m^v •^4liP*7/ ^^ iKi ^rC.j'i UNIVERSITj' of CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES SAYINGS AND DOINGS. THIRD SERIES. VOL. II. SHACKEI.r, AND B.VYLIS, JOHNSON S-COURT. SAYINGS AND DOINGS OR SKETCHES FROM LIFE. THIRD SERIES. Full of wise satvs and modern instances, Shakspeare. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON: HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 1828. 1 Jij3*' '* t » • J««' V » y w * . "^ *« • * * « • • "» • :-: . COUSIN WILLIAM. CHAPTER XII. y Woman's heart Was never won by tales of bleeding love ; 'Tis by degrees the sly eiicLianter works. Assuming friendship's name, and tits the soul For soft impressions, ere the faltering tongue And guilty blushing cheek, with many a glance Shot inadvertent, tells the secret flame. Whitehead. It was in the one and twentieth year afier this auspicious marriage, (it being then the " merry month of May,'") that I next saw Lar!\ Terrington. She was in her box at the Opera House — I recognized her in an instant — for time had worked but Httle change in her per- sonal appearance ; indeed at the distance whence I viewed her, with the advantages of candlehght, and perhaps the shghtest touch imaginable oi rouge, she appeared but very httle altered her figure, as far as I could judge, remained as VOL. II. _ B 157318 2 COUSIN ■WILLIAM. symmetrical as ever — and her flowing hair wan- toned as wildly over her snowy forehead, as it did when I had last seen her. At the time of which I am now speaking, she was turned nine and thirty. In her air and manner I saw an evident change — it might have been in the eyes of some, an improvement — to me the amendment was equivocal — the hesitating faltering timidity of the blushing girl, was exchanged for the easy and assured confidence of the admired wife — vivacity had taken place of diffidence, and the downcast look of innocence, whicli I had a thou- sand times worshi})ped in her early life, had been bartered for the worldly exercise of the eye, which talketh many languages At her side sat a lovely girl — an imearthly looking creature, whose exquisitely feminine charms were displayed to what she no doubt considered the very best advantage ; but to my mind, half their effect was marred by the studied exhibition, and her evident consciousness of the possession of them ; at first I thought tiii:i might Ik? Caroline's daughter — but I found that Jiady Terrington had only one child, and that one, a son. COUSIN WILLIAM. 3 Behind Lady Terrington's chair, in the ob- scurity of the box, I saw a man, who>~e features I perfectly recollected — he wore the glittering decoration of the Bath, and a silken " score" of services, upon which were displayed the ribbands and badges ""in httle^"* of several foreign orders. Time, and his campaigns had given a mellowed tint to his complexion, and the fine features, which in youth had been so indelibly impressed upon the heart of his innocent cousin, were even improved by the change they had undergone — this was Sir Wilham Morley, K.C.B., &c. &c. &c. Before I proceeded to make myself known to Lady Terrington, I applied myself to an excel- lent friend of mine, the popular Major Entick, a man whose talents and acquirements, however striking, are not more estimable than the kindness of his disposition and the excellence of his temper; who is, as it were, a peripatetic Court Guide ; an animated peerage ; a living record of the times. — The major speedily illustrated, and with that forcible delineation of character for which he is so justly celebrated, presented me with the carte dupays, by the study of which, I was to regulate my future operations in Sir Mark's family. It seemed then, that so long as one and twenty B 2 4* COUSIN WILLIAM. years before the period of which I am now speaking, IMorley, (with whose arrival at Stamfordleigh, a little too late^ the last chapter ended,) being in communication with his friend, the legal adviser of his rival, confessed to him his determination still, if possible, to win Caro- line from the arms of his rival. Allsford, placed by this confidential disclosure, made only the morning before the marriage, in the most delicate possible position, suddenly retired from Stam- fordleigh, as the only step he could take without compromising either his honour or his friend ; and Morley having been detained week after week at Portsmouth, by contrary winds, and being ordered up to the Horse Guards on duty, took advantage of four and twenty hours leave of absence, to make one more desperate dash for his Dulcinea. That he v)as too late, the appearance of the bride upon her progress convinced him, and he hastened back to town, and thence to Portsmouth, whence in due time, the wind having got round to V. hat sailors call " the norVard," he took his de- parture for the West Indies, leaving Lady Ter- rington in the arms of her favoured lover and faithful husband, fully impressed with her cou- COUSIN WILLIA>r. i) sin's unconquerable affection for her, and sick at heart with grief and mortification at her own credulity, and Sir Mark's consequent success. A woman, however full of passion and feel- ing, hoMever enthusiastic and ardent by nature, married to a man, wdthout one corresponding quality, whose taste, pursuits and sentiments in no degree accord with hers, and whose mere excel- lence itself is insipid, enters upon a married lit\' under the greatest disadvantages ; vibrations are only caused by concords, and the want of that ac- tivity which a congenial disposition would exciic, beo^ets in the husband a distaste for what he imagines the constitutional indifference of his wife to all his pursuits, and to all surrounding objects ; this induces in time a corresponding indifference in him, and thus their existence is passed without either having a fair opportunity of judging or appreciating the natural character of the other. But when to this negative indifference on both sides, is superadded the positive existence of a prior affection upon one, the results may easily be anticipated. Caroline Crosby had gone through the marriage ceremony at Stamford- leigh with tears in her eyes, through which beamed the loved image of her cousin William : 6 COUSIN WILLIAM. piqued and angry, obedient and indifferent by turns, she considered her beloved lost, herself abandoned ; and she rushed headlong into the gulph with the desperation of a suicide. The actual appearance of Morley, so shortly after the conclusion of the ceremony, served only to make her situation more deplorable, her misery more certain ; and with an unfortified mind and ill-regulated conduct like hers, the shock she had received paralyzed her feelings past all hope of recovery ; she became little better than an au- tomaton, dressed up to go through the prescribed duties of her station, with one sole object ab- sorbing all her cares and all her thoughts — her eyes were constantly fixed on this bright sun of her idolatry, and when compelled to M'ithdraw them temporarily, everything around her, ap- peared confounded in one mass of obscurity. An event occurred, however, wliich promised to divert her attention and divide her interest ; before the expiration of a twelvemonth she be- came a mother ; and the delight with which she caressed and clasped her infant in her arms, was the first really warm and natural feeling that had animated her since her marriage — an object had presented itself, which by the laws of nature was inestimably dear to her, and although even her COUSIN WILLIAM. 7 delight at pressing her baby to her bosom was qualified by one sad thought, still in the tender assiduities which the helpless child required and received, she found employment, pursuit and excitement; and Terrlngton himself felt his cheek glow with pride and satisfaction, when he saw his beautiful wife engaged in the duties of a mother, and anxiously watching the health and growth of her beloved little William — for so she had induced her husband to allow his son to be christened. From the birth of this boy, Caroline's charac- ter seemed entirely changed — he was the object of her undivided affection — of her unremitting soUcitude. The child was beautifully handsome, and finely grown, and although inheriting from his mother genius, vivacity and talent, was, as might naturally be supposed, completely spoiled before he was seven years old. Nature it appeared had not blessed the Ter- ringtons with any other children — and the boy thus possessing the undisputed affections of both his parents, must have turned out the most hopeless dunce that ever lived, had not his grandfather, (who knew a little,) insisted upon his going to Eton — thither, after a considerable struggle with his fond mother, who appre- 8 COUSIN WILLIAM. liended thathe might get hisnose scratched, orone of his eyes poked out, or that some other dread- ful accident would befal him, during his progress through a public school, he was sent ; and there he remained, until he proceeded to Christchurch, whence he betook himself to the continent, from which, liaving passed some time in making the tour of Europe, he had returned to England about a month or six weeks previous to my re- cognition of his mother at the Opera. " And who,"" said I to the major, " is that sylph-like creature with Lady Terrington ?" *' That," replied the major, " is the beauti- ful Flora — a cousin of Sir Mark's, who has for some time been living with them — she is rich, and on c?t7, amiable, and evidently intended to be the Avife of William Terrington." " And Sir William Morley ?" said I, inquir- ingly. " Oh, ma fois,'''' said the major, " that's per- fect — a brilliant career of success on the con- tinent, consummated and concluded at Waterloo — a patent of baronetcy— Commandery of the Bath— Grand Cross of the Guelph— Tower and Sword— Black Eagle and Red— There isnothinj'; going that can beat Morley." " This is new to me," said I. COUSIN WILLIAM. a So it seems," said the major — " it is new to you, I suppose, also, that he is generally ima- gined to be Sir Mark's assistant." " I don't understand." said I.' *' No ! why the thing speaks for itself>" an- swered the major, " he is the family bodkin. — In the social journey through life every couple now^-a-days has its bodkin — its tame man— things can't go on in this world without it — as Terence says — " Quam multa injusta ac prava fiunt moribus!" You seem quite unsophisticated. Sir Mark is one of those observant persons, who sees the weak points of his neighbours as soon as any man ; but to his own he is as blind as a beetle — Morley was the first, the favoured lover of Lady Terrington. She accepted Sir ]\Iark for the sake of his money and his title, and bartered her fair hand for /u's red one — whether even voluntarily or not, nobody knows. There's the fact — despe- rately in love with one man, she marries another; and the former having added to all his other fascinations those of glory and notoriety, returns to England, and becomes the inseparable com- panion of his first love's husband — eh .^" " Aye," said I ; " but Morley, is her relation, B 3 1^ COUSIN WILLIAM. and I conclude, may have an affection for Caro- line without ■" " Platonic ?" said the major — " don't believe it, the thing can't happen."" " But living on terms of friendship with Ter- rington," said I, somewhat alarmed at the insi- nuation of the major — " I — " " What says Sallust," cried the major, — ' Idem velle et idem nolle, ea demum lirma amicitia,' — now, therefore, if Sir Mark and Sir William happen to " " For shame, major," said T, " what ! do you mean to insinuate that he would betray his friend in thai manner ?"" " I grant it shameful," said the major; " but how is a man to betray his enemy in that man- ner ?" " I admire your badinage," replied I — '■'■ be- cause I know it to be only badinage — it is lucky, however, that our women are taught to consider the violation of the seventh command- ment somewhat more seriously than oiu- men — for under the present regime they seem to treat it with terrible indifference." " And yet," said the major, " I cannot un- derstand the great difl'crence in their fteliiipjs. COUSIN WILLIAM. 11 for whenever a man violates that commandment, you'll admit I suppose that a woman must violate it too. However," continued he, " I don't pro- fess to lecture on morals, I am only stating facts — you, however, have known Lady Terrington all your life — I say nothing — but to me her husband seems to pique himself upon throwing temptation in her way, or rather leaving her in the way of temptation — de gustibus— " " And pray," said I, sure of information, " what has begone with the Crosbys ?" " They have shuffled off this mortal coil,'' replied the major : " Mrs. Crosby was bled to death accidentally by her husband, who cut smack through an artery one evening by mis- take — and the survivor died of an ounce and a quarter of oxalic acid, to which he had helped himself, instead of a similar quantity of Epsom igalts. The house and place were sold, and have been, I believe, converted into an agree- able retirement for persons of large fortune, whose intellects happen to be unsettled." " You know the Shillitos.?" said I. *' Not to know them," answered the major, " would argue myself unknown. Colonel Shillito died on the Peninsula — Juliana Shillito has formed a romantic attachment for a married 12 COUSIN WILLIAM. nobleman, (who shall be nameless) and of whom, it is said, she is to have the reversion — she is, liowever, of course, somewhere here Avith her mother, who, though seventy-two, contrives, with the aid of Deleroix, Gattie, Madame Maradan, and Mrs. Lloyd Gibbon, to make up something like a ghost of her former self, and may be seen every alternate Tuesday and Saturday under this roof." " And Sir Ferdinand ?" said I. " Upon my life,"" said the major, " I don't know what has gone with him — I rather think he is dead, but I am by no means certain." " And the young lady with Lady Terring- ton," said I, " is a Miss " " Ormsby," said the major : " she is abso- lutely hunted by a pack of admirers; but, as I told you before, it seems a perfectly under- stood arrangement, that she is to have the honour of becoming the daughter-in-law of your old friend. Lady Terrington." " Sir Mark," said I, " is not here, I suppose ?" " No," replied the major : " he divides his time pretty equally between his hounds and his bed-chamber; one half of the year he hunts, and the other half, he is laid up with the gout ; but she is the life and soul of the house, and COUSIN WILLIAM. 18 whether he be ill, or absent, or even present, which is still more remarkable, she contrives to diffuse radiance around the whole circle." At this period of his description, the major was whispered away from me, by a first-form dandy, who evidently was applying himself in the same way that I had done, to the same living book of reference, for some interesting informa- tion, and I again cast my ej^es towards the companion of my early days, Caroline : there I beheld the eloquent smile, the head averted from the public gaze, the silent, yet intelligible glance towards Morley, while two young men were plying the gentle Flora on either hand, with all those pleasing nothings, which, as I have said before, come to something in the end, to which she appeared as perfectly indifferent, as if she had been that, which she closely resembled — a beautiful statue. " I see Morley is in his old place," said a voice close behind me — it was that of a tall thin man, squeezing at a funereal pace down the pit ; the words were addressed over his shoulder to a short, fat person, with grey eyes and white mustachios, who was following him down the alley. ]4 COUSIN WILLIAM. " Of course," said lie, " where else should he be ? — the needle to the pole — the ivy to the oak — the shadow to the object — Sir William to Lady Terrington." " What are you saying about Lady Ter- rington, Burly?" said somebody behind him, touching his friend gently on the arm. " I was saying," replied Burly, who coloured like scarlet at the moment, " how exti-emely handsome yoi,u* mother was looking to- night." / His mother ! — I turned instantly, and saw before me a fine, elegant young man, liis countenance beaming with animation and ex- pression, his figure aristocratic, his manners frank and unaffected, his air noble and ua- ^mbarrassed, and his whole contour at once SI king and prepossessing. It was Caroline's SO) The common yet inevitable reflection of " how time flies," flashed into my mind, and in an instant a thousand circumstances of days long past, floated in my imagination — I felt au anxious desire to speak to him — I looked at him with a marked attention, such as I thought n)ight induce him to notice me, COUSIN WILLIAM. 15 or even call for an explanation of condnct, which, under any other circumstances tiian those in which I was placed, might have seemed very like incivility ; but the unfortunate construction of my features rendered me unable, I suppose, to convey the expression with which I meant to illuminate them, and William Terrington cast- ing a look of vacant indifference full in my face, pushed on, and followed the stream of fashion. It was clear to me, ignorant as I was of the scan. mag-, or even the small talk of the town, that there must be some serious on diis in cir- culation, touching the character and conduct of my fair friend : however, as I have a tolerably quick eye in such matters, and can see as far as any of my unmarried neighbours — (the married (Mies are all blind)— I resolved neither to be prejudiced by the whispers, nor influenced by the sly looks, and hems, and nods, of my friend. Major Entick, but to proceed the following morning to her ladyship's house, where I knew I sliould be welcome, for " auld lang syne ;" and where I might, perhaps, be serviceable in res- cuing her from perdition, and her family from misery, if I had not arrived too late. 16 COUSIN WILLIAM. I put my plan into execution— found Lady Terrington at home, was admitted, and received as I expected — but oh ! how changed, how sadly changed, was my poor Caroline — approximation and daylight, although the rooms were blinded and curtained almost into twilight, told the sad tale ; her figure remained, as I saw indeed the night before, all grace and symmetry, but the sparkling eyes, which I had left beaming with joy and splendour, although still bright, were full of thoughtfulness and care, which the smile that played on her lips could but ill conceal — a steadfast look fixed on my once well known coun- tenance — a sudden shrinking— almost starting at nothing — a deep drawn sigh — indicated a mind f.ili of worry, of inquietude, of unhappiness. Upon one subject she spoke with warmth, energy, and enthusiasm — her son. She described liim to me most maternally — depicted him as everything that was honourable, high-spirited, generous and accomplished ; recurred to the anxieties ofher past life in everything concerning him, and entreated me to dine with them that \ery day, that I might make his acquaintance ; " for," added she, " he is so sought, so courted, and so COUSIN' WILLIAM. 17 universal! V popular, that Avithall the attraction of his home,it isbut seldom we Itave him amongst us." " "Where his mother is," said I, affecting a gaiety, which, in truth, I felt not, " any home must be attractive." " That was not what I meant," replied Lady Terrington : " there is a young and Icvely creature here, award and relation of Sir MarkV., whose heart has long been William's, and to whom, I believe, he is devotedly attaclitvl — theirs, however, is not the ardent, romantiv' \o\-e, which in m^ young days lovers felt, or professed to feel ; they have been brought up much toge- gether, their attachment is habitual, founded on long acquaintance, close intimacy, and conslan; intercourse; the delay in their marriage is occa- sioned by a wish of Sir Mark's that William should be of age before he marries, a deMr< created or sti-engthened by the contingent fate of some legacy or inheritance, I hardly know which — I long for the period to arrive, for — I, — " slie paused and coloured visibly, even through the artificial dye which too evidently stained her cheeks, " I think it quite cruel to delay their happiness." " Sir Mark," said I, " is a sad invalid." 18 COUSIN WILLIAM. " Yes," said Lady Terrington, " and like my pool' father, fancies himself worse than he really is — the gout has soured his temper, and he is ab- solutely peevish and out of humour with the merest trifles, — he has no serious disorder." There was a moment's pause in the conver- sation, — Lady Terrington stopped. The tone in which she communicated the last fact appeared to me so equivocal, that I found it quite incon- sistent with my notions of decorum, or any chance of gravity, to pursue the subject farther — luckil}'', the lovely Flora Ormsby at that moment entered the room ; and never certainly did brighter vision burst upon the sight of an admirins: mortal. I never saw any thing half so fascinating. A profusion of richly dark brown hair, parted on a forehead of snow, hung carelessly, in ringlets, round her beautiful face, and the maiden-blush tint of her downy cheek, suddenly flushed into bloom by the unexpected appearance of a stranger, gave to a pair of dark blue eyes, sparkling amidst their long black lashes, an ex- pression so lovely, so unearthly, that, for an in- stant, I almost doubted whether it were a human being that stood before me. COUSIN WILLIAM. 19 Lady Terrington introduced me to tlie sylph, who was at first retreating (vanishing would be -almost a better word) from the room — intro- duced me as one of her oldest, earliest friends ; and although it must be confessed, that there is neither anything very attractive in my exterior, nor iJiat, in my personal appearance, which is likely to engage the attention of one so young and beautiful as Flora Ormsby, the lovely Fay was gracious beyond measure, and pro- ceeded to converse upon all subjects, with an ease, fluency, and archness, which the purity of her looks had not quite prepared me to ex- pect. After a good deal of display of '■ knowing- ness," I beg pardon for the word, but I have no better at hand, (for it was not knowledge of the world that the sprite possessed) she was disporting into an elaborate ridicule of some honest gentleman, whose father having been some kind of tradesman, or merchant, and whose mother not having been admitted into Almack's, was set down as an incognizable person, when a servant annoimced Captain Plantagcnct, and Lieutenant Charlemagne, two extremely hand- !6ome, well dressed, sweetly smelling young 20 COUSIN WILLIAM. men, whose names were quite sufficient to establish their rank, and whose appearance seemed the signal for an entire change of man- ner in Lady Terrington and the animated Emily. Her ladyship, who carefully chose a seat with her back to the light, in one instant became a perfectly metamorphosed personage — the generous good nature with which she chatted with an old friend, was suddenly altered into a sort of die-away, languishing manner — a subdued whisper, an affected sensibility, and a tone of sentimentality as little accordant with Caroline's real nature, as the whole display was, with the chai'acter and situation of a woman, who had a son of twenty " or so "" staring her full in the face. I felt an involuntary shudder at the masquerade performing before me, and turned to the unsophisticated girl, whose naivete had just before charmed me; but I found the change simultaneous and sympathetic — the blue eye of the baby girl, which rolled and revelled in all the luxury of innate mirthfulness, while no capti- vable object was present, now was ordered by its mistress into all the sinkings and languishings of the finished cocjuette. Lady Terrington rubbed her dark arched brows to shew her white COUSIN WILLIAM. 21 hand, stretched out her foot to shew her delicate ancle, talked strangely to shew her wit, and in an instant, almost wept over the sufferings of the Greeks to shew her philanthropy. And these two women did this^ to captivate Captain Plantagenet and Lieutenant Charle- magne, although one was an affianced bride and the other the wife of a fond and worthy hus- band, and mother of a fellow six-feet high and twenty years of age ; who, moreover, was en- gao-ed to be married to his mother's friend and present companion. But I was doomed to see stranger things yet — the boudoir door again opened, and Sir Wil- liam IMorley entered sans ceremonie ; then for a moment Lady Terrington's eyes beamed fire, and Flora Ormsby gave a holiday to her con- strained features. He recognized and coldly enough noticed the noble blood which was encased in the two frail frames of the captain and lieutenant of the Guards, and having bestowed still less notice on me, established himself on a chaise-longue, Avith that sort of imperturbable determination to remain where he was, that I felt anxious 22 COUSIN AVILLIAM. only to know who was to go first and leave the bashaw, whose handkerchief it seemed quite needless to throw, in full possession of the fairy palace of my once unsophisticated Caro- line. *' How is Terrington this morning, Caroline ?" said Sir William. " Oh, just the same," said her ladyship; "how is your head-ache, William? — did you do what I prescribed last night — that eau de Cologne " " Upon my word, I did,"" said Sir William ; " but although you did what you said, I don't think Mrs. Davis understood you — she is abso- lutely getting old — I — " " Come," said Plantagenet in a whisper to Charlemagne, " are you going ?'' No answer was given, save a practical one, and the dandies were on their legs in a mo- ment. Lady Terrington, and IMiss Ormsby, who liad thought it quite worth their while to shew of!" in ])rivate all the little engaging frivolities of their nature before Morley's arrival, to catch these popinjays, and make them look and Ian- COUSIN WILLIAM. 23 guish in their turn in public, were now perfectly ready to give them egress, and not a word more was said — before Flora had rung the bell, the beaux made their bows and departed. " Have you had Orestes and Pylades here long, Caroline?" said Sir William. " No," replied her ladyship, " about five minutes before you came in."'"' They had been there at least three quarters of an hour. " What an advantage it is to Plantagenet," said Morley, " that Charlemagne is so fond of him." " Friendship is a charming thing at all times," said Lady Terrington, looking at Morlev, " isn't it, William ?'' " Yes, but in their case, everything," said Morley ; " the association makes them both : Plantagenet by the side of Charlemagne makes Charlemagne look beautiful, while Charlemagne by the side of Plantagenet makes Plantagenet appear almost rational."*"* " They are both dreadful bores,'' said Flora. " Good God V thought I, as I gazed on the vestal-looking creature, and saw that when she uttered these words she looked as beautiful, and 24 COUSIN WILLIAM. as entirely sincere, as she did a few minutes before, when she was languishing on those very two men, and praising all they said, and admir- ing all tliey did, " is this what I am to expect in tlie young women of my country after twenty years absence from it ?" " The Duchess of Petersfield,"" was an- nounced. " Good Heavens, Caroline !" said Sir Wil- liam, starting from the sofa on which he had been korizontalizing, " why on earth do you let this old woman in — upon my honour, nobody else does.*' " I gave no orders," said Caroline, (to me apparently trembling under the fear of offending Sir William Morley, by admitting any person proscribed ])y him,) " she certainly is the most abominable person imaginable." " Oh, the detestable creature," said Flora. " Cat," said Sir William, " that's the only word, Flo." " My dearest Duchess," said Caroline, running up to lier grace as she entered the room, " how delighted I am to see you, although perfectly ashamed to look you in the face, for roUSIX WILLIAM. £J a Don't mention it, dear Lady Terrington," said the duchess, who appeared to me to be a remarkably good looking and well mannered personage. " I know all your engagements, and all your worries, only if I had had an answer I should have known what to do." All this evidently referred to something past, in which, knowing nothing about it, I felt no great interest, and having already pledged my- self to dine with her ladj'ship at seven, I took the opportunity of her grace's arrival to retreat ; but not before I had seen Miss Flora Ormsby second the warm reception given by Caroline to the woman she professed to hate, by receiving with positive humility on her cheek an appa- rently cordial kiss, which her grace condescended to bestow ; and Sir William take her grace by the hand, with every expression of pleasure and respect ; such evidence of his feelings being be- stowed upon a lady, upon v/hom, at the very mention of her name, he had one minute before vented the coarsest and most unequivocal abuse. AH this I saw — but knowing the world pretty well, I had seen it all without surprise, perhaps ■with something like saturnine satisfaction, as illustrating doctrines which I myself had incul- VOL. II. c 26 COUSIN WILLIAM. cated, and corroborating evidence of popular fnvolity and insincerity which I had already admitted into my mind ; but I had seen in the twinkling of an eye that which pained my heart of hearts — I had seen the indisputable unc(;[ui- vocal influence of William Morley over Caro- line Terrington — that made me tremble. I had watched Lady Terrington' s manner with the two scions of most noble stocks, and there were all the languishings, all the fixed looks, the affected abstraction, the throwings-up of eyes and the throwings-down of eyes, which one of these hackneyed coquettes (for such I soon suspected my once unsophisticated friend to be) perform as regularly as soldiers theii* manual exercise : it was a code of trickery which, if she had not known that I knew her, she would even have played off on me^ with my grey hairs and tottering gait : it was what she had been doing I clearly saw for years before — delighted to en- trap, and ensnare, and inveigle a swarm of hope- less flatterers, who priding themselves more on the reputation of an intrigue, than the real con- quest of a woman, will condescend to dance attendance upon one of these painted, heartless automatons, merely for the honour of having it COUSIN WILLIAM. 27 thought that they (what a glorious plurality !) stand well with it. This, however, occurs only in certain spheres of life — in the middling; classes such thinjjs never happen — in those, a woman flirts to the best of her ability, makes assignations at a second rate milliner's, gets a *' drive out"" in a dennet on a fine day, and carries on her affair in the public boxes of the playhouses, or in little junkettings with her good man and his friend, and generally confines herself to some one devoted thorough- going swain (at a time) managing her matters, while the plodding husband is posting books in his accompting house, or mending pens and reading the newspapers in Ins office— and all this is done in the easiest and quietest manner imaginable ; for the insignificance of the parties renders their detection, if not impossible, a* least v.holly uninteresting to anybody but them^ selves. But with Lady Terrington the case was diiferent, she was an object — all eyes were on her — and yet to her, since truth must be told, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and twenty-five, and of her ladysliip''s age the fortieth, the great object of life was to have a train of dangling Lancers, languishing dandies, and sigh- c Q 28 COUSIN WILLIAM. ing simpletons paging her heels, ready, for a gracious smile or a kind look, to commit all sorts of tom-fooleries in her ladyship's behalf. This I thought silly enough ; a woman in her circumstances might have done better — the rising tucker, the increasing robe, more become the age, or at least the state of the modest wife, and prudent mother, than the bared bosom, and the scant drapery in which she exhibited her fragile form — but these are mere matters of taste, with which virtue I believe has nothing to do — but I did see that, which staggered me. There is a look (all men can read it if they will) which such a woman gives, and which how- ever fine the artificiality with which she gene- rally leers and languishes — speaks volumes to the worldly mind ; it has not in it, the die-away affectation of the coquette, it has not in it, the subdued bashfulness of the novice ; it has tluii in it which is indescribable, but which never yet was exchanged between man and woman, how- ever momentarily, without convincing me of the actual state of their acquaintance. Bid me describe the forked lightning quiver- ing through the angry clouds — bid me depict COUSIN WILLIAM. 29 the flowing torrents of Vesuvian lava chasing each other down the sides of the hellish moun- tain — bid me paint the lurid vapour glimmering over masses of corruption — I am imequal to the task— so am I unequal to express, that, which I know and recognise, the instant it flashes upon me, in the certain look of under- standing between a married woman and the friend of her husband — that look I saw ex- changed between Caroline Terrington and Wil- liam Morlej. 30 COUSIN WILLIAM. CHAPTER XIII. 'Tis not to make me jealons To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves conipany, Is free of speech, sings, plays and dances well ; Where virtue is, these are most virtuous. JVor from my weak merits will 1 draw The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt, For she had eyes, and chose me. Sbaksfeare. I CONFESS when I got to my hotel I was quite undecided, wliether to return to fulfil my enfraffcment to dine at Sir IVIark's, or send some civil excuse for staying away. I had seen enough of the domestic politics of his family to induce me to do the latter, as far as my own com- fort or happiness might be concerned ; but having seen so much, I experienced some anxiety to see a little more, with a really ingenuous disregard for my own case, and a feeling somewhat better than impertinent curiosity. COUSIN WILLIAM. 31 No medicine is pleasant, at least none that I have ever tasted; and although Caroline's long probation at Crosby might have afforded her an opportunity of deciding to the contrary, I suspected that the medicine which seemed to me absolutely necessary for the preservation of her mind''s health would prove most unpalatable of all — I mean counsel and advice. I still hoped that even yet, her proceedings might only deserve to be characterized as incautious and imprudent. I knew that she once had a regard for Wf, and an habitual respect inculcated in early days for my opinions and suggestions ; and difficult as I also knew the management of anything like an interference in domestic affairs to be, I still thought that if I could so far gain her con- fidence as to induce her to speak upon conduct and circumstances, wliich I intended her to see by my manner I considered incompatible with the duties of her station ; I might improve upon the opportunity thus afforded me, and exert all the influence I flattered myself I yet possessed, to rescue her from disgrace, and her amiable hus- band from dishonour. I resolved, therefore, upon fulfilling my en- gagement, and shortly after seven found myself 82 COUSIN WILLIAM. again in the house of Sir Mark Terrin«:ton. Lady Shillito was there, looking a perfect hag — her cheeks were painted deep crimson, her neck and bosom (exposed hke a girl's,) by the force of powdering assumed a " lily hue;" mock curls hid the furrows of her forehead, and wantoned in all their artificial stiffness be- neath a turban of gold tissue, which she wore upon her ancient head. Juliana, grown quite matronly in her look, was less finely, but muc-h more strangely dressed than her old and by no means venerable mother : cameos and intaglios were stuck ail about her, and one arm was graced with a Burmese bangle just imported, while the other displayed an armlet made of pieces of polished lava from Vesuvius. All her blueness had turned to a melancholy sort of grey, and she had become a most enthusiastic and believing craniologist, and when I entered the drawing- room I found her exploring with infinite care, and to the evident annoyance of the young lady (whose ringlets suffered most woefully in the search,) the head of Flora Ormsby, in order to ascertain whether the organ of philo-lithogra- phiveness, was powerfully developed over her left temple, Miss Orrasby having just before COUSIN •WILLIAM. 33 incidentally observed that she thought lithogra- phy a beautiful branch of the art. The Shillitos seemed to forget me, and it saved me a world of trouble — they were not the objects to which I wished to devote my obser- vation, and I felt quite relieved by the shortness of their memories. Sir \Yilliam iMorley arrived soon after me, but as it seemed, only from some other part of the house — no announcement preceded his ap- pearance, no portal's thundering told his coming — I shortly after found, that when he was in town he lived altogether at Sir Mark's. I thought I could trace in the bright eyes of Lady Terring- ton, in their rapid flight from Morley's counte- nance to mine, (where they rested for an instant,) caution to liim to be less particular in his manner to her than usual ; and a look of palliation to me, and a sort of assurance that I should find him a very agreeable person, and a favoured friend of her husband — it was but a momentary glance, but glances may be read quickly, and construed off hand. At length came William Terrington, whom I had only seen in the Opera pit : he was indeed a noble fellow — more like his mother than I c 3 34 COUSIN WILLIAM. at first thought bim. His eyes -were hers, merely transferred — his manners were extremely ^vinning, and the unaffected warmth with which he received me, as the old friend of his family, Tvas as gratifying to me, as it appeared genuine in him. I confess I thought I saw something like reserve in his conduct towards Flora Ormsby, and even fancied an over-acted civility in his address towards Sir William, which per- haps struclc me the more forcibly, as offering a powerful contrast to his conduct towards my- self. Two or three men, whom I had never before seen, added themselves to the party, and a Mr. and Mrs. Delmaine, who were waited for some time, completed the circle ; still I saw nothing of Sir Mark, and began the tormenting course of conduct, Avhich I secretly had determined to pursue, by inquiring of his lady where the baronet was. " Poor Sir Mark," said her ladyship, '* we ^liall find him in the dining-room — he is so completely a martyr to gout, when the fit is on, that as soon as the attack announces itself by -my of the unerring symptoms peculiar to it, he •stablishcs himself in the library, which op?ns COUSIN WILLIAM. 