmere, and nestled to that lady's side, as if in refuge from 
 unworthy insult. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "LET the carriage go to the Clarendon," said Harley to hit 
 servant ; "I and Mr. Oran will walk to town. Leonard, I think 
 you would rejoice at an occasion to serve your old friends, Dr. 
 Riccabocca and his daughter?" 
 
 "Serve them! Oh, yes." And there instantly returned to 
 Leonard the recollection of Violante's words when, on leaving 
 his quiet village, he had sighed to part from all those he loved ; 
 and the little dark-eyed girl had said, proudly, yet consolingly, 
 " But to SERVE those you love ! " He turned to L'Estrange 
 with beaming, inquisitive eyes. 
 
 "I said to our friend, "resumed Harley, "that I would vouch 
 for your honor as my own. I am about to prove my words, and 
 to confide the secrets which your penetration has indeed divined ; 
 our friend is not what he seems." Harley then briefly related 
 to Leonard the particulars of the exile's history, the rank he had 
 held in his native land, the manner in which, partly through the 
 misrepresentations of a kinsman he had trusted, partly through the 
 influence of a wife he had loved, he had been drawn into schemes 
 which he believed bounded to the emancipation of Italy from a 
 foreign yoke, by the united exertions of her best and bravest sons. 
 
 "A noble ambition," interrupted Leonard, manfully. "And 
 pardon me, my Lord, I should not have thought that you would 
 speak of it in a tone that implies blame." 
 
 "The ambition in itself was noble," answered Harley, "but 
 the cause to which it was devoted became defiled in this instance 
 in its dark channel through Secret Societies. It is the misfor- 
 tune of all miscellaneous political combinations, that with the 
 purest motives of their more generous members are ever mixed 
 the most sordid interests and the fiercest passions of mean con- 
 federates. When those combinations act openly, and in day- 
 light, under the eye of Public Opinion, the healthier elements 
 usually prevail ; where they are shrouded in mystery, where 
 they are subjected to no censor in the discussion of the impartial 
 and dispassionate, where chiefs working in the dark exact 
 blind obedience, and every man who is at war with law is at 
 once admitted as a friend of freedom, the history of the world
 
 Io8 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 tells us that patriotism soon passes away. Where all is in public, 
 public virtue, by the natural sympathies of the common mind, 
 and by the wholesome control of- shame, .is likely to obtain 
 ascendancy ; where all is in private, and shame is but for him 
 who refuses the abnegation of his conscience, each man seeks 
 the indulgence of his private vice. And hence, in Secret Soci- 
 eties (from which may yet proceed great danger to all Europe), 
 we find but foul and hateful Eleusinia, 'affording pretexts to the 
 ambition of the great; to the license of the penniless, to the 
 passions of the revengeful, to the anarchy of the ignorant. In 
 a-word, the societies of these Italian Carbonari did but engender 
 schemes in which the abler chiefs disguised new forms of des- 
 potism, and in which the revolutionary many looked .forward to 
 the overthrow of all the institutions that stand between Law and 
 Chaos. Naturally, therefore," (added. L'Estrange,.dry.ly), "when 
 their schemes were detected, and the conspiracy foiled, it was 
 for the silly honest men entrapped into the league to suffer the 
 leaders turned king's evidence, and the common mercenaries 
 became banditti.'' Harley then proceeded to state that it was 
 just when the soi-disant Riccabocca had discovered the true 
 nature and ulterior views of the conspirators he had joined, and 
 actually withdrawn from their councils, that he was denounced 
 by the kinsman who had duped him into the enterprise and who 
 now profited by his treason. Harley next spoke of the packet 
 despatched by Riccabocca's dying wife, as it was supposed to 
 Mrs. Bertram; and of .the hopes he founded on the con tents of 
 that packet, if discovered. He then referred to the design which 
 had brought Peschiera to England a design which that person- 
 age had avowed with such effrontery to his companions at Vienna, 
 that he had publicly laid wagers on his success. 
 
 " But these men can know nothing of England of the safety of 
 English laws," said Leonard,naturally. "We takeit for gran ted that 
 Riccabocca, if I am still so to call him, refuses his consent to the 
 marriage between his daughter and his foe. 'Where, then, the dan- 
 ger ? This Count, even if Violante .were not under your mother's 
 roof, could not get an opportunity to see her. He could not attack 
 the house and carry her off like a feudal baron in the middle ages." 
 
 "All this is very true," answered Harley. "Yet I have found 
 through life that we cannot estimate danger by external circum- 
 stances, but by the character of those from whom it is threatened. 
 This Count is a man of singular audacity, of no mean natural 
 talents talents practised in every art of duplicity and intrigue; 
 one of those men whose boast it is that they succeed in whatever 
 they undertake ; and he is, here, urged on the one hand by all that
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. ICQ 
 
 can whet the avarice, and on the other, by all that can give in- 
 vention tO'despair. Therefore, thoiigh I cannot guess what plan 
 he may possibly adopt, I never doubt that some plan, formed 
 with cunning and pursued with daring, will be embraced the 
 moment he discovers Violante's retreat, unless, indeed, we can 
 forestall all peril by the restoration of her father, and the detec- 
 tion of: the fraud- and falsehood to which Peschiera owes the 
 fortune he appropriates. Thus, while we must prosecute to the 
 utmost our inquiries for the missing documents, so it should be 
 our care to possess ourselves, if possible, of such knowledge of 
 the Count's machinations as may enable us to defeat them. Now, 
 rt'was with satisfaction that I learned in Germany that Peschiera' s 
 sister was in London. I knew enough both of his disposition a-nd 
 of the intimacy between himself and this lady, to make me think 
 it probable he will seek to make her his instrument and accom- 
 plice, should he require one.- Peschiera (as you may suppose 
 by his audacious wager) is not one of those secret villains who 
 would cut off their right hand if it could betray the knowledge 
 of what was done by.the left rather one of those self-confident, 
 vaunting knaves of high animal spirits, and conscience so obtuse 
 that it clouds their intellect who must have some one to whom 
 they can boast of their abilities and confide their projects. And 
 Peschiera has done all he can to render this poor woman so wholly 
 dependent on him, as to be his slave and his tool. But I have 
 learned certain traits in Tier character that show it to be impres- 
 sionable to good, and with tendencies to honor. Peschiera had 
 taken advantage of the admiration she excited, some years ago, 
 in a rich young Englishman, to entice this admiref into gambling, 
 and sought to make his sister both a decoy and an instrument 
 in his designs of plunder. She did not encourage the addresses 
 of our countryman, but she warned him of the snare laid for 
 him, and entreated him to leave the place, lest her brother should 
 discover and punish her honesty. 
 
 " The Englishman told me this himself. In fine, my hope of 
 detaching this lady from PesChiera's interests, and inducing her 
 to forewarn us of his purpose, consists but in the innocent and, I 
 hope, laudable artifice, of redeeming herself of appealing to, and 
 calling into disused exercise, the better springs of her nature." 
 
 Leonard listened with admiration and some surprise to the 
 singularly subtle and sagacious insight into character which 
 Harley evinced in the brief clear strokes by which he had thus 
 depicted Peschiera and Beatrice, and was struck by the boldness 
 with which Harley rested a whole system of action upon a few 
 deductions drawn from his reasonings on human motive and
 
 110 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 characteristic bias. Leonard had not expected to find so much 
 practical acuteness in a man who, however accomplished, usually 
 seemed indifferent, dreamy, and abstracted to the ordinary things 
 of life. But Harley L' Estrange was one of those whose powers 
 lie dormant till circumstance supplies to them all they need for 
 activity the stimulant of a motive. 
 
 Harley resumed "After a conversation I had with the lady 
 last night, it occurred to me that in this part of our diplomacy 
 you could render us essential service. Madame di Negra such 
 is the sister's name has conceived an admiration for your 
 genius, and a strong desire to know you personally. I have 
 promised to present you to her ; and I shall do so after a pre- 
 liminary caution. The lady is very handsome and very fascinat- 
 ing. It is possible that your heart and your senses may not be 
 proof against her attractions." 
 
 " Qh, do not fear that.! " exclaimed Leonard, with a tone of 
 conviction so earnest that Harley smiled. 
 
 " Forewarned is not always forearmed against the might of 
 beauty, my dear Leonard ; so I cannot at once accept your 
 assurance. But listen to me ! Watch yourself narrowly, and 
 if you find that you are likely to be captivated, promise, on your 
 honor, to retreat at once from the field. I have no right, for 
 the sake of another, to expose you to danger ; and Madame di 
 Negra, whatever may be her good qualities, is the last person 
 I should wish to see you in love with." 
 
 "In love with her ! Impossible ! " 
 
 " Impossible is a strong word," returned Harley ; "still, I own 
 fairly (and this belief alone warrants me in trusting you to her fasci- 
 nations) that I do think, as. far as one man can judge of another, 
 that she is not the woman to attract you; and, if filled by one pure 
 and generous object in your intercourse with her, you will see her 
 with purged eyes. Still, I claim your promise as one of honor." 
 
 "I give it," said Leonard, positively. "But how can I serve 
 Riccabocca ? How aid in " 
 
 " Thus," interrupted Harley.-^" The spell of your writings is 
 that, unconsciously to ourselves, they make us better and nobler. 
 And your writings are but the impressions struck off from your 
 mind. Your conversation, when you are aroused, has the same 
 effect. And as you grow more familiar with Madame di Negra, 
 I wish you to speak of your boyhood, your youth. Describe the 
 exile as you have seen him so touching amidst foibles, so grand 
 amidst the petty privations of his fallen fortunes, so benevolent 
 while poringiover his hateful Machiavelli, so stingless in his wis- 
 dom of the serpent, so playfully astute in his innocence of th
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. Ill 
 
 dove I leave the picture to your knowledge of humor and pathos. 
 Describe Violante brooding over her Italian poets, and filled with 
 dreams of her fatherland ; describe her with all the flashes of 
 her princely nature, shining forth through humble circumstance 
 and obscure position ; waken in your listener compassion, re- 
 spect, admiration for her kindred exiles; and I think our work 
 is done. She will recognize evidently those whom her brother 
 seeks. She will question you closely where you met with them 
 where they now are. Protect that secret ; say at once that it is 
 not your own. Against your descriptions and the feelings they 
 excite, she will not be guarded as against mine. And there are 
 other reasons why your influence over this woman of mixed na- 
 ture may be more direct and effectual than my own." 
 
 "Nay, I cannot conceive that." 
 
 " Believe it without asking me to explain," answered Harley. 
 For he did not judge it necessary to say to Leonard, " I am high- 
 born and wealthy you a peasant's son and living by your exer- 
 tions. This woman is ambitious and distressed. She might 
 have projects on me that would counteract mine on her. You 
 she would but listen to, and receive, through the sentiments' of 
 good or of poetical that are in her you she would have no in- 
 terest to subjugate, no motive, to ensnare. 
 
 "And now," said Harley, turning the subject, "I have another 
 object in view. This foolish sage friend of ours, in his bewilder- 
 ment and fear, has sought to save Violante from one rogue by 
 promising her hand to a man who, unless my instincts deceive 
 me, I suspect much disposed to be another. Sacrifice such ex- 
 uberance of life and spirit to that bloodless heart, to that cold 
 and earthward intellect ! By Heaven, it shall not be ! " 
 
 " But whom can the exile possibly have seen of birth and for- 
 tunes to render him a fitting spouse for his daughter ? Whom, 
 my lord, except yourself? " 
 
 "Me ! " exclaimed Harley, angrily, and changing color. "I 
 worthy of such a creature ? I with my habits ! I silken ego- 
 tist that I am ! And you, a poet, to form such an estimate of 
 one who might be the queen of a poet's dream." 
 
 " My lord, when we sat the other night round Riccabocca's 
 hearth when I heard her speak, and observed you listen, I said 
 to myself, from such knowledge of human nature as conies, we 
 know not how,to us poets I said, ' Harley L'Estrange has looked 
 long and wistfully on the heavens, and he now hears the mur- 
 mur of the wings that can waft him toward them.' And then 
 I sighed, for I thought how the world rules us all in spite of our- 
 selves, and I said, ' What pity for both that the exile's daughter
 
 ii2 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 is not the worldly equal of the peer's son ! ' And you too sighed, as I 
 thus thought; and I fancied that, while you listened to the music of 
 the wing, you felt the iron of the chain. But the exile's daughter -is 
 your equal in birth, and you are her equal in heart and in soul." 
 
 " My poor Leonard, you rave," answered Harley, calmly; "and 
 if Violante is not to be some young prince's bride, she should 
 be some poet's." 
 
 " Poet's ! Oh, no ! " said Leonard, with a gentle laugh. "Poets 
 need repose where they love !" 
 
 Harley was struck by the answer, and mused over it in silence. 
 " I comprehend," thought he ; "it is a new light that dawns on 
 me. What is needed by the man, whose whole life is one strain 
 after glory whose soul sinks, in fatigue, to the companionship 
 of earth is not the love of a nature like his own. He is right 
 it is repose ! While I ! it is true boy that he is, his intuitions 
 are wiser than all my experience ! It is excitement energy 
 elevation, that Love should bestow on me. But I have chosen; 
 and; at least, with Helen, my life will be calm, and my hearth 
 sacred. Let the rest sleep in the same grave as my youth." 
 
 " But," said Leonard, wishing kindly to arouse his noble friend 
 from a reverie which he felt was mournful, though he did not 
 divine its true cause "but you have not yet told me the name 
 of the signorin'a's suitor. May I know?" 
 
 " Probably one you never heard of. Randal Leslie a place- 
 man. You refused a place; you were right." 
 
 " Randal Leslie ? Heaven forbid ! " cried Leonard, reveal- 
 ing his surprise at the name. 
 
 "Amen \ But what do you know of him ? " 
 
 Leonard related the story of Burley's pamphlet. 
 
 Harley seemed delighted to hear his suspicions of Randal 
 confirmed. "The paltry pretender! and yet I fancied that he 
 might be formidable ! However, we must dismiss him for the 
 present; we are approaching Madame di Negra's house. Pre- 
 pare yourself, and remember your promise." 
 
 ff^o} l>.,J0/{ X .- . : [ j-.-j 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SOME days have passed by. Leonard and Beatrice di Negra 
 have already made friends. Harley is satisfied with his young 
 friend's report. He himself has been actively occupied. He 
 has sought, but hitherto in vain, all trace of Mrs. Bertram ; he 
 has put that investigation into the hands of his lawyer, and his 
 lawyer has not been more fortunate than himself. Moreover, 
 Harley has blazed forth again in the London world, and promises
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 113 
 
 again de faire fureur ;. but he has always found time to spend 
 some hours in the twenty-four at his father's house. He has 
 continued much the same tone with Violante, and she begins to 
 accustom herself to it, and reply saucily. His calm courtship 
 to Helen flows on in silence. Leonard, too, has been a frequent 
 guest at the Lansmeres: all welcome andlike him there. Pesch- 
 iera has not evinced any signs of the deadly machinations as- 
 cribed to him. He goes less into the drawing-room world; for 
 in that world he meets Lord L'Estrange; and brilliant and hand- 
 some though Peschiera be, Lord L'Estrange, like Rob Roy Mac- 
 gregor, is "on his native heath," and has. the decided advantage 
 over the foreigner. Peschiera, Jiowever, shines'in the clubs, and 
 plays high. Still scarcely an evening passes in which he and 
 Baron Levy do not meet. 
 
 Audley Egerton has been intensely occupied with affairs. Only 
 seen once by Harley. Harley then was about to deliver himself 
 of his sentiments respecting Randal Leslie, and to commuoicate 
 the story of Burley and the pamphlet. Egerton stopped him short. 
 
 " My dear Harley, don't try to set me against this young man. 
 I wish to hear nothing in his disfavor. In the first place.it would 
 not alter the line of conduct I mean to adopt with regard to him. 
 He is my wife's kinsman; I charged myself with his career, as a 
 wish of hers, and therefore as a duty to myself. In attaching 
 him so young to my own fate, I drew him necessarily away from 
 the professions in which, his industry and talents (for he has both 
 in no common degree) would have secured his fortunes; there? 
 fore, be he bad, be he good, I shall try to provide for him as I 
 best can; and, moreover, cold as I am to him, and worldly though 
 perhaps he be, I have somehow or other conceived an interest 
 in him a liking to him. He has been under my roof, he is de- 
 pendent on me; he has been docile and prudent, and lam alone 
 childless man; therefore, spare him, since in so doing you spare 
 me; and ah, Harley, I have so many cares on me now, that " 
 
 " Oh, say no more, my dear, dear Audley," cried the generous 
 friend; "how little people know you ! " 
 
 Auxiley's hand trembled. Certainly his nerves began to show 
 wear and tear. 
 
 Meanwhile, the object of this dialogue the type of perverted 
 intellect of mind without heart of knowledge which had no 
 aim but power was in a state -of anxious perturbed gloom. He 
 did not know whether wholly to believe Levy's assurance of his 
 patron's ruin. He could not believe it when he saw that great 
 house in Grosvenor Square, its hall crowded with lacqueys, its 
 sideboard blazing with plate; when no dun was ever seen in the
 
 114 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 antechamber ; when not a tradesman was ever known to call twice 
 for a bill. He hinted to Levy the doubts all these phenomena sug- 
 gested to him; but the Baron only smiled ominously, and said 
 
 " True, the tradesmen are always paid; but the how is the ques- 
 tion ! Randal, mon cher, you are too innocent. I have but two 
 pieces of advice to suggest, in the shape of two proverbs ' Wise 
 rats run from a falling house,' and, 'Make hay while the sun 
 shines.' Apropos, Mr. Avenel likes you greatly, and has been 
 talking of the borough of Lansmere for you. He has contrived 
 to get together a great interest there. Make much of him." 
 
 Randal had indeed been to Mrs: Avenel's soiree dansante, and 
 called twice and found her at home, and been very bland and 
 civil, and admired the children. She had two, a boy and a girl, 
 very like their father, with open faces as bold as brass. And as 
 all this had won Mrs. Avenel's good graces, so it had propitiated 
 her husband's. Avenel was shrewd enough to see how clever 
 Randal was. He called him "smart," and said "he would have 
 got on in America," which was the highest praise Dick Avenel 
 ever accorded to any man. But Dick himself looked a little 
 care-worn ; and this was the first year in which he had murmured 
 at the bills of his wife's dressmaker, and said, with an oath, that 
 "there was such a thing as going too much ahead." 
 
 Randal had visited Dr. Riccabocca, and found Violante flown. 
 True to his promise to Harley, the Italian refused to say where, 
 and suggested, as was agreed, that for the present it would be 
 more prudent if Randal suspended his visits to himself. Leslie, 
 not liking this proposition, attempted to make himself still nec- 
 essary, by working on Riccabocca's fears as to that espionage 
 on his retreat, which had been among the reasons that had hurried 
 the sage into offering Randal Violante'shand. But Riccabocca 
 had already learned that the fancied spy was "but his neighbor 
 Leonard ; and, without so saying, he cleverly contrived to make 
 the supposition of such espionage an additional reason for the 
 cessation of Leslie's visits. Randal then, in his own artful, quiet, 
 roundabout way, had sought to find out if any communication had 
 passed between L' Estrange and Riccabocca. Brooding over 
 Harley's words to him, he suspected there had -been such com- 
 munication, with his usual penetrating astuteness. Riccabocca, 
 here, was less on his guard, and rather parried the sidelong ques- 
 tions than denied their inferences. 
 
 Randal began already to surmise the truth. Where was it 
 likely Violante should go but to the Lansmeres ? This con- 
 firmed his idea of Harley's pretensions to her hand. With such 
 a rival, what chance had he? Randal never doubted for a mo-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 1 15 
 
 ment that the pupil of Machiavelli would "throw him over," if 
 such an alliance to his daughter really presented itself. The 
 schemer at once discarded from his projects all further aim on 
 Violante ; either she would be poor, and he would not have her ; 
 or she would be rich, and her father would give her to another. 
 As his heart had never been touched by the fair Italian, so the 
 moment her inheritance became more doubtful, it gave him no 
 pang to lose her ; but he did feel very sore and resentful at the 
 thought of being supplanted by Lord L'Estrange, the man who 
 had insulted him. 
 
 Neither, as yet, had Randal made any way in his designs on 
 Frank. For several days Madame di Negra had not been at 
 home either to himself or young Hazeldean ; and Frank, though 
 very unhappy, was piqued and angry ; and Randal suspected, 
 and suspected, and suspected, he knew not exactly what, but 
 that the devil was not so kind to him there as that father of lies 
 ought to have been to a son so dutiful. Yet, with all these dis- 
 couragements, there was in Randal Leslie so dogged and deter- 
 mined a conviction of his own success there was so great a 
 tenacity of purpose under obstacles, and so vigilant an eye upon 
 all chances that could be turned to his favor, that he never once 
 abandoned hope, nor did more than change the details in his main 
 schemes. Out of calculations apparently the most far-fetched 
 and improbable, he had constructed a patient policy to which he 
 obstinately clung. How far his reasonings and patience served 
 to his ends, remains yet to be seen. But could our contempt for 
 the baseness of Randal himself be separated from the faculties 
 which he elaborately degraded to the service of that baseness, 
 one might allow that there was something one could scarcely de- 
 spise in this still self-reliance, this inflexible resolve. Had such 
 qualities, aided as they were by abilities of no ordinary acuter 
 ness, been applied to objects commonly honest, one would have 
 backed Randal Leslie against any fifty picked prize-men from the 
 colleges. But there are judges of weight and metal who do that 
 now, especially Baron Levy, who says to himself, as he eyes that 
 pale face all intellect, and that spare form all nerve, "This is a 
 man who must make his way in life ; he is worth helping." 
 
 By the words " worth helping," Baron Levy meant " worth 
 getting into my power, that he may help me." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 BUT Parliament had met. Events that belonged to history 
 had contributed yet more to weaken the administration. Randal
 
 n6 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Leslie's interest became absorbed in politics ; for the stake to 
 him was his whole political career. Should Audley lose office, 
 and for good, Audley could aid him no more ; but to abandon 
 his patron, as Levy recommended, and pin himself, in the hope 
 of a seat in Parliament, to a stranger, an obscure stranger, like 
 Dick Avenel that was a policy not to be adopted at a breath. 
 Meanwhile, almost every night, when the House met, that pale 
 face and spare form, which Levy so identified with shrewdness 
 and energy might be seen amongst the benches appropriated to 
 those more select strangers who obtain the Speaker's order of 
 admission. There, Randal heard the great men of that day, and 
 with the half-contemptuous surprise at their fame, which is com- 
 mon enough amongst clever well-educated young men, who know 
 not what it is to speak in the House of Commons. He heard 
 much slovenly English, much trite reasoning, some eloquent 
 thoughts, and close argument, often delivered in a jerking tone 
 of voice (properly called the Parliamentary twang), and often 
 accompanied by gesticulations that would have shocked the 
 manager of a provincial theatre. He thought how much better 
 than these great dons (with but one or two exceptions) he him- 
 self could speak with what more refined logic with -what more 
 polished periods how much more like Cicero and Burke! Very 
 probably he might have so spoken, and for that very reason have 
 made that deadest of all dead failures a pretentious imitation 
 of Burke and Cicero. One thing, however, he was obliged to own, 
 viz., that in a popular representative assembly it is not precisely 
 knowledge which is power, or if knowledge^ it is but the knowl- 
 edge of that particular assembly, and what will best take with 
 it ; passion, invective, sarcasm, bold declamation, shrewd com- 
 mon sense, the readiness so rarely found in every profound mind-^- 
 he owned that all these were the qualities that told ; -when a man 
 who exhibited nothing but " knowledge," in the ordinary sense 
 of the word, stood an imminent chance of being coughed down. 
 There at his left last but one in the row of the ministerial 
 chiefs Randal watched Audley Egerton, his arms folded on his 
 breast, his hat drawn over his brows, his eyes fixed with steady 
 courage on whatever speaker in the Opposition held possession of 
 the floor. And twice Randal heard Egerton speak, and marvelled 
 much at the effect that minister produced. For of 'those qualities 
 enumerated above, and which Randal had observed to be more 
 sure of success, Audley Egerton only exhibited to a marked de- 
 gree the common sense and the readiness. . And yet, though 
 but little applauded by noisy cheers, no speaker seemed more to 
 satisfy friends, and command respect from foes. The true secret
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. Iiy 
 
 was this, which Randal might well not divine, since that young 
 person, despite his ancient birth, his Eton rearing, and his re- 
 fined air, was not one of Nature's gentlemen ; the true secret 
 was, that Audley Egerton moved,looked, and spoke like a thorough 
 gentleman of England. A gentleman of more than average talents 
 and of long experience, speaking his sincere opinions not a 
 rhetorician aiming at effect. Moreover, Egerton was a con- 
 summate man of the world. He said, with nervous simplicity, 
 what his party desired to be said, and put what his opponents 
 felt to be the strong points of the case. Calm and decorous, yet 
 spirited and energetic, with little variety of tone, and action sub- 
 dued and rare, but yet signaled by earnest vigor, Audley Eger- 
 ton impressed the understanding of the dullest, and pleased the 
 taste of the most fastidious. 
 
 But once, when allusions were made to a certain popular ques- 
 tion, on which the premier had announced his resolution to re- 
 fuse all concession, and on the expediency of which it was an- 
 nounced that the cabinet was nevertheless divided and when 
 such allusions were coupled with direct appeals to Mr, Egerton, 
 as " the enlightened member of a great commercial constituency," 
 and with a flattering doubt that "that Right Honorable -gentle- 
 man, member for that great city, identified with the cause -of the 
 Burgher class, could be so far behind the spirit of the age as his 
 official chief," Randal observed that Egerton drew his hat still 
 more closely over his brows, and turned to whisper with one of 
 his colleagues. He .could not be#<?/ : up to speak. 
 
 That evening Randal walked home with Egerton,and intimated 
 his surprise that the minister had declined what seemed to him 
 a good occasion for one- of those brief, weighty replies by which 
 Audley was chiefly distinguished an occasion to which he had 
 been loudly invited by the "hears" of the House. 
 
 " Leslie," answered the statesman^ briefly, " I owe all my suc- 
 cess in Parliament .to this rule I have never spoken against 
 my convictions. I intend to abide by it to the last." 
 
 " But if the question at issue comes before the House, you 
 will vote against it ? " 
 
 " Certainly, I vote as a member of the cabinet. But since I 
 am not leader and mouth-piece of the party, I retain as an in- 
 dividual the privilege to speak or ke.ep silence." 
 
 "Ah, my dear Mr, Egerton," exclaimed Randal, " forgive me. 
 But this question, right or wrong, has got such hold of the public 
 mind. So little, if conceded in time, would give content; and it is 
 so clear (if I may judge b.y the talk I hear everywhere I go) that by 
 refusing allconcession, the Government must fall, that I
 
 Il8 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "So do I wish," interrupted Egerton, with a gloomy, impatient 
 sigh " so do I wish J But what avails it ? If my advice had been 
 taken but three weeks ago now it is too late we could have 
 doubled the rock; we refused, we must split upon it." 
 
 This speech was so unlike the discreet and reserved minister, 
 that Randal gathered courage to proceed with an idea that had 
 occurred to his own sagacity. And before I state it, I must add 
 that Egerton had of late shown much more personal kindness 
 to his protegt; whether his spirits were broken, or that at last, 
 close and compact as his nature of bronze was, he felt the im- 
 perious want to groan aloud in some loving ear, the stern Aud- 
 ley seemed tamed and softened. So Randal went on. 
 
 " May I say what I have heard expressed with regard to you 
 and your position in the streets in the clubs?" 
 
 " Yes, it is in the streets and the clubs that statesmen should 
 go to, school. Say on." 
 
 " Well, then, I have heard it made a matter of wonder why 
 you, and one or two others I will not name, do not at once re- 
 tire from the ministry, and on the avowed ground that you side 
 with the public feeling on this irresistible question." 
 
 "Eh!" 
 
 " It is clear that in so doing you would become the most popu- 
 lar man in the country clear that you would be summoned back 
 to power on the shoulders of the people. No new cabinet could 
 be formed without you, and your station in it would perhaps be 
 higher, for life, than that which you may now retain but for a 
 few weeks longer. Has not this ever occurred to you ? " 
 
 " Never," said Audley, with dry composure. 
 
 Amazed at such obtuseness, Randal exclaimed, " Is it pos- 
 sible ! And yet, forgive me if I say I think you are ambitious, 
 and love power." 
 
 ' No man more ambitious; and if by power you mean office, 
 it has grown the habit of my life, and I shall hot know what to 
 do without it." 
 
 " And how, then, has what seems to me so obvious never oc- 
 curred to you ? " 
 
 " Because you are young, and therefore I forgive you; but not 
 the gossips who could wonder why Audley Egerton refused to be- 
 tray the friends of his whole career, and to profit by the treason." 
 
 " But one should love one's country before a party." 
 
 " No doubt of that; and the first interest of a country is the 
 honor of its public men." 
 
 " But men may leave their party without dishonor ! " 
 
 " Who doubts that? Do you suppose that if I were an ordinary
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 1*9 
 
 independent member of Parliament, loaded with no obligations, 
 charged with no trust, I could hesitate fora moment what course 
 
 to pursue? Oh, that I were but the member for ! Oh, that I 
 
 had the full right to be a free agent! But if a member of a cabinet 
 a chief in whom thousands confide, because he is outvoted in a 
 council of his colleagues, suddenly retires, and by so doing breaks 
 up the whole party whose confidence he has enjoyed, whose re- 
 wards he has reaped, to whom he owes the very position which he 
 employs to their ruin own that though his choice may be honest, 
 it is one which requires all the consolations of conscience." 
 
 " But you will have those consolations. And," added Randal 
 energetically, " the gain to your career will be so immense ! " 
 
 "That is precisely what it cannot be," answered Egerton, 
 gloomily. " 1 grant that I may, if I choose, resign office with the 
 present Government, and so at once destroy that government ; 
 for my resignation on such ground would suffice to do it. I grant 
 this; but for that very reason I could not the next day take office 
 with another administration. I could not accept wages for deser- 
 tion. No gentleman could! and therefore " Audley stopped 
 short, and buttoned his coat over his broad breast. The action 
 was significant; it said that the man's mind was made up. 
 
 In fact, whether Audley Egerton was right or wrong in his 
 theory, depends upon much subtler, and perhaps loftier, views in 
 the casuistry of political duties, than it was in his character to 
 take. And I guard myself from saying anything in praise or dis- 
 favor of his notions, or implying that he is a fit or unfit example in 
 a parallel case. I am but describing the man as he was, and as a 
 man like him would inevitably be, under the influences in which 
 he lived, and in that peculiar world of which he was sd emphati- 
 cally a member. Ce nest pas moi qui parlt, c*est Marc Aurtle. 
 
 He speaks, not I. 
 
 Randal had no time for further discussion. They now reached 
 Egerton's house, and the minister, taking the chamber candle- 
 stick from his servant's hand, nodded a silent good-night to 
 Leslie, and with a jaded look retired to his room. 
 
 : 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 BUT not on the threatened question was that eventful cam- 
 paign of Party decided. The Government fell less in battle than 
 skirmish. It was one fatal Monday a dull question of finance 
 and figures. Prosy and few were the speakers. All the Gove'rn- 
 ment silent, save the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and another 
 business-like personage connected with the Board of Trade,
 
 120 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 whom the House would hardly condescend to hear. The House 
 was in no mood to think of facts and figures. Early in the evening, 
 between nine and ten, the Speaker's sonorous voice sounded, 
 " Strangers must withdraw ! " And Randal, anxious and fore- 
 boding, descended from his seat and went out of the fatal doors. 
 He turned to take a last glance at Audley Egerton. The whipper- 
 in was whispering to Audley; and the minister pushed back his 
 hat from his brows, and glanced round the House and up into 
 the galleries, as if to calculate rapidly the relative numbers of the 
 two armies in the field; then he smiled bitterly, and threw him- 
 self back into his seat. That smile long haunted Leslie. 
 
 Amongst the strangers thus banished with Randal, while the 
 division was being taken, were many young men, like himself 
 connected with tlxe administration some by blood, some by 
 place. Hearts beat loud in the swarming lobbies. Ominous 
 mournful whispers were exchanged. " They say the Government 
 will have a majority of ten." " No; I hear they will certainly be 
 
 beaten." " H-> says by fifty." " I don't believe it," said a Lord 
 
 of the Bedchamber; "it is impossible. I left five Government 
 members dining at the ' Travellers.' " "No one thought the divi- 
 sion would be so early." "A , trick of the Whigs shameful." 
 "Wonder; some one was not set. up to talk for time; very odd 
 
 P* did not. speak; howev.er, he is so cursedly rich, he do.es riot 
 
 care whether he is .out or in." "Yes; and Audley Egerton too, 
 just such another; glad, no doubt,, to be set free to look after his 
 property; very different tactics if we .had men to whom office 
 was as necessary as it: is to me ! " said ' a candid young place- 
 man. .Suddenly the silent Leslie felt a friendly grasp on his 
 arm. He turned and saw Levy. 
 
 " Did I not tell you ? " said the Baron, with aaexulting smile. 
 
 " You are sure, then, that the Government will be out-voted?" 
 
 "I spent the morning in going over 'the list of members with a 
 parliamentary client of mine, who knows them alias a shepherd 
 does his sheep. Majority for the Opposition atleast twenty-five." 
 
 "And in that case must the Government resign, sir ? " asked 
 the candid young placeman, who had been listening to the 
 smart well-dressed Baron, "his, soul planted in his ears." 
 
 " Of course, sir," replied tHe Baron, blandly, and offering 
 his snuff-box (true Louis Quince, with; a ; rn.iniature of_ Madame 
 de Pompadour, set in pearls); " you are ; a friend to the pres- 
 ent ministers ? You could not wish them to be mean enough 
 to stay in ??' Randal drew aside the Baron. 
 
 " If Audley's affairs are as you state, what can he dp ?" 
 
 " I shall ask him that question to-morrow," answered the
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 121 
 
 Baron, with a look of visible hate. " And I have come here just 
 to see how he bears the prospect before him." 
 
 " You will not discover that in his face. And those absurd 
 scruples of his! If he had but gone out in time to come in 
 again with the New Men ! " 
 
 " Oh, of course, our Right Honorable is too punctilious for 
 that! " answering the Baron, sneering. 
 
 Suddenly the doors opened in rushed the breathless expect- 
 ants. "What are the numbers ? What is the division ?" 
 
 " Majority against ministers/' said a member of Opposition, 
 peeling an orange, "twenty-nine." 
 
 The Baron, too, had a Speaker's order; and he. came into the 
 House with Randal, and sat by his side. But, to their disgust, some 
 member, was talking about the other motions before the House. 
 
 "What! has nothing been said as to the division?" asked the 
 Baron of .a young country member, who was talking to some 
 non parliamentary friend in the bench before Levy. The county 
 member was one of the Baron's pet eldes.t sons had dined often 
 with Levy was under "obligations" to him. The young legislator 
 looked very much ashamed of Levy's friendly pat on his shoulder, 
 
 and answered, hurriedly, "O yes; H asked, 'if, after such an 
 
 expression of the House, it was the intention of ministers to retain 
 their places, and carry on the business of the Government ? ' ' 
 
 "Just like H ! Very inquisitive mind! And what was the 
 answer he got ? " 
 
 : "None," said the county member ; and returned in haste to 
 his proper seat in the body of the House,. 
 
 " There comes Egerton," said the Baron. And, indeed, as 
 most of the members were now; leaving :the House, tp talk over 
 affairs at clubs or in saloons, and spread through town the great 
 tidings, Audley Egerton's tall head was seen towering above the 
 rest. And Levy turned away disappointed. For not only was the 
 minister's handsome face, though pale, serene and cheerful, but 
 there was an obvious courtesy, a, marked respect, in the mode in 
 which that assembly: heated though it was made way for the 
 fallen minister as he passed through the jostling crowd. And the 
 f rank,urbane nobleman whoaf terward,f rom the force, not of- talent 
 but of character,became the leader in that House^pressed the hand 
 of his old opponent, as they met in the throng near thedoors, and 
 said aloud,"! shall not be a proud man if everllive to haveoffice; 
 but I shall be proud if ever I leave it with as little to .be said against 
 me as your bitterest opponents can say against you, Egerton." 
 
 "I wonder," exclaimed the Baron aloud, and leaning over the 
 partition that divided him from the throng below, so that his
 
 122 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 voice reached Egerton and there was a cry from formal indig- 
 nant members, "Order in the strangers' gallery ! " "I wonder 
 what Lord L'Estrange will say ? " 
 
 Audley lifted his dark brows, surveyed the Baron for an in- 
 stant with flashing eyes, then walked down the narrow defile 
 between the last benches, and vanished from the scene in which, 
 alas ! so few of the most admired performers leave mere than 
 an actor's short-lived name ! 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 BARON LEVY did not execute his threat of calling on Egerton 
 the next morning. Perhaps he shrank from again meeting the 
 flash of those indignant eyes. And indeed Egerton was too busied 
 all the forenoon to see any one upon public affairs, except Har- 
 ley, who hastened to console or cheer him. When the House 
 met, it was announced that the ministers had resigned, only 
 holding their offices till their successors were appointed. But 
 already there was some reaction in their favor ; and when it 
 became generally known that the new administration was to be 
 formed of men, few indeed of whom had ever before held office, 
 the common superstition in the public mind, that the govern- 
 ment is like a trade, in which a regular apprenticeship must be 
 served, began to prevail ; and the talk at the clubs was, that the 
 men could not stand; that the former ministry, with some modi- 
 fication, would be back in a month. Perhaps that too might be a 
 reason why Baron Levy thought it prudent not prematurely to 
 offer vindictive condolences to Mr. Egerton. Randal spent part 
 ^of his morning in inquiries as to what gentlemen in his situation 
 meant to do with regard to their places; he heard with great sat- 
 isfaction that very few intended to volunteer retirement from 
 their desks. As Randal himself had observed to Egerton, "their 
 country before their party! " 
 
 Randal's place was of great moment to him ; its duties were 
 easy, its salary amply sufficient for his wants, and sufficed to de- 
 fray such expenses as were bestowed on the education of Oliver 
 and his sister. For I am bound to do justice to this young man 
 indifferent as he was toward his species in general, the ties of 
 family were strong with him; and he stinted himself in many 
 temptations most alluring to his age, in the endeavor to raise 
 the dull honest Oliver and the loose-'haired pretty Juliet some- 
 what more to his own level of culture and refinement. Men es- 
 sentially griping and unscrupulous often do make the care for 
 their family an apology for their sins against the world. Even 
 Richard III., if the chroniclers are to be trusted, excused the
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. I2J 
 
 murder of his nephews by his passionate affection for his son. 
 With the loss of that place, Randal lost all means of support, 
 save what Audley could give him; and if Audley were in truth 
 ruined! Moreover, Randal had already established at the office 
 a reputation for ability and industry. It was a career in which, 
 if he abstained from party politics, he might rise to a fair station 
 and to a considerable income. Therefore, much contented with 
 what he learned as to the general determination of his fellow- 
 officials, a determination warranted by ordinary precedent in 
 such cases, Randal dined at a club with good relish,- and much 
 Christian resignation for the reverse of his patron, and then 
 walked to Grosvenor Square, on the chance of finding Audley 
 within. Learning that he was so, from the porter who opened 
 the door, Randal entered the library. Three gentlemen were 
 seated there withEgerton; one of the three was Lord L'Estrange, 
 the other two were members of the really defunct, though nomi- 
 nally still existing, Government. He was about to withdraw from 
 intruding on this conclave, when Egerton said to him gently, 
 "Come in, Leslie; I was just speaking about yourself." 
 
 "About me, sir?" 
 
 "Yes; about you and the place you hold. I had asked Sir 
 
 (pointing to a fellow-minister) whether I might not, with pro- 
 priety, request your chief to leave some note of his opinion of 
 your talents, which I'know is high, and which might serve you 
 with his successor." 
 
 "Oh, sir, at such a time to think of me ! " exclaimed Randal, 
 and he was genuinely touched. 
 
 "But," resumed Audley, with his usual dryness, "Sir , to 
 
 my surprise, thinks that it would better become you that yott 
 should resign. Unless his reasons, which he has not yet stated, 
 are very strong, such would not be my advice." 
 
 "My reasons," said Sir ,with official formality, "are simply 
 
 these: I have a nephew in a similar situation; he will resign, as 
 a matter of course. Every one in the public offices whose rela- 
 tions and near connections hold high appointments in the Gov- 
 ernment, will do so. I do not think Mr. Leslie willlike to feel 
 himself a solitary exception." 
 
 "Mr. Leslie is no relation of mine not even a near connec- 
 tion," answered Egerton. 
 
 "But his name is so associated with your own hehas resided 
 so long in your house is so well known in society (and don't 
 think I compliment when I add, that we hope so well of him), 
 that I can't think it worth his while to keep this paltry place, 
 which incapacitates him too from a seat in Parliament."
 
 124 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Sir was one.Of those terribly rich men, to whom all con- 
 siderations of mere bread and cheese are paltry. But I must add 
 that he supposed Egerton to be still wealthier than himself, and 
 
 sure to provide handsomely for Randal, whom Sir rather 
 
 liked than not; and for Randal's own sakje, Sir ; thought it 
 would lower him in the estimation of Egerton himself, despite 
 that gentleman's advocacy, if he did not follow the example of 
 his avowed and notorious patron. 
 
 "You see, Leslie," said Egerton, checking Randal's meditated 
 reply, "that nothing can be said against your honor if you stay 
 where you are; it is a mere question of expediency; I will judge 
 that for you; keep your place." 
 
 Unhappily the other member of the Government, who had 
 hitherto been silent,iwas a literary man. Unhappily, while this 
 talk had proceeded, he had placed his hand upon Randal Les- 
 lie's celebrated pamphlet, which lay on the library table ; and, 
 turning over the leaves, the whole spirit and matter of that 
 masterly composition in defence of the administration (a com- 
 position steeped in all the essence of; party) recurred to his too 
 faithful recollection. He, too, liked Randal ; he did more he 
 admired the author of that striking 'and effective pamphlet. 
 And therefore, rousing himself from the sublime indifference he 
 had before felt for the fate of a subaltern, he said, with abland 
 and complimentary smile, " No ; the writer of this most able 
 publication is no ordinary placeman. His opinions also are too 
 vigorously stated; this fine irony on the very person who in all 
 probability will be the chief in his office, has excited too lively an 
 attention to allow him the sedet ceternu mque sedebil on an official 
 stool. Ha,ha! this is so good! Read it,L'Estrange. What say you?" 
 
 Harley glanced over the page pointed out to him. The original 
 was in one of Burley's broad, coarse, but telling burlesques, 
 strained fine through Randal's more polished satire. It was cap- 
 ital. Harley smiled, and lifted his eyes to Randal. The unlucky 
 plagiarist's face was flushed the beads stood on his brow. Har- 
 ley was a good hater; he loved too warmly not to err on the oppo- 
 site side; but he was one. of those men who forget hate when its 
 object is distressed and humbled. He put down the pamphlet 
 and said, "I am no politician; but Egerton is so well known to 
 be fastidious and over-scrupulous in all points of official eti- 
 quette, that Mr. Leslie cannot follow a safer counsellor." 
 
 " Read that yourself, Egerton," said Sir ; and he pushed 
 
 the pamphlet to Audley. 
 
 Now Egerton had a:dim recollection that that pamphlet was 
 unlucky; but he had skimmed over its contents hastily, and at
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 125 
 
 that moment had forgotten allabout it. He took up the too famous 
 work with a reluctant hand, but he read attentively the passages 
 pointed out to him, and then said gravely and sadly 
 
 "Mr. Leslie,jl retract my advice. I believe Sir is right; that 
 
 the nobleman here so keenly satirized will be the chief in your 
 office. I doubt whether he will not compel your dismissal ; at 
 all events, he could scarcely be expected to promote your advance- 
 ment. Under the circumstances, I fear you have no option as a " 
 Egert6n paused a moment, and, with a sigh that seemed to settle 
 the question, concluded with "as a gentleman." 
 
 NeverdidJackCade,neverdidWatTyler,feelamoredeadlyhate 
 to that word "gentleman, "than the well-born Leslie feltth en ;buthe 
 bowed his head, and answered with his usual presence of mind 
 
 " You utter my own sentiment." 
 
 "You think we are right, Harley ?" asked Egerton, with an 
 irresolution that surprised all present. 
 
 " I think," answered Harley, with a compassion for Randal that 
 was almost over-generous, and yet with an Equivoque on the words, 
 despite the compassion "I think whoever has served Audley Eg- 
 erton, never yet has been a loser by it; and if Mr. Leslie wrote this 
 pamphlet,hemust have well served Audley Egerton. If he undergoes 
 the penalty, we may safely trust to Egerton for the compensation." 
 
 " My compensation has long since been made," answered Ran- 
 dal, with grace ; " and that Mr. Egerton could thus have cared for 
 my fortunes, at an hour so occupied, is a thought of pride which " 
 
 "Enough, Leslie ! enough!" interrupted Egerton, rising and 
 pressing \\\s protfgfs hand. "See me before you go to bed." 
 
 Then the two other ministers rose also and shook hands with 
 Leslie, and told him he had done the right thing, and that they 
 hoped soon to see him in Parliament; and hinted, smilingly, 
 that the next administration did not promise ta be very long- 
 lived ; and one asked him to dinner, and the other to spend a 
 week at his country seat. And amidst these congratulations at 
 the stroke that left him penniless, the distinguished Pamphleteer 
 left the room. How he cursed big John Burley ! 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 IT was past midnight when Audley Egerton summoned Randal. 
 The statesman was then alone, seated before his great desk, with 
 its manifold compartments, and engaged on the task of transfer- 
 ring various papers and letters, some t&thewaste-basket/someto 
 the flames, some to two great iron chests, with patent locks, that 
 stood, open-mouthed, at his feet. Strong, stern, and grim, looked
 
 126 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 those iron chests, silently receiving the relics of power departed ; 
 strong, stern, and grim as the grave. Audley lifted his eyes at 
 Randal's entrance, signed to him to take a chair, continued his 
 task for a few moments, and then turning round, as if by an effort 
 he plucked himself from his master-passion Public Life, he 
 said, with deliberate tones 
 
 " I know not, Randal Leslie, whether you thought me needlessly 
 cautious, or wantonly unkind, when I told you never to expect 
 from me more than such advance to your career as m,y then 
 position could effect never to expect from my liberality in life, 
 nor from my testament in death an addition to your private 
 fortunes. I see by your gesture what would be your reply, and I 
 thank you for it. I now tell you, as yet in confidence, though 
 before long it can be no secret to the world, that my pecuniary 
 affairs have been so neglected by me in my devotion to those of 
 the State, that I am somewhat like the man who portioned out 
 his capital at so much a day, calculating to live just long enough 
 to make it last. Unfortunately he lived too long." Audley 
 smiled but the smile was as cold as a sunbeam upon ice and 
 went on with the same firm unfaltering accents: " The prospects 
 that face me I am prepared for ; they do not take me by surprise. 
 I knew long since how this would end, if J survived the loss of 
 office. I knew it before you came to me, and therefore 1 spoke to 
 you as I didjudging.it manful and right to guard you against hopes 
 which you might otherwise have naturally entertained. On this 
 head, I need say no more. It may excite your surprise, possibly 
 your blame, that I, esteemed methodical and practical enough in 
 the affairs of the State, should be so imprudent as to my own." 
 
 " Oh, sir! you owe no account to me." 
 
 " To you, at. least, as much as to any one. I am a solitary 
 man ; my few relations need nothing from me. I had a right 
 to spend what I possessed as I pleased ; and if I have spent it 
 recklessly as regards myself, I have not spent it ill in its effect 
 on others. It has been my object for many years to have no 
 Private Life to dispense with its sorrows, joys, affections ; and 
 as to its duties, they did not exist for me I have said." Me- 
 chanically, as he ended, the minister's hand closed the lid of one 
 of the iron boxes, and on the closed lid he rested his firm foot. 
 "But now," he resumed, "I have failed to advance your career. 
 True, I warned you that you drew into a lottery ; but you had 
 more chance of a prize than a blank. A blank, however, it has 
 turnedout, and the question becomesgrave Whatare you todo?" 
 
 Here, seeing that Egerton came to a full pause, Randal an- 
 _swered, readily
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 127 
 
 "Still, sir, to go by your advice." 
 
 "My advice," said Audley, with a softened look, "would per- 
 haps be rude and unpalatable, I would rather place before you 
 an option. On the one hand, recommence life again. I told you 
 that I would keep your name on your college books. You can re- 
 turn you can take your degree after that, you can go to thebar 
 you have just the talents calculated to succeed in that profession. 
 Success will be slow, it is true ; but, with perseverance, it will be 
 sure. And, believe me, Leslie, Ambition isonly sweet while it is but 
 the loftier name for Hope. Who would care for a fox's brush if it 
 had not been rendered a prize by the excitement of the chase ?" 
 
 " Oxford again ! It is a long step back in life," said Randal, 
 drearily, and little heeding Egerton's unusual indulgence of 
 illustration. "A long step back and to what ? To a profes- 
 sion in which one never begins to rise till one's hair is gray. 
 Besides, how live in the meanwhile ? " 
 
 " Do not let that thought disturb you. The modest income 
 that suffices for a student at the bar, I trust, at least, to insure 
 you from the wrecks of my fortune." 
 
 " Ah, sir, I would not burden you farther. What right have I 
 to such kindness, save my name of Leslie ? " And, in spite of him- 
 self, as Randal concluded, a tone of bitterness, that betrayed re- 
 proach, broke forth. Egerton was too much the man of the world 
 not to comprehend the reproach, and not to pardon it. 
 
 " Certainly," he answered, calmly, "as a Leslie you are en- 
 titled to my consideration, and would have been entitled per- 
 haps to more, had I not so explicitly warned you to the con- 
 trary. But the bar does not seem to please you ?" 
 
 "What is the alternative, sir? Let me decide when I hear 
 it," answered Randal, sullenly. He began to lose respect for 
 the man who owned he could do so little for him, and who evi- 
 dently recommended him to shift for himself. 
 
 If one could have pierced into Egerton's gloomy heart as he 
 noted the young man's change of tone, it may be a' doubt 
 whether one would have seen there pain or pleasure pain, for 
 merely from the force of habit he had begun to like Randal or 
 pleasure, at the thought that he might have reason to withdraw 
 that liking. So lone and stoical had grown the man, who had 
 made it his object to have no private life ! Revealing, however, 
 neither pleasure nor pain, but with the composed calmness of a 
 judge upon the bench, Egerton replied 
 
 " The alternative is to continue in the course you have begun, 
 and still to rely on me." 
 
 " Sir, my dear Mr. Egerton," exclaimed Randal, regaining all
 
 1 28 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 his usual tenderness of look and voice, " rely on you ! But that 
 is all. I ask ! Only" 
 
 , "Only, you would say, I am going out of power, and you 
 don't, see the chance of my return ?" 
 
 "I did not mean that." 
 
 " Permit me to suppose that you did ; very true ; but the party 
 I belong to is as sure of return as the pendulum of that clock is 
 sure to obey the mechanism that moves it from left to right. Our 
 successors propose to come in upon a popular question. All 
 administrations who do that are necessarily short-lived. Either 
 they do not go far enough to please present supporters., or they 
 go so far as to arm new enemies in the rivals who outbid them 
 with the people. 'Tis the history of all revolutions, and of all re- 
 forms. Our own administration in reality is destroyed 1 for hav- 
 ing passed what was called a popular measure .a year ago, which 
 lost us half our friends, and refusing to propose another popular 
 measure this year, in the which we are outstripped by the man 
 who halloo'd us on to the last. Therefore, whatever our succes- 
 sors do, we shall, by the law of .reaction, have another experiment 
 of power afforded to ourselves. It is but a question of time ; you 
 can wait for it.; whether I can is uncertain. But if I die before 
 that day arrives, I have influence enough still left with those 
 w.ho will come in, to obtain a promise of a better provision for 
 you than that which you have lost. .The promises of public 
 men are proverbially uncertain. But I shall intrust your cause to 
 a man who never failed a friend; and :whose rank will enable 
 him to see. that justice, is done to_you I speak of Lord L'Es- 
 trange." 
 
 " Oh, not him.; he is unjust to me ; he dislikes me ; he " 
 i "May dislike you (he has whims), but he loves me; and 
 though for no other human being but you would I ask Harley 
 L'Estrange a favor, yet iovyou I will," said Bgerton, betraying, for 
 the first time in that dialogue, a visible emotion-^" for you, aLes- 
 lie, a kinsman, however remote, to the wife from whom I received 
 my fortune ! And, despite of all my cautions, it is possible that in 
 wasting that fortune I may have wronged you. Enough ! You have 
 now before you the two options, much as you had at first ; but 
 you have at presqnt more experience to aid you in your choice. 
 You are a man-, ; and with more brains than most men ; think 
 over it well and decide for yourself.. Now to bed, and postpone 
 thought till the morrow. Poor Randal, you look pale ! " 
 
 Audley, as he said the last words, put his hand on Randal's 
 shoulder, almost with a father's gentleness ; and then suddenly 
 (drawing himself up,- as the hard, inflexible expression, stamped
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 1 29 
 
 on that face by years, returned, he moved away and resettled to 
 Public Life and the iron box. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 EARLY the next day, Randal Leslie was in the luxurious busi- 
 ness-room of Baron Levy. How unlike the cold Doric sim- 
 plicity of the statesman's library. Axminster carpets three 
 inches thick, portieres a la Fran false before the doors; Parisian 
 bronzes on the chimney-piece; and all the receptacles that 
 lined the room, and contained title-deeds, and post-obits, and 
 bills, and promises to pay, and lawyer-like japan-boxes, with 
 many a noble name written thereon in large white capitals 
 "making ruin pompous " all these sepulchres of departed 
 patrimonies veneered in rosewood that gleamed with Frencli 
 polish, and blazed with ormolu. There was a coquetry, aii air 
 of petit-maf'tre, so diffused over the whole room, that you could 
 not, for the life of you, recollect you were with an usurer! 
 Plutus wore the aspect of his enemy Cupid ; and how realize 
 your idea of Harpagon hi tfiat Baron, with his easy French 
 "Mon cher" and his white warni hands that pressed yours so 
 genially, and his dress so exquisite, even at the earliest morn ? 
 No man ever yet saw that Baron in a dressing-gown and slip- 
 pers ! As one fancies sonic feudal baron of old (not half so 
 terrible) everlastingly clad in mail, ; so all one's notions of this 
 grand marauder of civilization were inseparably associated with 
 varnished boots and a camellia in the buttonhole. 
 
 "And this is all that he does for you !" cried the Baron, pressing 
 together the points of his ten taper fingers. "Had hebutletyou con- 
 clude your career at Oxford, I have heard enough of your scholar- 
 ship to know that you would have taken high honors : been secure 
 of a fellowship have betaken yourself with content to a slow and 
 laboriousprofession,andpreparedyourselftodieonthewoolsack." 
 
 " He proposes to me now to return to Oxford," said Randal. 
 " It is not too late ! " 
 
 " Yes, it is," said the Baron. " Neither individuals nor nations 
 ever go back of their own accord. There must be an earth- 
 quake before a river recedes to its source." 
 
 " You speak well," answered Randal, " and I cannot gainsay 
 you. But now ! " 
 
 " Ah, i\\znow is the grand question in life th then is obso- 
 lete, gone by out of fashion ; and now, mon cher, you come to 
 ask my advice?" 
 
 " No, Baron, I came to ask your explanation." 
 
 "Of what?"
 
 130 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "I want to know why you spoke to me of Mr. Egerton's ruin; 
 why you spoke to me of the lands to be sold by Mr. Thornhill; 
 and why you spoke to me ot Count Peschiera. You touched on 
 each of those points within ten minutes you omitted to indi- 
 cate what link can connect them." 
 
 " By Jove," said the Baron, rising, and with more admiration 
 in his face than you could have conceived that face, so smiling 
 and so cynical, could exhibit " by Jove, Randal Leslie, but your 
 shrewdness is wonderful. You really are the first young man of 
 your day; and I will 'help you,' as I helped Audley Egerton. 
 Perhaps you will be more grateful." 
 
 Randal thought of Egerton's ruin. The parallel implied by the 
 Baron did not suggest to him the rare enthusiasm of gratitude. 
 However, he merely said, "Pray, proceed I listen to you with 
 interest." 
 
 " As for politics, then," said the Baron, " we will discuss that 
 topic later. I am waiting myself to see those new men get on. 
 The first consideration is for your private fortunes. You should 
 buy this ancient Leslieproperty Rood and Dulmansberry only 
 ^20,000 down ; the rest may remain on mortgage for ever or 
 at least till I find yo"u a rich wife as in fact I did for Egerton. 
 Thornhill wants the ^20,000 now wants them very much." 
 
 "And where," said Randal, with an iron smile, " are the 
 ^"20,000 you ascribe to. come from ?" 
 
 "Ten thousand shall come to you the day Count Peschiera mar- 
 ries the daughter of his kinsman with your help and aid -the re- 
 maining ten thousand I will lend you. No additional burden. 
 What say you shall it be so?" 
 
 " Ten thousand pounds from Count Peschiera ! " said Randal, 
 breathing hard. " You cannot be serious! Such a sum for what ? 
 for a mere piece of information ? How otherwise can I aid him? 
 There must be trick arid deception intended here." 
 
 "My dear fellow," answered Levy, "I will give you a hint. 
 There is such a thing in life as being over-suspicious. If you 
 have a fault, it is that. The information you allude to is, of course, 
 the first assistance you are to give. Perhaps more may be 
 needed perhaps not. Of that you will judge yourself, since the 
 ; 1 0,000 are contingent on the marriage aforesaid." 
 
 "Over-suspicious or not," answered Randal, "the amount of 
 the sum is too improbable, and the security is too b,ad, forme to 
 listen fo this proposition, even if I could descend to " 
 
 "Stop, mon cher. Business first, scruples afterward. The se- 
 curity too bad what security?" 
 
 "The word of Count Peschiera."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 131 
 
 "He has nothing to do with it he need know nothing about 
 it. 'Tis my word you doubt. I am your security." 
 
 Randal thought of that dry witticism in Gibbon, "Abu Rafe 
 says he will be witness for this fact, but who will be witness for 
 Abu Rafe?" but he remained silent, only fixing on Levy those 
 dark observant eyes, with their contracted wary pupils. 
 
 " The fact is simply this," resumed Levy: ".Count di Peschiera 
 has promised to pay his sister a dowry of ^"20,000, in case he has 
 the money to spare. He can only have it to spare by the mar- 
 riage we are discussing. On my part, as I manage his affairs in 
 England for him, I have promised that, for the said sum of ^20,- 
 ooo, I will guarantee the expenses in the way of that marriage, 
 and settle with Madame di Negra. Now, though Peschiera is a 
 very liberal, warm-hearted fellow, I don't say. that he would have 
 named so large a sum for his sister's d6wry, if in strict truth he 
 did not owe it to her. It is the amount of her own fortune, which, 
 by some arrangements with her late husband, not exactly legal, 
 he possessed himself of. If Madame di Negra went to law with 
 him for it, she could get it back. I have explained this to him; 
 and, in short, you now understand why the sum is thus assessed. 
 But I have bought up Madame di Negra's debts. I have bought 
 up young Hazeldean's (for we must make a match between th'ese 
 two a part of our arrangements); I shall present to Peschiera, 
 and to those excellent young persons, an accooint that will absorb 
 the whole ; 20,000. That sum will come into my hands. If I set- 
 tle the claims against them for half the money,'which,'making my- 
 self the sole creditor, I have the right to do, the moiety will remain. 
 And if I choose to give it to you in return for the services which 
 provide Peschiera with aprincely fortune discharge the debts of 
 his sister and secure her a husband in my promising youngclient, 
 Mr. Hazeldean, that is my look-out all parties are satisfied, and 
 no one need ever be the wiser. The sum is large,no doubt; it an- 
 swers tome to give it to you; does it answer to you to receive it? " 
 
 Randal was greatly agitated ; but, vile as he was and systemat- 
 ically as in thought he had brought himself to regard others 
 merely as they could be made subservient to his own interest, 
 still with all who have not hardened themselves in actual crime, 
 there is a wide distinction between the thought and the act; and 
 though, in the exercise of ingenuity and cunning, he would have 
 had few scruples in that moral swindling which is mildly called 
 "outwitting another," yet thus nakedly and openly to 'accept a 
 bribe for a deed of treachery toward the poor Ltalian who had so 
 generously trusted him he recoiled. He was nerving himself to 
 refuse, when Levy opening his pocket-book, glanced over the
 
 132 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 memoranda therein, and said, as to himself, " Rood Manor 
 Dulmansberry, sold to the Thornhills by Sir Gilbert Leslie, knight 
 of the shire ; estimated present net rental ,2,250. 7s. od. It is 
 the greatest bargain I ever knew. And with this estate in hand, 
 and your talents, Leslie, I don't see why you should not rise 
 higher than Audley Egerton. He was poorer than you once ! " 
 
 The old Leslie lands a positive stake in the country the res- 
 toration of the fallen family ; and, on the other hand, either long 
 drudgery at the bar, -a scanty allowance on Egerton's bounty 
 his sister wasting her youth at slovenly, dismal Rood Oliver de- 
 based into a boor ! or a mendicant's dependence on the con- 
 temptuous pity of Harley L'Estrange Harley, who had refused 
 his hand to him Harley, who perhaps would become the hus- 
 band of Violante ! Rage seized him as these contrasting pictures 
 rose before his view. He walked to and fro in disorder, striving 
 to recollect his thoughts, and reduce himself from the passions 
 of the human heart into a mere mechanism of calculating intel- 
 lect. "I cannot conceive," said he, abruptly, " why you should 
 tempt me thus what interest it is to you ! " 
 
 Baron Levy smiled, and put up his pocket-book. He saw from 
 that moment that the victory was gained. 
 
 " My dear boy," said he, with the most agreeable bonhomie, " it 
 is very natural that you should think a man would have a personal 
 interest in whatever he does for another. 1 believe that view of 
 human nature is called utilitarian philosophy, and is much in fash- 
 ion at present. Let me try and explain to you. In this affair I 
 shan't injure myself. True, you will say, if I settle claims, which 
 amount to ^20,000, for ^"10,000, I might put the surplus into 
 my own pocket instead of yours. Agreed. But I shall not get the 
 ^20,000, nor repay myself Madame di Negra's debts (whatever 
 I may do as to Hazeldean's), unless the Count gets the heiress. 
 You can help in this. I want you ;. and! don't think I could get 
 you by a less offer than I make. I shall soon pay myself back 
 the ;io,coo if the Count gets hold of the lady and her fortune. 
 Brief I see my way here to my own interests. Do you want more 
 reasons you shall have them. I am now a very rich man. How 
 have I become so ? Through attaching myself from the first to 
 persons of expectations, whether from fortune or talent. I have 
 made connections in society, and society has enriched me. I have 
 still a passion for making money. Quevoulez-vous? It is my pro- 
 fession, my hobby. It will be useful to me in a thousand ways, 
 to secure as a friend a young man who will have influence with 
 other young men, heirs to something better than Rood Hall. You 
 may succeed in public life. A man in public life may attain to
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 133 
 
 the knowledge of state secrets that are very profitable to one who 
 dabbles a little in the Funds. We can perhaps hereafter do bus- 
 iness together that may put yourself in a way of clearing off all 
 mortgages on these estates on the encumbered possession of 
 which I shall soon congratulate you. You see I am frank ; 'tis 
 the only way of coming to the point with so clever a fellow as you. 
 And now, since the less we rake up the mud in a pond from which 
 we have resolved to drink, the better, let us dismiss all other 
 thoughts but that of securing our end. Will you tell'Peschiera 
 where the young lady is, or shall I ? Better do it yourself ; reason 
 enough for it, that he has confided to you his hope, and asked 
 you to help him ; why should not you ? Not a word to him about 
 our little arrangement ; he need never know it. You need never 
 be troubled." Levy rang the bell : " Order my Carriage round." 
 
 Randal made no objection. He was death-like pale, but there 
 was a sinister expression of firmness on his thin bloodless lips. 
 
 "The next point," Levy resumed, "is to hasten the match be- 
 tween Frank and the fair widow. How does that stand ?" 
 
 " She will not see me, nor receive him." 
 
 " Oh, learn why ! And if you find on either side there is a 
 hitch, just let me know; I will soon remove it." 
 
 " Has Hazeldean consented to the post-obit ? " 
 
 V Not yet ; I have not pressed it ; I wait the right moment, 
 if necessary." 
 
 " It will be necessary." 
 
 " Ah, you wish it. It shall be so." 
 
 Randal Leslie again paced the room, and ; after a silent self- 
 commune, carne up close to the Baron, and said 
 
 " Look you, sir, I am poor and ambitious; you have tempted 
 me at the right moment, and with the right inducement. I suc- 
 cumb. But what guarantee have I that this money will be paid 
 these estates made mine upon the conditions stipulated ?" 
 
 " Before anything is settled," replied the Baron, "go and ask 
 my character of any of your young friends, Borrowell, Spend- 
 quick whom you please ; you will hear me abused, of course; 
 but they will all say this of me, that when I pass my word, I 
 keep it. When I say, l Mon cher, you shall have the money,' a 
 man has it; if I say, 'I renew your bill for six months,' it is re- 
 newed. "Tis my way of doing business. In all cases my word 
 is my bond. In this case, where no writing can pass between 
 us, my only bond must be my word. Go, then, make your 
 mind clear as to your security, and come here and dine at eight. 
 We will call on Peschiera afterward." 
 
 "Yes," said Randal, "I will at all events take the day to
 
 134 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 consider. Meanwhile, I say this I do not disguise from my- 
 self the nature of the proposed transaction, but what I have 
 once resolved I go through with. My sole vindication to myself 
 is, that if I play here with a false die, it will be for a stake so 
 grand, as, once won, the magnitude of the prize will cancel the 
 ignominy of the play. It is not this sum of money for which I 
 sell myself it is for what that sum will aid me to achieve. 
 And in the marriage of young Hazeldean with the Italian wo- 
 man, I have another, and it may be, a larger interest. 1 have 
 slept on it lately I wake to it now. Insure that marriage, ob- 
 tain the post-obit from Hazeldean, and whatever the issue of 
 the more direct scheme for which you seek my services, rely on 
 my gratitude, and believe that you will have put me jn the way 
 to render gratitude of avail. At eight I will be with you." 
 
 Randal left the room. 
 
 The Baron sat thoughtful. " It is true," said he to himself, 
 " this young man is the next of kin to the Hazeldean estate,' if 
 Frank displease his father sufficiently to lose his inheritance ; 
 that must be the clever boy's design. Well, in the long run, I 
 should make as much, or more, out of him than out of the spend- 
 thrift Frank. Frank's faults are those of youth. He will re- 
 form and retrench. But this man ! No, I shall have him for 
 life. And should he fail in this project, and have but. this 
 encumbered property a landed proprietor mortgaged up to his 
 ears why, he is my slave, and I shall foreclose when I wish, or 
 if he prove useless; no, I risk nothing. And if I did if I 
 lost ten thousand pounds what then ? I can afford it for re- 
 venge ! afford it for the luxury of leaving Audley Egerton 
 alone with penury and ruin, deserted, in his hour of need, by 
 the pensioner of his bounty as he will be by the last friend of 
 his youth when it so pleases me me whom he has called 
 'scoundrel!' and^ whom he " Levy's soliloquy halted there, 
 for the servant entered to announce the carriage. And the 
 Baron hurried his hand over his features, as if to sweep away 
 all trace of the passions that distorted their smiling effrontery. 
 And so, as he took up his cane and his gloves, and glanced at 
 the glass, the face of the fashionable usurer . : was once more as 
 varnished as his boots. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 
 
 WHEN a cleverman resolves on a villanous action, he hastens, 
 by the exercise of his cleverness, to get rid of the sense of his 
 villany. With more than 'his usual alertness, Randal employed 
 the next hour or two in ascertaining how far Baron Levy mer-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 13$ 
 
 ited the character he boasted, and how far his word might be 
 his bond. He repaired to young men whom he esteemed better 
 judges on these points than Spendquick and Borrowell young 
 men who resembled the Merry Monarch, inasmuch as 
 
 " They never said a foolish thing, 
 And never did a wise one." 
 
 There are many such young men about town sharp and able 
 in all affairs except their own. No one knows the world better, 
 nor judges of character more truly, than your half-beggared 
 roue. From all these Baron Levy obtained much the same testi- 
 monials ; he was ridiculed as a would-be dandy, but respected 
 as a very responsible man of business, and rather liked as a 
 friendly, accommodating species of the Sir Epicure Mammon, 
 who very often did what were thought handsome, liberal things; 
 and, "in short," said one of these experienced referees, "he is 
 the best fellow going for a money-lender ! You may always 
 rely on what he promises, and he is generally very forbearing 
 and indulgent to us of good society; perhaps for the same reason 
 that our tailors are; to send one of us to prison would hurt 
 his custom. His foible is to be thought a gentleman. I be- 
 lieve, much as I suppose he loves money, he would give up half his 
 fortune rather than do anything for which we could cut him. He 
 
 allows a pension of three hundred a-year to Lord S- -. True; he 
 
 washisman of business for twenty years, and beforethenS was 
 
 rather a prudent fellow, and had fifteen thousand a-year. He has 
 helped on, too,lmany a clever young man ; the best boroughmonger 
 you ever knew. He' likes having friends in Parliament. In fact, 
 of course, he is a rogue; but if one wants a rogue, one can't find a 
 pleasanter. I should like to see him on the French stage a 
 prosperous Macaire ; Le Maitre could hit him off to the life. 
 
 From information in these more fashionable quarters, glea'ned 
 with his usual tact, Randal turned to a source less elevated, but 
 to which he attached more importance. Dick Avenel associated 
 with the Baron Dick Avenel must be in his clutches. Now 
 Randal did justice to that gentleman's practical shrewdness. 
 Moreover, Avenel was by profession, a man of business. He 
 must know more of Levy than these men of pleasure could \ 
 and, as he was a plain-spoken person, and' evidently honest, ia 
 the ordinary acceptation of the word, Randal did not doubt 
 that out of Dick Avenel he should get the truth. 
 
 On arriving in Eton Square, and asking for Mr. Avenel, Ran- 
 dal was at once ushered into the drawing-room. The apartment 
 was not in such good, solid, mercantile taste as had characterized 
 Avenel's more humble bachelor's residence at Screwstown. The
 
 136 MY NOVEL ; OR 
 
 taste now was the Honorable Mrs. Avenel's; and, truth to say, 
 no taste could be worse. Furniture of all epochs heterogene- 
 ously clumped together here'a sofa a la renaissance in Gobelin 
 there a rosewood console from Gillow a tall mock Elizabethan 
 chair in black oak, by the side of a modern Florentine table of 
 mosaic marbles. "All kinds of colors in the room, and all at 
 war with each other. Very bad copies of the best-known pictures 
 in the world, in the most gaudy frames, and imprudently labelled 
 by the names of their murdered originals "Raffaele," "Cor- 
 reggio," " Titian," " Sebastian del Piombo." Nevertheless, there 
 had been plenty of money spent, and there was plenty to show 
 for it. Mrs. Avenel was seated on her sofa a la renaissance, 
 with one of her children at her feet, who was employed in read : 
 ing a new Annual in crimson silk binding. Mrs. Avenel was in 
 an attitude as if -sitting for her portrait. 
 
 Polite society is most capricious in its adoptions or rejections. 
 You see many a vulgar person firmly established in the beau 
 mo tide ; others, with very good pretensions as to birth, fortune, 
 etc., either, rigorously excluded, or only permitted a peep over 
 the pales. The Honorable Mrs. Avenel belonged to families 
 unquestionably noble, both by her own descent and by her first 
 marriage; and if poverty had kept her down in her earlier career, 
 she now, at least, did not want wealth to back her pretensions. 
 Nevertheless, all the dispensers of fashion concurred in refusing 
 their support to the Honorable Mrs. Avenel. One might sup- 
 pose i,t was solely on account of her plebeian husband; but in- 
 deed not so. Many a woman of high family can marry a low-born 
 man not so presentable as Avenel, and, by the help of his money, 
 get the fine world at her feet. But Mrs. Avenel had not that 
 art. She was still a very handsome showy woman; and as for 
 dress, no duchess could be more extravagant. Yet these very 
 circumstances had perhaps gone against her ambition; for your 
 quiet |ittle plain woman, provoking no envy, slips into the coteries, 
 when a handsome flaunting. lady who, once s,een in your draw- 
 ing-room, can be no more overlooked than a scarlet poppy 
 amidst a violet bed is pretty sure to be weeded out as ruth- 
 lessly as a poppy would be in a similar position. 
 
 Mr. Avenel was sitting by the fire, rather moodily, his hands 
 in his pockets, and whistling to himself. To say truth, that 
 active mind of his was very much bored in London, at least 
 durijpg the fore part of the day. He hailed Randal's entrance 
 with a smile of relief, and rising and posting himself before the 
 fire a coat-tail under each arm he scarcely allowed Randal 
 to shake hands with Mrs. Avenel, and pat the child on the
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 137 
 
 murmuring, "Beautiful creature." (Randal was ever civil to 
 children- that sort of wolf in sheep's clothing always is don't 
 be taken in, O you foolish young mothers!) Dick, I say, scarcely 
 allowed his visitor these preliminary courtesies, 'before he plunged 
 far beyond depth of wife and child, into the political ocean. 
 "Things now were coming right a vile oligarchy was to be 
 destroyed. British respectability and British talent were to have 
 fair play." To have heard him, you would have thought the 
 day fixed for the millennium ! "And what, is more," said Avenel, 
 bringing down the fist of his right hand upon the palm of his left, 
 "if there is to be a new parliament, we must have new men not 
 worn-out old brooms that never.sweep clean, but men who under- 
 stand to govern the country, sir. J INTEND TO COME IN MYSELF!" 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Avenel, hooking in a .word at last, : "I am 
 sure, Mr. Leslie, you will think I did right. I persuaded Mr. 
 Avenel that, with his talents and property, h;e ought, for the sake 
 of his. country, to make a sacrifice ; and then you know his 
 opinions now are all the fashion, Mr. Leslie; formerly they would 
 h,a,ye been called shocking and vulgar ! " 
 
 Thus saying, she looked with fond pride at Dick's comely face, 
 which at that moment, however, was all scowl and frown. I 
 must do justice to Mrs. Avenel; she was a weak, silly woman in 
 some things, and a cunning one in others; but she was a good 
 wife, as wives go. Scotchwomen generally are. 
 
 "Bother .'"said Dick; "whatdo women know about politics? I 
 wish you'dmind the child-; it iscrumpling up, and play ingalmighty 
 smash with that flim-flam book, which cost me one pound one." 
 
 Mrs. Avenel submissively bowed her head, and removed the 
 Annual from the hands of the young destructive; the destruct- 
 ive set up a squall, as destructives usually do when they don't 
 have .their own, way. Dick clapped his hands to his ears. 
 " Whe-e-ew, I can't stand .this ; come and take a walk. Leslie ; 
 I want stretching!" He stretched himself as he spoke, first 
 half-way up to the ceiling, and then fajrly out of the room. 
 
 Randal, with his May Fair manner, turned toward Mrs. Ave- 
 nel as if to apologize for her husband and himself. 
 
 " Poor Richard!" said she, " he is in one of his humors all 
 men ha.ve them. Come and see me again soon. When does 
 AJmack's open ? " 
 
 " Nay, I ought to ask you that question, you who know every- 
 thing that goes o.n in our set," said the young serpent. Any 
 tree planted in "our set," if it had been : but , : a crab-tree, would 
 have tempted Mr. Avenel's Eve to jump at its boughs. 
 
 "Are you coming, there ?" cried Dick, from the foot of the stairs.
 
 138 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 "I HAVE just been at our friend Levy's," said Randal, when 
 he and Diek were outside the street-door. " He, like you, is full 
 of politics pleasant man for the business he is said to do." 
 
 " Well," said Dick, slowly, " I suppose he is pleasant, but 
 make the best of it and still" 
 
 " Still what, my dear Avenel ? " (Randal here for the first time 
 discarded the formal Mister.) 
 
 MR. AVENEL. Still the thing is not pleasant. 
 
 RANDAL (with his soft hollow laugh). You mean borrowing 
 money upon more than five per cent. 
 
 "t)h, curse the percentage. I agree with Bentham on theUsury 
 Laws no shackles in trade for me, whether in money or anything 
 else. That's not it. But when one owes a fellow money even at two 
 percent., and 'tis not convenient to pay him, why, somehow or other, 
 it makes one.feel small ; it takes the British Liberty out of a man ! " 
 
 " I should have thought you more likely to lend money than 
 to borrow it." 
 
 "Well, I guess you are right there, as a general rule. But I 
 tell you what it is, sir; there is too great a mania for competition 
 getting up in this old rotten country of ours. I am as liberal as 
 most men. I like competition to a certain extent, but there is 
 too much of it, sir too much of it." 
 
 Randal looked sad and convinced. But if Leonard had heard 
 Dick Avenel, what would have been his amaze? Dick Avenel 
 rail against competition! Think there could be too much of it! 
 Of course, "heaven and earth are coming together," said the 
 spider, when the housemaid's broom invaded its cobweb. Dick 
 was airfor sweeping away other cobwebs; but he certainly thought 
 heaven and earth coming together when he saw a great Turk's- 
 head besom poked up at- his own. 
 
 Mf.'A'Venel, in : his genius for speculation and improvement, 
 had established a factory at Screwstown, the first which had ever 
 eclipsed the church spire with its Titanic chimney. It succeeded 
 well at first. Mr. Avenel transferred -to this speculation nearly 
 all his capital. " Nothing'/' 1 quoth he, ''paid sudh an interest. 
 Manchester was getting worn out time to show what Screws- 
 town could do. Nothing like competition." But by-and-by a 
 still greater capitalist than Dick Avenel, finding out that Screws- 
 town was at the mouth of a coal-mine, and that Dick's profits 
 'vere great, erected a ( -still uglier edifice, with a still taller chim- 
 ney. And- having been brought up to the business, and making
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. l$g 
 
 his residence in the town, while Dick employed a foreman and 
 flourished in London, this infamous competitor so managed first 
 to share, and then gradually to sequester, the profits which Dick 
 had hitherto monopolized, that no wonder Mr. Avenel thought 
 competition should have its limits. " The tongue touches where 
 the tooth aches," as Dr. Riccabocca would tell us. By little and 
 little our juvenile Talleyrand (I beg the elder great man's par- 
 don) wormed out from Dick this grievance, and in the grievance 
 discovered the origin of Dick's connection with the money-lender. 
 
 "But Levy," said Avenel, candidly, "is a decentish chap in 
 his way -friendly too. Mrs. A. finds him useful; brings some 
 of your young highflyers to her soirees. To be sure, they don't 
 dance stand all in a row at the door, like mutes at a funeral. Not 
 but what they have been uncommon civil to me lately Spend- 
 quick particularly. By the bye, I dine with him to-morrow. The ar- 
 istocracy are behindhand not smart, sir not uptothe mark; but 
 when a man knows how to take 'em, they beat the New Yorkers in 
 good manners. I'll say that for them. I have no prejudice." 
 
 " I never saw a man with less; no prejudice even against Levy." 
 
 "No, not a bit of it! Every one says he's a Jew; he says he's 
 not. I don't care a button what he is. His money is English 
 that's enough for any man of a liberal turn of mind. His charges, 
 too, are moderate. To be sure, he knows I shall pay them; only 
 what I don't like in him is a sort of a way he has of mon-cher- 
 ing and my good-fellowing one, to do things quite out of the 
 natural way of that sort of business. He knows that I have got 
 Parliamentary influence, I could return a couple of members 
 for Screwstown, and one, or perhaps two, for Lansmere, where I 
 have of late been cooking up an interest; and he dictates to 
 no, not di-c fates but tries to humbug me into putting in his own 
 men.' Howeve^-m one respect, we are likely to agree. He says 
 you want to come to Parliament. You seem a smart young fel- 
 low; but you must throw over that stjff red-tapist of yours, and 
 go with Public Opinion', and -Myself." 
 
 "You are very kind, Avenel; -perhaps when we come to com- 
 pare opinions, we may find that we agree entirely. Still, in Eger- 
 ton's present position, delicacy tOihim^however, we'll not discuss 
 that now. But you really think I might come in for Lansmere 
 against the L'Estrange interest, too, which must be strong there ?" 
 
 "It was very strong, but I've smashed it, I calculate." 
 
 "Would a contest there cost very much?" 
 
 " Well, I guess you must come down with -the ready. But, as 
 you say, tim-e enough to discuss that when you have squared your 
 account wit' x . 'delicacy' ; come to me then, and we'll go into it,"
 
 140 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Randal, having now squeezed his orange dry, had no desire to 
 waste his time in brushing up the rind with his coat-sleeve, so 
 he unhooked his arm from Avenel's, and, looking .at his watch, 
 discovered he should be just in time for. an appointment of the 
 most urgent business hailed a cab, and drove off. 
 
 Dick looked hipped and disconsolate at being left alone ; he 
 yawned very loud, to the astonishment of three prim old maiden 
 Belgravians who were passing that way; and then his mind began 
 to turn toward his factory at Screwstown, which had led to his 
 connection with the Baron; and he thought over a letter he had 
 just received from his foreman thatmoinjng, informing him that 
 it was rumored at Screwstown that Mr. Dyce, his rival, was about 
 to have new machinery on an improved principle; and that Mr. 
 Dyce had already gone up to town;, it was supposed with the in- 
 tention of concluding a purchase for a patent discovery to be 
 applied to the new machinery, and which that gentleman had 
 .publicly declared, in the corn-market, "would shut up Mr. Ave- 
 nel's factory before the year was out." As this menacing epistle 
 recurred to him, Dick felt his desire to yawn incontinently 
 checked. His brow grew very dark, and he walked, with restless 
 strides, on and on, till he found himself in the Strand.. He then 
 got into an omnibus, and proceeded to, the city, wherein he spent 
 the rest of the day, looking over machines and foundries, and 
 trying in vain to find out what diabolical invention the over-com- 
 petition of Mr. Dyce had got hold of, " If," said Dick Avenel 
 ito. himself, as he returned fretfully, home ward "if a man. like 
 me, who has done so much for British- industry and go-ahead 
 principles, is to be catawampously champed up by i mercenary 
 selfish cormorant qf a capitalist like that interloping blockhead 
 .in drab breeches, Tom Dyce, all I can say is, .that the sooner this 
 cursed old country goes to, the dogs, the better pleased I shall 
 be. I wash my hands of it." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 RANDAL'S mind was made up. All he had learned in regard 
 to Levy had confirmed his resolves or dissipated his scruples. 
 ,He had started from the improbability that Peschiera would 
 offer, and the still greater improbability that Peschiera would 
 pay him, ten thousand pounds for such information or aid as he 
 could bestow in furthering the Count's object. But when Levy 
 took such proposals entirely oiv.himself, the main question to 
 Randal became 'this Could it. be Levy's interest to make so 
 considerable a sacrifice ? Had the Baron implied only friendly 
 sentiments as his motives, Randal would have felt sure he was
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 14! 
 
 to be taken in ; but the userer's frank assurance that it would 
 answer to him in the long run to .concede to Randal terms so 
 advantageous, altered the case, and led our young philosopher 
 to look at the affair with calm contemplative eyes. Was it suffi- 
 ciently obvious that Levy counted on an adequate return ? Might 
 he calculate on reaping help by the bushel if he sowed it by 
 the handful ? The result of Randal's cogitations was, that the 
 Baron might fairly deem himself no wasteful sower. In the first 
 place, it was clear that Levy, not without reasonable ground, 
 believed that he could soon replace, with exceeding good interest, 
 any sum he might advance to Randal, out of the wealth which 
 Randal's prompt information might bestow on Levy's,client, the 
 Count ; and, secondly, Randal's self-esteem was immense, and 
 could lie but succeed in securing a pecuniary independence on 
 the instant, to free him from the slow drudgery of the bar, or 
 from a precarious reliance on Audley Egerton, as a politician out 
 of power, his convictions of rapid. triumph in public life were as 
 strong as if whispered by an angel, or promised by a. fiend. On 
 such triumphs, with all the social position they would secure, 
 Levy might well calculate for repayment by a thousand indirect 
 channels. Randal's sagacity detected that, through all thegood- 
 natured or liberal actions ascribed to the usurer, Levy had 
 steadily pursued his own interests, he saw that Levy meant to 
 get him into his power, and use his abilities as instruments for 
 digging new mines, in which Baron Levy would claim the right 
 of large royalties. But at that thought Randal's pale lip curled 
 disdainfully ; he confided too much in his own powers not to 
 think that he could elude the grasp of the usurer, whenever it 
 suited him to do so. Thus, on a survey, all conscience hushed 
 itself, his mind rushed buoyantly on to anticipations of the 
 future. He saw the hereditary Estates regained no matter 
 how mortgaged, for the moment still his own legally his own, 
 yielding for the present what would suffice for competence to 
 one of few wants, and freeing his name from that title of Adven- 
 turer, which is so prodigally given in rich old countries to those 
 who have no estates but their brains. He thought of Violante 
 but as the civilized trader thinks of a trifling coin, of a glass 
 bead, which he exchanges with some barbarian for gold dust ; 
 he thought of Frank Hazeldean married to the foreign woman 
 of beggared means, and repute that had known the breath of 
 scandal, married, and living on post-obit instalments of the 
 Casino property ; he thought of the poor Squire's. resentment, 
 his avarice swept from the lancls : annexed to Rpod on to the 
 broad fields of Hazeldean ; he thought of Avenel of Lansmere,
 
 14* MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 of Parliament ; with one hand he grasped fortune, with the next 
 power. "And yet I entered on life with no patrimony (save a 
 ruined hall and a barren waste) no patrimony but knowledge. 
 I have but turned knowledge from books to men ; for books 
 may give fame after death, but men give us power in life." And 
 all the while he thus ruminated, his act was speeding his purpose. 
 Though it was but in a miserable hack cab that he erected airy 
 scaffoldings round airy castles, still the miserable hack cab was 
 flying last to secure the first foot of solid ground whereon to 
 transfer the mental plan of the architect to foundations of posi- 
 tive lime and clay. The cab stopped at the door of Lord Lans- 
 mere's house. Randal had suspected Violante to be there ; he 
 resolved to ascertain. Randal descended from his vehicle, and 
 rang the bell. The lodge-keeper opened the great wooden gates. 
 
 " I have called to see the young lady staying here the foreign 
 young lady." 
 
 Lady Lansmere had been too confident of the security of her 
 roof to condescend to give any orders to her servants with regard 
 to her guest, and the lodge-keeper answered directly, 
 
 "At home, I believe, sir. I rather think she is in the garden 
 with my lady." 
 
 "I see," said Randal. And he did see the form of Violante 
 at a distance. " But since she is walking, I will not disturb her 
 at present. I will call another day." 
 
 The lodge-keeper bowed respectfully, Randal jumped into his 
 cab "To Curzon Street quick !" 
 . 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 HARLEY had made one notable oversight in that appeal to 
 Beatrice's better and gentler nature, which he intrusted to the 
 advocacy of Leonard, a scheme in itself very characteristic of 
 Harley's romantic temper, and either wise or foolish, according 
 as his indulgent theory of human idiosyncrasies in general, and 
 of those peculiar to Beatrice di Negra in especialywas the dream of 
 an enthusiast, or the inductive conclusion of a sound philosopher. 
 
 Harley had warned Leonard not to fall in love with the Ital- 
 ian, he had forgotten to warn the Italian not to fall in love 
 with Leonard ; nor had he ever anticipated the probability of 
 that event. This is not to be very much wondered at ; for if 
 there be anything on which the most sensible men are dull-eyed, 
 where those eyes are not lighted by jealousy, it is as to the proba- 
 bilities of another male creature being beloved. All, the least 
 vain of the whiskered gender, think it prudent to guard them- 
 selves against being too irresistible to the fair sex ; and each
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 143 
 
 says of his friend, "Good fellow enough, but the last man for 
 that woman to fall in love with ! " 
 
 But certainly there appeared on the surface more than ordinary 
 cause for Harley's blindness in the special instance of Leonard. 
 
 Whatever Beatrice's better quaiities,she was generally esteemed 
 worldly and ambitious ; she was pinched in circumstances, 
 she was luxurious and extravagant ; how was it likely that she 
 could distinguish any aspirant of the humble birth and fortunes, 
 of the young peasant author? As a coquette, she might try to 
 win his admiration, and attract his.fancy; but her own heart 
 would surely be guarded in the triple mail of pride, poverty, and 
 the conventional opinions of the world in which she lived. Had 
 Harley thought it possible that Madame di Negra could stoop 
 below her station, and love, not wisely, but too well, he would 
 rather have thought that the object would be some brilliant 
 adventurer of fashion, someone who could turn against herself 
 all the arts of deliberate fascination, and all the experience be- 
 stowed by frequent conquest. Cne so simple as Leonard so 
 young and so new! Harley L'Estrange would have smiled at him- 
 self, if the idea of that image subjugating the ambitious woman 
 to the disinterested love of a village maid, had once crossed his 
 mind. Nevertheless, so it was, and precisely from those causes 
 which would have seemed to Harley to forbid the weakness. 
 
 It was that fresh, pure heart, it was that simple, earnest- 
 sweetness, it was that contrast in look, in tone, in sentiment, 
 and in reasonings, to all that had jaded and disgusted her in the 
 circle of her admirers, it was all this that captivated Beatrice 
 at the first interview with Leonard. Here was what she had 
 confessed to the sceptical Randal she had dreamed and sighed 
 for. Her earliest youth had passed into abhorrent marriage, 
 without the soft,innocent crisis of human life virgin love. Many 
 a wooer might have touched her vanity, pleased her fancy, excited 
 her ambition her heart had never been awakened : it woke now. 
 The world, and the years that the world had wasted, seemed to 
 fleet away as a cloud. She was as if restored to the blush and 
 the sigh of youth the youth of the Italian maid. As in the 
 restoration of our golden age is the spell of poetry with us all, 
 so such was the spell of the poet himself on her. 
 
 Oh, how exquisite was that brief episode in the life of the 
 woman palled with the "hack sights and sounds" of worldly 
 life ! How strangely happy were those hours, when, lured on 
 by her silent sympathy, the young scholar spoke of his early 
 struggles between circumstance and impulse, musing amidst the 
 flowers, and hearkening to the fountain ; or of his wanderings
 
 144 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 in the desolate, lamp-lit streets, while the vision of Chatterton's 
 glittering eyes shone dread through the friendless shadows. And 
 as he spoke, whether of his hopes or his fears, her looks dwelt 
 fondly on the young face, that varied between pride and sadness 
 pride ever so gentle, and sadness ever so nobly touching. 
 She was never weary of gazing on that brow, with its quiet 
 power; but her lids dropped before those eyes,with their serene, 
 unfathomable passion. She felt, as they haunted her, what a 
 deep and holy thing love in such souls must be. Leonard never 
 spoke to her of Helen that reserve every reader can compre- 
 hend. To natures like his, love is a mystery ; to confide it is to 
 profane. But he fulfilled his commission of interesting her in 
 the exile and his daughter. And his description of them brought 
 tears to her eyes. She inly resolved not to aid Peschierain his 
 designs on Violante. She forgot for the moment that her own 
 fortune was to depend on the success of those designs. Levy 
 had arranged so that she was not reminded of her poverty by 
 creditors she knew not how ; she knew nothing of business; 
 she gave herself up to the delight of the present hour, and to 
 vague prospects of a future, associated with that young image 
 with that face of a guardian angel that she saw before her, fairest 
 in the moments of absence ; for in those moments came the life 
 of fairy-land, when we shut our eyes on the world, and see through 
 the haze of golden reverie. Dangerous, indeed, to Leonard would 
 have been the soft society of Beatrice di Negra, had not his heart 
 been wholly devoted to one object, and had not his ideal of 
 woman been from that object one sole and indivisible reflection. 
 But Beatrice guessed not this barrier between herself and him. 
 Amidst the shadows that he conjured up from his past life, she 
 beheld no rival form. She saw him lonely in the world as she 
 was herself. And in his lowly birth, his youth, in the freedom 
 from presumption which characterized him in all things (save 
 that confidence in his intellectual destinies,which is the essential 
 attribute of genius), she but grew the bolder by the belief that, 
 even if he loved her, he would not dare to hazard the avowal. 
 And thus, one day, yielding, as she had ever been wont to 
 yield, to the impulse of her quick Italian heart how she never 
 remembered in what words she never could recall she spoke 
 she owned her love she pleaded, with tears and blushes, for 
 love in return. All that passed was to her as a dream a dream 
 from which she woke with a fierce sense of agony, of humilia- 
 tion woke as the woman "scorned." No matter how gratefully, 
 how tenderly Leonard had replied the reply was refusal. For 
 the first time she learned she'had a rival; that all he could give
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 145 
 
 of love was long since, from his boyhood, given to another. For 
 the first time in her life that ardent nature knew jealousy, its 
 torturing stings, its thirst for vengeance, its tempest of loving 
 hate. But, to outward appearance, silent and cold she stood as 
 marble. Words that sought to soothe fell on her ear unheeded: 
 they were drowned by the storm within. Pride was the first feel- 
 ing which dominated the warring elements that raged in her 
 soul. She tore her hand from that which clasped hers with so 
 loyal a respect. She could have spurned the form that knelt at 
 her feet, not for love, but for pardon. She pointed to the door 
 with the gesture of an insulted queen. She knew no more till she 
 was alone. Then came that rapid flash of conjecture peculiar to 
 the storm of jealousy; that which seems to single from all nature 
 the one object to dread and to destroy; the conjecture so often 
 false; yet received at once by our convictions as the revelation 
 of instinctive truth. He to whom she had humbled herself loved 
 another; whom but Violante? whom else, young and beautiful, 
 had he named in the record of his life? None ! And he had 
 sought to interest her, Beatrice di Negra, in the object of his 
 love; hinted at dangers, which Beatrice knew too well; implied 
 trust in Beatrice's will to protect. Blind fool that she had been! 
 This, then, was the reason why he had come, day after day, to 
 Beatrice's house; this was the charm that had drawn him thither; 
 this-> she pressed her hands to her burningjtemples, as if to stop the 
 torture of thought. Suddenly a voice was heard below, the door 
 opened, and Randal Leslie entered. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 PUNCTUALLY at eight o'clock that evening, Baron Levy wel- 
 comed the new ally he had secured. The pair dined en tfte-ct-Me, 
 discussing general matters till the servants left them to their 
 wine. Then said the Baron, rising and stirring the fire then 
 said the Baron, briefly and significantly 
 
 " As regards the property you spoke of," answered Randal, 
 "I am willing to purchase it on the terms you name. The only 
 point that perplexes me is how to account to Audley Egerton, 
 to my parents, to the world, for the power of purchasing it." 
 
 "True," said the Baron, without even a smile at the ingenious 
 and truly Greek manner in which Randal had contrived to de- 
 note his meaning, and conceal the ugliness of it " true, we 
 must think of that. If we could manage to conceal the real name 
 of the purchaser for a year or so it might be easy you maybe 
 supposed to have speculated in the Funds; or Egerton maydie$
 
 146 MY NOVEL ; OR; 
 
 and people may believe that he had secured to you something 
 handsome from the ruin of his fortune." 
 
 " Little chance of Egerton's dying." 
 
 "Humph!" said the Baron. "However, this is a mere detail, 
 reserved for consideration. You can now tell us where the young 
 lady is ? " 
 
 "Certainly. I could not this morning I can now. I will go with 
 you to the Count. Meanwhile, I have seen Madame diNegra; she 
 will accept Frank Hazeldean, if he will but offer himself at once." 
 
 " Will. he not?" 
 
 " No! I have been to him. He is overjoyed at my representa- 
 tions, but considers it his duty to ask the consent of his parents. 
 Of course they will not give it; and if there be delay, she will 
 retract. She is under the influence of passions, on the duration 
 of which there is no reliance." 
 
 " What passions ? Love ?" fiu.-t 
 
 " Love ; but not for .Hazeldean. The passions that bring her 
 to accept his hand are pique and jealousy. She believes, in a 
 word, that one, who seems to have gained the mastery over her 
 affections with a strange suddenness, is but blind to her charms 
 because dazzled by Violante's. She is prepared to aid in all that 
 can give her rival to Peschiera; and yet, such is the inconsistency 
 of woman," added the young philosopher, with a shrug of the 
 shoulders, " that she is also prepared to lose all chance of secur- 
 ing him she loves, by bestowing herself on another ! " 
 
 "Woman, indeed, all over!" said the Baron, tapping the 
 snuff-box (Louis Quinze),and regaling his nostrils with a scorn- 
 ful pinch. "But who is the man whom the fair Beatrice has thus 
 honored? Superb creature! I had some idea of her iinyself when 
 I bought up her debts; but it might have embarrassed me, in 
 more general plans, as regards the Count. All for the best. 
 Who's the man ? Not Lord L'Estrange ? " 
 
 "I do not think it is he; but I have not yet ascertained. I 
 have told you all I know. I found her in a state so excited, so 
 unlike herself, that I had no little difficulty in soothing her into 
 confidence so far. I could not venture more." 
 
 " And she will accept Frank ?" 
 
 " Had he offered to-day, she would have accepted him ! " 
 
 "It may be a great help to your fortunes, men c/ier, if Frank 
 Hazeldean marry this lady without his father's consent. Perhaps 
 he may be disinherited. You are next of kin." 
 
 " How do you know that ? " asked Randal, sullenly. 
 
 " It is my business to know all about the chances and con- 
 nections of any one with whom I do money matters. I do money
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 147 
 
 matters with young Hazeldean ; so I know that the Hazeldean 
 property is not entailed ; and as the Squire's half-brother has no 
 Hazeldean blood in him, you have excellent expectations." 
 
 " Did Frank tell you I was next of kin ? " 
 
 " I rather think so ; but I am sureyou did." 
 
 " I when ? " 
 
 " When you told me how important it was to you that Frank 
 should marry Madame di Negra. Peste ! mon cher, do you 
 think I'm a blockhead ? " 
 
 "Well, Baron, Frank is of age, and can marry to please him- 
 self. You implied to me that you could help him in this." 
 
 "I will try. See that he call at Madame di Negra's to- 
 morrow at two, precisely." 
 
 " I would rather keep clear of all apparent interference in this 
 matter. Will you not arrange that he call on her? And do not 
 forget to entangle him in a post-obit '." 
 
 " Leave it to me. Any more wine? No ; then let us go to 
 the Count's." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE next morning Frank Hazeldean was sitting over his solitary 
 breakfast-table. It was long past noon. The young man had risen 
 early, it is true, to attend his military duties, but he had contracted 
 the habit of breakfasting late. One's appetite does not come early 
 when one lives in London, and never goes to bed before daybreak. 
 
 There was nothing very luxurious or effeminate about Frank's 
 rooms, though they were in a very dear street, and he paid a 
 monstrous high price for them. Still, to a practised eye, they 
 betrayed an inmate who can get through his money and make 
 very little show for it. The walls were covered with colored 
 prints of racers, and steeple-chases, interspersed with the portraits 
 of opera-dancers all smirk and caper. Then there was a semi- 
 circular recess covered with red cloth, and fitted up for smoking, 
 as you might perceive by sundry stands full of Turkish pipes in 
 cherrystick and jessamine, with amber mouthpieces ; while a 
 great serpent hookah, from which Frank could no more have 
 smoked than he could have smoked out of the head of a boa* 
 constrictor, coiled itself up on the floor ; over the chimney-piece 
 was a collection of Moorish arms. What use on earth, ataghan and 
 scimitar, and damascened pistols, that would not carry straight 
 three yards, could be to an officer in his Majesty's Guards, is more 
 than I can conjecture, or even Frank satisfactorily explain. I 
 have strong suspicions that this valuable arsenal passed to Frank 
 in part payment. of a bill to be discounted. At all events, if so,
 
 148 :MY NOVEL; OR,- 
 
 it was an improvement on the bear that he had sold to the hair- 
 dresser. No books were to be seen anywhere, except a Court 
 Guide, a Racing Calendar, an Army List, a Sporting Magazine 
 complete (whole-bound in scarlet morocco, at about a guinea per 
 volume), and a small book, as small as an Elzevir, on the chimney- 
 piece, by the side of a cigar-case. That small book had cost Frank 
 more than all the rest put together ; it was his Own Book, his book 
 par excellence ; book madeupby himself-^-his BETTING BOOK ! 
 
 On a center-table were deposited Frank's well-brushed hat a 
 satin -woodbox,containingkidgloyes,of various delicate tints, from 
 primrose to lilac a tray full of cards and three-cornered notes 
 an opera-glass, and an ivory subscription-ticket to his opera stall. 
 
 In one corner was an ingenious receptacle for canes, sticks, and 
 whips I should not like, in these bad times, to have paid the bill 
 for them ; and mounting guard by that receptacle, stood a pair of 
 bootsas bright as Baron Levy's" the force of brightnesscould no 
 further go." Frank was in his dressing-gown very good taste 
 quite-Oriental guaranteed to be true Indiacashmere, and charged 
 as such. Nothing could be more neat, though perfectly simple, 
 than the appurtenances of his breakfast-table : silver tea-pot, 
 ewer and basin all fitting into his dressing box (for the which 
 may Storr and Mortimer be now praised, and some day paid) ! 
 Erank- looked very handsome rather tired, and exceedingly 
 bored. He had been trying to read the Morning Posf, but the 
 effort had proved too much for him. 
 
 Poor dear Frank Hazeldean ! true type of many a poor dear 
 fellow who has long since gone to the dogs. And if, in this road 
 to ruin, there had been the least thing to do the traveller any 
 credit by the way ! One feels a respect for the ruin of a man like 
 Audley Egerton. He is ruined en rail From the wrecks of his 
 fortune he can look down and see stately monuments built from 
 the stones of that dismantled edifice. In every institution which 
 attests the humanity of England, was a record of the princely 
 bounty of the public man. In those objects of party, for which 
 the proverbial sinews of war are necessary in those rewards for 
 service, which private liberality can confer the hand of Egerton 
 had been opened as with the heart of a king. Many a rising 
 member of Parliament, in those days when talent was brought 
 forward through the aid of wealth and rank, owed his career to 
 the seat which Audley Egerton's large subscription had secured 
 to him ; many an obscure supporter in letters and the press looked 
 back to the day when he had been freed from the gaol by the 
 gratitude of the patron. The city he represented was embellished 
 at has cost ; through the shire that held his mortgaged lands, which
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 149 
 
 he had rarely ever visited, his gold had flowed as a Pactolus 
 all that could animate its public spirit, or increase its civilization, 
 claimed kindred with his munificence and never had a claim dis- 
 allowed. Even in his grand, careless household, with its large 
 retinue and superb hospitality, there was something worthy of a 
 representative of that time-honored portion of our true nobility r 
 the untitled gentlemen of the land. The Great Commoner had, 
 indeed, "something to show " for the money he had disdained and 
 squandered. But for Frank Hazeldean's mode of getting rid of 
 the dross, when gone, what would be left to tell the tale ? Paltry 
 prints in a bachelor's lodging ; a collection of canes and cherry- 
 sticks ; half a dozen letters in ill-spelt French from ^.figurante ; 
 some long-legged horses, fit for nothing but to lose a'race; that 
 damnable Betting-Book; and sic transit gloria down sweeps 
 some hawk of a Levy, on the wings of an I O U, and not a 
 feather is left of the pigeon ! 
 
 Yet Frank Hazeldean has stuff in him a good heart, and 
 strict honor. Fool though he seem, there is sound sterling 
 sense in some odd corner of his brains, if one could but get at 
 it. All he wants to save hirn from perdition is, to do what .he 
 has never yet done viz., pause and think. But, to be sure, 
 that same operation of thinking is not so easy for folks unac- 
 customed to it, as people who think think! - 
 
 "I can't bear this," said Frank, suddenly, springing to his 
 feet. "This woman, I cannot get her out of my head. I ought 
 to go down to the governor's; but then if he gets into a passion, 
 and refuses his consent, where am I ? And he will, too, I fear. 
 I wish I could make out what Randal advises. He seems to 
 recommend that I should marry Beatrice at once, and trust to my 
 mother's influence to make all right afterward. But when I ask, */j 
 that your advice ? ' he backs out of it. Well, I suppose he is right 
 there. I can understand that he is unwilling, good fellow, to rec- 
 ommend anything that my father would disapprove. But still' " 
 
 Here Frank stopped in his soliloquy, and did make his first 
 desperate effort to think ! 
 
 Now, O dear reader, I assume, of course, that thou art one of 
 the class to which thought is familiar ; and, perhaps, thou hast 
 smiled in disdain or incredulity at that remark on the difficulty 
 of thinking which preceded Frank Hazeldean's discourse to 
 himself. But art thou quite sure that when thou hast tried to 
 think thou hast always succeeded ? Hast thou not often been 
 duped by that pale visionary simulacrum of thought which goes 
 by the name of reverie? Honest old Montaigne confessed that 
 he did not understand that process of sitting down to think, on
 
 150 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 which some folks express themselves so glibly. He could not 
 think unless he had a pen in his hand, and a sheet of paper be- 
 fore him; and so, by a manual operation, seized and connected 
 the links of ratiocination. Very often has it happened to my- 
 self, when I have said to Thought peremptorily, ''Bestir thyself 
 a serious matter is before thee ponder it well think of it," 
 that that same Thought has behaved in the most refractory, 
 rebellious manner conceivable and instead of concentrating 
 its rays into a single stream of light, has broken into all the de- 
 sultory tints of the rainbow, coloring senseless clouds, and run- 
 ning off into the seventh heaven so that after sitting a good 
 hour by the clock, with brows as knit as if I was intent on 
 squaring the circle, I have suddenly discovered that I might 
 as well have gone comfortably to sleep I have been doing 
 nothing but dream and the most nonsensical dreams ! So when 
 Frank Hazeldean,as he stopped at that meditative "But still" 
 and leaning his arm on the chimney-piece, and resting his face 
 on his hand, felt himself at tfre grave crisis of life, and fancied 
 he was going "to think on it," there only rose before him a 
 succession of shadowy pictures: Randal Leslie, with an unsatis- 
 factory countenance, from which he could extract nothing; the 
 Squire, looking as black as thunder in his study at Hazeldean; 
 his mother trying to plead for him, and getting herself properly 
 scolded for her pains;* and then off went that Will-o'-the-wisp 
 which pretended to call itself Thought, and began playing round 
 the pale charming face of Beatrice di Negra in the drawing- 
 room at Curzon Street, and repeating, with small elfin voice, 
 Randal Leslie's assurance of the preceding day, "as to her 
 affection for you, Frank, there is no doubt of that ; she only 
 begins to think you are trifling with her." And there was a 
 rapturous vision of a young gentleman on his knee, and the fair 
 pale face bathed in blushes, and a clergyman standing by the 
 altar, and a carriage-and-four with white favors at the church- 
 door; and of a hoaeymoon, which would have astonished as to 
 honey all thebees of Hymettus. And in the midst of thesephantas- 
 magoria, which composed what Frank fondly styled "making up 
 his mind," there came a single man's rat-tat-tat at the street-door. 
 
 " One never has a moment for thinking" cried Frank, and he 
 called out to his valet, " Not t home." 
 
 But it was too late. LordSpendquickwasinthehall,andpresent- 
 ]y in the room. How d'ye do's were exchanged and hands shaken. 
 
 LORD SPENDQUICK. I have a note for you, Hazeldean. 
 
 FRANK (lazily). From whom ? 
 
 LORD SPENDQUICK. Levy. Just come from him never sa\t
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 151 
 
 him in such a fidget. He was going into the city I suppose to 
 see X. Y. Dashed off this note for you and would have sent 
 it by a servant, but I said I would bring it. 
 
 FRANK (looking fearfully at the note). I hope he does not 
 want his money yet. Private and confidential-*- -that looks bad. 
 
 SPENDQUICK. Devilish bad, indeed. 
 
 Frank opens the note and reads, half aloud, "Dear Hazeldean." 
 
 SPENDQUICK (interrupting). Good sign! He always "Spehd- 
 quicks" me when he tends me money; and 'tis l< My dear Lord," 
 when he wants it back. Capital sign." 
 
 Frank reads on, but to himself, and with a changing counte- 
 nance 
 
 " DEAR HAZELDEAN, I am very sorry to tell you that, in 
 consequence of the sudden failure of a house at Paris with which 
 I had large dealings, I am pressed, on a sudden, for all the ready 
 money I can get. I don't want to inconvenience you ; but do 
 try and see if you can take up those bills of yours which I 
 hold, and which, as you know, have been due some little time. 
 I had hit on a way of arranging your affairs; but when I hinted 
 at it, you seemed to dislike the idea; and Leslie has since told 
 me that you have strong objections to giving any security on 
 your prospective property. So no more of that, my dear fellow. 
 I am called out in haste to try what I can do for a very charm- 
 ing client of mine, who is in great pecuniary distress, though 
 she has for her brother a foreign Count, as rich as a Crcesus. 
 There is an execution in her house. I am going down to the 
 tradesman who put it in, but have no hopes of softening him ; 
 and I fear there will be others before the day is out. Another 
 reason for wanting money, if you can help rf\e,ttionherf An execu- 
 tion in the house of one of the most brilliant women in London- 
 an execution in Curzon Street, Mayfair Lit will be all over the 
 town, if I can't stop it. Yours in haste, LEVY. 
 
 "P.S. Don't let what I have said vex you too much. I 
 should not trouble you if Spendquick and Borrowell would pay 
 me something. Perhaps you can get them to do so." 
 
 Struck by Frank's silence and paleness, Lord Spendquick 
 here, in the kindest way possible, laid his hand on the young 
 guardsman's shoulder, and looked over the note with that free- 
 dom which gentlemen in difficulties take with each other's private 
 and confidential correspondence. His eye fell on the postscript. 
 "Oh, damn it,"cried Spendquick, " but that's too bad employing 
 youtogetmetopayhim! Such horrible treachery. Makeyourself 
 easy,my dear Frank; I could never suspect you of anything so un- 
 handsome. I could as soon suspect myself of paying him "
 
 152 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Curzon Street ! Count ! " muttered Frank, as if waking 
 from a dream. "It must be so." To thrust on his boots change 
 his dressing-robe for his frock-coat snatch at his hat, gloves, 
 andcane break from Spendquick descend the stairs a flight 
 at a leap gain the street throw himself into a cabriolet ; all 
 this was done before his astounded visitor could even recover 
 breath enough to ask "What's the matter? " 
 
 Left thus alone, Lord Spendquick shook his head shook it 
 twice, as if fully to convince himself that there was nothing in 
 it; and then re-arranging his hat before the looking-glass, and 
 drawing on his gloves deliberately, he walked down-stairs, and 
 strolled into White's, but with a bewildered and absent air. 
 Standing at the celebrated bow-window for some moments in 
 musing silence, 'Lord Spendquick at last thus addressed an ex- 
 ceedingly cynical, sceptical, old roud 
 
 " Pray, do you think there is any truth in the stories about 
 people in former times selling themselves to the devil ? " 
 
 "Ugh," answered the roue, much too wise ever to be sur- 
 prised. ' Have you any personal interest in the question ? " 
 " I !. no; but a friend of mine has-just received a letter from 
 Levy, and he flew out of the room in the most ex-tra-or-di-na-ry 
 manner just as people did in those days when their time was 
 up ! And Levy, you know, is-" 
 
 " Not quite as great a fool as the other dark gentleman to 
 whom you would compare him; for Levy never made such bad 
 bargains for himself. Time up ! No doubt it is. I should not 
 like to be in your friend's shoes." 
 
 " Shoes ! " said Spendquick, with a sort of shudder ; " you 
 never saw a neater fellow, nor one, to do him justice, who takes 
 more time in dressing than he does in general. And talking of 
 shoes he rushed out with the right boot on the left foot, and the 
 left boot on the right. Very mysterious ! " And a third time that 
 head seemed to him wondrous empty. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 BUT Frank had arrived in Curzon Street leapt from the 
 cabriolet knocked at the door, which was opened by a strange- 
 looking man in a buff waistcoat and corduroy smalls. Frank 
 gave a glance at this personage >pushedhim aside and rushed 
 up-stairs. He burst into the drawing-room no Beatrice was 
 there. A thin, elderly man, with a manuscript book in his 
 hand, appeared engaged in examining the furniture and mak- 
 ing an inventory, with the aid of Madame diNegra's upper ser- 
 vant The thin man stared at Frank, and touched the hat which
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 153 
 
 wason his head. The servant, who was a foreigner, approached 
 Frank, and said, in broken English, that his lady did not receive- 
 that she was unwell, and kept her room. Frank thrust a sover- 
 eign into the servant's hand, and begged him to tell Madame 
 di Negra that Mr. Hazeldean entreated the honor of an inter- 
 view. As soon as the servant vanished on this errand, Frank 
 seized the thin irian by the arm " What is this? ah execution ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "For what sum?" 
 
 "Fifteen hundred and forty-seven pounds. We are the first 
 in possession." 
 
 " There are others, then ? " 
 
 " Or else, sir, we should have never taken this step. Most 
 painful to our feelings, sir ; but these foreigners are here, to- 
 day and gone to-morrow. And" 
 
 The servant re-entered. Madame di Negra would see Mr. 
 Hazeldean. Would he walk up-stairs ? Frank hastened to 
 obey this summons. 
 
 Madame di Negra was in a small room which was fitted upas 
 a boudoir. Her eyes showed the traces of recent tears, hut her 
 face was composed, and even rigid, in its haughty, though mount*- 
 ful expression. Frank, however, did not pause to notice her 
 countenance to hear her dignified salutation. All his timidity 
 was gone. He saw but the woman whom he loved, in distress 
 and humiliation. As the door closed on him he fifing himself 
 at her feet. He caught at her hand the skirt of her robe, 
 
 "Oh! Madame di Negra! Beatrice!" he exclaimed, tears 
 in his eyes, and his voice half-broken by generous emotion ; 
 "forgive me forgive me ; don't see in me a mere acquaintance. 
 By accident I learned, or, rather, guessed this this strange 
 insult to which you are so unworthily exposed. : I am here. Think 
 of me butasafriend the truest friend. Oh! Beatrice ! " and 
 he bent his head over the hand he held "I never dared to say so 
 before it seems presuming to say it now but I cannot help it. 
 I love you, I love you with my whole heart and soul ; to serve 
 you if only but to serve you ! I ask nothing else." And a 
 sob went from his warm, young, foolish heart. 
 
 The Italian was deeply moved. Nor was her nature that of the 
 mere sordid adventuress. So much love, and so much confidence ! 
 She was not prepared to betray the one, and entrap the other. 
 
 " Rise rise," she said, softly ; " I thank you gratefully. But 
 do not suppose that I" 
 
 " Hush hush ! you must not refuse me. Hush ! don't let 
 your pride speak."
 
 154 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " No it is not pride. You exaggerate what is occurring 
 here. You forget that I have a brother. I have sent for him. 
 He is the only one that I can apply to ! Ah ! that is his knock ! 
 But I shall never, never forget that I have found one generous, 
 noble heart in this hollow world." 
 
 Frank would have replied, but he heard the Count's voice on 
 the stairs, and had -only time to- rise and withdraw to the win- 
 dow, trying hard to repress his agitation and compose his coun- 
 tenance. Count di Peschiera entered entered as a very per- 
 sonation of the beauty and magnificence of careless, luxurious, 
 pampered, egotistical wealth. His surtout, trimmed with the 
 costliest sables, flung back from his splendid chest. Amidst the 
 folds of the glossy satin that enveloped his throat, gleamed a 
 turquoise, of such value as a jeweller might have kept for fifty 
 years before he could find a customer rich and frivolous enough 
 to buy it. The very head of. his can$ was a masterpiece of art, 
 and the man himself, so elegant despite his strength, and so 
 fresh despite his years ! It is astonishing how well men wear 
 when they think of no one but themselves ! 
 
 " Pr-rr ! " said the Count, not observing Frank behind the 
 draperies of the window ! " Pr-rr , It seems to me that you 
 must have passed a very unpleasant quarter of an hour. And 
 now Dieu me damne quoi fai.re /_";. 
 
 Beatrice pointed to the window, and felt as if she could have 
 sunk into the earth for shame. ButastheCcyuntspokein French, 
 and Frank did not very readily comprehend that language, the 
 words escaped him ; though his ear was shocked by a certain 
 satirical levity of tone. 
 
 Frank came forward. The Count held out his hand, and with 
 a rapid change of voice and manner, said, " One whpm my sister 
 admits at such a moment must be a friend to me." 
 
