THACKERAY'S COMPLETE WORKS. THE PEOPLE'S EDITION. With 325 Illustrations by the Author, Du Maurier, Cruikshank, Leech, Millais, Barnard, and others. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD; SHEWING WHO ROBBED HIM, WHO HELPED HIM, AND WHO PASSED HIM BY : TO WHICH IS NOW PREFIXED A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. CATHERINE: A STORY. BY WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY ' 2933G BOSTON ESTES AND LAURIAT 1885 SCoaa CONTENTS OF VOLUME L -o- A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. Chaptee Page I 1 II, How Mrs. Gann received two Lodgers 12 III. A Shabby Genteel Dinner, and other Incidents of a like Nature 22 IV. In which Mr. Fitch proclaims his Love, and Mr. Brandon prepares for War 36 V. Contains a great Deal of complicated Love-making . . 43 VI. Describes a Shabby Genteel Marriage, and more Love- making 58 VII. Which brings a great Number of People to Margate by the Steamboat 64 VIII. Which treats of War and Love, and many Things that are not to be understood in Chap. VII 71 IX. Which threatens Death, but contains a great Deal of Marrying 83 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. I. Doctor Fell 97 II. At School and at Home 106 III. A Consultation 115 IV. A Genteel Family 123 V. The Noble Kinsman 135 VL Brandon's 151 vi CONTENTS. Chapter Page VII. Impletur Veteris Bacchi 163 VIII. Will be pronounced to be Cynical by the Benevolent . 178 IX. Contains one Riddle which is solved, and perhaps some more 184 X. In which we visit " Admiral Byng " 195 XI. In which Philip is very ill-tempered 205 XII. Damocles 219 XIII. Love Me love my Dog 237 XIV. Contains two of Philip's Mishaps 249 XV. Samaritans 266 XVI. In which Philip shows his Mettle 274 XVII. Brevis esse Laboro 293 XVIII. Drum ist's so wohl mir in der Welt 303 XIX. Qu'on est bien a Vingt Ans ; ... 320 XX. Course of True Love 333 XXI. Treats of Dancing, Dining, Dying 348 XXII. Pulvis et Umbra sumus 366 XXIII. In which we still hover about the Elysian Fields . . 375 CONTENTS OF VOLUME II. Chapter Page I. Nee dulces Amores sperne, Puer, neque tu Choreas . ' 1 II. Infandi Dolores 11 III. Contains a Tug of War 27 IV. I charge you, Drop your Daggers ! 38 V. In which Mrs. MacWhirter has a New Bonnet ... 52 VI. In the Departments of Seine, Loire, and Styx (Inf^rieur) 66 VII. Returns to Old Friends 80 VIII. Narrates that Famous Joke about Miss Grigsby ... 94 IX. Ways and Means 110 X. Describes a Situation interesting but not unexpected . 120 XI. In which I own that Philip tells an Untruth .... 128 XII. Res Augusta Domi 147 XIII. In which the Drawing-rooms are not Furnished after all 160 ^ ^""IV. Nee plena Cruoris Hirudo 174 -xV. The Bearer of the Bowstring 186 XVI. In which several People have their Trials 201 XVII. In which the Luck goes very much against us . . . 207 XVIII. In which we reach the Last Stage but one of this Journey 228 XIX. The Realms of Bliss 233 CATHERINE : A STORY. I. Introducing to the Reader the Chief Personages of this Narrative 259 II. In which are depicted the Pleasures of a Sentimental Attachment 284 iv CONTENTS. Chapter \ Page III. In which a Narcotic is administered, and a great deal of Genteel Society depicted 294 IV. In which Mrs. Catherine becomes an Honest Woman again 303 V. Contains Mr. Brock's Autobiography, and other Matter 312 VI. The Adventures of the Ambassador, Mr. Macshane . . 323 VII. Which embraces a Period of Seven Years 338 VIII. Enumerates the Accomplishments of Master Thomas Billings — introduces Brock as Dr. Wood — and an- nounces the Execution of Ensign Macshane . . . 353 IX. Interview between Count Galgenstein and Master Thomas Billings, when he informs the Count of his Parentage 366 X. Showing how Galgenstein and Mrs. Cat recognize each other in Marylebone Gardens — and how the Count drives her Home in his Carriage 376 XI. Of some Domestic Quarrels, and the Consequence thereof 385 XII. Treats of Love, and prepares for Death 397 XIII. Being a Preptration for the End 401 Chapter the Last 403 Another Last Chapter . . . , 407 ILLUSTRATIONS OF VOLUME I. Page What Nathan said unto David 123 Mr. Frog requests the Honor of Prince Ox's Company at Dinner 125 The Old Fogies 155 Laura's Fireside 183 Nurse and Doctor 211 Hand and Glove 248 "Good Samaritans" 271 Charlotte's Convoy «... 310 Morning Greetings 828 A Quarrel 369 ILLUSTRATIONS OF VOLUME IL Page Miss Charlotte and her Partners ..,,,. 6 Comfort in Grief 30 The Poor helping the Poor 65 At the sick Man's Door 78 A Letter from New York 109 Mugford's Favorite 125 Paterfamilias <=•,,.. 148 Judith and Holofernes 195 More Free than Welcome 216 Thanksgiving , 233 CATHERINE. Mrs. Catherine's Temptation 267 The Interrupted Marriage . 312 Captain Brock appears at Court with my Lord Peter- borough 317 Catherine's Present to Mr. Hates 363 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. CHAPTER I. At that remarkable period when Louis XVIII. was restored a second time to the throne of his fathers, and all the English who had money or leisure rushed over to the Continent, there lived in a certain boarding-house at Brussels a genteel young widow, who bore the elegant name of Mrs. Wellesley Macarty. In the same house and room with the widow lived her mamma, a lady who was called Mrs. Crabb. Both professed to be rather fashionable people. The Crabbs were of a vezy old English stock, and the Macartys were, as the world knows, Count}' Cork people ; related to the Sheenys, Finnigans, Clancys, and other distinguished families in their part of Ireland, But Ensign Wellesley' Mac, not having a shilling, ran off with Miss Crabb, who possessed the same independence ; and after having been married about six months to the lady, was carried otl" sud- denly, on the 18th of June, 1815, by a disease very prevalent in those gloi'ious times — the fatal cannon-shot morbus. He, and many hundred young fellows of his regiment, the Clonnkilty Fencibles, were attacked by this epidemic on the same day, at a place about ten miles from Brussels, and there perished. The ensign's lad}' had accompanied her husband to the Continent, and about five months after his death brought into the Avorld two remarkablv fine female children. Mrs. Wellesley's mother had been reconciled to her daughter by this time — for, in truth, IMrs. Crabb had no other child but her runaway Juliana, to whom she flew when she heard of her destitute condition. And, indeed, it was high time that some one should come to the .young widow's nid ; for as her husband did not leave money, nor anything that represented money, except a number of tailors' and bootmakers' bills, neatl}' dock- 1 2 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. eted, in his writing-desk, Mrs. Wellesley was in danger of starvation, should no friendly person assist her. Mrs. Crabb, then, came off to her daughter, whom the Sheenys, Finnigans, and Clancys refused, with one scornful voice, to assist. The fact is, that Mr. Crabb had once been butler to a lord, and his lady a lady's-maid ; and at Crabb's death, Mrs. Crabb disposed of the "Ram" hotel and posting- house, where her husband had made three thousand pounds, and was living in genteel ease in a country town, when Ensign Macartj' came, saw, and ran away with Juliana. Of such a connection, it was impossible that the great Clanc3^s and Finni- gans could take notice ; and so once more widow Crabb was compelled to share with her daughter her small income of a hundred and twenty a year. Upon this, at a boarding-house in Brussels, the two managed to live pretty smartly, and to maintain an honorable reputation. The twins were put out, after the foreign fashion, to nurse, at a village in the neighborhood ; for Mrs. Macarty had been too ill to nurse them ; and Mrs. Crabb could not afford to purchase that most expensive article, a private wet-nurse. There had been numberless tiffs and quarrels between mother and daughter when the latter was in her maiden state ; and Mrs. Crabb was, to tell the truth, in nowise sorry when her J00I3' disappeared with the ensign, — for the old lady dearly loved a gentleman, and was not a little flattered at being the mother to Mrs. Ensign Macarty. WJiy the ensign should have run away with his lad}' at all, as he might have had her for the asking, is no business of ours ; nor are we going to rake up old stories and village scandals, which insinuate that Miss Crabb i-an awaj-with hirn^ for with these points the writer and the reader have noth- ing to do. Well, then, the reconciled mother and daughter lived once more together, at Brussels. In the course of a year, Mrs. Macarty's sorrow had much abated ; and having a great natu- ral love of dress, and a tolerabl}' handsome face and person, she was induced, without much reluctance, to throw her weeds aside, and to appear in the most becoming and varied costumes which her means and ingenuity could furnish. Considering, indeed, the smallness of the former, it was agreed on all hands that Mrs. Crabb and her daughter deserved wonderful credit, — that is, they managed to keep up as respectable an appearance as if the}' had five hundred a 3-ear ; and at church, at tea-par- ties, and abroad in the streets, to be what is called quite the gentlewomen. If they starved at home, nobod}- saw it; if they A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 3 patched and pieced, nobodj^ (it was to be hoped) knew it ; if they bragged about their relations and pr'opert}', could an}- one sa}' them nay? Thus the}' lived, hanging on with desperate energy to the skirts of genteel societ}- ; Mrs. Crabb, a sharp woman, rather respected her daughter's superior rank ; and Mrs. Macarty did not quarrel so much as heretofore with her mamma, on whom herself and her two children were entirely dependent. While affairs were at this juncture, it happened that a 3'oung Englishman, James Gann, Esq., of the great oil-house of Gann, Blubbery and Gann (as he took care to tell you before you had been an hour in his company), — it happened, I say, that James Gann, Esq., came to Brussels for a month, for the purpose of perfecting himself in the French language ; and while in that capital went to lodge at the very boarding-house which con- . tained Mrs. Crabb and her daughter. Gann was young, weak, inflammable ; he saw and adored Mrs. Wellesley Macart}' ; and she, who was at this period all but engaged to a stout old wooden-legged Scotch regimental surgeon, pitilessly sent Dr. M'Lint about his business, and accepted the addresses of Mr. Gann. How the .young man arranged matters with his papa the senior partner, I don't know ; but it is certain that there was a quarrel, and afterwards a reconciliation ; and it is also known that James Gann fought a duel with the surgeon, — re- ceiving the -^sculapian fire, and discharging his own bullet into the azure skies. About nine thousand times in the course of his after years did Mr. Gann narrate the history of the com- bat ; it enabled him to go through life with the reputation of a man of courage, and won for him, as he said with pride, the hand of his Juliana; perhaps this. was rather a questionable benefit. One part of the tale, however, honest James never did dare to tell, except when peculiarlj- excited by wrath or liquor ; it was this : that on the day after the wedding, and in the pres- ence of many friends who had come to offer their congratula- tions, a stout nurse, bearing a brace of chubby little ones, made her appearance ; and these rosy urchins, springing for- ward at the sight of Mrs. James Gann, shouted aflectionatel}', '•'• Maman! Maman!" at which the lady, blushing ros}' red, said,' " James, these two are j'ours ; " and poor James well- nigh fainted at this sudden paternity so put upon him. " Chil- dren ! " screamed he, aghast; "whose children?" at which Mrs. Crabb, majestically checking him, said-, "These, m}' dear James, are the daughters of the gallant and good Ensign 4 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. Macarty, whose widow you yesterday led to the altar. May you he happy with her, aiid may these blessed children " (tears) "" find in yo\i a father, who shall replace him that fell in the field of glory ! " Mrs. Crabb, Mrs. James Gann, Mrs. Major Lolly, Mrs. Piffler, and several ladies present, set up a sob immediately ; . and James Gann, a good-humored, soft-hearted man, was quite ' taken aback. Kissing his lady hurriedly, he vowed that he would take care of the poor little things, and proposed to kiss them likewise; which caress the darhngs refused with many roars. Gann's fate was sealed from that minute ; and he was properly henpecked by his wife and mother-in-law during the life of the latter. Indeed, it was to Mrs. Crabb that the stratagem of the infant concealment was due ; for when her daughter innocently proposed to have or to see the children, the old lady strongly pointed out the folly of such an arrange- ment, which might, "perhaps, frighten away Mr. Gann from the delightful matiimonial trap into which (lucky rogue !) he was about to fall. Soon after the marriage, the happy pair returned to Eng- land, occupving the house in Thames Street, City, until the death of Gann senior ; when his son, becoming head of the firm of Gann and Blal)bery, quitted the dismal precincts of Billingsgate and colonized * in the neighborhood of Putney ; where a" neat box, a couple of spare bedrooms, a good cellar, and a smart gig to drive into and out from towMi, made a real gentleman of him. Mrs. Gann treated him with much scorn, to be sure, called him a sot, and abused hugely the male com- panions that he brought down with him to Putney. Honest James would listen meekly, would yield, and would bring down a brace more friends the nest day, with whom he would discuss his accustomed lumaber of bottles of port. About this period, a daughter was born to him, called Caroline Brandenburg Gann ; so named after a large mansion near Hammersmith, and an injured queen who lived there at the time of the little girl's birth, and who was greatly compassioned and patronized by Mrs. James C4ann, and other ladies of distinction. Mrs. James was a lady in those days, and gave evening-parties of the very first order. At this period of time, Mrs. James Gann sent the twins, Rosalind Clancy and Isabella Finnigan Wellesley Macarty, to a boarding-school for young ladies, and grumbled much at the amount of the half-years' bills which her husband was called upon to pay for them ; for though James discharged them with A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 5 perfect good-humor, his lady began to entertain a mean opinion indeed of her pretty young children. They could expect no fortune, she said, from Mr. Gann, and she wondered that he should think of bringing them up expensively, when he had a darling child of his own, for whom he was bound to save all the money that he could la}' b3\ Grandmamma, too, doted on the little Caroline Branden- burg, and vowed that she would leave her three thousand pounds to this dear infant ; for in this way does the world show its respect for that most respectable thing, prosperity. Who in this life get the smiles, and the acts of friendship, and the pleasing legacies ? — The rich. And I do, for my part, heartily wish that some one would leave me a trifle — say twenty thou- sand pounds — being perfectly confident that some one else would leave me more ; and that I should sink into my grave worth a plum at least. Little Caroline then had her maid, her aiij nursery, her little carriage to drive in, the promise of her grandmamma's consols, and that priceless treasure — her mamma's undivided affection. Gann, too, loved her sincerely, in his careless, good- humored way ; but he determined, notwithstanding, that his step-daughters should have something handsome at his death, but — but for a great But. Gann and Blubbery were in the oil line, — have we not said so? Their profits arose from contracts for lighting a great number of streets in London ; and about this period Gas came into use. Gann and Bluljbery appeared in the Gazette ; and, I am sorry to saj-, so bad had been the management of Blubbery — so great the extravagance of both partners and their ladies, — that they only paid their creditoi's fourteenpence halfpenny in the pound. When Mrs. Crabb heard of this dreadful accident — Mrs. Crabb, who dined thrice a week with her son-in-law ; who never would have been allowed to enter the house at all had not honest James interposed his good nature between her quarrel- some daughter and herself — Mrs. Crabb, I say, proclaimed James Gann to be a swindler, a villain, a disreputable, tips}", vulgar man, and made over her money to the Misses Rosalind Clancy and Isabella Finnigan Macarty ; leaving poor little Caro- line without one sinsfle maravedi. Half of one thousand five hundred pounds allotted to each was to be paid at marriage, the other half on the death of Mrs. James Gann, who was to enjoy the interest thereof. Thus do we rise and fall in this world — thus does Fortune shake her swift wings, and bid us 6 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. abruptly to resign the gifts (or rather loans) which we have had from her. How Gann and his famil}^ lived after their stroke of misfor- tune, I know not ; but as the failing tradesman is going through the process of bankruptcy, and for some months afterwards, it may be remarked that he has usuallj' some mj'stcrious means of subsistence — stra}' spars of the wreck of his property, on which he manages to seize, and to float for a while. During his retirement, in an obscure lodging in Lambeth, where the poor fellow was so tormented b}^ his wife as to be compelled to fly to the public-house for refuge, Mrs. Crabb died ; a hundred a year thus came into the possession of Mrs. Gann ; aud some of James's friends, who thought him a good fellow in his pros- perity, came forward, and furnished a house, in which they placed him, and came to see and comfort him. Then the}^ came to see him not quite so often ; then they found out that Mrs. Gann was a sad t3'rant, and a sill}' woman ; then the ladies declared her to be insupportable, and Gann to be a low, tipsy fellow : and the gentlemen could but shake their heads, and admit that the charge was true. Then they left off" coming to see him altogether ; for such is the wa}' of the world, where many of us have good impulses, and are generous on an occa- sion, but are wearied b}' perpetual want, and begin to grow angry at its importunities — being very properly vexed at the daily recurrence of hunger, and the impudent unreasonableness of starvation. Gann, then, had a genteel wife and children, a furnished house, and a hundred pounds a year. How should he live? The wife of James Gann, Esq., would never allow him to demean himself by taking a clerk's place ; and James himself, being as idle a fellow as ever was known, was fain to acquiesce in this determination of hers, and to wait for some more genteel employment. And a curious list of such genteel employments might be made out, were one inclined to follow this interesting subject far ; shabby compromises with the world, into which poor fellows enter, and still fondly talk of their " position," and strive to imagine that they are really working for their liread. Numberless lodging-houses are kept b}- the females of fami- lies who have met with reverses : are not " boarding-houses, with a select musical society, in the neighborhood of the squares," maintained by such? Do not the gentlemen of the boarding-houses issue forth every morning to the City, or make believe to go thither, on some mysterious business which they have ? After a certain period, Mrs. James Gann kept a lodg- A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 7 ing-house (in her own words, received " t^vo inmates into her famil}'"), and Mr. Gann had his mysterious business. In the j-ear 1835, when this story begins, there stood in a certain back-street in the town of Margate a house, on the door of whicli might be read, in gleaming brass, the name of Mr. Gank. It was the work of a single smutty servant-maid to clean this brass plate ever}^ morning, and to attend as far as possible to the wants of Mr. Gann, his family, and lodgers ; and his house being not very far from the sea, and as you might, by climbing up to the roof, get a sight between two chimneys of that multitudinous element, Mrs. Gann set down her lodo-ino-s as fashionable ; and declared on her caxxls that her house commanded " a fine view of the sea." On the wire window-blind of the parlor was written, in large characters, the word Office ; and here it was that Gann's ser- vices came into play. He was very much changed, poor fellow ! and humbled ; and from two cards that hung outside the blind, 1 am led to believe that he did not disdain to be agent to the " London and Jamaica Ginger-beer Company," and also for a certain preparation called " Gaster's Infants' Farinacio, or Mothers' Invigorating Substitute," — a damp, black, mould}^ half-pound packet of which stood in permanence at one end of the ' ' office " mantel-piece ; while a fly-blown ginger-beer bottle occupied the other extremity. Nothing else indicated that this ground-floor chamber was an office, except a huge black inkstand, in which stood a stump}' pen, richl}' crusted with ink at the nib, and to all appearance for many months enjo3'ing a sinecure. To this room 5'ou saw every day, at two o'clock, the employe from the neighboring hotel bring two quarts of beer ; and if you called at that hour, a tremendous smoke, and smell of dinner, would gush out upon yoxx from the "office," as 3'ou stumbled over sundry battered tin dish-covers, which lay gaping at the threshold. Thus had that great bulwark of gentilit}^, the din- ing at six o'clock, been broken in ; and the reader must there- fore judge that the house of Gann was in a demoralized state. Gann certainly was. After the ladies had retired to the back-parlor (which, with yellow gauze round the frames, win- dow-curtains, a red silk cabinet piano, and an album, was still tolerabl}' genteel), Gann remained, to transact business in the office. This took place in the presence of friends, and usually consisted in the production of a bottle of gin from the corner cupboard, or, ma3-hap, a litre of brand}^ which was given by Gann with a knowing wink, and a fat finger pUiccd on a twink- ling red nose : when Mrs. G. was out, James would also pro- 8 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. duce a number of pipes, that gave this room a constant and agreeable odor of shag tobacco. In fact, Mr. Gann had nothing to do from morning till night. He was now a fat, bald-headed man of fifty ; a dirty dandy on week-days, with a shawl- waistcoat, a tuft of hair to his great double chin, a snuffy shirt-frill, and enormous breastpin and seals : he had a pilot-coat, with large mother-of-pearl buttons, and always wore a great rattling telescope, with which he might be seen for hours on the sea-shore or the pier, examining the ships, the bathing-machines, the ladies' schools as they paraded up and down the esplanade, and all other objects which the telescopic view might give him. He knew every person con- nected with every one of the Deal and Dover coaches, and was sure to be witness to the arrival or departure of several of them in the course of the daj- ; he had a word for the ostler about that "gray mare," a nod for the " shooter" or guard, and a bow for the dragsman ; he could send parcels for nothing up to town ; had twice had Sir Rumble Tumble (the noble driver of the Flash-o'-lightning-light- four-inside-post-coach) "up at his place, ■ and took care to tell j-ou that some of the party were pretty considerably " sewn up," too. He did not frequent the large hotels ; but in revenge he knew every person who entered or left them ; and was a great man at the " Bag of Nails " and the "Magpie and Punchbowl," where he was president of a club ; he took the bass in " Mynheer Van Dunk," " The Wolf," and many other morsels of concerted song, and used to go backwards and forwards to London in the steamers as often as ever he liked, and have his "grub," too, on board. Such was James Gann. Many people, when they wrote to him, ad- dressed him James Gann, Esq. His reverses and former splendors afforded a never-failing theme of conversation to honest Gann and the whole of his family ; and it ma}' be remarked that such pecuniary misfor- tunes, as they are called, are'by no means misfortunes to people of certain dispositions, but actual pieces of good luck. Gann, for instance, used to drink liberally of port and claret, when the house of Gann and Blubbery was in existence, and was henceforth compelled to imbibe only brandy and gin. Now he loved these a thousand times more than the wine ; and had the advantage of talking about the latter, and of his great merit in giving them up. In those prosperous days, too, being a gen- tleman, he could not frequent the public-house as he did at present ; and the sanded tavern-parlor was Gann's supreme enjoyment. He was obliged to spend many hours daily in a A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 9 dark unsavor}' room in an alley off Thames Street ; and Gann hated books and business, except of other people's. His tastes were low ; he loved public-house jokes and company ; and now being fallen, was voted at the " Bag of Nails " and the " Mag- pie " before mentioned a tip-top fellow and real gentleman, whereas he had been considered an ordinary- vulgar man by his fashionable associates at Putney. Many men are there who are made to fall, and to profit by the tumble. As for Mrs. G., or Jooly, as she was indifferently called by her husband, she, too, had gained by her losses. She bragged of her former acquaintances in the most extraordinary wa}', and to hear her you would fancy that she was known to and con- nected with half the peerage. Her chief occupation was taking medicine, and mending and altering her gowns. She had a huge taste for cheap finery, loved raffles, tea-parties, and walks on the pier, where she flaunted herself and daughters as gay as butterflies. She stood upon her rank, did not fail to tell her lodgers that she was " a gentlewoman," and was mighty sharp with Beck}' the maid, and poor Carr^', her youngest child. For the tide of affection had turned now, and the "Misses Wellesley Macarty " were the darlings of their mother's heart, as Caroline had been in the early days of Putney prosperity. Mrs. Gann respected and loved her elder daughters, the stately heiresses of 1,500^., and scorned poor Caroline, who was like- wise scorned (like Cinderella in the sweetest of all stories) by her brace of haughty, thoughtless sisters. These 3'oung women were tall, well-grown, black-browed girls, little scrupulous, fond of fun, and having great health and spirits. Caroline was pale and thin, and had fair hair and meek gray eyes ; nobody thought her a beauty in her moping cotton gown ; whereas the sisters, in flaunting printed muslins, with pink scarfs, and artificial flowers, and brass ferronnieres, and other fallals, were voted very charming and genteel by the Ganns' circle of friends. They had pink cheeks, white shoulders, and many glossy curls stuck about their shining foreheads, as dam^) and as black as leeches. Such charms, madam, cannot fail of having their effect ; and it was very lucky for Caroline that she did not pos- sess them, for she might have been rendered as A-ain, frivolous, and vulgar, as these 3'oung ladies were. While these enjoyed their pleasures and tea-parties abroad, it was Carry's usual fate to remain at home and help the servant in the many duties which were required in Mrs. Gann's estab- lishment. She dressed that lady and her sisters, brought her papa his tea in bed, kept the lodgers' bills, bore their scoldings 10 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. if thej' were ladies, and sometiraes gave a hand in the kitchen if any extra pie-crust or cookery was required. At two she made a little toilet for dinner, and was employed on numberless house- hold darnings and mendings in the long evenings, while her sisters giggled over the jingling piano, mamma sprawled on the sofa, and Gann was over his glass at the club. A weary lot, in sooth, was yours, poor little Caroline ! since the days of j'our infancy, not one hour of sunshine, no friendship, no cheery plaj'fellows, no mother's love ; but that being dead, the affec- tions which would have crept round it, withered and died too. Only James Gann, of all the household, had a good-natured look for her, and a coarse word of kindness ; nor, indeed, did Caroline complain, nor shed many tears, nor call for death, as she would if she had been brought up in geuteeler circles. The poor thing did not know her own situation ; her misery was dumb and patient ; it is such as thousands and thousands of women in our society bear, and pine, and die of; made up of sums of small tyrannies, and long indifference, and bitter, wearisome injustice, more dreadful to bear than any tortures that we of the stronger sex are pleased to cry All All about. In our intercourse with the world — (which is conducted with that kind of cordiality that we see in Sir Harry and my lady in a corned}' — a couple of painted, grinning fools, talking parts that they have learned out of a book,) — as we sit and look at the smiling actors, we get a glimpse behind the scenes from time to time ; and alas for the wretched nature that appears there ! — among women especially, who deceive even more than men, having more to hide, feeling more, living more than we who have our business, pleasure, ambition, which carries us abroad. Ours are the great strokes of misfortune, as they are called, and tlieirs the small miseries. While the male thinks, labors, and battles without, the domestic woes and wrongs are the lot of the women ; and the little ills are so bad, so infinitely fiercer and bitterer than the great, that I would not change my condition — no, not to be Helen, Queen Elizabeth, Mrs. Coutts, or the luckiest she in histor3\ Well, then, in the manner we have described lived the Gann family. Mr. Gann all the better for his "misfortunes," Mrs. Gann little the worse ; the two young ladies greatly improved by the circumstance, having been cast thereby into a society where their expected three thousand pounds made great heir- esses of them ; and poor Caroline, as luckless a being as any that the wide sun shone upon. Better to be alone in the world and utterly friendless, than to have sham friends and no sym- A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 11 patliy ; ties of kindred wliich bind one as it were to the corpse of relationship, and oblige one to bear through life the weight and the embraces of this lifeless, cold connection. I do not mean to say that Caroline would ever have made use of this metaphor, or suspected that her connection with her mamma and sisters was anything so loathsome. She felt that she was ill-treated, and had no companion ; but was not on that account envious, only humble and depressed, not desiring so much to resist as to bear injustice, ancl hardly venturing to think for herself. This tyranny and humility served her in place of education, and formed her manners, which were won- derfully gentle and calm. It was strange to see such a person growing up in such a famil}^ ; the neighbors spoke of her with much scornful compassion. "A poor half-witted thing," they said, " who could not say bo! to a goose ;" and I think it is one good test of gentility to be thus looked down on by vulgar people. It is not to be supposed that the elder girls had reached their present age without receiving a number of offers of mar- riage, and been warmly- in love a great many times. But many unfortunate occurrences had compelled them to remain in their virgin condition. There was an attorney who had proposed to Rosalind ; but finding that she would receive only 750/. down, instead of 1,500?.', the monster had jilted her pitilessly, hand- some as she was. An apothecary, too, had been smitten by her charms ; but to live in a shop was beneath the dignity of a Wellesley Macarty, and she waited for better things. Lieu- tenant Swabber, of the coast-guard service, had lodged two months at Gann's ; and if letters, long walks, and town-talk could settle a match, a match between him and Isabella must have taken place. Well, Isabella was not married ; and the lieutenant, a colonel in Spain, seemed to have given up all thoughts of her. She meanwhile consoled herself with a ga}' young wine-merchant, who had latel}^ established himself at Brighton, kept a gig, rode out with the hounds, and was voted perfectly genteel ; and there was a certain French marquess, with the most elegant black raustachios, who had made a vast impression upon the heart of Rosalind, having met her first at the circulating library, and afterwards, b}^ the most extraordi- nar}?