35 into tlie dinner parlour, and remains stationary on tliat floor until he recovers/' " And sleeps there ?" said I. " Yesj" said Lady Terrington : " he has a bed put up in the small room beyond the library, which gives him the opportunity of re- ceiving his friends during his '-lay-up," and of dining with ^/5, which, if he were confined up stairs, you know would be impossible." I terminated my inquiries for that time — but ray eyes, I suppose, ceased not to speak when my tongue did — they rested but the hundredth part of a minute on Caroline's face, and what the expression conveyed by them might have been, I know not— she blushed crimson. Dinner was announced — it seemed understood that I was to lead Caroline down stairs— I therefore did what it appeared expected I should do. As we went down, she said in an under tone — " I think you will be surprised to see how much Sir Mark is altered since you last saw him." " In person ?" said I. " Yes, I mean in person," said Carob'ne, « what else could I mean.^" " Nothing," said I—" only since the march 36 COUSIN WILLIAM. of time is certain, such changes are to be ex- pected ; on hearts and minds the waste of years has but httle effect." We were at the dining-room door — Sir Mark was already seated in a wheeled chair on one side of the table. As I entered, he held out his sound hand to me, (for one I observed was dis- figured by chalk-stones,) and gave me a cordial greeting ; but truth to be told, he zms altered — more than I had anticipated, even when I spoke on the subject the minute before ; his red cheeks were now blue, his light hair was gray, and scant — his figure, always inclined to plump- ness, had lost in shape what it had acquired in bulk, and as he sat ensconced in his black leathern carriage, a decrepid victim to disease, my eye suddenly travelled to the animated countenance of his wife, and I thought — no matter what. *' You are a good deal altered, my good friend," said Sir Mark, looking at me good- naturedly after I had taken my seat. " Less hair on your head — eh? — more flesh on your bones — I have often observed, that where there is a disposition to fat, it shews itself as a man gets older — do you think me much fatter ?" " Much the same,'' said I. This was, per- COUSIN WILLIAM. 37 liaps, not true; but since I perceived none of the alterations in myself, which were so very visible to my friend, I thought I could do no better than let him enjoy a self-blindness, which I con- fess I should have been just as well pleased if he had not attempted to cure in me. " Caroline is much the same," said the baronet. " I literally see no change whatever in her,'" said I. " "We are none of the changeables," said Sir Mark— "are we Lady Shillito .'"' " No, Sir Mark," said her ladyship—" as jx)or dear Sir Ferdinand used to say — semper eademy Her ladyship by this apposite display of her latinity effectually settled one point for me ; the mild and endearing manner in which she referred to her husband, convinced me that he had quitted this life, since I was perfectly sure that nothing but the respect which the jester tells us rescues even dead small beer itself from censure, could have induced her ladyship to bestow such affectionate epithets upon her spouse. William Terrington, who sat at the bottom of the table, had on his right Miss Shillito, on 15-;-3l8 38 COUSIN WILLIAM. the left Miss Ormsby — the latter, however, was placed next one of the beaux who had arrived late, and who evidently was not aware of the engagement which subsisted between that young lady and the heir of the house, for anything more pointed or direct than his attentions and compliments to his lovely neighbour I never beheld. She received his fluent addresses with a somewhat too worldly ease to please me — answering him in an under tone, without raising her eyes towards him, and scarcely moving her lips ; a performance which seemed to me less like the downcast modesty of innocence, than the practised skill of a waterman, who looks one way and pulls another. I thouglit William Terrington appeared rather dissatisfied with all their proceedings ; he broke his bread into ci'umbs, and eat the little pellets with an earnest- ness ill adapted to the pursuit — I saw what was passing in his mind, and asked him to drink wine. I turned my head towards the upper end of the table, and found Sir William IVIorley ac- tively engaged in some apparently interesting conversation with Lady Shillito, and unjjcrceivcd by the parties, saw Lady Terrington bestow COUSIN WILLIAM. 89 some of her sweetest looks upon another of the unknown dandies, who was sitting just below — they wei'e drinldng wine together, and the ex- pression of her countenance, and the apparent devotion of her gaze upon this very fine gentle- man, struck me ^vith a mingled feeling of pleasure and diso-ust — disgust that a woman should thus play the prostitute with her eyes, and pleasure to think that it was the habit of a coquette only, and did not perhaps imply the criminality of which, when I saw her display of " silent eloquence" in the morning with Sir William, I did most certainly believe it an unerring symp- tom. The dinner went on — and again upon another occasion, 1 saw the same display of looks — the same mechanical sweetness bestowed upon a se- cond beau ; I became somewhat more assured of Caroline's folly and vanity, and proper tionably easier on the score of her criminality. " Pretty affair this, Sir Mark," said Lady Shillito, turning from Sir Wilham to mine host. " Have you heard Lady Di Sibthorpe has actually left England with Lord Wilham?" " Lord William !" exclaimed Lady Teriington — and her eye instantly fell on Morley — their looks met. 40 COUSIN WILLIAM. " Why,'' said Sir Mark, who was eating an serial mountain of soufflee, and could hardly speak, fast enough to get the start in giving an opinion upon the subject — " that is neither new nor strange, Lady Shillito, for the affair eclated two days since/' " Sad thing," said Lady ShilHto: " what will become of the three children ?" " The organs of amativeness," said Miss Shil- lito, " were strongly developed in Lady Di — and so was the organ of philo-fugaciousness,which together blended, perfectly justify the result." " I'll tell you what, Juliana," said Sir Mark, wiping his mouth, " I can better tell you what perfectly justifies the result, than you can tell me — the way in which Lord William and she have been going on, for the last year or two — Sibthorpe must have been as blind as a beetle not to have seen their proceedings, for nobody but himself could doubt for a moment how it would end ; but I have often observed, that in such matters, those most deeply concerned are the last to notice such conduct." I looked at my friend when he had concluded this observation .f to be assured whether he were merely favouring us with a general remark, or whether, decrepid as he was, and in his own COUSIN WILLIAM. 41 house, he was not preparing to follow up the speech by some immediate act of hostility to- wards Sir William Morley, who, during the whole of his harangue, had been affecting to admire a bracelet on the arm of Lady Terring- ton, practically ascertaining the value and weight of the stones of which it was composed, by poising them upon his fingers, an operation, wliich however convenient to conceal a little natural embarrassment, which the discussion, I suspect, occasioned, appeared, to a curious ob- server like myself, to bring the hands of the gallant officer, and the said lady of the house, into a juxta-position which might just as well have been avoided. " Sibthorpe is old enough to be her father ; isn't he. Sir Mark P'"" said one of the beaux. ** This, I confess, struck me to be a particularly bad shot, but evidently unintentional, " He is about my age, I think," said Sir Mark, as innocent as a lamb. <' And Lady Di," said Juliana, " is about as old as Caroline, I think." And all this they said, perfectly unconscious that every word they uttered, was completely applicable to the case then in progress befovo 42 COUSIN WILLIAM. their own eyes. Such, however, is human nature, and such the happy construction of our minds, that we go on ridiculing the personal imperfec- tions of others, whose deformities are beauties when compared with our own ; censuring follies in our acquaintance, which we ourselves are daily perpetrating, with a high idea of their merits ; and holding up to contempt and indig- nation, vices and intrigues, while we are daily committing precisely the same faults, believing our own cases exceptions to general rules, and flattering ourselves, even though our conduct should produce smiilar results to those, which we abhor and detest in others, that zee have been ourselves victims, and led into the commission of all manner of vice, upon the impulse of feelings originating in sentiment and virtue. " But," said Flora Ormsby, (for all the ladies seemed resolved to have a peck at poor Lady Di ; as wild birds fall foul of a tame one, who having broken the bondage of gilded wire, tries her flight at hberty,) " Lady Diana was considered a great flirt before marriage." Mrs. Delmaine, the lady with her back to the fire, sitting next Sir ]\Lirk, appeared to rouse herself from the sweet listlessness in which COUSIN WILLIAM. 43 she was eating ciira9oa jelly, and laying down her spoon, lifted her glass to her eye, and sti'etched forward across the plump figure of the invalid to catch a look at the fair orator— having looked, she let the glass fall, and resumed the spoon. *' I hope," said William, " that is no serious imputation. Flora — most young ladies have a turn that way." " Oh, but I mean," said Flora, looking rather confused — " I mean " " Flora," said Sir Mark, « no lady is ever expected to explain her meaning." A saying of the baronet which certainly re- lieved Miss Flora Orrasby. Sir William IMorley invited me to take wine •with him — I saw immediately after the cere- mony, an approving look bestowed on him from head-quarters, whence I concluded I was more indebted for the mark of attention, to the con- ciliatory suggestions of her ladyship, than the spontaneous affection of Sir William — the anxiety to excite a favourable opinion of a man in her friends, being one of the surest marks of a woman's love. To say truth, Sir William was no acquaint- 44j cousin WILLIAM. ance of mine, and it so happened, that during his great intimacy at Crosby I was not in Endand, so that we had never met in society that I know of; his military career I found had been most splendid, affording a bright ex- ample of that heroism and high courage which diaracterize those of our young men of fashion, who in the ball-room or boudoir appear unable to withstand a draft of air from a lady's fan, and seem incompetent to the labour of an English dance — put these men in situations, assailed by hunger and fatigue, toiling through miry roads, climbing the craggy steep, sleeping on turfy couches, whoseonly canopy is the blue sky, brav- ing the pelting storm, charging the out-number- ing foe, and amidst the toil of honour sharing the homeliest fare with their fellow men, and drink- ing the stagnant pool to quench their burning thirst — see then what they do — see how the diivalrous spirit, and the ardent mind, buoy up the sickening bodies and the wearied limbs of our brave soldiers, and lead their fearless fol- lowers to victory and glory. Of this class was the soft, insinuating Wil- liam Morley ; he served but a short time in the West Indies, when his regiment was ordered COUSIN WILLIAM. 4^ home ; from England, where it remained some time, it moved to the continent, and there, with his good sword, he cut his way to rank, to fame, and honourable distinction. During the peace he had lived much abroad — indeed, it was on the continent he renewed his acquaintance with Caroline; but such was his reputation, that he was almost immediately appointed to a distant command, whence he had now only returned a few months, I believe; during which period, as it appeared to me, he liad been established under the hospitable roof of our mutual friend, Sir Mark Terrington. I confess during the remainder of the repast, wiieie everything said by certain persons, was said for effect, and everything done, was done with a view, or an intention ; I was labouring under such a complication of feelings, some ex- tremely painful, and others so provokingly comi- cal, that I was very glad when the ladies retired, and Mrs. Delmaine, who appeared a perfect stranger, and Lady Shillito, led forth the female procession to the drawing-room. After their departure. Sir William assumed the head of the table, and with an extraordinary shew of courtesy, invited me to the seat next hini— an invitation to which, it seemed I was not 46 COUSIN WILLIAM. sufficiently alive to secure the proffered place, since Mr. Delmaine, who, indeed, in course of promotion, had a right to it, but who evidently was a " horror"" of Sir William's, placed him- self at the side of the gallant baronet. I soon discovered that IVIr. Delmaine was a rich merchant, who delivered his dicta upon mercantile affairs in a tone of thunder — and that neither the matter of his conver- sation, nor his manner of delivering himself, was at all consonant with the gallant baronet's notions of the agreeable — to be sure, Mr. Del- maine had said but little during the presence of the ladies, but he made ample amends for his previous taciturnity, by developing to us at length the details of an expedition to St. Peters- burgh, illustrated by an account of the rela- tive value of Russian and English commodities, repeating, nearly verbatim, all the proper names of the most respectable houses of business in the trade— immediately followed by the most satis- factory history of the progress of a despatch across the continent, which it had been worth his while to forward, to announce the ratificct- tion of some commercial treaty — inclnding, not only the name and character of the courier, but the name of the inn in every town, where COUSIN WILLIAM. 47 he changed horses, together with the precise charges of the journey ; all of which being duly concluded, he entered into a discussion with Sir Mark on the advance in barilla, and the fall ui madder ; at which period, I followed an example set by one or two of the party, of stealing off, which I did in the most masterly manner, and reached the drawing-room in per- fect safety. I found — although but the third to abdicate the table, that I was the fourth man up stairs, inasmuch as I perceived Miss Flora Ormsby assiduously engaged in a new flirtation with ;i tall, gaunt, long-legged person, whose ap}>ear- ance was pai'ticularly unprepossessing, and whose vacancy of countenance was fully supported by awkwardness of manner and newness of con- duct; but still Flora Ormsby's eyes were fre- quently raised from the " interesting downcast."" to the " attentive observant," on his unmeaning features ; all he said — which, to tell truth, did not appear to be much, seemed to be of a de- liciously poisoning quality to the virgin''s ear. I never had seen her look so animated, or in- terested at what was going forward, at any other period of our very short acquaintance. 4S COUSIN WILLIAM. The trite '' de gustlbus" came upon my tongue, as I saw the unquestionable marks of preference which she was bestowing upon her present companion — and recollected the qualities and appearance of my young friend, who was still below stairs, doing the honours of the wine, and perforce listening to Mr. Deimaine''s mer- cantile diaries. " What do you think of William ?" said Lady Terrington, making a sign of invitation to me to sit beside her on a sofa. " I haveseen butlittle of him,"" said I, " but he appears to me all that a fond mother could wish." " He is all I can wish," said Caroline ; " his affection for me — his devotion to me are un- paralleled — he has been my only comfort and blessing through life." " Indeed,"" said I, " that is almost ungracious to poor Sir Mark, whose kindness I " " For God's sake," said her ladyship, " let me implore you do not enter upon subjects which cannot be treated lightly at a time like this. I am going with Flora to Lady Cas- tleton's assembly, and afterwards to a Mrs. Leverett's ball in Berkeley-street, and I want a stock of good spirits to take with me ; discus- COUSIN WILLIAM. 49 sions, reflections, retrospections, all tend to eva- porate my volatility, and so— some other time — some morning — we will talk over old affairs." '' Good evening, Lady Teirington," whis- pered Mrs. Delmaine, advancing to the sofa for the purpose of taking leave. " Good bye," said Caroline with all her native warmth, which had no m^re effect upon her frigid guest than a sunbeam upon an ice- berg — '< Are you sure your carriage is here ?" " Yes, thank you," said the trading lady, and proceeded down stairs to obey a summons from her husband, who being unprovided with an amplitude of the nothingnesses, so essential in general society, declined the honour of joining the ladies, and left Sir Mark with William and Morley, and one visitor, who, fancying himself vastly snug where he was, preferred taking his coffee and chasse below. " Flora," said Lady Terrington, arousing her cousin and intended daughter-in-law from a fit of listening, into which she had fallen by the side of the human Ourang-outang in whose de- formities she seemed to dehght, " it is time for us to go — it is past eleven — the carriage is ready." VOL. n. i) 50 COUSIN WILLIAAI. Flora Ormsby rose and quitted the room. *' Are you going to Lady Castleton's," said Lady Terrington to the well-dressed yahoo, who approached her when Flora departed. " I can't go yet," said he, " I must be back at the House of Lords — there are some enor- mous debates to-night. I heard one or two of the speeches, and came up here for half an hour, for I did not understand what it was all about, only I have promised my uncle always to vote for the Roman Catholics because it is liberal. I always vote for therriy and for instructing the lower classes ; they seem to me to be both very good things, for its very hard upon a poor man not to know as much as I do." I thought so too. — " And so,*" continued his lordship, " I told my uncle I would certainly go down and vote, for he is never satisfied with a proxy ; and I cannot disappoint him, because I think he means to give me a grey pony which I have taken an enormous fancy to, and if I disoblige him, why i sha'nt get it." The mystery was now solved. The yahoo was of the equestrian order — no less a personage than an English earl. Now I COUSIN WILLIAM. 51 began to see how the affairs of this intriguing family were carried on, and that Flora Ormsby chose, reversing the adage of having two strings to her bow, to have at least two beaux in her string. Not that it appeared to me that she confined her attentions ; for such was her mode of flirting, that she seemed little more than the passive recipient of addresses at any time ; although, in her intercourse with the Earl of lieatherhead, I must admit that there appeared more of the give-and-take spirit than usually characterized her proceedings in any other quarter. His lordship just waited till Miss Ormsby returned, and then took leave ; and Lady Ter- rington having inquired whether the party below stairs had broken up, and finding that still one stranger tarried, proceeded with her fair charge to the carriage, which was to convey her to Lady Castleton's, not omitting to leave word for her son and Sir AV^illiam Morley whither they were gone. I handed them into the chariot, and then paused to consider what I should do ; when, finding myself unequal to any further investiga- D 2 52 COUSIN WILLIAM. tion of the proceedings of this worldly com- munity, I wrapped my cloak round me, and stepping into my cabriolet, directed my servant to drive me home. COUSIN WILLIAM. 53 CHAPTER XIV. Force, or the will of our Imperious rulers May bind two bodies in one wretched chain. But minds will still look back to their own choice. So the poor captive in a foreign realm Stands on the shore, and sends his wishes back To the dear native land from whence he came. ROWB. I HAVE so often seen the ill consequences of meddling in the affairs of families, that it cost me little reflection to make up my mind never to repeat my visit at Sir Mark's, unless indeed some unexpected circumstance should cause me to be specially summoned to his house — and upon the consideration which I held due to the subject, I felt this abstinence from his society, and that of his lady and her friends, the only course I could properly pursue. The doubt which agitated my mind was, in how far I was regulated in my decision by sel- 54 COUSIN WILLIAM. fishness, and how much of actual duty I aban- doned for the sake of my own tranquillity : for I was not indiiFerent to what was going on — I was convinced that ruin impended over the head of Caroline — I was equally convinced, that without the intervention of some saving hand, it must fall, and that speedily ; but then I dreaded lest by agitating the suspended sword too roughly, the thread might be abruptly broken, and the dreaded consummation acce- lerated. What I hoped was, that it might be possible to let her see the trembling glaive under which her throne of vanity was esta- blished, and drive her, like Damocles, from the paltry gratification of a base and unworthy passion by the fear of consequences. But then what right had / to take upon my- self the office of Mentor to a well grown gentle- woman of forty, whose intellects were quite as good as my own — whose knowledge of the world was perhaps better than my own, and who, for all I knew, might have long before perceived the pendant weapon, and laughed at its perils. The selfish part of my feelings in the business, consisted in the apy)rehension of in- curring her hatred, and tlie hatred of her hus- COUSIN WILLIAM. 55 band ; for such is the nature of raeddhng, and such the reward of intruders with advice or counsel in such matters, that the officious dabbler who puts himself out of the way to do his friend service, is just as cordially detested by the hus- band, whose honour he would secure, as by the lady whose reputation he wishes to preserve. Upon thinking all this over, as I said before, I came to the resolution of not calling at Sir Mark''s — for I was certain if I saw such scenes passing before my eyes, under his roof, as those which I had witnessed the preceding night, I should be compelled to speak to her, although from the grave manner in which I had been re- proved, for some allusion to matrimonial hap- piness, I knew the subject would not only be painful, but that its discussion would probably end in a serious quarrel between us ; and yet in abstaining from visiting there, I indulged a secret hope, that she would, after a time, re- quire and insist upon some explanation of my reasons for such conduct. Then, I felt it would be possible to tell her my motives, and my opinions, because they would then be called for, and consistency on my part would compel the explanation — but to volunteer a lecture to a 56 COUSIN WILLIAM. O being all grace, gaiety and elegance, in the midst of her career of fashion, flirting, and frivolity — if nothing worse — I saw was to be baffled in my object, and make myself despised and abominated by the whole circle, without doing the slightest service to those whom I wislied to benefit. A few days elapsed, a kind note from Caro- line greeted me, wondering where I was, why they had not seen me. Would I dine with them on Wednesday, to meet half-a-dozen de- lightful people ? Answer — engaged. A day or two aftei'wards, another kind invi- tation. The same reply. Two days subsequently, I found on my table the cards of Sir William Morley and young Terrington — this struck me forcibly as a manoeuvre of Caroline's : at once, I re- gretted to feel, mean and artful — yet worldly as were its characteristics, I hailed it, as ominous of a desire on her part for something like an explanation of my shyness — the trick itself spoke volumes. Sir William INIorley, of course, did nothing respecting me, without her lady- COUSIN WILLIAM. 57 ship's commands, or at least suould have induced me to marry Sir Mark Terrington. I was then seventeen, my home was wretched ; for although my poor father was kind and excellent, his wife ruled all, and her delight was to make me miserable. William and I were separated — I thought eternally — the hope of quitting the solitude of a house made dreadful to me was tempting — I saw the gaiety of the world, the independence of a wife present themselves — I caught at the glittering bait ; but oh ! what an hour was that, when having yielded myself for ever to my husband, I saw before me, like a 78 COUSIN WILLIAM. dreadful vision, the lover of my heart speeding to claim me as his own. Has any woman felt a pang like that ? — mercy ! mercy ! — oh, that it had killed me then.*' " Let me entreat you to be calm," said I: " your own good sense must point out the use- Jessness of these regrets — years have now passed since the event, and you have hitherto lived on— ^" " Oh, speak not of it,*' interrupted Caroline, " name it not — a life of horror and of misery, so deep and poignant that I have no power to tell — love grows by constant association — so I dread to say does hate ; and as unconsciously and imperceptibly as our affections towards a person with whom we live, without one word of love being spoken, warm into the most ardent and unalienable attachment, so do the feelings of dislike and repugnance into utter abhorrence : a thousand circumstances tend to make these feelings more acute with women than with men ; "and years have passed away, each more dread- ful than the last.'' " But," said I, " surely the constant com- parison between the one you hate, and him whom you love, can end but in destruction — it COUSIN WILLIAM. 79 must, on the one hand, render your distaste more violent, while on the other, the perfection of the object of your admiration must be made more evident every hour. Your own state- ment thus shews that it is your duty to separate yourself from your cousin." " Is it then a necessary duty," said Caroline, " to rob myself of all that makes life worth keeping ?" " Your son,'' said I ? a is lost to me now," replied Caroline : " his intercourse with the world deprives me of his society — his manners, too, are altered towards me, and " " Do you perceive an alteration i^"" said I. " I think I do," said Caroline: " his tender- ness is changed into something like severity of observation, and " " And, Caroline," said I, *' may it not be, that he, with others, disapproves of that peculiar intimacy, which so evidently subsists between Sir William and his mother?" " He !" exclaimed Caroline, in an agony of terror, " my son, my child ! — he — think me guilty — he — " 80 COUSIN WILLIAM. " I did not say he did, Caroline," replied I — " I asked whether it were not possible that he might see that, which to an observant young man, who mixes pretty much in tlie world, would give the appearance of criminality to others, who not knowing his niother''s excel- lence so well as himself, might judge her con- duct, when in private, by that which she thought fit to observe when in public." " What should he see.?" said Caroline. " Caroline," said I, " you put questions to me which I cannot fairly answer, without offend- ing your vanity, or wounding your feelings — but you have chosen to make me, most unex- pectedl}', a councillor — almost a confessor — therefore I will do my duty : — Avhat he would see, / have seen, and I tell you that the im- pression conveyed to me by the expression of your eyes — the look, subdued by turns, by turns abstracted— the fixed gaze, the wan- dering glance, distributed, if I may use the word, promiscuously, amongst the men around you, first drew my notice to the subject you have now chosen to discuss with me, and first fixed me in the fear that you had already passed COUSIN WILLIAM. 81 that boundary, across whose Ihie no woman ever can retrace her steps."" Caroline turned pale and red by turns : she would have spoken, but I stayed her. " If then — for to this alone my apprehension tends — if / saw these — perhaps, and since you say so — I am sure, deceptive symptoms of a vicious passion — why should not your son per- ceive them too ? Remember, he left you young and inexperienced in the world, unknowing in the ways of life — his idol upon earth — his mother — from' whose assiduous kindness he ex- perienced every care : he returns a man, and finds his parent more youthful in appearance than half the suitable associates of his wooing days. Is he blind to this ? Is it because the venerated name of parent belongs to you, that his eyes can be shut against the personal attrac- tions of the woman? I answer no!— Can he be deaf to the praises of your personal appearance, which assail his ears in every fashionable circle ? — can he be insensible to the attentions which are paid you every hour in Ins presence, by every flirtmg dangler whom you choose to flatter into subserviency .'*" " I cannot bear this,'' said Caroline, bursting E 3 S2 COUSIN WILLIAM. into tears — " indeed, indeed, I cannot — I have not deserved it — no human being has touched my heart, but one — and over that passion I will triumph. ■" " 7 hank God you have said it, CaroUne," said I, catching her hand, and pressing it fervently — " be firm, be resolute — consider all that de- pends upon this resolution : do not imagine that I am unalile to appreciate Sir William's high qualities, his wit, his grace, his valour, and above all, his early attachment to you — I fully estimate them, and it is because I know their value, I would guard you the more securely from their influence."" " I will — I will do all you wish,'" said Cai'o- line. " I can w'ish nothing but for your good," answered I — " nor have I any right to suggest a line of conduct; hwiyou have done this — you have agitated the subject, and I have told you \\]^.at I think — Sir William lives here altogether, docs he not P" " Yes," said Caroline, " when he is in town." " That's wrong," said I : "it gives occasion for conversation." " Conversation !" said Caroline. COUSIN WILLIAM. 83- ** Aye," said I, " your names are mentioned together, not too reverently, in that Royal Ex- change of fashion, the Opera pit, and that by fellows upon whom, five minutes after, you will bestow your sweetest looks>" " For God's sake !"" said Caroline. " Aye," said I, " for God's sake — for your own sake, for the sake of that excellent man your husband, for the sake of your child, chalk out the line and follow it — draw the limit, and say thus far have I gone, no farther will I go." " Whatever you dictate I will do," said Caroline, her eyes streaming with tears : " I love my child better than myself— he is my comfort, my hope, my support — what else have I to love, that I dare love in this life?" " This is not the language I wish to hear,' said I, " the " At this moment some servants entered the other drawing-room, to remove the luncheon — I was not quite sorry for the interruption. " Mercy on us!" said Caroline; '* these people — stay — some one, perhaps, will be coming — we will go to my boudoir — here," added slie, speaking to one of the men — " ring for Davis — tell her I want her." 84 COUSIN WILLIAM. " That is another point,'"' said I in an un- der tone, " upon v.hich I would speak — that woman is the bitterest enemy you have." " I cannot part with her," said Lady Ter- rington, " or, to tell you truth, I would." " I suppose not," said I, shaking my head. " We will retire to the boudoir,'"' said Caro- line, " for there we shall not be disturbed — no one dares invade that privacy, it is my sanclum ; and by telling Davis what to say to Flora when she returns, even she will not presume to inter- rupt us." Davis at this juncture entered — Lady Ter- rington spoke aside Mith her, and having finished her connnunication, said to me — " Now let me shew you my boudoir.'' Davis, whose cars were quite quick enough to hear these words, and quite ready to prevent any unpleasant consequences, said, unconscious of the inappi-opriatencss of the observation — " Sir William is there, my lady." I thought Caroline would liave sunk into the earth at my feet ; her look was ghaslly— the sentence of death upon a culj)rit at the bar could not have had a more powerful efl'cct — the disclaimed William was enthroned in th(; sane- COUSIN WILLIAM. 85 turn, where nobody dared intrude —he was there waiting until my lecture should end, to con- tinue the ruinous system upon which they were acting. " Then," stammered Caroline, " I — sup- pose — " " I will wish you a good morning," said I — " No — no — no !" said Caroline, convulsively grasping my hand—" stay here— I will not go to the boudoir." " Go where you please," said I ; " put no constraint upon your conduct in consequence of what I have said : I have only spoken of results as others are concerned ; feel respect for your- self, for your character and standing in this world, for your peace and happiness hereafter, and go where you choose — besides, I ought, in common civility, to apologize for having kept you so long: indeed, nothing but the recollec- tion that you touched upon the subject of our conversation yourself, could reconcile me to such a barbarous visitation. Good morning." Davis was still hovering- about. Caroline overcame her feelino-s. " When will you come and dine ?" said she in a faltering tone. 86 COUSIN WILLIAM. " Whenever you do me the honour to invite me, and I am disengaged," answered I. " You are not going to see Sir Mark now,'"' said Lady Terrington, with an agitated manner, implying to me that she would rather I should not ; I answered in the negative : I shook hands with her cordially, she wished me good bve with all the kindness imaginable, and we parted. I left the house, and svalked home. COUSIN WILLIAM. 87 CHAPTER XV. He who trusts a secret to his servant, Makes his own man his master. It was now the close ^of the season ; parlia- ment was up ; the Opera drawling on the last week of its hot and dusty life ; the hackney coachmen had declined peas ; the Almack's girls looked like ghosts ; town began rapidly to thin, and eight or ten days succeeded that on which I parted from Caroline, without my hearing from hei- or any part of her family. I was passing the end of Regent-street, near Waterloo-place, when I perceived my animated friend. Sir William Morley, walking his horse leisurely down towards Pall Mall, close to the 88 COUSIN WILLI A v. trottoir — he was within two yards of me, and I was actually proceeding to address liini, when I perceived that he had utterly forgotten me — he looked for a moment full in my face, and then seeming to be suddenly smitten with the beauty of the upper part of the United Service Ciub, at the corner of Charles-street, fixed his eyes upon the bas-reliefs which figure on its walls, until we had passed each other. livery man has a decided right to cut ano- ther whenever he pleases ; but he who is once cut, is a contemptible dolt if he ever allow such a man to cut and " come again," That Sir Wil- liam Morley did not choose to recognize me, abstractedly had only the effect of deciding, that upon any future occasion of our meeting, I certainly should not know him ; but as a special proof that every word of my lecture to Caroline on the impropriety of her conduct with regard to him, had been repeated ])y her to the man himself, the circumstance was to me pain- fully annoying : I saw that his influence was paramount, and that not only he had decided upon letting me see that he had been made acquainted with my proceedings in the affair, but that he had influenced her to cease cor- COUSIN WILLIAM. 89 responding with me, or even inviting me to her house; for in all such arrangements my poor friend Sir Mark was a perfectly neutral power, and did not know, or, for all I knew, inquire, why any particular persons were or were not bidden to his feasts— nor whether the friends who on Monday graced his board, were or were not dead on the following Tuesday, so com- pletely was he in the hands of the regency. It was the practical proof, therefore, of the futility and uselessness of my most invidious eiforts to be of service to Caroline, conveyed in her paramour's manner upon this occasion, Avhich gave me the greatest sorrow and uneasi- ness ; nor were those feelings allayed, when I found, a few days afterwards, that the family, havino- taken advantao-e of Sir Mark's con- valescence, had actually quitted the metropolis for Stamfordleigh, without having honoured me with the slio-htest notice. I was about following their example, and betaking myself to Cheltenham, where the pecu- liarity of making parties to take physic, and being extremely unwell to the sound of horns and clarionets, always has in it a cliarm for me, which I believe is even more conducive to 90 COUSIN WILLIAM. health, than the bitter potions which are dealt out in the pump-room, when I received a note from (of all the birds m the air) William Ter- rington, written evidently in haste, apparently in trepidation, begging to know at what hour he could have a few minutes conversation with me, on a matter deeply interesting to him. ■ "When I saw a note, and such a note from him, I instantly apprehended that something unforeseen and very important had happened, for which perhaps I might have been better prepared than those, who from sitting too near a " family picture,'*" could not so well judge of its effects as I did, who viewed it at a distance ; at all events I resolved to receive my young friend, and accordingly appointed four o'clock on the same day for an interview. The time came — William Terrington was punctual — as he entered the room I saw that he was labouring under seme painful feeling, and when I shook hands with him, his hand was as cold as ice — he did not speak, but waited with evident anxiety for the servant's departure, before he ventured to address me : I begged him to sit down, in a tone wliich I meant to con- vey more than the common invitation generally COUSIN WILLIAM. 91 gives in the same words — I meant lilm to feel that I saw his agitation. He seated liimself at the table, and essayed to speak) but the storm of contending passion, which [ saw lowering, burst, and hiding his face in his hands, he burst into an agony of tears. The cause of his agitation instantly flashed into my mind, but to what extent his grief was justified, I yet knew not — I begged him to tranquillize himself, and tell me what had oc- curred, and in what way I could serve him. " By heavens ! Sir," said he, actually con- vulsed with agony ; " no man can serve me — no man can save me — and why I have troubled ymi^ I can hardly understand — you have been a friend of my family — and if you are not now so intimate with them, it is part of their fault that you are not " " T am not conscious,"'' said I, " that any difference exists between me and any part cf yoiu* family." " No difference,"' said William, " but you have been neglected and not invited — and — that very circumstance increases all my grief and wretchedness.'"' I assured him that / did not feel the sup- 92 COUSIN WILLIAM. posed neglect with anger or vexation, and that, if that were all, he might rely upon it, that in any communication he had to make, my con- duct would not in the slightest degree be affected by behaviour, which even, if pcrceptiblei, was disregarded by me. "You mistake me," said Terrington: "I am not so silly as to think you care for the paltry rudeness of being scratched from my mother's visiting book. I have already seen enough of you to know that such ridiculous littlenesses would only excite your contempt ; iny sorrow and anguish arise from the circumstance I con- fess, because it appears to corroborate the hellish stories which are rife about the town of Sir William Morley"s influence over my mother."" Again the agony of his feelings overpowered him. " Consider, Sir," said lie, raising his flushed countenance from his hands, in which he hatl buried it ; " consider the situation in Avhich I am placed — trained up the idol of a mother whom I fancied perfection, who at this moment, I am sure, is innocent of all crime, except indis- cretion of manner — adoring her, worshipping her, and being worshipped by her — I return to COUSIN WILLIAM. 