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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
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« • • "» •
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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 su<Tgestions : she
wishes me to like him ; she begins to suspect
that I disapprove of the terms on which he
lives in her house; she desires him to call upon
me, and make the amiable ; but lest Ihat should
carry with it an appearance of improper in-
fluence over him on her ^axi, she sends her son,
a living hostage for her reputation, and makes
the generous, high-spirited youth unconsciously
vouch for his mother's character, by visiting the
respected friend of her youth, in company with
her admitted paramour.
I sketched out all this in my mind in a mo-
ment — perhaps illiberally ; but if events be to be
judged fairly by consequences, I was not very
wide of my mark in suspecting that a short time
only would elapse, before I was called on for
an eclaircissement of my " strange behaviour."
On the Sunday following this " visit," I at-
tended divine service in one of the fiishionable
chapels at the west end of the town, which (as
1 did not 1...0W,) Lady Terrington always fre-
qjuented : I had not been long seated, when I
beheld her ladyship and Miss Ormsby enter
the sacred place, enveloped in white lace, and
white satin, and white swansdown, and proceed
D 3
58 COUSIN WILLIAM.
to one of the best situated, and most elegantly
fitted up pews in the building; — the service
began, and although my thoughts were, I hope
and trust, fixed on better things, my eyes
rested apon her, in whose welfare I felt an in-
terest so deep and engrossing. She hid her
face in her hands, and on her knees seemed
absorbed in the holy service of the church : at
her side knelt the lovely creature who so soon
was to be her daughter-in-law — I watched them
— I felt convinced that all my fears were vain,
my suspicions groundless, and that the manner
and conversation to which I had, over-scrupu-
lously perhaps, attributed levity and guilt, were
merely habitual, and that folly, not vice,
actuated her in their adoption.
In the midst of their devotions, and some
time after the commencement of the service,
two men, to me unknown, but evidently of high
rank, from their air and appearance, tlie servile
attention of the pew-opener, and the advan-
tageous situation of their scat, entered the gal-
lery, immediately connnanding I-ady Terring-
ton's pew. When this occurred I saw the in-
nocent Flora Ormshy, Uneeling in the presence
of her Maker, with all the outward shew of
I
COUSIN WILLIAM. 59
piety and devotion, nudge her future motber-
in-Jaw, to communicate the fact that Prince
Somebody and Colonel Something, his Equerry
and Phusalophagus, were come, and saw my
once single-minded Caroline raise her beautiful
eyes to the place whither this bit of information
had directed them ; nor was it difficult to perceive
that the looks were habitual, and that an inter-
change had been long before established between
the illustrious personage above and the beautiful
hypocrite below.
How many women may reproach themselves
with using the house of God as a place for
worldly assignations, I cannot venture to sur-
mise ; but from the frivolous observations and
idle remarks upon person and dress, which half
the congregations of London (as well as those
smaller assemblies in the country to which I
have already alluded) make after the conclusion
of the service, I apprehend that attendance at
diurch is considered as a merely proper tiling,
and that the whole duty which it is necessary
to perform is fulfilled by that attendance, al-
though during its continuance the mind is occu-
pied with silent criticisms upon finery and folly,
or on characters and circumstances which are to
GO COUSIN WILLIAM.
break out into eloquent descriptions and satirical
remarks at its conclusion.
In quitting the chapel, Caroline and I met.
Her ladyship Avas standing on the steps wait-
ing for her carriage, but in conversation Avith
the illustrious personage before-named, while
his distinguished attendant was makina; the
amiable with Flora, and all the canaille were
gazing at the Prince. — Pray let it be perfectly
understood that it was no English Prince. — Ca-
roline's eye caught mine ; but knowing etiquette
too well to notice her ladyship Avhile in the
society of royalty, however humble its preten-
sions and confined its dominion, I took advan-
tage of that little piece of bienseance, and
passed down the steps. I was, however, foiled
in my retreat, for I had not proceeded fifty
yards, before I heard footsteps behind me, and
turning round perceived close at my elbow one
of her ladyship's footmen, who, breathless as
he was in the chace, announced his lady's desire
that I would stop one moment till tlie carriage
should come up, as she wished most parti-
cularly to see me, and would drive after me as
soon as it arrived at the door.
What could I do — play the Joseph and fly ?
r.OUSIN WTLLIAM. Gl
— It was impossible— besides, the servant, duti-
fully holding his lady's wishes to be commands,
and not imagining the possibility of a refusal
on my part to comply with her expressed desire,
waited behind me tete-a-tete with his tall cane,
to mark the object at which her ladyship's
coachman was subsequently to drive ; as buoys
are placed by smugglers over sunken goods to
make the finding easy.
Accordingly in a few moments I beheld the
gay equipage of Lady Terrington making for me
at a most aristocratic pace ; and before I could
well arrange my inode of playing the difficult
game I had in hand, I was at the door of the
carriage. v
" I have caught you at last," said Caroline.
" Where on earth do you hide yourself, you
most odious of all living creatures ? — how do you
do.'' — I cannot scold when I see you, but I
assure you I am seriously angry with you, ami
so are we all — you have quite deserted us."
" I was very unfortunate in being engaged
when you did me the kindness to invite me,"
said I.
'* Will you dine with us to-day ?"' said Caro-
line, " you'll meet nobody but Sir William."
62
COUSIN WILLIAM.
((
I thank you — I am particularly engaged
to-day,' said I.
" Why, you are always engaged," said Flora
Ormsby.