 "Mr. Hazeldean," said Beatrice, with meaning, ''would in^ 
 deed have nobly pressed on me the offer of an aid which I need 
 no more, since you, my brother, are here." 
 
 " Certainly," said the Count, with his superb air of grand 
 seigneur j "I will go down and clear your house of this imper- 
 tinent canaille. But I thought your affairs were with Baron 
 Levy. He should be here." 
 
 " I expect him every moment. Adieu ! Mr. Hazeldean." 
 Beatrice extended her hand to her young lover with a frank- 
 ness which was not without a certain pathetic and. cordial dig- 
 nity. Restrained from further words by the Count's presence, 
 Frank bowed over the fair hand in silence, arid retired. He was 
 on the stairs when he was joined by Peschiera,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 155 
 
 " Mr. Hazeldean," said the latter, in a low tone, " will you come 
 into the drawing-room ? " 
 
 Frank obeyed. The man employed in his examination of 
 the furni'ture was still at his task, but at a short whisper frpm 
 the Count he withdrew. 
 
 "My dear sir," said Peschiera, "I am so unacquainted -with 
 your English laws, and your mode of settling embarrassments of 
 this degrading nature, and you have evidently shown so kind a 
 sympathy in my sister's distress, that I venture to ask you to 
 stay here, and aid me in consulting with Baron Levy." 
 
 Frank was just expressing his unfeigned pleasure to be of the 
 slightest use, when Levy's knock resounded at the street-door, 
 and in another moment the Baron entered. 
 
 "Ouf!" said Levy, wiping his brows, and sinking into a chair 
 as if he had been engaged in toils the most exhausting "Ouf ! 
 this is a very sad business very ; and nothing, my dear Count, 
 nothing but ready money can save us here." 
 
 "You know my affairs, Levy," replied Peschiera, mournfully 
 shaking his head, " and that though in a few months, or it may 
 be weeks, I could discharge with ease my sister's debts, what- 
 ever their amount, yet at this moment, and in a strange land, I 
 have not the power to do so. The money I brought with me is 
 nearly exhausted. Can you not advance the requisite sum ? " 
 
 " Impossible ! Mr. Hazeldean is aware of the.distress under 
 which I labor myself." 
 
 " In that case," said the.Count, "all we can do to-day is to re- 
 move my sister, and let the execution proceed. Meanwhile I will 
 go among my friends, and see what I can borrow from them." 
 
 "Alas ! " saidLevy, rising and looking out of the window "alas ! 
 we cannot remove the Marchesa the worst is to come. Look ! 
 you see those three men; they have a writ against her person; the 
 moment she sets her foot out of these doors, she will be arrested." * 
 
 " Arrested ! " exclaimed Peschiera and Frank in a breath. 
 
 " I have done my best to prevent this disgrace, but in vain," 
 said the Baron, looking very wretched. "You see these Eng- 
 lish tradespeople fancy they have no hold upon foreigners. But 
 we can get bail; she must not go to prison " 
 
 "Prison !" echoed Frank. He hastened to Levy, and drew him 
 aside. The Count seemed paralyzed by shame and grief. Throw- 
 ing himself back on the sofa, he covered his face with his hands. 
 
 " My sister ! " groaned the Count" daughter to a Peschiera, 
 widow to a di Negra ! " There was something affecting in the 
 proud woe of this grand patrician. 
 
 ... . * At that date, tjje la\y of mane practss existed still.
 
 156 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " What is the sum ? " whispered Frank, anxious that the poor 
 Count should not overhear him ; and indeed the Count seemed 
 too stunned and overwhelmed to hear anything less loud than 
 a clap of thunder ! 
 
 " We may settle all liabilities for ^5000. " Nothing to Pes- 
 chiera, who is enormously rich. Entrcnous, I doubt his assur- 
 ance that he is without ready money. It may be so, but " 
 
 " Five thousand pounds ! How can I raise such a sum ?" 
 
 "You, my dear Hazeldean? What are you talking about? To 
 be, sure you could raise twice as much with a stroke of your pen, 
 and throw your own debts into the bargain. But to be so gen- 
 erous to an acquaintance " 
 
 "Acquaintance ! Madame di Negra ! the height of my am- 
 bition is to claim her as my wife ! " 
 
 "And these debts don't startle you?" 
 
 "If a man loves," answered Frank, simply, "he feels it most 
 when the woman he loves is in affliction. And," he added after 
 a pause, " though these debts are faults, kindness at this moment 
 may give me the power to cure for ever both her faults and my 
 own. I can raise this money by a stroke of the pen ! How ?" 
 
 "On the Casino property." 
 
 Frank drew back. 
 
 " No other way ? " 
 
 " Of course not. But I know your scruples ; let us see if they 
 can be conciliated. You would marry Madame di Negra ; she 
 will have ^20,000 on her wedding-day. Why not arrange that, 
 out of this sum, your anticipative charge on the Casino property 
 be paid up at once ? Thus, in truth, it will be but for a few weeks 
 that the charge will exist. The bond will remain locked in my 
 desk it can never come to your father's knowledge, nor wound 
 his feelings. And when you marry (if you will but be prudent in 
 the meanwhile), you will not owe a debt in the world." 
 
 Here the Count suddenly started up. 
 
 " Mr. Hazeldean, I asked you to stay by and aid us by your 
 counsel ; I see now that counsel is unavailing. This blow on our 
 house must fall ! I thank you, sir I thank you. Farewell. Levy, 
 come with me to my poor sister and prepare her for the worst." 
 
 "Count," said Frank, " hear me. My acquaintance with you 
 is but slight, but I have long known and and esteemed your 
 sister. Baron Levy has suggested a mode in which I can have 
 the honor and happiness of removing this temporary but painful 
 embarrassment. I can advance the money." 
 
 " No no ! " exclaimed Peschiera. . " How can you suppose that 
 I will hear of such a proposition ? Your youth and benevolence
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 157 
 
 mislead and blind you. Impossible, sir impossible ! Why, even 
 if I had no pride, no delicacy of rny own, my sister's fair fame " 
 
 " Would suffer, indeed," interrupted Levy, "if she were under 
 such obligation to any one but her affianced husband. Nor, what- 
 ever my regard for you, Count, could I suffer my client Mr. Hazel- 
 dean, to make this advance upon any less valid security than that 
 of the fortune to which Madame di Negra is entitled." 
 
 "Ha! is this indeed so? You are a suitor for my sister's 
 hand, Mr. Hazeldean?" 
 
 "But not at this moment not to QWC her hand to the compul- 
 sion of gratitude," answered gentleman Frank. 
 
 "Gratitude! And you do not know her heart, then? Do not 
 know " the Count interrupted himself, and went on after a pause. 
 "Mr. Hazeldean, I need not say that we rank among the first houses 
 in Europe. My pride led me formerly into the error of dispos- 
 ing of my sister's hand to one whom she did not love- merely 
 because in rank he was her equal. I will not again commit such 
 an error, nor would Beatrice again obey me if I sought to con- 
 strain her. Where she marries, there will she love. If, indeed, 
 she accepts you, as I believe she will, it will be from affection 
 solely. If she does, I cannot scruple to accept this loan a loan 
 from a brother-in-law loan to me, and not charged against her 
 fortune ! That, sir (turning to Levy, with his grand air), you will 
 take care to arrange. If she do not accept you, Mr. Hazeldean, 
 the loan, I repeat, is not to be thought of. Pardon me if I leave 
 you. This, one way or other, must be decided at once." The 
 Count inclined his head with much stateliness, and then quitted 
 the room. His step was heard ascending the stairs. 
 
 "If," said Levy, in the tone of a mere man of business "if 
 the Count pay the debts, and the lady's fortune be only charged 
 with your own after all it will not be a bad marriage in the 
 world's eye, nor ought it to be in a father's. Trust me, we shall 
 get Mr. Hazeldean's consent, and cheerfully too." 
 
 Frank did not listen ; he could only listen to his love, to his 
 heart beating loud with hope and with fear. 
 
 Levy sat down before the table, and drew up a long list of fig- 
 ures in a very neat hand a list of figures on two accounts, which 
 the post-obit on the Casino was destined to efface. 
 
 After a lapse of time, which to Frank seemed interminable, 
 the Count reappeared. He took Frank aside, with a gesture to 
 Levy, who rose, and retired into the drawing-room. 
 
 "My dear young friend," said Peschiera, "as I suspected, my 
 sister's heart is wholly yours. Stop ; hear me out. But, unluckily 
 I informed her of your generous proposal; it was most unguarded,
 
 158 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 most ill-judged in me, and that has well-nigh spoiled all ; she has 
 so much pride and spirit ; so great a fear that you may think 
 yourself betrayed into an imprudence which you may hereafter 
 regret, that I am sure she will tell you that she does not love you, 
 she cannot accept you, and so forth. Lovers like you are not 
 easily deceived. Don't go by her words ; but you shall see her 
 yourself and judge. Come." 
 
 Followed mechanically by Frank, the Count ascended the 
 stairs and threw open the doorof Beatrice's room. The Marchesa's 
 back was turned ; but Frank could see that she was weeping. 
 
 "I have brought my friend to plead for himself," said the 
 Count, in French ; "and take my advice, sister, and do not throw 
 away all prospect of real and solid happiness for a vain scruple. 
 Heed me!" He retired, and left Frank alone with Beatrice. 
 
 Then 'the Marchesa, as if by a violent effort, so sudden was 
 her movement, and so wild her look, turned her face to her wooer, 
 and came up to him where he stood. 
 
 " Oh ! " she said, clasping her hands, " is this true ? You would 
 save me from disgrace, from a prison and what can I give you 
 in return ? My love ! No, no ; I will not deceive you. Young, 
 fair, noble, as you are, I do not love you as you should be loved. 
 Go ; leave this house ; you do not know my brother. Go* go 
 while I have still strength, still virtue enough to reject whatever 
 may protect me from him ! whatever may O.h go, go." 
 
 "You do not love me," said Frank. " Well; I don't wonder at 
 it ; you are so brilliant, so superior to me. I will abandon hope 
 I will leave you as you command me. But at least I will not part 
 with my privilege to serve you. As for the rest shame on me 
 if I could be mean enough to boast of love, and enforce a suit, 
 at such a moment." Frank turned his face and stole softly away. 
 He did not arrest his steps at the drawing-room ; he went into 
 the parlor, wrote a brief line to Levy charging him quietly to 
 dismiss the execution, and to come to Frank's rooms with the 
 necessary deeds; and, above all, to say nothing to the Count. 
 Then he went out .of the house and walked back to his lodgings. 
 
 That evening Levy came to him, and accounts were gone into, 
 and papers signed; andthenext morning Madame di Negra -was 
 free from debt; and there was a great claim on the reversion of the 
 Casinoestates; andatthenoonof thatnextday Randal wascloseted 
 with Beatrice; and before the night, came a note from Madame di 
 Negra, hurried, blurred with tears, summoning Frank toCurzon 
 Street. And when heentered the Marchesa'sdra\ving-room,Peschi- 
 erawasseat^d beside his sister; and rising at Frank'sentrancesaid, 
 / "My dear brother-in-law ! " and .placed F/ank's.hand in Beatrice's.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 159 
 
 "You accept you accept me and of your own free will and 
 choice ? " 
 
 And Beatrice answered, "Bear with me a little, and I will try to re- 
 pay you with all my allmy "Shestoppedshort,andsobbedaloud. 
 
 "I never thought her capable of such acute feelings, such 
 strong attachment," whispered the Count. 
 
 Frank heard, and his face was radiant. By degrees Madame 
 di Negra recovered composure, and she listened with what her 
 young lover deemed a tender interest, but what in fact was 
 mournful and humble resignation, to his joyous talk of the fu- 
 ture. To him the hours passed by,, brief and bright, like^ flash 
 of sunlight. And his dreams, when he retired to rest, were so 
 golden! But, when he awoke the next morning, he 'said to him- 
 self, "What what will they say at the Hall-?" 
 
 At the same hour Beatrice, burying her face on her pillow, 
 turned from the loathsome day, and could have prayed for death. 
 At that same hour, Giulio Franzini, Count di Peschiera, dismiss- 
 ing some gaun*- haggard Italians, with whom he had been in close 
 conference, iallied forth to reconnoitre the house that contained 
 Yiolante. At that same hour Baron Levy was seated before his 
 desk casting up a deadly array of figures, headed, "Account with 
 the Right Hon. Audley Egerton, M. P., Dr. and 6>." title-deeds 
 strewed around him, and Frank Hazeldean's post-obit peeping 
 out fresh from the elder parchments. At that same hour, Audley 
 Egerton had just concluded a letter from the chairman of his 
 committee in the city he represented, which letter informed him 
 that he had not a chance of being re-elected. And the lines. of 
 his face were as composed as usual, and his foot rested as firm . 
 on the-grim iron box ; but his hand was pressed to his heart, and 
 
 his eye was on the .clock ; and his voice muttered -" Dr. F 
 
 should be here-! " And at that hour, Harley L'Estrange, who the 
 previous night had charmed courtly crowds with his gay humor, 
 was pacing to and fro the room in his hotel with restless strides 
 and many a heavy sigh ; and Leonard was standing by the foun- 
 tain in his garden, and watching the wintry sunbeams that 
 sparkled athwart the spray; and Violante was leaningon Helen's 
 shoulder, and trying archly, yet innocently, to lead Helen to talk 
 of Leonard ; and Helen was gazing steadfastly on the floor, and ' 
 answering but by monosyllables ; and Randal Leslie was walk- 
 ing down to his office for the last time, and reading, as he passed 
 across the Green Park, a letter from home, from his sister ; and ; 
 then, suddenly crumpling the letter in his thin pale hand, he 
 looked up, beheld in the distance the spires of the great national 
 Abbey ; and recalling the words of our hero Nelson, he mut-
 
 160 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 tered "Victory and Westminster, but not the Abbey ! " And 
 Randal Leslie felt that, within the last few days, he had made a 
 vast stride in his ambition ; his grasp on the old Leslie lands 
 Frank Hazeldean betrothed, and possibly disinherited; and Dick 
 Avenel, in the background, opening against the hated Lansmere 
 interest that same seat in Parliament which had first welcomed 
 into public life Randal's ruined patron. 
 
 " But some must laugh, and some must weep; 
 Thus runs the world away ! " 
 
 BOOK ELEVENTH. INITIAL CHAPTER. 
 
 ON THE IMPORTANCE OF HATE AS AN AGENT IN CIVILIZED LIFE. 
 
 IT is not an uncommon crotchet amongst benevolent men to 
 maintain that wickedness is necessarily a sort of insanity, and that 
 nobody would make a violent start out of the straightpath unless 
 stung to such disorder by a bee in his bonnet. Certainly, when 
 some very clever well-educated person, like our friend Randal 
 Leslie, acts upon the fallacious principle that " roguery is the best 
 policy," it is Curious to see how many points he has in common 
 with the insane; what over-cunning what irritable restlessness 
 what suspicious belief that the restof the world are in a conspiracy 
 against him, which it requires all his wit to baffle and turn to his 
 own proper aggrandizement and profit. Perhaps some of my read- 
 ers may have thought that I have represented Randal as unnatu- 
 rally far-fetched in his schemes, too wire-drawn and subtle in his 
 speculations; yet that is commonly the case with very refining 
 intellects, when they choose to play the knave; it helps to dis- 
 guise from themselves the ugliness of their ambition, just as a 
 philosopher delights in the ingenuity of some metaphysical pro- 
 cess, which ends in what plain men call " atheism," who would be 
 infinitely shocked and offended if he were called an atheist. 
 
 Having premised this much on behalf of the " Natural " in 
 Randal Leslie's character, I must here fly off to say a word or two 
 on the agency in human life exercised by a passion rarely seen 
 without a mask in our debonnaire andcivilized age Imean Hate. 
 
 In the good old days of our forefathers, when plainspeaking and 
 hard blows were in fashion when a man had his heart at the tip 
 of his tongue, and four feet of sharp iron dangling at his side, Hate 
 played an honest open part in the theatre of the world. In 
 fact, when we read history, Hate seems to have " starred it "on 
 the stage. But now where is Hate ? who ever sees its face ? Is it 
 that smiling, good-tempered creature, that presses you by the 
 hand so cordially ? or that dignified figure of state that calls you
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. l6l 
 
 its "Right Honorable friend"? Is it that bowing, grateful de- 
 pendant? is it that soft-eyed Amaryllis? Ask not, guess not; 
 you will only know it to be Hate when the poison is in your cup, 
 or the poniard in your breast. In the Gothic age, grim Humor 
 painted "The Dance of Death"; in our polished century, some 
 sardonic wit should give us "the Masquerade of Hate." 
 
 Certainly, the counter-passion betrays itself with ease to our 
 gaze. Love is rarely a hypocrite. But Hate how detect, and 
 how guard against it? It lurks where you least suspect it; it is 
 created by causes that you can the least foresee; and Civilization 
 multiplies its varieties, whilst it favors its disguise; for Civiliza- 
 tion increases the number. of contending interests, and Refine- 
 ment renders more susceptible to the least irritation the cuticle 
 of Self-Love. But Hate comes covertly forth from some self- 
 interest we have crossed, or some self-love we have wounded ; and, 
 dullards that we are, how seldom we are aware of our offence ! 
 You may be hated by a man you have never seen in your life; you 
 may be hated as often by one you have loaded with benefits; 
 you may so walk as not to tread on a worm; but you must sit fast 
 on your easy-chair till you are carried out to your bier, if you 
 would be sure not to tread on some snake of a foe. But, then, 
 what harm does hate do us ? Very often the harm is as unseen by 
 the world as the hate is unrecognized by us. It may come on us, 
 unawares, in some solitary by-way of our life; strike us in our 
 unsuspecting privacy; thwart us in some blessed hope we have 
 never told to another; for the moment the world sees that it is 
 Hate that strikes us, its worst power of mischief is gone. 
 
 We have a great many names for the same passion Envy, 
 Jealousy, Spite, Prejudice, Rivalry; but they are so many syn- 
 onyms for the one old heathen demon. When the death giving 
 shaft of Apollo sent the plague to some unhappy Achaean, it 
 did not much matter to the victim whether the god were called 
 Helios or Smintheus. 
 
 No man you ever met in the world seemed more raised above 
 the malice of Hate than Audley Egerton ; even in the hot war of 
 politics he had scarcely a personal foe; and in private life he kept 
 himself so aloof and apart from others that he was little known, 
 save by the benefits the waste of his wealth conferred. That the 
 hate of anyone could reach the austere statesman on his high 
 pinnacle of esteem you would have smiled at the idea ! But 
 Hate is now, as it ever has been, an actual Power amidst " the 
 Varieties of Life "; and, in spite of bars to the doors, and police- 
 men in the street, no one can be said to sleep in safety while 
 there wakes the eye of a single foe.
 
 1 62 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE glory of Bond Street is no more; the title of Bond Street 
 Lounger has faded from our lips. In vain the crowd of equipages 
 and the blaze of shops; the renown of Bond Street was in its 
 pavement its pedestrians. Art thou old enough, O reader? to 
 remember the Bond Street Lounger and his incomparable gener- 
 ation ? For my part, I can just recall the decline of the grand 
 era. It was on its wane when, in the ambition of boyhood, I first 
 began to muse upon high neckcloths and Wellington boots. But 
 the ancient habituds the tnagni nominis umbra contemporaries 
 of Brummel in his zenith boon companions of George IV. in his 
 regency- still haunted the spot. From four to six in the hot 
 month of June, they sauntered stately to and fro, looking some- 
 what mournful even then foreboding the extinction of their 
 race. The Bond Street Lounger was rarely seen alone; he was a 
 social animal, and walked arm-in-arm with his fellow-man. He 
 did not seem born for the cares of these ruder times; not made 
 was he for an age in which Finsbury returns members to Parlia- 
 ment. He loved his small talk; and never since then has talk 
 been so pleasingly small. - Your true Bond Street Lounger had a 
 very dissipated look. His youth had been spent with heroes who 
 loved their bottle. He himself had perhaps supped with Sheridan. 
 He was by nature a spendthrift; you saw it in the roll of his walk. 
 Men who make money rarely saunter; men who save money rarely 
 swagger. But saunter and swagger both united to stamp PRODI- 
 GAL on the Bond Street Lounger. And so familiar as he was with 
 his own set, and so amusingly supercilious with the vulgar resi- 
 due of mortals whose faces were strange to Bond Street. But he 
 i&gone. The world, though sadder for his loss, still strives to do 
 its best without him; and our young men, nowadays, attend to 
 model cottages, and incline to Tractarianism. Still the place, to 
 an unreflecting eye, has its brilliancy and bustle. But it is a 
 thoroughfare, not a lounge. And down the thoroughfare, some- 
 what before the hour when the throng is thickest, passed two 
 gentlemen of an appearance exceedingly out of keeping with the 
 place. Yet both had the air of men pretending to aristocracy 
 an old-world air of respectability and stake in the country, and 
 Church- and-Stateism. The burlier of the two was even rather a 
 beau in his way. He had first learned to dress, indeed, when Bond 
 Street was at its acme, and Brummel in his pride. He still re- 
 tained in his garb the fashion of his youth; only what then had 
 spoken of the town, now betrayed the life of the country. His
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 163 
 
 neckcloth ample and high, and of snowy whiteness, set off to 
 comely advantage a face smooth-shaven, and of clear florid hues; 
 his coat of royal blue, with buttons in which you might have seen 
 yourself vclutiin speculum, was, rather jauntily, buttoned across a 
 waist that spoke of lusty middle age, free from the ambition, the 
 avarice, and the anxieties that fret Londoners into thrcadpapers; 
 his small-clothes, of grayish drab, loose at the thigh and tight at 
 .the knee, were made by Brumrnel's own breeches-maker, and the 
 gaiters to match (thrust half-way down the calf), had a manly 
 dandyism that would have done honor to the beau-ideal of a 
 county member. The profession of this gentleman's companion 
 was unmistakable the shovel-hat, the clerical cut of the coat, 
 the neck-cloth without collar,. that seemed made for its acces- 
 sory the band, and something very decorous, yet very mild, in 
 the whole mien of this personage, all -spoke of one who was 
 every inch the gentleman and the parson. 
 
 " No," said the portlier of these two persons " no, I can't say 
 I like Frank's looks at all. There's certainly something on has 
 mind. However, I suppose it will be all out this evening." 
 
 " He dines with you at your hotel, Squire ? Well, you must be 
 kind to him. We can't put old heads upon young shoulders." 
 
 "I don't object to his head being young," returned the Squire ; 
 "but I wish he, had a little of Randal Leslie's good sense in it. 
 I see how.it will end ; I must take him back to the country ; and 
 if he wants occupation, why he shall keep the hounds, and I'll 
 put him into Brooksby Farm." 
 
 "Asfor the hounds," replied the Parson, "hounds necessitate 
 horses; and I think more mischief comes to a young man of spirit, 
 from the stables, than from any other place in the world. They 
 ought to be exposed from the pulpit, those stables ! " added Mr. 
 Dale, thoughtfully ; " see what they entailed upon Nimrod ! But 
 Agriculture is a healthful and noble pursuit, honored by sacred 
 nations, and cherished by the greatest men in classical times. 
 For instance, the Athenians were " 
 
 " Bother the Athenians," cried the Squire, irreverently ; " you 
 need not go so far back for an example. It is enough for a 
 Hazeldeanthathisfather, and hisgrandfather, and his greatgrand- 
 father, all farmed before him ; and a devilish deal better, I take 
 it, than any of those musty old Athenians no offence to them. 
 But I'll tell you one thing, Parson a man, to farm well, and live 
 in the country, should have a wife; it is half the battle." 
 
 "As to a battle, a man who is married is pretty sure of half, 
 though not always the better half, of it," answered the Parson, 
 who seemed peculiarly facetious thaf day. " Ah, Squire, I wish
 
 164 MVT KOVEL ; OR, 
 
 I could think Mrs.Hazeldean right in her conjecture! you would 
 have the prettiest daughter-in-law in the three kingdoms. And 
 I do believe that, if I could have a good talk with the young 
 lady apart from her father, we could remove the only objection 
 I know to the marriage. Those Popish errors " 
 
 "Ah, very true ! " cried the Squire ; "that Pope sticks hard 
 in, my gizzard. I could excuse her being a foreigner, and not 
 having, I suppose, a shilling in her pocket bless her handsome 
 face! but to be worshipping images in her room instead of 
 going to the parish church, that will never do. But you think 
 you could talk her out of the Pope, and into the family pew ? " 
 
 "Why, I could have talked her father out of the Pope, only, 
 when he had not a word to say for himself, he bolted out of the 
 window. Youth is more ingenuous in confessing its errors." 
 
 "I own," said the Squire, " that both Harry and I had a 
 favorite notion of ours till this Italian girl got into our heads. 
 Do you know we both took a great fancy to Randal's little sister 
 pretty, blushing, English-faced girl as ever you saw. And it went 
 to Harry's good heart to see her so neglected by that silly fidgety 
 mother of hers, her hair hanging about her ears ; and 1 thought 
 it would be a fine way to bring Randal and Frank more together, 
 and enable me to do something for Randal himself a good boy 
 with Hazeldean blood in his veins. But Violante is so hand- 
 some, that I don't wonder at the boy's choice ; and then it is our 
 fault we let them see so much of each other as children. How- 
 ever, I should be very angry if Rickeybockey had been playing sly, 
 and running away from the Casino in order to give Frank an oppor- 
 tunity to carry on a clandestine intercourse with his daughter." 
 
 "I don't think that would be like Riccabocca ; more like him 
 to run away in order to deprive Frank of the best of all occasions 
 to court Violante, if he so desired; for where could he see more 
 of her than at the Casino ? " 
 
 SQUIRE That's well put. Considering he was only a foreign 
 doctor, and, for ought we know, once went about in a caravan, 
 he is a gentleman-like fellow, that Rickeybockey. I speak of 
 people as I find them. But what is your notion about Frank ? 
 I see you don't think he is in love with Violante, after all. Out 
 with it, man ; speak plain* 
 
 PARSON. Since you so urge me, I own I do not think him in 
 love with her ; neither does my Carry, who is uncommonly shrewd 
 in such matters. 
 
 . SQUIRE. Your Carry, indeed ! as if she were half as shrewd 
 as my Harry. Carry nonsense ! 
 
 PARSON (reddening). I don't want to make invidious re-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 165 
 
 marks; but, Mr. Hazeldean, when you sneer at my Carry, I 
 should not be a man if I did not say that 
 
 SQUIRE (interrupting). She is a good little woman enough ; 
 but to compare her to my Harry ! 
 
 PARSON. I don't compare her to your Harry; I don't com- 
 pare her to any woman in England, sir. But you are losing your 
 temper, Mr. Hazeldean ! 
 
 SQUIRE. I ! 
 
 PARSON. And people are staring at you, Mr. Hazeldean. For 
 decency's sake, compose yourself, and change the subject. W.e 
 are just at the Albany. I hope that we shall not find poor Cap- 
 tain Higginbotham as ill as he represents himself in his letter. 
 Ah, is it possible ? No, it cannot be. Look look ! 
 
 SQUIRE. Where what where? Don't pinch so hard. Bless 
 me, do you see a ghost ? 
 
 PARSON. There the gentleman in black ! 
 
 SQUIRE. Gentleman in black ! What ! in broad daylight ! 
 Nonsense ! 
 
 Here- the Parson made a spring forward, and, catching the arm 
 of the person in question, who himself had stopped, and was 
 gazing intently on the pair, exclaimed 
 
 " Sir, pardon me ; but is not your name Fairfield ? Ah, it is 
 Leonard it is my dear, dear boy ! What joy ! So altered, so 
 improved, but still the same honest face. Squire, come here 
 your old friend Leonard Fairfield." 
 
 "And he wanted to persuade me," said the Squire, shaking 
 Leonard heartily by the hand, "that you were the Gentleman in 
 Black ; but, indeed, he has been in strange humors and tantrums 
 all the morning. Well, Master Lenny ; why, you are grown quite 
 a gentleman ! . The world thrives with you eh ! I suppose you 
 are head-gardener to some grandee." 
 
 "Not that, sir," said Leonard, smiling. "But the world has 
 thriven with me at last, though not without some rough usage 
 at starting. Ah, Mr. Dale, you can little guess how often I have 
 thought of you and your discourse on Knowledge ; and, what is 
 more, how I have lived to feel the truth of your words, and to 
 bless the lesson." 
 
 PARSON (much touched and flattered). I expected nothing 
 less from you, Leonard ; you were always a lad of great sense, 
 and sound judgment. So you have thought of my little dis- 
 course on Knowledge, have you ? 
 
 SQUIRE. Hang Knowledge ! I have reason to hate the word. 
 It burned down three ricks of mine; the finest ricks you ever 
 set your eyes on, Mr. Fairfield.
 
 l66 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 PARSON. That was not knowledge,Squire; that was ignorance. 
 
 SQUIRE. Ignorance ! The deuce it was ! I'll just appeal to 
 you, Mr. Fairfield. We have been having sad riots in the shire, 
 and the ringleader was just such another lad as you were ! 
 
 LEONARD. I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Hazeldean. 
 In what respect ? 
 
 SQUIRE. Why, hewasa village genius, and always reading some 
 cursed little tract or other; and got mighty discontented with 
 King, Lords, and Commons, I suppose, and went about talking 
 of the wrongs of the poor, and the crimes of the rich, till, by 
 Jove, sir, the whole mob rose one day with pitchforks and sickles, 
 and smash went Farmer Smart's threshing-machines; and on the 
 same night my ricks were on fire. We caught the rogues, and 
 they were all tried; but the poor deluded laborers were let off 
 with a short imprisonment. The village genius, thank Heaven, 
 is sent packing to Botany Bay. 
 
 LEONARD. But, did bis books teach him to burn ricks and 
 smash machines ? 
 
 PARSON. No; he said quite the contrary, and declared that 
 he had no hand in those misdoings. 
 
 SQUIRE. But he was proved to have excited with his wild talk 
 the boobies who had! 'Gad, sir, there was a hypocritical Quaker 
 oncej who said to his enemy, "I can't shed thy blood, friend, but 
 I will hold thy head under water till thou art drowned." And 
 so there is a set of demagogical fellows, who keep calling out, 
 " Farmer this is an oppressor, and Squire that is a vampire! But 
 no violence! Don't smash their machines, <lon't burn their ricks! 
 Moral force, and a curse on all tyrants! " Well, and if poor 
 Hodge thinks moral force is all my eye, and that the recommen- 
 dation is to be read backward, in the devil's way of reading the 
 Lord's Prayer, I should like to know which of the two ought to 
 go to Botany Bay Hodge, who comes out like a man, if he 
 thinks he is wronged, or t'other sneaking chap, who makes use 
 of his knowledge to keep himself out of the scrape ? 
 
 PARSON. It may be very true; but when I saw that poor fel- 
 low at the bar, with his intelligent face, and heard his bold clear 
 defence, and thought of all his hard struggles for knowledge, 
 and how they had ended, because he forgot tlmt knowledge 
 is like fire, and must not be thrown amongst flax why, I could 
 have given my right hand to save him. And, oh, Sauire, do you 
 remember his poor mother's shriek of despair when he was sen- 
 tenced to transportation for life ? I hear it now! And what, 
 Leonard what do you think had misled h*3i ? At the bottom 
 of all the mischief was a Tinker's bag. YOH cannot forget Sprott?
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 167 
 
 LEONARD. Tinker's bag!' Sprott! 
 
 SQUIRE. That raseal, sir, was the hardest fellow to nab you 
 could possibly conceive; as full of quips and quirks as an Old 
 Bailey lawyer. But we managed to bring it home to him. Lord! 
 his bag was choke-full of 'tracts against every man who had a 
 good coat on- his back ; and as if that was not enough, cheek 
 by jowl with the tracts were luciftfrs, contrived on a new princi- 
 ple, for teaching my ricks the theory of spontaneous combus- 
 tion. The laborers bought the lucifers 
 
 PARSON. And the poor village genius bought the tracts. 
 
 SQUIRE. All headed with a motto " To teach the working 
 classes that knowledge is power." So that I was right in saying 
 that knowledge had burnt my ricks; knowledge inflamed the vil- 
 lage genius, the village genius inflamed fellows more ignorant 
 than himself, and they inflamed my stack-yard. However, luci- 
 fers, tracts, village genius, and Sprott, are all off to Botany Bay; 
 and the shire has gone on much the better for it. So no more 
 of your knowledge for me, begging your pardon, Mr. Fairfield. 
 Such uncommonly fine ricks as mine were too! I declare, 
 Parson, you are looking as if yon felt pity for Sprott; and ' 
 I saw you, indeed, whispering to him as he was taken out of 
 court. 
 
 PARSON (looking sheepish). Indeed, Squire, I was only ask- 
 ing him what had become of his donkey, an unoffending creature. 
 
 SQUIRE. Unoffending! Upset me amidst a thistle-bed in my 
 own village green. I remember it. Well, what did he say had 
 become of -the donkey ? 
 
 PARSON. He 'Said but one word; but that showed all the vin- 
 dictiveness of his disposition. He said it with a horrid wink, 
 that made my blood run cold.' "What's become of your don- 
 key?" said I, ; and he answered 
 
 SQUIRE.- Go on. He answered 
 
 PARSON. Sausages. 
 
 SQUIRE. Sausages! Like enough; and sold to the poor; and 
 that's what the poor' will come to if the}' listen to such revolu- 
 tionizing villains. Sausages! Donkey sausages ! (spitting) 
 'Tis as bad as eating one another; perfect cannibalism. 
 
 Leonard, who ; had been thrown into grave thought by the his- 
 tory of Sprott and the village genius, now pressing the Parson's 
 hand, asked permission to wait on him before Mr. Dale quitted 
 L6ndon; and was about to withdraw, when the Parson, gently 
 detaining him, said 4< No; don't leave me yet, Leonard I have 
 so much to ask you, and to talk about.' I shall be at leisure 
 shortly. We are just now going to call on a relation of the
 
 1 68 MV NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Squire's, whom you must recollect, I am sure Captain Higgin- 
 botham Barnabas Higginbotham. He is very poorly.!' 
 
 "And I am sure he would take it kind in you to call too," 
 said the Squire, with great good-nature. 
 
 LEONA.RD. Nay, sir, would not that be a great liberty ? 
 
 SQUIRE. Liberty! to ask a poor sick gentleman ; how he is? 
 Nonsense. And I say, sir, perhaps as no doubt you have been 
 living in town, and know more of new-fangled notions than I 
 do perhaps you can tell us whether or not it is all humbug, 
 that new way of doctoring people. 
 
 LEONARD. What new way, sir ? There are so many. 
 
 SQUIRE. Are there ? Folks in London ok look uncommonly 
 sickly. But my poor cousin (he was never a Solomon) has got 
 hold, he says, of a homey homely What's the word, Parson ? 
 
 PARSON. Homceopathist. v^-fc 
 
 SQUIRE. -That's it! You see the captain went to live with 
 one Sharpe Currie, a relation who had a great deal of money, 
 and very little liver; made the one, and left much of the other 
 in Ingee, you understand. The Captain had expectations of the 
 money. Very natural, I dare say; but Lord, sir, what do you 
 think has happened ? Sharpe Currie has done him. Would not 
 die, sir; got back his liver, and the Captain has lost his own. 
 Strangest thing you ever heard. And then the ungrateful old 
 Nabob has dismissed the Captain^ saying, "He can't bear to have 
 invalids about him"; and is going to marry, and I have no doubt 
 will have children by the dozen! 
 
 PARSON. It was in Germany at one of the Spas, that Mr. 
 Currie recovered; and as he had the selfish inhumanity to make 
 the Captain go through a course of waters simultaneously with 
 himself, it has so chanced that the same waters that cured Mr. 
 Currie's liver have destroyed Captain Higginbotham's. An 
 English homoeopathic physician, then staying at the Spa, has 
 attended the Captain hither, and declares that he will restore him 
 by infinitesimal doses of the same chemical properties that were 
 found in the waters which diseased him. Can there be any- 
 thing in such a theory ? . 
 
 LEONARD. I once knew a very able, though eccentric homce- 
 opathist, and I am inclined to believe there may be something in 
 the system. My friend went to Germany; it may possibly be the 
 same person who attends the Captain. May I ask his name ? 
 
 SQUIRE. Cousin Barnabas does not mention it. You may ask 
 it of himself, for here we are at his chambers. I say, Parson (whis- 
 pering slyly), if a small dose of what hurt theCaptain is to cure him, 
 don't you think the proper thing would be a legacy? Ha! ha!
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 169 
 
 PARSON (trying not to laugh). Hush, Squire. Poor human 
 nature! We must be merciful to its infirmities. Come in, Leonard. 
 
 Leonard, interested in his doubt whether he might thus chance 
 again upon Dr. Morgan, obeyed the invitation, and with his two 
 companions followed the woman, who " did for the Captain and 
 his rooms," across the small lobby into the presence of the sufferer. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 WHATEVER the disposition toward merriment at his cousin's 
 expense entertained by the Squire, it vanished instantly at the 
 sight of the Captain's doleful visage and emaciated figure. 
 
 " Very good in you to come to town to see me very good in 
 you, cousin; and in you too, Mr. Dale. How very well you are 
 both looking. I am a sad wreck. You might count every bone 
 in my body." 
 
 " Hazeldean air and roast beef will soon set you up, my boy," 
 said the Squire, kindly. "You were a great goose to leave them, 
 and these comfortable rooms of yours in the Albany." 
 
 " They are comfortable, though not showy," said the Captain, 
 with tears in his eyes. " I had done my best to make them so. 
 New carpets this very chair (morocco !) that Japan cat 
 (holds toast and muffins) just when just when (the tears here 
 broke forth, and the Captain fairly whimpered) just when that 
 ungrateful, bad-hearted man wrote me word 'he was was dying, 
 and lone in the world '; and and to think what I've gone 
 through for him; and to treat me so. Cousin William, he has 
 grown as hale as yourself, and and" 
 
 " Cheer up ! cheer up ! " cried the compassionate Squire. " It 
 is a very hard case, I'll allow. But you see, as the old proverb 
 says, ' 'Tis ill waiting for a dead man's shoes'; and in future 
 I don't mean offence but I think, if you would calculate lesson 
 the livers of your relations, it would be all the better for your 
 own. Excuse me." 
 
 "Cousin William," replied the poor Captain, "I am sure I 
 never calculated; but still, if you had seen that deceitful man's 
 good-for-nothing face as yellow as a guinea and have gone 
 through all I've gone through, you would have felt cut to the 
 heart, as I do. I can't bear ingratitude; I never could. But 
 let it pass. Will that gentleman take a chair?" 
 
 PARSON. Mr. Fairfield has kindly called with us, because he 
 knows something of this system of homoeopathy which you have 
 adopted, and may, perhaps, know the practitioner. What is the 
 name of your doctor ?
 
 17& MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 CAPTAIN (looking at his watch). That reminds me (swallow- 
 ing a globule). A great relief these little pills after the physic 
 I've taken to please that malignant man. He always tried his 
 doctor's stuff upon me. But there's another world, and a juster. 
 
 With that pious conclusion the Captain again began to weep. 
 
 " Touched," muttered the Squire, with his forefinger on his 
 forehead. " You seem to have a good tidy sort of a nurse here, 
 Cousin Barnabas. I hope .she's pleasant and lively, and don't 
 let you take on so?" 
 
 "Hist ! don't talk of her. All mercenary; every bit of her 
 fawning! Would you believe it? I give her ten shillings 
 a- week, besides all that goes down of my pats of butter and rolls; 
 and I overheard the jade saying :to the laundress that ' I could 
 not last long and she'd EXPECTATIONS ! ' Ah, Mr. Dale, 
 when one thinks of the sinfulness there is in this life ! But I'll 
 not think of it; no I'll not. Let us change the subject. You 
 were asking my doctor's name. It is " 
 
 Here the woman with "expectations" threw open the door, 
 and suddenly announced "DR. MORGAN." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE Parson started, and so did Leonard. 
 
 The Homceopathist did not at first notice either. With an 
 unobservant bow to the visitors, he went straight to the patient, 
 and asked, "How go the symptoms?" 
 
 Therewith the Captain commenced, in a tone of voice like a 
 school-boy reciting the catalogue of the ships in Homer. He 
 had been : evidently conning the symptoms, and learning them 
 by heart. Nor was there a single nook or corner in his anato- 
 mical organization, so far as the Captain was acquainted with 
 that structure, but what some symptom or other was dragged 
 therefrom, and exposed to-day. The Squire listened with horror 
 to the morbific inventory, muttering at each dread interval, 
 "Bless me! Lord bless me? What, more still ! Death would 
 be a veryihappy release!" Meanwhile, the Doctor endured 
 the recital with exemplary patience, noting down in the leaves 
 of his pocket-book what appeared to him the salient points in 
 this fortress of disease to which, he had laid siege, and then draw- 
 ing forth a minute paper, said, jarc/i 
 
 "Capital nothing can be better. This powder must be dis- 
 solved in eight table-spoonfuls of water; one spoonful every 
 two hours." 
 
 "Table-spoonful?"
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 171 
 
 "Table-spoonful." 
 
 "'Nothing can be better,' did you say, sir?" repeated the 
 Squire, who, -in his astonishment at the assertion applied to the 
 Captain's description of his sufferings, had hitherto hung fire 
 "nothing can be better?" 
 
 " For the diagnosis, sir ! " replied 'Dr. Morgan. 
 
 " For the dogs' noses, very possibly," quoth the Squire; " but 
 for the inside of Cousin Higginbotham, I should think nothing 
 could be worse." 
 
 " You are mistaken, sir," replied Dr. Morgan. " It is not the 
 Captain who speaks here it is his liver. Liver, sir, though a 
 noble, is an imaginative organ, and indulges in the most extra- 
 ordinary fictions. Seat of poetry^ and love^ and jealousy-^-the 
 liver. Never believe what it says. You have no idea what a 
 liar it is ! But ahem ahem. Cbtt I think I've seen you 
 before, sir. Surely your name's Hazeldean ?" 
 
 "William Hazeldean, at your service, Doctor. But where 
 have you seen me ? " 
 
 "On the hustings at Lansmere. You were speaking on be- 
 half of your distinguished brother, Mr. Egerton." 
 
 " Hang it ! " cried the Squire ; " I think it must have been my 
 liver that spoke there ! for I promised the electors that that half- 
 brother of mine would stick by the land; and I never told a 
 bigger lie in my life !" 
 
 Here the patient, reminded of his other visitors, and afraid he 
 was going to be bored with the enumeration of the Squire's 
 wrongs, and probably the whole history of his duel with Captain 
 Dashmore, turned with a languid wave of his hand, and said, 
 "Doctor, another friend of mine, the Rev. Mr. Dale, and a 
 gentleman who is acquainted with homoeopathy." 
 
 " Dale ? What, more old friends ! " cried the Doctor, rising ; 
 and the Parson came somewhat reluctantly* from .the'window 
 nook, to .which he had retired. The Parson and the Homoeopa- 
 thist shook hands. 
 
 "We have met before on a very mournful occasion," said the 
 Doctor, with feeling.; 
 
 The Parson held his finger to his lips, and glanced toward 
 Leonard. The Doctor stared at the lad, but he did not recog- 
 nize in the person before him the gaunt, careworn boy whom he 
 had placed with Mr. Prickett, Aintil Leonard smiled and-spokfcu:. 
 And the smile and the voice sufficed. 
 
 "Cott and it is the poy ! " cried Dr. Morgan ; and he actu- 
 ally caught hold of Leonard, and gave him an affectionate Welsh: ( 
 hug. Indeed, his agitatioivat these several surprises became so
 
 17* MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 great that he stopped short, drew forth a globule "Aconite 
 good against nervous shocks ! " and swallowed it incontinently. 
 
 "Gad," said the Squire, rather astonished, "'tis the first 
 doctor I ever saw swallow his own medicine ! There must be 
 something in it." 
 
 The Captain now, highly disgusted that so much attention 
 was withdrawn from his own case, asked in a querulous voice, 
 " And as to diet ? What shall I have for dinner ? " 
 
 " A friend ! " said the doctor, wiping his eyes. 
 
 " Zounds!" cried the Squire, retreating, " do you mean to say 
 that the British laws (to be sure they are very much changed 
 of late) allow you to diet your patients upon their fellow-men ? 
 Why, Parson, this is worse than the donkey sausages." 
 
 " Sir," said Dr. Morgan gravely, " I mean to say, that it mat- 
 ters little what we eat, in comparison with care as to whom we 
 eat with. It is better to exceed a little with a friend than to 
 observe the strictest regimen, and eat alone. Talk and laughter 
 help the digestion, and are indispensable in affections of the 
 liver. I have no doubt, sir, that it was my patient's agreeable 
 society that tended to restore to health his dyspeptic relative 
 Mr. Sharpe Currie." 
 
 The Captain groaned aloud. 
 
 V And, therefore, if oneof you gentlemenwill stay and dine with 
 Mr.Higginbotham,itwillgreatlyassisttheeffectsofhismedicine." 
 
 The Captain turned an imploring eye, first toward his cousin, 
 then toward the Parson. 
 
 " I'm engaged to dine with my son very sorry," said the 
 Squire. " But Dale, here" 
 
 "If he will be so kind," put in the Captain, "we might cheer 
 the evening with a game at whist double dummy." 
 
 Now poor Mr. Dale has set his heart on dining with an old 
 college friend, and having no stupid, prosy double dummy, in 
 which one cannot have the pleasure of scolding one's partner, 
 butaregularorthodox rubber, with the pleasing prospect of scold- 
 ing all the three other performers. But as his quiet life forbade 
 him to be a hero in great things, the Parson had made up his 
 mind to be a hero in small ones. Therefore, though with rather 
 a rueful face, he accepted the Captain's invitation, and promised 
 to return at six o'clock. Meanwhile he must hurry on to the 
 other end of the town, and excuse himself from the pre-engage- 
 ment he had already formed. He now gave his card, with the 
 address of a quiet familyhotel thereon, to Leonard, and not look- 
 ing quite so charmed with Dr. Morgan as he was before that un- 
 welcome prescription, he took his leave. The Squire too, hav-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 173 
 
 ing to see anew churn, and execute various commissions for his 
 Harry, went his way (not, however, till Dr. Morgan had assured 
 him that,in a few weeks.the Captain might safely remove to Hazel- 
 dean); and Leonard was about to follow, when Morgan hooked 
 his arm in his old protigfs, and said, " But I must have some talk 
 with you; and you have to tell me all about the little orphan girl." 
 
 Leonard could not resist the pleasure of talking about Helen, 
 and he got into the carriage, which was waiting at the door for 
 the Homoeopathist. 
 
 " I am going into the country a few miles to see a patient," 
 said the Doctor; "so we shall have time for undisturbed con- 
 sultation. I have so often wondered what had become of you. 
 Not hearing from Prickett, I wrote to him, and received from 
 his heir an answer as dry as a bone. Poor fellow, I found that 
 he had neglected his globules and quitted the globe. Alas, pul- 
 vis et umbra sumus ! I could learn no tidings of you. Prickett's 
 successor declared he knew nothing about you. I hoped the 
 best; for I always fancied you were one who would fall on your 
 legs -bilious-nervous temperament; such are the men who suc- 
 ceed in their undertakings, especially if they take a. spoonful of 
 chamomilla whenever they are over-excited. So now for your 
 history and the little girl's pretty little thing never saw a 
 more susceptible constitution, nor one more suited topulsati/la." 
 
 Leonard briefly related his own struggles and success, and in- 
 formed the good Doctor how they had at last discovered the 
 nobleman in whom poor Captain Digby had confided, and whose 
 care of the orphan had justified the confidence. 
 
 Dr. Morgan opened his eyes at hearing the name of Lord 
 L'Estrange. "1 remember him very well," said he, " when I 
 practised murder as an allopathist at Lansmere. But to think 
 that wild boy, so full of whim, and life, and spirit, should be- 
 come staid enough for a guardian to that dear little child, with her 
 timid eyes and pulsatilla sensibilities. Well, wonders never cease. 
 And he has befriended you too, you say. Ah,heknewyourfamily." 
 
 " So he says. Do you think, sir, that he ever knew ever 
 saw my mother ? " 
 
 "Eh ! your mother? Nora? " exclaimed the Doctor, quickly; 
 and as if struck by some sudden thought,hisbrowsmet,and he re- 
 mained silent and musing a few moments; then, observing Leon- 
 ard's eyes fixed on him earnestly, he replied to the question : 
 
 " No doubt he saw her; she was brought up at Lady Lans- 
 mere's. Did he not tell you so ? " 
 
 " No." A vague suspicion here darted through Leonard's 
 mind, but as suddenly vanished. His father! Impossible. His
 
 t;4 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 father must have deliberately wronged the dead mother. And 
 was Harley L'Estrange a man capable of such wrong? And had 
 he been Hurley's son, would not Harley have guessed it at once, 
 and so guessing, have owned and claimed him? Besides, Lord 
 L'Estrange looked so young; old enough to be Leonard's 
 father! he could not entertain the idea. He roused himself and 
 said, falteringly 
 
 " You told me you did not know by what name I should call 
 my father." 
 
 " And I told you the truth, to the best of my belief." 
 
 " By your honor, sir ?" 
 
 " By my honor, I do not know it." . 
 
 There was now a long silence. The carriage had long left 
 London, and was on a high-road somewhat lonelier and more 
 free from.houses than most of those which form the entrance to 
 the huge city. Leonard gazed wistfully from the window, and 
 the objects that met his eye gradually seemed to appeal to his 
 memory. Yes! it was the road by which he had first approached 
 the metropolis, hand in hand with Helen- and. hope so busy at 
 his poet's heart. He sighed deeply. He thought he would wil- 
 lingly have resigned, all he had won independence, fame, all 
 to feel again the clasp of that tender hand again: to be the 
 sole protector of that gentle life. 
 
 The Doctor's voice broke on his reverie. "I am going to see 
 a very interesting patient coats to his stomach quite worn out, 
 sir man of great learning, with a veryinflamed cerebellum. I 
 can't do him much good, and he does me a great deal of harm." 
 
 "How harm?" asked Leonard, with an effort at some rejoinder. 
 
 '-Hits me on the heart, and makes my eyes 'water ; -very 
 pathetic case grand creature, who has thrown himself away. 
 Found him given over by the allopathists, and in a high state of 
 delirium tremens^-vestored him for a time took a great liking 
 to him could not help it swallowed a great many globules to 
 harden myself against him would not do -brought him over 
 to England with the other patients, who all -pay me well (except 
 Captain Higginbotham). But this poor fellow pays me nothing^ 
 costs me a great deal in time and turn pikes, and board and 
 lodging. Thank Heaven I'm a single man, and can afford it ! 
 My poy, I would let all the other patients go to the -allopath ists 
 if I could but save this poor, big, penniless, princely fellow. 
 But \vhat can one do with a stomach that has not a rag of its 
 coats left? Stop (the Doctor pulled the check-string); This is 
 the stile. I get out here and go across the fields." 
 
 That stile those fields with what distinctness Leonard re
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 175 
 
 membered them! Ah, where was Helen? Could she ever, ever 
 again be his child-angel ? 
 
 "I will go with you, if you permit," said he to the good 
 Doctor. "And while you pay your visit, I will saunter by a little 
 brook that I think must run by your way." 
 
 " The Brent you know that brook? Ah, you should hear my 
 poor patient talk of it, and of the hours he has spent angling in 
 it you would not know whether to laugh or cry. The first day he 
 was brought down to the place, he wanted to go out and try once 
 more, he said, for his old deluding demon a one-eyed perch." 
 
 "Heavens!" exclaimed Leonard, "are you speaking of John 
 Burley?" 
 
 "To be sure, that is his name John Burley." 
 
 "Oh, has it come to this? Cure him, save him if it be inhuman 
 power. For the last two years I have sought his trace every- 
 where, and in vain, the moment I had money of my own a 
 home pf my own. Poor, erring, glorious Burley: take me to him. 
 Did yqu say there was no hope ? " 
 
 "I did not say that," replied the Doctor. "But art can only 
 assist nature; and though nature is ever at work to repair the 
 injuries we do to her, yet, when the coats of a stomach are all 
 gone, she gets puzzled, and so, do I. You must tell me another 
 time how you came to know Burley, for here we are at the house, 
 and I see him at the window looking out for me." 
 
 The Doctor opened the garden -gate -of the quiet cottage to 
 which poor Burley had fled from the pure presence of Leonard's 
 child-angel. And with heavy step,;and heavy, heart, Leonard 
 mournfully followed, to behold the wreck of him whose wit had 
 glorified orgie, and "set thetable in aroar." Alas, poor Yorick! 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 
 AUDLEY EGERTON stands on his hearth alone. During the 
 short interval that has elapsed since we last saw him, events had 
 occurred memorable in English history, wherewith we have 
 nought to do in a narrative studiously avoiding all party politics, 
 even when treating of politicians. The new Ministers had stated 
 the general programme of their policy, and introduced one 
 measure in especial that had lifted them at once to the dizzy 
 height of popular power. But it became clear that this measure 
 could not be carried without a fresh appeal to the people. A 
 dissolution of Parliament, as Audley's sagacious experience had 
 foreseen, was inevitable. And Audley Egerton had no chance of 
 return for his own seat for the great commercial city identified
 
 176 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 with his name. O sad, but not rare, instance of the mutabilities 
 of that same popular favor now enjoyed by his successors! The 
 great commoner, the weighty speaker, the expert man of business, 
 the statesman who had seemed a type of the practical steady 
 sense for which our middle class is renowned he who, not three 
 years since, might have had his honored choice of the largest 
 popular constituencies in the kingdom he, Audley Egerton, 
 knew not one single town (free from the influences of private 
 property or interest) in which the obscurest candidate, who 
 bawled out for the new liberal measure, would not have beaten 
 him hollow, where one popular hustings, on which that grave 
 sonorous voice that had stilled so often the roar of faction, 
 would not be drowned amidst the hoots of the scornful mob! 
 
 True, what were called the close boroughs still existed true, 
 many a chief of his party would have been too proud of the 
 honor of claiming Audley Egerton for his nominee. But the ex- 
 minister's haughty soul shrunk from this contrast to his past 
 position. And to fight against the popular measure as member 
 of one of the seats most denounced by the people, he felt it 
 was a post in the grand army of parties below his dignity to 
 occupy, and foreign to his peculiar mind, which required the 
 sense of consequence and station. And if, in a few months, 
 those seats were swept away were annihilated from the rolls of 
 Parliament where was he? Moreover, Egerton, emancipated 
 from the trammels that had bound his will while his party was 
 in office, desired, in the turn of events-, to be nominee of no 
 man desired to stand at least freely and singly on the ground 
 of his own services, be guided by his own penetration ; no law 
 for action, but his strong sense and his stout English heart. 
 Therefore he had declined all offers from those who could still 
 bestow seats in Parliament. Seats that he could purchase with 
 hard gold were yet open to him ; and the ;5o he had bor- 
 rowed from Levy were yet untouched. 
 
 To this lone public man, public life, as we have seen, was the 
 all in all. But now more than ever it was vital to his very 
 wants. Around him yawned ruin. He knew that it was in 
 Levy's power at any moment to foreclose on his mortgaged 
 lands to pour in the bonds and the bills which lay within those 
 rosewood receptacles that lined the fatal lair of the sleek usurer 
 to seize on the vefy house in which now moved all the pomp of 
 a retinue that vied with the valetaille of dukes to advertise for 
 public auction, under execution, " the costly effects of the Right 
 Hon. Audley Egerton." But consummate in his knowledge of 
 the world, Egerton felt assured that Levy would not adopt
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 177 
 
 these measures against him while he could still tower in the van 
 of political war while he could still see before him the full 
 chance of restoration to power, perhaps to power still higher 
 than before perhaps to power the highest of all beneath the 
 throne. That Levy, whose hate he divined, though he did not 
 conjecture all its causes, had hitherto delayed even a visit, even 
 a menace, seemed to him to show that Levy still thought him 
 one " to be helped," or at least one too powerful to crush. To 
 secure his position in Parliament, unshackled, unfalleh, if but 
 for another year, new combinations of party might arise, new 
 reactions take place in public opinion ! And, with his hand 
 pressed to his heart, the stern firm man muttered, "If not, I 
 ask but to die in my harness, and that men may not know that I 
 am a pauper, until all that Ineed from my country is a grave." 
 
 Scarce had these words died upon his lips, ere two quick 
 knocks in succession resounded at the street-door. In another 
 moment Harley entered, and, at the same time, the Servant in 
 attendance approached Audley, and announced Baron Levy. 
 
 " Beg the Baron to wait, unless he would prefer to name his own 
 hour to call again," answered Egerton, with the slightest possible 
 change of color. " You can say I am now with Lord L'Estrange." 
 
 "I had hoped you had done forever with that deluder of 
 youth," said Harley, as soon as the groom of the chambers had 
 withdrawn. "I remember that you saw tooniuch of him in the gay 
 time, ere wild oats are sown; but now surely you can never need 
 a loan ; and if so, is not Harley L'Estrange by your side ? " 
 
 EGERTON. My dear Harley ! doubtless he but comes to 
 talk to me of some borough. He has much to do with those 
 delicate negotiations. 
 
 HARLEY. And I have come on the same business. I claim 
 the priority. I not only hear in the world, but I see by the papers, 
 that Josiah Jenkins, Esq., known to fame as an orator who leaves 
 out his h's, and young Lord Willoughby Whiggolin, who is just 
 made a Lord of the Admiralty, because his health is too delicate 
 for the army, are certain to come in for the city which you and your 
 present colleague will as certainly vacate. That is true, is it not ? 
 
 EGERTON. My old Committee now vote for Jenkins and 
 Whiggolin. And I suppose there will not be even a contest. Go on. 
 
 " So my father and I are agreed that you must condescend, 
 for the sake of old friendship, to be once more member for 
 Lansmere ! " 
 
 " Harley," exclaimed Egerton, changing countenance far more 
 than he had done at the announcement of Levy's portentous 
 visit " Harley, no, no !"
 
 178 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " No ! But why ? Wherefore such emotion ?" asked L'Es- 
 trange, in surprise. 
 
 Audley was silent. 
 
 HARLEY. I suggested the idea to two or three of the late 
 Ministers ; they all concur in advising you to accede. In the 
 first place, if declining to stand for the place which tempted 
 you from Lansmere, what more natural than that you should 
 fall back on that earlier representation ? In the second place, 
 Lansmere is neither a rotten borough, to be bought, nor a close 
 borough, under one man's nomination. It is a tolerably large con- 
 stituency. My father, it is true, has considerable interest injit, but 
 only what is called the legitimate influence of property. At all 
 events, it is moresecure thanacontest for a larger town, moredigni- 
 fied than a seat for a smaller. Hesitating still? Even my mother 
 entrqats me to say how she desires you to renew that connection. 
 
 " Harley ! " again exclaimed Egerton ; and fixing upon his 
 friend's earnest face, eyes which, when softened by emotion, 
 were strangely beautiful in their expression " Harley, if you 
 could but read my heart at this -moment, you would you 
 would " His voice faltered, and he fairly bent his proud head 
 upon Harley's shoulder ;. grasping the hand he had caught 
 nervously, clingingly "O Harley, if I ever lose your love, your 
 friendship nothing else is left to me in the world." 
 
 "Audley, my dear, dear Audley, is it you who speak to me 
 thus? You, my school -friend, my life's confidant you ? " 
 
 " I am grown very weak and foolish," said Egerton, trying to 
 smile. " I do not know myself. I, too, whom you have so 
 often called 'Stoic,' and likened to the Iron: Man in the poem 
 which you used to read by the riverside at .Eton." 
 
 " And even then, my Audley, I knew that a warm human 
 heart (do what you would to keep it down) beat strong under the 
 iron ribs. And I often marvel now, to think you have gone 
 through life so free from the wilder passions. Happier so ! " 
 
 Egerton, who had turned his face from /his friend's gaze, re- 
 mained silent for a few moments, and he then sought to divert 
 the, conversation, and roused himself to ask Harley how he had 
 succeeded in his views upon Beatrice, and his watch on the Count. 
 
 "With regard to Peschiera," answered Harley, "I think we 
 must have overrated the danger we apprehended, and that his 
 wagers were but an idle boast. He has remained quiet enough, 
 and seems devoted to play. His sister has shut her doors both 
 on myself and my young associate during the last few:days. I 
 almost fear that, in spite of very sage warnings of mine, she must 
 have turned his poet's head, and that either he has met with
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 1791 
 
 some scornful rebuff to incautious admiration, or that he him- 
 self has grown aware of peril, and declines to face it ; for he is 
 very much embarrassed when I speak to him respecting her. 
 But if the Count is not formidable, why, his sister is not needed; 
 and I hope yet to get justice for my Italian friend through the 
 ordinary channels. I have secured an ally in a young Austrian 
 prince who is now in London, and who has promised to back, with 
 all his influence, a memorial I shall transmit to Vienna. Apropos, 
 my dear Audley, now that you have a little breathing-time, you 
 must fix an hour for me to present to you my young poet, the son 
 Qiher sister. At moments the expression of his face is solike hers. " 
 
 " Ay, ay," answered Egerton, quickly, " I will see him as you 
 wish, but later. I have not yet that breathing-time you speak 
 of; but you say he has prospered; and, with your friendship, he 
 is secure from fortune. I rejoice to think so." 
 
 "And your own protegt, this Randal Leslie, whom you for- 
 bid me to dislike hard task ! what has he decided ?" 
 
 " To adhere to my fate. Harley, if it please Heaven that I do 
 not live to return to power, and provide adequately for that 
 young man, do not forget that he clung. to me in my fall." 
 
 '' If he still cling to you faithfully, I will never forget it. I 
 will forget only all that now makes me doubt him. But you 
 talk of not living, Audley ! Pooh ! 'your frame is that of a 
 predestined octogenarian." 
 
 " Nay," answered Audley, " I was but uttering one of those 
 vague generalities which are common uppn all mortal lips. And 
 now farewell I must see this Baron." 
 
 " Not yet, until you have promised to consent to my proposal, 
 and be once more member for Lansmere. Tut ! don't shake 
 your head. I cannot be denied. I claim your promise in right 
 of our friendship, and shall be seriously hurt if you even pause 
 to reflect on it." 
 
 " Well, well, I know not how to refuse you, Harley ; but you 
 have not been to Lansmere yourself since since that sad event. 
 You must not revive the old wound -you must not go ; and 
 and, I own it, Harley ; the remembrance of it pains even me. 
 I would rather not go to Lansmere." 
 
 " Ah, my friend, this is an excess of sympathy, and I cannot 
 listen to it. I begin even to blame my own weakness, and to feel 
 thatwehave no right to make ourselves the soft slaves of the past." 
 
 " You do appear to me of late to have changed," cried Eger- 
 ton, suddenly, and with a brightening aspect. " Do tell me that 
 you are happy in the contemplation of your new ties that I 
 shall live to see you once more restored to your former self."
 
 l8o MY NOVEL ; OR 
 
 "All I can answer, Audley," said L'Estrange, with a thought- 
 ful brow, "is, that you are right in one thing I am changed ; 
 and I am struggling to gain strength for duty and for honor. 
 Adieu ! I shall tell my father that you accede to our wishes." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WHEN Harley was gone, Egerton sunk back on his chair, as 
 if in extreme physical or mental exhaustion, all the lines of his 
 countenance relaxed and jaded. 
 
 "To go back to that place there there where Courage, 
 courage what is another pang?" 
 
 He rose with an effort, and folding his arms tightly across his 
 breast, paced slowly to and fro the large, mournful, solitary 
 room. Gradually his countenance assumed its usual cold and 
 austere composure the secret eye, the guarded lip, the haughty 
 collected front. The man of the world was himself once niore. 
 
 " Now to gain time, and to baffle the usurer," murmured 
 Egerton, with that low tone of easy scorn which bespoke con- 
 sciousness of superior power and the familiar mastery over 
 hostile natures. He rang the bell; the servant entered. 
 
 " Is Baron Levy still waiting ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Admit him." 
 
 Levy entered. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Levy," said the ex-minister, "for having 
 so long detained you. I am now at your commands." 
 
 "My dear fellow," returned the Baron, "no apologies between 
 friends so old as we are ; and I fear that my business is not so 
 agreeable as to make you impatient to discuss it." 
 
 EGERTON (with perfect composure). I am to conclude, then, 
 that you wish to bring our accounts to a close. Whenever you 
 will, Levy. 
 
 The BARON (disconcerted and surprised). Peste .' moncher, 
 you take things coolly. But if our accounts are closed, I fear 
 you will have but little to live upon. 
 
 EGERTON. I can continue to live on the salary of a Cabinet 
 Minister.' 
 
 BARON. Possibly ; but you are no longer a Cabinet Minister. 
 
 EGERTON. You have never found me deceived in a political 
 prediction. Within twelve months (should life be spared to me) 
 I shall be in office again. If the same to you, I would rather 
 wait till then, formally and amicably to resign to you my lands 
 and this house. If you grant that reprieve, our connection can
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. l8l 
 
 thus close without the tclat and noise which may be invidious 
 to you, as it would be disagreeable to me. But if that delay be 
 inconvenient, I will appoint a lawyer to examine your accounts 
 and adjust my liabilities. 
 
 The BARON (soliloquizing). I don't like this. A lawyer ! 
 That may be awkward. 
 
 EGERTON (observing the Baron, with a curl on his lip). 
 Well, Levy, how shall it be ? 
 
 The BARON. You know, my dear fellow, it is not my char- 
 acter to be hard on any one, least of all upon an old friend. And 
 if you really think there is a chance of your return to office, 
 which you apprehend that an esclandre as to your affairs at 
 present might damage, why, let us see if we can conciliate mat- 
 ters. But first, man cher, in order to become a minister, you 
 must at least have a seat in Parliament ; and pardon me the 
 question, how the deuce are you to find one ? 
 
 EGERTON. It is found. 
 
 The BARON. Ah, I forgot the .^5000 you last borrowed. 
 
 EGERTON. No ; I reserve that sum for another purpose. 
 
 The BARON (with a forced laugh). Perhaps to defend your- 
 self against the actions you apprehend from me ? 
 
 EGERTON. You are mistaken. But to soothe your sus- 
 picions, I will tell you plainly, that finding any sum I might 
 have insured on my life would be liable to debts preincurred, 
 and (as you will be my sole creditor) might thus at my death pass 
 back to you ; and doubting whether, indeed, any office would 
 accept my insurance, I appropriate that sum to the relief of my 
 conscience. I intend to bestow it, while yet in life, upon my 
 late wife's kinsman, Randal Leslie. And it is solely the wish 
 to do what I consider an act of justice, that has prevailed with 
 me to accept a favor from the hands of Harley L'Estrange, and 
 to become again the member for Lansmere. 
 
 The BARON. Ha! Lansmere! You will stand for Lansmere? 
 
 EGERTON (wincing). I propose to do so. 
 
 The BARON. I believe you will be opposed, subjected to 
 even a sharp contest. Perhaps you may lose your election. 
 
 EGERTON. If so, I resign myself, and you can foreclose on 
 my estates. 
 
 The BARON (his brow clearing), Look you, Egerton, I shall 
 be too happy to do you a favor. 
 
 EGERTON (with stateliness). Favor ! No, Baron Levy, I ask 
 from you no favor. Dismiss all thought of rendering me one. 
 It is but a consideration of business on both sides. If you 
 think it better that we shall at once settle our accounts, my
 
 1 82 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 lawyer shall investigate them. If you agree to the delay I re- 
 quest, my lawyer shall give you no trouble ; and all that 1 have, 
 except hope and character, pass toyourhands without a struggle. 
 
 The BARON. Inflexible and ungracious, favor or not -put it 
 as you will I accede ; provided-, first, that you allow me to 
 draw up a fresh deed, which will accomplish your part of the 
 compact ; andy secondly, that we .saddle the proposed delay 
 with the condition that you do not lose your election. 
 
 EoERTO'N. Agreed. Have you anything further to say? 
 
 The BARON. Nothing, except . that, if you require more 
 money, I am still at your service. 
 
 EGERTON. I thank you. No, I shall take the occasion of 
 my retirement from office to reduce my establishment. I have 
 calculated already, and provided for the expenditure I need, 
 up to the date I have specified, and I shall have no occasion to 
 touch the ^5000 that I still retain; rm; 
 
 "Your young friend, Mr. Leslie, ought to be very grateful to 
 you," said, the Baron, rising. "I have met him in the world 
 a lad of much promise and talent. You should try and get him 
 also into Parliament." 
 
 EGERTON (thoughtfully). You are a, good judge of the prac- 
 tical abilities and merits of men, as regards worldly success. Do 
 you really thir.k Randal Leslie calculated for public life for a 
 parliamentary career ? 
 
 The BARON. Indeed I do. 
 
 EGERTON (speaking more to himself than Levy). Parliament 
 without fortune 'tis a sharp trial ; still he is prudent, abstemi- 
 ous, energetic, persevering ; and at the onset, under my aus- 
 pices and advice he might establish a position beyond his years. 
 
 The BARON. It strikes me that we might possibly get him in to 
 the next Parliament ; or, as that is not likely to last long, at all events 
 into the Parliament to follow not for one of the boroughs which 
 will be swept away, but for a permanent seat, and without expense. 
 
 EGERTON. Ay and how ? 
 
 The BARON. Give me a few days to consider. An idea has 
 occurred to me. I will call again if I find it practicable. Good- 
 day to you, Egerton, and success to your election for Lansmere. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 
 
 PESCHIERA had not been so inactive as he had 'appeared to 
 Harley and the reader. On the contrary, he had prepared the 
 way for his ultimate design, with all the craft and the unscrup- 
 ulous resolution which belonged to his nature. His object was
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 183 
 
 to compel Riccabocca into assenting to the Count's marriage with 
 Violante, cr.failingthat, to rain all clianceof his kinsman's restora- 
 tion. Quietly: and secretly he had sought out, amongst the most 
 needy and unprincipled of his own countrymen, those whom he 
 could suborn to depose to Riccabocca's participation in plots and 
 conspiracies against the Austrian dominion. These his former 
 connections with the Carbonari enabled him to track to their 
 refuge in London; arid his knowledge of the characters he had to 
 deal with fitted him well for the villanous task he undertook. 
 
 He had, therefore, already selected out of these desperadoes 
 a sufficient number, either to serve as witnesses against his 
 kinsman, or to. aid him in any more audacious scheme which 
 circumstance might suggest to his adoption. Meanwhile he 
 had (as Harley hadsuspected he would) set spies upon Randal's 
 movements ; and the day before that young traitor confided to 
 him Violante's retreat, he had, at least, got scent of her father's. 
 
 The discovery that Violante was under a roof so honored, 
 and seemingly so safe, as Lord Lansmere's, .did not discourage 
 this bold and desperate adventurer. We have seen him set 
 forth to reconnoitre the house at Knightsbridge. He had exam- 
 ined it well, and discovered the quarter which he judged favor- 
 able to a coup de main^ should that become necessary. 
 
 Lord Lansmere's house and grounds were surrounded by a 
 wall, the entrance. being to the high-road, and by a porter's 
 lodge. At the rear there lay fields crossed by a lane or by-road. 
 To these fields a small door in the wall, which was used by the 
 gardeners in passing to and from their work, gave communica- 
 tion. This door was usually kept locked ; but the lock was of 
 the rude and simple description common to .such entrances, 
 and easily opened by a skeleton key. So far there was no ob- 
 stacle which Peschiera's experience in conspiracy and gallan- 
 try did not disdain as trivial. But the Count was not disposed 
 to i abrupt and violent .means in the first instance. He had a 
 confidence in his personal gifts, in his address, in his previous 
 triumphs over the sex, which made him naturally desire to haz- 
 ard the effect of a personal interview ; and on< this he resolved 
 with his wonted audacity. Randal's description of Violante's 
 personal appearance, and such suggestions as to her character, 
 and the motives most likely to influence her actions, as that 
 young lynx-eyed observer could bestow, were all that the Count 
 required of present aid from his accomplice. 
 
 Meanwhile we return to Violante herself. We see her now seat- 
 ed in the gardens of Knightsbridge, side by side with Helen, i The 
 place was retired, and out of sight from the windows of the; house.
 
 184 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 VIOLANTE. But why will you not tell me more of that early 
 time? You are less communicative even than Leonard. 
 
 HELEN (looking down, and hesitatingly). Indeed there is 
 nothing to tell you that you do not know; and it is so long since, 
 and things are so changed now. 
 
 The tone of the last words was mournful, and the words 
 ended with a sigh. 
 
 VIOLANTE (with enthusiasm). How I envy you that past 
 which you treat so lightly ! To have been something, even in 
 childhood, to the formation of a noble nature; to have borne 
 on those slight shoulders half the load of a man's great labor. 
 And now to see Genius moving calm in its clear career; and to 
 say only, " Of that genius I am a part ! " 
 
 HELEN (sadly and humbly). A part! Oh, no! I don't 
 understand you. 
 
 VIOLANTE. Take the child Beatrice from Dante's life, and 
 should we have a Dante? What is a poet's genius but the voice 
 of its emotions ? All things in life and in Nature influence genius; 
 but what influences it the most are its own sorrows and affections. 
 
 Helen looks softly into Violante's eloquent face, and draws 
 nearer to her in tender silence. 
 
 VIOLANTE (suddenly). Yes, Helen, yes I know by my own 
 heart how to read yours. Such memories are ineffaceable. Few 
 guess what strange self-weavers of our own destinies we women 
 are in our veriest childhood ! (she sunk her voice into a whisper.) 
 How could Leonard fail to be dear to you dear as you to him 
 dearer than all others? 
 
 HELEN (shrinking back, and greatly disturbed). Hush, hush ! 
 you must not speak to me thus; it is wicked I cannot bear it. 
 I would not have it be so it must not be it cannot ! 
 
 She clasped her hands over her eyes for a moment, and then 
 lifted her face, and the face was very sad, but very calm. 
 
 VIOL A NTE (twining her arm around Helen's waist). How have 
 I wounded you? how offended? Forgive me but why is this 
 wicked? Whymustitnctbe? Is it because he is belowyou in birth? 
 
 HELEN. No, no I never thought of that. And Avhat am I ? 
 Don't ask me I cannot answer. You are wrong, quite wrong, 
 as to me. I can only look on Leonard as as a brother. But 
 but you can speak to him more freely than I can. I would 
 not have him waste his heart on me, nor yet think me unkind 
 and distant as I seem. I know not what I say. But but- 
 break to him indirectly gently that duty in both forbids us 
 both to to be more than friends than 
 
 "Helen, Helen! " cried Violante, in her warm, generous passion,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 185 
 
 "your heart betrays you in every word you say. You weep; lean 
 on me, whisper to me; why why is this ? Do you fear that your 
 guardian would not consent? He not consent? He who " 
 
 HELEN. Cease cease cease. 
 
 VIOLANTE. What ! You can fear Harley Lord L'Estrange ? 
 Fie ! you do not know him. 
 
 HELEN (rising suddenly). Violante, hold; I am engaged to 
 another. 
 
 Violante rose also, and stood still, as if turned to stone; pale as 
 death, till the blood came, at first slowly, then with suddenness 
 from her heart,and one deep glow suffused herwhole countenance. 
 She caught Helen's hand firmly, and said, in a hollow voice 
 
 " Another ! Engaged to another ! One word, Helen not 
 to him not to Harley to " 
 
 " I cannot say I must not. I have promised," cried poor 
 Helen, and as Violante let fall her hand, she hurried away. 
 
 Violante sat down, mechanically; she felt as if stunned by a 
 mortal blow. She closed her eyes and breathed hard. A deadly 
 faintness seized her; and when it passed away, it seemed to her 
 as if she were no longer the same being, nor the world around 
 her the same world; as if she were but one sense of intense, 
 hopeless misery, and as if the universe were but one inanimate 
 void. So strangely immaterial are we really we human beings, 
 with flesh and blood that if you suddenly abstract from us but 
 a single, impalpable, airy thought, which our souls have cher- 
 ished, you seem to curdle the air, to extinguish the sun, to snap 
 every link that connects us to matter, and to benumb everything 
 into death, except woe. 
 
 And this warm, young, southern nature, but a moment before 
 was so full of joy and life, and vigorous lofty hope. It never 
 till now had known its own intensity and depth. The virgin 
 had never lifted the veil from her own soul of woman. What 
 till then had Harley L'Estrange been to Violante? An ideal 
 a dream of some imagined excellence a type of poetry in the" 
 midst of the common world. It had not been Harley the man 
 it had been Harley the Phantom. She had never said to her- 
 self, " He is identified with my love my hopes, my home, my 
 future." How could she ? Of such, he himselt had never spoken ; 
 an internal voice, indeed, had vaguely, yet irresistibly, whispered 
 to her that, despite his light v.-ords, his feelings toward her were 
 grave and deep. O false voice ! how it had deceived her ! Her 
 quick convictions seized the all that Helen had left unsaid. And 
 now suddenly she felt what it is to love, and what it is to despair. 
 So she sate, crushed and solitary, neither murmuring nor weep-
 
 I&6 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 ing, only now and then passing her hand across her brow, as 
 if to clear .away some cloud that would not be dispersed ; or 
 heaving a deep sigh, as if to throw off. some load that no time 
 henceforth could remove. There are certain moments in life in 
 which we say to ourselves, "All is over ; no matter what else 
 changes, that which I have made my all is gone evermore 
 evermore." And our own thought rings back in our ears, " Ever- 
 more evermore ! " 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 As Violante thus sate, a stranger, passing stealthily through the 
 trees, stood between herself and the evening sun. She saw him 
 not. He paused a moment, and then spoke low, in her. native 
 tongue, addressing her by the name which she had borne in 
 Italy. He spoke as a relation, and excused his intrusion: " For," 
 said he, " I come to suggest to the daughter the means by which 
 she can restore to her father his country and his honors." 
 
 At the word " father" Violante roused herself, and all her 
 love for that father rushed back upon her with double force. 
 It does so ever we love most our parents at the moment when 
 some tie less holy is abruptly broken; and when the conscience 
 says, " There, at least, is a love that has never deceived thee ! " 
 
 She saw before her a man of mild aspect and princely form. 
 Peschiera (for it was he) had banished from his dress, as from 
 his countenance, all that betrayed the worldly levity of his 
 character. He was acting a part, and he dressed and looked it. 
 
 " My father!" she said, quickly, and in Italian. "What of 
 him ? And who are you, Signor? I know you not." 
 
 Peschiera smiled benignly, and replied in a tone in which 
 great respect was softened by a kind of parental tenderness. 
 
 "Suffer me to explain, and listen to. me while I speak." 
 Then, quietly seating himself on the bench beside her, he 
 looked into her eyes, and resumed. 
 
 " Doubtless, you have heard of the. Count di. Peschiera?" 
 
 VIOLANTE. I heard that name, as a child, when in Italy. 
 And when she with whom I then dwelt (my father's aunt), fell 
 ill and died, I was told that my home in Italy was gone, that it 
 had passed to the Count di Peschiera my father's foe ! 
 
 PESCHIERA. And your father, since then, .has taught you to 
 hate this fancied foe ! 
 
 VIOLANTE. Nay; my father did but forbid me ever to breathe 
 his name. 
 
 PESCHIERA. Alas ! what years of suffering and exile might 
 have been save.d your father,, had he. but been more juat to -his.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 187 
 
 early friend and kinsman; nay, had he but less cruelly concealed 
 the secret of his retreat. Fair child, I am that Giulio Franzini, 
 that Count di Peschiera. I am the man you have been told to 
 regard as your father's foe. I am the man on whom the Austrian 
 Emperor bestowed his lands. And now judge if I am, in truth, 
 the foe. I have come hither to seek your father, in order to dis- 
 possess myself of my sovereign's gift. I have come but with one 
 desire, to restore Alphonso to his native land, and to surrender 
 the heritage that was forced upon me. 
 
 VIOL ANTE. My father, my dear father ! His grand heart will 
 have room once more. Oh ! this is noble enmity, true revenge. 
 I understand it, signer, and so will my father, for such would have 
 been his revenge on you. You have seen him ? 
 
 PESCHIERA. No, not yet. I would not see him till I had seen 
 yourself; for you,intruth,are the arbiter of his destinies asof mine! 
 
 VIOLANTE. I Count ? I arbiter of my father's destinies ? 
 Is it possible? 
 
 PESCHIERA (with a look of compassionate admiration, and in a 
 tone yet more emphatically parental). How lovely is that inno- 
 cent joy! but do not indulge it yet. Perhaps it is a sacrifice which 
 is asked from you a sacrifice too hard to bear. Do not interrupt 
 me. Listen still, and you will see why I could not speak to your 
 father until I had obtained an interview with yourself. See why 
 a word from you may continue still to banish me from hispre^ence. 
 You know, doubtless, that your father was one of the chiefs of a 
 party that sought to free Northern Italy from the Austrians. I 
 myself was at the onset a warm participator in that scheme. ' In a 
 sudden moment I discovered that some of its more active projec- 
 tors had coupled with a patriotic enterprise plots of a dark nature, 
 and that the conspiracy itself was about to be betrayed to the 
 government. I wished to consult with your father; but he was at 
 a distance. I learned that his life was condemned. Not an -hour 
 was to be lost. I took a bold resolve, that has exposed me to his 
 suspicions and to my country's wrath. But my main idea was to 
 save him, my early friend, from death, and my country from fruit- 
 less massacre. I withdrew from the intended revolt. I sought at 
 once the head of the Austrian Government in Italy, and made 
 terms for the lives of Alphonso, and of the other more illustrious 
 chiefs, which otherwise would have been forfeited. I obtained 
 permission to undertake myself the charge of securing my kins- 
 man in order to place him in safety, and to conduct him to a for- 
 eign land, in an exile that would cease when the danger was dis- 
 pelled. But unhappily he deemed that I only sought to destroy 
 him. He fled from my friendly pursuit. The soldiers with me
 
 l88 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 were attacked by an intermeddling Englishman; your father es- 
 caped from Italy concealing his retreat; and the character of 
 his flight counteracted my efforts to obtain his pardon. The 
 government conferred on me half his revenues, holding the 
 other half at its pleasure. I accepted the offer in order to save 
 his whole heritage from confiscation. That I. did not convey to 
 him what J pined to do-^viz., the information that I held but in 
 trust what was bestowed by the government, and the full expla- 
 nation of what seemed blameable in my conduct was necessarily 
 owing to the~ ; secrecy he maintained. I could not discover his 
 refuge; but I never ceased to plead for his recall. Thisyearonly 
 I have partially succeeded. He can be restored to his heritage 
 and rank, on one proviso a guarantee for his loyalty. That 
 guarantee the government has named; it is the alliance of his only 
 child with one whom the government can trust. It-was the interest 
 of all the Italian nobility, that the representation of a house so 
 great, falling to a female, should not pass away wholly from the 
 direct line; in a word, that you should ally yourself with a kins- 
 man. But one kinsman, and he the next in blood, presented him- 
 self. In short Alphonso regains all that he lost on the day in 
 which his daughter gives her hand. to Giulio Franzini, Count di 
 Peschiera. Ah, "continued the Count, mournfully, " you shrink, 
 you recoil. He thus submitted to your, choice is indeed unworthy 
 of you. You are scarce in the spring of life. He is in its waning 
 autumn. Youth loves youth. He does not aspire to your love. All 
 that he can say is, love is not the only joy of the heart it is joy to 
 raise from ruin a beloved father joy to restore to a land poor 
 in all but memories, a chief in whom it reverences aline of 
 heroes. These are the joys I offer to you you, a daughter, and 
 an Italian maid. Still silent ! Oh, speak to me ! " 
 
 Certainly this Count Peschiera knew well how woman is to be 
 wooed and won; and never was woman more sensitive to those 
 high appeals which most move all true earnest womanhood, than 
 was the young Violante. Fortune favored him in the moment 
 chosen. Harley was wrenched away from her hopes, and love a 
 word erased from her language. In the void of the world, her 
 father's image alone stood clear and visible. And she whoirom 
 infancy had so pined to serve that father; who at first learned to 
 dream of Harley as that father's friend! She could restore to him. 
 all for which the exile sighed ; and by a sacrifice of self ! Self-sacri- 
 fice, ever in itself such a temptation to the noble! Still, in the midst 
 of the confusion and disturbance of her mind, the idea of marriage 
 with another seemed so terrible and revolting, that she could not at 
 once conceive it; andstillthat instinctofopennessand honor which
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 189 
 
 pervaded all her character warned even her inexperience that 
 there was something wrong in this clandestine meeting to herself. 
 
 Again the Count besought her to speak, and with an effort 
 she said, irresolutely 
 
 " If it be as you say, it is not for me to answer you; it is for 
 my father." 
 
 *' Nay," replied Peschiera. " Pardon, if I contradict you. Do 
 you know so little of your father as to suppose that he will suffer 
 his interest to dictate t6 his pride?. He would refuse, perhaps, 
 even to receive my visitto hear my explanations; but certainly 
 he would refuse to buy back his inheritance by the sacrifice of his 
 daughter to one whom he has deemed his foe, and whom the mere 
 disparity of years would incline the world to say he had made the 
 barter of his personal ambition. But if I could go to him sanc- 
 tioned by you if I could say your daughter overlooks what the 
 father might deem an obstacle she has consented to accept my 
 hand of her own free choice she unites her happiness and blends 
 her prayers with mine then, indeed, I could not fail of success; 
 and Italy would pardon my errors, and bless your name. Ah! 
 Signorina, do not think of me, save as an instrument toward the 
 fulfilment of duties so high and sacred think but of your ances- 
 tors, your father, your native land, and reject not the proud 
 occasion to prove how you revere them all ! " 
 
 Violante's heart was touched at the right chord. Her head 
 rose the color came back to her pale cheek she turned the 
 glorious beauty of her countenance toward the wily tempter, 
 She was about to answer, and to seal her fate, when at that in- 
 stant Harley's voice was heard at a little distance, and Nero came 
 bounding toward her, and thrust himself, with rough familiarity, 
 between her and Peschiera. The Count drew back, and Violante, 
 whose eyes were still fixed on his face, started at the change 
 that passed there. One quick gleam of rage sufficed in an instant 
 to light up the sinister secrets of his nature it was the face of 
 a baffled gladiator. He had time but for few words. 
 
 "I must not be seen here," he muttered; "but to-morrow 
 in these gardens about this hour. I implore you for the sake 
 of your father his hopes, fortunes, his very life, to guard the 
 secret of this interview-r-to meet me again. Adieu ! " 
 
 He vanished amidst the trees^ and was gone noiselessly, 
 mysteriously, as he had come. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE last words of Peschiera were still ringing in Violante's 
 ears, when Harley appeared in sight, and the. sound of his voice
 
 I go MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 dispelled the vague and dreamy stupor which had crept over her 
 senses. At that voice there returned the consciousness of a mighty 
 loss, the sting of an intolerable anguish. To meet Harley there, 
 and thus, seemed impossible. She turned abruptly away, and hur- 
 ried toward the house. Harley called to her by name, but she 
 would not answer, and only quickened her steps. He paused a 
 moment in surprise, and then hastened after her. 
 
 "Under what strange taboo am I placed? "said he, gaily, as he 
 laid his hand on her shrinking arm. " I inquire for Helen she 
 is ill, and cannot see me. I come to sun myself in your presence, 
 and you fly me, as if gods and men had set their mark on my 
 brow. Child! child! what is this? You are weeping ?" 
 
 " Do not stay me now do not speak to me," answered Vio- 
 lante, through her stifling sobs, as she broke from his hand and 
 made toward the house. 
 
 " Have you a grief, and under the shelter of my father's roof ? 
 A grief that you will not tell to me ? Cruel ! " cried Harley, with 
 inexpressible tenderness of reproach in his soft tones. 
 
 Violante could not trustherself to reply. Ashamed of her self- 
 betrayal softened yet more by his pleading voice she could 
 have prayed to the earth to swallow her. At length, checking her 
 tears by an heroic effort, she said, almost calmly, "Noble friend, 
 forgive me. I have no grief, believe me, which which lean tell 
 to you. I was but thinking of my poor father when you came 
 up; alarming myself about him, it may be, with vain supersti- 
 tious fears; and so even a slight surprise your abrupt ap- 
 pearance, has sufficed to make me thus weak and foolish; but I 
 wish to see my father; to go home home !" 
 
 " Your father is well, believe me, and pleased that you are 
 here. No danger threatens him; and you, here, are safe." 
 
 " I safe and from what ? " 
 
 Harley mused irresolute. He inclined to confide to her the 
 danger which her father had concealed; but had he the right to 
 do so, against her father's will? - 
 
 " Give me," he said, " time to reflect, and to obtain permission 
 to intrust you with a secret which, in my judgment, you should 
 know. Meanwhile, this much I may say, that rather than you 
 should incur the danger that I believe he exaggerates, your 
 father would have given you a protector even in Randal 
 Leslie." 
 
 Violante started. 
 
 " But," resumed Harley, with a calm, in which a certain deep 
 mournfulness was apparent, unconsciously to himself "but I 
 trust you are reserved for a fairer fate, and a nobler spouse. I
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. IQt 
 
 have vowed to live henceforth in the common work-day world. 
 But for you, bright child, for you I am a dreamer still!" 
 
 Violante turned her eyes for one instant toward the melan- 
 choly speaker. The look thrilled to his heart. He bowed his 
 face involuntarily. When he looked up, she had left his side. 
 He did not this time attempt to follow her, but moved away and 
 plunged amidst the leafless trees. 
 
 An hour afterward he re-entered the house, and again sought 
 to see Helen. She had now recovered sufficiently to give him 
 the interview he requested. 
 
 He approached her with a grave and serious gentleness. 
 
 "My dear Helen," said he, "you have consented to be my 
 wife, my life's mild companion; let it be soon -soon for I need 
 you. I need all the strength of that holy tie. Helen, let me 
 press you to fix the time." 
 
 "I owe you too much," answered Helen, looking down, "to 
 have any will but yours. But your mother," she added, perhaps 
 clinging to the idea of some reprieve " your mother has not yet-" 
 
 "My mother true. I will speak first to her. You shall re- 
 ceive from my family all honor due to your gentle virtues. Helen, 
 by theway,haveyou mentioned to Violante thebond'between us?" 
 
 " No that is, I fear I may have unguardedly betrayed it, 
 against Lady Lansmere's commands too but but- " 
 
 " So Lady Lansmere forbade you to name it to Violante. This 
 should not be. I will answer for her permission to revoke that 
 interdict. It is due to Violante and to you. Tell your young 
 friend all. Ah, Helen, if I am at times cold or wayward, bear 
 with me bear with me; for you love me, do you not ? " 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THAT same evening Randal heard from Levy (at whose house 
 he stayed late) of that self-introduction to Violante which (thanks 
 to his skeleton-key) Peschiera had contrived to effect; and the 
 Count seemed more than sanguine he seemed assured as to the 
 full and speedy success of his matrimonial enterprise. " There- 
 fore," said Levy, "I trust I may very soon congratulate you on 
 the acquisition of your family estates." 
 
 " Strange! " answered Randal, " strange that my fortunes seem 
 so bound' up with the fate of a foreigner like Beatrice di Negra 
 and her connection with Frank Hazeldean." He looked up at 
 the clock as he spoke, and added 
 
 "Frank by this time has told his father of his engagement." 
 
 "AndyoufeelsurethattheSquirecannotbecoaxedintoconsent?"
 
 192 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 " No; but I feel sure that the Squire will be so choleric at the 
 first intelligence, that Frank will not have the self-control neces- 
 sary for coaxing; and, perhaps, before the Squire can relent upon 
 this point, he may by some accident learn his grievances on 
 another, which would exasperate him still more." 
 
 "Ay, I understand the post-obit?" 
 
 Randal nodded. 
 
 "And what then ?" asked Levy. 
 
 " The next of kin to the lands of Hazeldean may have his day." 
 
 The Baron smiled. 
 
 " You have good prospects in that direction, Leslie; look now 
 to another. I spoke to you of the borough of Lansmere. Your 
 patron, Audley Egerton, intends to stand for it." 
 
 Randal's heart had of late been so set upon other and more 
 avaricious schemes, that a seat in Parliament had sunk into a 
 secondary object; nevertheless his ambitious and all-grasping 
 nature felt a bitter pang, when he heard that Egerton thus inter- 
 posed between himself and any chance of advancement. 
 
 " So! " he muttered, sullenly " so. This man, who pretends 
 to be my benefactor, squanders away the wealth of my fore- 
 fathers throws me penniless on the world; and, while still en- 
 couraging me to exertion and public life, robs me himself of " 
 
 "No! " interrupted Levy "not robs you; we may prevent 
 that. The Lansmere interest is not so strong in the borough as 
 Dick Avenel's." 
 
 " But I cannot stand against Egerton." 
 
 " Assuredly not you may stand with him." 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 "Dick Avenel will never suffer Egerton to come in; and though 
 he cannot, perhaps, carry two of his own politics, he can split 
 his votes upon you." 
 
 Randal's eyes flashed. He saw at a glance, that if Avenel did not 
 overrate the relative strength of parties, his seat could be secured. 
 
 " But," he said, " Egerton has not spoken to me on such a sub- 
 ject; nor can you expect thafhe would propose to me to stand 
 with him, if he foresaw the chance of being ousted by the very 
 candidate he himself introduced." 
 
 "Neither he nor his party will anticipate that possibility. If 
 he ask you, agree to stand leave the rest to me." 
 
 "You must hate Egerton bitterly," said Randal; "for I am not 
 vainenough to think that you thusschemebutfrompure love tome." 
 
 " The motives of men are intricate and complicated," answered 
 Levy, with unusual seriousness. "It suffices to the wise t<? 
 profit by the actions, and leave the motives in shade."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. IQ3 
 
 There was silence for some minutes. Then the two drew closer 
 toward each other, and began to discuss details in their joint de- 
 signs. 
 
 Randal walked home slowly. It was a cold moonlit night. 
 Young idlers of his own years and rank passed him by, on their 
 way from the haunts of social pleasure. They were yet in the 
 first fair holiday of life. Life's holiday had gone from him for 
 ever. Graver men, in the various callings of masculine labor 
 professions, trade, the state passed him also. Their steps might 
 be sober, and their faces care-worn; but no step had the furtive 
 stealth of his no face the same contracted, sinister, suspicious 
 gloom. Only once, in a lonely thoroughfarej and on the oppo- 
 site side of the way, fell a footfall, and glanced an eye, that 
 seemed to betray a soul in sympathy with Randal Leslie's. 
 
 And Randal, who had heeded none of the other passengers 
 by the way, as if instinctively, took note of this one. His nerves 
 crisped at the noiseless slide of that form, as it stalked on from 
 lamp to lamp, keeping pace with his own. He felt a sort of awe, 
 as if he had beheld the wraith of himself; and ever as he glanced 
 suspiciously at the stranger, the stranger glanced at him. He 
 was inexpressibly relieved when the figure turned down another 
 street and vanished. 
 
 That man was a felon, as yet undetected. Between him and 
 his kind there stood but a thought a veil air-spun, but impas- 
 sable, as the veil of the Image at Saisr 
 
 And thus moved and thus looked Randal Leslie, a thing of 
 dark and secret mischief within the pale of the law, but equally 
 removed from man by the vague consciousness that at his heart 
 lay that which the eyes of man would abhor and loathe. Soli- 
 tary amidst the vast city, and on through the machinery of Civil- 
 ization, went the still spirit of Intellectual Evil. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 EARLY the nextmorning Randal received two notes one from 
 Frank, written in great agitation, begging Randal to see and pro- 
 pitiate his father, whom he feared he had grievously offended; 
 and then running off, rather incoherently, into protestations that 
 his honor as well as his affections were engaged irrevocably to 
 Beatrice, and that her, at least, he could never abandon. 
 
 And the second note was from the Squire himself short, and 
 far less cordial than usual requesting Mr. Leslie to call on him. 
 
 Randal dressed in haste, and went first to Limner's hotel. 
 
 He found the Parson with Mr. Hazeldean, and endeavoring
 
 194 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 in vain to soothe him. The Squire had not slept all night, and 
 his appearance was almost haggard. 
 
 "Oho ! Mr. young Leslie," said he, throwing himself back in 
 his chair as Randal entered "I thought you were a friend I 
 thought you were Frank's adviser. Explain, sir; explain." 
 
 "Gently, my dear Mr. Hazeldean," said the Parson. "You 
 do but surprise and alarm Mr. Leslie. Tell him more distinctly 
 what he has to explain." 
 
 SQUIRE. Did you, or did you not, tell me or Mrs. Hazeldean, 
 that Frank was in love with Violante Rickeybockey ? . 
 
 RANDAL (as in amaze). I ! Never, sir ; I feared, on the con- 
 trary, that he was somewhat enamoured of a very different person. 
 I hinted at that possibility ; I could not do more, for I did not 
 know how far Frank's affections were seriously engaged. And 
 indeed, sir, Mrs. Hazeldean, though not encouraging the idea 
 that your son could marry a foreigner and a Roman Catholic, 
 did not appear to consider such objections insuperable, if Frank's 
 happiness were really at stake. 
 
 Here the poor Squire gave way to a burst of passion, that in- 
 volved in one tempest Frank, Randal, Harry herself, and the 
 whole race, of foreigners, Roman Catholics, and women While 
 the Squire was still incapable of hearing reason, i he Parson, taking 
 aside Randal, convinced himself that the \vhule affair, so far as 
 Randal was concerned, had its origin in a very natural mistake ; 
 and that while that young gentleman had been hinting at Beatrice, 
 Mrs. Hazeldean had been thinking of Violante. With consider- 
 able difficulty he succeeded in conveying this explnnraion to the 
 Squire, and somewhat appeasing his wrath against Randal. And 
 the Dissimulator, seizing his occasion, then expressed so much 
 grief and astonishment at learning that matters had gone as far 
 as the Parson informed him that Frank had actually proposed 
 to Beatrice, been accepted, and engaged himself, before even com- 
 municating with his father ; he declared so earnestly, that he 
 could never conjecture such evil that he had had Frank'spositive 
 promise to take no step without the sanction of his parents ; he 
 professed such sympathy with the Squire's wounded feelings, and 
 such regret at Frank's involvement, that Mr. Hazeldean at last 
 yielded up his honest heart to his consoler and griping Ran- 
 d,al's hand, said, "Well, well, I wronged you beg your pardon. 
 What now is to be done?" 
 
 "Why, you cannot consent to this marriage impossible," 
 replied Randal; "and we must hope, therefore, to influence 
 Frank by his sense of duty." 
 
 "That's it," said the Squire; "for I'll not give way. Pretty pass
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 195 
 
 things have come to, indeed ! A widow, too, I hear. Artful jade 
 thought,no doubt, to catch a Hazeldean of Hazeldean. My estates 
 go to an outlandish Papistical set of mongrel brats! No.no, never!" 
 
 "But," said the Parson, mildly, "perhaps we may be unjustly 
 prejudiced against this lady. We should have consented to 
 Violante why not to her ? She is ot" good family ? " 
 
 "Certainly," said Randal. 
 
 "And good character?" 
 
 Randal shook his head, and sighed. The Squire caught him 
 roughly by the arm "Answer the Parson !" cried he, vehemently. 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I cannot speak disrespectfully of the character 
 of a woman, who may, too, become Frank's wife ; and the world is 
 ill-natured and not to be believed. But you can j udge for yourself, 
 my dear Mr. Hazeldean. Ask your brother whether .Madame 
 di Negrais one whom he would advise his nephew to marry." 
 
 " My brother ! ". exclaimed the Squire, furiously. " Consult 
 my distant brother on the affairs of my own son?" 
 
 " He is a man of the world," put in Randal. 
 
 "And of feeling and honor," said the Parson; "and perhaps, 
 through him, we may be enabled to enlighten Frank, and.save him 
 from what appears to be the snare of an artful woman." 
 
 " Meanwhile," said Randal, "I will seek Frank, and do my best 
 with him. Let me go now I will return in an hour or so." 
 
 "I will accompany you," said the Parson. 
 
 " Nay, pardon me ; but I think we two young men can talk 
 more openly without a third person, even so wise and kind asyou." 
 
 "Let Randal go," growled the Squire. And Randal went. 
 
 He spent some time with Frank, and the reader will easily 
 divine how that time was employed. As he left Frank's lodg- 
 ings, he found himself suddenly seized by the Squire himself. 
 
 " I was too impatient to stay at home and listen to the Par- 
 son's prosing," said Mr. Hazeldean, nervously. " I have shaken 
 Dale off. Tell me what has passed. Oh ! don't fear I'm a 
 man, and can bear the worst." 
 
 Randal drew the Squire's arm within his, and led him into 
 the adjacent park. 
 
 "My dear sir," said he sorrowfully, "this is very confidential 
 what I am about to say. I must repeat it to you, because, with- 
 out such confidence, I see not how to advise you on the proper 
 course to take. But if I betray Frank, it is for his good, and to 
 his own father ; only do not tell him. He would never forgive 
 me it would forever destroy my influence over him." 
 
 "Go on, go on," gasped the Squire ; "speak out. I'll never 
 tell the ungrateful boy that I learned his secrets from another.'"
 
 196 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "Then," said Randal, "the secret Of his entanglement with 
 Madame di Negra is simply this he found her in debt nay, 
 on the point of being arrested " 
 
 " Debt ! arrested ! Jezabel ! " 
 
 "And in paying the debt himself, and saving her from arrest, 
 he conferred on her the obligation which no woman of honor 
 could accept save from an affianced husband. Foor Frank ! 
 if sadly taken in, still we must pity and forgive him ! " 
 
 Suddenly, to Randal's great surprise, the Squire's whole face 
 brightened up. 
 
 " I see, I see ! " he exclaimed, slapping his thigh. " I have 
 it I have it. 'Tis an affair of money ! I can buy her off. If 
 she took money from him, the mercenary, painted baggage ! 
 why, then, she'll take it from me. I don't care what it costs 
 half my fortune all ! I'd be content never to see Hazeldean 
 Hall again, if I could save my son, my own son, from disgrace 
 and misery ; for miserable he will be, when he knows he has 
 broken my heart and his mother's. And for a creature like that ! 
 My boy, a thousand hearty thanks to you. Where does the 
 wench live ? I'll go to her at once." And, as he spoke, the 
 Squire actually pulled out his pocket-book, and began turning 
 over and counting the bank-notes in it. 
 
 Randal at first tried to combat this bold resolution on the part 
 of the Squire ; but Mr. Hazeldean had seized on it with all the 
 obstinacy of his straightforward English mind. He cut Randal's 
 persuasive eloquence off in the midst. 
 
 " Don't waste your breath. I've settled it ; and if you don't 
 tell me where she lives, 'tis easily found out, I suppose." 
 
 Randal mused a moment. "After 'all," thought he, "why 
 not? He will be sure so to speak as to enlist her pride against 
 himself, and to irritate Frank to the utmost. Let him go." 
 
 Accordingly he gave the information required ; and, insisting 
 with great earnestness on the Squire's promise not to mention to 
 Madame di Negra his knowledge of Frank's pecuniary aid (for 
 that would betray Randal as the informant) ; and satisfying him- 
 self as he best might with the Squire's prompt assurance, "that 
 he knew how to settle matters, without saying why or wherefore, 
 as long as he opened his purse wide enough," he accompanied Mr. 
 Hazeldean back into the streets, and left him fixing an hour 
 in the evening for an interview at Limner's, and hinting that it 
 would be best to have that interview without the presence of the 
 Parson. " Excellent, good man," said Randal, "but not with 
 sufficient knowledge of the world for affairs of this kind, which 
 you understand so well."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 107 
 
 " I should think so," quoth the Squire, who had recovered his 
 good-humor. "And the Parson is as soft as buttermilk. We 
 must be firm here firm, sir." And the Squire struck the end 
 of his stick on the pavement, nodded to Randal, and went on to 
 May Fair as sturdily and as confidently as if to purchase a prize- 
 cow at a cattle-show. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "BRING the light nearer," said John Burley "nearer still." 
 
 Leonard obeyed, and placed the candle on a little table by 
 the sick man's bedside. 
 
 Burley's mind was partially wandering ; but there was method 
 in his madness. Horace Walpole said that "his stomach would 
 survive all the rest of him." That which in Burley survived 
 the last was his quaint wild genius. He looked wistfully at the 
 still flame of the candle ; " It lives ever in the air ! " said he. 
 
 "What lives ever?" 
 
 Burley's voice swelled " Light ! " He turned from Leonard, 
 and again contemplated the little flame. " In the fixed star, in 
 the will-o-the-wisp, in the great sun that illumes half a world, 
 or the farthing rushlight by which the ragged student strains his 
 eyes still the same flower of the elements ! Light in the uni- 
 verse, thought in the soul ay ay Go on with the simile. My 
 head swims. Extinguish the light ! You cannot ; fool, it van- 
 ishes from your eye, but it is still in the space. Worlds must 
 perish, suns shrivel up, matter and spirit both fall into nothing- 
 ness, before the combinations whose union makes that little flame, 
 which the breath of a babe can restore to darkness, shall lose the 
 power to form themselves into light once more. Lose the power! 
 no, the necessity : it is the one Must in creation. Ay, ay, very 
 dark riddles grow clear now now when I could not cast up an 
 addition sum in the baker's bill ! What wise man denied that 
 two and two make four ! Do they not make four? I can't 
 answer him. But I could answer a question that some wise men 
 have contrived to make much knottier." He smiled softly, and 
 turned his face for some minutes to the wall. 
 
 This was the second night on which Leonard had watched 
 by his bedside,and Burley's state had grown rapidly worse. He 
 could not last many days, perhaps many hours. But he had 
 evinced an emotion beyond mere delight at seeing Leonard again. 
 He had since then been calmer, more himself. " I feared I might 
 have ruined you by my bad example," he said, with a touch of 
 humor that became pathos as he added, "that idea preyed on me." 
 
 "No, no; you did me great good."
 
 Jf)S MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 ''Say that say it often," said Burley, earnestly ; "it makes 
 my heart feel so light." 
 
 He had listened to Leonard's story with deep interest, and was 
 fond of talking to him of little Helen. He detected the secret 
 at the young man's heart, and cheered the hopes that lay there, 
 amidst fears and sorrows. Burley never talked seriously of his 
 repentance ; it was not in his nature to talk seriously of the things 
 which he feltsolemnly. But his high animal spirits werequenched 
 with the animal power that fed them. Now, we go out of' our 
 sensual existence only when we are no longer enthralled by the 
 Present, in which the senses have their realm. The sensual 
 being vanishes when we are in the Past or Future. The Present 
 was gone from Burley ; he could no more be its slave and its king. 
 
 It was most touching to see how the inner character of this 
 man unfolded itself, as the leaves of the outer character fell off 
 and withered a, character no one would have guessed in him 
 an inherent refinement that was almost womanly; and he had all a 
 woman's abnegation of self. He took the cares lavished on him 
 so meekly. As the features of the old man return in the stillness 
 of death to the aspect of youth the lines. effaced, the wrinkles 
 gone so, in seeing Burley now, you saw what he had been in 
 his spring of promise. But he himself saw only what he had 
 failed to be powers squandered life wasted. " I once beheld," 
 he said, "a ship in a storm. It was a cloudy, fitful day, and I 
 could see the ship with all its masts fighting hard for life and 
 for death. Then came night, dark as pitch, and I could only 
 guess that the ship fought on. Toward the dawn the stars grew 
 visible, and once more I saw the ship it was a wreck it 
 went down just as the stars shone forth." 
 
 When he had made that allusion to himself, he sat very still for 
 some time, then he spread out his wasted hands, and gazed on them, 
 and on his shrunken limbs. "Good," said he, laughing low; "these 
 hands were too large and rude for handling the delicate webs of my 
 own mechanism, and these strong limbs ran away with me. If I 
 had been asickly, puny fellow, perhaps my mind would have had 
 fair play. There was too much of the brute body here ! Look at 
 this hand now ! you can see the light through it ! Good, good ! " 
 
 Now, that evening, until he had retired to bed, Burley had 
 been unusually cheerful, and had talked with much of his old 
 eloquence, if with little of his old humor. Amongst other matters, 
 he had spoken with considerable interest of some poems and 
 other papers in manuscript which had been left in. the house by 
 a former lodger, and which the reader may remember that Mrs. 
 Goodyer had urged him in vain to read, in his last trip to her
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 199 
 
 cottage. But then he had her husband Jacob to chat with and 
 the spirit-bottle to finish, and the wild craving for excitement 
 plucked his thoughts back to his London revels. Now poor 
 Jacob was dead, and it was not brandy that the sick man drank 
 from the widow's cruse. And London lay far amidst its' fogs, 
 like a world resolved back into nebulae. So to please his hostess 
 and distract his thoughts, he had condescended (just before 
 Leonard found him out) to peruse the memorials of a life ob- 
 scure to the world, and new to his own experience of coarse 
 joys and woes. " I have been making a romance, to amuse my- 
 self, from their contents," said he. " They may be of use to you, 
 brother author. I have told Mrs. Goodyer to place them in your 
 room. Amongst. those papers is a sort of journal a woman's 
 journal; it moved me greatly. A man gets into another world, 
 strange to him as the orb of Sirius, if he can transport himself 
 into the centre of a woman's heart, and see the life there, so 
 wholly unlike our own. Things of moment to us, to it so 
 trivial ; things trifling to us, to it so vast. There was this journal 
 in its dates reminding me of stormy events in my own exist- 
 ence, and grand doings in the world's. And those dates there, 
 chronicling but the mysterious unrevealed record of some ob- 
 scure loving heart! And in that chronicle, O Sir Poet, there was 
 as much genius, vigor of thought, vitality of being, poured and 
 wasted, as ever kind friend Will say was lavished on the rude 
 outer world by big John Burley! Genius, genius ; are we all 
 alike, then, save when we leash ourselves to some matter-of-fact 
 material, and float over the roaring seas on a wooden plank or 
 a herring- tub ?" And after he had uttered that cry of a secret 
 anguish, John Burley had begun to show symptoms of growing 
 fever and disturbed brain; and when they had got him into bed, 
 he lay there muttering to himself/until, toward midnight, he had 
 asked Leonard to bring the light nearer to him. 
 
 So now he again was quiet with his face turned toward the 
 wall; and Leonard stood by the bedside sorrowfully, and Mrs. 
 Goodyer, who did not heed Burley's talk, and thought only of 
 his physical state, was dipping cloths into iced water to apply to 
 his forehead. But as she approached with these, and addressed 
 him soothingly, Burley raised himself on his arm, and waved 
 aside the bandages. "I do not need them," said he, in a collected 
 voice. M I am better now. I and that pleasant light understand 
 one another, and I believe all it tells me. Pooh, pooh, I do not 
 rave." He looked so smilingly and so kindly into her face, that 
 the poor woman, who loved him as her own son, fairly burst into 
 tears. He drew her toward him, and kissed her forehead.
 
 200 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Peace, old fool," said he, fondly. " You shall tell anglers 
 hereafter how John Burley came to fish for the one-eyed perch 
 which he never caught; and how, when he gave it up at last, his 
 baits all gone, and the line broken amongst the weeds, you com- 
 forted the baffled man. There are many good fellows yet in the 
 world who will like to know that poor Burley did not die on a 
 dunghill. Kiss me ! Come, boy, you too. Now, God bless you, 
 I should like to sleep." His cheeks were wet with the tears of 
 both his listeners, and there was a moisture in his own eyes, 
 which, nevertheless, beamed bright through the moisture. 
 
 He laid himself down again, and the old woman would have 
 withdrawn the light. He moved uneasily. " Not that," he mur- 
 mured "light to the last!" And putting forth his wan hand, 
 he drew aside the curtain, so that the light might fall full on 
 his face. In a few minutes he was asleep, breathing calmly and 
 regularly as an infant. 
 
 The old woman wiped her eyes, and drew Leonard softly into 
 the adjoining room, in which a bed had been made up for him. 
 He had not left the house since he had entered it with Dr. 
 Morgan. "You are young, sir," said she with kindness, "and the 
 young want sleep. Lie down a bit; I will call you when he wakes." 
 
 " No, I could not sleep," said Leonard. "I will watch for you." 
 
 The old woman shook her head. "I must see the last of him, 
 sir; but I know he will be angry when his eyes open on me, for 
 he has grown very thoughtful of others." 
 
 "Ah, if he had but been as thoughtful of himself!" murmured 
 Leonard; and he seated himself by the table, on which, as he 
 leaned his elbow, he dislodged some papers placed there. They 
 fell to the ground with a dumb, moaning, sighing sound. 
 
 "What is that?" said he, starting. 
 
 The old woman picked up the manuscripts and smoothed them 
 carefully. 
 
 "Ah, sir, he bade rne place these papers here. He thought 
 they might keep you from fretting about him, in case you would 
 sit" up and wake. And he had a thought of me, too ; for I have 
 so pined to find out the poor young lady who left them years 
 ago. She was almost as dear to me as he is; dearer perhaps until 
 now when when I am about to lose him!" 
 
 Leonard turned from the papers, without a glance at their 
 contents; they had no interest for him at such a moment. 
 
 The hostess went on- 
 
 "Perhaps she is gone to heaven before him: she did not look 
 like one long for this world. She left us so suddenly. Many 
 things of hers besides these papers are still here ; but I keep
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 2OI 
 
 them aired and dusted, and strew lavender over them, in case she 
 ever come for them again. You never heard tell of her, did you, 
 sir?" she added, with great simplieity,and dropping a half-curtsey. 
 
 "Of her of whom?" 
 
 "Did not Mr. John tell you her name- dear dear ; Mrs. 
 Bertram." 
 
 Leonard started; the very name so impressed upon his memory 
 by Harley L'Estrange. 
 
 "Bertram!" he repeated. "Are you sure?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, sir! And many years after she had left us, and we 
 had heard no more of her, there came a packet addressed to her 
 here, from over sea, sir. We took it in, and kept it, and John 
 would break the seal, to know if it would tell us anything about 
 her; but it was all in a foreign language like we could notread 
 a word." 
 
 "Have you the packet? Pray show it to me. It may be of the 
 greatest value. To-morrow will do I cannot think of that just 
 now. Poor Burley ! " 
 
 Leonard's manner indicated that he wished to'talk no more, 
 and to be alone. So Mrs. Goodyer left him, and stole back to 
 Burley's room on tiptoe. 
 
 The young man remained in deep reverie for some moments. 
 "Light," he murmured. "How often 'Light' is the last word of 
 those round whom the shades are gathering!"* He moved, 
 and straight on his view through the cottage lattice there 
 streamed light, indeed not the miserable ray lit by a human 
 hand but the still and holy effulgence of a moonlit heaven. It 
 lay broad upon the humble floors pierced across the threshold 
 of the death-chamber, and halted clear amidst its shadows. 
 
 , Leonard stood motionless, his eye following the silvery silent 
 splendor. 
 
 " And," he said inly " and does this large erring nature, 
 marred by its genial faults this soul which should have filled 
 the land, as yon orb the room, with a light that linked earth to 
 heaven d,oes it pass away into the dark, and leave not a ray 
 behind? Nay, if the elements of light are ever in the space, and 
 when -the. flame goes ; .out return to the vital air so thought, 
 once kindled, lives for ever round and about us, a part of our 
 
 * Every one remembers that Goethe's last words are said to have been " More light "; 
 and perhaps what has occurred in the text may be supposed a plagiarism from those words. 
 But, in fact nothing is more common than the craving arid demand for light a little before 
 death. Let any consult his own sad experience in the last moments of those whose gradual 
 close he has watched and tended. What more frequent than a prayer to open the shutters 
 and let in the sun ? What complaint more repeated, and more touching, than "that it is 
 growing dark " ? I once knew a sufferer who did not then seem in immediate danger, sud- 
 denly order the sick-room to be lit up as if for a gala. When this was told to the physkiao, 
 he said gravely, " No worse sign. "
 
 202 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 breathing atmosphere. Many a thinker, many a poet, may yet 
 illumine the world, from the thoughts which yon genius, that 
 will have no name, gave forth to wander through air, and 
 recombine again in some new form of light." 
 
 Thus he went on in vague speculations, seeking, as youth en- 
 amoured of fame seeks too fondly, to prove that mind never 
 works, however erratically, in vain and to retain yet, as an in- 
 fluence upon earth, the soul about to soar far beyond the atmos- 
 phere where the elements that make fame abide. Not thus had 
 the dying man interpreted the endurance of light and thought. 
 
 Suddenly, in the midst of his reverie, a loud cry broke on his 
 ear. He shuddered as he heard, and hastened forebodingly into 
 the adjoining room. The old woman was kneeling by the bed- 
 side, and chafing Burley's hand eagerly looking into his face. 
 A glance sufficed to Leonard. All was over. Burley had died 
 in sleep calmly, and without a groan. 
 