^ series of chances, coming upon her and her sister daily in their Avalks upon the pier. Meek little Caroline, meanwhile, trampled upon though she was, was springing up to womanhood ; and though jjale, freckled, thin, meanly dressed, had a certain charm about her which 12 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. some people might prefer to the cheap splendors and rude red and white of the Misses Macarty. In fact we have now come to a period of her history when, to the amaze of her mamma and sisters, and not a little to the satisfaction of James Gann, Esquire, she actually inspired a passion in the breast of a very respectable young man. CHAPTER II. HOW MRS. GANN RECEIVED TWO L0D6ERS. It was the winter season when the events recorded in this history occurred ; and as at that period not one out of a thou- sand lodging-houses in Margate are let, Mrs. Gann, who generally submitted to occupy her own first and second floors during this cheerless season, considered herself more than ordinarily luck}^ when circumstances occurred which brought no less than two lodgers to her establishment. She had to thank her daughters for the first inmate ; for, as these two 3'oung ladies were walking one day down their own street, talking of the joys of the last season, and the delight of the raffles and singing at the libraries, and the intoxicating pleasures of the Vauxhall balls, they were remarked and evi- dently^ admired by a young gentleman who was sauntering listlessly up the street. He stared, and it must be confessed that the fascinating girls stared too, and put each other's head into each other's bonnet, and giggled and said, "Lor'!" and then looked hard at the young gentleman again. Their eyes were black, their cheeks were very red. Fancy how Miss Bella's and Miss Linda's hearts beat when the gentleman, dropping his glass out of his eye, actualh' stepped across the street, and said, " Ladies, I am seeking for lodgings, and should be glad to look at those which I see are to let in your house." ' ' How did the conjurer know it was our house ? " thought Bella and Linda (thej^ always thought in couples). From the very simple fact that Miss Bella had just thrust into the door a latch-ke3\ Most bitterl}^ did Mrs. James Gann regret that she had not on her best gown when a stranger — a stranger in February — actually called to look at the lodgings. She made up, however, A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 1 o for the slovenliness of her dress by the dignit}^ of her demeanor ; and asked the gentleman for references, informed him that she was a gentlewoman, and that he wonld have peculiar advan- tages in her establishment ; and, finall}', agreed to receive him at°the rate of twenty shillings per week. The bright e^-es of the young ladies had done the business ; but to this day Mrs. James Gann is convinced that her peculiar dignity of manner, and great fluency of brag regarding her family, have been the means of bringing hundreds of lodgers to her house, who but for her would never have visited it. "Gents," said Mr. James Gann, at the "Bag of Nails" that very evening, "we have got a new lodger, and I'll stand glasses round to his jolly good health ! " The new lodger, who w^as remarkable for nothing except very black eyes, a sallow face, and a habit of smoking cigars in bed until noon, gave his name George Brandon, Esq. As to his temper and habits, when humbly requested by Mrs. Gann to pay in advance, he laughed and presented her with a bank- note, never quarrelled with a single item in her bills, walked much, and ate two mutton-chops per diem. The young ladies, who examined all the boxes and letters of the lodgers, as young ladies will, could not find one single docnment relative to their new inmate, except a tavern-bill of the " White Hart," to wliich the name of George Brandon, Esquir.e, was prefixed. Any other papers which might elucidate his historj^, were locked np in a Bramah box, likewise marked G. B. ; and though these were but unsatisfactory points by which to judge a man's char- acter, there was a something about Mr. Brandon which caused all the ladies at Mrs. Ganu's to vote he was quite a gentle- man. When this was the case, I am happy to say it would not unfrequently happen that Miss Rosalind or Miss Isabella would appear in the lodger's apartments, bearing in the breakfast- cloth, or blushingly appearing with the weekly bill, apologizing for mamma's absence, " and hoping that everything was to the gentleman's liking." Both the Misses Wellesley Macarty took occasion to visit Mr. Brandon in this manner, and he received both with such a fascinating ease and gentleman-like freedom of manner, scan- ning their points from head to foot, and fixing his great black eyes so earnestly on their faces, that the blushing creatures turned away abashed, and 3'et pleased, and had man}^ conver- sations about him. " Law, Bell," said Miss Rosalind, " what a chap that Bran- 14 A SHABBY GENTEEL STOKY. (Ion is ! I don't half like him, I do declare ! " Than which there can be no greater compliment from a woman to a man. " No more do I neither," says Bell. " The man stares so, and says such things! Just now, when Becky brought his paper and sealing-wax — the silly girl brought black and red too — I took them up to ask which he would have, and what do you think he said? " "Well, dear, what?" said Mrs. Gann. " ' Miss Bell,' says he, looking at me, and with such eyes ! ' I'll keep everything : the red wax, because it's hke your lips ; the black wax,"' because it's like your hair ; and the satin paper, because it's like your skin ! ' Wasn't it genteel? " " Law, now ! " exclaimed Mrs. Gann. " Upon my word, I think it's very rude ! " said Miss Lindy ; "and if he'd said so to me, I'd have slapped his face for his imperence ! " And much to her credit, Miss Lindy went to his room ten minutes after to see if he would say anything to her. What Mr. Brandon said, I never knew ; but the httle pang of envy which had caused Miss Lindy to retort sharply upon her sister, had given place to a pleased good-humor, and she allowed Bella to talk about the new lodger as much as ever she liked. And now if the reader is anxious to know what was Mr. Brandon's character, h(i had better read the following letter from him. It was addressed to no less a person than a vis- count ; and given, perhaps, with some little ostentation to Becky, the maid, to carry to the post. Now Becky, before she executed such errands, always showed the letters to her mistress or one of the young ladies (it must not be supposed that Miss Caroline was a whit less curious on these matters than her sisters) ; and when the family beheld the name of Lord Viscount Cinqbars upon the superscription, their respect for their lodger was greater than ever it had been : — " Margate, February, 1835. "Mr DEAR Viscount, — For a reason I have, on coming down to Mar- gate, I with much gravity mformed the people of the ' White Hart ' that my name was Brandon, and intend to bear that honorable appellation during my stay. For the same reason (I am a modest man, and love to do good in secret), I left the public hotel immediately, and am now housed in private lodgings, humble, and at a humble price. I am here, thank heaven, quite alone. Robinson Crusoe had as much society in his island, as I in this of Thanet. In compensation I sleep a great deal, do nothmg, and walk much, silent, by the side of the roaring sea, like Calchas, priest of Apollo. ■ u 1, " The fact is, that until papa's wrath is appeased, I must hve with the A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 15 utmost meekness and humility, and have barely enough money in my pos- session to pay such small current expenses as fall on me here, where strangers are many and credit does not exist. I pray you, therefore, to tell Mr. Snipson the tailor, Mr. Jackson the bootmaker, honest Solomonson the discounter of bills, and all such friends in London and Oxford as may make inquiries after me, that I am at this very moment at the city of Munich in Bavaria, from which I shall not return until my marriage with Miss Goldmore, the great Indian heiress ; who, upon my honor, will have me, I believe, any day for the asking. " Nothing else will satisfy my honored father, I know, whose purse has already bled pretty freely for me, I must confess, and who has taken the great oath that never is broken, to bleed no more unless this marriage is brought about. Come it must. I can't work, I can't starve, and I can't live under a thousand a year. " Here, to be sure, the charges are not enormous ; for your edification, read my week's bill : — ' George Brandon, Esquire, ' To Mrs. James Gann. £ s. d. A week's lodging 100 Breakfast, cream, eggs 090 Dinner (fourteen mutton-chops) 10 6 Fire, boot-cleaning, &c 3 6 £2 3 ' Settled, Juliana Gann.' " Juliana Gann ! Is it not a sweet name ? it sprawls over half the paper. Could you but see the owner of the name, my dear fellow ! I love to ex- amine the customs of natives of all countries, and upon my word there are some barbarians in our own less known, and more worthy' of being known, than Hottentots, wild Irish, Otaheiteans, or any such savages. If you could see the airs that this woman gives herself ; the rouge, ribands, rings, and other female gimcracks that she wears ; if you could hear her reminis- cences of past times, ' when she and Mr. Gann moved in the very gentcelest circles of society ; ' of the peerage, which she knows by heart ; and of the fashionable novels, in every word of which she believes, you would be proud of your order, and admire the intense respect which tlie candille show towards it. There never was such an old woman, not even our tutor at Christchurch. " There is a he Gann, a vast, bloated old man, in a rough coat, who has met nie once, and asked me, with a grin, if my mutton-chops was to my liking ? The satirical monster! What can I eat in this place but mutton- chops ■? A great bleeding beefsteak, or a filthy, reeking gigot a I'ean, with a turnip poultice ? I sliould die if I did. As for fish in a watering-place, I never touch it; it is sure to be bad. Nor care I for little sinewy, dry, black-legged fowls. Cutlets are my only resource ; I have them nicely enough broiled by a little humble companion of the family, (a companion, ye gods, in this family !) who blushed hugely when she confessed that the cooking was hers, and that her name was Caroline. For drink I indulge in gin, of which I consume two wine-glasses daily, in two tumblers of cold 16 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY» water; it is the only liquor that one can be sure to find genuine in a com- mon house in England. " This Gann, I take it, has similar likings, for I hear him occasionally at midnight floundering up the stairs (his boots lie dirty in the passage) — floundering, I say, up the stall's, and cursing the candlestick, whence escape now and anon the snuffers and extinguisher, and with brazen rattle disturb the silence of the night. Thrice a week, at least, does Gann breakfast in bed — sure sign of pridian intoxication ; and thrice a week, in the morning, I hear a hoarse voice roaring for ' my soda-water.' How long have the rogues drunk soda-water 1 " At nine, Mrs. Gann and daughters are accustomed to breakfast ; a handsome pair of girls, truly, and much followed, as 1 hear, in the quarter. These dear creatures are always paying me visits — visits with the tea- kettle, visits with the newspaper (one brings it, and one comes for it) ; but the one is always at the other's heels, and so one cannot show oneself to be that dear, gay seducing fellow that one has been, at home and on the Con- tinent. Do you remember cette chere marquise at Pau ? That cursed conju- gal pistol-bullet still plays the deuce with my shoulder. Do you remember Betty Bundy, the butcher's daughter 1 A pretty race of fools are we to go mad after such women, and risk all — oaths, prayers, promises, long wearisome courtships — for what? — for vanity, truly. When the battle is over, behold your conquest ! Betty Bundy is a vulgar country wench ; and cette belle marquise is old, rouged, and has false hair. Vanitas vanitatum ! what a moral man I will be some day or other ! " I have found an old acquaintance (and be hanged to him!) who has come to lodge in this very house. Do you recollect at Rome a young artist, Fitch by name, the handsome gaby with the large beard, that mad Mrs. Carrickf ergus was doubly mad about ? On the second floor of Mrs. Gann's house dwells thJs youth. His beard brings the gamins of the streets troop- ing and yelling about him ; his fine braided coats have grown somewhat shabby now ; and the poor fellow is, like your humble servant (by the way, have you a 500 franc billet to spare 1 ) — like your humble servant, I say, very low in pocket. The young Andrea bears up gayly, however ; twangles his guitar, paints the worst pictures in the world, and pens sonnets to his imaginary mistress's eyebrow. Luckily the rogue did not know my name, or I should have been compelled to unbosom to him ; and when I called out to him, dubious as to my name, ' Don't you know me ? I met you in Rome. My name is Brandon,' the painter was perfectly satisfied, and ma- jestically bade me welcome. " Fancy the continence of this young Joseph — he has absolutely run away from Mrs. Carrickfergus ! ' Sir,' said he, with some hesitation and blushes, when I questioned him about the widow, ' I was compelled to leave Rome in consequence of the fatal fondness of that woman. I am an 'andsome man, sir, — I know it — all the chaps in the Academy want me for a model; and that woman, sir, is sixty. Do you think I would ally myself with her ; sacrifice my happiness for the sake of a creature that's as hugly as an 'arpy 1 I'd rather starve, sir. I'd rather give up my hart and my 'opes of rising in it than do a haction so dis/iA/i/wnorable.' " There is a stock of virtue for you! and the poor fellow half-starved. He lived at Rome upon the seven portraits that the Carrickfergus ordered of him, and, as I fancy, now does not make twenty pounds in the year. rare chastity! wondrous silly hopes! motns nnimorum, atqiie certa- mina tania ! — puloeris exir;ui jat'tu, in such an insignificant little lump of mud as this ! Why the deuce does not the fool marry the widow 1 His betters would. Til ere was a captain of dragoons, an Italian prince, and four sons A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 17 of Irish peers, all at her feet; but the Cockney's beard and whiskers have overcome them all. Here my. paper has come to an end ; and I have tlie honor to bid your lordship a respectful farewell. "G. B." Of the young gentleman who goes b3^ the name of Brandon, the reader of the above letter will not be so misguided, we trust, as to have a very exalted opinion. The noble viscount read this document to a supper-party in Cliristchurch, in Ox- ford, and left it in a bowl of milk-punch ; whence a scout ab- stracted it, and handed it over to us. My lord was twenty 3'ears of age when he received the epistle, and had spent a couple of 3-ears abroad, before going to the universitj^ under the guardianship of the worthy individual who called himself George Brandon. Mr. Brandon was the son of a half-pay colonel, of good famil}-, who, honoring the great himself, thought his son would vastly benefit b}^ an acquaintance with them, and sent him to Eton, at cruel charges upon a slender purse. From Eton the lad went to Oxford, took honors there, frequented the best society, followed with a kind of proud obsequiousness all the tufts of the university, and left it owing exactly- two thousand pounds. Then there came storms at home ; fur}- on the part of the stern old "governor;" and final payment of the debt. But while this settlement was pending. Master George had contracted man}' more debts among bill-discounters, and was glad to fl}^ to the Continent as tutor to 3'oung Lord Cinqbars, in whose company he learned ever}^ one of the vices in Europe ; and having a good natural genius, and a heart not unkindly, had used these quahties in such an admirable manner as to be at twenty-seven utterly ruined in purse and principle — an idler, a spendthrift, and a glutton. He was free of his money ; would spend his last guinea for a sensual gratification ; would borrow from his neediest friend ; had no kind of conscience or remorse left, but believed himself to be a good-natured devil- ma^'-care fellow ; had a good deal of wit, and indisputably good manners, and a pleasing, dashing frankness in conversa- tion with men. I should like to know how man}' such scoun- drels our universities have turned out ; and how much ruin has been caused by that accursed system which is called in England "the education of a gentleman." Go, my son, for ten 3'ears to a public school, that " world in miniature ; " learn " to' fight for yourself" against the time when your real struggles shall begin. Begin to be selfish at ten years of age ; study'for other ten 3'ears ; get a competent knowledge of boxing, swimming, 2 18 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. rowing, and cricket, with a pretty knack of Latin hexameters and a decent smattering of Greek pla^-s, — do tliis and a fond father shall bless yon — bless the two thousand pounds which he has spent in acquiring all these benefits for you. And, besides, what else have you not learned? You have been many hundreds of times to chapel, and have learned to con- sider the religious service performed there as the vainest parade in the world. If your father is a grocer, you have been beaten for his sake, and have learned to be ashamed of him. You have learned to forget (as how should you remember, being separated from them for three-fourths of your time ?) the ties and natural affections of home. You have learned, if 3'ou have a kindly heart and an open hand, to compete with asso- ciates much more wealthy than yourself; and to consider money as not much, but honor — the honor of dining and consorting with your betters — as a great deal. All tliis does the public- school and college bo}^ learn ; and woe be to his knowledge ! Alas, what natural tenderness and kindlj^ clinging filial affec- tion is he taught to trample on and despise ! My friend Bran- don had gone through this process of education, and had been irretrievabl_y ruined by it — his heart and his honesty had been ruined by it, that is to say ; and he had received, in return for them, a small quantit}' of classics and mathematics ^ — prett}' compensation for all he had lost in gaining them ! But I am wandering most absurdly- from the point ; right or wrong, so nature and education had formed Mr. Brandon, who is one of a considerable class. Well, this young gentleman was established at Mrs. Gann's house ; and we are obliged to enter into all these explanations concerning him, because they are necessary to the right understanding of our story — Brandon not being altogether a bad man, nor much worse than many a one who goes through a course of regular selfish swindling all his life long, and dies rehgious, resigned, proud of himself, and universally respected by others ; for this eminent advantage has the getting-and-keeping scoundrel over the extravagant and careless one. One day, then, as he was gazing from the window of his lodging-house, a cart, containing a vast number of easels, port- folios, wooden cases of pictures, and a small carpet-bag that might hold a change of clothes, stopped at the door. The vehicle was accompanied by a remarkable young fellow — dressed in a frock-coat covered over with frogs, a dirty furned- down shirt-collar, with a blue satin cravat, and a cap placed wonderfully on one ear — who had evidently hired apartments A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 19 at Mr. Gann's. This new lodger was no other than Mr. Andrew Fitch ; or, as he wrote on his cards, without the prefix, Andrea Fitch. Preparations had been made at Gann's for the reception of Mr. Fitch, whose aunt (an auctioneer's lady in the town) had raade arrangements that he should board and lodge with the Gann famil}', and have the apartments on the second floor as his private rooms. In these, then, young Andrea was in- stalled. He was a 3"outh of a poetic temperament, loving solitude ; and where is such to be found more easily than on the storm-washed shores of Margate in winter? Then the boarding-house keepers have shut up their houses and gone away in anguish ; then the taverns take their carpets up, and you can have 3-our choice of a hundred and twenty beds in any one of them ; then but one dismal waiter remains to superintend this vast echoing pile of loneliness, and the landlord pines for summer ; then the flys for Ramsgate stand tenantless beside the pier ; and about four sailors, in pea-jackets, are to be seen in the three principal streets ; in the rest, silence, closed shut- ters, torpid chimneys enjoying their unnatural winter sinecure — not the clack of a patten echoing over the cold dry flags ! This solitude had been chosen by Mr. Brandon for good reasons of his own ; Gann and his family would have fled, but that the}' had no other house wherein to take refuge ; and Mrs. Hamraerton, the auctioneer's lady, felt so keenly the kindness which she was doing to Mrs. Gann, in providing her with a lodger at such a period, that she considered herself fully justi- fied in extracting from the latter a bonus of two guineas, threatening on refusal to send her darling nephew to a rival establishment over the waj'. Andrea was here then, in the loneliness that he loved, — a fantastic youth, who lived but for his art ; to whom the world was like the Coburg Theatre, and he in a magnificent costume acting a principal pai't. His art, and his beard and whiskers, were the darlings of his heart. His long pale hair fell over a high polished brow, which looked wonderfully thoughtful ; and yet no man was more guiltless of thinking. He was always putting himself into attitudes ; he never spoke the truth ; and was so entirely aflected and absurd, as to be quite honest at 20 A SHABBY GENTEEL STOEY. last : for it is my belief that the man did not know truth from falsehood an}^ longer, and was when he was alone, when he was in company, nay, when he was unconscious and sound asleep snoring in bed, one complete lump of affectation. When his apartments on the second floor were arranged according to his fancy, they made a tremendous show. He had a large Gothic chest, in which he put his wardrobe (namely, two velvet waist- coats, four varied satin under ditto, two pairs braided trousers, two shirts, half a dozen false coUars, and a couple of pairs of dreadfully dilapidated Blucher boots). He had some pieces of armour ; some China jugs and Venetian glasses ; some bits of old damask rags, to drape his doors and windows : and a rickety lay figure, in a Spanish hat and cloak, over which slung a long Toledo rapier, and a guitar, with a riband of dirty sk}'- blue. Such was our poor fellow's stock in trade. He had some volumes of poems — " Lalla Rookh," and the sterner composi- tions of B3Ton; for, to do him justice, he hated " Don Juan," and a woman was in his eyes an angel ; a Mangel, alas ! he would call her, for nature and the circumstances of his family had taken sad Cockney advantages over Andrea's pronuncia- tion. The Misses Wellesley Macarty were not, however, very squeamish with regard to grammar, and, in this dull season, voted Mr. Fitch an elegant young fellow. His immense beard and whiskers gave them the highest opinion of his genius ; and before long the intimacy between the young people was con- siderable, for Mr. Fitch insisted upon drawing the portraits of the whole family. He painted Mrs. Gann in her rouge and ribands, as described by Mr. Brandon ; Mr. Gann, who said that his picture would be very useful to the artist, as every soul in Margate knew him ; and the Misses Macarty (a neat group, representing Miss Bella embracing Miss Linda, who was pointing to a pianoforte). " I suppose you'll do ray Carry next? " said Mr. Gann, ex- pressing his approbation of the last picture. " Law, sir," said Miss Linda, " Carry, with her red hair ! — it would be ojus." " Mr. Fitch might as well paint Becky, our maid," said Miss Bella. " Carry is quite impossible, Gann," said Mrs. Gann ; " she hasn't a gown fit to be seen in. She's not been at church for thirteen Sundays in consequence." " And more shame for you, ma'am," said Mr. Gann, who A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 21 liked his child; "Carry shall have a gown, and the best of gowns." And jingling three-and-twentv shillings in his pocket, Mr. Gann determined to spend them all in the purchase of a robe for Carry. But alas, the gown never came ; half the mone}' was spent that very evening at the " Bag of Nails." "Is that — that 3'oung lad^-, 3-our daughter?" said Mr. Fitch, surprised, for he fancied Carry was a humble companion of the family. " Yes, she is, and a ver}- good daughter, too, sir," answered Mr. Gann. '•'•Fetch and Carry I call her, or else Carrj'van — she's so useful. Ain't you. Carry? " "I'm very glad if I am, papa," said the 3"0ung lady, who was blushing violently, and in whose presence all this conver- sation had been carried on. " Hold your tongue, miss," said her mother ; " 3-0U are very expensive to us, that you are, and need not brag about the work 3'ou do. You would not live on charit}-, would 3'ou, like some folks ? " (here she looked fiercel}' at Mr. Gann) ; ' ' and if your sisters and me starve to keep 3'ou and some folks, I pre- sume 3'ou are bound to make us some return." When any allusion was made to Mr. Gann's idleness and extravagance, or his lady showed herself in any way inclined to be angr}", it was honest James's habit not to answer, but to take his hat and walk abroad to the public-house ; or if haply she scolded him at night, he would turn his back and fall a-snoring. These were the only remedies he found for Mrs. James's bad temper, and the first of them he adopted on hearing these words of his lady, which we have just now transcribed. Poor Caroline had not her father's refuge of flight, but was obliged to stay and listen ; and a wondrous eloquence, God wot ! had Mrs. Gann upon the subject of her daughter's ill- conduct. The first lecture Mr. Fitch heard, he set down Caroline for a monster. Was she not idle, sulk}', scornful, and a sloven? For these and many more of her daughter's vices Mrs. Gann vouched, declaring that Caroline's misbe- havior was hastening her own death, and finishing b}' a lainting-fit. In the presence of all these charges, there stood Miss Caroline, dumb, stupid, and careless ; na}-, when the fainting-fit came on, and Mrs. Gann fell back on the sofa, the unfeeling girl took the opportunity to retire, and never offered to smack her mamma's hands, to give her the smelling-bottle, or to I'estore her with a glass of water. One stood close at hand ; for Mr. Fitch, when this first fit occurred, was sitting in the Gann parlor, painting that lady'a 22 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. portrait ; and he was making towards her with his tumbler, when Miss Linda cried out, " Stop ! the water's full of paint ; " and straightway burst out laughing. Mrs. Gann jumped up at this, cured suddenly, and left the room, looking somewhat foolish. "You don't know Ma," said Miss Linda, still giggling; " she's alwa3's fainting." " Poor thing ! " cried Fitch ; " very nervous, I suppose?" "Oh, ver}^ " answered the lad}^, exchanging arch glances with Miss Bella. " Poor dear lady ! " continued the artist ; "I pit}' her from my hinmost soul. Doesn't the himmortal bard of Havon ob- serve, how sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thank- less child ? And is it true, ma'am, that that 3'oung woman has been the ruin of her family ? " "Ruin of her fiddlestick!" rej^lied Miss Bella. "Law, Mr. Fitch, 3'ou don't know Ma yet ; she is in one of her tantrums." "What, then, it isn't true?" cried simple-minded Fitch. To which neither of the young ladies made any answer in words, nor could the little artist comprehend why thej^ looked at each other, and burst out laughing. But he retired ponder- ing on what he had seen and heard ; and being a very soft young fellow, most implicitly believed the accusations of poor dear Mrs. Gann, and thought her daughter Caroline was no better than a Regan or Goneril. A time, however, was to come when he should believe her to be a most pure and gentle Cordelia ; and of this change in Fitch's opinions we shall speak in Chapter LLI. CHAPTER III. A SHABBY GENTEEL DINNER, AND OTHER INCIDENTS OF A LIKE NATURE. Mr. Brandon's letter to Lord Cinqbars produced, as we have said, a great impression upon the famil}^ of Gann ; an impression which was considerabl}' increased by their lodger's subsequent behavior : for although the persons with whom he now associated were of a very vulgar ridiculous kind, they were by no means so low or ridiculous that Mr. Brandon should not A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 23 wish to appear before them in the most advantageous light; and, accordingl}', he gave himself the greatest airs when in their company, and bragged incessantly of his acquaintance and familiarity