" And you always engaging, Miss Ormsby,"
said I foolishly, not knowing exactly liow to
get out of a difficulty which I found every mo-
ment more closely entangling me.
" Come," said Lady Terrington, " name
your own day."
This settled it — but even yet I hesitated.
" Well," continued she, " Fll tell you what
you had best do, be sociable and get into the
carriage, and I'll set you down wherever you
like. — Here — open the door, Sir," said her lady-
ship to one of the servants ; " ncxo I think.
Flora we have caught him. '
There was someiliing so natural, so naive,
and so good-natured, in short so like herself in
all this proceeding, that I could not resist her
practical invitation, nor did I stop to inquire
in what direction they were going to pursue
their course, until the carriage stopped at Sir
Mark's door.
" You are at liome,'''' said I.
*' Yes," said her ladyship; " we'll have some
COUSIN WILLIAM. 63
luncheon and a little chat, and then Flora and
I will navif^ate you through the intricacies of
the New Road along the Serpentine, which I
suspect will be to you, as much of a novelty as
a voyage to the Nortli Pole,"
It seemed impossible to refuse to enter the
house, and as I was " in for it," I put the best
possible face on the matter, and handed the
ladies from the carriage.
Caroline and Flora led the way up stairs to
the drawing-room, and I followed, mortified,
yet not surprised that her ladyship had neither
mentioned Sir Mark's name during our littl^
drive, (/ purposely avoided speaking of him,)
nor sought him in his sick chamber on her re-
turn home — I resolved to wait and ascertain
how long I should remain under his roof, with-
out hearing whether he was worse or better, or
even in existence.
Caroline rang the bell, taking that opportu-
nity to look at herself with scrupulous attention
in the glass, over the fire place ; by the aid of
which, she smoothed her eye-brows, tampered
with a small bouton Avhich had no business on
her chin, and re-twined her jetty ringlets, with
her snowy fingers. A servant appeared.
64 COUSIX WILLIAM.
"Is Sir William out ?" was the question
which greeted my ears.
" Yes, my lady."
" Dear, how provoking," said Lady Terring-
ton. After a pause of some half score seconds,
during which the man held the door in his
hand, as if doubtful whether anything more was
required of him, she added, " Tell them to send
up luncheon, I am going out immediately."
The man retired.
" Flora," said her ladyship, " where can
William be ?''
" I can't imagine," said ]\Iiss Ormsby.
" He called on you, did he not ?"" said Caro-
line, turning to me.
" Your son ?" said I, " yes."
" I did'nt mean William Terrington," said
Caroline ; " I know he called too — but — but —
we were speaking of my cousm."
I made no reply ; but when I looked towards
Caroline, her eyes were fixed on me.
'' Flora, dear," said her ladyship, " do be
kind enough to see if anybody is with Sir Mark,
if there is not, we will go down and see him
before luncheon."
He is alive, thought I, at all events ; Flora
CODSIN WILLIAM. 65
immediately obeyed — for when these two beings
were with me, over whom no victory was to be
gained, of whom no conquest was to be made,
they were as natural and unaffected as possible.
The door closed, and Caroline and I were
left alone.
Neither of us spoke, but her look convinced
me that the silence would soon be broken — How
I longed for the arrival of tlie luncheon, or the
return of Miss Ormsby, or for something which
would avert what I was sure, if we were alone
five minutes more, was inevitable — some kind of
allusion to the conduct I had recently observed,
and my motives to it.
I stood absolutely trembling — Caroline ap-
proached me, and took my hand — hers was as
cold-as ice— she looked me stedfastly in the face
— I was paralyzed.
" I know what you think of me," said she, in
a half whisper, pressing my hand fervently as
she spoke — her look was haggard — her eye
sunken — the marks of coming age were betrayed
by the workings of her passion — paleness over-
sjTread her countenance, and the bought paint
looked hideous as it glared upon her death-like
cheeks.
66
COUSIN WILLIAM.
((
I know," said she, in the same subdued tone,
" why you stay away — but you are mistaken."
The rattling of the door announced an arrival
— I had no time to reply — it was clear she was
aware of my feelings and suspicions — still more
clear that the matter would not rest here, and
that I had been entrapped into the very snare
which I had hoped to escape, and that I was
doomed, if not the advising friend of the family,
at least to become the confidant of the lady.
In an instant, the well trained features of
Caroline, whose misery and wretchedness of
heart shewed themselves for a moment, resumed
the sprjghtliness which usually characterised
them ; and Flora's answer that Sir Mark had
company, was received with ease and something
like composure ; but the struggle was too much,
and she left the room abruptly.
" Lady Terrington is not well, surely,"" said
Flora. •»
" She complained of head-ache,"" said I, trust-
ing to the known sympathy of the sex for the
speedy flight of my fair friend to her assistance,
for I had no spirits to talk, and least of all to a
person with whose manners and conduct, lovely
as she was, I was not particularly charmed.
COUSIN WILLIAM. 67
" I cannot imagine where Sir William is,"
said Flora, paying no sort of attention to my
observation about Caroline's head-ache ; unless,
indeed, implying by the remark upon Morley''s
absence, a suspicion that her ladyship's indis-
position was either caused or aggravated by the
gallant baronet's absence.
" Did you like the sermon to-day ?" said
Flora.
*' I thought it a good sermon," said I ; " I
did not very much approve of the delivery.'"