 The eyes were half-open, with that look of inexpressive soft- 
 ness which death sometimes leaves ; and still they were toward 
 the light ; and the light burned clear. Leonard closed tenderly 
 the heavy lids ; and, as he covered the face, the lips smiled a se- 
 rene farewell. 
 
 ' 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 WE have seen Squire Hazeldean (proud of the contents of his 
 pocket-book, and his knowledge of the mercenary nature of for- 
 eign women) set off on his visit to Beatrice di Negra. Randal 
 thus left, musing lone in the crowded streets, revolved with as- 
 tute complacency the probable results of Mr. Hazeldean's bluff 
 negotiation; and, convincing himself that' one of his vistas to- 
 ward Fortune was becoming more clear and clear, he turned, 
 with the restless activity of some founder of destined cities in a 
 new settlement, to lop the boughs that cumbered and obscured 
 the others. For truly, like a man in a vast Columbian forest, open- 
 ing entangled space, now with the ready axe, now with the patient 
 train that kindles the slower fire, this child of civilized life went 
 toiling on against surrounding obstacles, resolute to destroy, but 
 ever scheming to construct. And now Randal has reached Levy's 
 dainty business-room, and is buried deep in discussion how to 
 secure to himself,at the expense of his patron, the representation of 
 Lansmere, and how to complete the contract which shall re-annex 
 to his forlorn inheritance some fragments of its ancient wealth. 
 
 Meanwhile, Chance fought on his side in the boudoir of May 
 Fair. The Squire had found the Marchesa at home, briefly in- 
 trcnluccd himself and his business, told her she was mistaken
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 if she had fancied she had taken in a rich heir in his son, that, 
 thank Heaven, he could leave his estates to his ploughman, should 
 he so please, but that he was willing to do things liberally ; and 
 whatever she thought Frank was worth, he was ready to pay for. 
 
 At another time Beatrice would perhaps have laughed at this 
 strange address ; or she might, in some prouder moment, have 
 fired up with all a patrician's resentment, and a woman's pride ; 
 but now her spirit was crushed, her nerves shattered ; the sense 
 of her degraded position, of her dependence on her brother, com- 
 bined with her supreme unhappiness at the'loss of those dreams 
 with which Leonard had for a while charmed her wearied, wak- 
 ing life all came upon her. She listened, pale and speechless ; 
 and the poor Squire thought he was quietly advancing toward a 
 favorable result, when she suddenly burst into a passion of hys- 
 terical tears ; and just at that moment Frank himself entered the 
 room. At the sight of his father, of Beatrice's grief,his sense of filial 
 duty gave way. He was maddened by irritation by the insult of- 
 fered to the woman he loved, which a few trembling words from her 
 explained tohim ; maddened yet more by thefear that the insult had 
 lost her to him warm words ensued between son and father, to 
 closewiththeperemptory command and vehement threat of thelast. 
 
 " Come away this instant, sir ! Come with me, or before the 
 day is over I strike you out of my will ! " 
 
 The son's answer was not to his father ; he threw himself at 
 Beatrice's feet. 
 
 " Forgive him forgive us both " 
 
 "What ! you prefer that stranger to me to the inheritance of 
 Hazeldean ! " cried the Squire, stamping his foot. 
 
 "Leave your estates to whom you will ; all that I care for in 
 life is here ! " 
 
 The Squire stood still a moment or so, gazing on his son, with 
 a strange bewildered marvel at the strength of that mystic pas- 
 sion, which none not laboring under its fearful charm can com- 
 prehend, which creates the sudden idol that no reason justi- 
 fies, and sacrifices to its fatal shrine alike the Past and the Fu- 
 ture. Not trusting himself to speak, the father drew his hand 
 across his eyes, and dashed away the bitter tear that sprang from 
 a swelling indignant heart ; then he uttered an inarticulate sound, 
 and. finding his voice gone, moved away to the door, and left 
 the house. 
 
 He walked through the streets, bearing his head very erect, as 
 a proud man does when deeply wounded, and striving to shake 
 off some affection that he deems a weakness ; and his trembling, 
 nervous fingers fumbled at the button of his coat, trying to
 
 204 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 tighten the garment across his chest, as if to confirm a resolu- 
 tion that still sought to struggle out of the revolting heart. 
 
 Thus he went on, and the reader, perhaps, will wonder whither, 
 and the wonder may not lessen when he finds the Squire come 
 to a dead pause in Grosvenor Square, and at the portico of his 
 "distant brother's" stately house. 
 
 At the Squire's brief inquiry whether Mr. Egerton was at home, 
 the porter summoned the groom of the chambers ; and the groom 
 of the chambers, seeing a stranger, doubted whether his master 
 was not engaged, but would take in the stranger's card and see. 
 
 "Ay, ay," muttered the Squire, "this is true relationship! 
 my child prefers a stranger to me ; why should I complain that 
 I am a stranger in my brother's house? Sir," added the Squire, 
 aloud, and very meekly " sir, please to say to your master that 
 I am William Hazeldean." 
 
 The servant bowed low, and without another word conducted 
 the visitor into the statesman's library, and announcing Mr. Ha- 
 zeldean, closed the door. 
 
 Audley' was seated at his desk, the grim iron boxes still at his 
 feet, but they were now closed and locked. And the ex-minis- 
 ter was no longer looking over official documents ; letters spread 
 open before him of far different nature ; in his hand there lay a 
 long lock of fair silken hair, on which his eyes were fixed sadly 
 and intently. He started at the sound of his visitor's name, and 
 the tread of the Squire's stalwart footstep ; and mechanically 
 thrust into his bosom the relic of younger and warmer years, 
 keeping his hand to his heart, which beat loud with disease un- 
 der the light pressure of thai golden hair. 
 
 The two brothers stood on the great man's lonely hearth, fac- 
 ing each other in silence, and noting unconsciously the change 
 made in each during the long years in which they had never met. 
 
 The Squire, with his portly size, his hardy sun-burnt cheeks, 
 the partial baldness of his unfurrowed, open forehead, looked 
 his full age deep into middle life. Unmistakably he seemed 
 the paterfamilias the husband and the father the man of social 
 domestic ties. But about Audley (really some few years junior to 
 the Squire), despite the lines of care on his handsome face, there 
 still lingered the grace of youth. Men of cities retain youth longer 
 than those of the country a remark which Buffon has not failed 
 to make and account for. Neither did Egerton betray the air of 
 the married man; for ineffable solitariness seemed stamped upon 
 one whose private life had long been so stern a solitude. No ray 
 from the focus of Home played round that reserved, unjoyous, 
 melancholy brow. In a word, Audley looked still the man for
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 205 
 
 whom some young female heart might fondly sigh ; and not the 
 less because of the cold eye and compressed lip, which chal- 
 lenged interest even while seeming to repel it. 
 
 Audley was the first to speak, and to put forth the right hand, 
 which he stole slowly from its place at his breast, on which the 
 lock of hair still stirred to and fro at the heave of the laboring 
 heart. " William," said he, with his rich deep voice, " this is kind. 
 You are come to see me, now that men say I am fallen. The 
 minister you censured is no more; and you see again the brother." 
 
 The Squire was softened at once by this address. He shook 
 heartily the hand tendered to him ; and, then, turning away his 
 head, with an honest conviction that Audley ascribed to him a 
 credit which he did not deserve, he said, " No, no, Audley ; I am 
 more selfish than you think me. I have come I have come to 
 ask your advice no, not exactly that your opinion. But you 
 are busy? " 
 
 "Sit down, William. Old days were coming over me when 
 you entered ; days earlier still return now days, too, that leave 
 no shadow when their suns are set." 
 
 The proud man seemed to think he had said too much. His 
 practical nature rebuked the poetic sentiment and phrase. He 
 recollected himself, and added, more coldly, " You would ask 
 my opinion? What on? Some public matter some parliamen- 
 tary bill that may affect your property?" 
 
 "Am I such a mean miser as that? Property property? What 
 does property matter, when a man is struck down at his own hearth? 
 Property, indeed! But you have no child happy brother !" 
 
 "Ay, ay ; as you say, I am a happy man ; childless ! Has your 
 son displeased you? I have heard him well spoken of, too." 
 
 " Don't talk of him. Whether his conduct be good or ill, is 
 my affair," resumed the poor father with a testy voice jealous 
 alike of Audley's praise or blame of his- rebellious son. Then 
 he rose a moment, and made a strong gulp, as if for air ; and lay- 
 ing his broad brown hand on his brother's shoulder, said 
 "Randal Leslie tells me you are wise a consummate-man of 
 the world. No doubt you are so. And Parson Dale tells me that 
 he is sure you have warm feelings which I take to be a strange 
 thing for one who has lived so long in London, and has no wife 
 and no child a widower, and a Member of Parliament for a 
 commercial city, too. Never smile ; it is no smiling matter with 
 me. You know a foreign woman, called Negra, or Negro not 
 a blackymoor though, by any means at least on the outside of 
 her. Is she such a woman as a plain country gentleman 
 like his son to marry ay or no ? "
 
 2o6 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 " No, indeed," answered Audley, gravely; "and" I trust your 
 son will commit no action so rash. Shall I see him or her ? 
 Speak, my dear William. What would you have me do?" 
 
 "Nothing; you have said enough," replied the Squire, gloom 
 ily; and his head sank on his breast. 
 
 Audley took his hand and pressed it fraternally. " William," 
 said the statesman, " we have been long estranged; but I do not 
 forget that when we last met, at at Lord Lansmere's house, and 
 when I took you aside, and said, 'William, if I lose this elec- 
 tion, I must resign all chance of public life; my affairs are em- 
 barrassed I would not accept money from you I would seek 
 a profession, and you can help me there,' you divined my mean- 
 ing, and said 'Take orders; the Hazeldean living is just va- 
 cant. I will get some one to hold it till you are ordained.' I 
 do not forget that. Would that I had thought earlier of so se- 
 rene an escape from all that then tormented me. My lot might 
 have been far happier." 
 
 The Squire eyed Audley with a surprise that broke forth from 
 his more absorbing emotions. " Happier ! Why all things have 
 prospered with you; and you are rich enough now; and you 
 shake your head. Brother, is it possible ! do you want money? 
 Pooh, not accept money from your mother's son ! stuff." Out 
 came the Squire's pocket-book. Audley put it gently aside. 
 
 "Nay," said he, "I have enough for myself; but since you 
 seek and speak with me thus affectionately, I will ask you one 
 favor. Should I die before I can provide for my wife's kins- 
 man, Randal Leslie, as I could wish, will you see to his fortunes, 
 so far as you can, without injury lo others to your own son? " 
 
 " My son ! He is provided for. He has the Casino estate 
 much good may it do him. You have touched on the very matter 
 that brought me here. This boy, Randal Leslie, seems a praise- 
 worthy lad, and has Hazeldean blood in his veins. You have 
 taken him up because he is connected with your late wife. Why 
 should I not take him up, too, when his grandmother was a 
 Hazeldean ? My main object in calling was to ask what you 
 mean to do for him; for if you do not mean to provide for him, 
 why, I will, as in duty bound. So your request comes at the 
 right time; I think of altering my will. I can put him into the 
 entail, besides a handsome legacy. You are sure he is a good 
 lad and it will please you too, Audley I" 
 
 " But not at the experise of your son. And stay, William u 
 as to this foolish marriage with Madame di Negra who told 
 you Frank meant to take such a step?" 
 
 "He told me himself; but it is no matter. Randal and I both
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 207 
 
 did all we could to dissuade him ; and Randal advised me to 
 come to you." 
 
 " He has acted generously, then, our kinsman Randal I am 
 glad to hear it," said Audley, his brow somewhat clearing. " I 
 have no influence with this lady ; but, at least, I can counsel 
 her. Do not consider the marriage fixed because a young man 
 desires it. Youth is ever hot and rash." 
 
 " Your youth never was," retorted the Squire, bluntly. "You 
 married well enough, I am sure. Lwill say one thing for you : 
 you have been, to my taste, a bad politician beg pardon but 
 you were always a gentleman. You would never have disgraced 
 your family and married a " 
 
 " Hush ! " interrupted Egerton, gently. " Do not make matters 
 worse than they are. Madame di Negra is of high birth in her 
 own country; and if scandal " 
 
 "Scandal!" cried the Squire, shrinking and turning pale. 
 " Are you speaking of the wife of a Hazeldean ? At least she 
 shall never sit by the hearth at which now sits his mother; and 
 whatever I may do for Frank, her children shall not succeed. 
 No mongrel cross-breed shall kennel in English Hazeldean. 
 Much obliged to you, Audley, for your .good feelings glad to 
 have seen you ; and hark ye, you startled me by that shake of 
 your head, when you spoke of your wealth ; and, from what you 
 say about Randal's prospects, I guess that you London gentle- 
 men are not so thrifty as we are. You shall let me speak. I 
 say again, that I have some thousands quite at your service. And 
 though you are not a Hazeldean, still you are my mother's son; 
 and now that I am about to alter my will, I can as well scratch 
 in the name of Egerton as that of Leslie. Cheer up, cheer up; 
 you are younger than I am, and you have no child ; so you will 
 live longer than I shall." 
 
 " My dear brother," answered Audley, "believe me, I shall 
 never live to want your aid. And as to Leslie, add to the ^5000 
 I mean to give him, an equal sum in your will, and I shall feel 
 that he has received justice." 
 
 Observing that the Squire, though he listened attentively, 
 made no ready answer, Audley turned the subject again to Frank; 
 and with the adroitness of a man of the world, backed by a cor- 
 dial sympathy in his brother's distress, he pleaded so well Frank's 
 lame cause, urged so gently the wisdom of patience and delay, 
 and the appeal to filial feeling rather than recourse to paternal 
 threats, that the Squire grew mollified in spite of himself, and 
 left his brother's house a much less angry, and less doleful man. 
 
 Mr. Hazeldean was still in the square, when he came upon
 
 208 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Randal himself, who was walking with a dark -whiskered, showy 
 gentleman, toward Egerton's house. Randal and the gentle- 
 man exchanged a hasty whisper, and the former then exclaimed 
 
 "What, Mr. Hazeldean, have you just left your brother's house? 
 Is it possible?" 
 
 "Why, you advised me to go there, and I did. I scarcely 
 knew what I was about. I am very glad I did go. Hang poli- 
 tics ! hang the landed interest ! what do I care for either now?" 
 
 " Foiled with Madame di Negra ? " asked Randal, drawing 
 the Squire aside. 
 
 " Never speak of her again ! " cried the Squire, fiercely. "And 
 as to that ungrateful boy but I don't mean to behave harshly 
 to him; he shall have money enough to keep her if he likes 
 keep her from coming to me keep him, too, from counting on 
 my death, and borrowing post-obits on the Casino for he'll be 
 doing that next no, I hope I wrong him there; I have been too 
 good a father for him to count on my death already. After all," 
 continued the Squire, beginning to relax, " as Audley says, the 
 marriage is not yet made ; and if the woman has taken him in, 
 he is young, and his heart is warm. Make yourself easy, my boy. 
 I don't forget how kindly you took his part ; a-nd before I do 
 anything rash, I'll at least consult with his poor mother." 
 
 Randal gnawed his pale lip, and a momentary cloud of disap- 
 pointment passed over his face. 
 
 " True, sir," said he gently; "true, you must not be rash. In- 
 deed, I was thinking of you and poor dear Frank at the very mo- 
 ment I met you. It occurred to me whether we might not make 
 Frank's very embarrassments a reason to induce Madame di 
 Negra to refuse him ; and I was on my way to Mr. Egerton, in 
 order to ask his opinion, in company with the gentleman yonder." 
 
 "Gentleman yonder! Why should he thrust his long nose 
 into my family affairs? Who the devil is he?" 
 
 "Don't ask, sir. Pray let me act." 
 
 But the Squire continued to eye askant the dark-whiskered 
 personage thus interposed between himself and his son, and who 
 waited patiently a few yards in the rear, carelessly re-adjusting 
 the camellia in his buttonhole. 
 
 "He looks very outlandish. Is he a foreigner too?" asked 
 the Squire at last. 
 
 " No, not exactly. However, he knows all about Frank's em- 
 barrassments ; and " 
 
 " Embarrassments ! What, the debt he paid for that woman? 
 How did he raise the money?" 
 
 "I don't know," answered Randal, "and that is the reason I
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 2OQ 
 
 asked Baron Levy to accompany me to Egerton's, that he might 
 explain in private what I have no reason " 
 
 "Baron Levy!" interrupted the Squire. "Levy, Levy I 
 have heard of a Levy who has nearly ruined my neighbor Thorn- 
 hill a money-lender. Zounds ! is that the man who knows my 
 son's affairs ! I'll soon learn, sir." 
 
 Randal caught hold of the Squire's arm. " Stop, stop; if you 
 really insist upon learning more about Frank's debts, you must 
 not appeal to Baron Levy directly, and as Frank's father ; he 
 will not answer you. But if I present you to him as a mere ac- 
 quaintance of mine, and turn the conversation, as if carelessly, 
 upon Frank why, since, in the London world, such matters are 
 never kept secret, except from the parents of young men I have 
 no doubt he will talk out openly." 
 
 " Manage it as you will," said the Squire. 
 
 Randal took Mr. Hazeldean's arm, and joined Levy "A 
 friend of mine from the country, Baron." Levy bowed profound- 
 ly, and the three walked slowly on. ' r 
 
 " By the bye," said Randal, pressing significantly upon Levy's 
 arm, "my friend has come to town upon the somewhat unpleasant 
 business of settlihgthe debts of another ayoung man of fashion 
 a relation of his own. No one, sir (turning to the Squire), could 
 so ably assist you in such arrangements as could Baron Levy." 
 
 BARON (modestly, and with a moralizing air). I have some 
 experience in such matters, and I hold it a duty to assist the 
 parents and relations of young men, who, from want of reflec- 
 tion, often ruin themselves for life. I hope the young gentleman 
 in question is not in the hands of the Jews ? 
 
 RANDAL. Christians are as fond of good interest for their 
 money as ever the Jews can be. 
 
 BARON. Granted, but they have not always so much money 
 to lend. The first thing, sir (addressing the Squire) the first 
 thing for you to do is to buy up such of your relation's bills and 
 notes of hand as may be in the market. No doubt we can get 
 them a bargain, unless the young man is heir to some property 
 that may soon be his in the course of nature. 
 
 RANDAL. Not soon Heaven forbid! His father is still a 
 young man a fine healthy man (leaning heavily on Levy's 
 arm); and as to the post-obits 
 
 BARON. Post-obits on sound security cost more to buy up, 
 however healthy the obstructing relative may be. 
 
 RANDAL. I should hope that there are not many sons who 
 can calculate, in cold blood, on the death of their fathers. 
 
 BARON. Ha, ha he is young, our friend Randal; eh, sir?
 
 210 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 RANDAL. Well, I am not more scrupulous than others, I dare 
 say ; and I have often been pinched hard for money, but I 
 would go barefoot rather than give security upon a father's 
 grave ! I can imagine nothing more likely to destroy natural 
 feeling, nor to instil ingratitude and treachery into the whole 
 character, than to press the hand of a parent, and calculate 
 when that hand may be dust than to sit down with strangers 
 and reduce his life to the measure of an insurance table than 
 to feel difficulties gathering round one, and mutter in fashion- 
 able slang, " But it will be well if the governor would but die." 
 And he who has accustomed himself to- the relief of post-obits 
 must gradually harden, his mind to all this. 
 
 The Squire groaned heavily ; and had Randal proceeded 
 another sentence in the same strain, the Squire would have wept 
 outright. " But," continued Randal, altering the tone of his 
 voi-ce, "I think that our young friend, of whom we were talking 
 just now, Levy, before this gentleman joined us, has the same 
 opinions as myself on this head. He may accept bills, but he 
 would never sign post-obits." 
 
 BARON (who with the apt docility of a managed charger to 
 the touch of a rider's hand, had comprehended and complied 
 with each quick sign of Randal's). Pooh the young fellow we 
 are talking of ? Nonsense. He would not be so foolish as to give 
 five times the percentage he otherwise might. Not sign post- 
 obits ! Of course he has signed one r - VJ.I.R 
 
 RANDAL. Hist you mistake, you mistake. 
 
 SQUIRE (leaving Randal's arm and seizing Levy's). Were 
 you speaking of Frank Hazeldean ?;srf jrfi ri 
 
 BARON. My dear sir, excuse me ; I never mention names 
 before strangers. 
 
 SQUIRE. Strangers again ! Man, I am the boy's father ! 
 Speak out, sir; and his hand closed on Levy's arm with the 
 strength of an iron vise. ob ol ; 
 
 BARON. Gently ; you hurt me, sir ; but I excuse your feel- 
 ings. Randal, you are to blamq for leading me into this indis- 
 cretion ; but I beg to assure Mr. Hazeldean, that though his son 
 has been a little extravagant 
 
 RANDAL. Owing chiefly to the arts of an abandoned woman. 
 
 BARON. Of an abandoned woman ; still he has shown more 
 prudence than you would suppose ; and this very post-obit is a 
 proof of it. A simple act of that kind has enabled him to pay off bills 
 that were running on till they would have ruined even the Hazel- 
 dean estate ; whereas a charge on the reversion of the Casino 
 
 SQUIRE, He has done it then ? He has signed a post-obit ?
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 211 
 
 RANDAL No, no, Levy must be wrong. 
 
 BARON. My dear Leslie, a man of Mr. Hazeldean's time of 
 life cannot have your romantic boyish notions. He must allow 
 that Frank has acted in this like a lad of sense very good head 
 for business has my young friend Frank ! And the best thing 
 Mr. Hazeldean can do is quietly to buy up the post-obit, and 
 thus he will place his son henceforth in his power. 
 
 SQUIRE. Can I see the deed with my own eyes ? 
 
 BARON. Certainly, or how could you be induced to buy it up. 
 But on one condition: you must not betray me to your son. And, 
 indeed, take my advice, and don't say a word to him on the matter. 
 
 SQUIRE. Let me see it, let me see it with my own eyes. His 
 mother else will never believe it nor will I. 
 
 BARON.- I can call on you this evening. 
 
 SQUIRE. Now, now. 
 
 BARON. You can spare me, Randal ; and you yourself can 
 open to Mr. Egerton the other affair respecting Lansmere. No 
 time should be lost, lest L'Estrange suggest a candidate. 
 
 RANDAL (whispering). Never mind me. This is more im- 
 portant. (Aloud.) Go with Mr. Hazeldean. My dear kind friend 
 (to the Squire), do not let this vex you so much. After all, it 
 is what nine young men out of ten would do in the same cir- 
 cumstances. And it is best you should know it; you may save 
 Frank from farther ruin, and prevent, perhaps, this very marriage. 
 
 "We will see," exclaimed the Squire, hastily. "Now, Mr. 
 Levy, come." 
 
 Levy and the Squire walked on, not arm in arm, but side by 
 side. Randal proceeded to Egerton's house. 
 
 "I am glad to see you, Leslie," said the ex-minister. "What 
 is it I have heard ? My nephew, Frank Hazeldean, proposes to 
 marry Madame di Negra against his father's consent? How 
 could you suffer him to entertain an idea so wild ? And how 
 never confide it to me?" 
 
 RANDAL. My dear Mr. Egerton, it is only to-day that I was 
 informed of Frank's engagement. I have already seen him, and 
 expostulated in vain ; till then, though I knew your nephew 
 admired Madame di Negra, I could never suppose he har- 
 bored a serious intention. 
 
 EGERTON. I must believe you, Randal. I will myself see 
 Madame di Negra, though I have no power, and no right, to 
 dictate to her. I have but little time for all such private busi- 
 ness. The dissolution of Parliament is so close at hand. 
 
 RANDAL (looking down). It is on that subject that I wished 
 to speak .to you, sir. You think of standing for Lansmere.
 
 212 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Well, Baron Levy has suggested to me an idea that I could not, 
 of course, even countenance, till I had spoken to you. It seems 
 that he has some acquaintance with the state of parties in that 
 borough. He is informed that it is not only as easy to bring in 
 two of our side, as to carry one, but that it would make your 
 election still more safe not to fight single-handed against two 
 opponents ; that if, canvassing for yourself alone, you could not 
 carry a sufficient number of plumper votes ; that split votes 
 would go from you to one or other of the adversaries; that, in a 
 word, it is necessary to pair you with a colleague. If it really 
 be so, you, of course, will learn best from your own committee; 
 but should they concur in the opinion Baron Levy has formed 
 do I presume too much on your kindness to deem it possible 
 that you might allow me to be the second candidate on your side ? 
 I should not say this, but that Levy told me you had some wish to 
 see me in Parliament, amongst the supporters of your policy. 
 And what other opportunity can occur ? Here the cost of car- 
 rying two would be scarcely more than that of carrying one. 
 And Levy says, the party would subscribe for my election ; 
 you, of course, would refuse all such aid for your own ; and, 
 indeed, with your great name, and Lord Lansmere's interest, 
 there can be little beyond the strict legal expenses. 
 
 As Ra'ndal spoke thus at length^ he watched anxiously his 
 patron's reserved, unrevealing countenance. 
 
 EGERTON (dryly). I will consider. You may safely leave 
 in my hands any matter connected with your ambition and 
 advancement. I have before told you I hold it a duty to do 
 all in my power for the kinsman of my late wife for one whose 
 career I undertook to forward for one whom honor has com- 
 pelled to share in my own political reverses. 
 
 Here Egerton rang the bell for his hat and gloves, and walk- 
 ing into the hall, paused at the street-door. There beckoning 
 to Randal, he said slowly, "You seem intimate with Baron 
 Levy ; I caution you against him a dangerous acquaintance, 
 first to the purse, next to the honor." 
 
 RANDAL. I know it, sir ; and am. surprised myself at the 
 acquaintance that has grown up between us. Perhaps its cause 
 is in his respect for yourself. 
 
 EGERTON. Tut. 
 
 RANDAL. Whatever it be, he contrives to obtain a singular 
 hold over one's mind, even where, as in my case, he has no 
 evident interest to serve. How is this? It puzzles me ! 
 
 EGERTON. For his interest, it is most secured where he suf- 
 fers it to be least evident ; for his hold over the mind, it is
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 213 
 
 easily accounted for. He ever appeals to two temptations, strong 
 with all men Avarice and Ambition. Good-day. 
 
 RANDAL. Are you going to Madame di Negra's ? Shall I 
 not accompany you ? Perhaps I may be able to back your own 
 remonstrances. 
 
 EGERTON. No, I shall not require you. 
 
 RANDAL. I trust I shall hear the result of your interview ? 
 I feel so much interested in it. Poor Frank! 
 
 Audley nodded. " Of course, of course." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ON entering the drawing-room of Madame di Negra, the 
 peculiar charm which the severe Audley Egerton had been ever 
 reputed to possess with women, would have sensibly struck one 
 who had hitherto seen him chiefly in his relations with men in 
 the business-like affairs of life. It was a charm in strong con- 
 trast to the ordinary manners of those who are emphatically 
 called " Ladies' men." No artificial smile, no conventional 
 hollow blandness, no frivolous gossip, no varnish either of 
 ungenial gaiety or affected grace. The charm was in a sim- 
 plicity that unbent more into kindness than it did with men. 
 Audley's nature, whatever its faults and defects, was essentially 
 masculine ; and it was the sense of masculine power that gave 
 to his voice-a music when addressing the gentler sex, and to his 
 manner a sort of indulgent tenderness that appeared equally 
 void of insincerity and presumption. 
 
 Frank had been gone about half an hour, and Madame di Negra 
 was scarcely recovered from the agitation into which she had been 
 thrown by the affront from the father and the pleading of the son. 
 
 Egerton took her passive hand cordially, and seated himself 
 by her side. 
 
 "My dear Marchesa," said he, "are we then likely to be near 
 connections? And can you seriously contemplate marriage with 
 my young nephew, Frank Hazeldean ? You turn away. Ay, my 
 fair friend, there are but two inducements to a free woman to 
 sign away her liberty at the altar. I say a free woman, for widows 
 are free, and girls are not. These inducements are, first, worldly 
 position ; secondly, love. Which of these motives can urge 
 Madame di Negra to marry Mr. Frank Hazeldean?" 
 
 " There are other motives than those you speak of the need 
 of protection the sense of solitude the curse of dependence 
 gratitude for honorable affection. But you men never know 
 
 women
 
 2 14 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " I grant that you are right there we never do ; neither do 
 women ever know men. And yet each sex contrives to dupe 
 and to fool the other ! Listen to me. I have little acquain- 
 tance with my nephew, but I allow he is a handsome young 
 gentleman, with whom a handsome young lady in her teens 
 might fall in love in a ball-room. But you, who have known 
 the' higher order of our species you who have received the 
 homage of men, whose thoughts and mind leave the small-talk 
 of drawing-room triflers so 'poor and bald you cannot look me 
 in the face and say that it is any passion resembling love which 
 you feel for my nephew. And as to position, it is right that I 
 should inform you if he marry you he will have none. He 
 may risk his inheritance. You will receive no countenance from 
 his parents. You will be poor, but not free. You will not gain 
 the independence you seek for. The sight of a vacant, discon- 
 tented face in that opposite chair will be worse than solitude. 
 And as to grateful affection," added the man of the world, "it 
 is a polite synonym for tranquil indifference." 
 
 "Mr. Egerton," said Beatrice, "people say you are made of 
 bronze. Did you ever feel the want of a home? " 
 
 "I answer you frankly," replied the statesman; "if I had not 
 felt it, do you think I should have been, and that I should be to 
 the last, the joyless drudge of public life? Bronze though you 
 may call my nature, it would have melted away long since like wax 
 in the fire, if I had sat idly down and dreamed of a home! " 
 
 "But we women;" answered Beatrice, with pathos, "have no 
 public life, and we do idly sit down and dream. Oh," she con- 
 tinued after a short pause, and clasping her hands firmly to- 
 gether," you think me worldly, grasping, ambitious; how different 
 myfatehad been, had I known a home! known one whom I could 
 love and venerate known one whose smiles would have devel- 
 oped the good that was once within me, and the fear of whose 
 rebuking or sorrowful eye would have corrected what is evil." 
 
 "Yet," answered Audley, "nearly all women in the great 
 world have had that choice once in their lives, and nearly all 
 have thrown it away. How few of your rank really think of 
 home when they marry how few ask to venerate as well as to 
 loveand how many, of every rank, when the home has been 
 really gained, have wilfully lost its shelter ; some in neglectful 
 weariness some from a momentary doubt, distrust, caprice 
 a wild fancy a passionate fit a trifle a straw a dream ! 
 True, you women are ever dreamers. Common sense, common 
 earth, is above or below your comprehension." 
 
 Both now are silent. Audley first roused himself with a quick,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 215 
 
 writhing movement. " We two," said he, smiling half sadly, 
 half cynically " we two must no longer waste time in talking 
 sentiment. We know both too well what life, as it has been 
 made for us by our faults or our misfortunes, truly is. And once 
 again, I entreat you to pause before you yield to the foolish suit 
 of my foolish nephew. Rely on it, you will either command a 
 higher offer for your prudence to accept ; or, if you needs must 
 sacrifice rank and fortune, you, with your beauty and your ro- 
 mantic heart, will see one who, at least for a fair holiday season 
 (if human love allows no more), can repay you for the sacri- 
 fice. Frank Hazeldean never can." 
 
 Beatrice turned away to conceal the tears that rushed to her eyes. 
 
 "Think over this well," said Audley, in the softest tones of 
 his mellow voice. " Do you remember that when you first came 
 to England, I told you that neither wedlock nor love had any 
 lures for me ? We grew friends upon that rude avowal ; and 
 therefore I now speak to you like some sage of old, wise be- 
 cause standing apart and aloof from all the affections and ties 
 that might mislead our wisdom. Nothing but real love (how 
 rare it is ! has one human heart in a million ever known it ?) 
 nothing but real love can repay us for the loss of freedom the 
 cares and fears of poverty the cold pity of the world that we both 
 despise and respect. And all these, and much more, follow the 
 step you would inconsiderately take an imprudent marriage!" 
 - "Audley Egerton," said Beatrice, lifting her dark, moistened 
 eyes, "you grant that real love does compensate for an impru- 
 dent marriage. You speak as if you had known such love you! 
 Can it be possible?" 
 
 " Real love I thought that I knew it once. Looking back with 
 remorse, I should doubt it now but for one curse, that only real 
 love, when lost, has the power to leave evermore behind it." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " A void here," answered Egerton, striking his heart. " Deso- 
 lation ! Adieu !" 
 
 He rose and left the room. 
 
 " Is it?" murmured Egerton, as he pursued his way through 
 the streets "is it that, as we approach death, all the first fair 
 feelings of young life come back to us mysteriously ? Thus I have 
 heard, or read, that in some country of old, children scattering 
 flowers preceded a funeral bier." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 AND so Leonard -stood beside his friend's mortal clay, and 
 watched, in the ineffable smile of death, the last gleam which
 
 2l6 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 the soul had left there ; and so, after a time, he crept back to 
 the adjoining room with a step as noiseless as if he had feared 
 to disturb the dead. Wearied as he was with watching, he had 
 no thought of sleep. He sat himself down by the little table, 
 and leaned his face on his hand, musing sorrowfully. Thus 
 time passed. He heard the clock from below strike the hours. 
 In the house of death the sound of a clock becomes so solemn. 
 The- soul that we miss has gone so far beyond the reach of 
 time ! A cold, superstitious awe gradually stole over the young 
 man. He shivered, and lifted his eyes with a start, half-scorn- 
 ful, half-defying. The moon was gone the gray comfortless 
 dawn gleamed through the casement, and carried its raw, chill- 
 ing light through the open doorway into the death-room. And 
 there, near the extinguished fire, Leonard saw the solitary 
 woman, weeping low, and watching still. He returned to say a 
 word of comfort she pressed his hand, but waved him away. 
 He understood. She did not wish for other comfort than her 
 quiet relief of tears. Again, he returned to his own chamber, 
 and his eye this time fell upon the papers which he had hitherto 
 disregarded. What made his heart stand still, and the blood 
 then rush so quickly through his veins? Why did he seize upon 
 those papers with so tremulous a hand then lay them down 
 pause, as if to nerve himself and look so eagerly again ? He 
 recognized the . handwriting those fair, clear characters so 
 peculiar in their woman-like delicacy and grace the same as 
 in the wild, pathetic poems, the sight of which had made an 
 era in his boyhood. From these pages the image of the myste- 
 rious Nora rose once more before him. He felt that he was 
 with a mother. He went back, and closed the door gently, as 
 if with a jealous piety, to exclude each ruder shadow from the 
 world of spirits, and be alone with that mournful ghost. For a 
 thought written in warm, sunny life, and then suddenly rising 
 up to: us, when the .hand that traced, and the heart that cher- 
 ished it, are dust is verily as a ghost. It is a likeness struck 
 off of the fond human being, and surviving it. Far more truth- 
 ful than bust or portrait, it bids us see the tear flow, and the 
 pulse beat. What ghost can the church-yard yield to us like 
 the writing of the dead ? 
 
 The bulk of the papers had been once lightly sewn to each 
 other they had come undone, perhaps in Burley's rude hands; 
 but their order was easily apparent. Leonard soon saw that 
 they formed a kind of journal not, indeed, a regular diary, nor 
 always relating to the things of the day. There were gaps in 
 time no attempt at successive narrative. Sometimes, instead
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 217 
 
 of prose, a hasty burst of verse, gushing evidently from the heart 
 sometimes all narrative was left untold, and yet, as it were, epi- 
 tomized by a single burning line a single exclamation of woe 
 or joy! Everywhere you saw records of a nature exquisitely 
 susceptible; and, where genius appeared, it was so artless, that 
 you did not call it genius, but emotion. At the onset the writer 
 did not speak of herself in the first person. The MS. opened 
 with descriptions and short dialogues, carried on by persons, to 
 whose names only initial letters were assigned, all written in a 
 style of simple innocent freshness, and breathing of purity and 
 happiness, like a dawn of spring. Two young persons, humbly 
 born a youth and a girl the last still in childhood, each chiefly 
 self-taught, are wandering on Sabbath evenings among green 
 dewy fields near the busy town, in which labor awhile is still. 
 Few words pass between them. You see at once, though the 
 writer does not mean to convey it, how far beyond the scope of 
 her male companion flies the heavenward imagination of the 
 girl. It is he who questions it is she who answers; and soon 
 there steals upon you, as you read, the conviction that the youth 
 loves the girl, and loves in vain. All in this writing, though 
 terse, is so truthful! Leonard, in the youth, already recognizes 
 the rude imperfect scholar the village bard Mark Fairfield. 
 Then, there is a gap in description but thereare short weighty 
 sentences, which show deepening thought, increasing years, in 
 the writer. And though the innocence remains, the happiness 
 begins to be less vivid on the page. 
 
 Now, insensibly, Leonard finds that there is a new phase in 
 the writer's existence. Scenes, no longer of humble work-day 
 rural life, surround her; and a fairer and more dazzling image 
 succeeds to the companion of the Sabbath eves. This image 
 Nora evidently loves to paint it is akin to her own genius- it 
 captivates her fancy it is an image that she (inborn artist, and 
 conscious of her art) feels to belong to a brighter and higher 
 school of the Beautiful. And yet the virgin's heart is not awak- 
 enedno trace of the heart yet there! The new image thus in- 
 troduced is one of her own years, perhaps; nay, it may be younger 
 still, for it is a boy that is described, with his profuse fair curls, 
 and eyes new to grief, and confronting the sun as a young eagle's; 
 with veins so full of the wine of life, that they overflow into every 
 joyous whim; with nerves quivering, alive to the desire of glory; 
 with the frank, generous nature, rash in its laughing scorn of 
 the world, which it has not tried. Who was this boy, it perplexed 
 Leonard; he feared to guess. Soon, less told than implied, you 
 saw that this companionship, however it chanced, brings fear
 
 2l8 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 and pain oh the writer. Again, as before, with Mark Fairfield, 
 there is love on the one side and not on the other with her there 
 is affectionate, almost sisterly, interest, admiration, gratitude 
 but a something of pride or of terror that keeps back love. 
 
 Here Leonard's interest grew intense. There were touches by 
 which conjecture grew certainty; and he recognized, through the 
 lapse of years, the boy-lover in his own generous benefactor! 
 
 Fragments of dialogue now began to reveal the suit of an ar- 
 dent, impassioned nature, and the simple wonder and strange 
 alarm of a listener who pitied, but could not sympathize. Some 
 great worldly distinction of rank between the two became visi- 
 ble that distinction seemed to arm the virtue and steel the affec- 
 tions of the lowlier born. Then a few sentences, half -blotted out 
 with tears, told of wounded and humbled feelings some one in- 
 vested with authority, as if the suitor's parent, had interfered,ques- 
 tioned, reproached, counselled. And it was evident that the suit 
 was not one that dishonored, itwooed to flight,but still tomarriage. 
 
 And now these sentences grew briefer still, as with the deci- 
 sion of a strong resolve. And to these there followed a passage 
 so exquisite, that Leonard wept unconsciously as he read.. It was 
 the description of a visit spent at home previous to some sorrow- 
 ful departure. He caught the glimpse of a proud and vain, but a 
 tender wistful mother of a father's fond but less thoughtful love. 
 And then came a quiet soothing scene between the girl and her 
 first village lover, ending thus " So she put M.'s hand into hei 
 sister's, and said: 'Youlovedmethroughthefancy,loveherwith the 
 heart,' and left them comprehending each other, and betrothed." 
 
 Leonard sighed. He understood now how Mark Fairfield saw, 
 in the homely features of his unlettered wife, the reflection of 
 the sister's soul and face. 
 
 A few words told the final parting words that were a picture. 
 The long friendless highway, stretching on on toward the re- 
 morseless city. And the doors of borne opening on the desolate 
 thoroughfare and the old pollard tree beside the threshold, with 
 the ravens wheeling round it and calling to their young. He too 
 had watched that threshold from the same desolate thoroughfare. 
 He too had heard the cry of the ravens. Then came some pages 
 covered with snatches of melancholy verse, or some reflections 
 of dreamy gloom. 
 
 The writer was in London, in the house of some high-born 
 patroness that friendless shadow of. a friend which the jargon 
 of society calls " companion." And she was looking on the 
 bright storm of the world as through prison bars. Poor bird, 
 afar from the greenwood, she had need of song it was her las*
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 2 19 
 
 link with freedom and nature. The patroness seems to share in 
 hen apprehensions of the boy suitor, whose wild rash prayers the 
 fugitive had resisted ; but to fear lest the suitor should be de- 
 graded, not the one whom he pursues fear an alliance ill-suited 
 to a high-born heir. And this' kind of fear stings the writer's 
 pride, and she grows harsh in her judgment of him who thus 
 causes but pain where he proffers love. Then there is a refer- 
 ence to some applicant for her hand, who is pressed upon her 
 choice. And she is told that it is her duty so to!choose, and thus 
 deliver a noble family from a dread that endures so long as her 
 hand is free. And of this fear, and of this applicant, there breaks 
 out a petulant yet .pathetic scorn. After this the 'narrative, to 
 judge by the dates, pauses for days and weeks, as if the writer 
 had grown weary and listless suddenly to re-open in a new strain, 
 eloquent with hopes and with fears never known before. The first 
 person was abruptly assumed- it was the living "I " that now 
 breathed and moved along the lines. How was this ? The woman 
 was no more a shadow and a secret unknown to herself; she had 
 assumed the intense and vivid sense of individual being ; and 
 love spoke, loud in the awakened human heart. 
 
 A personage not seen till then appeared on the page. And ever 
 afterward this personage was only, named as "He" as if the one 
 and sole representative of all the myriads that walk the earth. 
 The first notice of this prominent character on the scene showed 
 the restless agitated effect produced on the writer's imagination. 
 He was invested with a romance probably not his own. He 
 was described in contrast to the brilliant boy whose suit she had 
 feared, pitied, andnow sought to shun descrfbedwithagraveand 
 serious, but gentle mien a voice that imposed respect -an eye 
 and lip that showed collected dignity of will. Alas! the writer 
 betrayed herself, and the charm was in the contrast, not to the 
 character of the earlier lover, but her own. And now, leaving 
 Leonard to explore and guess his way through the gaps and chasms 
 of the narrative, it is time to place before the reader what the nar- 
 rative alone will not reveal to Leonard. 
 
 . 
 
 : 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 NORA AVENEL had fled from the boyish love of Harley L'Es- 
 trange recommended by Lady Lansmere to a valetudinarian 
 relative of her own, Lady Jane Horton, as a companion. But 
 Lady Lansmere could not believe it possible that the low-born 
 girl could long sustain her generous pride, and reject the ardent 
 suit of one who could offer to her the prospective coronet of a
 
 220 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 countess. She continually urged upon Lady Jane the necessity 
 of marrying Nora to some one of rank less disproportioned to 
 her own, and empowered that lady to assure any such wooer of 
 a dowry far beyond Nora's station. Lady Jane looked around, 
 and saw, in the outskirts of her limited socialring, a young solici- 
 tor, a peer's natural, son, who was on terms of more than business- 
 like intimacy with the fashionable clients whose distresses made 
 the origin of his wealth. The young man was handsome, well- 
 dressed, and bland. Lady Jane invited him to her house; and, 
 seeing him struck with the rare loveliness of Nora, whispered 
 the hint of the dower. The fashionable solicitor, who afterward 
 ripened into Baron Levy, did not need that hint; for, though 
 then poor, he relied on himself for fortune, and unlike Randal, 
 he had warm blood in his veins. But Lady Jane's suggestions 
 made him sanguine of success; and when he formally proposed, 
 and was as formally refused, his self-love was bitterly wounded. 
 Vanity in Levy was a powerful passion; and with the vain, hatred 
 is strong, revenge is rankling. Levy retired, concealing his rage; 
 nor did he himself know how vindictive that rage, when it cooled 
 into malignancy, could become, until the arch-fiend OPPORTU- 
 NITY prompted its indulgence and suggested its design. 
 
 Lady Jane was at first very angry with Nora for the rejection 
 of a suitor whom she had presented as eligible. But the pathetic 
 grace of this wonderful girl had crept into her heart, and softened 
 it even against family prejudice; and she gradually owned to her- 
 self that Nora was worthy of some one better than Mr. Levy. 
 
 Now, Harley had ever believed that Nora returned his love, 
 and that nothing but her own sense of gratitude to his parents- 
 her own instincts of delicacy, made her deaf to his prayers.' 
 To do him justice, wild and headstrong as he then was, his suit 
 would have ceased at once, had he really deemed it persecution. 
 Nor was his error unnatural; for his conversation, till it had re- 
 vealed his own heart, could not fail to have dazzled and delighted 
 the child of genius; and her frank eyes would have shown the 
 delight. How, at his age, could he see the distinction between 
 the Poetess and the Woman ? The poetess was charmed with 
 rare promise in a soul of which the very errors were the extrav- 
 agances of richness and beauty. But the woman no! the 
 woman required some nature not yet developed, and all at tur- 
 bulent, if brilliant, strife with, its own noble elements, but a 
 nature formed and full-grown. Harley was a boy, and Nora 
 was one of those women who must find or fancy an Ideal that 
 commands and almost awes them into love. 
 Harley discovered, not without difficulty, Nora's new resi-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 221 
 
 dence. He presented himself at Lady Jane's, and she, with grave 
 rebuke, forbade him the house. He found 'it impossible to ob- 
 tain an interview with Nora.', He wrote, but he felt sure that 
 his letters never reached her, since they were unanswered. His 
 young heart swelled with rage. He dropped threats, which 
 alarmed all the fears of Lady Lansmerej and even the prudent 
 apprehensions of his friend, Audley Egerton. .At the request 
 of the mother, and equally at the wish of the son, Audley con- 
 sented to visit at Lady Jane's and make acquaintance with Nora. 
 
 " I have such confidence in you," said Lady Lansmere, "that 
 if you once know the girl, your advice will be sure to have 
 weight with her. You will show her how wicked it would be 
 to let Harley break our hearts and degrade his station." 
 
 "I have such confidence in you," said young Harley, "that if 
 you once know my Nora, you will no longer side with my mother. 
 You will recognize the nobility which nature only can create 
 you will own that Nora is worthy a rank more lofty than mine; 
 and my mother so believes in your wisdom, that, if you plead 
 in my cause, you will convince even her." 
 
 Audley listened to both with intelligent, half-incredulous 
 smile; and wholly of the same opinion as Lady Lansmere, and 
 sincerely anxious to save Harley from an indiscretion that his 
 own notions led him to regard as fatal, he resolved to examine 
 this boasted pearl, and to find out its flaws. Audley Egerton 
 was then in the prime of his earnest, resolute, ambitious youth. 
 The stateliness of his natural manners had then a suavity and 
 polish which, even in later and busier life, it never wholly lost; 
 since, in spite of the briefer words and the colder looks by 
 which care and power mark the official man, the Minister had 
 ever enjoyed that personal popularity which the indefinable, 
 external something, that wins and pleases, can alone confer. 
 But he had even then, as ever, that felicitous reserve which 
 Rochefoucauld has called the " mystery of the body" that 
 thin yet guardian veil which reveals but the strong outlines of 
 character, and excites so much of interest by provoking so much 
 of conjecture. To the man who is born with this reserve, which 
 is wholly distant from shyness, the world gives credit for qual- 
 ities and talents beyond those that it perceives; and such char- 
 acters are attractive to others in proportion as these last are 
 gifted with the imagination which loves to divine the unknown. 
 
 At the first interview, the impression which this man pro- 
 duced upon Nora Avenel was profound and strange. She had 
 heard of him before as the one whom Harley most loved and 
 looked up to ; and she recognized at once in his mien, his as-
 
 222 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 pect, his words, the very tone of his deep tranquil voice, the 
 power: to which woman, whatever her intelle-ct, never attains; 
 and to which, therefore, she imputes a nobility not always 
 genuine viz., the power of deliberate purpose, and self-collected, 
 serene ambition.. The effect that Nora produced on Egerton 
 was not less suddeh. He was startled by a beauty of face and 
 form that belonged to that rarest order, which we never behold 
 but once or twice in our .'lives. He was yet more amazed to 
 discover that the aristocracy of mind could bestow a grace that 
 no aristocracy of birth could surpass. He was prepared for a 
 simple, blushing village girl, and involuntarily he bowed low his 
 proud front at the first sight of that delicate bloom, and that 
 exquisite gentleness which is woman's surest passport to the 
 respect of man. Neither irt the first, nor the second, nor the 
 third interview, nor, indeed, till after many interviews, could he 
 summon up courage to commence his missio.n, and allude to 
 Harley. And when he; did so at last, his words faltered. But 
 Nora's words were clear to him. He saw that Harley was not 
 loved; and a joy, which he felt as guilty, darted through his 
 whole frame; From that interview Andley returned home, 
 greatly agitated, and at war with himself. Often, in the course 
 of this story, has it been hinted that, under all Bgerton's ex- 
 ternal coldness, and measured self-control, lay a nature capable 
 of strong and stubborn passions. Those passions broke forth 
 then. He felt that love had already entered into the heart, 
 which the trust :of his friend should have sufficed to guard. 
 
 " I will go there no more," said he, abruptly, to Harley. 
 
 " But why ? " 
 
 " The girl does not love you. Cease, then, to think of her." 
 
 Harley disbelieved him, and grew indignant. But Audley 
 had every worldly motive to assist his sense of honor. He was 
 poor, though with the reputation of wealth deeply involved in 
 debt resolved to rise in life tenacious of his position in the 
 world's esteem. Against a host of counteracting influences, 
 love fought single-handed. Audley's was a strong nature; but, 
 alas! in strong natures, if resistance to temptation is of granite, 
 so the passions that they admit are of fire. 
 
 Trite is the remark, that the destinies of our lives often date 
 from the impulses of unguarded moments. It was so with this 
 man, to an ordinary eye so cautious and so deliberate., Harley 
 one day came to him in great grief; he had heard that Nora 
 was ill; he implored Audley to go once more and ascertain. 
 Audley went. Lady Jane Horton, who was suffering under a 
 disease which not long afterward proved fata!, was too ill to
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 223 
 
 receive him. He was shown into the room set apart as Nora's. 
 While waiting for her entrance, he turned mechanically the 
 leaves of an album which Nora, suddenly summoned away to 
 attend Lady Jane, had left behind her on the table. He saw 
 the sketch of his own features; he read words inscribed below 
 it words of such artless tenderness, and such vmhoping sorrow 
 words written by one who had been accustomed to regard her 
 genius as her sole confidant, under Heaven ; to pour out to it, 
 as the solitary poet-heart is impelled to do, thoughts, feelings^ 
 the confession of mystic sighs, which- it would never breathe to 
 a living ear, and, save at such moments, scarcely acknowledge 
 to itself. Audley saw that he was beloved, and the revelation^ 
 with a sudden light, consumed all the barriers between himself 
 and his own love. And at that moment Nora entered. She saw 
 him bending over the book. She uttered a cry sprang forward 
 and then sank down, covering her face with her hands. But 
 Audley was- at her feet. He forgot his friend his trust ; he 
 forgot ambition he forgot the world. It was his own cause 
 that he pleaded his own love that burst forth from his lips. 
 And when the two that day parted, they were betrothed each 
 to each. Alas for them^ and alas for Harley ! 
 
 And now this man, who had hitherto valued himself as the 
 very type of gentleman whom all his young contemporaries 
 had so regarded and so revered had to press the hand of a 
 confiding friend, and bid adieu to truth. He had to amuse, to 
 delay, to mislead his boy-rival to say that he was already sub- 
 duing Nora's hesitating doubts and that with a little time, she 
 could be induced to consent to forget Harley's rank, and his 
 parents' pride, and become his wife. And Harley believed in 
 Egerton, without one suspicion on the mirror of his loyal soul. 
 
 Meanwhile, Audley, impatient of his own position impatient, 
 as strong minds ever are, to hasten what they have once re- 
 solved to terminate a suspense that every interview with Harley 
 tortured alike by jealousy and shame to pass out of the reach 
 of scruples, and to say to himself, "Right or wrong, there is no 
 looking back; the deed is done," Audley, thus hurried on by 
 the impetus of his awn power of will, pressed for speedy and 
 secret nuptials secret, till his fortunes, then wavering, were 
 more assured his career fairly commenced. This was not his 
 strongest motive, though it was one. He shrank from the dis- 
 covery of his wrong to his friend desired to delay the self- 
 humiliation of such announcement, until, as he persuaded him- 
 self, Harley's boyish passion was over -had yielded to the new 
 allurements that would naturally beset his way. Stifling his
 
 224 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 conscience, Audley sought to convince himself that the day 
 would soon come when Harley could hear with indifference 
 that Nora Avenel was another's. "The dream of an hour, at 
 his age," murmured the elder friend; "but at mine the passion 
 of a life ! " He did no.t speak of these latter motives for con- 
 cealment to Nora. He felt that to own the extent of his treason 
 to a friend, would lower him in her eyes. He spoke therefore 
 but slightingly of Harley treated the boy's suit as a thing past 
 and .gone. He dwelt only on reasons that compelled self-sacri- 
 fice on his side or hers. She did not hesitate which to choose. 
 And so, where Nora loved, so submissively did she believe in 
 the superiority of the lover, that she would not pause to hear a 
 murmur from her own loftier, nature^ or question the propriety 
 of what he deemed wise and good. 
 
 Abandoning prudence in this arch affair of life, Audley still 
 preserved his customary caution in minor details. And this indeed 
 w.as characteristic of him throughout all his career heedless in 
 large things wary in small. He would not trust Lady Jane 
 Horton with his secret, still less Lady Lansmere. He simply 
 represented to the former,, that Nora was no longer safe from 
 Harley's determined pursuit under Lady Jane's roof, and that she 
 had better elude the boy's knowledge of her movements, and go 
 quietly away for a while to lodge with some connection of her own. 
 
 And so, with Lady Jane's acquiescence, Nora went first to the 
 houseof avery distant kinswoman of her mother's and afterward 
 to one that Egerton took as their bridal home, under the name of 
 Bertram. Rearranged all that might render their marriage most 
 free from the chance of premature discovery. But it so happened, 
 on the very morning of their bridal, that one of the witnesses he 
 selected (a confidential servant of his own) was seized with apo- 
 plexy. Considering, in haste, where to find a substitute, Egerton 
 thought of Levy, his own private solicitor, his own fashionable 
 money-lender, a man with whom he was then as intimate as a fine 
 gentleman is with the, lawyer of his own age, who knows all his 
 affairs, and has helped, from pure friendship, to make them as 
 bad as they are ! Levy was thus suddenly summoned. Egerton, 
 who was in great haste, did not at first communicate to him the 
 name of the intended bride; but he said enough of the imprud- 
 ence of the marriage, and .his reasons for secrecy, to bring on 
 himself the strongest remonstrances ; for Levy had always reck- 
 oned on Egerton'smakingawealthy marriage, leaving to Egerton 
 the wife, .and hoping to appropriate to himselt the wealth, all in 
 the natural course of business. Egerton did not listen to him, 
 but hurried him on toward the place at which the ceremony was
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 22$ 
 
 to be performed ; and Levy actually saw the bride before he had 
 learned her name. The usurer masked his raging emotions, and 
 fulfilled his part in the rites. His smile, when he congratulated 
 the bride, might have shot cold into her heart ; but her eyes were 
 cast on the earth, seeing there but a shadow from heaven, and 
 her heart was blindly sheltering itself in the bosom to which it 
 was given evermore. She did not perceive the smile of hate that 
 barbed the words of joy. Nora never thought it necessary later 
 to tell Egerton that Levy had been a refused suitor. Indeed, 
 with the exquisite tact of love, she saw that such a confidence, 
 the idea of such a rival, would have wounded the pride of her 
 high-bred, well-born husband. 
 
 And now, while Harley L'Estrange, frantic with the news that 
 Nora had left Lady Jane's roof, and purposely misled into wrong 
 directions, was seeking to trace her refuge in vain now Egerton, 
 in an assumed name, in a remote quarter, far from the clubs in 
 which his word was oracular far from the pursuits, whether of 
 pastime or toil, that had hitherto engrossed his active mind, gave 
 himself up, with wonder at his own surrender, to the only vision 
 of fairy-lund that ever weighs down the watchful eyelids of hard 
 ambition. The world for a while shut out, he missed it not. He 
 knew not of it. He looked into two loving eyes that haunted him 
 ever after, through a stern and arid existence, and said, murmur- 
 ingly, "Why, this, then, is real happiness!" Often, often, in the 
 solitude of other years, he repeated to himself the same words, 
 save that for is, he then murmured was! And Nora, with her 
 grand, full heart, all her luxuriant wealth of fancy and of thought, 
 child of light and of song, did she then never discover that there 
 was something comparatively narrow and. sterile in the nature to 
 which she had linked her fate ? Not there, could ever be sympathy 
 in feelings, brilliant and shifting as the tints of the rainbow. 
 When Audley pressed her heart to his own, could he comprehend 
 one finer throb of its beating? Was all the iron of his mind worth 
 one grain of the gold she had cast away in Harley 's love ? 
 
 Did Nora already discover this? Surely no. Genius feels no 
 want, no repining while the heart is contented. Genius in her 
 paused and slumbered; it had been as theministrant of solitude; 
 it was needed no more. If a woman love deeply someone below 
 her own grade in the mental and spiritual orders, how often we 
 see that she unconsciously quits her own rank, comes meekly 
 down to the level of the beloved, is afraid lest he should deem 
 her the superior she who would not even be the equal. Nora 
 knew no more that she had genius; she only knewthatshehad love. 
 
 And so here, the journal which Leonard was reading changed
 
 226 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 its tone, sinking into that quiet happiness which is but quiet be- 
 cause it is so deep. This interlude in the life of a man like Aud- 
 ley Egefton could never have been long; many circumstances 
 conspired to abridge it. His affairs were in great disorder; they 
 were all under Levy's management. Demands that had before 
 slumbered, or been mildly urged, grew menacing and clamorous. 
 Harley, too, returned to London from his futile researches, and 
 looked out for Audley. Audley was forced to leave his secret 
 Eden, and reappear in the -'common world; and thenceforward 
 it was only by stealth that he came to his bridal home a visitor, 
 no more the inmate. But more loud and fierce grew the demands 
 of his creditors, now when Egerton had most need of all which 
 respectability, and position, and belief of pecuniary independ- 
 ence can do to raise the man who has encumbered his arms, and 
 crippled his^steps toward fortune. He was threatened with writs, 
 with prison. Levy said " that to borrow more would be but larger 
 ruin," shrugged his shoulders, and even recommended a vol- 
 untary retreat to the King's Bench. "No place so good for 
 frightening one's creditors into compounding their claims; but 
 why," added Levy, with covert sneer, "why not go to young 
 L'Estrange a boy made to be borrowed from ! " 
 
 Levy, who had known from Lady Jane of Harley's pursuit of 
 Nora, had learned already how to avenge himself, on Egerton. 
 Audley could not apply to the friend he had betrayed. And as 
 to the other friends, no man in town had a greater number; 
 and no man in town knew better that he should lose them all 
 if he were once known to be in want of their money. Mortified, 
 harassed, tortured- shunning Harley yet ever sought by him 
 fearful of each knock at his door, Audley Egerton escaped to 
 the mortgaged remnant of his paternal estate, on which there 
 was a gloomy manor-house, long uninhabited, and there applied 
 a mind, afterward renowned for its quick comprehension of busi- 
 ness, to the investigation of his affairs, with a view to save some 
 wreck from the flood that swelled momently around him. 
 
 And now to condense as much as possible a record that runs 
 darkly on into pain and sorrow -now Levy began to practise his 
 vindictive arts; and the arts gradually prevailed. On pretence 
 of assisting Egerton in the arrangement of 'his affairs which 
 he secretly contrived, however, still more to complicate he came 
 down frequently to Egerton Hall for a few hours, arriving by the 
 mail, and watching the effect which Nora's almost daily letters 
 produced on the bridegroom, irritated by the practical cares of 
 life. He was thus constantly at hand to instil into the mind of 
 the ambitious man a regret for the imprudence of hasty passion
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 227 
 
 or to embitter the remorse which Audley felt for his treachery 
 to L'Estrange. Thus ever bringing before the mind of the har- 
 assed debtor images at war with love, and with the poetry of 
 life, he disattuned it (so to speak) for the reception of Nora's 
 letters, all musical as they were with such thoughts as the most 
 delicate fancy inspires to the most earnest love. Egerton wasone 
 of those men who never confide their affairs frankly to women. 
 Nora, when she thus wrote, was wholly in the dark as, to the ex- 
 tent of his stern prosaic distress. And so and so Levy always 
 near (type of the prose of life in its most cynic form) so by de- 
 grees, all that redundant affluence of affection, with its gushes of 
 grief for his absence, prayers for his return, sweet reproach if a 
 post failed to bring back an answer to the woman's yearning 
 sighs all this grew, to the sensible, positiye'manof real life, like 
 " sickly romantic exaggeration: The bright arrows shot too high into 
 heaven to hit the mark set so near to the earth. Ah, common fate 
 of all superior natures! What treasure, and how wildly wasted! 
 
 ''By the bye," said Levy one morning, as he was about to take 
 leave of Audley and return to town "by the bye, I shall be 
 this evening in the neighborhood of Mrs. Egerton." 
 
 EGERTON. Say Mrs. Bertram ! 
 
 LEVY. Ay; will she not be in want of some pecuniary supplies? 
 
 EGERTON. My wife ! Not yet. I must first be wholly ruined 
 before she can want; and if I were so, do you think I should 
 not be by her side? 
 
 LEVY. I beg pardon, my dear fellow;. your pride of gentle- 
 man is so susceptible that it is hard for a lawyer not to wound 
 it unawares. Your wife, then, does not know the exact state of 
 your affairs ? 
 
 EGERTON. Of course not. AVho would confide to a woman 
 things in which she could do nothing, except to tease one the more? 
 
 LEVY. True, and a poetess too ! I have prevented your fin- 
 ishing your answer to Mrs. Bertram's last letter. Can I take it 
 it may save a day's delay that is, if you do not object to my 
 calling on her this evening. 
 
 EGERTON (sitting down to his unfinished letter). Object! no. 
 
 LEVY (looking at his watch). :Be quick, or I shall lose the coach. 
 
 EGERTON (sealing the letter). There. And I should be 
 obliged to you if you would ca\\\ and without alarmingherasto 
 my circumstances, you can just say that you know I am much 
 harassed about important affairs at present, and so soothe the 
 effect of my very short answers 
 
 LEVY. To those doubly-crossed, very long letters I wilt. 
 
 "Poor Nora," said Egerton, sighing, "she will think this
 
 228 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 answer brief and churlish enough. Explain my excuses kindly, 
 so that they will serve for the future. I really have no time, and 
 no heart for sentiment. The little I ever had is well-nigh wor- 
 ried out of me. Still I love her fondly and deeply." 
 
 LEVY. You must have done so. I never thought it in you 
 to sacrifice the world to a woman. 
 
 EGERTON. Nor I either; but (added the strong man, conscious 
 of that power which rules the world infinitely more than knowl- 
 edge conscious of tranquil courage) but I have not sacrificed 
 the world yet. This right arm shall bear up her and myself too. 
 
 LEVY. Well said ! but in the meanwhile, for heaven's sake, 
 don't attempt to go to London, nor to leave this place; for, in 
 that case, I know you will be arrested, and then adieu to all 
 hopes of Parliament of a career. 
 
 Audley's haughty countenance darkened; as the dog, in his 
 bravest mood, turns dismayed from the stone plucked from the 
 mire, so, when Ambition rears itself to defy mankind, whisper 
 "disgrace and a gaol" and, lo, crestfallen, it slinks away! 
 That evening Levy called on Nora, and ingratiating himself into 
 her favor by praise of Egerton, with indirect humble apologetic 
 allusions to his own former presumption, he prepared the way 
 to renewed visits; she was so lonely, and she so loved to see one 
 who was fresh from seeing Audley one who would talk to her 
 of him ! By degrees the friendly respectful visitor thus stole into 
 her confidence; and then, with all his panegyrics on Audley's 
 superior powers and gifts, he began to dwell upon the young 
 husband's worldly aspirations, and care for his career; dwell oh 
 them so as vaguely to alarm Nora to imply that, dear as she 
 was, she was still but second to Ambition. His way thus pre- 
 pared, he next began to insinuate his respectful pity at her 
 equivocal position, dropped hints of gossip and slander^ feared 
 that the marriage might be owned too late to preserve reputa- 
 tion. And then what would be the feelings of the proud Egerton 
 if his wife were excluded from that world, whose opinion he so 
 prized? Insensibly thus he led her on to express (though timidly) 
 her own fear her own natural desire, in her letters to Audley. 
 When could the marriage be proclaimed ? Proclaimed! Audley 
 felt that to proclaim such a marriage, at such a moment, would 
 be to fling away his last cast for fame and fortune. AndHarley, 
 too Harley still so uncured of his frantic love ! Levy was sure 
 to be at hand when letters like these arrived. 
 
 And now Levy went further still in his determination to alienate 
 these two hearts. He contrived, by means of his various agents, 
 to circulate through Nora's neighborhood the very slanders at
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 229 
 
 which he had hinted. He contrived that she should be insulted 
 when she went abroad, outraged at home by the sneers of her 
 own servants, and tremble with shame at her own shadow upon 
 her abandoned bridal hearth. 
 
 Just in the midst of this intolerable anguish, Levy reappeared. 
 His crowning hour was ripe. He intimated his knowledge of the 
 humiliations Nora had undergone, expressed his deep compas- 
 sion, offered to intercede with Egerton "to do her'justice." He 
 used ambiguous phrases, that shocked her ear and tortured her 
 heart, and thus provoked her on to demand him to explain; and 
 then, throwing her into a wild state of indefinite alarm, in which 
 he obtained her solemn promise not to divulge to Audley what 
 he was about to communicate, he said, with villanous hypocrisy 
 of reluctant shame, " that her marriage was not strictly legal ; 
 that the forms required by the law had not been complied with; 
 that Audley, unintentionally or purposely, had left himself free to 
 disown the rite and desert the bride." While Nora stood stunned 
 and speechless at a falsehood which, with lawyer-like show, he 
 contrived to make truth-like to her inexperience, he hurried rap- 
 idly on, to re-awake on her mind the impression of AudleyV 
 pride, ambition, and respect for worldly position. "These are 
 your obstacles," said he; "but I think I may induce him to repair 
 the wrong, and right you at last." Righted at last oh, infamy' 
 
 Then Nora's anger burst forth. She believe such a stain on 
 Audley's honor ! 
 
 "But where was the honor when he betrayed his friend? Did 
 you not know that he was intrusted by Lord L'Estrange to plead 
 for him ? How did he fulfil the trust?" 
 
 Plead for L'Estrange! Nora had not been exactly aware of 
 this. In the sudden love preceding those sudden nuptials, so 
 little touching Harley (beyond Audley's first timid allusions to 
 his suit, and her calm and cold reply) had been spoken by either. 
 
 Levy resumed. He dwelt fully on the trust and the breach of 
 it, and then said "In Egerton 's world, man holds it far more 
 dishonor to betray a man than to dupe a woman ; and if Eger- 
 ton could do the one, why doubt that he would do the other? 
 But do not look at me with those indignant eyes. Put himself to- 
 the test; write to him to say that the suspicions amidst which 
 you live have become intolerable that they infect even your- 
 self, despite your reason that the secrecy of your nuptials, his 
 prolonged absence, his brief refusal, on unsatisfactory grounds, 
 to proclaim your tie, all distract you with a terrible doubt. Ask 
 him, at least (if he will not yet declare your marriage), to satisfy 
 you that the rites were legal."
 
 230 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 -" I will go to him," cried Nora, impetuously. 
 
 "Go to him! in his own house! What a scene, what a scandal! 
 Could he ever forgive you?" 
 
 "At least, then, I will implore him to come here. I cannot 
 write such horrible words; I cannot I cannot Go, go." 
 
 Levy left her, and hastened to two or three of Audley's most 
 pressing creditors men, in fact, who went entirely by Levy's 
 own advice. He bade them instantly surround Audley's country 
 residence with bailiffs. Before Egerton could reach Nora, he 
 would be thus lodged in gaol. These preparations made, Levy 
 himself went down to Audley, and arrived, as usual, an hour or 
 two before the delivery of the post. : - t q nn 
 
 And Nora's letter came; and never was Audley's grave, brow 
 more dark than when he read it. Still with his usual decision, he 
 resolved to obey her wish -rang the bell, and ordered his ser- 
 vant to put up a change of dress, and send for post-horses. 
 
 Levy then took him aside, and led him to the window. 
 
 "Look under yon tree. Do you see those men? They are 
 bailiffs. This is the true reason why I come to you to-day. You 
 cannot leave this house." f bn 
 
 Egerton recoiled. "And this frantic foolish letter at such a 
 time," he muttered, Striking the open page, full, of love in the 
 midst of terror, with his clenched hand. 
 
 O Woman, Woman! if thy heart bedeep,'and its chords tender, 
 beware how thou lovest the man with whom all that plucks him 
 from the hard cares of the work-day world is a frenzy or a folly! 
 He will break thy heart, he will shatter its chords, he will 
 trample out from its delicate framework every sound that now 
 makes musical the common air, and swells into unison with the 
 harps of angels, ii& $?.-, wi'ib-i^Qi*-- 
 
 " She has before written to me," continued Audley, pacing 
 the room with angry, disordered strides, "asking me when our 
 marriage can be proclaimed, and I thought my replies would 
 have satisfied any reasonable woman. But now, now this is worse, 
 immeasurably worse she actually doubts my honor! I, who have 
 made such sacrifices actually doubts whether I, Audley Eger- 
 ton, an Eriglish gentleman, could have been base enough to " 
 
 "What ?" interrupted Levy, " to deceive your friend L'Es- 
 trange? Did-not she know '-that 9 " 
 
 "Sir!" exclaimed Egerton, turning white. 
 
 "Don't be angry all's fair in love as in war; and L'Estrange 
 will live yet to thank you for saving him from such a misal- 
 liance. But you are seriously angry; pray forgive me." 
 
 With some difficulty, and much fawning, the usurer appeased
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 23! 
 
 the storm he had raised in Audley's conscience. And he then 
 heard, as if with surprise, the true purport of Nora's letter. 
 
 "It is beneath me to answer, much less to satisfy, such a 
 doubt," said Audley. "I could have seen her, and a look of re- 
 proach would have sufficed ; but to put my hand to paper, and 
 condescend to write, 'I am not a villain, and I will give you the 
 proofs that I am not,' never." 
 
 " You are quite right ; but let us see if we cannot reconcile 
 matters between your pride and her feelings. Write simply 
 this: 'All that you ask me to say or to explain, I have instructed 
 Levy, as my solicitor, to say and explain for me ; and you may 
 believe him as you would myself." 
 
 "Well, the poor fool, she deserves to be punished; and I sup- 
 pose that answer will punish her more than a lengthier rebuke. 
 My mind is so distracted, I cannot judge of these trumpery 
 woman-fears and whims; there, I have written as you suggest. 
 Give her all the proof she needs, and tell her that in six months 
 at farthest, come what will, she shall bear the name of Eger- 
 ton, as henceforth she must share his fate." ' 
 
 "Why say six months?" 
 
 "Parliament must be dissolved, and there must be a general 
 election before then. I shall either obtain a seat, be secure from 
 a gaol, have won a field for my energies, or " 
 
 "Or what ?" 
 
 " I shall renounce ambition altogether ask my brother to 
 assist me toward whatever debts remain when all my property 
 is fairly sold^-they cannot be much. He has a living in his gift 
 the incumbent is old, and, I hear, very ill. I can take orders." 
 
 " Sink into a country parson !" 
 
 "And learn content. I have tasted it already. She was then 
 by my side. Explain all to her. This letter, I fear, is too unkind 
 but to doubt me thus!" 
 
 Levy hastily placed, the letter in his pocket-book ; and, for 
 fear it should be withdrawn, took his leave. 
 
 And of that letter he made such rise, that the day-after he had 
 given it to Nora, she had left the house the neighborhood; 
 fled, arid not a trace! Of all the agonies in life, that which is 
 most poignant and harrowing that which for the time most 
 annihilates reason, and leaves our whole organization one lac- 
 erated, mangled heart is the conviction that we have been de- 
 ceived Where we placed all the trust of love. The morrient the an- 
 chor snaps, the storm comes on the' stars vanish behind the cloud. 
 
 When Levy returned, filled with the infamous hope which 
 had stimulated his revenge the hope that if he could succeed
 
 232 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 in changing into scorn and indignation Nora's love for Audley, 
 he might succeed also in replacing that broken and degraded 
 Idol his amaze and dismay were great on hearing of her de- 
 parture. For several days he sought her traces in vain. He 
 went to Lady Jane Hor.ton's Nora had not been there. He 
 trembled to go back to Egerton. Surely Nora would have written 
 to her husband, and, in spite of her promise, revealed his own 
 falsehood; but as days passed and not a. clue was found, he had 
 no option but to repair to Egerton .Hall, taking care that the 
 bailiffs still surrounded it. Audley had received no line from 
 Nora. The young husband was surprised, perplexed, uneasy 
 but had no suspicion of the truth. 
 
 At; length Levy was forced to break to Audley the intelligence 
 pf Nora's flight. He gave his own color to it. Doubtless she has 
 gone to seek her own relations, and, by their advice, take steps 
 to make her marriage publicly known. This idea changed Aud- 
 ley' s first shock into deep and stern resentrnent. His mind so 
 little comprehended Nora's, and was even so disposed to what 
 is called the common-sense : view, of things^ that he saw no other 
 mode to account for her flight and her silence. Odious to Eger- 
 ton as such a proceeding would be, he was far too proud to take 
 any step to guard against it. .'-Let her do her worst," .said he, 
 coldly, masking emotion with his usual self-command j "it will 
 be but a nine days' wonder to the world a fiercer rush of my 
 creditors on their, hunted prey " ; ; r,-^ r , 33> : 
 
 "And a challenge from Lord L'Estrange." 
 
 "So be it," answered Egerton, suddenly placing his hand at 
 his heart. iyr ,j.c 
 
 " What is the matter ? Are you ill ? " 
 
 "A strange sensation here. My father died of a complaint 
 of the heart, and I myself was once told to guard, through.life, 
 against excess of emotion. I smiled at such a warning, then. 
 .Let us sit do^vn to business." 
 
 'But when Levy had gone, and solitude reclosed r<)nnd that 
 Man of the Iron Mask, there grew upon him more and more 
 the sense of a mighty loss. Nora 1 s sweet, loving face started 
 from the shadows of the forlorn walls. Her docile, yielding 
 'temper, ruer generous, self-immolating spirit; came back to his 
 memory, to refute the idea that wronged her. His love, that 
 had. been suspended for awhile by busy cares, but , which, if 
 without much refining sentiment, was still the master passion 
 of his soul, flowed back into all his thoughts circumfused the 
 very atmosphere with a fearful softening charm. He escaped 
 under cover of the night from the watch of the bailiffs. He
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 233 
 
 arrived in London. He himself sought everywhere he could 
 think of for his missing bride. Lady Jane Horton was confined 
 to her bed, dying fast incapable even to receive and reply to 
 his letter. He secretly sent down to Lansmere, to ascertain if 
 Nora had gone back to her parents. She was not there. The 
 Avenels believed her still with Lady Jane Horton. 
 
 He now grew most seriously alarmed ; and in the midst of 
 that alarm, Levy secretly contrived that he should be arrested 
 for debt; but he was not detained in confinement many days. 
 Before the disgrace got wind, the writs were discharged Levy 
 baffled. He was free. Lord L'Estrange had learned from 
 Audley's servant what Audley would have concealed from him 
 out of all the world. And the generous boy who, besides the 
 munificent allowance he received from the Earl, was heir to an 
 independent and considerable fortune of his own, when he 
 should attain his majority -hastened to borrow the money and 
 discharge all the obligations of his friend. The benefit was con- 
 ferred before Audley knew of it, or could prevent. Then a new 
 emotion, and perhaps scarce less stinging than the loss of Nora, 
 tortured the man who had smiled at the warning of science ; 
 and the strange sensation at .the heart was felt again and again. 
 
 And Harley, too, was in search of Nora would talk of noth- 
 ing but her and looked so haggard and grief-worn-. The 
 bloom of the boy's youth was gone. "Gould Audley then lizve 
 said, "She you seek is another's; your love is razed out of 
 your life ; and, for consolation, learn that your friend has be- 
 trayed you ? " Could Audley say this ? He did not dare. 
 Which of the two suffered the most ? 
 
 And these two friends, of characters so different, were so 
 singularly attached to each other. Inseparable at school 
 thrown together in the world, with a wealth of frank confidences 
 between them, accumulated since childhood. And now, in the 
 midst of all his own anxious sorrow, Harley still thought and 
 planned for Egerton. And self-accusing remorse, and aU the 
 sense of painful gratitude, deepened Audley's affection for Har- 
 ley into a devotion as to a superior, while softening it into a rever- 
 ential pity that yearned to relieve, to atone; but how oh, how ? 
 
 A general election was now at hand, still no news of Nora. Levy 
 kept aloof from Audley, pursuing his own silent search. A seat for 
 the borough of Lansmere was pressed 'upon Audley, not only by 
 Harley, but his parents, especially by the Countess, who tacitly as- 
 cribed to Audley's wise counsel Nora's mysterious disappearance. 
 
 Egerton at first resisted the thought of a new obligation to 
 his injured friend ; but he burned to have it, some day, in his
 
 234 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 power to repay at least his pecuniary debt; the sense of that 
 debt humbled him more than all else. Parliamentary success 
 might at last obtain for him some lucrative situation, and thus 
 enable him gradually to remove this load from his heart and 
 his honor. No other chance of repayment appeared open to 
 him. He accepted the offer, and went down to Lansmere. His 
 brother, lately married, was asked to meet him ; and there, also, 
 was Miss Leslie the heiress, whom Lady Lansmere secretly 
 hoped her son Harley would admire, but who had long since, no 
 less secretly, given her heart to the unconscious Egerton. 
 
 Meanwhile, the miserable Nora, deceived by the arts and rep- 
 resentations of Levy acting on the natural impulse of a heart 
 so susceptible to shame flying from a home which she deemed 
 dishonored flying from a lover whose power over her she knew 
 to be so great, that she dreaded lest he might reconcile her to 
 dishonor itself had no thought save to hide herself for ever 
 from Audley's eye. She would not go to her relations -to Lady 
 Jane; that we.re to give the clue, and invite the pursuit! An 
 Italian lady of high rank had visited at Lady Jane's take' . a 
 great fancy to Nora and the lady's husband having been 
 obliged to precede her return to Italy, had suggested the no- 
 tion of engaging some companion the lady had spoken of this 
 to Nora and to Lady Jane Horton, who had urged Nora to accept 
 the offer, elude Harley'sipursuit, and go abroad for a time. Nora 
 then had refused; for she then had>seen Audley Egerton. 
 ,JTo this Italian lady she now went, and the offer was renewed 
 with the most winning kindness, and grasped at in the passion 
 of despair. But the Italian-.had accepted invitations to Eng- 
 lish country-houses before she .finally departed for the Conti- 
 nent. Meanwhile, Norai took refuge in a quiet lodging in a 1 se- 
 questered suburb, which an English servant in the employment 
 of the fairrforeigner recommended. Thus had she first come 
 to the cottage in which. Burley died. Shortly afterward, she 
 left England with her new companion, unknown to all to 
 Lady Jane as to her parents. 
 
 All this time the poor girl was under a moral delirium aeon- 
 fused fever haunted by dreams from which she sought to fly. 
 Sound physiologists agree that madness is rarest among persons 
 of thejinest imagination. But those persons are, of all others, 
 liable to a temporary state of mind in which judgment sleeps 
 imagination alone prevails with a dire and awful tyranny. A 
 single idea gains ascendency expels all others presents itself 
 everywhere with an intolerable blinding glare. Nora was at that 
 time under the dread .one '^ea to fly from shame !
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 235 
 
 But, when the seas rolled, and the dreary leagues interposed 
 between her and her lover when new images presented them- 
 selves when the fever slaked, and reason returned doubt 
 broke upon the previous despair. Had she not been too credu- 
 lous, too hasty? Fool, fool! Audley have been so poor a 
 traitor ! How guilty was she, if she had wronged him. And 
 in the midst of this revulsion of feeling, there stirred within her 
 another life. She was destined to become a mother. At that 
 thought her high nature bowed ; the last struggle of pride gave 
 way; she would return to England, see Audley, learn from his lips 
 the truth, and even if the truth were what she had been taught to 
 believe, plead, not for herself, but for the false one's chiid. 
 
 Some delay occurred in the then warlike state of affairs on 
 the Continent, before she could put this purpose into execu- 
 tion ; and on her journey back, various. obstructions lengthened 
 the way. But she returned at last, and resought the suburban 
 cottage in which she had last lodged before quitting England. 
 At night, she went to Audley 's London house ; there was only 
 a woman. in charge of it. Mr. Egerton was absent electioneer- 
 ing somewhere Mr. Levy, his lawyer, called every day for any 
 letters to be forwarded to him. Nora shrank from seeing Levy, 
 shrank from even writing a letter 'that would pass through his 
 hands. If she had been deceived, it had been by him, and 
 wilfully. But Parliament was already dissolved ; the election 
 would soon be over ; Mr. Egerton was expected to return to 
 town within a week. Nora went back to Mrs. Goodyer's and 
 resolved to wait, devouring her own 1 heart in silence, But the 
 newspapers might inform her where Audley really was ; the 
 newspapers were sent for and conned daily. 
 
 And one morning this paragraph met her eye : 
 
 "The Earl and Countess of Lansmere are receiving a distin- 
 guished party at their country-seat Among the guests is MisS 
 Leslie, whose wealth and beauty have excited-much sensation 
 in the fashionable world. To the disappointment of numerous 
 aspirants among our aristocracy, we hear that this lady has, 
 however, made her distinguished choice in Mr. Audley Eger- 
 ton. That gentleman is now a candidate for the borough of 
 Lansmere, as a supporter of the Government; his success is 
 considered certain, and, according to the report of a large circle 
 of friends, few new members will prove so valuable an addition 
 to the Ministerial ranks ; a great career, may, indeed, be pre- 
 dicted for a young man so esteemed for talent' and character, 
 aided by ai fortune so immense as that which-he will shortly 
 receive with the hand of the accomplished heiress."
 
 236 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 , Again the anchor snapped again the storm descended 
 again the stars vanished. Nora was now once more under the 
 dominion of a single thought, as she had been when she fled from 
 her bridal home. Then, 'it was to escape from her lover now it 
 was to see him. As the victim stretched on the rack implores to be 
 led at once to death, so there are moments when the annihilation 
 of hope seems more merciful than the torment of suspense. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 WHEN the scenes in some long diorama pass slowly before us, 
 there is sometimes one solitary object, contrasting, perhaps, the 
 view of stately cities or the march of a mighty river, that halts 
 on the eye for a moment, and then glides away, leaving on the 
 mind a strange, comfortless, undefined impression. 
 
 Why was the object presented to us ? In itself it seemed com- 
 paratively insignificant. It may have been but a broken column 
 a lonely pool with a star-beam on its quiet surface yet it awes 
 us. We remember it when phantasmal pictures of bright Damas- 
 cus, or of colossal pyramids- of bazaars in Stamboul, or length- 
 ened caravans that defile slow amidst the sands of Araby have 
 sated the wondering gaze. Why were we detained in the shad- 
 owy procession by a thing that would have been so common- 
 place had it not been so-lone? Some latent interest must attach 
 to it. Was it there that a vision of woe had lifted the wild hair 
 of a Prophet? there where same Hagar had stilled the wail of 
 her child on her indignant breast ! We would fain call back the 
 pageantry procession-r-fain see again the solitary thing that 
 seemed so little worth the hand of the artist- and ask, "Why art 
 thou here, and wherefore dost thou haunt us?" 
 
 Rise up rise up once more by the broad great thoroughfare 
 that stretches onward to the jemorseless London -Rise up 
 rise up, O solitary tree with the green leaves on thy bough, and 
 the deep rents in thy heart; and the ravens, dark birds of omen 
 and sorrow, that build their nest amidst the leaves of ihe bough, 
 and drop with ndiseless plumes down through the hollow rents 
 of the heart or are heard, it may be, in the growing shadows 
 of twilight, calling out to their young! > 
 
 Under the old pollard tree, by the side of John Avenel'shouse, 
 there co w-ered, breathless and listening, John Avenel's daughter 
 Nora. Now, when that fatal newspaper paragraph, which lied 
 so like truth, met her eyes, she obeyed the first impulse of her 
 passionate heart she tore the wedding ring from her finger 
 she inclosed it, with the paragraph itself, in a letter to Audley
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 237 
 
 a letter that she designed to convey scorn and pride ; alas ! it 
 expressed only jealousy and love. She could not rest till she 
 had put this letter into the post with her own hand, addressed 
 to Audley, at Lord Lansmere's. Scarce had it left her, ere she 
 repented. What had she done? resigned the birthright of the 
 child she was so soon to bring into the world resigned her last 
 hope in her lover's honor given .up her life of life and from 
 belief in what? a report in a newspaper ! No, no ; she would 
 go herself to Lansmere to her father's home she could con- 
 trive to see Audley before that letter reached his hand. The 
 thought was scarcely conceived before obeyed. She found a 
 vacant place in a coach that started from London some hours 
 before the mail, and went within a few miles of Lansmere ; 
 those last miles she travelled on foot. Exhausted fainting 
 she gained, at last, the sight of home, and there halted for in 
 the little garden in front she saw her parents seated. She heard 
 the murmur of their voices, and suddenly she remembered her 
 altered shape, her terrible secret. How answer the question, 
 " Daughter, where and who is thy husband ? " Her heart failed 
 her ; she crept under the old pollard tree, to gather up resolve, 
 to watch and to listen. She saw the rigid face of the thrifty, 
 prudent mother, with the deep lines that told of the cares of ah 
 anxious life, and the chafe of excitable temper and warm affec- 
 tions against the restraint of decorous sanctimony and resolute 
 pride. The dear, stern face never seemed to her more dar and 
 more stern. She saw the comely, easy, indolent, good-humored 
 father ; not then the poor paralytic sufferer, who could yet 
 recognize Nora's eyes under the lids of Leonard, but stalwart 
 and jovial first bat in the Cricket Club, first voice in the Glee 
 Society, the most popular canvasser of the Lansmere Consti- 
 tutional True Blue Party, and the pride and idol of the Calyin- 
 istical prim wife ; never from those pinched lips of hers had come 
 forth even one pious rebuke to the careless, social man. As he 
 sat, one hand in his vest, his profile turned to the road, the light 
 smoke curling playfully up from the pipe, ov^r which his lips, 
 aqcustomed to bland smile and hearty laughter, closed as if re- 
 luctant to be closed at all, he was the very model of the respectable 
 retired trader in easy circumstance, and released from the toil of 
 making money while life could yet enjoy the delight of spend- 
 ing it. 
 
 "Well, old woman," said John Avenel, "I must be off pres- 
 ently to see to those three-shaky voters in Fish Lane ; they will have 
 done their work soon, and I shall catch 'em at home. They do say 
 we may have an opposition; and I know that oldSmikes
 
 238 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 has gone to London in search of a candidate. We can't have the 
 Lansmere Constitutional Blues beat by a Lonnoner ! Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 "But, you will be home before Jane and her husband Mark 
 come? How ever could she marry a common carpenter ! " 
 
 "Yes," said John, " he t's a carpenter ; but he has a vote, and 
 that strengthens" the family interest. If Dick was not gone to 
 Amerikay, there would be three on us. But Mark is a real good 
 Blue ! A Lonnoner, indeed ! a Yellow from Lonnon beat my 
 Lord and the Blues ! Ha, ha ! " 
 
 "But John, this Mr. Egerton is a Lonnoner!" 
 
 "You don't understand things, talking such nonsense. Mr. 
 Egerton is the Blue candidate,and the Blues are the County Party ; 
 therefore, how can he be a Lonnoner? An uncommon clever, 
 well-grown, handsome young man, eh ! and my young lord's 
 particular friend." 
 
 Mrs. Averrel sighed. 
 
 "What are you sighing and shaking your head for?" 
 
 "1 was thinking of our poor, dear, dear Nora!" 
 
 "God bless her ! " cried John heartily. 
 
 There was artistic under the boughs of the old hollow-hearted 
 pollard tree. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! Hark ! I said that so loud, that I have startled 
 the ravens !" 
 
 "How he did love her ! " said Mrs. Avenel, thoughtfully. " I 
 am sure he did ; and no wonder, for she-looks everyinch a lady; 
 and why should not she be my lady, after all?" 
 
 "He? Who? Oh, that foolish fancy of yours about my young 
 lord ? A prudent woman like you ! stuff ! I am 'glad my little 
 beauty is gone to Lonnon, out of harm's way." 
 
 " John John John ! Noharni could evercome to my Nora. 
 She's ^66 pure and too good, arid has too proper a pride in her, 
 to" 
 
 "To listen to any yOung lords, I hope," said John ; "though," 
 he added, after a pause, "she might well be a lady, too. My 
 lord, the young one, took me by the hand so kindly the other 
 day, and said, 'Have not you heard- from her- 1 I mean Miss 
 Avenel lately ? ' and those bright eyes of his were as full of tears 
 as as as yours are nqw."- :y>ii ' 
 
 "Well, John, well; go on." ' 
 
 "That is all. My. lady came up and took me away to talk 
 about the election ; and just as I was going, she whispered, 
 ' Don't let my wild boy talk to you about that sweet girl of yours. 
 We must both see that she does not come to disgrace.' ' Dis- 
 grace ! ' that word made me very angry for the moment. But
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 239 
 
 my lady has such. a way with her, that she soon put me right 
 again. Yet, I do think Nora must have loved my young lord,, 
 only she was too good to show it. What do you say ?" and the 
 father's voice was thoughtful. 
 
 "I hope she'll never love any man till she's married to him ; 
 it is not proper, John," said Mrs. Avenel, somewhat starchly, 
 though very mildly. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! " laughed John, chucking his prim wife under the 
 chin. "You did not say that to me when I stole your first kiss 
 under that very pollard tree no house near it then ! " 
 
 "Hush, John, hush ! " and the prim wife blushed like a girl. 
 
 "Pooh," continued John, merrily, "I don't see w,hy we plain 
 folks should pretend to be more saintly and prudish, than our 
 betters. There's that handsome Miss Leslie, who is to many 
 Mr. Egerton -easy enough to see how much she is in love with 
 him could not keep her eyes off from him even in church, old 
 girl ! Ha,ha ! What the deuce is the matter with the ravens ?" 
 
 "They'll be a comely couple, John. .And I hear tell she has 
 a power of money. When is the marriage to be? " 
 
 "Oh, .they say as soon as ever the election is over. A fine 
 wedding we shall have of it ! I dare say my young lord will be 
 bridesman. We'll send for our little Nora, to see the gay doings!" 
 
 Out from the boughs of the old tree came the shriek of a lost 
 spirit one of those strange appalling sounds of human agony, 
 which, once heard, are never forgotten. It is as the wail of Hope, 
 when SHE, too, rushes forth from the Coffer of Woes, and van- 
 ishes into viewless space ; it is the dread cry of Reason part- 
 ing from clay and of Soul that would wrench itself from life ! 
 For a moment all was still and then a dull, dumb, heavy fall ! 
 
 The parents gazed on each other, speechless ; they stole to the 
 pales and looked over. Under the boughs, at the gnarled roots 
 of the oak, they saw gray and indistinct a prostrate form. 
 John opened the gate and went round ; the mother went to the 
 roadside, and there stood still. . 
 
 "Oh, wife, wife !" cried John Avenel,. from under the green 
 bough, "it is our child Nora ! Our child our child ! " 
 
 And, as he spoke, out from the green boughs started the dark 
 ravens, wheeling round and round, and calling to their young. 
 
 *.* * * # * # * 
 
 And when they had laid her on the bed, Mrs. Avenel whis- 
 pered John to withdraw a moment ; and> with set lips but trem- 
 bling hands, began to unlace the dress, under the pressure of 
 which Nora's heart heaved convulsively. And John went out 
 of the room bewildered and sat himself down on the landing-
 
 240 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 place, and wondered whether he was awake or sleeping ; and a 
 cold numbness crept over one side of him, and his head felt 
 very heavy, with a loud, booming noise in his ears. Suddenly 
 his wife stood by his side, and said, in a very low voice 
 
 "John, run for Mr. Morgan make haste. But mind don't 
 speak to any one on the way. Quick, quick ! " 
 
 "Is she dying?" 
 
 "I don't know. Why not die before?" said Mrs. Avenel be- 
 tween her teeth. " But Mr. Morgan is a discreet, friendly man." 
 
 " A true Blue ! " muttered poor John, as if his mind wandered; 
 and rising with difficulty, he stared at his wife a moment, shook 
 his head, and was gone. 
 
 An hour or two later, a little covered taxed-cart stopped at 
 Mr. Avenel's cottage, out of which stepped a young man with 
 pale face and spare form, dressed in the Sunday suit of a rustic 
 craftsman ; then a homely, but pleasant, honest face bent down 
 to him smilingly; and two arms emerging from under covert of 
 a red cloak, extended an infant which the young man took ten- 
 derly. The baby was cross and very sickly ; .it began to cry. 
 The father hushed and rocked, and tossed it, with the air of one 
 to whom such a charge was familiar. 
 
 " He'll be good when we get in, Mark," said the young woman, 
 as she extracted from the depths of the cart a large basket con- 
 taining poultry and home-made bread. 
 
 " Don't forget the flowers that the Squire's gardener gave Us," 
 said Mark the Poet. 
 
 Without aid from her husband, the wife took down basket and 
 nosegay, settled her cloak, smoothed her gown, and said, "Very 
 odd ! they don't seem to expect us, Mark. How still the house 
 is! Go and knock ; they can't ha' gone to bed yet." 
 
 Mark knocked at the door no answer. A light passed rap- 
 idly across the windows on the upper floor, but still no one came 
 to his summons. Mark knocked again. A gentleman dressed in 
 clerical costume, now coming from Lansmere Park, on the op- 
 posite side of the road, paused at the sound of Mark's second 
 and more impatient knock, and said, civilly 
 
 "Are you not the young folks my friend John Avenel told me 
 this morning he expected to visit him?" 
 
 "Yes, please, Mr. Dale," said Mrs. Fairfield, dropping her 
 curtsey. " You remember me'! and this is my dear good man ! " 
 
 " What ! Mark the Poet ? " said the curate of Lansmere with 
 a smile. "Come to write squibs for the election?" 
 
 "Squibs, sir!" cried Mark, indignantly. 
 
 "Burns wrote squibs," said the curate mildly.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 241 
 
 Mark made no answer, but again knocked at the door. 
 
 This time, a man, whose face, even seen by the starlight, was 
 much flushed, presented himself at the threshold. 
 
 "Mr. Morgan !" exclaimed the curate, in benevolent alarm ; 
 "no illness here, I hope?" 
 
 " Cott ! it is you, Mr. Dale ! Come in, come in ; I want a word 
 with you. But who the teuce are these people?" 
 
 "Sir," said Mark, pushing through the doorway, "my name is 
 Fail-field, and my wife is Mr. Avenel's daughter ! " 
 
 " Oh, Jane and her baby too ! Good cood ! Come in ; 
 but be quiet, can't you? Still, still still as death ! " 
 
 The party entered, the door closed ; the moon rose, and shone 
 calmly on the pale silent house, on the sleeping flowers of the 
 little garden, on the old pollard with its hollow core. The horse 
 in the taxed-cart dozed, unheeded ; the light still at times flitted 
 across the upper windows. These were the only signs of life, ex- 
 cept when a bat, now and then attracted by the light that passed 
 across the windows, brushed against the panes, and then, dipping 
 downward, struck up against the nose of the slumbering horse, 
 and darted merrily after the moth that fluttered round the raven's 
 nest in the old pollard. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 ALL that day Harley L'Estrange had been more than usually 
 mournful and dejected. Indeed, the return to scenes associated 
 with Nora's presence increased the gloom that had settled on his 
 mind since he had lost sight and trace of her. Audley, in the 
 remorseful tenderness he felt for his injured friend, had induced 
 L'Estrange toward evening to leave the Park, and go into a dis- 
 trict some miles off, on pretence that he required Harley 's aid 
 there to canvass certain important outvoters ; the change of scene 
 might rouse him from his reveries. Harley himself was glad to 
 escape from the guests at Lansmere. He readily consented to 
 go. He would not return that night. The outvoters lay remote 
 and scattered he might be absent for a day or two. When Har- 
 ley was gone, Egerton himself sank into deep thought. There 
 was rumor of some unexpected opposition. His partisans were 
 alarmed and anxious. It was clear that the Lansmere interest, 
 if attacked, was weaker than the Earl would believe ; Egerton 
 might lose his election. If so, what would become of him ? How 
 support his wife, whose return to him he always Counted on, and 
 whom it would then become him at all hazards to acknowledge? 
 It was that day that he had spoken to William Hazeldean as to the 
 family living " Peace at least," thought the ambitious man "I
 
 242 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 shall havepeace ! " And the Squire had promised him the rectory if 
 needed ; not without a secret pang, for his Harry was already 
 using her conjugal influence in. favor of her old school-friend's 
 husband, Mr. Dale ; and the Squire thought Audley would be 
 but a poor country parson, and Dale if he would only grow a 
 little plumper than his curacy would permit him to be would 
 be a parson in ten thousand. But while Audley thus prepared 
 for the worst, he still brought his energies to bear on the more 
 brilliant optio'n ; and sat with his committee, looking into can- 
 vass-books, and discussing the characters, politics, and local in- 
 terests of every elector, until the night was well-nigh gone. When 
 he gained his room, the shutters were unclosed, and he stood a 
 few moments at the window gazing on the moon. Atlhat sight, 
 the thought of Nora, lost and afar, stole over him. : The man, 
 as we know, had in his nature little of romance and sentiment. 
 Seldom was it his wont to gaze upon moon or stars. But when- 
 ever some whisper of romance did soften his hard, strong mind, 
 or whenever moon or stars did charm his gaze from earth, Nora's 
 bright Muse-like face- Nora's sweet loving eyes, were seen in 
 moon and starbeam Nora's low tender voice, heard in the whis- 
 per of that which we call romance, and which is but the sound 
 of the mysterious poetry that is ever in the air, would we but 
 deign to hear it ! He 'turned with a sigh, undressed, threw him- 
 self on his bed, and extinguished his light. But the light of the 
 moon would h\\ the room. It kept him awake fora little time ; 
 he turned his face from the calm heavenly beam, resolutely to- 
 ward the dull blind wall, and fell asleep. And, in the sleep, he 
 was with Nora ; again in the humble bridal-home. Never in his 
 dreams had she seemed to -him so distinct and life-like her 
 eyes upturned to his her hands clasped together, and resting 
 on his shoulder, as had been her graceful wont her voice mur- 
 muring meekly, "Has it, then, been my fault that we parted? 
 forgive, forgive me !". 
 
 And the sleeper imagined that he answered, " Never part from 
 me again- never, never!" and that he bent down, to .kiss the 
 chaste lips that so. tenderly sought his .own. And suddenly he 
 heard a knocking sound, as of a hammer regular, but soft, sub- 
 dued. Did you ever, O reader, hear the sound of the hammer 
 on the lid of a coffin in a house of woe, when the undertaker's 
 decorous hireling fears that the living may hear how he parts 
 them from the dead? Such seemed the sound to Audley the 
 dream vanished abruptly. He woke, and again heard the knock; 
 it was at his door. He sat up wistfully the moon was gone 
 it was morning. "Who is there?" he cried, peevishly.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 243 
 
 A low voice from without answered, "Hush, it is I; dress 
 quick ; let me see you." 
 
 Egerton recognized Lady Lansmere's voice. Alarmed and sur- 
 prised, he rose, dressed in haste, and went to the door. Lady 
 Lansmere was standing without, extremely pale. She put her 
 ringer to her lip, and beckoned him to follow: her. He obeyed 
 mechanically. They entered her dressing-room, a few doors 
 from his own chamber, and the Countess closed the door. 
 
 Then laying her slight firm hand on his shoulder, she said, in 
 suppressed and passionate excitement 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Egerton, you must serve serve me, and at once ; 
 Harley Harley save my Harley go to him prevent his com- 
 ing back here; stay with him give up the election it is but a 
 year or twblost in your life you will have other opportunities 
 make that sacrifice to your friend." 
 
 "Speak what is the matter? I can make no sacrifice too 
 great for Harley!" 
 
 " Thanks I was sure of it. Go then, I say, at once, to Har- 
 ley; keep him away from Lansmere on any excuse you can in- 
 vent, until you can break the sad news to him gently, gently. 
 Oh, how will he bear it how recover the shock? My boy, my boy ! " 
 
 "Calm yourself! Explain! Break what news? recover what 
 shock?" 
 
 " True, you do not know you have not heard. Nora Avenel 
 lies yonder, in her father's house dead dead!" 
 
 Audley staggered back, clapping his hand to his heart, and then 
 dropping on his knee as if bowed down by the stroke of Heaven. 
 
 " My bride, my wife," he muttered. " Dead it cannot be!" 
 
 Lady Lansmere was so startled at this exclamation, so stunned 
 by a confession wholly unexpected, that she remained unable to 
 soothe to explain, and utterly unprepared for the fierce agony 
 that burst from the man she had ever seen so dignified and 
 cold when he sprang to his feet, and all sense of his eternal 
 loss rushed upon his heart. 
 
 At length he crushed back his emotions, and listened in appa- 
 rent calm, and in a silence broken by quick gasps for breath, to 
 Lady Lansmere's account. 
 
 One of the guests in the house, a female relation of Lady 
 Lansmere's, had been taken suddenly ill about an hour or two 
 before!-r-the house had been disturbed, the Countess herself 
 aroused, and Mr. Morgan summoned as the family medical prac- 
 titioner. From him she had learned that Nora Avenel had re- 
 turned to her father's house late on the previous evening; had 
 been seized with brain fever, and died in a few hours.
 
 244 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Audley listened, and turned to the door, still in silence. 
 
 Lady Lansmere caught him by the arm "Where are you 
 going ? Ah, can I now ask you to save my Son from the awful news, 
 you yourself the sufferer ? And yet yet you know his haste, his 
 vehemence, if he learnt that you were his rival her husband; 
 you whom he so trusted! What, what would be the result I 
 tremble!" 
 
 " Tremble not I do not tremble ! Let me go T will be back 
 soon and then (his lips writhed) then we will talk of Harley." 
 
 Egerton went"f6rth, stunned and dizzy. Mechanically he took 
 his way across the park to John Avenel's house. He had been 
 forced to enter that house, formally, a day or two before, in the 
 course of his canvass ; and his worldly pride had received a 
 shock when the. home, the birth, and the manners, of his bride's 
 parents had been brought before him. He had even said to him- 
 self, "And is it the child of these persons that I, Audley Eger- 
 ton, must announce to the world as my wife! " Now, if she had 
 been the child of a. beggars-nay, of a felon now, if he could 
 but recall her to life, how small and mean would all that dreaded 
 world appear to him! Too late too late! The dews were 
 glistening in the sun the birds were singing overhead life 
 waking all around him and his own heart felt like a charnel- 
 house. Nothing but death and the dead there nothing! He 
 arrived at the door; it was open; he called, no one answered ; 
 he walked up the narrow stairs, undisturbed, unseen; he came 
 into the chamber of death. At the opposite side of the bed was 
 seated John Avenel; but he seemed in a heavy sleep. In fact, 
 paralysis had smitten him; but he knew it not; neither did any 
 one. Who could heed the strong hearty man in such a moment ? 
 Not even the poor anxious wife! He had been left there to guard 
 the house, and watch the dead an unconscious man; numbed, 
 himself, by the invisible icy hand! Audley stole to the bedside; 
 .he lifted the coverlid thrown over the pale still face. What 
 passed within him, during the minute he stayed there, who shall 
 say? But when he left the room, and slowly descended the 
 stairs, he left behind him love and youth, all the sweet hopes and 
 joys of the household human life for ever and ever! 
 
 He returned to Lady Lansmere, who awaited his coming with 
 the most nervous anxiety. 
 
 " Now," said he, dryly, " I will go to Harley, and I will pre- 
 vent his returning hither." 
 
 " You have seen the parents. Good heavens! do they know 
 of your marriage ?" 
 
 "No; to Harley I must own it first. Meanwhile, silence! "
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 24$ 
 
 "Silence!" echoed Lady Lansmere; and her burning hand 
 rested in Audley's, and Audley's was as ice. 
 
 In another hour Egerton had left the house, and before noon 
 he was with Harley. 
 
 It is necessary now to explain the absence of all the Avenel 
 family except the poor stricken father. 
 
 Nora had died in giving birth to a child died delirious. In 
 her delirium she had spoken of shame of disgrace; there was 
 no holy nuptial ring on her finger! Through all her grief, the 
 first thought of Mrs. Avenel was to save the good name of her 
 lost daughter the unblemished honor of all the living Avenels. 
 No matron, long descended from knights or kings, had keener 
 pride in name and character, than the poor punctilious Calvin- 
 istic trader's wife. "Sorrow later, honor now!" Withharddry 
 eyes she mused and mused, and made out her plan. Jane Fair- 
 field should take away the infant at once, before, the day dawned, 
 and nurse it with her own. Mark should go with her, for Mrs. 
 Avenel dreaded the indiscretion of his wild grief. She would 
 go with them herself part of the way, in order to command or 
 reason them into guarded silence. But they could not go back 
 to Hazeldean with another infant; Jane must go where none 
 knew her; the infants might pass as twins. And Mrs. Avenel, 
 though naturally a humane, kindly woman, and with a mother's 
 heart to infants, looked with almost a glad sternness .at Jane's 
 puny babe, and thought to herself, " All difficulty would be over 
 should there be only one ! Nora's child could thus pass through- 
 out life for Jane's! " 
 
 Fortunately for the preservation of the secret, the Avenels 
 kept no servant only an occasional drudge, who came a few 
 hours in the day, and went home to sleep. Mrs, Avenel could 
 count on Mr. Morgan's silence as to the true cause. of Nora's 
 death. And Mr. Dale, why should he reveal the dishonor of a 
 family ? That very day, or the next at farthest, she could induce 
 her husband to absent himself, lest he should blab out the tale 
 while his sorrow was greater than his pride. She alone would 
 then stay in the house of death until she could feel assured that 
 all else were hushed into prudence. Ay, she felt that with due 
 precautions, the name was still safe. And so she awed and hur- 
 ried Mark and his wife away, and werit with them in the covered 
 cart that hid the faces of all three: leaving for an hour or two 
 the house and the dead to her husband's charge,, with many an 
 admonition, to which he nodded his head, and which he did not 
 hear! Do you think this woman was unfeeling and inhuman ? 
 Had Nora looked from .heaven into her mother's heart, Nora
 
 246 MV NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 would riot have thought so. A good name, when the burial-stone 
 closes over dust, is still a possession upon the earth; on earth it 
 is indeed our only one! Better. for our friends to guard for us 
 that treasure, than to sit down and weep over perishable clay. 
 And weep! Oh! stern mother, long years were left to thee for 
 weeping! No tears shed for Nora made such deep furrows on 
 the cheeks as thine did! Yet who ever saw them flow? 
 
 Harley was la great surprise to see Egerton; more surprised 
 when Egerton told him that he found he was to be opposed- 
 that he had no chance of success -at Lansmere, and had, there- 
 fore, resolved to retire from the contest. He wrote to the Earl 
 to that effect; but the Countess knew the true cause, and hinted 
 it to the Earl; so that, as we saw at the commencement of this 
 history, Egerton's cause did not suffer when Captain Dashmore 
 appeared in the borough; and thanks to Mr. Hazeldean's exer- 
 tions and oratory, Audley came in by two votes the votes of 
 John Avenel and Mark Fairfield. For though the former had 
 been remo ved a little way from the town, and by medical advice 
 and though, on other matters, the disease that had smitten him 
 left him docile as a child (and he had but vague indistinct ideas 
 of all the circumstances connected with Nora's return, save the 
 sense of her loss) yet he still would hear how the Blues went on, 
 and would get out of bed to keep his word ; and even his wife said, 
 "He is right; better die of it, than break his promise!" The crowd 
 gaveway asthebroken man they hadseen a fewdaysbef ore so jovial 
 and healthful was brought up in a chair to the poll, and said, with 
 his tremulous, quavering voice, "I'm a true Blue Blue for ever! " 
 
 Elections are wondrous things! No man who has not seen 
 can guess how the zeal in them triumphs over sickness, sorrow, 
 the ordinary private life of us! 
 
 There was forwarded to Audley, i/om Lansmere Park, Nora's 
 last letter. The postman had left it there an hour or two after 
 he himself had gone. The wedding-ring fell on the ground, and 
 rolled under his feet. And those burning, passionate reproaches 
 all that anger of the wounded dove explained to him the mys- 
 tery of her return her unjust suspicions the cause of her sud- 
 den death, which he still ascribed to brain fever, brought on by 
 excitement and fatigue. For Nora did not speak of the child 
 about to be born; she had not remembered it when she wrote, 
 or she would not have written. On the receipt of this letter, 
 Egerton could not remain in the dull village district alone^ too, 
 wifch Harley. He said, abruptly, that he must go to London 
 prevailed on L'Estrange to accompany him; and there, when he 
 heard from Lady Lansmere that the funeral was over, he broke
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 247 
 
 to Harley, with lips as white as. the dead, and his hand pressed 
 to his heart, on which his hereditary disease was.fastening quick 
 and fierce, the dread truth that Nora was no more. The 'effect 
 upon the boy's health and spirits was even more crushing than 
 Audley could anticipate. He only woke from grief to feel re- 
 morse. "For," said the noble Harley, "had it not been for my 
 passion my rash pursuit would she ever have left her safe 
 asylum ever even have left her native town? And then and 
 then the struggle between her sense of duty and her love to 
 me! I see it all all! But for me she were living still! " 
 
 "Oh, no!" cried Egerton his confession now rushing to his 
 lips. "Believe me, she never loved you as you think. Nay nay 
 hear me ! Rather suppose that she loved another fled with 
 him was perhaps married to him, and" 
 
 "Hold!" exclaimed Harley, with a terrible burst of passion 
 "you kill her twice to me if you say that ! I can still feel that 
 she lives Hves here, in. my heart while I dream that she loved 
 me or, at least, that no other lip ever knew the kiss that was 
 denied to mine ! But if you tell me to douht that ; you you ! " 
 The boy's anguish was too great for his frame ; he fell suddenly 
 back into Audley's arms ; he had broken a blood-vessel. For 
 several daysihe was in great danger; but his eyes were constantly 
 fixed on Audley's with wistful intense gaze. "Tell me," hemub 
 tered, at the risk of re-opening the ruptured veins, and of the 
 instant loss of life "tell me you did not mean that! Tell me 
 you have no cause to think she loved another was another's !" 
 
 " Hush, hush no cause none none. I meant but to comfort 
 you, as I thought fool that I .was that is all ! " cried the miser- 
 able friend. And from that hour Audley gave up the idea of 
 righting himself in his own eyes, and submitted still to be the 
 living lie he, the .haughty gentleman ! 
 
 Now, while Harley was still very weak and suffering, Mr. Dale 
 came to London and called on Egerton. The curate, in promising 
 secrecy to Mrs. Avenel, had made one condition, that it should 
 not be to the positive injury of Nora's living son. What if Nora 
 were married, after all? And would it not be right, at least, to 
 learn the name of the child's father? Some day he might need a 
 father. Mrs. Avenel was obliged to content herself with these 
 reservations. However, she implored Mr. Dale not to make in- 
 quiries. What could they do? If Nora were married, her husband 
 would naturally, of his own accord, declare himself; if seduced 
 and forsaken, it would but disgrace her memory (now saved from 
 stain) to discover the father to a child of whose very existence 
 the world as yet knew nothing. These arguments perplexed the
 
 243 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 good curate. But Jane Fairfield had a sanguine belief in her 
 sister's innocence ; and all her suspicions naturally pointed to 
 Lord L' Estrange. So, indeed, perhaps, did Mrs. Avenel's, though 
 she never owned them. Of the correctness of these suspicions 
 Mr. Dale was fully convinced ; the young lord's admiration, 
 Lady Lansmere's fears, had been too evident to one who had often 
 visited at the Park Harley's abrupt departure just before Nora's 
 return home Egerton's sudden resignation of the borough before 
 even opposition was declared, in order to rejoin his friend, the 
 very day of Nora's death all confirmed his ideas that Harley 
 was the betrayer or the husband. Perhaps there might have been a 
 secret marriage possibly abroad since Harley wanted some 
 years of his majority. He would, at least, try to see and to sound 
 Lord L'Estrange. Prevented this interview by Harley's illness, 
 the curate resolved to ascertain how far he could penetrate into 
 the mystery by a conversation with Egerton. There was much in 
 the grave repute which the latter had acquired, and the singular 
 and pre-eminent character for truth and honor with which it was 
 accompanied, that made the curate resolve upon this step. 
 Accordingly, he saw Egerton, meaning only diplomatically to 
 extract from the new member for Lansmere what might benefit 
 the family of the voters who had given him his majority of two. 
 
 He began by mentioning, as a touching fact, how poor John 
 Avenel^ bowed down by the loss of his child, and the malady 
 which had crippled his limbs and enfeebled his mind, had still 
 risen from his bed to keep his word. And Audley's emotions 
 seemed to him so earnest and genuine, to show so good a heart, 
 that out by little and little came more ; first, his suspicions that 
 poor Nora had been betrayed ; then his hopes that there might 
 have been a private marriage ; and as Audley, with his iron 
 self-command, showed just the proper degree of interest, and 
 no more, he went on, till Audley knew that he had a child. 
 
 "Inquire no further !" said the man of the world. "Respect 
 Mrs. Avenel's feelings and wishes, I entreat you ; they are the 
 right ones. Leave the rest to me. In my position I mean as a 
 resident of London I can quietly and easily ascertain more than 
 you could, and provoke no scandal ! If I can right this this 
 poor (his voice trembled) right the lost mother, or the living 
 child sooner or later you will hear from me ; if not, bury this 
 secret where it now rests, in a grave which slander has not reached. 
 But the child give me the address where it is to be found 
 in case I succeed in finding the father, and touching his heart." 
 
 "Oh, Mr, Egerton, may I not say where you may find that 
 father who he is ? "
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 249 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 " Do not be angry; and after all, I cannot ask you to betray any 
 confidence which a friend may have placed in you. I know what 
 you men of high honor are to each other even in sin. No, no I 
 beg pardon ; I leave all in your hands. I shall hear from you then?" 
 
 " Or if not why, then, believe that all search is hopeless. 
 My friend ! if you mean Lord L'Estrange, he is innocent. I 
 I I (the voice faltered) am convinced of it." 
 
 The curate sighed, but made no answer. "Oh, ye men of the 
 world!" thought he. He gave the address which the member 
 for Lansmere had asked for, and went his way, and never heard 
 again from Audley Egerton. He was convinced that the man 
 who had shown such deep feeling had failed in his appeal to Har- 
 ley's conscience, or had judged it best to leave Nora's name in 
 peace, and her child to her own relations and the care of Heaven. 
 
 Harley L'Estrange, scarcely yet recovered, hastened to join 
 our armies on the continent, and seek the Death which, like its 
 half-brother, rarely comes when we call it. 
 
 As soon as Harley was gone, Egerton went to the village to 
 which Mr. Dale had directed him, to seek for Nora's child. 
 But here he was led into a mistake which materially affected the 
 tenor of his own life, and Leonard's future destinies. Mrs. Fair- 
 field had been naturally ordered by her mother to take another 
 name in the village to which she had gone with the two infants, 
 so that her connection with the Avenel family might not be 
 traced, to the provocation of inquiry and gossip. The grief and 
 excitement through which she had gone dried the source of nu- 
 triment in her breast.- She put Nora's child out to nurse at the 
 house of a small farmer, at a little distance from the village, and 
 moved from her first lodging to be nearer to the infant. Her own 
 child was so sickly and ailing, that she could not bear to entrust 
 it to the care of another. She tried to bring it up by hand; and 
 the poor child soon pined away and died. She and Mark could 
 not endure the sight of their baby's grave; they hastened to 
 return to Hazeldean, and took Leonard with them. From that 
 time Leonard passed for the son they had lost. 
 