with the nobility. Mr. Brandon was a tuft- hunter of the genteel sort ; his pride being quite as slavish, and his haughtiness as mean and cringing, in fact, as poor Mrs. Gann's stupid wonder and respect for all the persons whose names are written with titles before them. O free and happy Britons, what a miserable, truckling, cringing race ye are The reader has no doubt encountered a number of such swaggerers in the course of his conversation with the world — men of a decent middle rank, who affect to despise it, and herd only with persons of the fashion. This is an offence in a man which none of us can forgive ; we call him tuft-himter, lick- spittle, sneak, unmanly ; we hate, and profess to despise him. I fear it is no such thing. We envy Lickspittle, that is the fact; and therefore hate liira. Were he to plague us with the stories of Jones and Brown, our familiars, the man would be a simple bore, his stories heard patientl.y ; but so soon as he talks of my lord or the duke, we are in arms against him. I have seen a whole merry party in Russell Square grow sud- denly gloomy and dumb, because a pert barrister, in a loud, shrill voice, told a story of Lord This or the Marquis of That. We all hated that man ; and I would lay a wager that every one of the fourteen persons assembled round the boiled turkey and saddle of mutton (not to mention side-dishes from the pastry-cook's opposite the British Museum) — I would wager, I say, that every one was muttering inwardly, " A plague on that fellow ! he knows a lord, and I never spoke to more than three in the wliole course of my life." To our betters we can recon- cile ourselves, if you please, respecting them very sincerely, laughing at their jokes, making allowance for their stupidities, meekly suffering their insolence ; but we can't pardon our equals going beyond us. A friend of mine who lived amicably and happily among his friends and relatives at Hackney, was on a sudden disowned by the latter, cut by the former, and doomed in innumerable prophecies to ruin, because he kept a footboy, — a harmless little blowsy-faced urchin, in light snuff-colored clothes, glistering over with sugar-loaf buttons. There is an- other man, a great man, a literary man, whom the public loves, and who took a sudden leap from obscurity into fame and wealth. This was a crime ; but he bore his rise with so much modesty, that even his brethren of the pen did not env^'^ him. 24 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. One luckless day he set up a one-horse chaise ; from that min- ute he was doomed. " Have you seen his new carriage?" says Snarley. " Yes," says Yow ; " he's so consumedlj' proud of it, that he can't see his old friends while he drives." " Ith it a donkey-cart," hsps Simper, " thith gwand caw- waige? I always thaid that the man, from hith thtile, wath fitted to be a vewy dethent cothtermonger." " Yes, yes," cries old Candor, " a sad pity indeed ! — dread- fully extravagant, I'm told — bad health — expensive family — works going down every day — and now he must set up a car riage forsooth ! " Snarley, Yow, Simper, Candor, hate their brother. If he is ruined, thej^ will be kind to him and just ; but he is success- ful, and woe be to him ! • ••••••• This trifling digression of half a page or so, although it seems to have nothing to do with the stor}^ in hand, has, never- theless, the strongest relation to it ; and you shall hear what. In one word, then, Mr. Brandon bragged so much, and as- sumed such airs of superiorit}', that after a while he perfectly disgusted Mrs. Cann and the Misses Macaily, who were gen- tlefolks themselves, and did not at all like his way of telling them that he was their better. Mr. Fitch was swallowed up in his hart, as he called it, and cared nothing for Brandon's airs. Gann, being a low-spirited fellow, completely submitted to Mr. Brandon, and looked up to him with deepest wonder. And poor little Caroline followed her father's faith, and in six weeks after Mr. Brandon's arrival at the lodgings, had grown to believe him the most perfect, finished, polished, agreeable of mankind. Indeed, the poor girl had never seen a gentleman before, and towards such her ffentle heart turned instinctivelv. Brandon never offended her by hard words ; insulted her b}' cruel scorn, such as she met with from her mother and her sisters ; there was a quiet manner about the man quite diflferent to any that she had before seen amongst the acquaintances of her familj^ ; and if he assumed a tone of superiority in his conversation with her and the rest, Caroline felt that he was their superior, and as such admired and respected him. What happens when in the innocent bosom of a girl of six- teen such sensations arise? What has happened ever since the world began? I have said that Miss Caroline had no friend in the world but her father, and must here take leave to recall that asser- A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 25 tion ; — a friend she most certainly had, and that was honest Becky, the smutt}' maid, whose name has been mentioned be- fore. Miss Caroline had learned, in the course of a Ufe spent under the tyranny of her jaamma, some of the notions of the latter, and would have been very much offended to call Becky her friend : but friends, in fact, they were ; and a great comfort it was for Caroline to descend to the calm kitchen from the stormy 'back-parlor, and there vent some of her httle woes to the com- passionate servant of all work. When Mrs. Gann went out with her daughters, Beck}' would take her work and come and keep Miss Caroline company ; and, if the truth must be told, the greatest enjoyment the pair used to have was in these afternoons, when they read together out of the precious greasy, marble-covered volumes that Mrs. Gann was in the habit of fetching from the library. Many and many a tale had the pair so gone through. I can see them over " Manfrone ; or the One-handed Monk" — the room dark, the street silent, the hour ten — the tall, red, lurid candlewick wagghng down, the flame flickering pale upon Miss Caroline's pale face as she read out, aud lighting up honest Becky's gog- gling eyes, who sat silent, her work in her lap : she had not done a stitch of it for an hour. As the trap-door slowly opens, and the scowhng Alonzo, bending over the sleeping Imoinda, draws his pistol, cocks it, looks well if the priming be right, places it then to the sleeper's ear, and — thunder-under-under — down fall the snuflers ! Becky has had them in her hand for ten minutes, afraid to use them. Up starts Caroline, and flings the book back into mamma's basket. It is that lady returned with her daughters from a tea-party, where two young gents from London have been might}' genteel indeed. For the sentimental too, as well as for the terrible, Mis.s Caro- line and the cook had a strong predilection, and had wept their poor e3-es out over " Thaddeus of Warsaw" and the " Scottish Chiefs." Fortified by the examples drawn from those instructive volumes, Becky was firml}^ convinced that her 3'oung mistress would meet with a great lord some day or other, or be carried off", like Cinderella, b}' a brilliant prince, to the mortification of her elder sisters, whom Becky hated. And when, therefore, the new lodger came, lonel}', mj'sterious, melanchol}'^, elegant, with the romantic name of George Brandon — when he wrote a letter directed to a lord, and Miss Caroline and Becky together ex- amined the superscription, such a look passed between them as the pencil of Leslie or Maclise could alone describe for us. Becky's orbs were lighted up with a preternatural look of won- 26 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. dering wisdom ; whereas, after an instant, Caroline dropped hers, and blushed, and said, " Nonsense, Becky ! " " /s it nonsense?" said Becky, grinning, and snapping her fingers with a triumphant air ; " the cards comes true ; I knew they would. Didn't 3'ou have king and queen of hearts three deals running? What did you dream about last Tuesday, tell me that?" But Miss Caroline never did tell, for her sisters came boun- " cing down the stairs, and examined the lodger's letter. Caro- line, however, went away musing much upon these points ; and she began to think Mr. Brandon more wonderful and beautiful every day. In the meantime, while Miss Caroline was innocently indulg- ing in her inclination for the brilliant occupier of the first floor, it came to pass that the tenant of the second was inflamed by a most romantic passion for her. For, after partaking for about a foi'tnight of the family dinner, and passing some eyenings with Mrs. Gann and the young ladies, Mr. Fitch, though by no means quick of com- prehension, began to perceive that the nightly charges that were brought against poor Caroline could not be founded upon truth. "Let's see," mused he to himself. " Tuesda}^ the old lady said her daughter was bringing her gray hairs with sorrow to the grave, because the cook had not boiled the potatoes. Wednesda}^, she said Caroline was an assassin, because she could not find her own thimble. Thursday, she vows Caroline has no rehgion, because that old pair of silk stockings were not darned. And this can't be," reasoned Fitch, deeply. " A gal haint a murderess because her Ma can't find her thimble. A woman that goes to slap her grown-up daughter on the back, and before company too, for such a paltry thing as a hold pair of stockings, can't be surely a-speaking the truth." And thus gradualh' his first impression against Caroline wore awa}'. As this disappeared, pity took possession of his soul — and we know what pity is akin to ; and, at the same time, a correspond- ing liatred for the oppressors of a creature so amiable. To sum up, in six short weeks after the appearance of the two gentlemen, we find our chief dramatis personce as follows : — Caroline, an innocent young woman, in love with Brandon. Fitch, a celebrated painter, almost in love with Caroline. Brandon, a young gentleman, in love with himself. At first he was pretty constant in his attendance upon the A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 27 Misses Macarty when they went out to walk, nor were they dis- pleased at his attentions ; but he found that there were a great number of Margate beaux — ugly, vulgar fellows as ever were — who always followed in the young ladies' train, and made them' selves infinitely more agreeable than he was. These men Mr, Brandon treated with a great deal of scorn : and, in return, they hated him cordially. So did the ladies speedily : his haughty manners, though quite as impertinent and free, were not half so pleasant to them as Jones's jokes or Smith's charm- ing romps ; and the girls gave Brandon very shortly to under- stand that they were much happier without him. '-Ladies, 3^our humble," he heard Bob Smith say, as that little linen- draper came skipping to the door from which they were issuing. " The sun's hup and trade is down ; if you're for a walk, I'm your man." And Miss Linda and Miss Bella each took an arm of Mr. Smith, and sailed down the street. " I'm glad you ain't got that proud gent with the glass hi," said Mr. Smith ; " he's the most hillbred, supercilious beast I ever see." " So he is," saj-s Bella. " Hush ! " says Linda. The "proud gent with the glass hi" was at this moment lolling out of the first-floor window, smoking his accustomed cigar ; and his eyeglass was fixed upon the ladies, to whom he made a very low bow. It may be imagined how fond he was of them afterwards, and what looks he cast at Mr. Bob Smith the next time he met him. Mr. Bob's heart beat for a day afterwards ; and he found he had business in town. But the love of society is stronger than even pride ; and the great Mr. Brandon was sometimes fain to descend from his high station and consort with the vulgar family with whom he lodged. But, as we have said, he always did this with a wonderfully condescending air, giving his associates to understand how great was the honor he did them. ' One day, then, he was absolutely so kind as to accept of an invitation from the ground-floor, which was delivered in the passage by Mr. James Gann, who said, " It was hard to see a gent eating mutton-chops from week's end to week's end ; and if Mr. Brandon had a mind to meet a devilish good fellow as ever was, my friend Swigb}-, a man who rides his horse, and has his five hundred a 3"ear to spend, and to eat a prime cut out of as good a leg of pork (though he said it) as ever a knife was stuck into, the}- should dine that day at three o'clock sharp, and Mrs. G. and the gals would be glad of the honor of his company." 28 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. The person so invited was rather amused at the terms in which Mr. Gann " conveyed his hospitable message ; and at three o'clock made his appearance in the back-parlor, whence he had the honor of conducting Mrs. Gann (dressed in a sweet yeWow mousseline delaine, with a large red turban, aferronniere, and a smelling-bottle attached by a ring to a very damp, fat hand) to the " office," where the repast was set out. The Misses Macarty were in costumes equally tasty : one on the guest's right hand ; one near the boarder, Mr. Fitch — who, in a large beard, an amethyst velvet-waistcoat, his hair fresh wetted, and parted accurately' down the middle to fall in curls over his collar, would have been irresistible if the collar had been a little, little whiter than it was. Mr. Brandon, too, was dressed in his very best suit ; for though he affected to despise his hosts very much, he wished to make the most favorable impression upon them, and took care to tell Mrs. Gann that he and Lord So-and-so were the only two men in the world who were in possession of that particular waistcoat which she admired : for Mrs. Gann was verj' gracious, and had admired the waistcoat, being desirous to impress with awe Mr. Gann's friend and admirer, Mr. Swigb}^ — who, man of fortune as he was, was a constant frequenter of the club at the " Bag of Nails." About this club and its supporters Mr. Gann's guest Mr. Swigby, and Gann himself, talked very gajdy before din- ner ; all the jokes about all the club being roared over by the pair. Mr. .Brandon, who felt he was the great man of the party, indulged himself in his great propensities without restraint, and told Mrs. Gann stories about half the hobility. Mrs. Gann conversed knowingly about the Opera ; and declared that she thought Taglioni the sweetest singer in the world. " Mr. — a — Swigb}', have 3-ou ever seen Lablache dance?" asked Mr. Brandon of that gentleman, to whom he had been formaU}' introduced. " At Vauxhall is he?" said Mr. Swigby, who was just from town. "'Yes, on the tight-rope ; a charming performer." On which Mr. Gann told how he had been to Vauxhall when the princes were in London ; and his lady talked of these knowingly. And then they fell to conversing about fireworks and rack-punch ; Mr. Brandon assuring the .young ladies that Vauxhall was the ver}' pink of the fashion, and longing to have the honor of dancing a quadrille with them there. Indeed; A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 29 Brandon was so very sarcastic, that not a single soul at table understood him. The table, from Mr. Brandon's plan of it; which was after- wards sent to my Lord Cinqbars, was arranged as follows : — Miss Caroline. Mr. Fitch. Miss L. Macarty. 1. Potatoes. 3. A roast leg of Three shreds Boiled haddock, e-i pork, with sage and of celery in a removed by hashed B onions. glass. mutton. o a 3 2. Cabbage. 4. Mr. Swigby. W iss B. Macart y. Mr. Brandon. 1 and 2 are pots of porter; 3, a quart of ale, Mrs. Gann's favorite drink ; 4, a bottle of fine old golden sherry, the real produce of the Uva grape, purchased at the "Bag of Nails" Hotel for Is. dd. by Mr. J. Gann. Mr. Gann. "Taste that sherry, sir. Your 'ealth, and my services to you, sir. That wine, sir, is given me as a particular favor by my — ahem ! — mj' wine-merchant, who only will part with a small quantity of it, and imports it direct, sir, from — ahem ! — from — " il/r. Brandon. " From Xeres, of course.. It is, I really think, the finest wine I ever tasted in my life — at a commoner's table, that is." Mrs. Gann. "Oh, in course, a commoner's table! — we have no titles, sir, (Mr. Gann, I will trouble you for some more crackling.) though my poor dear girls are related, by their blessed father's side, to some of the first nobility in the land, I assure you." Mi\ Gann. "Gammon, Jooly my dear. Them Irish no- bilit}', 3'ou know, what are they? And besides, it's my belief that the gals are no moi'e related to them than I am." Miss Bella (to Mr. Brandon, confidentially). " Y'ou must find that poor Par is sadly vulgar, Mr. Brandon." Mrs. Gann. "Mr. Brandon has never been accustomed to such language, I am sure ; and I entreat you will excuse Mr. Gann's rudeness, sir." 30 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. Miss Linda. " Indeed, I assure 3'ou, Mr. Brandon, that we've high connections as well as low ; as high as some people's connections, per'aps, though we are not always talking of the nobility." This was a double shot : the first barrel of Miss Linda's sentence hit her step-father, the second part was lev- elled directl^f at Mr. Brandon. "Don't you think I'm right, Mr. Fitch?" Mr. Brandon. " You are quite right, Miss Linda, in this as in every other instance ; but I am afraid Mr. Fitch has not paid proper attention to your excellent remark : for, if I don't mis- take the meaning of that beautiful design which he has made with his fork upon the tablecloth, his soul is at this moment wrapped up in his art." This was exactly what Mr. Fitch wished that all the world should suppose. He flung back his chair, and stared wildly for a moment, and said, "Pardon me, madam: it is true my thoughts were at that moment far away in the regions of my hart." He was really thinking that his attitude was a very elegant one, and that a large garnet ring which he wore on his forefinger must be mistaken b}- all the eompau}- for a rub}'. "Art is very well," said Mr. Brandon; "but with such pretty natural objects before j-ou, I wonder 3'ou were not con- tent to think of them." "Do you mean the mashed potatoes, sir?" said Andrea Fitch, wondering. " I mean Miss Rosalind Macarty," answered Brandon, gal- lantly, and laughing heartily at the painter's simplicity. But this compliment could not soften Miss Linda, who had an uneas}' conviction that Mr. Brandon was laughing at her, and disliked him accordingl}'. At this juncture. Miss Caroline entered and took the place marked as hers, to the left hand of Mr. Gann, vacant. An old rickety wooden stool was placed for her, instead of that elegant and commodious Windsor chair which supported every other person at table ; and by the side of the plate stood a curious old battered tin mug, on which the antiquarian might possibly' discover tlie inscription of the word " Caroline." This, in truth, was poor Caroline's mug and stool, having been appro- priated to her from childhood upwards ; and here it was her custom meekl}^ to sit, and eat her daily meal. It was well that the girl was placed near her father, else I do believe she would have been starved ; but Gann was much too good-natured to allow that any difference should be made between her and her sisters. There are some meannesses A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 31 which are too mean even for man — woman, lovely woman alone, can venture to commit them. Well, on the present occasion, and when the dinner was half over, poor Caroline stole gently into the room and took her ordinary place. Caro- line's pale face was very red ; for the fact must be told that she had been in the kitchen helping Beck3-, the universal maid ; and having heard how the great Mr. Brandon was to dine with them upon that day, the simple girl had been showing her respect for him, by compiling, in her best manner, a certain dish, for the cooking of which her papa had often praised her. She took her place, blushing violently when she saw him, and if Mr. Gann had not been mailing a violent clattering with his knife and fork, it is possible that he might have heard Miss Caroline's heart thump, which it did violentl}-. Her dress was somehow a little smarter than usual ; and Becky the maid, who brouglit in that remove of hashed mutton whicli lias been set down in the bill of fare, looked at her young lady with a good deal of complacenc}', as, loaded with plates, she quitted the room. Indeed, the poor girl deserved to be looked at: there was an air of gentleness and innocence about her that was apt to please some persons, much more than the bold beauties of her sisters. The two young men did not fail to remark this ; one of them, the little painter, had long since observed it. " You are very late, miss,"" cried Mrs. Gann, who affected not to know what had caused her daughter's delay, "You're always late ! " and the elder girls stared and grinned at each other knowingly, as they always did when mamma made such attacks upon Caroline, who only kept her eyes down upon the tablecloth, and began to eat her dinner without saying a word. " Come, my dear," cried honest Gann, " if she is late you know why. A girl can't be here and there too, as I say ; can they, Swigby?" " Impossible ! " said Swigby. "Gents," continued Mr. Gann, "our Carry, 3'ou must know, has been down stairs making the pudding for her old pappy ; and a good pudding she makes, I can tell you " Miss Caroline blushed more vehemently than ever ; the artist stared her full in the face ; Mrs. Gann said " Nonsense " and "stuff" very majestically; only Mr. Brandon interposed in Caroline's favor. ' ' I would sooner that my wife should know how to make a pudding," said he, " than how to play the best piece of music in the world ! " 32 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. " Law, Mr. Brandon ! I, for my part, wouldn't demean my- self by any such kitchen- work ! " cries Miss Linda. " Make puddens, indeed : it's ojous ! " cries Bella. " For you, my loves, of course ! " interposed their mamma. " Young women of your family and circumstances is not ex- pected to perform any such work. It's different with Miss Caroline, who, if she does make herself useful now and then, don't make herself near so useful as she should, considerino- that she's not a shilling, and is living on our charity, like some other folks." Thus did this amiable woman neglect no opportunity to give her opinions about her husband and daughter. The former, however, cared not a straw ; and the latter, in this instance, was perfectly happy. Had not kind Mr. Brandon approved of her work ; and could she ask for more ? " Mamma may say what she pleases to-daj"," thought Caro- line. " I am too happy to be made angry by her." Poor little mistaken Caroline, to think you were safe against three women ! The dinner had not advanced much further, when Miss Isabella, who had been examining her younger sister curiously for some short time, telegraphed Miss Linda across the table, and nodded, and winked, and pointed to her own neck ; a very white one, as I have before had the honor to remark, and quite without any covering, except a smart neck- lace of twent3'-four rows of the lightest blue glass beads, finish- ing in a neat tassel. Linda had a similar ornament of a vermilion color ; whereas Caroline, on this occasion, wore a handsome new collar up to the throat, and a brooch, which looked all the smarter for the shabby frock over which they were placed. As soon as she saw her sister's signals, the poor little thing, who had only just done fluttering and blushing, fell to this same work over again. Down went her eyes once more, and her face and neck lighted up to the color of Miss Linda's sham cornelian. "What's the gals giggling and oghng about?" said Mr. Gann, innocently. ''What is it, my darling loves?" said stately Mrs. Gann. " Why, don't yon see, Ma? " said Linda. " Look at Miss Carry ! I'm blessed if she has not got on Becky's collar and brooch that Sims the pilot gave her ! " The young ladies fell back in uiiroarious fits of laughter, and laughed all the time that their mamma was thundering out a speech, in which she declared that her daughter's conduct A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 33 was unworth}'^ a gentlewoman, and bid her leave the room and take off those disgraceful ornaments. There was no need to tell her ; the poor little thing gave one piteous look at her father, who was whistling, and seemed in- deed to think the matter a good joke ; and after she had man- aged to open the door and totter into the passage, you might have heard her weeping there, weeping tears more bitter than any of the nianj^ she had shed in the course of her life. Down she went to the kitchen, and when she reached that humble place of refuge, first pulled at her neck and made as if she would take off Becky's collar and brooch, and then flung her- self into the arms of that honest scullion, where she cried and cried till she brought on the first fit of hysterics that ever she had had. This cr3'ing could not at first be heard in the parlor, where the young ladies, Mrs. Gann, Mr. Ganu, and his friend from the "■ Bag of Nails" were roaring at the excellence of the joke. Mr. Brandon, sipping sherr^^, sat b}', looking very sarcastically and slyly from one party to the other ; Mr. Fitch was staring about him too, but with a very different expression, anger and wonder inflaming his bearded countenance. At last, as the laughing died away and a faint voice of weeping came from the kitchen below, Andrew could bear it no longer, but bounced up from his chair and rushed out of the room exclaiming, — " By Jove, it's too bad ! " " What does the man mean?" said Mrs. Gann. He meant that he was from that moment over head and ears in love with Caroline, and that he longed to beat, buffet, pum- mel, thump, tear to pieces, those callous ruffians who so piti- lessl}' laughed at her. " What's that chop wi' the beard in such tantrums about?" said the gentleman from the " Bag of Nails." Mr. Gann answered this query b}' some joke, intimating that " per'aps Mr. Fitch's dinner did not agree with him," at which these worthies roared again. The young ladies said, " Well, now, upon m}- word ! " "Might}' genteel behavior, truly!" cried mamma; "but what can you expect from the poor thing? " Brandon only sipped more sherry, but he looked at Fitch as the latter flung out of the room, and his countenance was lighted up by a more unequivocal smile. • ••••••• These two little adventures were followed b}' a silence of some few minutes, during which the meats remained on the 3 34 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. table, and no signs were shown of that pudding upon which poor Caroline had exhausted her skill. The absence of this delicious part of the repast was first remarked b.y Mr. Gann ; and his lady, after jangling at the bell for some time in vain, at last begged one of her daughters to go and hasten matters. "Becky!" shrieked Miss Linda from the hall, but Becky replied not. "Becky, are we to be kept waiting all day?" continued the lady iii the same shrill voice. " Mamma wants the pudding ! " " Tell her to fetch it herself ! " roared Becky, at which remark Gann and his facetious friend once more went olf into fits of laughter. " Tliis is too bad ! " said Mrs. G., starting up ; " she shall leave the house this instant ! " and so no doubt Becky would, but that the lady owed her five quarters' wages ; which she, at that period, did not feel inclined to pay. Well, the dinner at last was at an end ; the ladies went away to tea, leaving the gentlemen to their wine ; Brandon, very condescendingly, partaking of a bottle of port, and listen- ing with admiration to the toasts and sentiments with which it is still the custom among persons of Mr. Gann's rank of life to preface each glass of wine. As thus : — • Glass 1. "Gents," says Mr. Gann, rising, "this glass_ I need say nothink about. Here's the king, and long life to him and the family ! " Mr. Swigby, with his glass, goes knock, knock, knock on the table; and saying gravely, "The king!" drinks off his glass, and smacks his lips afterwards. Mr. Brandon, who had drunk half his, stops in the midst and says, "Oh, ' the king ! '" Mr. Swighj. " A good glass of wine that, Gann my boy 1 " Mr. Brandon. " Capital, really ; though, upon my faith, I'm no judge of port." Mr. Gann (smacks). "A fine fruity wine as ever I tasted. I suppose 5^ou, Mr. B., are accustomed only to claret. I've 'ad it, too, in my time, sir, as Swigby there very well knows. I travelled, sir, sure le Continong, I assure you, and drank my glass of claret with the best man in France, or England either. I wasn't always what I am, sir." Mr. Brandon. "You don't look as if 3'ou were." Mr. Gann. " No, sir. Before that gas came in, I was head, sir, of one of the fust 'ouses in the hoil-trade, Gann, Blubbery & Gann, sir — Thames Street, City. I'd ray box A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 35 at Piitnej', as good a gig and horse as my friend there drives." Mr. Swighy. " Ay, and a better too, Gann, I make no donbt." 3Tr. Gann. "Well, say a better. I had a better, if money could fetch it, sir ; and I didn't spare that, I warrant you. No, no, James Gann didn't grudge his purse, sir ; and had his friends ai'ound him, as he's 'appj'^ to 'ave now, sir. Mr. Bran- don, your 'ealth, sir, and ma}' we hoften meet under this ma'ogany. Swigby, my boy, God bless you ! " Mr. Brandon. "■ Your ver}' good health." Mr. Swighy. '• Thank you, Gann. Here's to you, and long life and prosperity and happiness to you and yours. Bless you, Jim my boy ; heaven bless you ! I say this, Mr. Bandon — Brandon — what's your name — there ain't a better fellow in all Margate than James Gann, — no, nor in all England. Here's Mrs. Gann, gents, and the family. Mrs. Gann ! " {drinks.