" Oh ! dear no," said Flora, " it is quite dread-
ful when Mr. Piper officiates ; we did not know
that he would be there to-day, for it is not his
Sunday, because we always go wherever Mr.
Honey man preaches — Lady Terrington is quite
a votary of his; she absolutely swears by him, he
is so very gentlemanly."
I said nothing in return to this strange corn-
er c5
pliment to the piety, orthodoxy, and eloquence
of a clergyman ; but waited to hear the beauty
descant at full liberty upon the topic, when the
prime minister of Caroline's empire made her
appearance, and begged Miss Ormsby to step
up stairs to her lady — I seized the opportunity
of making a march towards the door, but Davis
68 COUSIN WILLIAM.
Stopped me, by telling me that her ladyship
begged I would stay, as she had something to
say to me before I went.
I, of course, anticipated the nature of the
conversation which was to ensue, but finding it
perfectly impossible to retreat, threw myself
on a sofa to await my doom.
In a very few minutes Flora returned,
equipped for a departure, and having begged
me to join her in some luncheon, told me that
Lady Terrington would be down directly, but
that she had dispatched her to take the carriage
to fetch Miss Somebody, whose name she seemed
to suppose that I, and everybody else in the world
perfectly knew ; and then return for her and me,
as her ladyship said she had some old family
matters to talk over during her absence.
I did as I was bid, and felt quite enlightened
when I saw the sylph-like Flora, who at dinner
the day I was of the party ate hardly anything,
(and declared that she never ate more) proceed to
the bell, and summon a servant, whom she forth-
with dispatched for luncheon, which I con-
cluded to be what I already saw disposed upon
a table in tlie back drawing-room ; but I was
deceived — sundry reinforcements arrived in a
COUSIN WILLIAM. 69
few minutes, such as cutlets, patties, and other
rifacciamenti ; not to speak of jellies, and a most
jjart'iciilar fondu ; upon most of which Miss
Ormsby, the fay, who, as I thought, ordinarily
took her meals with the chamelion, (some others
of whose qualities I was fully aware she pos-
sessed,) performed a most distinguished part;
challenging me to drink wine with her, specially
informing me that the doctors had recommended
her always to take at least one glass of madeira
at that time of the day.
We had scarcely finished this agreeable cere-
mony, when Caroline rejoined us — she looked
still ill and worried, and, as I thought, had re-
moved from her cheek the mimic glow, which
she knew disgusted me — there was no smile
playing on her lip, no allurements sparkling in
her eye — I saw she had prescribed a task to
herself hkely to be painful enough to both of
us, ^,ud had made up her mind to go through
with it.
To Flora's inquiries, she said she felt better
—she swallowed a mouthful of food, and, I sup-
pose, had been included in the instructions
given to Flora as to the use of wine ; for she also
took a glass of madeira, and pressed me to take
70 COUSIN WILLIAM.
a second, ^vitll an ill acted air of gaiety, for I
could see that her heart was throbbing with
pain, and that her thoughts were far distant
from surrounding objects ; she seemed anxious
to hurry Miss Ormsby's departure, who, for
what reason I could not then pretend to guess,
unless for the fulfilment of the proverbial obsti-
nacy of certain persons, seemed proportionably
inclined to protract her stay.
At length, however, she retired, and I dis-
covered by one word she uttered in quitting the
room what she had been linoerinof about for —
certainly, not for a sight of her betrothed, (for
anticipating, I suppose, her fate after marriage,
she appeared to regulate her indifference for her
lover upon Lady Terrington's scale of interest
for her husband,) but, as certainly for an inter-
view with the noble lord, who had so patrioti-
cally earned his grey poney by being liberal in
parliament a few nights before. Of his lordship^s
success with his uncle in that affair, I had ocular
proof three or four days after, wlien 1 saw the
wise legislator actually going down to West-
minster mounted on the very animal in question.
It was clear, by a little message she left with
Caroline, that this noble lord had promised to
COUSIN WILLIAM. 71
call, and that the flirting sylph had been hover-
ing about for the last half hour, hoping and ex-
pecting that he would redeem his pledge ; but he
came not, and I had at length the satisfaction of
seeing her step gracefully into the carriage. This
art she had actually studied at a school in Cum-
berland Place, where they charged a guinea a
lesson for teaching the accomplishment, and an
hundred and fifty pounds a year for a coach to
practise upon.
I hardly remember ever to have felt more
perfectly awkward than I did when turning
from the window, whence I saw the carriage
drive from the door, I found myself Ute-a-Ute
with Caroline on the very brink of a " scene ;"
entrapped after all my manoeuvres into a con-
fidence which must be perpetually harassing and
inconvenient to wt', and which I imagined would
produce no possible good to lier — I resolved to
make one bold push for an escape.
" Suppose," said I, " we go and find Sir
Mark, if he is alone."
Caroline did not answer— she remained quiet
for a moment — she essayed to speak, but her
heart was too full, and throwing herself on a
72 COUSIN WILLIAM.
cliair, she covered her eyes with her hands and
Imrst into tears.
I ran towards her, and implored her to be
calm, begged her to consider ; which I did most
earnestly for my own sake as well as hers ; for
although my friend Sir Mark was tied by the
leg in his library, I did not know who might
stalk in and catch me in a most innocent, but
vei'y suspicious situation with her ladyship.
" I mil be calm," said she ; " but neither
you, nor any human being can tell what I endure
— what pangs — what struggles I feel."