 When Egerton arrived at the village, and inquired for the 
 person whose address had been given to him, he was referred 
 to the cottage in which she had last lodged, and was told that 
 she had been gone some days the day after her child was buried. 
 Her child buried ! Egerton stayed to inquire no more ; thus he 
 heard nothing of the infant that had been put out to nurse. He 
 walked slowly into the churchyard, and stood for some minutes 
 gazing on the small new mound ; then, pressing his hand on the
 
 250 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 heart to which all emotion had been forbidden, he re-entered his 
 chaise and returned to London. The sole reason for acknowl- 
 edging, his marriage seemed to him now removed. Nora's name 
 had escaped reproach. Even had his painful position with re- 
 gard to Harley not constrained him to preserve his secret, there 
 was every motive to the World's wise and haughty son not to 
 acknowledge a derogatory and foolish marriage, now that none 
 lived whom concealment could wrong, 
 
 Audley mechanically resumed his former life sought to re- 
 settle his thoughts on the grand objects of ambitious men. His 
 poverty still pressed on him ; his pecuniary debt to Harley stung 
 and galled his peculiar sense of honor. He saw no way to clear 
 his estates, to repay his friend, but by some rich alliance. Dead 
 to love, he faced this : prospect first with repugnance, then with 
 apathetic indifference. Levy, of whose treachery toward himself 
 and Nora he was. unaware, still held over him the power that 
 the money-lender never loses over the man that has owed, owes, 
 or may owe again. Levy was .-ever urging him to propose to the 
 rich Aliss Leslie ; Lady Lansmere, willing to atone as she 
 thought, for his domestic loss, urged the same ; Harley, influ- 
 enced by his mother, wrote froip the Continent to the same effect. 
 
 "Manage it as you will," at last said Egerton to Levy, "so 
 that I am not a wife's pensioner." 
 
 " Propose for me, if you will," he said to Lady Lansmere 
 "I cannot woo I cannot talk of love." 
 
 Somehow or other the marriage, with all its rich advantages 
 to the ruined gentleman, was thus made up. And Egerton, as 
 we have seen, was the polite and dignified husband before the 
 world married to a woman who adored him. It is the com- 
 mon fate of men like him to be loved too well ! 
 
 On her death-bed his heart was. touched by his wife's melan- 
 choly reproach " Nothing I could do has ever made you love 
 me ! " " It is true," answered Audley, with tears in his voice 
 and eyes" Nature gave me .but a small fund of what women 
 like you call 'love,' and I lavished it all away." And he then 
 told her, though with reserve,, some portion of his former his- 
 tory; arid that soothed her ; for when she saw that he had 
 loved, and could grieve, she caught a glimpse of the human heart 
 she tiadnot seen before. She died, forgiving him, and blessing. 
 
 Audley's spirits were much affected by this new loss. He 
 inly resolved never to marry again. He had a vague thought 
 at first of retrenching his expenditures, and making young Ran- 
 dal Leslie his heir. But when he first saw the clever Eton boy, 
 his-feelings did not warm to him, though his intellect appreciated
 
 JSH LIFE. 251 
 
 Randal's quick, keen talents. He contented himself with re- 
 solving to push the boy ; to do what was merely just to the dis- 
 tant kinsman of his late wife. Always careless and lavish in 
 money matters, generous and princely, not from the delight of 
 serving others, but from a grand seigneur's sentiment of what 
 was due to himself and his station, Audley had a mournful 
 excuse for the lordly waste of the large fortune at his control. 
 The morbid functions of the heart had become organic disease. 
 True, he might live many years, and die at last of some other 
 complaint in the course of nature ; but the progress of the dis- 
 ease would quicken with all emotional excitement ; he might 
 die suddenly any day- in the very prime, and, seemingly, in 
 the full vigor of his life. And the only physiciaH in whom he 
 confided what he wished to keep concealed from the world (for 
 ambitious men would fain be thought immortal), told him 
 frankly that it was improbable that, with the wear and tear of 
 political strife and action, he could advance far into middle : age. 
 Therefore, no son of his succeeding his nearest relations all 
 wealthy Egerton resigned himself to his constitutional disdain 
 of money; he could look into no affairs, provided the balance 
 in his banker's hands were such as became the munificent com- 
 moner. All else he left to his steward and to Levy. Levy 
 grew rapidly rich very, very rich and the steward thrived. 
 
 The usurer continued to possess a determined hold over the 
 imperious great man. He knew Audley's secret; he could reveal 
 that secret to Harley. And the one soft and 'tender side of the 
 statesman's nature the sole part of him not dipped in the nine- 
 fold Styx of practical prosaic life, which renders man so invul- 
 nerable to affection was his remorseful love for the school- 
 friend whom he still deceived. 
 
 Here, then, you have the key to the locked chambers of Aud- 
 ley Egerton's character, the fortified castle of his mind. The 
 envied minister the joyless man ; the oracle on the economies 
 of an empire the prodigalin a usurer's hands; the august, 
 high-crested gentleman, to whom princes would refer for the 
 casuistry of honor ^the culprit, trembling lest the friend he 
 best loved on earth should detect his lie ! Wrap thyself in the 
 decent veil that the Arts or the Graces weave for thee, O Human 
 nature ! It is only the statue of marble whose nakedness the eye 
 can behold without shame and offence. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 OF the narrative just placed before the reader, it is clear that 
 Leonard could gather only desultory fragments. He could but
 
 252 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 see that his ill-fated mother had been united to a man she had 
 loved with surpassing tenderness ; had been led to suspect that 
 the marriage was fraudulent; had gone abroad in despair, re- 
 turned repentant and hopeful ; had gleaned some intelligence 
 that her lover was about to be married to another, and there the 
 manuscript closed with the blisters left on the page by agonizing 
 tears. The mournful end of Nora her lonely return to die 
 under the roof of her parents this he had learned before from 
 the narrative of Dr. Morgan. 
 
 But even the name of her supposed husband was not revealed. 
 Of him Leonard could form no conjectures, except that he was 
 evidently of higher rank than Nora. Harley'L'Estrange seemed 
 clearly indicated in the early boy-lover. If so, Harley must 
 know all that was. left dark to Leonard, and to him Leonard re- 
 solved to confide the manuscript. With this resolution he left 
 the cottage, resolving to return and attend the funeral obsequies of 
 his departed friend. Mrs, Goodyer willingly permitted him to take 
 away the papers she had lent him, and added to them the packet 
 which had been addressed to Mrs. Bertram from the-jCpnlinent. 
 
 Musing in anxious gloom over the record he had read, Leon- 
 ard entered London on foot, and bent his way toward Harley's 
 hotel ; when, just as he 'had crossed into Bond Street, a gentle- 
 man in company with Baron Levy, and who seemed, by the 
 flush .on his brow and the sullen tone of his voice, to have 
 had rather an irritating colloquy with the fashionable usurer, 
 suddenly caught sight of Leonard, and, abruptly quitting Levy, 
 seized the young man by the arm. 
 
 "Excuse me, sir," said the gentleman, looking hard into 
 Leonard's face ; "but unless these sharp eyes of mine are mis- 
 taken, which they seldom are, I see a nephew whom, perhaps, I 
 behaved to rather too harshly, but who still has no right to for- 
 get Richard Avenel." 
 
 " My dear uncle," exclaimed Leonard, " this is indeed a joyful 
 surprise; at a time, too, when I needed joy. No; I have never for- 
 gotten your kindness, and always regretted our estrangement." 
 
 " That is well said ; give us your fist again. Let me look at 
 you quite. the .gentleman, I declare! still so good-looking too. 
 We Avenel^ always were a handsome family. Good-bye, Baron 
 Levy. Need not wait for me ; I am not going to run away. I 
 shall see you again soon." 
 
 " But," whispered Levy, who had followed Avenel across the 
 street,and eyed Leonard with a quick, curious,searching glance 
 " but it must be as I said with regard to the borough; or (to be 
 
 plain) you must cash the bills on the day they are due." 
 
 j , j
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 253 
 
 "Very well, sir very well. So you think to put the screw- 
 on me, as if I were a poor little householder. I understand 
 my money or my borough ? " 
 
 " Exactly so," said the Baron, with a soft smile. 
 
 " You shall hear from me. [Aside, as Levy strolled away.] 
 D d, tarnation rascal! " 
 
 Dick Avenel then linked his arm in his nephew's, and strove 
 for some minutes to fdrget his own troubles, in the indulgence 
 of that curiosity in the affairs of another which was natural to him, 
 and in this instance, increased by the real affection which he had 
 felt for Leonard. But still his curiosity remained unsatisfied; for 
 long before Leonard could overcome his habitual reluctance to 
 speak of his success, Dick's mind wandered t>aek to his rival at 
 Screwstown and the curse of " over-competition, " to the bills 
 which Levy had discounted, in order to enable Dick to meet 
 the crushing force of a capitalist larger than himself and the 
 " tarnation rascal " who now wished to obtain two seats at Lans- 
 mere, one for Randal Leslie, one for a rich Nabob whom Levy 
 had just caught as a;client; and Dick,though willing to aid Leslie, 
 had a mind to the other seat himself. Therefore Dick soon broke 
 in upon the hesitating confessions of Leonard, with exclamations 
 far from pertinent to the subject, and rather for the sake of 
 venting his own griefs and resentment, than with any idea that 
 the sympathy or advice of his nephew could serve. 
 
 " Well, well," said Dick, " another time for your history. I 
 see you have thrived, and that is enough for the present. Very 
 odd; but just now I can only think of myself. I'm in a regular 
 fix, sir. Screwstown is not the respectable Screwstown that you 
 remember it all demoralized and turned topsy-turvy by a de- 
 moniacal monster capitalist,with steam-engines that might bring 
 the falls of Niagara into your back parlor, sir! And as ; if that was 
 not enough to destroy and drive into-almighty shivers a decent 
 fair-play Britisher like myself, I hear he is just in treaty for some 
 patent infernal invention that will make his engines do twice as 
 much work with half as many hands! That's the way those un- 
 feeling ruffians increase our poor-rates! But I'll get up a riot 
 against him I will! Don't talk to me of the law! What the devil 
 is the good of the law, if it don't protect a man's industry a 
 liberal man, too, like me ! " Here Dick burst into a storm of 
 rituperation against the rotten old country m general, and Mr. 
 Dyce, the monster capitalist of Screwstown, in particular. 
 
 Leonard started ; for Dick now named, in that monster cap- 
 italist, the very person who was in treaty for Leonard's own 
 mechanical improvement on the: steam-engine.
 
 254 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Stop, uncle stop! Why, then, if this man were to bAiy the 
 contrivance you speak of, it would injure you ? ". 
 
 " Injure me, sir ! I should be a bankrupt that is, if it suc- 
 ceeded ; but I dare say it is all a humbug." 
 
 " No, it will succeed I'll; answer for that ! " 
 
 " You! You have seen it ?*' 
 
 "Why, I invented it." 
 
 Dick hastily withdrew his arm from Leonard's. 
 
 " Serpent's tooth ! " he said, falteringly; " so it is you,\vhom I 
 warmed at my hearth, who are to ruin Richard Avenel ? " 
 
 '* No but to save him! Come into the city and look at my 
 model. If you like it the patent shall be yours ! " 
 
 " Cab cab cab," cried Dick Avenel, stopping a "Hansom "; 
 "jump in, Leonard jump in. I'll buy your patent that is, if 
 it be worth a straw ; and as for payment" 
 
 " Payment ! Don't talk of that." 
 
 " Well, I won't," said Dick mildly ; "for 'tis not the topic of 
 conversation I should choose myself, just at present. And as for 
 that black-whiskered alligator, the Baron, let me first get out of 
 those rambustious, unchristian, filbert-shaped claws of his, and 
 then But jump in jump in and tell the man where to drive!" 
 
 A very brief inspection of Leonard's invention sufficed to show 
 Richard Avenel how invaluable it would be to him. Armed with 
 a patent, of which the certain effects in the increase of power 
 and diminution of labor were obvious to any practical man, 
 Avenel felt that he should have no difficulty in obtaining such 
 advances of money as he required,, whether to alter his engines, 
 meet the .bills discounted by Levy, or carry on the war with the 
 monster capitalist. It might be necessary to admit into partner- 
 ship some other monster capitalist What then ? Any partner 
 better than Levy. A bright idea struck him. 
 
 " If I can just terrify and whop that infernal intruder on my 
 own ground, for a few months, he may offer, himself, to enter 
 into partnership make the two concerns a joint-stock friendly 
 combination, and then we shall flog the world." 
 
 His gratitude to Leonard became so lively* that Dick offered 
 to bring his nephew in for.Lansmere instead of himself; and 
 when Leonard declined the offer, exclaimed, "Well then, any 
 friend of yours; I'm all for reform against those high and mighty 
 right honorable borough-mongers; and what with loans and mort- 
 gages on the small house-holders, and a long course of ' Free 
 and Easies ' with the independent freemen, I carry ohe seat cer- 
 tain, perhaps both seats of the town of Lansmere, in my breeches- 
 pocket." Dick, then, appointing an interview with Leonard at
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 255 
 
 his lawyers, to settle the transfer of the invention, upon terms, 
 which he declared " should be honorable to both parties," hurried 
 off, to search amongst his friends in the city for some monster cap- 
 italist, who might be induced to extricate him from the jaws of 
 Levy, and the engines of his rival at Screwstown. " Mulling is 
 the man if I can. catch him," said Dick. "You have heard of 
 Muilins? A wonderful great man ; you should see his nails ; 
 he never cuts them I Three millions, at least, he has scraped 
 together with those nails of his, sir. And in this rotten old coun- 
 try, a man must have nails a yard long to fight with a devil like 
 Levy! Good-bye good-6ye, GOOD-bye, my DEAR nephew ! " 
 . 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 
 
 HARLEY L'ESTRANGE was seated alone in his apartments. He 
 had just put down a volume of some favorite classic author, and 
 was resting his hand firmly clenched upon the book. Ever since 
 Harley's return to England, there had been a* perceptible change 
 in the expression of his countenance, even in the very bearing 
 and attitudes of his elastic youthful figure. But this change had 
 been more marked since that last interview with Helen which 
 has been recorded. There was a compressed, resolute firmness 
 in the lips a decided character in the brow. To the indolent, 
 careless grace of his movements had succeeded a certain inde- 
 scribable energy, as quiet and self-collected as that which dis- 
 tinguished the determined air of Audley Egerton himself. In 
 fact, if you could have looked into his heart, you would have 
 seen that Harley was, for the first time, making a strong effort 
 over his passions and his humors; that the whole man was nerv* 
 ing himself to a sense of duty. " No," he muttered "no I will 
 think only of Helen; I. will think only of real life! And what 
 (were I not engaged to another) would that dark-eyed Italian 
 girl be to me? What a mere fool's fancy is this! I love again! 
 I, who through all the fair spring of my life, have clung with 
 such faith to amemoryand a grave! Come, come, come, Harley 
 L'Estrange, act thy part as man amongst men at last! Accept 
 regard; dream no more of passion. Abandon false ideal. Thou 
 art no poet why deem that life itself can be a poem ? " 
 
 The. door opened, and the Austrian Prince, whom Harley had 
 interested in the cause of Violante's father, entered with the 
 familiar step of a friend. 
 
 " Have you discovered those documents yet ? " said the Prince. 
 "I must now return to Vienna within a few days. And unless 
 you can arm me with some tangible proof of Peschiera's ancient
 
 256 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 treachery, or some more unanswerable excuse for his noble kins- 
 man, I fear that there is no other hope for the exile's recall to 
 his country than what lies in the hateful option of giving his 
 daughter to his perfidious- foe." 
 
 " Alas ! " said Harley, " as yet all researches have been in vain; 
 and I know not what other steps to take, without arousing Peschi- 
 era's vigilance, and setting his crafty brains at work to counter- 
 act us. My poor friend, then, must rest contented with exile. 
 To give Violante to the Count were dishonor. But I shall soon 
 be married; soon have a home, not quite unworthy of their due 
 rank, to offer both to father and to child." 
 
 "Would the future Lady L'Estrange feel no jealousy of a 
 guest so fair as you tell me this young gignorina is ? And would 
 you be in no danger yourself, my friend?" 
 
 "Pooh!?" said Harley,coloring. "My fair guest would haye/ttw 
 fathers; that is all. Pray do aot jest on a thing so grave as honor." 
 
 Again the door opened, and Leonard appeared. 
 
 " Welcome," cried Harley, pleased to be no longer alone under 
 the Prince's penetrating eye "Welcome, This is the noble 
 friend who shares our interest for Riccabocca, and who could 
 serve him so well, if we could but discover the document of 
 which I have spoken to you." 
 
 " It r is here," said Leonard, simply; "may it be all ithat you 
 require ! " 
 
 Harley eagerly grasped at the packet, which had been sent 
 from Italy to the supposed Mrs. Bertram, and, leaning his face 
 on his hand, rapidly hurried through the contents. 
 
 "Hurrah !" he cried at last, with his face lighted up, and a 
 boyish toss of his right hand. "Look, look, Prince, .here are 
 Peschiera's own letters to his kinsman's wife; 'his avowal of what 
 he calls his 'patriotic designs'; his entreaties to her to induce 
 her husband to share them. Look, look, how he wields his in- 
 fluence over the woman he had once wooed; look how artfully 
 he combats her objections; see how reluctant .our friend was. to 
 stir, till wife and kinsman both united to urge him." 
 . "It -is enough quite enough," exclaimed the Prince, looking 
 at the passages in Peschiera's letters which Harley pointed out 
 to him. 
 
 " No, it is not enough," shouted Harley, as he continued to 
 read the 1 letters with his rapid sparkling eyes. "More still ! O 
 villain, doubly damned ! Here, after our friend's flight, here is 
 Peschiera's avowal of guilty passion; here he swears that he had 
 intrigued to ruin his benefactor, in order to pollute the home 
 that had sheltered him. Ah! see how she answers; thank Heaven,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 257 
 
 her own eyes were opened at last, and she scorned him before she 
 died. She was innocent! I said so ! Violante's mother was pure. 
 Poor lady! this moves me. Has yourEmperor the heart of a man?" 
 
 " I know enough of our Emperor," answered the Prince, warm- 
 ly, "to know that the moment these papers reach him, Peschiera 
 is ruined, and your friend is restored to his honors. You will 
 live to see the daughter, to whom you would have given a child's 
 place at your hearth, the wealthiest heiress of Italy the bride of 
 some noble lover, with rank only below the supremacy of kings! " 
 
 " Ah ! " said Harley, in a sharp accent, and turning very pale 
 "ah, I shall not see her that! I shall never visit Italy again ! 
 never see her more never, after she has once quitted this cli- 
 mate of cold iron cares and formal duties never, never !"' He 
 turned his head for a moment, and then came with quick step 
 to Leonard. " But you, O happy poet ! No Ideal can ever be 
 lost to you. You are independent of real life. Would that I 
 were a poet !." He smiled sadly. 
 
 "You would not say so, perhaps, my dear lord," answered 
 Leonard, with equal sadness, "if you knew how little what you 
 call ' the Ideal,' replaces to a poet th loss of one affection in the 
 genial human world. Independent of real life ! Alas ! no. And 
 I have here the confessions of a true poet-soul, which I will en- 
 treat you to read at leisure; and when, you have read, say if you 
 would still be a poet ! " 
 
 He took forth Nora's manuscripts as he spoke., 
 
 "Place them yonder, in my escritoire, Leonard; I will read 
 them later." 
 
 "Do so, and with heed ; for to me there is much here that 
 involves my own life much that is still a mystery, and which I 
 think you can unravel ! " 
 
 " I ! " exclaimed Harley ; and he was moving toward the escri- 
 toire , in a drawer of which Leonard had" carefully deposited the 
 papers, when, once more, but this time violently, the door was 
 thrown open, and Giacomo rushed into the room, accompanied 
 by Lady Lansmere. 
 
 "Oh, my lord !" cried Giacomo, in Italian, "the signdrina ! 
 the sighorina ! Violante ! " 
 
 "Whatofher? Moth er, mother ! what of her ? Speak, speak !" 
 
 " She has gone left our house ! " 
 
 "Left! No, no!" cried Giacomo. "She must have been 
 deceived or forced away. The Count ! the Count ! Oh, my good 
 lord, save her, as you once saved her father!" 
 
 "Hold!" cried Harley. "Give me your arm, mother. A 
 second such blow in life is beyond the strength of man at least
 
 258 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 it is beyond mine. Stand back, all of you give me air. So 
 the Count has triumphed, and Violante has fled with him ! Ex- 
 plain all, I can bear it !" 
 
 BOOK TWELFTH. INITIAL CHAPTER 
 
 < 
 
 WHEREIN THE CAXTON FAMILY REAPPEAR. 
 
 "AGAIN," quoth my father "again behold us ! We who 
 greeted the commencement of your narrative, who absented our- 
 selves in the mid-course when 'we could but obstruct the cur- 
 rent of e,vents, and jostle personages more important we now 
 gather round the close. Still as the chorus to the drama, we 
 circle round thealtar.with the solemn but dubious chant which 
 prepares the audience for the completion of the appointed des- 
 tinies; though still, ourselves, unaware how the skein is to be 
 unravelled, and where the shears are to descend." 
 
 So there they stood, the Family of Caxton all grouping 
 round me all eager officiously to question some over- anxious 
 prematurely to criticise. 
 
 : " Violante can't have voluntarily gone off with that horrid 
 Count," said my mother; "but, perhaps she was 'deceived, like 
 Eugenia by Mr. Bellamy, in the novel of ' CAMILLA.' " 
 
 " Ha !" said my father, "and in that case it is time yet, to, steal 
 a -hint from Clarissa Harlowe, and make Violante die less of a 
 broken heart than a sullied honor. She is one of those girls who 
 ought to be killed! All things about her forebode an early tomb !" 
 
 " Dear, dear ! " cried Mrs. Caxton, " I hope not ! " 
 
 " Pooh, brother," said the Captain, "we have had enough of 
 the tomb in the history of poor Nora. The whole story grows 
 out pf a grave, and if to a grave it must return if, Pisistratus, 
 you must kill somebody, kill Levy." 
 
 "Or the Count," said my mother, with unusual truculence. 
 
 " Or Randal Leslie," said Squills. "I should like to have a post' 
 mortem cast of his head it would be an instructive study." 
 
 Here there was a general confusion of tongues, all present 
 conspiring to bewilder the unfortunate author with their various 
 and discordant counsels how to wind up his story and dispose 
 of his characters. 
 
 " Silence ! " cried Pisistratus, clapping his hands to both ears. 
 " I can no more alter the fate allotted to each of the personages 
 whom you honor with your interest than I can change your own; 
 like you, they must go where events lead them, urged on by 
 their own characters and the agencies of others. Providence s<?
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 259 
 
 pervadingly governs the universe, that you cannot strike it even 
 out of a book. The author may beget a character, but the 
 moment the character comes into action, it escapes from his 
 hands plays its own part, and fulfils its own inevitable doom." 
 
 " Besides," said Mr. Squills, "it is easy to see, from the phren- 
 ological development of the organs in those several heads which 
 Pisistratus has allowed us to examine, that we have seen no 
 creations of mere fiction, but living persons, whose true history 
 has set in movement their various bumps of Amativeness, Con- 
 structiveness,, Acquisitiveness, Ideality, Wonder, Comparison, 
 etc. They must act, and they must end, according to the influ- 
 ences of their crania. Thus we find in Randal Leslie the pre- 
 dominant organ of Constructiveness, Secretiveness, Comparison, 
 and Eventuality -while Benevolence, Conscientiousness, Ad- 
 hesiveness, are utterly////. Now,, to. divine hpw such "a man must 
 end, we must first see what is the general composition of the 
 society in which he moves, in short, what other gases -are 
 brought into contact with his phlogiston. As to Leonard, and 
 Harley, arid Audley Egerton, surveying them phrenologically, 
 I should say that " 
 
 " Hush !" said my fa.ther, "Pisistratus has dipped his pen in 
 the ink, and it seems to me easier for the wisest man that ever 
 lived to account for what others have done, than to predict what 
 they should do. Phrenologists discovered that Mr. Thurtell had 
 a very fine organ of Conscientiousness, yet, somehow or other, 
 that erring personage contrived to knock the brains out of his 
 friend's organ of Individuality. Therefore I .rise to propose a 
 Resolution that this meeting be adjourned, till Pisistratus has 
 completed his narrative, 'and we shall then have the. satisfaction 
 of knowing that it ought, according to every principle of nature, 
 science, and art, to have been completed differently. Why 
 should we deprive ourselves of that pleasure ? " 
 
 "I second the motion," said the Captain; "but if Levybenot 
 hanged, I shall say that there is an end of all poetical justice." 
 
 "Take care of poor Helen," said Blanche, tenderly; "not 
 that I would have you forget Violante." 
 
 " Pish ! and sit down, or they shall both die old maids." 
 
 Frightened at that threat, Blanche, with a deprecating look, 
 drew her stool quietly near me, as if to place her two protegees 
 in an atmosphere mesmerized, to matrimonial attractions; and 
 my mother set hard to work at a new frock for the baby. Un- 
 softened by these undue female influences,. Pisistratus wrote on 
 at the dictation .of the relentless Fates. His pen was of iron, 
 and his heart was of granite. He was as insensible to the exist-
 
 260 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 ence of wife and baby, as if he had never paid a house-bill, nor 
 rushed from a .nursery at th<2 sound of an infant squall. O 
 blessed privilege of Authorship ! 
 " O testudinis aureae 
 
 Dulcem quae strepitum, Fieri, temperas ! 
 O mutis quoque piscibus 
 Donatura cycni, si libeat, sonum ! " * 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IT is necessary to go somewhat back in the course of this nar- 
 rative, and account to the reader for the disappearance of Violante. 
 
 It may be remembered that Peschiera, scared by the sudden 
 approach of Lord L'Estrange, had little time for farther words 
 to the young Italian than those which expressed his intention 
 to renew the conference, and press for her decision. But the 
 next day, when he re-entered the garden secretly and stealthily, 
 as before, Violante did not appear. And after watching round 
 the precincts till dusk, the Count retreated, with an indignant 
 conviction that his arts had failed to enlist on his side either 
 the heart or the imagination of his intended victim. He began 
 now to revolve, and to discuss with Levy, the possibility of one 
 of those bold and violent measures, which were favored by his 
 reckless daring and desperate condition. But Levy treated 
 with such just ridicule any suggestion to abstract Violante by 
 force from Lord Lansmere's house so scouted the notions of 
 nocturnal assault, with the devices of scaling windows and rope 
 ladders, that the Count reluctantly abandoned that romance of 
 villany so unsuited to our sober capital, and which would no 
 doubt have terminated in his capture by the police, with the 
 prospect of committal to the House of Correction. 
 
 Levy himself found his invention at fault, and Randal Leslie 
 was called into consultation. The usurer had contrived that 
 Randal's schemes of fortune and advancement were so based 
 upon Levy's aid and connivance, that the young man, with all 
 his desire rather to make instruments of other men, than to be 
 himself their instrument, found his superior intellect as com- 
 pletely a slave to Levy's more experienced craft, as ever subtle 
 Genius of air was subject to the vulgar Sorcerer of earth. 
 
 His acquisition of the ancestral acres, his anticipated seat 
 in parliament, his chance of ousting Frank from the heritage 
 of Hazeldean, were all as strings that pulled him to and fro, 
 like the puppet in ,the sleek filbert-nailed fingers of the show- 
 
 * O Muse, who dost temper the sweet sound of. the golden shell of the tortoise, and 
 coutdst give, were it needed, to silent fishes the song of the swan !
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 261 
 
 man, who could exhibit him to the admiration of a crowd, or 
 cast him away into dust and lumber. 
 
 Randal gnawed his lip in the sullen wrath of a man who bides his 
 hour of future emancipation, and lent his brairi to the hire of the 
 presentservitude, in mechanical acquiescence. The inherent supe- 
 riority of the profound young schemer became instantly apparent 
 over the courage of Peschiera, and the practised wit of the Baron. 
 
 " Your sister," said Randal to the former, "must be the active 
 agent in the first and most difficult part of your enterprise. Vio- 
 lante cannot be taken by force from Lord Lansmere's she 
 must be induced to leave it with -her own consent. A female 
 is needed here. Woman can best decoy woman." 
 
 "Admirably said," quoth the Count; "but Beatrice has grown 
 restive, and though her dowry, and therefore her very marriage 
 with that excellent young Hazeldean, depend on my own alli- 
 ance with my fair kinswoman, she has grown so indifferent to 
 my success, that I dare not reckon on her aid. Between you and 
 me, though she was once very eager to be married, she now seems 
 to shrink from the notion; and I have no other hold over her." 
 
 " Has she not seen some one, and lately, whom she prefers 
 to poor Frank ? " 
 
 " I suspect that she has; but I know not, unless it be that 
 detested L'Estrange." 
 
 " Ah well, well. Interfere with her no- farther yourself, but 
 have all in readiness to quit England, as you had before pro- 
 posed, as soon as Violante be in your power." 
 
 " All is in readiness," said the 'Count. " Levy has agreed to 
 purchase a famous sailing-vessel of one of his clients. -I have 
 engaged a score or so of determined outcasts, accustomed to the 
 sea Genoese, Corsicans, Sardinians ex-Carbonari of the best 
 sort, no silly patriots, but liberal cosmopolitans, who have iron 
 at the disposal of any man's gold. I have a priest to perform 
 the nuptial service, and deaf to any fair lady's 'No.' Once at 
 sea, and wherever I land, Violante will lean on my arm as 
 Countess di Peschiera." 
 
 " But Violante," said Randal, doggedly,' determined not to 
 yield to the disgust with which the Count's audacious cynicism 
 filled even him "but Violante cannot be removed in broad 
 daylight at once to such a vessel, nor from a quarter so populous 
 as that in which your sister resides." 
 
 "I have thought of that, too," said the Count; "my emissaries 
 have found me a house close by the river, and safe for our 
 purpose as the dungeons of Venice." 
 
 "I wish not to know all this," answered Randal, quickly;
 
 262 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " you will instruct Madame di Negra where to take Violante 
 my task limits itself to the fair inventions that belong to intel- 
 lect; what belongs to force is not in my province. I will go at 
 once to your sister, whom I think I can influence more effectually 
 than you can; though later I may give you a hint to guard 
 against the chance of her remorse. Meanwhile as, the moment 
 Violante disappears, suspicion would fall upon you, show your- 
 self constantly in public surrounded by your friends. Be able 
 to account for every hour of your time " 
 
 "Anatil>i?" interrupted the ci-devant solicitor. 
 
 " Exactly so, Baron. Complete the purchase of the vessel, 
 and let the Count man it as he proposes. I will communicate 
 with you both as soon as I can put yon into action. To-day I 
 shall have much to do; it will be done." 
 
 As Randal left the room, Levy followed him. 
 
 "What you propose to do will be well done, no doubt," quoth 
 the usurer, linking his arm in Randal's; "but take care that you 
 don't get yourself into a scrape, so as to damage your character. 
 I have great hopes of you in public life; and in public life char- 
 acter is necessary that is, so far as honor is concerned." 
 
 " I damage my character ! and for a Count Peschiera ! " 
 said Randal, opening his eyes. "I! What do you take me for?" 
 
 The Baron let go his hold. 
 
 "This boy ought to rise very high," said he to himself, as he 
 turned back to the Count. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 RANDAL'S acute faculty of comprehension had long since 
 surmised the truth that Beatrice's views and temper.of mind had 
 been strangely and suddenly altered by some such revolution as 
 passion only can affect; that pique or disappointment had 
 mingled with the motive which had induced her to accept the 
 hand of his rash young Icinsman ; and that, instead of the re- 
 signed indifference with which she might at one time have con- 
 templated any marriage that could free her from a position that 
 perpetually galled her pride, it was now with a repugnance, visi- 
 ble to Randal's keen eye, that he shrank from the performance 
 of that pledge which Frank had so dearly bought. The tempta- 
 tions which the Count could hold out to her to 'become his ac- 
 complice in designs of which the fraud and perfidy would revolt 
 her better nature, had ceased to be of avail. A dowry had 
 grown valueless since it would but hasten the nuptials from 
 which she recoiled. Randal felt that he could not secure her aid, 
 except by working on a passion so turbulent as to confound her
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 263 
 
 judgment. Such a passion he recognized in jealousy. He had 
 once doubted if Harley were the object of her love ; yet, after 
 all, was it not probable? He knew, at least, of.no one else to 
 suspect. If so, he had but to whisper, "Violante is your rival. 
 Violante removed, your beauty may find its natural effect ; if 
 not, you are an Italian, and you will be at least avenged." He 
 saw still more reason to suppose that Lord L'Estrange was indeed 
 the one by whom he could rule Beatrice, since, the last time he 
 had seen her, she had questioned him with much earnestness as 
 to the family of Lord Lansmere, especially as to the female part 
 of it. Randal had then judged it prudent to avoid speaking of 
 Violante, and feigned ignorance; but promised to ascertain all 
 particulars by the time he next saw the Marchesa. It was the 
 warmth with which she had thanked him, that had set his busy 
 mind at work to conjecture the cause of her curiosity so earnestly 
 aroused, and to ascribe that cause to jealousy. If Harley loved 
 Violante (as Randal himself had before supposed), the little of 
 passion that the young man admitted to himself was enlisted in 
 aid of Peschiera's schemes. For though Randal did not love 
 Violante, he cordially disliked L'Estrange, and would have gone 
 as far to render that dislike vindictive asa cold reasoner, intent 
 upon worldly fortunes, will ever suffer mere hate to influence him. 
 
 " At the worst," thought Randal, "if it be not Harley, touch 
 the chord of jealousy, and its vibration will direct me right.'* 
 
 Thus soliloquizing, he arrived at Madame di Negra's. 
 
 Now, in reality,- the Marchesa's inquiries as to Lord Lans- 
 mere's family had their source in the misguided, restless, des- 
 pairing interest with which she still clung to the image of the 
 young poet, whom Randal had no reason to suspect. That in- 
 terest had become yet more keen from the impatient misery she 
 had felt ever since she had plighted herself to another. A wild 
 hope that she might yet escape a vague regretful thought that 
 she had been too hasty in. dismissing Leonard from.her presence 
 that she ought rather, to have courted 'his friendship, and con- 
 tended against her unknown rival, at times drew her wayward 
 mind wholly from the future to which she had consigned her- 
 self. And, to do her justice, though her sense of duty was so 
 defective, and the principles which should have guided her con- 
 duct were so. lost to her sight, still her feelings toward the gen* 
 efous. Hazeldean were not sohardand'blunted but what her own : 
 ingratitude added to her torment; and it seemed as ! if the sole 
 atonement she could make to him was to find an excuse to with- 
 draw her promise, and save him from herself. She had caused 
 Leonard's steps to be watched; she had found that he visited at
 
 264 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 Lord Lansniere's; that he had gone thereoften, and stayed there 
 long. She had learned in the neighborhood that LadyLansmere 
 had one or two young female guests staying with her. Surely 
 this was the attraction here was the rival! 
 
 Randal found Beatrice in a state of mind that favored his 
 purpose. And first turning his -conversation on Harley, and 
 noting that her countenance did not change, by little and little 
 he drew forth her secret. 
 
 Then said Randal, gravely, " If one whom you honor with a 
 tender thought visits at Lord Lansmere's house, you have indeed, 
 cause to fear for yourself, to hope for your brother's success in 
 the object which has brought him to England for a girl of sur- 
 passing beauty is a guest in Lord Lansmere's house; and I will 
 now tell you that that girl is she whom Count Peschiera would 
 make his bride." 
 
 As Randal thus spoke, and saw how. his listener's brow dark* 
 ehed and her eye flashed, he felt that his accomplice was secured. 
 Violante! Had not Leonard spoke of Yiolante, and with such 
 praise? Had not his boyhood been passed under her eyes? Who 
 but Violante could be the rival? Beatrice's abrupt exclamations, 
 after a moment's pause, revealed to Randal the advantage he 
 had gained. ; And partly by rousing her jealousy :into revenge- 
 partly -by .flattering h^rlove with assurance that, if Violante were 
 fairly iremov.ed from -England, were the wife of Count Pes- 
 chiera It would be impossible that Leonard, could remain in- 
 sensible : to he c own attractions that ;he> Randal, would under- 
 take >ta free her (honorably from her engagement ;to Frank 
 Hazeldean, and obtain from her brother ,the acquittal of the 
 debt which had first fettered her hand to that confiding suitor 
 he did not quit the Marchesa, until she had not only promised 
 to do all that Randal might suggest, but impetuously urged him 
 to mature his plans, and hasten the hour to accomplish them. 
 Randa-l then walked some minutes musing and slow along the 
 streets, revolving the next meshes in his elaborate and most sub- 
 tle web* And here his craft luminously devised its masterpiece. 
 
 It was necessary, -during any. interval that might elapse 
 between Violante's disappearance and her. departure from Eng- 
 land, in order to divert suspicion from Peschiera (who might 
 otherwise be detained), that some cause for her voluntary 
 absence from Lord Lansmere's should be at least assignable; it 
 was still more necessary that Randal himself should stand wholly 
 clear from any surmise that he could have connived at the 
 Count's designs,- even should their actual perpetrator be dis- 
 covered or conjectured. To effect these objects, Randal hastened
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 265 
 
 to Norwood, and obtained an interview with Riccabocca. In 
 seeming agitation and alarm, he informed the exile that he had 
 reason to know that Peschiera had succeeded in obtaining a 
 secret interview with Violante, and he feared had made a cer- 
 tain favorable impression on her mind; and speaking as if with 
 the jealousy of a lover, he entreated Riccabocca to authorize 
 Randal's direct proposals to "Violante, and to require her consent 
 to their immediate nuptials. 
 
 The poor Italian was confounded with the intelligence con- 
 veyed to him ; and his almost superstitious fears of his brilliant 
 enemy, conjoined with his opinion of the susceptibility to out- 
 ward attractions common to all the female sex, made him not 
 only implicitly credit, but even exaggerate, the dangers that Ran- 
 dal intimated. The idea of his daughter's marriage with Randal, 
 toward which he had lately cooled, he now gratefully welcomed. 
 
 But his first natural suggestion was to go, or send, for Vio- 
 lante, and bring her to his own house. This, however, Randal 
 artfully opposed. 
 
 "Alas! I know," said he, "that Peschiera has discovered 
 your retreat ; and surely she would be far less safe here than 
 where she is now!" 
 
 " ~But-diavolo! you say the mail lias seer* her where she is' 
 now, in spite of all Lady Lansmere's promises and Harley's 
 precautions." 
 
 " True, Of this Peschiera boasted to me. He effected it not, 
 of course, openly, but in some disguise. I 'am sufficiently, how- 
 ever, in his confidence (any man may be that with so auda*- 
 cious a braggart) to deter him from renewing his attempt for 
 some days. Meanwhile, I or yourself will have discovered some 
 surer home than this, to which you can remove, and then will 
 be 'the proper time to take back your daughter. And for the 
 present, if you will send by me a letter to enjoin her to receive 
 me as her future bridegroom, it will necessarily divert all thought 
 at once from the Count; I shall be'able to detect, by*he manner' 
 in which she receives me, how far the ; Count has over-stated the 
 effect he pretends to have produced. You can give me also a 
 letter to Lady Lansmere, to prevent your daughter coming 
 hither. O, sir, do not reason with me. Have indulgence for my 
 lover's fears. Believe that I advise for the best. Have I not the 
 keenest interest to do so?" 
 
 Like many a man who is wise enough with pen and paper be- 
 fore him, and plenty of time wherewith to get up his wisdom, 
 Riccabocca was flurried, nervous, and confused, when that wis- 
 dom was called upon for any ready exertion. From the tree ef
 
 266 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 knowledge he had taken grafts enough to serve for a forest ; but 
 the whole forest could not spare him a handy walking-stick. 
 The great folio of the dead Machiavelli lay useless before him 
 the living Machiavelli of daily life stood all puissant by his side. 
 The Sage was as supple to. the Schemer as the Clairvoyant is to 
 the Mesmerist. And the lean, slight fingers of Randal actually 
 dictated almost the very words that Riccabocca wrote to his 
 child and her hostess. 
 
 The philosopher would have liked to consult his wife ; but he 
 was ashamed to confess that weakness. Suddenly, he remem- 
 bered Harley, and said, as Randal took up the letters which 
 Riccabocca had indited 
 
 " There that will give us time ; and I will send to Lord 
 L'Estrange and talk to him." 
 
 "My noble friend," replied Randal, mournfully, "may I en- 
 treat you not to see Lord L'Estrange until at least I have pleaded 
 my cau^se to youj; daughter: until, indeed, she is no longer un- 
 der his father's roof ? " 
 ;" And why?" E tarfj '- -rf U*, 
 
 "Because I presume that you are sincere when you. deign to 
 receive me as a son-in-law, and because I am sure that Lord 
 L'Estrange would biear wit,h distaste of, your disposition in my 
 favor. Am I not right ? " ,- n ,^ tt ^i ^ R , 
 
 Riccabocca was silent. 
 
 " And though his arguments would fail w.ith a man of your 
 honor and discernment, they might have more effect on. the young 
 mind of , your child. Think, I bese.ech. you, the more she is set 
 against me, the morCiaccessibje she may be to the arts of Peschiera. 
 Spe,ak not, therefore, I : implore., you, to Lord L'Estrange till Vio- 
 lante hasaqcepted my hand, or at least until sheisagain under your 
 charge; otherwise take back your letter it would be of no avail." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right, Certainly Lord L'Estrange is preju- 
 diced against you ; or rather, he thinks too much of what I have 
 been too little of what I am." i 
 
 "Who can see you, and not do so ? I pardon him." After 
 kissing the hand which the exile modestly sought to withdraw 
 from that act of homage, Randal pocketed the letters ; and, as 
 if struggling with emotion, rushed from the house. 
 
 Now, O cun'ous reader, if thou wilt heedfully observe towha.t 
 uses Randal Leslie put those letters rwhat speedy and direct 
 results. he drew forth from devices which would seem to an hon- 
 est, simple understanding the most roundabout wire-drawn 
 wastes of invention I almost fear that, in thine admiration for his : 
 cleverness, thou mayest half forget thy contempt for his knavery.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 267 
 
 But when the head is very full, it does not do to have the 
 heart very empty ; there is such a thing as being top-heavy ! 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 i ... 
 
 HELEN and Violante had been conversing together, and Helen 
 had obeyed her ; guardian's injunction, and spoken, though 
 briefly, of her positive engagement to Harley. However much 
 Violante had been prepared for the confidence, however clearly 
 she had divined that engagement, however before persuaded 
 that the dream of her childhood was fled forever, still the posi- 
 tive truth, coming from Helen's own lips, was attended with 
 that anguish which proves hov; impossible it is to prepare the 
 human heart for the final verdict v/hich slays its future. She 
 did not, however, betray her emotion to Helen's artless eyes ; 
 sorrow, deep-seated, is seldom self-betrayed. But, after a little 
 while, she crept away ; and, forgetful of Peschiera, of all things 
 that could threaten danger (what danger could harm her more!), 
 she glided from the house, and went her desolate way under the 
 leafless wintry trees. Ever and anon she paused ever and 
 anon she murmured the same words : " If she loved him, I could 
 be consoled ; but she does not ! or .how could she have spoken 
 to me so calmly ! how could her very looks have been so sad ! 
 Heartless ! heartless ! " 
 
 Then there came on her a vehement resentment against poor 
 Helen, that almost took the character of -scorn or hate its ex- 
 cess startled herself. u Am I grown so mean ? " she said ; and 
 tears that humbled her, rushed to her eyes. "Can so short a 
 time alter one thus ? Impossible ! " 
 
 Randal Leslie rang at the front gate, inquired for Violante, 
 and, catching sight of her form as he walked toward the house, 
 advanced boldly and openly. His voice startled her as she leant 
 against one of the dreary trees, still muttering to herself for- 
 lorn. " I have a letter to you from your father, sigriorina," said 
 Randal. " But, before I give it to your hands, some explanation 
 is necessary. Condescend, then, to hear me." Violante shook 
 her head impatiently, and stretched forth her hand for the letter. 
 Randal observed her countenance with his keen,cold,,searching 
 eye; but he still- withheld the letter, and contiinuedaftera patise 
 
 " I know that you were born to princely fortunes ; and the 
 excuse for my addressing you now is, that your birthright is lost 
 to you, at least unless you can consent to a union with the man 
 who has despoiled you of your heritage a union which,your 
 father would deem dishonor to yourself and him. Signorina, I
 
 268 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 might have presumed tolove you; but I should not have named.that 
 love, had- your father not encouraged me by his assent to my/suit." 
 
 Violante turned to the speaker, her face eloquent with 
 haughty surprise. Randal met the gaze unmoved. He con- 
 tinued, without warmth, and in the tone of one who reasons 
 calmly, rather than of. one who feels acutely . 
 
 ".The man of whom I spoke is in pursuit of you. I have 
 cause to believe that this person has already intruded himself 
 upon you. Ah! your : countenance owns it ; you have seen 
 Peschiera ? This house is, then^ less safe than your father 
 deemed it. No house is safe for you but a husband's. I offer to you 
 my name r-it is a gentleman's; my fortune, which is small; the par- 
 ticipation inmy hopeSiOfthe future,, which are large. I place now 
 your father's letter. in your hand, and await your answer," Randal 
 bowed slightly, gare the letter to Violante, and retired a few paces. 
 
 'It was not his object to conciliate Violante's affection, >b'ut 
 rather to excite her repugnance, or at least her terror we must 
 wait to discover why ; so he stood apart,seemingly in a kind of self- 
 confident indifference, while the girl read the following letter: 
 
 -"My child, receive with favor Mr. ; Leslie. He has my con- 
 sent to address you as a suitor^ Circumstances, of which it is 
 needless now to inform you, render it essentjaltp my very peace 
 and happiness that your marriage should be immediate. In a 
 word, I have given my promise to Mr. Leslie, and I confidently 
 leave it tajhe daughter of rny house to redeem the pledge of 
 her anxious and tender,. father*:" ^fi-j ;f{j >{OG.} j : 
 
 The letter dropped from Violante's hand. Randal approached 
 and restored it to her. Their eyes me ; t. _-, Violante recoiled. 
 
 " I cannot marry you," said she, passionately. 
 
 "Indeed!-' answered Randal, dryly. "Is it because you 
 can. not love me ? " -jrtV 
 
 -"Yes." ,3:>K-vMH .^fa^o !>r . 
 
 " I did not expect that you would, as yet, and I still persist in 
 my suit. I have promised to: your, father that I would not re- 
 cede before your first -unconsidered refusal" 
 
 " I will go ta my father at once.*Y .h, 
 
 " Does he request you to do so in his letter ? Look again. 
 Pardon me, but he foresaw your impetuosity ; and I have an- 
 other nqte for Lady Lansmere, in which he begs; her ladyship 
 not to sanction your return to him (should you so wish) until 
 he come or send for you himself. He will do so whenever your 
 word has redeemed his own." 
 
 " And do you dare to talk to me thus^ and yet pretend to 
 love me?"
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 269 
 
 Randal smiled ironically. 
 
 " I pretend but to wed you. Love is a subject on which I 
 might have spoken formerly, or may speak hereafter. I give 
 you some little time to consider. When I next call, let me hope 
 that we may fix the day for our wedding." 
 
 " Never ! " 
 
 "You will be, then, the first daughter of your house who dis- 
 obeyed a father ; and you will have this additional crime, that 
 you disobeyed him in his sorrow, his exile, and his fall." 
 
 Violanle wrung her hands. 
 
 "Is there no choice no escape? " 
 
 " I see none for either. Listen to me. I love you, it is true ; 
 but it is not for my happiness to marry one who dislikes me, nor 
 for my ambition to connect myself with one whose property is 
 greater than my own. I marry but to keep my plighted faith 
 with your father, and to save you from a villain you would hate 
 more than myself, and from whom no walls are a barrier, no 
 laws a defence. One person, indeed, might perhaps have pre- 
 served you from the misery you seem to anticipate with me ; 
 that person might defeat the plans of your father's foe ^effect, 
 it might be, terms which could revoke his banishment, and re- 
 store his honors ; that person is" 
 
 "Lord L'Estrange ?"- 
 
 " Lord L'Estrange ! " repeated Randal, sharply, and watching 
 her pale parted lips and her changing cotor ; " Lord L'Estrange! 
 What could he do? Why did you name him?" 
 
 Violante turned aside. " He saved my father once," said she, 
 feelingly. 
 
 "And has interfered, and trifled, and promised, HeaVen knows 
 what, ever since yet to what end? Pooh ! The person I speak 
 of your father would not consent to see would not believeif he 
 saw her; yet she is generous, noble could sympathize with you 
 both. She is the sister of your father's enemy the Marchesadi 
 Negra. I am convinced that she has great influence with her broth- 
 er that she has known enough of his secrets to awe him in to re- 
 nouncing all designs on yourself; but it is idle now to speak of her." 
 
 "No, no," exclaimed Violante. "Tell me where she lives 
 I will see her." 
 
 " Pardon me, I cannot obey you ; and, indeed, her own pride 
 is now aroused by your father's unfortunate prejudices against 
 her. It is too late to count upon her aid. You turn from me* 
 my presence is unwelcome. I rid you of it now. But welcome 
 or unwelcome, later, you must endure it- and for life." 
 
 Randal again bowed with formal ceremony, walked toward
 
 270 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 the house, and asked for Lady Lansmere. The Countess was at 
 home. Randal delivered Riccabocca's note, which was very 
 short, implying that he feared Peschiera had discovered his 
 retreat and requesting Lady Lansmere to retain Violante, 
 whatever her own desire, till her ladyship heard from him 
 again. 
 
 The Countess read, and her lip curled in disdain. "Strange! " 
 said she, half to herself. 
 
 "Strange!" said Randal, "that a man like your correspond- 
 ent should fear one like the Count di Peschiera. Is that it?" 
 
 " Sir," said the Countess, a little surprised " strange that any 
 man should fear another in a country like ours ! " 
 
 " I don't know," said Randal, with his low soft laugh ; " I fear 
 many men, and I know many who ought to fear me ; yet at every 
 turn of the street one meets a policeman ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Lady Lansmere. " But to suppose that this prof- 
 ligate foreigner could carry away a girl like Violante against her 
 will a man she has never seen, and whom she must have been 
 taught to hate ! " 
 
 " Be on your guard, nevertheless, I pray you, madam ; ' where 
 there's a will there's a way.'" 
 
 Randal took his leave, and returned to Madame di Negra's. 
 He stayed with her an hour, revisited the Count, and then 
 strolled to Limner's. 
 
 " Randal," said the Squire, who looked pale and worn, but 
 who scorned to confess the weakness with Which he still grieved 
 and yearned for his rebellious son" Randal, you have nothing 
 now to do in London ; can you come and stay with me, and take 
 to farming? I remember that you showed a great deal of sound 
 knowledge about thin sowing." 
 
 "My dear sir, I will come to you as soon as the general elec- 
 tion is over." 
 
 " What the deuce have you got to do with the general election ? " 
 
 "Mr. Egerton has some wish that I should enter Parliament; 
 indeed, negotiations for. that purpose are now on foot." ' 
 
 The Squire shook his head., "I don't like my half-brother's 
 politics," .oj^fu > 
 
 " I shall be quite independent of them," cried Randal, loftily ; 
 "that independence is the condition for which I stipulate." 
 
 " Glad to hear k ; and if you do corne into Parliament, I hope 
 you'll not turn your back oa the land ?" 
 
 " Turn my back on the land ! " cried Randal, ; with devout hor- 
 ror. " Oh, sir ! I am not so unnatural ! " . 
 
 " That's the right way to put it," quoth the credulous Squire;
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 271 
 
 " it is unnatural ! It is turning one's back on one's own mother. 
 The land is a mother " 
 
 "To those who live by her, certainly a mother," said Ran- 
 dal, gravely. "And though, indeed, my father starves by her rather 
 than lives, and Rood Hall is not like Hazeldean, still I " 
 
 " Hold your tongue," interrupted the Squire ; " I want to talk 
 to you. Your grandmother was a Hazeldean." 
 
 " Her picture is in the drawing-room at Rood. People think 
 me very like her." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said the Squire. " The Hazeldeans are generally 
 inclined to be stout and rosy, which you are certainly not. But 
 no fault of yours. We are all as Heaven made us ! However, to 
 the point. I am going to alter my will (said with .a choking 
 gulp). This is the rough draft for the: lawyers to work upon." 
 
 "Pray pray, sir, do not speak to me on such a subject. I 
 cannot bear to contemplate even the possibility of of " 
 
 "My death ? Ha ! ha ! Nonsense. My own son calculated on 
 the date of it by the insurance tables. Ha, ha, ha ! A very fash- 
 ionable son eh ! Ha, ha ! " 
 
 " Poor Frank ! do not let him suffer for a momentary forget- 
 fulness of right feeling. When he comes to be married to that 
 foreign lady, and be a father himself, he " 
 
 " Father himself ! " burst forth the Squire. " Father to a swarm 
 of sallow-faced Popish tadpoles! No foreign frogs shall hop 
 about my grave in Hazeldean churchyard. No, no. But you need 
 not look so reproachful I'm not going to, disinherit Frank." 
 
 "Of course not, "said Randal, with -a bitter curve in the lip that 
 rebelled against the joyous smile which he sought to impose on it. 
 
 "No I shall leave him the life-interest in the greater part of 
 the property ; but if he marry a foreigner, her children will not 
 succeed you will stand after him in that case. But (now 
 don't interrupt me) but Frank looks as if he would live longer 
 than you so small thanks to me for my good intentions, you 
 may say. I mean to do more for you than a mere barren place 
 in the entail. What do you say to marrying?" 
 
 " Just as you please," said Randal, meekly. 
 
 " Good. There's Miss Sticktorights disengaged great heiress. 
 Her lands run on to Rood. At one time I thought of her for 
 that graceless puppy of mine. But I can manage more easily to 
 make up the match for you. There's a mortgage on the prop- 
 erty ; old Sticktorights would be very glad to pay it off. I'll pay 
 it out of the Hazeldean estate, and give up the right of way into 
 the bargain. You understand ? So come down as soon as you 
 can, and court the young lady yourself."
 
 272 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 Randal expressed his thanks with much grateful eloquence ; 
 and he then delicately insinuated, that if the Squire ever did mean 
 to bestow upon him'any pecuniary favors (always without injury to 
 Frank), it would gratify him more to win back some portions of the 
 old estate of Rood, than to have all the acres of the Sticktorights, 
 however freefrom any other incumbrance than the amiableheiress. 
 
 The Squire listened to Randal with benignant attention. This 
 wish the country gentleman could weU understand and sympa- 
 thize with. He promised to inquire into the matter, and to 
 see what could be done with old Thornhill. 
 
 Randal here let out that Mr. Thornhill was about to dispose 
 of a large slice of the ancient Leslie estate through Levy, and 
 that he, Randal, could thus get it at a more moderate price than 
 would be natural if Mr. Thornhill knew that his neighbor the 
 Squire would bid for the purchase. 
 
 "Better say nothing about it either to Levy or Thornhill." 
 
 "Right," said the Squire. "No proprietor likes to sell to another 
 proprietor^ in the same shire, as largely acred as himself; it 
 spoils the balance of power. See to the business yourself ; and 
 if I can help you with the purchase (after that boy is married 
 I can attend to nothing before), why, I will." 
 
 Randal now went to Egerton's. The statesman was in his li- 
 brary, settling the accounts of his house-steward^ and giving brief 
 orders for the reduction of his establishment to that of an ordi- 
 nary private gentleman. 
 
 " I may go abroad if I lose my election," said Egerton, con- 
 descending to assign to his servant a reason for his economy ; 
 and if I do not lose it, still now I am out of office, I shall live 
 much in private." 
 
 "Do I disturb you, sir?" said Randal, entering. 
 
 "No I have just done." 
 
 The house-steward withdrew, muchsurprised and disgusted, and 
 meditating the resignation of his own office in order, not like 
 Egerton, to save, but tospend. Thehouse-stewardhadprivatedeal- 
 ings with Baron Levy, and was in fact the veritable X. Y. of the 
 Times, for whom Dick Avenel had been mistaken. He invested his 
 wages and perquisites in the discount of bills; and it was part of 
 his own money that had (though unknown to himself) swelled the 
 last five thousand poundswhichlEgerton had borrowed from Levy. 
 
 "I have settled with our committee ; and, with Lord Lans- 
 mere's consent," said Egerton, briefly, "you will stand for the 
 borough, as we proposed, in conjunction with myself. And should 
 any accident happen to me that is, should I vacate this seat 
 from any cause, you may succeed to it very shortly, perhaps.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. .273 
 
 Ingratiate yourself with the electors, and speak at the public- 
 houses for both of us. I shall stand on my dignity, and leave 
 the work of the election to you. No thanks you know how I 
 hate thanks. Good-night." 
 
 "I never stood so near to fortune and to power," said Randal, 
 as he slowly undressed. " And I owe it but to knowledge^- 
 knowledge of men life of all that books can teach us." 
 
 So his slight thin fingers dropped the extinguisher on the 
 candle, and the prosperous schemer laid himself down to rest in 
 the dark. Shutters closed, curtains down never was rest more 
 quiet; never was room more dark! 
 
 That evening, Harley had dined at his father's. He spoke much 
 to Helen scarcely at all to Violante. But it so happened that 
 when later, and a little while before he took his leave, Helen, 
 at his request, was playing a favorite air of his, Lady Lansmere, 
 who had been seated between him and Violante, left the room, 
 and Violante turned quickly toward Harley. 
 
 " Do you know the Marchesa di Negra ? " she asked, in a 
 hurried voice. 
 
 "A little. Why do you ask ? " 
 
 " That is my secret," answered Violante, trying to smile with 
 her old frank, child-like archness. " But, tell me, do you think 
 better of her than of her brother?" 
 
 "Certainly. I believe her heart to be good, and that she is 
 not without generous qualities." 
 
 " Can you not induce my father to see her ? Would you not 
 counsel him to do so?" 
 
 "Any wish of yours is a law to me," answered Harley, gal- 
 lantly. " You wish your father to see her ? I will try and per- 
 suade him to do so. Now, in return, confide to me your secret. 
 What is your object?" 
 
 " Leave to return to my Italy. I care not for honors for rank; 
 and even my father has ceased to regret their loss. But the land, 
 the native land Oh, to see it once more ! Oh, to die there ! " 
 
 " Die ! You children have so lately left heaven, that ye talk 
 as if ye could return there, without passing through the gates of 
 sorrow, infirmity, and age ! But I thought you were content with 
 England. Why so eager to leave it? Violante, you are unkind to 
 us to Helen, who already loves you so well." 
 
 As .Harley spoke, Helen rose from the piano, and approach- 
 ing Violante, placed her hand caressingly on the Italian's 
 shoulder. Violante shivered, and shrunk away. The eyes both of 
 Harley and Helen followed her. Harley's eyes were very grave 
 and thoughtful.
 
 274 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "Is she not changed your friend?" said he, looking down. 
 
 "Yes. lately much changed. I fear there is something on 
 her mind I know not what." 
 
 " Ah ! " muttered Harley, " it may be so; but at your age and 
 hers, nothing rests on the mind long. Observe, I say the mind 
 the heart is more tenacious." 
 
 Helen sighed softly, but deeply. 
 
 "And therefore," continued Harley, half to himself, "we can 
 detect when something is on the mind some care, some fear, 
 some trouble. But when the heart closes over its'own more pas- 
 sionate sorrow, who can discover? who conjecture ? Yet you at 
 least, my pure, candid Helen you might subject mind and 
 heart alike to the fabled window of glass/' 
 
 " Oh, no i " cried Helen, involuntarily. 
 
 " Oh, yes! Do not let me think that you have one secret I 
 may not know, or one sorrow I may : not share. For, in dur 
 relationship, that would be deceit." 
 
 He pressed her hand with more tlvan usual tenderness as he 
 spoke, and shortly afterward left the house. 
 
 And all that night Helen felt like a guilty thing more 
 
 wretched even than Violante. 
 , 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 EARLY the next morning, while Violante was still in her room, 
 a letter addressed to her came by the post. The direction was 
 in a strange hand. She opened it, and read, in Italian, what is 
 thus translated: 
 
 " I would gladly see yo\v, but I cannot call openly at the house 
 in which you live. Perhaps I may have it in my power to ar- 
 range family dissensions to repair any wrongs your father may 
 have sustained. Perhaps I may be enabled to render yourself an 
 essential service. But for all this, it is necessary that we should 
 meet and confer frankly. Meanwhile time presses delay is for- 
 bidden. Will you meet'ihe, an hour after noon, in the lane, just 
 outside the private gate of your gardens? I sh5.ll be alone, and 
 you cannot fear to meet oneof your own sex and a kinswoman. 
 Ah, I so desire to see you ! Come, I beseech you. 
 
 "BEATRICE." 
 
 Violante read, and her decision was taken. She was naturally 
 fearless, and there was little that she would not have braved for 
 the chance of serving her father. And now all peril seemed 
 slight in comparison with that which awaited her in Randal's 
 suit, backed by her father's approval. Randal had said that 
 Madame di Negra alone could aid her in escape from himself.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 275 
 
 Harley had said that Madame di Negra had generous qualities; 
 and who but Madame di Negra would write herself a -kins- 
 woman, and sign herself Beatrice? 
 
 A little before the appointed hour, she stole unobserved 
 through the trees, opened the little gate, and found herself in the 
 quiet solitary lane. In a few minutes, a female figure came up, 
 with a quick, light step; and throwing aside her veil, said, with 
 a sort of wild, suppressed energy, "It is you! I was truly told. 
 Beautiful! beautiful! And, oh ! what youth and what bloom!" 
 
 The voice dropped mournfully; and Violante, surprised by 
 the tone, and blushing under the praise, remained a moment 
 silent; then she said, with some hesitation 
 
 "You are, I presume, the Marchesa di Negra? And I have 
 heard of you enough to induce. me to trust you." 
 
 Qf me ! From whom?" asked Beatrice, almost fiercely. 
 
 ' From Mr. Leslie, and and " 
 
 ' Go on why falter ? " 
 
 ' From Lord L'Estrange." 
 
 ' From no one else ? " 
 
 'Not that I remember." 
 
 Beatrice sighed heavily, and let fall her veil. Some foot- 
 passengers now came up the lane; and seeing two ladies of mien 
 so remarkable, turned round, and gazed curiously. 
 
 " We cannot talk here," said Beatrice, impatiently, " and I have 
 so much to say- so much to know. Trust me yet more; it is 
 for yourself I speak. My carriage waits yonder. Come home 
 with me I will not detain you an hour: and I willbringyou back." 
 
 This proposition startled Violante. She retreated toward the 
 gate with a gesture of dissent. Beatrice laid her hand on the 
 girl's arm, and again lifting her veil, gazed at her with a look, 
 half of scorn, half of admiration. 
 
 " I, too, would once have recoiled from one step beyond the 
 formal line by which the world divides liberty from woman. 
 Now see how bold I am. Child, child, do not trifle with your 
 destiny. You may never again have the same occasion offered to 
 you. It. is not only to meet you that I am here; I must know 
 something of you something of your heart. Why shrink ? 
 is not the heart pure?" 
 
 Violante made no answer; but her smile, so sweet and so lofty, 
 humbled the questioner it rebuked. 
 
 " I may restore to Italy your father," said Beatrice, with an 
 altered voice. " Come ! " 
 
 Violante approached, but still hesitatingly. 
 
 "Not by union with your brother ? "
 
 2j6 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "'You dread that so much then ?" 
 
 " Dread it ? No ! Why should I dread what is in my power 
 to reject. But if you can really restore my father, and by nobler 
 means, you may save me for " 
 
 Violante stopped abruptly; the Marchesa's eyes sparkled. 
 
 " Save you for ah! I can guess what you: leave unsaid. 
 But come, come; more strangers see; you shall tell me all at 
 my own house. And if you can make one sacrifice, why, I will 
 save you all else. Come, or farewell for ever ! " 
 
 Violante placed -her hand in Beatrice's, with a frank confi- 
 dence that brought the accusing blood into the Marchesa's cheek. 
 
 " We are women both," said Violante, " we descend from the 
 same noble house; we 'have knelt alike to the same Virgin 
 Mother; why should I not believe and trust you ?" 
 
 "Why not?" muttered Beatrice, feebly; and she moved on, with 
 herheadbowedonher breast,and all theprideof her step was gone. 
 
 They reached a carriage that stood by the angle of the road. 
 Beatrice spoke a word apart to the driver, who was an Italian, 
 in the pay of the Count; the man nodded, and opened the car- 
 riage door. The ladies entered. Beatrice pulled down the 
 blinds; the man remounted his box, and drove on rapidly. 
 
 Beatrice, leaning back, groaned aloud. Violante drew nearer 
 to her side. " Are you in pain ? " said she, with her tender, me- 
 lodious voice;" or can I serve you as you would serve me ?" 
 
 "Child, give me your hand and be silent while I look atybu. 
 Was I ever so fair as this? Nevfer ! And whatdeeps : what deeps 
 roll between her and me ! " 
 
 She said this as of some one absent, and again sank into silence ; 
 but continued still to gaze : ori ; Violante, .whose eyes, veiled by 
 tlreir long fringes, drooped beneath the gaze. 
 
 Suddenly Beatrice started, exclaiming, " No, it shall not be ! " 
 and placed her hand on the check-string. '-'V' 1 . 1 
 
 " What shall not be?" asked Violante, surprised by the cry 
 and the action. Beatrice paused-^-her breast heaved visibly 
 under her dress. 
 
 " Stay," she said, slowly. "As you say, we are both women of 
 the same noble house ; you would reject the suit of my brother, 
 yet you have seen him ; his the form to please the eye his the 
 arts that allure the fancy. He offers to you rank, wealth, your 
 father's pardon and recall. If I could remove the objections 
 which your father entertains prove that the Count has less 
 wronged him than he deems, would you still reject the rank, and 
 the wealth, and the hand of Giulio Franzini?" 
 
 " Oh yes, yes, were his hand a king's ! "
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 277 
 
 "Still, then, as woman to woman both as you say, akin, and 
 sprung from the same lineage still, then, answer me answer 
 me, for you speak to one who has loved Is it not that you love 
 another ?^-Speak." 
 
 " I do not know. Nay, not love it was a romance ; it is a 
 thing -impossible. Do not question I cannot answer." And 
 the broken words were choked by sudden tears. 
 
 Beatrice's face grew hard and pitiless. Again she lowered her 
 veil, and withdrew her hand from the check-string- ; but the 
 coachman had felt the touch, and halted. "Drive on," said 
 Beatrice, "as you were directed." 
 
 Both were now long silent Violante with great difficulty 
 recovering from her emotion, Beatrice breathing hard, and her 
 arms folded firmly across her breast. 
 
 Meanwhile the carriage had entered London-^-it passed the 
 quarter in which Madame di Negra's house was situated it 
 rolled fast over a bridge it whirled through a broad thorough- 
 fare, then through denies of lanes, with tall blank dreary houses 
 on either side^ On it went, and on, till Violante suddenly took 
 alarm. "Do you live so far?" she said, drawing up the blind, 
 and gazing in dismay on the strange, ignoble suburb. - " I shall 
 be missed already. Oh, let us turn back, I beseech you ! " 
 
 "We are pearly there now. The driver has taken this road in 
 order to avoid those streets in which we might have been seen 
 together perhaps by my brother himself. Listen.' to me, and 
 talk of of the lov.er whom you rightly associate with a vain 
 romance. 'Impossible/ yes, it is impossible ! " 
 
 Violante clasped her hands before her eyes, and bowed down 
 her head. "Why are you so cruel?" said she. "This is not what 
 you promised. How are you to serve my father-* how restore 
 him to his country? This is what you promised !" 
 
 " If you consent to one sacrifice, I will fulfil that promise. 
 We are arrived." 
 
 The carriage stopped before a tall dull house, divided from 
 other houses by a high wall that appeared to en close a yard, and 
 standing at the end of a narrow lane, which was bounded on the 
 one side by the Thames. In that quarter the river was crowded 
 with gloomy, dark-looking vessels and craft, all lying lifeless 
 under the wintry sky. 
 
 The driver dismounted and rang the bell. Two swarthy 
 Italian faces presented themselves at the threshold. 
 
 Beatrice descended lightly, and gave her hand to Violante. 
 "Now, here we shall be secure," said she; and here a few minutes 
 may suffice to decide your fate."
 
 278 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 As the door closed on Violante who, now waking to suspicion, 
 to alarm, looked .fearfully round the dark and dismal hall 
 Beatrice turned : "Let the carriage wait." 
 
 The Italian who received the order bowed and smiled ; but 
 when the two ladies had ascended the stairs, he reopened the 
 street-door and said to the driver, "Back to the Count, and say 
 'all is safe.' " 
 
 The carriage drove off. The man who had given this order 
 barred and locked the door, and, taking with him the huge key, 
 plunged into the mystic recesses of the basement and disappeared. 
 The hall, thus left solitary, had the grim aspect of a prison ; the 
 strong door sheeted with iron the rugged stone stairs, lighted 
 by 9. high window grimed with the dust of years, and jealously 
 barred and the walls themselves abutting out rudely here and 
 there, as if against violence even from within. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 . ; >hi-ji 
 
 IT was, as we have seen, without taking counsel of the faith- 
 ful Jemima, that the sage recluse of Norwood had yielded to 
 his own fears, and Randal's subtle suggestions, .in the concise 
 and arbitrary, letter which he had written to Violante; but at 
 night, when churchyards give up the dead, and conjugal hearts 
 the secrets hid by day from each other, the wise man informed 
 his wife of the step he had taken. And Jemima then, who held 
 English notions, very different from those which prevail in Italy, 
 as to the right of fathers to dispose of their daughters without 
 reference to inclination or repugnance so sensibly yet so 
 mildly represented to the pupil of Machiavelli that he had not 
 gone exactly the right way to work, if he feared that the hand- 
 some Count had made some impression on Violante, and if he 
 wished her to turn with favor to the suitor he recommended 
 that so abrupt a command could only chill the heart, revolt the 
 will, and even give to the audacious Peschiera some romantic 
 attraction which he had not before possessed as effectually to 
 destroy Riccabocca's sleep that night. And the next day he 
 sent Giacomo to Lady Lansmere's with a very kind letter to 
 Violante and a note to the hostess, praying the latter to bring 
 his daughter to Norwood for a few hours, .as he much wished 
 to converse with both. It was on Giacomo's arrival at Knights- 
 bridge that Violante's absence was discovered. Lady Lans- 
 mere, ever proudly careful of the world and its gossip, kept 
 Giacomo from betraying his excitement to her servants, and 
 stated throughout the decorous household that the young lady
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 279 
 
 had informed her she was going to visit some friends that morn- 
 ing, and had no doubt gone through the garden gate, since it 
 was found open; the way was more quiet there than by the 
 high-road, and her friends might have therefore walked to meet 
 her by the lane. Lady : Lansmere observed that her only sur- 
 prise was that Violante had gone earlier than she had expected. 
 Having said this with a composure that compelled belief, Lady 
 Lansmere ordered the carriage, and, taking Giacomo with her, 
 drove at once to consult her son. 
 
 Harley's quick intellect had scarcely recovered from the 
 shock upon his emotions, before Randal Leslie was announced. 
 
 "Ah," said Lady Lansmere, "Mr. Leslie may know some- 
 thing. H came to her yesterday with a note from her father. 
 Pray let him enter." 
 
 The Austrian Prince approached Harley. " I will wait in the 
 next room," he whispered, " You may want me, if you. have 
 cause to suspect Peschiera in all this." 
 
 Lady Lansmere was pleased with the Prince's delicacy, and, 
 glancing at Leonard, said, " Perhaps you too, sir, may kindly 
 aid us, if you would retire with the Prince. Mr. Leslie may be 
 disinclined to speak of affairs like these except to Harley and 
 myself." 
 
 " True, madam; but beware of Mr. Leslie." 
 
 As the door at one end of the room closed on the Prince and 
 Leonard, Randal entered at the other, seemingly much agitated. 
 
 "I have just been to your house, Lady Lansmere. I heard 
 you were here; pardon me if I have followed you. I had called 
 at Knightsbridge to see Violante learned that she had left you. 
 I implore you to tell me how or wherefore. I have the right 
 to ask; her father has promised me her hand." 
 
 Harley's falcon eye had brightened up at Randal's entrance. 
 It watched steadily the young man's face. It was clouded for 
 a moment by his knitted brows at Randal's closing words. But 
 he left it to Lady Lansmere to reply and explain. This the 
 Countess did briefly. 
 
 Randal clasped his hands. " And she not gone to her father's? 
 Are you sure of that ? " 
 
 " Her father's servant has just come from Norwood." . 
 
 "Oh, I am to blame for this ! It is my rash suit her fear of 
 it her aversion. I see it all I " Randal's voice was hollow 
 with remorse and despair. " To save her from Peschiera, her 
 father insisted on her immediate marriage with myself. His 
 orders were too abrupt, my own wooing too unwelcome. I 
 know her high spirit; she has fled to escape from me. But
 
 280 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 whither, if not to Norwood ? oh, whither ? What other friends 
 has she what relations ?" 
 
 " You throw a new light on this mystery," said Lady Lans- 
 mere; " perhaps she may have gone to her father's after all, and 
 the servant may have crossed, but missed her on the way. I 
 will drive to Norwood at once." 
 
 "Do so do; but -if she be not there, be careful not to alarm 
 Riccabocea with the riews of her disappearance. Caulion Gia- 
 como not to do so. He would only suspect Peschiera, and be 
 hurried to some act of violence." 
 
 " Do not you, then, suspect Peschiera, Mr. Leslie?" asked 
 Harley, suddenly. 
 
 " Ha ! is it possible ? Yet, no. I called on him this morn- 
 ing with Frank Hazeldean, who is to marry his sister; I was 
 with him till I went on to Knightsbridge,' at the very time of 
 Violante's disappearance. He could hot then have been a 
 party to it." 
 
 " You saw Violante yesterday. Did you speak to her of Mad- 
 ame di Negra ? " asked Harley, suddenly, recalling the questions 
 respecting the Marchesa which Violante had addressed to him. 
 
 In spite of himself, Randal felt that he changed countenance. 
 " Of Madame di Negra ? I do not think so. Yet I might 
 Oh, yes, I remember now.' She asked me the Marchesa's ad- 
 dress; I would not give it." ' 
 
 " The address is easily found. Can she have gone to the 
 Marchesa's house ? " 
 
 " I will run there, and see," cried Randal, starting up. 
 
 " And I with-you. Stay, my dear mother. Proceed, as you 
 propose, to Norwood, and take Mr. Leslie's advice. Spare our 
 friend the news of his daughter's loss -if lost she be -till she is 
 restored to him. He can be of no use meanwhile. Let Gia- 
 como rest here; I may Want him." 
 
 Harley then passed into the next room, and entreated the 
 Prince and Leonard to await his return, and allow Giacomo to 
 stay in the same room. 
 
 He then went quickly back to Randal. Whatever might be 
 his fears or emotions, Harley felt that he bad-need of all his 
 coolness of judgment and presence of mind. The occasion 
 made abrupt demand upon powers which had slept since boy- 
 hood, but which now woke with a vigor that would have made 
 even Randal tremble, could he have detected the wit, the cour- 
 age, the electric energies, masked under tranquil self-possession. 
 Lord L' Estrange arid Randal soon reached the Marchesa's 
 house, and learned that she had been out since morning in one
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 281 
 
 of Courit Peschiera's carriages. Randal stole an alarmed glance 
 at Harley's face. Harley did not seem to notice it. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Leslie, what do you advise next ?" 
 
 " I am at a loss. Ah, perhaps, afraid of her father knowing 
 how despotic is his belief in paternal rights, and how tenacious 
 he is of his word once passed, as it has been to me, she may 
 have resolved to take refuge in the country perhaps at the 
 Casino, or at Mrs. Dale's, or Mrs. Hazeldean's. I will hasten 
 to inquire at the coach-office. Meanwhile, you " 
 
 " Nevermind me, Mr. Leslie- Do what you think best. But, 
 if your surmises be just, you must have been a very rude wooer 
 to the high-born lady you aspired to win." 
 
 " Not so; but perhaps an unwelcome one. II she has indeed 
 fled from me, need I say that my suit will be withdrawn at once ? 
 I am net a selfish lover, Lord L'Estrange." 
 
 " Nor I a vindictive man. Yet, could I discover .who has 
 conspired against this lady, a guest, under my father's roof, I 
 would crush him into the mire as easily as I sef; my- fopt upon 
 this glove. Good-day to you, Mr. Leslie." 
 
 Randal stood. still for a few moments as Harley strided on; 
 then his lip sneered as it muttered "Insolent! But does he 
 love her ? If so, I am avenged already." 
 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 
 
 HARLEY went straight to Peschiera's hotel. He was told 
 that the Count had walked out with Mr. Frank Hazeldeaft and 
 some other gentlemen who had breakfasted with him. He had 
 left word, in case any one called, that he had gone to Tatter- 
 sail's to look at some horses that were for sale. To TattejtsaH's 
 went Harley. The Count was in the yard leaning against a 
 pillar, and surrounded by fashionable friends. Lord L'Estrange 
 paused, and, with an heroic effort at self-mastery, repressed his 
 rage. " I may lose all if I show that I suspect him; and yet I 
 must insult and fight him rather than leave his movements free. 
 Ah, is that young Hazeldean ? A thought strikes me ! " 'Frank 
 was standing apart from the group round the Count, and look- 
 ing very absent and very sad/ Harley touched him on the 
 shoulder, and drew him aside unobserved by the Count 
 
 " Mr. Hazeldean, your uncle Egerton is my dearest friend. 
 Will you be a friend to me ? I want you." 
 
 " My lord" 
 
 " Follow me. Don't let Count Peschiera see us talking to- 
 gether."
 
 282 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Harley quitted the yard, and entered St. James's Park by the 
 little gate close by. In a very few words he informed Frank of 
 Violante's disappearance, and of his reasons for suspecting the 
 Count. Frank's first sentiment was that of indignant disbelief 
 that the brother of Beatrice could be so vile; but as he gradu- 
 ally called to mind the cynical and corrupt vein of the Count's 
 familiar conversation the hints to Pe"schiera's prejudice that had 
 been dropped by Beatrice herself and the general character for 
 brilliant and daring profligacy which even the admirers of the 
 Count ascribed to him Frank was compelled to reluctant acqui- 
 escence in Harley's suspicions ; and he said, with' an earnest 
 gravity very rare to him "Believe me, Lord L'Estrange, if I 
 can assist you in defeating a base and mercenary design against 
 this poor young lady, you have but to show me how. One thing 
 is clear Peschiera was not personally engaged in this abduc- 
 tion, since I have been with him all day ; and now I think of 
 it I begin tohopethat you wrong him; for he has invited a large 
 party of us to make an excursion with him to Boulogne next week, 
 in order to try his yacht, which he could scarcely do if" 
 
 " Yacht, at this time of the year! a man who habitually resides 
 at Vienna a yacht!" 
 
 "Spendquick sells it a bargain, on account of the time of year 
 and other reasons; and the Count proposes to spend next sum- 
 mer in cruising about the Ionian Isles,. He has some property 
 on those isles, which he has never yet visited." 
 
 " How long is it since he bought this yacht ? " 
 
 " Why, I am not sure that it is already bought that is, paid for. 
 Levy was to meet Spendquick this very morning to arrange the 
 matter. Spendquick complains that Levy screws him." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Hazeldean, you are guiding me through the 
 maze. Where shall I find Lord Spendquick ?" 
 
 "At this hour, probably in bed. Here is his card." 
 
 "Thanks. And where lies the vessel?" 
 
 " It was off Blackwall the other day. I went fo see it ' The 
 Flying Dutchman' a fine vessel, and. carries guns." 
 
 " Enough. Now heed me. There can be no immediate dan- 
 ger to Violante, so long as Peschiera does not meet her so long 
 as we know his movements. You are about to marry his sister. 
 Avail yourself of that privilege to keep close by his side. Refuse 
 to be shakenoff. Make what excuses for the present your inven- 
 tion suggests. I will give you an excuse. Be anxious and un- 
 easy to know where you can find Madame di Negfa." 
 
 " Madame di Negral " cried Frank. " What of her ? Is she 
 not in Curzon Street ?"
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 283 
 
 "No; she has gone out in one of the Count's carriages. In 
 all probability the driver of that carriage, or some servant in 
 attendance on it, will come to the Count in the course of the day; 
 and, in order to get rid of you, the Count will tell you to see this 
 servant, and ascertain yourself that his sister is safe. Pretend 
 to believe what the man says, but make him come to your lodg- 
 ings on pretence of writing there a letter for the Marchesa. Once 
 at your lodgings and he will be safe ; for I shall see that the 
 officers of justice secure him. The moment he is there, send an 
 express for me to my hotel." 
 
 "But," said Frank, a little bewildered, "if I go to my lodg- 
 ings, how can I watch the Count?" 
 
 " It will not then be necessary. Only get him to accompany 
 you to your lodgings, and part with him at the door," 
 
 "Stop, stop you cannot suspect Madame di Negra of con- 
 nivance in a scheme so infamous. Pardon me, Lord L'Estrange; 
 I cannot act in this matter cannot even hear you except as your 
 foe, if you insinuate a word against the honor of the woman I love." 
 
 "Brave gentleman, your hand. It is Madame di Negra I would 
 save, as well as my friend's young child. Think but of her, 
 while you act as I entreat, and all will go well.* I confide in you. 
 Now return to the Count." 
 
 Frank walked back to join Peschiera, and hisbrow was thought- 
 ful, and his lips closed firmly. TIarley had that gift which belongs 
 to the genius of Action. He inspired others with the light of his 
 own spirit and the force of his own will. Harley next hastened 
 to Lord Spendquick, remained with that young gentleman some 
 minutes, then repaired to his hotel, where Leonard, the Prince, 
 and Giacomo still awaited him. 
 
 " Come with me, both .of you. You too, Giacomo. I must 
 now seek the police. We may then divide upon separate missions." 
 "Oh, my dear lord," cried Leonard, "you must have had 
 good news. You seem cheerful and sanguine." 
 
 "Seem! Nay, I am so! If I once paused to despond even 
 to doubt I should go mad. A foe to baffle, and an angel to 
 save! Whose spirits would not rise high whose wits would not 
 move quick to the warm pulse of his heart ?" 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 
 
 TWILIGHT was dark in the room to which Beatrice had con- 
 ducted Violante. A great change had come over Beatrice. Hum- 
 ble and weeping, she knelt beside Viotente, hiding her face, and 
 imploring pardon. And Violante, striving to resist the terror for
 
 284 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 which she now saw such cause as no woman-heart can defy, still 
 sought to soothe, and still sweetly assured forgiveness. 
 
 Beatrice had learned after quick and fierce questions which 
 at last compelled the answers that cleared away every doubt 
 that her jealousy had been groundless that she had.no rival in 
 Violante. From that moment the passions that had made her 
 the tool of guilt abruptly vanished, and her conscience startled 
 her with the magnitude of her treachery. Perhaps had Violante's 
 heart been wholly free, or she had been of that mere common- 
 place, girlish character, which women like Beatrice are apt to 
 despise, the Marchesa's affection for Peschiera,and her dread of 
 him, might have made her try to persuade her young kinswoman 
 at least to receive the Count's visit at least to suffer him to make 
 his own excuses, and plead his own cause. But there had been 
 a loftiness of spirit in which Violante had first- defied the Mar- 
 chesa's questions, followed by such generous, exquisite sweet- 
 ness, when the girl perceived how that wild heart was stung and 
 maddened, and such purity of mournful candor when she had 
 overcome her own virgin bashfulness sufficiently to undeceive 
 the error she detected, and confess where herown affections were 
 placed, that Beatrice bowed before her as mariner of old to some 
 fair saint that had allayed the storm. 
 
 "I have deceived you ! " she cried, through her sobs; "but I 
 will now save you at any. cost. Had you.been as I deemed the 
 rival- who had despoiled all the hopes of my future life I could, 
 without remorse, have been the accomplice J art) pledged to be. 
 Butfltfw you! oh, you so good and so noble; you can never 
 be the bride of Peschrera. Nay, start not; he shall renounce Jiis 
 designs for ever, or I will go myself to our Emperor, and expose 
 the dark secrets of his life. Return with me quick to the ;home 
 from which I ensnared you." 
 
 bi tiB-eatricfc's hand was on the door while. -she spoker Suddenly 
 her face fell her lips-grew white; the door was locked from with- 
 out. She called ^no one answered; the bell-pull in the room 
 gave no sound; the windows were high and barred they did not 
 look on the river, nor the street, but on a close, gloomy, silent 
 yard -high blank walls all around it no one to hear the cry.of 
 distress, rang it ever so loud and sharp. 
 
 Beatrice divined that she herself had been no less ensnared 
 than her companion; that Peschiera, distrustful of her firmness 
 in evil, had precluded her from the; pewter ,of reparation. She 
 was in a house only tenanted by his hirelings. Not a hope to 
 save Violante from a fate that now appalled her, seemed to re- 
 main. Thus, in incoherent self-reproaches and frenzied tears,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 285 
 
 Beatrice knelt beside her victim, communicating more and more 
 the terrors that she felt, as the hours rolled on, and the room 
 darkened, till it was only by the dull lamp which gleamed through 
 the grimy windows from the yard without, that each saw the face 
 of the other. 
 
 Night came on; they heard a clock from some distant church 
 strike the hours. The dim fire hadlo^g since burnt out, and the 
 air became intensely cold. No one broke upon their solitude 
 not a voice was heard in the house. They felt neither cold nor 
 hunger they felt but the solitude, and the silence, and the dread 
 of something that was to come. 
 
 At length, about midnight, a bell rang at the street door; then 
 there was the quick sound of steps of sullen bolts withdrawn 
 of low, murmured voices. Lights streamed through the chinks of 
 the door to the apartment the door itself opened. Two Ital- 
 ians bearing tapers entered, and the Count di Peschiera followed. 
 
 Beatrice sprang up, and rushed toward her brother. He laid 
 his hand gently on her lips, and motioned to the Italians to with- 
 draw. They placed the lights on the table, and vanished with- 
 out a word. 
 
 Peschiera then, putting aside his sister, approached Violante. 
 
 "Fair kinswoman," said he, with an air of easy but resolute 
 assurance, " there are things which no man can excuse, and no 
 woman can pardon, unless that love, which is beyond all laws, 
 suggests excuse for the one, and obtains pardon for the other. 
 In a word, I have sworn to win you, and I have had no oppor- 
 tunities to woo. 1 Fear not; the worst that can befall you is to 
 be my bride. Stand aside, my sister, stand aside." 
 
 " Giulio, no ! Giulio Franzini, I stand between you and her ; 
 you shall strike me to the earth before you can touch even the 
 hem of her robe." 
 
 "What, my sister ! you turn against me ?" 
 
 "And unless you instantly retire, and leave her free, I will 
 unmask you to the Emperor." 
 
 " Too late ! man. enfbnt! You will sail with us. The -effects 
 you may need for the voyage are already on board. You will 
 be witness to our marriage, and by a holy son of the Church. 
 Then tell the Emperor what you will/' 
 
 With at light and sudden exertion of his strength, the Count 
 put. away Beatrice, and fell on his knees before Violante, who, 
 drawn to her full height, death-like pale^ but untremblin-g, re- 
 garded him with unutterable disdain. 
 
 " You scorn me now, "said he, throwing into his features an ex- 
 pression of humility and admiration ; "and I cannot wonder at it.
 
 286 MY NOVEL ) OR, 
 
 But, believe me,that until .the scorn yield to a kinder sentiment,! 
 will. take no advantage of the power 1 have gained over your fate." 
 
 " Power !" said Violante, haughtily. "You have ensnared 
 me into this house you have gained the power of a day ; but 
 the power over my fate no ! " 
 
 " You mean that your friends have discovered your disappear- 
 ance, and are on the track. Fair one, I provide against your 
 friends, and I defy all the law and police of England. , The 
 vessel that will bear you from these shores waits in the river hard 
 by. Beatrice, I warn you be still unhand me. In that vessel 
 will beapriest who shall join our hands, but not before you will 
 recognize the truth, that she who flies with Giulio Peschiera must 
 become his wife, or quit him as the disgrace of her house, and 
 the scorn of your sex." 
 
 "Oh, villain ! villain ! " cried Beatrice. 
 
 " Peste, my sister, gentler words. You, too, would marry. I 
 tell no tales of you. Signorina, I grieve to threaten force. Give 
 me your hand ; w.e must be gone." 
 
 Violante eluded the clasp that would have profaned her, and 
 darting across the room, opened the door, and closed it hastily 
 behind her. Beatrice clung firmly to the Count to detain him 
 from pursuit. But just without the door, close, as if listening to 
 what passed within, stood a man wrapped from head to foot in 
 a large boat-cloak. The rays of the lamp that beamed on the man 
 glittered on the barrel of a pistol which he held in his right hand. 
 
 " Hist ! " whispered the man, in English, and passing his aim 
 around her" in this house you are in that ruffian's power ; out 
 of it, safe. Ah ! I am by : your side I, Violante ! " 
 
 The voice thrilled to Violante's heart. She started looked 
 up, but nothing was seen of the man's face, what with the hat 
 and cloak, save a mass of raven curls, and a beard of the same hue. 
 
 The Count now threw open the door, dragging after him his 
 sister, who still clung round him. 
 
 " Ha that is well ! " he cried to. the man, in Italian. " Bear 
 the lady after me, gently ; but if, she attempt to cry out why, 
 \ force enough tq silence her, not more. As for you, Beatrice, 
 traitress that you are, I coivld strike you-to^the earth but no, 
 this suffices." He caught lijs sister in his arms as he spoke, and, 
 regardless of her cries and struggles, sprang down the stairs. 
 
 The hall was crowded with fierce swarthy men. The Count 
 turned to one of them, and whispered; in an instant the Mar- 
 chesa was seized and gagged: The ..Count cast a look over his 
 shoulder; Violante. was close behind, supported by the man to 
 .irhom Peschiera had consigned her, and who was pointing to
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 287 
 
 Beatrice, and appeared warning Violante against resistance. 
 Violante was silent, and seemed resigned. Peschiera smiled 
 cynically, and, preceded by some of his hirelings, who held 
 torches, descended a few steps that led to an abrupt landing-place 
 between the hall and the basement story. There asmall door stood 
 open, and the river flowed close by. A boat was moored on the 
 bank, round which grouped four men, who had the air of foreign 
 sailors. At the appearance of Peschiera, three of these men 
 sprang into the boat/and got ready their oars. The fourth care- 
 fully readjusted a plank thrown from the boat to the wharf, and 
 offered his arm obsequiously to Peschiera. The Count was the 
 first to enter, and, humming a gay opera air, took his place by 
 the helrn. The two females were next lifted in, and Violante 
 felt her hand pressed almost convulsively by the man who stood 
 by the plank. The rest followed, and in another minute the boat 
 bounded swiftly over the waves toward a vessel that lay several 
 furlongs adown the river, and apart from all the meaner craft 
 that crowded the stream. The stars struggled pale through the 
 foggy atmosphere ; not a word was heard within the boat no 
 sound, save the regxilar splash of the oars. The Count paused 
 from his lively tune, and gathering round him the ample fold of 
 his fur pelisse, seemed absorbed in thought. Even by the im- 
 perfect light of the stats, Peschiera's face wore an air of sove- 
 reign triumph. The result had justified that careless and inso- 
 lent confidence in himself and In fortune, which was the most 
 prominent feature in the pharacterof the man who, both bravo 
 and gamester, had played against the world, with his rapier in 
 one hand, and cogged dice in the other. Violante, once in a 
 vessel filled by his own men, was irretrievably in his power. Even 
 her father must feel grateful to learn that the captive of Peschiera 
 had saved name and repute in becoming Peschiera's wife. Even 
 the pride of sex in Violante herself must induce her to confirm 
 what Peschiera, of course, intended to state, viz., that shq was 
 a willing partner in a bridegroom's schemes of flight toward the 
 altar, rather than the poor victim of a betrayer, and receiving his 
 hand but from his mercy. He saw his fortune secured, his suc- 
 cess envied, his very character rehabilitated by his splendid nup- 
 tials. Ambition began to mingle with his dreams of pleasure and 
 pomp. What post in the court or the state too high for the aspira- 
 tions of one who had evinced the most incontestable talent for 
 active life the talent to succeed in all that the wUl has under- 
 taken ? Thus mused the Count, half forgetful of the present, 
 and absorbed in the golden future, till he was aroused by a loud 
 hail : from the vessel, and the bustle on board the boat, as th*
 
 288 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 sailors caught at the rope flung to them. He then rose and moved 
 toward Violante. But the man who was still in charge of her 
 passed the Count lightly, half-leading, half-carrying his passive 
 prisoner. " Pardon, Excellency," said the man, in Italian, " but 
 the boat is crowded, and rocks so much, that your aid would 
 but disturb our footing." Before Peschiera could reply, Violante 
 was already on the steps of the vessel, and the Count paused till, 
 with elated smile, he saw her safely standing on the deck. Beatrice 
 followed, and then Peschiera himself ; but when the Italians in 
 his train also thronged toward the sides of the boat, two of the 
 sailors got before them, and let go the rope, while the other two 
 plied their oars vigorously, and pulled back toward shore. The 
 Italians burst into an amazed and indignant volley of execrations, 
 "Silence," said the sailor who had stood, by the plank, " we obey 
 orders. If youarenotquiet,weshallupsetthe boat. Wr can swim; 
 Heaven and Monsignore San Giacomo pity you if you cannot!" 
 
 .Meanwhile, as Peschiera leaped upon deck, a flood of light 
 poured upon him from lifted torches. That light streamed full 
 on the face and form of a man of commanding stature, whose 
 arm was around Violante, and whose dark eyes flashed upon the 
 Count more luminously than the torches. On one side this man 
 stood the Austrian Prince; on the other side (a cloak, and a pro- 
 fusion of false dark locks, at his feet) stood Lord L'Estrange, his 
 arms folded, and his lips curved by a smile in which the ironical 
 humor native to the man was tempered with a calm and supreme 
 disdain. The Count strove to speak, but his voice faltered. 
 
 All around him looked ominous and hostile. He saw many 
 Italian faces, but they scowled at him with vindictive hate; in 
 the rear we're English mariners, peeping curiously over the 
 shoulders of the foreigners, and with a broad grin on their open 
 countenances.. Suddenly, as the Count thus stood perplexed, 
 cowering, stupefied, there burst from all the Italians present a 
 hoot of unutterable scorn",// traditore ! il traditore / " (the 
 traitor ! the traitor !) 
 
 The Count was brave, and at the cry he lifted his. head with 
 a certain majesty. 
 
 At that moment Harley, raising his hand as if to silence the 
 hoot, came forth from the group by which he had been hitherto 
 standing, and toward him the Count advanced, with a bold stride. 
 
 "What trick is this?" he said, in French, fiercely. " I divine 
 thatitisyou whom lean single out for explanation and atonement." 
 
 t Pqrdieu^ Monsieur ' Comte" answered Harley, in the same 
 language, which lends ijself so well to polished sarcasm and high- 
 bred enmity " let us distinguish. Explanation should come
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 289 
 
 from me, I allow ; but atonement I have the honor to resign to 
 yourself. This vessel " 
 
 " Is mine ! " cried the Count. '^Those men, who insult me, 
 should be in my pay." 
 
 " The men in your pay, Monsieur le Cornte, are on shore, drink- 
 ing success to your voyage. But, anxious still to procure you 
 the gratification of being amongst your own countrymen, those 
 whom I have taken into my pay are still better Italians than the 
 pirates whose place they supply ; perhaps not such good sailors ; 
 but then I have taken the liberty to add to the equipment of a 
 vessel, which has cost me too much to risk lightly, some stout 
 English seamen, who are mariners more practised than even your 
 pirates. Yourgrand mistake, Monsietir le Comte, is in thinking 
 that the ' Flying Dutchman ' is yours. With many apologies for 
 interfering with your intention to purchase it, I beg to inform 
 you that Lord Spendquick has kindly sold it to me. Neverthe- 
 less, Monsieur le Comte, for the next few weeks I place it men 
 and all at your service." 
 
 Peschiera smiled scornfully. 
 
 "I thank your lordship ; but since I presume that I shall no 
 longer have the travelling companion who alone could make the 
 voyage attractive, I shall return to shore, and will simply re- 
 quest you to inform me at what hour you can receive the friend 
 whom I shall depute to discuss that part of the question yet un- 
 touched, and to arrange that the atonement, whether it be due 
 from me or yourself, may be rendered as satisfactory as you 
 have condescended to make the explanation." 
 
 " Let not that vex you, Monsieur le Coritte the atonement 
 is, in much, made already ; so anxious have I been to forestall 
 all that your nice sense of honor would induce so complete a 
 gentleman to desire. You have ensnared a young heiress, it is 
 true; but you see that it was only to restore her to the arms 
 of her father. You have juggled art illustrious kinsman out of his 
 heritage; but you have voluntarily come on board this vessel, 
 
 first, to enable his ; highness the Prince Von , of whose rank at 
 
 the Austrian court you are fully aware, to state to your Emperor 
 that he himself has been witness of the manner in which you inter- 
 preted his Imperial Majesty's assent to your nuptials with a child 
 ofoneofthe first subjects in his Italian realm; and next, to com- 
 mence, by an excursion to the seas of the Baltic, the sentence of 
 banishment which I have no doubt will accompany the same act 
 that restores to the chief of your house his lands and his honors." 
 
 The Count started. ' 
 
 "That, restoration," said the Austrian Prince, who had ad-
 
 290 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 vanced to Harley's side, "I already guarantee. Disgrace that 
 you are, Giulio Franzini, to the nobles of the empire, I will not 
 leave my royal master till his hand strike your name from the 
 roll. I have here your own letters, to prove that your kinsman 
 was duped by yourself into the revolt which you would have 
 headed as a Catiline, if it had not better suited your nature to 
 betray it as a Judas. In ten days from this time, these letters 
 will be laid before the Emperor and his Council." 
 
 "Are you satisfied, Monsieur le Comte" said Harley, "with 
 your atonement so far ? if not, I have procured you the occasion to 
 render it more complete. Before you stands the kinsman you have 
 wronged. He knows now, that though, for a while, you ruined his 
 fortunes, you failed to sully his hearth. His heart can 'grant you 
 pardon, and hereafter his hand may give you alms. Kneel, then, 
 Giulio Franzinj kneel at the feet of Alphonso, Dulce of Serrano." 
 
 The above dialogue had been in French, which only a few 
 of the Italians present understood, and that imperfectly ; but at 
 the name with which Harley concluded his address to the Count, 
 a simultaneous cry from those Italians broke forth. 
 
 "Alphonso the Good ! Alphonso the Good! Viva- viva 
 the good Duke of. Serrano ! " 
 
 And forgetful even of the Count they crowded round the tall 
 form of Riccabocca, striving who should first kiss his hand 
 the very hem of his garments. 
 
 Riccabocca's eyes overflowed. The gaunt exile seemed trans- 
 figured into another and more kingly man. An inexpressible 
 dignity invested him. He stretched forth his arms, as if to bless 
 his countrymen. Even that rude cry, from humble men, exiles 
 like himself, consoled him for years of banishment and penury. 
 
 "Thanks, thanks," ; he continued ; "thanks. Some day or 
 other, you will all perhaps return with me to the beloved land ! " 
 
 The Austrian Prince bowed his head, as if in assent to the prayer. 
 
 " Giulio Franzini,-" ,said the Duke of Serrano for so we may 
 now call the threadbare ^ecluse of the Casino-r-" had this last 
 villanous design of yours been allowed by Providence, think you 
 that there is. one spot on earth on which the ravisher could have 
 been saved from a father's arm ? But now, Heaven has been 
 more kind. In this hour let .me imitate his mercy"; and with 
 relaxing brow the Duke mildly drew near to his guilty kinsman. 
 
 From the moment the Austrian Prince had addressed him, 
 the Count had preserved a profound silence, showing neither 
 repentance nor shame. Gathering himself up, he hadstood firm, 
 glaring around him like one at bay. But as the Duke, now ap- 
 prpached, he waved his hand, and exclaimed, ." Back, pedant
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 291 
 
 back ; you have not triumphed yet. And you, prating German, 
 tell your tales to your Emperor. I shall be by his throne to an- 
 swer if, indeed, you escape from the meeting to which I will 
 force you by the way." He spoke, and made a rush toward the 
 side of the vessel. But Harley's quick wit had foreseen the 
 Count's intention, and Harley's quick eye had given the signal 
 by which.it was frustrated. Seized in the gripe of his own watch- 
 ful and indignant countrymen, just as he was abqut to plunge 
 into the stream, Peschiera was dragged back-T-pinioned: down. 
 Then the expression of his whole countenance changed the 
 desperate violence of the inborn gladiator broke forth. His great 
 strength enabled him to break loose more than once, to dash more 
 than one man to the floor of the deck; but at length, overpow- 
 ered by numbers, though still struggling all dignity, all attempt 
 at presence of mind gone, utteiing curses the most plebeian, gnash- 
 ing his teeth, and foaming at the mouth, nothing seemed left of 
 the brilliant Lothario but the coarse fury of the fierce natural 
 man. 
 
 Then still preserving that air and tone of exquisite imperturb- 
 able irony which the highest comedian might have sought to 
 imitate. in vain, Harley bowed !low to the storming Count. 
 
 "Adieu, Monsieur le Cowte, adieu ! The vessel which you have 
 honored me by entering is bound to Norway. The Italians who 
 accompany you were sent by yourself into exile, and, in return, 
 they now kindly promise to enliven you with their society, when- 
 ever you feel somewhat tired of your own. Conduct the Count 
 to his cabin. Gently there, gently. Adieu, Monsieur le Comic, 
 adieu ! et ban voyage" 
 
 Harley turned lightly on his heel, as Peschiera, in spite of his 
 struggles, was now fairly carried down to the cabin. 
 
 "A trick for the trickster," said L'Estrange to the Austrian 
 Prince. "The revenge of a farce on the would-be tragedian." 
 
 "More than that he is ruined." 
 
 "And ridiculous," quoth Harley. "I should like to see his 
 look when they land him in Norway." Harley then passed to- 
 ward the center of the vessel, by .which, hitherto partially .con- 
 cealed by the sailors, who were now bu>ily occupied, stood Bea- 
 trice ; Frank Hazeldeah, who had first received her on enter- 
 ing the vessel, standing by her side ; and Leonard, a littleapart 
 from the two, in quiet observation of all that had passed around 
 him. Beatrice appeared but little to heed Frank ; her dark eyes 
 were lifted to the dim starry skies, and ber lips were. moving as 
 in prayer ; yet her young lover was speaking to her in great 
 emotion, low <and rapidly.
 
 292 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "No, no do not think for a moment that we suspect you, 
 Beatrice ; -I will answer for your honor with my ; life. Oh, why 
 will you turn from me why will you not speak?" 
 
 " A moment later," said Beatrice, softly. "Give me one mo- 
 ment yet." She passed slowly and falteringly toward Leonard 
 placed her hand, that trembled, on his arm and led. him aside 
 to the verge of the vessel. Frank, startled by her movement, 
 made a step, as if to follow, and then stopped shorthand looked 
 on, but with a clouded and doubtful countenance. Harley's 
 smile had gone, and his eye also was watchful, i 
 
 It was but a few words that Beatrice spoke it was but a sen- 
 tence or so that Leonard answered ; and then Beatrice extended 
 her hand, which the young poet bent over, and kissed in silence. 
 She lingered an instant ; and even by the starlight, Harley noted 
 the blush that Overspread her face. The blush faded as Bea- 
 trice returned to Frank. :Lord L'Estrange would have retired 
 she signed to him to stay. 
 
 "My lord," she said, very firmly, " I cannot accuse you of 
 harshness tomy sinful and unhappy brother. His offence might 
 perhaps deserve a heavier punishment than that which you in- 
 flict with such playful scorn. But, whatever his penance, con- 
 tempt now, or poverty later, I .feel that his sister should be by 
 his side to share it. I am not innocent, if he be guilty ; and 
 wreck though he be, nothing else on this dark sea of life, is now 
 left to me to cling to. Hush, my lord ! I shall not leave this 
 vessel. All that I entreat of yon is, to order your men to respect 
 my brother, since a woman will be by his side." 
 
 " But, Marchesa, this cannot be ; and 1 " 
 
 "Beatrice, Beatrice and me ! our betrothal ? Do you for- 
 get me ? " cried Frank, in reproachful agony. 
 
 " No, young and too noble lover ; I. shall remember you ever 
 in my prayers. But listen. I have been deceived hurried on, 
 I might say, by others, but also, and far more, by my own mad 
 and blinded heart deceived, hurried on, to wrong you and to 
 belie myself. My shame burns into me when I think that I 
 could have inflicted on you the just anger of your family 
 linked you to my own ruined fortunes my own *" 
 
 "Your own generous, loving heart! that is all I asked!" 
 cried Frank. " Cease, cease that heart is mine still ! " 
 
 Tears gushed from the Italian's eyes. 
 
 "Englishman, I never loved you ; this heart was dead to you, 
 and it will be dead to all else for ever. FariewelL You will 
 forget me sooner than you think for sooner than I shall forget 
 you as a friend, as a brother if brothers had .natures as ten
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 293 
 
 der and as kind as yours ! Now, my lord, will you give me your 
 arm ? I would join the Count." 
 
 " Stay one word, madam," said Frank, very pale, -and 
 through his set teeth, but calmly and with a pride on his brow 
 which had never before dignified its'habituah careless expres- 
 sion *' one word. 1 may not be worthy of you in anything else 1 
 but an honest love, that never doubted, never suspected that 
 would have clung to you though all the world were against.; 
 such a love makes the meanest man of worth. One word, frank 
 and open. By all that you hold most sacred in your creed, did 
 you speak the truth when you said that yon never loved me ?" 
 
 Beatrice bent down her head ; she was abashed before this 
 manly nature that she had so deceived, and perhaps till then 
 undervalued. 
 
 " Pardon,, pardon," she said, in reluctant accents, half-choked 
 by trie rising of a sob. 
 
 At her hesitation, Frank's face lighted as if with sudden hope. 
 She raised her eyes, and saw the change in him, then glanced 
 where Leonard stood, mournful and motionless. She shivered, 
 and added, firmly .. 
 
 " Yes; pardon ; for I spoke the truth ; and I had no heart to 
 give. It might have been as wax to another it was of granite to 
 you." She paused, and muttered inly "Granite, and broken!" 
 
 Frank said not a word more. He stood rooted to the spot, 
 not even gazing after Beatrice as she t/assed on, leaning on the 
 arm of Lord L'Estrange. He then walked resolutely away, and 
 watched the boat that the men were now lowering from theside 
 of the vessel. Beatrice stopped when she came near the place 
 where Violante stood, answering in agitated whispers her father's 
 anxious questions. As she stopped', she leaned more heavily 
 upon Harley. " It is your arm that trembles now, Lord L'Es- 
 trange," said she, with a mournful smile, and, quitting him ere 
 he could answer, she bowed down her head meekly before Vio- 
 lante. "You have pardoned me already," she said, in a tone 
 that reached only the girl's ear, "and my last words shall not be 
 of the past. I see your future spread bright before me under 
 those steadfast stars. Love still ;' hope and trust. These are 
 the last words of her who will soon die to the world. Fair maid, 
 they are prophetic !" 
 
 Violante shrank back to her father's breast, and there hid her 
 glowing face, resigning her hand to Beatrice, who pressed it to 
 her bosom. The Marchesa then came back to Harley, and dis- 
 appeared with him in the interior of the vessel. 
 
 When Harley again came on deck, he seemed much flurried and
 
 294 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 disturbed. He kept aloof from the Duke and Violante, and was 
 the last to enter the boat that was now lowered into the water. 
 
 As he and his companions reached the land, they saw the 
 vessel in movement, gliding slowly down the river. 
 
 " Courage, Leonard, courage ! " murmured Harley. " You 
 grieve, and nobly. But you have shunned the worst and most 
 vulgar deceit in civilized life ; you have not simulated love. 
 Better that yon poor lady should be, awhile, thesufferer from a 
 liarsh truth, than the eternal martyr of a flattering lie ! Alas, my 
 J^eonard ! with the love of the poet's dream are linked only the 
 Graces ; with the love of the human heart come the awful Fates ! " 
 
 " My lord, poets do not dream when they love. You will 
 learn how the feelings are deep in proportion as the fancies are 
 vivid, when you read that confession of genius and woe which 
 I have left in your hands." , 
 
 Leonard turned away. Harley's gaze followed him with in- 
 quiring interest and suddenly encountered the soft, dark, grate- 
 ful eyes of Violante. " The Fates, -the Fates ! " murmur,ed Harley. 
 
 . 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WE are at Norwood, in the sage's drawing-room. Violante has 
 long since retired to'rest. Harley, whohad accompanied the father 
 and daughter to their home, is still conversing with the former. 
 
 " Indeed, my dear duke " said Harley. 
 
 " Hush, hush ! Diavolo, don't call me Duke yet ; I am at 
 home here once more as -Dr. Riccabocca." 
 
 " My dear doctor, then, allow me to assure you that you over- 
 rate my claims ta your thanks. Your old friends, Leonard and 
 Frank Hazeldean, must come in for their share. Nor is the 
 faithful Giacomo tp.be forgotten." 
 
 " Continue your explanation." . 
 
 " In the first place, I learned, through Frank, that one Baron 
 Levy, a certain fashionable money-lender, and general minis- 
 trant to the affairs of fine gentlemen, was just about to purchase 
 a yacht from Lord Spendquick on behalf of the Count. A, short 
 interview with Spendquick enabled me to outbid the usurer, and 
 conclude a bargain by which the yacht became mine ; a prom- 
 ise to assist Spendquick in extricating himself from the claws of 
 the money-tlender (which I trust to do by reconciling him with 
 his father, who is a man of liberality and sense), made Spend- 
 quick readily connive at my scheme for outwitting the. enemy. 
 He allowed Levy to suppose that the Count might take posses- 
 sion of the vessel ; but affecting an engagement, and standing
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 295' 
 
 I 
 
 out for terms, postponed' the final settlement of the purchase- 
 money till the next day. I was thus master of the vessel, which 
 I felt sure was destined to serve Peschiera's infamous design. 
 But it was my business not to'alarm the Count's suspicions ; I 
 therefore permitted the pirate crew he had got together to come 
 on board. I knew I could get rid of them when necessary. 
 Meanwhile, Frank undertook to keep close to the Count until he 
 could see and cage within his lodgings the servant whom Pes- 
 chiera-had commissioned to attend his sister. If I could but 
 apprehend this servant, I had a sanguine hope that I could dis- 
 cover and free your daughter before Peschiera could even pro- 
 fane her with his presence. But Frank, alas ! was no pupil of 
 Machiavelli. Perhaps the Count detected his secret thoughts 
 under his open countenance ; perhaps merely wished to get rid 
 of a companion very much in his way ; but, at all events, he con- 
 trived to elude our young friend as cleverly as you- or I could 
 have done told him that Beatrice herself was at Roehampton 
 had borrowed the Count's carriage to go there volunteered 
 to take Frank to the house took him. Frank found himself in 
 a drawing-room ; and after waiting a few minutes, while the 
 Count went out on pretence of seeing his sister in pirouetted a 
 certain distinguished cpera-dancer ! Meanwhile the Count was 
 fast back on the road to London, and Frank had 1 to return as he 
 could. He then hunted "for the Count everywhere, and saw him 
 no more. It was late in the day when Frank found me out with 
 this news. 1 became seriously alarmed. Peschiera might per- 
 haps learn my counter-scheme with the yacht or he might 
 postpone sailing until he had terrified or entangled Violante into 
 some in short, everything was to be dreaded from a "man of the 
 Count's temper. I had no clue to the place to which' your 
 daughter was taken no excuse to arrest Peschiera no means 
 even of learning where he ''was. He had not returned to Mi- 
 vart's. The police were at fault, and useless, except in one valu- 
 able piece of information. They told me where some of your 
 countrymen, whom Peschiera's perfidy-had sent into exile, were 
 to be fpund. I commissioned Giacomo to seek these men-out, 
 and induce them to man the vessel. It might be necessary, 
 should Peschiera or his confidential servants Come aboard, after 
 we had expelled or drawn off the pirate crew, that they should 
 find Italians whom they might well mistake for their own hire- 
 lings. To these foreigners I added some English -sailors, who 
 had before served in the same vessel, and on whom Spendquick 
 assured me I could rely. Still these precautions only availed in 
 Peschiera should resolve to sail, artd defer till then all
 
 296 MY NOVEL; OR,, 
 
 machinations against his captives. While, amidst my fears and 
 uncertainties, I, was struggling still to preserve presence of mind, 
 and rapidly discussing with the .Austrian Prince if any other 
 steps could- be taken, or if our sole, resource was to repair to the 
 vessel and take the chance of what might ensue, Leonard sud- 
 denly and quietly entered my room. You know his counte- 
 nance, in which joy .or sadness is not betrayed so much by the 
 evidence of the passions as by variations in the intellectual ex- 
 pression. It was but by the clearer brow and the steadier eye 
 that I saw he had good tidings to impart." 
 
 "Ah," said Riccabocca for so, -obeying his own request, we 
 will yet call the sage "ah, I early taught that young man the 
 great lesson inculcated by He,lvetius: 'All our errors arise from 
 our ignorance or our passions.' Without ignorance, and without 
 passions, we should be serene, all-penetrating intelligences." 
 
 " Mopsticks," quoth Harley, "have neither ignorance nor 
 passions; but as for their intelligence " 
 
 "Pshaw!" interrupted Riccabocca "Proceed." 
 
 "Leonard had parted from, us some^ours before. I had com- 
 missioned him to call at Madame di Negra's, and, as he was 
 familiarly known to her servants, seek to obtain quietly all. the 
 information he could collect, and, a-tall events, procure (what in 
 my hasje I had failed to do) the name. and the description of 
 the man. who had driven ruer out in the morning, and make what 
 use he judged best of every hint he could gather or glean that 
 might aid our researches. Leonard only succeeded in learning 
 the name and description of the coachman, whom he recog- 
 nized as one Beppo, to whom she had often given orders in his 
 presence- ,tyone could say where she then could be found, if not 
 at the Count's hotel. Leonard went next to that hotel. The man 
 had noA been there all die day. While revolving what next he 
 should do, his eye caught sight of your intended son-in-law, 
 gliding across the opposite side of th^ street. One of those lum- 
 inous, inspiring conjectures, which never occur to you philoso- 
 phers, had from the first guided Leonard to believe, that Randal 
 Leslie was mixed up in this, villainous affair." ' 
 
 "Ha! He!" cried Riccabocca. "Impossible! For what in- 
 terest? what object?'' 
 
 "Icannottell; neithercouldLeonard;butwehadbothformedthe 
 same conjecture. Brief: Leonard resolved to followRandalLes- 
 lie, and track all his movements. He. did then follow him, unob- 
 served; and at a distance first to Audley Egerton's house then 
 to Eaton Square thence to a house in Bruton Street, which Leon- 
 ard ascertained to be Baron Levy's. Suspicious that,mydearsage!"
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 297 
 
 "Diavolo yes !'' said Riccabocca, thoughtfully. 
 
 "At Levy's, Randal stayed till dusk. He then came out, with 
 his cat-like, stealthy step, and walked quickly in to the neighbor- 
 hood of Leicester Square. Leonard saw him enter one of those 
 small hotels which are appropriated toforeigners. Wild-outlandish 
 fellows were loitering about the door and in the street. Leonard 
 divined that the Count or the Count's confidants were there." 
 
 "If that can be proved," cried Riccabocca "if Randal could 
 have been thus in communication with Peschiera could 
 have connived at such. perfidy I am released from my promise. 
 Oh, to prove it!" 
 
 "Proof will come later, if we are on the right track. Let me 
 go on. While waiting near the door of this hotel, Beppo him- 
 self, the very man Leonard was in search of, came forth, and, 
 after sp.eaking a few words to some of the loitering foreigners, 
 walked briskly toward Piccadilly. Leonard here resigned all 
 further heed of Leslie, and gave chase to Beppo, whom he 
 recognized at a glance. Coming up to him, he said quietly, ' I 
 have a letter for the Marchesa di Negra. She told me I was to 
 send it to her by you. I have been searching for you the whole 
 day.' The man fell into the trap, and the more easily, because 
 as he since owned in excuse for a simplicityj which, I dare say, 
 weighed on his conscience more than any of the thousand-and- 
 one crimes he may have committed in the course of his illustri- 
 ous life he had been employed by the Marchesa as a spy upon 
 Leonard, and, with an Italian's acumen in affairs of the heart, 
 detected her secret.". 
 
 "What secret?" asked the innocent sage. 
 