^ Mr. Brandon. " Mrs. Gann. Hip, hip, hurrah! " (drinks.) Mr. Gann. " Mrs. Gann, and thank 3-ou, gents. A fine woman, Mr. B. ; ain't she now? Ah, if you'd seen 'er when I married her ! Gad, she was fine then — an out and outer, sir ! Such a figure ! " 3fr. Sivigby. " Y^ou'd choose none but a good 'un, I war'ut. Ha, ha, ha ! "" Mr. Gann. " Did I ever tell you of my duel along with the regimental doctor? No! Then I will. I was a 3'oung chap, 3'ou see, in those da3's ; and when I saw her at Brussels — {Brusell-i they call it) — I was right slick up over head and ears in love with her at once. But wliat was to be done ? There was another gent in the case — a regimental doctor, sir — a reg'lar dragon. ' Faint heart,' says I, ' never won a fair lad_y,' and so I made so bold. She took me, sent the doctor to the right about. I met him one morning in the park at Brussels, and stood to him, sir, like a man. When the affair was over, my second, a leftenant of dragoons, told me, ' Gann,' says he, 'I've seen many a man under fire — I'm a Waterloo man,' savs he, — ' and have rode by Wellington many a long da_y ; but I never, for coolness, see such a man as 3'ou.' Gents, here's the Duke of Wellington and the British army ! " ( the gents drink.) Mr. Brandon. " Did 3'ou kill the doctor, sir?" Mr. Gann. " Why, no, sir; I shot in the hair." Mr. Brandon. "Shot him in the hair! Egad, that was a 36 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. severe shot, and a very lucky escape the doctor had ot it? Whereabout in the hair ! a whisker, sir ; or, perhaps, a pig- tail?" Mr. Swighy. " Haw, haw, haw ! shot'n in the hair — capital, capital ! " 3Ir. Gann^ who has grown very red, " No, sir, there ma}' be some mistake in my pronounciation, which I didn't expect to have laughed at, at my hown table." Mr. Brandon. " My dear sir ! I protest and vow — " 3Ir. Gann. " Never mind it, sir. I gave you my best, and did my best to make you welcome. If you like better to malie fun of me, do, sir. That may be the genteel way, but hang me if it's hour way ; is it. Jack? Our waj' ; I beg your pardon, sir." Mr. Swighy. "Jim, Jim! for heaven's sake! — peace and harmony of the evening — conviviality — social enjoj-ment — didn't mean it — did 3'ou mean anything, Mr. What-d'-ve- call-'im?" Mr. Brandon. " Nothing, upon m}^ honor as a gentleman ! " Mr. Gann. "Well, then, there's m}^ hand!" and good- natured Gann tried to forget the insult, and to talk as if nothing had occurred : but he had been wounded in the most sensitive point in which a man can be touched b}' his superior, and never forgot Brandon's joke. That night at the club, when dread- fully tipsy, he made several speeches on the subject, and burst into tears many times. The pleasure of the evening was quite spoiled ; and, as the conversation became rapid and dull, we shall refrain from reporting it. Mr. Brandon speedil}' took leave, but had not the courage to face the ladies at tea ; to whom, it appears, the reconciled Beckj' had brought that refresh- ing beverage. CHAPTER IV. IN WHICH MR. FITCH PROCLAIMS HIS LOVE, AND MR. BRANDON PREPARES FOR WAR. From the splendid hall in which Mrs. Gann was dispensing her hospitality, the celebrated painter, Andrea Fitch, rushed forth in a state of mind even more delirious than that which he usually enjoyed. He looked abi'oad into the street : all there was dusk and lonely ; the rain falling heavily, the wind playing A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 37 Pandean pipes and whistling down the chimnej'-pots. " I love the storm," said Fitch, solemnly ; and he put his great Spanish cloak round him in the most approved manner (it was of so prodigious a size that the tail of it, as it twirled over his shoulder, whisked away a lodging-card from the door of the house opposite Mr. Gann's.) ^'Ilove the storm and solitude," said he, lighting a large pipe filled full of the fragrant^ Oro- nooko ; and thus armed he passed rapidly down the street, his hat cocked over his ringlets. Andrea did not like smoking, but he used a pipe as a part of his profession as an artist, and as one of the picturesque parts of his costume ; in like manner, though he did not fence, he always travelled about with a pair of foils ; and quite unconscious of music, nevertheless had a guitar constantly near at hand. Without such properties a painter's spectacle is not complete ; and now he determined to add to them another indispensable requisite — a mistress. " What great artist was ever without one?" thought he. Long, long had he sighed for some one whom he might love, some one to whom he might address the poems which he was in the habit of making. Hundreds of such fragments had he composed, addressed to Leila, Ximena, Ada — imaginary beauties, whom he courted in dreamy verse. With what joy would he replace all those b}- a real charmer of flesh and blood ! Away he went, then, on this evening — the tyranny of Mrs. Gann towards poor Caroline having awakened all his sympathies in the gentle girl's favor — determined now and for ever to make her the mistress of his heart. Monna- Lisa, the Fornarina, Leonardo, Raphael — he thought of all these, and vowed that his Caroline should be made famous and live for ever on his canvas. While Mrs. Gann was preparing for her friends, and entertaining them at tea and whist ; while Caroline, all unconscious of the love she inspired, was weeping up stairs in her Httle garret ; while Mr. Brandon was enjoying the refined conversation of Gann and Swagby, over their glass and pipe in the office, Andrea walked abroad by the side of the ocean ; and, before he was wet through, walked himself into the most fervid affection for poor persecuted Caroline. The reader might have observed him (had not the night been very dark, and a great deal too wet to allow a sensible reader to go abroad on sucii an errand) at the sea-shore standing on a rock, and drawing from his bosom a locket which contained a curl of hair tied up in riband. Lie looked at it for a moment, and then flung it away from him into the black boiling waters below him. 38 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. " No other 'air but thine, Caroline, shall ever rest near this 'art ! " he said, and kissed the locket and restored it to its place. Light-minded youth, whose hair was it that he thus flung away? How many times had Andrea shown that very ringlet in strictest confidence to several brethren of the brush, and declared that it was the hair of a dear girl in Spain whom he loved to mad- ness ? Alas ! 'twas but a fiction of his fevered brain ; every one of his friends had a locket of hair, and Andrea, who had no love until uow, had clipped this precious token from the wig of a lovely lay-figure, with cast-iron joints and a card-board head, that had stood for some time in his ateher. I don't know that he felt any shame about the proceeding, for he was of such a warm imagination that he had grown to believe that the hair did actually come from a girl in Spain, and only parted with it on yielding to a superior attachment. This attachment being fixed on, the young painter came home wet through ; passed the night in reading Byron ; making sketches, and burning them ; writing poems to Caroline, and expunging them with pitiless india-rubber. A romantic man makes a point of sitting up all night, and pacing his chamber ; and 3'ou may see inanj^ a composition of Andrea's dated " Mid- night, 10th of March, A. F.," with his peculiar flourish over the initials. He was not sorry to be told in the morning, by the ladies at breakfast, that he looked dreadfully pale ; and answered, laying his hand on his forehead and shaking his head gloomily, that he could get no sleep : and then he would heave a huge sigh ; and Miss Bella and Miss Linda would look at each other, and grin according to their wont. He was glad, I say, to have his woe remarked, and continued his sleeplessness for two or three nights ; but he was certainly still more glad when he heard Mr. Brandon, on the fourth morning, cr}- out, in a shrill, angry voice to Becky the maid, to give the gentleman up stairs his compliments — Mr. Brandon's compliments — and tell him that he could not get a wink of sleep for the horrid trampling he ' kept up. "I am hanged if I stay in the house a night longer," added the first floor sharply, " if that Mr. Fitch kicks up such a confounded noise ! " Mr. Fitch's point was gained, and henceforth he was as quiet as a mouse ; for his Avish was not on\y to be in love, but to let everybody know he was in love, or where is the use of a belle passion ? So, whenever he saw Carohne, at meals, or in the passage, he used to stare at her with the utmost power of his big eyes, and fall to groaning most pathetically. He used to leave" his meals untasted, groan, heave sighs, and stare incessantly. A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 39 Mrs. Gann and her eldest daughters were astonished at these manoeuvres ; for they never ^uspected that any man could possibly be such a fool as to fall in love with Caroline. At length the suspicion came upon them, created immense laughter and delight ; and the ladies did not fail to rally Caroline in their usual elegant wa_y. Gann. too, loved a joke (much polite wag- gery had this worthy man practised in select inn-parlors for twenty years past), and would call poor Caroline " Mrs. F. ; " and say that instead of Fetch and Carry, as he used to name her, he should style her Fitch and Carry for the future ; and laugh at this great pun, and make many others of a similar sort, that set Caroline blushing. Indeed, the girl suffered a great deal more from this raillery than at first may be imagined ; for after the first awe inspired by Fitch's whiskers had passed away, and he had drawn the young ladies' pictures, and made designs in their albums, and in the midst of their jokes and conversation had remained per- fectly silent, the Gann family had determined that the man was an idiot : and, indeed, were not very wide of the mark. In ever^'thing except his own peculiar art honest Fitch was an idiot ; and as upon the subject of painting, the Ganns, lilvc most people of their class in England, were profoundly ignorant, it came to pass that he would breakfast and dine for many days in their company, and not utter one single syllable. So they looked upon him with extreme pit}' and contempt, as a harm- less, good-natured, crack-brained creature, quite below them in the scale of intellect, and only to be endured because he paid a certain number of shillings weekly to the Gann exchequer. Mrs. Gann in all companies was accustomed to talk about her idiot. Neighbors and children used to peer at him as he strutted down the street ; and though every young lady, including my dear Caroline, is flattered by having a lover, at least they don't like such a lover as this. The Misses Macarty (after having set their caps at him very fiercely, and quarrelled concerning him on his first coming to lodge at their house) vowed and pro- tested now that he was no better than a chimpanzee ; and Caro- line and Beck}' agreed that this insult was as great as any that could be paid to the painter. "He's a good creature, too," said Becky, " crack-brained as he is. Do you know, miss, he gave me half a sovereign to buy a new collar, after that business t'other day?" ' ' And did — Mr. , — did the first floor say anything ? " asked Caroline. "Didn't he! he's a funny gentleman, that Brandon, sure 40 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. enough; and when I took him up breakfast next morning, asked about Sims the pilot, and what I gi'ed Sims for the collar and brooch, — he, he ! " And this was indeed a correct report of Mr. Brandon's con- versation with Becky ; he had been infinitely amused with the whole transaction, and wrote his friend the viscount a capital facetious account of the manners and customs of the native in- habitants of the Isle of Thanet. And now, when Mr. Fitch's passion was fully developed — as far, that is, as sighs and ogles could give it utterance — a curious instance of that spirit of contradiction for which our race is remarkable was seen in the behavior of Mr. Brandon. Although Caroline, in the depths of her little silly heart, had set him down for her divinity, her wondrous fairy prince, who was to deliver her from her present miserabfe durance, she had never by word or deed acquainted Brandon with her inclination for him, but had, with instinctive modesty, avoided him more sedulously than before. He, too, had never bestowed a thought upon her. How should such a Jove as Mr. Brandon, from the cloudy summit of his fashionable Olympus, look down and per- ceive such an humble, retiring being as poor little Caroline Gann? Thinking her at first not disagreeable, he had never, until the day of the dinner, bestowed one single further thought upon her ; and only when exasperated by the Miss Macartys' behavior towards him, did he begin to think how sweet it would be to make them jealous and unhappy. "The uncouth grinning monsters," said he, "with their horrible court of Bob Smiths and Jack Joneses, daring to look down upon me, a gentleman, — me, the celebrated mangenr des cceurs — a man of genius, fashion, and noble famil}^ ! If I could but revenge myself on them ! What injury can I invent to wound them." It is curious to what points a man in his passion' will go. Mr. Brandon had long since, in fact, tried to do the greatest possible injury to the young ladies ; for it had been, at the first dawn of his acquaintance, as we are bound with much sorrow to confess, his fixed intention to ruin one or the other of them. And when the young ladies had, by their coldness and indiffer- ence to him, frustrated this benevolent intention, he straightway fancied that they had injured him severely, and cast about for means to revenge himself upon them. This point is, to be sure, a ver}' delicate one to treat, — for in words, at least, the age has grown to be wonderfully moral, and refuses to hear discourses upon such subjects. But human A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 41 nature, as far as I am able to learn, has not much changed since the time when Richardson wrote and Hogarth painted, a century ago. There are wicked Lovelaces abroad, ladies, now as then, when it was considered no shame to expose the rogues ; and pardon us, therefore, for hinting that such there be. Ele- gant acts of rouerie^ such as tliat meditated by Mr. Brandon, are often performed still by dashing young men of the world, who think no sin of an amourette^ but glory in it, especially if the victim be a person of mean condition. Had Brandon suc- ceeded (such is the high moral state of our British youth), all his friends would have pronounced him, and he would have con- sidered himself, to be a very lucky, captivating dog ; nor, as I believe, would he have had a single pang of conscience for the rascally action which he had committed. Tliis supreme act of scoundrelism has man permitted to himself — to deceive women. When we consider how he has availed himself of the privilege so created by him, indeed one may S3'mpathize with the advo- cates of woman's rights who point out this monstrous wrong. We have read of that wretched woman of old whom the pious Pharisees were for stoning incontinenth^ ; but we don't hear that the}' made an}' outcry against the man who was concerned in the crime. Where was he? Happy, no doubt, and easy in mind, and regaling some choice friends over a bottle with the history of his success. Being thus injured then, Mr. Brandon longed for revenge. How should he repay these impertinent young women for slighting his addresses? '•'• Pardi" said he; "just to punish their pride and insolence, I have a great mind to make love to their sister." He did not, however, for some time condescend to perform this threat. Eagles such as Brandon do not sail down from the clouds in order to pounce upon small flies, and soar airwards again, contented with such an ignoble booty. In a word, he never gave a minute's thought to Miss Caroline, until furtlier circumstances occurred wliicli caused this great man to consider her as an object somewhat worth}' of his remark. The violent affection suddenly exhibited by Mr. Fitch, the painter, towards poor little Caroline was the point which deter- mined Brandon to begin to act. "Mt dear Viscount" (wrote he to the same Lord Cinqbars whom he formerly addressed) — " Give me joy ; for in a week's time it is my in- tention to be violently in love, — and love is no small amusement iu a watering-place in winter. "I told you about the fair Juliana Gann and her family. I forgot 42 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. whether T mentioned how the Juliana had two fair danghers, the Rosalind and the Isabella ; and another, Caroline by name, not so good-looking as her lialf-sisters, but, nevertheless, a pleasing young person. " Well, when I came hither, I had nothing to do but to fall in love with the two handsomest ; and did so, taking many walks with them, talk- ing much nonsense; passing long dismal evenings over horrid tea with them and their mamma: laying regular siege, in fact, to these Margate beauties, who, according to the common rule in such cases, could not, I thought, last long. "Miserable deception! disgusting aristocratic blindness! (Mr. Bran- don always assumed tiiat his own high birth and eminent position were granted.) " Would you believe it, that I, who have seen, fought, and con- quered in so many places, should have been ignominiously defeated here ■? Just as American Jackson defeated our Peninsular veterans, I, an old Continental conqueror too, have been overcome by this ignoble enemy. These women have entrenched themselves so firmly in their vulgarity, that I have been beaten back several times with disgrace, being quite unable to make an impression. The monsters, too, keep up a dreadful fire from behind their entrenchments; and besides have raised the whole country against me : in a word, all the snobs of their acquaintance are in arms. There is Bob Smitli, the linendraper ; Harry Jones, who keeps the fancy tea-shop; young Glauber, the apothecary; and sundry other persons, vvho are ready to eat me when they see me in the streets ; and are all at the beck of the victorious Amazons. " How is a gentleman to make head against such a canaille as this? —a regular jacquerie. Once or twice I have thought of retreating ; but a re- treat, for sundry reasons I have, is inconvenient. I can't go to London ; I am known at Dover ; I believe there is a bill against me at Canterbury ; at Chatham there are sundry quartered regiments whose recognition I should be unwilling to risk. I must stay here — and be hanged to the place — lentil my better star shall rise. " But I am determined that my stay shall be to some purpose ; and so to show how persevering I am, I shall make one more trial upon tlie third daughter, — yes, upon the third daughter, a family Cinderella, who sliall, I am determined, make her sisters crever with envy. I merely mean fun, you know — not mischief, — for Cinderella is but a little child : and, be- sides, I am the most harn'iloss fellow breathing, but must have my joke. Now, Cinderella has a lover, the bearded painter of whom I sjioke to you in a former letter. He has lately plunged into the most extraordinary fits of passion for her, and is more mad than even he was before. Woe betide you, O painter ! I have nothing to do : a month to do that nothing in ; in that time, mark my words, I will laugh at that painter's beard. Should you like a lock of "it, or a sofa stuffed with it ? there is beard enough : or should you like to see a specimen of poor little Cinderella's golden ring- ^ lets,? Command vour slave. I wish I had paper enough to write you an account of a grand Gann dinner at which I assisted, and of a scene which there took place ; and liow Cinderella was dressed out, not by a fairy, but by a charitable kitchen-maid, and was turned out of the room by her in- dignant mamma, for appearing in the scullion's finery. But mj forte does not lie in such descriptions of polite life. We drank port, and toasts after dinner : here is the menu, and the names and order of the eaters." The bill of fare has been given alread}' and need not, there- fore, be again laid before the public. A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 43 " "What a fellow that is ! " said young Lord Cinqbars, read- ing the letter to his friends, and in a profound admiration of his tutor's genius. " And to think that he was a reading man too, and took a double first," cried another; "why, the man's an Admirable Crichton." " Upon my life, though, he's a little too bad," said a third, who was a moralist. And with this a fresh bowl of milk-punch came reeking from the college butteries, and the jovial party discussed that. CHAPTER V. CONTAINS A GREAT DEAL OF COMPLICATED LOYE-MAKING. The Misses Macarty were excessively indignant that Mr. Fitch should have had the audacit}' to fall in love with their sister ; and poor Caroline's life was not, as may be imagined, made much the happier b}' the envy and passion thus excited. Mr. Fitch's amour was the source of a great deal of pain to her. Her mother would tauntingly saj', that as both were beggars, they could not do better than marry ; and declared, in the same satirical way, that she should like nothing better than to see a large family of grandchildren about her, to be plagues and bur- dens upon her, as her daughter was. The short way would have been, when the j'oung painter's intentions were manifest, which they pretty speedily were, to have requested him imme- diately to quit the house ; or, as Mr. Gann said, " to give him the sack at once ; " to which measure the worthj^ man indig- nantly avowed that he would have resort. But his lady would not allow of any such rudeness ; although, for her part, she professed the strongest scorn and contempt for the painter. For the painful fact must be stated : Fitch had a short time previousl}- paid no less a sum than a whole quarter's board and lodging in advance, at Mrs. Gann's humble request, and he possessed his landlady's receipt for that sum ; the mention of which circumstance silenced Gann's objections at once. And indeed, it is pretty certain that, with all her taunts to her daughter and just abuse of Fitch's poverty, Mrs. Gann in her heart was not altogether averse to the match. In the first place, she loved match-making ; next, she would be glad to 44 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. be rid of her daughter at any rate ; and, besides, Fitch's aunt, the auctioneer's wife, was rich, and had no children ; painters, as she had heard, make often a great deal of money, and Fitch might be a clever one, for aught she knew. So he was allowed to remain in the house, an undeclared but very assiduous lover ; and to sigh, and to moan, and make verses and portraits of his beloved, and build castles in the air as best he might. Indeed our humble Cinderella was in a very curious position. She felt a tender passion for the first floor, and was adored by the second floor, and had to wait upon both at the summons of the bell of either ; and as the poor little thing was compelled not to notice any of the sighs and glances which the painter bestowed upon her, she also had schooled herself to maintain a quiet demeanor towards Mr. Brandon, and not allow him to discover the secret which was laboring in her little breast. I think it may be laid down as a pretty general rule, that most romantic little girls of Caroline's age have such a budding sentiment as this young person entertained ; quite innocent of course ; nourished and talked of in delicious secrecy to the con- Jidante of the hour. Or else what are novels made for ? Had Caroline read of Valancourt and Emily for nothing, or gathered no good example from those five tear-fraught volumes which describes the loves of Miss Helen Mar and Sir William Wal- lace ? Many a time had she depicted Brandon in a fancy cos- tume, such as the fascinating Valancourt wore ; or painted herself as Helen, ti-ying a sash round her knight's cuirass, and watching him forth to battle. Silly fancies, no doubt ; but consider, madam, the poor girl's age and education; the only instruction she had ever received was from these tender, kind- hearted, silly books : the only happiness which Fate had al- lowed her was in this little silent world of fancy. It would be hard to grudge the poor thing her dreams ; and many such did she have, and impart blushingly to honest Becky, as they sat by the humble kitchen-fire. Although it cost her heart a great pang, she had once ven- tured to implore her mother not to send her up stairs to the lodgers' rooms, for she shrunk at the notion of the occurrence that Brandon should discover her regard for him ; but this point had never entered Mrs. Gann's sagacious head. She thought her daughter wished to avoid Fitch, and sternly bade her to do her duty, and not give herself such impertinent airs ; and, in- deed, it can't be said that poor Caroline was very sorry at being compelled to continue to see Brandon. To do both gentlemen, justice, neither ever said a word unfit for Caroline to hear. A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 45 Fitch would have been torn to pieces b}^ a thousand wild horses, rather than haA^e breathed a single syllable to hurt her feelings ; and Brandon, though b}' no mer.ns so squeamish on ordinary occasions, was innatel}^ a gentleman, and from taste rather than from \4rtue, was carefully respectful in his behavior to her. As for the Misses Macarty themselves, it has been stated that the}^ had already given awaj- their hearts several times ; Miss Isabella being at this moment attached to a certain young wine-merchant, and to Lieutenant or Colonel Swabber of the Spanish serviq^ ; and Miss Rosalind having a decided fondness for a foreign nobleman, with black mustachios, who had paid a visit to Margate. Of Miss Bella's lovers. Swabber had disap- peai-ed ; but she still met the wine-merchant pretty often, and it is believed had gone very nigh to accept him. As for Miss Eosalind, I am sorry to say that the course of her true love ran by no means smoothly ; the Frenchman had turned out to be not a marquess, but a billiard-marker ; and a sad, sore subject the disappointment was with the neglected lad}-. We should have spoken of it long since, had the subject been one that was much canvassed in the Gann family ; but once when Gann had endeavored to rally his step-daughter on this unfortunate attachment (using for the purpose those delicate terms of wit for which the honest gentleman was always fa- mous) , Miss Linda had flown into such a violent fury, and com- ported herself in a way so dreadful, that James Gann, Esquire, was fairly frightened out of his wits b3- the threats, screams, and imprecations which she uttered. Miss Bella, who was disposed to be jocose likewise, was likewise awed into silence ; for her dear sister talked of tearing her eyes out that minute, and uttered some hints, too, regarding love-matters personal!}' affecting Miss Bella herself, which caused that young lady to turn pale-red, to mutter something about " wicked lies," and to leave the room immediatel}'. Nor was the subject ever again broached by the Ganns. Even when Mrs. Gann once talked about that odious French impostor, she was stopped immediately, not by the lady concerned, but by Miss Bella, who cried, sharply, " Mamma, hold your tongue, and don't vex our dear Linda by alluding to any such stuff." It is most probable that the young ladies had had a private conference, which, beginning a little fiercely at first, had ended amicably : and so the marquess was mentioned no more. Miss Linda, then, was comparatively free (for Bob Smith, the linendraper, and young Glauber, the apothecary, went for 46 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. nothing) ; and, very luckily for her, a successor was found for the ftiithless Frenchman, ahnost immediately. This gentleman was a commoner, to be sure ; but had a good estate of five hundred a year, kept his horse and gig, and was, as Mr. Gann remarked, as good a fellow as ever lived. Let us say at once that the new lover was no other than Mr. Swigby. From the day when he had been introduced to the family he appeared to be very much attracted by the two sis- ters ; sent a turkey off his own farm, and six bottles of prime Hollands, to Mr. and Mrs. Gann, in presents ; and, in ten short days after his first visit, had informed his friend Gann that he was violently in love with two women whose names he would never — never breathe. The worthy Gann knew right well how the matter was ; for he had not failed to remark Swigby's melancholy, and to attribute it to its right cause. Swigby was forty-eight years of age, stout, hearty, gay, much given to drink, and had never been a lady's man, or, indeed, passed half a dozen evenings in ladies' society. He thought Gann the noblest and finest fellow in the world. He never heard any singing like James's, nor any jokes like his ; nor liad met with such an accompUshed gentleman or man of the world. " Gann has his faults," Swigby would say at the " Bag of Nails ; " " which of us has not? — but I tell you what, he's the greatest trump I ever see." Many scores of scores had he paid for Gann, many guineas and crown-pieces had he lent him, since he came into his propert}^ some three years before. What were Swigby's former pursuits I can't tell. What need we care? Hadn't he five hundred a year now, and a horse and gig? Ay, that he had. Since his accession to fortune, this ga}' young bachelor haci taken his share (what he called "his whack") of pleasure; had been at one — nay, perhaps, at two — pubhc-houses every night ; and had been tipsy, I make no doubt, nearly a thousand times in the course of the three j-ears. Many people had tried to cheat him ; but, no, no ! he knew what was what, and in all matters of money was simple and shrewd. Gann's gentility won him ; his bragging, his ton, and the stj'lish tuft on his chin. To be invited to his house was a proud moment ; and when he went away, after the banquet described in the last chapter, he was in a perfect ferment of love and liquor. " What a stylish woman is that Mrs. Gann ! " thought he, as he tumbled into bed at his inn ; " fine she must have been as a gal ! fourteen stone now, without saddle or bridle, and no mistake. And them Miss Macartys. Jupiter ! what spanking, A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 47 handsome, elegant creatures ! — real elegance in both on 'em ! Such hair ! — black's the word — as black as my mare ; such cheeks, such necks, and shoulders ! " At noon he repeated these observations to Gann himself, as he walked up and down the pier with that gentleman, smoking Manilla cheroots. He was in raptures with his evening. Gann received his praises with much majestic good-humor. "Blood, sir! "said he, "blood's everj'thing ! Them gals have l)een brought up as few ever have. I don't speak of myself; but their mother — their mother's a lady, sir. Show me a woman in England as is better bred or knows the world more than my Juliana ! " " It's impawssible," said Swigby. "Think of the company we've kep', sir, before our misfor- tunes — the fust in the land. Brandenburg House, sir, — England's injured queen. Law bless you 1 Juliana was always there." " I make no doubt, sir ; you can see it in her," said Swigby, solemnly. " And as for those gals, why, ain't they related to the fust families in Ireland, sir? — In course they are. As I said be- fore, blood's everything ; and those young woman have the best of it : they are connected with the reg'lar old noblesse." " They have the best of everythink, I'm sure," said Swigby, " and deserve it, too," and relapsed into his morning remarks. " What creatures ! what elegance ! what hair and eyes, sir ! — ■ black, and all's black, as I say. What complexion, sir? — ay, and what makes, too ! Such a neck and shoulders I never see ! " Gann, who had his hands in his pockets (his friend's arm being hooked intoone of his), here suddenly withdrew his hand from its hidiug-place, clenched his fist, assumed a horrible ' knowing grin, and