'' The life of a woman, Caroline," said I,
" is a life of trial — an existence of effort — cus-
tom has required at her hand sacrifices which
are not exacted from the other sex, but when — '
" Stop,'' cried Caroline, " for heaven's sake
spare me all — you see my wretchedness — I have
betrayed myself — I thought it — I knew it —
Heaven have mercy upon me — if it is at once so
evident to ?/ow, all the world must see what I
have laboured, even to madness, to conceal,"
'* For heaven's sake, Caroline," said I, " com-
pose yourself, and do not Jn a moment of
phrcnzy like this, make a confidence which you
COUSIN W1LL1A.\[. 73
may hereafter repent — I ask nothing — I Avish
to know nothing of what is |)assing here ; but
since you directly charge me with having dis-
covered something which you wished to conceal,
I should very ill deserve the name of friend to
you or Sir Mark, were I not, for the sake of
your reputation and comfort, and his honour
and respectability, to say, that innocent as in
fact your conduct may be, the impression likely
to be given by the way in which your family ar-
rangements are made, must be eventually, I will
not say actually is — certainly, one which you
would not like the world to receive."
" I feel it all," said Caroline ; " I am sure I
am acting imprudently — I have sense enougii to
see it, to be quite convinced of it — and yet "
" You have not the resolution at once to
change your conduct," said I. " This does not
surprise me, Caroline- — you are not speakiiig to
a stranger — you are not now unfolding a history
new to me — you need not tell me that you mar-
ried Terrington while your heart was another's —
you need not tell me that, that other is here,
guiding your destinies, the imperious arbiter of
your fate — all this I know. What I would hear
VOL. II, E
V4 COUSIN WILLIAM.
from you, now that you see, as vou tell me you
do, the peril in which you are placed, and
behold the dark and dreadful abyss on whose
slippery edge you stand — is, that you have
strength of mind to concjuer feelings, which at
your time of life should not be paramount, and
recollecting that you have chosen a husband, to
whom by the laws of God and man you have
united yourself, drive from your presence the
tempter who would ruin you."
" You are mistaken," said Caroline;
" disffuise is useless — we have fallen into the
discussion of a subject which an hour ago I
thought I could rather die than touch upon —
William is no seducer — William is no insidious
nssailant of my honour — no — no — his heart is
too kind— his disposition too generous, to enter-
tain a thought, a wish, a hope injurious to me —
he was my first, my only love, it is true — but
he is my nearest living relation, his society is all
I enjoy on earth, and "
" Caroline," said I, " this is delusion- a
wife shculd find her pleasure in her home, solace
in the company of her husband, delight in the
advancement of her child."
" And so do I," said Caroline with animation ;
COUSIN WILLIAM. 75
" my son is all to me, after my ill-fated mar-
riage — he — my boy, first called forth the affec-
tions of my heart, he possessed them undivided,
till "
She paused.
*' his pursuits and amusements took h.iiii
from me, and his affections became engaged by
a more interesting object."
" You mean Miss Ormsby,"' said I.
*' Of course. '
I shook my head.
" What," said I, " Caroline— for truth must
be told— v/hat should you say, were I to tell
you, that in my mind, a marriage between Miss
Ormsby and your son would be as unfruitful in
happiness, as — any other where there was "
"Why?'' interrupted Caroline, who saw^my
unwillingness to instance her own union as a!i
illustration of my doctrine : " she is amiable,
lovely, and accomplished, full of heart and feel-
ing "
a
and principle i^"" said I.
" I suppose so," said Caroline ; seeming, as I
thought, not quite perfectly to comprehend the
meaning of the word.
" Surely," said I, " there must be a want
E 2
76 COUSIN WlLLIAxM.
either of principle or affection in a young woman
who, affianced to one man, for whom she has
confessed an affection, can hsten to, and encour-
age the attention of others.""
*' That's mere manner," said Carohne.
^' Manner !" said I : " then it is more shameful
than I even thought it was — a woman who, for
the sake of worldly admiration, and of having
herself accredited as all-attractive, can ape the
outward signs of sentiment and feeling, and
look, and languish, and frown, and smile, merely
to win, to awe, to soothe, or captivate the men
by whom she is surrounded, is worse than the
poor prostitute, who, driven by misery and want,
yields up her person and her happiness to pre-
serve existence ; what name, what distinctive
epithet is base enough for the cold, calculating,
heartless fiend, who, by deluding a man into
the belief of an affection which she has neither
heart to feel, nor passion to appreciate ; leads him
on to discard his friends, abandon his connec-
tions, alter his liabits, forego his principles, and
new model his character for her sake, and at her
suggestion ; and who, when he lias thus gradu-
ally and unconsciously changed his nature under
her poisonous influence, can turn round and
COUSIN WILLIAM. 77
play the same game with the next simpleton she
is able to entrap ? — and all this, for effect ; to ex-
hibit a power which after all is not worth having ;
and which entails upon her, all the sneers of scorn,
and all the stings of scandal, which those who
are ignorant of her heartlessness bestow upon
what nature would conclude to be her criminal
intrigues with her besotted followers.''