93 England, a man — knowing in the world's ways, and in the business of calumniators, the envy of women, the malice of mankind ; and I see this parent, lovely in person, charming in manner, and fascinating in conversation, absorbed, actually absorbed by the influence of a man, who in former days had been her accepted lover ; this I see plainly — I see, too, that her love of admiration, her love of power over men, antl the conduct she adopts to gratify this passion, must lay her open to the basest imputation; but oh ! Sir," added he, the tears again streaming down his manly cheeks, '• she is innocent — she is innocent — I know it — I know it — and with this conviction I am come to ask your advice." " You may command it," said I ; " for your judgment on your mother's conduct is not more obvious than your affection for her. What would you have me do T'' " Tell me how to act on an emergency which presents itself," said William. " There ar^ men, who, I know have dared to calumniate my mo- ther's honour — not one instant would elapse before 1 was face to face with them in the field, were there a legion of them, but that I feel such 94 COUSIN WILLIAM. a proceeding, which naturally would acquire publicity, would most effectually produce an exposure, the least to be desired ; it would pro- claim authoritatively that such reports do exist — it would bring shame and despair upon my un- offending parent, perhaps destroy her existence, and certainly her happiness." " You view the subject as you ought," said I : " the persons of whom you speak would natu- rally justify their conduct, if not to yov^ at least to the world, by shewing that these reports originated not in them ; that they were, alas ! too general — and, as you say, the suspicion, or I should rather say the calumny, would obtain even wider circulation than it has at present. The offensive observations, I presume, Avere used merely in general conservation, audit seems to me that you are not under any circumstances called upon to notice them in this stage of the proceeding — for,William Tcrrington," added I, "some more decided step must be taken with your mother herself, to save her from the ruin which actually awaits her." " You mean from calumny and misrepre- sentation," said the ardent son. COUSIN WILLIAM. Q5 a Of course," said I, " you are conscious of the bad appearance of her intimacy with Sir William." " Yes, yes," said her son, " and it is all so silly, so childish, so cruel : if people knew that they were so nearly related, the case surely would be different — / see all the folly of it — his having been the favoured lover of her youth — a fact I only knew accidentally a short time since, through my poor father, whose good nature is beyond comparison or praise." " It is impossible that you," said I, " should " " I, Sir !" exclaimed William, " I touch upon such a subject to my mother — tell her she was suspected of crime and guilt ! No —no — sooner must one common ruin involve us all. I could not let her feel herself so much degraded in the eyes of her son, to whom she has devoted years of her existence." " To Sir William, then," said I, '•' whose regard for her, if genuine, will induce him to withdraw himself from so constant an association with her." " I ha-3 thought of iJiat;' said William, " but I apprehend that should such a circumstance 96 COUSIX AVI LL I AM. take place, some difference between us might ensue, conducive to results similar to those we have decided to be injudicious and undesirable; besides," added he, " it is merely the manner of my mother — I know her goodness — her ex- cellence ; but my heart aches when I see her in society, acting a part, and thinking that desir- able, which, after all, is not worth possessing. You have heard similar reports then ?" added he, recurring to the publicity of the remarks upon the family menage. " I have, William," said I, " and have made similar observations myself. ** You have spoken to my mother on the sub- ject," said William, " have you not " (( Rather," said I, " she spoke to me, and as you may imagine vindicated herself from all im- putation ; but, as I believe, repeated immedi- ately afterwards to Sir William Morley all that had passed between us, and even the advice which I had presumed to give." " I am sure she did," said William, " and since that period you have been excluded from our house, upon one idle pretext or other made to my poor father, who has several times expressed his anxiety to see you — and thence it COUSIN WILLIAM. 97 is, I gather fresh materials for regret and morti- fication ; for it is evident to me, that harmless as it may be in its nature, the influence of Sir Wil- liam Morley is the real cause of your banishment from our family circle. Never was son placed in so delicate a situation." " Have you never," said I, " in conversation with Miss Ormsby heard her make any remark, or say anything on the subject ^ "Flora!" said William; ''Flora swears by mv mother, thinks her perfection, and sees no kind of impropriety in her evident attachment to her cousin ; tlmt I am sure of ; and I never have hinted a doubt of its correctness to hevy because poor Flora is ill able to judge of worldly questions of that nature, and because I knew whatever I said to her on the subject, she would instantly repeat to my mother, from whom she has no concealments." *' If,'' said I, after a pause, " you would wish me again to interfere, and write to Lady Ter- rington, I have no desire to flinch from using a prerogative with which long acquaintance has invested me ; but ' " No, my dear Sir," interrupted William, whose anxiety to save his mother from un- VOL. II. F 98 COUSIN WILLTAM. easiness was as evident as his belief of her inno- cence ; " the point on which I came to consult you, was the line of conduct I ought to pursue towards those to whom the disrespectful words might possibly be traced — we agree upon that point, and for the other, I must wait and try if an opportunity of expressing my feelings pre- sents itself; for to say the truth, I have been so deeply, so heartily mortified at what I have seen, that I have absented myself more from home, than seems quite consistent with the near ap- proach of my marriage with Miss Ormsby." " Wlien is that ceremony to take place ?" said I. " Almost immediately," replied William; " my mother and Sir William Morley have per- suaded my father to consent to our union much sooner than he proposed, and to me, hai'assed and distressed as I am, his agreement with their wish is doubly agreeable. After our marriage, Flora and I mean to travel on the Continent for a year or two, and then we return to fix.'"* •' Is your plan of travelling a suggestion of vour own ?''"' said I. " Partly," replied William, " but ])artly of Flora's : she is very anxious to return to Italy, COUSIN WILLIAM. 99 where she has left a particular friend; and })artly, Indeed, of Sir William's, who seems to think her health would be benefited by milder air." I said nothing in answer, but it seemed to me that the hurried marriage and forced departure incidental to it, were stronger proofs of Morley's fatal influence over Caroline than any other which her unhappy son had even yet adduced — and convinced me that the hateful passion which predominated in her mind, had first estranged her affection from her darling son, whose doubts and dislike of what was passing before his eyes I was quite sure he could not entirely have concealed ; and in conclusion, determined her, under the insidious counsel of her paramour, to get rid of witnesses who, deeply interested in her welfare, as they were, would not fail of being doubly troublesome in their observations. Finding William somewhat too kindly, yet, perhaps, amiably resolved upon endeavouring to spare his mother any pain, and being by his own admission exiled from his family circle, I had nothing left to do, but assure him of my readi- ness to act in any way which he might think likely to be serviceable, pointing out to him tlia in my professions or actions, as far as regarded F 2 100 COUSIN WILLIAM. his mother, I was of all others the most dis- interested person, since my age and infirmities placed me beyond the suspicion of any sinister motive. For my own part, seeing what I had seen of Miss Ormsby, and believing in my own mind that she was as artificial and heartless a flirt as ever brought contempt upon her sex ; I could not but deeply pity my poor young friend, who, in addition to the griefs and anxiety which he felt, as an affectionate and dutiful son, appeared to me to be on the eve of entann-linfj himself in all the difficulties of a married life, in which, however warmly he might be attached to his wife, I doubted the singleness of her feelings ; and in which, I apprehended that time would produce even more wretchedness to him than had even fiillen to the lot of his father ; since the here- ditary quickness of the mother (which I believe in all cases descends to the son,) had given him a power of perception much stronger than our common mother. Nature, had bestowed upon his sire. I parted from William Terrington with feelings of the deepest regret, satisfied only that in con- sulting me upon the best line of conduct to pur- COUSIN WILLIAM. 101 sue towards the host of whisperers-down of his mother"'s character, he had applied to one, who thinking in all cases where the reputation of a woman is concerned, discretion to be ''• the better of valour," advised him to stifle his natural feel- ings of resentment and indignation for her sake, for whom they had been so properly excited. It was immediately after this interview that I fulfilled my intention of visiting Cheltenham, at which place, a few days subsequent to my arrival, I saw in the newspapers a paragraph, or rather advertisement, stating that " we— (meaning tbe parties themselves) — understand, the only son of Sir Mark Terrlngton, of Stamfordleigh, will, early in the ensuing month, lead to the hymeneal altar the beautiful Miss Ormsby ;" and I laid down the paper with a feeling of sorrow, and something like incredulity : sorrow to thi'^V. that William Terrington should be so near the con- summation of his unhappiness; and incredulity, that such a ceremony should take place in the family of my earliest, oldest, and once most affectionate friend, and I be an exile from his hospitable roof. I soon found that the announcement was as correct as it might be thought, considering 103 CdUSiN WILLIAM. whence it emanated^ tlie wliole family party ;, including (of course) Sir William, were now settled at the Leigh, as it was called, and all measures contingent upon the happy union were speedily drawing to a conclusion. Amongst other arranfjements made for the convenience and comfort of the bride elect, Lady Terrington, it seems, had consented to bestow upon her the favourite minister of her cabinet, Davis ; " she would be such an acqui- sition on the Continent, so accustomed to tra- velling, spoke French and Italian ; and, indeed, in moving about was invaluable." William, who knew that all this was perfectly true, and moreover, that his mother was ex- tremely attached to this faithful servant, felt very deeply and gratefully the sacrifice which she sdckindly intended to make — a gratitude in which Davis herself felt by no means inclined to sympathize — she had no desire to travel with the new mairied couple — she had played her game in early life, and wished now to have time and leisure to repent of her sins — for, strange as it may appear, it is not more strange than true, that her early peccadillos had risen up in judg- ment against her ; and as the sweetest wines make COUSIN WILLIAM. 103 the sharpest vinegar, all the, recollections of her youthful vanities had curdled upon her con- science, and she actually began to be shocked at what she saw ffoinor on between her mistress and Sir William, and had taken the liberty to remon- strate with Lady Terrington upon her neglect of Sir Mark, and evident attachment to her cousin. Here then was the real cause of Lady Ter- rington's anxiety to be rid of her — Sir William IMorley had been consulted ; and he, for more reasons than one, suggested the only delicate mode of dispensing with her attendance. He had long wished her to be removed ; first, because she knew more of him than he thought neces- sary ; secondly, because she had recently taken upon herself to be scrupulously moral ; and, thirdly, because, however incredible it may ap- pear, Davis, who, while Morley was a constant inmate of Crosby, and the sentimcfital lover of her mistress, had been honoured with his most particular attentions, was even up to the pre- sent moment jealous of him. This may sound as ridiculous in the narratiA'C as the fact was in reahty, but passion knows no distinctions, and the woman who has loved, 104 COUSIN WILLIAM. and yielded to her passion, never loses the feel- ing of interest and affection which had once en- tirely engrossed her ; and thus it was, that Davis mingled in the confusion of a vulgar mind, over- illuminated, ill-regulated, and half-refined, an abhorrence of crime in others, excited, not as she fancied by piety and repentance, but because it brought to her memory scenes and hours on which the paramour of her mistress had been the partner of her own early indiscretions. The first symptoms of the miraculous change wrought in the waiting woman, betrayed them- selves in a desire on her part to be permitted to attend a methodist meeting, where a most emi- nent person in his way, fulminated his anathemas from the tub ; and at which place she had formed an acquaintance with some pious persons, who worked upon her wild imagination and romantic character, until she took upon herself, as I have just observed, the gratuitous office of lecturer to her mistress. At this point it seemed desirable to stop ; and the favourable opportunity of bestowing such an invaluable servant upon her daughter-in-law presenting itself, Lady Terrington proposed the arrangement, convinced that whatever stiff COUSIN WILLIAM. 105 notions her hand- maiden might have picked up at the conventicle, tliey would be considerably softened by the climate and manners of Italy; a conviction founded, I presume, upon experience, since her ladyship had been an absentee herself for some years. But a difficulty, unlocked for and unexpected, arose to baffle the perfect execution of the scheme — Davis declined the honour of the transfer — and declined it for several reasons — one, and that by no means the least important, was, that she, versed in all the cunningnesses of intriguantes, saw in a moment that the removal was intended neither for her advancement nor Miss Ormsby's convenience, but to get rid of her — like all confidential women servants, she felt her own importance, and determined not to go. It v/as in vain that Sir William Morley, who trembled at her power, lest she should betray her former intimacy with him to her mistress, even at the expence of her own reputation; argued upon the agreeableness of foreign travel, the liberality of William Terrington, the ami- ability of Flora — Still, however, Davis was posi- tive—she said she would willingly quit Ladj F 3 106 COUSIN WILLI A.M. Terrington's service, but she "svoukl not be transferred like a slave to the next generation ; and added somewhat pertly that her mistress ought to be ashamed of proposing such an arrangement. After this burst of insolence and anger, Sir William deemed it prudent to withdraw his forces, and hold council whether it would be safe to advise the dismissal of the fiend, who now, infuriated at the indignity she thought was offered her, and irritated by the vice of those who surrounded her, seemed determined, so far from going anywhere, to remain, and rule, and reign, without controul, where she was. Caroline, whose disposition was all kindness, and whose temper was imperturbable, felt con- vinced that a few soft words from her own lips would soothe the angry woman, and induce her to accommodate herself to her wishes — but she was mistaken. The conversation which passed between them, not worth repeating, assumed the character of a dialogue between equal?, in which the parties descended to personalities and recriminations ; nor could Caroline check the disposition to inso- lence and reproach which her servant evinced'; for COUSIN WILLIAM. 107 idle herself had committetl the suicidal act upon her own superiority, when she first condescended to make a confidante of her menial— to that hour might have been traced the progressive descent of Lady Terrington — to the influence which in those days guided and directed her, were attributable all the wretchedness she now suffered, all the indignities she now underwent. <* Besides," said Davis, " my conscience will not allow me to join WlUiam/X^o shecalled him,) " and Miss Flora, when they are married — be- cause I know — and I have told you fifty times, that match will be as unhappy as your own. Miss Onnsby does not care one pin for your son, but she is forced to marry him — and is mean enough to submit to the will of others, and unite herself to one she dislikes." Caroline felt all the malignity of this inferiial tirade — she herself was in truth conscious that Flora did not love her son, as she felt a girl should love the man to whom she is about to be married — she was equally conscious that Flora languished for a coronet, to which the thousand flattering tongues that eternally assailed her ear, whispered she had full pretension, and, indeed, in one instance might command ; but to be told 108 COUSIN WILLIAM. by her servant that she was actually a party to an union of hands without hearts, when she herself had endured all the anguish resultincr from such a marriage — to be told in the same breath that the son she idolized Avas not loved by the girl, who, in spite of appearances, declared to her, her affection for him, was too much — a flood of tears only relieved her, " Davis,"" said she, " what can you mean by using such language to me?" " To endeavour to save you from utter ruin,'' said Davis : " Miss Flora's maid at this moment has in her possession a letter from Lord Leather- head to her mistress, to be delivered to her when she comes home — will that satisfy you ? And do you think that /, at my time of life — for we are hoth come to an age for reflection — can consent to become the servant of your daughter-in-law, who, perhaps, will require me to carry on secret correspondence and clandestine communications for her ?" And she paused and gazed at her victim, to see if the blow she made at every point of her philippic told ! '« Think of this," said Davis ; " God knows, I have suffered enough in my mind for what COUSIN WILLIAM. 109 has passed in this family — when you were young, and your cousin William and you were so fond of each other, and I thought, of course, you would be married, I did all, ay, all I could to please, and oblige, and serve you, Caroline ! and I saw no harm in it — but I am sure th^ hours of wretchedness I suffer now, when I see what is going on here, the shameful conduct — " ' *' Stop, I desire you, — I order you to stop," said Lady Terrington, her heart bursting with anguish, and assuming as much dignity as she was able ; " do you recollect to whom you speak ?" " Oh, perfectly," said Davis, tossing up her head, "to Lady Terrington, who married the poor dear man now employed in justice-business ai Cambridge; and who, moreover, would have nin away with his excellent friend Sir William Mor- ley, if that great personage, as he now is, had not been snapped up at her papa's door b} bailiffs — I cannot forget these things— and now, because I venture to remonstrate with you upon your sinfulness— all for your own good ; I aui ordered off to Italy, to be out of the way." " And by heavens !'' said Sir William Morley, rushing into the room from the passage in whicli he had accidentally overheard the fury of the 110 COUSIN WILLIAM. fiend, and the convulsive sobs of her mistress, " out of the way, you shall go." " Indeed, Sir !" said she, turning pale with rage and astonishment at his sudden appeai-ance, *' I shall ? — you, being, I suppose, master of this house." " Lady Terrington," said Morley ; " let me lead you from this scene — you must not be sub- jected to such unequal conflicts." Caroline was overwhelmed with tears, and hid her burning face in her hands — and never was a groupe more completely at what Sheridan calls a " dead lock,'' than this. Davis was afraid of proceeding with her abuse in the pre- sence of INIorley, who at once excited her anger, respect, hatred, jealousy, and admiration. Mor- ley was afraid to rebuke Iter more sharply for her impudence, lest she should at all hazards shew up his former intrigues with her — Caroline was burning with shame that Morley should liave witnessed her degradation, and was afraid to speak, lest Davis should ro])cat the dreadful hibtory of Flora's infidelity, which she saw must create new and dreadful divisions in the family, and which, at the moment, she was not prepared to encounter ; and thus the party stood. And here, gentle reader, may be seen inso- COUSIN WILLIAM. Ill lence and vulgarity in the ascendant — a gallant, iiighly distinguished, splendidly decorated British soldier, mute, trembling and abashed, obliged to conceal his just indignation at the grossest insults offered to the woman he loves. Here may be seen the trembling wife of an English baronet, cast down with grief and shame and mortification at the just rebukes of her own servant, unable to command, because she fears to be disobeyed. If this seem strained, it is not so — And whence have arisen all these strange anomalies, these hideous contradictions? — from laxity of prin- ciple, from the blind indulgence of unworthy passion, from the gratification of empty vanities, from the violation of domestic duties, from the neglect of religious instruction and suproRT. To these combining causes also may be attri- buted, as they acted upon her, the sudden refor- mation of the waiting woman. From infidelity to fanaticism is the shortest step for a distance apparently so wide that man can take. It is the sudden change from wanton carelessness to over-acted virtue^ in which by subjecting himself to privations and penalties, which the mild and cheering duties of our church by no moans re- H2 COUSIN WILLIAM. quire or impose, he thinks to make up, as it were, for lost time, and obtain forgiveness of his past sin, by an outward shew of piety, from that Power which no worldly cunning can de- ceive. Davis had taken this surprising step — she was told by the stentor of the tabernacle, that she was to be saved — the means were pointed out — and if she had merely stopped at repenting her past criminality, and reforming her future life, she would have suffered little from the preachings and counsellings of the vehement ranter, to whose guidance she had committed herself — but all violent revolutions are dangerous — their consequences appalling. After the pause of a few moments, INIorley looked at Davis, with an expression ill-suited, indeed, to their relative ranks and stations, and not quite consistent with the violence of his first exclamation against her — it seemed to convey a gentle reproach for her conduct to her mis- tress — it seemed to convey an appeal to past days for himself — it seemed, in short, as if a truce were desired, preparatory to a definitive treaty of peace. '* Come," said Sir William, " come. Lady Terhngton, let me offer you my arm.'" COUSIN WILLIAM. 113 Caroline looked round her, she rose and wiped the tears from her eyes ; Davis looked at the agitated pair, and with an expression of countenance I cannot attempt to define, opened the door, and stood by it, while Morley and Caroline quitted the apartment. 114 COUSIN WILLIAM. CHAPTER XVI. Now human kind in sleep their cares forsake, Ev"n guilt itself some little rest iloes take, And none but the revengeful are awake CUAS. Davexant. It must appear pretty evident to the rea- der, that matters could not long remain in such a situation as that, in which he left them at the end of the last ciiapter — the complete contempt of all discipline which characterized the conduct of Davis^ her insolence, her affected indignation, and the coarseness of her remarks, determined Caroline, at all events, and at all hazards, to dismiss her from attendance upon her; for although in debate with Sir U'^il- liam on the subject, they both agreed that such a step, if taken Avith an appearance of COUSIN WILLIAM. 115 anger, was full of danger and difficulty, they both agreed also, that it was utterly impossible for the intemperate menial to remain in the situa- tion which she at present held. How to get quietly rid of the fiend was, therefore, the great and principal point for con- sideration, and how to account to Sir Mark for her removal from office, was another, not by any means to be overlooked. These measures, however, would necessarily occupy some time in their completion, and it was agreed, that Lady Terrington should, for the present, af- fect to pardon the violence and insubordina- tion of her Avoman, and in that manner gradu- ally loosen the ties which unfortunately con- nected them, until at last, upon a pretence of meeting her wishes, and suiting her inclinations, she was to be provided for, by being placed at a stipend to be furnished by her mistress, in the pious family whose praises she was constantly soundino^. Thus it was imagined by Sir AVilliam and Caroline, that the difficulty and the waiting- woman might both be soothed away ; and her ladyship, acting under the advice and tuition of her affectionate relation, was thus to condescend 116 COUSIN WILLIAM. to play the hypocrite, and manoeuvre with the servant, who had abused her in the most un- reserved manner, and in the most unquahfied language. This, however, was part of the system, only one of the consequences attendant upon the un- fortunate laxity of principle, which characterized the whole of Caroline's career ; and no doubt, with the support and corroboration of Morley, the plan would have succeeded ; Davis being made to believe in her lady's forgiveness, and induced to resign upon honourable terms, a situation, which her conscience whispered her she ought no longer to retain. But, alas ! Davis was more on the alert with the cabinet^ than they with her, and while they were debating the policy of temperance and moderation, and glory- ing in the anticipation of beating her, at her own game, she was on her knees ; not in prayer, but at the door of the boudoir, with her ear applied to the key-hole ; in which posture of humility, she became fully possessed of all their designs upon her religion and credulity ; and before she quitted the position, which she had taken up for the puqoose of overhearing their projects, and judging fairly (as she thought it,) of the effect COUSIX WILLIAM. 117 she had produced upon the baffled sinners ; she had resolved upon a line of conduct, which her perverted imagination and demoniacal piety instantly suggested to her as the right one. It so happened, that these discussions and conversations were, upon this special occasion, carried on with the most convenient security, inasmuch as William Terrington and Flora Ormsby were out, riding ; and Sir Mark him- self gone to the Quarter Sessions at Cambridge, of which, whenever he was well enough, he was a constant attendant — he was not expected back till the following day, so that the parties in- terested hoped that all appearance of the storm which had occurred, would have subsided before his return ; but the unfortunate plotters against the security of Davis reckoned without their host — for she had determined to obtain her re- venge in a more summary and decided manner. The day wore on — Flora and her betrothed returned from their ride — he seemed dispirited, she appeared tired — but her animation re- turned as she reached the house, and she flew to her room, where her maid was waiting, as Davis had truly told, with a letter from poor Williaurs rival, wiiose affection for Flora's im- 118 COUSIN WILLIAM. mense fortune made him doubly assiduous at what appeared the crisis of his fate. It may seem unnaturally base in Lady Ttr- rington, to have been a party to this under plot against her son, but it is most certain, that although not privy to the secret correspondence which was now carrying on, she did not entirely discourage the attentions which the young nobleman was constantly paying to her future daughter-in-law ; the conversations which passed, day after day, betAveen Flora and Caroline, were made up of the theory of love, and discus- sions of the qualities, claims and pretensions of different sorts of lovers — the ardour of some, the reserve of others, the coldness of this, the animation of that — in short, their minds were filled with nothing but affairs, assignations, con- quests, and flirtations; so that Flora at eighteen, was precisely what Caroline was at forty-one ; and it is almost fair to suspect, that in this confidential intercourse, the natural enthusiasm and candour of Caroline had betrayed, even to her prof Cffee, her overpowering affection for Wil- liam IMorley ; for certain it is, that in society the two ladies were much in the habit of ex- changing significant looks, in the meaning of COUSIN WILLIAM. 119 uhich they appeared perfectly well versed, and which were played off alternately by one upon the other, as circumstances developed them- selves, which related to the conduct or pro- ceedings oi any of their beaux ; and thus com- mitted to each other, stood two females, whose relative situations demanded the performance of duties, and the observance of conduct in every way at variance with those by which they were pleased to regulate their career in the world of fashion. It was quite evident that Flora's behaviour was by no means satisfactory to WiUiam Ter- rington — nor was he blind to the interchange of looks which I have just noticed, and which was so frequently going on between her and his mother ; and since, from the newspaper paragraphs, and remarks in general society, he had discovered that the world openly calum- niated the innocence of the latter, that ocular communicativeness became even more painful ; for by dint of observation, he found it cliiefly practised when any popular /awj; pas was acci- dentally referred to, when observations were made on flirtations, or whenever a moral reflec- tion was elicited from his father, or Sir Wil- 120 COUSIN WILLIAM. Jiam, who never failed to take the correct side of every argument broached at Stamfordleigh ; and above all, William Terrington liad heard that day from London, that a caricature, of the most offensive nature, had appeared in the shop windows; in which precious production, although from the ignorance of the groundlings, the per- sons of his mother and his intended wife were not correctly delineated; the public character- istics of Sir William, his features, and the deco- rations which he had received, were so plainly depicted, and the title of the production so obvi- ously pointed to his family, that his uneasiness had become visible to Flora during their ride, who accordingly set him doAvn as cross, stupid, and ill-tempered; and to questions wiiich he put, with a view of ascertaining, without seeming to make any effort, whether in the flirtations he himself had witnessed, she was actuated by any feeling stronger than that, which he even admitted his mother to possess — a love of admi- ration — she gave answers which either evinced, as he thought, a desire to ctpiivocate, or an in- difference ill-suited to the subject, considering liow very peculiarly they were both situated. The dinner was a purlie quarre^ and during COUSIW WILLIAM. 121 its progress, the innumerable glances and cross- fire of eyes v-n hich were gleaming round him, kept poor William in a fever of agitation — the quarrel between Davis and her mistress — the interference of Morley — their resolutions as to the line of future conduct which was to be observed, kept them perpetually in communica- tion Avhenever any points were touched upon which referred to the occurrence of the morn- ing—the accidental mention of Lord Leather- head's name instantly brought the eyes of Carohne and Flora in contact (Flora httle suspecting her future . mtb -r-in-law to be so deeply in her secrets with respect to that interest- ing and noble Ourang-outang.) But more than all this There occurred something in the course of dinner, which induced William, for the first moment in his life, to feel staggered in his faith upon the vital question of his mother's inno- cence, where it never yet had wavered. A refer- ence to his father's absence from home until the next day, was followed by a simultaneous ex- change of looks between Morley and his mother, so unequivocal, so damning, that his heart sank within him— he sickened as he raised the wine to his trembling lips — his eyes swam with dizzi- VOL. IT. c 122 COUSIN WILLIAM. ness, and it was with difficulty lie could com- pose himself sufficiently to keep his seat; all that had been rumoured— all that the world had talked about — all that he had repelled with scorn and rejected with incredulity, seemed at once brought before him in hideous reality ; and the first impulse on his mind was, instantly to take some decided step; what, he knew not ; yet it appeared impossible to remain still or inactive, although sudden measures were neither necessary nor feasible — his agitation was perfectly evident to the parties most deeply interested, and a second look proclaimed the consciousness that their Jirst had been observed. The conversation flagged — a gloom seemed suddenly spread over the little circle, and Wil- liam resolved, let what might be the conse- (jucnccs, to take advantage of the tet€ a tete to which the party would be reduced when the ladies went, to speak candidly to Morley ; to address him as a man of the world, not yet guilty of any criminality, but endangering the reputation of his mother, by giving plausi- bility to the calumnies in circulation, by his constant residence at Stamfordleigh. He resolved to put it to him with all neces- COUSIN WILLIAM. i'SS sary firmness, and yet with tlie greatest possible delicacy, whether as a man of honour and feel- ing, he would not sacrifice his inclinations for the sake of one to whom his relationship natu- rally attached him, and give the lie to the shameful falsehoods which were bandied about the town, even in the common print-shop win- dows, by at least dividing the time and atten- tion which he now so exclusively devoted to his cousin. If, thought William, he reply upon this, I shall be more surely able to judge the nature of his feelings towards my mother and all of us. I am now fully justified in making the appeal, since even the talents of the pictorial libeller have been devoted to the subject ; and so far from its being indelicate or disrespectful on my part towards a parent, to imagine the pos- sibility of my mother's guilt, it would be base and unfair to Sir William, as well as to her, not to let him know what has actually appeared upon the subject before the public eye. William had in a few moments arranged his plans, nay, even prepared in his mind the open- ing of his appeal to Morley — but he little knew his opponent — Sir Wilham saw in an instant, by the G 2 121 COUSIN WILLIAM. working of the yount^ man''s countenance, that something was powerfully agitating his feelings, and conscious that Lady Terrington's one look had been by far too ingenuous to escape her son's observation, had very little trouble in ascertain- ing to his own satisfaction what that something was. He judged by his appearance, by his abstraction, by the rapid contraction and eleva- tion of his brow, the hasty manner, the sup- pressed sigh, the ahnost starting tear, the cur- rent of his thoughls, and tlie tenor of his intentions ; he, therefore, decided upon hi» course, anxious beyond measure to avoid a con- versation whicli could only bring on a denoue- ment.) which, let it turn out how it might, it was most desirable for him to avert till the latest possible moment. What his plans might have been to detain the ladies, or by what graceful movement h« intended to remain of their party, should they speedily retire, I know not ; nor indeed docs it much signify, for just as they were breaking up, a carriage drove to the door, which Flora Ormsby in a most admirably acted scene of surprise, discovered to be tiiat of my Lord Leatherhead, whose entrance into the dinner parlour shortly COUSIN WILLIAM. 