 "Her love for the handsome young poet. I betray that secret 
 in order to give some slight excuse for becoming. Peschiera's 
 tool. She believed Leonard to be in love with your daughter, 
 and jealousy urged her to treason. Violante, no doubt, will ex- 
 plain this to you. Well, the man fell into the trap: 'Give me the 
 letter, Signore, and quick.' 
 
 " ' It is at an hotel close by ; come there, and you .will have a 
 guinea for your trouble.' 
 
 "So Leonard walked our gentleman into my hotel; and having 
 taken him into my dressing-room, turned the key and there left 
 him. On learning his capture, the Prince and myself hastened 
 tasee our prisoner. He was at first sullen and silent ; but when 
 the Prince disclosed his rank and name (you know the mysteri- 
 ous terror the meaner Italians feel for an Austrian magnate), his 
 countenance changed, and his courage fell. What with threats, 
 and what with promises, we soon obtained all that we sought to
 
 2Q$ r MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 know; and an offered bribe, which I calculated at ten times the 
 amount, the rogue could ever expect to receive from his spend- 
 thrift master, finally bound him cheerfully to our service, soul 
 and body. Thus we learned the dismal place to which your 
 noble daughter had been so perfidiously ensnared. We learned 
 also that the Count had not yet visited her, hoping much from 
 the effect that prolonged incarceration might have in weakening 
 her spirits and inducing her submission. Peschiera was logo to 
 the house at midnight, thence to transport her to the vessel. 
 Beppo had received orders to bring the carriage to Leicester 
 Square, where Peschiera would join them. The Count (as 
 Leonard surmised) had taken skulking refuge at the hotel in 
 which Randal Leslie had disappeared. The Prince, Leonard, 
 Frank (who was then in the hotel), and myself, held a short 
 council. Should we go at once to the house, and, by the help of 
 the police, force an entrance, and rescue your daughter? This 
 was a very hazardous resource. The abode, which, at various 
 times, had served for the hiding-place of men hunted by the law, 
 abounded, according to our informant, in subterranean vaults 
 and secret passages, and had more than one outlet on the river. 
 At our first summons at the door, therefore, the ruffians within 
 might not only escape themselves, but carry off their prisoner. 
 The door was strong, and before our entrance could be forced, 
 all trace of her we sought might be lost. Again, too, the Prince 
 was desirous of bringing Peschiera's guilty design home to him 
 anxious to be able to state to the Emperor, and to the great 
 minister, his kinsman, that he himself had witnessed the Count's 
 vile abuse of the Emperor's permission to wed your daughter. 
 Irt short, while I only thought of Violante, the Prince thought 
 also of her father's recall to his dukedom; < Yet still to leave 
 Violante in that terrible house, even for an hour, a few minutes, 
 subjected to the actual presence of Peschiera, unguarded save 
 by the feeble and false woman who had betrayed, and might still 
 desert her how contemplate that fearful risk? What might not 
 happen in the interval between Peschiera's visit to the house 
 and his appearance with his victim on the vessel? An idea 
 flashed on me Beppo was to conduct the Count to the house ; 
 if I could accompany Beppo in disguise enter the house 
 myself be present? I rushed back to our informant, now 
 become our agent ; I found the plan still more feasible than I 
 had at first supposed. Beppo had asked the Count's permission 
 to bring with him a brother accustomed to the sea, and who 
 wished to quit England. I might personate that brother. You 
 know that the Italian language, in most of its dialects and va-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 299 
 
 rieties of patois Genoese, Piedmontese, Venetian is as familiar 
 to me as Addison's English! Alas! rather more so. Presto! the 
 thing was settled. I felt my heart, from that moment, as light 
 as a feather, and my sense as keen as the dart which a feather 
 wings. My plans now were formed in a breath, and explained in 
 a sentence. It was right that you should be present on board the 
 vessel not only to witness your foe's downfall, but to receive 
 your child in a father's arms. Leonard set out to Norwood for 
 you, cautioned not to define too precisely for what object you 
 were wanted, till on board. 
 
 "Frank, accompanied by Beppo (for there was yet time for 
 these preparations before midnight), repaired to the yacht, taking 
 Giacomo by the way. There our new ally, familiar to most of 
 that piratical crew, and sanctioned by the presence of Frank; as 
 the Count's friend and prospective brether-in-hnv, told Pes- 
 chiera's hirelings that they were to quit the vessel, and wait on 
 shore under Giacomo's auspices till further orders; and as soon 
 as the decks were cleared of these ruffians (save a few left to 
 avoid suspicion, and who were afterward safely stowed down in 
 the hold), and as soon as Giacomo had lodged his convoy in a 
 public house, where he quitted them, drinking his health over 
 unlimited rations of grog, your inestimable servant qiiietly 
 shipped on board the Italians pressed into the service, and Frank- 
 took charge of the English sailors. 
 
 "The Prince, promising to be aboard in due time, then left 
 me to make arrangements for his journey to Vienna with die 
 dawn. I hastened to a masquerade warehouse, where with the 
 help of an ingenious stagewright artificer, I disguised myself into 
 a most thorough-paced-looking cut-throat, and then waited the 
 return of my friend Beppo with the most perfect confidence." 
 
 "Yet, if that rascal had played false, all these precautions were 
 lost. Cospetto! you were not wise," said the prudent philosopher. 
 
 "Very likely not. You would have been so wise, that by this 
 time your daughter would have been lost to you for ever." 
 
 "But why not employ the police?" 
 
 "First because I had already employed them to little pur- 
 pose. Secondly Because I no longer wanted them. Thirdly 
 Because to use them for my final catastrophe, would be to drag 
 your name, and your daughter's, perhaps, before a police court; 
 at all events before the tribunal of public gossip. And lastly 
 because having decided upon the proper punishment, it had too 
 much of equity to be quite consistent with law; and in forcibly 
 seizing a man's person, and shipping him off to Norway, my 
 police would have been sadly in the way. Certainly my plan
 
 30O MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 rather savors of Lope de Vega than of Blackstone. However, you 
 see success atones for all irregularities. I resume: Beppo came 
 back in time to narrate all the arrangements that had been made, 
 and to inform me that a servant from the Count had come on 
 board just as our new crew were assembled there, to order the boat 
 to be at the place where we found it. The servant it was.deemed 
 prudent to detain 'and secure. Giacomo undertook to manage 
 the boat. lam nearly at the close of my story. Sure of my disguise, 
 I got on the coach-box with Beppo. The Count arrived at the 
 spot appointed, and did not even honor myself.with a question or 
 glance. 'Your brother?' he said to Beppo; 'one might guess that; he 
 has the family likeness. Not a handsome race yours! Drive on.' 
 
 " We arrived at the house. I dismounted to open the car- 
 riage door. The Count gave me one look. 
 
 ' ' Beppo sajs you have known the sea.' " 
 
 " ' Excellency, yes. I am a Genoese.' " 
 
 ; "'Ha! how is that? Beppo is a Lombard.' Admire the 
 readiness with which I redeemed my blunder: 
 
 ." 'Excellency, it pleased Heaven that Beppo should be born 
 in Lombardy, and then to remove my respected parents to Genoa, 
 at which city they were so kindly treated, that my mother, in 
 common gratitude, was bpund to increase its population. It was 
 all she could do, poor woman. You see she did her best.' 
 
 "The Count smiled, and said no more. , The door opened 
 I followed him; your daughter can tell you the rest" 
 
 "And you risked your life in that den of miscreants! Noble 
 friend . 
 
 " Risked my life 110; but I risked the Count's. There was 
 one . moment when my hand was on my trigger, and my soul 
 very near the sin of justifiable homicide. But my tale is done. 
 The Count is now on the river, and will soon be on the salt seas, 
 though not bound to Norway as I had first intended. . I could 
 not inflict that frigid voyage on his sister. So the men have 
 orders to cruise about for sixty days, keeping aloof from shore, 
 and they will then land the Count and the Marchesa, by boat, 
 on the French coast. The delay will give time for the Prince to 
 arrive at Vienna before the Count could follow him." 
 
 " Would he have that audacity ? " 
 
 " Do him more justice ! Audacity, faith ! he does not want 
 for that. But I dreaded not his appearance at Vienna with such 
 evidence against him. I dreaded his encountering the Prince 
 on the road, and forcing a duel, before his character was so 
 blasted that the Prince could refuse it; and the Count is a dead, 
 shot of course; all such men are ! "
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 3<Dt 
 
 " He will return, and you " 
 
 " I! Oh, never fear; he has had enough of me. And now, 
 my dear friend now that Violante is safe once more under your 
 own roof now that my honored mother must long ere this have 
 been satisfied by Leonard, who left-us to go to her, that our suc- 
 cess has been achieved without danger, and, what she will value 
 almost as much, without scandal now that your foe is powerless 
 as a reed floating on the water toward its own rot, and the Prince 
 
 Von is perhaps about to enter his carriage on the road to 
 
 Dover, charged with the mission of restoring to Italy her worthi- 
 est son let me dismiss you to your own happy slumbers, and 
 allow me to wrap myself in my cloak, and snatch a short sleep on 
 the sofa, till yonder gray dawn has mellowed into riper day. My 
 eyes are heavy, and if you stay here three minutes longer, I shall be 
 out of reach of hearing in the land of dreams. Buona nottt!" 
 
 " But there is a bed prepared for you." 
 
 Harley shook his head in dissent, and composed himself at 
 length on the sofa. 
 
 Riccabocca bending, wrapped the cloak round his guest, 
 kissed him on the forehead, and crept out of the room to rejoin 
 Jemima, who still sat up for him, nervously anxious to learn 
 from him those explanations which her considerate affection 
 would not allow her to ask from the agitated and exhausted 
 Violante. "Not in bed!" cried the sage, on seeing her. "Have 
 you no feelings of compassion for my son that is to be? Just, too, 
 when there is a reasonable probability that we can affofd a son?" 
 
 Riccabocca here laughed merrily, and his wife threw herself 
 on his shoulder, and cried for joy. 
 
 But no sleep fell on the lids of Harley L'Estrange. He started 
 up when his host had left him, and paced the apartment, with 
 noiseless but rapid strides. All whim and levity had vanished 
 from his face, which, by the light of the dawn, seemed death- 
 like : pale. On that pale face there was all the struggle, and all 
 the anguish of passion.. " These arms have clasped her," he 
 murmured; " these lips have inhaled her breath. I am under 
 the same roof, and she is saved saved ever more from danger 
 and from penury, and for ever divided from me. Courage, 
 courage! Oh, honor, duty; and thou, dark memory of the 
 past thou that didst pledge love at least to a grave support 
 defend me! Can I be so weak !" 
 
 The sun was in the wintry skies, when Harley stole from the 
 house. No one was stirring except Giacomo, who stood by the 
 threshold of the door, which he had just unbarred, feeding the 
 house-dog. . " Good day," said the servant, smiling. " The dog
 
 302 , MY NOVEL ' OR, 
 
 has not been of much use, but I don't think the Padrone will 
 henceforth grudge him a breakfast. I shall take him to Italy, 
 and marry him there, in the hope of improving the breed of 
 our native Lombard dogs." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Harley, "you will soon leave our cold shores. 
 May sunshine settle on you all." He r paused, and looked up at 
 the closed windows wistfully. 
 
 "The Signorina sleeps there," said Giacomo, in a husky voice, 
 " just over the room in which you slept." 
 
 "I knew it," muttered Harley. "An instinct told me of it. 
 Open the gate; I must go home. My excusesto your lord, and 
 to all." 
 
 He turned a deaf ear to Giacomo's entreaties to stay till at 
 least the Signorina was up the Signorina whom he had saved. 
 Without trusting himself to speak further, he quitted the demesne, 
 and walked with swift strides toward London. 
 
 : : '. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 . 
 
 HARLEY had not long reached his hotel, and was still seated 
 before his untasted breakfast, when Mr. Randal Leslie was an- 
 nounced. Randal, who was in the firm belief that Violante was 
 now on the wide seas with Peschiera, entered, looking the very 
 personation -of anxiety and fatigue. For, like the great Cardinal 
 Richelieu, Randal had learned the art how to make good use of 
 his own delicate and somewhat sickly aspect. The Cardinal, 
 when intent on some sanguinary scheme requiring unusual vital- 
 ity and vigor, contrived to make himself look a harmless sufferer 
 at death's door. And Randal, whose nervous energies could at 
 that moment have whirled him on from one end of this huge 
 metropolis to the other, with a speed that would have out- 
 stripped a prize pedestrian, now sank into a chair with a jaded 
 weariness that no mother could have seen without compassion. 
 He seemed since the last night to have galloped toward the last 
 stage of consumption. 
 
 " Have you discovered no trace, my lord ? Speak, speak ! " 
 
 "Speak certainly. I am too happy to relieve your mind, 
 Mr. Leslie. What fools we were! Ha ! ha! " 
 
 " Fools how ? " faltered Randal. 
 
 " Of course; the young lady was at her father's house all the 
 time// 
 
 "Eh? what?" 
 
 "And is there now." 
 
 " It is not possible ! " said Randal, in the hollow dreamy tone
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 303 
 
 of a somnambulist. " At her father's house at Norwood ! 
 Are you sure ? " 
 
 " Sure." 
 
 Randal made a desperate and successful effort at self-control. 
 " Heaven be praised ! " he cried. " And just as I had begun to 
 suspect the Count the Marchesa; for I find that neither of 
 them slept at home last night; and Levy told me that the Count 
 ; had written to him, requesting the Baron to discharge his bills, 
 as he should be for some time absent from England." 
 
 "Indeed ! Well, that is nothing, to us very much to Baron 
 Levy, if he executes his commission, and discharges the bills. 
 What ! are you going already ? " 
 
 " Do you ask such a question ? How can I stay ? I must go 
 to Norwood must see Violante with my own eyes ! Forgive 
 my emotion I I " 
 
 Randal snatched at his hat, and hurried away. The low 
 scornful laugh of Harley followed him as he went. 
 
 "I have no more doubt of his guilt than Leonard has. 
 Violante at least shall not be the prize of that thin^lipped knave. 
 What strange fascination can he possess, that he should thus 
 bind to him the two men I value most Audley Egerton and 
 Alphonsodi Serrano? Both so wise too ! While I, so imprudent- 
 ly trustful and frank Ah ! that is the reason ; our r natures are anti- 
 pathetic; cunning, simulation, falsehood, I have no mercy, no par- 
 don for these. Woe to all hypocrites if I were a Grand Inquisitor!" 
 
 "Mr. Richard Avenel," said the waiter, throwing open the door. 
 
 Harley caught at the arm of the chair on which he sate, and 
 grasped it nervously; while his eyes became fixed intently on the 
 form of the. gentleman who now advanced into the room. He 
 rose with an effort. 
 
 " Mr. Avenel ! " he said, falteringly. "Did I hear your name 
 aright? Avenel?" 
 
 " Richard Avenel, at your service, my lord," answered Dick. 
 "My family is not unknown to you; and I am not ashamed of 
 my family, though my parents were small Lansmere tradesfolks. 
 And I am ahem ! a citizen of the world, and well-to-do!" 
 added Dick, dropping his kid gloves into his hat, and then placing 
 the hat on the table, with the air of an old acquaintance who 
 wishes to make himself rat home. 
 
 Lord L'Estrange bowed, and said, as he reseated himself (Dick 
 being firmly seated already) "You are most welcome; sir; and 
 if there be anything I can do for one of your name " 
 
 "Thank you, my lord," interrupted Dick. " I want nothing of 
 any man. A bold word to say ; but I say it. Nevertheless, I
 
 304 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 should not have presumed to call on your lordship, unless, indeed, 
 you had done me the honor to call first at my house, Eaton Square, 
 No. * * *. I should not have presumed to call, if it had not 
 been on business, I may say NATIONAL business." 
 
 Harley bowed again. A faint smile flitted for a moment to his 
 lip, but, vanishing, gave way to a mournful, absent expression of 
 countenance, as he scanned the handsome features before him, and 
 perhaps, masculine and bold though they were, still discovered 
 something of a family likeness to one whose beauty had once been 
 his ideal of female loveliness; for suddenly he stretched forth his 
 hand, and said, with more than his usual cordial sweetness, "Busi- 
 ness, or not business, let us speak to each other as friends- for 
 the sake of a name that takes me back to Lansmere to my youth. 
 I listen to you with interest." 
 
 Richard Arenel, much surprised at this unexpected kindliness, 
 and touched, he knew hot why, by the 1 soft and melancholy tone 
 of Harley's ybice, warmly pressed 'the hand held out to him; and, 
 seized with a rare fit of shynessj colored^ and coughed, and 
 hemmed, and looked first down, then aside, before he could find 
 the words which were generally ready enough at his command. 
 
 "You are very good, Lord L'Estrange ; nothing can be hand- 
 somer. I feel it here, my lord," striking his buff waistcoat " I 
 do, 'pon my honor. But not to waste your time (time's money), 
 I come to the point. It is about the borough of Lansmere. Your 
 family interest is Very strong iri that borough. But excuse me if 
 I say that I don't think you are aware that I too have cooked up a 
 pretty considerable interest on the other side. No offence 
 opinions are free. And the popular tide runs strong with us I 
 mean with me, at the impending Crisis that is, at the next election. 
 Now, I have a great respect for the Earl, your father; and so have 
 those that brought me into the world ; my father, Johlh, was 
 always a regular good Blue ; and my respect for yourself since 
 I came into this room hafs gone up in the market a very great 
 rise indeed considerable. So I should just like to see if we could 
 set our heads together, and settle the borough between us two, in a 
 snug private way, as public men ought to do when they get to- 
 gether nobody else by, and no necessity for that sort of humbug 
 'which is so common in this rotten old country. Eh, my lord ?" 
 
 " Mr. Avenel," said HarleVj slowly, recovering himself from 
 the abstraction with which he had listened to Dick's earlier sen- 
 tences, "I fear I do not quite understand you; but I have no other 
 interest in the next election for the borough of Lansmere, than 
 as may serve one whom, whatever be your politics, you must ac- 
 knowledge to be"
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 305 
 
 "A humbug ! " 
 
 "Mr. Avenel,you cannot mean the person I mean. I speak of one 
 of the first statesmen of our time of Mr. Audley Egerton of " 
 
 "A stiff-necked, pompous " 
 
 "My earliest and dearest friend." 
 
 The rebuke, though gently said, sufficed to silence Dick fora 
 moment; and when he spoke again, it was in an altered tone. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, my lord, I am sure. Of course, I can say 
 nothing disrespectful of your friend ; very sorry that he is your 
 friend. In that case, I am almost afraid that nothing is to be done. 
 But Mr. Audley Egerton has not a chance. Let me convince you 
 of this." And Dick pulled out a little book, bound neatly in red. 
 
 "Canvass-book, my lord. I am no aristocrat; I don't pretend 
 to carry a free and independent constituency in my breeches- 
 pocket. Heaven forbid ! But, as a practical man of business 
 what I do is done properly. Just look at this book. Well kept, 
 eh ? Names, promises, inclinations, public opinions, and private 
 interests of every individual Lansmere elector! Now, as one man 
 of honor to another, I show you this book, and 1 think yo*u will 
 see that we have a clear majority of at least eighty votes as against 
 Mr. Egerton." 
 
 "That is your view of the question," said Harley, taking the 
 book and glancing over the names catalogued and ticketed there- 
 in. But his countenance became serious as he recognized many 
 names familiar to his boyhood as those of important electors on the 
 Lansmere side, and which he now found transferred to the hostile. 
 "But surely there are persons herein whom you deceive yourself 
 Old friends of my family- staunch supporters of our party." 
 
 "Exactly so. But this new question has turned all old things 
 topsy-turvy. No relying on any friend of yours. No reliance 
 except in this book ! " said Dick, slapping the red cover with 
 calm but ominous emphasis. 
 
 " Now, what I want to propose is this : Don't let the Lansmere 
 interest be beaten ; it would vex the old Ear} go to his heart, 
 I am sure." 
 
 Harley nodded. 
 
 "And the Lansmere interest need not be beaterr, if you'll put 
 up another man instead of this red-tapist. (Beg pardon.) You see 
 I only want to get in one man you want to get in another. Why 
 not ? Now there's a smart youth connection of Mr. Egerton's 
 Randal Leslie. I have no objection to him, though he is of your 
 colors. Withdraw Mr. Egerton and I'll withdraw my second man 
 before it comes to the poll ; and so we shall halve the borough 
 slick between us; That's the way to do business, eh, my lord ? "
 
 306 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "Randal Leslie! Oh, you wish to bring in Mr. Leslie? But 
 he stands with Egerton, npt against him." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Dick, smiling, as if to himself, "so I hear; and we 
 could bring him in over Egerton without saying a word to you. 
 But all our family respects yours, and sol have wished to do the 
 thing handsome and open. Let the Earl and your party be content 
 with young Leslie." 
 
 "Young Leslie has spoken to you ? " 
 
 "Not as to my coming here. Oh, no that's a secret private 
 and confidential, my lord. And now, to make matters still more 
 smooth, I propose that my man. shall be one to your lordship's 
 own heart. I find you have been very kind to my nephew; does 
 you credit, my lord; a wonderful young man, though I say it. I 
 never guessed there was so much in him. Yet all the time he was 
 in my house, he had in his desk the very sketch of an invention 
 that is now saving me from ruin from positive ruin Baron 
 Levy 'the King's Bench and almighty. smash ! Now, such a 
 young man ought to be in Parliament. I like to bring forward 
 a region; that is, when he does one credit; 'tis human nature 
 and sacred ties^one's own flesh and blood; and besides, one 
 hand rubs the other, and one leg helps on the other, and relations 
 get on best in the world when they pull together; that is, sup- 
 posing that they are the proper sort of relations, and pull one 
 on, not down. I had once thought of standing for Lansmere my- 
 self thought of it very lately. The country wants men like me 
 I know that ; but I have an idea that I had better see to my own 
 business. The country may, or may not, do without me, stupid 
 old thing that she is! But my mill and my new engines, there is no 
 doubt that they cannot do without me. In short, as we are quite 
 alone, and, as I said before, there's nokind pf necessity for that 
 sort of humbugwhich exists when other people are present, pro- 
 vide elsewhere for Mr. Egerton, whom I hate like poison I have 
 a right to do that; rsuppose,without offence toyour lordship and 
 the two younkers, Leonard Fairfield and Randal Leslie, shall be 
 members for the free and independent borough of Lansmere! " 
 
 " But does Leonard wish to come into Parliament?" 
 
 "No, he says not; but that's nonsense. If your lordship will 
 just signify your wish that he should not lose this noble op- 
 portunity ., to raise himself in life, and get something handsome 
 out of the nation, I am sure he owes you too much to hesitate 
 'specially when 'tis to his own advantage. And, besides, one of 
 us Avenels ought to be in Parliament. And if I have not the 
 time and learning, and so forth, and he has, why, it stands to 
 reason that he should be the man. And if he can do something
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 307 
 
 for me one day not that I w ant anything but still a baronetcy 
 or so would be a compliment to British industry, and be appre- 
 ciated as such by myself and the public at large I say, if he could 
 do something of that sort, it would keep up the whole family; 
 and if he can't, why, I'll forgive him." 
 
 " Avenel," said Harley, with that familiar and gracious charm 
 of manner which few ever could resist "Avenel, if, as a great 
 personal favor to myself to me, your fellow-townsman (I 
 was born at Lansmere) if I asked you to forego your grudge 
 against Audley Egerton, whatever that grudge be, and not 
 oppose his election, while our party would not oppose your 
 nephew's could you not oblige me ? Come, for the sake of 
 dear Lansmere, and all the old kindly feelings between your 
 family and mine, say 'Yes- so shall it be.' " 
 
 Richard Avenel was almost melted. He turned away his 
 face, but there suddenly rose to his recollection the scornful 
 brow of Audley Egerton, the lofty contempt with which Ae, 
 then the worshipful Mayor of Screwstown, had been shown out 
 of the minister's office-room; and, the blood rushing over his 
 cheeks, he stamped his foot on the floor, and exclaimed, angrily, 
 "No; I swore that Audley Egerton should smart for his in- 
 solence to me, as sure as my name be Richard Avenel; and all 
 the soft soap in the world will not wash out that oath. So there 
 is nothing for it but for you to withdraw that man, or for me to 
 defeat him. And I would do so, ay and in the way that could 
 most gall him, if it cost me half my fortune. But it will not 
 cost that," said Dick, cooling, "nor anything like it; for when 
 the popular tide runs in one's favor, 'tis astonishing how cheap 
 an election may be. It will cost him enough though, and all 
 for nothing worse than nothing. Think of it, my lord." 
 
 "I will, Mr. Avenel. And I say, in my turn, that my friendship is 
 as strong as your hate; and that if it costs me, not half, but my whole 
 fortune, Audley Egerton shall come in without a shilling of ex- 
 pense to himself, should we once decide that he stand the contest." 
 
 " Very well, my lord very well," said Dick, stiffly, and draw- 
 ing on his kid gloves; we'll see if the aristocracy is always to 
 ride over the free choice of the people in this way.' But the peo- 
 ple are roused, my lord. The March of Enlightenment is com- 
 menced the Schoolmaster is abroad, and the British Lion " 
 
 " Nobody here but ourselves, my dear Avenel. Is not this 
 rather what you call humbug ?" 
 
 Dick -started, stared, colored, and then burst out laughing - 
 "Give us your hand again, my lord. You are a good fellow, 
 that you are. And for your sake "
 
 308 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "You'll not oppose Egerton ! " 
 
 " Tooth and nail tooth and nail ! " cried Dick/clapping his 
 hands to his ears, and fairly running out of the room. 
 
 There passed over Harley's countenance that change so fre- 
 quent to it more frequent, indeed, to the gay children of the world 
 than those of consistent tempers and uniform habits might sup- 
 pose. There is many a man whom we call friend, and whose face 
 seems familiar to us as our own; yet could we but take a glimpse 
 of him when we leave his presence, and he sinks back into his 
 chair alone, we should sigh to see how often the smile on the 
 frankest lip is but a bravery of the drill, only worn on parade. 
 
 What thoughts did the visit of Richard Avenei bequeath to 
 Harley. It were hard to define them. 
 
 In his place, an Audley Egerton would have taken some com- 
 fort from the visit would have murmured, " Thank Heaven! I 
 have not to present to the world that terrible man as -my brother- 
 in-law." But probably, Harley had escaped in his reverie, from 
 Richard Avenei altogether. Even as the slightest incident 
 in the day-time causes our dreams at night, but is itself clean 
 forgotten, so the name, so the look of the visitor, might have 
 sufficed but to influence a vision as remote from its casual 
 suggester, as what we call real life is from that life much more 
 real, that we imagine, or remember, in the haunted chambers of 
 the brain. For what is real life ?; How little the things actually 
 doing around us affect the springs of our sorrow or joy; but the 
 life which our dulness calls romance the sentiment, theremem- 
 brance, the hope; and the fear, that are never seen in the toil of 
 our hands never heard in the jargon on our lips; from that life 
 all spin, as the spider from its entrails, the web by which we hang 
 in the'sunbeam, or glide out of sight into the shelter .of home. 
 
 " I must not think," said Harley, rousing himself with a sigh, 
 " either of pastor present. Let rne.hurry.on to some fancied future. 
 'Happiest are the marriages,' said the Frencfr philosopher, and 
 still says many a sage, 'in which man asks only the mild com- 
 panion, and woman but the calm, protector 1 .' I will goto Helen." 
 
 He .rose; and as he was about to lock up his escritoire^ he 
 r-emembered the papers which Leonard had requested him to 
 read. .He took them from their deposit with a careless hand, 
 intending to carry them with hini:to :his father's house. But as 
 his eyes fell upon the characters, the hand suddenly trembled, 
 and he recoiled some paces, as if struck- by some violent blow. 
 Then, gazing more intently on the writing, a low cry broke from 
 hisilips. He reseated himself, and began to read.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 RANDAL with many misgivings at Lord L'Estrange's tone, 
 in which he was at no loss to detect a latent irony proceeded 
 to Norwood. He found Riccabocca exceedingly cold and distant. 
 But he soon brought that sage to communicate the suspicions 
 which Lord L'Estrange had instilled into his mind, and these 
 Randal was as speedily enabled to dispel. He accounted at 
 once for his visits to Levy and Peschiera. Naturally he had 
 sought Levy, an acquaintance of his own nay of Audley Eger- 
 ton's; but whom he knew to be professionally employed by the 
 Count. He had succeeded in. extracting from the Baron, 
 Peschiera's suspicious change of lodgment from Mivart's Hotel 
 to the- purlieus of .Leicester Square;-^had called there on the 
 Count forced an entrance openly accused him of abstract- 
 ing Violante ; high words had passed between them even a 
 challenge. Randal produced a note from a military friend of 
 his, whom he had sent to the Count an hour after quitting the 
 hotel. This note stated that arrangements were made for a meet- 
 ing near Lord's Cricket Ground, at seven o'clock the next morn- 
 ing. Randal submitted to Riccabocca another formal memor- 
 andum from the same warlike friend to the purport that Randal 
 and himself had repaired to the ground, and no Count been 
 forthcoming. It. must be owned that Randal had taken all 
 suitable precautions to clear himself. Such a man is not to 
 blame for want of invention, if he be. sometimes doomed to fail. 
 
 "I then, much alarmed," continued Randal, "hastened to 
 Baron Levy, who informed me that the Count had written him 
 word that he should be for some time absent from England. 
 Rushing thence, in despair, to your friend Lord' L'Estrange, I 
 heard that your daughter was safe with you. And though, as I ' 
 have just proved, I would have risked my life against so notorious 
 a duellist as the Count, on the mere chance of preserving Vio- 
 lante from his supposed designs, I am rejoiced to think that she 
 has rro,rjeed of my unskilful arm. But how and why can the 
 Count have left England after accepting a challenge ? A man 
 so sure of his weapon, too reputed to be. as fearless of danger 
 as he is blunt in- conscience. Explain; you who know man- 
 kind so well -explain. I cannot." 
 
 The philosopher could not- resist the pleasure of narrating 
 the detection and humiliation of his foe the wit, ingenuity, and 
 readiness of his friend. So Randal learned,: by little and little, 
 the whole drama of the preceding night. He saw, then, that 
 the .exile had all. reasonable hope of speedy restoration to rank
 
 310 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 and wealth. Violante, indeed, would be a brilliant prize too 
 brilliant, perhaps, for Randal but not to be sacrificed without 
 an effort. Therefore, wringing convulsively the hand of his 
 meditated father-in-law, and turning away his head as if to con- 
 ceal his emotions, the ingenuous young suitor faltered forth 
 " That now Dr. Riccabocca was so soon to vanish into the Duke 
 di Serrano, he 'Randal Leslie of Rood, born a gentleman, indeed, 
 but of fallen fortunes had no right to claim the promise which 
 had been given to him while a father had cause to fear for a 
 daughter's future; with the fear ceased the promise. Might 
 Heaven bless father and daughter both ! " 
 
 This address touched both the heart and honor of the exile. 
 Randal Leslie .knew, his man. And though, before Randal's 
 visit, Riccabocca.was not quite so much a philosopher, but what 
 he would have been well pleased to have found himself released, 
 by proof of the young man's treachery, fronVan alliance below the 
 rank to which he had all chance of early restoration; yet no 
 Spaniard was ever more tenacious of plighted word than this 
 inconsistent pupil of the profound Florentine. And Randal's 
 probity being now clear to him, he repeated, with stately formal- 
 ities, his previous offer of Violante's hand. 
 
 . "But/' still falteringly sighed the provident and far-calculat- 
 ing Randal "but your only child, your sole heiress ! Oh, might 
 not your consent to such a marriage (if known before your re- 
 call) jeopardize yourcause ? Your lands, your principalities, to 
 devolve on the child of an humble Englishman ! I dare not be- 
 lieve it. Ah, would Violante were not your heiress ! " 
 
 "Anoblewish,"said Riccabocca, smiling blandly, "and one that 
 the Fates will realize. Cheer up; Violante will not be my heiress." 
 
 "Ah," cried Randal, drawing a long breath "ah, what do I 
 hear ! " 
 
 " Hist ! I shall soon a second time be a father, And, to judge 
 by the unerring researches of writers upon that most interesting 
 of all subjects, parturitive science, I shall be the father of a son. 
 He will, of course, succeed to the titles of Serrano. And Vio- 
 lante " 
 
 " Will have nothing, I suppose ! " exclaimed Randal, trying 
 his best to look overjoyed, till he had got his paws out of the 
 trap into which he had so incautiously thrust them. 
 
 "Nay, her portion by our laws to say nothing of my affec- 
 tion would far exceed the ordinary dower which the daughters 
 of London merchants bring to the sons of British peers. Who- 
 ever marries Violante, provided I regain my estates, must sub- 
 mit to the cares which the poets assure us ever attend on wealth."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 311 
 
 "Oh ! " groaned Randal, as if already bowed beneath the cares 
 and sympathizing with the poets. 
 
 "And now let me present you to your betrothed ! " 
 
 Although poor Randal had been remorselessly hurried along 
 hat Schiller calls the "gamut of feeling," during, the last three 
 minutes, down to the deep chord of despair at the abrupt intel- 
 ligence that his betrothed was no heiress after all ; thence as- 
 cending to vibrations of pleasant doubt as to the unborn usurper 
 of her rights, according to the prophecies of parturitive science; 
 and lastly, swelling into a concord of all sweet thoughts at the as- 
 surance that, come what might, she would be a wealthier bride 
 than a peer's son could discover in the matrimonial Potosi of Lom- 
 bard Street ; still the tormented lover was not there allowed to re- 
 pose his exhausted though ravished soul. For, at the idea of per- 
 sonally confronting the destined bride whose very existence had 
 almost vanished from his mind's eye, amidst the golden showers 
 that it saw falling divinely round her Randal was suddenly re- 
 minded of the exceeding bluntness with which, at their last inter- 
 view, it had been his policy to announce his, suit, and of the ne- 
 cessity of an impromptu falsetto suited to the new variations that 
 tossed him again to and fro on the merciless gamut. However, 
 he could not recoil from her father's proposition, though, in or- 
 der to prepare Riccabocca for Violanjte's representation, he con- 
 fessed pathetically that his impatience to obtain her consent, and 
 baffle Peschiera, had made him appear a rude and presumptuous 
 wooer. The philosopher, who was disposed .to believe one kind 
 of courtship to be much the same as another, in cases where the 
 result of all courtships was once predetermined smiled benignly, 
 patted Randal's thin cheek with a " Pooh, pooh, pazzie! " and left 
 the room to summpn Violante. 
 
 "If knowledge be power, "soliloquized Randal, "ability is cer- 
 tainly good luck, as Miss Edgeworth shows in that story of Mu- 
 rad the Unlucky, which I read at Eton ; very clever story it is, 
 too. So nothing comes amiss to me. Violante's escape, which 
 has cost me the Count's ten thousand pounds, proves to be worth 
 to me, I dare say, ten times as much. No doubt she'll have a 
 hundred thousand pounds at the least. And then, if her father 
 have no other child, after all, or thechild he expects die in infancy, 
 why, once reconciled to his government and restored to his es- 
 tates, the law. must take its usual course, and Violante will "be the 
 greatest heiress in Europe. As to the young lady herself. I con- 
 fess she rather awes me ; I know I shall be henpecked. Well, all 
 respectable husbands are. There is something scampish and ruf- 
 fianly in not being henpecked." Here Randal's smile might have
 
 312 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 harmonized well with Pluto's "iron tears"; but, iron as the Smile 
 was, the serious young man was ashamed of it. "What am I 
 about?" said he, half aloud, "chuckling to myself, and wasting 
 time when I ought to be thinking gravely how to explain away my 
 former cavalier courtship? Such a masterpiece as I thought it 
 then ! But who could foresee the turn .things would take ? Let me 
 think ; let me think. Plague on it, here she cornes:" 
 
 But Randal had not the fine ear of your more romantic lover; 
 and, to his great relief, the exile entered the room unaccompanied 
 by Violante. Riccabocca looked somewhat embarrassed. 
 
 " My dear Leslie, you must excuse my daughter to-day ; she is 
 still suffering from the agitation she has gone through, and can- 
 not see you." 
 
 The lover tried not to look too delighted. 
 
 "Cruel," said he ; "yet I would not for worlds force myself 
 on her presence. I hope, duke, that she will not find it too dif- 
 ficult to obey the commands which dispose of her hand, and in- 
 trust he v happiness to my grateful charge 1 /' 
 
 " To be' : plain with you, Randal, she does at present seem to 
 find it more difficult than I foresaw. She even talks of " 
 
 "Another attachment Oh, heavens ! " 
 
 " Attachment, pazzic ! Whom has she seen ? No a convent ! 
 But leave it to me. In a calmer hour she will comprehend that a 
 child must know no lot more enviable and holy than that of re- 
 deeming he? father's honor. And now, if you are returning to 
 London, may I ask you to convey to young Mr. Hazeldean my 
 assurances "of undying gratitude for lii-s share in my daughter's 
 delivery from that poor baffled swindler I" 
 
 ft is noticeable that, now Peschiera was ho longer an object 
 of dread to the nervous father, he became but an object of pity 
 tp the philosopher, and of contempt to the- grandee. 
 
 " True," said Randal, " you told me Frank had a share in Lord 
 L'Estrange's very clever and dramatic device. My lord' tfwret 
 :be by nature a fine actor comic, with a touch of melbdrarne ! 
 Poor Frank ! apparently he has lost the woman he adored Bea- 
 trice di Negra. You say she lias accompanied the Count. Is the 
 marriage that was to be between her and Frank broken off ?-" 
 
 "I did not know such a marriage was contemplated: I un- 
 derstood her to be attached to another. Not that that is any rea- 
 son why she should not have married Mr. Hazeldean. Express 
 to him my congratulations on his escape." 
 
 " Nay, he must not knowthat I have inadvertently betrayed 
 his confidence ; twt you now guess, what perhaps puzzled you 
 before viz., how I Came to be so well acquainted with the Count
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 313 
 
 and his movements. I was so intimate with my relation Frank, 
 and Frank was affianced to the Marchesa." 
 
 "I am glad you give me that explanation ; it suffices. After 
 all, the Marchesa is not by nature a bad woman that is, not 
 worse than women usually are, so Harley says, and Violante for- 
 gives and excuses her." 
 
 "Generous Violante ! But it is true. So much did the Mar- 
 chesa appear to me possessed of fine, though ill-regulated qual- 
 ities, that I always considered her disposed to aid in frustrating 
 her brother's criminal designs. So I even said, if I remember 
 right, to Violante." 
 
 Dropping this prudent and precautionary sentence, in order 
 to guard against anything Violante might say as to that subtle 
 mention of Beatrice which had predisposed her to confide in the 
 Marchesa, Randal then hurried on, " But you want repose. I 
 leave you, the happiest, the^most grateful of men. I will give 
 your courteous message to Frank*" 
 
 CURIOUS to learn what had passed between Beatrice and Frank 
 and deeply interested in all that could oust Frank out of the 
 Squire's good-will, or aught that could injure his own prospects, 
 by tending to unite son and'father, Randal was'nOt slow in reach- 
 ing his young kinsman's lodgings. It might be supposed that 
 having, in all probability, just secured so great a fortune as would 
 accompany Violante's hand, Randal might be indifferent to the 
 success of his scheme on the Hazeldean exchequer. Such a sup- 
 position would grievously wrong this profound young man. For, 
 in the first place, Violante was not yet won nor her father yet 
 restored to the estates which would defray her dower ; and, in 
 the next place, Randal, like lago, loved villany for the genius it 
 called forth in him. The sole luxury the abstemious aspirer al- 
 lowed to himself was that which is found in intellectual restless- 
 ness. Untempted by wine, dead to love, unamused by pleasure, 
 indifferent to the arts, despising literature, save as means to some 
 end of power, Randal Leslie was the incarnation of thought, 
 hatched out of the corruption of Will. At twilight we see thin airy 
 spectral insects, all wing and nippers, hovering, as if they couW 
 never pause, over some sullen mephitic pool. : Just so, melhinks, 
 hover over Acheron sukzh gnat-like, rioiseless soarers into gloomy 
 air out of Stygian deeips, as are the thoughts of spirits like Ran- 
 dal Leslie's. Wings have they, but only the better to pounce 
 down draw their nutriment from unguarded material cuticles;
 
 314 'MV NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 and just when, maddened, you strike, and exulting exclaim, 
 'Caught, by Jove ! " whirr flies the diaphanous ghostly larva, 
 and your blow falls on your own twice-offended cheek. 
 
 The young men who were acquainted with Randal said he had 
 not a vice ! The..: fact being, that his whole composition was one 
 epic vice, so elaborately constructed that it had not an episode 
 which a critic could call irrelevant. Grand young man ! 
 
 "But, my dear fejlow," said Randal, as soon as he had learned 
 from Frank all that had passed on board the vessel between him 
 and Beatrice, "I cannot believe this. '.Never loved you !' What 
 was her object, then, in deceiving, not only you, but myself? I 
 suspect her declaration was but some heroical refinement of gen- 
 erosity. After her brother's dejection and probable ruin, she 
 might feel that she was no match for you. Then, too, the Squire's 
 displeasure. I see it all just like her noble, unhappy woman ! " 
 
 Frank shook his head. "There are moments," said he, with a 
 wisdom that comes out of those instincts which awake from the 
 depths of youth's first great sorrow "moments when a woman 
 cannot feign, and there are tones in the voice of awoman t which 
 men cannot misinterpret. She does not love me she never did 
 love me ; lean see that her heart has been elsewhere.; No 
 matter all is over. I don't deny that I am suffering an intense 
 grief; it gnaws like a kind of sullen hunger ; and I feel so broken, 
 too, as if I had grown old, and there was nothing left worth living 
 for. I don't deny all that." 
 
 . " My poor dear friend, if you would but believe " 
 
 " I don't want to believe anything, except that I have been a 
 great fool. I don't think I can ever commit such follies again. 
 But I'm a man. I shall get the better of this ; I should despise 
 myself if I could not. And now let us talk of my dear father. 
 Has he left town ?" 
 
 " Left last night, by the mail. You. can write and tell him you 
 havegiven up the.Marchesa, and all willbewellagain between you." 
 
 "Give her up ! Fie, Randal! ; Po you think I should tell such 
 a lie ?. She gave me up ; I can claim no merit out of. that." 
 
 "Oh, yes! I can, make the Squire see all to your advantage. 
 Oh, if it were only the Marchesa ! but, alas ! that cursed/to^ 
 obit! How could Levy betray you? Never trust to usurers again ; 
 they cannot resist the temptation of a speedy profit. They 
 first buy the son, and then sell him to the father. And the Squire 
 has such strange notions on a matter of this kind." 
 
 " He is right to have them. There, just read this Letter from my 
 mother. It came to me this morning. I could hang myself, if I 
 were .a dog ; but I'm a man, and so I must bear it."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 315 
 
 Randal took Mrs. Hazeldean's letter from Frank's trembling 
 hand. The poor mother had learned, though but imperfectly, 
 Frank's misdeeds from some hurried lines which the Squire had 
 despatched to her ; and she wrote, as good, indulgent, but sensi- 
 ble, right-minded mothers alone can write. More lenient to an 
 imprudent love than the Squire, she touched with discreet tender- 
 ness on Frank's rash engagement with a foreigner, but severely on 
 his own open defiance of his father's wishes. Her anger was, how- 
 ever, reserved for that unholy post-obit. Here the hearty, genial 
 wife's love overcame the mother's affection. To count, in cold 
 blood, on that husband's death, and to wound his heart so keenly, 
 just where its jealous fatherly fondness made it most susceptible ! 
 
 "O Frank, Frank !" wrote Mrs. Hazeldean, "were it not for 
 this, were it only for your unfortunate attachment to the Italian 
 lady, only for your debts, only for the errors of hasty, extrava- 
 gant youth, I should be with you now my arms round your neck, 
 kissing you, chiding you back to your father's heart. But but 
 the thought that between you and his heart has been the sordid 
 calculation of his death //fo/is a wall between us. I.cannotcome 
 near you. I should not like to look on your face, and think how 
 my William's tears fell over it, when I placed you, new born, in 
 his arms, and bade him welcome his heir. What ! you a mere 
 boy still, your father yet in the prime of life, and the heir cannot 
 wait till nature leaves him fatherless. Frank, Frank ! this is so 
 unlike you. Can London have ruined already a disposition so 
 honest and affectionate? No ; I cannot believe it. There must 
 be some mistake. Clear it up, I implore you ; or, though as a 
 mother I pity you, as a wife I cannot forgive. 
 
 "HARRIET HAZELDEAN." 
 
 Even Randal was affected by the letter; for, as we know, 
 even Randal felt in his own person the strength of family ties. 
 The poor Squire's choler and bluffness had disguised the paren- 
 tal heart from an eye that, however acute, had not been willing 
 to search for it; and Randal, ever affected through his intellect, 
 had despised the very weakness on which he had preyed. But 
 the mother's letter, so just and sensible (allowing that the 
 Squire's opinions had naturally influenced the wife to take, 
 what men of the world would call a very exaggerated view of 
 the every-day occurrence of loans raised by a son, payable only 
 at a father's death), this letter, I say, if exaggerated accord- 
 ing to fashionable notions, so sensible if judged by natural af- 
 fections, touched the dull heart of the schemer, because approved 
 by the quick tact of his intelligence. 
 
 "Frank," said he, with a sincerity that afterward amazed
 
 316 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 himself, " go down at once to Hazeldean see your mother, 
 and explain to her how this transaction really happened. The 
 woman you loved, and wooed as wife, in danger of an arrest 
 your distraction of mind, Levy's counsels your hope -to pay 
 off the debt, so incurred to the usurer, from the fortuae you 
 would shortly receive with the Marchesa. Speak to your moth- 
 er she is a woman; women have a common interest in forgiv- 
 ing all faults that arise from the source of their power over us 
 men; -I mean love. Go ! " 
 
 "No I cannot go; you see she would not like to look on 
 rny face. And I cannot repeat what you say so glibly. Be- 
 sides, somehow or other, : as lani so dependent upon my father 
 and he has said as much I feel as if it would be mean in me to 
 make any dxcuses. I did the thing, and must suffer for it. But 
 I'm a m-an -no I'm not a man here." Frank burst into tears. 
 
 At the sight of those tears, Randal gradually recovered from 
 his strange aberration into vulgar and low humanity. His 
 habitual con tempt for his kinsman returned; and with contempt 
 came the natural indifference to the sufferings of the thing to 
 be put to use. It is contempt for the worm that makes the 
 angler fix it oh the hook, and observe with complacency that 
 the vivacity of its wriggles will attract the bite. If the worm 
 could but make, the angler respect, or even fear it, the barb 
 would find some other bait. Few anglers would impale an esti- 
 mable silkworm, and still fewer the anglers 'who would finger 
 into service a formidable hornet. 
 
 " Pooh, my dear Frank," said Randal, " I have given you my 
 advice; you reject it. Well, what then will you do? " 
 
 " I shall ask for leave of absence, and run away somewhere," 
 said Frank, drying his tears. " I can't face London ; I can't mix 
 with others. I want to be by myself, and wrestle with all that I 
 feel here in my heart. Then I shall write to my moth er, say ^the 
 plain truth, and le^ve her to judge as kindly of me as she can." 
 
 " You are quite right. Yes, leave town ! Why not go abroad ? 
 You have never been abroad. New scenes will distract your 
 mind. Run over to Paris." 
 
 " Not to Paris I don't want gaieties; but I did intend to go 
 abroad somewhere any dull dismal hole of a place. Oi-ood- 
 bye. Don't think of me any more for the present." 
 
 "But let me know where you go! and meanwhile I will see 
 the Squire." 
 
 " Say as little of me as you can to him. I know you mean 
 most kindly but oh, how I wish there never had been any 
 third person between me and my father ! There; you may well
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 317 
 
 snatch away your hand. What an ungrateful wretch to you I 
 am ! I do believe I am the wickedest fellow. What, you shake 
 hands with me still. My dear Randal, you have the best 
 heart God bless you." Frank turned away, and disappeared 
 within his dressing-room. 
 
 " They must be reconciled now, sooner or later Squire and 
 son," said Randal to himself, as he left the lodgings. " I don't 
 see how I can prevent that the Marchesa being withdrawn 
 unless Frank does it for me. But it is well he should be abroad 
 something may be made out of that; meanwhile, I may yet do 
 all that I could reasonably hope to do even if Frank had mar- 
 ried Beatrice since he was not to-be disinherited. ' Get the 
 Squire to advance the money for the Thornhill purchase com- 
 plete the affair; this marriage with Violante will help; Levy 
 must know : that; secure the borough; well thought of. I will 
 goto Avenel's. By the bye by the bye the Squire might as well 
 keep me still in the entail after Frank supposing Frank die 
 childless. This love affair may keep him long from marrying. 
 His hand was very hot a hectic color; those strong-looking 
 fellows often go off in a "rapid decline, especially if anything 
 preys on their minds their minds are so very small. 
 
 " Ah the Hazeldean Parson- and with Avenel ! That young 
 man, too^-who is he ? I have seen him before somewhere. My 
 dear Mr. Dale, this is a pleasant surprise. I thought you had 
 returned to Hazeldean with our friend the Squire ? " 
 
 MR. DALE. The Squire J Has he left town, and- without 
 telling me ? 
 
 RANDAL (taking aside the Parson). He was anxious to get 
 back to Mrs. Hazeldean, who was naturally very uneasy about 
 Tier' son and this foolish marriage; but lam happy to tell you 
 that that marriage is effectually and permanently broken off. 
 
 MR. DALE. How, how ? My poor friend told me he had 
 wholly failed to make any impression on Frank forbade me to 
 mention the subject. I was just going to see Frank myself. I 
 always had some influence with him. But, Mr. Leslie, explain 
 this very sudden and happy event -the marriage broken off ! 
 
 RANDAL. It is a long story, and I dare not tell you my hum- 
 ble share in it. Nay, I must keep that secret. Frank might 
 not forgive me. Suffice it that you have my word that the fair 
 Italian has left England, and decidedly refused Frank's ad- 
 dresses. But stay take my advice don't go to him; ^you see 
 it was not only the marriage that has offended the Squire, but 
 some pecuniary transactions an unfortunate post-obit bond on 
 the Casino property. Frank ought to be left to his own repent-
 
 318 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 ant reflections. They will be most salutary you know his temper 
 he don't bear reproof; and yet it isbetter,on the other hand, 
 not to let him treat too lightly what has passed. Let us leave him 
 to himself for a few days. He is in an excellent frame of mind. 
 
 MR. DALE (shakingRandal's hand warmly). You speakadmir- 
 ably a post-obit ! so often as he has heard his father's opinion on 
 such transactions. No I will not see him I should be too angry 
 
 RANDAL (leading the Parson back, resumes, after an exchange 
 of salutations with Avenel, who, meanwhile, had been confer- 
 ring with his nephew). You should not be so long away from 
 your rectory, Mr. Dale. What will your parish do without you ? 
 
 MR. DALE. The old fable of the wheel and the fly. I am 
 afraid the wheel rolls on the same. But if I am absent from my 
 parish, I am still in the company of one who does me honor as 
 an old parishioner. You remember Leonard Fairfield, your 
 antagonist in the Battle of the Stocks ? 
 
 MR. AVENEL. My nephew, I am proud to say, sir. 
 
 Randal bowed with marked civility Leonard with a reserve 
 no less marked. ; 
 
 MR. AVENEL (ascribing his nephew's reserve to shyness). 
 You should be friends, you two youngsters. Who knows but 
 you may run together in the same harness? Ah, that reminds 
 rne, Leslie I have a word or two ttxsay to you. Your servant, 
 Mi. Dale. Shall be happy to present you to Mrs, Avenel. My 
 card Eaton Square Number . You will call on me to- 
 morrow, Leonard. And mind, I shall be very angry if you per- 
 sist in your refusal. Such an opening ! (Avenel took Randal's 
 arm, while the Parson and Leonard walked on.) 
 
 "Any fresh hints as to Lansmere ?" asked Randal. 
 
 " Yes; I have now decided on the plan of contest. We must 
 fight two and two you and Egerton against me and (if lean get 
 him to stand, as I hope) my- nephew, Leonard." 
 
 " What ! " said Randal, alarmed; " then, after all, I can hope 
 for no support from you ? " 
 
 " I don't say that; but I have reason to think Lord L'Estrange 
 will bestir himself actively in favor of Egerton. If so, it will 
 be a very sharp contest; and I must manage the whole election 
 on our side, and unite all our shaky votes, which I can best do 
 by standing myself in the first instance, reserving it to after- 
 consideration whether I shall throw up at the last; for I don't 
 particularly want to come in, as I did a little time ago, before I 
 had found out my nephew. Wonderful young man ! with such 
 a head will do me credit in the rotten old House; and I think 
 I had best leave London, go to Screwstown, and look to my
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 3t<) 
 
 business. No; if Leonard stand, I must first see to get him in; 
 and next, to keep Egerton out. It will probably, therefore, end 
 in the return of one and one on either side, as we thought of 
 before. Leonard on our side; and Egerton sha'n't be the man 
 on the other. You understand ? " 
 
 "I do, my dear Avenel. Of course, as I before said, I can't 
 dictate to your party whom they should prefer Egerton or my- 
 self. And it will be obvious to the public that your party would 
 rather defeat so eminent an adversary as Mr. Egerton, than a 
 tyro in politics like me. Of course I cannot scheme for such a 
 result; it would be misconstrued, and damage my character. 
 But I rely equally on your friendly promise." 
 
 "Promise! No I don't promise; I must first see how the cat 
 jumps; and I don't know yet how our friends may like you, nor 
 how they can be managed. All I can say is, that Audley Eger- 
 ton sha'n't be M. P. for Lansmere. Meanwhile, you will take 
 care not to commit yourself in speaking, so that our party can't 
 vote for you consistently: they must count on having you when 
 you get into the House." 
 
 "I am not a violent party-man at present," answered Randal, 
 prudently; "and if public opinion prove on your side, it is the 
 duty of a statesman to go with the times." 
 
 "Very sensibly said: and I have a private bill or two, and 
 some other little jobs, I want to get through the House, which 
 we can discuss later, should it come to a frank understanding 
 between us. We must arrange how to meet privately at Lans- 
 mere, if necessary. I'll see to that. I shall go down this week, 
 I think of taking a hint from the free and glorious land of Ameri- 
 ca, and establishing secret caucuses. Nothing like 'em." 
 
 "Caucuses ?" 
 
 "Small sub-committees that spy on their men night and day, 
 and don't suffer them to be intimidated to vote the other way." 
 
 "You have an extraordinary head for public affairs, Avenel. 
 You should come into Parliament yourself ; your nephew is so 
 very young." 
 
 "So are you." 
 
 "Yes, but I know the world. Does he?" 
 
 "The world knows him, though not by name, and he has been 
 the making of me." 
 
 "How? You surprise me." 
 
 Avenel first explained about the patent which Leonard had 
 secured to him; and next confided, upon honor, Leonard's iden- 
 tity with the anonymous author whom the Parson had supposed 
 to be Professor Moss.
 
 320 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Randal Leslie felt a jealous pang. What! then had this vil- 
 lage boy this associate of John Burley (literary vagabond, whom 
 he supposed had long since gone to the dogs, and been buried at 
 the expense of the parish) had this boy so triumphed over birth, 
 rearing, circumstances, that, if Randal and Leonard had met 
 together in any public place, and Leonard's identity with the 
 rising author been revealed, every eye would have turned from 
 Randal to gaze on Leonard ? The common consent of mankind 
 wojald have acknowledged the supreme royalty of genius, when 
 it once leaves its solitude, and strides into the world. What! 
 was this rude villager the child of Fame who, without ah effort, 
 and unconsciously, had inspired in the wearied heart of Beatrice 
 di Negra a love that Randal knew, by an instinct, no : arts, no 
 craft, could ever create for him in the heart of woman ? And, 
 now, did this same youth stand on the same, level in the ascent to 
 power as he, the well-born RandalLeslie, the accomplished/rtf/^ 
 of the superb AudleyEgerton! Were they to be rivals in tlie same 
 arena of practical busy life? Randal gnawed his quivering lip. 
 
 All the while, however, the young man whom he so envied 
 was a prey to sorrows deeper far than could ever find room or 
 footing in the narrow and stony heart of the unloving schemer. 
 As Leonard walked through the crowded streets with the friend 
 and monitor of his childhood, confiding the simple tale of his 
 earlier trials when, amidst the wreck of fortune, andin despair 
 of fame, the Child-angel smiled by his side, like Hope all re- 
 nown seemed to him so barren, all the future so dark! His voice 
 trembled, and his countenance became so sad that his benignant 
 listener, divining that around the image of Helen there clung 
 some passionate grief that overshadowed all worldly success, drew 
 Leonard gently on, till the young man, long wearying for some 
 confidant, told him all; how, faithful through Ipng years to one 
 pure and ardent memory, Helen had been seen once more the 
 child ripened to woman, and the memory revealing itself as.love. 
 
 The Parson listened with a mild and thoughtful brow, which 
 expanded into a more cheerful expression as Leonard closed his 
 story. 
 
 " I see no reason to despond," said Mr. Dale. " You fear that 
 Miss Digby does not return your attachment ; you dwell upon 
 her reserve her distant though kindly manner. Cheer up! All 
 young ladies are under the influence of what phrenologists call 
 the organ of Secretiveness, when they are in the : society of the 
 object of their preference. Just as you describe Miss Digby's 
 manner to you, was my Carry's manner to myself." 
 
 The Parson here indulged in a very appropriate digression
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 321 
 
 upon female modesty, which he wound up by asserting, that that 
 estimable virtue became more and more influenced by the secret- 
 ive organ, in proportion as the favored suitor approached near 
 and nearer to a definite proposal. It was the duty of a gallant 
 and honorable lover to make that proposal in distinct and ortho- 
 dox form, before it could be expected that a young lady should 
 commit herself and the dignity of her sex by the slightest hint 
 as to her own inclinations. 
 
 " Next," continued the Parson, "you choose tt> torment your- 
 self by contrasting your own origin and fortunes with the altered 
 circumstances of Miss Digby the ward of Lord L'Estrange, tne 
 guest of Lady Lansmeve- You say that if Lord L'Estrange 
 could have countenanced such a union, he would have adopted 
 a different tone with you sounded your heart, encouraged your 
 hopes, and so forth. I view things differently. I have reason to do 
 so; and, from all you have told me of this nobleman's interest in 
 your fate, I venture to make you this promise, that if Miss Digby 
 would accept your hand, Lord L'Estrange shall ratify her choice." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Dale," cried Leonard, transported, "you make 
 me that promise?" 
 
 "I do from what you have said, and from what I myself know 
 of Lord L'Estrange. Go, then, at once to Knightsbridge see 
 Miss Digby show her your heart explain to her, if you will, 
 your prospects ask her permission to apply tp Lord L'Estrange 
 (since he has constituted himself her guardian); and if Lord L'Es- 
 trange hesitate which, if your happiness be set on this union,! 
 think he will not let me know, and leave the rest to me." 
 
 Leonard yielded himself to the Parson's persuasive eloquence. 
 Indeed, when he recalled to mind those passages in the manu- 
 scripts of the ill-fated Nora which referred to. the love that Har- 
 ley had once borne to her (for he felt convinced that Harley and 
 the boy suitor of Nora's narrative were one and the same); and 
 when all the interest that Harley had taken in his own fortunes 
 was explained by his relationship to her (even when Lord L'Es- 
 trange had supposed it less close than he would now discover it 
 to be), the young man, reasoning by his own heart, could not but 
 suppose that the noble Harley would rejoice to confer happiness 
 upon the son of her, so beloved by his boyhood. 
 
 " And to thee, perhaps, O my mother! " thought Leonard, with 
 swimming eyes " to thee, perhaps, even, in thy grave, I shall 
 owe the partner of my life, as to the mystic breath of thy genius 
 I owe the first pure aspirations of my soul." 
 
 It will be seen that Leonard had not confided to the Parson 
 his discovery of Nora's manuscripts, nor even his knowledge of
 
 322 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 his 'real birth; for the proud son naturally shrank from any con- 
 fidence that implicated Nora's fair name, until at last Harley, 
 who, it was clear from those papers, must have intimately known 
 his father, should perhaps decide the question which the papers 
 themselves left so terribly vague viz., whether he were the off- 
 spring of a legal marriage, or Nora had been the victim of some 
 unholy fraud. 
 
 While the Parson still talked, and while Leonard still mused 
 and listened, their steps almost mechanically took the direction 
 towird Knightsbridge, and 'paused at the gates of Lord Lans- 
 mere's house. 
 
 " Go in, my young friend ; I will wait without to know the issue," 
 said the Parson, cheeringly. " Go ; and, with gratitude to 
 Heaven, learn how to bear the most precious joy that can befall 
 mortal man; or how to submit to youth's sharpest sorrow, with 
 the humble belief that even sorrow is but some mercy concealed." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 LEONARD was shown into the drawing-room, and it so chanced 
 that Helen was there alone. The girl's soft face was sadly 
 changed even since Leonard had seen it last; for the grief of 
 natures mild and undemonstrative as hers gnaws with quick rava- 
 ges; but at Leonard's unexpected entrance, the color rushed so 
 vividly to the pale cheeks, that its hectic might betaken for the 
 lustre of blood and health. She rose hurriedly, and in great con- 
 fusion faltered out, " that she believed Lady Lansmere was in 
 her room she would go for her," and moved toward the door, 
 without seeming to notice the hand tremulously held forth to her; 
 when Leonard exclaimed, in uncontrollable emotions which 
 pierced to her very heart, in the keen accent of reproach 
 
 " Oh, Miss Digby oh, Helen is it thus that you greet me 
 rather thus that you shun me? Could I have foreseen this 
 when we two orphans stood by the mournful bridge ; so friend- 
 less so desolate and so clinging each to each ! Happy time ! " 
 He seized her hand suddenly as he spoke the last words, and 
 bo\ved his face over it. 
 
 "I must not hear you. Do not talk so, Leonard you break 
 my heart. Let me go let me go." 
 
 " Is it that I am grown hateful to you ? is it merely that you see 
 my love and would discourage it? Helen, speak to me speak!" 
 
 He drew her with tender force toward him ; and holding her 
 firmly by both hands, sought to gaze upon the face that she 
 turned from him turned in such despair.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 323 
 
 "You dp not know," she said at last, struggling for compos- 
 ure- "you do not know the new claims on me my altered 
 position how I am bound, or you would be the last to speak 
 thus to me, the first to give me courage and bid me bid me " 
 
 " Bid you what ? " 
 
 "Feel nothing here but duty!" cried Helen, ; drawing from 
 his clasp both her hands, and placing them firmly on her breast. 
 
 "Miss Digby," said Leonard, after a short pause of bitter 
 reflection, in which he wronged, while he thought to divine, her 
 meaning, "you speak of new claims on you, your altered position 
 I comprehend. You may retain some tender remembrance of the 
 past ; but your duty now is to rebuke my presumption ; it is as I 
 thought and feared. Thisvain reputation which I have made is 
 but a hollow sound it gives me no rank, assures me no fortune. 
 I have no right to look for the Helen of old in the Helen of 
 to-day. Be it so forget what I have said, and forgive me." 
 
 This reproach stung to the quick the heart to which it ap- 
 pealed. A flash brightened the meek tearful eyes, almost like 
 the flash of .resentment her lips writhed in torture, and she 
 felt as if all other pain were light compared with the anguish 
 that Leonard could impute to her motives which to her simple 
 nature seemed so unworthy of her, and so galling to himself. 
 
 A word rushed as by inspiration to her lip, and that word 
 calmed and soothed her. 
 
 "Brother!" she said, touchingly, "brother!" 
 
 The word had a contrary effect on Leonard. Sweet as it was, 
 tender as the voice that spoke it, it imposed a boundary to affec- 
 tion it came as a knell to hope. He recoiled, shook his head 
 mournfully " Too late to accept that tie too late even for 
 friendship. Henceforth for long years to come henceforth, 
 till this heart has ceased to beat at your name- to thrill at 
 your presence, we two are strangers." 
 
 "Strangers ! Well yes, it is right it must be so ; we must 
 not meet. Oh, Leonard Fairfield, who was it in those days that 
 you recall to me who was it that found you destitute and' ob- 
 scure who, not degrading you by charity, placed you in your 
 right career opened to you, amidst the labyrinth in which you 
 were well-nigh lost, the broad road to knowledge, independence, 
 fame ? Answer me answer ! Was it not the same who reared 
 sheltered your sister orphan ? If I could forget what I have owed 
 to him, should I not remember what he has done for you ? Can I 
 hear of your distinction and not remember it ? Can I think how 
 proud she may be who will one day lean on your arm, and bear 
 the name you have already raised beyond all the titles of an hour?
 
 324 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Can I think of this, and not remember our common friend, bene- 
 factor, guardian? Would you forgive me, if I failed to do so?" 
 
 "But," faltered Leonard, fear mingling with the conjectures 
 these words called forth "but is it that Lord L'Estrange 
 would not consent to our union ? or of what do you speak ! 
 You bewilder me." 
 
 Helen felt for some moments as if it were impossible to reply; 
 and the words at length were dragged forth as from the depth 
 of her very soul. 
 
 " He came to me our noble friend. I never dreamed of it. 
 He did not tell me that he loved me. He told me that he was 
 unhappy, alorie ; that in me, and only in me, he : could find a 
 comforter, a soother He, he ! And I had just arrived in Eng- 
 land was under his mother's roof had not then ofice more 
 seen you ; and and what could I answer ? Strengthen me 
 strengthen me, you whom I look up to and revere. Yes, yes 
 yOu are right. We must see each other no more. .1 am betrothed 
 to another to him ! Strengthen me P* 
 
 All the inherent nobleness of the poet's nature rose at once 
 at this appeal. 
 
 "Oh, Helen sister Miss Digby, forgive me. You need no 
 strength from trie ; I borrow it from you. I comprehend you 
 I respect. Banish all thought of me. Repay our common 
 benefactor Be what he asks of you his comforter, his soother; 
 be more his pride and his joy. Happiness will come to you, as 
 it comes to those who confer happiness and forget self. God com- 
 fort you in the passing struggle; God bless you in the long years 
 to come. Sister I accept the holy name now, and will claim 
 it hereafter, when I too can think more of others than myself." 
 
 Helen had covered her face with her hands, sobbing ; with 
 that soft womanly constraint which presses woe back into the 
 heart. A strange sense of utter solitude suddenly pervaded her. 
 whole being, and by that sense of solitude she knew that he 
 was gone. 
 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 IN another room in that same house sat, solitary as Helen, a 
 stern, gloomy, brooding man, in Whom they who had best 
 known him from his childhood could scarcely have recognized 
 a trace of the humane, benignant, trustful, but wayward and 
 varying" Harley, Lord L'Estrange. 
 
 He had read that fragment of a memoir, in which, out of all 
 the chasms of his barren and melancholy past, there rose two: 
 malignant truths that seemed literally to glare upon him with
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 325 
 
 mocking and demon eyes : the woman whose remembrance had 
 darkened all the sunshine of his life, had loved another ; the 
 friend in whom he had confided his whole affectionate loyal 
 soul had been his perfidious rival. He had read from the first 
 word to the last, as if under a spell that held him breathless ; 
 and when he closed the manuscript, it was without groan or 
 sigh ; but over his pale lips there passed that withering smile, 
 which is as sure an index of a heart overcharged with dire and 
 fearful passions, as the arrowy flash of the lightning is of tem- 
 pests that are gathered within the cloud. 
 
 He then thrust the papers into his bosom, and, keeping his 
 hand over them firmly clenched, he left the room, and walked 
 slowly toward his father's house. With every step by the way, 
 his nature, in the war of its elements, seemed to change and 
 harden into forms of granite. Love, humanity, trust, vanished 
 away. Hate, revenge, misanthropy,suspicion, and scorn of all that 
 could wear the eyes of affection, or speak with the voice of honor, 
 came fast through the gloom of his thoughts, settling down in the 
 wilderness, grim and menacing as the harpies of ancient song 
 " Uncseqiie manns, et palllda semper Ora."* 
 
 Thus the gloomy man had crossed the threshold of his 
 father's house, and silently" entered the apartments still set 
 apart for him. He had arrived about an hour before Leonard ; 
 and as he stood by the hearth, with his arms folded on his 
 breast, and his eyes fixed lead-like on the ground, his mother 
 came in to welcome and embrace him. He checked her eager 
 inquiries after Violante he recoiled from the touch of her hand. 
 
 " Hold, madam," said he, startling her ear with the cold 
 austerity of his tone. " I cannot heed your questions I am 
 filled with the question I must put to yourself. You opposed 
 my boyish love for Leonora Avenel. I do not blame you all 
 mothers of equal rank would have done the same. Yet, had 
 you not frustrated all frank intercourse with her, I might have 
 taken refusal from her own lips- survived that grief, and now 
 been a happy man. Years since then have rolled away rolled 
 over her quiet slumbers, and my restless waking life. All this 
 time were you aware that Audley Egerton had been the lover 
 of Leonora Avenel ? " 
 
 "Harley, Harley ! do not speak to me in that cruel voice 
 do not look at me with those hard eyes?" 
 
 "You knew it, then -you, my mother!" continued Harley, 
 unmoved by her rebuke; "and why did you never say, 'Son, 
 you are wasting the bloom and uses of your life in sorrowful 
 
 * " Hands armed with fangs, and lips forever pale,"
 
 326 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 fidelity to a lie ? You are lavishing trust and friendship on a 
 perfidious hypocrite ? ' " 
 
 " How could I speak to you thus how could I dare to do 
 so seeing you still so cherished the memory of that unhappy 
 girl still believed that she had returned your affection? Had 
 I said to you what I knew (but not till after her death), as to 
 her relations with Audley Egerton " 
 
 " Well ? you falter go on had you done so ? " 
 
 " Would you have felt no desire for revenge ? Might there 
 not have been strife between you danger bloodshed ? Har- 
 ley, Harley! Is not such silence pardonable in a mother? And 
 why deprive you too of the only friend you seemed to prize 
 who alone had some influence over you who concurred with 
 me in the prayer and hope, that some day you would find a living 
 partner worthy to replace this lost delusion, arouse your facul- 
 ties be the ornament your youth promised to your country ? 
 For you- wrong Audley indeed you do !." 
 
 "Wrong him! Ah! let me not do that. Proceed." 
 
 "I do not excuse him his rivalship, nor his first concealment of 
 it. But believe me, since then, his genuine remorse, his anxious 
 tenderness for your welfare, his dread of losing your friendship" 
 
 "Stop it was doubtless Audley Egerton who induced you to 
 conceal what you call his 'relations ' with her whom I can now 
 so calmly name Leonora Avenel?" 
 
 " It was so, in truth and from motives that " 
 
 " Enough let me hear no more." 
 
 "But you will not think too sternly of what is past ; you are 
 about to form new ties. You cannot be wild and wicked enough 
 to meditate what your brow seems to threaten. You cannot 
 dream of revenge risk Audley's life or your own ?" 
 
 "Tut tut tut! What cause here for duels? Single combats 
 are out of date civilized men do not slay each other with sword 
 and pistol. Tut ! revenge ! does it look like revenge, that one 
 object which brings me hither is to request my father's permis- 
 sion to charge myself with the care of Audley Egerton's election? 
 What he values most in the world is his political position ; and 
 his political existence is at stake. You know that I have had 
 through life the character of a weak, easy, somewhat over-gener- 
 ous man. Such men are not revengeful. Hold ! You lay your 
 hand on my arm I know the magic of that light touch, mother; 
 but its power over me is gone. Countess of Lansmere, hearme! 
 Ever from infancy (save in that frantic passion for which I now 
 despise myself), I have obeyed you, I trust, as a duteous son. 
 Now, our relative positions are somewhat altered. I have the
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 327 
 
 right to exact I will not say to command the right which 
 wrong and injury bestow upon all men. Madam, the injured man 
 has prerogatives that rival those of kings. I now call upon you to 
 question me no more not again to breathe the name of Leonora 
 Avenel, unless I invite the subject; and not to inform AudleyEger- 
 tonbyahint by a breath that I have discovered what shall I 
 call it? his 'pardonable deceit.' Promise me this, by your affec- 
 tion as mother, and on your faith as gentlewoman or I declare 
 solemnly, that never in life will you look upon my face again." 
 
 Haughty and imperious though the Countess was her spirit 
 quailed before Harley's brow and voice. 
 
 "Is this my son this my gen tie Harley?" she said falteringly. 
 "Oh! put your arms round my neck : let me feel that I have not 
 lost my child ! " 
 
 Harley looked softened, but he did not obey the pathetic 
 prayer; nevertheless, he held out his hand,[and turning away his 
 face said, in a milder voice, " Have I your promise?" 
 
 "Youhave you have; but on condition that there pass nowords 
 between you and Audley that can end in but the strife which " 
 
 " Strife ! " interrupted Harley. " I repeat that the idea of 
 challenge and duel between me and my friend from our school- 
 days, and on a quarrel that we could explain to no seconds, 
 would be a burlesque upon all that is grave in the realities of 
 life and feeling. I accept your promise and seal it thus " 
 
 He pressed his lips to his mother's forehead, and passively 
 received her embrace. 
 
 "Hush," he said, withdrawing from her arms; "I hear my 
 father's voice." 
 
 Lord Lansmere threw open the door widely, and with a cer- 
 tain consciousness that a door by which an Earl of Lansmere 
 entered ought to be thrown open widely. It could not have been 
 opened with more majesty if a huissier, or officer of the House- 
 hold, had stood on either side. The Countess passed by. her 
 lord with a light step, and escaped. 
 
 " I was occupied with my architect in designs for the new 
 infirmary, of which I shall make a present to our county. I have 
 only just heard that you were here, Harley. What's all this 
 about our fair Italian guest? Is she not coming back to us? 
 Your mother refers me to you for explanations." 
 
 "You shall have them later, my dear father; at present I can 
 think only of public affairs." 
 
 "Public affairs! they are indeed alarming. I am so rejoiced 
 to hear you express yourself so worthily. An awful crisis, Har- 
 ley! And, gracious Heaven! I have heard that a low man, who
 
 32$ MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 was born in Lansmere, but made a fortune in America, is about 
 to contest the borough. They tell me he is one of the Avenels 
 a born Blue is it possible ? " 
 
 " I have come here on that business. As a peer you cannot, of 
 course, interfere. But I propose, with your leave, to go down 
 myself to Lansmere, and undertake the superintendence of the 
 election. It would be better, perhaps, if you were not present ; 
 *t would give us more liberty of action." 
 
 " My dear Harley, shake hands ; anything you please. You 
 know how I have wished to see you come forward, and take that 
 part in life which becomes your birth." 
 
 "Ah, you think I have sadly wasted my existence hitherto." 
 
 "To be frank with you, yes, Harley," said the Earl, with a 
 pride that was noble in its nature, and not without dignity in its 
 expression. " The more we take from our country, the more we 
 owe her. From the moment you came into the world, as the in- 
 heritor of lands and honors, you were charged with a trust for 
 the benefit of others, that it degrades one of our order, of gentle- 
 men not to discharge." 
 . Harley listened with a sombre brow, and made no direct reply. 
 
 "Indeed," resumed the Earl, "I would rather you were ab.put 
 to canvass for yourself than for your friend Egerton. But I 
 grant he is an example that it is never tpo late to follow. Why, 
 who that had seen you both as youths, notwithstanding Audley 
 .had the advantage of being some years your senior .who could 
 have thought that he was the one to become distinguished and 
 eminent and you to degenerate into the luxurious idler, averse 
 to all trouble and careless of all fame? You, with such advant- 
 ages, not only of higher fortune, but, as every one said, of 
 superior talents you, who had then so much ambition so keen 
 a desire for glory, sleeping with Plutarch's Lives under your 
 pillow, and only, my wild. son, only too much energy. But you 
 are a young man still it is not too late to redeem the years you 
 haVe thrown away." 
 
 "The years are nothing mere dates in an almanac; but the 
 feelings, what can give me back those? the hope, the enthu- 
 siasm, the-- no matter ! feelings do not help men to rise in the 
 world. Egerton's feelings are not too lively. What I might have 
 been, leave it to me to remember let us talk of the example 
 you set before me of Audley Egerton," 
 
 "We must get him in," said the Earl, sinking his voice into a 
 whisper. "It is of more importance to him than I ever thought 
 for. But you know his secrets. Why did you not coniide to me 
 frankly the state of his affairs?" 

 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 329 
 
 "His affairs ! Do you mean that they are seriously embarrassed? 
 This interests me much. Pray, speak; what do you know ?" 
 
 " He has discharged the greater part of his establishment. 
 Thatin itself is, natural on quitting office; but still it set people 
 talking; and it has got wind that his estates are not only 
 mortgaged for more than they are worth, but that he has been 
 living upon the discount of bills; in short, he has been too inti- 
 mate with a man whom we all know by sight a man who drives the 
 finest horses in London, andthey tell me (butMa/ 1 cannot believe) 
 lives in the familiar society of the young puppies he snares to per- 
 dition. What's the man's name? Levy, is it not? yes, Levy." 
 . "I have seen Levy with him," said Harley; and a sinister joy 
 iighted up his falcon eyes.. "Levy Levy it is well." 
 
 "I hear but the gossip of the clubs," resumed the Earl. "But 
 they do say that Levy makes little disguise of his power over our 
 very distinguished friend, and rather parades it as a merit with our 
 party (and, indeed, with all men forEgerton has personal friends 
 in every party), that he keeps sundry bills locked up in his desk 
 until Egerton is once more safe in Parliament. Nevertheless if, 
 after all,. our friend were to lose his election, and Levy were then to 
 seize on his effects, and proclaim his ruin it would seriously 
 damage, perhaps altogether destroy, Audley's political career." 
 
 "So I conclude," said Harley. "A Charles Fox might be a 
 gamester, and a William Pitt be a pauper. But Audley Egerton 
 is not of their giant stature; -he stands so high because he stands 
 upon heaps of respectable gold. Audley Egerton, needy and 
 impoverished out of Parliament, and, as the vulgar slang has it, 
 out at elbows, skulking from duns, perhaps in the Bench " 
 
 " No, no our party would never allow that ; we would sub- 
 scribe " : '.' 
 
 "Worse than all, living as the pensioner of the party he as- 
 pired to lead! You say truly. His political prospects would be 
 blasted. A man whose reputation lay in his outward respecta- 
 bility! Why, people would say that Audley Egerton has been 
 a. solemn lie ; eh, my father ? " 
 
 " How can you talk with such coolness of your friend ? You 
 need say nothing to interest me in his election if you mean 
 that. Once in Parliament, he must soon again be in office and 
 learn to live on his salary. You must get him to submit to me 
 the schedule of his liabilities. I have a head for business, as 
 you know. I will arrange his affairs for him. And I will yet 
 bet five to one, though I hate wagers, that he will be prime minis- 
 ter in three years. He is not brilliant, it is. true ; but just at this 
 crisis we want a safe, moderate, judicious, conciliatory man ; and
 
 330 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Audley has so much tact, such experience of the House, such 
 knowledge of the world, and," added the Earl, emphatically 
 summing up his eulogies, "he is so thorough a gentleman ! " 
 
 " A thorough gentleman, as you say the soul of honor ! But, 
 my dear father, it is your hour for riding ; let me not detain you. 
 It is settled, then; you do not come yourself to Lansmere. 
 You put the house at my disposal, and allow me to invite Eger- 
 ton, of course, and what other guests I may please ; in short 
 you leave all to me ? " 
 
 " Certainly ; and if you cannot get in your friend, who can ? 
 That borough, it is an awkward, ungrateful place, and has been 
 the plague of my life. So much as I have spent there, too so 
 much as I have done to its trade." And the Earl, with an in- 
 dignant sigh, left the room. 
 
 Harley seated himself deliberately at his writing-table, lean- 
 ing his face on his hand, and looking abstractedly into space 
 from under-knit and lowering brows. 
 
 Harley L'Estrange was, as we have seen, a man singularly 
 tenacious of affections and impressions. He was a man, too, 
 whose nature was eminently bold, loyal, and candid ; even the 
 apparent whim and levity which misled the world, both as to 
 his dispositions and his powers, might be half ascribed to that 
 open temper, which, in its over-contempt for all that seemed 
 to savor of hypocrisy, sported with forms and ceremonials, and 
 extracted humor, sometimes extravagant, sometimes profound 
 from "the solemn plausibilities of the world." The shock he 
 had now received smote the very foundations of his mind, and, 
 overthrowing all the airier structures which fancy and wit had 
 built upon its surface, left it clear as a new world for the oper- 
 ations of the darker and more fearful passions. When a man 
 of a heart so loving, and a nature so irregularly powerful as Har- 
 ley's, suddenly and abruptly discovers deceit where he had most 
 confided, it is not (as with the calmer pupils of that harsh teacher 
 Experience) the mere withdrawal of esteem and affection from 
 the one offender, it is, that trust in everything seems gone, 
 it is, that the injured spirit looks back to the Past, and con- 
 demns all its kindlier virtues as follies that conduced to its own 
 woe ; and looks on to the Future as to a journey beset with smil- 
 ing traitors, whom it must meet with an equal simulation, or 
 crush with a superior force. The guilt of treason to men like 
 these is incalculable,- it robs the world of all the benefits they 
 would otherwise have lavished as they passed, it is responsible 
 for all the ill that springs from the corruption of natures, whose 
 very luxuriance, when the atmosphere is once tainted, does but
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 331 
 
 diffuse disease ; even as the malaria settles not over thin and 
 barren soils, nor over wastes that have been from all time deso- 
 late, but over the places in which southern suns had once ripened 
 delightful gardens, or the sites of cities, in which the pomp of 
 palaces has passed away. 
 
 It was not enough that the friend of his youth, the confidant 
 of his love, had betrayed his trust been the secret and success- 
 ful rival ;- not enough that the woman his boyhood had madly 
 idolized, and all the while he had sought her traces with pining 
 remorseful heart, believing she but eluded his suit from the 
 emulation of a kindred generosity, desiring rather to sacrifice 
 her own love, than to cost to his the sacrifice of all which youth 
 rashly scorns, and the world so highly estimates; not enough 
 that all this while her refuge had been the bosom of another. 
 This was riot enough of injury. His whole life had been wasted 
 on a delusion his faculties and aims, the wholesome ambition 
 of lofty minds had been arrested at the very onset of fair exis- 
 tence, his heart corroded by a regret for which there was no 
 cause, his conscience charged with the terror that his wild chase 
 had urged a too tender victim to the grave, over which he had 
 mourned. What years that might otherwise have been to him- 
 self so serene, to the world so useful, had been consumed in ob- 
 jectless, barren, melancholy dreams ! And all this while to whom 
 had his complaints been uttered ? to the man who knew that 
 his remorse was an idle spectre, and his faithful sorrow a mock- 
 ing self-deceit. Every thought that could gall man's natural 
 pride, every remembrance that could sting into revenge a heart 
 that had loved too deeply not to be accessible to hate, conspired 
 to goad those maddening Furies who come into every temple 
 which is once desecrated by the presence of the evil passions. 
 In that sullen silence of the soul, vengeance took the form of 
 justice. Changed though his feelings toward Leonora Avenel 
 wee, the story of her grief and her wrongs embittered still more 
 his wrath against his rival. The fragments of her memoir left 
 naturally on Harley's mind the conviction that she had been the 
 victim of an infamous fraud the dupe of a false marriage. His 
 idl had not only been stolen from the altar, it had been sullied by 
 the sacrifice, broken with remorseless hand and thrust into dis- 
 honored clay, mutilated, defamed, its very memory a thingof 
 contempt to him who had ravished it from worship. The living 
 Harley and the dead Nora, both called aloud to their joint despoil- 
 er, "Restore what thou hast taken from us, or pay the forfeit I" 
 
 Thus, then, during the interview between Helen and Leon- 
 ard, thus Harley L'Estrange sat alone } and as a rude, irregu-
 
 332 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 lar lump of steel, when wheeled round into rapid motion, assumes 
 the form of the circle it describes, so his iron purpose, hurried 
 on by his relentless passion, filled the space into which he gazed 
 with optical delusions scheme after scheme revolving and con- 
 summating the circles that clasped a foe. 
 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE entrance of a servant, announcing a name which Harley, 
 in the absorption of his gloomy reverie, did not hear, was fol- 
 lowed by that of a person on whom he lifted his eyes in the cold 
 and haughty surprise with which a man, much occupied, greets 
 and rebukes the intrusion of an unwelcome stranger. 
 
 " It is so long since your lordship has seen me," said the visi- 
 tor, with mild dignity, "that I cannot wonder you do not rec- 
 ognize my person, and have forgotten my name." 
 
 "Sir," answered Harley, with an impatient rudeness ill in 
 harmony with the urbanity for which he was usually distin- 
 guished "sir, your person is strange to me, and your name I 
 did not hear ; but, at all events, I am not now at leisure to at- 
 tend to you. Excuse my plainness." 
 
 "Yet pardon me if I still linger. My name is Dale. I was 
 formerly curate at Lansmere ; and I would speak to your lord- 
 ship in the name and the memory of one once dear to you 
 Leonora Avenel." 
 
 'TT "/ t 1 \ o- T ^ 
 
 HARLEY (after a short pause). Sir, I cannot conjecture your 
 business. But be seated. I remember you now, though years 
 have altered both ; and I have since heard much in your favor 
 from .Leonard Fairfield. Still, let me pray that you will be brief. 
 
 MR. DALE May I assume at once that you have divined the 
 parentage of the young man you call Fairfield ? When I listened 
 to his grateful praises of your beneficence, and marked with mel- 
 ancholy pleasure the reverence in which he holds you, my heart 
 jwelled within me. I acknowledge the mysterious force of nature. 
 
 HARLEY. Force of nature! You talk in riddles. 
 
 MR. DALE (indignantly). Oh, my lord, how can you so dis- 
 guise your better self? Surely in Leonard Fairfield you have 
 long since recognized the son of Nora Avenel? 
 
 Harley passed his hand over hisface. "Ah .'"thought he, "she 
 lived to bear a son, then a son to Egerton ! Leonard is that son. 
 I should have known him by the likeness by the fond foolish 
 impulse that moved me to him, This is why he confided to me 
 these fearful memoirs. He seeks his father he shall find him." 
 
 MR. DALE (mistaking the cause of Harley's silence). I honor
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 333 
 
 your compunction, my lord. Oh ! let your heart and your con- 
 science continue to speak to your worldly pride. 
 
 HARLKY. My compunction, heart, conscience ! Mr. Dale, 
 you insult me ! 
 
 MR. DALE (sternly). Not so; I am fulfilling my mission, which 
 bids me rebuke the sioner. Leonora Avenel speaks in me, and 
 coaimands the guilty father to acknowledge the innocent child ! 
 
 Har.ley half rose, and his eyes literally flashed fire ; but he 
 calmed his anger into irony. "Ha!'.' said he, with a sarcastic 
 smile, " so you suppose that /was the perfidious seducer of Nora 
 Avenel that /am the callous father of the child who came into 
 the world without a name. Very well, sir, taking these assump- 
 tions for granted, what is it you demand from .me on behalf of 
 this young man?" 
 
 "I ask from you his happiness," replied Mr. Dale, imploringly; 
 and yielding to the compassion with which Leonard inspired him, 
 and persuaded that Lord L' Estrange felt a father's, love for the boy 
 whom he had saved from the whirlpool of London, and guided 
 to s,afety and honorable independence, he here, with simple elo- 
 quence, narrated all Leonard's feelings for Helen his silent 
 fidelity to her image, though a child's his love when he again be- 
 held her as awoman the modest fears which the Parson himself 
 had combated the recommendation that Mr. Dale had forced 
 upon him, to confess his affection to Helen, and plead his cause. 
 "Anxious, as you may believe, for his success," continued the 
 Parson, "I waited without your gates till he came from Miss 
 Digby's presence. And oh, my lord, had you but seen his face! 
 such emotion and such despair ! I could not learn from him 
 what had passed. He e'scaped from me, and rushed away. All 
 that I could gather was from a few; broken words, and from those 
 words I formed the conjecture (it may be erroneous) that the ob- 
 stacle to his happiness . was not in. Helen's heart, my lord,, but 
 seemed to me as if it were in yourself. Therefore, when he,had 
 vanished from my sight, I took courage, and came at once to you. 
 If he be your son, and Helen Digby be your ward she herself 
 an orphan, dependent upon your bounty why should they 
 be severed? Equals in years united by early circumstances 
 congenial, it seems, in simple habits and refined tastes what 
 should hinder their union, unless it be the want of fortune? 
 and all men know your wealth none evfer questioned your gen- 
 erosity. My' lord, my lord, your look freezes me. If I have of- 
 fended, do not vis,it my offence on himon Leonard ! " 
 
 " And so," said Harley, still controlling his rage, "so this boy- 
 whom, as you say, I saved from that pitiless world which has en-
 
 334 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 gulfed many a nobler genius so, in return for all, he has sought 
 to rob me of the last affection, poor and lukewarm though it was, 
 that remained to me in life. He presumed to lift eyes to my af- 
 fianced bride ! He ! And for aught I know, steal from me her 
 living heart, and leave to me her icy hand ! " 
 
 "Oh, my lord, your affianced bride! I never dreamed of this. 
 I implore your pardon. The very thought is so terrible so un- 
 natural the son to woo the father's ! Oh, what sin have I fall- 
 en into ! The sin was mine-^I urged and persuaded him to it. 
 He was ignorant as myself. Forgive him, forgive him ! " 
 
 " Mr. Dale," said Harley, rising, and extending his hand, which 
 the poor Parson felt himself unworthy to take " Mr. Dale, you 
 are a good man if, indeed, this universe of liars contains some 
 man who does not cheat our judgment when we deem him hon- 
 est. Allow me only to ask why you consider Leonard Fairfield 
 to be my son?" 
 
 "Was not your youthful admiration for poor Nora evident to 
 me ? Remember, I was a frequent guest at Lansmere Park; and 
 it was so natural that you, with all your brilliant gifts, should cap- 
 tivate her refined fancy her affectionate heart." 
 
 "Natural you think so go on." 
 
 "Your mother, as became her, separated you. It was not un- 
 known to me that you still cherished a passion which your rank 
 forbade to be lawful. Poor girl! she left thereof of her protec- 
 tress, Lady Jane. Nothing was known of her till she came to her 
 father's house to give birth to a child, and die. And the same 
 day that dawned on her corpse, you hurried from the place. Ah! 
 no doubt your conscience smote you you have never returned 
 to Lansmere since." 
 
 Harley's breath heaved he waved his hand the Parson re- 
 sumed 
 
 " Whom could I suspect but you ? I made inquiries, they con- 
 firmed my suspicions." 
 
 "Perhaps you inquired of my friend, Mr. Egerton ? He was 
 with me when when as you say, I hurried from the place." 
 
 "I did, my lord." 
 
 "And he?" 
 
 " Denied your guilt ; but still, a man of honor so nice, of heart 
 so feeling, could not feign readily. His denial did not deceive me." 
 
 " Honest man ! " said Harley ; and his hand griped the breast 
 over which still rustled, as if with a ghostly sigh, the records of 
 the dead. " He knew she had left a son, too?" 
 
 "He did, my lord ; of course, I told him that." 
 
 " The son whom I found starving in the streets of London !
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 335 
 
 Mr. Dale, as you see, your words move me very much. I can- 
 not deny that he who wronged, it may be with no common treach- 
 ery, that young mother for Nora Avenel was not one to be lightly 
 seduced into error " 
 
 "Indeed, no!" 
 
 "And who then thought no more of the offspring of her an- 
 guish and his own crime I cannot deny that that man deserves 
 some chastisement should render some atonement. Am I not 
 right here ? Answer with the plain speech which becomes your 
 sacred calling." 
 
 "I cannot say otherwise, my lord," replied the Parson, pity- 
 ing what appeared to him such remorse. "But if he repent " 
 
 "Enough," interrupted Harley, "I now invite you to visit me 
 at Lansmere ; give me your address, and I will apprise you of 
 the day on which I will request your. presence. Leonard Fair- 
 field shall find a father I was about to say, worthy of himself. 
 For the rest stay ; reseat yourself. For the rest," and again 
 the sinister smile broke from Harley 's eye and lip "I will not 
 yet say whether I can, or ought to, resign to a younger and fairer 
 suitor the lady who has accepted my own hand. 1 have no rea- 
 son yet to believe that she prefers him. But what think you, 
 meanwhile, of this proposal ? Mr. Avenel wishes his nephew to 
 contest the borough of Lansmere has urged me to. obtain the 
 young man's consent. True, that he may thus endanger the seat 
 of Mr. Audley Egerton. What then ? Mr. Audley Egerton is a 
 great man, and may find another seat ; that should not stand in 
 the way. Let Leonard obey his uncle. If he win the election ; why, 
 he'll be a more equal match, in the world's eye, for Miss Digby 
 that is, should she prefer him to myself ; and if she do not, still, 
 in public life, there is a cure for all private sorrow. That is a 
 maxim of Mr. Audley Egerton's ; and he, you know, is a man not 
 only of the nicest honor, but the deepest worldly wisdom. Do 
 you like my proposition ?" 
 
 "It seems to me most considerate most generous." 
 
 " Then you shall take to Leonard the lines I am about to write." 
 LORD L'ESTRANGE TO LEONARD FAIRFIELD. 
 
 "I have read the memoir you intrusted to me. I will follow 
 up all the clues that it gives me. Meanwhile I request you to 
 suspend all questions forbear all reference to a subject which, 
 as you may well conjecture, is fraught with painful recollections 
 to myself. At this moment, too, I am compelled to concentre 
 my thoughts upon affairs of a public nature, and yet which may 
 sensibly affect yourself. There are reasons why I urge you to 
 comply with your uncle's wish, and stand for the borough of
 
 336 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Lansmere at the approaching election. If the exquisite gratitude 
 of your nature so overrates what I may have done for you, that 
 you think you owe me some obligations, you will richly repay 
 them on the day in which I hear you hailed as member for 
 Lansmere. Relying on that generous principle of self-sacrifice 
 which actuates all your conduct, I shall count upon your sur- 
 rendering your preference to private life, and entering the arena 
 of that noble ambition which has conferred such dignity on the 
 name of my friend Audley Egerton. He, it is true, will be your 
 opponent ; but he is too generous not to pardon my zeal for the 
 interest of a youth whose career 1 am vain enough to think that 
 I have aided. And as Mr. Randal Leslie stands in coalition with 
 Egerton, and Mr. Avenel' believes that two candidates of the 
 same party cannot both succeed, the result may 'be to the satis- 
 faction of all the feelings which I entertain for Audley Egerton, 
 and for you, who, I have reason to think, will emulate his titles 
 to my esteem. Yours, L'ESTRANGE." 
 
 "There, Mr. Dale," said Harley, sealing his letter, and giving 
 it into the Parson's hands. " There, you shall deliver this note 
 to your friend. But no upon second thoughts, since he does 
 not yet know of your visit to me, it is best that he should be still 
 in ignorance of it. For should Miss Digby resolve to abide by 
 her present engagement, it were surely kind to save Leonard the 
 pain of learning that you had communicated to me that rivalry 
 he himself had concealed. Let all that has passed between us 
 be kept in strict confidence." 
 
 "I will obey you, my lord," answered the Parson, meekly, 
 startled to find that he, who had come to arrogate authority, was 
 now submitting to commands ; and all at fault what judgment 
 he could venture to pass upon the man' whom he had regarded 
 as a criminal, who had not even denied the crime imputed to 
 him, yet who now impressed the accusing priest with something 
 of that respect which Mr. Dale had never before conceded but 
 to Virtue. Could he have then but looked into the dark and 
 st6rmy' heart, which he twice misread ! 
 
 "It is we'll very well," muttered Harley, when the door had 
 closed upon the Parson. " The viper and the viper's brood! So 
 it was this man's sOn that I led from the dire Slough of Despond; 
 and the son unconsciously imitates the father's gratitude and 
 honor Ha ha !" Suddenly the bitter laugh was arrested; a 
 flash of almost celestial joy darted through the Warring elements 
 of storm and darkness. If Helen returned Leonard's affection, 
 Harley L'Estrange was free! And through that flash the faceof 
 Violante shone upon him as an angel's. But the heavenly light
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 337 
 
 and the angel face vanished abruptly, swallowed up in the black 
 abyss of the rent and tortured soul. 
 
 " Fool ! " said the unhappy man, aloud, in his anguish " fool! 
 what then ? Were I free, would it be to trust my fate again to 
 falsehood? If, in all the bloom and glory of my youth, I failed 
 to win the heart of a village girl if, once more deluding my- 
 self, it is in vain that I have tended, reared, cherished, some 
 germ of woman's human affection in the orphan I saved from 
 penury how look for love in the brilliant princess, whom all the 
 sleek Lotharios of our gaudy world will surround with their 
 homage when once she alightson thir sphere! If perfidy be my 
 fate what hell of hells in the thought ? that a wife might lay her 
 head in my bosom and oh, horror! horror! No! I would not 
 accept her hand were it offered, nor believe in her love were it 
 pledged to me. Stern soul of mine wise at last,love never more 
 never more believe in truth ! " 
 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 As Harley quitted the room, Helen's pale, "sweet face looked 
 forth from a door in the same corridor. She advanced toward 
 him timidly. 
 
 "May I speak with you?" she said, in almost inaudible ac- 
 cents. " I have been listening for your footstep." 
 
 Harley looked at her steadfastly. Then, without a word, he 
 followed her into the room she had left, and closed the door. 
 
 "I too," said he, "meant to seek an interview with yourself 
 but later. You would speak to me, Helen say on. Ah! child, 
 what mean you ? Why this ? " for Helen was kneeling at his feet. 
 
 "Let me kneel," she said, resisting the hand that sought to 
 raise her. " Let me kneel till I have explained all, and perhaps 
 won your pardon. You said something the other evening. It has 
 weighed on my heart and my conscience ever since. You said, 
 'that I should have no secret from you; for that, in our relation 
 to each other, would be deceit.' I have had a secret; but, oh, 
 believe me! it was long ere it was clearly visible to myself. You 
 honored me with a suit so far beyond my birth, my merits. You 
 said that I might console and comfort you. At those words, what 
 answer could I give ? I, who owe you so much more than a 
 daughter's duty? And I thought that my affections were free- 
 that they would obey that duty. But -but but " continued 
 Helen, bowing her head still lowlier,- arid in a voice far fainter < 
 "I deceived myself. I again saw him who has been all in the 
 world to rife, when the world was so terrible and then and 
 then I trembled. I was terrified at my own memories my own
 
 338 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 thoughts. Still I struggled to banish the past resolutely firmly. 
 Oh, you believe me, do you not ? And I hoped to conquer. Yet 
 ever since those words of yours, I felt that I ought to tell you 
 even of the struggle. This is the first time we have met since 
 you spoke them. And now now I have seen him again, and 
 and though not by a word could she you had deigned to woo 
 as your bride encourage hope in another though there there 
 where you now stand he bade me farewell, and we parted as 
 for ever; yet yet O Lord L'Estrange! in return for your 
 rank, wealth, your still nobler gifts of nature what should I 
 bring? something more than gratitude, esteem, reverence at 
 least an undivided heart, filled with your image, and yours alone. 
 And this I cannot give. Pardon me not for what I say now, but for 
 not saying it before. Pardon me O my benefactor, pardon me! " 
 
 " Rise, Helen," said Harley, with relaxing brow, though still 
 unwilling to yield to one softer and holier emotion. " Rise ! " 
 And he lifted her up, and drew her toward the light. " Let me 
 look at your face. There seems no guile here. These tears are 
 surely honest. If I cannot be loved, it is my fate, and not your 
 crime. Now, listen tome. If you grant me nothing else, will you 
 give me the obedience which the ward owes to the guardian, 
 the child to the parent ? " 
 
 "Yes oh yes ! " murmured Helen. 
 
 " Then while I release you from all troth to me, I claim the 
 right to refuse, if I so please it, my assent to the suit of of the 
 person you prefer. I acquit you of deceit, but I reserve to my- 
 self the judgment I shall pass on him. Until I myself sanction 
 that suit, will you promise not to recall in any way the rejection 
 which, if I understand you rightly, you have given to it?" 
 
 " I promise." 
 
 " And if I say to you, ' Helen, this man is not worthy of you ' " 
 
 " No, no ! do not say that I could not believe you." 
 
 Harley frowned, but resumed calmly " If, then, I say, ' Ask 
 me not wherefore, but I forbid you to be the wife of Leonard 
 Fairfield,' what would be your answer ? " 
 
 " Ah, my lord, if you can but comfort him, do with me as you 
 will; but do not command me to break his heart." 
 
 "Oh, silly child," cried Harley, laughing scornfully, "hearts 
 are not found in the race from which that man sprang. But I 
 take your promise with its credulous condition. Helen, I pity you. 
 I have been as weak as you, bearded man though I be. Some 
 day or other, you and I may live to laugh at the follies at which you 
 weep now. I can give you no other comfort, for I know of none." 
 
 He moved to the door, and paused at the threshold, "I shall
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 339 
 
 not see you again for some days, Helen. Perhaps I may request 
 my mother to join me at Lansmere; if so, I shall pray you to 
 accompany her. For the present, let all believe that our posi- 
 tion is unchanged. The time will soon come when I may " 
 
 Helen looked up wistfully through her tears. 
 
 " I may release you from all duties to me," continued Harley, 
 with grave and severe coldness; " or I may claim your promise 
 in spite of the condition; for your lover's heart will not be 
 broken. Adieu ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 As Harley entered London, he came suddenly upon Randal 
 Leslie, who was hurrying from Eaton Square, having not only 
 accompanied Mr. Avenel in his walk, but gone home with him, 
 and spent half the day in that gentleman's society. He was now 
 on his way to the House of Commons, at which some disclosure 
 as to the day for the dissolution of Parliament was expected. 
 
 "Lord L'Estrange,"said Randal,"! must stop you. I have been 
 to Norwood, and seen our noble friend. He has confided to me, of 
 course, all that passed. How can I express my gratitude to you ! 
 By what rare talent with what signal courage you have saved 
 the happiness perhaps even the honor of my plighted bride !" 
 
 " Your bride! The Duke, then, still holds to the promise you 
 were fortunate enough to obtain from Dr. Riccabocca ? " 
 
 " He confirms that promise more solemnly than ever. You 
 may well be surprised at his magnanimity." 
 
 "No; he is a philosopher nothing in him can surprise me. 
 But he seemed to think, when I saw him, that there were cir- 
 cumstances you might find it hard to explain." 
 
 " Hard! nothing so easy. Allow me to tender to you the same 
 explanations which satisfied one whom philosophy itself has 
 made as open to truth as he is clear-sighted to imposture." 
 
 "Another time, Mr. Leslie. If your bride's father be satisfied, 
 what right Jiave I to doubt ? By the way, you stand for Lans- 
 mere. Do me the favor to fix your quarters at the Park during 
 the election. You will, of course, accompany Mr. Egerton." 
 
 "You are most kind," answered Randal, greatly surprised. 
 
 " You accept ? That is well. We shall then have ample op- 
 portunity for those explanations which you honor me by offering; 
 and, to make your visit still more agreeable, I may, perhaps, in- 
 duce our friends at Norwood to meet you. Good day." 
 
 Harley, walked on, leaving Randal motionless in amaze, but 
 tormented with suspicion. What could such courtesies in Lord 
 L'Estrange portend ? Surely no good.
 
 340 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "I am abo^t to hold the balance of justice," said Harley to 
 himself.-r-", I will cast the light-weight of that knave into the scale. 
 Violante never can be mine ; but I did not save her from a Pes- 
 chiera to leave her to a Randal Leslie, Ha, ha! AudleyEgerton 
 has some human feeling tenderness for that youth whom he has 
 selected from the world in which he left Nora's child to the jaws 
 of Famine. Through that side I can reach at his heart, and prove 
 himafoollike myself, where he esteemed and confided ! Good." 
 
 Thus soliloquizing, Lord L'Eslrange gained the corner of Bru- 
 ton Street, when he was again somewhat abruptly accosted. 
 
 " My dear Lord L'Estrange, Ifet me' shake you by the hand ; 
 for Heaven knows when . I may see you again ; and you have 
 suffered me to assist in. one good action." 
 
 "Frank Hazeldean, I am pleased indeed to meet you. Why 
 do you indulge in that melancholy doubt as to the time when I 
 may see you again?" 
 
 I have just got leave of absence. I am not well, and I am 
 rather hipped, so I shall go abroad for a few weeks." 
 
 In spite of himself, the sombre brooding pi an felt interest and 
 sympathy in the dejection that was evident in Frank's voice and 
 countenance. "Another dupe to affection," thought he, as if in 
 apology tohimselfi; '"of course, a dupe;, he ishonestandartless 
 at present." He pressed kindly on the arm which he had invol- 
 untarily twined within his own. "I conceive how you now grieve, 
 my young friend," said he ; "but you will congratulate yourself 
 hereafter on what this day seems ^o you an affliction." 
 
 " My dear lord " 
 
 "I am much older than you, but not old enough for such formal 
 ceremony. Pray, call me L'Estrange." 
 
 " Thank you 5 and I should indeed like to speak to you as a 
 friend. There is a thought on my mind which haunts me. I 
 daresay it is foolish enough, but I am sure^w/ will not laugh at 
 me. You heard what Madame di Negra said to me last night. I 
 have been trifled with and misled, but I cannot forget so soon 
 how dear to me that woman was. I .am not going to bore you 
 with such nonsense ; but from what I can understand, her brother 
 is likely to lose all his fortune; and, even if not, he is a sad scoun- 
 drel. I cannot bear the thought that she should be so dependent 
 on him that she may. come to want. After all, there must be 
 good in her good in her to refuse my hand if she did not love me. 
 A mercenary woman so circumstanced woulfl not have done that." 
 
 "You are quite right. But do not torment yourself with such 
 generous fears. Madame di Negra shall not come to want shall 
 not be dependent on her infamous brother. The first act of the
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 341 
 
 Duke of Serrano, on regaining his estates, will be a suitable 
 provision for his kinswoman. I will answer for this." 
 
 " You take a load off my mind. I did not mean to ask you.to 
 intercede with Riccabocca that is, the Duke (it is so hard to 
 think he can be a Duke !) I, alas ! have nothing in my power to 
 bestow upon Madame di Negra. I may indeed, sell my commis- 
 sion ; but then I have a debt which I long to pay off, and the 
 sale of the commission would not suffice even for that ; and 
 perhaps.my father might be still more angry if I dp sell it. Well, 
 good-bye. I shall now go away happy that is, comparatively. 
 One must bear things like a man ! " 
 
 " I should like, however, to see you again before you go abroad. 
 I will call on. you. Meanwhile, can you tell me the number of 
 one Baron Levy? He lives in this street, I know !'" 
 
 "Levy! Oh, have no dealings with him, I advise I entreat 
 you! He is the most plausible, dangerous rascal, and, for 
 Heaven's sake ! pray be warned by me, and let nothing entangle 
 you into a POST-OBIT ! " 
 
 "Be reassured, I am more accustomed to lend money than 
 borrow it; and, as to a post-obit, I have a foolish prejudice 
 against such transactions." 
 
 "Don't call it foolish, L'Estrange; I honor you for it. Howl 
 wish I had known you earlier -so few men of the world are like 
 you. Even Randal Leslie, who is so faultless in most things, and 
 never gets into a scrape himself, called my own scruples foolish. 
 Howeyer " 
 
 " Stay Randal Leslie ! What ! He advised you to borrow 
 on a post-obit, and probably shared the loan with you ? " 
 
 " Oh no ; not a shilling." 
 
 "Tell .me all about it, Frank.. Perhaps, as I see that Levy is 
 mixed up in the affair, your information may be useful to myself, 
 andputmeonmy guard in dealing with that popular gentleman." 
 
 Frank, who somehow or other felt himself quite at home with 
 Harley, and who, with- all his respect for Randal Leslie's talents, 
 had a vague notion that Lord L'Estrange was quite as clever, 
 and, from his years and experience, likely to be a safer and more 
 judicious counsellor, was noways loath to impart the confidence 
 thus pressed for. 
 
 He told Harley of his debts his first dealings with Levy 
 the un.happy post-obit into which he had been hurried by the dis- 
 tress of Madame di Negra; his father's anger his mother's 
 letters his own feelings of mingled shame and pride, which 
 made him fear that repentance would but seem self-interest 
 his desire to sell his commission, and let its sale redeem in part
 
 342 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 the post-obit y in short, he made what is called a clean breast of 
 it. Randal Leslie was necessarily mixed up with this recital; 
 and the subtle cross-questionings of Harley extracted far more 
 as to that young diplomatist's agency in all these melancholy 
 concerns, than the ingenuous narrator himself was aware of. 
 
 " So then," said Harley, " Mr. Leslie assured you of Madame 
 di Negra's affection, when you yourself doubted of it?" 
 
 "Yes; she took him in, even more than she did me." 
 
 "Simple Mr. Leslie ! And the same kind friend who is 
 related to you did you say ? " 
 
 "His grandmother was a Hazeldean." 
 
 " Humph ! The same kind relation led you to believe that you 
 could pay off the bond with the Marchesa's portion, and that he 
 could obtain the consent of your parents to your marriage with 
 that lady ? " 
 
 " I ought to have known better; my father's prejudices against 
 foreigners and Papists are so strong." 
 
 "And now Mr. Leslie concurs with you, that it is best for you 
 to go abroad, and trust to his intercession with your father.' He 
 has evidently, then, gained a great influence over Mr. Hazeldean." 
 
 "My father naturally compares me with him; he so clever, so 
 promising,so regular in his habits,and I such a reckless scapegrace. " 
 
 "And the bulk of your father's property is unentailed Mr. 
 Haieldean might disinherit you?" 
 
 "I deserve it. I hope he will." 
 
 " You have no brothers nor sisters no relation, perhaps, after 
 your parents, nearer to you than your excellent friend Mr. Ran- 
 dal Leslie ? " 
 
 " No; that is the reason he is so kind to me, otherwise I am the 
 last person to suit him. You have no idea how well-informed and 
 clever he is," added Frank, in a tone between admiration and awe. 
 
 " My dear Hazeldean, you will take my advice will you not ?" 
 
 "Certainly. You are too good." 
 
 "Let all your family, Mr. Leslie included, suppose you to be 
 gone abroad; but stay quietly in England, and within a day's 
 journey of Lansmere Park. I am obliged to go thither for the 
 approaching election. I may ask you to come over. I think 
 I see a way to serve you; and if so, you will soon hear from me. 
 Now, Baron Levy's number?" 
 
 " That is the house with the cabriolet at the door. How such 
 a fellow can have such a horse !- 'tis out of all keeping ! " 
 
 "Not at all; horses are high-spirited, generous, unsuspicious 
 animals. They never know if it is a rogue who drives them. I 
 have your promise, then, and you will send me your address?"
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 343 
 
 " I will. Strange that I feel more confidence in you than I 
 do even in Randal ! Do take care of Levy." 
 
 Lord L'Estrange and Frank here shook hands, and Frank, 
 with an anxious groan, saw L'Estrange disappear within the 
 portals of the sleek destroyer, 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 LORD L'ESTRANGE followed the spruce servant into Baron 
 Levy's luxurious study. 
 
 The Baron looked greatly amazed at his unexpected visitor; 
 but he got up handed a chair to my lord with a low bow. 
 " This is an honor," said he. 
 
 "You have a charming abode here," said. Lord L'Estrange, 
 looking round. " Very fine bronzes excellent taste. Your re- 
 ception-rooms above are, doubtless, a model to all decorators !" 
 
 " Would your lordship condescend to see them ? " said 
 Levy, wondering, but flattered. 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure!" 
 
 " Lights ! " cried Levy, to the servant who answered his bell. 
 " Lights in the drawing-rooms it is growing dark." 
 
 Lord L'Estrange followed the usurer up-stairs; admired every- 
 thing pictures, draperies, Sevres china, to the very shape of 
 the downy fauteuils, to the very pattern of the Tournay carpets. 
 Reclining then on one of the voluptuous sofas, Lord L Estrange 
 said, smilingly, "You are a wise man; there is no advantage in 
 being rich, unless one enjoys one's riches." 
 
 " My own maxim, Lord L'Estrange." 
 
 " And it is something, too, to have a taste for good society. 
 Small pride would you have, my dear Baron, in these rooms, 
 luxurious though they are, if filled with guests of vulgar exterior 
 and plebeian manners. It is only in the world in which we move 
 that we find persons who harmonize, as it were, with the porcelain 
 of Sevres, and these sofas that might have come from Versailles." 
 
 " I own," said Levy> " that I have what some may call a weakness 
 in a parvenu like myself. I have a love for the beau monde. It is 
 indeed a pleasure to me when I receive men like your lordship." 
 
 "But why call yourself a parvenu? Though you are con- 
 tented to honor the name of Levy, we, in society, all know that 
 you are the son of a long-descended English peer. Child of 
 love, it is true; but the graces smile on those over whose birth 
 Venus presided. Pardon my old-fashioned mythological similes 
 they go so well with these rooms Louis Quinze" 
 
 *' Since you touch on my birth," said Levy, his color rather
 
 344 MY NOVEL ; 6R, 
 
 heightening, not with shame, but with pride, "I don't deny that 
 it has had some effect on my habits and tastes in life. In fact " 
 
 " In fact, own that you would be a miserable nian, in spite of 
 all your wealth, if the young dandies, who throng to your ban- 
 quets, were to cut you dead in the streets; if, when your higto- 
 stepping horse stopped at your club, the porter shut the door in 
 your face; if, when you lounged into the opera-pit, handsome 
 dog that you are, each spendthrift rake in ' Fop's Alley,' who 
 now waits bat the scratch of "your pen to endorse billet-doux 
 with the charms that can chain to himself for a month some 
 nymph of the Ballet, spinning round in a whirlwind of tulle, 
 would shrink from the touch of your condescending forefinger 
 with more dread of its contact than a bailiff's tap in the thick 
 of Pall Mall could ^inspire; if, reduced to the company of city 
 clerks, parasite led-captain*- " 
 
 " Oh, don't go on, my dear lord," cried Levy, laughing affect- 
 edly. "Impossible though the picture be, it is really appalling. 
 Cut me off from May Fair and St. James's, and I should go into 
 my strong closet and hang myself/' 
 
 " And yet, my dear Baron, all this may happen if I have the 
 whim just to try; all this will- ; happen, ; unless, ere I leave your 
 house, you concede the conditions I come here to impose." 
 
 " My lord ! " exclaimed Levy, starting! up, and pulling do\vn 
 bis waistcoat with nervous passionate fingers, "if you were not 
 under my own roof, I would " v a;ij to ono rr 
 
 " Truce with. mock heroics. Sit down, sir sit down. I will 
 briefly state my threat more briefly my conditions. You. will 
 be scarcely more prolix in your reply. Your fortune I cannot 
 touch your enjoyment of it I can destroy. Refase my con- 
 ditions make me your enemy^-and war to : the knife ! I will 
 interrogate all the young dupes you have ruined. I will learn 
 the history of all the transactions by .which you have gained the 
 wealth that 'it pleases you to. spend in courting the society and 
 sharing the vices of men who go with these rooms, Louis Quinze! 
 Not a roguery of yours shall escape me, down even to your 'last 
 notable connivance with an Italian, reprobate for the criminal 
 abduction of an heiress. All these particulars I will proclaim 
 in the clubs to which you have gained admittance in eh r ery 
 club in London which you yet hope to creep into. Alhthese I 
 will-impart to some such authori-ty in the Press as Mr. Henry 
 Norreys; all these! will, upon the voucher of my own name, 
 have so published in some journals of repute that you must 
 either tacitly submit to the revelations that blast you, or bring 
 before a court of law-actions that will convert accusations into
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 
 
 evidence. It is but by sufferance that you are now in society - 
 you are excluded when one man like me comes forth to denounce 
 you. You try in vain to sneer at my menace your white lips 
 show your terror. 1 have rarely in life drawn any advantage 
 from my rank and 'position ; but I am thankful that they give 
 me, the power to make my voice respected and my exposure 
 triumphant. Now, Baron Levy, will you go into your strong closet 
 and hang yourself, or will you grant me my very moderate condi- 
 tions ? You are silent. I will relieve you, and state those condi- 
 tions. Until the general election, about to take place, is concluded, 
 you will obey me to the letter in all that I enjoin no demur, and 
 no scruple. And the first proof of obediehce I demand is, your 
 candid disclosure of ''all Mr. Audley Egerton'specuniary affairs." 
 
 ^Has my client Mr. Egerton authorized you to request of me 
 (hat disclosure?" 
 