" Flora is not one of those," said Caroline,
" nor am /. — I have, and I own it, cherished
one deep — one solitary passion in my heart, but
it is harmless, and I am innocent — I own to you,
that had I known the world then, as I know it
novr, no power on earth v>ould 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, describin<r to the inhabitants
of one of the distant boxes, a glorious run of the
day before, with the Berkeley hounds, when half
the horses were knocked up, and half their riders
knocked off; and in the midst of all this, the
savoury smells, the loud praises of a well-feed-
ing, well-fed gentleman, in black, of a particular
cut of beef upon which he was regaling, Ger-
vase Skinner began to wax hungry ; but prudence
and principle, as they never failed to do, out-
weighed his animal passions, and he resolved to
wait, until with some show of reason, he might
order something for " supper," having calcu-
lated tliat it would be charged less than if he
ordered dinner ; and, moreover, reckoning that
wine would not be deemed a necessary accom-
paniment to the evening's last repast, but which,
if he called it dinner, he felt that he could not
keep up his proper dignity without ordering.
At half-past eight he thought a venial time
for supper as a tired country traveller had arrived.
Again the waiter appeared before him, like
GERVASE SKIXNER. 30.5
another Genius of the Lamp, to do his bid-
ding.
'•' — I should hke something to eat now,"
said the half-famished economist.
" What would you choose, Sir ?" said the
raan.
" Whatever is cheapest," would have been
the answer of Gervase Skinner, had he but had
the courage to speak out. " What have you in
the house ?''"' was the articulated reply.
** We can get you any thing in a few minutes,
Sir," said the man. " Would you like some
poached eggs ?""
" Eggs,"" said Skinner, " no — not eggs — I
think — " He calculated upon the small quantity
of actual nourishment contained in a leash, which
he knew was as many as he should get. " No,
I never eat eggs — I deny myself ' upon principle''
— it spoils chickens."
" Would you like some toasted cheese. Sir ?""
" Toasted cheese," said the squire, " No, no ;
at tliis distance from the kitchen, I would as
soon eat luke-warm leather breeches,"
" Some escalloped oysters. Sir .''"
" Ugh !" said Skinner, with an affected
306
GERVASE SKIXXEE.
shudder, " escalloped oysters — children's cars
in saw-dust — not I."
" A very fine cold round of beef, Sir,"" said
the waiter,
" Beef! — no," said Skinner, "had a round at
Readino-."
" A chop, Sir, or a kidney, or — "
" No," said Skinner. " I beheve I shall be
better without any thing. I tell you what,
bring me a crust of bread ; and if you have any
very good cheese in the house, a slice of that,
and some of your London porter.""
The man fixed his eyes upon my hero, and
wiping down the table slowly said, " Yes, Sir,"
in a tone which was beyond doubt intelligible
to the meanest capacity ; after which, he never
more appeared to attend on the traveller, who
was immediately consigned to the special care
of a small boy, studying for an extra waiter-
ship.
The bread, the cheese, the porter demolished,
ten o'clock had arrived; and Skinner, just upon
departing, did his po.fsible towards promoting
digestion, by calling for and drinking a glass
of spring water ; having changed the glass, which
GERVASE SKINNER. 307
the boy brought him, twice, because it did not
Took sufficiently bright, he having as many
times mentioned, that he was very particular
about his water !
At length, preceded by the monoptic cham-
bermaid before mentioned, he began to ascend,
having most courteously bowed to the lady in the
bar, (he being, " upon principle," civil to every-
body, seeing, as he said himself, that civility
cost nothing) ; and having thrown a glance at
an extremely pretty girl, whose intellectual
organs were deeply buried in a profusion of
shining jet-black curls, and who appeared to be
a sort of aide-du-camp to the lady herself.
After mounting, and mounting, and mount-
ing, and travelling like another Asmodeus, over
the tops of the neighbouring houses, through
passages and galleries, the wearied traveller
reached his lofty place of rest ; and having cast
a hurried glance around the ten feet square of
dormitory, papered rurally with a vine-leaf pat-
tern, and furnished with a richly flowered cotton
bed, he balanced in his mind the propriety, or
rather the probable cost of being gallantly lively
with the one-eyed chambermaid ; and having,
upon principle, decided upon being only dis-
308 GERVASE SKINXER.
tantly civil, he dismissed her with a desire not
to be called very early. And having closed his
door as well as he could, (for the lock was not in
the best possible order, and key there was none,)
he began to disrobe, and in the space of half an
hour, the world forgetting, by the world forgot,
Gervase Skinner fell into a profound slumber.
History does not record the dreams of the
worthy Gervase, and the chances are, that he
was not much disturbed by them, for he was
right weary and heavy to sleep. Nor did he
wake until a knocking at the door roused him
from his torpidity. He looked up, and saw
what the Londoners imagine to be the Sun,
trying to shine through the figured window cur-
tains. He started up in the bed — the knocking
was repeated — he immediately put a question to
the knocker — so common-place, that it may per-
liaps be superfluous to repeat it; but wiiich, if
omitted, might puzzle some of my readers to
guess its import — " Who's there .?"
" Pray,'' said a male voice, " is your name
Skinner ?"
" It is," said Gervase.
" There's a gentleman in the coffee-room
uiaiving in([uirics about you, Sir," said the man.
GERVASE SKIXKEE. 309
" AVhat is his name ?" said Skinner, guessing
directly that it was his friend Fuggleston, to
whom he had written the day before his depar-
ture from Somersetshire, pointing out the time
of iiis intended arrival in London, and begging
him to call on him at Hatchett's.
" I don't know his name, Sir," said the man,
who seemed unwillino^, considerino- the distance
to the coffee-room, to go without a decided
answer; " he is a pale gentleman, with a black
neckcloth, a white hat, a brown surtout, a purple
velvet waistcoat, and buff-coloured cossack
trowsers."
" Ask him if his name is Fuggleston,
and if it is, say I'll be down directly," said
Skinner.