125 afterwards, satisfied Lady Terringlon of the correctness of the young ]ady''s sight as the car- riage passed the windows ; of which, she affected to appear sceptical, in order to exonerate herself with her son from any suspicion of having brought his lordship to Stamfordleigh, and to convince her future daughter-in-law that she was not aware of her having received a letter from his lordship a few short hours before, which her ladyship now felt perfectly assured, contained neither more nor less than a request to be permitted to drop in by accident in his way to Cambridge. Whatever might have been the depth of this complicated manoeuvre, certain it is that his lordship's appearance was little more disagreeable to William than it was pleasant to Morley. Lord Leatherhead, however anxious he might be to quit the men, and join the ladies when they retired, could not do so without being too particular — against which the single-minded Flora had specially cautioned him, making his apparent indifference a condition in the leave gi'anted for his well prepared accidental visit. Morley, however, who had the most sovereign contempt for his lordship's intellect, and a thorough distaste for his platitudes and insipidity, 126 COUSIN WILLIi^M. very shortly relieved his lordship from this little embarrassment for having secured him as a stopper to William's appeal, which he had so judiciously anticipated : he did not care to pro- long a sitting, of which the three members, all actuated by powerful feelings, were as strongly opposed to each other as light to darkness, or vice to virtue. When the men quitted the dining-room, which they did in a very few minutes after the ladies, they found a carriage waiting at the door in which, as it seems, the original party were to have taken a drive, dinner havins^ been served early for that express purpose; but since the circle had been increased by the arrival of the noble lord, (whose carriage had been put up,) it appeared that this design, not calculated to include^i?e, was about to be abandoned, when William, whose heart was bursting with con- flicting feelings and passions, extricated them from the difficulty into which they had fallen, by saying, he had letters to write, which must be written before the post left, and that seeing his ))lace so well occupied, he would take the op- portunity of getting over his business while they were absent. Looks were now cast about just as intel- COUSIN WILLIAM. ] 27 liffible to William as those which he had ob- served at dinner — but Avhich he was aware referred to subjects even still more deeply in- teresting to him personally — it was a series of ocular conversations, as to whether they ought to go, and take Lord Leatherhead and leave William, or whether, if the one staid, the other ought to go. Flora's eyes speaking too plainly to be mistaken a desire that the party should go on to the exclusion of AVilliam; at least, too plainly to be mistaken by him. He, however, cut short their doubts and scruples, by quitting the drawing-room, and retiring to his study . From the windows of this apartment, he saw the party drive away from the door in high spirits ; Morley evidently entertaining his companions with some little history, of which William, in the bitterness of his feelings, and the height of his suspicions, could not but think himself the hero. He retired from the sight of those in Avhose fate he was so deeply interested, sick and wretched, driven by circumstances, almost by ocular evidence, to doubt the virtue of a parent, in whom he had through life thought every earthly perfection centered ; compelled to 128 COUSIN AV'llXlAM. believe that the girl, to whom he was on the eve of marriage, cared less for Jt,im than the idle vanity in which she was then indulging herself; and forced by a sense of affection and delicacy to be silent upon all these points, each so deeply involving the other, lest, acting upon groundless fears and useless apprehensions, he might wound the mother he adored, and do a violence to the feelings of the relative she loved. That he could no longer lead the life he now toiled to support, he was assured ; and baffled iu the last opportunity which presented itself of introducing the dreaded subject to Sir Wilham, by means which, while they did not commit Terrington as to his opinion or doubts, but merely brought to Morley's view what the world said, he was beginning to ruminate in his mind the best mode of proceeding in so perilous a matter, when a slight tapping at the door of his study awakened his attention. " Come in," said he. The door opened, and presented to his view his mother's woman, Davis, who absolutely trembling with agitation, (how excited he could not conceive,) and pale as death, entered, and closing the door, cautiously advanced towards COD SIN WILLIAM. 129 him on tip-toe, casting her haggard eyes around tlie room, to assure herself that they were alone. " Davis !" said William, startled at her ap- pearance, " how wretchedly ill you look." " 111, boy," said she, in a voice hardly audi- ble; "who would not be ill, when such ill doings flourish — did you see them go?" " You mean my mother and Miss Ormsby ?" said William. " Yes, and the fool and the knave that haunt their steps," said Davis. " The what !" said WiUiam : " of whom do you presume to speak ?''"' " Presume !" said Davis ; " it is no pre- sumption brings me here — it is the Lord has put me on this, and his will be done — I have nursed you, William Terrington — I have dandled you in my arms — I have fondled you — I have loved you — you must be saved from the snares of the insincere and ungodly — yes, William, tjou shall not be made a fool of, though others are — d'ye mark me — do you think, William Terrington, that that lord came here by chance to-day — or d'ye think your bonny bride invited him ? ' " Are you mad, Davis," said William, " or would you make me so.-"' G H 130 COUSIK WILLIAM. " No, I would Scave you," said she : " you dis- believe me — you think I rave — talk without book — here, boy — here — out of her own writinop desk have I fetched the evidence — here is the lord's letter, which her maid treasured up for her — here is the permission asked to come to- day, which the yoimg jilt granted — here — here — read it — her maid, who thinks herself faithful, would not trust me with the truth. Site has her lover too — him, I brought hither myself this afternoon to soothe, and flatter, and please her — while with these keys — these never failing keys, I have drawn from her mistress's hoard the proof of her unworthiness to be your wife.'"" " Good God !" said William, " how am I to act t'''' " Take not that name in vain !" said Davis; " I have been latterly taught to speak it with faith and reverence ; but you live in the midst of sin and vice, make haste— read that — it must be returned before the beauty comes back to her bower." *' What would you liavc me do with the let- ter.?' said William; " I won't touch it." " Whisht boy, whisht," said Davis ; " what are your scruples .''" COUSIN WILLT.NM. 131 " Honour forbif^*; it V' said William. " Honour ! — ha •a—ha,'" said Davis; " are you serious ? Honour in this house — the mark for fools and knaves to point and scoff at —ho- nour ! — God help the honour of jour poor father — are you blind — are you deaf — will you read this letter ?" " No !" said William ; " I will not— and I do declare to you, that were it not for my mother's affection for you, which I know would induce her to think me a causeless enemy to you, I would " " What !*" said Davis ; " do you threaten me with betraying — do you tempt me with pre- tences of your mother's love for me — your mother hates me, Sir — hates— because she fears me — and I hate her." " You !" exclaimed William •, " this is in- sanity,"" — and he moved towards the bell in order to call for assistance, " Hold, child, hold !" said Davis, seizing him with an iron grasp ; " call none here — three words from my lips would send your mother from her home — from you, and from the world — provoke me, and they shall out." " VYoman!' said William, " or rather fiend 1l»-5 cousin WILLIAM. in \voman''s shape — thy calumnies are false — false as hell." " You reject my counsel too," said Davis ; " you will not be saved — but you shall — it is a good work I am about, and it must be done — you refuse to read this letter — you refuse to open your eyes to the dupery of that young jilt, bred in the school of artifice and vice." " Davis," said William, " I'll hear no more of this — another word, and by heavens I will summon the servants to thrust you forth from my mother's roof." " Your father's roof, young gentleman, if you please," said Davis ; " and as for thrust- ing forth, we'll see, proud Sir, who shall be thrust out first. Oh, that this task should be put upon me ! but it must be done. When docs Sir Mark return ?" " To-morrow, I believe," said William ; " but why .?" "Why.? Ay! that's the thing," said Davis : " spare to speak and spare to speed — to-mor- row is the day — once more, will you read this lord's letter .?" " Once more then. No,'''' said "William firmly ; " and I do beg you will restore it to the COUSIN WILLIAM. 133 place Avhence you so basely took it — I need no interference in my affairs, much less that of a servant ; and least of all, that of a serv^ant who thinks so basely of her mistress's son, as to imagine him capable of grounding his conduct in life upon a stolen letter written in confidence." " Ah !" said Davis, laughing ; " that's honour, and very honourable too — and I am despised, and vilified — but such is the lot pre- scribed for me — suffering — suffering and revil- ing — no matter. Sir — I tell you again, that the lord, whom you hate in your heart, was bidden here to-day, by the charming creature whom you love — see, hasn''t he taken your place at her side — are they not laughing at your ill humour, and enjoying your wretchedness, while your kind mother joins in the jests against you. Mercy ! mercy ! they are here," cried she ; " returned — this fall of rain has driven them back — I must be gone — remember, William Terrington, I have tried to save you — I have been accounted mad — I have been threatened — I now threaten in my turn — vengeance is at hand — not mine on you, or yours — but the unerring ven- geance of Heaven upon sin and wickedness." Saying this, she abruptly quitted the room. IS A COUSIN WILLIAM. leaving William in a state of feeling perfectly indescribable. All that she had been ready to prove— all that she declared within her power, rushed into his mind,and enraged as he was at her violence — her insolent remarks on his mother — her meanness and baseness — he still felt a regret that he had not temporized with her ; not doubt- ing that she was actually mad, yet fearing most seriously, that her conduct, while under the in- fluence of insanity might produce the most dreadful consequences. That Flora had received the letter in ques- tion, and had answered the request of his rival, he could now entertain no doubt, and his first impulse was to lose no time in calling his lord- ship to account for his conduct : yet how had he obtained the knowledge of his correspon- dence with Flora — by means of a letter stolen in her absence, (and while he remained at home) from her writing-desk, by his mother''s servant — no— he would appeal to Flora herself, and iry whether she would deny the charge of cor- responding with his lordship — yet even that proceeding was equally open to the same objec- tion. Of liis mother, he dared not even think — as- COUSIN WILLIAM. 135 sailed on all sides as it was, his good opinion began at length to waver ; and who can attempt to paint the agony of his mind, when he felt compelled to admit, if not the existence of guilt, at least the existence of most powerful and ap- palling evidence against her. To join the party again, that evening, was impossible — he, there- fore, hastily quilted the house, and commenced a ramble through the park, in which he occu- pied himself until late in the evening, devoting the time thus gained to a deliberate considera- tion of the position in which he was placed, and the mode of proceeding which he should adopt. He, at length, resolved that he would tempo- rize with his own delicacy, write to his mother a detailed statement, not of the world's calum- nies which were spreading about her, but of the extraordinary conduct of her own servant ; ex- plain to her the means by which he had been possessed of proof of Flora's disregard and in- sincerity — and, in short, bring before her eyes, all those topics, to which he now saw it abso- lutely necessary she should give her most serious consideration ; but which, for worlds, he could 136 COUSIN WILLIAM. not summon resolution enough to start in con- versation. He felt, ui'ged and pressed as he was on all hands, that he could adopt in writing a tone of advice, and even something like reproof, which he was quite convinced he never could as- sume while speaking to her. Indeed, matters had gone to such extremities, that filial duty itself imperiously demanded the execution of his plan, and superseded even the softer, tenderer feelings of filial affection. It will be seen, that what William chiefly feared (and this apprehension may give him, in the eyes of some, an appearance of backward- ness in prosecuting more vigorous measures) was the exposure of his mother ; and in case of her criminality, (of which, even he now almost began to be apprehensive,) her certain ruin con- sequent upon the eclat of any affair vindicatory of her honour and re])utation — it was this fear which now induced him to resolve upon post- poning his ayipeal to Sir William until he should have received some communication from his mother, on the subject of his intended ad- dress to her. Accordingly he returned to his study late COUSIX WILLIAM. 137 in the evening, and evading an invitation to the drawing-room by some common-place excuse, (which the party there, naturally attributed to a little fit of jealousy, and joked upon it accord- ingly,) he sat himself to work to prepare his appeal to his mother — in this he occupied him- self until nearly twelve, when he heard Lord Leatherhead's carriage bear away its noble owner from Stamfordleigh. He continued employed upon his most delicate and difficult task until past midnight, when the sound of voices in the lobby announced that the family were retiring to rest ; they seemed to pause opposite the door of his study — and a sort of whispering contention evidently took place between his mother and Flora, followed by the sound of footsteps hastily retreating — these were again followed by a rap at the door. " Come in," said William. It was his mother who entered — all beauty — all grace and gaiety — He trembled from head to foot as she approached the table at which he was writing, and on which lay several sheets of his letter to her. " My dear William," said she, " Flora de- 138 COUSIN WILLIAM. clares she will not bid you good niglit, because you have l)een so cross, and shut yourself up, and would not come down to ecarte. Mercy on us !""' cried she, " what sheets of writing — is it a sermon, or a lecture, or a history, or are you following the fashion and turning novelist?" " Neither one nor the other," said William — his eyes full of tears. " Well, my dear boy," said she, with one of her sweetest smiles, " I'll not interrupt you — God bless you, William." She kissed him fondly and fervently — and with a countenance beaming with innocence, left the room with a light step, and passed through the lobby to her bed-chamber. " The world is a liar !" exclaimed WiUiam, as she parted from him, " my mother is inno- cent — that woman cajinot be guilty." The kiss she had given him seemed printed on his very heart — and as he read the implied accusations, and all the worldly calumnies which he had collected in his letter to her, the tears fell from his eyes on the paper, and blotted the liideous charges he was preparing to make. Floras heartlcssness, however, was unini- COUSIN WILLIAM. 139 peachable, — of that, had he chosen, he might have seen the positive proof — he, therefore, de- voted his time and toil to the points more im- mediately relative to her defection — for since the world was acted upon by reports prejudicial to his mother, he felt less compunction in send- ing what he was writing to her, now that he felt assured of the folly of his suspicions, the madness of Davis, and the baseness of the world. William remained occupied, either in thuik- ing over all the topics which engrossed his mind, or in committing his thoughts to paper, wholly unconscious of the flight of time, until the clock struck two, and the grey tint of morning was spread over the face of nature — still William was euffafred in his task, nor was it near its conclu- aon, when a hasty footstep in the lobby caught his ear — aijain his door was assailed. " Who''s there .^" said he — starting up — think- ing at this untimely hour it might be some hostile visitor. Again the door opened, and again Davis stood before him. " Are you up, boy .'*" said she — looking more 140 COUSIN WILLIAM. horribly, and more wildly than before — " is your heart strong — are your nerves firm — have you faith ?'' ♦' For mercy's sake, what do you mean ?" said William. " Be quick, be quick," said Davis, " 'tis a hard thinj; to do — but it must be done — there*** fire in the house — fire — child — fire." *' Fire !" exclaimed William, starting up. " Why stand we here then — wliere is it ?''^ " Be cool — be calm," said Davis, " noise creates confusion — disturb none — look to Sir William's room." Saying this, she led the way towards the door of Morley's apartment. " There lies your road," said Davis, pointing, " I cannot enter— go you in — see! 'tis there — 'tis there." William, over-awed by the extraordinary man- ner of the woman, and not nnich disliking the idea of obtaining an ally in Sir William against her fury, should she prove, as he sus]>ectcd, really mad, and become violent, did as he was bid ; the door unfastened, yielded to his push, and he entered the apartmcn^ COUSIN WILLIAM. 141 In a moment he returned to Davis, who was standing in the passage. *' He is not here !" said William, " he is hot in his room." " Ha ! ha ! ha !" said Davis, with a hideous grin of triumph; '* Fool, did you think he zcas P'"" " Where is he then ?"" said William. '* Stop,^' said she in a subdued voice, as if she had suddenly beheld a spectre, and catching him by the arm, she thrust him, with herself, into a deep recess, where the light of dawning day had not yet penetrated; " Hush — look there!" They could, from this place, see tlie entrance to Lady Terrington's bed-room — William's eyes were fixed on the spot ; as they stood to- gether, they could feel each other tremble, he shook with horror, she with anxiety and ex- pectation ; the door of Caroline's room was opened slowly and cautiously — the cold sweat stood upon William's brow, and his knees knocked together — his fixed eyes were blasted with the sight of IMorley quitting the apartment of his motlier, enveloped in his morning gown — he stepped softly yet quickly through the lobby — he passed near them — he saw them not — and 142 COUSIN WILLIAM. as he came close to them, Davis grasped the arm and body of her victim, lest he should rush from his hiding place, and kill him on the spot — but the paramour was safe — for William had seen the horrid vision, and fallen senseless on a sofa which filled the recess. COUSIN WILLIAM. 143 CHAPTER XVII. He is my baoe — I cannot bear him. One heaven and earth can never hold us both ; Still shall we h.-ite, and with defiance deadly. Keep rage alive, till one be lost for ever." RowE. When William Terrington recovered from the fainting fit, which the horrid sight he had seen, had caused, he found himself lying on the sofa in his own study ; his neckcloth had been loosened, and restoratives were standing on the table beside him ; and these, and the state in which he foimd himself, glared upon him as terrible evidences of the reality of what he had witnessed, and dissipated too certainly the faint hope, which, at the first moment of his restora- tion to sense and sensation, gleamed across his mind, that the whole might have been but a terrible dream. 144 COUSIN WILLIAM. To describe the state of his feelings — the an- guish of his heart — the deadly sickness which came over him, is far beyond my power : as he beheld the sun beaming brightly over the foliage, and heard the birds carolling their matin song, the sight, the sound, were blended in a thousand associations with the happy hours of innocence, in which he had adored, with un- qualified adoration, the mother that had borne him ; the sweet breath of heaven, as it blew into the open window, seemed tainted with tlie rankncss of her crime — every object Avhich surrounded him was in turn gazed upon, and each recalled some incident, some circumstance that drove his thoughts, with tenfold force back to the dreadful subject which overwhelmed him. The portrait of his guilty parent hung on the wall before him — his eyes settled on the s})lendid triumph of the artist's skill, and tears of anguish filled them — tJiere were the artless smile, the graceful figure, the endearing look — there t\w mother who had nourished, who had clierislied, who had trained him u]), who had fed him with her own substance, and suffered pain, and sor- row, and sickness for his sake, for his existence ; there was the detected, guilty dishonourer of COUSIN WILLIAM. 14) his father's bed — she, whose kiss of kindness still glowed upon his cheek — she, Avho had blessed him, with a fond mother's blessing, but a few hours before— she, whose honour and virtue he would have died to vindicate — she, the lost, wretched being, who, yielding to the fatal passion which had influenced her life, had been exposed to her son as the betrayer of his father. Jt was not likely, widi the high spirit and ardent feelings of William Terrington, that he would long remain inactive at such a juncture. To see her again — ever again, he felt impossi- ble : he had worshipped, venerated, adored her — and to behold her ix)w, would blind the eyes which hidierto had gazed with the fondest affec- tion upon her— nay, so strong was the dread of associating his mother's form, in his mind, with crime and vice, that he tore down the portrait upon which he had been gazing, and hid it from his aching sight. How was he to act ? — his anxiety for action, for some decisive step, increased with the hour: the likeness of his mother removed, all his passion seemed to turn to anger and revenge — to the exposition of that man's villany, wIk^, knowing his influence— who, conscious of his VOL. TI. H 146 COUSIK WILLIAM. power, had used them to the ruin of the peace, the respcctabihty, the comfort, of the being who had loved, and had confided in hira. To call Sir William to immediate account, to meet him on the instant, was the first im- pulse — but love for his mother struggling with all other feelings, led him to re-consider this step : a duel between Morley and himself, would at once produce the dreadful result at which, however just it was, he had so often trembled — he had seen the horrid sight which Davis exhibited to him — the secret of his mother''s gviilt rested between them — it might not be promulgated — the difficulty in which he found himself was maddening. His father ought to know of his dishonour — he ought to be revenged — but, tlicn, who must be the too certain sufferer — his mother ! The defection of Flora — the loss of her — were matters of slight importance, when compared to the one great object of his thoughts, his fears, and his consideration — nor could he at all decide how to proceed. The affair was past palliation ; he could not speak to INIorley — to his mother upon such a subject— how could it terminate? — Suppose him COUSIX WILLIAM. 147 silent — suppose him to bind Davis by some awful oath, to keep secret what she had seen — in what a state would he then live ? Conscious of his mother''s guilt — conscious of the dreadful and continued deception practised upon his father— that could not be. It was not as if temperance, or moderation, or silence, could prevent the catastrophe — the crisis was past — the crime had been committed. He looked round him — every object Avas colourless — his lips were parched — his eyes were clouded in mist — his limbs trembled — the idea of remaining where he was — the thoufiht of inactivity, and, above all, the dread of seeing either of the criminals, drove him into phrensy. —He resolved on quitting the house. — He re-arranged his dress, and prepared to depart from the home of his fathers — It was then, and at that moment, first, that he decided on the line of conduct he would pursue. He sat down, and wrote this note to Sir William IMorley : — " Circumstances of the first importance to my happiness, have rendered it necessary that I should withdraw myself from Stamfordleigh-- H 2 148 COUSTN WILLIAM. an interview with you is essential — fartlier ex- planation I cannot give you ; I shall expect you at Wallace's Inn, as soon as you can leave the house, without exciting suspicion — inquire for me, and you will find me there ; the sooner you come, the better. — W. T." This he folded and scaled, and proceeding to the door of his man's room, which opened into the lobby below his own, lie roused him from l)is peaceful slumbers, and directed him to give the letter to Sir William''s servant, so soon as lie was stirring, with orders to deliver it to his master the moment he awoke ; adding, that he was himself going early to fish, and should, perhaps, not retiirn mitil after breakfast. With this account the servant was perfectly satisfied, and when inquiries were made for his master, he repeated it, to those who asked, with equal success; except indeed in the case of Davis, \N ho knew too well what must be passing in Wil- lianTsmindto credit the story, although she was one of the first to inquire after her victim. Morley received the note, and innnediately guessed that William was initated by Flora''s conduct of the ])recediiig evening, and iiad COUSIN WtLLIAM. 149 determined to call her noble swain to account, and that he required his aid and assistance ; and nothing Morley more particularly piqued him, self upon, than a perfect knowledge of the code of honour, and an aptitude at arrangement, whether by action, or adjustment, of all chival- rous matters; which peculiar tact had placed him in the situation of second in many affairs of a similar nature. William having made his way out of the house, walked rapidly towards the place of his destination ; although, the slower he went, the more unlikely his appearance at Wallace's Inn would be to excite attention or suspicion, that any hostile interview with Morley, or anybody else, was in agitation ; but it seemed that acti- vity, and activity alone, could relieve his mind from the stupendous load with which it was burthened ; the recollection, however, that he had better not arrive too soon, induced him to halt altogether, and throwing himself on the grass, vmder the shade of some trees, he again communed with himself — again held council with his thoughts —re-considered all his difficul- ties — the horrid situation in which he found himself, and summing up all the particulars of 150 COUSIN WILLI AM. the dreadful case, rose from his meditations, fully confirmed that the measures he had pro- posed to himself, were the only ones, which, under the circumstances, he ought to adopt. Time wore on, and he proceeded on his journey, and by seven o'clock, reached its termi- nation ; early as it was, he found the male in- mates of the little alehouse, (for it was nothing better) all abroad, engaged in their several occupations, and no one but the widowed land- lady within : her surprise at seeing the young squire so early a guest at her door was con- siderably moderated, if not entirely overcome, by perceiving that he was prepared for the sport which he had professed to seek ; and when he told her, that he expected Sir William Morley to join him, she merely incjuired, with equal regard to her own profit?, and her visitor's com- forts, whether she should get bieakfast ready directly, or w?*:t till Sir AVilliam arrivetl. William desired the latter ; and having ushered him into her best parlour, the careful dame proceeded to the well known hiding places, to get the freshest eggs, and to her dairy, to get the richest cream, and make all preparation for liie meal, which was to be honoured under her COUSIN WILLIAM. 151 humble roof, by two such unexpected and illus- trious visitors. Sir William having inquired of William Ter- rington's man, if he knew whither his master was gone, and being told, as William had told the servant, the object of his early departure, the gallant baronet desired his servant to repeat to the ladies, if they should inquire after either of them at breakfast, that he had joined Mr. William in his diversion, and that they should be back before the heat of the day. Having made this disposal of affairs, Morley proceeded towards the appointed place, and directed his steps across the park, at a pace somewhat accelerated by his anxiety to know the nature of W^illiams summons, never sus- pecting the real cause in the least. Walking on hastily thus, he was startled by a rustling close to him, and still more by a voice familiar to his ear, which suddenly as- sailed him — " You are out early this morning, Sir William,"" said Davis, who stood before him. " Is it you, Davis ?" said the baronet. *' Yes, 'tis I, Sir William," said she: " where are you going. Sir .''" 152 COUSIN AVILLIAM. " To join William Terrington in his fishing excursion," replied Sir William. " That tale may do with those,"" said Davis, " who slept soundly last night: with me, it goes for nothing : you are going to account for your past deeds, Sir William : you are at the close of your base and profligate career. It is / who have done it, and the Lord will reward me." " What does the woman mean?" saidMorley, " The woman means,"'' said Davis, " that the boy you are going to meet, saw you, last night, \vhen little you thoug' eyes were on you." " How ?" said Morley, turning deadly pale. " When you crept, like a crawling devil, from his mother"'s bed-chamber," said Davis. " Great heaven !" said Morley, " how — what " " / took him, Sir, to see the sight," said Davis, grinning ghastlily. " I taught him the tale : I once sinned, and you were the partner of my crime, IVIorlcy : I forgive you all your baseness — the hypocrisy — the falsehoods you have acted and told on my account, for and against me — if you can forgive yourself; but 1 was called to do this — we saw you. Sir." rOUSlN WILLIAM. 153 Morley was nigh sinking to the earth. <' Saw me r said he, endeavouring to rally and deny. " Yes, and one other saw you that you heeded not— He ;" and she pointed towards the bright sky—" did you think to cheat Him ? ditl you think, because it was dark, and because you stole like a thief along the passages of your friend's house, that you cheated Him ; or that, because no mortal eye was on you, His slumbered ! — Fool — fool — fool." " I shall go mad !" said Morley. " Risht — let it be so,'' said Davis : " rave — and rave — and rave, and be the wretch you have made your poor degraded, polluted Caro- line — the devoted fool who loved you — whom you deserted for money, which you could not secure — and whom now, you have ruined." " And do you mean to say," said Morley, his eyes flashing fire, " that you betrayed your mistress to her son ?"'' " I did, indeed," said Davis, with an expres- sion so fiend-like, that Morley, feehng how com- pletely she had unsexed herself by her villany, would, I believe, have felled her to the earth H 3 154 COUSIN AVILLIAM. before him, had not some labourers just appeared in sight. " Some one is coming," said Davis ; " go your way, Sir — keep your appointment — expiate with your blood the rank crimes you have com- mitted — away. Sir — away, Sir — don""! let these people suppose that so finished a gentleman as Sir William Morley has been making assigna- tions with my lady's discarded waiting woman. But hear me — if WiUiam Terrington's pas- sion lead him to excess, lift not your arm against that boy — add not to your sins that damninq; one of sheddinjj human blood — and as you act by him, Morley, may Heaven reward you ! — "We shall see each other but little more — they are here — on with you — on Morley, in a state of stupefaction, did as she dictated, and proceeded instinctively, but almost unconsciously, on the road to Wallace's Inn. His thoufjhts now took a new ranoe — he wa& to be the principal in this rencontre — he had been detected — he was at the mercy of the inveterate woman he had just met— he was on the eve of standing before the son of his injured friend, and outraged love ; and of accounting, certainly, in COUSIN WILLIAM. 155 this world, and, perhaps, in the next, for all his vices, even in the twinkling of an eye. With that nerve and firmness which he had so often shewn in days of trial, when the hot fight raged, and his lion-heart had beaten with enthusiasm, while the foes of his country fled before his manly charge, he coolly revolved in his mind, not the past events, not the atrocity of Davis, not the detection of Caroline, not his own cri- minality ; those were for after-consideration — the point to start from now^ was the present — he had been betrayed, discovered, and his vice was known to Terrington — it was, (that point being estabhshed, that fact having been proved,) how he should conduct himself in the sequel. Unattended by a friend himself — and almost certain that William was also alone, it did not appear that the satisfaction which he was bound to give, could tlien be afforded — and he felt, now that he knev/ the real state of the case, that it would be infinitely wiser, and more prudent, to avoid a personal rencontre, with a boy whose whole soul must be in arms against him, and who, driven to desperation, might involve himself in crime and misery, by taking some dreadful 15G COUSIN WILLIAM. revenge upon the bitter foe to his honour and happiness. And in all this consideration, self had in fact little to do — Morley loved— ardently loved, the people whom he had ruined. The pro- gress of a guilty passion is so sure and certain, and yet so gradual, that when once admitted, its march is hardly perceptible ; day after day goes on, and, as each succeeds another, some barrier is broken down, some new freedom ad- mittedj until, at length, the whole conduct of life is coloured by the one feeling, and (particu- larly in "a case like Morley's,) the extremes of crime are palliated, and even justified, by passing circumstances and events, until the day at last conies when those who love each other better than themselves, bring upon both, and all around them, ruin, misery, and destruction. Morley loved Caroline — had always loved her — and she had but too warmly returned that love — William Terrington knew this ; but honourable, kind, and generous himself, he would have thought it an injustice not to be borne, if he had suspected either Morley of dishonourably suing, or his mother of yielding to his solicita- tions : — her manner even negatived it — for, as I COUSIN WILLIAM. 157 have said before, it was ^^/?ero/Z/y alluring; and, although it gave one the notion of vanity and coquetry, it checked, from its universality of a^recableness, all idea of a sole, engros-ing, ab- sorbing passion, like that, which, in truth, she so fatally felt for her cousin William. At times, the silent tear would steal down her cheek, and her eye would remain fixed, and sighs would heave her snowy bosom — but that was in the solitude of her chamber — to the world she presented nothing but smiles and gaiety — and until Morley's return to England, had ac- quired certainly the character of a flirt — and nothing more— a character, which in its heart- lessness gives the most perfect security against any heavier imputation. Morley,in the course of his walk, had decided, at all events, to act upon the advice of Davis in one point — no power on earth should induce him to lift his arm against William, If he rashly forced him into actual hostility upon this occa- sion, he would receive his fire, and although he would not have recourse to the conclusive mea- sure of firing in the air, he would purposely avoid themark which hisantagonist mustprescnt. 158 COUSlIi WILLIAM. By the time lie had made up his mind as to this mode of proceeding, he had nearly reached the door of the inn ; for in the debate with himself, he had over-ruled the prudential feelings which once dictated his declining the present meeting ; because it seemed to him, knowing the real cause and origin of William's summons, that it might look like apprehension of the consequences if he jdid not, at all events, make his appearance ; par- ticularly, as for all he knew, William might actually have provided himself with a friend. " Oh ! you are come at last, Sir William," said the Widow, as IMorley stepped up to the door ; " Mr. Terrington has been waiting nearly two hours — now then. Sir William, I'll get the breakfast — pop in the eggs — and cut the toast — it will all be ready in five minutes. Sir William." " Where is Mr. Terrington ?" said Morley ; not even deigning a reply to the poor dame's well meant civility. " There he be. Sir," said she ; " in the best parlour, at the end of the passage, Sir William. This way, Sir — this way " " I can find it, I dare say," said Morley ; anxious that the landlady sliould not be a wit- COUSIN WILLIAM. 159 ness to the first meeting between William and himself. " Mind the step, Sir William^' said the widow; " mind the step, Sir " " Merciful God !' exclaimed Morley, starting back — " what is it ! — woman, speak — speak this instant ?" The astonished landlady turned into the passage, and beheld Sir William, pale and breathless, leaning against the wainscot, and pointing to the closed door of the room in which he was told Terrington was waiting his arrival, and upon which his eyes glared hideously. " What ! Sir William ?" said the landlady, catching the infection of fear, without knowing its cause. " Do you see it, woman ?" said he ; his teeth chattering—" I ask you, do you see it.''" " God's mercy !" cried the widow ; " I see it, indeed !" A thick crimson stream crept from under the door, and hke a serpent wound slowly and silently along the floor of the passage. " William Terrington," cried Morley, hardly able to articulate, " open the door— open the 160 COUSIN WILLJAM. door this instant — He is killed — woman — woman, the boy is killed." Unable to endure the dreadful suspense a moment longer, he burst into the room, and there before him, on the floor, lay stone dead — his head shattered to atoms by a pistol, whicii his cold hand grasped — the high spirited broken- hearted William Terrington — and as he paced towards the mangled corpse, the Adulterer's feet plashed in the blood of his victim''s child. It seemed as if the original intention of the unfortunate young man had been to avenge his mother's ruin, and the destruction of all his hopes of happiness, upon the destroyer ; but that, left alone for more than two hours, the v\ hole of his wretchedness glared upon him in all its horror ; — He might revenge the wrongs his family had sustained, by taking the life of his nearest rela- tion — still would he remain the son of an adult- ress, stained with the blood of her betrayer — his mother"'s reputation (dearer far to him than life,) was gone — his father's honour outraged ; the demon, who had aided and abetted in all the proceedings which led to this terrible consum- mation, was in the secret of her mistress's culpa- COUSIN WILLIAM. IGl bllity, Nvliich, with feelings and passions like herSy was not likely to remain a secret long — to what had he to turn then, that might alleviate his sorrows, or hold out a hope of future peace or comfort ? — his affianced bride had clandestinely invited a rival to his father's house, apparently under the sanction, or, at least, with the connivance of his mother — nothing but misery offered itself through that channel ; what glimmering ray beamed through the dreadful gloom in which he was involved? — None ! — none ! — none ! — and in the conflict of all these feelings, that irrevocable deed was done, which alone was wanting to fill up the catalogue of crime and horror. The sequel is soon told — Caroline is still in confinement, a maniac — oNIorley, unable to pay the law's award for crime, is an exile from his country, if a life of gaiety upon the con- tinent may so be called — Flora Ormsby (still unmarried,) remains with poor Sir Mark, who has almost entirely secluded himself from society; and Davis, married to a dissenting minister, attends the tabernacle regularly, rails against the vices of the Establishment, and is esteemed a 162 COUSIN WILLIAM. most exemplary member of the community to which she belono-s. " See," said I to the Major, " what an accumulation of wretchedness has this fatal attachment brought upon an amiable family — to me it is painful in a tenfold degree, because I know the orig-inal excellence of Caroline's heart and disposition, and because I know the whole to have arisen from a want of mental controul and moral regulation — a want, in short, of reli- gious support and confidence — and w hen once a woman commits herself, as she did, in the outset of life, all the rest will naturally follow.'"' " True," said the Alajor ; (and he said it in French, because he rarely quotes in English) — ** Ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute.'