 " On the contrary, all that p&sses between us you will conceal 
 from your client." - 
 
 "You would save him from ruin? Your trusty friend, Mr;, 
 Egerton !" 'said the Baron, with a livid sneer. 
 
 "Wrong again, Baron Levy. If I would save him from ruin, 
 
 your business-room."* 
 
 Levy said not a word until he had rectonducted his visitor into 
 his den of destruction all gleaming with spotiaria in rosewood. 
 Then he said this : "If, Lord L'Estrange, you seek but revenge 
 on Audley Egerton, you need not have uttered those threats, I 
 too hate th : e man." " 
 
 'Harley looked at him wistfully, and the nobleman felt a pang 
 that he had debased himself in to a single feeling which the usurer 
 could share. Nevertheless the interview appeared to close with 
 Satisfactory arrangements, and to produce amicable understandi- 
 ing. For, as the Baron ceremoniously followed Lord L'Estrange 
 through the hall, his noble visitor said, with marked affability 
 
 " Then I shall see you at Larisfnere with Mr. Egerton, to assist 
 in conductinghis election. It is a sacrifice of your time worthy 
 of your friendship ; not a step farther, I beg. Baron, I have 
 the honor to wish you good-evening." 
 
 As the street- dbor opened on Lord L'Estrange, he again found 
 himself face to face with Randal Leslie, whose hand was already 
 lifted to the knocker. * 
 
 " Ha, Mr. Leslie ! you too a client of Baron Levy's ;- 
 useful,: accommodating man." a
 
 34^6 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Randal stared and stammered, " I come in haste from the 
 House of Commons on Mr. Egerton's business. Don't you hear 
 the newspaper venders crying out ' Great news Dissolution 
 of Parliament ? ' ' 
 
 " We are prepared. Levy himself consents to give us the aid 
 of his talents. Kindly, obliging clever person ! " 
 
 Randal hurried into Levy's study, to which the usurer had 
 shrunk back, and was now wiping his brow with his scented 
 handkerchief, looking heated and haggard, and very indifferent 
 to Randal Leslie. 
 
 " How is this ? ",'cried Randal. " I come to tell you first of 
 Peschiera's utter failure, the ridiculous coxcomb, and I meet at 
 your door the last man I thought to find there the man who 
 foiled us all, Lord L'Estrange. What brought him to you ? Ah, 
 perhaps his interest in Egerton's election ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Levy, sulkily. "I know all about Peschiera. I 
 cannot talk to you now ; I must make arrangements for going to 
 Lansmere." Snirr 
 
 " But don't forget my purchase from Thornhill. I shall have 
 the money shortly from a surer source than Peschiera." 
 
 "The Squire?" 
 
 "Or a rich father-in-law." 
 
 In the meanwhile, as Lord L'Estrange entered Bond Street, 
 his ears were stunned by vociferous cries from the Stentors em- 
 ployed by Standard, Sun, and Globe "Great news Dissolution 
 of Parliament Great news ! " The gas-lamps were lighted a 
 brown fog was gathering over the streets, blending itself with 
 the falling shades of niglH. The forms of men loomed large 
 through the mist. The lights from the shops looked red and lurid. 
 Loungers usually careless as to politics, were talking eagerly and 
 anxiously of King, Lords, Commons, " Constitution at stake" 
 "Triumph of liberal opinions," according to their several biases. 
 Hearing, and scorning unsocial, isolated walked on Harley 
 L'Estrange. With his direr passions had been roused up all the na- 
 tive powers that made them doubly dangerous. He became proud- 
 ly conscious of his own great faculties, but exulted in them only so 
 far as they could minister to the purpose which had invoked them. 
 
 "I have constituted myself a Fate," he said inly ; "let the 
 gods be but neutral while I weave the meshes. Then, as Fate 
 itself when it has fulfilled its mission, let me pass away into 
 shadow, with the still and lonely stride that none may follow. 
 
 'Oh for a lodge in some vast wilderness.' 
 
 How weary I am of this world of men I " And again the cry 
 "Great news National crisis Dissolution oi Parliament-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 347 
 
 Great news!" rang through the jostling throng. Three men, 
 arm-in-arm, brushed by Harley, and were stopped at the cross- 
 ing by a file of carriages. The man in the centre was Auclley 
 Egerton. His companions were an ex-minister like himself, 
 and one of those great proprietors who are proud of being above 
 office, and vain of the power to make and unmake Governments. 
 
 "You are the only man to lead us, Egerton," said, this last 
 personage. " Do but secure your seat, and as soon as this pop- 
 ular fever has passed away, you must be something more than 
 the leader of Opposition you must be the first man in England." 
 
 "Not a doubt of that," chimed in the fellow ex-minister a 
 worthy man perfect red-tapist, but inaudibl.e in the reporters' 
 gallery. "And your election is quite safe, eh ! All depends on 
 that. You must not be thrown out at such a time, even for a 
 month or two. I 'hear that you will have a contest some 
 townsman of the borough, I think. But the Lansmere interest 
 must be all powerful; and I suppose L'Estrange will come out and 
 canvass for you. You are not the man to have lukewarm friends." 
 
 " Don't be alarmed about my election. I am as sure of that 
 as of L'Estrange's friendship." \ 
 
 Harley heard, with a grim smile, and passing his hand within 
 his vest, laid it upon Nora's memoir. 
 
 "What could we do in Parliament without you!" said the 
 great proprietor, almost piteously. 
 
 " Rather what could I do without Parliament ? Public life 
 is the only existence I own. Parliament is all in all to me. But 
 we may cross now." 
 
 Harley's eye glittered cold as it followed the tall form of the 
 statesman, towering high above all other passers-by. 
 
 "Ay," he muttered "ay, rest as sure of my friendship as I 
 am of thine ! And be Lansmere our field of Philippi ! There, 
 where thy first step was made in the only life that thou own'st 
 as existence, shall the ladder itself rot from under thy footing. 
 There, where thy softer victim slunk to death from the deceit 
 of thy love, shall deceit like thine own dig a grave for thy frigid 
 ambition. I borrow thy quiver of fraud ; its still arrows shall 
 strike thee ; and thou too shalt say, when the barb pierces 
 home, "This comes from the hand of a friend.' Ay, at Lans- 
 mere, at Lansmere, shall the end crown the whole! Go, and dot 
 on the canvas the lines for a lengthened perspective, where my 
 eyes note already the vanishing-point of the picture." 
 
 Then through the dull fog, and under the pale gas-lights, 
 Harley L'Estrange pursued his lonely way, soon distinguished 
 no more amongst the various, motley, quick-succeeding groups,
 
 348 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 with their infinite subdivisions of thought, care, and passion ; 
 while loud- over all their low murmurs, or silent hearts, were 
 heard the tramp of horses and din of wheels, and the vociferous, 
 discordant cry that had ceased to attract an interest in the ears 
 it vexed^-" Great News, Great News Dissolution of Parlia- 
 ment Great News ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. . 
 
 THE scene is at Lansmere Park a spacious pile, commenced 
 in the reign of Charles II.; enlarged and altered in the reign of 
 Anne. Brilliant interval in the History of bur National Man- 
 ners, when even the courtier dreaded to be dull, and Sir Fopling 
 raised himself on tiptoe to catch the ear of wit when the names 
 of Devonshire and Dorset, Halifax and Carteret, Oxford and Bo- 
 lingbroke, unite themselves, brother-like, with those of Hobbes 
 and of Dryden, of Prior and Bentley, of Arbuthnot, Gay, Pope, 
 and Swift; and still, wherever we turn, to recognize some ideal 
 of great Lord or fine Gentleman the Immortals of Literature 
 stand by his side. 
 
 The walls of the rooms at Lansmere were covered with the 
 'portraits of those who illustrate that time which Europe calls 
 the Age of Louis XIV. A L'Estrange, who had lived through 
 the reigns of four English princes (and with no mean impor- 
 tance through all), had collected those likenesses of noble con- 
 temporaries. As you passed through the chambers opening one 
 on the other in that pomp of parade introduced with Charles II. 
 from the palaces of France, and retaining its mode till Versailles 
 'and Trianon passed, themselves, out of date you felt you were 
 in excellent company. What saloons of our day, demeaned to 
 tailed coats and white waistcoats, have that charm of high breed- 
 ing which speaks out from the canvas of Kneller and Jervis, 
 Vivien and Rigaud ? And withal, 'notwithstanding lace and 
 brocade the fripperies of artificial costume -still those who 
 give interest or charm. to that day, look from their portraits like 
 men raking. or ddbonnaire, if you will never mincing nor fem- 
 inine. Can we say as much of the portraits of Lawrence? Gaze 
 there on'fair Marlborough what delicate perfection of features, 
 yet how easy in boldness, how serene in the conviction of power ! 
 So fair and so tranquil he might have looked through the cannon- 
 reek at Ramilies and Blenheim, suggesting to Addison the image 
 of an angel of war. Ah, there, Sir Charles Sedley, the Lovelace 
 of wits ! Note that strong jaw and marked brow; do you not 
 recognize the courtier who scorned to ask one favor of the king 
 with whom he lived as an equal, and who stretched forth the
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 349. 
 
 right hand of man to hurl from a throne the king who had made 
 his daughter a Countess?* 
 
 Perhaps, from his childhood thus surrounded by the haunting 
 faces that spoke of their age as they looked from the walls- 
 that age and those portraits were not without influence on the 
 character of Harley L'Estrange. The whim and the daring 
 the passion for letters and reverence for genius the mixture of 
 levity and strength the polished sauntering indolence, or the 
 elastic readiness of energies once called into action all might 
 have found their prototypes in the lives which those pictures re- 
 kindled. The deeper sentiment, the more earnest nature, which in 
 Harley L'Estrange were commingled with the attributes common 
 to a former age these, indeed, were of his own. Our age so little 
 comprehended, while it colors us from its atmosphere! so full 
 of mysterious and profound emotions, which our ancestors never 
 knew! Will those emotions be understood by our descendants? 
 
 In this stately house were now assembled, as Harley's guests, 
 many of the more important personages whom the slow length 
 of this story has made familiar to the reader. The two candi- 
 dates for the borough in the True Blue interest Audley Egerton 
 and Randal Leslie : and Levy chief among the barons to whom 
 modern society grants a seigniory of pillage, which, had a baron 
 of old ever ventured to arrogate, burgess and citizen, socman 
 and bocman, villein and churl, would have burned him alive in 
 his castle ; the Duke di Serrano, still fondly clinging to his title 
 of doctor and pet name of Riccabocca ; Jemima, not yet with 
 the airs of a duchess, but robed in very thick silks, as the chrysalis 
 state of a duchess ; Violante, too, was there, sadly against her 
 will, and shrinking as much as possible into the retirement of her 
 own chamber. The Countess of Lansmere had deserted her 
 lord, in order to receive the guests df her son ; my lord himself, 
 ever bent on being of use in some part of his country, and striving 
 hard to distract his interest from his plague of a borough, had 
 gone down into Cornwall to inquire into the social condition of 
 certain troglodytes who worked in some mines which the Earl 
 had lately had the misfortune to wring from the Court of Chan- 
 cery, after a lawsuit commenced by his grandfather : and a Blue 
 Book, issued in the past session by order of Parliament, had 
 especially quoted the troglodytes thus devolved on the Earl as 
 bipeds who were in considerable ignorance of the sun, and had 
 
 * Sedley was so tenacious of his independence, that when his affairs were most embar- 
 rassed, he refused all pecuniary aid from Charles II. His bitter sarcasm, in vindication of 
 the part he took in the deposition of James II., who had corrupted his daughter, and made 
 her Countess of Dorchester, is well known. " As the King his made my daughter 9 
 Countess, the least I can do, in common gratitude, is to assist in making his majesty's 
 daughter a Queen I "
 
 350 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 never been known to wash their feet since the day that they came 
 into the world their world underground, chipped off from the 
 Bottomless Pit ! 
 
 With the Countess came Helen Digby, of course, and Lady 
 Lansmere, who had hitherto been so civilly cold to the 'wife 
 elect of her son, had, ever since her interview with Harley at 
 Knightsbridge, clung to Helen with almost a caressing fondness. 
 The stern Countess was tamed by fear ; she felt that her own 
 influence over Harley was gone ; she trusted to the influence of 
 Helen in case of what ? ay, what ? It was because the danger 
 was not clear to her, that her bold spirit trembled ; superstitions, 
 like suspicions, are "as bats among birds, and fly by twilight." 
 Harley had ridiculed theideaof challengeand strife between Aud- 
 ley and himself; but still Lady Lansmere dreaded the fiery emo- 
 tionsof the last, and the high spirit and austere self-respect which 
 were proverbial to the first. Involuntarily she strengthened her in- 
 timacy with Helen. In caseher alarm should appear justified, what 
 mediator could be so persuasive in appeasing the angrier passions, 
 as one whom courtship and betrothal sanctified to the gentlest? 
 
 On arriving at Lansmere, the Countess, however, felt some- 
 what relieved. Harley had received her, if with a. manner less 
 cordial and tender than had hitherto distinguished it, still with 
 easy kindness and calm self-possession. His bearing towards 
 Audley Egerton still more reassured her ; it was not marked by 
 any exaggeration of familiarity or friendship which would at 
 once have excited her apprehension of some sinister design 
 nor, on the other hand, did it betray, by covert sarcasms, an ill- 
 suppressed resentment. It was exactly what, under the cir- 
 cumstances, would have been natural to a man who had received 
 an injury from an intimate friend, which, in generosity of dis- 
 cretion, he resolved to overlook, but which those aware of it 
 could just perceive had cooled or alienated the former affec- 
 tion. Indefatigably occupying himself with all the details of 
 the election, Harley had afair pretext for absenting himself from 
 Audley, who, really looking very ill, and almost worn out, pleaded 
 indisposition as an excuse for dispensing with the fatigues of a per- 
 sonal canvass,and,passingmuch of his timein his own apartments, 
 left all the preparations for contest to his more active 'friends. 
 It was not till he had actually arrived at Lansmere that Aud- 
 ley became acquainted with the name of his principal opponent. 
 Richard Avenel! the brotherof Nora! rising up from obscurity, 
 thus to stand front to front against him in a contest on which all his 
 fates were cast. Egerton quailed as before an appointed avenger. 
 
 He would fain have retired from the fields; he spoke to Harley : 
 
 4i?> i
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 351 
 
 "How canyau support all the painful remembrances which 
 the very name of my antagonist must conjure up?" 
 
 "Did you not tell me," answered Harley, "to strive against 
 such remembrances to look on them as sickly dreams? I am 
 prepared to brave them. Gan you be more sensitive than I?" 
 
 Egerton durst not say more. He avoided all further reference 
 to the subject. .-The' strife raged around him, and he shut him- 
 self out from it shut himself up in solitude with his own heart. 
 Strife enough there ! Once, late at night, he stole forth and re- 
 paired to Nora's grave. He stood there, amidst the rank grass, 
 and under the frosty starlight, long, and in profound silence. 
 His whole past life seemed to rise before him ; and, when he re- 
 gained his lonely room, and strove to survey the future, still he 
 could behold only that past and that grave. 
 
 In thus declining all active care for an election, to his pros- 
 pects so important, Audley Egerton was considered to have ex- 
 cuse, not onlyin the state of his health, but in his sense of dignity. 
 A statesman so eminent, of opinions so well known, of public 
 services so incontestable, might well be spared the personal 
 trouble that falls upon obscurer candidates. And besides, accord- 
 ing to current report, and the judgment of the Blue Committee, 
 the return of Mr. Egerton was secure. But, though Audley 
 himself was thus indulgently treated, Harley and the Blue Com- 
 mittee took care to inflict double work upon Randal. That active 
 young spirit found ample materials for all its restless energies. 
 Randal Leslie was kept on his legs from sunrise to starlight. 
 There does not exist in the Three Kingdoms a constituency more 
 fatiguing to a candidate than that borough of Lansmere. As 
 soon as you leave the High Street, wherein, according to im- 
 memorial usage, the Blue canvasser is first le.d, in order to put 
 him into spirits for the toils that await him (delectable, propitious, 
 constitutional High Street, in which at least two-thirds of the 
 electors opulent tradesmen employed at the Park always vote 
 for "my lord's man, "and hospitably prepare wine and.cakes in 
 their tidy back parlors !) as soon as you quit this stronghold of 
 the party, labyrinths of lanes and defiles stretch away into the 
 farthest horizon ; level ground is found nowhere ; it is all up- 
 hill and down-hill now rough craggy pavements that blister the 
 feet, and at the very first tread upon which all latent corns shook 
 prophetically now deep muddy ruts, into which you sink ankle- 
 deep oozing slush creeping into the pores, and moistening the 
 way for catarrh,rheum, cough, sore-throat,bronchitis, andphthisis. 
 Black sewers, and drains Acherontian, running before the thresh- 
 olds, and so filling the homes behinds with effluvia, that, while
 
 352 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 one hand clasps the grimy paw of the voter, the other instinc- 
 tively guards from typhus and cholera'your abhorrent nose. Not 
 in those days had mankind ever heard of a -sanitary reform! 
 and, to judge of the slow ; progress which that reform seems to 
 make, sewer and drain would have been much the same if they 
 had. Scot-and-lot voters were the independent electors of Lans- 
 mere, with the additional franchise of Freemen. Universal 
 suffrage could scarcely more efficiently swamp the franchises of 
 men who care a straw what becomes of Great Britain ! With all 
 Randal Leslie's profound diplomacy, all his art in talking over, 
 deceiving,and (to borrow Dick Avenel's vernacular phrase)"hum- 
 bugging" educated men, his eloquence fell flat upon minds in- 
 vulnerable to appeals whether to State or to Church, to Reform 
 or to Freedom. TocatchaSco,t-and-lot voter by such frivolous 
 arguments, Randal Leslie might as well have tried to bring down 
 a rhinoceros;by a pop-gun charged with split-peas! The young 
 man who so firmly believed that "knowledge was power," was 
 greatly disgusted. It was here the ignorance that foiled him. 
 When he got hold of a man with some knowledge, Randal was 
 pretty sure to trick him out of &. vote. 
 
 Nevertheless, Randal Leslie walked and talked on, with most 
 credible perseverance. The Blue Committee allowed that he 
 was an excellent canvasser. They conceived a liking for him, 
 mingled with pity. : For, though sure of Egerton's return, they 
 regarded Randal's as out of the question. He was merely there 
 to keep split votes from going to the opposite side; to serve his 
 patron, the ex-minister; shake the paws and smell the smells 
 which the ex-minister was too great a man to shake and to smell. 
 But, in point of fact, none of that Blue Committee knew any- 
 thing of the prospects of the election. Harley received all the 
 reports of eacli canvass-day. Harley kept the canvass-book, 
 locked up from all eyes but his own, or it might be Baron Levy's, 
 as Audley Egerton's confidential, if not strictly professional, ad- 
 viser; Baron Levy, the millionaire, had long since retired from 
 all acknowledged professions. Randal, however close, observ- 
 ant, shrewd 1 perceived that he himself was much stronger than 
 the Blue Committee believed. And, to his infinite surprise, he 
 owed that strength to Lord L'Estrange's exertions on his behalf. 
 For though Harley, after the first day on which he ostentatiously 
 showed himself in the High .Street, did not openly canvass with 
 Randal, yet when the reports were brought in to him, and he saw 
 the names of the voters who gave one vote to Audley and with- 
 held the other from Randal, he would say to Randal, dead beat 
 as that young gentleman was, "Slip out with me, the moment
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 353 
 
 dinner is over, and before you go the round of the public-houses; 
 there are some voters we must get for you to-night." And sure 
 enough a few kindly words from the popular heir of the Lans- 
 mere baronies usually gained over the electors, from whom, 
 though Randal had proved that all England depended on their 
 votes in his favor, Randal would never have extracted more than 
 a " Wu'll, I shall waute gin the Dauy coomes! " Nor was this 
 all that Harley did for the younger candidate. If it was quite 
 clear that only one vote could be won for the Blues, and the other 
 was pledged to the Yellows, Harley would say,." Then put it 
 down to Mr. Leslie "; a request the more readily conceded, since 
 Audley Egerton was considered so safe by the Blues, and alone 
 worth a fear by the Yellows. 
 
 Thus Randal, who kept a snug little canvass-book of his own, 
 became more and more convinced that he had a better chance 
 than Egerton, even without the furtive aid he expected from 
 Avenel ; and he could only account for Harley's peculiar exer- 
 tions in his favor, by supposing that Harley, unpractised in elec- 
 tions, and deceived by the Blue Committee, believed Egerton to 
 be perfectly safe, and sought, for the honor of the family inter- 
 est, to secure both the seats. 
 
 Randal's public cares thus deprived him of all opportunity of 
 pressing his courtship on Violante; and, indeed, if ever he did find 
 a moment in which he could steal to her reluctant side, Harley 
 was sure to seize that very moment to send him off to canvass 
 an hesitating freeman, or harangue in some public-house. 
 
 Leslie was too acute not to detect some motive hostile to his 
 wooing, however plausibly veiled in the guiseof zeal-for his elec* 
 tion, in this officiousness of Harley's. But Lord L-Estrange's 
 manner to Violante was so little like that of a jealous lover, and 
 he was so well aware of her engagement to Randal, that the lat- 
 ter abandoned the suspicion he had before conceived, that Har- 
 ley was his rival. And he was soon led to believe that Lord 
 L'Estrange had another, more disinterested, and less formidable 
 motive for thus stinting his opportunities to woo the heiress. 
 
 "Mr. Leslie," said Lord L'Estrange, one day, "the Duke has 
 confided to me his regret at his daughter's reluctance to ratify 
 his own promise; and knowing the warm interest I take in her 
 own welfare for his sake and her own; believing, also, that 
 some services to herself, as well as to the father she loves, give 
 me a certain influence over her inexperienced judgment, he has 
 even requested me to speak a word to her in your behalf." 
 
 "Ah! if you would! " said Randal, surprised. 
 
 " You must give me the power to do so. You were obliging
 
 354 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 enough to volunteer tome the same explanations which you gave 
 to the Duke, his satisfaction with which induced him to renew, 
 or confirm, the promise of his daughter's hand. Should those 
 explanations content me, as they did him, I hold the Duke bound 
 to fulfil his engagement, and I am convinced that his daughter 
 would, in that case, not be inflexible to your suit. But, till such 
 explanations be given, my friendship for the father, and my in- 
 terest in the child, do not allow me to assist a cause which, how- 
 ever, at present, suffers little by delay." 
 
 " Pray, listen at once to those explanations." 
 
 "Nay, Mr. Leslie, I can now only think of the. election. As 
 soon as that is over, rely on it you shall have the amplest oppor- 
 tunity to dispel any doubts which your intimacy with Count di 
 Peschiera and Madame di Negra may have suggested. Apropos 
 of the election here is a list of voters you must see at once in 
 Fish Lane. Don't lose a moment." 
 
 In the meanwhile, Richard Avenel and Leonard had taken up 
 their quarters in the hotel appropriated to the candidates for the 
 Yellows; and the canvass on that side was prosecuted with all 
 the vigor which might be expected from operations conducted 
 by Richard Avenel, and backed by the popular feeling. 
 
 The rival parties met from time to time, in the streets and 
 lanes, in all the pomp of war banners streaming, fifes resound- 
 ing (for bands and colors were essential proofs of public spirit, 
 and indispensable items in a candidate's bills, in those good old 
 days). When they thus encountered, very distant bows were ex- 
 changed between the respective chiefs. . But Randal, contriving 
 ever to pass close to Avenel, had ever the satisfaction of perceiv- 
 ing that gen-tleman'sjcountenance contracted into a knowing wink, 
 as much as to say, "All right, in spite of this tarnation humbug." 
 
 But now that both parties were fairly in the field, to the private 
 arts of canvassing were added the public arts of oratory. The 
 candidates had to speak at the close of each day's canvass 
 out from wooden boxes, suspended from the windows of their 
 respective hotels, and which looked like dens for the exhibition 
 of wild beasts. They had to speak at meetings of the commit- 
 tees meetings of electors go the nightly round of enthusiastic 
 public-houses, and appeal to thesenseof an enlightened people 
 through wreaths of smoke and odors of beer. . 
 
 The alleged indisposition of Audley Egerton had spared him 
 the excitement of oratory, as well as the fatigue of canvassing. 
 The practised debater had limited the display of his talents to a 
 concise, but clear and masterly exposition of his own views on the 
 leading public questions of the day, and the state of parties, which,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 35$ 
 
 on the day after his arrival at Lansmere, was delivered at a meet- 
 ing of his general committee in the great room of their hojel 
 and which was then printed and circulated amongst the voters. 
 
 Randal, though he expressed himself with more fluency and 
 self-possession than are usually found in the first attempts of a 
 public speaker, was not effective in addressing an unlettered 
 crowd; for a crowd of this kind is all heart and we know that 
 Randal Leslie's heart was as small as heart could be. If he at- 
 tempted to speak at his own intellectual level, he was so subtle 
 and refining as to be incomprehensible; if he fell into the fatal 
 error not uncommon to inexperienced orators of trying to 
 lower himself to the intellectual level of his audience, he was 
 only elaborately stupid. No man can speak too well for a crowd 
 as no man can write too well for the stage ; but in neither case 
 should he be rhetorical, or case in periods the dry bones of reason- 
 ing. It is to the enactions, or to the humors, that the speaker 
 must address himself; his eye must brighten with generous sen- 
 timent, or his lip must expand in the play of animated fancy or 
 genial wit. Randal's voice, too, though pliant and persuasive in 
 private conversation, was thin and poor when strained to catch 
 the ear of a numerous assembly. The falsehood of his nature 
 seemed to come out, when he raised the tones which had been 
 drilled into deceit. Men like Randal Leslie may become sharp 
 debaters admirable special pleaders; they can no more become 
 orators than they can become poets. Educated audiences are es- 
 sential to them, and the smaller the audience (that is, the more the 
 brain supersedes the action of the heart) the better they can speak. 
 
 Dick Avenel was generally very short and very pithy in his 
 addresses. He had two or three favorite topics, which always 
 told. He was a fellow-townsman a man who had made his own 
 way in life he wanted to free his native place from aristocratic 
 usurpation it was the battle of the electors, not his private cause, 
 etc. He said little against Randal " Pity a clever young man 
 should pin his future to two yards of worn-out red tape " " He 
 had better lay hold of the strong rope, which the People, in com- 
 passion to his youth, were willing yet to throw out to save him 
 from sinking," etc. But as for Audley Egerton, " the gentleman 
 who would not show, who was afraid to meet the electors, who 
 could only find his voice in a hole-and-corner meeting, accus- 
 tomed all his venal life to dark and nefarious jobs " Dick, upon 
 that subject, delivered philippics truly Demosthenian. Leonard, 
 on the contrary, never attacked Harley's friend, Mr. Egerton; 
 but he was merciless against the youth who had filched reputa- 
 tion from John Burley, and whom he knew that Harley despised
 
 356 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 as heartily as himself. And Randal did not care to retaliate 
 (though boiling over with indignant rage), for fear of offending 
 Leonard's uncle. Leonard was unquestionably the popular 
 speaker of the three. Though his temperament was a writer's, 
 not an orator's though he abhorred what he considered the 
 theatrical exhibition of self, which makes what is called " de- 
 livery " more effective than ideas though he had little interest 
 at any time in party politics though at this time his heart was 
 far away from the Blues and Yellows of Lansmere, sad and for- 
 lorn yet, forced in action, the eloquence that was natural to his 
 conversation poured itself forth. He had warm blood in his 
 veins^ and his dislike to Randal gave poignancy to his wit, and 
 barbed his arguments with impassioned invective. In fact, Leon- 
 ard could conceive no other motive for Lord L'Estrange's re- 
 quest to take part in the election, than that nobleman's desire to 
 .defeat the man whom they both regarded as an impostor. And 
 this notion was confirmed by some inadvertent expressions which 
 Avenel let fall, and which made Leonard suspect that, it he were 
 not in the field, Avenel would have exerted all his interest to 
 return Randal instead of Egerton. With Dick's dislike to that 
 statesman, Leonard found it impossible to reason ; nor, on the 
 other hand, could all Dick's scoldings or coaxings induce Leon- 
 ard to divert his siege on Randal to an assault upon the man 
 who, Harley had often said, was dear to him as a brother. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Dick kept the canvass-book of the Yellows 
 as closely as Harley kept that of the Blues ; and, in despite of 
 many pouting fits and gusts of displeasure, took precisely the 
 same pains for Leonard as Harley took for Randal. There re- 
 mained, however, apparently unshaken by the efforts on either 
 side, a compact body of about a hundred and fifty voters, chiefly 
 freemen. Would they vote Yellow? Would they vote Blue? No 
 one could venture to decide; but they declared that they would 
 all vote the same way. Dick kept his secret "caucuses," as he 
 called them, constantly nibbling at this phalanx. Ahundredand 
 fifty voters! they had the election in their hands ! Never were 
 hands so cordially shaken-^-so caressingly clung to so fondly 
 lingered upon ! But the votes still stuck as firm to the hands as if a 
 part of the skin, or of the dirt which was much the same thing ! 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 WHENEVER Audley joined the other guests of an evening 
 while Harley was perhaps closeted with Levy and committee- 
 men, and Randal was going the round of the public-houses
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 357 
 
 the one with whom he chiefly conversed was Violante. He had 
 been struck at first, despite his gloom, less, perhaps, by herextraor- 
 dinary beauty, than by something in the expression of her coun- 
 tenance which, despite differences in feature and complexion, 
 reminded him of Nora ; and when, by his praises of Harley, he 
 drew her attention, and won into her liking, he discovered, per- 
 haps, that the likeness which had thus impressed him came from 
 some similarities in character between the living and the lost 
 one the same charming combination of lofty thought and child- 
 like innocence the same enthusiasm the same rich exuberance 
 of imagination and feeling. Two souls that resemble 'each other 
 will give their likeness to the looks from which they beam. On 
 the other hand, the person with whom Harley most familiarly 
 associated, in his rare intervals of leisure, was Helen Digby. 
 One day, Audley Egerton, standing mournfully by the window of 
 the sitting-room appropriated to his private use, saw the two, 
 whom he believed still betrothed, take their way across the park, 
 side by side. "Pray Heaven, that she may atone to him for all !" 
 murmured Audley. "But ah, that it had been Violante ! Then I 
 might have felt assured that the Future would efface the Past 
 and found the courage to tell him all. And when last night I 
 spoke of what Harley ought to be to England, how like were 
 Violante's eyes and smile to Nora's when Nora listened in de- 
 lighted sympathy to the hopes of 'my own young ambition !" 
 With a sigh he turned away, and resolutely sat down to read and 
 reply to the voluminous correspondence which covered the table 
 of the busy public man. For, A udley's return to Parliament being 
 considered by his political party as secure, to him were trans- 
 mitted all the hopes and fears of the large and influential section 
 of it whose members looked up to him as their future chief, and 
 who in that general election {unprecedented for the number of 
 eminent men it was fated to expel from Parliament, and the 
 number of new politicians it was fated to send into it), drew their 
 only hopes of regaining their lost power from Audley's-sanguine 
 confidence in the reaction of that Public Opinion which he had 
 hitherto so profoundly comprehended ; and it was too clearly 
 seen, that the seasonable adoption of his counsels would have 
 saved the existence and popularity of the late Administration, 
 whose most distinguished members could now scarcely show 
 themselves on the hustings. 
 
 Meanwhile, Lord L'Estrange led his young companion toward 
 a green hill in the centre of the Park, on which stood a circular 
 temple, that commanded a view of the country round for miles. 
 They had walked in silence till they gained the summit of the
 
 358 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 sloped and gradual ascent; and then, as they stood still, side 
 by side, Harley thus spoke 
 
 " Helen, you know that Leonard is in "the town, though I can 
 not receive him at the Park, since he is standing in opposition 
 to my guests, Egerton and Leslie." 
 
 HELEN. But that seems to me so strange. How how could 
 Leonard do anything that seems hostile to you? 
 
 HARLEY. Would his hostility to me lower him in your opin- 
 ion ? If he know that I am his rival, does not rivalry include hate ? 
 
 HELEN. Oh, Lord L'Estrange, how can you speak thus? 
 how so wrong yourself? Hate hate to you ! and from Leon- 
 ard Fairfield ! 
 
 HARLEY. You evade my question. Would his hate or hos- 
 tility to me affect your sentiments toward him ? 
 
 HELEN (looking down). I could not force myself to believe 
 
 TT* T1 -. "'' * >V 
 
 HARLEY. Why ? 
 
 TT T* 1 J i- I r 1 
 
 HELEN. Because it would be so unworthy of him. 
 
 HARLEY. -Poor child ! You have the delusion of your years. 
 You deck a cloud in the hues of the rainbow, and will not be- 
 lieve that its glory is borrowed from the sun of your own fancy. 
 But .here, at least, you are not deceived. Leonard obeys but 
 my wishes, and, I believe, against his own will. He has none 
 of man's noblest attribute, ambition. 
 
 HELEN. No ambition ! 
 
 HARLEY. It is vanity that stirs the poet to toil if toil the 
 wayward chase of his own chimeras can be called. Ambition 
 is a more masculine passion. 
 
 Helen shook her head gently, but made no answer. 
 
 HARLEY. If I utter a word that profanes one of your delu- 
 sions, you shake your head and are incredulous. Pause: listen 
 one moment to my counsels perhaps the last I may ever ob- 
 trude upon you. Lift your eyes; look around. Far as your 
 eye can reach, nay, far beyond the line which the horizon forms 
 in the landscape, stretch the lands of my inheritance. Yonder 
 you see the home in which my forefathers for many generations 
 lived with honor and died lamented. All these, in the course 
 of nature, might one day have been your own, had you not re- 
 jected my proposals. I offered you, it is true, not what is com- 
 monly called Love; I offered you sincere esteem, and affections 
 the more durable for their calm. You have not been reared by 
 the world in the low idolatry of rank and wealth. But even 
 romance cannot despise the power of serving others, which 
 rank and wealth bestow. For myself, hitherto indolence, and
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 359 
 
 lately disdain, rob fortune of these nobler attributes. But she 
 who will share my fortune may dispense it so as to atone for my 
 sins of omission. On the other side, grant that there is no bar 
 to your preference for Leonard Fairfield, what does your choice 
 present -to you ? Those of his kindred with whom you will as- 
 sociate are unrefined and mean. His sole income is derived 
 from precarious labors; the most' vulgar of all anxieties the 
 fear of bread itself for the morrow must mingle with all your 
 romance) and soon steal from love all its poetry. You think his 
 affection will console you for every sacrifice. Folly ! the love 
 of poets is for a mist a moonbeam a denizen of air a phan- 
 tom that they call an ideal. They suppose for a moment that 
 they have found that Ideal in Chloe or Phyllis Helen or a 
 milkmaid. Bah ! the first time you come to the poet with the 
 baker's bill, where flies the Ideal? 1 knew one more brilliant 
 than Leon ard -in ore exquisitely gifted by nature that one was 
 a woman; she saw a man hard and cold as that stone at your 
 feet a false, hollow, sordid worldling; she made him her Idol 
 beheld in him all that history would not recognize in a Caesar 
 that mythology would scarcely grant to an Apollo; to him she 
 was a plaything of an hour she died, and before the year was 
 out he had married for money ! I knew another instance I 
 speak of myself. I loved before I was your age. Had an angel 
 warned me then, I would have been incredulous as you. How 
 that ended, no matter; but had it not been for that dream of maud- 
 lin delirium, I had lived and acted as others of my kind and my 
 sphere married from reason and judgment been now a useful 
 and happy man. Pause, then. Will you still reject me for Leonard 
 Fairfield ? For the last time you have the option me and all the 
 substance of waking life Leonard Fairfield and the shadows of a 
 fleeting dream. Speak! You hesitate. Nay, take time to decide. 
 
 HELEN. Ah, Lord L'Estrange, you, who have felt what it is 
 to ; love, how can you doubt my answer ? how think that I could 
 be so base, so ungrateful as take from yourself what you call the 
 substance of waking life, while my heart was far away fa,ithful 
 to what you call -a dream ? 
 
 HARLEY/ But, can you not dispel the dream ? 
 
 HELEN (her whole face one flush). It was wrong to call it 
 dream ! It is the reality of life tome. All things else are as dreams. 
 
 HARLEY (taking her hand and kissing it with respect). 
 Helen, you have a noble heart, and I have tempted you in vain. 
 I regret your choice, though I will no more oppose it. I regret 
 it, though I shall never witness your disappointment. As the 
 wife of that man, I shall see and know you no more.
 
 360 MY NOVEL; Oft, 
 
 HELEN. Oh, no ! do not say that. Why ? wherefore ? 
 
 HARLEY (his brows meeting). He is the child of fraud and 
 of shame. His father is my foe, and my hate descends to the 
 son. He, too, the son, filches from me but complaints are idle. 
 When the next few days are over, think of me but as one who 
 abandons all right over your actions, and is. a stranger to your 
 future fate. Pooh ! dry your tears; so long as you love Leon- 
 ard or esteem me, rejoice that our paths do not cross. 
 
 He walked on impatiently; but Helen, alarmed and wonder- 
 ing, followed close, took his arm timidly, and sought to soothe 
 him. She felt that he wronged Leonard that he knew not how 
 Leonard had yielded all hope when he learned to whom she was 
 affianced. For Leonard's sake she conquered her bashfulness,and 
 sought to explain. But at her first hesitating, faltered words, Har- 
 ley, who with -great effort suppressed the emotions which swelled 
 within him, abruptly left her side, a,nd plunged into the recesses 
 of thick far-spreading groves, that soon wrapt him from her eye. 
 
 .While this conversation occurred between Lord L'Estrange 
 and his ward, the soi-disant Riccabocca and Violante were walk- 
 ing slowly through the gardens. The philosopher, unchanged 
 <by his brightening prospects so far as the outer man was con- 
 cerned still characterized by the red umbrella and the accus- 
 tomed pipe-r-took; the way mechanically toward the sunniest 
 quarter of the grounds, now and then glancing tenderly at Vio- 
 lante's downcast melancholy face, but not speaking; only, at 
 each glance, there came a brisker cloud from the pipe, as if 
 obedient to a fuller heave of the heart. 
 
 At length, in a spot which ,iay open toward the sojjth, and 
 seemed to collect all the gentlest beams of the November sun, 
 screened from the piercing east by dense evergreens, and flanked 
 from the bleak north by lofty walls, Riccabocca paused and 
 seated himself. Flowers still bjoomed on the sward in front, 
 over which still fluttered the wings of those later and more bril- 
 liant butterflies that, unseen in the genial days of our English 
 Summer, come with autumnal skies, and sport round the mourn- 
 ful steps of the coming winter types. of those thoughts which 
 visit and delight the coriteimplation of age, while th current yet 
 glides free from- the iron ice, and the leaves yet linger on , ; the 
 boughs; thoughts that associate the memories of the .departed 
 summer with messages from suns that shall succeed the winter, 
 an r d expand colors the most steeped in light and glory, just as 
 "the skies through which they gleam are darkening, and the 
 flo'wers on which they hover fade from the surface of the earth- 
 dropping still seeds, that sink deep out of sight below.
 
 VARIETIES -IN ENGLISH LIFE. 361 
 
 " Daughter," said Riccabocca, drawing Violante :to his side, 
 with caressing arm " Daughter ! Mark, how they who turn 
 toward the south can still find the sunny side of the landscape! 
 In all the seasons of life, how much of chill or of warmth de- 
 pends on our choice of the aspect ! Sit down let us reason." 
 
 Violante sat down passively, clasping her father's hand in 
 both her own. Reason ! harsh word to the ears of Feeling ! 
 
 " You shrink," resumed Riccabocca, " from even the court- 
 ship, even the presence of the suitor in whom my honor binds 
 me to recognize your future bridegroom." 
 
 Violante drew away her hands, and placed them before her 
 eyes, shudderingly. 
 
 "But," continued Riccabocca, rather peevishly, "this is not 
 listening to reason. I may object to Mr. Leslie, because he has 
 not an adequate rank or fortune to pretend to a daughter of my 
 house; that would be what every one would allow to be reason- 
 able in a father ; except, indeed," added the poor sage, trying 
 hard to be sprightly, and catching hold of a proverb ,to help 
 him "except, indeed, those wise enough to recollect that 
 admonitory saying, 'Casa il figlio quando vuoi,.e,lafigliaquando 
 puoij' (Marry your .-son when you will, your daughter when you 
 can). Seriously, if I overlook those objections to Mr. Leslie, it 
 is not natural for a young girl to enforce them. What is reason 
 in you is quite another thing from reason in me. Mr. Leslie is 
 young, not ill-looking, has the airof a gentleman, is passionately 
 enamoured of you, and has proved his affection by risking his 
 life against that villanous Peschiera that is, he would have risked 
 it had Peschiera not been shipped out of the way. If, then, you 
 will listen to reason, pray what can reason say against Mr. Leslie ? " 
 
 " Father, I detest him ! " 
 
 " Cospetto ! " persisted Riccabocca, testily, ".you have no 
 reason to detest. him. If you had any reason, child, I am sure 
 that I should be the last /person to dispute it. ; How can you 
 know your own mind in such a matter ? It is not as if you had 
 seen any one else you could prefer. Not angther man of your 
 own years do you even know except, indeed,. Leonard Fair- 
 field, whom, though I grant he is handsomer,; and with more 
 imagination and genius than Mr. Leslie, you still must remem- 
 ber as the boy who worked in my garden. Ah! tQ;be sure, there 
 is Frank Hazeldean fine; lad but his affections are pre-en- 
 gaged. In short," continued the sage, dogmatically, "there is no 
 one else you can, by any possible caprice,; prefer to Mr. Leslie; 
 and for a girl, who has no one else in her head, to talk of detest- 
 ing a well-looking, well-dressed, clever young man, is non-
 
 362 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 sense. 'Chi lascia il poco per haver 1'assai, ne 1'uno ne 1'altro 
 avera mai'; which may be thus paraphrased The young lady 
 who refuses a mortal in the hopes of obtaining an angel, loses 
 the one, and will never fall in with the other. So now, having 
 thus shown that the darkest side of the question is contrary to 
 reason let us look to the brighter. In the first place " 
 
 "Oh, father, father!" cried Violante, passionately, "you to 
 whom I once came for comfort in every childish sorrow! ' Do 
 not talk to me with this cutting levity. See, I lay my head upon 
 your breast I 'put my arms around you and now, can you 
 reason me into misery?" 
 
 "Child, child, do not be so wayward. Strive, at least, against 
 a prejudice that you cannot defend. My Violante, my darling, 
 this is no trifle. Here I must cease to be the fond foolish father 
 whom you can do what you will with. Here I am Alphonso, 
 Duke di Serrano; for here my honor as noble, and my word as 
 man, are involved. I, then but a helpless exile no hope of 
 fairer prospects before me trembling like a coward at the wiles 
 of my unscrupulous kinsman grasping at all chances to save 
 you from his snares I myself offered your hand to Randal 
 Leslie offered, promised, pledged it ; and now that my for- 
 tunes seem assured, my rank in all likelihood restored, my foe 
 crushed, my fears at rest now, does it become me to retract 
 what I myself had urged? It is not the noble, it is the parvenu, 
 who had only to grow rich, in order to forget those whom in 
 poverty he hailed as his friends.* Is it for me to make the poor 
 excuse, never heard on the lips of an Italian prince, 'that lean- 
 not command the obedience of my child,' subject myself to 
 the galling answer 'Duke of Serrano, you could once command 
 that obedience, when, in exile, penury, and terror, you offered 
 me a bride without a dower.' Child Violante daughter of an- 
 cestors on whose honor never slander set a stain, I call on you 
 to redeem your father's plighted word." 
 
 "Father, must it be so? Is not even the convent open to me? 
 Nay, look not so coldly on me. If you could but read my heart ! 
 And, oh! I feel so assured of your own repentance hereafter 
 so assured that this man is not what you believe him. I so sus- 
 pect that he has been playing throughout some secret and 
 perfidious part." 
 
 "Ha!" interrupted Riccabocca, "Harley has perhaps infected 
 you with that notion." 
 
 "No no. But is not Harley is not Lord L'Estrange one 
 
 , 
 
 * "Quando'I villano e divenuto ricco, 
 
 Nan ha (i.e., riconosce) parent 4 amico." Italian P reverb.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 363 
 
 tvhose opinion you have cause to esteem? And if he distruy 
 Mr. Leslie " 
 
 "Let him make good his distrust by such proof as will absolve 
 my word, and I shall share your own joy. I have told him this 
 [ have invited him to make good his suspicions he puts me off 
 He cannot do so," added Riccabocca, in a dejected tone; "Ran. 
 dal has already so well explained all that Harley deemed equiv- 
 ocal. Violante, my name and my honor rest in your hands. 
 Cast them away if you will; I cannot constrain you, and I can- 
 not stoop to implore. Noblesse oblige With your birth you took 
 its duties. Let them decide between your vain caprice and your 
 father's solemn remonstrances." 
 
 Assuming a sternness that he was far from feeling, and putting 
 aside his daughter's arms, the exile walked away. 
 
 Violante paused a moment, shivered, looked round, as if 
 taking a last farewell of joy, and peace, and hope on earth, and 
 then approaching her father with a firm step, she said, "I 
 never rebelled, father; I did but entreat. What you say is my 
 law now, as it has been ; 'and Come what may, never shall you 
 hear complaint or murmur from me. Poor father, you will suffer 
 more than I shall. Kiss me!" 
 
 About an hour afterward, as 'the short day closed in, Harley, 
 returning from his solitary wanderings, after he had parted from 
 Helen, encountered on the terrace, before the house, Lady Lans- 
 mere and Audley Egerton arm in arm. 
 
 Harley had drawn his hat' over his brows, and his eyes were. 
 fixed on the ground, so that he did not see the group upon 
 which he came unawares, until Audley's voice started him from 
 
 Me *, 
 
 Harley," said the ex-minister, with a faint smile, 
 ot pass us by, now that you have a moment of leis- 
 ure from the cares of the election. And, Harley, though we are 
 under the same roof, I see you so little." Lord L'Estrange 
 darted a quick glance toward his mother aglance that seemed 
 to say, "You leaning on Audley's arm! Have you kept your 
 promise?" And the eye that met his own reassured him. 
 
 "It is true," said Harley, "but you, who know that, once 
 gaged in public affairs, one hns no heart left for the tics 
 private life, will excuse me. And this election 'is so important! " 
 
 "And you; Mr. Egefton," s-ud Lady Lansmere, "'whom the 
 election most concerns, seem pri\ ileged to be the only one wfio 
 appears indifferent to success." 
 
 "Ay but you are not indifferent?" said Lord L'Estrange. 
 abruptly. 
 
 his reverie. 
 
 My dear 
 1 you must not
 
 364 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "No. How can I be so, when my whole future career may 
 depend on it." 
 
 Harley drew Egerton aside. "There is one voter you ought 
 at least to call upon and thank. He cannot be made to com- 
 prehend that, for the sake of any relation, even for the sake of 
 his own son, he is to vote against the Blues against you ; 
 I mean, of course, Nora's father John Avenel. His vote 
 and his son-in-law's gained your majority at your first 
 election." 
 
 EGERTON. Call on John Avenel! Have j## called ? 
 
 HARLEY (calmly). Yes. Poor old man, his mind has been 
 affected ever since Nora's death. But your name as the candi- 
 date. for the borough at that time the successful candidate for 
 whose triumph the joy-bells chimed with her funeral knell your 
 name brings up her memory; and he talks in a breath of her and 
 of you. Come, let us walk together to his hpuse; it is close by 
 the Park Lodge." 
 
 The drops stood on Audley's brow! He fixed his dark hand- 
 some eyes, in mournful amaze, upon Harley's tranquil face. 
 
 " Harley, at last then you have forgotten the Past." 
 
 "No; but the Present is more imperious. All my efforts are 
 needed to requite your friendship. You stand against her 
 brother yet her father votes for you. And her mother says to 
 her son, 'Let the old man alone. Conscience is all that is well 
 alive in him; and he thinks if he were to vote against the Blues, 
 he would sin against honor.' 'An electioneering prejudice,' some 
 sceptics would say. But you must be touched by this trait of 
 human nature in her father, .too you, Audley Egerton, who 
 are the soul of honor. What ails you?" 
 , EGERTON. Nothing a spasm at the heart' my old com- 
 plaint. Well, I will call on the poor man .later, but not now 
 not with you. Nay, nay, I will not I cannot. Harley, just as 
 you joined us, I was talking to, your mother. 
 
 HARLEY. Ay, and what of? 
 
 EGERTON. Yourself. I saw you from my windows walking 
 with your betrothed. Afterward, I observed her coming home 
 alone ; and by the glimpse I caught of her gentle countenance, 
 it seemed sad. Harley, do you deceive us? 
 
 HARLEY. Deceive I ! How ! 
 
 EGERTON. Do you really feel that your intended marriage 
 will bestow on you the happiness, which is my prayer, as it must 
 be your mother's? 
 
 HARLEY. Happiness I hoped so. But perhaps 
 
 EGERTON. Perh'aps what?
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 365 
 
 HARLEY. Perhaps the marriage may not take place. Perhaps 
 I have a rival not an open one a secret, stealthy wooer in 
 one, too, whom I have loved, served, trusted. Question me not 
 now. Such instances of treachery make one learn more how to 
 prize a friendship honest, devoted, faithful, as your own, Audley 
 Egerton. But here comes your protigt, released awhile from his 
 canvass, and your confidential adviser, Baron Levy. He accom- 
 panied Randal through the town to-day. So anxious is he to see 
 that that young man does not play false, and regard his own in- 
 terest before yours. Would that surprise you ? 
 
 EGERTON. You are too severe upon Randal Leslie. He is 
 ambitious, worldly has no surplus of affection at the command 
 of his heart 
 
 HARLEY. Is it Randal Leslie you describe? 
 
 EGERTON (with a languid smile). Yes, you see I do not flat- 
 ter. But he is born and reared a gentleman ; as such he would 
 scarcely do anything mean. And, after all, it ,is with me that he 
 must rise or fall. His very intellect must tell him that. But 
 again I ask, do not strive to prepossess me against him. I am a 
 man who could have loved a son. I have none. Randal, such as 
 he is, is a sort of son. He carries on my projects and my inter- 
 ests in the world of men beyond the goal of the tomb." 
 
 Audley turned kindly to Randal. 
 
 "Well, Leslie, what report of the canvass?" 
 
 " Levy has the book, sir. I think we have gained ten fresh 
 votes for you, and perhaps seven for me." 
 
 " Let me rid you of your book, Baron Levy," said Harley. 
 
 Just at this time Riccabocca and Violante approached the 
 house, both silent. The Italian caught sight of Randal, and 
 made him a sign to join them. The young lover glanced fear- 
 fully toward Harley, and then with alacrity bounded forward, 
 and was soon at Violante's side. But scarce had Harley, sur- 
 prised by Leslie's sudden disappearance, remarked the cause, 
 than with equal abruptness he abandoned the whispered confer- 
 ence he had commenced with Levy, and hastening to Randal, 
 laid hand on the young man's shoulder, "Ten thousand pardons 
 to all three ! You have yet an hour before it grows dark. T,fyere 
 are three out-voters six miles off, influential farmers, whom you 
 m,ust canvass in person with my father's steward. Hasten to the 
 stables ; choose your own horse. To saddle to saddle ! Baron 
 Levy, go and order my lord's steward, Mr. Smart, to join Mr. 
 Leslie at the stables ; then come back to me quick. What ? 
 loitering still, Mr. Leslie ! You will make me throw up your whole 
 cause in disgust at your indolence and apathy."
 
 366 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Alarmed at this threat, Randal lifted his accusing eyes to 
 Heaven, and withdrew. 
 
 Meanwhile Audley had drawn close to Lady Lansmere, who 
 was leaning in thought over the balustrade of the terrace. 
 
 " Did you note," said Audley, whispering, " how Harley sprang 
 forward when the fair Italian came in sight? Trust me, I was right. 
 I know little of the young lady, but I have conversed with her. I 
 have gazed on the changes in her face. If Harley ever love again, 
 and if ever love influence and exalt his mind, wish with me that 
 his choice, may yet fall where I believe that his heart inclines it." 
 
 LADY LANSMERE. Ah ! that it were so. Helen, I own, is charm- 
 ing ; but but Violante is equal in birth ! Are you not aware 
 that she is engaged to your young friend, Mr. Leslie? 
 
 AUDLEY.- Randal told me so ; but I cannot believe it. In fact, 
 I have taken occasion to sound that fair creature's inclinations, 
 and if I kno\v aught of women, her heart is not with Randal. I 
 cannot believe her to be one whose affections are so weak as 
 : tobe easily constrained ; nor can I suppose that her father could 
 desire to enforce a marriage that is almost a. Mesalliance. Ran- 
 dal must deceive himself ; and from something Harley just let 
 fall, in our painful, but brief conversation, I suspect that his en- 
 gagement with Miss Digby is broken off. He promises to tell 
 me more, later. Yes (continued Audley, mournfully), observe Vi- 
 olante's countenance, with its ever-varying play ; listen to her 
 voice, to which feeling seems to give the expressive music, and 
 tell me whether you are not sometimes reminded of -of' in One 
 Avord, there is one who, even without rank or fortune, would be 
 worthy to replace the image of Leonora, and be to Harley what 
 Leonora could not; for sure I am that Violante loves him. 
 
 Harley, meanwhile, had lingered with Riccabocca and Vio- 
 lante, speaking but on indifferent subjects, obtaining short answers 
 from the first and none from the last, when the sage drew him a 
 little aside, and whispered 1 , <f She has consented to sacrifice herself 
 to my sense of honor. But, O Harley ! if she be unhappy, it will 
 break my heart. Either you must give me sufficient proof of Ran- 
 dal's unworthiness, to absolve me from my promise, or I must again 
 entreat you to try and conciliate the poor child in his favor. All 
 you say has weight with her; she respects you as a second father." 
 
 Harley did not seem peculiarly flattered by that last assurance, 
 but he was relieved from an immediate answer by the appearance 
 bra 'man who came from the direction of the stables, and whose 
 dress, covered with dust, and travel-stained, seemed likethatof 
 a foreign courier. No sooner did Harley catch sight of this person, 
 than he sprang forward, and accosted him briefly and rapidly.
 
 VARIETIES ,IN ENGLISH LIFE. 367 
 
 "You have been quick ; I did not expect you so soon. You 
 discovered the trace? You gave my letter?" 
 
 "And have brought back the answer, my lord," replied the 
 man, taking the letter from a leathern pouch at his side. Harley 
 hastily broke open the seal, and glanced over the contents, which 
 were comprised in a few lines. 
 
 " Good. Say not whence you came. Do not wait here ; re- 
 turn at once to London." 
 
 Harley's face seemed so unusually cheerful, as he rejoined the 
 Italians, that the Duke exclaimed, 
 
 "A despatch from Vienna! My recall!" 
 
 "From Vienna, my. dear friend? Not possible yet. I cannot 
 calculate on hearing from the Prince till a day or two before the 
 close of this election. , But you wish me to speak to Viqlante. 
 Join my mother yonder. What can she be saying to Mr. Egerton ? 
 I will address a few words apart to your fair daughter, that may at 
 least prove the interest in her fate taken by her second father," 
 
 "Kindest of friends," said the unsuspecting pupil of Machia- 
 velli ; and he walked toward the terrace. Violante was about to 
 follow. Harley detained her. 
 
 " Do not go till you have thanked me ; for you are not the no- 
 ble Violante for whom I take you, unless you acknowledge 
 gratitude to any one who delivers you from the presence of an 
 admirer in Mr. Randal Leslie." 
 
 VIOLANTE. Ought I to hear this of one whom whom 
 
 HARLEY. One whom your father obstinately persists in ob- 
 truding on your repugnance. Yet, O dear child, you who, when 
 almost an infant, ere yet you knew what snares and pitfalls, for 
 all who trust to another, lie under the sward at our feet, even 
 when decked the fairest with the flowers of spring, you who put 
 your small hands around my neck, and murmured in your mu- 
 sical voice, "Save us save my father"; you, at least, I will not 
 forsake, in a peril worse than that which menaced you then;, a 
 peril which affrights you more than that which threatened you 
 in the snares of Pesqhiera. Randal Leslie may thrive in his 
 meaner objects of ambition those I fling to him in scorn, but 
 you! the presuming varlet ! (Harley paused a moment, half- 
 stifled with indignation. He then resumed, calmly) Trust to 
 me, and fear not. I will rescue this hand from the profanation 
 of Randal Leslie's touch ; and then farewell, for life, to every 
 soft emotion. Before me expands the welcome solitude. The 
 innocent saved, the honest righted, the perfidious stricken by 
 just retribution and then what then ? Why, #t least I shall 
 hart studied Machiavelli with more effect than your wise father j
 
 368 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 and I shall lay him aside, needing no philosophy to teach me never 
 again to be deceived. (His brow darkened ; he turned abruptly 
 away, leaving Violante lost in amaze, fear and a delight, vague, 
 yet more vividly felt than all.) 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THAT night, after the labors of the day, Randal had gained 
 the sanctuary of his own room, and seated himself at his table, 
 to prepare the heads of the critical speech he would have now 
 very soon to deliver on the day of nomination critical speech, 
 when, in the presence of foes and friends, reporters from Lon- 
 don, and all the jarring interests that he sought to weave into 
 the sole self-interest of Randal Leslie, he would be called upon 
 to make the formal exposition of his political opinions. Randal 
 Leslie, indeed, was not one of those speakers whom either mod- 
 esty, fastidiousness, or conscientious desire of truth, predisposes 
 toward the labor of written composition. He had too much clev- 
 erness to be in want of fluent period, or ready commonplace ; 
 the ordinary materials of oratorical impromptu, too little taste 
 for the Beautiful, to study what graces of diction will best adorn 
 a noble sentiment, too obtuse a conscience, to care if the pop- 
 ular argument were purified from the dross which the careless 
 flow of a speech wholly extemporaneous rarely fails to leave 
 around it. But this was no ordinary occasion. Elaborate study 
 here was requisite, not for the orator, but the hypocrite. Hard 
 task, to please the Blues, and not offend the YeHows,-^-appear 
 to side with Audley Egerton, yet insinuate sympathy with Dick 
 Avenel, confront, with politesmile, the youngei opponent, whose 
 words had lodged arrows in his vanity, which rankled the more 
 gallingly because they had raised the skin of his conscience. 
 
 He had dipped his pen into the ink, and smoothed the paper 
 before him, when a knock was heard at the door. 
 
 "Come in," said he, impatiently. Levy entered, saunteringly. 
 
 "I am come to talk over matters with you, mon c/itr," said 
 the Baron, throwing himself on the sofa. "And, first, I wish 
 you joy of your prospects of success." 
 
 Randal postponed his meditated composition with a quick sigh, 
 drew his chair toward the sofa, and lowered his voice into a whis- 
 per. "You think with me, that the chanceof my success is good?" 
 
 "Chance ! Why, it is a rubber of whist, in which your partner 
 gives you all the winnings, and in which the adversary is almost 
 sure to revoke. Either Avenel or his nephew, it is true, must 
 come in; but not both. Two parvenus aspiring to make a family- 
 seat of an Earl's borough ! Bah ! too absurd."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 369 
 
 " I hear from Riccabocca (or rather the Duke di Serrano) 
 that this same young Fairfield is greatly indebted to the kind- 
 ness of Lord L'Estrange. Very odd that he should stand against 
 the Lansmere interest." 
 
 " Ambition, won cher. You yourself are under some obliga- 
 tion to Mr. Egerton. Yet, in reality, he has more to apprehend 
 from you than from Mr. Fairfield." 
 
 " I disown obligations to Mr. Egerton. And if the electors 
 prefer me to him (whom, by the bye, they once burned in effigy), 
 it is no fault of mine; the fault, if any, will rest with his own 
 dearest friend, L'Estrange. I do not understand how a man of 
 such clear sense as L'Estrange undoubtedly possesses, should 
 be risking Egerton's election in his zeal for mine. Nor do his 
 formal courtesies to myself deceive me. He has even implied 
 that he suspects me of connivance with Peschiera's schemes on 
 Violante. But those suspicions he cannot support. For of 
 course, Levy, you would not betray me ?" 
 
 " I ! What possible interest could I serve in that ?" 
 
 " None that I could discover, certainly," said Randal, relaxing 
 into a smile. "And when I get into Parliament, aided by the social 
 position which my marriage will give me, I shall have so many 
 ways to serve you. No, it is certainly your interest not to betray 
 me. I shall count on you as a witness, if a witness can be required." 
 
 "Count on me, certainly, my dear fellow," said the Baron. 
 " And I suppose there will be no witness the other way. Done 
 for eternally is my poor friend Peschiera, whose cigars, by the 
 bye, were matchless;^-! wonder if there will be any for sale. 
 And if he were not so done for, it is not you, it is L'Estrange, 
 that he would be tempted to do for." 
 
 " We may blot Peschiera out of the map of the future," re- 
 joined Randal. " Men from whom henceforth we have nothing 
 to hope or to fear, are to us as the races before the deluge." 
 
 " Fine remark," quoth the Baron, admiringly. "Peschiera, 
 though not without brains, was a complete failure. And when 
 the failure of one I have tried to serve is complete, the rule I 
 have adopted through life is to give him up altogether." 
 
 " Of course," said Randal. 
 
 " Of course," echoed the Baron. " On the other hand, you 
 know that I like pushing forward young men of mark and promise. 
 You really are amazingly clever ; and how comes it you don't 
 speak better? Do you know I doubt whether you will do in the 
 House of Commons all that I expected from your address and 
 readiness in private life." 
 
 "Because I cannot talk trash vulgar enough for a mob?
 
 J70 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Pooh ! I shall, succeed wherever knowledge is really power. Be- 
 sides you must allow for my infernal position. You know, after all, 
 that Avenel, if he can only return himself or his nephew, still holds 
 in his hands the choice of the candidate upon our side. I can- 
 not attack him -I cannot attack his insolent nephew." 
 
 " Insolent ! not that, but bitterly eloquent. He hits you hard. 
 Yon are no match for him, Randal, before a popular audience; 
 though tn petite comite, the devil himself were hardly a match 
 for you. But now to a somewhat more serious point. Your 
 election you will win your bride is promised to you; but the 
 old Leslie lands, in the present possession of Squire Thornhill, 
 you have not gained and 'your chance of gaining them is in 
 great jeopardy. I did not like to tell you this morning it 
 would have spoiled your temper for canvassing; but I have re- 
 ceived a letter from Thornhill himself. He has had an offer for 
 the property, which is only ^1000 short of what he asks. A 
 city alderman,' called jobson, is the bidder; a man, it seems, of 
 large means and few words. The alderman has fixed the date 
 on which he must have a definite answer, and that date falls on 
 the th, two days after that fixed for the poll at Lansmere. 
 The brute declares he will close. Avith another; investment, if 
 Thornhill does not then come into his terms. Now, as Thorn- 
 hill will, accept these terms unless I can positively proniise 
 him -better, and as those funds on which you calculated (had 
 the marriage pf Peschiera with Violante, and Frank Hazeldean 
 with Madame, di Negra, taken place) fail you, I see no hope for 
 your being in time with the money and the old lands of the 
 Leslies must yield their rents to a Jobson." 
 
 " I care for nothing on earth like those old lands of my fore- 
 fathers," said Randal, with unusual vehemence " I reverence 
 so little amongst the living and I do reverence the dead. And 
 my marriage will take place so soon ; and the dower would so 
 amply cover the paltry advance required." 
 
 " Yes; but the mere prospect of a marriage to the daughter 
 of a man whose lands are still sequestered, would be no security 
 to a money-lender." 
 
 " Surely," said Randal, " you, who once offered to assist me 
 when my fortunes were more precarious, might now accom- 
 modate me with this loan, as a friend, and keep the title-deeds 
 of the estate as " 
 
 " As a money-lender," added the Baron, laughing pleasantly. 
 " No, man c/ier, I will still lend you half the sum required in 
 advance, but the other half is more than I can afford as friend, 
 or hazard as money-lender; and it would damage my character
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 371 
 
 be out of all rule if, the estates falling, by your default of pay- 
 ment, into my own hands, I should appear to be the real pur- 
 chaser of the property of my own distressed client. But, now 
 I think of it, did not Squire Hazeldean promise you his assist- 
 ance in this matter?" 
 
 "He did so," answered Randal, "as soon as the marriage 
 between Frank and Madame di Negra was off his mind. I meant 
 to cross over to Hazeldean immediately after the election. How 
 can I leave the place, till then ? " 
 
 " If you do, your election is lost. But why not write to the 
 Squire ? " 
 
 ! " It is against my maxim to write where I ean Speak. How- 
 ever, there is no option; I will write at once. Meanwhile, com- 
 municate with Thornhill; keep up his hopes; and be sure, at 
 least, that he does not close with this greedy alderman before 
 the day fixed for decision." 
 
 "I have done all that already, and my letter is gone. Now, 
 do your part-; and if you write as cleverly as you talk, you 
 would coax the money out from a stonier heart than poor Mr. 
 Hazeldean's. I leave you now Good-night." 
 
 Levy took up his candlestick, nodded, yawned, and went. 
 
 Randal still suspended the completion of his speech, an<3 in- 
 dited the following epistle : - ' 
 
 " MY DEAR MR. HAZELDEAN: I wrote to you a few hasty 
 lines on leaving town, to inform you that the match you so 
 dreaded was broken off, and proposing to defer particulars till 
 I could visit your kind and hospitable roof, which I trusted to 
 do for a few hours during my stay at Lansmere, since it is not 
 a day's journey hence to Hazeldean. But I did not calculate 
 on finding so sharp a contest. In no election throughout the 
 kingdom do I believe that a more notable triumph, or a more 
 stunning defeat, for the great landed interest can occur. For 
 in this towiv so dependent on agriculture we are opposed by 
 a low and sordid manufacturer, of the most revolutionary notions, 
 who has, moreover, the audacity to force his own nephew that 
 very boy whom I chastised for impertinence on your village 
 green son of a common carpenter actually the audacity, I 
 say, to attempt to farce this peasant of a nephew, as well as 
 himself, into the representation of Lansmere, against the Earl's 
 interest, against your distinguished brother of myself I say 
 nothing. You should -hear the language in which these two men 
 indulge against all your family ! If we are beaten by such per- 
 sons in a borough supposed to be so loyal as Lansmere, every 
 one with a stake in the country may tremble at such a prognostic
 
 372 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 of the ruin that must await not only our old English Constitu- 
 tion, but the existence of property itself. I need not say that 
 on such an occasion I cannot spare myself. Mr. Egerton is ill 
 too. All the fatigue of the canvass devolves on me. I feel, my 
 dear and revered friend, that I am a genuine Hazeldean, fight- 
 ing your battle ; and that thought carries me through all. I 
 cannot, therefore, come to you till the election is over; and 
 meanwhile you, and my dear Mrs. Hazeldean, must be anxious 
 to know more about the affair that so preyed on both your 
 hearts, than I have yet informed you, or can well trust to a 
 letter. Be assured, however, that the worst is over; the lady 
 has gone abroad. I earnestly entreated Frank (who showed 
 me Mrs, Hazeldean's most pathetic letter to him) to hasten at 
 once to the Hall and relieve your minds. Unfortunately he 
 would not be ruled by me, but talked of going abroad, too 
 not, I trust (nay, I feel assured), in pursuit of Madame di Negra; 
 but still, in short I should be so glad to see you, and talk over 
 the whole. Could you not come hither ? pray do. : And now, 
 at the risk of your thinking that in this I am only consulting my 
 own interest (but no your noble English heart will never so 
 misjudge me !), I will add, with homely frankness, that if you 
 could accommodate me immediately with the loan you not 
 long since so generously offered, you would save those lands 
 onee in my family from passing away from us forever. A city 
 alderman one Jobson is meanly taking advantage of Thorn- 
 hill's necessities, and driving a hard bargain for those lands. 
 He has fixed the th inst. for Thornhill's answer, and Levy (who 
 is here assisting Mr. Egerton's election) informs me that Thorn- 
 hill will accept his offjer, unless I am provided with ^10,000 
 beforehand;, the other ,10,000, to complete the advance re- 
 quired, Levy will lend me. Do not be surprised at the usurer's 
 liberality; he knows that I am about shortly to marry a very 
 great heiress (you will be pleased when you learn whom, and 
 will then be able to account for my indifference to Miss Stickto- 
 rights), and her dower will amply serve to repay his loan and 
 your own, if I may trust to your generous affection for the grand- 
 son of a Hazeldean ! I have the less scruple in this appeal to 
 you, for I know how it would grieve you that a Jobson, who 
 perhaps nqver knew a grandmother, should foist your own kins- 
 man from the lands of his fathers. Of one thing I am con- 
 vinced we squires, and sons of squires, must make common 
 cause against those great moneyed capitalists, or they will buy 
 us all out in a few generations. The old race of country gentle- 
 men is already much diminished by the grasping cupidity of
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 375 
 
 such leviathans; and if the race be once extinct, what will be- 
 come of the boast and strength of England ! 
 
 "Yours, my dear Mr. Hazeldean, with most affectionate and 
 grateful respect, RANDAL LESLIE." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 NOTHING to Leonard as yet could be more distasteful or op- 
 pressive than his share in this memorable election. In the first 
 place, it chafed the secret sores of his heart to be compelled to 
 resume the name of -Fair-field, which was a tacit disavowal of his 
 birth. It had been such delight to him that the same letters 
 which formed the name of Nora should weave also that name 
 of Oran, to which he had given distinction, which he had asso- 
 ciated with all his nobler toils, and all his hopes of enduring 
 fame a mystic link between his own career and his mother's 
 obscurer genius. It seemed to him as if it were rendering to her 
 the honors accorded to himself subtle and delicate fancy of 
 the affections, of which only poets would be capable, but which 
 others than poets may perhaps comprehend ! That earlier name 
 of Fairfield was connected in his memory with all the ruder 
 employments, the meaner trials of his boyhood ; the name of 
 Oran, with poetry and fame. It was his title in the ideal world, 
 amongst all fair shapes and spirits. In reviving the old appella- 
 tion, the practical world, with its bitterness and strife, returned 
 to him as at the utterance of a spell. But in coming to Lansmere 
 he had no choice. To say nothing of Dick, and Dick's parents, 
 with whom his secret would not be safe, Randal Leslie knew that 
 he had gone by the name of Fairfield knew his supposed parent- 
 age, and would be sure to proclaim them. How account for the 
 later name without setting curiosity to decipher the anagram it 
 involved, and perhaps guiding suspicions to his birth from Nora, 
 to the injury of her memory, yet preserved from stain ? 
 
 His feelings as connected with Nora sharpened and deepened 
 as they all had been by his discovery of her painful narrative 
 were embittered still more by coming in contact with her parents. 
 Old John was in the same helpless state of mind and body as 
 before neither worse nor better ; but waking up at intervals with 
 vivid gleams of interest in the election at the wave of a blue 
 banner at the cry of " Blue forever ! " It was the old broken- 
 down charger, who, dozing in the meadows, starts at the roll of 
 the drum. No persuasion Dick could employ would induce his 
 father to promise to vote even one Yellow. You might as well 
 have expected the old Roman, with his monomaniac cry against
 
 374 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Carthage, to have voted for choosing Carthaginians for consuls. 
 But poor John, nevertheless, was not only very civil, but very 
 humble to Dick "very happy to oblige the gentleman." 
 
 "Your own son!" bawled Dick; "and here is your own 
 grandson." 
 
 "Very happy to serve you both; but you see you are the 
 wrong color." 
 
 Then as he gazed at Leonard, the old man approached him 
 with trembling knees, stroked his hair, looked into his face pite- 
 ously. " Be thee my grandson ?" he faltered. " Wife, wife, Nora 
 had no son,; had she ? My memory begins to fail- me, sir ; pray 
 excuse it; but you have a look about the eyes that " Old 
 John began to. weep, and his wife led him away. 
 
 "Don't come again,'* she said to Leonard, harshly, when she 
 returned. " He'll not sleep all night now." And, then, observing 
 that the tears stood in Leonard's eyes, she addedj in softened 
 tones " I am glad to see you well and thriving, and to hear that 
 you have been of great service to my son Richard, whoisacredit 
 and an honor, to the .family, though poor John cannot vote for 
 him or for you against his conscience ;.and he should not be 
 asked, "she added, firing up; "and it is a sin to ask it, and he is so 
 old, and no one to defend him but me. But defend him I will 
 while I have life ! " 
 
 The poet recognized woman's : brave, loving, wife-like heart 
 here, and would have embraced the stern grandmother, if she 
 had not drawn back from him ; and, as she turned toward the 
 room to which she had led her husband, shesaid over her shoulder ~ 
 
 "I'm not so unkind as I seem, boy ; but it is better for you, 
 and for all, that you should not come to this house again 
 better that you had not come into the town." 
 
 "Fie, mother!" said Dick, seeing that Leonard, bending his 
 head, silently walked from the room. "You should be prouder 
 of your grandson than you are of me." 
 f" Prouder of him who may shame us all yet?" 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 But Mrs. Avenel shook her head and vanished. 
 
 "Nevermind her, poor old soul, "said Dick, as'he joined Leonard 
 at the threshold; "she always had her tempers. And since there is 
 no vote to be got in this house, and one can't set a caucus on one's 
 own father at least in this extraordinary rotten and prejudiced 
 o.lcl country, which is quite in its dotage we'll not come here 
 to be snubbed any more. Bless their old hearts, nevertheless ! " 
 
 Leonard's acute sensibility in all that concerned his birth, 
 deeply. wounded by Mrs. Avenel's allusions, which he compre^ -
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 375 
 
 hended better than his uncle did, was also kept on the edge by 
 the suspense to which he was condemned by Harley's continued 
 silence as to the papers confided to that nobleman. It seemed to 
 Leonard almost unaccountable that Harley should have read 
 those papers be in the same town with himself and yet volun- 
 teer no communication. At length he wrote a few lines to Lord 
 L'Estrange, bringing the. matter that concerned him so deeply 
 before Harley's recollection, and suggesting his own interest in 
 any information that could supply the gaps and omissions of the 
 desultory fragments. Harley, in replying to this note, said, with 
 apparent reason, " that it would require a long personal interview 
 to discuss the subject referred to, and that such an interview, in 
 the thick of the contest between himself and a candidate opposed 
 to the Lansmere part}', would be sure to get wind, be ascribed 
 to political intrigues, be impossible otherwise to explain- and 
 embarrass all the interests confided to their respective charge. 
 That for the rest he had not been unmindful of Leonard's anxiety, 
 which must now mainly be to see justice done to the dead parent, 
 and learn the name, station, and character of the parent yet 
 surviving. And in this Harley trusted to assist him as soon as the 
 close of the poll would present a suitable occasion." The letter 
 was unlike Harley's former cordial tone ; it was hard and dry. 
 Leonard respected L'Estrange too much to own to himself that 
 it was unfeeling. With all his rich generosity of nature, he sought 
 excuses-for what he declined to blame. Perhaps something in 
 Helen's manner or words had led : Harley to suspect that she still 
 cherished too tender -an interest in the companion of her child- 
 hood ; perhaps under this coldness of expression there lurked 
 the burning anguish of jealousy. And, oh, Leonard so well under- 
 stood, and could so nobly compassionate, even in his prosperous 
 rival, that torture of the most agonizing of human passions, in 
 which all our reasonings follow the distorted writhings of our pain. 
 And Leonard himself, amidst his other causes of disquiet, was 
 at once so gnawed and sohumbled by his own jealousy. Helen, 
 he knew, was still under the same roof as Harley. They, the 
 betrothed, could see each other dajly, hourly. He would soon 
 hear of their marriage. She would be borne afar from the very 
 sphere of his existence carried into a loftier region accessible 
 only to his dreams. And yet to be jealou^of one to whom both 
 Helen and himself were under such obligations, debased him in 
 his own esteem jealousy here was so like ingratitude. But for 
 Harley, what could have. become of Helen, left to his boyish 
 charge ? he who had himself been compelled, in despair, to think 
 of sending her from his side, to be reared into smileless youth iji
 
 376 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 his mother's humble cottage, while he faced famine alone, gazing 
 on the terrible river, from the bridge by which he had once 
 begged for very alms begged of that Audley Egerton, to whom 
 he was now opposed as an equal; or flying from the fiend that 
 glared at him under the lids of the haunting Chattertpn. No, 
 jealousy here was more than agony it was degradation it was 
 crime! But, ah! if Helen were happy in these splendid nup- 
 tials! Was he sure even of that consolation? Bitter was the 
 thought either way that she should wholly forget him, in hap- 
 piness from which he stood excluded as a thing of sin or sin- 
 fully herself remember, and be wretched! 
 
 With that healthful strength of will which is more often pro- 
 portioned to the susceptibility of feeling than the world suppo- 
 ses, the young man at last wrenched himself for a while from the 
 iron that had entered his soul, and forced his thoughts to seek 
 relief in the very objects from which they otherwise would have 
 the most loathingly recoiled. He aroused his imagination to 
 befriend his reason ; he strove to divine some motive not explained 
 by Harley, not to be referred to the mere defeat, by counter- 
 scheme, of the scheming Randal nor even to be solved, by any 
 service to Audley Egerton, which Harley might evolve from the 
 complicated meshes of the election; some motive that could 
 more interest his own heart in the con test, and connect itself with 
 Harley's promised aid in clearing up the mystery of his parent- 
 age. Nora's memoir had clearly hinted that his father was of 
 rank and station far beyond her own. She had thrown the glow 
 of her glorious fancies over the ambition and the destined career 
 of the lover in whom she had merged her ambition as poetess, 
 and her career as woman. Possibly the father might be more 
 disposed to own and to welcome the son, if the son could achieve 
 an opening, and give promise of worth, in that grand public life 
 in which alone reputation takes precedence of rank. Possibly, 
 too, if the son thus succeeded, and became one whom a proud 
 father could with pride acknowledge, possibly he might not only 
 secure a father's welcome, but vindicate a mother's name. This 
 marriage, which Nora darkly hinted she had been led to believe 
 was fraudulent, might, after all, have been legal- the ceremony 
 concealed, even till now, by worldly shame at disparity of rank. 
 But if the son could make good his own footing there where 
 rank itself owned its chiefs in talent that shame might vanish. 
 These suppositions were not improbable; nor were they uncon- 
 genial to Leonard's experience of Harley's delicate benignity 
 of purpose. Here, too, the image of Helen allied itself with those 
 of his parents, to support his courage and influence his new am-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 377 
 
 bition. True, that she was lost to him for ever. No worldly 
 success, no political honors, could now restore her to his side. 
 But she might hear him named with respect in those circles in 
 which alone she would hereafter move, and in which parliamen- 
 tary reputation ranks higher than literary fame. And perhaps, 
 in future years, when love, retaining its tenderness, was purified 
 from its passion, they might thus meet as friends. He might, 
 without a pang, take her children on his knees, and say, perhaps 
 in their old age, when he had climbed to a social equality even 
 with her high-born lord, "It was the hope to regain the privilege 
 bestowed on her childhood, that strengthened me to seek dis- 
 tinction when you and happiness forsook my youth. Thus re- 
 garded, the election, which had before seemed to him so poor 
 and vulgar an exhibition of vehement passions for petty objects, 
 with its trumpery of banners, and its discord of trumpets, sud- 
 denly grew into vivid interest, and assumed dignity and impor- 
 tance. It is ever thus with all mortal strife. In proportion as it 
 possesses, or is void of, the diviner something that quickens the 
 pulse of the heart, and elevates the wing of the imagination, it 
 presents a mockery to the philosopher, or an inspiration to the 
 bard. Feel that something, and no contest is mean! Feel it not, 
 and like Byron, you may class with the slaughter of Cannae that 
 field which, at Waterloo, restored the landmarks of nations; or 
 may jeer with Juvenal at the dust of Hannibal, because he sought 
 to deliver Carthage from ruin, and free a world from Rome. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 ONCE then, grappling manfully with the task he had under- 
 taken, and constraining himself to look on what Riccabocca 
 would have called "the southern side of things," whatever there 
 was really great in principle or honorable to human nature, deep 
 below the sordid details and pitiful interests apparent on the face 
 of the agitated current, came clear to his vision. The ardor of 
 those around him began to be contagious; the generous devo- 
 tion to some cause, apart from self, which pervades an election, 
 and to which the poorest voter will often render sacrifices that 
 may be called sublime the warm personal affection which com- 
 munity of zeal creates for the defender of beloved opinions all 
 concurred to dispel that indifference to party politics, and coun- 
 teract that disgust of their baser leaven, which the young poet 
 had first conceived. He even began to look with complacency, 
 for itself, on a career of toil and honors strange to his habitual 
 labors and intellectual ambition. He threw the poetry of idea
 
 378 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 within him (as poets ever do) into the prose of action to which 
 he was hurried forward. He no longer opposed Dick Avenel 
 when that gentleman represented how detrimental it would be to 
 his business at Screwstown if he devoted to his country the time 
 and the acumen required by his mill and its steam-engine; and 
 how desirable it would be, on all accounts, that Leonard Fair- 
 field should become the parliamentary representative of theAve- 
 nels. "If, therefore," said Dick, "two of us. cannot come in, 
 and one must retire, leave it to me to arrange with the commit- 
 tee that you shall be the one to persist. Oh, never fear but what 
 all scruples of honor shall be satisfied. I would not, for. the sake 
 of the Avenels, have a word said against their representative." 
 
 "But," answered Leonard, "if I grant this, I fear that you have 
 some intention of suffering the votes that your resignation would 
 release, to favor Leslie at the expense of Egerton." 
 
 " What the deuce is Egerton to you ?" 
 
 "Nothing, except through my gratitude to his friend, Lord 
 L'Estrange." 
 
 ".Pooh! I will tell you a secret. Levy informs me privately 
 that L'Estrange will be well satisfied if the choice of Lansmere 
 fall upon Leslie instead of Egerton; and I think I convinced 
 my lord for I saw him in London that Egerton would hftve 
 no chance, though Leslie might." 
 
 "I must think that Lord L'Estrange would resist to the utmost 
 any attempt to prefer Leslie whom he despises to Egerton, 
 whom he honors. And, so thinking, I too would resist it, as you 
 may judge by the speeches which have so provoked your dis- 
 pleasure." 
 
 " Let^us cut-short a yarn of talk which, when it comes talikings 
 and dislikings, might last to almighty crack; rilaskyoutodonoth- 
 ingthatLordL'Estrange does not sanction. Will that satisfy you?" 
 
 " Certainly, provided I am assured .of the sanction." 
 
 And now, the important day preceding the poll, the day in which 
 the candidates were to be formally nominated, and meet each other 
 in all the ceremony of declared rivalship, dawned at last. The 
 town-hall was the place selected for the occasion; and before sun- 
 rise, all the streets were resonant with music, and gay with banners. 
 
 Audley Egerton felt that he, could not without incurring 
 some just sarcasm on his dread to face the constituency he had 
 formerly represented, and by the malcontents of which he had 
 been burned in effigy absent himself from the town-hall, as he 
 had done from balcony and hostel. Painful as it was to confront 
 Nora's brother, and wrestle in public against all the seqret memo- 
 ries that knit the strife of the present contest with the anguish
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 379 
 
 . . 
 
 that recalled the first still the thing must be done; and it was the 
 English habit of his life to face with courage whatever hehad to do. 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 't'HE chiefs of the Blue party went in state from Lansmere 
 Park ; the two candidates in open carriages, each attended with 
 his proposer and seconder. Other carriages were devoted to 
 Harley and Levy, and the principal members of the committee. 
 Riccaboccawas seized with a fit of melancholy or cynicism, and 
 declined to join the procession. But just before they started, as 
 all were assembling without : the front door, the postman arrived 
 with his welcome bag. There were letters for Harley, some for 
 Levy, many for Egerton, one for Randal Leslie. 
 
 Levy, soon hurrying over his own correspondence, looked, in 
 the familiar freedom wherewith he usually treated his particular 
 friends, over Randal's shoulder. 
 
 "From the Squire?" said he. "Ah, he has written at last! 
 What made him delay so long? Hope he relieves your mind?" 
 
 ''Yes, "cried Randal, giving way to a joy that rarely lighted up 
 hisclose and secret countenance "yes, he. does not writefrom 
 Hazeldean not there when my letter arrived in London 
 could not rest at the Hall the place reminded him too much of 
 Frank went again to town, on the receipt .of my first letter 
 concerning the rupture of the marriage, to see after his son, and 
 take up some money to pay off \^\> post-obit. Read what he says : 
 'So, while I was about a mortgage (never did I guess that I 
 should be the man to encumber the Hazeldean estate) I thought 
 I might as well add ^20,000 as ^10,000 to the total. Why should 
 you be indebted at all to that Baron Levy? Don't have dealings 
 with money-lenders. Your grandmother was a Hazeldean ! and 
 fromaHazeldeanyou shall have the whole sum required in advance 
 for those Rood lands good light soil some of them. As to repay- 
 ment, we'll talk of that later. If Frank and I come together 
 again, as we did of old, why, my estates will be his some day ; 
 and he'll not grudge the mortgage, so fond as he always was of 
 you ; and if we don't come together, what do I care for hundreds 
 or thousands, either more or less? So I shall be down at Lans- 
 mere the day after to-morrow, just in the thick of your polling. 
 Beat the manufacturer, my boy, and stick up for the land. Tell 
 Levy to have all ready. I shall bring the money down in good 
 bank-notes, and a brace of pistols in my coat-pocket to take care 
 of them, in case robbers get scent of the notes and attack me on 
 the road, as they did my grandfather sixty years ago come next
 
 380 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 Michaelmas. A Lansmere election puts one in mind of pistols. 
 I once fought a duel with an officer in his Majesty's service, R. N., 
 and had a ball lodged in my right shoulder, on account of an 
 election at Lansmere ; but I have forgiven Audley his share in 
 that transaction. Remember me to him kindly. Don't get into 
 a duel yourself ; but I suppose manufacturers don't fight; 
 not that I blame them for that far from it.' " 
 
 The letter then ran on to express surprise, and hazard con- 
 jecture, as to the wealthy marriage which Randal had announced 
 as a pleasing surprise to the Squire. 
 
 "Well, "said Levy, returning the letter, "you must have writ- 
 ten as cleverly as you tall;, or the Squire is a booby indeed." 
 
 Randal smiled, pocketed the letter, and responding to the 
 impatient call of his proposer, sprang lightly into the carriage. 
 
 Harley, too, seemed pleased with the letters delivered to him- 
 self, and now joined Levy, as the candidates drove slowly off. 
 
 " Has not Mr. Leslie received from the Squire an answer to 
 that letter of which you informed me?" 
 
 " Yes, my lord ; the Squire will be here to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow ? Thank you for apprising me ; his rooms shall 
 be prepared." 
 
 " I suppose he will only stay to see Leslie and myself, and 
 pay the money." 
 
 "Aha! Pay the money. Is it so, then ?" 
 
 " Twice the sum, and, it seems, as a gift, which Leslie only 
 asked as a loan. Really, my lord, Mr. Leslie is a very clever 
 man ; and though I am at your commands, 1 should not like to 
 injure him. With such matrimonial prospects, he could be a very 
 powerful enemy ; and if he succeeded in Parliament, still more so." 
 
 " Baron, these gentlemen are waiting for you. I will follow 
 
 by myself." 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 IN the centre of the raised platform in the town-hall sat the 
 Mayor. On either hand of that dignitary now appeared the can- 
 didates of the respective parties. To his right, Audley Egerton 
 and Leslie; to his left, Dick Avenel and Leonard. The place 
 was as full as it could hold. Rows of grimy faces peeped in, 
 even from the upper windows outside the building. The con- 
 test was one that created intense interest, not only from public 
 principles, but local passions. Dick Avenel, the son of a'small 
 tradesman, standing against the Right Honorable Audley Eger- 
 ton, the choice of the powerful Lansmere aristocratic party- 
 Standing too, with his nephew by his side taking, as he himself
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 381 
 
 was wont to say, " the tarnation Blue Bull by both its oligarchical 
 horns! " There was a pluck and gallantry in the very impudence 
 of the attempt to convert the important borough for one mem- 
 ber of which a great Earl had hitherto striven, "with labor dire 
 and weary woe," into two family seats for the house of Avenel 
 and the triumph of the Capelocracy. 
 
 This alone would have excitedallthe spare passions of a coun- 
 try borough; but, besides this, there was the curiosity that at- 
 tached to the long-deferred public appearance of a candidate so 
 renowned as the ex-minister a man whosecareerhad commenced 
 with his success at Lansmere, and who now, amid the popular 
 tempest that scattered his colleagues, sought to refit his vessel 
 in the same harbor from which it had first put forth. New gen- 
 erations had grown up since the name of Audley Egerton had 
 first fluttered the dovecots in that Corioli. The questions that 
 had then seemed so important were, for the most part, settled 
 and at rest. But those present who remembered Egerton in the 
 former days, were struck to see how the same characteristics of 
 bearing and aspect which had distinguished his early youth re- 
 vived their interest in the mature and celebrated man. As he 
 stood up for a few moments, before he took his seat beside the 
 Mayor, glancing over the assembly, with its uproar of cheers and 
 hisses, there was the same stately erectness of form and stead- 
 fastness of look the same indefinable and mysterious dignity, of 
 externals that imposed respect, confirmed esteem, or stilled dis- 
 like. The hisses involuntarily ceased. 
 
 The preliminary proceedings over, the proposers and second- 
 ers commenced their office. 
 
 Audley was proposed, of course, by the crack man of the 
 party a gentleman who lived on his means in a white house in 
 the High Street had received a University education, and was 
 a cadet of a "County Family." This gentleman spoke much 
 about the Constitution, something about Greece and Rome 
 compared Egerton with William Pitt, also with Aristides ; and 
 sat down, after an oration esteemed classical by the few, and 
 pronounced prosy by the many. Audley's seconder, aburly and 
 important maltster, struck a bolder key. He dwelt largely upon 
 the necessity of being represented by gentlemen of wealth and 
 rank, and not by "upstarts and adventurers" (cheers and groans). 
 Looking at the candidates on the other side, it was an insult to 
 the respectability of Lansmere to suppose its constituents could 
 elect a man who had no pretensions whatever to their notice, 
 except that he had once been a little boy in the town, in which 
 his father kept a shop and a very noisy, turbulent) dirty little
 
 382 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 boy he was! " Dick smoothed his spotless shirt-front, and looked 
 daggers, while the Blues laughed heartily, and the Yellows cried 
 "Shame!" "As for the other candidate on the same side, he 
 (the maltster) had nothing to say against him. He was, no doubt, 
 seduced into presumption by his uncle and his own inexperience. 
 It was said that that candidate, Mr. Fairfield, was an author 
 and a poet; if so, he was unknown to fame, for no bookseller in 
 the town-had ever even heard' of Mr. Fairfield's works. Then it 
 was replied, Mr. Fairfield had written under another name. 
 What Avoiild that prove? Either that he w#s ashamed of his 
 name, or that the works did him no credit. For his part, he 
 (the maltster) was an Englishman; he did not like anonymous 
 scribblers; there was something not right in whatever was con- 
 cealed. A man should never be afraid to put his name to what 
 he wrote. But, grant that Mr. Fairfield was a great author and 
 a great poet, what the borough of Lansmere wanted was, not a 
 member who would pass his time in writing sonnets to Peggy or 
 Moggy, but a practical man of business a statesman such a 
 man as Mr. Audley Egerton a gentleman of ancient birth, high 
 standing, and princely fortune. The member for such a place 
 as Lansmere should have a proper degree of wealth." (" Hear, 
 hear!" from the Hundred and Fifty Hesitators, who all stood in 
 a row at the bottom of the hall; and " Gammon! "" Stuff !" from 
 some revolutionary, but incorruptible Yellows). Still the allu- 
 siort to Egefton's private fortune had considerable effect with 
 the bulk of the audience, and the maltster was much cheered 
 ort concluding. Mr. Avenel's proposer and seconder the one 
 a large grocer, the other the proprietor of a new shop for tick- 
 eted prints, shawls, blankets, and counterpanes (a man who, as 
 he boasted, dealt with the People for ready money, and no mis- 
 take at least none that he ever rectified), next followed. Both 
 said much the same thing. Mr. Avenelhad made his fortune by 
 honest industry- was a fellow-townsmanmust know the inter- 
 ests of the town better than strangers upright public princi- 
 ples never fawn on'govef nments would see that the people had 
 their rights, and cut down army, navy, and all other jobs of a 
 corrupt aristocracy, etc., etc., etc. Randal Leslie's proposer, a 
 captain on half-pay, undertook a long defence of the army and 
 navy, from the unpatriotic aspersions of the preceding speakers; 
 which defence diverted him from the due praise of Randal, until 
 cries of "Cut it short" recalled him to that subject; and then 
 the topics he selected for eulogium were "amiability of charac- 
 ter, so conspicuous in the urbane manners of his young friend " ; 
 "coincidence in the opinions of that illustrious statesman with
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 383 
 
 whom he was conjoined"; "early tuition in the best princi- 
 ples only fault, youth and that was a fault which would dimin- 
 ish every day." Randal's seconder was a bluff yeoman, an out- 
 voter of weight with the agricultural electors. He was too straight- 
 forward by half adverted to Audley Egerton's early desertion 
 of questions espoused by the landed interest " hoped he had had 
 enough of large towns; and he (the yeoman) was ready to forgive 
 and forget, but trusted that there would be no chance of burn- 
 ing their member again in effigy. As to the young gentleman, 
 whose nomination he had the pleasure to second did not know 
 much about him; but the Leslies were an old family in the neigh- 
 boring county, and Mr. Leslie said he was nearly related to Squire 
 Hazeldean as good a man as ever stood upon shoe leather. 
 He (the yeoman) liked a good breed in sheep and bullocks; and 
 a good breed in men he supposed was the same thing. He (the 
 yeoman) was not for abuses he was for King and Constitution. 
 He should have no objection, for instance, to have tithes lowered, 
 and the malt-tax repealed not the least objection. Mr. Leslie 
 seemed to him a likely young chap, and uncommon well-spoken; 
 and, on the whole, for aught he (the yeoman) could see, would 
 do quite as well in Parliament as nine-tenths of the gentlemen 
 sent there." The yeoman sat down, little cheered by the 
 Blues much by the Yellows and with a dim consciousness that 
 somehow or other he had rather damaged than not the cause; of 
 the party he had been chosen to advocate. Leonard was not 
 particularly fortunate in his proposer a youngish gentleman 
 who, having tried various callings, with signal unsuccess, had 
 come into a small independence, and set up for a literary char- 
 acter. This gentleman undertook the defence, of poets, as the 
 half-pay captain had undertaken that of the army and navy; and 
 after a dozen sentences, spoken through the nose, about the 
 " moonlight of existence," and "the oasis in the desert," sud- 
 denly broke down, to the satisfaction of his impatient listeners. 
 This failure was, however, redeemed by Leonard's seconder 
 a master tailor a practised speaker and an earnest thinking 
 roan sincerely liking, and warmly admiring, Leonard Fairfield. 
 His opinions were delivered with brief simplicity and accompa- 
 nied by .expressions of trust in Leonard's talents and honesty, 
 that were effective because expressed with feeling. 
 
 These preparatory orations over, a dead silence succeeded, and 
 Audley Egerton arose. 
 
 At the first few sentences, all felt they were in the presence 
 of one accustomed to command attention, and to give to opin- 
 ions the weight of recognized authority. The slowness of the
 
 384 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 measured accents, the composure of the manly aspect, the deco- 
 rum of the simple gestures all bespoke and all became the Minis- 
 ter of a great empire, who had less agitated assemblies by impas- 
 sioned eloquence, than compelled their silent respect to the views 
 of sagacity and experience. But what might have been formal 
 and didactic in another, was relieved in Egerton by that air, tone, 
 bearing of a gentleman, which have a charm for the most plebeian 
 audience. He had eminently those attributes in private life; but 
 they became far more conspicuous whenever he had to appear in 
 public. The " senatorius decor " seemed a phrase coined for him. 
 Audley commenced with notice of his adversaries in that lan- 
 guage of high courtesy which is so becoming to superior station, 
 and which augurs better for victory than the most pointed dia- 
 tribes of hostile declamation. Inclining his head toward Avenel, 
 he expressed regret that he should be opposed by a gentleman 
 whose birth naturally endeared him to the town, of which he was 
 a distinguished native, and whose honorable ambition was >in it- 
 self a proof of the admirable nature of that Constitution, which 
 admitted the lowliest to rise to its distinctions, while it compelled 
 'the loftiest to labor and compete for those honors which were 
 the most coveted, because they were derived from the trust of 
 their countrymen, and dignified by the duties which the sense 
 of responsibility entailed. He paid a passing but generous com- 
 pliment to the reputed abilities of Leonard Fairfield; and, allud- 
 ing with appropriate grace to the interest he had ever taken in 
 the success of youth striving for place in the van of the new gen- 
 eration that marched on to replace the old, he implied that he 
 did not consider Leonard as opposed to himself, but rather as 
 an emulous competitor for a worthy prize with his "own young 
 and valued friend, Mr. Randal Leslie." "They are happy at their 
 years ! " said the statesman, with a certain pathos. " In the future 
 they see nothing to fear, in the past they have nothing to defend. 
 It is not so with me." And then, passing on to the vague insinu- 
 ations or bolder charges against himself and his policy proffered 
 by the preceding speakers, Audley gathered himself up, and 
 paused; for his eye here rested on the Reporters seated round 
 the table just below him; and here cognized faces not unfamil- 
 iar to his recollection when metropolitan assemblies had hung 
 on the words which fell from lips then privileged to advise a 
 king. And involuntarily it occurred to the ex-minister to escape 
 altogether from this contracted audience this election, with all 
 its associations of pain and address himself wholly to that vast 
 and invisible Public, to which those Reporters would transmit 
 his ideas. At this thought his whole manner gradually changed.
 
 VARIETIES ifr riiStGLlSH LIFE. 385 
 
 His eye became fixed on the farthest verge of the crowd; his 
 tones grew more solemn in their deep and sonorous swell. He 
 began to review and to vindicate his whole political life. He 
 spoke of the measures he had aided to pass of his part in the 
 laws which now ruled the land. He touched lightly, but with 
 pride, on the services he had rendered to the opinions he had 
 represented. He alluded to his neglect of his own private for- 
 tunes; but in what detail, however minute, in the public business 
 committed to his charge, could even an enemy accuse him of 
 neglect ? The allusion was no doubt intended to prepare the 
 public for the news, that the wealth of Audley Egerton was gone. 
 Finally, he came to the questions that then agitated the day; and 
 made a general but masterly exposition of the policy which, under 
 the changes he foresaw, he should recommend his party to adopt. 
 
 Spoken to the motley assembly in that town-hall, Audley's 
 speech extended to a circle of interests too wide for their sym- 
 pathy. But that assembly he heeded not he forgot it. The re- 
 porters understood him, as their flying pens followed words 
 which they presumed neither to correct nor to abridge. Audley's 
 speech was addressed to the nation; the speech of a man in whom 
 the nation yet recognized a chief desiring to clear all misrep- 
 resentation from his past career calculating, if life were spared 
 to him, on destinies higher than he had yet fulfilled issuing a 
 manifesto of principles to be carried later into power, and plant- 
 ing a banner round which the divided sections of a broken host 
 might yet rally for battle and for conquest. Or perhaps, in the 
 deeps of his heart (not even comprehended by reporters, nor to 
 be divined by the public), the uncertainty of life was more felt 
 than the hope of ambition; and the statesman desired to leave 
 behind him one full vindication of t\\a.\.public integrity and honor, 
 on which, at least, his conscience acknowledged not a stain. 
 " For more than twenty years, said Audley, in conclusion, " I 
 have known no day in which I have not lived for my country. I 
 may at times have opposed the wish of the People I may op- 
 pose it now but, so far as I can form a judgment, only because 
 1 prefer their welfare to their wish. And if as I believe there 
 have been occasions on which, as one amongst men more re- 
 nowned, I have amended the laws' of England confirmed her 
 safety, extended her commerce, upheld her honor I leave the 
 rest to the censure of my enemies, and (his voice trembled) to 
 the charity of my friends." 
 
 Before the cheers that greeted the close of this speech were 
 over, Richard Avenel arose. What is called " the more respect- 
 able part" of an audience viz., the better educated and better
 
 386 MY NOVEL ; 6R, 
 
 ,<plad, even on the Yellow side of the question winced a little 
 for the credit .of their native borough, when they contemplated 
 the candidate pitted against the Great Commoner, whose lofty 
 presence still filled the eye, and whose majestic tones yet sounded 
 in the ear. But the vast majority on both sides, Blue and Yellow, 
 hailed the rise of Dick Avenel as a relief to what, while it had 
 awed their attention, had rather strained their faculties. The 
 Yellows cheered, and the Blues groaned; there was a tumultuous 
 din of voices, and a reel to and fro of the whole excited mass of 
 unwashed faces and brawny shoulders. But Dick had as much 
 pluck as Audley himself; and, by degrees, his pluck and his 
 handsome features, and the curiosity to hear what he had to say, 
 obtained him a hearing; and that hearing, Dick having once 
 got, he contrived to keep. His self-confidence was backed by a 
 grudge against Egerton, that attained to the elevation of malig- 
 nity. He had armed himself for this occasion with an arsenal of 
 quotations from Audley 's speeches, taken out of Hansard's De- 
 bates; and, garbling these texts in the unfairest and most in- 
 genious manner, he .contrived to split consistency into such frag- 
 ments of inconsistency to cut so many harmless sentences into 
 such unpopular, arbitrary, tyrannical segments of doctrine that 
 he made a very pretty case against the enlightened and incor- 
 ruptible Egerton, as shuffler and trimmer, defender of jobs, and 
 eulogist of Manchester massacres, etc., etc. And all told the 
 more because it seemed courted and provoked by the ex-minis- 
 ter's elaborate vindication' of himself. Having thus, as he de- 
 clared, " triumphantly convicted the Right Honorable Gentle- 
 man out of his own mouth," Dick considered himself at liberty 
 to diverge into \yhat he termed "the just indignation of a free- 
 bom Briton"; in other words, into every variety of abuse which 
 bad taste could supply to acrimonious feeling. But he did it so 
 roundly and dauntlessly, in such true hustings style, that for the 
 moment at least, he carried the bulk of the crowd along with him 
 sufficiently to bear down all the resentful murmurs of the Blue 
 Committeemen, and the abashed shakes of the head with which 
 the more aristocratic and well-bred among the Yellows signified 
 to each other that they were heartily ashamed of their candidate. 
 Dick concluded with an emphatic declaration that the Right 
 Honorable Gentleman's day was gone by; that the people had 
 been pillaged and plundered enough by pompous red-tapists, 
 who only thought of their salaries, and never went to their offices 
 except to. waste the pen, ink, and paper which they did not pay 
 for; that the Right Honorable Gentleman had boasted that he 
 had served his country for tv ( ars. Served his country !
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 387 
 
 he should have said, served her out! (Much laughter.) Pretty 
 mess his country was in now. In short, for twenty years the 
 Right Honorable Gentleman had put his handsintohiscountry's 
 pockets. "And I ask you," bawled Dick, " whether any of you 
 are a bit the better for alt that he has taken out of them ! " The 
 Hundred and Fifty Hesitators shook their heads. " Noa, that 
 we ben't ! " cried the Hundred and Fifty dolorously. " You hear 
 THE PEOPLE ! " said Dick, turning majestically to Egerton, who, 
 with his arms folded on his breast, and his upper lip slightly 
 curved, sat like " Atlas unrenioved" "You hear THE PEOPLE! 
 They condemn you and the whole set of you. I repeat here what 
 I once vowed on a less public occasion 'As sure as my name 
 is Richard Avenel, you shall smart for' (Dick hesitated) 
 smart for your contempt of the just rights, honest claims, and 
 enlightened aspirations of your indignant countrymen. The 
 schoolmaster is abroad, and the British Lion is aroused ! " 
 
 Dick sat down. The curve of contempt had passed from 
 Egerton's lip; at the name of Avenel, thus harshly spoken, he 
 had suddenly shaded his face with his hand. 
 
 But Randal Leslie next arose, and Audley slowly raised his 
 eyes, and looked toward his/r<?/^/with an expression of kindly 
 interest. What better dtbut could there be for a young man 
 warmly attached to an eminent patron, who had been coarsely 
 assailed for a political aspirant vindicating the principles which 
 that patron represented? The Blues, .palpitating with indignant 
 excitement, all prepared to cheer every sentence that could 
 embody their sense of outrage;' evefi the meanest amongst the 
 Yellows, now that Dick had concluded, dimly aware that their 
 orator had laid himself terribly open, and richly deserved (more 
 especially from the friend of Audley Egerton) whatever punish- 
 ing retort could vibrate from' the heart of a man to the tongue 
 of an orator. A better opportunity for an honest young debutant 
 could not exist; a more disagreeable, annoying, perplexing, 
 unmanageable opportunity for Randal Leslie, the malice of the 
 Fates could not have contrived. How could he attack Dick 
 Avenel ? he who counted upon Dick Avenel to win his election ? 
 How could he exasperate the Yellows, when Dick's solemn in- 
 junction had been " Say nothing to make the Yellows not vote 
 for you ! " How could he identify himself with Egertoh's policy, 
 when it was his own policy to make his opponents believe him 
 an unprejudiced, sensible youth, who would come all right and 
 all Yellow one of these days? Demosthenes himself would have 
 had a sore throat, worse than when he swallowed the golden 
 cup of Harpalus, had Demosthenes been placed in so cursed a
 
 388 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 fix. Therefore Randal Leslie may well be excused if he stam- 
 mered and boggled -if he was appalled by a cheer when he said 
 a word in vindication of Egerton and looked cringing and 
 pitiful when he sneaked out a counter civility to Dick. The 
 Blues were sadly disappointed damped; the Yellows smirked 
 and took heart. Audley Egerton's brows darkened. Harley, who 
 was on the platform, half seen behind the front row, a quiet 
 listener, bent over and whispered dryly to Audley " You should 
 have given a lesson beforehand to your clever young friend. 
 His affection for you overpowers him ! " 
 
 Audley made no rejoinder, but tore a leaf out of his pocket- 
 book, and wrote, in pencil, these words" Say that you may 
 well feel embarrassed how to reply to Mr. Avenel, because I 
 had especially requested you not to be. provoked to one angry 
 expression .against a gentleman whose father and brother-in- 
 law gave the majority of two by which I gained my first seat in 
 Parliament; then plunge at once into general politics." He 
 placed this paper in Randal's hand, just as that unhappy young 
 man was on the point of a thorough break-down. Randal 
 paused, took breath, read the words attentively, and amidst a 
 general titter; his presence of mind returned to him he saw a 
 way out of the scrape collected himself suddenly raised his 
 head and in tones unexpectedly firm and fluent, enlarged on 
 the text afforded to him enlarged so well that he took the 
 audience by surprise pleased the Blues by an evidence of 
 Audley's generosity and touched the Yellows by so affec- 
 tionate a deference to the family of their two candidates. 
 Then the speaker was enablqd to come at once to the topics 
 on which he had elaborately prepared himself, and delivered 
 a set harangue ;.very artfully put together temporizing, it 
 is true, and trimming, but full of what would have been called 
 admirable tact and discretion in an old stager who did not 
 want to commit himself to anybody or to anything. On the 
 whole, the display became creditable, at least as an evidence 
 of thoughtful reserve, rare in a man so young too refining and 
 scholastic for oratory, but a very good essay upon both sides 
 of the question. Randal wiped his pale. forehead, and sat down, 
 cheered, especially by the lawyers present, and self-contented. 
 It was. now Leonard's turn to speak. Keenly nervous, as men 
 of the literary temperament are constitutionally shy, his voice 
 trembled as he began. Bu.t he trusted, unconsciously, less to 
 his intellect than his warm heart and noble temper and the 
 warm heart prompted his words and the noble temper gradually 
 dignified tys manner. He took advantage of the sentences
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 389 
 
 which Audley had put into Randal's mouth, in order to efface 
 the impression made by his uncle's rude assault. " Would that 
 the Right Honorable gentleman had himself made that gener- 
 ous and affecting allusion to the services which he had deigned 
 to remember, for, in that case, he (Leonard) was confident that 
 Mr. Avenel would have lost all the bitterness which political 
 contest was apt to engender in proportion to the earnestness 
 with which political opinions were entertained. Happy it was 
 when some such milder sentiment as that which Mr. Egerton 
 had instructed Mr. Leslie to convey, preceded the sharp en- 
 counter, and reminded antagonists, as Mr. Leslie had so em- 
 phatically done, that every shield had two sides, and that it was 
 possible to maintain the one side to be golden, without denying 
 the truth of the champion who asserted the other side to be 
 silver." Then, without appearing to throw over his uncle, the 
 young speaker contrived to insinuate an apology on his uncle's 
 behalf, with such exquisite grace and good feeling, that he was 
 loudly cheered by both parties; and even Dick did not venture 
 to utter the dissent which struggled to his lips. 
 
 But if Leonard dealt thus respectfully with Egerton, he had 
 no such inducements to spare Randal Leslie. With the intui- 
 tive penetration of minds accustomed to analyze character and 
 investigate human nature, he detected the varnished insincerity 
 of Randal's artful address. His color rose his voice swelled- 
 his fancy began to play, and his wit to sparkle when he came 
 to take to pieces his younger antagonist's rhetorical mosaic. 
 He exposed the falsehood of its affected moderation he tore 
 into shreds the veil of words, with their motley woof of yellow 
 and blue and showed that not a single conviction could be 
 discovered behind it. " Mr. Leslie's speech," said he, " puts 
 me in mind of a ferry-boat; it seems made for no purpose but 
 to go from one side to the other." The simile hit the truth so 
 exactly, that it was received with a roar of laughter; even Eger- 
 ton smiled. " For myself," concluded Leonard, as he summed 
 up his unsparing analysis, " I am new to party warfare; yet if I 
 were not opposing Mr. Leslie as a candidate for your suffrages, 
 if I were but an elector belonging, as I do, to the people by 
 my condition and my labors I should feel that he is one of 
 those politicians in whom the welfare, the honor, the moral 
 elevation of the people, find no fitting representative." 
 
 Leonard sat down amidst great applause, and after a speech 
 that raised the Yellows in their own estimation, and materially 
 damaged Randal Leslie in the eyes of the Blues. Randal felt 
 this, with a writhing of the heart, though a sneer on the lips,
 
 390 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 He glanced furtively toward Dick Avenel, on whom, after all, 
 his election, in spite of the Blues, might depend. Dick answered 
 the furtive glance by an encouraging wink. Randal turned to 
 Egerton, and whispered to him " How I wish I had had more 
 practice in speaking, so that I could have done you more justice!" 
 
 " Thank you, Leslie; Mr. Fairfreld has supplied any omission 
 of yours, so far as I am concerned. And you should excuse 
 him for his attack on yourself, because it may serve to convince 
 you where your fault as a speaker lies." 
 
 " Where ? " asked Leslie, with jealous sullenness. 
 
 " In not believing a single word that you say," answered Eger- 
 ton, very dryly; and then turning away, he said aloud to his 
 proposer, and with a slight sigh, " Mr. Avenel maybe proud of 
 his nephew ! I wish that- young man were on our side; I could 
 train him into a great debater." 
 
 And now the proceedings were about to terminate with a show 
 of hands, when a tall brawny elector in the middle of the hall 
 suddenly arose, and said he had some questions to put. A thrill 
 ran through the assembly, for this elector was the demagogue 
 of the Yellows a fellow whom it was impossible to put down 
 a capital speaker, with lungs of brass. " I shall be very short," 
 said the demagogue. And therewith, under the shape of ques- 
 tions to the two Blue candidates, he commenced a most furious 
 onslaught on the Earl of Lansmere, and the Earl's son, Lord 
 L'Estrange, accusing the last of the grossest intimidation and 
 corruptions, and citing instances thereof as exhibited toward 
 various electors in Fish Lane and the Back Slums, who had been 
 turned from Yellow promises by the base arts of Blue aristocracy, 
 represented in the person of the noble lord, whom he now dared 
 to reply. The orator paused, and Harley suddenly passed into 
 the front of the platform, in token that he accepted the ungra- 
 cious invitation. Great as had been the curiosity to hear Aud- 
 ley Egerton, yet greater, if possible, was the curiosity to hear 
 Lord L'Estrange. Absent from the place for so many years 
 heir to ; such immense possessions with a vague reputation for 
 talents that he had never proved strange, indeed, if Blue and 
 Yellow had not strained their ears and hushed their breaths to 
 listen. It is said that the poet is born, and the orator made^ 
 a saying only partially true. Some men haVe been made poets, 
 and some men have been born orators. Most probably Harley 
 L'Estrange had hitherto never spoken in public, and he had not 
 now spoken five minutes before all the passions and hunrors of 
 the assembly were as much under his command as the keys of 
 the instrument are under the hands of the musician. He had
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE\ 391 
 
 taken from nature a voice capable of infinite variety of modu- 
 lation, a countenance of the most flexile play of expression; and 
 he was keenly alive (as profound humorists are) equally to the 
 .ludicrous and the graver side of everything presented to his 
 vigorous understanding. Leonard had the eloquence of a poet 
 Audley Egerton that of a parliamentary debater. But Harley 
 had the rarer gift of eloquence in itself, apart from the matter it 
 conveys or adorns that gift which Demosthenes meant by his 
 triple requisite of an orator, which has been improperly trans- 
 lated " action," but means in reality " the acting" " the stage- 
 play." Both Leonard and Audley spoke well, from the good 
 sense which their speeches contained; but Harley could have 
 talked nonsense, and made it more effective than sense even 
 as Kemble or Macready could produce effects from the trash 
 talked by " The Stranger," which your merely accomplished 
 performer would fail to extract from the beauties of Hamlet. 
 The art of oratory, indeed, is allied more closely to that of the 
 drama than to any other; and throughout Harley's whole nature 
 there ran, as the reader may have noted (though quite uncon- 
 sciously to Harley himself), a tendency toward that concentra- 
 tion of thought, action, and circumstance, on a single purpose, 
 which makes all the world form itself into a stage, and gathers 
 various and scattered agencies into the symmetry and compact- 
 ness of a drama. This tendency, though it often produces ef- 
 fects that appear artificially theatrical, is not uncommon with 
 persons the most genuine and single-minded. It is, indeed, the 
 natural inclination of quick energies springing from warrniemo- 
 tions. Hence -the very history of nations in their fresh, vigor- 
 ous, half-civilized youth, always shapes itself into dramatic forms; 
 while, as the exercise of sober reason expands with civilization, 
 to the injury of the livelier faculties and more intuitive impulses, 
 people look to the dramatic form of expression, whether in 
 thought or in action, as if it were the antidote to truth, instead 
 of being its abstract and essence. 
 
 But to return from this long and somewhat metaphysical digres- 
 sion, whatever might be thecausewhy Harley L'Estrange spoke 
 so wonderfully well, there could be no "doubt that wonderfully 
 well he did speak. He turned the demagogue and his attack into 
 the most felicitous ridicule, and yet with the most genial good- 
 humor; described that virtuous gentleman's adventuresin search 
 of corruption through the pure regions of Fish Lane and the Black 
 Slums; and then summed up the evidences on which the dema- 
 gogue had founded his charge, with a h umorso caustic and original 
 that the audience were convulsed with laughter. From laughter
 
 392 MY NOVEL } OR, 
 
 Harley hurried his audience almost to the pathos of tears for he 
 'spoke of the insinuations against his father, so that every son and 
 every father in the assembly felt moved as at the voice of Nature. 
 
 A turn in a sentence, and a new emotion seized the assembly. 
 Harley was identifying himself with the Lansmere electors. He 
 spoke. of his pride in being a Lansmere man, and all the Lans- 
 mere electors suddenly felt proud of him. He talked with 
 familiar kindness of old friends remembered in his school-boy 
 holidays, rejoicing to find so many alive and prospering. He 
 had a felicitous word to each. 
 