" If it is he. Sir," said the man, " I suppose
I needn't come up again ?""
" No, no," answered the squire, " I'll be
down at all events immediately."
Fortiiwith did the anxious traveller rouse
himself from his couch, and with all imaginable
rapidity, and every disregard for comfort, or
even the due observance of habits for which
he was proverbial ; begin to dress himself,
shave at the hazard of a nose, which, thougli
310 GERVASE SKIXXER.
small in itself, was all the world to him ; hud-
dle on his clothes, pull on his boots, and
hasten down stairs, so desirous was he, of
taking Fuggleston by the hand, and inquiring
after his fascinating lady ; the kindness of the
Thespian, in thus paying him a visit at the
early hour at which he had arrived, being per-
fectly appreciated by the unsophisticated coun-
tryman.
When he reached the coffee-room, he found
his friend seated in the box which lie had
occupied the night before ; on the table of which,
were arranged tea and coffee equipages, the cold
round of beef mentioned by the waiter the night
before, loaves, butter, honey, and marmalade ;
while egg-cups, en attendant, tacitly proclaimed
fhe approach of more nourishment.
" My dear Fuggleston," said the squire,
" how do you do ? — how do you do ? — I am very
glad to see you."'
" Thank you, Sir," said Fuggleston, " quite
well, and delighted to welcome you here,
" ' London hath received, Hke a kind host, the Dauphin
and his power.' "
" Indeed," said Skinner ; " What ! from
GERVASE SKIKXER. 311
France? Well, I shall see him some day,
I suppose; but pray how is the lady ?"
*' Quite well, Sir," said the complacent hus-
band ; " and very anxious to see you. We
have got a very snug furnished lodging, quite
retired and quiet : we hope to get it in order in
a few days, and then, Sir, we will endeavour to
make you comfortable, as far as a chop, or a
kidney goes ; — you must let her initiate you."
" Have you breakfasted ?'' said Skinner, not
daring to suppose that the extensive preparations
which he saw at hand could have been made
for him.
" Not I," said Fuggleston, " but I have lost
no time in ordering the necessaries of life. I
hope the London air, as they call this yellow-
fog, will not injure your appetite. As for me,
I have got used to the thing, and am as hungry
as a hippopotamus. Here, waiter, the muffins
and eggs, and some more hot water. Come, Sir,
sit down, sit down, and let me tell you of our
mishaps, for I am sorry to say we met with
some on the journey. By the way, I have directed
your servant to you ; he will be here at eleven
o'clock. I conclude I did right. Waiter, get
some cream ; this water and milk won't do."
312 GEEVASE SKINNER.
" Perfectly ; — but what mishaps ?" said Skin-
ner ; " no accident, I hope !"
" Sad accident, indeed," said Fuggleston ;
" but I'll take care and repair it, so you'll never
hear any thing about it. Shall I give you a
slice of this beef — perhaps you prefer a hot
chop?"
" I don't care if I do," said Skinner.
" Waiter, some hot chops ; but, pray tell me,
has she fixed her night for appearing.''"
" Why, no," said Fuggleston, " thereby
hangs a tale. I did not know that the com-
mittee of management was abolished ; I thought
the power was divided amongst men of fasliion,
as it used to be some years ago, — they enter
into one'sfeelings so much more readily than your
plain, straight-forward men of business. 1 don't
know, in short, when she za'dl appear. There
has been clearly a misunderstanding somehow ;
however, she wall tell you all herself, Sir. /
think she has been ill used — you'll jiear all in
time."
" I'm sorry for that," said Skinner, who at
the moment cared very little for any thing
bevond what he saw, and who determined, as
the breakfast was there, to lay in agood stock of
GERVASE SKIXNER. 313
provision, which might supersede the nonsense
of luncheon — " very sorry, indeed, but where
is your house ?"
" I dare say," said Fuggleston, " you never
heard of the place. Sir; it is quite retired,
although in the midst of bustle and gaiety, and
close to the theatre, which, when she begins
to act, will be a great convenience. Martlett-
court is the name of the retreat ; quite serene —
shady in summer, snug and warm in winter —
with a pump, watch-box, and chapel, all within
itself."
" It must be very agreeable,'' said Skinner,
who having by this time satisfied his hunger,
began to feel uneasy as to the expense of the
breakfast ; " and when shall I visit your resi-
dence?"
" To-day," said the actor, '•■ to-day, Sir, if
you will excuse our being a little out of order,
' The court's a learning place,' and our draw-
ing-room is in fact our study — but you, Sir, I
look upon here,
' As my great patron, thought of in my prayers;*
and any want of ceremony we may shew to-
wards you, you must attribute to the anxiety of
vol.. II. P
314 GERVASE SKINXEK.
seeing you under our humble roof at all events.
What time will you call ? — here is my card, Sir,
there the number — will you walk down now ?"
" Now ? I cannot," said Skinner, " for be-
sides bavins: several directions to give to mv
servant, I have letters to write to the north ?"
" Do not,'' said Fuggleston—
" * Intreat him to make his bleak winds kiss ray parchtd
lips, or comfort me with cold.' "
" I mean the north of England,'* said Skin-
ner, who never could comprehend the point or
meaning of any of Fuggleston's quotations.
" Oh," said the Thespian, " I beg your par-
don — but I am detaining you — you'll call, per-
haps, about two .'"
*' Say half past two, "' said Skinner ; " will
that suit .?"