* GERVASE SKINNER. GERVASE SKINNER. .«?' CHAPTER I. " In every town we wait on Mr. Jfay'r, First get a license, then produce our ware : We sound atrumpot, or we beat a drum, Huzza! (the schoolboys rnar.Uhe players are come, And then, we C17 (0 spur, tlie bumpkins on. Gallants, by Tuesday next, we mu-t be gone." bw;pi. To him who venerates the talents and virtues of the greatest and honestest minister England ever knew, or sympathizes with the least cul- pable traitor that ever expiated crime by disap- pointment, defeat, and death ; Somersetshire, sweet Somersetshire, cannot fail to be an inte- resting county. To him who admires frank ingenuousness in men. and blooming beauty in women, varied scenery, and rich cultivation, green meadows and clear rivulets, neat farms and teeming orchards ; Somersetshire, sweet Somersetshire, cannot fail to l)e an interesting county. ^66 GERVASE SKINNER. To him, who perchance has hved amongst its " hedge-rows green;" and, in the heyday of his youth, has revelled in its meads, and strolled, (not ipi'iie alone,) amongst its shady groves ; who has partaken of the wonted hospitality of its kind- hearted inhabitants, and participated in all their harmless mirth and guileless gaieties ; Somerset- shire, sweet Somersetshire, must ever remain an interesting county. In Somersetshire, then, that garden of the west — was domesticated in his highly respectable Eli- zabethan House, at Bagsden Parva, the hero of my present tale — Gervase Skinner, Esq. ; one whose disposition was as unromantic as his name, who (having in his younger days disported him- self as captain of the county militia) had, a few years before the commencement of this narra- tive, inherited from his excellent father a patri- mony of fifty thousand pounds in money, a comfortable residence; rich land, fat beeves, old wines, old pictures, and old plate ; stables well furnished with horses, and barns well stoVed with grain ; to all which agreeable contingencies he succeeded when in his fortieth year. The pi])ing times of peace had, long before, blessed this happy land, and it was just as Mr. GERVASE SKINNER. 1()7 Skinner began to feel the awkwardness of having no pursuit, tliat Providence decreed the demise of his worthy parent, and his consequent acces- sion to all the rights, privileges, and immunities of a country squire, as head of his family ; of which, by the bye, he could be accounted little else, since, in truth, he was the sole survivor of his ancient stock. Upon this important change in his affairs, he bade adieu to the Tavistock Hotel in Covent Garden, in which he had hitherto smoked him- self during the season in London; and proceeded to establish himself in his paternal home. There, he sat himself down ; his wishes bounded by the hawthorn hedge which environed his well- trimmed lawn, his hopes scarcely ever rising above the tops of his apple-trees or the thatch of hiscorn- ricks, with the produce of which, he was to make merry in the year to come. But with this almost primitive simplicity, and genuine artlessness of character, Skinner was an extremely pleasant companion. He had read much, seen much of the world, in his way; was quick and sharp in conversation himself, and sensibly alive to merit in others. He was of a convivial turn, good-natured to a failing ; and where a woman was concerned, (as indeed 168 OF.RVASE SKiyNER. most men are,) a very cliild : his failing that way, however, did not fail to secure him much favour Avith the provincial fair ones : and although the hand of time had stamped him with some few marks of old bachelorism, there were not wanting eyes to sparkle, nor hearts to flutter, when the rich and kind Squire Skinner, of Bagsden Parva, made his appearance at a race- ball, or county meeting. Every man, however, has his faults. There are spots in the sun« — was it to be hoped that Gervasc Skinner, of Bagsden Parva, in the county of Somerset, Esq. Avould be exenijit from the general fallibility of human nature ? It should seem not: and although I confess it is painful in the extreme to shew up my worthy friend, yet as a candid historian I am compelled to do so. The ruling passion of my hero, then, was, to go tlirough life with a character for extraordinary liberality — financial liberality I mean — which character it was liis unremitting study to support, (as cobblers profess to mend slioes,) — on the most reasonable terms. His ambition was to be thought careless of money, even to extrava- gance ; being in his heart the veriest miser ex- tant. His whole mind, concentrated within the GEUVASE SKINNER. 169 focus of his own property, was devoted to sav- ing in such a covert manner, that his economy should never peep out. He Avould pick up a pin slily, whenever he saw one ; because his nurse had told him, when he was a child, " that a pin a day was a groat a year ;" yet would he have died, if he had thought himself observed in doing it He would, in London, walk a mile, through a pouring rain, to save a shilling's worth of coach-hire, although the wet spoiled him five pounds- worth of clothes; and if discovered would say he did it for the sake of exercise. In short, his weak point was the magpie sentiment of picking up, hiding, and hoarding ; striving at the same time w ith all his might, to exhibit to the world the pert gaiety and hopping thoughtlessness of the mischievous bird, his very prototype in disposition and pursuits. Amongst his other solicitudes, one ranked foremost, to which it is most necessary I should immediately refer. Mr. Gervase Skinner was actually under an engagement of marriage ; a circumstance of which few of his acquaintances were aware, and v/hich it really appeared at times that he himself forgot. To say truth, (what- ever he might have said otherwise,) it was less love, than love of money that induced him still to VOL. II. I 170 GERVASE SKIXNER. think seriously of fulfilling a compact entered into by his late respected father, with an old and wealtliy friend in tlie north of England, several years before his death, and at a time >vhen Emma Gray was in fact a child. If he had given his mind full play, and trusted to the feel- ings of his heart, rather than the cravings of his disposition, Gervase, I am certain, would have released the poor girl from the blind bar- gain which had been struck up between the old folks, without her consent or knowledge. Rut, alas ! Emma Gray had fifteen thousand pounds ; a sum to which the worthy suitor was so devot- edly attached, that he could by no means prevail with himself to put an end to a treaty, the fulfil- ment of which would unite an innocent country girl of nineteen with a worldly bachelor of forty- five ; she, being wholly unacquainted with his character and habits, and almost ignorant of his person ; and he, being as ill calculated for a marrying man, as unmarried man could be. Emma Gray was as pretty a rustic as ever breathed the air of heaven. There w^as a fresh- ness about her complexion, a ruddiness on her lips, and a brightness in her eyes, so new, so brilliant, anfl so sparkling, that never was her pretty face seen where it was not long remom- GEKVaSE skikxek. ITl bercd. Indeed, poor Mr. Gervase Skinner was not without rivals ; and, considering tlie distance at which he hved from the bower of his fair, the rarity of his visits, and the scantiness of his cor- respondence, his jewel appeared to be rather in jeopardy. He, however, who looked upon the whole affair as a matter of business, waited with the most philosophical patience for the arrival of Emma's twentieth birth-day ; before which period the marriage was not to take place, but at which time it was intended tliat it should be celebrated. It ought, perhaps, here to be remarked, that Mr. Gervase Skinner, throughout his life acted, or said he acted, " upon principle." If it meant nothing in reality, it was a cant phrase, which served him as an excuse for doing the most extraordinary things in the world. Thus, at his own house, he never drank wine " upon principle ;"" whenever he dined an^'^ where else, except at an inn, he took his bottle cheerfully " upon principle." He always travelled outside the stage-coach " upon principle ;" " upon prin- ciple" gave the coachman only one shilling as liis fee ; covered his hat with an oil-skin " upon principle;" never took refreshment on the road I a 1T2 GEEVASE SKINXER. " upon principle :''' and thus it was that " upon principle" he denied himself the pleasure of see- ing his acquaintances more frequently at Bag^ den ; although, " upon principle," he was al- ways extremely happy to visit them upon all suitable or unsuitable occasions. Having just given this sketchy outline of my liero''s character and condition, it becomes my duty to detail a few events which occurred just about the period at which this little history opens. I presume that my reader knows Taunton topographically ; if he do, he will immediately recall to mind its roseate town iiall, stretching across its market-place : its castle, its venerable church tower, (a little Bruges,) rearing its noble head at the end of llammet-street ; its meeting- houses, its " corner-shop," its weirs and mea- dows, and, above all, its theatre. Should he, however, be ignorant of the locale, it will be necessary for him to build a ])lay-house in his mind ; since ii was under the roof of Taimton theatre that Mr. Gervase Skinner began, in his fortv-fourth year, to feel a passion to which, for the previous forty-three years and eleven months, his tough heart had been a stranger Unless the periodical works of the day speak GERVASE SKINNER. 17^ falsely, it was at Taunton that the inuiiitable Listen first " smelt the lamp." The fact that he made his first appearance there, i-entlers its theatre classic ground; and the British public must ever look with pleasure to the stage which first gave to the profession one of the most powerful and ori- ginal comedians it ever possessed ; but it was re- served for the bewitching Mrs. Amelrosa Fug- gleston to render it pointedly, particularly, and vitally interesting to my unsophisticated hero, Mr. Gervase Skinner. It should here be premised, that Mr. Gervase Skinner was what is cabled a *' theatrical man.'' He once enacted at school the part of Publius in the Roman Father; and never failed " upon principle" to invite some of the company of tra- velling Tliespians, who, at certain periods of the year, enliven the west of England with their agreeable antics, to partake of the ho.^piialities of Bagsden Parva ; he, cunningly obtaining thereby free ingi*ess to all parts of the theatre, and the character of a patron into the bargain ; although, to ensure these pecuniary and ]X)- pular advantages, he disbursed in fact ten times more of his worldly substance in khid, than would, if he had properly disposed of it, money- 174 GERVASE SKINNER. wise, have secured him all the privileges he desired, and all the popularity he courted. In the revolution of the seasons, which brought the troop to Taunton, some two or three fixed stars were generally found, who had been wearing their constant course in the same sphere, and these were always welcome to Skinner^'s house ; and on what are technically termed the off- nights, these individuals generally availed them- selves of his invitation, and swallowed huge potations of his father''s long-stored claret; Skin- ner preferring that they should drink up this pre- cious hoard rather than ])unch, (which was a favourite liquor with the corps) because, al- though the claret was worth ten times more than the liquor desired, he had not occasion to pay out ready money for the lemons. If this appear a strange reason, it is at least his own, given to his trusty housekeeper, when she suggested the introduction of the cheaper beverage, which she, who had no theatrical taste, thought infinitely better adapted to the character and condition of the guests, than the old wine of her old master. The invitations to IJagsden made to tjie actors, were regulated only by the good sense GEUVASE SKIXNKIJ. 175 and propriety of the actors themselves, whicli very correctly dictated the exclusion of certain members of the community, whose salaries and habits of life did not justify their appearance at my hero's table ; for in the theatrical profession, unlike most others, the difference of income makes all the difference of rank. A certain salary gives its possessor the important privileges of the first green-room ; a good looking-glass, a decanter of tolerably clean water, the lively impro- prieties of wanton iordlings, and the impotaiit drivelling of sensual dotards of quality; while a smaller sum per week dooms the children of Thespis to the debasement of an inferior apart- ment, to which they are mercilessly consigned, in company with figurantes in the ballet, dusty wreaths of flowers, old piano fortes, basket camels, and pantomime properties- It was according to this judicious and salu- tary graduation of talent and respectability, that the acceptance of Mr. Skinner's general bidding to Bagsden was regulated ; for, as I have already said, although new planets occasionally sparkled in their hemisphere, there were always one or two " old stagers," who did not fail to recollect his hospitalities, and count upon his customary 176 GERVASE SKINKER. kindness to themselves and friends, as regularly as if it were to display itself in the shape of Doggct's coat and badge, or Baddely's twelfth cake and punch. The ladies of the profession were frequently of these parties ; but, lest the breath of scandal, respired over the six o'clock black tea and briny toast of the antiquated vestals of Taunton, should taint the fair fame of the actresses, it was generally understood that each unmarried miss was to carry her mamma with her, (if she had such a thing,) or, if not, some discreet ma- tron in the low-comedy line, as a chaperone. That the married ladies should, (if they had any,) take with them their children, and at all events, never appear there, under any circum- stances, without their husbands; so that, instead of a mere heartless treat to the players, it should seem that private respectability formed the basis of their social enjoyments. It was not even during their stay alone that my hero's hospitality was exhibited — for exhibi- tion it was intended to be — towards the Thes- pians—when they departed, the family ladies were loaded with pickles and preserves, and nuts, and apples, and all the comestibles of the GERVASE SKINNER. 177 commissariat; most of whicli, however, were nothing worth ; inasmuch as Skinner liad every- thing made at home " upon principle ;" and having, " upon principle," avowed a determina- tion neither to give high wages, nor purchase the best materials for his still-room, his bunir- ling servants, in the plenitude of their unskill- fullness, destroyed nine-tenths of every thing they professed to preserve, not excepting even the sugar itself which was bought for their ex- periments. For several years before his father's demise, (if he were on the spot,) and since that event, regu- larly, had ]Mr. Gervase Skinner tlius played with the players, and no harm was done ; but now, just as the simple blushing Emma Gray was on the eve of her arrival at the happy age when he might claim her as his own, and just as the matured lover was looking forward to the day, when by marrying " upon principle," he should secure her person and her patrimony ; when autumn winds began to blow, and yellow leaves began to fall, with the waning days of September, arrived the accustomed troop ; and even before my hero had time to call upon the visitors, play-bills appeared in all the shop win- I 3 1T8 GERVASE SKINNEtt. dows, and on all the dead walls, announcing the opening of the campaign with Hamlet — Hamlet, by Mr. Wickenton; Laertes, Mr. Kekewich, jun. ; Polonius, Mr. Budds; Osric, Mr. Fug- gleston ; (his first appearance here,) the Queen, Mrs. Mac Brisket ; and Ophelia, by Mrs. Fug- gleston, (from the Theatres Leek, Bishop's Castle, Bullock-Smithy, and Bolton-le-]VIoors,) her first appearance here — in which character she will introduce " Mad Tom" — " Home, Sweet Home" — and, " We are a' Noddin" — to which will be added, a farce called " Mrs. Chrichton ; or. What a Wonder. '"' Alderman Dumps, Mr. Kekewich ; Waiter, Mr. Fuggle- ston ; Lady Adela Dieaway, Mrs. Mac Brisket ; and Mrs. Chrichton, by Mrs. Fuggleston ; who will perform nineteen different characters, go through the manual and platoon exercise in male attire, standing upon a pewter plate, dance the Minuet de la Cour with Mr. Budds, in full costume, and give imitations of Muscovy ducks, nightingales, the filing of a saw, two cats upon the pantiles, and of several popular London performers; the whole to conclude with her dancing the College Horn-jiipe, enveloped in fireworks. Vivat Ilex I" GERVASE SKINXER. 1T9 To a theatrical taste what could be more inviting than such an enumeration of accom- plishments and performances — the histrionic pro- pensities of Mr. Gervase Skinner were fired on the sudden, and he proceeded to the manager's head-quarters, with a view of doing that, in which the manager himself not unfrequently failed — I mean, getting an audience. Skinner, however, was fortunate, and found his old friend, Mr. Kekewich, at liome— as usual, the invitation to Bagsden was given, and, as usual, accepted, and witli it came out the sly insinuating desire of being introduced to Mrs. Fuggleston. *' Wonderful woman, Sir !" said Kekewich ; " full of talent as an egg's full of meat — husband a stick — must have him — part of her articles — pity she married — fine creature, de- pend upon it— plays Ophelia in high style — finds her own dresses — silk stockings and all — symmetrical figure, sweet temper, and coal- black hair, down to the small of her back — great hit forme — short life and a merry one— snapped up for the London houses — manager sent down a doctor of divinity and two physicians to see her at Leek— nabbed her — snapt her up like a lamb from my flock — her own terms, and an 180 GEUVASE SKINNEK. enerajrement for her Iiusband— of course, the mrte blanche made her cut the waggon— ac- cepted the offer, and comes out in the metro- polis in three weeks — you'll hear the last of her. Sir — an opportunity not to be missed," " Has she been long on the stage ?" said Skinner. " Born behind the scenes, Sir," replied Kekewich— " inhaled lamp air with her firsS breath: somehow, however, she did not acquire celebrity, until she got into a scrape with a lover — the Prince in Ilichard, or the Page in the Purse, were her outsidcs, till she became a little suspected of impropriety— then. Sir, she was run after like an innocent hare by a pack of sad dogs — vou'll excuse the allegory — however, having created a sensation, she practically gave the lie to calumny and married, purely for love, her present Iiusband, Mr. Fuggleston — between you and me, he is not worth his salt; but ho is a sifie qtid non in her engagements. — Such things happen with ()\ir betters, you know, Sir — in political life, Mr. this thing won't take ofTice unless Mr. t'other thing is employed — the same with us in the Thespian kingdom ; but she is as correct as Catalani — punctual as clock-work — husband GERVASE SKINNER. 181 always behind the scenes, play or not — cloak and clogs always sent, in wet weather — regular maid of her own at the stage door— umbrella and lanthern— no gallantry, no gallivanting — as virtuous as a vestal — and as proud as a pea- cock." " You must introduce me forthwith,'' said Skinner : " I conclude, she will join our little annual fooleries at Bagsden." " I'll see what can be done,'' said Kekewich : " I know she would not visit one of the aldermen of Leek, because his wife had once been sus- ])ected of a little blind partiality for the apothe- cary's apprentice — she has her little oddities, her crinkums and crank urns — you comprehend. Sir? but, she is a powerful tragedian — commanding figure — fine person, what we in the profession call a capital first night woman — yet we all have our failings, Mr. Skinner." Skinner bowed. " — Present company always excepted. Sir,"" said Kekewich, smiling at his own urbanity. " Mrs. Fuggleston has //<:/-6--she is blessed, Sir, with an appetite — a woman of strong feeling, and full of sentiment — but fond of her meals — you understand me, Sir. This is not by way Qf 18^ GERVASE SKINNEE. hint — for at Bagsden plenty always crowns the board — but it is fact — and I let you into the trait— the dinner trait you'll say, I know — in order that you may not be struck at once. 1 found it out, merely by acting with her — whenever I had to embrace her on the stage, I detected an over addiction to onions — you'll excuse this little enlightenment, but it is so — in Juliet, three or four nights since, I dis- covered garlic amongst the honey : however, this is but a speck upon the orb of day, and / must not complain, for she draws wonderfully." " An artist too ?" said Skinner, enquiringly. " A powerful artist, I assure you," replied Kekewich ; " but not, as I take it, in your sense of the word — to draw, with us, means to attract — I mean, she attracts." " I am not much surprised at that,^" said my liero, " considering the variety of her talent.'' " No, to be sure, she is versatile enough,'' continued the manager, " and full of ability. She sings admirably— her Ophelia, I think, you'll say, Sir, is a beautiful bit of acting ; the pathos — the madness — the melody— all first-rate ; and in private life, when you come to know her, youli find her quite the domestic creature — quite GKRVASE SKIXXKR. 183 the pussy-cat on her own hcartli ; does a mutton-chop to a turn with the gravy in it; and for fried tripe, Sir, there is not her equal in England. Shall we go call upon her now, I'll be sworn she is at home ?" " Where do they lodge?" said Skinner. '^ • At the pastrycook's," said Kekewich. "• Heard of your excellent Taunton mutton-pies, no doubt — she says in her way that a good cook is a man of good scents — likes the smell — she's quite a wag when she is pleased — prodigious hif in London, Sir." ''Let us go, then," said Skinner; "I shall be too happy to make their acquaintance, and proffer my invitation." " With all my heart," replied the manager. " I'll just direct my boy to get in a few things we want, to start with, and be with you in the twinkling of an eye." " Pray," said Skinner, " what has gone with Miss Hardiman, who was " " Mum, Sir," interrupted Kekewich ; " not a word about tiiat — she has left the company.' " And IMiss Bolsover .?" said Skinner. " I have lost her too," replied the manager. 184i GERVASE SKINXER. We happened to play at a sea-port town last au- tumn : a sloop of war chanced to be paid off while we were there, and I never could account for it, but I lost my tragedy-heroine, my prin- cipal singer, two figurantes, and my low comedy old woman, at one fell swoop. I found my De- borah Dowlas, liowever, at the boatswain's lodg- ings, and luckily recovered her, for she would have been an irretrievable loss. Young women, with pretty faces and good figures, are plenty enough in England ; but a steady-going fat low comedy woman, with broad humour, and strong lungs, is. indeed, a treasure." Kekewich retired for a few moments, to issue money for the ingredients requisite to prepare a tragedy, and left Skinner in a reverie touching Miss Bolsover, whose real name was Bumpus, but who had assumed a softer and more aris- tocratic appellation ; for, although Skinner had never been seriously wounded in any of his skirmishes with these transient beauties, still, if the truth were known, Miss Bumpus, alias Bol- sover, had attracted more of his attention tlian any of her play-mutes; and it was not without a feeling of something like disappointment, that GERVASK SKINNEE. 185 he heard of her defection from the troop, under circumstances strongly indicative of his not hav- ing excited a feehng in her gentle breast exactly similar to that which he had begun to think had agitated his own. Kekewich, however, cut short my hero's me- ditations ; for having tied on a clean shirt collar, and made his boy brush a little of yesterday's dirt from his boots, he stood at Skinner's side, ready to lead him to the house which contained the miracle of the theatrical world, the lovely Mrs. Amelrosa Fug-o-leston. Towards the fulfilment of their intentions, they proceeded forthwith to the well-known pastry-cook's ; and Kekewich rapped at the door in an authoritative style, in which he felt himself justified, both by the relative situation of the Fugglestons and himself, as well as by the aristocratic pretensions of his companion. A delay of a minute or two ensued before it was opened, during which period a scuffling and scrambling about, on the first floor occurred, which, owing to the size and structure of the house, Vvcre sufficiently audible without. At length a maid-servant gave them entrance, and the moment they stepped into the passage. 186 GEllVASE SKIJIXF.R. their noses were regaled by the most savoury odour of fried onions, -which pervaded all the " ambient air," and afforded pretty conclusive evidence that the Fugglestons were at dinner. The maid-servant, however, said that her mis- tress had a bad head-ache, and had lain down, and that her master was out. Unfortunately, as it should seem for her reputation for veracity, both of these statements were on the instant dis- proved ; for up the kitchen stairs came a jolly- looking woman, with a huge dish of smoking rump-steaks; and down the drawing-room stairs stepped Mr. Fuggleston himself, who deemed it necessary to pay his manager the respect of ex- plaining Mrs. F.'s indisposition, and get rid of the stranger's visit with decency and decorum. Mr. Fuggleston, however, underwent the ceremony of introduction to Skinner, and ex- pressed himself mightily pleased and higlily de- lighted at the important event, regretting the state of Mrs. F.'s health — hoped she would re- cover by the next day — thought it might be only the fatigue of travelling — delicate consti- tution — nervous habit — quite a hot-house plant, and all that sort of thing ; which, however, he seasonably curtailed, in order to hurry the de- i G!:aVASE SKIXNKU. 187 jjarture of his visitors, and hasten his own re- turn to his dailing and his dainties. Mr. Skinner took his leave, and hoped to be more fortunate another time ; and as he and Mr. Kekewieh quitted the door, Fuggleston called tlie latter back, to press him to get rid of his patron, and come and join them in tlieir steak ; to which, as they had been caught in the fact of dining at home, he said, Mrs. F. and he had intended to invite him, but that they thought he was engaged ; the sincerity of this latter statement being equal to that, which charac- terised the humbug about Mrs. F.'s indisposi- tion, and his own rapture at being introduced to my hero ; of whom Kekewich had been in the habit of giving the most ludicrous imitations to the Fugglestons, and, indeed, to all his other friends, whenever the hospitable squire hap- pened to be absent. Mr, Kekewich, who had earlier in the day made up his mind to dine with somebody, and hitherto had kept close to the squire, in order to make him his host ; moved by the love of ease and fried onions, immediately agreed to cut his friend, and return forthwith ; since, if he put his plan of dining at Bagsden with Skinner, into 188 GERVASE SKINNER. execution, he must have the trouble of re- tunihig ahnost immediately to attend to the business of preparation in Taunton ; whereas, by dining in the town, he should spare himself the hurry and the walk, and reserve his op- portunity of dining with Skinner until he could sit long and late after his repast, to the detri- ment of the said Skinner's cellar. *•' Well, Sir," said the manager to the squire, '' which way are you going.''" " I am for home," said the squire. " You'll come and dine with me to-day ?" *' Sorry I can't to-day," said Kekewich. " I have got to meet a couple of men on business at the Castle at half-past three, where I shall bo kept late." " Half-past tiirce ? "" said the squire, as inno- cent as a lamb; " why, man alive, it is just four now." " Gad, so it is,'"' said Kekewich. " Yom- worship's society beguiles time, as the poet says. I had no idea it was so late. T am afraid I have tired them out — will you excuse me?" " To be sure," said Skinner ; " and if you can get away, remember I dine at six — alone — no party — snug — and delighted to see you," GKRVASE SKINNER. 189 " 111 certainly come if I can, Sir,'" said Kcke- wich ; and taking leave of his patron, hurried down towards the market-place, until having watched Skinner round the corner of the alley leadincr to the church-vard, he bounced back to the pastry-cook's, and darting through the shop, ran up stairs to the sallc a manger of his friend ; and knocking at the door, imitated Skinner's voice and manner, begging to be let in, to the infinite amusement of his host and hostess, who were quite delighted to see him ; although, if he had not actually discovered that they really had a dinner, they would have seen him at Jericho before they would have invited him to partake of it. 100 GEKVASE SKINKEK. CHAPTER II. T.i great Apelles, when young Am;iion brouglit The darling idol of his captive heart ; And the pleased nymph with kind attention sat, To have her charms recorded by his art. The amorous master owned her potent eyes, Sighed when he looVed, and trembled as he drew ; Each flowing line confirmed his first surprise. And as the work advanced, the passion grew. Pbior. It will be necessary for the reader .s belter understanding of this history, that he should, Aviiile the joyous Thespians are dining, take a brief trip from the Higli-strcctof Taunton, to the suburbs of an ancient city in the north of England, the name of which for cogent reasons I must beg to conceal; in which resided the modest, sim]>le Emma Gray. There was about this lovely girl what my worthy friend, Mr. Rodney, would Iiave called a GEnVASE SKINNER. IQl " viridity of intellect which was truly refreshing, a newness and a single-mindcdness unalloyed by the baser attributes of this world, which were highly delightful ;" or, as a plainer spoken man would say, she was kind hearted, amiable, ingenuous, unaffected, and affectionate. That she was wealthy, seemed to be hei* principal misfortune, since by the will of her father, and in the eye of her uncle, with whom she resided, that fact had entailed upon her a marriage with my hero, of whom she had seen little, and of whom, what she had seen, did certainly not very much prepossess her in his favoiu*. It would be quite superfluous here to cite authorities to the number citeable, touching the perverseness of love-matters, the obstinacy of fate, the blindness of fortune, &c. &c. ; and perhaps at this period of my tale, equally unne- cessary to observe that Emma Grey, bound by no ties save those to which herself had been no party, had been unable to controul a feeling of affection which her heart had admitted for one, who, like all the lovers of novelists, was at once amiable, talented, gentle, kind, true, handsome, accomplished, and poor ! He that had won her affections, and who was 192 GERVASE SKIXKER. liiniself devoted to her charms, boasted no noble blood— no teeming coffers. His young heart leaped not at the trumjDet's sound, nor answered to the boatswain's shrill call ; neither had he laboured hard and long to make the worse appear the better cause in courts of law ; nor studied deeply to instruct his fellow-men in lore of piety and virtue ; Physic, and all its quacking arts he equally eschewed. For him music as a profession had no attractions; the lighter cares of dancing weighed not a feather on his mind — it was at the shrine of art he bowed, and toiled to joaint the beauties he admired — he was, in plain English, an artist. Those who have mixed much in the world, must feel conscious of the varied (]ualifications for society which every artist of any standing must inevitably possess. The pursuits con- nected with, and actually dependent upon, a progress in his own profession, tend insensibly lo elevate the mind, refine the taste, and correct the judgment; rendering the painter a man of general accomplishment, and making his society at once desirable, agreeable, and instructive. Upon one point only does he fail ; I mean tlie appreciation of his own merits, and the merits GERVASE SKINNER. 193 of otliers. There is not a dauber in existence who spoils canvas by contract at so much per square foot, who does not view his own works with doting partiaHty, and wonder why the fools of fashion prefer the President to him. This sort of mental o])thalmia is a pretty general disorder, even in matters where art is not concerned. Every man with whom I ever met, has had the best horse in England, the best claret in Christendom, the most virtuous Avife in the universe, and the most charming children in all the Avorld. Upon these points each indivi- dual sees himself and his, far beyond the reach of comparison, and, together with that of his skill in stirring a fire, piques himself upon being without a parallel. Blessed blindness ' to be satisfied with what one has, is the true way to be happy; and if habit, self-complacency, or that enviable maUformation of the retina which prevents the natural inversion of every object presented, (so essential to its correctness,) can convert wind-gall and spavin into speed and bottom, pickled cabbage juice into Falernian. a wanton into a vestal, and half a dozen fatuitous frights into a group of intellectual little angels; in the name of kindness and VOL. II. K 194 GERV.ASE SKIXXER. humanity, why disturb the satisfaction of the patient ? That Frederick Benson imagined himself equal to Lawrence, I do not pretend t'^ advance : that he over-rated liis own talents, I think it only fair to surmise ; but if he did, it is only fair on the other hand to say, that the success of his portraits, the local reputation he had ac- quired, and the encouragement which some of those munificent patrons of native talent, who liave. by their liberality and princely support, raised it to the height of excellence it has at- tained, justified in some degree the little vanity that would now and then peep out when he was describing his last picture, which, (as it in- variably is with every other artist,) was certainly the very best he had ever painted. In the eyes of Emma Gray his works sur- passed those of Rubens, Vandyke, or Titian ; and when her own portrait glowed upon the easel, it was admitted on all hands, somehow or another, nobody could tell how, that it ivas without any doubt his chef-d'oeuvre. Of one fact the reader should be made aware — that it occupied at least five times as many sittings, (each sitting being five times longer than any GERVASE SKINNER. 19-5 other person's), as any other picture, to finish, touch, and retouch this favourite production. That Emma Gray was a good subject for an artist musl' be confessed ; her eyes were spark- hng bright, and as black as sloes; her lips as red as cherries; her downy cheeks were like the blushing rose, and her teeth were as white as snow. Who could sit and paint all these, and the raven tresses that wantoned over her forehead, and sketch the outlines of a figure so graceful and symmetrical as her's, with the same calm- ness and steadiness as he might have possessed while drawing from a model, or transmiting to to canvas the hard features of an antiquated virgin, or the rubicund cheeks of an overgrown alderman .'* Some men, however, are profession all v thrown much, and frequently into the society of ail that is graceful and lovely, who, bv the laws and regulations of society, would be inevitably ruined if their natural feelings Avere allowed to have their way. An over-gallant phvsician is some day sure to be found out, and fail ; an insinuating lawyer, if detected in infringing the most rigid rules of Platonism in his counsel- lings or consultations with a fair client, foun- K 2 196 GERVASE SKINNER. ders ; professors of the arts and sciences, (who, although paid for their instructions, have feel- ings and passions like other men,) must habi- tually controul all thoughts, all sentiments, save those strictly applicable to the subject of their lessons. Even the dancing-master, who is prac- tically brought into perpetual contact with his pupil, must, in the exercise of his profession, conquer those passions which his own instruc- tions are in other spheres intended to excite. So with poor Fredei'ick Benson : adoring his sitter as he did, and gazing, as he could not fail to do, upon all her blooming beauties, he felt pro- fessionally bound to affect a coldness that he could not feel. Emma, when instructed to " look at him," certainly performed her part with more sincerity. She threw into her eyes an expression which he had never seen there before ; but that he attributed only to her desire to " look interest- ing" in tlie picture. He placed her in the attitude in which he wished her to sit — she was as passive under his guidance as an infant — he raised her countenance into what he thought the best light — there it remained : and when he undertook to place her hand in the position which GEKVASE SKINNER. 