 "Dear old Lansmere!" said he, and the simple exclamation 
 won him the hearts of all. In fine, when he paused, as if to re- 
 tire, it was amidst a storm of acclamation. Audley grasped his 
 hand, and whispered " I am the only one here not surprised, 
 Harley. Now you have discovered your powers, never again let 
 them slumber. What a life may be yours, if you no longer waste 
 it!" Harley extricated his hand, and his eye glittered. He made 
 a sign that he had more to say, and the applause was hushed. 
 "My Right Honorable friend chides me for the years that I have 
 wasted. True; my years have been wasted no matter how nor 
 wherefore] But Ms? how have they been spent? in such devo- 
 tion to the public, that those who know him not as I do, have 
 said that he had not one feeling left to spare to the obscurer 
 duties and more limited affections, by which men of ordinary 
 'talents and humble minds rivet the links of that social order 
 which- it is the august destiny of statesmen like him who now 
 sits beside me to cherish and defend. But, for my part, I 
 think that there is no being so dangerous as the solemn hypo- 
 crite, who, because he drills his cold nature into serving me- 
 chanically conventional abstraction whether he calls it 'the 
 Constitution' or 'the Public* holds himself dispensed from 
 whatever, in the warm blood of public life, wins attachment to 
 goodness and confidence to truth. Let others, then, praise my 
 Right Honorable friend as the incorruptible politician. Pardon 
 me if I draw his likeness as the local, sincere man, who might 
 say with the honest priest, ' that he could not tell a lie to gain 
 Heaven by it ! ' and with so fine a sense of honor, that he 
 would hold it a lie merely to conceal the truth." Harley then 
 drew a brilliant picture of the type of chivalrous honesty of 
 the ideal which the English attach to the phrase of "a perfect 
 gentleman," applying each sentence to his Right Honorable 
 friend with an emphasis that seemed to burst from his heart. 
 To all of the audience, save two, it was an eulogium which the 
 'fervent sincerity of the eulogist alone saved from hyperbole.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 393 
 
 But Levy rubbed his hands, and chuckled inly ; and Egerton 
 hung his head, and moved restlessly on his seat. Every word 
 that Harley uttered lodged an arrow in Audley's breast. Amidst 
 the cheers that followed this admirable sketch of the "Joyal 
 man," Harley recognized Leonard's enthusiastic voice. He 
 turned sharply toward the young man : "Mr. Fail-field cheers 
 this description of integrity, and its application; let him imitate 
 tlve model set before him, and he may live to hear praise as 
 genuine as mine from some friend who has tested his worth as 
 I have tested Mr. Egerton's. Mr. Fairfield is a poet: hisclaim to 
 that title was disputed by one of the speakers who preceded 
 me! unjustly disputed! Mr. Fairfield is every inch a poet. But, 
 it has been asked, 'Are poets fit for the business of senates? 
 Will they not be writing sonnets to Peggy and Moggy, when you 
 want them to concentrate their divine imagination on the details 
 of a beer bill?' Do not let Mr. Fairfield's friends be alarmed. 
 At the risk of injury to the two candidates whose cause I espouse, 
 truth compels me to say, that poets, when they stoop to action, 
 are not less prosaic than the dullest amongst us: they are swayed 
 by the same selfish interests they are moved by the saime petty 
 passions. It is a mistake to suppose that any detail in common 
 life, whether in public or private, can be too mean to seduce the 
 exquisite plmnces of their fancy. -Nay, in public :life, we may 
 trust them better than other men; for vanity is a kind of second 
 conscience, and, as a poet himself said 
 
 ' Who fears not to do Jlf, yet fears the narflfr, 
 And, free from conscience, is a slave to shame.' 
 
 In private life alone we do wejl to be on our guard against these 
 children of fancy, for they so 'devote to the Muse all their 
 treasury of sentiment, that we can no more expect them to waste 
 a thought on the plain duties of men, than we can expect the 
 spend thrift, who dazzles the town, 'to fritter away his money in pay- 
 ing his debts.' But all the world are agreed to be indulgent to the 
 infirmities of those who are their own deceivers and their own chas- 
 tisers. Poets have more enthusiasm, more affection, more heart 
 than others ; but only for fictions of their own creating. It is in 
 vain for us to attach them to ourselves by vulgar merit, by com- 
 monplace obligations strive and sacrifice as we may. They are 
 ungrateful to us, only because gratitude' is so very unpoetical a 
 subject. We lose them the moment we attempt to bind. Their love, 
 
 ''Light a<Jnir, at sight of human .ties, 
 Spreads its light wings, and in a moment flies.' 
 
 They follow their own caprices adore their own delusions 
 and, deeming the forms of humanity too material for their fan-
 
 394 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 tastic affections, conjure up a ghost, and are chilled to death 
 by its embrace ! " 
 
 Then, suddenly aware that he was. passing beyond the com- 
 prehension of his audience, and touching upon the bounds of 
 his bitter secret (for here he was thinking, not of Leonard, but 
 of Nora), Harley gave a new and more homely direction to his 
 terrible irony turned into telling ridicule the most elevated 
 sentiments Leonard's speech had conveyed hastened on to a 
 rapid view of political questions in general defended Leslie 
 with the same apparent earnestness and latent satire with which 
 he had eulogized Audley and concluded a speech, which, for 
 popular effect, had never been equalled in that hall, amidst a 
 diapason of cheers that threatened to bring dawn the rafters, 
 
 In a few minutes more, the proceedings were closed a show 
 of hands taken. The show was declared by the Mayor, who was 
 a thorough Blue, in favor of the Right Hon. Audley Egerton 
 and Randal Leslie, Esquire. 
 
 Cries of "No," "Shame," "Partial," etc. a poll demanded 
 on behalf of the other two candidates and the crowd began to 
 pour out of the hall. 
 
 Harley was the first who vanished, retreating by the private 
 entrance. Egerton followed; Randal, lingering, Av<?nel came up 
 and shook hands with him openly, but whispered privately, 
 "Meet me to-night in Lansmere Park, in : the: oak copse, about 
 three hundred yards f rom'the turnstile, at the town end of the park. 
 We must see how to make all right. What a confounded humbug 
 this has been ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 IF the vigor of Harky's address had taken by surprise both 
 friend and foe, not one in that Assembly not even the con- 
 science-strickerf Egerton' felt its. effect so deeply as the assailed 
 and startled Leonard! He was at first perfectly stunned by sar- 
 casms which he so ill deserved; nor : was it till after the assembly 
 had broken up that Leonard could. even. ; conjecture the cause 
 which had provoked the taunt and barbed its dart. Evidently 
 Har-l^y had learned (but learned only in order to misconceive 
 and to Wrong) Leonard's confession -of love to Helen Digby. 
 And now those implied accusations of disregard to the duties of 
 common life not only galled the young man's heart, but outraged 
 his honor. He felt the generous indignation of manhood. He 
 must see LordL'Estrangeat once, and vindicate himself vindi- 
 cate Helen ; for thus to accuse one, was tacitly to asperse the other. 
 
 Extricating himself from his own enthusiastic partisans.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 395 
 
 Leonard went straight on foot toward Lansmere House, The 
 park palings touched close upon the town, with a small turnstile 
 for foot-passengers. And as Leonard, availing himself of this 
 entrance, had advanced some hundred yards Or so through the 
 park, suddenly, in the midst of that very copse in which Avenel 
 had appointed to meet Leslie, he found himself face to face with 
 Helen Digby herself. 
 
 Helen started, with a faint cry. But Leonard, absorbed in 
 his own desire to justify both, hailed the sight, and did not pause 
 to account for his appearance, nor to soothe her agitation. 
 
 "Miss Digby!" he exclaimed, throwing into his voice and 
 manner that respect which often so cruelly divides the past fam- 
 iliarity from the present alienation " Miss Digby, I rejpice to 
 see you rejoice to ask your permission to relieve myself from 
 a charge, that in truth wounds even you while levelled but at 
 me- Lord L'Estrange has just implied, in public, that I I 
 who owe him so much who have honored him so truly, that 
 even the just resentment I now feel, half seems to me the in- 
 gratitude with which he charges me has implied that ah ! Miss 
 Digby, I can scarcely command words to say what it so humiliates 
 me to have heard. But you know how false is all accusation that 
 either of us could deceive our common benefactor. Suffer me to 
 repeat'to yourguar'dian, what I presumed to say to you when we last 
 met what you answered and state how I left your presence." 
 
 "Oh, Leonard ! yes ; clear yourself in his eyes. Go ! Unjust 
 that he is ungenerous Lord L'Estrange ! " 
 
 "Helen Digby ! " cried a voice, close at hand, "of whom do 
 you speak thus?" 
 
 At the sound of that voice, Helen and Leonard both turned, 
 and beheld Violante standing before them, her young beauty ren- 
 dered almost sublime by the noble anger that lit her eyes, glowed 
 in her cheeks, and animated her stately form. 
 
 "It is you who thus speak of Lord L'Estrange ? You Helen 
 Digby -you !" 
 
 From behind Violante now emerged Mr. Dale. "Softly, chil- 
 dren," he said ; and placing one hand on Violante's shoulder, 
 he extended the other to Leonard. "What is this? Come hither 
 to me, Leonard, and explain." 
 
 Leonard walked aside with the Parson, and in a few'sentences 
 gave vent to his swelling heart. 
 
 The Parson shared in Leonard's resentment ; and having soon 
 drawn from him all that had .passed in his memorable interview 
 with Helen, exclaimed 
 
 " Enough ! Do not yet seek Lord L'Estrange yourself ; I am
 
 396 'MY NOVEL; 6, "- 
 
 going to see him I am here at his request. His summons, iri- 
 deed, was for to-morrow ; but the Squire having written me a 
 hurried line, requesting me to meet him at Lansmere to-mor- 
 row, and proceed with him afterward in search of poor Frank, 
 I thought I might have little time for communications with Lord 
 L'Estrange, unless I forestalled his invitation and came to-day. 
 Well that I did so. I only arrived an hour since found he was 
 gone to the Town Hall and joined the young ladies in the park. 
 Miss Digby, thinking it natural that I might wish to say some- 
 thing in private to my old young friend Violante, walked a few- 
 paces in advance. Thus, fortunately/ 1 chanced to be here, to 
 receive your account, and I trust to remove misunderstanding. 
 Lord L'Estrange must now be returned. I will go back to the 
 house. You, meanwhile, return to the town, I beseech you. I 
 will come to you afterward at your inn. Your very appearance 
 in these grounds even the brief words that have passed between 
 Helen and yoii-^-might only widen the breach between yourself 
 and your benefactor. I cannot bear to anticipate this; Go back, 
 I entreat you. I will explain all, and Lord L'Estrange shall 
 right you. That is that must be his intention ! " 
 
 "fs must be his intention when he has just so wronged me !" 
 "Yes, yes," faltered the poor Patson, mindful of liis promise 
 to L'Estrange not to reveal his own interview with that noble- 
 man, and yet not knowing otherwise how to explain or to soothe. 
 Bii-t, still believing Leonard tb be Harley's son, remembering all 
 that Harley had so pointedly said of atoriernent, rn apparent re- 
 morse for crime, Mr. Dale was wholly at k 'loss himself to under- 
 stand why Harley should have thus prefaced atonement by an 
 insult. Anxious, however, to prevent a meeting between Har- 
 ley and Leonard, while both were under the influence of such 
 feelings' toward each other, he ma'de an effort over himself, and 
 so well argued in favor of his own diplomacy, that Leonard re- 
 luctantly consented to wait for Mr. J -Dale 4 s report. 
 
 "As to reparation or excuse," said he, proudly, "it must rest 
 with Lord L'Estrange. I ask : it not. Tell him only this that 
 if, the instant I heard that she whom I loved and held sacred 
 for so many years was affianced to him, 'I resigned even the wish 
 to call her mine if that were desertion of man's duties, I am 
 guilty. If to have prayed night and day that she who would 
 have blessed my lonely and toilsome life may give some charm 
 to his, not bestowed by his wealth and greatness if thatwere in- 
 gratitude, I am ungrateful ; let him still condemn me. I pass 
 9111 of his sphere a thing that h,;s crossed it a moment and is 
 gone. But Helen hemust not bin n --ispect even by a thought.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 397 
 
 One word more. In this election this strife for objects wholly 
 foreign to all my habits, unsuited to my poverty, at war with as- 
 pirations so long devoted to fairer goals, though by obscurer 
 paths I obeyed but his will or whim ; at a moment, too, when 
 my whole soul sickened for repose and solitude. I had forced 
 myself at last to take interest in what I had before loathed. But 
 in every hope for the future every stimulant to ambition -Lord 
 L'Kstrange's esteem still stood before me. Now, what do I here 
 longer? All of his conduct, save his contempt for myself, is an 
 enigma. And unless he repeat a wish, which I would fain still re- 
 gard as a law, I retire from the contest he has embittered -Ire- 
 nouncetheambition he has poisoned; and, mindfulof those humble 
 duties which he implies that I disdain,! return to my own home." 
 
 The Parson nodded assent to each of these sentences, and 
 Leonard, passing by Violante and Helen, with a salutation 
 equally distant to both, retraced his steps toward the town. 
 
 Meanwhile Violanteand Helen had also been in closeconference, 
 and that conference had suddenly endeared each to the other; for 
 Helen, taken by surprise, agitated, overpowered, had revealed to 
 Violante that confession of another attachment, which she had 
 made to Lord L'Estrange the rupture of her engagement with 
 the latter. Violante saw that Harley was free. Harley, too, had 
 promised to free herself. By a sudden flash of conviction, recalling 
 his words, looks, she felt thatshe was beloved deemed that honor 
 alone (while either was yet shackled) had forbidden him to own 
 that love. Violante stood a being transformed," blushing celestial 
 rosy red " Heaven at her heart, joy in her eyes ; she loved so 
 well, and she trusted so implicitly ! Then from out the overflow 
 of her own hope and bliss she poured forth such sweet comfort 
 to Helen, that Helen's arm stole around her cheek touched 
 cheek ^they were as sisters. 
 
 At another moment, Mr. Dale might have felt some amaze- 
 ment at the sudden affection which had sprung up between these 
 young persons ; for in his previous conversation with Violante, 
 he had, as he thought, very artfully, and in a pleasant vein, sounded" 
 the young Italian as to her opinion of her fair friend's various 
 good qualities -and Violante had rather shrunk from the title of 
 ''friend"; and though she had the magnanimity to speak with 
 great praise of Helen, the praise did not sound cordial; But the 
 good man was at this moment occupied in preparing his thoughts 
 for his interview with Harley, he joined the two girls in silence, 
 and linking an arm of each within his own, walked slowly to- 
 ward the house. As he approached the terrace, he observed Ric- 
 cabocca and Randal pacing the gravel walk side by side.
 
 398 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Violante, pressing his arm, whispered, " Let us go round the 
 other way ; I would speak with you a few minutes undisturbed." 
 
 Mr. Dale, supposing that Violante wished to dispense with the 
 presence of Helen, said to the latter, "My dear young lady, per- 
 haps you will excuse me to Dr. Riccabocca who is beckoning 
 to me, and no doubt very much surprised to see me here while 
 I finish what I was saying to Violante when we were interrupted." 
 
 Helen left them, and Violante led the Parson through the shrub- 
 bery, toward a side-door in another wing of the house. 
 
 " What have you to say to me ? " asked Mr. Dale, surprised 
 that she remained silent. 
 
 " You will see Lord L'Estrange. Be sure that you convince 
 him of Leonard's honor. A doubt of treachery so grieves his 
 noble heart, that perhaps it may disturb his judgment." 
 
 " You seem to think very highly of the heart of this Lord L'Es- 
 trange, child ! " said the Parson, in some surprise. 
 
 Violante blushed, but went on firmly, and with serious earnest- 
 ness. "Some words which he that is, Lord L'Estrange said 
 to me very lately, make me so glad that you are that you will 
 see him ; for I know how good you are, and how wise dear, dear 
 Mr. Dale. He spoke as one who had received some grievous 
 wrong, which had abruptly soured all his views of life. He spoke 
 of retirement -solitude ! he on whom his country has so many 
 claims. I know not what he can mean unless it be that his 
 his marriage with Helen Digby is broken off." 
 
 "Broken off! Is that so?" 
 
 " I have it from herself. You may well be astonished that she 
 could even think of another after having known him ! " 
 
 The Parson fixed his eyes very gravely on the young enthu- 
 siast. But though her cheek glowed, there was in her expression 
 of face so much artless, open innocence, that Mr. Dale con- 
 tented himself with a slight shake of the head, and a dry re- 
 mark: 
 
 " I think it quite natural that Helen Digby should prefer Leon- 
 ard Fairfield. A good girl, not misled by vanity and ambition; 
 temptations of which it behoves us all to beware nor least, 
 ' perhaps, young ladies suddenly brought in contact with wealth 
 and rank. As to this nobleman's merits, I know not yet whether 
 to allow or to deny them; I reserve my judgment till after our 
 interview. This is all you have to say to me ?" 
 
 Violante paused a' moment. "I canndt think," she said, half- 
 smiling "I cannot think that the change that has occurred in 
 him for changed he is that his obscure hints as to injury re- 
 ceived, and justice to be done, are caused merely by his disap-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 399 
 
 pointment with regard to Helen. But you can learn that; learn 
 if he be so very much disappointed. Nay, I think not ! " 
 
 She slipped her slight hand from the Parson's arm, and darted 
 away through the evergreens. Half-concealed amidst the laurels, 
 she turned back, and Mr. Dale caught her eye half arch half 
 melancholy; its light came soft through a tear. 
 
 "I don't half like this," muttered the Parson; "I shall give 
 Dr. Riccabocca a caution." So muttering, he pushed open the 
 side-door, and rinding a servant, begged admittance to Lord 
 L'Estrange. 
 
 Harley at that moment was closeted with Levy, and his coun- 
 tenance was composed and fearfully stern. " So, so, by this time 
 to-morrow," said he, " Mr. Egerton will be tricked out of his 
 election by Mr. Randal Leslie good ! By this time to-morrow 
 his ambition will be blasted by the treachery of his friends- 
 good ! By this time to-morrow the bailiffs will seize his person 
 ruined, beggared, pauper, and captive all because he has trusted 
 and been deceived good! And if he blame you, prudent Baron 
 Levy if he accuse smooth Mr. Randal Leslie forget not to 
 say, ' We were both but the blind agents of your friend Harley 
 L'Estrange. Ask him why you are so miserable a dupe.'" 
 
 "And might I now ask your lordship for one word of expla- 
 nation ? " 
 
 "No, sir! it is enough that I have spared you. But you were 
 never my friend; I have no revenge against a man whose hand 
 I never even touched." 
 
 The Baron scowled, but there was a power about his tyrant 
 that cowed him into actual terror. He resumed, after a pause 
 
 "And though Mr. Leslie is to be member for Lansmere 
 thanks to you you still desire that I should " 
 
 "Do exactly as I have said. My plans now never vary a 
 hair's breadth." 
 
 The groom of the chambers entered. 
 
 " My lord, the Reverend Mr. Dale wishes to know if you can 
 receive him." 
 
 "Mr. Dale ! he should have come to-morrow. Say that I did not 
 expect him to-day; that I arn unfortunately engaged till dinner, 
 which will be earlier than usual. Show him into his room; he will 
 have but little time to change his dress. By the way, Mr. Egerton 
 dines in his own apartment." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE leading members of the Blue Committee were invited to 
 dine at the Park, and the hour for the entertainment was indeed
 
 400 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 early, as there might be much need yet of active exertion on 
 the eve of a poll in a contest expected to be so close, and in 
 which the inflexible Hundred and Fifty "Waiters upon Provi- 
 dence " still reserved their very valuable votes. 
 
 The party was gay and animated, despite the absence of And- 
 ley Egerton, who, on the plea of increased indisposition, had. 
 shut himself up in his rooms the instant that he had returned 
 from the Town Hall, and sent word to Harley that he was too 
 unwell to join the party at dinner. 
 
 Randal was really in high spirits, despite the very equivocal 
 success of -his speech. What did it signify if a speech failed, 
 provided the election was secure? He was longing for the ap- 
 pointment with Dick Avenel, : which was to make "all right !" 
 The Squire w ; as to bring the money for the purchase of the 
 coveted lands the next morning. Riccabocca had assured him, 
 again and again, of Violante's hand. If ever Randal Leslie 
 could be called a happy man, it was as he sat at that dinner 
 taking wine with Mr. Mayor and Mr. Alderman, and looking 
 across the gleaming silver plateau, down the long vista into 
 wea,lth and power. 
 
 The dinner was scarcely over, when Lord L'Estrange, in a 
 brief speech, reminded his guests of the work still before them; 
 and after a toast to the health of the future members for Lans- 
 mere, dismissed the Committee to their labors. 
 
 Levy made a sign to Randal, who followed the Baron to his 
 own room. 
 
 "Leslie, your election is in some jeopardy. I find from the 
 conversation of those near me at dinner, that Egerton has made 
 such way amongst the Blues by his speech, and they are so 
 afraid of losing a man who does them so much credit, that the 
 Conimitteemen not only talk of withholding from you their sec- 
 ond votes and of plumping Egerton, but of subscribing privately 
 amongst themselves to win over that coy body of a Hundred 
 and Fifty, upon whom I know that Avenel counts in whatever 
 votes he may be able to transfer to you." 
 
 "It would be very unhandsome in the Committee, which pre- 
 tends to act for both of us, to plump Egerton, "said Randal, with 
 consistent anger. "But I don't think they can get those Hundred 
 and Fifty without the most open and exorbitant bribery^ an ex- 
 pense which Egerton will not pay, and which it would be very 
 discreditable to Lord L'Estrange or his father to countenance." 
 
 "I told them flatly," returned Levy, " that, as Mr. Egerton's 
 agent, I would allow no proceedings that might vitiate the elec- 
 tion; but that J would undertake the management pf these
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 40! 
 
 myself; and I am going into the town in order to do so. I have 
 also persuaded the leading Committeemen to reconsider their 
 determination to plump Egerton; they have decided to do as 
 L'Estrange directs; and I know what he will say. You may rely 
 on me," continued the Baron, who spoke with a dogged serious- 
 ness, unusual to his cynical, temper, " to obtain for you the pref- 
 erence over Audley, if it be in my power to do so. Meanwhile, 
 you should really see Avenel this very night." 
 
 " I have an appointment with him at ten o'clock; and, judg- 
 ing by his speech against Egerton, I cannot doubt.of his aid to 
 rue, if convinced by his poll-books that he is not able to return 
 both himself and his impertinent nephew. My speech, however- 
 sarcastically treated by Mr. Fairfield, must at least have dis- 
 posed the Yellow party to vote rather for me than for a deter- 
 mined opponent like Egerton." 
 
 "I hope so; for your speech andFairfield's answerhave dam- 
 aged you terribly with the Blues. However, your main hope rests 
 on my power to keep those Hundred and Fifty rascals from 
 splitting their votes on Egerton, and to induce them, by all 
 means, short of bringing myself before a Committee of the House 
 of Commons for positive bribery which would hurt most seri- 
 ously my present social position, to give one vote to you. I 
 shall tell them, as I have told the Committee, that Egerton is 
 safe, and \vill.pay nothing; but that you want thevotes, and that 
 I in short, if they can be bought upon tick, I will buy them. 
 Avenel r however, can serve you best here; for, as they are all 
 Yellows at heart, they make no scruple of hinting that they want 
 twice as much for voting Blue as they will take for voting Yel- 
 low. And Avenel being a townsman, and knowing their ways, 
 could contrive to gain them, and yet not bribe." 
 
 :RANDAL (shaking his head incredulously). Not bribe! 
 
 LEW. Ppph! Not bribe so as to be found out. 
 
 There was a knock at the door. A servant entered and pre- 
 sented Mr. Egerton's compliments to Baron Levy, with a re- 
 quest that the Baron would immediately come to his rooms for 
 a few minutes. 
 
 "Well," said Levy, when the servant had withdrawn," I must 
 go to Egerton, and the instant I leave him I shall repair to the 
 town. Perhaps I may pass the night there." So saying, he left 
 Randal, and took his way to Audley 's apartment. 
 
 "Levy," said the statesman, abruptly, upon the entrance of 
 the Baron, " have you betrayed my secret my first marriage 
 to Lord L'Estrange ? '.'-. 
 
 "No, Egerton; on my honor, I have not betrayed it."
 
 402 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "You heard his speech! Did you not detect a fearful irony 
 under his praises? or is it but but my conscience?" added 
 the proud man, through his set teeth. 
 
 "Really," said Levy, " Lord L'Estrange seemed to me to select 
 for his praise precisely those points in your character which any 
 other of your friends would select for panegyric." 
 
 " Ay, any other of my friends! Wh at friends? " muttered 
 Egerton, gloomily. Then, rousing himself, he added in a voice 
 that had none of its accustomed clear firmness of tone, " Your 
 presence here in this house, Levy, surprised me, as I told you 
 at the first; I could not conceive its necessity. Harley urged 
 you to come? he with whom you are no favorite! You and he 
 both said that your acquaintance with Richard Avenel would 
 enable you to conciliate his opposition. I cannot congratulate 
 you on your success." 
 
 " My success remains to be proved. The vehemence of his at- 
 tack to-day may be but a feint to cover his alliance to-morrow." 
 
 Audley went on without notice of the interruption. "There 
 is a change in Harley to me and to all; a change, perhaps, not 
 perceptible to others but I have known him from a boy." 
 
 '" He is occupied for the first time with the practical business 
 of life. That would account for a much greater change than 
 you remark." 
 
 "Do you see him familiarly? converse with him often ? " 
 
 "No, and only on matters connected with the election. Oc- 
 casionally, indeed, he consults me as to Randal Leslie, in whom, 
 as your special protegt, he takes considerable interest." 
 
 "That, too, surprises me. Well, lam weary of perplexing my- 
 self. This place is hateful; after to-morrow I shall leave it, and 
 breathe in peace. You have seen the reports of the canvass; I have 
 had no heart to inspect them. Is the election as safe as they say ? " 
 
 " If Avenel withdraws his nephew, and the votes thus released 
 split off to you, you are secure." 
 
 " And you think his nephew will be withdrawn ? Poor young 
 man! defeat at his age, and with such talents, is hard to 
 bear." Audley sighed. 
 
 " I must leave you now, if you have nothing important to say," 
 said the Baron, rising. "I have much to do, as the election is 
 yet t6 be won, and to you the loss of it would be' 
 
 " Ruin, I know. Well, Levy, it is, on the whole, to your advant- 
 age that I should not lose. There may be more to get from me 
 yet. Arid, judging by the letters I received this morning, my 
 position is rendered so safe by the absolute necessity of my party 
 to keep me lip, that the news of my pecuniary difficulties will
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 403 
 
 not affect me so much as I .once feared. Never was my career 
 so free from obstacle so clear toward the highest summit of 
 ambition never, in my day of ostentatious magnificence, as it 
 is now, when I am prepared to shrink into a lodging, with a 
 single servant." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it, and I am the more anxious to secure 
 your election, upon which this careex must depend, because 
 nay, I hardly like to tell you " 
 
 "Speak on." 
 
 " I have been obliged, by a sudden rush on all my resources, 
 to consign some of your bills and promissory notes to another, 
 who, if your person should not be protected from arrest by 
 parliamentary privilege, might be harsh, and " 
 
 " Traitor ! " interrupted Egerton, fiercely, all the composed 
 contempt with which he usually treated the usurer, giving way, 
 " say no more. How could I ever expect otherwise ! You have 
 foreseen my defeat, and have planned my destructipn. Presume 
 no reply. Sir, begone from my presence ! " 
 
 " You : will. find that you have worse friends than myself," said 
 the Barpn, moving to the door ; "and if you are defeated if 
 ypur prospects for life are destroyed I am the last man you'will 
 thinkof blaming. But I forgive your anger, and trust that to-mor- 
 row you will receive those explanations of my conduct which you 
 are now in no temper to bear. I go to take care of the election." 
 
 Left alone, Audley's sudden passion seemed to forsake him. 
 He gathered together, in that prompt and logical precision which 
 the habit of transacting public business bestows, all his thoughts, 
 and sounded all his fears; and most vivid of every thought, and 
 most intolerable of every fear, was the. belief that the Baron had 
 betrayed him to L'Estrange. 
 
 "I cannot bear this suspense," he cried aloud and abruptly. 
 "I will see Harley myself. Open as he is, the very sound of his 
 voice will tell me at once if I am a bankrupt even of human 
 friendship. If that friendship be secure if Harley yet clasp my 
 hand with the same cordial warmth all other loss shall not 
 wring from my fortitude one complaint." 
 
 He rang the bell : his valet, who was waiting in the ante- 
 room, appeared. 
 
 "Go and see if Lord L'Estrange is engaged ; I would speak 
 with him." 
 
 The servant came back in less than two minutes. 
 
 " I find that my lord is now particularly engaged, since he has 
 given strict orders that he is not to be disturbed/' 
 
 " Engaged ! on what ? whom with ? "
 
 404 ** v tfo VEL ; OR, 
 
 " He is In his own room, sir, with a clergyman, who arrived, 
 a'nd dined here to-day. I am told that he was formerly curate 
 of Lansmere." 
 
 " Lansmere curate !" His name his name ! Not Dale? " 
 "Yes, sir, that is the name the Reverend Mr. Dale." 
 " Leave me," said Audley in a faint voice. " Dale ! the man 
 who suspected Harley, who called on me in London, spoke of a 
 child my child and sent me to find but another grave ! He 
 closeted with Harley he ? " 
 
 Audley sank back on his chair, and literally gasped for breath. 
 Few men in the world had a more established reputation for the 
 courage that dignifies mankind, whether the physical courage 
 ,or the moral. But : at that moment it was not grief, not remorse, 
 that paralyzed Audley it was fear. The brave man saw before 
 him, as a thing tisible and menacing, the aspect of his own 
 treachery that crime of a coward ; and into'cowardice he was 
 'stricken. What had he to dread ? Nothing save the accusing 
 face of an injured friend nothing but that. And what more 
 terrible ? The only being, artlidst all his pomp of partisans, who 
 survived to love him the only being for whom the cold states- 
 man felt the happy, living, human tenderness of private affec- 
 tion, lost to him forever. He covered his face with both hands, 
 and sat in suspense of something awful, as a child sits in the 
 
 darkthe drops on liis brow, and his frame trembling. 
 
 i i 
 
 ii 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 MEANWHILE, Harley had listened to Mr. Dale's vindication 
 of Leonard with cold attentiofi. 
 
 " Enough," said he, at the close. "Mr. Fairfield (for so we 
 will yet call him) shall see me to-night; and if apology be 
 due to him, I will make it. At the same time, it shall be decided 
 whether he continue this contest or retire. And now, Mr. Dale, 
 it was not to hear how this young man wooed, or shrunk from 
 wooing, my affianced bride, that I availed myself of your 
 promise to visit me at this house. We agreed that the seducer 
 of Nora Avenel deserved chastisement, and 1 promised thai 
 Nora Avenel's son should find a father. Both these assurances 
 shall be fulfilled to-mOrrow. And you, sir," Continued Harley, 
 rising, his whole form gradually enlarged by the dignity of pas- 
 sion, "who wear the garb appropriated to the holiest office of 
 Christian charity you have presumed to think that, before the 
 beard had darkened my'cheek, I cdukl first betray the girl who 
 had been reared under this roof, then abandon her 1 - snea'k like a
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 46$ 
 
 dastard from the place in which my victim came to die leave my 
 own son, by the woman thus wronged, without thought or care, 
 through the perilous years of tempted youth, till I found him, by 
 chance, an outcast in a desert more dread than Hagar's you, sir, 
 who have for long years thus judged of me, shall have the occasion 
 to direct your holy anger toward the rightful head ; and in me, 
 you who have condemned the culprit, shall respect the judge ! " 
 
 Mr. Dale was at first startled, and almost awed, by this unex- 
 pected burst. But, accustomed to deal with the sternest and the 
 darkest passions, his calm sense, and his habit of authority over 
 those whose souls were bared to him, nobly recovered from his 
 surprise. " My lord," said he," first with humility, I bow to your 
 rebuke, and : entreat your pardon for my erring, and, as you say, 
 my uncharitable opinions. We, dwellers in a village, and obscure 
 pastors of a humble flock we,. mercifully removed from tempt- 
 ation, are too apt, perhaps, to exaggerate its power oter those 
 whose lots are cast in that great world which has so many gates 
 ever open to evil. This is my sole 'excuse, if I was misled by 
 what appeared to me strong circumstantial evidence. But forgive 
 me again if I wafn you not to fall into an error perhaps little 
 lighter than my own. Your passion, when you cleared yourself 
 from reproach, became you. But ah ! my lord, when with that 
 stern brow and those flashing eyes, you launched your menace 
 upon another over whom you would constitute yourself the 
 judge, forgetful of the divine precept, 'Judge not,' I felt that I 
 was listening no longer to honest self-vindication I felt that I 
 was listening to fierce revenge." 
 
 "Call it revenge, or what you will," said Harley, with sullen 
 firmness. " But I have been stung too deeply not to sting. Frank 
 with all, till the last few days, I have ever been. Frank to you, 
 at least, even now, this much I tell .you; I pretend to no virtue in 
 what I still hold to be justice; but no declamations nor homilies 
 tending to prove that justice is sinful, will move my resolves. 
 As man I have been outraged, and as man I will retaliate. The 
 way and the mode the true criminal and his fitting sentence 
 you will soon learn, sir. I have much to do to-night: forgiveme 
 if I adjourn for the present all further conference." 
 
 "No, no ; do not dismiss me. There is something, in spite 
 of your present language, which so commands my interest, I see 
 that there has been so much suffering where there is now so much 
 wrath, that I would save you from the suffering worse than all 
 remorse. O pause, my dear lord, pause and answer me but two 
 questions ; then I will leave your after course to 'yourself." 
 
 " Say on, sir," said Lord L'Estrange, touched, and with respect.
 
 406 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " First, then, analyze your own feelings. Is this anger merely 
 to punish an offender and to right the living? for who can pre- 
 tend to right the dead ? Or is there not some private hate that 
 stirs, and animates, and confuses all?" 
 
 Harley remained silent. Mr. Dale renewed. 
 
 "You loved this poor girl. Your language even now reveals 
 it. You speak of treachery; perhaps you had a rival who de- 
 ceived you; I know not ;guess not, who. But if you would 
 strike the rival, must you not wound the innocent son ? And, 
 in presenting Nora's child to his father, as you pledge yourself 
 to do, can you mean some cruel mockery that, under seeming 
 kindness, implies some unnatural vengeance?" 
 
 " You read well the heart of man," said Harley ; " and I have 
 owned to you that I am but man. Pass on ; you have another 
 question." 
 
 "And one more solemn and important. In my world of a 
 village, revenge is a common passion ; it is the sin of the unin- 
 structed. The savage deems it noble; but Christ's religion, which 
 is the sublime Civilizer, emphatically condemns it. Why ? Be- 
 cause religion ever seeks to ennoble man"; and nothing so de- 
 bases him as revenge. Look into your own heart, and tell me 
 : whether, since you have cherished this passion, you have not felt 
 all sense of right and wrong confused have not felt that what- 
 ever would before have seemed to you mean and base, appears 
 now but just means to your heated end. Revenge is ever a hypo- 
 crite rage, at least, strikes with the naked sword; but revenge, 
 stealthy and patient, conceals the weapon of the assassin. My 
 lord, your color changes. What is your answer to my question ? " 
 
 "Oh," exclaimed Harley, with a voice thrilling in its mourn- 
 ful anguish, "it is not since I have cherished the revenge that 
 I am changed -that right and wrong grow dark to me that 
 hypocrisy seems the atmosphere fit for earth. No ; it is since the 
 discovery that demands the vengeance. It is useless, sir," he 
 continued, impetuously " useless to argue with me. Were I to 
 sit down patient and impotent, under the sense of the wrong 
 which I have received, I should feel, indeed, that debasement 
 which you ascribe to the gratification of what you term revenge. 
 I should never regain the self-esteem which the sentiment of 
 power now restores to me I should feel as if the whole world 
 could perceive and jeer at my meek humiliation. I know not 
 why I have said so much why I have betrayed to you so much of 
 my secret mind, and stooped to vindicate my purpose. I never 
 meant it. Again I say, we must close this conference." Harley 
 here walked to the door, and opened it significantly..
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 407 
 
 "One word more, Lord L'Estrange but one. You will not 
 hear me. I am a comparative stranger, but you have a friend, a 
 friend dear and intimate, now under the same roof. Will you con- 
 sent, at least, to' take counsel of Mr. Audley Egerton ? None can 
 doubt his friendshipforyou; none Can doirbt, that whatever he ad- 
 vises will be that which best becomes your honor. What, rhy lord, 
 you hesitate? you feel ashamed to confide to your dearest friend a 
 purpose which his mind would condemn? Then I will seek him I 
 will implore him to save you from whatcan but en tail repentance." 
 
 "Mr. Dale, I must forbid you to see Mr. Egerton. What lias 
 passed between us ought to 'be as sacred to you as a priest of 
 Rome holds confession. This much, however, I will say to con- 
 tent you ; I promise that I will do nothing that shall render me 
 unworthy of Mr. Audley Egerton's friendship, or which his fine 
 senseof honorshalljustify him in blaming. ' Letthat satisfy you." 
 
 " Ah, my lord," cried Mr. Dale, pausing irresolute at the door- 
 way, and seizing Harley's hand, "I should, indeed, be satisfied 
 if you would submit yourself to higher counsel than mine than 
 Mr. Egerton's than man's. Have you never felt the efficacy 
 of prayer?" 
 
 "My life has been wasted," replied Harley, "and I dare not, 
 therefore, boast that I have found prayer efficacious. But so 
 far back as I can remember, it has at least been my habit to pray 
 to Heaven, night and morning, until, at least until " The 
 natural' and obstinate candor of the man forced out the last 
 words, which implied reservation. He stopped short. 
 
 " Until you have cherished revenge! You have not dared 
 to pray since ? Oh ! reflect what evil there is within us, when 
 we dare not come before Heaven dare not pray for what we 
 wish. You are moved I leave you to your own thoughts." 
 
 Harley inclined his head, and the Parson passed him by and 
 left him alone startled indeed ; but was he softened? 
 
 As Mr. Dale hurried along the corridor, much agitated, Vio- 
 lante stole from a recess formed by a large bay-window, and, link- 
 ing ^ her arm in his, said anxiously, but timidly: " I have been 
 waiting for you, dear Mr. Dale ; and so long ! You have been 
 with Lord L'Estrange?" 
 
 "Well." 
 
 " Why do you not speak ? You have left him comforted 
 happier?" 
 
 " Happier ! No." 
 
 "What ! " said Violante, with a look of surprise, and a sadness 
 not unmixed with petulance in her quick tone. "What ! does 
 he then so grieve that Helen prefers another?"
 
 408 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Despite the grave emotions that disturbed his mind, Mr. Dale 
 was struck by Violante's question, and the voice in which it was 
 said. He loved her tenderly. "Child, child," said he, " I am 
 glad that Helen has escaped Lord L'Estrange. Beware, oh, be- 
 ware ! how he excite any gentler interest in yourself. He is a 
 dangerous man more dangerous for glimpses of a-fine original 
 nature. He may well move the heart of the innocent and inex- 
 perienced, for he has strangely crept into mine. But his heart 
 is swollen with pride, and ire, and malice." 
 
 "You mistake ; it is false ! " cried Violante, impetuously, "I 
 cannot believe one word that would asperse him who has saved 
 my father from a prison, or frorn death. You have not treated 
 him gently. He fancies he has been wronged by Leonard re- 
 ceived ingratitude from Helen. He has felt the sting in pro- 
 portion to his own susceptible and generous heart, and you have 
 chided where you should have soothed. Poor LordL'Estrange! 
 And you have left him still indignant and unhappy ! " 
 
 " Foolish girl ! I have left him meditating sin ; I have left him 
 afraid to pray ; I have left him on the brink of some design I 
 know not what but which involves more than Leonard in pro- 
 jects of revenge ; I have left him so, that if his heart be really 
 susceptible and generous, he will wake from wrath to be the 
 victim of long and unavailing remorse. If your father has in- 
 fluence over him, tell Dr. Riccabocca what I say, and bid him 
 seek, and in his t;urn save, the man who saved himself. He has 
 not listened to religion he may be more docile to philosophy. 
 I cannot stay here longer I must go to Leonard." 
 
 Mr. Dale broke from Violante, and hurried down the corri- 
 dor ; Violante stood on the same spot, stunned and breathless. 
 Harley on the brink of some strange sin Harley to wake the 
 victim of remorse Harley to be saved, as he had saved her 
 father ! Her breast heaved her color came and went her eyes 
 were raised her lips murmured., She advanced with soft foot- 
 steps up the corridor she saw the lights gleaming from Harley 's 
 ropm, and suddenly they were darkened, as the inmate of the 
 room shut to the door, with angry and impatient hand. 
 
 An outward act often betrays the inward mind. . As Harley 
 had thus closed the door, so he had sought to shut his heart from 
 the intrusion of softer and holier thoughts. He had turned to 
 his hearthstone, and stood on it, resolved and hardened. The 
 man who had loved with such pertinacious fidelity for so many 
 years, could not at once part with hate. A passion once ad- 
 mitted to his breast, clung to it with such rooted force ! But 
 woe, woe to thee, Harley L'Estrange, if to-morrow at this hour
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 409 
 
 thou stand at the hearthstone, thy designs accomplished, know- 
 ing that, in the. fulfilment of thy blind will, thou hast met false- 
 hood with' falsehood, and deception with deceit ! What though 
 those designs now seem so consummate, so just, so appropriate, 
 so exquisite a revenge seem to thee the sole revenge wit can 
 plan, and civilized life allow wilt thou ever wash from thy 
 memory the stain that will sully thine honor? Thou, too, pro- 
 fessing friendship still, and masking perfidy under smiles ! Grant 
 that the wrong be great as thou deem it be ten times greater 
 the sense of thy meanness^ O gentleman and soldier, will bring 
 the blush to thy cheek in. the depth of thy solitude. Thou, who 
 now thinkest others unworthy a trustful love, wilt feel thyself 
 forever unworthy theirs. Thy seclusion will know not repose. 
 The dignity of man will forsake thee. Thy prpud eye will quail 
 from the gaze. Thy step will no longer spurn the earth that 
 ft triads on. He who has once done a base thing is never again 
 wholly reconciled to honor. And woe; thrice woe, if thou learri 
 too late that thou hastjexaggerated thy fancied wrong : that there 
 is excuse, where thou seest none ; that thy friend may have erred, 
 but that his error is venial compared to thy fancied retribution! 
 
 Thus, however, in the suberb elation of conscious power, 
 though lavished on a miserable object a terrible example of 
 what changes one evil and hateful thought, cherished to the ex- 
 clusion of all others, can make in the noblest nature- stood, on 
 the hearth of his fathers, and on the abyss of a sorrow and a 
 shame, from which there could be no recall, the determined and 
 scornful man,. 
 
 A hand is on the door; he does not see it; alight step pauses 
 a soft eye. gazes. Deaf and blind still to both. 
 
 Violante came on, gathering courage, arid stood at the hearth, 
 by his side. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 "LORD L'EsxRANGE-noble friend! " 
 
 "You ! and here Violante ? Is it I whom you seek? For 
 what? Good heavens ! what has happened? Why are you so 
 pale ? why tremble ? " 
 
 " Have you forgiven Helen ? " asked Violante, beginning with 
 evasive question, and her cheek was pale no more. 
 
 "Helen the poor child ! I have nothing in her to forgive, 
 much to thank her for. She has been frank and honest." 
 
 "And Leonard-whom I remember in my childhood-you 
 have forgiven him?
 
 410 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "Fair mediator," said Harley, smiling, though coldly, "happy 
 is the man who deceives another ; all plead for him. And if the 
 man deceived cannot forgive, no one will sympathize or excuse." 
 
 "But Leonard did not deceive you?" 
 
 " Yes, from the first. It is a long tale, and not to be told to 
 you. But I cannot forgive him." 
 
 "Adieu ! my lord. Helen must, then, still be very dear to 
 you! " Violante turned'away. Her emotion was so artless, her 
 very anger so charming, that the love, against which, in the preva- 
 lence of his later and darker passions, he had so sternly struggled, 
 rushed back upon Harley's breast ; but it came only in storm. 
 
 " Stay, but.talk not of Helen ! " he exclaimed. " Ah ! if Leon- 
 ard's sole offence had been what you appear to deem it, do you 
 think I could feel resentment ? No ; I should have gratefully 
 hailed the hand that severed a rash and ungenial tie. I would 
 have given my ward to her lover with such a dower as it suits 
 my wealth to bestow. But his offence dates from his very birth. 
 To bless and enrich the son of a man who- Violante, listen to 
 me. We may soon part, and for ever. Others may misconstrue 
 my actions ; you, at least, shall know from what just principle 
 they spring. There was a man whom I singled out of the world 
 as more than a brother. In the romance of my boyhood I saw 
 one who dazzled my fancy, captivated my heart. It was a dream 
 of Beauty breathed into walking life. I loved I believed my- 
 self beloved. I confided all my heart to this friend this more 
 than brother ; he undertook to befriend and to aid my suit. On 
 that very pretext he first saw this ill-fated girl; saw betrayed 
 destroyed her; left me ignorant that her love, which I had 
 thought mine, had been lavished so wildly on another; left me 
 to believe that my own suit she had fled, but in generous self- 
 sacrifice for she was poor and humbly born ; that oh, vain 
 idiot that I was ! the self-sacrifice had been too strong for a 
 young human heart, which had broken in the struggle; left me 
 to corrode my spring of life in remorse; clasped my hand in 
 mocking comfort; smiled at my tears of agony not one tear 
 himself for his own poor victim ! And, suddenly, not long since, 
 I learned allthis. And, in the father of Leonard Fairfield, you 
 behold the man who has poisoned all the well-spring of joy to 
 me. You weep ! Oh, Violante ! the Past he has blighted and 
 embittered that I could forgive ; but the Future is blasted too. 
 For, just ere /this treason was revealed to me, I had begun to 
 awake from the torpor of my dreary penance, to look with for- 
 titude toward the duties I had slighted to own that the pilgrim- 
 age before me was not barren. And then, oh then, I felt that
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 411 
 
 all love was not buried in a grave. I felt that you, had fate so 
 granted, might have been all to my manhood which youth only 
 saw through the delusion of its golden mists. True, I was then 
 bound to Helen ; true, that honor to her might forbid me all 
 hope. But still, even to know that my heart was not all ashes 
 that I could love again that that glorious power and privilege 
 of our being was still mine, seemed to me so heavenly sweet. 
 But then this revelation of falsehood burst on me, and all truth 
 seemed blotted from the universe. I am freed from Helen ; ah, 
 freed, forsooth because not even rank and wealth, and benefits 
 and confiding tenderness, could bind to me one human heart ! 
 Free from her ; but between me and your fresh nature stands 
 Suspicion as an Upas tree. Not a hope that would pass through 
 the tainted air, and fly to you, but falls dead under the dismal 
 boughs. / love ! Ha, ha ! I /, whom the Past has taught the 
 impossibility to be loved again. No ; if those soft lips mur- 
 mured 'Yes' to the burning prayer that, had I been free but two 
 short weeks ago, would have rushed from the frank deeps of my 
 heart, I should but imagine that you deceived yourself a girl's 
 first fleeting delusive fancy nothing more ! Were you my bride, 
 Violante, I should but debase your bright nature by my own 
 curse of distrust. At each word of tenderness, my heart would 
 say ' How long will this last ? when will the deception come ? ' 
 Your beauty, your gifts, would bring me but jealous terror; eter- 
 nally I should fly from the Present to the Future, and say, ' These 
 hairs will be gray, while flattering youth will surround her in 
 the zenith of her charms.' Why then do I hate and curse my 
 foe? Why do I resolve upon revenge? L comprehend it now. 
 I knew that there was something more imperious than the ghost 
 of the Past that urged me on. Gazing on you, I felt that it was 
 the dim sense of a mighty and priceless loss ; it is not the dead 
 Nora it is the living Violante. Look not at me with those re- 
 proachful eyes ; they cannot reverse my purpose ; they cannot 
 banish my suspicion from my sickened soul ; they cannot create 
 a sunshine in the midst of this ghastly twilight. Go, go ; leave 
 me to the sole joy that bequeaths no disappointment the sole 
 feeling that unites me to social man; leave me to my revenge." 
 
 " Revenge ! Oh, cruel ! " exclaimed Violante, laying her hand 
 on his arm. " And in revenge, it is your own life that you 
 would risk ! " 
 
 " My life, simple child ! This is no contest of life against 
 life. Could I bare to all the world my wrongs for their ribald 
 laughter, I should only give to my foe the triumph to pity my 
 frenzy to shun the contest; or grant it,if I could find a second
 
 412 , MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 and then fire in the air. And, all the world would say 'Gener- 
 ous Egerton !- soul of honor ! " 
 
 "Egerton, Mr. Egerton ! He cannot be this foe! It is not 
 on him you can design revenge ? you who spend all your hours 
 in serving his cause you to whom he trusts so fondly you who 
 leant yesterday on his shoulder, and smiled so cheeringly in his 
 face ?" 
 
 " Did I ? Hypocrisy against hypocrisy snare against snare; 
 that is my revenge ! " 
 
 "Harley, Harley! Cease, cease !" 
 
 The storm of passion rushed on unheeding. 
 
 " I seem to promote his ambition, but to crush it into the mire. 
 I have delivered him from the gentler gripe of an usurer, so that 
 he shall hold at my option alms or a prison " 
 
 " Friend, friend ! Hush, hush ! " 
 
 " I have made the youth he has reared and fostered into treach- 
 ery like his own (your father's precious choice Randal Leslie), 
 mine instrument. in the galling lesson how ingratitude can sting. 
 His very son shall avenge the mother, and be led to his father's 
 breast as victor, with Randal Leslie, in the contest that deprives 
 sire and benefactor of all that makes life dear to ambitious ego- 
 tism. And if, in the breast of Audley Egerton, there can yet 
 lurk one memory of what I was to him and to truth, not his least 
 punishment will be the sense that his own perfidy had so changed 
 the man whose very scorn of falsehood has taught him to find 
 in fraud itself the power of retribution." 
 
 "If this be not a terrible dream!" murmured Violante, re- 
 coiling, "it is not your foe alone that you will deprive of all that 
 makes life dear. Act thus and what, in the future, is left to me?" 
 
 "To you? Oh, never fear. I may give Randal Leslie a tri- 
 umph over his patron, but in the same hour I will unmask his 
 villany, and sweep him for ever from your path. What in the 
 future is left to you ? your birthright and your native land ; 
 hope, joy, love, felicity. Could it be possible that in the soft 
 but sunny fancy which plays round the heart of maiden youth, 
 but still sends no warmth into its deeps could it-be possible 
 that you had honored me with a gentler thought, it will pass 
 away, and you will be the pride and delight of one of your own 
 years, to whom the vista of Time is haunted by no chilling spec- 
 tres one who can look upon that lovely face, and not turn away 
 to mutter 'Too fair, too fair for me ! " 
 
 "Oh agony ! " exclaimed Violante, with sudden passion. " In 
 my turn, hear me. If, as you promise, I am released from the 
 dreadful thought that he, at whose touch I shudder, can claim
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 413 
 
 this hand, my choice is irrevocably made. The altars which await 
 me will not be those of a human love. But oh, I implore you 
 by the memories of your own life, hitherto, if sorrowful, unsul- 
 lied by the generous interest you yet profess for me, whom you 
 will have twice saved from a danger to which death were mercy 
 leave, oh, leave me the right to regard your image as I have done 
 from the first dawn of childhood. Leave me the right to honor 
 and revere it. Let not an act accompanied with a meanness 
 oh, that I should say the word ! a meanness and a cruelty that 
 give the lie-to your-whole life make even a grateful remembrance 
 of you an unworthy sin. When fkneel within the walls that divide 
 me from the world, oh, let me think that I pray for you as the 
 noblest being that the world contains! Hear me ! hear me ! " 
 
 " Violante ! " murmured Harley, his whole frame heaving with 
 emotion, " bear with me. Do not ask of me the sacrifice of what 
 seems to me the cause of manhood itself-^-to sit down, meek and 
 patient, under a wrong that debases me, with the consciousness 
 that all my life I have been the miserable dupe to affections I 
 deemed so honest to regrets that I believed so holy. Ah ! I 
 should feel more mean in my pardon than you can think me in 
 revenge ! Were it an acknowledged enemy, I could open my 
 arms to him at your bidding ; but the perfidious friend ! ask it 
 not. My cheek burns at the thought, as at the stain of a blow. 
 Give me but to-morrow one day I demand no more wholly 
 to myself and to the past, and mould me for the future as you 
 will. Pardon, pardon the ungenerous thoughts that extended 
 distrust to you. I retract them ; they are gone dispelled before 
 those touching words, those ingenuous eyes. At your feet, Vio- 
 lante, I repent and I implore. Your father himself shall banish your 
 sordid suitor. Before this hour to-morrow you will be free. Oh, 
 then, then! will you not give me this hand to guide me again into 
 the paradise of my youth? Violante, it is in vain to wrestle with my- 
 self todoubt to reason to be wisely fearful I love, I love you. 
 I trust again in virtue and faith. I place my fate in your keeping." 
 
 If, at times, Violante may appear to have ventured beyond the 
 limit of strict maiden bashfulness, much maybe ascribed to her 
 habitual candor, her solitary rearing, and remoteness from the 
 world the very innocence of her soul, and the warmth of heart 
 which Italy gives its daughters. But now that sublimity of thought 
 and purpose which pervaded her nature, and required only cir- 
 cumstances to develop, made her superior to all the promptings 
 of love itself. Dreams realized which she had scarcely dared 
 to own Harley free ^-Harley at her feet ; all the woman strug- 
 gling at her heart, mantling in her blushes, still stronger than
 
 414 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 love stronger than the joy of being loved again was the 
 heroic will will to save him who in all else ruled her exisU 
 ence from the eternal degradation to which passion had 
 blinded his own confused and warring spirit. 
 
 Leaving one hand in his impassioned clasp, as he still knelt 
 before her, she raised on high the other : " Ah ! " she said, scarce 
 audibly " ah ! if Heaven vouchsafe me the proud and blissful 
 privilege to be allied to your fate, to minister to your happiness, 
 never should I know one fear of your distrust. No time, no 
 change, no sorrow not even the loss of your affection could 
 make me forfeit the right to remember that you had once con- 
 fided to me a heart so noble. " But" here her voice rose in 
 its tone, and the glow fled from her cheek " But, O Thou the 
 Ever Present, hear and receive the solemn vow. If to me he 
 refuse to sacrifice the sin that would debase him, that sin be the 
 barrier between us evermore. And my life, devoted to Thy 
 service, atone for the hour in which he belied the nature he re- 
 ceived from Thee. Harley, release me ! I have spoken ; firm 
 as yourself, I leave the choice to you." 
 
 " You judge me harshly," said Harley, rising, with sullen anger. 
 "But at least I have not the meanness to sell what I hold as justice, 
 though the bribe may include my last hope of happiness." 
 
 " Meanness ! Oh unhappy, beloved Harley ! " exclaimed Vio- 
 lante, with such a gush of exquisite reproachful tenderness, that 
 it thrilled him as the voice of the parting guardian angel. " Mean- 
 ness ! But it is that from which I implore you to save yourself. 
 You cannot judge, you cannot see. You are dark, dark. Lost 
 Christian that you are, what worse than heathen darkness to 
 feign the friendship the better to betray to punish falsehood 
 by becoming yourself false to accept the confidence even of 
 your bitterest foe, and then to sink below his own level in deceit ? 
 And oh worse, worse than all to threaten that a son son of the 
 woman you professed tolove shouldswelllyour vengeance against 
 a father. No ! it was not you that said this it was the Fiend ! " 
 
 " Enough !" exclaimed Harley, startled, conscience-stricken, 
 and rushing into resentment in order to escape the sense of 
 shame. " Enough ! you insult the man you professed to honor ! " 
 
 " I honored the prototype of gentleness and valor. I honored 
 one who seemed to me to clothe with life every grand and gener- 
 ous image that is born from the souls of poets. Destroy that 
 ideal, and you destroy the Harley whom I honored. He is dead 
 to me forever. I will mourn for him as his widow faithful to his 
 memory weeping over the thought of what he was." Sobs choked 
 her voice; but as Harley, once more melted, sprang forward to re-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 41$ 
 
 gain her side, she escaped with a yet quicker movement, gained 
 the door, and darting down the corridor, vanished from his sight. 
 
 Harley stood still one moment, thoroughly irresolute nay, 
 almost subdued. Then sternness, though less rigid than before, 
 gradually came to his brow. The demon had stiil its hold in 
 the stubborn and marvellous pertinacity with which the man 
 clung to all that once struck root in his heart. With a sudden 
 impulse, that still withheld decision, yet spoke of sore-shaken 
 purpose, he strode to his desk, drew from it Nora's manuscript, 
 and passed from his room. 
 
 Harley had meant never to have revealed to Audley the secret 
 he had gained, until the moment when revenge was consum- 
 mated. He had contemplated no vain reproach. His wrath 
 would have spoken forth in deeds, and then a word would have 
 sufficed as the key to all. Willing, perhaps, to hail some extenua- 
 tion of perfidy, though the possibility of such extenuation he had 
 never before admitted, he determined on the interview which he 
 had hitherto so obstinately shunned, and went straight to the 
 room in which Audley Egerton still sat solitary and fearful. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 EGERTON heard the well-known step advancing near and 
 nearer up the corridor heard the door open and reclose and 
 he felt, by one of those strange and unaccountable instincts which 
 we call forebodings, that the hour he had dreaded for so many 
 secret years had come at last. He nerved his courage, with- 
 drew his hands from his face, and rose in silence. No less silent, 
 Harley stood before him. The two men gazed on each other ; 
 you might have heard their bre-athing. 
 
 " You have seen Mr. Dale ?" said Egerton, at length. " You 
 know " 
 
 "All !" said Harley, completing the arrested sentence. 
 
 Audley drew a long sigh. " Be it so ; but no, Harley ; you 
 deceive yourself ; you cannot know all, from any one living, save 
 myself." 
 
 " My knowledge comes from the dead, "answered Harley, and 
 the fatal memoir dropped from his hand upon the table. The 
 leaves fell with a dull, low sound, mournful and faint as might 
 be the tread of a ghost, if the tread gave sound. They fell, 
 those still confessions of an obscure, uncomprehended life, amidst 
 letters and documents eloquent of the strife that was then agitat- 
 ing millions, the fleeting, turbulent fears and hopes that torture 
 parties and perplex a nation ; the stormy business of practical
 
 416 MV NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 public life, so remote from individual love and individual 
 sorrow. 
 
 Egerton's eyes saw them fall. The room was but partially 
 lighted. At the distance where he stood, he did not recognize 
 the characters, but involuntarily he shivered, and involuntarily 
 drew near. 
 
 "Hold yet awhile," said Harley. "I produce my charge, and 
 then I leave you to dispute the only witness that I bring. Audley 
 Egerton, you took from me the gravest trust that one man can 
 confide to another. You knew how I loved Leonora Avenel. I 
 .was forbidden to see and urge my suit ; you had the access to 
 her presence which was denied to myself. I prayed you to re- 
 move scruples that I deemed too generous, and to woo her, not 
 to dishonor, but to be my wife. Was it so ? Answer." 
 
 " It is true," said Audley, his hand clenched at his heart. 
 
 " You saw her whom I thus loved her thus confided to your 
 honor. You wooed her for yourself. Is it so?" 
 
 " Harley, I deny it not. Cease here. I accept the penalty; 
 I resign your friendship; I quit your roof ; I submit to your 
 contempt; I dare not implore your pardon. Cease; let me go 
 hence, and soon ! " The strong man gasped for breath. 
 
 Harley looked at him steadfastly, then turned away his eyes, 
 and went on. " Nay," said he, " is that ALL? You wooed her 
 for yourself you won her. Account to me for that life which 
 you wrenched from mine. You are silent. I will take on my- 
 self your task; you took that life and destroyed it." 
 
 " Spare me, spare me ! " 
 
 " What was the fate of her who seemed so fresh from heaven 
 when these eyes beheld her last ? A broken heart a dishonored 
 name an early doom a forgotten gravestone." 
 
 " No, no forgotten no ! " 
 
 " Not forgotten ! Scarce a year passed, and you were married 
 to another. I aided you to form those nuptials which secured 
 your fortunes. You have had rank, and power, and fame. Peers 
 call you the type of English gentlemen. Priests hold you as a 
 model of Christian honor. Strip the mask, Audley Egerton; let 
 the world know you for what you are ! " 
 
 Egerton raised his head, and folded his arms calmly; but he 
 said, with a melancholy humility "I bear all from you; it is 
 just. Say on." 
 
 " You took from me the heart of Nora Avenel. You abandoned 
 her you destroyed. And her memory cast no shadow over your 
 daily sunshine; while over my thoughts over my life oh, Eger- 
 ton Audley, Audley how coul< ! you have deceived me thus?"
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 417 
 
 Mere the inherent tenderness under all this hate the fount im- 
 bedded under the hardening stone broke out. Harley was 
 ashamed of his weakness, and hurried on. 
 
 " Deceived not for an hour, a day, but through blighted 
 youth, through listless manhood you suffered me to nurse the 
 remorse that should have been your own; her life slain, mine 
 wasted; and shall neither of us have revenge?" 
 
 " Revenge ! Ah, Harley, you. have had it ! " 
 
 " No, but I await it ! Not in vain from the charnel have come 
 to me the records I produce. And whom did fate select to dis- 
 cover the wrongs of the mother ? whom appoint as her avenger ? 
 Your son your own son; your abandoned, nameless son!" 
 
 "Son son!" 
 
 " Whom I delivered from famine, or from worse; and who, in 
 return, has given into my hands the evidence which proclaims in 
 you the perjured friend of Harley L'Estrange, and the fraudu- 
 lent seducer, under mock marriage forms worse than all franker 
 sin of Leonora Avenel." 
 
 " It is false false ! " exclaimed Egerton, all his stateliness 
 and all his energy restored to him. " I forbid you to speak thus 
 to me. I forbid you by one word to sully the memory of my 
 lawful wife ! " 
 
 "Ah!" said Harley, startled, "ah! false! Prove that, and 
 revenge is over ! Thank Heaven ! " 
 
 "Prove it! What so easy? And wherefore have I delayed 
 the proof wherefore concealed, but from tenderness to you 
 dread, too a selfish but human dread to lose in you the sole 
 esteem that I covet; the only mourner who would have shed 
 one tear over the stone inscribed with some lying epitaph, in 
 which it will suit a party purpose to proclaim the gratitude of a 
 nation. Vain hope ! I resign it ! But you spoke of a son. 
 Alas, alas ! you are again deceived. I heard that I had a son 
 years, long years ago. I sought him, and found a grave. But bless 
 you, Harley, if you succored one whom you even erringly suspect 
 to be Leonora's child!" He stretched forth his hands as he spoke. 
 
 "Of your son we will speak later," said Harley, strangely 
 softened. " But before I say more of him, let me ask you to 
 explain let me hope that you can extenuate what " 
 
 " You are right," interrupted Egerton, with eager quickness. 
 " You would know from my own lips at last the plain tale of my 
 own offence against you. It isduetoboth. Patiently hearme out." 
 
 Then Egerton told all; his own love for Nora his struggles 
 against what he felt as treason to his friend his sudden dis- 
 covery of Nora's love for him; on that discovery, the overthrow
 
 418 MY NOVEL ; 6R, 
 
 of all his resolutions; their secret marriage their separation; 
 Nora's flight, to which Audley still assigned but her groundless 
 vague suspicion that their nuptials had not been legal, and her 
 impatience of his own delay in acknowledging the rite. 
 
 His listener interrupted him here with a few questions ; the 
 clear and prompt replies to which enabled Harley to detect 
 Levy's plausible perversion of the facts, and he vaguely guessed 
 the cause of the usurer's falsehood, in the criminal passion 
 which the ill-fated bride had inspired. 
 
 " Egerton," said Harley, stifling with an effort his own wrath 
 against the vile deceiver both of wife and husband, " if, on read- 
 ing those papers, you find that Leonora had more excuse for 
 her suspicions and flight than you now deem, and discover perfidy 
 in one to whom you trusted your secret, leave his punishment 
 to Heaven. All that you say convinces me more and more that 
 we cannot even see through the cloud, much less guide the 
 thunderbolt. But proceed." 
 
 Audley looked surprised and startled, and his eyes turned 
 wistfully to the papers; but after a short pause he continued his 
 recital. He came to Nora's unexpected return to her father's 
 house her death his conquest of his own grief, that he might 
 spare Harley the abrupt shock of learning her decease. He had 
 torn himself from the dead, in remorseful sympathy with the 
 living. He spoke of Harley's illness, so nearly fatal repeated 
 Harley's jealous words, " that he would rather mourn Nora's 
 death, than take comfort from the thought that she had loved 
 another." He spoke of his journey to the village where Mr. 
 Dale had told him Nora's child was placed " and, hearing that 
 child and mother were alike gone, whom now could I right by 
 acknowledging a bond that I feared would so wring your heart ? " 
 Audley again paused a moment, and resumed in short, nervous, 
 impressive sentences. This cold, austere man of the world for 
 the first time bared his heart unconscious, perhaps, that he did 
 so unconscious that he revealed how deeply, amidst state cares 
 and public distinctions, he had felt the absence of affections 
 how mechanical was that outer circle in the folds of life which 
 is called " a career " how valueless wealth had grown none 
 to inherit it. Of his gnawing and progressive disease alone he 
 did not speak; he was too proud and too masculine to appeal 
 to pity for physical ills. He reminded Harley how often, how 
 engerly, year after year, month after month, he had urged his 
 friend to rouse himself from mournful dreams, devote his native 
 powers to his country, or seek the surer felicity of domestic ties. 
 Selfish in these attempts I might be," said Egerton; "it was
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 419 
 
 only if I saw you restored to happiness that I could believe you 
 could calmly hear my explanation of the past, and on the floor 
 of some happy home grant me your forgiveness. I longed to 
 confess, and I dared not. Often have the words rushed to my 
 lips as often some chance sentence from you repelled me. In 
 a word, with you were so entwined all thoughts and affections 
 of my youth even those that haunted the grave of Nora that 
 I could not bear to resign your friendship, and, surrounded by 
 the esteem and honor of a world I cared not for, to meet the 
 contempt of your reproachful eye." 
 
 Amidst all that Audley said amidst all that admitted of no 
 excuse two predominant sentiments stoodclear,in unmistakable 
 and touching pathos. Remorseful regret for the lost Nora and 
 self-accusing, earnest, almost feminine tenderness for the friend 
 he had deceived. Thus, as he continued to speak, Harley more 
 and more forgot even the remembrance of his own guilty and 
 terrible interval of hate; the gulf that had so darkly yawned 
 between the two closed up, leaving them still standing, side by 
 side, as in their school-boy days. But he remained silent, listen- 
 ing shading his face from Audley, and as if under some soft 
 but enthralling spell, till Egerton thus closed 
 
 "And now, Harley, all is told. You spoke of revenge?" 
 
 "Revenge!" muttered Harley, starting. 
 
 "And believe me," continued Egerton, "were revenge in your 
 power, I should rejoice at it as an atonement. To receive an in- 
 jury in return for that which, first from youthful passion, and af ter- 
 ward from the infirmity of purpose that concealed the wrong I have 
 inflicted upon you why, that would soothe my conscience, and 
 raise my lost self-esteem. The sole revenge you can bestow takes 
 the form which most humiliates me, to revenge, is to pardon." 
 
 Harley groaned; and still hiding his face with one hand, 
 stretched forth the other, but rather with the air of one who 
 entreats than who accords forgiveness. Audley took and 
 pressed the hand thus extended. 
 
 "And now, Harley, farewell. With the dawn I leave this 
 house. I cannot now accept your aid in this election. Levy 
 shall announce my resignation. Randal Leslie, if you please it, 
 may be returned in my stead. He has abilities which, under 
 safe guidance, may serve his country ; and I have no right to 
 reject, from vain pride, whatever will promote the career of one 
 whom I undertook, and have failed, to serve." 
 
 "Ay, ay," muttered Harley; "think not of Randal Leslie; think 
 but of your son." 
 
 " My son! But are you sure that he still lives? You smile ;
 
 420 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 you you oh, Harley I took from you the mother, give to me 
 the son ; break my heart with gratitude. Your revenge is found ! " 
 
 Lord L'Estrange rose with a sudden start gazed on Audley 
 for a moment irresolute, not from resentment, but from shame. 
 At that moment he was the man humbled; he was the man who 
 feared reproach, and who needed pardon. Audley, not divining 
 what was thus passing in Harley's breast, turned away. 
 
 ''You think that I ask too much; and yet all that I can give 
 to the child of my love, and the heir of my name, is the worth- 
 less blessing of a ruined man. Harley, I say no more. I dare 
 not add, 'You too loved his mother! and with a deeper, nobler 
 love than mine.' " He stopped short, and Harley flung himself 
 on his breast. 
 
 " Me me pardon me, Audley! Your offence has been slight 
 to mine. You have told me your offence; never can I name to 
 you my own. Rejoice that we have both to exchange forgive- 
 ness, and in that exchange we are equal still, Audley brothers 
 still. Lookup lookup; think that we are boys now as we were 
 once, boys who have had their wild quarrel and who, the mo- 
 ment it is over, feel dearer to each other than before." 
 
 "Oh, Harley, this is revenge! It strikes home,'' murmured 
 Egerton, and tears gushed fast from eyes that could have gazed 
 unwinking on the rack. The clock struck; Harley sprang forward. 
 
 " I have time yet," he cried; "much to do and to undo. You 
 are saved from the grasp of Levy, your election will be won, 
 your fortunes in much may be restored, you have before you 
 honors not yet achieved, your career, as yet, is scarce begun, 
 your son will embrace you to-morrow. Let me go your hand 
 again! Ah, Audley, we shall be so happy yet ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 " THERE is a hitch," said Dick, pithily, when Randal joined 
 him in the oak copse at ten o'clock. " Life is full of hitches." 
 
 RANDAL. The art of life is to smooth them away. What 
 hitch is this, my dear Avenel ? 
 
 DICK. Leonard has taken huff at certain expressions of Lord 
 L'Estrange's at the nomination to-day, and talks of retiring from 
 the contest. 
 
 RANDAL (with secret glee). But his resignation would 
 smooth a hitch not create one. The votes promised to him 
 would thus be freed, and go to 
 
 DICK. The Right Honorable Red-Tapist, 
 
 RANDAL, Are you serious ?
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 42 r 
 
 DlCK. As an undertaker! The fact is, there are two parties 
 among the Yellows, as there are in the Church High Yellow and 
 Low Yellow. Leonard has made great way with the High Yel- 
 lows, and has more influence with them than I ; and the High Yel- 
 lows infinitely prefer Egerton to yourself. They say, 'Politics 
 apart, he would be an honor to the borough.' Leonard is of the 
 same opinion; and if he retires, I don't think I could coax either 
 him or the Highflyers to make you any the better by his resignation. 
 
 RANDAL. But surely your nephew's sense of gratitude to you 
 would induce him not to go against your wishes? 
 
 DICK. Unluckily, the gratitude is all the other way. It is I 
 who am under obligations to him not he to me. As for Lord 
 L'Estrange, I can't make head or tail of his real intentions; and 
 why he should have attacked Leonard in that way, puzzles me 
 more than all, for he wished Leonard to stand. And Levy has 
 privately informed me that, in spite of my lord's friendship for 
 the Right Honorable, you are the man he desires to secure. 
 
 RANDAL. He has certainly shown that desire throughout 
 the whole canvass. 
 
 DICK. I suspect that the borough-mongers have got a seat 
 for Egerton elsewhere; or, perhaps, should his party come in 
 again, he is to be pitchforked into the Upper House. 
 
 RANDAL (smiling). Ah, Avenel, you are so shrewd; you see 
 through everything. I will also add, that Egerton wants some 
 short respite from public life in order to nurse his health and 
 attend to his affairs, otherwise I could not even contemplate the 
 chance of the electors preferring me to him, without a pang. 
 
 DICK. Pang! stuff considerable. The oak trees don't hear 
 us! You want to come into Parliament, and no mistake. If I 
 am the man to retire as I always proposed, and had got Leon- 
 ard to agree to, before this confounded speech of L'Estrange's 
 come into Parliament you will, for the Low Yellows I can twist 
 round my finger, provided the High Yellows will not interfere; 
 in short, I could transfer to you votes promised to me, but I can't 
 answer for those promised to Leonard. Levy tells me you are 
 to marry a rich girl, and will have lots of money; so, of course, 
 you will pay my expenses if you come in through my votes. 
 
 RANDAL. My dear Avenel, certainly I will. 
 
 DICK. And I have two private bills I want to smuggle through 
 Parliament. 
 
 RANDAL. They shall be smuggled, rely on it. Mr. Fairfield 
 being on one side of the House, and I on the other, we two could 
 prevent all unpleasant opposition. Private bills are easily man- 
 aged with that t?t which I flatter myself I possess.
 
 422 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 DICK. And when the bills are through the House, and you 
 have had time to look about you, I dare say you will see that 
 no man dare go against Public Opinion, unless he wants to knock 
 his own head against a stone wall; and that Public Opinion is 
 decidedly Yellow. 
 
 RANDAL (with candor). I cannot deny that Public Opinion 
 is Yellow; and at my age it is natural that I should not commit 
 myself to the policy of a former generation. Blue is fast wear- 
 ing out. But to return to Mr. Fairfield you do not speak as if 
 you had no hope of keeping him straight to what I understand to 
 be his agreement with yourself. Surely his honor is engaged to it. 
 
 DICK. I don't know as to honor; but he has now taken a 
 fancy to public life, at least so he said no later than this morn- 
 ing before we went into the hall; and I trust that matters will 
 come right. Indeed, I left him with Parson Dale, who promised 
 me that he would use all his best exertions to reconcile Leonard 
 and my lord, and that Leonard should do nothing hastily. 
 
 RANDAL. But why should Mr. Fairfield retire because Lord 
 L'Estrange wounds his feelings? I am sure Mr. Fairfield has 
 wounded mine, but that does not make me think of retiring. 
 
 DICK. Oh, Leonard is a poet, and poets are quite as crotch- 
 ety as L'Estrange said they were. And Leonard is under obli- 
 gations to Lord L'Estrange, and thought that Lord L'Estrange 
 was pleased by his standing ; whereas, now in short, it is all 
 Greek to me, except that Leonard has mounted his high horse, 
 and if that throws him, I am afraid it will throw you. But still I 
 have great confidence in Parson Dale a good fellow, who has 
 much influence with Leonard. And though 1 thought it right to be 
 above-board, and let you know where the danger lies, yet one thing 
 I can promise if I resign, you shall come in ; so shake hands on it. 
 
 RANDAL. My dear Avenel! And your wish is to resign ? 
 
 DICK. Certainly. I should do so a little time after noon, con- 
 triving to be below Leonard on the poll. You know Emanuel 
 Trout, the captairi of the Hundred and Fifty " Waiters on Provi- 
 dence," as they are called? 
 
 RANDAL. To be sure I do. 
 
 DICK. When Emanuel Trout comes into the booth, you will 
 know how the election turns. As he votes, all the Hundred and 
 Fifty will vote. Now I must go back. Good-night. You'll notfor- 
 get that my expenses are to be paid. Point of honor. Still, if they 
 arem?/paid,the election can be upset petition for bribery and cor- 
 ruption ; and if they<z>rpaid,whyLansmeremaybeyoiirseatforlife. 
 
 RANDAL. Your expenses shall be paid the moment mymar- 
 jiage gives me the means to pay them and that must be very soon.
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 423 
 
 DICK. So Levy says. And my little jobs the private bills ? 
 
 RANDAL. Consider the bills passed and the jobs done. 
 
 DICK. And one must not forget one's country. One must 
 do the best one can for one's principles. Egerton is infernally 
 Blue. You allow Public Opinion is 
 
 RANDAL. Yellow. Not a doubt of it. 
 
 UICK. Good-night. Ha ha humbug, eh ? 
 
 RANDAL. Humbug ! Between men like us oh no. Good- 
 night, my dear friend I rely on you. 
 
 I)ICK. Yes ; but mind ; I promise nothing if Leonard Fair- 
 field does not stand. 
 
 RANDAL. He must stand ; keep him to it. Your affairs 
 your business your mill : 
 
 DICK. Very true. He must stand. I have great faith in Par- 
 son Dale. 
 
 Randal glided back through the park. When he came on the 
 terrace, he suddenly encountered Lord L'Estrange. "I have 
 just been privately into the town, my dear lord, and heard a 
 strange rumor, that Mr. Fairfield was so annoyed by some re- 
 marks in your lordship's admirable speech, that he talks of re- 
 tiring from the contest. That would give a new feature to the 
 election, and perplex all our calculations. And I fear, in that 
 case, there might be some secret coalition between Avenel's 
 friends and our Committee, whom, I am told, I displeased by the 
 moderate speech which your lordship so eloquently defend- 
 ed a coalition by which Avenel would come in with Mr. Eger- 
 ton; whereas, if we all four stand, Mr. Egerton, I presume, will be 
 quite safe ; and I certainly think I have an excellent chance." 
 
 LORD L'ESTRANGE. So Mr. Fairfield will retire in conse- 
 quence of my remarks ! I am going into the town, and I intend 
 to apologize for those remarks, and retract them. 
 
 RANDAL (joyously). Noble ! 
 
 Lord L'Estrange looked at Leslie's face, upon which the stars 
 gleamed palely. " Mr. Egerton has thought more of your success 
 than of his own," said he, gravely, and hurried on. 
 
 Randal continued on the terrace. Perhaps Harley'slast words 
 gave him a twinge of compunction. His head sunk musingly on 
 his breast, and he paced to and fro the long gravel walk, sum- 
 moning up all his intellect to resist every temptation to what 
 could injure his self-interest. 
 
 " Skulking knave ! " muttered Harley. " At least there will be 
 nothing to repent, if I can do justice on him. That is not re- 
 venge. Come, that must be fair retribution. Besides, how else 
 can I deliver Violante?" He laughed gaily, his heart was so
 
 424 MY &OVEL ; OR, 
 
 light ; and his foot bounded on as fleet as the deer that he startled 
 amongst the fern. 
 
 A few yards from the turnstile he overtook Richard Avenel, 
 disguised in a rough great-coat and spectacles. Nevertheless 
 Harley's eye detected the Yellow candidate at the first glance. 
 He caught Dick familiarly by the arm. " Well met I was going 
 to you. We have the election to settle." 
 
 " On the terms I mentioned to your lordship ? " said Dick, 
 startled. " I will agree to return one of your candidates ; but it 
 must not be Audley Egerton." Harley whispered close to 
 Avenel's ear. 
 
 Avenel uttered an exclamation of amazement. The two gentle- 
 men walked on rapidly, and conversing with great eagerness. 
 
 "Certainly," said Avenel, at length stopping short, "one 
 would do a gi'eat deal to serve a family connection and a con- 
 nection that does a man so much credit ; and how can one go 
 against one's own brother-in-law ? a gentleman of such high 
 standing pull up the whole family ! How pleased Mrs. Richard 
 Avenel will be! Why the devil did not I know it before? 
 And poor dear dear Nora. Ah, that she were living ! " Dick's 
 voice trembled. 
 
 " Her name will be righted ; and I will explain how it wasmy 
 fault that Egerton did not before acknowledge his marriage, and 
 claim you as a brother. Come, then, it is all fixed and settled." 
 
 " No, my lord ; I am pledged the other way. I don't see how 
 I can get off my word to Randal Leslie. I'm not over-nice, 
 nor what is called Quixotic, but still my word is given, that if 
 I retire from the election, I will do my best to return Leslie 
 instead of Egerton." 
 
 " I know that through Baron Levy. But if your nephew re- 
 tires?" 
 
 "Oh, that would solve all difficulties. But the poor boy has 
 now a wish to come into Parliament; and he has done me a 
 service in the hour of need." 
 
 " Leave it to me. And as to Randal Leslie, he shall have an 
 occasion himself to acquit you and redeem himself ; and happy, 
 indeed, will it be for him if he has yet one spark of gratitude, or 
 one particle of honor." 
 
 The two continued to converse for a few moments Dick 
 seeming to forget the election itself, and ask questions of more 
 interest to his heart, which Harley answered so, that Dick wrung 
 L'Estrange's hand with great emotion and muttered, " My 
 poor mother ! I understand now \vhv she would never talk to 
 me of Nora. When may I tell "her the' truth ?"
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 425 
 
 "To-morrow evening, after the election; Egerton shall em- 
 brace you all." 
 
 Dick started, and saying "See Leonard as soon as you can 
 there is no time to lose," plunged into a lane that led toward 
 the obscurer recesses of the town. Harley continued his way 
 with the same light elastic tread which (lost during his abnega- 
 tion of his own nature) was now restored to the foot, that seemed 
 loth to leave a print upon the mire. 
 
 At the commencement of the High Street he encountered Mr. 
 Dale and Fairfield, walking slowly, arm in arm. 
 
 HARLEY. Leonard, I was coming to you. Give me your 
 hand. Forget for the present the words that justly stung and 
 offended you. I will do more than apologize I will repair the 
 wrong. Excuse me, Mr. Dale I have one word to say in private 
 to Leonard. He drew Fairfield aside. 
 
 " Avenel tells me that if you were to retire from this contest 
 it would be a sacrifice of inclination. It is so ?" 
 
 "My lord, I have sorrows that I would fain forget; and, 
 though I at first shrunk from the strife in which I have been since 
 engaged, yet now a literary career seems to me to have lost its 
 old charm ; and I find that, in public life, there is a distraction 
 to the thoughts which embitter solitude, that books fail to be- 
 stow. Therefore, if you still wish me to continue this contest, 
 though I know not your motive, it will not be as it was to begin 
 it a reluctant and a painful obedience to your request." 
 
 "I understand. It was a sacrifice of inclination to begin the 
 contest it would be now a sacrifice of inclination to withdraw !" 
 
 " Honestly yes, my lord." 
 
 ; "I rejoice to hear it, for I ask that sacrifice; a sacrifice which 
 you will recall hereafter with delight and pride ; a sacrifice 
 sweeter, if I read your nature aright oh, sweeter far, than all 
 which commonplace ambition could bestow ! And when you 
 learn why I make this demand, you will say, 'This, indeed, is 
 reparation for the words that wounded my affections, and 
 wronged my heart.' ' 
 
 " My lord, my lord ! " exclaimed Leonard, " the injury is re- 
 paired already. You give me back your esteem, when you so well 
 anticipate my answer. Your esteem! lifesmiles again. I can re- 
 turn to my more legitimate career without a sigh. I have no need 
 of distraction from thought now. You will believe that, whatever 
 my past presumption, I can pray sincerely for your happiness." 
 
 " Poet ! you adorn your career ; you fulfil your mission, even 
 At this moment ; you beautify the world ; you give to the'harsh 
 form of Duty the cestus of the Graces," said Harley, trying to
 
 426 MY NOVEL | Oft, 
 
 force a smile to his quivering lips. "But we must hasten back to 
 the prose of existence. I accept your sacrifice. As for the time 
 and mode I must select, in order to insure its result, I will ask you 
 to abide by such instructions as I shall have occasion to convey 
 through your uncle. Till then, no word of your intentions not 
 even to Mr. Dale. Forgive me if I would rather secure Mr. 
 Egerton's election than yours. Let that explanation suffice for 
 the present. What think you, by the way, of Audley Egerton ?" 
 
 "I thought when I heard him speak, and when he closed with 
 those touching words implying that he left all of his life not 
 devoted to his country, ' to the charity of his friends ' how 
 proudly, even as his opponent, I could have clasped his hand ; 
 and if he had wronged me in private life, I should have thought 
 it ingratitude to the country he had so served, to remember 
 the offence." 
 
 Harley turned away abruptly, and joined Mr. Dale. 
 
 " Leave Leonard to go home by himself ; you see that I have 
 healed whatever wounds I inflicted on him." 
 
 PARSON. And, your better nature thus awakened, I trust, my 
 dear lord, that you have altogether abandoned the idea of 
 
 HARLEY. Revenge ? No. And if you do not approve that re- 
 venge to-morrow, I will never rest till I have seen you a bishop! 
 
 MR. DALE (much shocked). My lo.rd, for shame ! 
 
 HARLEY (seriously,) My levity is but lip-deep, my dear Mr. 
 Dale. But sometimes the froth on the wave shows the change 
 in the tide. 
 
 The Parson looked at him earnestly, and then seized him by 
 both hands with holy gladness and affection. 
 
 " Return to the park, now," said Harley, smiling, " and tell 
 Violante, if it be not too late to see her, that she was even more 
 eloquent than you." 
 
 Lord L'Estrange bounded forward. 
 
 Mr. Dale walked back through the park toLansmere House. 
 On the terrace he found Randal, who was still pacing to and fro, 
 sometimes in the starlight, sometimes in the shadow. 
 
 Leslie looked up, and seeing Mr. Dale, the close astuteness of 
 his aspect returned ; and stepping out of the starlight deep into 
 the shadow, he said 
 
 " I was sorry to learn that Mr. Fairfield had been so hurt by 
 Lord L'Estrange's severe allusions. Pity that political differences 
 should interfere with private friendships ; but I hear that you 
 have been to Mr. Fairfield and doubtless, as the peacemaker. 
 Perhaps you met Lord L'Estrange by the way? He promised 
 nie that he would apologize and retract."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 4^7 
 
 "Good young man," said the unsuspecting Parson, "he has 
 done so." 
 
 " And Mr. LeonardJFairfield will therefore, I presume, continue 
 the contest?" 
 
 "Contest ah, this election ! I suppose so, of course. But I 
 grieve that he should stand against you, who seem to be disposed 
 toward him so kindly." 
 
 "Oh, "said Randal, with a benevolent smile, "we have fought 
 before, you know, and I beat him then. I may do so again ! " 
 
 And he walked into the house, arm-in-arm with the Parson. 
 Mr. Dale sought Violante Leslie retired to his own room, and 
 felt his election was secured. 
 
 Lord L'Estrange had gained the thick of the streets passing 
 groups of roaring enthusiasts Blue and Yellow now met with a 
 cheer now followed by a groan. Just by a public-house that 
 formed the angle of a lane with the High Street, and which was 
 all a-blaze with light, and all alive with clamor, he beheld the 
 graceful Baron leaning against the threshold, smoking his cigar, 
 too refined to associate its divine vapor with the wreaths of shag 
 within, and chatting agreeably with a knot of females, who were 
 either attracted by the general excitement, or waiting to see hus- 
 band, brother, father, or son, who were now joining in the chorus 
 of "Blue for ever!" that rang from tap-room to attic of the 
 illumined hostelry. Levy, seeing Lord L'Estrange, withdrew his 
 cigar from his lips and hastened to join him. " All the Hundred 
 and Fifty are in there," said the Baron, with a backward signifi- 
 cant jerk of his thumb toward the inn. ''I have seen them all 
 privately, in tens at a time; and I have been telling the ladies 
 without, that it will be best for the interest of their family to go 
 home, and let us lock up the Hundred and Fifty safe from the Yel- 
 lows, till we bring them to the poll. But I am afraid, "continued Levy, 
 " that the rascals are not to be relied upon unless I actually pay 
 them beforehand; and that would be disreputable,immoral and, 
 what is more, it would upset the election. Besides, if they are paid 
 beforehand, query, is it quite sure how they will vote afterward ? " 
 
 " Mr. Avenel, I dare say, can manage them," said Harley. 
 " Pray do nothing immoral, and nothing that will upset the 
 election. I think you might as well go home." 
 
 " Home ! No, pardon me, my lord ; there must be some head 
 to direct the Committee, and keep our captains at their posts 
 upon the doubtful electors. A great deal of mischief may be done 
 between this and the morrow ; and I would sit up all night ay, 
 six nights a week for the next three months to prevent any 
 awkward mistake by which Audley Egerton can be returned."
 
 428 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 "His return would really grieve you so much?" said Harley. 
 
 ''You may judge of that by the zeal with which I enter into 
 all your designs." 
 
 Here there was a sudden and wondrously loud shout from 
 another inn a Yellow inn, far down the lane, not so luminous as 
 the Blue hostelry; on the contrary, looking rather dark and sinis- 
 ter, more like a place of conspirators or felons than honest inde- 
 pendent electors, "Avenel for ever! Avenel and the Yellows! " 
 
 " Excuse me, my lord, I must go back and watch over my 
 black sheep, if I would have them blue ! " said Levy ; and he 
 retreated toward the threshold. But at that shout of "Avenel 
 for ever ! " as if at a signal, various electors of the redoubted 
 Hundred and Fifty rushed from the Blue hostelry, sweeping 
 past, and hurrying down the lane to the dark little Yellow inn, 
 followed by the female stragglers, as small birds follow an owl. 
 It was not, however, very easy to get into that Yellow inn. Yel- 
 low Reformers, eminent for their zeal on behalf of purity of 
 election, were stationed outside the door, and only strained in 
 one candidate for admittance at a time. "After all," thought the 
 Baron, as he passed into the principal room of the Blue tavern, 
 and proposed the national song of "Rule Britannia" "after all, 
 Avenel hates Egerton as much as I do, and both sides work to 
 the same end." And thrumming on the table, he joined, with a 
 fine bass, in the famous line, 
 
 " For Britons never will be slaves ! " 
 
 In the interim, Harley had disappeared within the "Lansmere 
 Arms," which was the headquarters of the Blue Committee. 
 Not, however, mounting to the room in which a few of the more 
 indefatigable were continuing their labors, receiving reports from 
 scouts, giving orders, laying wagers, and very muzzy with British 
 principles and spirits, Harley called aside the landlord, and in- 
 quired if the stranger, for whom rooms had been prepared, was 
 . yet arrived. An affirmative answer was given, and Harley fol- 
 lowed the host up a private stair, to a part of the house remote 
 from the rooms devoted to the purposes of the election. He 
 remained with this stranger about half an hour, and then walked 
 into the Committee-room, got rid of the more excited, conferred 
 with the more sober, issued a few brief directions to such of the 
 leaders as he felt he could most rely upon, and returned home 
 'as rapidly as he had quitted it. 
 
 Dawn was gray in the skies when Harley sought his own cham- 
 ber. To gain it, he passed by the door of Violante's. His heart 
 'suffused with grateful ineffable tenderness, he paused and kissed 
 the threshold. When he stood within his room (the same that
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 429 
 
 he had occupied in his early youth), he felt as if the load of years 
 were lifted from his bosom. The joyous, divine elasticity of 
 spirit, that in the morning of life springs toward the Future as a 
 bird soars into heaven, pervaded his whole sense of being. A 
 Greek poet implies, that the height of bliss is the sudden relief 
 of pain ; there is a nobler bliss still the rapture of the con- 
 science at the sudden release from a guilty thought. By the bed- 
 side at which he had knelt in boyhood, Harley paused to kneel 
 once more. The luxury of prayer, interrupted since he had 
 nourished schemes of which his passions had blinded him to the 
 sin, but which, nevertheless, he dared not confess to the All- 
 Merciful, was restored to him. And yet, as he bowed his knee, 
 the elation of spirits he had before felt forsook him. The sense 
 of the danger his soul had escaped the full knowledge of the 
 guilt to which the fiend had tempted came dread before his 
 clearing vision ; he shuddered in horror of himself. And he 
 who but a few hours before had deemed it so impossible to par- 
 don his fellow-man, now felt as if years of useful and beneficent 
 deeds could alone purify his own repentant soul from the memory 
 of one hateful passion. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 BUT while Harley had thus occupied the hours of night with 
 cares for the living, Audley Egerton had been in commune with 
 the dead. He had taken from the pile of papers amidst which 
 it had fallen, the record of Nora's silenced heart. With a sad 
 wonder he saw how he had once been loved. What had all 
 which successful ambition had bestowed on the lonely statesman 
 to compensate for the glorious empire he had lost such realms 
 of lovely fancy; such worlds of exquisite emotion; that infinite 
 which lies within the divine sphere that unites spiritual genius 
 with human love ? His own positive and earthly nature attained, 
 for the first time, and as if for its own punishment, the compre- 
 hension of that loftier and more ethereal visitant from the 
 heavens, who had once looked with a seraph's smile through the 
 prison-bars of his iron life that celestial refinement of affection, 
 that exuberance of feeling which warms into such varieties of 
 beautiful idea, under the breath of the earth-beautifier, Imagi- 
 nation; all from which, when it was all his own, he had turned 
 half weary and impatient, and termed the exaggerations of a 
 visionary romance now that the world had lost them evermore, 
 he interpreted aright as truths. Truths they were, although illu- 
 sions. Even as the philosopher tells us that the splendor of
 
 430 MY NOVEL ; Oft, 
 
 colors which deck the universe is not on the surface whereoti 
 we think to behold it, but in our own vision; yet, take the colors 
 from the universe, and what philosophy can assure us that the 
 universe has sustained no loss? 
 
 But when Atidley came to that passage in the fragment which, 
 though but imperfectly, explained the true cause of Nora's flight; 
 when he saw how Levy, for what purpose he was unable to con- 
 jecture, had suggested to his bride the doubts that had offended 
 him asserted the marriage to be a fraud drawn from Audley's 
 own brief resentful letters to Nora, proof of the assertion mis- 
 led so naturally the young wife's scanty experience of actual 
 life, and maddened one so sensitively pure into the conviction 
 of dishonor his brow darkened, and his hand clenched. He 
 rose and went at once to Levy's room. He found it deserted 
 inquired learned that Levy was gone forth, and had left word 
 he might not be home for the night. Fortunate, perhaps, for 
 Audley fortunate for the Baron that they did not then meet. 
 Revenge, in spite of his friend's admonition, might at that hour 
 have been as potent an influence on Egerton a& it had been on 
 Harley, and not, as with the latter, to be turned aside. 
 
 Audley came back to his room and finished the tragic record. 
 He traced the tremor of that beloved hand through the last tor- 
 tures of doubt and despair ; he saw where the hot tears had 
 fallen ; he saw where the hand had paused, the very sentence 
 not concluded; mentally he accompanied his fated bride in the 
 dismal journey to her maiden home, and beheld her before him 
 as he had last seen, more beautiful even in death than the face 
 of living women had ever since appeared to him; and as he 
 bent over the last words, the blank that they left on the leaf, 
 stretching pale beyond the quiver of the characters and the blister 
 of the tears pale and blank as the void which departed love 
 leaves behind it he felt his heart suddenly stand still, its course 
 arrested as the record closed. It beat again, bu t feebly so feebly! 
 His breath became labor and pain, his sight grew dizzy. But the 
 constitutional firmness and fortitude of the man clung to him in 
 the stubborn mechanism of habit his will yet fought, against his 
 disease life rallied as the light flickers up in the waning taper. 
 
 The next morning, when Harley came into his friend's room, 
 Egerton was asleep. But the sleep seemed much disturbed; the 
 breathing was hard and difficult; the bedclothes were partially 
 thrown off, as if in the tossing of disturbed dreams;. the' sinewy, 
 strong arm, the bapoad^.at'hletic breast, were partly bare. Strange 
 that so deadly a disease within should leave the frame .such ap- 
 parent power that, to the ordinary eye, the sleeping sufferer
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 43! 
 
 seemed a model of healthful vigor. One hand was thrust with 
 uneasy straining over the pillows it had its hold on the fatal 
 papers ; a portion of the leaves was visible ; and where the 
 characters had been blurred by Nora's tears, were the traces, 
 yet moist, of tears perhaps more bitter. 
 
 Harley felt deeply affected ; and while he still stood by the 
 bed, Egerton sighed heavily and woke. He stared round him, 
 as if perplexed and confused till his eyes resting on Harley, 
 he smiled and said 
 
 " So early ! Ah I remember, it is the day for our great 
 boat-race. We shall have the current against us ; but you and 
 I together when did we ever lose ? " 
 
 Audley's mind was wandering ; it had gone back to the old 
 Eton days. But Harley thought that he spoke in metaphorical 
 allusion to the present more important contest. 
 
 " True, my Audley you and I together when did we ever 
 lose? But will you rise? I wish you would be at the polling- 
 place to shake hands with your voters as they come up. By 
 four o'clock, you will be released, and the election won." 
 
 " The election! How! what! " said Egerton, recovering him- 
 self. "I recollect now. Yes I accept this last kindness from 
 you. I always said I would die in harness. Public life I have 
 no other. Ah, I dream again ! Oh, Harley ! my son my son! " 
 
 "You shall see him after four o'clock. You will be proud of 
 each other. But make haste and dress. Shall I ring the bell for 
 your servant ? " 
 
 "Do," said Egerton, briefly, ' and sinking back. Harley 
 quitted the room, and joined Randal and some of the more 
 important members of the Blue Committee, who were already 
 hurrying over their breakfast. 
 
 All were anxious and nervous except Harley, who dipped his 
 dry toast into his coffee, according to his ordinary abstemious 
 Italian habit, with serene composure. Randal in vain tried for 
 an equal tranquillity. But though sure of his election, there 
 would necessarily follow a scene trying to the nerve of his hy- 
 pocrisy. He would have to affect profound chagrin in the midst 
 of vile joy; have to act the part of decorous high-minded sorrow, 
 that by some untoward chance some unaccountable cross-split- 
 ting, Randal Leslie's gain should be Audley Egerton's loss. Be- 
 sides, he was flurried in the expectation of seeing the Squire, and 
 of appropriating the money which was to secure the dearest ob- 
 ject of his ambition. Breakfast was soon despatched. The Com- 
 mitteemen, bustling for their hats, and looking at their watches, 
 gave the signal for departure; yet no Squire Hazeldean had made
 
 432 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 his appearance. Harley, stepping from the window upon the 
 terrace, beckoned to Randal, who took his hat and followed. 
 
 " Mr. Leslie," said Harley, leaning against the balustrade, and 
 carelessly patting Nero's rough honest head, "you remember 
 that you were good enough to volunteer to me the explanation 
 of certain circumstances in connection with the Count di Pes- 
 chiera, which you gave to the Duke di Serrano ; and I replied 
 that my thoughts were at present engaged on the election, but 
 as soon as that was over, I should be very willing to listen to 
 any communications affecting yourself and my old friend the 
 Duke, with which you might be pleased to favor me." 
 
 This address took Randal by surprise, and did not tend to 
 calm his nerves. However, he replied readily : 
 
 " Upon that, as upon any other matter that may influence the 
 judgment you form of me, I shall be but too eager to remove a 
 single doubt that, in your eyes, can rest upon my honor." 
 
 " You speak exceedingly well, Mr. Leslie ; no man can express 
 himself more handsomely; and I will claim your promise with 
 the less scruple, because the Duke is powerfully affected by the 
 reluctance of his daughter to ratify the engagement that binds 
 his honor, in case your own is indisputably cleared. I may 
 boast of some influence over the young lady, since I assisted to 
 save her from the infamous plot of Peschiera ; and the Duke 
 urges me to receive your explanation, in the belief that, if it 
 satisfy me, as it has satisfied him, I may conciliate his child in 
 favor of the addresses of a suitor who would have hazarded his 
 very life against so redoubted a duellist as Peschiera." 
 
 " Lord L'Estrange," replied Randal, bowing, " I shall indeed 
 owe you much if you can remove that reluctance on the part 
 of my betrothed bride, which alone clouds my happiness, and 
 which would at once put an end to my suit, did I not ascribe it 
 to an imperfect knowledge of myself, which I shall devote my 
 life to improve into confidence and affection." 
 
 " No man can speak more handsomely," reiterated Harley, as 
 if with profound admiration ; and indeed he did eye Randal as 
 we eye some rare curiosity. " I am happy to inform you, too," 
 continued L'Estrange, "that if your marriage with the Duke di 
 Serrano's daughter take place " 
 
 "///" echoed Randal. 
 
 " I beg pardon for making any hypothesis of what you claim 
 the right to esteem a certainty I correct my expression : when 
 your marriage with that young lady takes place, you will at least 
 escape the rock on which many young men of ardent affections 
 have split at the onset of the grand voyage. You will form nq
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 433 
 
 imprudent connection. In a word, I received yesterday a de- 
 spatch from Vienna, which contains the full pardon and formal 
 restoration of Alphonso, Duke di Serrano. And I may add, that 
 the Austrian government (sometimes misunderstood in this coun- 
 try) is bound by the laws it administers, andean in no way dictate 
 to the Duke, once restored, as to the choice of his son-in-law, or 
 as to the heritage that may devolve on his child." 
 
 "And does the Duke yet know of his recall ?" exclaimed 
 Randal, his cheek flushed and his eye sparkling. 
 
 " No. I reserve that good news, with other matters, till after 
 the election is over. But Egerton keeps us waiting sadly. Ah, 
 here comes his valet." 
 
 Audley's servant approached. "Mr. Egerton feels himself 
 rather more poorly than usual, my lord ; he begs you will ex- 
 cuse his going with you into the town at present. He will come 
 later if his presence is necessary." 
 
 " No. Pray tell him to rest and nurse himself. I should 
 have liked him to witness his own triumph that is all. Say I 
 will represent him at the polling-place. Gentlemen, are you 
 ready ? We will go on." 
 
 The polling-booth was erected in the centre of the market- 
 place. The voting had already commenced ; and Mr. Avenel 
 and Leonard were already at their posts, in order to salute and 
 thank the voters in their cause who passed before them. Ran-, 
 dal and L'Estrange entered the booth amidst loud hurrahs, and 
 to the national air of " See, the Conquering Hero Comes." The 
 voters denied in quick succession. Those who voted entirely 
 according to principle or color which came to much the same 
 thing and were therefore above what is termed "management," 
 flocked in first, voting straightforwardly for both Blues or both 
 Yellows. At the end of the first half-hour, the Yellows were 
 about ten ahead of the Blues. Then sundry split votes began 
 to perplex conjecture as to the result ; and Randal, at the end 
 of the first hour, had fifteen majority over Audley Egerton, two 
 over Dick Avenel Leonard Fairfield heading the poll by five. 
 Randal owed his place in the lists to the voters that Harley's 
 personal efforts had procured for him ; and he was well pleased 
 to see that Lord L'Estrange had not withdrawn from him a 
 single promise so obtained. This augured well for Harley's 
 ready belief in his appointed " explanations." In short, the 
 whole election seemed going just as he had calculated. But by 
 twelve o'clock, there were some changes in the relative position of 
 the candidates. Dick Avenel had gradually gained ground 
 passing Randal, passing even Leonard, He stood at the head of
 
 434 My NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 the poll by a majority of ten. Randal came next. Audley was 
 twenty behind Randal, and Leonard four behind Audley. 
 
 More than half the constituency had polled, but none of the 
 Committee on either side, nor one of the redoubted corps of a 
 Hundred and Fifty. 
 
 The poll now slackened sensibly. Randal, looking round, and 
 longing for an opportunity to ask Dick whether he really meant 
 to return himself instead of his nephew, saw that Harley had 
 disappeared ; and presently a note was brought to him request- 
 ing his presence in the Committee-room. Thither he hastened. 
 
 As he forced his way through the bystanders in the lobby, 
 toward the threshold of the room, Levy caught hold of him and 
 whispered "They begin to fear for Egerton. They want a 
 compromise in order to secure him. They will propose to you 
 to resign, if Avenel will withdraw Leonard. Don't be entrapped. 
 L'Estrange may put the question to you ; but a word in your 
 ear he would be glad enough to throw over Egerton. Rely 
 upon this, and stand firm." 
 
 Randal made no answer, but, the crowd giving way for him, 
 entered the room. Levy followed. The doors were instantly 
 closed. All the Blue Committee were assembled. They looked 
 heated, anxious, eager. Lord L'Estrange, alone calm and cool, 
 stood at the head of the long table. Despite his composure, 
 Harley's, brow was thoughtful. "Yes," said he to himself, "I 
 will give this young man the fair occasion to prove gratitude to his 
 benefactor; and if he here acquit himself, I will spare him at least 
 public exposure of his deceit to others. So young, he must have 
 some good in him at least toward the man to whom he owes all." 
 
 " Mr. Leslie," said L'Estrange, aloud, " you see the state of 
 the poll. Our Committee believe that, if you continue to stand, 
 Egerto-n must be beaten. They fear that, Leonard Fairfield 
 having little chance, the Yellows will not waste their second votes 
 on him, but will transfer them to you, in order to keep out Eger- 
 ton. If you retire, Egerton will be safe. There is reason to sup- 
 pose that Leonard would, in that case, also be withdrawn." 
 
 "You can hope and fear nothing more from Egerton," whis- 
 pered Levy. " He is utterly ruined ; and, if he lose, will sleep 
 in a prison. The bailiffs are waiting for him." 
 
 Randal was still silent, and at that silence an indignant mur- 
 mur ran through the more influential members of the Commit- 
 tee. For, though Audley was not personally very popular, still 
 a candidate so eminent was necessarily their first object, and 
 they would seem very small to the Yellows if their great man 
 defeated by the candidate introduced to aid him a youth
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 435 
 
 unknown. Vanity and patriotism both swelled that murmur. 
 "You see, young sir," cried a rich, blunt master-butcher, " that 
 it was an honorable understanding that Mr. Egerton was to be 
 safe. You had no claim on us, except as fighting second to him. 
 And we are all astonished that you don't say at once, ' Save Eger- 
 ton, of course.' Excuse my freedom, sir. No time for palaver." 
 
 " Lord L'Estrange," said Randal, turning mildly from the 
 butcher, "do you, as the first here in rank and influence, and as 
 Mr. Egerton's especial friend, call upon me to sacrifice my elec- 
 tion, and what appear to be the inclinations of the majority of 
 the constituents, in order to obtain what is, after all, a doubt- 
 ful chance of returning Mr. Egerton in my room ?" 
 
 " I do not call upon you, Mr. Leslie. It is a matter of feeling 
 or of honor, which a gentleman can very well decide for himself." 
 
 " Was any such compact made between your lordship and 
 myself, when you first gave me your interest and canvassed for 
 me in person ?" 
 
 " Certainly not. Gentlemen, be silent. No such compact 
 was mentioned by me." 
 
 " Neither was it by Mr. Egerton. Whatever might be the 
 understanding spoken of by the respected elector who addressed 
 me, I was no party to it. I am persuaded that Mr. Egerton is 
 the last person who would wish to owe his election to a trick 
 upon the electors in the midst of the polling, and to what the 
 world would consider a very unhandsome treatment of myself, 
 upon whom all the toil of the canvass has devolved." 
 
 Again the murmur rose ; but Randal had an air so deter- 
 mined, that it quelled resentment, and obtained a continued, 
 though most chilling and half-contemptuous hearing. 
 
 " Nevertheless," resumed Randal, " I would at once retire, were 
 I not under the firm persuasion that I shall convince all present, 
 who now seem to condemn me, that I act precisely according to 
 Mr. Egerton's own private inclinations. That gentleman, in fact, 
 has never been amongst you has not canvassed in person has 
 taken no trouble, beyond a speech, that was evidently meant to be 
 but a general defence of his past political career. What does 
 this mean ? Simply that his standing has been merely a form, 
 to comply with the wish of his party, against his Own desire." 
 
 The Committeemen looked at each other amazed and doubtful. 
 Randal saw he had gained an advantage; he pursued it with a 
 tact and an ability which showed that, in spite of his mere ora- 
 torical deficiencies, he had in him the elements of a dexterous 
 debater. "I will be plain with you, gentlemen. My character, 
 my desire to stand well with you all, oblige me to be so. Mr.
 
 436 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 Egerton does not wish to come into -Parliament at present. His 
 health is much broken; his private affairs need all his time and 
 attention. I am, I may say, as a son to him. He is most anxious 
 for my success ; Lord L'Estrange told me but last night, very 
 truly, 'more anxious for my success than his own.' Nothing 
 could please him more than to think I were serving in Parlia- 
 ment, however humbly, those great interests which neither health 
 nor leisure will, in this momentous crisis, allow himself to defend 
 with his wonted energy. Later, indeed, no doubt, he will seek 
 return to an arena in which he is so distinguished, and when the 
 popular excitement, which produces the popular injustice of the 
 day, is over, what constituency will not be proud to return such 
 a man ? In support and proof of what I have thus said, I now 
 appeal to Mr. Egerton 's own agent a gentleman who, in spite 
 of his vast fortune and the rank he holds in society, has con- 
 sented to act gratuitously on behalf of that great statesman. 
 I ask you then, respectfully, Baron Levy is not Mr. Egerton's 
 health much broken, and in need of rest ?" 
 
 " It is," said Levy. 
 
 " And do not his affairs necessitate his serious and undivided 
 attention ?" 
 
 " They do, indeed," quoth the Baron. " Gentlemen, I have 
 nothing to urge in behalf of my distinguished friend as against 
 the statement of his adopted son, Mr. Leslie." 
 
 " Then all I can say," cried the butcher, striking his huge fist 
 on the table, "is, that Mr. Egerton has behaved d d unhand- 
 some to us, and we shall be the laughing-stock of the borough." 
 
 " Softly, softly," said Harley. "There is a knock at the door 
 behind. Excuse me." 
 
 Harley quitted the room, but only for a minute or two. On 
 his return he addressed himself to Randal. 
 
 " Are we then to understand, Mr. Leslie, that your intention 
 is not to resign ?" 
 
 " Unless your lordship actually urge me to the contrary, I 
 should say, ' Let the election go on, and all take our chance.' 
 This seems to me the fair, manly, ENGLISH (great emphasis on 
 the last adjective), honorable course." 
 
 "Be it so," replied Harley; " 'let all take their chance.' Mr. 
 Leslie, we will no longer detain you. Go back to the polling- 
 place one of the candidates should be present; and you, Baron 
 Levy, be good enough to go also, and return thanks to those 
 who may yet vote for Mr. Egerton." 
 
 Levy bowed, and wen taut arm-in-arm with Randal. 
 1 "Capital, capital/'said the Baron. "You have a wonderful head."
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 437 
 
 " I did not like L'Estrange's look, nevertheless. But he can't 
 hurt me now; the votes he got for me instead of for Egerton have 
 already polled. The Committee, indeed, may refuse to vote for 
 me; but then there is Avenel's body of reserve. Yes, the elec- 
 tion is virtually over. When we get back, Hazeldean will have 
 arrived with the money for the purchase of my ancestral prop- 
 erty; Dr. Riccabocca is already restored to the estates and 
 titles of Serrano; what do I care farther for Lord L'Estrange? 
 Still, I do not like his look." 
 
 " Pooh, you have done just what he wished. I am forbidden 
 to say more. Here we are at the booth. A new placard since 
 we left. How are the numbers ? Avenel forty ahead of you ; 
 you thirty above Egerton; and Leonard Fairfield still last on 
 the poll. But where are Avenel and Fairfield?" 
 
 Both these candidates had disappeared, perhaps gone to their 
 own Committee-room. 
 
 Meanwhile, as soon as the doors had closed on Randal and 
 the Baron, in the midst of the angry hubbub succeeding to their 
 departure, Lord L'Estrange sprang upon the table. The action 
 and his look stilled every sound. 
 
 4< Gentlemen, it is in our hands to return one of our candi- 
 dates, and to make our own choice between the two. You have 
 heard Mr. Leslie and Baron Levy. To their statement I make 
 but this reply Mr. Egerton is needed by the country; and what- 
 ever his health or his affairs, he is ready to respond to that call. 
 If he has not canvassed if he does not appear before you at 
 this moment, the services of more than twenty years plead for 
 him in his stead. Which, then, of the two candidates do you 
 choose as your member a renowned statesman, or a beardless 
 boy? Both have ambition and ability ; the one has identified 
 those qualities with the history of a country, and (as it is now 
 alleged to his prejudice) with a devotion that has broken a 
 vigorous frame and injured a princely fortune. The other 
 evinces his ambition by inviting you to prefer him to his bene- 
 factor; and proves his ability by the excuses he makes for in- 
 gratitude. Choose between the two an Egerton or a Leslie." 
 
 " Egerton for ever ! " cried the whole assembly, as with a single 
 voice, followed by a hiss for Leslie. 
 
 "But," said a grave and prudent Committeeman, "have we 
 really the choice? Does not that rest with the Yellows ? Is 
 not your lordship too sanguine ? " 
 
 " Open that door behind ; a deputation from our opponents 
 waits in the room on the other side of the passage. Admit them." 
 
 The Committee were hushed in breathless silence while Har-
 
 438 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 ley's order was obeyed. And soon, to their great surprise, Leonard 
 Fairfield himself, attended by six of the principal members of 
 the Yellow party, entered the room. 
 
 LORD L'EsxRANGE. You have a proposition to make to us, 
 Mr. Fairfield, on behalf of yourself and Mr. Avenel, and with 
 the approval of your Committee ? 
 
 LEONARD (advancing to the table). I have. We are con-' 
 vinced that neither party can carry both its candidates. Mr. 
 Avenel is safe. The only question is, which of the two candi- 
 dates on your side it best becomes the honor of this constitu- 
 ency to select. My resignation, which I am about to tender, 
 will free sufficient votes to give the triumph either to Mr. Eger- 
 ton or Mr. Leslie. 
 
 " Egerton for ever !" cried once more the excited Blues. 
 
 "Yes Egerton for ever !" said Leonard with aglow upon 
 his cheek. " We may differ from his politics, but who can tell us 
 those of Mr. Leslie ? We may differ from the politician, but who 
 would not feel proud of the senator? A great and incalculable 
 advantage is bestowed on that constituency which returns to 
 Parliament a distinguished man. His distinction ennobles the 
 place he represents it sustains public spirit it augments the 
 manly interest in all that affects the nation. Every time his 
 voice hushes the assembled Parliament, it reminds us of our 
 common country; and even the discussion amongst his constit- 
 uents which his voice provokes clears their perceptions of the 
 public interest, and enlightens themselves, from the intellect 
 which commands their interest, and compels their attention. 
 Egerton, then, for ever ! If our party must subscribe to there- 
 turn of one opponent, let all unite to select the worthiest. My 
 Lord L'Estrange, when I quit this room, it will be to announce 
 my resignation, and to solicit those who have promised me their 
 votes to transfer them to Mr. Audley Egerton." 
 
 Amidst the uproarious huzzas which followed this speech, 
 Leonard drew near to Harley : " My lord, I have obeyed your 
 wishes, as conveyed to me by my uncle, who is now engaged at 
 this moment elsewhere in carrying them into effect." 
 
 " Leonard," said Harley, in the same undertone, "you have 
 insured to Audley Egerton what you alone could do the tri- 
 umph over a perfidious dependant the continuance of the sole 
 career in which he has hitherto found solace or the zest of life. 
 He must thank you with his own lips. Come to the Park after 
 the close of the poll. There and then shall the explanations 
 yet needful to both be given and received." 
 
 Here Harley bowed to the n :--Mnbly and raised his voice :
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 439 
 
 "Gentlemen, yesterday, at the nomination of the candidates, I 
 uttered remarks that have justly pained Mr. Fairfield. In your 
 presence I wholly retract and frankly apologize for them. In your 
 presence I entreat his forgiveness, and say, that if he will ac- 
 cord me his friendship, I will place him in my esteem and affec- 
 tion side by side with the statesman he has given to his country." 
 
 Leonard grasped the hand extended to him with both his own, 
 and then, overcome by his emotions, hurried from the room ; 
 while Blues and Yellows exchanged greetings, rejoiced in the 
 compromise that Would dispel all party irritation, secure the 
 peace of the borough, and allow quiet men, who had detested 
 each other the day before, and vowed reciprocal injuries to 
 trade and custom, the indulgence of all amiable and fraternal 
 feelings until the next general election. 
 
 In the meanwhile the polling had gone on slowly as before, 
 but still to the advantage of Randal. " Not two-thirds of the 
 constituency will poll," murmured Levy, looking at his watch. 
 " The thing is decided. Aha, Audley Egerton ! you who once 
 tortured me with the unspeakable jealousy that bequeaths such 
 implacable hate you who scorned my society, and called me 
 'scoundrel' disdainful of the very power your, folly placed 
 within my hands^-aha, your time is up ! and the spirit that 
 administered to your own destruction strides within the circle 
 to seize its prey." 
 
 "You shall have my first frank, Levy," said Randal,- "to en- 
 close your letter to Mr. Thornhill's solicitor. This affair of the 
 election is over; we must now look to what else rests on our hands." 
 
 " What the devil is that placard ? " cried Levy, turning pale. 
 
 Randal looked, and right up the market-place, followed by an 
 immense throng, moved, high over the heads of all, a Yellow 
 Board that seemed marching through the air comet-like : 
 
 Two o'clock p. m. 
 RESIGNATION OF FAIRFIELD ! 
 
 VOTE FOR 
 
 AVENEL AND EGERTON ! 
 
 (Signed) TIMOTHY ALLJACK. 
 
 Yellow Committee Room. 
 
 " What infernal treachery is this ? " cried Randal, livid with 
 honest indignation. 
 