" Whenever you like," said Fuggleston ;
" but, perhaps you are not engaged any where
to dinner.'*"
" Not I,' said the Squire; " where should I
be engaged .'"'
" That's right," said Fuggleston, " we'll be
sociable then — what time do you like to dine,
Sir r
GERVASE SKINNER. 315
" Why, I think about five,'' said the squire,
" if that suits you."
" Oh, perfectly," repUed Fuggleston ; " then
I'll come and take my chop with you at five —
now don't have any thing else ; all plain and
quiet suits my taste."
" I shall be very happy," said the Squire, in a
tone, as unlike one of joy as possible ; " but — I
— if I call on you — "
" We can walk up to this end of the town to-
gether," said Fuggleston, " or if you prefer
calling on Amelrosa to-morrow, I can come up
here and breakfast with you, and walk down to
that end of the town afterwards : however, conie
if you like ; I shall be at home ; and if I don't
see you, I will be here at five punctually. —
Waiter," continued Fuggleston, " bring me a
bottle of soda water, and pray put a small glass
of brandy into the tumbler — Don't you do any
thing of that sort.-^"
Skinner, who was now convinced by the free
and easy manner in which his kind friend called
for all sorts of refreshments, that he, at all events,
meant to pay for the breakfast, acceded to the
equivocal invitation, and ordered two bottles of
soda water, and two glasses of brandy. The whole
p 2
31G GERVASE SKINNER.
being demolished, Fuggleston took his leave,
apologizing for having detained tlie Squire so
]ong, and assuring him that he would not
be a minute after his dinner hour in the after-
noon.
The exit of Mr. Fuggleston produced a
mixed sensation of regret and surprise upon my
hero, which it is quite impossible properly to
define. He first looiied at the door ; then at the
thickly covered breakfast-table ; then cast his
eyes about the room, to see if there was any
tariff exhibited, by which he could form anything
like an idea of the expense in which he was so
unexpectedly involved, or calculate, so as at all
to form an estimate of the disbursement requi-
j^ite for the coming dinner. That it was only to
be a chop, somewhat soothed his mind ; and
hope whispered that Mr. Fuggleston would, at
all events, pay his share of that.
His ruminations upon this point were, however,
interrupted by the arrival of his servant, the
expression of whose countenance announced
some intelligence not of the most agreeable
character.
" Well, Joseph," said Skinner, "so you have
found me out.""
GERVASE SKINNER. 317
a
Ees, Sir, I have, indeed," replied Joseph,
" but I liavn't gotten no very good count to gi
you o' what's been done, since I parted from
huom."
" How d'ye mean ?'' said Skinner.
" Why, zur," said the man, " we were vour
days on the road, and its plaguy luckey we a'
gotten up so quick as we be ; for the lady was
so sickly taken, that she was obligated to stop
almost every stage, to get some kind of pro-
vender ; the worst, howsomever, was, that
two of them tin z words, what the board-jumper
volks shams to fight wi"" on top of stage, poked
themselves right through one of the front glasses
of the carriage, and in the midst o' the squash,
the big jars of pickled walnuts, and red currant
jelly, which was stowed away in one of the side
pockets, comed all to bits, and such a mess
never did I see carriage in, in all my born days ;
coachmaker says, she must be all new lined, zur,
or else she will look for all the world like my poor
old mother's patched counterpane."
" That must have been carelessness in the
first instance,'' said Skinner ; " who packed them
in, Fanny, or ■"
" No, zur, you turned poor Fan away, zur ; '
31S GERVASE SKINNER.
said Joseph, " if you'll please to recollect ; no,
^twas that ould body. Mother May, put pots in,
and I tould her as how I thought they would
break, but she won't be spoken to. — No, zur,
— if Fanny had '"'
" Well, never mind,'"' said Skinner, who in a
moment placed all this needless expenditure to
the measures he had adopted for economy on
the one hand, and out of respect to the fair
Fuggleston on the other, " the carriage is safe
now."
" Ees, zur.' said Richard, " she be safe in
Long Acre, bating the broken glass, and the
spoiled inside on her.*'
" I'll call at the coachmaker's myself," said
Skinner, " and you had better stop here, now
you are here, while I stay."
" If you pleaze, zur," said Joseph. " I ax
pardon, zur," added he, '" if you could pleaze
let me have a little money, zur."
*' Money," said Skinner, " what d'ye mean
about money ; why, I gave you twenty pounds
when you left Bagsden — what's gone with
that .?"
" I ha gotten tiie bill of it ail, zur," rcphed
Joseph. " Mr. Fuggleston never had no change
GERVASE SKIlv'KER. 319
v'liatzomever about him, zur ; so I had to pay
\'or all the post-horses, boys, gates, and all, zur,
till all my money were gone — but I ha gotten it
all down."
" Down," said Skinner, " how d'ye mean
got it down ?"
*' On a piece o' paper, zur," said the man,
" Mr. Fug, (I call him Fug for short's sake,
zur), Mr. Fug bid me put it all down, and zo I
did, zur, and here it is."
" Yes, but he should pay you this, not I,"
said Skinner : " why, I might as well have tra-
velled up in the carriage myself."
" Why, that''s just what I were a thinking,
zur," said Joseph, smiling. " 1 only just
wanted you to zee he wur all right, zur, and
that all my money wur gone, for I ha been
obligated to borrow a couple o' pounds o' the
coachmaker's voreman, to keep me, loike, zince
I ha been here, zur."