gave Mr. Swigby such a blow in the ribs as wellnigh sent him into the water. "You sly dog!" said Mr. Gann, with inexpressible emphasis; " ^-ou've found that out, too, have you? Have a care, Joe, my bov, — have a care." And herewith Gann and Joe burst into tremendous roars of laughter, fresh explosions taking place at intervals of five minutes during the rest of the walk. The two friends parted exceedingly happy ; and when they met that evening at " The Nails '' Gann drew Swigby mysteriously into the bar, and thrust into his hand a triangular piece of pink paper, which the latter read : — 48 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. " Mrs. Gann and the Misses Macarty request the honor and pleasure of Mr. Swigby's company (if you have no better engagement) to tea to- morrow evening, at half-past five. " Makgaretta Cottage, Salamanca Road North, Thursday evening." The faces of the two gentlemen were wonderfully expressive of satisfaction as this 'communication passed between them. And I am led to believe that Mrs. Gann had been unusually pleased with her husband's conduct on that day, for honest James had no less than thirteen and sixpence in his pocket, and insisted, as usual, upon standing glasses all round. Joe Swigby, left alone in the little parlor behind the bar, called for a sheet of paper, a new pen and a wafer, and in the space of half an hour concocted a very spirited and satisfactory answer to this note; which was carried off by Gann, and duly delivered. Punctually at half-past five Mr" Joseph Swigby knocked at Margaretta Cottage door, in his new coat with glistering brass buttons, his face clean-shaved, and his great ears shining over his great shirt-collar delightfully bright and red. What happened at this tea-party it is needless here to say ; but Swigby came away from it quite as much enchanted as before, and declared that the duets sung by the ladies in hideous discord, were the sweetest music he. had ever heard. He sent the gin and the turkey the next day ; and, of course, was invited to dine. The dinner was followed up on his part by an offer to drive all the .young ladies and their mamma into the country ; and he hired a verj^ smart barouche to conduct them. The invitation was not declined ; and Fitch, too, was asked by Mr. Swigby, in the height of his good-humor, and accepted with the utmost delight. " Me and Joe will go on the box," said Gann. "You four ladies and Mr. Fitch shall go inside. Carry must go bodkin ; but she ain't ver}^ big." "Carry, indeed, will stop at home," said her mamma; " she's not fit to go out." At which poor Fitch's jaw fell ; it was in order to ride with her that he had agreed to accompan}^ the party ; nor could he escape now, liaving just promised so eagerl}'. " Oh, don't let's have that proud Brandon," said the j'oung ladies, when the good-natui-ed Mr. Swigby proposed to ask that gentleman ; and therefore he was not invited to join them in their excursion : but he stayed at home very unconcern- edly, and saw the barouche and its load drive oif. Some- body else looked at it from the parlor-window with rather a A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 49 heavy heart, and that some one was poor Caroline. The day was bright and sunshiny ; the spring was beginning early ; it would have been pleasant to have been a lady for once, and to have driven along in a carriage with prancing horses. Mr. Fitch looked after her in a very sheepish, melancholy way ; and was so dismal and sill}' during the first part of the journe}- , that Miss Linda, who was next to him, said to her papa that she would change places with him ; and actuallj^ mounted the box • by the side of the happy, trembling Mr. Swigby. How proud he was, to be sure ! How knowingly did he spank the horses along, and fling out the shilUngs at the turnpikes ! " Bless 3-ou, he don't care for change ! " said Gann, as one of the toll-takers offered to render some coppers ; and Joe felt infinitely obliged to his friend for setting off his amiable quali- ties in such a way. O mighty Fate, that over us miserable mortals rulest su- preme, with what small means are th}' ends effected! — with what scornful ease and mean instruments does it please thee tO' govern mankind ! Let each man think of the circumstances of his life, and how its lot has been determined. The getting up a little earlier or later, the turning down this street or that, the eating of this dish or the other, may influence all the years and actions of a future life. Mankind walks down the left-hand, side of Regent Street instead of the right, and meets a friend who asks him to dinner, and goes, and finds the turtle remark- ably good, and the iced punch ver^- cool and pleasant ; and, being in a merry, jovial, idle mood, has no objection to a social rubber of whist — nay, to a few more glasses of that cool punch. In the most careless, good-humored way, he loses a few points ; and still feels thirsty, and loses a few more points ; and, like a man of spirit, increases his stakes, to be sure, and just l)y that walk down Regent Street is ruined for hfe. Or he walks down the right-hand side of Regent Street instead of the left, and, good heavens! who is that charming young creature who has just stepped into her carriage from Mr. Fraser's shop, and to whom and her mamma Mr. Fraser has made the most elegant bow in the world ? It is the loveh- Miss Moidorc, with a hundred thousand pounds, who has remarked 3'our elegant figure, and regularly- drives to town on the first of the month, to purchase her darling Magazine. You drive after her as fast as the hack-cab will carry yon. She reads the Magazine the whole way. She stops at her papa's elegant villa at Hampstead, with a conservatory, a double coach-house, and a park-like paddock. As the lodge-gate 4 50 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. separates 5^ou from that dear girl, she looks back just once, and blushes. Eruhuit, salva est res. She has blushed, and 3'ou are all right. In a week you are introduced to the famil}', and pronounced a charming young fellow of high principles. In three weeks you have danced twent3'-ninc quadrilles with her, and whisked her through several miles of waltzes. In a month Mrs. O'Flaherty has flung herself into the arms of her mother, just having come from a visit to the village of Gretna, near Carlisle ; and }ou have an account at your banker's ever after. • What is the cause of all this good fortune ? — a walk on a par- ticular side of Regent Sti'eet. And so true and indisputable is this fact, that there's a young north-country gentleman with whom I am acquainted, that daily paces up and down the above-named street for many hours, fully expecting that such an adventure will happen to him ; for which end he keeps a cab in readiness at the corner of Vigo Lane. Now, after a dissertation in this history, the reader is pretty sure to know that a moral is coming ; and the facts connected with our tale, which are to be drawn from the above little essay on fate, are simply these: — 1. If Mr. Pitch had not heard Mr. Swigby invite all the ladies, he would have refused_Swig- by's invitation, and stayed at home, 2. If he had not been in the carriage, it is quite certain that Miss Rosalind Macarty would not have been seated by him on the back seat. 3. If he had not been sulky, she never would have asked her papa to let her take his place on the box. 4. If she had not taken her papa's place on the box, not one of the circumstances would have happened which did happen ; and which were as fol- lows : — 1. Miss Bella 'remained inside. 2. Mr. Swigby, who was wavering between the two, like a certain animal between two bundles of hay, was determined by this circumstance, and made proposals to Miss Linda, whisper- ing to Miss Linda: " Miss, I ain't equal to the like of you; but I'm hearty, healthy, and have five hundred a year. Will 3-0U marry me?" In fact, this very speech had been taught him by cunning Gann, who saw well enough that Swigby would speak to one or other of his daughters. And to it the young lady replied, also in a whispering, agitated tone, " Law, Mr. S. ! What an odd man ! How can you ? " And, after a little pause, added, " Speak to mamma." 3. (And this is the main point of my story.) If little Caroline had been allowed to go out, she never would have been left alone with Brandon at Margate. When Fate wills A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 51 that something should come to pass, she sends forth a million of little circumstances to clear and prepare the wa}-. In the month of April (as indeed in half a score of other months of the yeai-) the reader may have remarked that the cold north-east wind is prevalent ; and that when, tempted by a glimpse of sunshine, he issues forth to take the air, he re- ceives not only it, but such a quantity of it as is enough to keep him shivering through the rest of the miserable month. On one of these happy da^s of English weather (it was the very day before the pleasure-part}' described in the last chapter) Mr. Brandon cursing heartily his country', and thinking how infinitely more congenial to him were the winds and habits prevalent in other nations, was marching over the clilfs near Margate, in the midst of a storm of shrill east wind which no ordinar}' mortal could bear, when he found perched on the cliff, his fingers blue with cold, the celebrated Andrea Fitch, em- ploj'ed in sketching a land or a sea scape on a sheet of gray paper. "You have chosen a fine da}' for sketching," said Mr. Brandon, bitterly, his thin aquiline nose peering out livid from the fur collar of his coat. Mr. Fitch smiled, understanding the allusion. "An hartist, sir," said he, "doesn't mind the coldness of the weather. There was a chap in the Academy who took sketches twent}' degrees below zero in Hiceland — Mount 'Ecla, sir ! E was the man that gave the first hidea of Mount 'Ecla for the Surrey Zoological Gardens." "He must have been a wonderful enthusiast!" said Mr. Brandon ; "1 fancy that most would prefer to sit at home, and not numb tlieir fingers in such a freezing storm as this ! " "Storm, sir!" replied Fitch, majestically; "I five in a storm, sir ! A true hartist is never so 'appy as when he can have the advantage to gaze upon yonder tempestuous hocean in one of its hangr}' moods." "Ay, there comes the steamer," answered ]\Ir. Brandon; " I can fancy that there are a score of unhappy people on board who are not artists, and would wish to behold your ocean quiet." "The}' are not poets, sir: the glorious hever-changing ex- pression of the great countenance of Nature is not seen by them. I should consider myself unworthy of my hart, if I could not bear a little privation of cold or 'eat for its sake. And besides, sir, whatever their hardships may be, such a sight haraply repays me ; for, although my private sorrows may be (has they are) tremendous, I never can look abroad upon the 52 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. green liearth and hawful sea, without in a measure forgetting my personal woes and wrongs ; for what right has a poor creature hke me to thinli of his affairs in the presence of such a spectacle as this ? I can't, sir ; I feel ashamed of m^'self ; I bow my 'ead and am quiet. When I set myself to examining hart, sir (by which I mean nature), I don't dare to think of anything else." "You worship a very charming and consoling mistress," answered Mr. Brandon, with a supercilious air, lighting and be- ginning to smoke a cigar; " your enthusiasm does 3'ou credit." "If you have another," said Andrea Fitch, "I should like to smoke one, for you seem to have a real feeling about hart, and I was a-getting so deucedly cold here, that really there was scarcely any bearing of it." "The cold is very severe," replied Mr. Brandon. " No, no, it's not the weather, sir ! " said Mr. Fitch ; " it's here, sir, here" (pointing to the left side of his waistcoat). " What ! you, too, have had sorrows? " "Sorrows, sir! hagonies — hagonies, which I have never unfolded to any mortal ! I have hendured halmost heverything. Poverty, sir, 'unger, hobloqu}', 'opeless love ! but for my hart, sir, I should be the most miserable wretch in the world ! " And herewith Mr. Fitch began to pour forth into Mr. Brandon's ears the histor}' of some of those sorrows under which he labored, and which he communicated to every single person who would listen to him. Mr. Brandon was greatlj' amused by Fitch's prattle, and the latter told him under what privations he had studied his art : how he had starved for three years in Paris and Rome, Avhile laboring at his profession ; how meanly jealous the Royal Academy- was which would never exhibit a single one of his pictures ; how he had been driven from the Heternal City by the attentions of an immense fat Mrs. Carrickfer2:us, who absolutely proposed marriage to him ; and how he was at this moment (a fact of which Mr. Brandon was already quite aware) madly and desperately in love with one of the most beautiful maidens in this world. For Fitch, having a mistress to his heart's desire, was boiling with impatience to have a confidant ; what, indeed, would be the joy of love, if one were not allowed to speak of one's feelings to a friend who could know how to S3'mpathize with them? Fitch was sure Brandon did, because Brandon was the very first person with whom the painter had talked since he had come to the resolution recorded in the last chapter. A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY, 53 " I hope she is as rich as that unlucky Mrs. Carrickfergus, whom you treated so cruelly?" said the confidant, affecting entire ignorance. " Rich, sir? no, I thank heaven, she has not a penn}^ ! " said Fitch. " I presume, then, you are yourself independent,'' said Brandon, smiUng ; " for in the marriage state, one or the other of the parties concerned should bring a portion of the filthy lucre." " Plaven't I my profession, sir?" said Fitch, majestically, having declared five minutes before that he starved in his pro- fession. "Do you suppose a painter gets nothing? Haven't I borders from the first people in Europe? — commissions, sir, to hexecute 'istory-pieces, battle-pieces, haltar-pieces ? " " Masterpieces, I am sure," said Brandon, bowing politely; " for a gentleman of 3'our astonishing genius can do no other." The delighted artist received this compliment with many blushes, and vowed and protested that his performances were not really worthy of such liigh praise ; but he fancied Mr. Brandon a great connoisseur, nevertheless, and unburdened his mind to him in a manner still more open. Fitch's sketch was by this time finished ; and, putting his drawing implements together, he rose, and the gentlemen walked awa3\ The sketch was hugely admired by Mr. Brandon, and when they came home. Fitch, culling it dexterously out of his book, presented it in a neat speech to his friend, '' the gifted hamateur." "The gifted hamateur" received the drawing with a pro- fusion of thanks, and so much did he value it, that he had actually torn off a piece to light a cigar with, when he saw that words were written on the other side of the paper, and deciphered the following : — "SONG OF THE VIOLET. "A humble flower long time I pined, Upon tlie solitary plain. And trembled at the angry wind, And shrunk before the bitter rain. And, oh ! 'twas in a blessed hour, A passing wanderer chanced to see And, pitying the lonely flower, To stoop and gather me. " I fear no more the tempest rude, ' On dreary heath no more I pine, But left my cheerless solitude, To deck the breast of Caroline. 54 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. Alas ! our days are brief at best, Nor long I fear will mine endure, Though shelter'd here upon a breast So gentle and so pure. " It draws the fragrance from my leaves, It robs me of my sweetest breath ; And every time it falls and heaves. It warns me of my coming death. But one I know would glad forego All joys of life to be as I ; An hour to rest on that sweet breast, And then, contented, die. " Andrea." When Mr. Brandon had finished the perusal of these verses, he laid them down with an air of considerable vexation. " Egad ! " said he, " tliis fellow, fool as he is, is not so great a fool as he seems ; and if he goes on this way, may finish by turning the girl's head. They can't resist a man if he but presses hard enough — I know they can't ! " And here Mr. Brandon mused over his various experience, which confirmed his observation, that be a man ever so silly, a gentlewoman will yield to him out of sheer weariness. And he thought of several cases in wdiich, by the persevering application of copies of verses,' young ladies had been brought from dislike to suf- ferance of a man, from sufferance to partiality, and from partiality to St. George's, Hanover Square. " A ruffian who murders his h's to carr}^ off such a delicate little creature as that ! " cried he in a transport : "it shall never be if I can pre- vent it ! " He thought Caroline more and more beautiful every instant, and was himself by this time almost as much in love with her as Fitch himself. Mr. Brandon, then, saw Fitch depart in Swigby's carriage with no ordinary feelings of pleasure. Miss Caroline was not with them. " Now is my time ! " thought Brandon ; and ring- ing the bell, he inquired with some anxietj', from Becky, w^here Miss Caroline was? It must be confessed that mistress and maid were at their usual occupation, working and reading novels in the back -parlor. Poor Cany ! what other pleasure had she ? She had not gone through many pages, or Becky advanced many stitches in the darning of that tablecloth which the good housewife, Mrs. Gann, had confided to her charge, when an humble knock was heard at the door of the sitting-room, that caused the blushing Caroline to tremble and drop her book, as Miss Lydia Languish does in the play. A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 55 Mr. George Brandon entered with a very demure air. He held in his hand a blaCk satin neck-searf, of which a part had come to be broken. He coukl not wear it in its present con- dition, that was evident ; but Miss Caroline was blushing and trembling a great deal too much to suspect that this wicked Brandon had himself torn his own scarf with his ovvn hands one moment before he entered the room. I don't know whether Becky had an}' suspicions of this fact, or whether it is only the ordinary roguish look which she had when an} thing pleased her, that now lighted up her eyes and caused her mouth to expand smilingly, and her fat red cheeks to gather up into wrinkles. "1 have had a sad misfortune," said he, " and should be very much obliged indeed to Miss Caroline to repair it." (Caro- line was said with a kind of tender hesitation that caused the young woman, so named, to blush more than ever.) "It is the onl}' stock I have in the world, and I can't go barenecked into the streets ; can I, Mrs. Becky?" " No, sure," said Becky. " Not unless I was a celebrated painter, like Mr. Fitch," added Mr. Brandon, with a smile, which was reflected speedily upon tlie face of the lad}' whom he wished to interest. ^ Those great geniuses," he added, " may do anything." "For," says Becky, " hee's got enough beard on hees faze to keep hees neck warm ! " At which remark, though Miss Caroline very properly said, " For shame, Becky ! " Mr. Brandon was so convulsed with laughter, that he fairly fell down upon the sofa on which Miss Caroline was seated. How she startled and trembled, as he flung his arm upon the back of the couch I Mr. Brandon did not attempt to apologize for what was an act of considerable impertinence, but continued mercilessly to make man}' more jokes concerning poor Fitch, which were so cleverly suited to the com[)rehension of the maid and the young mistress, as to elicit a great number of roars of laughter from the one, and to cause the other to smile in spite of herself. Indeed. Brandon had gained a vast reputation with Becky in his morn- ing colloquies with her, and she was ready to laugh at au}' single word which it pleased him to utter. How many of his good things had this honest scullion carried down stairs to Caroline? and how pitilessly had she contrived to estropier them in their passage from the drawing-room to the kitchen? Well, then, while Mr. Brandon " was a-going on," as Becky said, Caroline had taken his stock, and her little fingers were occupied in repairing the damage he had done to it. Was it 56 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. clumsiness on her part? Certain it is that the rent took several minutes to repair : of them the mangeur de cceurs did not fail to profit, conversing in an easy, kindlj^, confidential way, which set our fluttering heroine speedil}' at rest, and enabled her to repl}' to his continual queries, addressed with much adroitness and an air of fraternal interest, by a number of those pretty little timid whispering yeses and noes, and those gentle, quick looks of the ejes, wherewith young and modest maidens are wont to reply to the questions of seducing joung bachelors. Dear yeses and noes, how beautiful you are when gently whis- pered by pretty lips! — glances of quick innocent ejes, how charming are you ! — and how charming the soft blush that steals over the cheek, towards which the dark lashes are draw- ing the blue-veined eyelids down. And here let the writer of this solemnly declare, upon his veracity, that he means nothing but what is right and moral. But look, I pray you, at an inno- cent, bashful girl of sixteen : if she be but good, she must be pretty. She is a woman now, but a girl still. How delightful all her ways are ! How exquisite her instinctive grace ! All the arts of all the Cleopatras are not so captivating as her nature. Who can resist her confiding simplicity, or fail to be touched and conquered by her gentle appeal to protection? All this Mr. Brandon saw and felt, as many a gentleman educated in this school will. It is not because a man is a rascal himself, that he cannot appreciate virtue and purit}' very keenly ; and our hero did feel for this simple, gentle, tender, artless creature, a real respect and sympathy — a sympathy so fresh and delicious, that he was but too glad to 3'ield to it and indulge in it, and which he mistook, probably for a real love of virtue, and a return to the days of his innocence. Indeed, Mr. Brandon, it was no such thing. It was only because vice and debauch were stale for the moment, and this pretty virtue new. It was onlj' because 3-our closed appetite was long unused to this simple meat that 30U felt so keen a relish for it ; and I thought of 3'ou only the last blessed Satur- day, at Mr. Lovegrove's, " West India Tavern," Blackwall, Tyhere a company of fifteen epicures, who had scorned ^the turtle, pooh-poohed the punch, and sent away the whitebaitj did sud- denl}' and simultaneously make a rush \\\)0\\ — a dish of beans and bacon. And if the assiduous reader of novels will think upon some of the most celebrated works of that species, which have lately appeared in this and other countries, he will find, amidst much debauch of sentiment and enervating dissipation of intellect, that the writers have from time to time a returning A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 57 appetite for innocence and freshness, and indulge us with occa- sional repasts of beans and bacon. How long Mr. Brandon remained by Miss Caroline's side I have no means of judging ; it is probable, however, that he sta3'ed a much longer time than was necessarj^ for the mending of his black-satin stock. I be- lieve, indeed, that he read to the ladies a great part of the " M3'steries of Udolpho," over which thej were engaged ; and interspersed his reading with many remarks of his own, both tender and satirical. Whether he was in her compau}' half an hour or four hours, this is certain, that the time slipped away very swiftly with poor Caroline ; and when a carriage drove up to the door, and shrill voices were heard crying, " Beck3' ! " " Carr}^ " and Rebecca the maid starting np, cried, "Lor', here's missus ! " and Brandon jumped rather suddenly' oft" the sofa, and fled up the stairs — when all these events took place, I know Caroline felt very sad indeed, and opened the door for her parents with a very heavy heart. Swigby helped Miss Linda off the box with excessive ten- derness. Papa was bustling and roaring in high good-humor, and called for " hot water and tumblers immediatel}'." Mrs. Gann was gracious ; and Miss Bell sulky, as she had good reason to be, for she insisted upon taking the front seat in the carriage before her sister, and had lost a husband by that very piece of obstinacy. Mr. Fitch, as he entered, bestowed upon Caroline a heavy sigh and a deep stare, and silently ascended to his own apart- ment. He was lost in thought. The fact is, he was trying to remember some verses regarding a violet, which he had made five years before, and which he had somehow lost from among his papers. So he went up stairs, muttering, "A humble flower long since I pined Upon a solitary plain — " 58 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. CHAPTER VI. DESCRIBES A SHABBY GENTEEL MARRIAGE, AND MORE LOVE-MAKING. It will not be necessary to describe the particulars of the festivities which took place on the occasion of Mr. Swigby's marriage to Miss Macarty. The happy pair went off in a post- chaise and four to the bridegroom's country-seat, accompanied by the bride's blushing sister ; and when the first week of their " matrimonial bliss was ended, that worthy woman, Mrs. Gann, with her excellent husband, went to visit the young couple. Miss Caroline was left, therefore, sole mistress of the house, and received especial cautions from her mamma as to prudence, econom3% the proper management of the lodgers' bills, and the necessity of staying at home. Considering that one of the gentlemen remaining in the house was a declared lover of Miss Caroline, I think it is a little sur- prising that her mother should leave her unprotected ; but in this matter the poor are not so particular as the rich ; and so this young lady was consigned to the guardianship of her owa innocence, and the lodgers' loyalty : nor was there any reason why Mrs. Gann should doubt the latter. As for Mr. Fitch, he would have far preferred to be torn to pieces by ten thousand wild horses, rather than to offer to tlie young woman any un- kindness or insult ; and how was Mrs. Gann to suppose that her other lodger was a whit less loj'al? that he had any par- tiality for a person of whom he alwa^ys spoke as a mean, insig- nificant little baby? So, without any misgivings, and in a one- horse fly with Mr. Gann by her side, with a bran-new green coat and gilt buttons, Juliana Gann went forth to visit her beloved child, and console her in her married state. And here, were I allowed to occupy the reader with extra- neous matters, I could give a very curious and touching picture of the Swigbj' menage. Mrs. S., I am very sorry to say, quar- relled with her husband on the third da}' after tlieir marriage, — and for what, pr'thee? Wliy, liecause he would smoke, and no gentleman ought to smoke. Swigby, therefore, patiently re- signed his pipe, and with it one of the quietest, happiest, kind- est companions of his solitude. He was a different man after this ; his pipe was as a limb of his bodj'. Having on Tuesday A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 59 conquered the pipe, Mrs. Swigby on Thursday did battle with her husband's rum-and-water, a drink of an odious smell, as she ver}^ properly observed ; and the smell was doubl^^ odious, now that the tobacco-smoke no longer i)erfumed the parlor-breeze, and counteracted the odors of the juice of West India sugar- canes. On Thursday, then, Mr. 8wigby and rum held out prett}' bravely. Mrs. S. attacked the punch with some sharp- shooting, and fierce charges of vulgarity; to which S. replied, by opening tlie battei-y of oaths (chiefly directed to his own eyes, however), and loud protestations that he would never surrender. In three dajs more, however, the rum-and-water was gone. Mr. Swigby, defeated and prostrate, had given up that stronghold ; his young wife and sister were triumphant ; and his poor mother, who occupied her son's house, and had till now taken her place at the head of his table, saw that her empire was for ever lost, and was preparing suddenly to succumb to the imperious claims of the mistress of the mansion. All this, I say, I wish I had the liberty to describe at large, as also to narrate the arrival of majestic Mrs. Gann ; and a battle-royal which speedily took place between the two worthy mothers-in-law. Noble is the hatred of ladies who stand iu this relation to each other ; each sees what injur^^ the other is inflicting upon her darling child ; each mistrusts, detests, and to her offspring privil}' abuses the arts and crimes of the other. A house with a wife is often warm enough ; a house with a wife and her mother is rather warmer than any spot on the known globe ; a house with two mothers-in-law is so excessively hot, that it can be likened to no place on earth at all, but one must go lower for a simile. Think of a wife who despises her hus^ band, and teaches him manners ; of an elegant sister, who joins in rallying him (this was almost the only point of union be- tween Bella and Linda now, — for since the marriage, Linda hated her sister consumedly). Think, I say, of two mothers- in-law, — one, large, pompous, and atrociously genteel, — an- other coarse and shrill, determined not to have her son \n\t upon, — and 3'ou may see what a happy fellow Joe Swigby was, and into what a piece of good luck he liad fallen. What would have become of him without his father-in-law ? Indeed one shudders to think ; but the consequence of that gentleman's arrival and intervention was speedily this : — ■ About four o'clock, when the dinner was removed, and the quarrelling used commonly to set in, the two gents took their hats, and sallied out ; and as one has found when the body is 60 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. inflamed that the application of a stringent medicine may cause the ill to disappear for a while, only to return elsewhere with greater force ; in like manner, Mrs. Swigby's sudden victory over the pipe and rum-and-water, although it had caused a temporary cessation of the evil of which she complained, was quite unable to stop it altogether ; it disappeared from one spot only to rage with more violence elsewhere. In Swigby's parlor, rum and tobacco odors rose no more (except, indeed, when Mrs. Gann would partake of the former as a restorative) ; but if 3'ou could have seen the " Half-Moon and Snuffers" down the vil- lage ; if 3-0U could have seen the good dry skittle-ground which stretched at the back of that inn, and the window of the back parlor which superintended that skittle-ground ; if the hour at which 3'ou beheld these objects was evening, what time the rus- tics from their toils released, trolled the stout ball amidst the rattling pins (the