197 he considered most graceful, it staid precisely in the spot on which he laid it, although his own lingered there too. And so this went on, and Emma sat, and Frederick painted, until at the conclusion of the somewhat tedious process, (tedious at least to Emma's aunt, who wa.s always present, playing propriety), the likeness of the lovely girl was splendidly painted on tlu canvas, and indelibly engraven on the heart . the enraptured artist. The picture finished, Mr. Benson was to bi* consulted as to the light in which it should be hung; for this purpose he called— Emma's auni^ received him — he complimented the wonliy virgin upon some point vipon which she piqued herself; she introduced her brother, he fell into conversation with the painter, liked him, and invited him to dinner. The invitation was ac- cepted. After dinner came tea — after tea music — Benson played the flute— promised to bring it the next evening to accompany Emma. Emma sang, Frederick took part in her duets. On the following Monday they would make up a little party : Miss Pimpernel, and Mrs. Wag- staffe, and her brother, Mr. Simpson, would all come. They all sang catches, and glees, and 108 GERVASE SKINNER. songs, beautifully — it would he so agreeable. Emma's liarp wanted strings — Frederick Benson knew where the best were to be got — he would call in the morning and bring some, or, perhaps, Miss Gray would like to walk to the shop and choose them herself : if so, he would shew her where it was. What time would she like to go.'' — after luncheon ? " Had not Mr. Benson bet- ter lunch here ?" said the aunt. Emma coloured like scarlet — the old gentleman said " to be sure, — do, Mr. Benson; we shall be very glad to see you." Benson bowed, his heart beating all the while, his hands as cold as ice — a little more music — symptoms of a tray — sociability and a round table — the old gentleman's " some- thing warm going to bed" — half the wing of a cold boiled chicken, and a wine-glass half-full of weak sherry and water for Emma. Benson quite at home, helping tongue; the old lady cramming him with what she called " nourishment," and the old gentleman pressing him to do as he did — little clock on the chimney-piece strikes twelve — " bless my heart, who would have thought it so late V — Mr. l^enson on his legs — " good night" — " ring the bell, Emma dear,"" shakes hands all round. " At one o'clock to-morrow then wc GEUVASE SKIXNER. 199 expect you," says Emma. " Certainly," says Benson. Servant appears to open the door. " Good night, good night" — exit Benson, good- nicrhtino; all. This is something of the way in which the acquaintance began. In lighter matters, like those which occupied my last story, " ce rHest que le premier pas qui coute^'' and what I have just sketched, formed only a short prelude to what was to come. When the harp strings were bought, the party returned ; a fresh invitation secured a fresh delight. The third day brought the flute ; the next day was Sunday, and after church, a prolonged w^alk occupied the time until dinner. With ]\londay came the little mu- sical party ; every body was agreeable ; time flew ; Benson was the theme of every body's praise, and nobody wondered that Miss Gray was so fond of Mr. Benson. This last remark proved, alas ! that their proceedings, however unconscious themselves, had not been unob- served upon, and will, perhaps, forewarn the reader that stormy days are yet in store for the unhappy lovers. But we must leave them for the present and get back to Taunton — into the very focus of SOO GEEVASE SKIXNEU. attraction — the theatre, in which, as yet unintro- duced to the heroine of the night, Skinner, ere the curtain was drawn, had placed himself in his wonted place, anxiously expecting the treat for which his appetite had been so sharply whetted. The awful moment approached — the play commenced : Hamlet himself was fifty-five and fat — Polonius a boy, with a grey wig — the Queen a gorgon, and Laertes a lamp-lighter ; but when Ophelia came, the house resounded with ap- plause — covered with laurels reaped at Bullock Smithy and liolton-le-Moors, the triumphant heroine stood before them, and Gervase Skinner, like the rest of the Taunton people, confessed her sovereign sway. Her complexion was dark — her hair profusely lj.ixuriant — or, to use I\Ir. Kekewich's descrip- tion, " down to tlie small of her back" — her figure extremely good— her hand and arm lily white, and beautifully formed — her foot small, and her ankle taper — her voice was melodious — her eyes were expressive — her action was grace- ful — her maimer elegant. Such a phoenix, in short, had never shone in that ])lace ; the far- mers"" boys owned the soft infection, and thun- ders of approbation resounding from hob-nailed GERVASE SKINNER, 201 shoes, rent the fane of which she was the splendid ornament. But if Ophelia won their hearts, interspersed as it was with Scotch melodies and modern ballads, the nineteen characters in the farce rivetted the chains. The pathos of Shakspeare, enlivened by the music of Mr. Bishop, how- ever touching, was not more powerfully given than the facetias of the afterpiece. The minuet was all grace, the manual exercise all firmness, the ducks, cats, and saws, nature itself; while the climax produced by the hornpipe in " white tights^and fire-works, exceeded the most sanguine expectations of manager, public, and Mr. Gervase Skinner ; and exhibited the well-formed figure of the lady to the greatest possible advantage. Suffice it to say, it was the coup de grace as far as mv hero was concerned ; the faint beauties of the blushing Bolsover, and the soft traits of the gentle Harchman fled from his mental vision, and were expunged from the tablet of his memory by the overwhelming attractions of the unrivalled Fuggleston. For once, and once only, during the evening, did the thouy-hts of Mr. Gervase Skinner revert K 3 £02 GERVASE SKTNN'EIl. to the gentle modest Emma Gray — indeed, it would have been difficult to trace any association between the unassuming, kind, and graceful child of nature, the pride and ornament of do- mestic life, and the animated being who occupied liim at the present moment. Once, as I have just said, he did call her to mind, and thought that if Mrs. Fuggleston were not married, and he himself not under a matrimonial engagement, how happy he should be to make a tender of his hand, with a participation in all the charms of Bagsden Parva, to the accomplished creature then before him. Love at first sight, may, perhaps, gene- rally speaking, not be lasting, but there are instances on record of its immutable potency. That Skinner was sufficiently susceptible to have been so seriously wounded on tiie instant, some have doubted, because he had already remained so long unmarried ; but it should be recollected, that for several years l:c had been ]3rivatcly engaged in matrimony, and that before that, his " truant disposition," and the latent feel- ing of economy, (ever present to his thoughts, although perpetually concealed) had prompted GEUVASE SKIXNER. £03 him to " sip," and " rove" rather than fix him- self for hfe, where an adequate settlement on the other side was not quite certain. That Skinner was a moral man, no one can doubt, for he did every thing " upon prin- ciple," and most assuredly when he felt raven- ously anxious to expedite his introduction to Mrs. Fuggleston, so that the very next day misht see her under his roof, he was not con- scious of his real motives — they remained to develope themselves in time, or rather time was wanting to mature them : his first impulse was admiration, and how very often do we admire what no power on earth could make us love ; but if his admiration were composed of a mixture of the professional and personal, as far as related to the lady in question, he felt it quite impossible to condense or contain it in his own proper bosom , and yielding to an impulse which he saw no particular reason for controuling, he flew, rather than ran, to the stage-door to offer his congratulations to Mr. Kekewich, on the ac- quisition he had made to his troop in the per- son of the divine Amelrosa ; and tender his con- dolence upon her anticipated defection from the society. 204 OERVASE SKINNER. Mrs. Fugoleston, however, was not to be caught so easily : the night was rainy— and, long before IMr. Gervase Skinner reached the gi-een- room, the public vehicle of Taunton, Mhich dur- ing the last few years, had ripened from the chry- salism of a sedan-chair into the gayer beauties of a fly, had borne the divine fair one to her home in the costume which had so captivated my hero, and which being her own property, srie chose to keep on, until in the secret solitude of her own chamber, she could exchange the trappings of mockery for the more comfortable wrapper, in which, after fascinating the public with her splendid talents, she intended to fry a little tripe for supper. Into the arcana of the Fuggleston cabinet, Gervase Skinner was not that night doomed to be admitted : Mr. Fuggleston, however, in the name of his lady, and under the saucri*«i' of ]\Irs. INIac Brisket, who had been often before a welcome guest at Bagsden, and was, 1 believe, the identical lady who had been recovered from the boatswain's chaste embrace, and who enacted not only the low comedy parts, but the high tragedy characters on an emer- gency, accej)ted my hero's invitation for the GERVASE SKINNER. 205 next day. Upon that lady's respectability, the whole of the ladies of the company had the firmest rehance ; but one point upon the present occasion was specially to be observed — Since the dominion of Mrs. Fuo-crleston had been abso- lately established in the company, nothing in the shape of female, youthful or pretty, was per- mitted to join in any of their pleasant parties ; a candle-light beauty has a mortal aversion from the roses and lilies of nature ; and the nice red and white of one or two of the " young ladies," would have decidedly excluded them from a participation in the invitation, had not the fact that their salaries did net reach the prescribed standard of respectability, already barred their entrance to the fane of patronage and liberality, at Bagsden : for the enjoyment of which, the receipt of three pounds per week, paid regularly to- t^ie Fuggleston, had properly qualified that fascinating fair. Happily, however, the first singing lady of the corps happened to be the niece of a re- spectable hair-dresser in Taunton, who, having a proper regard for his relation, (after a serious quarrel, however, with his wife upon the point,) was " very happy '"' to see the fair performer, and 206 GEUVASE &KIXXER. of course hev play-ii(A\ows,at his house, wherethey made it out extremely well, and had before their departure so far converted one of the barber's daughters to tlieir free-hearted pliilosophy, as to persuade her to join the company. Mr. Strop, however, kickily discovered tlie scheme, and cut short the negociation by interposing his parental authority to prevent the possibility of such a calamity occurring to his family, and married his hoyden daughter, the following Sunday, to a re- spectable chimney-sweeper, who had long been paying his addresses to her. What a pity it is, that the misconduct and irregularity of a few members of a profession, to which have belono-ed a Siddons— a Farren — a Brunton, and a Bolton, should, to use the words of a fair poetess, now no more, " pro- perty the whole ;"" and that the pure and clas- sical current of dramatic life should be tainted and corrupted in its course, by the filth, which a few of tiie lower orders who trade upon its surface, cast into it. There is, as we have already said, no com- munity in which the respectability of the in- dividual so entirely depends upon himself, as that of the theatre. Asa proof of it, it is noto- GEllVASE SKIMNER. 207 rious that while many of its members, male and female, are justly received and welcomed as orna- ments to the best circles, there are others at the same moment, who, like the prima donna at Taunton, are regarded with contempt and dis- gust, even by what, excepting themselves, may be considered the very lowest dregs of society. Morality or propriety, however, it must be confessed had infinitely less to do with the ex- clusion of the young ladies from the parties in which ]Mrs. Fuggleston figured, than pique and jealousy. Beauty, it is true, is transient, talent lasting, and the eclat of the former, yields in time, to the development of the latter ; but in a " circuit," as the Thespians call it, since the stay of the company in each place is not long, it occurred to Mrs. Fuggleston, that the power of bright eyes and downy cheeks, smooth skins, and fine complexions, might have its full eflPect before the superior attractions of mind and conversation could come into play ; and, there- fore, she laid it down as a rule, not to visit where the young ladies were admitted; carefully sticking to Mrs. Mac Brisket, who was her senior by several years; and, who, moreover, had recently 208 GKIIVASE SKIKNER. given up the wiggery and daubery with which she had, since the age of forty, tried to play " pretty" in private hfe. The worthy Mac Bris- ket, who was all in all with Amelrosa, had now descended into the vale of years, and was not ashamed to own it; although the somewhat recent affair of the boatswain, certainly justified the idea that the tender passion was still alive in her bosom. It might have been ; grey hairs are no evidencr^, — the tops of volcanos are covered with snow ; and there is no judging accurately at what age love begins, or ends his dominion over the female heart ; however, the boatswain''s story was not generally known, and, besides, Mrs. Fuggleston was determined to see no fault in her friend Mrs. IV] ac Brisket, and accordingly considered the whole affair as either a joke, or a calumny, no matter which"; and so Mrs. JMac Bri>ket acted foil to Mrs. Fuggle- ston, and a great alliance existed between them. In pursuance of this treaty offensive and de- fensive, Mrs. Mac Brisket, with Mr. Kekewich and his son, (to make it more correct,) were in- vited to join the Fugglestons at Bagsden on the morrow; for the achievement of which great GERVASE SKIXNER, 209 purpose a carriage, constructed under the eye of Mr. Skinner himself, was to be despatched to their lodgings in the forenoon. This vehicle was contrived to carry eight, with one horse ; " upon principle ;" that is to say, the principle of saving a second horse, and the tax for a second pair of wheels. It had been thrice overturned, and repaired at an expence equal to its original price. One horse had been so seriously injured by one of the accidents, as to have been sold for fifteen pounds, having cost fifty ; and a servant, who was driving, so sadly hurt that the surgeon's bill amounted to more than the board wanes of the man for a twelve- month ; but then it was all done " upon prin- ciple;" and since it was in shape and make a perfect " non descript," it was known by no other appellation in the county, than the "Skin- ner." This pleased Gervase ; for having dis- covered during his sojourn in London that an illustrious Scotch Duke had lent his title to a hot gravy pot ; that the House of Harrington had dignified a one horse chaise with its pa- tronymic ; that the name of Monteith had been indiscriminately bestowed upon water glasses and '310 GEUVASE SKINNEII. music stands ; and, in short, that the Tilburies, Dennets, Spencers, Canterburies, and half a hun- dred other objects of daily use, and recurrence to the eye, derived their appellations from their ingenious inventors or contrivers, he felt rather flattered than otherwise, in having himself thus publicly acknowledged and recorded, as the de- signer of a carriage at once so commodious and economical as that in question. In the " Skinner," then, at two ©""clock, of the morrow, the animated party were to be conveyed to "Bagsden, where, if circumstances permit, the reader shall, in due season, find them assembled. GERVASE SKINNER. ^\1 CHAPTER III. The princess next lier painted charms displays, \Vhci e every look the pencil's art betrays ; The callow s.-juire at distance feeds his eyes, And silently for paint an 1 washes dies. Addison. Time, no sluggard in the world, seemed for once to crawl at Bagsden Parva, on the im- portant day fixed for the primary visitation of the fair Fuggleston. The calico covers were early withdrawn from the damask chairs and sofas in thfe drawing-room ; and lookinfc-w:lasses, which had long hung slumbering in their cotton envelopes, gave all their brightness to the scene ; and yet old Chronos hurried not. Gervase Skinner tried to drive him on, by watching all the move- ments of his housekeeper and her maids, and by reading and re-reading his cellar-book, with what he called his butler; a worthy man and honest, but whom Gervase, " upon principle," never trusted with the key of his stores ; and 212 GERVASE SKINNEll. who had, early in his career, secured a duplicate of that, of which his master so carefully kept the custody. Pickles, preserves, and tarts were all in preparation under the eye of the squire ; and luider his personal inspection walnuts were beaten from the tall trees, and the apple's clus- tering bough was thinned of its fruitful load, to grace the teeming board. At length the party were seen wending their way towards the door, and when the moment actually arrived, for which my hero had so long been wishing, a fit of nervousness seized him, and he made a precipitate retreat to his own room, in order to collect enough of his scattered spirits, to enable him to endure the introduction to his fair visitor with propriety and com- posure. The party was composed of Mr. Kekewich and his son, Mr. and Mrs. Fuggleston, and Mrs. Mac Brisket before mentioned. The elder Kekewich and Skinner''s servant were old friends, and the greeting from the man to the manager was singularly affectionate. The noise occa- sioned by the " disembarkation" of the visitors brought others of the domestics towards the hall to look at the players ; and before my hero had time to regulate his dress and his spirits, GERVASE SKINN'EB,. 213 the wags had made the house resound with imi- tations of the various animals by which they were surrounded. Kekewich, senior, mimicked the poodle, young Mr. Kekewich did ducks, and Mr. Fugorleston, whose skill in ornitholomcal similitudes was great, caricatured the cockatoo; whilst the ladies busied themselves in criticising the polish of the furniture, and the cleanliness of the window curtains. The particular point of Mr. Fuggleston's con- versation consisted in quotations, chiefl}'^ from Shakspeare, which, by the most absurd appli- cation of them to passing events, he occasionally contrived to make amusing enough. Mrs. Mac Brisket, when permitted, indulged in the repeti- tion of professional tales of the olden time ; while Mrs. Fuggleston's mind was divided, as the manager has already informed us, between the study of the stage and the cares of the kitchen. Indeed the smell of cookery, which gratified her acutely sensible nose upon her entrance to Bags- den, was not the least agreeable presage of the pleasiu-es of the day. After a suitable pause, during which the Thespians had by turns ridiculed and joked upon every piece of furniture and ornament in 214 GERVASE SKINNER- my Iiero's drawing-room, Skinner appeared ; and just as Mrs. Fuggleston had declared with a sigh to young Mr. Ivekewich, that she thought a boiled leg of pork and peas-pudding the most dehcate dish in Christendom, was introduced to and received by that lady with one of her most graceful courtesies, and a look — gods ! wliat a look ! wliich nearly struck the modest squire to the earth. " Sweet placcj Sir, you have got licre,"" said the lady, with reference to the grounds whlcli had formed the subject for their jests and drol- leries five minutes before ; "all in such good taste — so quiet — so retired — so "" " Mrs. Mac Brisket, how do i/oii do ?" said Skinner, overwhelmed with the compliments of his nev.- visitor, " you are no stranger, Ma'am — Mr. Fuggleston, I am extremely glad to sec yon here.'"'' " Sir,'* said Fuggleston, bowing, "you do as Lady Macbeth advises — ' Bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue.'" Mr. Kekewich here presented his son to my hero, who gave him an equally cordial greeting ; and immediately after proposed to the ladies, GERVA&E SKINXtE. 215 that tlie servants should show them the rooms destined for their nif^ht's accommodation, him- self proceeding to point out the apartments of the two single gentlemen. " This first room is your''s, Kekewich," said my hero to the manager. " ' Who lies i' the second chamber?' " said Fuggleston, who was just behind them. '• You and Mrs. Fuggleston, if you please," said Skinner, with all the good nature in the world, taking the quotation as a matter-of-fact inquiry. " Mr. F., my dear, have you got my bag .'*" said Mrs. Fuggleston to her husband. "Yes, my love," said the obedient husband. " What a delightful room," exclaimed the lady, upon seeing her apartment opened. " I am very happy you like it," said Gervase. " jMrs. Mac Brisket, you are to sleep in the green room," ' Professionally applicable," said Kekewich, senior. " Beautiful view !" exclaimed Kekewich, junior. " Pretty scenery I" said the innocent Skinner. 216 GERVASE SKINNER. -Machinery, dresses, and decorations," added one of the \vags. " Sweet villa!"' said Mrs. Mac Brisket. " Ye?,"" said Skinner ; " it has a good effect — the white house upon the lawn, snugly shel- tered by trees." " Beautiful, Sir," said Mrs. Fuggleston; " I said as we came along, that it looked at a distance exactly like a nice poached egg on spinach." In the midst of the laugh which followed this, Mrs. Fuggleston retired to her room and shut the door. " INIrs. F. is a good judge of eflPcct," said Kekewich — " never misses a point — capital exit that, Fuggleston." Another laugh announced the aptness of the manager's allusion. Having stowed the Thespians in their various apartments, mine host descended to counsel with his butler, and make speedy prepara- tion for the dinner ; the ceremonials of which I shall omit, seeing that the performers plaj'cd their parts with so much earnestness and ac- tivity, in the discussion of soup and fish, trios of GERVASE SKINNER. ^17 boiled chickens ; and roasted sucking-pig, illus- trated with sauce of clouted cream and currants, that they left themselves neither time nor oppor- tunity for any observation worthy to be recorded. Indeed, one only member of the society had tact enough to conceal the rapacity of appetite which in fact affected the whole party, or to appear to divide the attention which all the others undisguisedly devoted to the meal. That this one was Mrs. Fuggleston, who shall doubt .'' There was a soft, sly, insinuating sort of per- sonal attention in her manner to Skinner, the force and power of which he fully felt, and duly appreciated. It was ]Mrs. Fuggleston's principle to honour the maker of a feast, and to reverence the master of a house. In a very few minutes she saw of what stuff Gervase was nade, and determint-d to mould the unfortunate victim to her pur- poses. It was not merely at Bagsden Parva that she resolved to make him useful, she had more extended views than his small villa could com- mand, and flew at higher game than chickens, tongue, or roasted pig. She was on the eve of a London engagement : Skinner had, early in the day, mentioned his intention of visiting the VOL. II. L 218 GERV.AS1-: SKINNER- "great city" — to secure such a friend upon her first arrival in the metropohs would be most im- portant. His money would procure certain arti- cles of finery, -which were wanting to her public magnificence. His protection would be every- thing to a new comer — a patron from the country in her train would stamp her respectability and influence in the provinces; and give her a weight which, in addition to the testimonials of the doctor of divinity, and the two medical referees of the London manager, would quite set her up. In short, it was pretty certain that whatever merit she might possess as a per- former, her tact as a manager was by no means to be despised. Skinner was quite enchanted with the bril- liancy of his guests, although now and then a little puzzled at their allusions ; their jokes were chiefly local or professional, and very frequently my o\celk;nt friend Gcrvase was, to use a modern phrase of general acceptation, '* bas- ketted." When he heard Fufjffleston, who wanted a glass of something strong, " after his game," bid him — " Summon up his dearest spirits ;" he took it literally, and, much against the grain, GEIIVASK SKINNER. 219 ordered up some Cura(^oa, adding, that he, " upon principle," drank nothing but Hodges, or Burnett, upon such occasions — " No sooner said than done," cried Fuggleston — and some of the commonest British full-proof was forthwith produced. The gist of the quotation was per- fectly lost upon Skinner, when Fuggleston, taking the glass in his hand, exclaimed — " Now is the woodcock near the gin ;" but still he laughed, until he nearly cried, be- cause he saw the others laugh ; and so, in truth, it was a mighty merry party ; and long before the ladies retired, IVIrs. Fuersfleston's feelings toward the squire had been made suffi- ciently manifest, by signs and tokens, which those who have mixed in such society, know to be given by certain conventional rubbings and treadings, performed under tables agamst the knees, or on the feet of the objects to be en- lightened. Fuggleston, who was no blinder than neces- sary, saw exactly what was going on ; but he had so much reliance on his wife's prudence and knowledge of the world, that he rather enjoyed the fun, as likely to be productive of some benefit, L 2 220 GERVASE SKINNER. (whether merely theatrical or not, as yet he could not guess,) than felt annoyed, at what a man of proper feeling would have set to rights in an instant : however, he was contented, and Mr. Gervase Skinner perfectly happy. The ladies sat a prodigious time after dinner, nor would they have departed till much later, had not Mr. F., as his wife called him, actually driven them off by a quotation — " ' The red wine must first rise in their fat cheeks, my lord ; then we shall have them talk us to silence,' " cried he. " That's by no means genteel, Mr. F.," said the heroine. " It is a sort of hint," said Mrs. Mac Brisket, hastily finishing a huge bumper which she had just begun to sip deliberately, in order that nothing might be wasted. *' If you are for a stroll," said Skinner un- wittingly to the strollers, " you'll find a pleasant walk in the rookery : that is, if you don't dislike the noise." *' What noise, Sir?" said Mrs. Fuggleston. " ' The cause, the cause, my soul,' as Othello says," cried Fuggleston. GERVASE SKIKXER. 221 " Exactly so," said Skinner, " the caws — that is what I meant." " Oh dear, not I," said Mrs. Fuggleston: " 1 think the sound quite romantic. It inspires a thousand indescribable feelings. And what a nice thing a rook-pie is, Mr. Skinner, with a bit of tender rump-steak in the bottom of it." " Mr. Skinner has heard of chattering pyes," replied her husband, " * in, dismal concord sung,' as Shakspeare says.*" " Well !" exclaimed the lady, " I never heard any thing half so rude as that, in my hfe — come, Mrs. Mac B., let us beat our retreat" — and then, turning to our hero, she added, with one of her very best Lydian languishes, " you'll not be very long after us, Mr. S." Poor Gervase ! that was the finishing blow to the conquest — he could not speak ; he looked again ; and although it must be admitted that his countenance was not the most expressive in the world, he suited the action to the look, and pressing the hand which he so gallantly held, felt a reciprocal squeeze, which confirmed him in the opinion, that he had made a hit, (or as Mr. Fuggleston would have quoted it, " a very palpable hit,") and that Mrs. Fuggle- 222 GEKVASE SKIN xi: 11. ston, for the Jirst time in her life, was really smitten. After the departure of the fair one, poor Ger- vase could not rally, and though he found that the wine passed briskly, and that his bell was rung rapidly under the active wa/ja^-em^w^ of his vice, he was quite unfitted for the gay society, by which he was surrounded. Kekewich, according to annual custom, sang a comic song, with " pat- ter," (as he called it,) between each verse: but the gibes and jests, which were wont " to keep the table in a roar," fell unheeded upon Skinner's ear. Nay, so perfectly abstracted was he, that he did not even detect the capital imitation of himself, for which, as I have before said, Mr. Kekewich was eminently famous in his own circle, and which that worthy personage, im- plicitly relying upon the impenetrability of my hero, actually introduced at his own table, for the purpose of delighting his play-fellows, at the expense of their host. Pleasures, however refined, must have an end, and tea and coffee being announced, the gen- tlemen joined the ladies in the drawing-room ; where they found Mrs. Fuggleston directing the administration of the former beverage with all the grace and elegance imaginable. GERVASE SKIXNEK. " We have not been long, Mrs. Fuggleston," said my hero. " Tous it appeared long," replied the fair lady. " To me still longer, "*' rejoined the squire, in a whisper. And hereabouts was set up a dreadful yell, which was speedily followed by the entrance of two or three of the squire''s dogs, which, the moment they entered the apartment, manifested not only the most disagreeable activity and un- easiness, but an inexplicable affection for Mrs. Fuggleston ; they all beset her with an anima- tion wholly unaccountable ; she jumped up from the table ; at her again they were, and the more she ran, the more they flew. " Why, Squire," cried Fuggleston — " ' Thy hounds will make the welkin ring, and fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.'" " The deuce take the dogs," said Skinner : " lie down. Sir; down. Ranger; down, Romp, down."' " Romp !" exclaimed the actor : " Ranger — ' Ay, mocker, that's the dog's name, R is for the dog,' as the nurse says." " What shall I do.?" screamed Mrs. Fuggles- 2524 GERVASE SKINNER. ton, who was really alarmed, " I know what it is — I know what it is now," added she, in a tone of delight, " your feet, Mr. F., your feet — my bag, my bag." This, which was Greek to Skinner, was per- fectly comprehended by tlie Thespian, who, with the activity of a harlequin, snatched his wife's reticle out of her hand, and rushed from the room, like another Actason, with the hounds at his heels. It now became necessary to solve the mystery, and the fact was declared to Skinner, who was wretched at the misbehaviour of his favourite quadrupeds, and not particularly pleased with the demolition of sundry portions of the window curtains, behind which the affrighted fair one had taken shelter. It seems, that at dinner Mr. Fuggleston had perceived a hare upon the table, and by that dumb-show, for which he was particularly cele- brated, had given his lady a hint to apply to the cook for the feet of the animal. The reader will perhaps be anxious to know why ? — he shall, therefore, be enlightened. The foot of a hare is the instrument (if it may so be termed,) with which paint is applied to the GERVASE SKINNKR, 225 cheeks of players, in the operation of what they call " making their faces" for the stage ; little bits of burnt cork, Indian ink in saucers, camel- hair pencils, pieces of chalk and whitening, are also in requisition for the purpose ; but the hare's-foot is a professional sine qua non, the most important part of the stock in trade, and the opportunity of thus securing four paws at once, was much too favourable to be overlooked by the provident Thespian. Mrs. Fuggleston made the request as desired, and secured the prize ; but, with all her accom- plishments, she vvas not sufficiently a sportswoman to anticipate detection by the dogs, which, as Fuffgleston said — " Nosed her in the lobby,'' and gave tongue to what she meant to have kept secret. The agitation of the lady, however, did not by any means subside, when the dogs and her husband were gone; for as if smitten by light- ning, they had scarcely vanished, when she rushed out after them ; she having recollected in an instant after she had surrendered her bag, that it contained, besides her handkerchief and L 3 ^9M GI-ltVASE Sk'IXN'En. .smelling bottle, a note or two, which she had no desire should meet the eye of her indul- gent husband. They formed part of a platonic correspondence, whicli she was carrying on with a half-pay ensign, at Exeter; the notes in themselves were perfectly correct, and might have been read with approbation by the examiner of plays, and with placidity by Mr. Fuggleston himself; but nevertheless their discovery might have led to explanations, and worries, and disquisitions upon the nature and character of ])latonic attachments in general ; and accordingly she dashed at him, even while he was battling with Ranger in the hall, and carrying off the bag in triumph, rushed up stairs with the precious burthen, and lodged it safely in her travelling- trunk, in her bed-chamber. This adventure created, as might naturally be expected, a prodigious disturbance in the quiet mansion of my hero; and the servants, who had hitherto regarded their master as a staid, prudent, and properly conducted gentleman, never having seen such an exhibition before, began to think strangely of Mrs. Fuggleston ; and indeed thus early in their acquaintance with her, seemed to fancy the fault all hers, and think. GEEVASE SKINNEK. S27 in fact, that she was very little better than she should be : thus foolishly are vulgar people led to conclusions, by premises which they do not com- prehend : the innocent liveliness of the lovely Amelrosa, was misconstrued in the servant's hall, int(j unbecoming levity, and the rapid flight of the affrighted wife, into the romping rudeness of a bold-faced wanton. This only shews how people may be mistaken. " Oh, Mr. Skinner," said the lady, when she returned half-breathless to the drawing-room, and endeavouring if possible to get rid of any need- less allusion to the past adventure, " Oh, Mr. Skinner, I have a lecture to give ?/om." " Then, Ma'am," said Gervase, " depend upon it, it will have its effect." " Then I'll tell you," replied the lady, "your housemaid is too pretty." " Do you think so .''" said Gervase, who rather piqued himself upon the good looks of his es- tablishment. " I never like to see pretty servants," said Mrs. Fuggleston, " particularly in a single gen- tleman's house." " Nor any where else," said Kckewich, in an under tone, to his son, wlio in his heart hated the 228 GKHVASE SKINNER. FugglestonSj although his conduct towards them was sycophancy double refined. " I like being surrounded by good-looking people," said Skinner. " I don't know how it is, but a man feels, by reflection, good-looking himself, when every thing round him is hand- some." " Vou need no such illusion, Mr. Skinner," said the lady. " Pretty well, I thank you. Ma'am," said Fuggleston, in a stage whisper, " how do i/oic do r Skinner blushed crimson. " I know what I should do," said the lady, *' if I were Mr. Skinner — I say nothing — but beauty, like every thing else, may be misplaced." " So may advice, my love," said Fuggleston. ' Advise yourself,' as Edmund has it." " I can assure you, Mrs. Fuggleston," said Skinner, " that your suggestions shall be law, for I am sure you have a reason for every thing you say." ^ ^ . "And a motive for every thing she does," whispered Kekewich, senior, to Kekewich, junior. GERVASE SKINNER. 229 " No doubt,"" said Fuggleston, " Mrs. F. * Hath reasons strong and forcible,' but I cannot help thinking, my love, that IMr. Skinner is the best judge of what he Ukes best ; and that it smatters something of presumption to dictate " " Dictate, my dear," exclaimed the lady, " I did not think of such a thing; I only sug- gested : did I, IMrs. Mslc ?" This speech was accompanied by a look to her crony, Mrs. Mac Brisket, which was answered by a look from that lady, which at once unsettled Skinner's security of mind, as to the propriety of his servants, and their conduct ; for such is the artfulness of a cunning under-bred woman, that she can contrive, without saying a word likely to commit herself, to agitate and disquiet in a moment, minds which for years before, have been as calm and as placid as mill-pools. What her object was, every body may guess ; how the whole fabric of her scheming was suddenly overturtied, as yet remains to be developed. The evening wore on, and a round game was proposed. Mrs. Fuggleston would be ]Mr. Skin- 5230 GKRVASK SKIXXER. ner's banker, and they joined their little stock of lish, and she peeped into Kekewich's hand, and played accordingly, and trod upon Skinner's toe when he was going to play wrong ; and in short, practised such manoeuvres, as might have sub- jected her, and her new favourite, to the pains and penalties of a bill of indictment, had the cash, of wiiich their joint efforts conduced to despoil the rest of the company, amounted to any sum of sufficient importance to render such a process advisable. Indeed, the coujilod facts that the master of the house and his fair friend, sat next each other, and scarcely ever were " loo'd," while all the rest of the party suffered in turn, did not pass without some sly obser- vations on the part of Mr. Kekewich, and some more home remarks from IMr. Fuggleston ; how- ever, as he, mIio saw no farther than he chose, considered that the moiety of the profits, (pro- bably the whole,) of the card-partnership of Gervase and Amelrosa, would find its way iiito the pocket of his better half, he looked on with complacency, and contented himself by playing cautiously, and thus contributing as litUe as pos- sible to the amount of })1 under. After cards, came a good substantial supper, GERVAsr. SKINNER. 231 at which the worthy guests exerted themselves with great activity ; and after supper, came brandy, rum, and liollands, tumblers, sugar, lemons, (on this special occasion,) nutmegs and all the et ceteras of punch-making, the task of " brewing" was assigned to Mr, Fuggleston, who accordingly prepared a copious jorum of the smokinff beverage. " Here," said the wag, " here are the ' White spirits, Red spirits and grey,' and those who don't like my punch-making, mix for themselves ' Mingle, mingle, mingle. You that mingle may.' " And accordingly the whole bevy was in motion, all stirring, and filling, and mixing, and drink- ing ; until at last the sweet intercourse of eyes between Gervase and the actress, became too evident for even Fuggleston to wink at. '* Come, Mrs. F." said her spouse, " 'tis • Time enough to go to bed with a candle,' as the carrier says." 23.2 GERVASE SKIXXER. a I obey. Sir," replied the lady, answering, with her eyes, that Mr. Skinner's liberal potations had somewhat too rapidly forwarded his familia- rity. " Come, ]\rrs. Mac B. ' To bed, to bed.'" " One moment, ray dear," said the lady, who ahvavs had something in her glass to finish, when ./ o try ' called away in a hurry ; and hastily swallowing the remnant of her " drink," she prepared to fol- low her leader. In their separation for the night, sundry very expressive looks were interchanged between the principal performers; and after half an hour's farther sitting, and the consumption of afew more glasses of their favourite liquor, the gentlemen retired, perfectly satisfied that Skinner was one of the best tempered, most liberal fellows in all Somersetshire ; he being at the same period fully assured, that if ever divinity dwelt upon earth, it had visited this lower world in the person of ]\Irs. Amelrosa Fugglcston. GERVASE SKIXNER. 