'• Well, that's pleasant," said Skinner; "how-
ever, we'll see about it— Mr. Fuggleston is good
enough to dine with me to-day, and I'll speak
to him, and arrange all that : in the meantime,
wait while I go to my room, and I'll be down
presently."
320 GERVASE SKIXNER.
" Ees, zur," said Joseph, who knew enough
of his master to see his natural disposition
breaking out tlirough the superficial liberality,
and was quite convinced that he was in what he
mentally called, a desperate taking, at the result
of his economical arrangements in the journey
to London.
But the extent of my hero's mishaps were not
yet fully known. In less than five minutes from
the time of his disappearance from the coft'ce-
room, he was again in it; his countenance pale,
liis hair on end, his manner dreadfully agitated,
he flew rather than ran to one of the bells, and
rang it violently : his original friend, the waiter,
appeared ; it was some seconds before he could
make himself intelligible ; but when he did give
utterance to his woe, it appeared that his writing-
desk, containing not only money, but papers of
importance, and documents of value, was not in
his bed-room — it was gone — flown — lost !
" I'll make inquiries about it," said the waiter,
in a tone of voice, and with an expression of coun-
tenance, as mild and as placid as if he Avas going
to fetch a glass of water.
" You had better," said Skinner, agitated
proportionately by the inanimation of the at-
GERVASE SKINNER.
321
tendant ; " the property of travellers must be
protected in public inns, and I am determined
to follow up this robbery ' upon principle,' in-
dependently of the actual loss ; which, however
large, is, with me, entirely a secondary con-
sideration."
" I am very sorry, Sir," said the master of
the house, advancing to my hero, " very sorry
indeed, that you should have lost any thing ; but
we will endeavour to investigate the affair ; I
have sent for the porter — he is here, Sir. Would
you like to ask him any questions?''
" One, if you please/' said Skinner ; " pray,
porter, what luggage might you have taken into
mv room vestei-day?"
*' What's the gentleman's number," said the
porter, turning to the waiter.
" 147," said Skinner; "is the number of the
room."
" Oh ! I recollect," said the porter ; " I took
up all the luggage there was — a portmanteau, a
bag, and a dressing-case."*
" and a writing-desk," said Skinner,
very emphatically.
" No. Sir, I'll be upon my oath there was no
■writing-desk," said the porter.
Gf22 GERVASE SKIXNER.
" I pointed it out to the guard, as he called
himself," said Skinner.
" Ah, Sir," said the porter ; " I know
nothing about the guard — I know what he ffave
me — I have lived here twelve years^ and never
was nothing missing, as my master will tell yo\i ;
but, I "
" Yes, Sir," said Skinner, losing the natural
sweetness of his temper ; " but I have lost my
writing-desk, and I must have it back."'
" I cannot help it, Sir," said the porter.
" What coach did the gentleman come by ?"
said the master of the house.
" The Heavy Exeter and Plymouth," said
Skinner.
" We will apply to the guard, Sir," said the
host ; " he may, perhaps, know more about it. "
"Thank you, Sir," said Skinner; some-
what pacified by the earnest, yet mild manner
of the landlord.
" He is gone," said the landlord, " with the
coach back to Marlborough, but he will be up
again the day after to-morrow.'''
" The day after to-morrow,'' exclaimed
Skinner; " Avhat am I to do until then ? — amongst
other papers of consequence, the desk contains
GERVASE SKINNEK. 323
ic pnncipal object of my visit to London, a
bill on a merchant's house in the city, for twelve
hundred and thirty pounds, due this very day.''
" You had better send a notice, Sir, not to
pay it," said the landlord, " if it should be pre-
sented — the sooner the better, for if the desk b(
actually stolen, it is the best way to take that
precaution immediately."
" I'll go myself,'' said Skinner; "excellent
idea that — I am much obliged — I'll step down."
'• You had better take a coach, Sir," said the
landlord ; " there is no time to be lost ; and,
meanwhile, I will cause all inquiry to be made
in the office below, and everywhere on the pre-
mises."
Skinner, who, " upon principle," would have
preferred walking on the present occasion, with
the fear of a loss of twelve hundred and thirty
])ounds before his eyes, acceded to the proposi-
tion of a carriage, and in less than five minutes
was safely littered up in the straw of a hackney-
coach, and on his road to the accompting-house
of Messrs. Hobbs, Stobbs, Bumble, and Davis,
which was located, somewhere in the vicinity of
Billiter-square.
During his absence, every search was made,
32J( GERVASE SKINNER.
and every inquiry set on foot; but the results
were wholly unsatisfactory. Everybody admitted
the bag, the portmanteau, and dressing-case, but
with equal earnestness every body denied ever
having seen the writing-desk, upon which the
monoptic chambermaid, Avithout intending to
equivocate, positively declared she never had set
eyes.
One thing appeared, it must be confessed, a
little suspicious — the waiter second in command,
to whom Skinner had called somewhat authori-
tatively to carry his luggage up to No. 147,
seemed less anxious and more at ease upon the
point than any of the other servants; who, with
that restless desire of clearino; themselves from
any suspicion which might attach to their charac-
ters, under the circumstances, gave evident signs
of disquietude: nothing, however, was thought of
his placidity ; and such was his honesty, that no
one, not even his bitterest enemy, entertained the
slightest notion of his criminality in the affair ;
his disposition being strong for waggery, his
connexion respectable, and his reputation for
honesty unimpeachable.
In an hour or two Skinner returned on foot —
his first inquiry v>as 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
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