oaken pins that standing in the sun did cast long shadows on the golden sward) ; if j^ou had remarked all this, I sa}', you would have also seen in the back-parlor a tallow candle twinkling in the shade, and standing on a little greasy table. Upon the greasy table was a pewter porter-pot, and to the left a teaspoon glittering in a glass of gin ; close to each of these two delicacies was a pipe of tobacco ; and behind the pipes sat Mr. Gann and Mr. Swigb^-, who now made the "Half-Moon and Snuffers" their usual place of resoi't, and forgot their married cares. In spite of all our promises of brevit}', these things have taken some space to describe ; and the reader must also know that some short interval elapsed ere they occurred. A mouth at least passed awa}- before Mr. Swigb^- had decidedly taken up his position at the little inn : all this time, Gann was sta3ing with his son-in-law, at the latter's most earnest request ; and Mrs. Gann remained under the same roof at her own desire. Not the hints of her daughter, nor the broad questions of the dowager Mrs. Swigb3-, could induce honest Mrs. Gann to stir from her quarters. She had had her lodgers' mone3'^ in ad- vance, as was the worth3' woman's custom ; she knew Margate in April was dreadfulh' dull, and she determined to enjo3' the ' country until the jovial town season arrived. The Canterbury coachman, whom Gann knew, and who passed through the vil- lage, used to take her cargo of novels to and fro ; and the old lad3'^ made herself as happy as circumstances would allow. Should anything of importance occur during her mamma's ab- sence, Caroline was to make use of the same conve3'ance, and inform Mrs. Gann in a letter. A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 61 Miss Caroline looked at her papa and mamma, as the vehicle which was to bear them to the newly married couple moved up the street ; but, strange to say, she did r.ot feel that heaviness of heart which she before had experienced when forbidden to share the festivities of her family, but was on this occasion more happy than any one of them, — so happy, that the young woman felt quite ashamed of herself; and Becky was fain to remark how her mistress's cheek flushed, and her eyes sparkled (and turned perpetually to the door) , and her whole little frame was in a flutter. " I wonder if he will come," said the little heart; and the eyes turned and looked at that well-known sofa-corner, where he had been placed a fortnight before. He looked exactly like Lord Byron, that lie did, with his pale brow, and his slim bare neck ; only not half so wicked — no, no. She was sure that her — her Mr. B , her Bran , her George, was as good as he was beautiful. Don't let us be angry with her for calhng him George ; the girl was bred in an humble sentimental school ; she did not know enough of society to be squeamish ; she never thought that she could be his really, and gave way in the silence of her fancy to the full extent of her affection for him. She had not looked at the door above twenty-five times — that is to say, her parents had not quitted the house ten minutes — when, sure enough, the latch did rattle, the door opened, and, with a faint blush on his cheek, divine George entered. lie was going to make some excuse, as on the former occasion ; but he looked first into Caroline's face, which was beaming with joy and smiles; and the little thing, in return, regarded him, and — made room for him on the sofa. O sweet instinct of love ! Brandon had no need of excuses, but sat down, and talked away as easily, happily, and confidentially, and neither took any note of time. Andrea Fitch (the sly dog !) witnessed the Gaun departure with feelings of exultation, and had laid some deep plans of his own with regard to Miss Caroline. So strong was his confidence in his friend on the first floor, that Andrea actuall}^ descended to those apartments, on his way to Mrs. Gann's parlor, in order to consult Mr. Brandon, and make known to him his plan of operations. It would have made your heart break, or, at the very least, your sides ache, to beliold the couutv^nance of poor Mr. Fitch, as he thrust his bearded head in at the door of the parlor. There was Brandon lolling on the sofa, at his ease ; Becky in full good-humor ; and Caroline, always absurdly inclined to blush, blushing at Fitch's appearance more than ever! She 62 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. could not help looking from him slyly and gently into the face of Mr. Brandon. Tliat gentleman saw the look, and did not fail to interpret it. It was a confession of love — an appeal for protection. A thrill of delightful vanity shot through Bran- don's frame, and made his heart throb, as he noticed this look of poor Caroline. He answered it with one of his own that was cruelly wrong, cruelly triumphant, and sarcastic ; and he shouted out to Mr. Fitch, with a loud, disconcerted tone, which only made that young painter feel more awkward than ever he had been. Fitch made some clumsy speech regarding his din- ner, — whether that meal was to be held, in the absence of the parents, at the usual hour, and then took his leave. Tlie poor fellow had been pleasing himself with the notion of taking tliis daily meal tete-a-iete with Caroline. What prog- ress would he make in her heart during the absence of her parents ! Did it not seem as if tlie first marriage had been ar- ranged on purpose to facilitate his own? He determined thus his plan of campaign. He would make, in the first place, the most beautiful drawing of Caroline that ever was seen. " The conversations I'll 'ave with her during the sittings," says he, " will carry me a prett}- long way ; the drawing itself will be so beautiful, that she can't resist that. FU write her verses in her halbuni, and make designs hallusive of m}' passion for her." And so our pictorial Alnaschar dreamed and dreamed. He had, ere long, established himself in a house in Newman Street, with a footman to open the door. Caroline was up stairs, his wife, and her picture the crack portrait of the Exhibition. With her b}- his side, Andrea Fitch felt he could do anything. Half a dozen carriages at his door, — a hundred guineas for a Kit-Cat portrait. Lady Fitch, Sir Andrew Fitch, the Presi- dent's chain, — all sorts of bright visions floated before his imagination ; and as Caroline was the first precious condition of his preferment, he determined forthwith to begin, and realize that. But O disappointment ! on coming down to dinner at three o'clock to that charming tete-a-tete^ he found no less than four covers laid on tlie table. Miss Caroline blushing (according to custom) at the head of it ; Becky, the maid, grinning at the foot ; and Mr. Brandon sitting quietly on one side, as much at home, forsooth, as if he had held that position for a year. Tlie fact is, that the moment after F'itch retired, Brandon, in- spired by jealousy, had made the same request which had been "brought forward by the painter ; nor must the ladies be too angry with Caroline, if, after some scruples and struggles, she A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 63 yielded to the proposal. Remember that the girl was the daughter of a boarding-house, accustomed to continual dealings with her mamma's lodgers, and up to the prese':t moment think- ing herself as safe among them as the young person who walked through Ireland with a bright gold wand, in the song of Mr. Tliomas Moore. On the point, however, of Brandon's admis- sion, it must be confessed, for Caroline's honor, that she did hesitate. 8he felt that she. entertained verj' different feelings towards him to those with which an}' other lodger or man had inspired her, and made a little movement of resistance at first. But the poor girl's modesty overcame this, as well as her wish. Ought she to avoid him? Ought she not to stifle any prefer- ence which she might feel towards him, and act towards him with the same indifference which she would show to any other person in a like situation ? Was not Mr. Fitch to dine at table as usual, and had she I'efused him? So reasoned she in her heart. Silly little cunning heart ! it knew that all these reasons were lies, and that she sJiould avoid the man ; but she was will- ing to accept of an}- pretext for meeting, and so made a kind of compromise with her conscience. Dine he should ; but Beck}' should dine too, and be a protector to her. Becky laughed loudl}' at the idea of this, and took her place with huge delight. It is needless to sa}^ a word about this dinner, as we have already described a former meal ; suffice it to say, that the presence of Brandon caused the painter to be excessively sulky and uncomfortable ; and so gave his rival, who was gay, trium- phant, and at his ease, a decided advantage over him. Nor did Brandon neglect to use this to the utmost. When Fitch re- tired to his own apartments — not jealous as 3-et, for the simple fellow believed every word of Brandon's morning conversation with him — but vaguely annoyed and disappointed, Brandon assailed him with all the force of ridicule ; at all his manners, words, looks, he joked mercilessly ; laughed at his low birth, (Miss Gann, be it remembered, had been taught to pique herself upon her owai family,) and invented a series of stoi-ies concern- ing his past Ufe which made the ladies — for Becky, being in the parlor, must be considered as such — conceive the greatest con- tempt and pity for the poor painter. After this, Mr. Brandon would expatiate with much elo- quence upon his own superior attractions and qualities. He talked of his cousin, Lord So-and-so, with the easiest air imagi- nable ; told Caroline what princesses he had danced with at foreign courts ; frightened her with accounts of dreadful duels 64 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. he had fought ; in a word, " posed " before her as a hero of the most sublhne kind. How the poor little thing drank in all his tales ; and how she and Becky (for they now occupied the same bedroom) talked over them at night ! Miss Caroline, as Mr. Fitch has already stated, had in her possession, like almost ever}- young lady in England, a little square book called an album, containing prints from annuals ; hideous designs of flowers ; old pictures of faded fashions, cut out and pasted into the leaves ; and small scraps of verses selected from Byron, Landon, or Mrs. Hemans ; and written out in the girlish hand of the owner of the book. Brandon looked over this work with a good deal of curiosity — for he contended, always, that a girl's disposition inight be learned from the character of this museum of hers — and found here several sketches by Mr. Fitch, for which, before that gentleman had declared his passion for her, Caroline had begged. These sketches the sentimental painter had illustrated with poetry, which, I must confess, Caroline thought charming, until now, when Mr. Brandon'took occasion to point out how wretchedly poor the verses were (as indeed was the fact), and to parody them all. He was not unskilful at this kind of exercise, and at the drawing of caricatures, and had soon made a dozen of both parodies and drawings, which reflected cruelly upon the person and the talents of the painter. What now did this wicked Mr. Brandon do? He, in the first place, drew a caricature of Fitch ; and, secondly, having gone to a gardener's near the town, and purchased there a bunch of violets, he presented them to Miss Caroline, and wrote Mr. Fitch's own verses before given into her album. He signed them with his own initials, and thus declared open war with the painter. CHAPTER VII. WHICH BRINGS A GREAT NUMBER OF PEOPLE TO MARGATE BY THE STEAMBOAT. The events which this history records began in the month of February. Time had now passed, and April had arrived, and with it that festive season so loved by schoolboys, and called the Easter hohdays. Not only schoolboys, but men, profit by this period of leisure, — such men, especially, as have A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 65 just come into enjo3-ment of their own cups and saucers, and are in daily expectation of tlieir wliiskers — college men, I mean, — who are persons more anxious than any others to designate themselves and each other by the manly title. Among other men, then, my Lord Viscount Cinqbars, of Christ Church, Oxon, received a sum of money to pay his quarter's bill, and having written to his papa that be was busil}^ engaged in reading for the " little-go," and must, therefore, de- cline the delight he had promised himself of passing the vaca- tion at Cinqbars Hall, — and having, the day after his letter was despatched, driven to town tandem with young Tom Tuft- hunt, of the same universit}', — and having exhausted the pleasures of the metropolis — the theatres, the Cider-cellars, the Finish, the station-houses, and other places which need by no means be here particularized, — Lord Cinqbars, I say, grow- ing tired of London at the end of ten days, quitted the me- tropolis somewhat suddenl}' ; nor did he pay his hotel bill at Long's before his departure ; but he left that document in possession of the landlord, as a token of his (my Lord Cinq- bars') confidence in his host. Tom Tufthunt went with m}- lord, of course (although of an aristocratic turn in politics, Tom loved and respected a lord as much as an}- democrat in England) . And whither do you think this worth}' pair of young gentlemen were bound ? To no less a place than Margate ; for Cinqbars was filled with a longing to go and see his old friend Brandon, and determined, to use his own elegant words, " to knock the old buck up." There was no adventure of consequence on board the steamer which brought Lord Cinqbars and his friend from London to Margate, and very few passengers besides. A wandering Jew or two were set down at Gravesend ; the Rev. Mr. Wackerbart, and six unhappy little pupils whom the reverend gentleman had pounced upon in London, and was carrying back to his academ}' near Heme Bay ; some of those inevitable persons of dubious rank who seem to have free tickets, and alwa3'S eat and drink hugely with the captain ; and a lady and her party, formed the whole list of passengers. The lad}' — a very fat lady — had evidently just returned from abroad. Her great green travelling- chariot was on the deck, and on all her imperials were pasted fresh large bills, with the words Ince's British Hotel, Boulogne-sur-Mer ; for it is the custom of that worthy gentleman to seize upon and plaster all the luggage of his guests with tickets, on which his name and residence are inscribed, — by which simple means he keeps 5 66 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. himself perpetually in their recollection, and brings himself to the notice of all otlier persons who are in the habit of peering at their fellow-passengers' trunks, to find out their names. I need not say what a large class this is. Well ; this fat lady had a courier, a tall whiskered man, who spoke all languages, looked like a field-marshal, went by the name of Donnerwetter, and rode on the box ; a French maid. Mademoiselle Augustine ; and a little black page, called Saladin, who rode in the rumble. Saladin's whole business was to attend a wheezy, fat, white poodle, who usually travelled in- side with his mistress and her fair compaynon de voyage^ whose name was Miss Runt. This fat lady was evidently a person of distinction. During the first part of the voyage, on a windy, sunshiny April day, she paced the deck stoutly, leaning on the arm of poor little Miss Runt ; and after they had passed Gi-aves- end, when the vessel began to pitch a good deal, retired to her citadel, the travelling-chariot, to and from which the steward, the stewardess, and the whiskered courier were con- tinually running with supplies — of sandwiches first, and after- wards of very hot brandy-and-water : for the truth must be told, it was rather a rough afternoon, and the poodle was sick ; Saladin was as bad ; the French maid, like all French maids, was outrageously- ill ; the lady herself was very unwell indeed ; and poor dear sympathizing Runt was qualmish. '^ Ah, Runt ! " would the fat lady say in the intervals, " what a thing this malady de mare is ! Oh, mong jew ! Oh — oh ! " '' It is, indeed, dear madam," said Runt, and went ''Oh — oh ! " in chorus. "Ask the steward if we are near Margate, Runt." And Runt did, and asked this question every five minutes, as people do on these occasions. " Iss}' Monsieur Donnerwetter: ally dimandj- ung pew d'o sho poor mwaw." " Et de I'eau de fie afec, n'est-ce-bas, Matame?" said Mr. Donnerwetter. "Wee, wee, comme vous voulj'." And Donnerwetter knew very well what " comme vous vouly " meant, and brought the liquor exactly in the wished-for state. "Ah, Runt, Runt! there's something even worse than sea- sickness. Heigh-ho ! " "Dear, dear Marianne, don't flutter yourself," cries Runt, squeezing a fat paw of her friend and patroness between her own bony fingers. " Don't agitate your nerves, dear. I know A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 67 5'on're miserable ; but haven't you got a friend in j'onr faithful Runty?" '^ You're a good creater, that you are," said the fat lady, who seemed herself to be a good-humored old soul; " and I don't know what I should have done without 3-ou. Heigh-ho ! " "Cheer up, dear! you'll be happier when you get to Mar- gate : you know you will," cried Runt, very knowingly. '• What do you mean, Elizabeth?" "You know very well, dear Marianne. I mean that there's some one there will make you happy ; though he's a nasty wretch, that he is, to have treated my darling, beautiful Marianne so." "Rimt, Runt, don't abuse that best of men. Don't call me beautiful — I'm not. Runt; I have been, but I ain't now; ahd oh ! no woman in the world is assy bong poor lui." "But an angel is; and you are, as you always was, an angel, — as good as an angel, as kind as an angel, as beautiful as one." "Ally dong," said her companion, giving her a push ; " you flatter me. Runt, you know you do." " May I be struck down dead if I don't say the truth ; and if he refuses you, as he did at Rome, — that is, after all his attentions and vows, he's faithless to you, — I say he's a wretch, that he is ; and I loill say he's a wretch, and he is a wretch — a nasty, wicked wretch!" " Elizabeth, if you saj' that, you'll break my heart, 3'OU will ! Vous casserez mong pover cure." But Elizabeth swore, on the contrary, that she would die for her Marianne, which consoled the fat lady a little. A great deal more of this kind of conversation took place during the voyage ; but as it occurred inside a carriage, so that to hear it was ver}- difficult, and as possibh' it was not of that edifying nature which would induce the reader to relish many chapters of it, we shall give no further account of the ladies' talk : suffice it to say, that about half-past four o'clock the journey ended, by the vessel bringing up at Margate Pier. The passengers poured forth, and hied to their respective homes or inns. My Lord Cinqbars and his companion (of whom we have said nothing, as they on their sides had scarcely spoken a word the whole way, except "deuce-ace," " quarter- tray," "sizes," and so on, — being occupied ceaselessly in drinking bottled stout "and playing backgammon,) , ordered their luggage to be conveyed to " Wright' s^Hotel," whither the fat lady aud suite followed them. The house was vacant, and the best rooms in \ 68 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. it were placed, of course, at the service of the new comers- The fat lady sailed out of her bedroom towards her saloon, " just as Lord Cinqbars, cigar in month, was swaggering out of his parlor. They met in the passage ; when, to the young lord's surprise, the fat lady dropped him a low curtsy, ar\d said, — " Munseer le Vecomte de Cinqbars, sharmy de vous voir. "V^ous vous rappelez de mwaw, n'est-ce pas? Je vous ai vew a Rome — shay 1 ambassadure, vous savy." Lord Cinqbars stared her in the face, .and pushed by her without a word, leaving the fat lady rather disconcerted. " Well, Runt, I'm sure," said she, " he need not be so proud ; I've met him twent}' times at Rome, when he was a young chap with his tutor." "Who the devil can that fat foreigner be?" mused Lord Cinqbars. " Hang her, I've seen her somewhere ; but I'm cursed if I understand a word of her jabber." And so, dis- missing the subject, he walked on to Brandon's. "Dang it, it's a strange thing!" said the landlord of the hotel; "but both my lord and the fat woman in number nine have asked their way to Mother Gann's lodging," — for so did he dare to call that respectable woman ! It was true : as soon as number nine had eaten her dinner, she asked the question mentioned by the landlord ; and, as this" meal occupied a considerable time, the shades of evening had by this time fallen upon the quiet city ; the silver moon lighted up the bay, and, supported by a numerous and well-appointed train of gas-lamps, illuminated the streets of a town, — of au- tumn eves so crowded and so gay ; of gusty April nights, so desolate. At this still hour (it might be half-past seven), two ladies passed the gates of "Wright's Hotel," "in shrouding mantle wrapped, and velvet cai)." Up the deserted High Street toiled they, b}^ gaping rows of empty bathing-houses, by melan- choly Jolly's French bazaar, b}' mouldy pastiy-cooks, blank reading-rooms, 1\y fishmongers who never sold a fish, mercers who vended not a yard of riband — because, as yet, the season was not come, — and Jews and Cockneys still remained in town. At High Street's" corner, near Hawley Square, the}' passed the house of Mr. Fincham, chemist, who doth not only healthful drugs 'supply, but likewise sells cigars — the worst cigars that ever mortal man gave threepence for. Up to this point, I say, J have had a right to accompany the fat lad}' and Miss Runt ; but whether, on arriving at Mr. Fincham's, they turned to the left, in the direction of the A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 69 *' Roj'al Hotel," or to the right, b}^ the beach, the bathing-ma- chines, and queer rickety old row of houses, called "•Bueitos Ayres," no power on earth shall induce me to saj' ; suffice it, they went to Mrs. Gann's. Wliy should we set all the world gadding to a particular street, to know where that lady lives? They arrived before that lad3''s house at about eight o'clock. Every house in the street had bills on it except hers (bitter mockery, as if anybody came down at Easter!) and at Mrs. Gann's house there was a light in the garret, and another in the two-pair front. I believe I have not mentioned before, that all the front windows were bow or ba3'-windows ; but so much the reader maj' know. The two ladies, who had walked so far, examined wistfully the plate on the door, stood on the steps for a short time, re- treated, and conversed with one another. " Oh, Runty ! " said the stouter of the two, " he's here — I know he's here, mong cure le dee — m}' heart tells me so." And she put a large hand upon a place on her left side, where there once had been a waist. " Do you think he looks front or back, dear? " asked Runt. " P'raps he's not at home." " That — that's his croisy," said the stout person ; " I know it is ; " and she pointed with instinctive justice to the two- pair. " Ecouty ! " she added, "he's coming; there's some one at that window. Oh, mong jew, mong jew ! c'est Andre, e'est lui ! " The moon was shining full on the face of the bow-windows of Mrs. Gann's house ; and the two fair spies, who were watching on the other side, were, in consequence, completely in shadow. As the lady said, a dark form was seen in the two- pair front ; it paced the room for a while, for no blinds were drawn. It then flung itself on a chair; its head on its hands; it then began to beat its brows wildly, and paced the room again. Ah ! how the fat lady's heart throbbed as she looked at ail this ! She gave a piercing shriek — almost fainted! and little Runt's knees trembled under her, as with all her might she supported, or rather pushed up, the ftilling figure of her stout patroness, — who saw at that instant Fitch come to the candle with an immense pistol in his hand, and give a most horrible grin as he looked at it, and clasped it to his breast. "Unhand me, Runt; he's going to kill himself! It's for me ! I know it is — I will go to him ! Andrea, my Andrea ! " And the fat lady was pushing for the opposite side of the way, 70 . SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. when suddenly the second-floor window went clattering up, and Fitch's pale head was thrust out. He had heard a scream, and had possibly been induced to open the window in consequence ; but bj' the time he had opened it he had forgotten everything, and put his head vacantly out of the window, and gazed, the moon shining cold on his pale features. " Pallid horb ! " said Fitch, " shall I ever see th}' light again ? Will another night see me on this hearth, or view me, stark and cold, a lifeless corpse?" He took his pistol up, and slowly aimed it at a chimne3'-pot opposite. Fancy the fat lady's sensa- tions as she beheld her lover standing in the moonlight, and exercising this dead!}' weapon. "Make ready — present — fire!" shouted Fitch, and did instantaneously-, not Are off, but lower his weapon. " The bolt of death is sped ! " continued he, clapping his hand on his side. " The poor painter's life is over ! Caroline, Caroline, I die for thee ! " " Runt, Runt, I told you so ! " shrieked the fat lady. " He is dying for me, and Caroline's m^^ second name." What the fat lady would have done more, I can't sa}?^ ; for Fitch, disturbed out of his reverie by her talking below, looked out, frowning vacantly, and saying " Ulloh ! we've hinterlopers 'ere ! " suddenly banged down the window, and pulled down the blinds. This gave a check to the fat lady's projected rush, and dis- concerted her a little. But she was consoled by Miss Runt, promised to return on the morrow, and went home happy in the idea that her Andrea was faithful to her. Alas, poor fat lady ! little did you know the truth. It was Caroline Gann Fitch was raving about ; and it was a part of his last letter to her, to be delivered after his death, that he was spouting out of the window. Was the crazy painter going to fight a duel, or was he going to kill himself? This will be explained in the next chapter. A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 71 CHAPTER VIII. WHICH TREATS OF WAR AND LOVE, AND MANY THINGS THAT ARE NOT TO BE UNDERSTOOD IN CHAP. VII. Fitch's verses, inserted in a previous chapter of tliis story, (and of whicli lines, by the way, the printer managed to make still greater nonsense than the ingenious bard ever designed,) had been composed many years before ; and it was with no small trouble and thought that the young painter called the greater part of them to memory again, and furbished up a copy for Caroline's album. Unlike the love of most men, Andrea's passion was not characterized by jealousy and watchfulness, otherwise he would not have failed to perceive certain tokens of intelligence passing from time to time between Caroline and Brandon, and the lady's evident coldness to himself. The fact is, the paintek" was in love with being in love, — entirely' ab- sorbed in the consideration of the fact that he, Andrea Fitch, was at last enamored ; and he did not mind his mistress much more than Don Quixote did Dulcinea del Toboso. Having rubbed up his verses, then, and designed a pretty emblematical outline which was to surround them, representing an arabesque of violets, dewdrops, fairies, and other objects, he came down one morning, drawing in hand ; and having in- formed Caroline, who was sitting very melanchoh' in the parlor, pre-occupied, with a pale face and red eyes, and not caring twopence for the finest drawing in the world, — having informed her that he w^as going to make in her halbum a humble hoffering of his hart, poor Fitch was just on the point of sticking in the drawing with gum, as painters know ver}' well how to do, when his eye lighted upon a page of the album, in which nestled a few dried violets and — his own verses, signed with the name of George Brandon. " Miss Caroline — Miss Gann, mam I " shrieked Fitch, in a tone of voice which made the young lady start out of a pro- found reverie, and crj', uervouslj', — " What in heaven is the matter ? " "■ These verses, madam — a faded violet — word for word, gracious 'eavens ! every word ! " roared Fitch, advancing with the book. She looked at him rather vacantly-, and as the violets caught 72 A ^HABBY GENTEEL STORY. her eye, put out her hand, and took them. " Do you know the hawthor, Miss Gann, of ' The faded Violets? ' " "Author? O yes; they are — thej' are George's!" She burst into tears as she said that word ; and, pulling the little faded flowers to pieces, went sobbing out of the room. Dear, dear little Caroline ! she has only been in love two months, and is already beginning to feel the woes of it ! It cannot be from want of experience — for I have felt the noble passion of love many times these fort}- 3-ears, since I was a boy of twelve (by which the reader may form a pretty good guess of m}' age), — it cannot be, I say, from want of expe- rience that I am unable to describe, step b}' step, the pi'ogress of a love-aftair ; nay, I am perfectly certain that I could, if I chose, make a most astonishing and heart-rending liber amoris ; but, nevertheless, I always feel a vast i-epugnance to the follow- ing out of a subject of this kind, which I attribute to a natural diffidence and sense of shame that prevent me from enlarging on a theme that has in it something sacred — certain arcana which an honest man, although initiated into them, should not divulge. If such coy scruples and blushing dehcac}' prevent one from passing the threshold even of an honorable \o\e, and setting down, at so many guineas or shillings per page, the pious emo- tions and tendernesses of two persons chastely and legally engaged in sighing, ogling, hand-squeezing, kissing, and so forth (for with such outward signs I believe that the passion of love is expressed), — if a man feel, I say, squeamish about describing an innocent love, he is doubl}' disinclined to describe a guilty one ; and I have always felt a kind of loathing for the skill of such geniuses as Rousseau or Richardson, who could paint with such painful accuracy all the struggles and woes of Eloise and Clarissa, — all the wicked arts and triumphs of such scoundrels as Lovelace. We have in this histor}' a scoundrell}' Lovelace in the person going b}'^ the name of George Brandon, and a dear, tender, innocent, yieldhig creature on whom he is practising his infernal skill ; and whether the public feel any sympathy for her or not, the writer can only sa}-, for his part, that he heartil}' loves and respects poor little Caroline, and is quite unwilling to enter into any of the slow, painful, wicked details of the courtship which passed between her and her lover. Not that there was any