23ti CHAPTER IV. He owns 'tis prudence, ever and anon. To smooth his careful brow, to let his purse Ope to a sixpence's diameter. He likes our ways ; he owns the ways of wit Are ways of pleasure, and deserve res^ard. True, we are dainty good society. Suli\S10NE. Skinner, who, unlike the lovers of romance^ had slept soundly during the night, arose at his accustomed hour, feverish and thirsty, and bowed down with a severe head-ache, the natural result of his recent excess; but he failed not to examine and investigate, long before his guests were stir- ring, the record of the havoc made amongst his wine — the sight of this return of killed and wounded was by no means pleasant, but he had a superior object in view for the moment, and began considering how, and in what manner, he should set about ingratiating himself with his beautiful Thalia. 23-i GEllVASE SKINNF.U. His first step was instantly to dismiss Fanny, the pretty housemaid — to have it imagined by Mrs. Fugglestonthat he could be interested about any thing so coarse and common as a servant, was worse than death to him ; and how dreadfully shocking it must be to a female of such extraor- dinary delicacy and talent as she was, to fancy for a moment, the possibility of being brought into competition in his affection with a dirty spider- brusher, whose coarse red and white, fair and beautiful as nature made it, the accomplished actress had likened, after the fashion of her gas- tronomic similes, to the inside of a shoulder of mutton. The removal of Fanny was a measure instantly to be acted upon. She was to be exiled even before the lady descended to break- fast, and to be superseded by Mrs. May, a veteran dame, who had been to Skinner''s father, forty years before, what Fanny was at the pre- sent moment to him — housemaid. The girl was told by the housekeeper that she must go on the instant — that all sorts of characters would be given her, and three months'" wages into tiie bargain, but retire she must forth witii. The mode in whicli she received this sudden canyc was strange enough, as mark- GEKVASE SKINNER. 2i35 ing the strencrth of opinion upon two sides of the same question. She eagerly accepted the dis- missal, and declared herself delighted to escape from a place so contaminated as Bagsden was, by the presence of the wanton, to gratify whose envy and jealousy she was about, unconsciously on her part, to be removed. The extraordinary conduct of Mrs. Fuggleston the night before, had actually shocked the poor girl ; and she had, strange to say, notified her anxiety to quit the service of her master, character- whole, as soon as possible ; apprehensive if he continued to receive such visitors as her hidden enemy, that she should lose all chance of being received into any decent family after her departure from Bagsden. It was happy therefore to find such a con- trariety of feeling, and such an agreement of dis- position ; and before ten o'clock the pretty Fanny Carpenter was over the lawn, and over the lea, to join her family in Taunton ; having, however, before she went, desired the housekeeper to take notice that the old gold snufF-box which formerly belonged to her master's father, and which alwavs stood upon the marble slab in one of the piers between the drawing-room windows, was not in its place that morning when she dusted the fur- 23G GERVASE SKINXER. niture ; a fact Avhich she was the more particular in communicating, as it had never, during the whole time of her having " held office," been missing from that particular spot. It must be admitted, that in executing this measure of gallantry. Skinner felt bitterly the additional premium necessary to the quiet dis- missal of Fanny, nor did his heart (which was a good one) entirel\- acquit him of injustice in the proceeding ; he consoled himself, however, with attributing the hint given by Mrs. Fug- gleston to the very best of motives, and by making up his mind, that although he had never noticed it, there must have been something strikingly indecorous in the housemaid's be- haviour on the preceding day which could have called for an observation so strong as that which the lady chose to make, so soon after her intro- duction to his acquaintance. But when, after her departure, the absence without leave of his chased and venerated snuff- box, the heir-loom of Bagsden Parva, was an- nounced to him ; a box out of which the noses of Johnson, Goldsmith, Garrick, Murphy, and Sir Joshua licynoldshad been fed : a box which had been given to his father by one of the most GERVASE SKIN'XER. 237 eminent men of the golden age in which he flou- rished ; a box which, above all, weighed by an admeasurement faithful and scrupulous as that of the Pix, fourteen ounces, nine pennyweights, five ^th grains, his dismay became too potent for concealment. That Fanny had it not, the house- keeper was ready to swear ; she was as honest as the light ; nothing — no, not even an often used toothpick had ever been missing during her two years' service ; besides, her family and connections were most respectable. All his other servants had lived with him for years. What an extraordinary circumstance then was it, that at the very moment Fanny Carpenter was removed, this precious relic should be removed too. Enquiry the most active, of course, would be entered into ; and he desired that every person in the establishment might be closely examined touching its mysterious disappearance. Some time havinjy been consumed in con- sultations touching this affair, the worthy guests began to descend, and by ten o'clock the break- fast parlour was filled, the ladies entering together ; the face of Mrs. Fuggleston lighted up with an expression of extreme kindness and ;i38 GERVASE SKINXER. affection towards the simple master of the man- sion. " You are a good creature," said she, advanc- ing and pressing his hand fervently ; " a hint is not thrown away upon you — I like your Mrs. May amazingly ; nice, tidy old body — you understand." " Well," said Fuggleston, " I cannot say I approve the change so much as you do, Mrs. F. ; your May, Mr. Skinner, like Mac- betirs — ' Is fallen into the sear and yellow leaf,' " and looks more like a witch than any one of the Weird Sisters I ever fell in Avith." " Gentlemen," said Kekevvich, " I am sorry to hurry you in your breakfast, but we are called at eleven." " Dear me," said Skinner, " I desired you might be called at nine." " I mean to rehearsal, Sir," said Kekewich. " I quite dread leaving this sweet spot," said Mrs. Fuggleston. " As you did leaving Sidmouth, my dear," said Fuggleston, somewhat significantly, as i< thereby hung a tale. GERVASE SKIN'NER 239 " Ah ! that beautiful place," sighed the lady, throwing up her eyes towards the ceiling. "You are fond of the sea, perhaps?." said Skinner. " I delight in it, Sir," said the lady ; " there is something so vast, so mighty in the wide ex- panse, at times so still, at others so impetuous. It is, indeed, magnificent ; and then in dull weather when the billows break upon the beach, it always reminds me of a bottle of ginger beer ' well up.'" Skinner had before remarked the extraor- dinary manner in which his fair visitor brought all objects into comparison with those of the commissariat, but at present he was uncertain whether she were really in earnest. As no one laughed, however, he concluded she was serious and remained so himself. " We were going. Sir," said Kekewich, after a httle humming and haaing, " to intrude upon you, by asking if we might have the carriage to take us down into town .'^" " Certainly, by all means," said Skinner ; " but are you obliged to go ?" " We must. Sir ; it is the only time we have." 240 GERVASE SKIXNER. " Kekewich," said Mr. Fuggleston, " cannot we proceed to business here. As Quince says — * Here is a marvellous convenient place for our re- hearsal — this green plot shall be our stage — this hawthorn brake our tyring house' — — eJi, what say'st thou, Bully Bottom P" " It must not be," said Kekewich, somewhat significantly ; " there's Miss Scarborgh and the other young ladies — ^" " — Oh dear no," said Mrs. Fuggleston, hastily interrupting, " we want the properties, and, in short, I must have a stage rehearsal ; besides, I have never tried over " The village spire in yonder grove" here, and I must sing it once or twice with the band and the bells. No, no : I petition for the chariot." " Chariot," exclaimed Fuggleston, "^ they call your Skinner, Sir, a chariot. Was it — ' — Made by the joiner Squirrel, or old Grub ?' " " Neither," said Skinner ; " a man of the name of Stevens built it for mo. I knew old 'Sir. Grubb, of Ijondon, vei'y well — but he was a lawyer, not a coach-maker. The carriage shall be quite ready GERVASE SKINXER. 241 whenever you wish to have it. I only hope that you will not be so much displeased, Mrs. Fuggleston, with your reception, but that you will repeat your visit, whenever you find it agree- able during your stay." " Sir, you are very kind," replied the lady ; " I shall be but too happy, — whenever Mr. F. and I are disengaged." " Thank you, thank you," said Skinner ; and the ladies retired to " put on their things." The moment the bright star of his idolatry vanished. Skinner's thoughts were for a moment unchained ; and upon the principle so earnestlv enforced by Professor Von Feinagle, the instant his eyes glanced towards the pier table, where his antique snufF-box so long had safely stood, his ideas reverted to that favourite object, and he could not help communicating his feelings of" uneasiness to his friends, to whom he announced the extraordinary disappearance of the valuable object. *' I can only account for it," said Skinner. " by supposing that some of the labourers I have at work here on my improvements must have entered the room by the window from the lawn, and carried ofF tlie prize." VOL. II. M 5^42 GERVASE SKIXXER. " Yet, Sir," said Kekewich, " this part of the country is proverbially honest." " ' To be honest as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of a thousand/ " said Fup^gleston, looking very oddly at Mr. Kekewich, junior, who was whistling in a sub- dued tone. " I find it so in certain points," said Skinner. " I have detected the workmen frequently in carryino; off old materials : the other niffht one of them was marching away with a sack full of lime, which he himself had brought here in the morning ; I seized him, however, in transitu." " I conclude. Sir, said Fuggleston, " that when you caught him, you said with Falstaff — * You rogue, there's iime in this sacfc.' He, he, he!" The laugh which followed this (to Skinner unintelligible) joke, did not re-establish upon the countenance of the younger Kekewich that agree- able smile which, upon ordinary occasions, illumi- nated, but which for the last few minutes had totally deserted it. The Skinner meanwhile drove GERVASE SKINNER. 243 up to tlie door, and the party lounged out of the windows to the lawn to examine its construction. Still the younger Kekewich lingered in the din- ing-room. He had one of his hands inserted into his coat pocket-hole, while he looked silly over his left shoulder ; and seemed, as Sheridan said of a much greater and cleverer man, as if he were picking his own pocket. In a few seconds, how- ever, he joined the group, and seemed more at his ease ; again he smiled, and again made his pleasing observations upon " things in general." In a short time the ladies appeared at the hall door, and Mrs. Fuggleston having taken a theatrically affectionate leave of Mr. Skinner, ex- pressed a hope that she should see him at the theatre that night ; when she trusted he would be gratified by her efforts, and see ]\Ir. F. to greater advantage than on the previous evening. The rest of the company having also ascended the car, the vehicle moved away, the whole corps having promised to return on the morrov (Saturday), and remain with their kind host till the Tuesday, the next play night. Indeed,, so very considerate were they, that they proposed to make an addition to their forces in the person of Mr. Budds, of whom they all spoke in high terms, M 2 244 GERVASE SKIXNEK. none of them having, in their own opinions, any thing to fear from his talents or acquirements. " Kind hearted creature," said Mrs. Fuggle- ston, alluding to my hero, as the carriage moved on. " Prodigious Pump," said Fuggleston, " but his wine is capital, there's no denying the fact." " There is a good deal of hospitality about him,'" said Mrs. Mac Brisket. " He did not relish the tearing of his window curtains," said old Kekewich. " Nor the loss of his snuff-box," said the young one. " Did any body take his box ?''"' said Fug- gleston. " La ! I suppose not," said Mrs. Mac Brisket. " I did'nt know," said the wag ; " he takes boxes of lis. I thought, perhaps, somebody might have felt inclined to return the compli- ment— in joke I mean, of course." " I say. Fug., did you notice the second batch of claret ?" cried Kekewich. " Hush, Mr. K.," said Mrs. Fuggleston, pointing to the servant who was driving, and who was within ear-shot of them. GERVASE SKIN'XER. 245 " I did," cried Fuggleston, in a louder tone ; " it was better, if possible, than the first, but both were excellent." " You divil," said Mrs. Mac Brisket, making a funny face of approbation at the trickery of Mr. Fuggleston, and holding up her hand fist- wise, as if inclined to beat him for his face- tiousness. " It was vinegar, by jingo," added Fuggles- ton, in a whisper. " I stuck to the port ; but I say, Kecky, the best part of the joke came after supper, he was making downright love to my poor little woman." " La, Mr. F., I'm sure he did no such thing," said the lady ; " he has about as much notion of making love, as I have of frying soals without ess and crumbs of bread." " Fug., talking of that, you dine with us to- day," said Kekewich ; " we shall have a chop at the theatre." " That is by no means gallant, Mr, Keke- wich," said INIrs. Mac Brisket ; " Mr. Skinner now would not have done that." "■ I made a deuce of a spell," said Kekewich, senior, " to get him to give us a blow-out at the castle, but he w(\{\ not bite." J246 GERVASE SKINXER. " No," said Fuggleston, " dense hereabouts, as Caliban says — ' Thou ruay'st knock a nail into his head, and he not fed it." " " Ay," rejoined Mrs. Fuggleston, "but as Stephano says — 'Trinculo, keep a good tongue in thy head; the poor monster's my subject, and he shall nut sutler indignity.' " In converse such as this, strongly indicative of the warmest affection amongst themselves, and a common resolution to prey upon Skinner, the corps disposed of time until the carriage drew up at the door of the tlieatre, where a large assembly of small boys was waiting to see the players go in and come out, as if they were another race of people ; and when the present group descended from the vehicle, and entered the play-house, a loud shout of ecstacy burst from the throats of the eyeasses, which fully justified Swift's description in his billet. Even the "Skinner" itself became an object of interest, and the little dunces followed its wheels, to watch the very seats whereon had been placed the mighty magnets of attract" )n. GERVASE SKINNER. 24:7 It could not assuredly at this period have been foreseen, that upon this particular day, events were to occur in the little world, (the in- habitants of which I have been endeavouring, with all the assiduity, and I hope fidelity of a Parry, or a Denham to describe) which were to create convulsions, revulsions, agitations, and revolutions, unknown to those who live in milder spheres ; but so it was — as not only the reader, but Mr. Gervase Skinner, the economist, himself, was destined to discover. Gervase, who was anxious for a few quiet hours to rally his spirits, and visit like another hero, the fields of victory and slaughter, count ©""er the bottles, cast up the bills, and hunt for his snuff-box ; ordered his dinner at five o'clock, and the Skinner at six, so that he might, having taken his wonted meal, be in good time at the theatre, to witness the exertions of his amiable friend, who, on this special occasion, was to sing, " The Village Spire in yonder Grove," and delight him with the melody of her voice, and the archness of her acting. His bottles were soon counted, his cellar-book speedily arranged, his bills were not long set- tling ; and the snuff-box, the great object of all ^24:8 GERVASE SKINNER. his calculations, mucli to his delight, was found behind some books on the table, next to that whereon it usually stood, and where neither it, nor the books which so artificially concealed it, ever iiappened to be, until this particular day. Skinner, the least suspicious creature upon earth, stifled his feelings, and calmly communicated the restoration of his " pouncet box," to his housekeeper, who, upon the hearing, suggested his locking it up until the comedians had de- parted. Although ashamed of the doubts which the cautious and worldly matron had created in his breast, he did not disdain to follow her coun- sel, and accordingly deposited his much-valued trinket in his own bed-room, under the cover of a bureau chest of drawers, inviolable even by the dearest of his friends. His heart lightened of a burden by the resto- ration of the heir-loom, he anxiously looked forward to dinner, not that he had much ap- petite, but because the dinner hour would be near the play-house hour; and as that hour ap])roached, he began sorely to repent that he had not proposed to the Fugglestons to return Avith him after tlic play, to sleep at Cagsden, and fell to considering and regretting the various GERVASE SKIXXER. 249 opportunities of ingratiating himself into the lady's good graces, which under the veil of night would have offered themselves during their pro- gress homeward from the theatre. At length the sun seemed to grow tired of lighting the earth, and showed an evident disposition to hide himself behind the wes- tern hills ; servants began to make prepara- tions in the dining-room, and Skinner in his library was reading " The Lives of Eminent Actors," when the bell,— not the dinner-bell, but the bell at the gate, rang a loud and awful peal. Skinner stepped to the window and beheld the Fly belonging to Taunton, labouring out of its element across the lawn, having on its box, with the driver, a female servant, whom in an in- stant he recognised as the one who had opened the door at Fuggleston's lodgings, the day he called there. As the vehicle approached, he discovered within it, the persons of Mr. and Mrs. Fuggle- ston; theseats of the carriage being highly encum- bered with bags and band-boxes, the top being moreover crowned with a large leathern trunk. Astonished at the mysterious appearance of the invading party. Skinner proceeded to the hall to welcome his visitors, and inquire the m3 ^50 GERVASE SKIXNER. cause of the happy intrusion ; his own idea being ihat the pastrycook's, wliere they lodged, or the playhouse where they acted, was suddenly burned down ; but his surprise was increased to wonder, when Mrs. Fuggleston, being handed from the Fly by her husband, appeared suffused in tears; her head hung droopingly upon her spouse's shoulder, and Fug. himself was in a state of irritation not to be described. He seized Skinner's hand, and motioned him not to speak, but to take care of Amelrosa ; he obeyed his directions, and supported her to the drawing-room. Having deposited her on a sofa, Fuggleston said — " Mr. Skinner, are we asking too much, in beg- i»,lng a night's shelter under your hospitable roof.'' That poor soul ; all nerve, Sir, all mind, all sensi- bility — I never have suffered any thing like this — I cant explain it to you now. — May I tell the servants to take out the things .''" " My dear Sir," said Skinner, looking at the weeping wife on the couch, "may you? pray consider tkis your home." " Don't stir," said Fuggleston, " don't you come out, just look to hcr^ poor soul ; see, she cries — GERVASE SKINXER. 251 — ' I cannot weep, for all my body's moisture scarce serves to quench my furnace-heart.' Thanks. Sir, many thanks — I'll manage all the rest." And so saying, Fuggleston left the room, t > superintend the disembarkation. "Mrs. Fuggleston, Ma'am," said Skinner, approaching timidly, " my dear Mrs. Fuggle- ston, what has happened T"" " Oh ! Sir," said she, (blowing her nose, in the most pathetic manner in which it is possible to perform such an operation,) " I cannot tell you all — I have got such a dreadful head-ache— all mind — all mind. Sir." " But, Ma'am, what has actually happened .''" said Skinner. " Dear Sir," sighed she, " I have been treated shamefully." " Bless my soul, Ma'am," said Skinner^ « how " " Oh, that man ! that man ! what must his feelings be at this moment ; that is, if he have any," sobbed the lady. " What man .?" said Skinner. " Mr. Kekewicli, Sir," replied the lady. •' What has he done, Ma'am .? " 252 GERVASE SKIXXER. " Oh, ]Mr. Skinner, your gentle spirit never could conceive such conduct,'' said the actress ; "' my heart is broken." " Good Heaven !" said Skinner, feeling his hand pressed firmly. " You haven't dined, liave you, IVIr. Skin- ner?" said Mrs. Fuggleston, pathetically, in a weeping whisper, and raising her tear-fraught, dark eyes full upon his face. ' Oh, never mind mrj dinner, Mrs. Fuggle- ston,'' said the good natured squire ; " I don't care about dinner, 1 am only anxious about ^02^." " Pray don't distress yourself. Sir," sighed she ; " only, I thought I smelt hashed hare ; — I never felt a wound till now."" Here Mr. Fuggleston' s cough was heard outside the door, as a flourish of trumpets pre- cedes the entrance of a playhouse king ; it was clear that he did not wish to surprise the squire in any over-ardent expression of his feelings ; but he needed not to trouble himself, for Skinner was so completely bewildered by the representation of tragedy in real life, that he had neither eyes, nor cars, nor thoughts, nor appetite, beyond the immediate griefs by which he was surrounded. " Mr. Skinner, Sir," said Fuggleston, "your GERVASE SKINNER. 253 dinner is ready — on the table — don't let us hinder you." " You have dined ?" said Skinner. *' No,"* said Fuggleston, " we have not ; we have had no heart to dine — and she " " But you play to-n.ight ?" said Skinner, inquiringly. " Play, Sir," said Fuggleston, " in Mr. Keke- wich's theatre.'' — play — no, sooner would I die, and see that dear soul die before me, than she or I would ever set our feet upon the infernal stage of this " " My dear Mr. F. don't put yourself in a passion," said the lady, " it is of no use enter- taining Mr. Skinner with our grievances." " It is of great use," said Fuggleston, " Mr. Skinner must know the whole story, or how shall we excuse ourselves for breaking in upon him ; he must of course hear that — * The which hath something emboldened me to this un- seasoned intrusion.' " " Then, pray let Mr. Skinner dine," said the lady, somewhat recovered. *' Indeed," said the squire, " I " " I really think, Amelrosa," said Fuggleston, looking at his lady in an encouraging manner. 254 GEEVASE SKINNER. '* if you could eat a little, it would do you a great deal of sood." " Oh, Mr. F., how you talk," said the lady. " Will you come to the dining-room and try," said the squire, who was as hungry as a hunter, " or shall we send you something here." •' No," sighed Amelrosa, " I will try to go with you — society may do me good— these things shake me horribly — but we wall talk over all that by and bye — I feel as if my poor head were bursting." " Take Mr. Skinner's arm, Amy," said Fug- gleston, " don't let us keep him — come, Sir — come." And so, they went to dinner. GEItVASE SKINNER. ^55 CHAPTER V. Those evening bells, those evening bells, How many a tale their music tells. « « « * • And so 'twill be when I am gone, That tuneful peal will still ring on. Thomas Moork. Thk mystery which hung over the destinies of the Fugglestons was not unravelled, until, to gratify the lady, the wine and fruit having been removed to the drawing-room, the said lady having eaten as hearty a dinner as an alderman of fifty years' standing would have demolished ; and having, moreover, begged that the dessert might be put down in another apartment, so that she miight at once escape the horrid smell of meat, and avail herself of the advantages of a sofa, by lying on which, she might afford herself more ease and comfort, while she killed 256 GERVASE SKIXXER. Skinner stone-dead with a prospect of her foot and ancle, which, as I have already stated, were extremol}^ delicate and pretty. But " Fools rush in, where angels fear to tread ■" and the whole story had been known hours before, in the servant's hall, through the medium of Sophy, Mrs. Fuggleston's ugly maid, who, having been, for the first time in her life, initiated into a bettcrmost sort of den for domestics, oocame, by the aid of sociability and cider, so amiably communicative, that the scrubbers and brushers, headed by Mrs. May, knew, not only the whole of the history of her master's and mistress's present defection from the theatre, but of five hundred other little matters, which, in her soberer moments, Sophy would rather have ]>erished than revealed. The denotement in the drawing-room, how- ever, at length arrived, and Fuggleston, who, in his passion, forgot even to quote, begged the patient attention of his host for a quarter of an hour, and requested that Amclrosa would either go up stairs and lie down, or, at least, not interrupt his narrative ; upon the hearing of GERVASE SKIXNER. 257 which, he was quite sure Mr. Skinner and every man of honour and principle in the world would give a judgment in his favour. Mrs. Fuggleston, after having shed abundance of tears, promised to keep » silence, and her sensitive spouse hastened to begin the detail of the affair in the following terms : " Well, Sir," said Fuggleston ; " I will be as brief as I can — you must, however, excuse what may appear prolixity, for I never — never in my life " " Don't irritate yourself, Mr. F.,'" said the lady. " Pray don't," said the squire; " take some wine, Mr. Fuggleston." " Well, Sir," again began Fuggleston, " as I was about to say, after we left this morning we went to rehearsal — Mrs. F., the most nervous creatureinthe world — luckily, upon this occasion, she was so — was most anxious to try over her popular song, ' The Village Spire in yonder Grove,' wath the band — well, Sfr, the band was there, but one most important person was miss- ing; Mr. Seagrove, our first violin, and the only performer in the orchestra who can play upon the carillons." 258 GERVASE SKIXXER. " Carillons are little bells," said Mrs. Fug- gleston to the squire, with a look of intense interest, and the profoiindest sorrow. " Well, Sir," continued Fuggleston, " I said to Mr. KekewichT— ' Kecky, \vhere"'s Seagrove? because my wife is very fidgetty about ' The Village Spire in yonder Grove,' and wants to see how it goes with the bells"' — I never shall forget, if I live a thousand years, his lock — God bless me, that I ever could have been deceived for one moment by that man — man, do I call hira, I y "Now, my dear Mr. F.," said Mrs. F. — " do keep your temper." " I will, my dear," said the agitated hus- band — " Mr. Kekevvich,you see, Sir, with that shuffling art which I have always suspected, pulled out ' a dial from his poke"" — his infernal hunting watch, as he called it, not that he ever went hunting in his life — and seemed, for he did not speak — to imply that he expected Seagrove presently. Well, Sir, so it went on — no Seagrove — did not come — I had not any suspicion of the fact — band played the song — no bells, and Amelrosa and I went home." " Help yourself, Mr. Fuggleston," said the GERVASE SKIXNEE. 2o9 squire — who was himself in a dreadful state of suspense as to what had actually occurred to the beautiful Amelrosa. " Well, Sir," continued Fuggleston, whose grievances had made him doubly eloquent — " about half past twelve I took a walk towards Hull Bishops, just to think over the little part of the Footman which I had to play in the farce, and on my return who should I meet but Seagrove — the very identical Seagrove, with his violin, in a green bag, under his arm : " ' Seagrove,' said I, ' how d'ye do ?' " ' Very well, I thank you,' said he. " ' You wer'n't at rehearsal ?' said I. " ' No,' says he, ' I am excused.' " ' Excused,' said I, ' by whom i^' " ' Mr. Kekewich,' says he.' " ' What,' said I, ' when you had to try over ' The Village Spire in yonder Grove,' with Mrs. ¥.?' " ' Yes,' answered he ; ' this is an annual affair — Lady Crump, at Dummertnn, always has a ball while we are here, in order that I may lead at the dance ; by some mistake she has fixed her party for a play-night, and Mr. Keke- wich, afraid of losing her patronage, has desired me to go as usual.' 26*0 GEllVASE SKIXXER. " * And M'ho,' said I, in an agony of despair — ' who then is to do the bell accompaniment to the •• Village Spire in yonder Grove,' in the farce ?' " ' Gad,' says Seagrovc, ' I don't know. I am off for the night, and don't return till to- morrow — where I dine I sleep, and where 1 sleep I breakfast.' " ' Are you serious, Mr. S.,' said I. " ' Perfectly,' he said. " ' Then,' said I, ' I consider Mrs. Fug- gleston one of the worst used women in Eng- land — I put it to you^ Seagrove, as a man of intelligence, a man of the world, a gentleman, and leader of the band, whether any effect can be produced in the ' Village Spire in yonder Grove,"* without the bell accompaniment T " ' I am free to admit there cannot,' said Sea- grove ; whose feelings I saw were hurt by the neglect of my wife's best interests — ' but what's to be done V said he. " ' Return with me,' I said. " ' And disappoint Lady Crump of Dummer- ton .-*' said he ; ' I dare not do it — an engage- ment to me is a serious affair ; if I disappoint her ladyship, I risk my situation in the com- pany.' GERVASE SKIXNER. 261 " ' Situation !' said I, ' naturally stung to the quick by the infernal hypocrisy of Kekewich ; " I would lose twenty situations were I you, rather than lend myself to so base an enter- prise.' " 'At the word base,' continued Fuggleston ; ' Seagrove, who is a punster, touched his fid- dle, and I saw the quibble trembling on his lips — but he knew his man, Sir, and restrained his ribaldry.' " ' Once more,"' said I, ' Seagrove, I thro\> myself upon your friendship; comeback with me.' '^ ' I dare, not,' said Seagrove; ' the whole dance \Aill be at a stand-still if I disappoint her ladyship — there's Master Potts can play the belis.' " ' Master Devil, Sir !'' exclaimed I ; ' how- ever, I am not angry with you, Sir ; I must settle this with IVIr. Kekewich himself. At a moment, when the eyes of all England are upon Mrs. F., at a time when her debid in London is at hand, for her to ])e robbed of the only effec- tive bit in the whole farce, is infamous — there's no other word for it — it is infamous. There is not a telling line in the whole part of Polly Fir- 262 GERVASE SKINNER. kins, from beginning to end, but the song, and that, as you know, Seagrove,'' — because you see Mr. Skinner, I put it to his feelings in every way — ' tliat song has been encored three times whenever she has sung it.' All, however, was vain; my solicitations had no effect, and we parted. I returned to town, and instantly wrote to Mr. Kekewich — my dear, you have got the letters in your bag, have not you ?" "Yes," said the weeping lady; who imme- diately produced a copy, made by herself, of the whole of the correspondence Avhich had passed on the occasion between her husband and Keke- wich. Skinner, who, as I have before said, was ex- tremely theatrical to a certain extent ; but who had never, till now, witnessed any of the private grievances of public performers — I presume, did not, by his manner, betray quite so much sympatliy in the distress of his friends as they conceived them to deserve ; for Fuggleston, looking suspiciously at his host, said — " T don't think. Sir, you quite enter into our feelings upon the point you don't see the vital importance of the bells?'' " Why,'' said Skinner, hoping to excuse his GERVASE SKINXER. ^6'3 want of zeal oy the profession of a want of knowledge ; " I never heard the song — if I had " '' Song," said Fuggleston ; " my dear, are you well enough just to try it over?" " I fear not," said Amelrosa ; " my head is flying off; these dreadful occurrences quite oh dear !" " They must," interrupted Skinner ; " but perhaps, after a little more wine " " No," said the lady ; " I will endeavour to give you an idea of what the accompaniment does for the sono^,'" And accordingly rising, with all the grace of the theatre, attended by Skinner, who opened the pianoforte, which had not been tuned since the demise of his late respectable father, she proceeded to seat herself at the instrument. " I don't think 1 can," said the amiable fair one, who had as much notion of playing the piano-forte as she had of flying. " Do, I'h's. Fuggleston," said Skinner. " Oh, Mr. Skinner will excuse any little faults," said her husband; and thus encouraged, tlie lady sang in better voice than she ever did f^Gl' GEKVASE SKIKNEK. before in her life, the followiil^ httle pleasing ballad: — The village spire in yonder grove. Its tale of rapture tells : There Henry plights his faithful love. Oh ! hear the village bells, Sweet bells, Soft bells, Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong. Fal lal, lal, lira la. Sweet bells. Ding-dong bells. Ding, ding, dong. My William sails upon the sea, The breeze his canvas swells. But when he shall return to nie, You'll hear the village bells. Sweet bells, Soft bells. Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, Fal lal, lal, lira ia. Sweet bells, Ding-dong, bells. Ding, ding, dong. " I really cannot sing a note," cried the lady. " Now, Sir," cried Fuggleston ; " now, you GERVASE SKINNER. 265 have heard the song, now, I put it to you. Sir, as a man of feeling, and a man of honour, and a gentleman, whether there is a single telling point about it without the bell accompani- ment. By Jove — well — never mind — now, Sir, you shall hear what I did — where are the let- ters, my love ?" Mrs. Fug-o-leston handed her husband the packet. Mr. Fuggleston opened the first letter. "Now, Sir," said he; "this is the letter I wrote to Mr. Kekewich on my return from my walk." He proceeded to read — " ' Dearest love, although your obdurate heart' Eh I what's this — this is not it — eh !" " Oh !" cried Mrs. Fuggleston, snatching it, (for she had, in the confusion of the moment, given her husband a letter of her own, intended for the ensign, at Exeter) — " that's not it, my life, that's a copy from Mrs. Poodle's Album." " T don't know what it is," said Fuggleston, " nor don't care — only, it is not what I want — where are the right letters — what's the use of giving me this cursed thing ?" ** Here, dear," said the lady, handing her husband another parcel ; saying with the most VOL. II. N Siio GERVASE SKIXXEK. perfect coUectedness, in an audible whisper to Skinner, as she doubled up her own amatory effusion, " said to have been written by Lord Byron to Lady " — Well, never mind Lord Byron,' said Fuggleston ; " nor Lord anybody else — let Mr. Skinner hear this, and then decide whether 1 have acted injudiciously — this is my first letter, Sir. "No. 1. " Friday, half past one. " ' Dear Kecky,' " I was anxious, you see, Sir, to seem friendly, and keep friends if I could," said Fuffffleslon. " ' Dear Kecky, " ' On my return from Hull-Bishops just now, I met Seagrove, who tells me he is engaged with your permission, to play at a dance at Lady Crump's, at Dummerton — I can- not credit this, because there will be nobody to accompany the ' Village Spire in yonder Grove :' if he goes let me know, in order that a messen- ger may be dispatched for him. What time do you dine ? " ' Your's, always sincerely, my dear Kecky, " ' J. FUGGLESTON.' GERVASE SKIXNER. 267 " To this," caid Fuggleston, " I received answer " No. 2. " " Dear Fug., " ' I ought, perhaps, to have told you that Lady Crump always has a ball during our stay here, and Seagrove always goes to it — this has been done for seven years. She is a great patroness of mine, and I cannot disoblige her — Master Potts has been practising the accompa- niment, and I think will be able to do it, if not, the flute can do it equally well. I dine at half past three. " ' Your's, most truly, " ' J. Kekewich.' " The coolness and easiness of this. Sir, were tod much for me — and I sat down and wrote " No. 3. " ' Sir " ' That every man should consider his own interests is most natural — you will not be sur- prised therefore that I should consult mine — the absence of Mr, Seagrove will be vitally injuri- ous to those of Mrs. Fuggleston, who will not sing ' The Village Spire in yonder Grove,' unless he is sent for to accompany her. I re- N 2 268 GERVASE SKINNER. ject the proposition of Master Potts, and I can- not permit Mrs. F. to accept the flute. When I recollect what she has drawn since her first appearance, I am surprised at the terms in which you write. " ' I am very sorry that a sudden indisposi- tion prevents my dining with you. " ' I am, Sir, your obedient Servant, " ' J. FUGGLESTON.' " To which I received, in answer, '' No. 4. " Theatre, half past two. " « Sir, '' ' Your letter has surprised me, nor do I conceive after the liberality you have experi- enced at my hands, that you are justified in writing it. / have decided — and if Mrs. Fug- gleston dislikes sinmno- the sonfj without the bells, she may omit it altogether. " < Your's, " * J. Kekewich.'' " I did not lose an instant in replying to this, and wrote " No. 5. "*SlR, "* In consequence of your conduct, and the GEEVASE SKINXEE. 269 letter I have just received, I beg to state, that Mrs. Fuggleston and myself have withdrawn ourselves from the company, and shall leave Taunton in half an hour. " ' I am, Sir, " * J. Fuggleston.' " I received the next, which closes the cor- respondence — "No. 6. " 'Sir, " ' Your last letter I anticipated — the idea of a London engagement has completely turned your heads. I have no power to prevent your withdrawing yourselves from my company, nor any inclination if I had ; but rely upon it, the world shall know the whole of the circumstances, and I may be a thorn in your side for the rest of your life. " ' Your's, " ' J. Kekewich.' " P.S. If you will send your servant girl for the pattens and the leather trunk, and the pot of ' " " There, my dear," said Mrs. Fuggleston, interrupting him, " you need not read that ; 270 GERVASE SKIXXER. " that only refers to private business. But now, Mr. Skinner, did you ever hear of such heart- less conduct ? The money I have drawn to that man's house — the trouble I have been at — the pains I have taken " " Well, my love, don't agitate yourself," said Fuggleston ; " there is no such thing as grati- tude in the world — so, Sir, you see, there's an end of our engagement. * The Earl of Worcester hath broke his staff, resigned his stewardship, and all the household servants fled with him to Bolinc;broke.' " O' " Lord Worcester !" said Skinner, amazed — " what, has — " " Oh ! that's one of Mr. F.'s quotations," said Mrs. Fuggleston, smiling. " And ?