 "Wait a moment; there is Avenel ! " exclaimed Levy; and at 
 the head of another procession that emerged from the obscurer 
 lanes of the town, walked, with grave majesty, the surviving 
 Yellow candidate. Dick disappeared for a moment within a
 
 44 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 grocer's shop in the broadest part of the place, and then culmi- 
 nated, at the height of a balcony on the first story, just above an 
 enormous yellow canister, significant of the profession and the 
 politics of the householder. No sooner did Dick, hat in hand, 
 appear on this rostrum, than the two processions halted below, 
 bands ceased, flags drooped round their staves, crowds rushed 
 within hearing, and even the poll-clerks sprang from the booth. 
 Randal and Levy themselves pressed into the throng. Dick on 
 the balcony was the Dtus ex Machind, 
 
 "Freemen and electors ! " said Dick, with his most sonorous 
 accents " finding that the public opinion of this independent 
 and enlightened constituency is so evenly divided, that only one 
 Yellow candidate can be returned, and only one Blue has a 
 chance, it was my intention last night to retire from the contest, 
 and thus put an end to all bickerings and ill-blood (Hold your 
 tongues there, can't you!) I say honestly, I should have pre- 
 ferred the return of my distinguished and talented young neph- 
 ew honorable relation to my own; but he would not hear 
 of it; and talked all our Committee into the erroneous but high- 
 minded notion, that the town would cry shame if the nephew 
 rode into Parliament by breaking the back of the uncle." (Loud 
 cheers from the mob, and partial cries of " We'll have you both !") 
 
 " You'll do no such thing, and you know it; hold your jaw," 
 resumed Dick, with imperious good-humor. " Let me go on, 
 can't you? time presses. In a word, my nephew resolved to 
 retire, if, at two o'clock this day, there was no chance of return- 
 ing both of us; and there is none. Now, then, the next thing 
 for the Yellows who have not yet voted, is to consider how they 
 will give their second votes. If I had been the man to retire, 
 why, for certain reasons, I should have recommended them to 
 split with Leslie a clever chap, and pretty considerable sharp." 
 
 " Hear, hear, hear ! " cried the Baron, lustily. 
 
 "But I'm bound to say that my nephew has an opinion of his 
 own as an independent Britisher, let him be twice your nephew, 
 ought to have; and his opinion goes the other way, and so does 
 that of our Committee." 
 
 " Sold ! " cried the Baron; and some of the crowd shook their 
 heads, and looked grave especially those suspected of a wish 
 to be bought. 
 
 " Sold ! pretty fellow you, with the nosegay in your button- 
 hole, to talk of selling! You who wanted to sell your own 
 client and you know it. [Levy recoiled.] Why, gentlemen, 
 that's Levy, the Jew, who talks of selling ! And if he asperses 
 the character of this constituency, I stand here to defend it; and
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 44! 
 
 there stands the parish pump, with a handle for the arm of 
 Honesty, and a spout for the lips of Falsehood !" 
 
 At the close of this magniloquent period, borrowed, no doubt, 
 from some great American orator, Baron Levy involuntarily re- 
 treated toward the shelter of the polling-booth, followed by some 
 frowning Yellows, with very menacing gestures. 
 
 " But the calumniator sneaks away; leave him to the reproach 
 of his conscience," resumed Dick, with a generous magnanimity. 
 
 "SOLD ! [the word rang through the place like the blast of a 
 trumpet] sold ! No, believe me, not a man who votes for 
 Egerton instead of Fairfield will, so far as I am concerned, be 
 a penny the better [chilling silence] or [with a scarce perceiv- 
 able wink toward the anxious faces of the Hundred and Fifty who 
 filled the background] or a penny the worse. [Loud cheers 
 from the Hundred and Fifty, and cries of ' Noble ! j I don't like 
 the politics of Mr. Egerton. But I am not only a politician 
 I am a MAN ! The arguments of our respected Committee 
 persons in business, tender husbands, and devoted fathers have 
 weight with me. I myself am a husband and a father. If a 
 needless contest be prolonged to the last, with all the irritation 
 it engenders, who suffer? why, the tradesman and the opera- 
 tive. Partiality, loss of custom, tyrannical demands for house- 
 rent, notices to quit in a word, the screw ! " 
 
 " Hear, hear ! " and " Give us the Ballot ! " 
 
 " The Ballot with all my heart, if I had it about me ! And if 
 we had the Ballot, I should like to see a man dare to vote Blue. 
 [Loud cheers from the Yellows.] But, as we have not got it, we 
 must think of our families. And I may add, that though Mr. 
 Egerton may come again into office, yet [added Dick, solemnly] 
 I will do my best, as his colleague, to keep him straight; and 
 your own enlightenment (for the schoolmaster is abroad) will 
 show him that no minister can brave public opinion, nor quarrel 
 with his own bread and butter. [Much cheering.] In these 
 times the aristocracy must endear themselves to the middle and 
 working class; and a member in office has much to give away in 
 the Stamps and Excise, in the Customs, the Post Office, and 
 other State departments in this rotten old I mean this magnifi- 
 cent empire by which he can benefit his constituents, and rec- 
 oncile the prerogatives of aristocracy with the claims of the peo- 
 ple more especially, in this case, the people of the borough of 
 Lansmere. [Hear, hear.] 
 
 " And therefore, sacrificing party inclinations (since it seems 
 that I can in no way promote them) on the altar of General Good 
 Feeling, I cannot oppose the resignation of my nephew hon-
 
 442 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 orable relation nor blind my eyes to the advantages that may 
 result to a borough so important to the nation at large, if the 
 electors think fit to choose my Right Honorable broth I mean 
 the Right Honorable Blue candidate as my brother colleague. 
 Not that I presume to dictate, or express a wish one way or the 
 other only, as a Family Man, I say to you, Electors and Free- 
 men, having served your country in returning me, you have nobly 
 won the right to think of the little ones at home." 
 
 Dick put his. hand to his heart, bowed gracefully, and retired 
 from the balcony amidst unanimous applause. 
 
 In three minutes more, Dick had resumed his place in the 
 booth in his quality of candidate. A rush of Yellow electors 
 .poured in, hot and fast. Up came Emanuel Trout, and, in a 
 firm voice, recorded his vote "Avenel and Egerton." Every 
 man of the Hundred and Fifty so polled. To each question, 
 "Whom do you vote for ?" "Avenel and Egerton" knelled on 
 the ears of Randal Leslie with " damnable iteration." The young 
 man folded his arms across his breast in dogged despair. Levy 
 had to shake hands for Mr. Egerton, with a rapidity that took 
 away his breath. He longed to slink away longed to get at 
 L'Estrange, whom he supposed would be as wroth at this turn 
 in the wheel of fortune as himself. But how, as Egerton's repre- 
 sentative,escape from the continuous gripes of those horny hands? 
 Besides, there stood the parish pump, right in face of the booth, 
 and some huge truculent-looking Yellows loitered round it, as if 
 ready to pounce on him the instant he quitted his present sanc- 
 tuary. Suddenly the crowd round the booth receded Lord 
 L'Estrange's carriage drove up to the spot, and Harley, stepping 
 from it, assisted out of the vehicle an old gray-haired paralytic 
 man. The old man stared round him, and nodded smilingly to 
 the mob. " I'm here I'm come; I'm but a poor creature, but 
 I'm a good Blue to the last ! " 
 
 " Old John Avenel fine old man ! " cried many a voice. 
 
 And John Avenel, still leaning on Harley's arm, tottered into 
 the booth, and plumped for " Egerton." 
 
 " Shake hands, father," said Dick, bending forward, " though 
 you'll not vote for me." 
 
 " I was a Blue before you were born," answered the old man, 
 tremulously. " But I wish you success all the same, and God 
 bless you, my boy ! " 
 
 Even the poll-clerks were touched; and when Dick, leaving 
 his place, was seen by the crowd assisting Lord L'Estrange to 
 place poor John again in the carriage that picture of family 
 love in the midst of political difference of the prosperous,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 443 
 
 wealthy, energetic son, who, as a boy, had played at marbles in 
 the very kennel, and who had risen in life by his own exertions, 
 and was now virtually M.P . for his native town tending on the 
 broken-down, aged father, whom even the interests of a son he 
 was so proud of could not win from the colors which he asso- 
 ciated with truth and rectitude had such an effect upon the 
 rudest of the mob there present, that you might have heard a 
 pin fall till the carriage drove away back to John's humble 
 home; and then there rose such a tempest of huzzas ! John 
 Avenel's vote for Egerton gave another turn to the vicissitudes 
 of that memorable election. As yet Avenel had been ahead of 
 Audley; but a plumper in favor of Egerton,. from Avenel's own 
 father, set an example and gave an excuse to many a Blue who 
 had not yet voted, and could not prevail on himself to split his 
 vote between Dick and Audley; and therefore, several leading 
 tradesmen, who, seeing that Egerton was safe, had previously 
 resolved not to vote at all, came up in the last hour, plumped for 
 Egerton, and carried him to the head of the poll; so that pool 
 John, whose vote, involving that of Mark Fairfield, had secured 
 the first opening in public life to the young ambition of the 
 unknown son-in-law, still contributed to connect with success 
 and triumph, but also with sorrow, and, it may be, with death, 
 the names of the high-born Egerton and the humble Avenel. 
 
 The great town-clock strikes the hour of four; the returning- 
 officer declares the poll closed; the formal announcement of the 
 result will be made later. But all the town knows that Audley 
 Egerton and Richard Avenel are the members for Lansmere. 
 And flags stream, and drums beat, and men shake each other 
 by the hand heartily; and there is talk of the chairing to-mor- 
 row; and the public-houses are crowded; and there is an indis- 
 tinct hubbub in street and alley, with sudden bursts of uproar- 
 ious shouting; and the clouds to the west look red and lurid 
 round the sun, which has gone down behind the church-tower 
 behind the yew-trees that overshadow the quiet grave of Nora 
 Avenel. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 AMIDST the darkening shadows of twilight, Randal Leslie 
 walked through Lansmere Park toward the house. He had 
 slunk away before the poll was closed crept through by-lanes, 
 and plunged into the leafless copses of the Earl's stately pasture- 
 grounds. Amidst the bewilderment of his thoughts at a loss 
 to conjecture how this strange mischance had befallen him 
 inclined to 'ascribe it to Leonard's influence over Avenel but
 
 444 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 suspecting Harley, and half doubtful of Baron Levy, he. sought 
 to ascertain what fault of judgment he himself had committed- 
 what wile he had forgotten what thread in his web he had left 
 ragged and incomplete. He could discover none. His ability 
 seemed to him unimpeachable lotus, feres, atgue rotundus. And 
 then there came across his breast a sharp pang sharper than 
 that of baffled ambition the feeling that he had been deceived 
 and bubbled, and betrayed. For so vital a necessity to all liv- 
 ing men is TRUTH, that the vilest traitor feels amazed and 
 wronged feels the pillars of the world shaken, when treason 
 recoils on himself. "That Richard Avenel, whom I trusted, 
 could so deceive me ! " murmured Randal, and his lip quivered. 
 
 He was still in the midst of the park, when a man with a yel- 
 low cockade in his hat, and running fast from the direction of 
 the town, overtook him with a letter, on delivering which the 
 messenger, waiting for no answer, hastened back the way he had 
 come. Randal recognized Avenel's hand on the address 
 broke the seal, and read as follows: 
 
 {Private and Confidential?) 
 
 " DEAR LESLIE, Don't be down-hearted you will know to- 
 night or to-morrow why I have had cause to alter my opinion 
 as to the Right Honorable; and you will see that I could not, 
 as a Family Man, act otherwise than I have done. Though I 
 have not broken my word to you for you remember that all 
 the help I promised was dependent on my own resignation, and 
 would go for nothing if Leonard resigned instead-^-yet I feel 
 you must think yourself rather bamboozled. But I have been 
 obliged to sacrifice you, from a sense of Family Puty, as you 
 will soon acknowledge. My own nephew is sacrificed also; and 
 I have sacrificed my own concerns, which -require the whole 
 man of me for the next year or two at Screwstown. So we are 
 all in the same ; boat, though you may think you are set adrift 
 by yourself. But I don't mean to stay in Parliament. I shall 
 Uke the Chiltern Hundreds, pretty considerable soon. And if 
 you keep well with the Blues, I'll do my best with trie Yellows 
 to let you walk over the course in my stead. For 1 don't think 
 Leonard will want to'starid again. And so a word to the wise 
 and you may yet be member fpr Lansmere. , R. A." 
 
 In this letter, Randal, despite all his acuteness, could not de- 
 tect the honest compunction of the writer. He could at first 
 only look at the worst side of human nature, and fancy that it 
 was a paltry attempt to stifle his just anger and insure his dis- 
 cretion. But, on second thoughts, it struck him that Dick might 
 yery naturally be glad to be released to his mill, and get 9. quid
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 445 
 
 pro quo out of Randal, under the comprehensive title "repay- 
 ment of expenses." Perhaps Dick was not sorry to wait until 
 Randal's marriage gave him the means to make the repayment. 
 Nay, perhaps Randal had been thrown over for the present, in 
 order to wring from him better terms in a single election. Thus 
 reasoning, he took comfort from his belief in the mercenary 
 motives of another. True, it might be but a short disappoint- 
 ment. Before the next Parliament was a month old, he might 
 yet take his seat in it as member for Lansmere. But all would 
 depend on his marriage with the heiress; he must h.asten that. 
 
 Meanwhile it was necessary to knit and gather up all his 
 thought, courage, and presence of mind. How he shrunk from 
 return to Lansmere House from facing Egerton, Harley all. 
 But there was no choice. He would have to make it up with 
 the Blues to defend the course he had adopted in the Com- 
 mittee-Room. There, no doubt, was Squire Hazeldean await- 
 ing him with the purchase-money for the lands of Rood there 
 was the Duke di Serrano, restored to wealth and honor there 
 was his promised bride, the great heiress, on whom depended 
 all that could raise the needy gentleman into wealth and posi- 
 tion. Gradually, with the elastic temper that is essential to a 
 systematic schemer, Randal Leslie plucked himself from the 
 pain of brooding over a plot that was defeated, to prepare him- 
 self for consummating those that yet seemed so near success. 
 After all, should he fail in regaining Egerton's favor, Egerton 
 was of use no more. He might rear his head, and face out 
 what some might call " ingratitude," provided he could but sat- 
 isfy the Blue Committee, Dull dogs, how could he fail to do 
 that ! He could easily talk over the Machiavellian sage. He 
 should have small difficulty in explaining all to the content of 
 Audley's. distant brother, the Squire. Harley alone but Levy 
 had so positively assured him that Harley was not sincerely 
 anxious for Egerton; and as to the more important explanation 
 relative to Peschiera, surely what, had satisfied Violante's father 
 ought to satisfy; a man who had no peculiar right to demand 
 explanations at all; and if these explanations did. not satisfy, 
 the onus to disprove them must rest with Harley; and who or 
 what could contradict Randal's plausible assertions assertions 
 in support of which he himself could summon^ a witness in 
 Baron Levy ? Thus nerving himself to all that could task his 
 powers, Randal Leslie crossed the threshold of Lansmere House; 
 and in the hall he found the Baron awaiting him. 
 
 "I can't account/' said Levy, " for what has gone so cross in 
 this confounded election, it is L'Estrange that puzzles me;
 
 44^ MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 but I know that he hates Egerton. I know that he will prove 
 that hate by one mode of revenge, if he has lost it in another. 
 But it is well, Randal, that you are secure of Hazeldean's money 
 and the rich heiress's hand; otherwise " 
 
 "Otherwise, what ? " 
 
 " I should wash my hands of you, won cher; for, in spite of 
 all your cleverness, and all I have tried to do for you, somehow 
 or other I begin to suspect that your talents will never secure 
 your fortune. A carpenter's son beats you in public speaking, 
 and a vulgar mill-owner tricks you in private negotiation. De- 
 cidedly, as yet, Randal Leslie, you are a failure. And, as you 
 so admirably said, ' a man from whom we have nothing to hope 
 or fear, we must blot out of the map of the future.' " 
 
 Randal's answer was cut short by the appearance of the groom 
 of the chambers. 
 
 "My lord is in the saloon, and requests you and Mr. Leslie will 
 do him the honor to join him there." The two gentlemen followed 
 the servant up the broad stairs. 
 
 The saloon formed the centre room of the suite of apartments. 
 From its size it was rarely used save on state occasions. It had 
 the chilly and formal aspect of rooms reserved for ceremony. 
 
 Riccabocca, Violante, Helen, Mr. Dale, Squire Hazeldean, 
 and Lord L'Estrange, were grouped together by the cold Floren- 
 tine marble table, not littered with books and female work, and 
 the endearing signs of habitation, that give a living smile to the 
 face of home ; nothing thereon save a great silver candelabrum, 
 that scarce lighted the spacious room, and brought out the por- 
 traits on the wall as apart of the assembly, looking, as portraits 
 do look, with searching, curious eyes upon every eye that turns 
 to them. 
 
 But as soon as Randal entered, the Squire detached himself 
 from the group, and, coming to the defeated candidate, shook 
 hands with him heartily. 
 
 "Cheer up, my boy; 'tis no shame to be beaten. Lord 
 L'Estrange says you did your best to win, and man can do no 
 more. Awd-I'm glad, Leslie, that we don't meet for our little 
 business till the election is over ; for, after annoyance, something 
 pleasant is twice as acceptable. I've the money in -my pocket. 
 Hush ^and I say, my -dear, dear boy, I cannot find but where 
 Frank is ; but is it really all off with that foreign woman eh?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed, sir ; I hope so. I'll talk to you about it when 
 we can be alone. We may slip away presently, I trust." 
 
 "I'll tell you a secret scheme of mine and Harry's," said the 
 Squire, in Q still low whisper. "We must drive that marchiorf-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 447 
 
 ess, or whatever she is, out of the boy's head, and put a pretty 
 English girl into it instead. That will settle him in life too. 
 And I must try and swallow that bitter pill of \.\\t post-obit. 
 Harry makes worse of it than I do, and is so hard on the poor 
 fellow that I've been obliged to take his part. I've no idea of 
 being under petticoat government it is not the way with the 
 Hazeldeans. Well, but to come back to the point whom do 
 you think I mean by the pretty girl?" 
 
 "Miss Sticktorights ? " 
 
 " Zounds, no ! your own little sister, Randal. Sweet pretty 
 face ! Harry liked her from the first, and then you'll be Frank's 
 brother, and your sound head and good heart will keep him 
 right. And as you are going to be married too (you must tell 
 me all about that later), why, we shall have two marriages, per- 
 haps, in the family on the same day." 
 
 Randal's hand grasped the Squire's, and with an emotion of 
 human gratitude -for we know that, hard to all else, he had 
 natural feelings for his fallen family ; and his neglected sister 
 was the one being on earth whom he might almost be said to love. 
 With all his intellectual disdain for honest, simple Frank, he knew 
 no one in the world with whom his young sister could be more 
 secure and happy. Transferred to the roof, and improved by 
 the active kindness, of Mrs. Hazeldean blest in the manly affec- 
 tion of one not too refined to censure her own deficiencies of 
 education what more could he ask for his sister, as he pictured 
 her to himself, with her fair hair hanging over her ears, and her 
 mind running into seed over some trashy novel. But before he 
 could reply, Violante's father came to add his own philosophical 
 consolations to the Squire's downright comfortings. 
 
 " Who could ever count on popular caprice? The wise of all 
 ages had despised it. In that respect, Horace and Machiavelli 
 were of the same mind," etc., etc. "But," said the Duke, with 
 emphatic kindness, "perhaps your very misfortune here may 
 serve you elsewhere. The female heart is prone to pity, and 
 ever eager to comfort. Besides, if I am recalled to Italy, you 
 will have leisure to come with us, and see the land where, of all 
 others, ambition can be most readily forgotten, even [added the 
 Italian, with a sigh] even by her own sons ! " 
 
 Thus addressed by both Hazeldean and the Duke, Randal re? 
 covered his spirits. It was clear that Lord L'Estrange had not 
 conveyed to them any unfavorable impression of his conduct in 
 the Committee-room. While Randal had been thus engaged, 
 Levy had made his way to Harley, who retreated with the Baron 
 into the bay of the great window.
 
 44$ MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Well, my lord, do you comprehend this conduct on the part 
 of Richard Avenel? He secure Egerton's return? he ! " 
 
 "What so natural, Baron Levy his own brother-in-law? " 
 
 The Baron started, and turned very pale. 
 
 "But how did he know that ? I never told him. I meant 
 indeed" 
 
 " Meant, perhaps, to shame Egerton's pride at the last, by 
 publicly declaring his marriage with a shopkeeper's daughter. A 
 very good revenge still left to you ; but revenge for what ? A 
 word with you, now, Baron, that our acquaintance is about to close 
 for ever. You know why I have cause for resentment against 
 Egerton. I do but suspect yours ; will you make it clear to me?" 
 
 "My lord, my lord," faltered Baron Levy, "J, too, wooed Nora 
 Avenel as my wife ; I, too, had a happier rival in the haughty 
 worldling who did not appreciate his own felicity ; I, too in a 
 word, some women inspire an affection that mingles with the 
 entire being of a man, and is fused with all the currents of his 
 life-blood ; Nora Avenel was one of those women." 
 
 Harley was startled. This burst of emotion from a man so 
 corrupt and cynical arrested even the scorn he felt for the usurer. 
 Levy soon recovered himself. " But our revenge is not baffled 
 yet. Egerton, if not already in my power, is still in yours. His 
 election may save him from arrest, but the law has other modes 
 of public exposure and effectual ruin." 
 
 " For the knave, yes as I intimated to you in your own house 
 you who boast of your love to Nora Avenel, and know in your 
 heart that you were her destroyer you who witnessed her 
 marriage, and yet dared to tell her that she was dishonored!" 
 
 "My lord I how could you know I mean, how think 
 that that " faltered Levy, aghast. 
 
 " Nora Avenel has spoken from her grave," replied Harley, 
 solemnly. " Learn that, wherever man commits a crime, Heaven 
 finds a witness ! " urr 
 
 "It is on me, then," said Levy, wrestling against a supersti- 
 tious thrill at his heart "on me that you now concentrate your 
 vengeance ; and I must meet it as I may. But I have fulfilled 
 my part of our compact. I have obeyed you implicitly and " 
 
 " I will fulfil my part of our bond, and leave you undisturbed 
 in your wealth." 
 
 " I knew I might trust to your lordship's honor," exclaimed 
 the usurer, in servile glee. 
 
 "And this vile creature nursed the same passions as myself; 
 nml but yesterday we were partners in the same purpose, and 
 influenced by the same thought," muttered Harley to himself.
 
 VARIEtlES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 440 
 
 "Yes," he said aloud, " I dare not, Baron Levy, constitute my- 
 self your judge. Pursue your own path all roads meet at last 
 before the common tribunal. But you are not yet released from 
 our compact ; you must do some good in spite of yourself. 
 Look yonder, where Randal Leslie stands, smiling secure, between 
 the two dangers he has raised up for himself. And as Randal 
 Leslie himself has invited me to be his judge, and you are aware 
 that he cited yourself this very day as his witness, here I must ex- 
 pose the guilty for here the innocent still live,and need defence." 
 
 Harley turned away, and took his place by the table. " I have 
 wished, "said he, raising his voice, "to connect with the triumph 
 of my earliest and dearest friend the happiness of others in 
 whose welfare I feel an interest. To you, Alphonso, Duke di 
 Serrano, I now give this despatch, received last evening by a 
 
 special messenger from the Prince Von , announcing your 
 
 restoration to your lands and honors." 
 
 The Squire stared with open mouth. " Rickeybockey aduke? 
 Why, Jemima's a duchess ! Bless me, she is actually crying ! " 
 And his good heart prompted him to run to his cousin and cheer 
 her up a bit. 
 
 Violante glanced at Harley, and flung herself on her father's 
 breast. Randal involuntarily rose, and moved to the Duke's chair. 
 
 "And you, Mr. Randal Leslie," continued Harley, "though 
 you have lost your election, see before you at this moment such 
 prospects of wealth and happiness, that I shall only have to 
 offer you congratulations to which those that greet Mr. Audley 
 Egerton may well appear lukewarm and insipid, provided you 
 prove that you have not forfeited the right to claim that promise 
 which the Duke di Serrano has accorded to the suitor of his 
 daughter's hand. Some doubts resting on my mind, you have 
 volunteered to dispel them. I have the duke's permission to 
 address to you a few questions, and I now avail myself of your 
 offer to reply to them." 
 
 "Now and here, my lord ?"said Randal, glancing round the 
 room, as if deprecating the presence of so many witnesses. 
 
 " Now and here. Nor are those present so strange to your 
 explanations as your question would imply. Mr. Hazeldean, it 
 so happens that much of what I shall say to Mr. Leslie concerns 
 your son." 
 
 Randal's countenance fell. An uneasy tremor now seized him. 
 
 "My son! Frank ! Oh, then, of course, Randal will speak 
 out. Speak, my boy." 
 
 Randal remained silent. The Duke looked at his working 
 face, and drew away his chair.
 
 450 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " Young man, can you hesitate? " said he. " A doubt is ex- 
 pressed which involves your honor." 
 
 " 'Sdeath! " cried the Squire, also gazing on Randal's cower- 
 ing eye and quivering lip "What are you afraid of ?." 
 
 "Afraid ! " said Randal, forced into speech, and with a hol- 
 low laugh " afraid ? I ? What of ? I was only wondering 
 what Lord L'Estrange could mean." 
 
 " I will dispel that wonder at once. Mr. Hazeldean, your son 
 displeased you first by his proposals of marriage to the Marchesa 
 di Negra against your consent ; secondly by a post-obit bond 
 granted to Baron Levy. Did you understand from Mr. Randal 
 Leslie that he had opposed or favored the said marriage that 
 he had countenanced or blamed the said post-obit?" 
 
 "Why, of course," cried the Squire, "that he had opposed 
 both the one and the other." 
 
 "Is it so, Mr. Leslie ?" 
 
 " My lord I I my affections for Frank, and my esteem 
 for his. respected father I-r-rl " He nerved himself, and went 
 on with firm voice : " Of course I did all I could to dissuade 
 Frank from the marriage ; and as to the post-obit, I know noth- 
 ing about it." 
 
 " So much at present for this matter. I pass On to the graver 
 one, that affects your engagement with the Duke di Serrano's 
 daughter. I understand from you, Duke, that to save your 
 daughter from the snares of Count di Peschiera, and in the be- 
 lief that Mr. Leslie shared in your dread of the Count's designs, 
 you, .while in exile and in poverty, promised to that gentleman 
 your daughter's hand ? When the probabilities of restoration 
 to your principalities seemed well-nigh certain, you confirmed 
 that promise on learning from Mr. Leslie that he had, however 
 ineffectively, struggled to preserve your heiress from a perfidi- 
 ous snare. Is it not so ? " 
 
 " Certainly. Had I succeeded to a throne, I could not recall 
 the promise I had given in penury and banishment I could 
 not refuse to him who would have sacrificed worldly ambition 
 in wedding a penniless bride, the reward of his own generosity. 
 My daughter subscribes to my views." 
 
 Violante trembled, and her hands were locked together ; but 
 her gaze was fixed on Harley. 
 
 Mr. Dale wiped his eyes, and thought of. the poor refugee 
 feeding on minnows, and preserving himself from debt amongst 
 the shades of the Casino. 
 
 " Your answer becomes you, Duke," resumed Harley. "But 
 should it be proved that Mr. Lcslir, instead of wooing the Prin.'
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 451 
 
 cess for herself, actually calculated on the receipt of money for 
 transferring her to Count Peschiera instead of saving her from 
 the danger you dreaded, actually suggested the snare from which 
 she was delivered would you stilldeem your honorengaged to " 
 
 "Such a villain! No, surely not !" exclaimed the Duke. 
 " But this is a groundless hypothesis ! Speak, Randal." 
 
 " Lord L'Estrange cannot insult me by deeming it otherwise 
 than a groundless hypothesis," said Randal, striving to rear 
 his head. 
 
 " I understand then, Mr. Leslie, that you scornfully reject 
 such a supposition ? " 
 
 " Scornfully yes. And," continued Randal, advancing a 
 step, " since the supposition has been made, I demand from 
 Lord L'Estrange, as his equal (for all gentlemen are equals 
 where honor is to be defended at the cost of life), either instant 
 retractation or instant proof." 
 
 "That's the first word you have spoken like a man," cried 
 the Squire. " I have stood my ground myself for a less cause. 
 I have had a ball through my right shoulder." 
 
 "Your demand is just," said Harley, unmoved. " I cannot 
 give the retractation I will produce the proof." 
 
 He rose and rang the bell; the servant entered, received his 
 whispered order, and retired. There was a pause painful to all. 
 Randal, however,ran over in his fearful mind what evidence could 
 be brought against him and foresaw none. The folding-doors 
 of the saloon were thrown open, and the servant announced 
 THE COUNT DI PESCHIERA. 
 
 .A bombshell descending through the roof could not have 
 produced a more Startling sensation. Erect, bold, with all the 
 imposing effect of his form and bearing, the Count strode into 
 the centre of the ring; and, after a slight bend of haughty courtesy, 
 which comprehended all present, reared up his lofty head, and 
 looked round, with calm in his eye and a curve on his lip the 
 self-assured, magnificent, high-bred Daredevil; 
 
 " Duke di Serrano," said the Count in English, turning toward 
 his astounded kinsman, and in a voice that, slow, clear, and firm, 
 seemed to fill the room, " I returned to England on the receipt 
 of a letter from my Lord L'Estrange, and with a view, it is true, 
 of claiming at his hands the satisfaction which men of our birth 
 accord to each other, where affront, from what cause soever, has 
 been given or received, Nay, fair kinswoman," and the Count, 
 with a slight but grave smile, bowed to Violante, who had ut- 
 tered a faint cry "that intention is abandoned. If I have 
 adopted too lightly the old country maxim, that ' ajl stratagems
 
 452 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 are fair in love,' I am bound also to yield to my Lord L'Estr,ange's 
 argument, that the counter stratagems must be fair also. And, 
 after all, it becomes me better to laugh at my defeat, than to 
 confess myself gravely mortified by an ingenuity more success- 
 ful than my own." The Count paused, and his eye lightened 
 with a sinister fire, which ill suited the raillery of his tone, and the 
 polished ease of his bearing. " Ma foi ! " he continued, "it is 
 permitted me to speak thus, since at least I have given proofs of 
 my in difference to danger, and my good fortune when exposed to 
 it. Within the last six years I have had the honor to fight nine 
 duels, and the regret to wound five, and dismiss from the world 
 four, as gallant and worthy gentlemen as ever the sun shone upon." 
 
 " Monster ! " faltered the Parson. 
 
 The Squire stared aghast, and mechanically rubbed the shoul- 
 der which had been lacerated by Captain Dashmore's bullet. 
 Randal's pale face became yet more pale, and the eye he had 
 fixed upon the Count's hardy visage quailed and fell. 
 
 " But," resumed the Count, with a graceful wave of the hand, 
 " I have to thank my Lord L'Estrange for reminding me that 
 a man whose courage is above suspicion, is privileged not only 
 to apologize if he has injured another, but to accompany apology 
 with atonement. Duke di Serrano, it is for that purpose that I 
 am here. My lord, you have signified your wish to ask me some 
 questions of serious import as regards the Duke and his daugh- 
 ter I will answer them without reserve." 
 
 "Monsieur le Comte" said Harley, " availing myself of your 
 courtesy, I presume to inquire who informed you that this young 
 lady was a guest under my father's roof? " 
 
 "My informant stands yonder Mr. Randal Leslie. And I 
 call upon Baron Levy to confirm my statement." 
 
 " It is true," said the Baron, slowly, and as if overmastered 
 by the tone and mien of an imperious chieftain. 
 
 There came a low sound like a hiss from Randal's livid lips. 
 
 "And was Mr. Leslie acquainted with your project for secur- 
 ing the person and hand of your young kinswoman ?" 
 
 "Certainly and Baron Levy knows it." The Baron bowed 
 assent. " Permit me to add for it is due to a lady nearly re- 
 lated to myself that it was, as I have since learned, certain erro- 
 neous representations made to her by Mr. Leslie, which alone in- 
 duced that lady, after my own arguments had failed, to lend her 
 aid to a project which otherwise she would have cpndemned as 
 strongly as, Duke di Serrano, I now with unfeigned sincerity 
 do myself condemn it." 
 
 There was about the Count, as he thus spoke, so much
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 453 
 
 personal dignity which, whether natural or artificial, imposes 
 for the moment upon human judgment a dignity so supported 
 by the singular advantages of his superb stature, his handsome 
 countenance, his patrician air, that the Duke, moved by his good 
 heart, extended his hand to the perfidious kinsman, and forgot 
 all the Machiavellian wisdom which should have told him how 
 little a man of the Count's hardened profligacy was likely to be 
 influenced by any purer motives, whether to frank confession 
 or to manly repentance. The Count took the hand thus extended 
 to him, and bowed his face, perhaps to conceal the smile which 
 would have betrayed his secret soul. Randal still remained mute, 
 and pale as death. His tongue clove to his mouth. He felt 
 that all present were shrinking from his side. At last, with a 
 violent effort, he faltered out, in broken sentences 
 
 " A charge so sudden may well may well confound me. But 
 but who can credit it ? Both the law and common .sense pre- 
 suppose some motive for a criminal action ; what would be my 
 motive here ? I myself the suitor for the hand of the Duke's 
 daughter / betray her ! Absurd absurd. Duke Duke, I 
 put it to your own knowledge of mankind who ever goes thus 
 against his own interest and and his own heart ? " 
 
 This appeal, however feebly made, was not without effect pn 
 the philosopher. "That is true," said the Duke, dropping his 
 kinsman's hand; " I see no motive." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Harley, "Baron Levy may here enlighten us. 
 Do you know of any motive of self-interest that could have 
 actuated Mr. Leslie in assisting the Count's schmes?" 
 
 Levy hesitated. The Count took up the word. "Pardieu!" said 
 he, in his clear tone of determination and will "Pardieu! I can 
 have no doubt thrown on my assertion, least of all by those who 
 knowof its truth; and Icall upon you, BaronLevy,tostatewhether, 
 in case of my marriage with the Duke's daughter, I had not 
 agreed to present my sister with a sum, to which she alleged some 
 ancient claim, and which would have passed through your hands." 
 
 "Certainly, that is true," said the Baron. 
 
 " And would Mr. Leslie have benefited by any portion of that 
 sum ? " 
 
 Levy paused again. 
 
 " Speak, sir," said the Count, frowning. 
 
 " The fact is," said the Baron, "that Mr. Leslie was anxious to 
 complete a purchase of certain estates that had once belonged to 
 his family, and that the Count's marriage with the Signorina, and 
 his sister's marriage with Mr. Hazeldean, would have enabled me 
 to accommodate Mr, Leslie with a Joan to effect that purchase,"
 
 454 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 "What ! what ! " exclaimed the Squire, hastily buttoning his 
 breast-pocket with one hand, while he seized Randal's arm with 
 the other "my son's marriage ! You lent yourself to that, too ? 
 Don't look so like a lashed hound ! Speak out like a man, if 
 man you be ! " 
 
 " Lent himself to that, my good sir ! " said the Count. " Do 
 you suppose that the Marchesa di Negra could have conde- 
 scended to an alliance with a Mr. Hazeldean?" 
 
 "Condescended! a Hazeldean of Hazeldean!" exclaimed 
 the Squire, turning fiercely, and half-choked with indignation. 
 
 " Unless," continued the Count, imperturbably, "she had been 
 compelled by circumstances to do that said Mr. Hazeldean the 
 honor to accept a pecuniary accommodation, which she had no 
 other mode to discharge. And here, sir, the family of Hazel- 
 dean, I am bound to say, owe a great debt of gratitude to Mr. 
 Leslie; for it was he who most forcibly represented to her the 
 necessity for this mesalliance ; and it was he, I believe, who sug- 
 gested to my friend the Baron the mode by which Mr. Hazel- 
 dean was best enabled to afford the accommodation my sister 
 deigned to accept." 
 
 "Mode ! \te post-obit!" ejaculated the Squire, relinquishing 
 his hold of Randal, to lay his gripe upon Levy. 
 
 The Baron shrugged his shoulders. " Any friend of Mr. Hazel- 
 dean's would have recommended the same, as the most econom- 
 ical mode ; of raising money." 
 
 Parson Dale, who had at first been more shocked than any one 
 present at these gradual revelations of Randal's treachery, now 
 turning his eyes toward the young man, was so seized with com- 
 miseration at the sight of Randal's face; that he laid his hand 
 on Harley's arm, and whispered him "Look, look at that 
 countenance ! and one so young ! Spare him, spare him! " 
 
 " Mr. Leslie," said Harley, in softened tones, "believe me that 
 nothing short of justice to the Duke di Serrano, justice even 
 to my young friend Mr. Hazeldean, has compelled me to this 
 painful duty. Here let all enquiry terminate." 
 
 "And, "said the Count, with exquisite blandness, "since I 
 have been informed by my Lord L'Estrange, that Mr. Leslie 
 has represented as a serious act on his part that personal chal- 
 lenge to myself which I understood was but a pleasant and 
 amicable arrangement in our baffled scheme let me assure Mr. 
 Leslie, that if he be not satisfied with the regret that I now ex- 
 press for the leading share I have taken in these disclosures, I 
 am wholly at Mr. Leslie's service." 
 
 "Peace, homicide," cried the Parson, shuddering; and he
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 45$ 
 
 glided to the side of the detected sinner, from whom all else 
 had recoiled in loathing. 
 
 Craft against craft, talent against talent, treason against trea- 
 son in all this Randal Leslie would have risen superior to 
 Giulio di Peschiera. But what now crushed him, was not the 
 superior intellect it was the sheer brute power of audacity and 
 nerve. Here stood the careless, unblushing villain, making light 
 of his guilt, carrying it away from disgust itself, with resolute 
 look and front erect. There stood the abler, subtler, profounder 
 criminal cowering, abject, pitiful ; the power of mere intel- 
 lectual knowledge shivered into pieces against the brazen metal 
 with which the accident of constitution often arms some ig- 
 nobler nature. - - 
 
 The contrast was striking, and implied that truth so universally 
 felt, yet so little acknowledged in actual life, that .men with 
 audacity and force of character can subdue and paralyze those 
 far superior to themselves in ability and intelligence. It was 
 these qualities which made Peschiera Randal's master; nay, the 
 very physical attributes of the Count, his very voice and form, 
 his bold front and unshrinking eye, overpowered the acuter 
 mind of the refining schemer, as in a popular assembly some 
 burly Cleon cows into timorous silence every dissentient sage. 
 But Randal turned in sullen impatience from the Parson's whis- 
 per, that breathed comfort or urged repentance, and at length 
 said, with clearer tones than he had yet mustered 
 
 " It is not a personal conflict with the Count di Peschiera that 
 can vindicate my honor; and I disdain to defend myself against 
 the accusations of a usurer, and of a man who " . : 
 
 "Monsieur !" said the Count, drawing himself up, 
 
 "A man who," persisted Randal, though he trembled visibly, 
 "by his own confession, was himself guilty of all the schemes in 
 which he would represent me as his accomplice, and who now, 
 not clearing himself, would yet convict another " 
 
 " Cher petit Monsieur!" said the Count, with his grand air of 
 disdain, " when men like me make use of men like you, we re- 
 ward them for a service if rendered, or discard them if the ser- 
 vice be not done ; and if I condescend to confess and apologize 
 for any act I have committed, surely Mr. Randal Leslie might 
 do the same without disparagement to his dignity. But I should 
 never, sir, have taken the trouble to appear against you, had you 
 not, as I learn, pretended to the hand of the lady whom I had 
 hoped, with less presumption, to call my bride; and in this, how 
 can I tell that you have not tricked and betrayed me? Isthere any- 
 thing in ourpast acquaintance that warrants me to believe that, in-
 
 456 MY NOVEL ; Oft, 
 
 stead of serving me, you sought but to serve yourself ? Be that as 
 it may, I had but one mode of repairing to the head of my house 
 the wrongs I have done him and that was by saving his daughter 
 from a derogatory alliance with an impostor who had abetted my 
 schemes for hire, and who now would filch for himself their fruit." 
 
 " Duke ! " exclaimed Randal. 
 
 The Duke turned his back. Randal extended his hands to 
 the Squire. " Mr. Hazeldean what? you, too, condemn me, 
 and unheard ? " 
 
 " Unheard ! zounds, no ! If you have anything to say, speak 
 truth, and shame the devil." 
 
 " I abet Frank's marriage ! I sanction the post-obit! Oh ! " 
 cried Randal, clinging to a straw, "if Frankhimself were buthere!" 
 
 Harley's compassion vanished before this sustained hypocrisy. 
 
 "You wish for the presence of Frank Hazeldean. It is just." 
 Harley opened the door of the inner room, and Frank appeared 
 at the entrance. 
 
 " My son my son ! " cried the Squire, rushing forward, and 
 clasping Frank to his broad fatherly breast. 
 
 This affecting incident gave a sudden change to the feelings 
 of the audience, and for a moment Randal himself was forgotten. 
 The young man seized that moment. Reprieved, as it were, 
 from the glare of contemptuous accusing eyes slowly he crept 
 to the door, slowly and noiselessly as the viper, when it is 
 wounded, drops its crest and glides writhing through the grass. 
 Levy followed him to the threshold, and whispered in his ear 
 
 "I could not help it you would have done the same by me. 
 You see you have failed in everything; and when a man fails 
 completely, we both agreed that we must give him up altogether." 
 
 Randal said not a word, and the Baron marked his shadow 
 fall on the broad stairs, stealing down, down, step after step, 
 till it faded from the stones. 
 
 "But he was of some use," muttered Levy. "His treachery 
 and his exposure will gall the childless Egerton. Some little 
 revenge still ! " 
 
 The Count touched the arm of the musing usurer 
 
 " J'ai bien joutf man rdle, riest-ce pas?" (I have well played 
 my part, have I not?) 
 
 " Your part ! Ah ! but, my dear Count, I do not quite under- 
 stand it." 
 
 " Ma foi you are passably dull. I had just be<en landed in 
 France, when a letter from L'Estrange reached me. It wa3 
 couched as an invitation, which I interpreted to the duello* 
 Such invitations I never refuse. I replied. I came hither
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 457 
 
 took my lodgings at an inn. My lord seeks me last night. I 
 begin in the tone you may suppose. Pardieu! he is clever, 
 
 milord! He shows me a letter from the Prince Von , Al- 
 
 phonso's recall, my own banishment. He places before me, but 
 with admirable suavity, the option of beggary and ruin, or an 
 honorable claim on Alphonso's gratitude. And as for that petit 
 Monsieur, do you think I could quietly contemplate my own 
 tool's enjoyment of all I had lost myself? Nay, more, if that 
 young Harpagore were Alphonso's son-in law, could the Duke: 
 have a whisperer at his ear more fatal to my own interests ? To 
 be brief, I saw at a glance my best course. I have adopted it. 
 The difficulty was to extricate myself as became a man l de sang 
 et de feu.' If I have done so, congratulate me. Alphonso has 
 taken my hand, and I now leave it to him to attend to my 
 fortunes, and clear up my repute." 
 
 "'If you are going to London," said Levy, "my carriage, ere 
 this, must be at the door, and I shall be proud to offer you a seat, 
 and converse with you on your prospects. But, peste ! man cher, 
 your fall has been from a great height, and any other man would 
 have broken his bones." 
 
 " Strength is ever light," said the Count, smiling ; " and it does 
 not fall ; it leaps down and rebounds." 
 
 Levy looked at the Count, and blamed himself for having dis- 
 paraged Peschiera and overrated Randal. 
 
 While this conference went on, Harley was by Violante's side. 
 
 "I have kept my promise to you," said he, with a kind of ten- 
 der humility. "Are you still so severe on me?" 
 
 " Ah ! " answered Violante, gazing on his noble brow, with all 
 a woman's pride in her eloquent, admiring eyes " I have heard 
 from Mr. Dale that you have achieved a conquest over yourself, 
 which makes me ashamed to think that I presumed to doubt how 
 your heart would speak when a moment of wrath (though of wrath 
 so just) had passed away." 
 
 " No, Violante do not acquit me yet ; witness my revenge (for 
 I have not foregone it), and then let my heart speak, and breathe 
 its prayer that the angel voice, which it now beats to hear, may 
 still be its guardian monitor." 
 
 " What is this ?" cried an amazed voice ; and Harley, turning 
 round, saw that the Duke was by his side ; and, glancing with lu- 
 dicrous surprise, now to Harley, now to Violante, "Am I to un- 
 derstand that ycfu " 
 
 " Have freed you from one suitor for this dear hand, to become, 
 myself, your petitioner ! " 
 
 " Corpo di Bacco \ " cried the sage, almost embracing Harley,
 
 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 " this, indeed, is joyful news. But I must not again make a rash 
 pledge not again force my child's inclinations. And Violante, 
 you see, is running away." 
 
 The Duke stretched out his arm, and detained his child. He 
 drew her to his breast, and whispered in her ear. Violante blushed 
 crimson, and rested her head on his shoulder. Harley eagerly 
 pressed forward. 
 
 " There," said the Duke, joining Harley's hand with his daugh- 
 ter's "I don't think I shall hear much more of the convent ; but 
 anything of this sort I never suspected. If there be a language 
 in the world for which there is no lexicon nor grammar, it is that 
 which a woman thinks in, but never speaks." 
 
 " It is all that is left of the language spoken in Paradise," said 
 Harley. 
 
 " In the dialogue between Eve and the serpent yes," quoth the 
 incorrigible sage. "But who eomeshere ? our friend Leonard." 
 
 Leonard now entered the room ; but Harley could scarcely 
 greet him before he was interrupted by the Count. 
 
 "Milord" said Peschiera, beckoning him aside, "I have ful- 
 filled my promise, and I will now leave your roof. Baron Levy 
 returns to London, and offers me a seat in his carriage, which is 
 already, I believe, at your door. The Duke and his daughter will 
 readily forgive me, if I do not ceremoniously bid them farewell. 
 In our altered positions, it does not become me too intrusively to 
 claim kindred ; it became me only to remove, as 1 trust I have 
 done, a barrier against the claim. If you approve my conduct, 
 you will state your own opinion to the Duke." With a profound 
 salutation, the Count-turned to depart ; nor did Harley attempt 
 to stay him, butattendedhim down the stairs witli polite formality. 
 
 " Remember only, my lord, that I solicit nothing. I may al- 
 low myself to accept. Voilct, tout" He bowed again, with the 
 inimitable grace of the old regime, and stepped into the Baron's 
 travelling-carriage. 
 
 Levy, who had lingered behind, paused to. accost L'Estrange. 
 
 "Your lordship will explain to Mr. Egerton how his adopted 
 son deserved his esteem, and repaid his kindness. For the rest, 
 though you have bought up the more pressing and immediate de- 
 mands on Mr. Egerton, I fear that even your fortune will not en- 
 able you .to clear those liabilities, which will leave him, perhaps, 
 a pauper !" jhfiil 
 
 " Baron Levy," said Harley, abruptly, "if I have forgiven Mr. 
 Egerton, cannot you too forgive ? Me lie has wronged you have 
 wronged him and more foully." 
 
 "No, my lord, I cannot forgive him. You he has never hu-
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 4$$ 
 
 miliated you he has never employed for his wants, and scorned 
 as his companion. You have never known what it is to start in 
 life with one whose fortunes were equalto your own, whose tal- 
 ents were not superior. Look you, Lord L Estrange in spite 
 of this difference between me and Egerton, that he has squan- 
 dered the wealth that he gained without effort, while I have con- 
 verted the follies of others into my own ample revenues the 
 spendthrift in his penury has the respect and position which mil- 
 lions cannot bestow upon me. You would say that I am a usurer, 
 and he is a statesman. But do you know what I should have 
 been, had I not been born the natural son of a peer? Can you 
 guess what I should have been, if Nora Avenel had been my wife ? 
 The blot on my birth, and the blight on my youth.-' and the 
 knowledge that he who was rising every year into the rank which 
 entitled him to reject me as a guest at his table he whom the 
 world called the model of a gentleman was a coward and a liar 
 to the friend of his youth ; all this made me look on the world 
 with contempt ; and, despising Audley Egerton, I yet hated him 
 and envied. You, whom he wronged, stretch your hand as be- 
 fore to the great statesman ; from my touch you would shrink 
 as pollution. My lord, you may forgive him whom you love and 
 pity ; I cannot forgive him whom I scorn and envy. Pardon my 
 prolixity. I now quit your house." 
 
 The Baron moved a step^-then turning back, said with a with- 
 ering sneer 
 
 "But you will tell Mr. Egerton how I helped to expose the 
 son he adopted ! I thought of the childless man when your lord- 
 ship imagined I was but in fear of your threats. Ha ! ha ! that 
 will sting." 
 
 The Baron gnashed his teeth as, hastily entering the carriage, 
 he drew down the blinds. The post-boys cracked their whips, 
 and the wheels rolled away. 
 
 "Who can judge," thought Harley, "through what modes 
 retribution comes home to the breast? That man is chastised 
 in his wealth^-ever gnawed by desire for what his wealth can- 
 not buy ! " He roused himself, cleared his brow, as from a thought 
 that darkened and troubled -and^ entering the saloon, laid his 
 hand upon Leonard's shoulder, and looked, rejoicing, into the 
 poet's mild, honest, lustrous eyes. "Leonard," said he, gently, 
 "your hour is come at last." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 AUDLEY EGERTON was alone in his apartment. A heavy sleep 
 had come over him, shortly after Harley and Randal had
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 the house in the early morning ; and that sleep continued till late 
 in the day. AH the while the town of Lansmere had been dis- 
 tracted in his cause-r all the while so many tumultuous passions 
 had run riot in the contest that .was to close or re-open, for the 
 statesman's ambition, the Janus gates of political war the ob- 
 ject of so many fears and hopes, schemes and counter-schemes, 
 had slumbered quietly as an infant in the cradle. He woke but 
 in time to receive Harley's despatch, announcing the success of 
 his election ; and adding, "Before the night you shall embrace 
 your son. Do not join us below when I return. Keep calm 
 we will come to you.Vi - 
 
 In fact, though not aware of the dread nature of Audley's 
 complaint, with its warning symptoms; Lord L'Estrange wished 
 to spare his friend the scene of Randal's exposure. . 
 
 On the receipt of -that letter, Egerton. rose: 'At the prospect 
 of seeing his son Nora's son the very memory of his disease 
 vanished. The poor, weary j over-labored heart indeed beat loud, 
 and with many a jerk and spasm. He heeded it not. The vic- 
 tory, that restored him to the sole life for which he had hitherto 
 cared to live, was clean forgotten. Nature claimed her own 
 claimed it in scorn of death, and in oblivion of renown. 
 
 There sat the man, dressed with his habitual precision.; the 
 black coat, buttoned across the broad breast ; his countenance, 
 so mechanically habituated to self-control, still revealing little 
 of emotion, though the sickly flush came and went on the bronzed 
 cheek, and the eye watched the hand of the clock, and the ear 
 hungered for a foot-tread along the corridor. At length the sound 
 was heard steps many steps. He sprang to his feet he stood 
 on the hearth. Was the hearth to be solitary no more? Harley 
 entered first. Egerton's eyes rested on him eagerly for a mo- 
 ment, and strained onward across the threshold. Leonard came 
 next Leonard Fairneld, whom he had seen as his opponent! 
 He began to suspect to conjecture to see the mother's tender 
 eyes in the son's manly face. Involuntarily he opened his arms; 
 but, Leonard remaining still, let them fall with a deep sigh, and 
 fancied himself deceived, .<;. 
 
 "Friend, "said Harley, "I give to you a son proved in adversi- 
 ty,andwho has fought his own way to fame. Leonard,intheman 
 to whom I prayed you to sacrifice your own ambition of whom 
 you have spoken with such worthy praise,- whosecareer of honor 
 you have promoted, and whose life unsatisfied by those honors, 
 you will soothe with your filial love^ behold the husband of Nora 
 Avenel! Kneel to your father!, Oh,Audky,.eibraceyour son !" 
 
 " Here here," exclaimed Egerton,as Leonard bent his knee
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 46 i 
 
 " here to my heart ! Look at me with those eyes [-"-kindly, for- 
 givingly; they are your mother's ! " His proud head sunk on his 
 son's shoulder. 
 
 "But this is not enough," said Harley, leading Helen, and 
 placing her .by Leonard's side ; "you must open your heart for 
 more. Take into its folds. my sweet ward and daughter. What 
 is a home without the smite of a woman? They have loved 
 each other from children. Audley, yours be the hand to join- 
 yours be the lips to bless." 
 
 Leonard started anxiously. "Oh, sir ! oh, my father this 
 generous sacrifice may not be ; for he he who. has saved me 
 for this surpassing joy 'he too loves -her ! " 
 
 "Nay, Leonard," said Harley, smiling, "I am not so neglect- 
 ful of myself. Another home woos you, Audley. He whom 
 you long so vainly sought to reconcile to life, exchanging mourn- 
 ful dreams for happy duties he, too, presents you to his bride. 
 Love her for my sake for your own. She it is, not I, who pre- 
 sides over this hallowed reunion. But for her, I should have 
 been a blinded, vindictive, guilty, repentant man ; and-r " Vio- 
 lante's soft hand was on his lips. 
 
 "Thus," said .the Parson, with mild solemnity, "man finds 
 that the Saviour's precepts, 'Let not the sun go down upon thy 
 wrath,' and ' Love one another,' are clues that conduct us through 
 the labyrinth of human life, when the schemes of fraud and hate 
 snap asunder, and leave us lost amid the maze." 
 
 Egerton reared his head, as if to answer ; and all present were 
 struck and appalled by the sudden change that had come over 
 his countenance. There was a film upon the eye a shadow on 
 the aspect ; the words failed his lips he sunk on the seat be- 
 side him. The left hand rested droopingly upon the piles of 
 public papers and official documents, and: the fingers played 
 with them, as the bedridden sufferer plays with the coverlid he 
 will soon exchange for the winding-sheet. But his right hand 
 seemed to feel, as through the dark, for the recovered son ; and 
 having touched what it sought, feebly drew Leonard near and 
 nearer. Alas ! that blissful PRIVATE LIFE that close centre 
 round the core of being in the individual man so long missed 
 and pined for slipped from him, as it were, the moment it re- 
 appeared ; hurried away, as the circle on the ocean, which is 
 scarce seen ere it vanishes amidst infinity. Suddenly both hands 
 were still; the head fell back. Joy had burst asunder the last 
 ligaments, so fretted away in unrevealing sorrow. Afar, their 
 sound borne into that room, the joy-bells were pealing triumph ; 
 mobs roaring out huzzas ; the weak cry of John Avenel might
 
 MY NOVEL J OR, 
 
 be blent in those shouts, as the drunken zealots reeled by his 
 cottage-door, and startled the screaming ravens that reeled round 
 the hollow oak. The boom which is sent from the waves on the 
 surface of life, while the deeps are so noiseless in their march, 
 was wafted on the wintry air into the chamber of the statesman 
 it honored, and over the grass sighing low upon Nora's grave. 
 But there was one in the chamber, as in the grave, for whom 
 the boom on the wave had no sound, and the march of the deep 
 had no tide. Amidst promises of home, and union, and peace, 
 and fame. Death strode into the household ring, and seating it- 
 self, calm and still, looked lifelike ; warm hearts throbbing 
 round it ; lofty hopes fluttering upward ; Love kneeling at its 
 feet; Religion, with lifted finger, standing by its side. 
 
 ; A .i!0( *Of>V.' 3-fliOrf TJj'ijo;: 
 
 FINAL CHAPTER. 
 
 SCENE. The Hall in the Old Tower of CAPTAIN ROLAND DE 
 
 CAXTON. 
 
 "Bur you have not done?" said Augustine Caxton. 
 
 PISISTRATUS. What remains to do ? 
 
 MR. CAXTON. What! why the Final Chapter! the last 
 news yoii can give us of those whom you have introduced to 
 our liking or dislike. 
 
 PISISTRATUS. Surely it is more dramatic to close the work 
 with a scene that completes the main designs of the plot, and 
 leave it to the prophetic imagination of all whose flattering curi- 
 osity is still not wholly -satisfied, to trace the streams of each 
 several existence, when they branch off again from the lake in 
 which their waters converge, and by which the sibyl has con- 
 firmed and made clear the decree, that "Conduct is Fate." 
 
 MR. CAXTON. More dramatic, I grant ; but you have not 
 written a drama. A novelist should be a comfortable, garru- 
 lous, communicative, gossipingfortune-teller; not a grim, lacon- 
 ical, oracular sibyl. 1 like a novel that adopts all the old-fash- 
 ioned customs prescribed to its art by the rules of the Masters, 
 more especiallya novel which you style "My Novel, ''par emphasis. 
 
 CAPTAIN ROLAND. A most vague and impracticable title, 
 " My Novel." It must really be changed before the work goes 
 in due form to the public. 
 
 MR. SQUILLS. Certainly the present titlecannotbe even pro- 
 nounced by many without inflicting a shock upon their nervous 
 system. Do you think, for instance, that my friend, Lady Pris- 
 cilln Graves who is a great novel reader, indeed, but holds all 
 female writers unfeminine deserters to'the standard of Man
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 463 
 
 could ever come out with, " Pray, sir, have you had time to look 
 at MY Novel?" She would rather die first. And yet to be 
 silent altogether on the latent acquisition to the circulating- 
 libraries, would bring on a functional derangement of her lady- 
 ship's organs of speech. Or how could pretty Miss Dulcet 
 all sentiment, it is true, but all bashful timidity appal Captain 
 Smirk from proposing, with, "Did you not think the Parson's 
 sermon a little too dry in MY Novel?" It will require a face 
 of brass, or at least a long course of citrate of iron, before a re- 
 spectable lady or unassuming young gentleman, with a proper 
 dread of being taken for scribblers, could electrify a social circle 
 with, " The reviewers don't do justice to the excellent things 
 in MY Novel." 
 
 CAPTAIN ROLAND. Awful consequences, indeed, may arise 
 from the mistakes such a title gives rise to. Counsellor Dig- 
 well, for instance a lawyer of literary tastes, but whose career 
 at the bar was long delayed by an unjust suspicion amongst the 
 attorneys that he had written a " Philosophical Essay " imagine 
 such a man excusing himself for being late at a dinner of big- 
 wigs, with, " I could not get away from MY Novel." It would 
 be his professional ruin! I am not fond of lawyers in general, 
 but still I would not be a party to taking the bread out of the 
 mouth of those with a family; and Digwell has children the 
 tenth an innocent baby in arms. 
 
 MR. CAXTON. As to Digwell in particular, and lawyers in 
 general, they are too accustomed to circumlocution, to expose 
 themselves to the danger your kind heart apprehends ; but I al- 
 low that a shy scholar like myself, or a grave college tutor, might 
 be a little put to the blush if he were to blurt forth inadvert- 
 ently with "Don't waste your time over trash like MY Novel." 
 And that thought presents to us another and more pleasing view 
 of this critical question. The title you condemn places the work 
 under universal protection. Lives there a woman so dead to 
 self-love as to say, "What contemptible stuff is- MY Novel?" 
 Would he or she not rather be impelled by that strong impulse 
 of an honorable and virtuous heart, which moves us to stand as 
 well as we can with our friends, to say, "Allow that there is 
 really a good thing now and then in MY Novel." Moreover, 
 as a novel aspires to embrace most of the interests or the passions 
 that agitate mankind to generalize, as it were, the details of 
 life that come home to us all so, in reality, the title denotes 
 that, if it be such as the author may not unworthily call his 
 Novel, it must also be such as the reader, whoever he be; may 
 appropriate in part to himself, representing his own ideas ex-
 
 464 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 pressing his own experience reflecting, 1 if not in full, at least in 
 profile, his own personal identity. Thus, when we glance at the 
 looking-glass in anotherman's room, our likeness for the moment 
 appropriates the mirror ; and according to the humor in which 
 we are, or the state of our spirits and health, we say to ourselves, 
 "Bilious and yellow ! I might as well take care of my diet ! " 
 Or, " Well, I've half a mind to propose to dear Jane ; I'm not 
 such an ill-looking dog as I thought for ! " Still, whatever result 
 from that glance at the mirror, we never doubt that 'tis our like- 
 ness we see ; and each says to the phantom reflection, "Thou 
 art myself," though the mere article of furniture that gives the 
 reflection belongs to another. It is my likeness if it be his glass. 
 And a narrative that is true to the Varieties of Life is Every 
 Man's Novel, no matter from what shores, by what rivers, by what 
 bays, in what pits, were extracted the sands and the silex, the pearl- 
 ash, the nitre and quicksilver, which form its materials; no mat- 
 ter who the craftsman who fashioned its form; no matter who the 
 vender that sold, or the customer who bought; still, if I but recog- 
 nize some trait of myself, 'tis my likeness that makes it "Mv Novel," 
 
 MR. SQUILLS (puzzled, and therefore admiring). Subtle, 
 sir very subtle. Fine organ of Comparison in Mr. Caxton's 
 head, and much called into play this evening. i 
 
 MR. CAXTON (benignly). Finally, the author, by this most 
 admirable and much-signifying title, dispenses with allnecessity 
 of practice. He need insinuate no merits :he need extenuate no 
 faults; for, by calling his work thus curtly " My Novel," he doth 
 delicately imply that it is no use wast ing talk about faults or merits. 
 
 PISISTRATUS (amazed). How is that, sir? 
 
 MR. CAXTON. What so clear? You imply that, though a 
 better novel may be written by others, yon do not expect to write 
 a novel to which, taken as a novel, you would more decisively 
 ajnd unblushingly prefix that voucher of personal authorship and 
 identity conveyed in the monosyllable " My." And if you have 
 written your best, let it be ever so bad, what can any man of 
 candor and integrity require more from you ? Perhaps you will 
 say that, if you had lived two thousand years ago, you might have 
 called it The Novel, or the Golden Novel, as Lucius calls his story 
 " The Ass" ; and Apuleius, to distinguish his own more elaborate 
 Ass from all Asses preceding it, called his tale "The Golden 
 Ass." But living in the present day, such a designation imply- 
 ing a merit in general, not the partial and limited merit corre- 
 sponding only with your individual abilities would be presump- 
 tuous and offensive. True I here anticipate the observation 
 J see Squills is about to make '
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 46$ 
 
 SQUILLS. I, sir ? 
 
 MR. CAXTON. You would say that, as Scarron called his work 
 of fiction " The Comic Novel," so Pisistratus might have called 
 his " The Serious Novel," or " The Tragic Novel." But, Squills, 
 that title would not have been .inviting nor appropriate, and 
 would have been exposed to comparison with Scarron, who, being 
 dead, is inimitable. Wherefore to put the question on the ir- 
 refragable basis of mathematics wherefore, as A B, "My Novel," 
 is not equal to BC, "The Golden Novel," nor to D E, "The 
 Serious or Tragic Novel," it follows, that A B, " My Novel," is 
 equal toP C "PisistratusCaxton,"and P C,"PisistratusCaxton," 
 must therefore be just equal, neither more nor less, to AB, "My 
 Novel," which: was to be demonstrated.: My father looked 
 around triumphantly, and observing that Squills was dumb- 
 founded, and the rest of his audience posed, he added mildly; 
 
 "And so now, nonquieta movere, proceed with the Final Chap- 
 ter, and tell us first what became of that youthful Giles Over- 
 reach, who was himself his own Marrall?" 
 
 "Ay! "said the Captain, "what became of Randal Leslie? 
 Did he repent and reform ? " 
 
 "Nay," quoth my father, with a mournful shake of the head, 
 " you can regulate the warm tide of wild passion you can light 
 into virtue the dark errors of ignorance; but where the force of 
 the brain does but clog the free action of the heart where you 
 have to deaL, not with ignorance misled, but intelligence cor- 
 rupted small hope of reform; for reform here will need reor- 
 ganization. I have somewhere read (perhaps in Hebrew tradi- 
 tion) that of the t\vo;orders of fallen spirits the Angels of Love, 
 and the Angels of Knowledge the first missed the stars they 
 had lost, and wandered back through the darkness, one by one 
 into heaven; but the last, lighted on by their own lurid splen- 
 dors, said, ' Wherever we go, there is heaven! ' And deeper and 
 lower descending, lost their shape and their nature, till, deformed 
 and obscene, the bottomless pit closed around them." 
 
 MR. SQUILLS. I should not have thought, Mr. Caxton,thata 
 book-man like you would be thus severe upon Knowledge. 
 
 MR. CAXTON (in wrath). Severe upon knowledge! O Squills 
 Squills Squills ! Knowledge perverted is knowledge no lon- 
 ger. Vinegar, which, exposed to the sun, breeds small serpents, 
 or at least slimy eels, not comestible, once was wine. If I say 
 to my grand-children, " Don't drink that sour stuff, which the 
 sun itself fills with reptiles"; does that prove me a foe to sound 
 sherry? Squills, if you had but received a scholastic educa- 
 tion, you woul4know t,he wise maxim thatsaith, " AU things the
 
 466 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 worst are corruptions from things originally designed as the 
 best." Has not freedom bred anarchy, and religion fanaticism ? 
 And if I blame Marat calling for blood, or Dominic racking a 
 heretic, am I severe on the religion that canonized Francis de 
 Sales, or the freedom that immortalized Thrasybulus ? 
 
 Mr. Squills, dreading a catalogue of all the saints in the cal- 
 endar, and an epitome of ancient history, exclaimed eagerly, 
 "Enough sir I am convinced!" 
 
 MR. CAXTON. Moreover, I have thought it a natural stroke 
 of art in Pisistratus, to keep Randal Leslie, in his progress toward 
 the rot of the intellect unwholesomely refined, free from all the 
 salutary influences that deter ambition from settling into egotism. 
 Neither in his slovenly home, nor from his classic tutor at his 
 preparatory school, does he seem to have learned any truths, 
 religious or moral, that might give sap to fresh shoots, when the 
 first rank growth was cut down by the knife; and I especially 
 noted, as illustrative of Egerton, no less than of Randal, that 
 though the statesman's occasional hints of advice to his//W^/ 
 are worldly-wise in their way, and suggestive of honor as befit- 
 ting the creed of a gentleman, they are not such as much influ- 
 ence a shrewd reasoner like Randal, whom the example of the 
 playground at Eton had not served to correct of the arid self- 
 seeking which looked to knowledge for no object but power. A 
 man tempted by passions like Audley, or seduced into fraud by 
 a cold subtle spirit like Leslie, will find poor defence in the ele- 
 gant precept, " Remember to act as a gentleman." Such moral 
 embroidery adds a beautiful scarf to one's armor; but it is not 
 the armor itself ! Ten o'clock- as I live Push on, Pisistratus! 
 and finish the chapter. 
 
 MRS. CAXTON (benevolently). Don't hurry. Begin with that 
 odious Randal Leslie, to oblige your father; but there are others 
 whom Blanche and I care much more to hear about. 
 
 Pisistratus, since there is no help for it, produces a supple- 
 mentary manuscript, which proves that, whatever his doubt as 
 to the artistic effect of a Final Chapter, he had foreseen that his 
 audience would not be contented without one. 
 
 Randal Leslie, late at noon the day after he quitted Lansmere 
 Park, arrived ori foot at his father's house. He had walked all 
 the way, and through the solitudes of the winter night; but he 
 was not sensible of fatigue till the dismal home closed round 
 him, with its air of hopeless ignoble poverty; and then he sunk 
 upon the floor, feeling himself a ruin amidst the ruins. He made 
 no disclosure of what had passed to his. relations, Miserable
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 467 
 
 man, there was not one to whom he could confide, or from whom 
 he might hear the truths that connect repentance with consola- 
 tion! After some weeks passed in sullen and almost unbroken 
 silence, he left as abruptly as he had appeared, and returned to 
 London. The sudden death of a man like Egerton had, even in 
 those excited times, created intense, though brief sensation. 
 The particulars of the election, that had been given in detail in 
 the provincial papers, were copied into the London journals; 
 among those details, Randal Leslie's conduct in the committee- 
 room, with many an indignant comment on selfishness and in- 
 gratitude. The political world of all parties formed one of those 
 judgments on the great man's poor dependent, which fix a stain 
 upon the character, and place a barrier in the career of ambi- 
 tious youth. The important personages who had once noticed 
 Randal for Audley's sake, and who, on their subsequent and not 
 long-deferred restoration to power, could have made his fortune, 
 passed him in the streets without a nod. He did not venture 
 to remind Avenel of the promise to aid him in another election 
 for Lansmere, nor dream of filling up the vacancy which Eger- 
 ton's death had created. He was too shrewd not to see that all 
 hope of that borough was over; he would have been hooted in 
 the streets and pelted from the hustings. Forlorn in the vast 
 metropolis as Leonard had once been, in his turn he loitered on 
 the bridge, and gazed on the remorseless river. He had neither 
 money nor connections nothing save talents and knowledge to 
 force his way back into the lofty world in which all had smiled 
 on him before; and talents and knowledge, that had been exert- 
 ed to injure a benefactor, made him but the more despised. But 
 even now, Fortune, that had bestowed on the pauper heir of Rood 
 advantages so numerous and so dazzling, out of which he had 
 cheated himself, gave him a chance, at least of present independ- 
 ence, by which, with patient toil, he might have won, if not to 
 the highest places, at least to a position in which he could have 
 forced the world to listen to his explanations, and perhaps receive 
 hisexcuses: the ^5000 that Audley designed for him, and which 
 in a private memorandum the statesman had entreated Harley 
 to see safely rescued from the fangs of the law, were made over 
 to Randal by Lord L'Estrange's solicitor; but this sum seemed 
 to him so small after the loss of such gorgeous hopes, and the 
 up-hill path seemed so slow after such short cuts to power, that 
 Randal looked upon the unexpected bequest simply as an apology 
 for adopting no profession. Stung to the quick by the contrast 
 between his past and his present place in the English world, he 
 hastened abroad. There, whether in distraction from thought,
 
 468 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 or from the curiosity of a restless intellect to explore the world 
 of things yet untried, Randal Leslie, who had hitherto been so 
 dead to the ordinary amusements of youth, plunged into the 
 society of damaged gamesters and third-rate roue's. In this com- 
 panionship his very talents gradually degenerated, and their ex- 
 ercise upon low intrigues and miserable projects but abased his 
 social character, till, sinking step after step as his funds decayed, 
 he finally vanished out of the sphere in which even profligates still 
 retain the habits, and cling to the castf, of gentlemen. His father 
 died; the neglected property of Rood devolved on -Randal, but 
 out of its scanty proceeds he had to pay the portions of his 
 brother and sister, and his mother's jointure; the surplus left 
 was scarcely visible in the executor's account. The hope of re- 
 storing the home and fortunes of his forefathers had long ceased. 
 What were the ruined hall and its bleak wastes, without that hope 
 which had once dignified the wreck and the desert? Rewrote 
 from St. Petersburg, ordering the sale of the property. No one 
 great proprietor was a candidate for the unpromising investment; 
 it was sold in lots among small freeholders and retired traders. 
 A builder bought the Hall for its materials. Hall, lands, and 
 name were blotted out of the map and the history of the county. 
 
 The widow, Oliver, and Juliet removed to a provincial town 
 in another shire. : Juliet married an ensign in a marching regi- 
 ment, and died of neglect after childbirth. MFS. Leslie did not 
 long survive her. Oliver added to his little fortune by mar- 
 riage with the daughter of a retail tradesman, who had amassed a 
 few thousand pounds. He set up a brewery, and contrived to 
 live without debt; though a large family, and his own constitu- 
 tional inertness, extracted from his business small profits and no 
 savings. Nothing of Randal had been heard of for years after 
 the sale of Rood, except that he had taken up his residence 
 either in Australia or the United States; it was not known which, 
 but presumed to be the latter. Still Oliver had been brought up 
 with so high a veneration of his brother's talents, that he cher- 
 ished the sanguine belief that Randal would some day appear, 
 wealthy and potent, like the uncle in a comedy; lift up the 
 sunken family, and rear into graceful ladies -and accomplished 
 gentlemen the clumsy little boys and the vulgar little girls, who 
 now crowded round Oliver's dinner-table, with appetites alto- 
 gether disproportioned to the size of the joints. 
 
 One winter day, when from the said dinner-table wife and 
 children had retired, and Oliver sat sipping his half-pint of bad 
 port, and looking over unsatisfactory accounts, a thin terrier, lying 
 on the threadbare rug by the niggard fire, sprang up and barked
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 469 
 
 fiercely. Oliver lifted his dull blue eyes, and saw opposite to him, 
 at the window, a human face. The face was pressed close to the 
 panes, and was obscured by the haze which the breath of its lips 
 drew forth from the frosty rime that had gathered on the glass. 
 
 Oliver, alarmed and indignant, supposing this intrusive spec- 
 tator of his privacy to be some bold and lawless tramper, stepped 
 out of the room, opened the front door, and bade the stranger 
 go about his business; while the terrier still more inhospitably 
 yelped and snapped at the stranger's heels. Then a hoarse 
 voice said, "Don't you know me, Oliver? I am your brother 
 Randal! Call away your dog, and let me in." Oliver stared 
 aghast he could not believe his slow senses -he could not rec- 
 ognize his brother in the gaunt grim apparition before him. 
 But at length he came forward, gazed into Randal's face, and, 
 grasping his hand in amazed silence, led him into the little par- 
 lor. Not a trace of the well-bred refinement which had once 
 characterized Randal's air and person was visible. His dress 
 bespoke the last stageof that terrible decay which is significantly 
 called the "shabby genteel." His mien was that of the skulk- 
 ing, timorous, famished vagabond. As he took off his greasy 
 tattered hat, he exhibited, though still young in years, the signs 
 of premature old age. His hair, once so fine and silken, was of 
 a harsh iron-gray, bald in ragged patches; his forehead and vis- 
 age were ploughed into furrows; intelligence was still in the as- 
 pect, but an intelligence that instinctively set you on your guard 
 sinister gloomy menacing. 
 
 Randal stopped short all questioning. He seized the small 
 modicum of wine on the table, and drained it at a draught. 
 "Pooh," said he, "have you nothing that warms a man better 
 than this?" : Oliver, who felt as if under the influence of a fright- 
 ful dream, went to a cupboard and took out a bottle of brandy 
 three-parts full. Randal snatched at it eagerly, and put his lips 
 to the mouth of the bottle. "Ah," said he, after a short pause, 
 "this comforts; now give me food." Oliver hastened himself 
 to serve his brother; in fact,. he felt ashamed that event he slip- 
 shod maid-servant should see his Visitor. When he returned 
 with such provisions as he could extract from the larder, Ran- 
 dal was seated by the fire, spreading over the embers emaciated 
 bony hands like the talons of a vulture. 
 
 He devoured the cold meat set before him with terrible vo- 
 racity, and nearly finished the spirits left in the bottle; but the 
 last had no effect in dispersing his gloom. Oliver stared at him in 
 fear the terrier continued to utter a low suspicious growl. 
 
 " You wotfld know my history ? " at length said Rand'ii, bluntly
 
 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 " It is sliort. I have tried for fortune and failed I .am without 
 a penny and without a hope. You seem poor I suppose you 
 cannot much help me. Let me at least stay with you for a 
 time I know not where else to look for bread and for shelter." 
 
 Oliver burst into tears, and cordially bade his brother welcome. 
 Randal remained some weeks at Oliver's house, never stirring 
 out of the doors, and not seeming to notice, though he did not 
 scruple to use, the new habiliments which Oliver procured ready- 
 made, and placed, without remark, in his room. But his pres- 
 ence soon became intolerable to the mistress of the house, and 
 oppressive even to its master. Randal, who had once been so 
 abstemious that he had even regarded the most moderate use of 
 wine as incompatible with clear judgment and vigilant observa- 
 tion, had contracted the habit of drinking spirits at all hours of 
 the day; but though they sometimes intoxicated him into stupor, 
 they never unlocked his heart nor enlivened his sullen mood. 
 If he observed less acutely than of old, he could still conceal 
 just as closely. Mrs. Oliver Leslie, at first rather awed and 
 taciturn, grew cold and repelling, then pert and sarcastic, at last 
 undisguisedly and vulgarly rude. Randal made no retort; but 
 his sneer was so galling that the wife flew at once to her husband, 
 and declared that either she or his brother must leave the house. 
 Oliver tried to pacify and compromise, with partial success; and, 
 a few days afterward, he came to Randal and said, timidly, 
 "You see, my wife brought me nearly all I possess, and you 
 don't condescend to make friends with her. Your residence here 
 must be as painful to you as to me. But I wish tp see you pro- 
 vided for; and. I could offer you something only it seems, at 
 first glance, so beneath " 
 
 "Beneath what?" interrupted Randal, witheringly. "What 
 I was or what I am? Speak out ! " 
 
 "To be sure you are a scholar; and I've heard you say fine 
 things about knowledge, and so forth; and you'll have plenty 
 of books at your disposal, no doubt; and you are still young, and 
 may rise and " 
 
 " Hell and torments! Be quick say the worst or the best!" 
 cried Randal, fiercely. 
 
 " Well then," said poor Oliver, still trying to soften the in- 
 tended proposal, " you must know that our poor sister's husband 
 was nephew to Dr. Felpem, who keeps a very respectable school. 
 He is not learned himself, and attends chiefly to arithmetic and 
 book-keeping, and such matters but he wants an usher to teach 
 the classics; for some of the boys go to college. And I have 
 written to him, just to sound I did not mention your name till
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 471 
 
 I knew if you would like it; but he will take my recommenda- 
 tion. Board lodging fifty pounds a year; in short, the place 
 is yours if you like it." 
 
 Randal shivered from head to foot, and was long before he 
 answered. "Well, be it so; I have come to that. Ha, ha! yes, 
 knowledge is power!" He paused a few moments. "So, the 
 old Hall is razed to the ground, and you are a tradesman in a 
 small country town, and my sister is dead, and I henceforth am 
 John Smith ! You say that you did not mention my name to the 
 schoolmaster still keep it concealed; forget that I once was a 
 Leslie. Our tie of brotherhood ceases when I go from your hearth. 
 Write, then, to your head -master, who attends to arithmetic, and 
 secure the rank of his usher in Latin and Greek for John Smith!" 
 
 Not many days afterward, t\\e prot/gfoi Audley Egerton en- 
 tered on his duties as usher in one of those large cheap schools, 
 which comprise a sprinkling of the sons of gentry and clergymen 
 designed for the learned professions, with a far larger proportion 
 of the sons of traders, intended, some for the counting-house, 
 some for the shop and the till. There, to this day, under the 
 name of John Smith, lives Randal Leslie. 
 
 It is probably not pride alone that induces him to persist in 
 that change of name, and makes him regard as perpetual the 
 abandonment of the one that he took from his forefathers, and 
 with which he had once identified his vaulting ambition ; for 
 shortly after he had quitted his brother's house, Oliver read in 
 the weekly newspaper, to which he bounded his lore of the times 
 in which he lived, an extract from an American journal, wherein 
 certain mention was made of an English adventurer who, amongst 
 other aliases, had assumed the name of Leslie that extract 
 caused Oliver to start, turn pale, look round, and thrust the 
 paper into the fire. From that time he never attempted to vio- 
 late the condition Randal had imposed on him never sought 
 to renew their intercourse, nor to claim a brother. Doubtless, 
 if the adventurer thus signalized was the man Oliver suspected, 
 whatever might be imputed to Randal's charge that could have 
 paled a brother's cheek, it was none of the hlore violent crimes 
 to which law is inexorable, but rather (in that progress made by 
 ingratitude 1 and duplicity, with Need and Necessity urging them 
 on), some act of dishonesty which may just escape from the law, 
 to sink, without redemption, the name. However this be, there 
 is nothing in Randal's present course of life which fo-febodes 
 any deeper fall. He has known what it is to want bread, and 
 his former restlessness subsides into cynic apathy. 
 
 He lodges in the town near the school, and thus the debasing
 
 472 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 habit of unsocial besotment is not brought under the eyes of iiis 
 superior. The dram is his sole luxury if it be suspected, it is 
 thought to be his sole vice. He goes through the ordinary 
 routine of tuition with average credit; his spirit of intrigue occa- 
 sionally shows itself in attempts to conciliate the favor of the boys 
 whose fathers are wealthy who are born to higher rank than the 
 rest; and he lays complicated schemes to be asked home for the 
 holidays. But when the schemes succeed, and the invitation 
 comes, he recoils and shrinks back he does not dare to show 
 himself on the borders of the brighter world he once hoped to 
 sway; he fears that he may be discovered to be a Leslie ! On 
 such days, when his taskwork is over, he shuts himself up in his 
 room, locks the door, and drugs himself into insensibility. 
 
 : Once he found a well-worn volume running the round of de- 
 lighted school-boys took it up, and recognized Leonard's ear- 
 liest work, which had, many years before, seduced himself into 
 pleasant thoughts and gentle emotions. He carried the book to 
 his own lodgings read it again; and when he returned it to its 
 young owner, some of the leaves were stained with tears. Alas ! 
 perhaps but the maudlin tears of broken nerves, not of the 
 awakened soul for the leaves smelt strongly of whiskey. Yet, 
 after that re-perusal, Randal Leslie turned suddenly to deeper 
 studies than his habitual drudgeries required. He revived and 
 increased his early scholarship ; he chalked the outline of a work of 
 great erudition, in which the subtlety of his intellect found field in 
 learned and acute criticism. But he has never proceeded far in 
 this work. After each irregular and spasmodic effort, the pen 
 drops from his hand, and he mutters, " But to what end ? I can 
 never now raise a name. Why give reputation to John Smith ? " 
 
 Thus he drags on his life; and perhaps, when he dies, the 
 fragments of his learned work may be discovered in the desk 
 of the usher, and , -serve as hints to some .crafty student, who 
 may filch ideas and repute from the dead Leslie, as Leslie had 
 filched them from. the. living Burley. 
 
 While what may be. called poetical justice has thus evolved 
 itself from the schemes in which Randal Leslie had wasted rare 
 intellect in baffling his own fortunes, no outward signs of ad- 
 versity evince the punishment of Providence on the head of the 
 more powerful offender, Baron Levy. No fall in the Funds has 
 shaken the sumptuous fabric, built from the ruined houses of 
 Other mep. Baron Levy is still Baron Levy the millionaire ; but 
 J, ; doubt if at heart he be not more acutely miserable than Ran- 
 dal Leslie, the usher. For Levy is a man who has Admitted the 
 fiercer passions intp his philosophy of life ; he has not the pale
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 473 
 
 blood and torpid hear.t which allow the scotched adder to doze 
 away its sense of pain. Just as old age began to creep upon 
 the fashionable usurer he fell in love with a young opera-dancer, 
 whose light heels had turned the lighter heads of half the 
 Elegants of Paris and London. The craft of the dancer was 
 proof against all lesser bribes than that of marriage ; and Levy 
 married her. From that moment his house, Louis Quinze, was 
 more crowded than ever by the high-born dandies whose society 
 he had long so eagerly courted. That society became his curse. 
 The Baroness was an accomplished coquette j and Levy (with 
 whom, as we have seen, jealousy was the predominant passion) 
 was stretched on an eternal rack. His low estimate of human 
 nature his disbelief in the possibility of virtue added strength 
 to the agony of his suspicions, and provoked the very dangers 
 he dreaded. His sole self-torturing task was that of the spy 
 upon his own hearth. His banquets were haunted by a spectre; 
 the attributes of his wealth were as the goad and the scourge 
 of Nemesis. His gay cynic smile changed into a sullen scowl 
 his hair blanched into white his eyes were hollow with one 
 consuming care. Suddenly he left his costly house; left London; 
 abjured all the society which it had been the joy of his wealth 
 to purchase ; buried himself and his wife in a remote corner of 
 the provinces; and there he still lives. He seeks in vain to 
 occupy his days with rural pursuits; he to whom the excitements 
 of a metropolis, with all its corruption and its vices,. were. the 
 sole sources of the turbid stream that he called "pleasure." 
 There, too, the fiend of jealousy still pursues him ; he prowls 
 round his demesnes with the haggard eye and furtive step of a 
 thief ; he guards his wife as a prisoner, for she threatens every 
 day to escape. The life of a man who had opened the prison 
 to so many is the life of a jailer. His wife abhors him, and 
 does not conceal it; and still slavishly he dotes on her. Accus- 
 tomed to the freest liberty demanding applause and admira- 
 tion as her rights wholly uneducated, vulgar in mind, coarse in 
 language, violent in temper the beautiful Fury he has brought 
 to his home, makes that home a hell. Tlius, what ( m'ight seem 
 to the superficial most enviable, is to. their possessor most hate- 
 ful. He dares not ask a soul to see how he spends his gold- 
 he has shrunk into a mean and niggardly, expenditure, and com- 
 plains of reverse and poverty, in order to excuse himself to his 
 wife for debarring her the enjoyments which she anticipated 
 from the Money-Bags she had married. A vague consciousness 
 ?f retribution : has, awakened remorse, to add to his other stings. 
 1 the remors.e coming from superstition, not rejigior* (sent.
 
 474 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 from below, not descending from above), brings with it none of 
 the consolations of a genuine repentance. He never seeks to 
 atone never dreams of some redeeming good action. His riches 
 flow around him, spreading wider and wider out of his own reach. 
 
 The Count di Peschiera was not deceived in the calculations 
 which had induced him to affect repentance, and establish a 
 claim upon his kinsman. He received from the generosity of 
 the Duke di Serrano an annuity not disproportionate to his rank, 
 and no order from his court forbade his return to Vienna. But, 
 in the very summer that followed his visit to Lansmere, his 
 career came to an abrupt close. At Baden-Baden he paid 
 court to a wealthy and accomplished Polish widow ; and his 
 fine person and terrible repute awed away all rivals save a 
 young Frenchman, as daring as himself, and much more in 
 love. A challenge was given and accepted. Peschiera ap- 
 peared on the fatal ground with his customary sang-froid, hum- 
 ming an opera air, and looked so diabolically gay that his oppo- 
 nent's nerves were affected in spite of his courage, and, the French- 
 man's trigger going off before he had even taken aim, to his own in- 
 effable astonishment, he shot the Count through the heart, dead. 
 
 Beatrice di Negra lived for some years after her brother's death 
 in strict seclusion, lodging within a convent, though she did 
 not take the veil, as she at first proposed. In fact, the more 
 she saw of the sisterhood, the more she found that human 
 regrets and human passions (save in some rarely gifted natures) 
 find their way through the barred gates and over the lofty walls. 
 Finally, she took up her abode in Rome, where she is esteemed 
 for a life not only marked by strict propriety, but active 
 benevolence. She cannot be prevailed on to accept from the 
 Duke more than a fourth of the annuity that had been bestowed 
 on her brother ; but she has few wants, save those of charity ; 
 and when charity is really active, it can do so much with so 
 little gold ! She is not known in the gayer circles of the city ; 
 but she gathers around her a small society composed chiefly of 
 artists ajnd scholars, and is never so happy as when she can aid 
 some child of genius more especiallyif his country be England. 
 
 The Squire and his wife still flourish at Hazeldean, where 
 Captain Barnabas Higginbotham has taken up his permanent 
 abode. The Captain is a confirmed hypochondriac, but he 
 brightens up now and then when he hears of any illness in the 
 family of Mr. SharpeCurrte, arid, atsudh times, is heard torriur- 
 mur, " If those seven sickly children should go off, I might 
 have very great EXPECTATIONS." For the which he had been 
 roundly scolded by the Squire, and gravely preached at by the
 
 VARIETIES IN KNaLI LIFE. 475 
 
 Parson. Upon both, however, he takes his revenge in a fair and 
 gentlemanlike way, three times a week, at the whist-table, the 
 Parson no longer having the Captain as his constant partner, 
 since a fifth now generally cuts,in at the table in the person of 
 that old enemy and neighbor, Mr. Sticktorights. The Parson, 
 thus fighting his own battles unallied to the Captain, observes 
 with melancholy surprise that there is a long run of luck against 
 him, and that he does not win so much as he used to do. For- 
 tunately that is the sole trouble except Mrs. Dale's "little 
 tempers," to which he is accustomed that ever disturbs the 
 serene tenor of the Parson's life. We must now explain how 
 Mr. Sticktorights came to cut in at the Hazeldean whist-table. 
 Frank has settled at the Casino with a wife who suits him ex- 
 actly, and that wife was Miss Sticktorights. It was two years 
 before Frank recovered the disappointment with which the loss 
 of Beatrice saddened his spirits, but sobered his habits and awoke 
 his reflection. An affection, however misplaced and ill-requited, 
 if honestly conceived and deeply felt, rarely fails to advance the 
 self-education of man. Frank became steady and serious ; and, 
 on a visit to Hazeldean, met at a country ball Miss Sticktorights, 
 and the two young persons were instantly attracted toward each 
 other, perhaps by the very feud that had so long existed between 
 their houses. The marriage settlements were nearly abandoned, 
 at the last moment, by a discussion between the parents as to 
 the Right of Way. But the dispute was happily appeased by 
 Mr. Dale's suggestion, that as both properties would be united 
 in the children of the proposed marriage, all cause for litiga- 
 tion would naturally cease, since no man would go to law with 
 himself. Mr. Sticktorights and Mr. Hazeldean, however, agreed 
 in the precaution of inserting a clause in the settlements (though 
 all the lawyers declared that it could not be of any legal avail), 
 by which it was declared that if, in default of heritable issue 
 by the said marriage, the Sticktorights estates devolved on some 
 distant scion of the Sticktorights family, the right of way from 
 the wood across the waste land would still remain in the same 
 state of delectable dispute in which it then stood. There seems, 
 however, little chance of a lawsuit thus providentially bequeathed 
 to the misery of distant generations since two sons and two 
 daughters are already playing at hide-and-seek on the terrace 
 where Jackeymo once watered the orange-trees, and in the bel- 
 videre where Riccabocca had studied his Machiavelli. 
 
 Jackeymo, though his master has assessed the long arrears of 
 his wages at a sum which would enable him to have orange- 
 groves and servants of his own, still clings to his former duties,
 
 47^ MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 and practises his constitutional parsimony. His only apparent 
 deviation into profusion consists in the erection of a chapel to 
 his sainted namesake, to whom he burns many a votive taper ;- 
 the tapers are especially tall, and their sconces are wreathed 
 with garlands whenever a letter with a foreign post-mark brings 
 good news of the absent Violante and her English lord. 
 
 Riccabocca was long before he reconciled himself to the pomp 
 of his principalities and his title of Duke. Jemima accommo- 
 dated herself much more readily to greatness, but she retained 
 all her native Hazeldean simplicity at heart, and is adored by 
 the villagers around her, especially by the youth of both sexes, 
 whom she is always ready to marry and to portion ; convinced, 
 long ere this, of the redeemable qualities of the male sex by her 
 reverence for the Duke, who continues to satirize women and 
 wedlock, and deem himself thanks to his profound experience 
 of the one, and his philosophical endurance of the other the 
 only happy husband in the world. Longer still was it before 
 the sage, who had been so wisely anxious to rid himself of the 
 charge of a daughter, could wean his thoughts from the remem- 
 brance of her tender voice and loving eyes. Not, indeed, till 
 he seriously betook himself to the task of educating the son with 
 whom, according to his scientific prognostics, Jemima presented 
 him shortly after his return to his native land. The sage 
 began betimes with his Italian proverbs, full of hard-hearted 
 worldly wisdom, and the boy was scarce out of the hornbook 
 before he was introduced to Machiavelli. But somehow or other 
 the simple goodness of the philosopher's actual life, with his high- 
 wrought patrician sentiments of integrity and honor, so counter- 
 act the theoretical lessons, that the heir of Serrano is little likely 
 to be made more wise by the proverbs, or more wicked by the 
 Machiavelli, than those studies hav.e practically made the pro- 
 genitor, whose opinions his countrymen still shame with the 
 title of "Alphonso the Good." 
 
 The Duke long cherished a strong curiosity to know what had 
 become of Randal. He never traced the adventurer to his clos- 
 ing scene. But once (years before Randal had crept into his 
 present shelter), in a visit of inspection to the hospital at Genoa, 
 the Duke, with his peculiar shrewdness of observation in all 
 matters except those which concerned himself, was remarking 
 to the officer in attendance, " that for one dull honest man, 
 whom fortune drove to the hospital or the jail, he had found, 
 on investigation of their antecedents, three sharp-witted knaves 
 who had thereto reduced themselves " when his eye fell upon 
 a man asleep in one of the sick- wards, and recognizing the face,
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 477 
 
 not then so changed as Oliver had seen it, he walked straight up, 
 and gazed upon Randal Leslie. 
 
 " An Englishman," said the official. " He was brought hither 
 insensible, from a severe wound on the head, inflicted, as we 
 discovered, by a well-known chevalier d'industrie who declared 
 that the Englishman had outwitted and cheated him. That was 
 not very likely, for a few crowns were all we could find on the 
 Englishman's person, and he had been obliged to leave his lodg- 
 ings for debt. He is recovering but there is fever still." 
 
 The Duke gazed silently on the sleeper, who was tossing 
 restlessly on his pallet, and muttering to himself ; then he placed 
 his purse in the official's hand. " Give this to the Englishman," 
 said he ; " but conceal my name. It is true it is true the 
 proverb is very true " resumed the Duke, descending the stairs 
 Pitt pelli di volpi che di asini vanno inpellicciaria." (More 
 hides of foxes than of asses find their way to the tanner's.) 
 
 Dr. Morgan continues to prescribe globules for grief, and to 
 administer infinitesimally to a mind diseased. Practising what 
 he prescribes, he swallows a globule of " caustic " whenever the 
 sight of a distressed fellow-creature moves him to compassion 
 a constitutional tendency which, he is at last convinced, admits of 
 no radical cure. For the rest, his range of patients has notably 
 expanded ; and under his sage care his patients unquestionably 
 live as long as Providence pleases. No allopathist can say more. 
 
 The death of poor John Burley found due place in the obitu- 
 ary of " literary men." Admirers, unknown before, came for- 
 ward and subscribed for a handsome monument to his memory 
 in Kensal Green. They would have subscribed for the relief of 
 his widow and children, if he had left any. Writers in maga- 
 zines thrived for some months on collections of his humorous 
 sayings, anecdotes of his eccentricities, and specimens of the 
 eloquence that had lightened through the tobacco- reek of tavern 
 and club-room. Leonard ultimately made a selection from his 
 scattered writings,which found place in standard libraries, though 
 their subjects were either of too fugitive an interest, or treated 
 in too capricious a manner, to do more than indicate the value 
 of the ore had it been purified from its dross and subjected to 
 the art of the mint. These specimens could not maintain their 
 circulation as the coined money of Thought, but they were 
 hoarded by collectors as rare curiosities. Alas, poor Burley ! 
 
 The Pompleys sustained a pecuniary loss by the crash of a rail- 
 way company, in which the Colonel had been induced to take 
 several shares by one of his wife's most boasted "connections," 
 whose estate the said railway proposed to traverse, on paying
 
 478 MY NOVEL; OR, 
 
 ^400 an acre, in that golden age when railway companies re- 
 spected the rights of property. The Colonel was no longer able, 
 in his own country, to make both ends meet at Christmas. He 
 is now straining hard to achieve that feat in Boulogne, and has 
 in the process grown so red in the face, that those who meet him 
 in his morning walk on the pier, bargaining for fish, shake their 
 heads and say, " Old Pompley will go off in a fit of apoplexy ; a 
 great loss to society ; genteel people the Pompleys ! and very 
 highly ' connected.' " 
 
 The vacancy created in the borough of Lansmere by Audley 
 Egerton's death was filled up by our old acquaintance Haveril 
 Dashmore,whohad unsuccessfully contested that seat on Egerton's 
 first election. The naval officer was now an admiral, and perfect- 
 ly reconciled to the Constitution, with all its alloy of aristocracy. 
 
 Dick Avenel did not retire from Parliament as soon as he had 
 anticipated. He was not able to persuade Leonard, whose brief 
 fever of political ambition was now quenched in the calm foun- 
 tain of the Muse, to supply his place in the senate, and he felt 
 that the house of Avenel needed one representative. He con- 
 trived, however, to devote, for the first year or two, much more 
 of his time to his interests at Screwstown than to the affairs of 
 his country, and succeeded in baffling the over-competition to 
 which he had been subjected, by taking the competitor into 
 partnership. Having thus secured a monopoly at Screwstown, 
 Dick, of course, returned with great ardor to his former enlight- 
 ened opinions in favor of free-trade. He remained some years 
 in Parliament ; and though far too shrewd to venture out of his 
 depth as an orator, distinguished himself so much by his expos- 
 ure of "humbug " on an important committee, that he acquired 
 a very high reputation as a man of business, and gradually be- 
 came so in request amongst the members who moved for " Select 
 Committees," that he rose into consequence ; and Mrs. Avenel, 
 courted for his sake, more than her own, obtained the wish of 
 her heart, and was received as an acknowledged habitude into the 
 circles of fashion. Amidst these circles, however, Dick found 
 that his home entirely vanished ; and when he came home from 
 the House of Commons, tired to death, at two in the morning, 
 disgusted at always hearing that Mrs. Avenel was not yet returned 
 from some fine lady's ball, he formed a sudden resolution of cut- 
 ting Parliament, Fashion, and London altogether ; withdrew his 
 capital, now very large, from his business ; bought the remain- 
 ing estates of Squire Thornhill ; and his chief object of ambition 
 is in endeavoring to coax or bully out of their holdings all the 
 small freeholders round, who had subdivided amongst them, into
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 479 
 
 poles and furlongs, the fated inheritance of Randal Leslie. An 
 excellent justice of the peace, though more severe than your 
 old family proprietors generally are ; a spirited landlord, as to 
 encouraging and making, at a proper percentage, all permanent 
 improvements on the soil, but formidable to meet if the rent be 
 not paid to the day, or the least breach of covenant be heed- 
 lessly incurred in a farm that he could let for more money ; 
 employing a great many hands in productive labor, but exacting 
 rigorously from all the utmost degree of work at the smallest 
 rate of wages which competition and the poor-rate permit ; the 
 young and robust in his neighborhood never stinted in work, and 
 the aged and infirm, as lumber worn out, stowed away in the 
 workhouse ; Richard Avenel holds himself an example to the 
 old race of landlords; and taken altogether, is no very bad speci- 
 men of the rural civilizers whom the application of spirit and 
 capital raise up in the new. 
 
 From the wrecks of Egerton's fortune, Harley, with the aid 
 of his father's experience in business, could not succeed in sav- 
 ing, for the statesman's sole child and heir, more than a few 
 thousand pounds; and but for the bonds and bills which, when 
 meditating revenge, he had bought from Levy, and afterward 
 thrown into the fire paying dear for that detestable whistle 
 even this surplus would not have been forthcoming. 
 
 Harley privately paid out of his own fortune the ^5000 
 Egerton had bequeathed to Leslie ; perhaps not sorry, now that 
 the stern duty of exposing the false wiles of the schemer was ful- 
 filled, to afford some compensation even to the victim who had 
 so richly deserved his fate: and pleased, though mournfully, to 
 comply with the solemn request of the friend whose offence was 
 forgotten in the remorseful memory of his own projects of revenge. 
 
 Leonard's birth and identity were easily proved, and no one 
 appeared to dispute them. The balance due to him as his father's 
 heir, together with the sum Avenel ultimately paid to him for 
 the patent of his invention, and the dowry which Harley insisted 
 upon bestowing on Helen, amounted to that happy competence 
 which escapes alike the anxieties of poverty and (what to one of 
 contemplative tastes and retired habits are often more irksome 
 to bear) the show and responsibilities of wealth. His father's 
 death made a deep impression upon Leonard's mind ; but the 
 discovery that he owed his birth to a statesman of so great a re- 
 pute, and occupying a position in society so conspicuous, con- 
 tributed not to confirm, but to still, the ambition which had for 
 a short time diverted him from his more serene aspirations. He 
 had no longer to win a rank which might equal Helen's. He
 
 480 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 had no longer a parent, whose affections might be best won 
 through pride. The memories of his earlier peasant-life, and his 
 love for retirement in which habit confirmed the constitutional 
 tendency made him shrink from what a more worldly nature 
 would have considered the enviable advantages of a name that 
 secured the entrance into the loftiest sphere of our social world. 
 He wanted not that name to assist his own path to a rank far 
 more durable than that which kings can confer. And still he re- 
 tained in the works he had published, and still he proposed to 
 bestow on the works more ambitious that he had, in leisure 
 and competence, the facilities to design with care, and complete 
 with patience, the name he had himself invented, and linked 
 with the memory of the low-born mother. Therefore, though 
 there was some wonder, in drawing-rooms and clubs, at the news 
 of Egerton's first unacknowledged marriage, and some curiosity 
 expressed as to what the son of that marriage might do and 
 great men were prepared to welcome, and fine ladies to invite 
 and bring out, the heir to the statesman's grave repute yet 
 wonder and curiosity soon died away ; the repute soon passed 
 out of date, and its heirs were soon forgotten. Politicians who 
 fall short of the highest renown are like actors ; no applause is 
 so vivid while they are on the stage no oblivion so complete 
 when the curtain falls on the last farewell. 
 
 Leonard saw a fair tomb rise above Nora's grave, and on the 
 tomb was engraved the word WIFE, which vindicated her be- 
 loved memory. He felt the warm embrace of Nora's mother, no 
 longer ashamed to own her grandchild ; and even old John was 
 made sensible that a secret weight of sorrow was taken from his 
 wife's stern silent heart. Leaning on Leonard's arm, the old 
 man gazed wistfully on Nora's tomb, and muttering " Eger- 
 ton ! Egerton ! ' Leonora, the first wife of the Right Honorable 
 Audley Egerton ! ' Ha ! I voted for him. She married the right 
 color. Is that the date ? Is it so long since she died ? Well, well ! 
 I miss her sadly. But wife says we shall both now see her soon; 
 and wife once thought we should never see her again never ; 
 but I always knew better. Thank you, sir. I am a poor creature, 
 but these tears don't pain me quite otherwise. I don't know 
 why, but I'm very happy. Where is my old woman? She does 
 not mind how much I talk about Nora now. Oh, there she is ! 
 Thank you, sir, humbly ! but I'd rather lean on my old woman 
 I'm more used to it; and wife, when shall we go to Nora?" 
 
 Leonard had brought Mrs. Fairfield to see her parents, and 
 Mrs. Avenel welcomed her with unlooked-for kindness. The 
 name inscribed upon Nora's tomb softened the mother's heart
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 481 
 
 to her surviving daughter. As poor John had said "She could 
 now talk about Nora" ; and in that talk, she and the child she 
 had so long neglected discovered how much they had in com- 
 mon. So when, shortly after his marriage with Helen, Leonard 
 went abroad, Jane Fairfield remained with the old couple. 
 After their death, which was within a day of each other, she re- 
 fused, perhaps from pride, to take up her residence with Leon- 
 ard, but she settled near the home which he subsequently found 
 in England. Leonard remained abroad for some years. A quiet 
 observer of the various manners and intellectual development 
 of living races a rapt and musing student of the monuments 
 that revive the dead his experience of mankind grew large in 
 silence, and his perceptions of the Sublime and Beautiful bright- 
 ened into tranquil art under their native skies. 
 
 On his return to England he purchased a small house amidst 
 the most beautiful scenes of Devonshire, and there patiently 
 commenced a work in which he designed to bequeath' to his 
 country his noblest thoughts in their fairest forms. Some men 
 best develop their ideas by constant exercise ; their thoughts 
 spring from their brain ready-armed and seek, like the fabled 
 goddess, to take constant part in the wars of men. And such are, 
 perhaps, on the whole, the most vigorous and lofty writers; but 
 Leonard did not belong to this class. Sweetness and serenity 
 were the main characteristics of his genius; and these were deep- 
 ened by his profound sense of his domestic happiness. To 
 wander alone with Helen by the banks of the murmurous river 
 to gaze with her on the deep still sea to feel that his thoughts, 
 even when most silent, were comprehended by the intuition of 
 love, and reflected on that translucent sympathy so yearned for 
 and so rarely found by poets these were the Sabbaths of his 
 soul, necessary to fit him for its labors for the Writer has this 
 advantage over other men, that his repose is not indolence. His 
 duties, rightly fulfilled, are discharged to earth and men in other 
 capacities than those of action. If he is not seen among those 
 who act, he is all the while maturing some noiseless influence, 
 which will guide or illumine, civilize or elevate, the restless men 
 whose noblest actions are but the obedient agencies of the 
 thoughts of writers. Call not, then, the Poet whom we place 
 amidst the Varieties of Life, the sybarite of literary ease, if re- 
 turning on Summer eves, Helen's light footstep by his musing 
 side, he greets his sequestered home, with its trellised flowers 
 smiling out from amidst the lonely cliffs in which it is embedded; 
 while lovers still, though wedded long, they turn to each other, 
 with such deep joy in their speaking eyes, grateful that the
 
 4^2 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 world, with its various distractions and noisy conflicts, lies so far 
 from their actual existence only united to them by the happy 
 link that the writer weaves invisibly with the hearts that he 
 moves and the souls that he inspires. No ! Character and cir- 
 cumstances alike unfitted Leonard for the strife of the thronged 
 literary democracy ; they led toward the development of the 
 gentler and purer portions of his nature to the gradual sup- 
 pression of the more combative and turbulent. The influence of 
 the happy light under which his genius so silently and calmly 
 grew, was seen in the exquisite harmony of its colors, rather than 
 the gorgeous diversities of their glow. His contemplation, intent 
 upon objects of peaceful beauty, and undisturbed by rude anx- 
 ieties and vehement passions, suggested only kindred repro- 
 ductions to the creative faculty by which it was vivified; so that 
 the whole man was not only a poet, but, as it were, a poem a 
 living idyl, calling into pastoral music every reed that sighed and 
 trembled along the stream of life. And Helen was so suited to a 
 nature of this kind, she so guarded the ideal existence in which 
 it breathes ! All the little cares and troubles of the common 
 practical life she appropriated so quietly to herself the stronger 
 of the two, as should be a poet's wife, in the necessary house- 
 hold virtues of prudence and forethought. Thus, if the man's 
 genius made the home a temple, the woman's wisdom gave to 
 the temple the security of the fortress. They have only one 
 child a girl ; they call her Nora. She has the father's soul-lit 
 eyes, and the mother's warm human smile. She assists Helen in 
 the morning's noiseless domestic duties; she sits in the evening 
 at Leonard's feet, while he reads or writes. In each light grief 
 of childhood she steals to the mother's knee; but in each young 
 impulse of delight, or each brighter flash of progressive reason, 
 she springs to the father's breast. Sweet Helen, thou hast taught 
 her this, taking to thyself the shadows even of thine infant's life, 
 and leaving to thy partner's eyes only its rosy light ! 
 
 But not here shall this picture of Helen close. Even the 
 Ideal can only contemplate its purpose by connection with the 
 Real. Even in solitude the writer must depend upon Mankind. 
 
 Leonard at last, has completed the work, which has been the 
 joy and the labor of so many years the work which he regards 
 as the flower of all his spiritual being, and. to which he has com- 
 mitted all the hopes that unite the creature of to-day with the 
 generations of the future. The work has gone through the press, 
 each line lingered over with the elaborate patience of the artist, 
 loath to part with the thought he has sculptured into form, while 
 an improving touch can be imparted by the chisel. He has
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 483 
 
 accepted an invitation from Norreys. In "the reckless excite- 
 ment (strange to him, since his first happy maiden effort) he has 
 gone to London. Unrecognized in the huge metropolis, he has 
 watched to see if the world acknowledged the new tie he has 
 woven between its busy life and his secluded toil. And the 
 work came out in an unpropitious hour ; other things were oc- 
 cupying the public ; the world was not at leisure to heed him, 
 and the book did not penetrate into the great circle of readers. 
 But a savage critic had seized on it, and mangled, distorted, 
 deformed it, confounding together defect and beauty in one 
 mocking ridicule ; and the beauties have not yet found an ex- 
 ponent, nor the defects a defender ; and the publisher shakes 
 his head, points to groaning shelves, and delicately hints that 
 the work which was to be the epitome of the sacred life within 
 life, does not hit the taste of the day. Leonard thinks over the 
 years that his still labor has cost him, and knows that he has 
 exhausted the richest mines of his intellect, and that long years 
 will elapse before he can recruit that capital of ideas which is 
 necessary to sink new shafts, and bring to light fresh ore ; and 
 the deep despondency of intellect, frustrated in its highest aims, 
 has seized him, and all he has before done is involved in failure 
 by the defeat of the crowning effort. Failure, and irrecoverable, 
 seems his whole ambition as writer ; his whole existence in the 
 fair Ideal seems to have been a profitless dream, and the face 
 of the Ideal itself is obscured. And even Norreys frankly, 
 though kindly, intimates that the life of a metropolis is essen- 
 tial to the healthful intuition of a writer in the intellectual 
 wants of his age ; since every great writer supplies a want 
 in his own generation, for some feeling to be announced, some 
 truth to be revealed ; and as this maxim is generally sound, 
 as most great writers have lived in cities, Leonard dares not 
 dwell on the exceptions ; it is only success that justifies the at- 
 tempt to be an exception to the common rule ; and with the 
 blunt manhood of his nature, which is not a poet's, Norreys 
 sums up with, "What then? One experiment has failed; fit 
 your life to your genius, and try again." Try again! Easy 
 counsel enough to the man of ready resource and quick com- 
 bative mind ; but to Leonard, how hard and how harsh ! " Fit 
 his life to his genius!" renounce contemplation and Nature 
 for the jostle of Oxford Street ! would that life not scare away 
 the genius for ever? Perplexed and despondent, though still 
 struggling for fortitude, he returns to his home, and there at his 
 hearth awaits the Soother, and there is the voice that repeats 
 the passages most beloved, and prophesies so confidently of
 
 484 MY NOVEL ; OR, 
 
 future fame ; and gradually all around smiles from the smile of 
 Helen. And the profound conviction that Heaven places hu- 
 man happiness beyond the reach of the world's contempt or 
 praise, circulates through his system and restores its serene 
 calm. And he feels that the duty of the intellect is to accom- 
 plish and perfect itself to harmonize its sounds into music that 
 may be heard in Heaven, though it wake not an echo on thfe 
 earth. If this be done, as with some men, best amidst the din 
 and the discord, be it so ; if, as with him, best in silence, be it 
 so too. And the next day he reclines with Helen by the sea- 
 shore, 'gazing calmly as before on the measureless sunlit ocean ; 
 and Helen, looking into his face, sees that it is sunlit as the 
 deep. His hand steals within her own, in the gratitude that 
 endears beyond the power of passion, and he murmurs gently, 
 " Blessed be the woman who consoles." 
 
 The work found its way at length into fame, and the fame 
 sent its voices loud to the poet's home. But the applause of the 
 world had not a sound so sweet to his ear, as when, in doubt, 
 humiliation, and sadness, the lips of his Helen had whispered, 
 " Hope ! and believe." 
 
 Side by side with this picture of Woman the Consoler, let me 
 place the companion sketch. Harley L'Estrange, shortly after 
 his marriage with Violante, had been induced, whether at his 
 bride's persuasions, or to dissipate the shadow with which Eger- 
 ton's death still clouded his wedded felicity, to accept a tem- 
 porary mission, half military, half civil, to one of our colonies. 
 On the mission he had evinced so much ability, and achieved 
 so signal a success, that on his return to England he was raised 
 to the peerage, while his father yet lived to rejoice that the son 
 who would succeed to his honors had achieved the nobler dig- 
 nity of honors not inherited, but won. High expectations were 
 formed of Harley's parliamentary success ; but he saw that suc- 
 cess, to be durable, must found itself on the knowledge of 
 wearisome details, and the study of that practical business, 
 which jarred on his tastes, though it suited his talents. Har- 
 ley had been indolent for so many years and there is so much 
 to make indolence captivating to a man whose rank is secured, 
 who has nothing to ask from fortune, and who finds at his home 
 no cares from which he seeks a distraction ; so he laughed at 
 ambition in the whim of his delightful humors, and the expec- 
 tations formed from his diplomatic triumph died away. But 
 then came one of those political crises, in which men ordinarily 
 indifferent to politics rouse themselves to the recollection that 
 the experiment of legislation is not made upon dead matter, but
 
 VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 48$ 
 
 on the living form of a noble country. And in both Houses of 
 Parliament the strength of party is put forth. 
 
 It is a lovely day in spring, and Harley is seated by the win- 
 dow of his old room at Knightsbridge now glancing to the 
 lively green of the budding trees now idling with Nero, who, 
 though in canine old age, enjoys the sun like his master now 
 repeating to himself, as he turns over the leaves of his favorite 
 Horace, some of those lines that make the shortness of life the 
 excuse for seizing its pleasures and eluding its fatigues, which 
 form the staple morality of the polished epicurean and Vio- 
 lante (into what glorious beauty her maiden bloom has ma- 
 tured !) comes softly into the room, seats herself on a low stool 
 beside him, leaning her face on her hands, and looking up at 
 him. through her dark, clear, spiritual eyes; and as she contin- 
 ues to speak, gradually a change comes over Harley's aspect 
 gradually the brow grows thoughtful, and the lips lose their 
 playful smile. There is no hateful assumption of the would-be 
 " superior woman " no formal remonstrance, no lecture, no 
 homily which grates upon masculine pride, but the high theme 
 and the eloquent words elevate unconsciously of themselves, 
 and the Horace is laid aside a Parliamentary Blue Book has 
 been, by some marvel or other, conjured there in its stead and 
 Violante now moves away as softly as she entered. Harley's 
 hand detains her. 
 
 "Not so. Share the task, or I quit it. Here is an extract I con- 
 demn you to copy. Do you think I would go through this labor 
 if you were not to halve the success ? halve the labor as well ! " 
 
 And Violante, overjoyed, kisses away the implied rebuke, and 
 sits down to work, so demure and so proud, by his side. I do 
 not know if Harley made much way in the Blue Book that 
 morning ; but a little time after he spoke in the Lords, and sur- 
 passed all that the most sanguine had hoped from his talents. 
 The sweetness of fame and the consciousness of utility once fully 
 tasted, Harley's consummation of his proper destinies was secure. 
 A year later, and his voice was one of the influences of England. 
 His boyish love of glory revived ; no longer vague and dreamy, 
 but ennobled into patriotism, and strengthened by purpose. One 
 night, after a signal triumph, he returned home with his father, 
 who had witnessed it, and Violante who all lovely, all brilliant 
 though she was, never went forth in her lord's absence, to lower, 
 among fops and flatterers, the dignity of the name she so aspired 
 to raise sprang to meet him. Harley's eldest son a boy yet in 
 the nursery had been kept up later than usual ; perhaps Violante 
 had anticipated her husband's triumph, and wished her son to
 
 486 MY NOVEL. 
 
 share it. The old Earl beckoned the child to him, and laying his 
 hand on the infant's curly locks, said with unusual seriousness 
 
 "My boy, you may see troubled times in England before these 
 hairs are as gray as mine ; and your stake in England's honor 
 and peace will be great. Heed this hint from an old man who 
 had no talents to make a noise in the world, but who yet has 
 been of some use in his generation. Neither sounding titles, nor 
 wide lands, nor fine abilities, will give you real joy, unless 
 you hold yourself responsible for all to your God and to your 
 country ; and. when you are tempted to believe that the gifts 
 you may inherit from both entail no duties, or that duties are 
 at war with true pleasure, remember how I placed you in your 
 father's arms, and said, ' Let him be as proud of you some day, 
 as I at this hour am of him/ " 
 
 The boy clung to his father's breast, and said manfully, " I 
 will try !" Harley bent his fair, smooth brow over the young 
 earnest face, and said softly, "Your mother speaks in you ! " 
 
 Then the old Countess, who had remained silent and listen- 
 ing on her elbow-chair, rose and kissed the Earl's hand rever- 
 ently. Perhaps in that kiss there was the repentant consciousness 
 how far the active goodness she had often secretly undervalued 
 had exceeded, in its fruits, her own cold unproductive powers 
 of will and mind. Then passing on to Harley, her brow grew 
 elate, and the pride returned. to her eye. 
 
 "At last," she said, laying on his shoulder that light, firm 
 hand, from which he no longer shrunk "at last, O my noble 
 son, you have fulfilled all the promise of your youth !" 
 
 " If so," answered Harley, " it is because I have found what 
 I then sought in vain." He drew his arm around Violante, and 
 added, with half tender, half solemn smile " Blessed is the 
 woman who exalts ! " 
 
 So, symbolled forth in these twin and fair flowers which Eve 
 saved for Earth out of Paradise, each with the virtue to heal 
 or to strengthen, stored under the leaves that give sweets to the 
 air; here,soothingtheheart when the worldbringsthetrouble 
 here, recruiting the soul which our sloth or our senses enervate, 
 leave we woman, at least, in the place Heaven assigns to her 
 amidst the multiform "Varieties, of Life." 
 
 Farewell to thee, gentle Reader; and go forth to the world, 
 O MY NOVEL ! 
 
 
 THE END.
 
 m f\f\ '" "'" "' llllllll III