wickedness on her side, poor girl ! or that she did an3'thing but follow the natural and beautiful impulses of an honest little female heart, that leads it to trust A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 73 and love, and worship a being of the other sex, whom the eager fanc}^ invests with all sorts of attributes of superiorit^y. There was no wild, conceited tale that Brandon told Caroline which she did not believe, — no virtue which she could conceive or had read of in novels with which she did not endow him. Many long talks had they, and many sweet, stolen interviews, during the periods in which Caroline's father and mother were away making merry at the house of tlieir son-in-law ; and while she was left under the care of her virtue and of Becky the maid. Indeed, it was a blessing that the latter was left in the joint guardianship. For Beck^', who had such an absurd opinion of her 3'oung lady's merits as to fancy that she was a fit wife for any gentleman of the land, and that any gentleman might be charmed and fall in love with her, had some instinct, or possibly some experience, as to the passions and errors of youth, and warned Caroline accordingly. "If he's really in love. Miss, and I think he be, he'll marry you ;-if he won't marry you, he's a rascal, and you're too good for him, and must have nothing to do with him." To which Caroline replied, that she was sure Mr. Brandon was the most angelic, high-principled of human beings, and that she was sure his intentions were of the most honorable description. We have before described what Mr. Brandon's character was. He was not a man of honorable intentions at all. But he was a gentleman of so excessively eager a temperament, that if properly resisted by a practised coquette, or b}' a woman of strong principles, he would sacrifice anything to obtain his ends, — nay, marry to obtain them ; and, considering his dis- position, it is only a wonder that he had not been married a great number of times already ; for he had been in love per- petuall}' since his seventeenth year. B}- which the reader may pretty well appreciate the virtue or the prudence of the ladies with whom hitherto our inflammable young gentleman had had to do. The fruit, then, of all his stolen interviews, of all his praj'ers, vows, and pi'otestations to Caroline, had been only this, — that she loved him ; but loved him as an honest girl should, and was ready to go to the altar with him when he chose. He talked about his famil}', his peculiar circumstances, his proud father's curse. Little Caroline only sighed, and said her dearest George must wait until he could obtain his parent's consent. When pressed harder, she would burst into tears, and wonder how one so good and affectionate as he could propose to her anything unworth}- of them both. It is clear to see that the 74 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. young lady had read a vast number of novels, and knew some- thing of the nature of love ; and that she had a good principle and honesty of her own, which set her lover's schemes at naught : indeed, she had both these advantages, — her educa- tion, such as it was. having given her the one, and her honest nature having endo\Yed her with the other. On the day when Fitch came down to Caroline with his verses, Brandon had pressed these unworthy propositions upon her. ' She liad torn herself violentl}' away from him, and rushed to the door ; but tlie poor little thing fell before she could reach it, screaming in a fit of hysterics, which brought Becky to her aid, and caused Brandon to leave her, abashed. He went out; she watched him go, and stole up into his room, and laid on his table the first letter she had ever written to him. It was written in pencil, in a trembling, school-girl hand, and con- tained simply the following words : — " George, you have almost broken my heart. Leave me if you will, and if 3'ou dare not act like an lionest man. If you ever speak to me so again as you did this morning, 1 declare solemnly before heaven, I will take poison. - C." Indeed, the poor thing had read romances to some purpose ; without them, it is probable, she never would have thought of such a means of escape from a lover's persecutions ; and there was something in the girl's character that made Brandon feel sure that she would keep her promise. How the words agitated him ! He felt a violent mixture of raging disappointment and admiration, and loved the girl ten thousand times more than ever. Mr. Brandon had scarcely finished the reading of this docu- ment, and was jet agitated b}^ the various passions which the perusal of it created, when the door of his apartment was vio- lently flung open, and some one came in. Brandon started, and turned round, with a kind of dread that Caroline had already executed her threat, and that a messenger was come to inform him of her death. Mr. Andrea Fitch was the in- truder. His hat was on — his eyes were glaring ; and if the beards of men did stand on end anywhere but in poems and romances, his, no doubt, would have formed round his counte- nance a bristling auburn halo. As it was. Fitch only looked astonish! nglj' fierce, as he stalked up to the table, his hands behind his back. When he had arrived at this barrier between himself and Mr. Brandon, he stopped, and, speechless, stared that gentleman in the face. A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 75 " May I beg, Mr. Fitch, to know what has procured me the honor of this visit?" exclaimed Mr. Brandon, after a brief pause of wonder. "Honor! — ha, ha, ha!" growled Mr. Fitch, in a most sardonic, discordant way — '•'■honor ! " " Well, sir, honor or no honor, I can tell you, my good man, it certainl_y is no pleasure ! " said Brandon, testily. " In plain English, then, what the de\dl has brought you here?" Fitch plumped the album down on the table close to Mr. Brandon's nose, and said, " That has brought me, sir — that halbum, sir; or, I ask your pardon, that a — album — ha, ha, ha!" "Oh, I see!" said Mr. Brandon, who could not refrain from a smile. " It was a cruel trick of mine. Fitch, to rob you of your verses ; but all's fair in love." "Fitch, sir! don't Fitch me, sir! I wish to be hintimate honly with men of h-honor, not with forgers, sir ; not with 'artless miscreants ! Miscreants, sir, I repeat ; vipers, sir ; b — b — b — blackguards, sir ! " "Blackguards, sir!" roared Mr. Brandon, bouncing up; " blackguards, you dirty cockney mountebank ! Quit the room, sir, or I'll fling you out of the window ! " " Will you, sir? try, sir ; I wish you may get it, sir. I'm a hartist, sir, and as good a man as you. '^ Miscreant, forger, traitor, come on ! " And Mr. Brandon would have come on, but for a circum- stance that deterred him ; and this was, that INIr. Fitcli drew from his bosom a long, sharp, shining, waving poniard of the middle ages, that formed a part of his artistical properties, and with whicli he had armed himself for this encounter. "Come on, sir!" shrieked Fitch, brandishing this fearful weapon. " Lay a finger on me, and I bury this blade in jour treacherous 'art. Ha ! do you tremble ? " Indeed, the aristocratic Mr. Brandon turned somewhat pale. " Well, well," said he, " what do you want? Do you sup- pose I am to be bnllied by your absurd melodramatic jiiirs ! It was, after all, but a joke, sir, and I am sorry that it has offended you. Can I say more? — what shall I do?" "You shall hapologlze; not only to me, sir, but you shall tell Miss Caroline, in my presence, that you stole those verses from me, and used them quite unauthorized by me." "Look you, Mr. Fitch, I will make you another set of verses quite as good, if you like; but what you ask is im- possible." 76 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. " I will 'asten myself, then, to Miss Caroline, and acquaint her with your dastardly forgerj^, sir. I will hopen her heyes, sk ! " " You maj' hopen her heyes, as you call them, if _you please : but I tell you fairl}-, that the young lady will credit me rather than you ; and if you swear ever so much that the A^erses are 3'ours, I must say that — " " Sa}' what, sir?" " Sa}' that you lie, sir!" said Mr. Brandon, stamping on the ground. "I'll make you other verses, I repeat; but this is all I can do, and now go about your business ! " "Curse your verses, sir! liar and forger yourself! Hare you a coward as well, sir? A coward ! j-es, I believe j'ou are ; or will you meet me to-morrow morning like a man, and give me satisfaction for this hinfamoiis hinsult?" "Sir," said Mr. Brandon, with the utmost stateliuess and scorn, " if 3'ou wish to murder me as you do the king's Eng- lish, I won't balk 3'ou. Although a man of my rank is not called upon to meet a blackguard of 3'our condition, I will, nevertheless, grant 3'ou j'our will. But have a care ; by heavens, I won't spare 3'ou, and 1 can hit an ace of hearts at twenty paces ! " "Two can plaj^ at that," said Mr. Fitch, calmly; "and if I can't hit a hace of 'arts at twent}' paces, I can hit a man at twelve, and to-morrow I'll try." With which, giving Mr. Brandon a look of the highest contempt, the 3"oung painter left the room. What were Mr. Brandon's thoughts as his antagonist left him? Strange to say, rather agreeable. He had much too great a contempt for Fitch to suppose that so low a fellow would ever think seriously of fighting him, and reasoned with himself thus : — "This Fitch, I know, will go off to Caroline, tell her the whole transaction, frighten her with the tale of a duel, and then she and I shall have a scene. I will tell her the truth about those infernal verses, menace death, blood, and danger, and then — " Here he fell back into a charming reverie ; the wily fellow knew what power such a circumstance would give him over a poor weak girl, who would do anything rather than that her beloved should risk his life. And with this dastardl}^ specula- tion as to the price he should ask for refraining from meeting Fitch, he was entertaining himself; when, much to his annoy- ance, that gentleman again came into the room. A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 77 "Mr. Brandon," said he, "you have insulted me in the grossest and cruellest wa^'." "Well, sir, are 3'ou come to apologize?" said Brandon sneeringly. "No, I'm not come to apologize, Mr. Aristocrat: it's past that. I'm come to say this, sir, that I take you for a coward ; and that, unless you will give me your solemn word of honor not to mention a word of this quarrel to Miss Ganu, which might prevent our meeting, I will never leave 3'ou till we do fight ! " " This is outrageous, sir ! Leave the room, or by heavens I'll not meet 3-ou at all ! " " Heas}-, sir; easy, I beg your pardon, I can force you to that ! " "And how, pray, sir?" "Why, in the tlrst place, here's a stick, and I'll 'orsewhip 3'^ou ; and here are a pair of pistols, and we can fight now ! " "Well, sir, I give 3'ou my honor," said Mr. Brandon, in a diabohcal rage; and added, "I'll meet you to-morrow, not now ; and you need not be afraid that I'll miss 3'ou ! " " Hadew, sir," said the chivalrous little Fitch ; " bon giorno, sir, as we used to sa\' at Rome." And so, for the second time, he left Mr. Brandon, who did not like yery well the extraor- dinar}' courage he had displayed. " What the deuce has exasperated the fellow so?" thought Brandon. Why, in the first place, he had crossed Fitch in love ; and, in the second, he had sneered at his pronunciation and his gen- tility, and Fitch's little soul was in a iiwy which nothing but blood would allay : he was determined, for the sake of his hart and his lady, to bring this proud champion down. So Brandon was at last left to his cogitations ; when, con- fusion ! about five o'clock came another knock at his door. " Come in ! " growled the owner of the lodgings. A sallow, blear-eyed, rickct}', undersized creature, tottering upon a pair of high-heeled lacquered boots, and supporting himself upon an immense gold-knobbed cane, entered the room with his hat on one side and a jaunty air. It was a white hat with a broad brim, and under it fell a great deal of greasy lank hair, that shrouded the cheek-bones of the wearer. The little man had no beard to his chin, appeared about twenty jears of age, and might weigh, stick and all, some seven stone. If you wish to know how this exquisite was dressed, I have the l)leasure to inform you that he wore a great sky-blue embroid- 78 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. ered satin stock, in which figured a carbuncle that looked like . a lambent gooseberry. He had a shawl-waistcoat of many colors ; a pair of loose blue trousers, neatly strajjped to show his little feet : a brown cut-away coat with brass buttons, that fitted tight round a spider waist ; and over all a white or drab surtout, with a sable collar and cuffs, from which latter on each hand peeped five little fingers covered with lemon-colored kid gloves. One of these hands he held constantly to his little chest: and, with a hoarse thin voice, he piped out, "• George my buck ! how goes it?" We have been thus particular in our description of the cos- tume of this individual (whose inward man stronglj^ corre- sponded with his manl}- and agreeable exterior), because he was the person whom Mr. Brandon most respected in the world . " CiNQBARS ! " exclaimed our hero : " why, what the deuce has brought you to Margate ? " " Fwendship, my old cock!" said the Honorable Augustus Frederick Ringwood, commonl}' called Viscount Cinqbars, for indeed it was he. "Fwendship and the City of Canterbuwy steamer ! " and herewith his lordship held out liis right-hand forefinger to Brandon, who enclosed it most cordiallv in all his. " Wathn't it good of me, now, George, to come down and con- thole you in tliith curthed, thtupid place — hay now?" said my lord, after these salutations. Brandon swore he was ver}' glad to see him, which was very true, for he had no sooner set his eyes upon his lordship, than he had determined to borrow as much money from him as ever he could induce the young nobleman to part with. . " I'll tell you how it wath, m}^ bo^' : you thee I wath thtop- ping at Long'th, when I found, b^- Jove, that the governor wath come to town ! Cuth me if I didn't meet the infarnal old family dwag, with m}^ mother, thithterth, and all, ath I wath dwiving a hack-cab with P0II3' Tomkinth in the Pawk ! Tho when I got home, ' Hang it ! ' thayth I to Tufthunt, ' Tom my boy,' thaith I, ' I've just theen the governor, and must be off ! ' ' What, back to Ockthford ? ' thaith^Tom. ' No,' thaith I, ' that won't do. Abroad — to Jewicho — anywhere. Egad, I have it ! I'll go down to Margate and thee old George, that I will.' And tho off I came the very next day; and here I am, and thereth dinner waiting for nth at the hotel, and thixth bottleth of champagne in ithe, and thum thalmon : tho you mutht come." To this proposition Mr. Brandon readil}^ agreed, being glad A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 79 enough of the prospect of a good dinner and some jovial so- ciety, for he was low and disturbed in spirits, and so promised to dine with liis friend at the " Sun." The two gentlemen conversed for some time longer. Mr. Brandon was a shrewd fellow, and knew perfectly well a fact of which, no doubt, the reader has a notion — namel}', that Lord Cinqbars was a ninny ; but, nevertheless, Brandon esteemed him highly as a lord. "We pardon stupid it}' in lords ; nature or instinct, however sarcastic a man may be among ordinary persons, renders him towards men of quality benevolently blind : a divinity hedges not only the king, but the whole peer- age. "That's the girl, I suppose," said my lord, knowingly wink- ing at Brandon : " that little pale girl, who let me in, I mean. A nice little filly, upon my honor, Georgy my buck ! " " Oh — that — yes — I wrote, I think, souiething about her," said Brandon, blushing slightly; for, indeed, he now began to wish that his friend should make no comments upon a young lady with whom he was so much in love. "I suppose it's all up now?" continued my lord, looking still more knowing. "All over with her, hav? I saw it was by her looks, in a minute." " Indeed you do me a great deal too much honor. Miss — ah, — Miss Gann is a very respectable young person, and I would not for the world have you to suppose that I would do anything that should the least injure her character." At this speech, Lord Cinqbars was at first much puzzled ; but, in considering it, was fully convinced that Brandon was a deeper dog than ever. Boiling with impatience to know the particulars of this delicate intrigue, this cunning diplomatist determined he would pump the whole story out of Brandon by degrees ; and so, in the course of half an hour's conversation that the young men had together, Cinqbars did not make less than fort}' allusions to the subject that interested him. At last Brandon cut him short rather haughtily, l>v begging that lie would make no further allusions to tlie subject, as it was one that was excessively disagreeable to him. In fact, there was no mistake about it now. George Bran- don was in love with Caroline. He felt that he was while he blushed at his friend's alluding to her, while he grew indignant at the young lord's coarse banter about her. Turning the conversation to another point, he asked Cinq- bars about his voyage, and whether he had brought ixuy com- panion with him to Margate ; whereupon my lord related all 80 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. his feats in London, how he had been to the watch-house, how many bottles of champagne he had drunk, how he had "' milled " a policeman, &c. &c. ; and he concluded by saying that he had come down with Tom Tufthiint, who was at the inn at that very moment smoking a cigar. This did not increase Brandon's good-humor ; and when Cinqbars mentioned his friend's name, Brandon saluted it men- tall}' with a hearty curse. These two gentlemen hated each other of old. Tufthunt was a small college man of no family, with a foundation fellowship ; and it used to be considered that a sporting fellow of a small college was a sad, raffish, disreputable character. Tufthunt, then, was a vulgar fellow, and Brandon a gentleman, so they hated each other. They were both toadies of the same nobleman, so the}' hated each other. They had had some quarrel at college about a disputed bet, which Brandon knew he owed, and so they hated each other ; and in their words about it Brandon had threatened to horsewhip Tufthunt, and called him a "• sneaking, swindling, small college snob ; " and so httle Tufthunt, who had not re- sented the words, hated Brandon far more than Brandon hated him. The latter only had a contempt for his rival, and voted him a profound bore and vulgarian. So, although Mr. Tufthunt did not choose to frequent Mr. Brandon's rooms, he was very anxious that his friend, the young lord, should not fall into his old bear-leader's hands again, and came down to Margate to counteract au}^ influence which the arts of Brandon might acquire. "Curse the fellow!" thought Tufthunt in his heart (there was a fine reciprocity of curses between the two men) ; "he has drawn Cinqbars already for fifty pounds this 3-ear, and will have some half of his last remittance, if I don't keep a look- out, the swindling thief! " And so frightened was Tufthunt at the notion of Brandon's return to power and dishonest use of it, that he was at the time on the point of writing to Lord Ringwood to tell him of his son's doings, only he wanted some money deucedl}* himself. Of Mr. Tufthunt's physique and history it is necessary merely to sa}', that he was the son of a country attorney who was agent to a lord ; he had been sent to a foundation-school, where he distinguished himself for ten years, by fighting and being flogged more than any boy of the five hundred. From the foundation-school he went to college with an exhibition, which was succeeded by a fellowship, which was to end in a living. In his person Mr. Tufthunt was short and bow-legged ; he A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 81 wore a sort of clerico-sporting costume, consisting of a black straight-cut coat and light drab breeches, with a vast number of buttons at the ankles ; a sort of dress much affectioned by sporting gentlemen of the university in the author's time. Well, Brandon said he had some letters to write, and prom- ised to follow his friend, which he did ; but, if the truth must be told, so infatuated was the young man become with his pas- sion, with the resistance he had met with, and so nervous from the various occurrences of the morning, that he passed the half- hour during which he was free from Cinqbars's society in kneel- ing, imploring, weeping at Caroline's little garret-door, which had remained pitilesslj' closed to him. lie was wild with dis- appointment, mortification — mad, longing to see her. The cleverest coquette in Europe could not have so inflamed him. His first act on entering the dinner-room, was to drink off a large tumbler of champagne; and when Cinqbars, in* his ele- gant way, began to rally him upon his wildness, Mr. Brandon only growled and cursed with frightful vehemency, and applied again to the bottle. His face, which had been quite white, grew a bright red ; his tongue, which had been tied, began to chatter vehemently ; before the fish was off the table, Mr. Brandon showed strong symptoms of intoxication ; before the dessert ap- peared, Mr. 'Piifthunt, winking knowingly to Lord Cinqbars, had begun to draw him out; and Brandon, with a number of shrieks and oaths, was narrating the history of his attach- ment. "Look 3-ou, Tufthunt," said he wildl}^ ; "hang you, I hate you, but I mnst talk ! I've been, for two months now, in this cursed hole ; in a rickety lodging, with a vulgar familj^ ; as vulgar, by Jove, as 3'ou are j'ourself ! " Mr. Tufthunt did not like this style of address half so much as Lord Cinqbars, who was laughing immoderately, and to whom Tufthunt whispered rather sheepishly, "Pooh, pooh, he's drunk ! " " Drunk! no, sir," yelled out Brandon ; " I'm mad, though, with the pruder}- of a little devil of fifteen, who has cost me more trouble than it would take me to seduce ever}' one of 3'our sisters — ha, ha! everyone of the Miss Tufthunts, by Jove! Miss Suky Tufthunt, Miss Dolly Tufthunt, Miss Aniia-Maria Tufthunt, and the whole bunch. Come, sir, don't sit scowling at me, or I'll brain you with the decanter." (Tufthunt was down again on the sofa.) " I've borne with the girl's mother, and her father, and her sisters, and a cook in the house, and a scoundrel of a painter, that I'm o-oing to fight about her ; and for 6 82 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. what? — wh}^ for a letter, which saj^s, ' George, I'll kill mj'self ! George, I'll kill mj^self ! ' — ha, ha ! a little devil like that killing herself — ha, ha ! and I — I who — who adore her, who am mad for — " " Mad, T believe he is," said Tuithunt ; and at this moment Mr. Brandon was giving the most unequivocal signs of mad- ness ; he plunged his head into the corner of the sofa, and was kicking his feet violently into the cushions. "You don't understand him, Tufty my boy," said Lord Cinqbars, with a very superior air, "You ain't up to these things, I tell you ; and I suspect, b}' Jove, that 3'ou never were in love in your life, /know what it is, sir. And as for Bran- don, heaven bless you ! I've often seen him in that way when we were abroad. When he has an intrigue, he's mad about it. Let me see, there was the Countess Fritzch, at Baden-Baden ; there was the woman at Pau ; and that girl — at Paris, was it? — no, at Vienna. He went on just so about them all ; but I'll tell you what, when we do the thing, we do it easier, mv boy, hay?" And so sapng, my lord cocked up his little sallow, beard- less face into a grin, and then fell to eying a glass of execra- ble claret across a candle. An intrigue^ as he called it, was the little creature's delight ; and until the time' should arrive when he could have one himself, he loved to talk of those of his friends. As for Tufthunt, we may fancy how that gentleman's pre- vious affection for Brandon was increased by the latter's brutal addresses to him. Brandon continued to drink and to talk, though not always in the sentimental way in which he ho,d spoken about his loves and injuries. Growing presently madly jocose as he had before been madlj^ melancholy, he narrated to the two gentlemen the particulars of his quarrel with Fitch, mimicking the little painter's manner in an excessively comic way, and giving the most ludicrous account of his person, kept his companions in a roar of laughter. Cinqbars swore that he would see the fun in the morning, and agreed that if the painter wanted a second, either he or Tufthunt would act for him. Now my Lord Cinqbars had an excessivel}^ clever servant, a merry rogue, whom he had discovered in the humble capacity of scout's assistant at Christchurch, and raised to be his valet. The chief duties of the valet were to black his lord's beautiful boots, that we have admired so much, and put his lordship to bed when overtaken with liquor. He heard every word of the young men's talk (it being liis habit, much encouraged b^' his A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 83 master, to join occasionally in the conversation) ; and in the course of the night, when at supper with Monsieur Donner- wetter and Mdlle. Augustine, he related every word of the talk above stairs, mimicking Brandon quite as cleverly as the latter had mimicked Fitch. Wlien then, after making his company laugh by describing Brandon's love-agonies, Mr. Tom informed them how that gentleman had a rival, with whom he was going to fight a duel the next morning — an artist-fellow with an immense beard, whose name was Fitch, to his surprise Mdlle. Augustine burst into a scream of laughter, and exclaimed, "■ Feesh, Feeshf c'est notre homme ; — it is our man, sare ! Sa- ladin, remember you Mr. Fish?" Saladin said gravely, " Missa Fis, Missa Fis ! know 'urn quite well, Missa Fis 1 Painter-man, big beard, gib Saladin bit injyrubby. Missis lub Missa Fis ! " It was too true, the fat lady was the famous Mrs. Carrick- FERGus, and she had come all the way from Rome in pursuit of her adored painter. CHAPTER IX. VeHICH THREATENS DEATH, BUT CONTAINS A GREAT DEAL OF MARRYING. As the morrow was to be an eventful da}^ in the lives of all the heroes and heroines of this history, it will be as well to state how they passed the night previous. Brandon, like the Enghsh liefore the battle of Hastings, spent the evening in feasting and carousing ; and Lord Cinqbars, at twelve o'clock, his usual time after his usual quantity of drink, was carried up to bed by the servant kept by his lordship for that purpose. Mr. Tufthunt took this as a hint to wish Brandon good-night, at the same time promising that he and Cinqbars would not fail him in tliC morning about the duel. Shall we confess that Mr. Brandon, whose excitement now began to wear off, and who had a dreadful headache, did not at all relish the idea of the morrow's combat? "If," said he, "I shoot this crack-brained painter, all the world will ci-y out ' Murder \ ' If he shoot me, all the world will laugh at me ! And yet, confound him ! he seems so bent upon blood, that there is no escaping a meeting." 84 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. " At any rate," Brandon thought, " there will be no harm in a letter to Caroline." So, on arriving at home, he sat down and wrote a very pathetic one ; saying that he fought in her cause, and if he died, his last breath should be for her. So having written, he jumped into bed, and did not sleep one sin- gle wink all night. As Brandon passed his night like the English, Fitch went through his like the Normans, in fasting, and mortification, and meditation. The poor fellow likewise indited a letter to Caro- line : a very long and strong one, interspersed with pieces of poetry, and containing the words we have just heard him utter out of the window. Then he thought about making his will : but he recollected, and, indeed, it was a bitter thought to the young man, that there was not one single soul in the wide world who cared for him — except, indeed, thought he, after a pause, that poor Mrs. Carrickfergus at Rome, who did like me, and was the only person who ever bought my drawings. So he made over all his sketches to her, regulated his little propert}^ found that he had money enough to pay his washer-woman ; and so, having disposed of his worldl}' concerns, Mr. Fitch also jumped into bed, and speedily fell into a deep sleep. Brandon could hear him snoring all night, and did not feel a bit the more comfortable because his antagonist took matters so unconcernedl3\ Indeed, our poor painter had no guilty thoughts in his breast, nor any particular revenge against Brandon, now that the first pangs of mortified vanity were over. But, with all his vagaries, he was a man of spirit ; and after what had passed in the morning, the treason that had been done him, and the insults heaped upon him, he felt that the duel was irrevo- cable. He had a misty notion, imbibed somewhere, that it was the part of a gentleman's duty to fight duels, and had long been seeking for an opportunity. " Suppose I do die," said he, "what's the odds? Caroline doesn't care for me. Dr. Wackerbart's boys won't have their drawing-lesson next Wednesday ; and no more will be said of poor Andrea." And now for the garret. Caroline was wrapped up in her own woes, poor little soul ! and in the arms of the faithful Becky cried herself to sleep. But the slow hours passed on ; and the tide, which had been out, now came in ; and the lamps waxed fainter and fainter ; and the watchman cried six o'clock ; and the sun arose and gilded the minarets of Margate ; and Beck}' got up and scoured the steps, and the kitchen, and made ready the lodgers' breakfasts ; and at half-past eight there A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 85 came a thundering rap at the door, and two gentlemen, one with a mahogan}' case under his arm, asked for Mr. Brandon, and were sliown up to his room b}' tlie astonislied Becky, who was bidden b}' Mr. Brandon to get breakfast for three. The thundering rap awakened Mr. Fitch, who rose and dressed himself in his best clothes, gave a twist of the curling- tongs to his beard, and conducted himself throughout with per- fect coolness. Nine o'clock struck, and he wrapped his cloak round him, and put under his cloak that pair of foils which we have said he possessed, and did not know in the least how to use. However, he had heard his camarades d'atelie?