/02^, Sir," said Skinner; "are our Bolingbroke ? IMy plan, however, is to go up to town immediately, and I don't know, in the long run, whether it may'nt turn out for the best ; we shall have a little more time to look about us and get settled." '* Yaii propose visiting town, don't you, Mr. Skinner.?" sai'd Mrs. Fuggleston, tenderly — moving one of her feet, as if " Shortly," said the squire; *' but I shall not S GERVASE SKINNER. 271 be able to leave this, until the end of next week." " If you were going at the same time,"" said the lady, with a sigh. " Ah, we can't expect that, my love," said her husband. " I think we had better contrive to relieve you of our company, Sir, as soon as we can ; but really 1 did not, at the moment, know where to go to be secure from the intrusion of Kekewich, who is certainly the most impu- dent, provoking vagabond I ever met with." " I thought you were such great friends," said Skinner. '^ Lord bless you, my dear Sir," said Mr. Fuggleston, " friends with Mr. Kekewich ! who could be friends with a man of such disgusting- habits ? — why he smokes, Sir — didn't you notice too, the quantity he drinks .? — friends, indeed !" At this moment, like a flash of inspiration, one of Skinner's economical projects darted out of his mind. " I think," said he, " you should not venture travelling in a stage coach, Mrs. Fuggleston, in your delicate state of health." " Why, Sir," said Fuggleston, " we have so much luggage, and the servant, and so many 272 GERVASE SKINNEIt little odds and ends, that I really think we must indulge ourselves with a post-chaise to London," To this point the prudent Skinner had cun- ningly been trying to draw his visitors. Of all jobs he wanted to compass, that of getting his carriage taken to London gratis, carefully, was the one now foremost in his thoughts — the op- portunity of doing a liberal thing to his visitors and an economical thing to himself had arrived ; the carriage was to go to the coachmaker's to be newly touched-up, previous to his marriage. Now could he get this matter managed ? " Should you decide upon that plan, Mr. Fuggleston,'' said Skinner, " I hope Mrs. Fuggleston will allow me to put my travelling carriage at her disposal — it is a most comfort- able and convenient thing ; and you can direct your post-boy in London, to take it to my coachmaker's when you have done with it, and he will take charge of it." This shot told — the Fugglestons exchanged looks. " You are very kind, Sir,'' said Mrs. Fuggle- ston, "but how will you get to town yourself.''" " Oh, never mind me," said Skinner, " I can get up any how." GEEVASE SKINNER. 273 " Really, Sir," said Fuggleston, whose heart swelled at the idea of performing gentleman in real life for a whole journey, " you are too good." " I tell you what," said the squire, " you can do, which will save you all trouble about the carriage when you get to town : my man, who must go to London with me, or before me, can go on the dickey with your maid, if you have no objection." " None in the least," said Mrs. Fuggleston, " Sophy is one of the most correct creatures in the world, and very plain." *' I did not mean on the score of morality," said Skinner, laughing ; " but if the man did not worry you, he might as well go by that opportunity." The ready agreement to the proposition on the part of the Thespians, quite delighted Skin- ner, who thus had slily contrived, under the mask of extraordinary courtesy, to get his car- riage transported to London for nothing, and by the same opportunity, to send his servant up gratis in the dickey. This was a little stretch of financial policy which gladdened his heart, and induced him to n3 274 GEKVASE SKINXER. beg the Fugglestons to make themselves quite at home where they were, until the Monday at the earliest ; a desire of the squire's which they pro- posed to fulfil to his heart's content, and the content of their own. The disappointment of Fuggleston and his wife, however, was great, when in the morning they perceived in the Taunton newspaper, which was published on that day, the foUowing account of the defection of Mrs. Fuggleston : — " The theatre last night was well attended. Mrs. Fuggleston, who acted Ophelia on Tues- day, having taken huff, took leave, and refused to act. The pretty Miss Scarborough assumed her character of Peggy Firkins, in the after- piece, which she looked beautifully. She was received with vast applause, and encored tmce in a song called ' The Village Spire in yonder Grove,' in which an accompaniment of bells was sweetly played by a very young performer of the name of Potts. Miss Scarborough repeats the character on Tuesday." " Well," said Mrs. Fuggleston, when she saw her husband in the library, " was there much riot ? — did they pull down the house ?" " Not so much as a pig's whisper," said her GERVASE SKINNER. 275 husband. *' There — read— there's the infernal paper — some of Mr. Kekewich's influence — feeds the editor, no doubt— crams him as they do tur- kies in Norfolk — I don't beheve a word of it — there must have been a riot. Miss Scarborough, indeed !" " Yet," said Mrs, Fuggleston, with all the calmness imaginable, " I am very glad she has succeeded so well : all I can say is, that if she sane: in tune last night, it was the first time such a thing ever occurred to her : 1 am extremely glad of it, poor girl ; but as for her beauty — how very injudicious over-zealous friends are — never mind, don't speak of it to Mr. Skinner."" " I shall say nothing about it of course — the thing is below my notice," said Fuggleston. And thus, by a sort of general tacit consent, the whole affair was buried in oblivion ; but the calm was, as it usually is, the prelude of a storm, most direful in its threatenings, and tremen- dous in its consequences. The party were at breakfast. Mrs. Fuggle- ston doing the honoiu's, when a note was de- livered to my hero ; it came from no less a per- sonage than Kekewich, and after remarking upon his disappointment at not seeing the squire at the theatre the preceding evening, begged to 276 GERVASE SKIXNER. know whether he would be kind enouo;h to send the Skinner down for him and his party, who had by no means forgotten the invitation to visit Bagsden on the Saturday, and to stay there until the Tuesday. In the postscript he mentioned that the Fugglestons had quitted him, and wished to know whether IMr. Skinner would like to see Miss Scarborough, who, under the wing of Mrs. Mac Brisket, would be delighted to join the party. To this was added some re- marks upon her personal advantages over the lady then making breakfast, which rendered it quite impossible to shew the note, the conster- nation created by the arrival of which, was in- stantly visible in the face of the squire, who had quite forgotten that although the Fugglestons had relinquished their engagement with Keke- wich, Kekewich had by no means given up his engagement at Bagsden. It was vain to attempt to conceal the truth, and the scene which ensued was animated enough. Mrs. Fuggleston vowed she would not meet Mr. Kekewich. Skinner declared that although he had unfortunately differed with the Fugglestons, he had known the manager for seven or eight yeai'S, had regularly received his visits, and found he conducted hiaiself in a GERVASE SKINNER. 977 most proper and gentlemanly manner, and that he could not now put him oft" from a visit which he had himself invited him to make. Skinner, leaning a little to this side of the question, be- cause he felt that his influence over, and free admission into the Taunton theatre, depended entirely upon the head of the concern, and that if he did not make a stand at the moment, he should, by a show of favouritism, exclude him- self for ever after, from the gratuitous enjoy- ment of his Thespian pursuits. The Fugglestons saw the doubt and diffi- culty, and being in truth most anxious to get away from the twaddle of the squire, who, to them, bating his house and hospitality, was one of the greatest imaginable bores; seized the golden opportunity of arranging every thing to the satisfaction of Skinner, and for their own especial convenience, by suggesting their imme- diate departure for London. It was quite clear that a meeting between the parties would in all probability lead to blows, or some outrage not decent to be committed at Bagsden ; and Skin- ner, though perfectly at Mrs. Fuggleston's beck, seemed more readily to give into the plan than she quite expected, or., to say the truth. 278 GERVASE SKIXNER. than her vanity quite relislied ; however, her love was of the worldly sort, she was of Moore''s opinion, that — " Lips though blooming must still be fed;" and her passions were so well regulated, that a comfortable travel) ina" carriage to London, put in the opposite scale to the " Heavy Ply- mouth,'" notwithstanding the actual difference of weight, would undoubtedly have sent the scale of her affections to the convenient level ; and the side speech and melo-dramatic acting of her husband, explanatory of his delight at es- caping any further discussion, and above all, the unexpected success of pretty Miss Scar- borough, at once settled the business. Skinner was all activity to further their expedition, and put an end to needless squabbles, which might endanger his popularity, and put his privileges in jeopardy ; and accordingly wrote a note to Kekewich, informing him that the " Skinner" should be down in town at two o'clock, and at the same moment ordered post horses to be up at Bagsden at one, thus hoping to keep the contending parties separate. It would be tiresome to detail to the reader GERVASE SKIXNEE. 279 all the illustration of character which was ex- hibited by my hero and his guests during the morning, until the approach of the hour when the carriage actually appeared at the door, the chosen servant ready to attend them, the vehicle loaded with luggage, and the pockets crammed with home-made pickles and preserves, all of which were expended upon the fair one, in hopes of keeping up an interest in her heart, and of atoning to her, for the decision of receiving Kekewich to her exclusion. Just at this crisis a sort of muttered dialogue commenced between Mr. and Mrs, Fuggleston ; there appeared something more to be done, and the question appeared to be, who was to do it. After a good deal of this whispered contention, which was extremely well got up, the lady exclaimed, " Well, then, / will,'" and forth \\'ith proceeded to the other end of the library to Skinner — Fucrgleston left the room. " Mr. Skinner," said the lady, " I am obliged to be orator upon this occasion, for Mr. F. is unable to perform the task — he is so sensible of the favours you have already bestowed, that he is literally incapacitated from asking another ; but as I tell him, if his pride last night led him 280 GERVASE SKINNER. into an error, he must humble himself to cor- rect it." " Pray let me know Avhat it is,'' said squire Skinner, " you may command me," at the same time taking the lady's hand ; and at the same moment (recollecting that the Kbrary windows opened upon the lawn, and that Mr. F., his servant, or the post-boy, or somebody else, might witness this little innocent familiarity) letting it go again. " Why," said the lady, " I hate all artifice, all pretence, all ' plating,' as a poor aunt of mine used to say. Truth, Mr. Skinner, is best after all ; and I truly believe that I very often incur censure from the openness of my disposition, and the candour of my conduct ; for when I am truly attached, I cannot conceal my feelings ; as you ought already to know." Skinner's ears tingled with delight. " The fact is," continued the lady, " Mr. F. is the kindest hearted creature in the world — not suited to me exactly, but, however, excellent in all material points, and proud to a degree, and when you last night offered your carriage for my sake — I know it was, you dear kind crea- ture—" GERVASE SKINNER. 281 Skinner was quite overwhelmed — " — He had not the courage to refuse it, which he ought to have done ; for the truth, as I have just said, is always best, and he has not the means of paying for post-horses to London." " Dear me," said Skinner, in the most com- plete state of amazement, doubt, fear, and agi- tation, " I had no idea — that is — to be sure— I see what you mean — I — of course — " " You are a dear good soul," continued the lady, " but you see the difficulty he is placed in ; he did not like to say a word about it, because if we had stopped till Tuesday, his agent at Exeter, or indeed, I have a young friend there, who " " Mrs. Fuggleston," said Skinner, " you have also a friend here, and I beg you will not say another word about it — where is your hus- band ?" " Never mind him,"' replied the lady, " let me be your debtor ; I think you may depend upon MY punctuality in repaying the amount ; and, indeed, I rather like the difficulty, as I hope you will come and look after your debt as soon as ever you arrive." " You are extremely kind," answered the squire ; *' but what am I to do, I have no money ^82 GERVASE SKINNER. here ? I can give you a checque on Woodforde's in Taunton — cashed anywhere — their house is as good as the bank of England." " That will do, of course," said Mrs. F., who appeared quite au fait in the affair, probably because her respectable father had passed the greater part of his life in taking checks at one of the provincial theatres. " Yes," said Skinner, " but then you liave no time to lose, and going up to the bank will be out of the road to London : however, you must manage the best way you can — what will do for you "^ — name the sum, my dear Ma'am.'' " Suppose we say fifty pounds," said the lady, placing her white hand upon Skinner's shoulder, who was seated, and in the very act of doing that, to which shedding as many drops of his blood would, by comparison, have ap- peared a trifle. " Fifty !" said Skinner. " It shall be repaid," said the lady. " My dear Mrs. Fuggleston," said the gal- lant squire, " not a word about that : I dare say we shall arrange that without much difficulty." " Oh," said she, affecting to frown, and whis- pering, " for God's sake, don't talk in that way." GERVASE SKTXNER. 283 This was more purely Greek to Skinner, than any one of Mr. Fuggleston's quotations ; he had not at that moment the slightest idea of what she meant by this private exclamation ; however, she had managed to overcome all his parsimony for the moment; the checque was written, dried, doubled up, and in Mrs. Fuggle- ston's black bag, in less than five minutes. " A thousand thanks, dear Mr. Skinner," said she, and Skinner was so overcome, either by her kindness or his own momentary liberality, that he squeezed her hand fervently, and quitted the room to see that the carriage was properly prepared. "Well," said Fuggleston, running in, "have you succeeded ? — May * The mayor towards Guildhall, hie him in all post ?' Have you got the money ?" " Yes," said the lady, " a cheque for fifty pounds." " Right," cried Fuggleston, " as Shaks- peare has it, ' Old fools are babes again, and must be used with checks, as flalteries, when they are seen, abused.' " You have done right — well, where is the ' profound' Solomon .'' turning a jig ?" 284 GERVASE SKIN'XER. " Hush, he is in the hall, superintending the packing." " * Here's packing with a witness ;' said Fuggleston, " as Petruchio says.'' At this moment, Solomon, as his kind guests had named him, re-appeared. *' Sir," said Fuggleston, "if our gratitude — " " Not a word, not a word,'' replied Skinner, who began to get extremely nervous, lest they should not be fairly away before the arrival of the opposite faction, " merely tell me where to find you in London." " AVhy, Sir," said the Thespian, " I am at present uncertain ; but at the Harp, in Bow- street, the O. P. and P. S., Kean's Head, in ]lussel-court, or any of those houses, you will be sure to hear of us.'' " Dear, Mr. F.," said the lady, " hadn't you better give Mr. Skinner a more decisive, and at all events, more respectable address — the Stage door of Drury Lane Theatre ?" " Ay, to be sure," said the husband, " exactly so. You'll soon be in town, Sir," said jNIr. Fug- gleston, again taking Mr. Skinner by the hand. " Without doubt in a Aveek," said Skinner. " I think you'll find every thing ready now. GEHVASE SKINXER. ^5 and as my servant is with you, he can run to the bank for the cash, and when you get to London he will take charge of the carriage." And then began a leave-taking, which it would be idle to attempt to describe. John Moody's account of my Lady Wronghead's coach, would haveanswered for the stowage of the inside of poor Skinner's carriage; and what with wigs, fancy-dresses, hare' s-feet, paint-pots, Roman sandals, white-tights, Spanish hats, foils, court suits, feathers, pewter buckles, and blue band- boxes, on the one hand ; pickles and preserves in jars and gallypots, on the other, it formed a coup d'tvil, that nothing was wanting entirely to com- plete, but the appearance of Sophy Penman, dressed in some of her delicate mistress's cast- off finery, and Joseph Stubbs, in a state of amazement, seated in the dickey, like a shepherd and shepherdess by the side of a pond, on the back of an old fashioned fan. At length the moment arrived, and the car- riage moved from the door, leaving Skinner to cast up his debtor and creditor account with the Fuo-frlestons. The fact that he ever could have been induced to draw a checque for fifty pounds, 286 GERVASE SKIXXER. seemed incredible even to himself, and came over his mind like one of those apparently im- possible things, which occur every day — the sudden death of a friend — the destruction of a fine building— the loss of a ship — a fire — a suicide. A man cannot for some time bring him- self to beheve in the reality of such great and appalling events : and it was not until he re- ferred to the marginal note (all that was left of it) in the page of his banker's book, that he was disagreeably convinced of the truth. How- ever self was gratified, or was to be gratified, by the sacrifice ; and, putting the advantages in perspective, alongside of those actually obtained by getting rid of his visitors, he prepared him- self to receive the opposite faction with his usual good humour and placidity, — never forgetting, on the credit side of his book, to put the free pas- sage o£ his carriage and servant to the metropolis. Scarcely had he washed his hands and ar- ranged his ideas, before the " Skinner"" appeared, loaded with the Kekewiches, Mr. Budds, Mrs. Mac Brisket, and a young lady, who turned out not to be Miss Scarborough, but who was what is called a " funny girl," and made ample GERVASE SKINXEB. '281 amends for the absence of the heroine, wlio preferred spending her hohdays at her uncle's, the hair-dresser's, where she could with more propriety receive the attentions of a young friend of her"'s, who was lamp-lighter to the corps. Skinner, of course, received the party with his usual urbanity, and the day went off much as all the days there did. Kekewich, of course, launched out into the most violent abuse of the Fugglestons ; declared that he had made their fortunes ; that as for Fuggleston, when he first fell in widi him, he was acting legs of elephants at three shillings per week, at Exeter ; that he had brought him forward ; and that, as for her, she was the most artificial, fantastical, hypocri- tical jade, that ever existed, and that really if it had not been for making mischief, he was a hun- dred times on the point of shewing her up to her fool of a husband, whom she cheated, tricked, and cajoled every hour of his life, in the midst of all her affectation of virtue, piety, and respectability. Skinner heard all this, and did not quite dis- believe it; but he could not help comparing it in his mind with the unqualified eulogium which the same man had bestowed upon the same woman 288 GERVASE SKIXXER. only three or four days before, when the incident of the bells had not occurred ; and when the dig- nity of the lady had not taken fire because Lady Crump and her dance were preferred before her and her song. I cannot pretend to go through three days of such a life as my poor hero passed in the society of his guests ; but true it is, that he was heartily tired of them before the Tuesday morning. This will not appear strange to those who have looked at the world with common attention. Until some person amongst them had started forward, who thought it worth her while to exert herself, to secure the exclusive attentions of the squire, he received the whole community, and rather delighted in the debasement ; but now that the leader of the troop, the very heroine of the company, had discovered an advantage in singling out my hero for her trickery, the whole tone of his mind was altered, the mere common- place jokes of his once entertaining companions proved dull and stupid, and the little gaieties of the flirting females, perfectly insipid. So that he, in the course of tlie second day, began to wonder how he could ever have relished their society; and although Mr. Budds volunteered an imitation of GERVASE SKINNER. 289 a knife-grinder and a steam-engine, he voted the whole affair irksome ; and got through it as a child slumbers and sucks oranges through a tragedy to arrive at a pantomime, or takes physic in the hope of securing a lump of sugar after it is down. On Tuesday, however, the purgatory ended, and on Thursday following, Gervase Skinner proceeded to London, " upon px-inciple," on the outside of the Exeter stage coach. VOL. TI. o 290 GERVASE SKIXNER. CHAPTER VI. " But how is it to be avoided ?" said Emma Gray. " How can it be justly concluded, dearest Emma,"" asked Frederick Benson: "you have already admitted tliat you cannot love this man, nay, you have gone further, you have confessed, you " " I know it, Frederick," said the lovely girl, " and I have no inclination to revoke my deci- sion, or equivocate on its terms ; but consider a moment — had my uncle the power of changing the destination of my poor father's fortune, I should not despair of softening his heart; for he is strongly prepossessed in your favour; and as for my aunt, I am more than half jealous of her, so warmly does she speak of you, in your ab- GERVASE SKINNER. 291 sence ; but they are mere agents, mere trustees, and my marriage with Mr. Skinner is the con- dition upon which they are permitted to put me in possession of my own property." " But you talk of this matter," said Benson, " as if 7/02* were a trustee instead of the principal. What do I care for the money ? I am young, able, and industrious. I am sure if we remove to London, Avhat with my friends, and the suc- cess of the works I have already sent to the metropolis, I should obtain an amply sufficient income; and if your uncle and aunt are favour- able to our views, what obstacle need inter- pose.'*'" " You are too sanguine, my dear Frederick," said Emma: " I did not say that my rela- tions were favourable, nor did I even suppose under the present circumstances, that dcy would be favourable ; I merely imagined a case, by putting which I meant you to feel — '^ " That if every thing were exactly dif- ferent from what it is," said Benson, " we might be the happiest people in the world. I cannot bear this feverish life of suspense, Emma. I am as you say, sanguine, ardent, and perhaps, o 2 GERVASE SKINNER. too sensitive ; but the state of anxiety in which my devoted attachment to you, and the dread, and almost certainty of losing you, continually keep me, is too dreadful for me to endure. You alone engross all my cares, all my thoughts; and as for attempting to paint, it is useless, unless, indeed, I could employ myself in con- stantly copying and re-copying your portrait." " But surely, Frederick," said Emma, " it would be wise to wait until the arrival of my intended husband ; although peculiar in his habits, and somewhat strange in his manner (as I am told, for I scarcely recollect him), his heart is universally allowed to be kind ; and a man to whom kindness belongs, would never, I am sure, compel the fulfilment of an engagement from which no happiness to himself could arise, and which would plunge two fondly attached beinffs into wretchedness for life." *' If you think an appeal to him would be effective," said Benson, " I should advise its being made before he sees you — kindness and generosity themselves are often forced to give way to admiration and love; and when once that passion has seized him, all his milder feelings GEEVASE SKINXER. 293 must yield : -write to him, explain the state of your heart, and tell him the truth." " What should I say, Frederick ?" asked Emma. " Tell him," said Benson, " that accident had thrown you into the society of a person, for whom, upon a more intimate acquaintance, you had conceived an affection ; that as you had lived on together, new qualities had developed themselves to encourage that affection, and that, after a lengthened friendship, you felt convinced that it was wisest and best to tell him the real state of your feelings." " That is, in fact," said Emma, " to state, that having gone to sit for my portrait a? a cadeau to him, to whom I have been these four years engaged in marriage, I was silly enough to fall in love with the painter, who contrived by his insinuating manners, to get constantly in- vited to the house of my uncle, whose special duty it was to keep away all suitors from his intended bride ; and that the said painter, having studi- ously endeavoured to set me against the pro- posed match, now desires me to tell him, that he being a much more charming creature than 294 GERVASE SKIXNER. himself, thinks it for my interest to marry him without a fartliing in the world, rather than wait for his rival and my own fifteen thousand pounds into the bargain ; and at the same time to add, that if he would be good enough to suggest any means by which the said painter and I, might obtain the said fifteen thousand pounds without incurring the disagreeable neces- sity of marrying the said rival, I should be glad to hear from him by return of post. Isn't it something of that sort, Frederick?" " I really am in no jesting humour, Emma,"" said Benson ; " I live in perpetual fear — fear of being suddenly excluded from your house and society — fear of this Mr. Skinner"'s ai'rival — fear " " You are too full of fears," said Emma : " why should you apprehend an exclusion from my uncle's ?" " I do fear it," said the lover, " that Mrs. Grigsby, and those two Miss Holloways, are constantly hinting, and smirking, and tittering to your aunt, whenever I speak to you ; and old Holloway is just the sort of good natured friend, who would be sure to explain all his GERVASE SKINNER. 295 apprehensions for your safety to j^our uncle, the moment he could be convinced that we were attached to each other." " I am afraid, Frederick," said Emma, " that Miss Charlotte Holioway has some stronger rea- son for her pique, than you choose to admit — havn't you been paying her some of those de- licate attentions, which- " *' Charlotte Holioway!" exclaimed Benson. " Of all the " " Stop, stop," said Emma, " say nothing in Charlotte Holioway's dispraise. I beg you will think better of me, than to suppose the cen- sure of my female acquaintance gratifying to me. I care nothing for what these young ladies say or think of me. 1 am conscious of my own rectitude, and I am equally conscious of the justness of my determination, as far as (mr attachment is concerned. I only say to you, with your enthusiastic disposition; be calm, con- fide in me, and be assured that nothing short of force, which, in these unromantic days, is not hkely to be applied, shall, after having once confessed my feelings to ynu, induce me to marry any man but yourself. That I may never marry, is perhaps probable, because I know 296 GERVASl'. SKINNER. how powerful the opposition to our marriage will be; but, let me entreat of you, take no rash steps — never l)c out of humour if I appear cold, or formal, or distant to you — never shew your agitation if I seem to listen with pleasure to the nonsense of those whom you fancy your rivals; be for the present my friend, and no more ; but, at all events, let nothing tempt you into a declara- tion of your affection to either my uncle or aunt ; — that step alone could justify measures to sepa- rate us altogether ; and do, pray let me entreat you when in society, to be as cheerful as ever; occasionally move your eyes from me to other objects; don't always select the airs I am fondest of, to sing or accompany ; and, above all, don't sigh deeply, as you value my displeasure. A lover, Fi'edcrick, who has a confidence in her he loves, need only lead a happy life; and if I see any of those sad symptoms which 1 have enume- rated, in your future conduct, I shall set them down to the account of mistrust rather than affection."" " Can we command our feelings T'' said Benson. " No — nor, I liope, would you try to play the hypocrite if you could," said Emma; " but I GERVASE SKINNER. 297 deny, after what I have said to you, that you have any pretext for feeling any thing but con- fidence in my regard, and pleasure in my society; and so, be upon your good behaviour, and let me be upon mine." This little conversation took place just previ- ous to one of those sociable parties for which the city where the lovers lived is truly cele- brated. What effect the young lady's lecture had upon her restless swain, the reader has yet to learn ; I merely let him overhear the dialogue in order to afford a datum whereon to found his calculation as to their attachment, or rather a proof of the length to which their proceedings Iiad 'been carried within the first six weeks of their acquaintance. We must, however return to the metropolis, to that busy mart, where somebody has said — I am sure unjustly — that every thing is bought and sold. In that vast labyrinth of streets and squares, the amiable Amelrosa and her loving husband were domiciled on the fouth day after their departure from Bagsden. Where the treasure is, there will be the heave ; and as I attempted to describe iu my last cnap- ter, the heart of Skinner was no more in his o 3 298 GERVASE SKINNER. native home— all the censure of Mrs. Fug- gleston''s affectation dealt out by Kekewich he set down to personal enmity; all Mrs. Mac Brisket's details of her quackeries and tricks he attributed to envy and jealousy ; all the hints and inuendoes of young Kekewich, about her love affairs and flirtations, he ascribed to disap- pointed passion, and the malice of a confounded assailant. In short, the more they railed, the more he was disturbed, and never felt happier than when he was fairly rid of his visitors. On the top of the Exeter coach — which, as I said before, " upon principle," he patronised — my hero proceeded on his journey to London, and reached the White Horse Cellar, in Picca- dilly, in perfect safety, on the sixth or seventh day of October, but which I cannot at the pre- sent moment distinctly recollect. The nose of Mr. Gervase Skinner being by nature snub, was, at the period of his entrance into the outer coffee-room blue ; and his eyes, which were naturally blue, were fiery red ; — his fingers looked like frost-bitten radishes, and his feet felt like lumps of ice ; — his whiskers (sandy themselves), and that portion of his hair which ])ad transgressed the sheltering confines of his GERVASE SKINNER. 299 hat, having evidently (however unconsciously), violated during the journey that imposing com- mand, which, by order of the commissioners of roads, stares one in the face, in large black letters, on large white boards, " not to carry off any of the dust or sweepings from the high-ways, with- out leave of the surveyors." " Can I have a bed. Ma'am .^" said Skinner, to a lady, who was performing the part of Mrs. Hatchett in the bar. " I'll see. Sir," was the answer ; and the instant jingling of bells, likeRoderic Dhu's horn, roused in an instant half-a-score chamber-maids, all of whom having eyed the unprepossessing tra- veller from the outside of the '' Exeter heavy," declared themselves full; until one,ameek maiden, single-minded, perhaps, and single-eyed certainly, and pitted much with the small- pox (as indeed, it was natural she should be), suggested that No. 147 was disengaged — it had no fire-place, " but it was a very comfortable little room for them as didn't mind that" *' That will do, my dear," said the insidious Skinner. " I never have a fire in my bed-room ' upon principle;^ and, therefore, there being no ^00 GERVASE SKINNER, fire-place in No. 147, is rather a recommenda- ion than otherwise." *' So it is, Sir," said the supcrintendant, who appeared as sensibly to appreciate the dig- nity of wearing a silk gown, and sitting within the bar, ^s any lawyer does who has not similar privileges — " the wind does draw uncommon strong, down them short chimlies in the hattics when there is not no fire." " Is all your luggage out, Sir," said a huge man in a scarlet waistcoat, corduroy breeches, and a hairy cap. " I believe so," said Skinner, " there is nothing but one portmanteau marked G. S. with brass nails, a sac-de-nuit, a hat-box, a dressing-case, and a writing-desk." " I don't see no sack denvvee," said the man, " unless this here green carpet-bag is he." " That is the sac-de-nuit," said Skinner, " put it here— here, waiter, just take these things up to No. 147." " I'll ring for John Porter, Sir," said the waiter, somewhat scornfully, " he'll be up in a minute," " Hope you'll remember the guard, Sir,"" GERVASE SKINKEH. SOI said a jolly looking fellow, enveloped in a coat like the skin of a white bear. " A guard !" exclaimed Skinner, " what ! a guard in the day-time I I never heard of such a thing — I gave the man who came through from Taunton to Hungerford, sixpence, but*I cannot give any more, ' upon principle.' " " Good afternoon, Sir," said the fellow, aneeringly — " here, John Porter, hand up the gentleman's things— you won't get too much for your pains," and away he went, muttering a few heavy imprecations upon my hero's principle. The tone was given by this worthy ; and the porter most unwillingly lifted up the luggage, and plodded his weary way towards the moon, in which direction the dormitory of Mr. Gervase Skinner was placed. At this juncture, Skinner marched, with an air of conscious importance into the coffee-room ; and having taken a general survey of the apart- ment tlirough his glass, selected the best box, in the snuggest corner, and nearest the fire, in whicPi a cloth was already spread. Having esta- blislied himself in this enviable position, hung his hat upon a peg, and blown his nose, he pro- ceeded to call for a boot-jack and slippers, and 302 GERVASE SKINNER. an evening paper; and having been speedily attended to, threw his feet carelessly on the bench, so that they might as much as possible be comforted by the cheerful blaze from the ample grate. Just as he had ensconced himself thus agree- ably, a most gentlemanly waiter made his ap- pearance, bearing in his hand, a bill of fare as long as a piece of stair-carpeting. Bowing as he advanced, he at length stopped at the end of the table. " Do you choose dinner, Sir ?" " Dinner," said Gervase, " no, I have dined." This — as far as having bolted two square feet of cold boiled beef, with bread, pickles, and pota- toes to match, in fifteen minutes, at Reading, at two o'clock — was true. " But," added he, feel- ing the ravenousness of a new appetite coming fast and strong, " I'll take something before I go to bed." The man sighed, bowed, rolled up his bill, snuffed the candles, and retired. " Waiter," said Gervase. " Coming, Sir," and again the same waiter stood before him. '• — A — toothpick, if you please." GERVASE SKIKXEll. 303 The man again disappeared, and in a few seconds the public toothpicks were brought, by a minor waiter, in a green glass, in which, (*' et 7iOC genus omne,") they v,ere carefully arranged, in order that the vivid hue of the vessel might conceal the colour and accompaniments of their points. " Give me the play-bills," said Skinner. Two folio bills, strained upon half-acres of boards, were dislodged from the pillars, against which they hung, and brought to Skinner for his edification. " Do you know, waiter,"" said the squire, " when Mrs. Fuggleston acts atDrury Lane .''" " No, Sir," said the waiter; *' I never heard of the lady." " Indeed," said Skinner, " that's very odd." " We know very little of the play-houses at this end of the town. Sir," said the lad, Avho began to perceive the sort of twaddler with whom he had to deal, and had already discovered the peculiarity of his disposition and character, which, to say truth, could never have found a better field for display than a London coffee- room. 304 GERVASE SKINXER. At this period several worthy persons who haxl arrived from various distant parts of the country, were actively engaged in eating and drinking. The landlord stood, describinas about his desk— the answer GERVASE SKINNER, 325 was, as he anticipated, unsatisfactory — his second inquiry was, what the legal fare was from the White Horse Cellar to the corner of Billiter- lane, in Leadenhall-street. The landlord, who felt greatly annoyed at Skinner's important loss, was again at hand, and upon this occasion, suggested three shillings as about the sum. " I know it is no more,"" said Skinner ; " I know it can be no more— the coachman, however, insisted upon three shillings and sixpence — I re- fused, gave him three shillings and my card ; [ did it upon principle — I told him he might summon me if he pleased — the man was per- fectly civil ; but, it is due to the public in gene- ral to be particular ; however, there I know I am right — and now, what had I best do further about the desk ?" " Would you like to advertise it in the news- papers ?" said the landlord. " I think it would be a good plan," said Skinner, " I am sure of it. Sir," said the landlord; and accordingly, at his suggestion, an adver- tisement was drawn up by Skinner, offering five pounds reward for the desk, and describing its VOL. II. Q 326 GERVASE SKIXXER. appearance and contents generally — of this, copies were made by different persons of the establishment, and the porter was sent oft' to the different daily papers, with money, and direc- tions for their insertion on the following morniny;. The state of Skinner's feelings may be easily conceived ; nor was he better pleased to find it now considerably past two, the hour of his appointment at Mrs. Fuggleston's ; for in the midst of all his vexations and worries, still her charms were present to his eye, and the idea that he had engaged her affections, always in his mind ; and, accordingly, having despatched the advertisements, dismissed his servant from at- tendance till the evening, and ordered din- ner at five, he proceeded forthwith on a voyage of discovery to Martlett Court, in the purlieus of Covent Garden. KND OF VOL. II. SHACKEI.L AND BAYLIS, JOHNSON S-COURT. AR 2 9 1950 III L-9-35m-8,'28 ,!-WGIOrjALLI[iRAHYFACILIT AA 000 376 201 ;^UVERSr JJFORNIa LUb i^sGELES -m'