-, at Paris and Rome, sa}' that the}' were the best weapons for duelling ; and so forth he issued. Becky was in the passage as he passed down ; she was always scrubbing there. "Becky," said Fitch, in a hollow voice, " here is a letter ; if I should not return in half an hour, give it to Miss Gann, and promise on your honor that she shall not have it sooner." Becky promised. She thought the painter was at some of his mad tricks. He went out of the door saluting her gravely. But he went only a few steps and came back again. "Becky," said he, "you — you've always been a good girl to me, and here's something for you ; per'aps we shan't — we shan't see each other for some time." The tears were in his eyes as he spoke, and he handed her over seven shillings and fourpence halfpenny, being every farthing he possessed in the world. " Well, I'm sure 1 " said Becky ; and that was all she said, for she pocketed the monej^, and fell to scrubbing again. Presenth' the three gentlemen up stairs came clattering down. " Lock bless you, don't be in such a 'urry ! " exclaimed Becky ; " it's full herly j-et, and the water's not biling." " We'll come back to breakfast, my dear," said one, a little gentleman in high-heeled boots ; " and. I thay, mind and have thum tlioda-water." And he walked out, twirling his cane. His friend with the case followed him. Mr. Brandon came last. He too turned back after he had gone a few paces. ' ' Beck}'," said he, in a grave voice, " if I am not back in half an hour, give that to Miss Gann." Beck}' was fairly flustei'ed by this ; and after turning the letters round and round, and peeping into the sides, and look- ing at the seals very hard, she like a fool determined that she would not wait half an hour, but carry them up to INIiss Caro- line ; and so up she mounted, finding pretty Caroline in the act 86 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. of lacing her stag's. And the consequences of Beck3''s conduct was that httle Carr}' left off lacing her staj^s (a sweet little figure tlie poor thing loolved in them ; but that is neither here nor there), took the letters, looked at one which she threw down directly ; at the other, which she eagerly opened, and having read a line or two, gave a loud scream, and fell down dead in a fainting tit ! Waft us, O Muse ! to Mr. Wright's hotel, and quick narrate what chances there befell. Ver}- early in the morning Mdlle. Augustine made her appearance in the apartment of Miss Runt, and with great glee informed that lady of the event which was about to take place. " Figurez-vous, mademoiselle, que notre homme va se battre — oh, but it will be droll to see him sword in hand ! " " Don't plague me with j^our ojous servants' quarrels, Augustine ; that horrid courier is always quarrelling and tipsy." " Mon Dien, qu'elle est bete ! " exclaimed Augustine : " but I tell you it is not the courier ; it is he, I'objet, le peintre dont madame s'est amourachee, Monsieur Feesh." "Mr. Fitch!" cried Runt, jumping up in bed. "Mr. Fitch going to fight ! Augustine, my stockings — quick, my rohe-de-chamhre — tell me when, how, whei'e?" And so Augustine told her that the combat was to take place at nine that morning, beliind the Windmill, and that the gentleman with whom Mr. Fitch was to go out had been dining at the hotel the night previous, in company with the little milor, who was to be his second. Quick as lightning flew Runt to the chamber of her patron- ess. That lady was in a profound sleep ; and I leave ^'ou to imagine what were her sensations on awaking and hearing this dreadful tale. Such is the force of love, that although, for many years, Mrs. Carriclifergus had never left her bed before noon, al- though in all her wild wanderings after the painter she, never- theless, would have her tea and cutlet in bed, and her doze likewise, before she set forth on a journey — she now started up in an instant, forgetting her nap, mutton-chops, everything, and began dressing with a promptitude which can onlj-^ be equalled b}' Harlequin when disguising himself in a pantomime. She would have had an attack of nerves, only she knew there was no time for it ; and I do believe that twenty minutes were scarcely- over her head, as the saying is, when her bonnet and A SHABBY GEXTEEL STOEY. 87 cloak were on, and with her whole suite, and an inn- waiter or two whom she pressed into her service, she was on full trot to the field of action. For twenty 3'ears before, and from that daj' to this, Marianne Carrickfergus never had or has walked so quickly. " Hullo, here'th a go ! " exclaimed Lord Viscount Cinqbars, as they arrived on the ground behind the Windmill ; ' ' cuth me there'th onl}" one man ! " This was indeed the case ; Mr. Fitch, in his great cloak, was pacing slowly up and down the grass, his shadow stretch- ing far in the sunshine. Mr. Fitch was alone too ; for the fact is, he had never thought about a second. This he admitted frankly, bowing with much majesty to the conipau}- as they came up. "But that, gents," said he, "will make no differ- ence, I hope, nor prevent fair pla}' from being done." And, flinging off" his cloak, he produced the foils, from which the but- tons had been taken off. He went up to Brandon, and was for offering him one of the weapons, just as they do at the theatre. Brandon stepped back, rather abashed : Cinqbars looked posed ; Tufthunt delighted. " Ecod," said he, "I hope the bearded fellow will give it him." " Excuse me, sir," said Mr. Brandon ; "as the challenged party, I demand pistols." Mr. Fitch, witli great presence of mind and gracefulness, stuck the swords into the grass. "Oh, pithtolth of courth," lisped m}' lord; and presently called aside Tufthunt, to whom he whispered something in great glee; to which Tufthunt oV)jected at first, saving, "No, d — him, let him fight." "And your fellowship and living. Tuft}' my boj- ; ". interposed my lord ; and then tliey walked on. After a couple of minutes, during which Mr. Fitch was emplo3'ed in examining Mr. Brandon from the toe upwards to the crown of his head or hat, just as Mr. Widdicombe does Mr. Cartlich, before those two gentlemen proceed to join in combat on the boards of Astley's Amphitheatre (indeed poor Fitch had no other standard of chivahy) — when Fitch had concluded this examination, of which Brandon did not know what the deuce to make. Lord Cinqbars came back to the painter, and gave him a nod. " Sir," said he, " as j-ou have come unprovided with a sec- ond, I, with 3'our leave, will act as one. My name is Cinqbars — Lord Cinqbars ; and though I had come to the ground to act as the friend of my friend here, Mr. Tufthunt will take that 88 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. duty upon him ; and as it appears to me there can be no other end to this unhapp}- affair, we will proceed at once." It is a marvel how Lord Cinqbars ever made such a gentle- manly speech. When Fitch heard that he was to have a lord for a second, he laid his hand on his chest, and vowed it was the greatest h-honor of his life ; and was turning round to walk towards his ground, when my lord, gracefully thrusting his tongue into his cheek, and bringing his thumb up to his nose, twiddled about his fingers for a moment, and said to Brandon, " Gammon ! " Mr. Brandon smiled, and heaved a great, deep, refreshing sigh. The truth was, a load was taken off his mind, of which he was very glad to be rid ; for there was something in the coolness of that craz}^ painter that our fashionable gentleman did not at all approve of. " I think, Mr. Tufthunt," said Lord Cinqbars, very loud, " that considering the gravity of the case — threatening horse- whipping, you know, lie on both sides, and lady in the case — I think we must have the barrier-duel." " What's that? " asked Fitch. " The simplest thing in the world ; and," in a whisper, " let me add, the best for you. Look here. We shall put you at twenty paces, and a hat between you. You walk forward and fire when you like. When you fire, you stop ; and you both have the liberty of walking up to the hat. Nothing can be more fair than that." " Very well," said Fitch ; and, with a great deal of prepara- tion, the pistols were loaded. " I tell 3'ou what," whispered Cinqbars to Fitch, " if I hadn't chosen this way you were a dead man. If he fires he hits you dead. You must not let him fire, but have him down first." " I'll try," said Fitch, who was a little pale, and thanked his noble friend for his counsel. The hat was placed and the men took their places. ' ' ' Are you all ready ? " " Ready," said Brandon. " Advance when I drop my handkerchief." And presently down it fell. Lord Cinqbars cr^dng, " Now ! " The combatants both advanced, each covering his man. Wlien he had gone about six paces, Fitch stopped, fired, and — missed. He grasped his pistol tightly, for he was very near dropping it ; and then stood biting his lips, and looking at Brandon, who grinned savagely' , and walked up to the hat. A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 89 " Will you retract what you said of me yesterday, you vil- lain? " said Brandon. "I can't." "Will you beg for life?" "No." "Then take a minute, and make 3'our peace with God, for you are a dead man." Fitch dropped his pistol to the ground, shut his eyes for a moment, and flinging up his chest and clenching his fists, said, " Now Tm ready" Brandon fired — and strange to say, Andrea Fitch, as he gasped and staggered backwards, saw, or thought he saw, Mr. Brandon's pistol flying up in the air, where it went off, and heai'd that gentleman yell out an immense oath in a very audible voice. When he came to himself, a thick stick was lying at Brandon's feet ; Mr. Brandon was capering about the ground, and cursing and shaking a maimed elbow, and a whole posse of people were rushing upon them. The first was the great German courier, who rushed upon Brandon, and shook that gentleman, and shouting, " Schelm ! spitzbube ! blagard ! goward ! " in his ear. "If I had not drown mj' stick and brogen his damt arm, he wod have murdered dat boor young man." The German's speech contained two unfounded assertions ; in the first place Brandon would not have murdered Fitch ; and, secondly, his arm was not broken — he had merely received a blow on that part which . anatomists call the funnj'-bone : a severe blow, which sent the pistol spinning into the air, and caused the gentleman to scream with pain. Two waiters seized upon the murderer, too ; a baker, who had been brought from his rounds, a bellman, several boys, — were j'elliug round him, and shouting out, " Pole-e-eace ! " Next to these came, panting and blowing, some women. Could Fitch believe his eyes? — that fat woman in red satin! — yes — no — yes — he was, he was in the arms of Mrs. Car- rickfergus ! The particulars of this meeting are too delicate to rcl.ite. Suffice it that somehow matters wore explained, Mr. Brandon was let loose, and a fly was presently seen to drive up, into which Mr. Fitch consented to enter with his new-found friend. Brandon had some good movements in him. As Fitch was getting into the carriage, he walked up to him and held out his 90 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. left hand: "I can't offer j^ou my right hand, Mr. Fitch, for that cursed courier's stick has maimed it ; but I hope you will allow me to apologize for mj' shameful conduct to you, and to say that I never in my hfe met a more gallant fellow than your- self.'' " That he is, by Jove ! " said my Lord Cinqbars. Fitch blushed as red as a peony, and trembled very much, " And yet," said he, " 3'ou would have murdered me just now, Mr. Brandon. I can't take 3'our 'and, sir." "Why, you great flat," said my lord, wisely, "he couldn't have hurt you, nor you him. There wath no ballth in the pithtolth." " What," said Fitch, starting back, " do you gents call that a joke ? Oh, my lord, my lord ! " And here poor Fitch actually burst into tears on the red satin bosom of Mrs. Carrickfergus : she and Miss Runt were crying as hard as they could. And so, amidst much shouting and huzzaing, the fly drove away. " What a blubbering, abthurd donkey ! '"' said Cinqbars, with his usual judgment ; " ain't he, Tufthunt? " Tufthunt, of course, said yes ; but Brandon was in a virtuous mood. "By heavens! I think his tears do the man honor. When I came out with him this morning, I intended to act fairly by him. And as for Mr. Tufthunt, who calls a man a coward because he cries — Mr. Tufthunt knows well what a pistol is, and that some men don't cai-e to face it, brave as they are," Mr. Tufthunt understood the hint, and bit his" lips and walked on. And as for that woilhy moralist, Mr. Brandon, I am happy to say that there was some good fortune in store for him, which, though similar in kind to that bestowed lately upon Mr. Fitch, was superior in degree. It was no other than this, that forgetting all maidenly decen- cy and decorum, before Lord Viscount Cinqbars and his friend, that silly little creature, Caroline Gann, rushed out from the parlor into the passage — she had been at the window ever since she was rid of her fainting fit ! and ah ! what agonies of fear had that little panting heart endured during the half-hour "of her lover's absence ! — Caroline Gann, I say, rushed into the passage, and leaped upon the neck of Brandon, and kissed Jjira, and called him her dear, dear, dear, darling George, and sobbed, and laughed, until George, taking her round tlie waist gentlj', carried her into the little dingy parlor, and closed the door behind him. " Egad," cried Cinqbars, "this is quite a thene ! LTullo, Becky, Polty, what's your name ? — bring uth up the breakfatht ; A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 91 and I hope you've remembered the thoda-water. Come aloug up thtauth, Tufty my boy." , « • •• • • • When Brandon came up stairs and joined them, which he did in a minute or two, consigning Caroline to Becky's care, his eyes were full of tears ; and when Cinqbars began to rally him in his usual delicate way, Brandon said gravely, " No laughing, sir, if 3'ou please ; for 1 swear that that lady before long shall be m}' wife." " Your wife ! — and what will your father sa}', and what will your duns saj-, and what will Miss Goldmore say, with her hun- dred thousand pounds ? " cried Cinqbars. " Miss Goldmore be hanged," said Brandon, " and the duns too ; and my father may reconcile it to himself as he can." And here Brandon fell into a reverie. " It's no use thinking," he cried, after a pause. " l"ou see what a girl it is, Cinqbars. I love her — by heavens, I'm mad with love for her ! She shall be mine, let what will come of it. And besides," he added, in a lower tone of voice, " why need, why need my father know an^'thiug about it?" "O flames and furies, what a lover it is!" exclaimed his friend. " But, b}^ Jove, I like your spirit; and hang all gov- ernors, say I. Stop — a bright thought ! If you must marry, why here's Tom Tufthuut, the very man to do your business." Little Lord Cinqbars was delighted with the excitement of the affair, and thought to himself, " By Jove, this is an in- trigue ! " " What, is Tufthuut in orders?" said Brandon. " Y^es," replied that reverend gentleman: "don't you see my coat? I took orders six weeks ago, on my fellowship. Cinqbars's governor has promised me a living." "And 3'ou shall marry George here, so 3'ou shall." " What, without a license?" " Hang the license ! — we won't peach, will we, George? " " Her famil}^ must know nothing of it," said George, " or they would." "Why should they? Why shouldn't Tom marry you in this very room, without any church or stuff' at all? " Tom said : " You'll hold me out, my lord, if anything comes of it; and, if Brandon likes, why, I will. He's clone for if he does," muttered Tufthuut, " and I have had my revenge on him, the bullying, supercilious blackleg." 92 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. And so on that very day, in Brandon's room, without a license, and by that worthy clergyman the Rev. Thomas Tuft- hunt, with my Lord Cinqbars for the sole witness, poor Caroline Gann, who knew no better, who never heard of licenses, and did not know what banns meant, was married in a manner to the person calling himself George Brandon ; George Brandon not being his real name. No writings at all were made, and the ceremony merely read through. Becky, Caroline's sole guardian, when the poor girl kissed her, and, blushing, showed her gold ring, thought all was in order : and the happy couple set off for Dover that day, with fifty pounds which Cinqbars lent the bridegroom. Becky received a little letter from CaroUne, which she prom- ised to carry to her mamma at Swigby's : and it was agreed that she was to give warning, and come and live with her young lady. Next morning Lord Cinqbars and Tufthunt took the boat for London ; the latter uneasy in mind, the former vowing that " he'd never spent such an exciting day in his life, and loved an intrigue of all things." Next morning, too, the great travelling-chariot of Mrs, Carrickfergus rolled away with a bearded gentleman inside. Poor Fitch had been back to his lodgings to try one more chance with Caroline, and he arrived in time — to see her get into a post-chaise alone with Brandon. Six weeks afterwards GuUgnani's Messenger contained the following announcement : — '» " Married, at the British embassy, by Bishop Luscombe, Andrew Fitch, Esq., to Marianne Caroline Matilda, widow of the late Antony Carrick- fergus, of Lombard Street and Gloucester Place, Esquire. The bappy pair, after a magnificent dejeihie, set off for the south in their splendid car- riage-and-four. Miss Runt officiated as bride's-maid ; and we remarked among the company Earl and Countess Crabs, General Sir Rice Curry, K.C.B., Colonel Wapshot, Sir Charles Swang, the Hon. Algernon Percy Deuceace and his ladv, Count Punter, and others of the elite of the fash- ionables now in Paris." The bridegroom was attended by his friend Michael Angelo Titmarsh, Esquire; and the lady was given away by the Right Hon. the Earl of Crabs. On the departure of the bride and bridegroom the festivities were resumed, and many a sparkling bmnper of Meurice's cliampagne was quaffed to the health of the hospitable and interesting couple." And with one more marriage this chapter shall conclude. About this time the British Auxiliary Legion came home from Spain ; and Lieut.-General Swabber, a knight of San Fernando, of the order of IsabeUa the Cathohc, of the Tower and Sword, who, as plain Lieutenant Swabber, had loved Miss Isabella A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. . 93 Macarty, as a general now actually married her. I leave you to suppose how glorious Mrs. Ganu was, and how Gann got tipsy at the ' ' Bag of Nails ; " but as her daughters each in- sisted upon their SOL a year income, and Mrs. Gann had so on!}' 60/. left, she was obliged still to continue the lodging- house at Margate, in which have occurred the most interesting passages of this shabby genteel story. Beck}^ never went to her young mistress, who was not heard of after she wrote the letter to her parent, saying that she was married to Mr. Brandon ; but, for particular reasons^ her dear husband wished to keep his marriage secret, and for the present her beloved parents must be content to know she was happy. Gann missed his little Carry at first a good deal, but spent more and more of his time at the ale-house, as his house with only Mrs. Gann in it was too hot for him. Mrs. Gann talked unceasingly of her daughter the squire's lady, and her daughter the general's wife ; but never once mentioned Caroline after the first burst of wonder and wrath at her departure. God bless thee, poor Caroline ! Thou art happy now, for some short space at least ; and here, therefore, let us leave thee. THE ADVENTUEES OF PHILIP ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD; SHOWING WHO ROBBED HIM, WHO HELPED HIM, AND WHO PASSED HIM BY. TO M. I. HIGGINS, IN GRATEFUL KEMEMBRANCE OF OLD FRIENDSHIP AND KINDNESS. Kensington, July, 18G2. I TIE ADVENTURES OE PHILIP. CHAPTER I. DOCTOR FELL. " Not attend hor own son when he is ill ! " said my mother. " She does not deserve to have a son ! " And Mrs. Pendenuis looked towards her ow^n only darling whilst nttering this indig- nant exclamation. • As she looked, I know what passed through her mind. She nursed me, she dressed me in little caps and long-clothes, she attired me in m}' first jacket and trousers. She watched at m}' bedside through my infantile and juvenile ailments. She tended me through all my life, she held me to her heart with infinite prayers and blessings. She is no longer with us to bless and pray ; but from heaven, where she is, I know her love pursues me ; and often and often I think she is here, only invisible. " Mrs. Firmin would be of no good," growled Dr. Good- enough. " She would have hysterics, and the nurse would have two patients to look after." " Don't tell me" cries my mother, with a flush on her cheeks. " Do you suppose if that child " (meaning, of course, her paragon) " were ill, I would not go to him?" " Mj- dear, if that cliild were hungry, you would chop off your head to make him broth," saj's the doctor, sipping his tea. " Potage h la bonne femme" sa3's Mr. Pendennis. " Mother, we have it at the club. You would be done with milk, eggs, and a quantity of vegetables. You would be put to simmer for many hours in an earthen pan, and — " " Don't be horrible, Arthur ! " cries a 3'oung lady, who was m}' mother's companion of those happ}' da^'s. ' ' And people when they knew you would like 3'ou yery much." 7 98 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP M}' uncle looked as if he did not understand the allegory. "What is this you are talking about? potage a la — what- d'ye-call-'im ? " says he. "I thought we were speaking of Mrs. Firmin, of Old Parr Street. Mrs. Firmin is a doosid deli- cate woman," interposed the Major. " All. the females of that family are. Her mother died early. Her sister, Mrs. Twysden, is very delicate. She would be of no more use in a sick-room than a — than a bull in a china-shop, begad ! and she mighi catch the fever, too." " And so might you. Major! " cries the Doctor. "Aren't you talking to me, who have just come from the boy? Keep your distance, or I shall bite 3'ou." The old gentleman gave a little backward movement with his chair. " Gad, it's no joking matter," sfiys he; "I've known fel- lows catch fevers at — at ever so much past my age. At any rate, the boy is no boy of mine, Ijegad ! I dine at Firmin'g house, who has married into a good family, though he's only a doctor, and — " " And pra^^ what was my husband? " cried Mrs. Pendennis. "Only a doctor, indeed!" calls out Goodenough. "My dear creature, I have a great mind to give him the scarlet fever this minute ! " " My father was a surgeon and apothecar}'^, I have heard," sa3^s the widow's son. ' ' And what then ? And I should like to know if a man of one of the most ancient families in the kingdom — in the em- pire, begad ! — hasn't a right to pursoo a learned, a useful, an honorable profession. M}' brother John was — " " A medical practitioner ! " I say, with a sigh. And ni}^ uncle arranges his hair, puts his handkerchief to Mfo teeth, and sa^'s — "Stuff! nonsense — no patience with these personalities, begad ! Firmin is a doctor, certainly' — so are you — so are others. But Firmin is a university man, and a gentleman. Firmin has travelled. Firmin is intimate with some of the best people in England, and has married into one of the first fami- lies. Gad, sir, do you suppose that a woman bred up in the la^j of luxmy — in the ver3^ lap, sir — at Eingwood and Whip- ham, and at Ringwood Plouse in Walpole Street, where she was absolute mistress, begad — do you suppose such a woman is fit to be nurse-tender in a sick-room ? She never was fit for that, or for an3'thing except — " (here the Major saw smiles on the countenances of some of his audience) — ' ' except, I say, ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 99 to preside at Ringwood House and — and adorn society, and that sort of tiling. And if sucli a woman cliooses to run awa}^ witl\ her uncle's doctor, and marry below her rank — wh^-, 1 don't think it's a laughing matter, hang me if I do." " And so she stops at the Isle of AYiglit, whilst the poor boy remains at the school," sighs my mother. " Firrain can't come away. He is in attendance on the Grand Dook. The prince is never easy without Firmin. He has given him his Order of the Swan. They are moving heaven and earth in high quarters ; and I bet you even, Goodenough, that that boy wdiom you have been attending will be a baronet — if you don't kill him off with 3'our confounded potions and pills, begad ! " Dr. Goodenough only gave a humph and contracted his great eyebrows. M}^ uncle continued — ' ' I know what you mean. Firmin is a gentlemanly man — a handsome man. I remember his father. Brand Firmin, at Valenciennes with the Dook of York — one of the handsomest men in Europe. Firebrand Firmin the}- used to call him — a red-headed fellow — a tremendous duellist : shot an Irishman — became serious in after life, and that sort of thing — quarrelled with his son, who was doosid wild in early da^-s. Gentlemanly man, certainl}-, Firmin. Black hair: his father had red. So much the better for the doctor ; but — but — we understand each other, I think, Goodenough? and you and I have seen some queer fislies in our time." And the old gentleman winked and took his snuff graciously, and, as it were, puffed the Firmin subject away. " Was it to show me a queer fish that you took me to Dr. Firmin's house in Parr Street?" asked Mr. Pendennis of his uncle. " The house was not very gay, nor the mistress very wise, but they w^ere all as kind as might be ; and I am very fond of the boy." " So did Lord Ringwood, his mother's uncle, like him," cried Major Pendennis. " That boy brought about a recon- ciliation between his mother and his uncle, after her runaway match. I suppose you know she ran away with Firmin, m}- dear?" My mother said " she had heard something of the story." And the Major once more asserted that Dr. Firmin was a wild fellow twent^y years ago. At the time of which I am writing he was Physician to the Plethoric Hospital, Pliysician to the Grand Duke of Groningen, and knight of his order of the Black 100 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Swan, member of many learned societies, the husband of a rich wife, and a person of no small consideration. As for his son, whose name figures at the head of these pages, 3'ou may suppose he did not die of the illness about which we had just been talking. A good nurse waited on him, though his mamma was in the country. Though his papa was absent, a very competent ph^'sician was found to take charge of the young patient, and preserve his life for the benefit of his family, and the purposes of this history. We pursued oui- talk about Philip Firmin and his father, and his grand-uncle the Earl, whom Major Pendennis knew intimately well, until Doctor Goodenough's carriage was an- nounced, and our kind physician took leave of us, and drove back to London. Some who spoke on that summer evening are no longer here to speak or listen. Some who were young then have topped the hill and are descending towards the valley of the shadows. " Ah," says old Major Pendennis, shaking his brown curls, as the Doctor went away ; " did you see, my good soul, when I spoke about his confrere, how glum Goodenough looked ? They don't love each other, my dear. Two of a trade don't agree, and besides I have no doubt the other doctor-fellows are jealous of Firmin, because he lives in the best society. A man of good family, my dear. There has alreacl}- been a great rapprochement; and if Lord Ringwood is quite reconciled to Mm, there's no knowing what luck that boy of Firmin's may come to." Although Dr. Goodenough might think but lightly of his confrere, a great portion of the public held him in much higher estimation : and especiall}' in the little community of Grej- Friars, of which the kind reader has heard in previous works of the present biographer. Dr. Brand Firmin was a verv great favorite, and received with much respect and honor. When- ever the bo3's at that school were afflicted with the common ail- ments of youth, Mr. Spratt, the school apothecary, provided for them ; and by the simple, though disgusting remedies which were in use in those times, generall}' succeeded in restoring his 3'oung patients to health. But if young Lord Egham (the Marquis of Ascot's son, as my respected reader ver}^ likelj' knows) happened to be unwell, as was frcquentl}^ the case, from his lordship's great command of pocket-mone}" and im- prudent fondness for the contents of the pastry-cook's shop ; or if any very grave case of illness occurred in the school, then, quick, the famous Dr. Firmin, of old Parr Street, Burlington ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 101 Gardens, was sent for ; and an illness must have been very- severe, if he could not cure it. Dr. Firmin bad been a school- fellow, and remained a special friend, of the head-master. Wlien 3'oung Lord Egham, before mentioned, (he was our only lord, and therefore we were a little proud and careful of our darling youth,) got the erysipelas, which swelled his head to •the size of a pumpkin, the doctor triumphantly cari-ied him through his illness, and was complimented by the head-boy in his Latin oration on the annual speech-day for his superhuman skill and godlike delight salutem hominibus dando. The head- master turned towards Dr. Firmin, and bowed : the governors and bigwigs buzzed to one another, and looked at him : the boj's looked at him : the physician held his handsome head down towards his shirt-frill. Ilis modest eyes would not look up from the spotless lining of the broad-brimmed hat on his knees. A murmur of applause hummed through the ancient hall, a scuf- fling of 3'oung feet, a rustling of new cassocks among the mas- ters, and a refreshing blowing of noses ensued, as the orator polished off his period, and then passed to some other theme. Amidst the general enthusiasm, there was one member of the auditor}' scornful and dissentient. This gentleman whis- pered to his comrade at the commencement of the phrase concerning the doctor the, I believe of Eastern derivation, monosyllable "Bosh!" and he added sadly, looking towards the object of all this praise, "He can't construe the Latin — though it is all a parcel of humbug." " Hush, Phil ! " said his friend ; and Phil's face flushed red, as Dr. Firmi'i, lifting up his eves, looked at him for one mo- ment ; for the recipient of all this laudation was no other than Phil's father. The illness of which we spoke had long since passed away. Philip was a schoolboy no longer, but in his second 3'ear at the university, and one of half a dozen young men, ex-pupils of the school, who had come up for the annual dinner. The honors of this 3'ear's dinner were for Dr. Firmin, even more than for Lord Ascot in his star and ribbon, who walked with his arm in the doctor's into chapel. His lordship faltered when, in his after-dinner speech, he alluded to the inestimable services and ' skill of his tried old friend, whom he had known as a fellow- pupil in those walls — (loud cheers) — whose friendship had been the delight of his life — a friendship which he pray-ed might be the inheritance of their children. (Immense ap- plause ; after which Dr. Fii'min spoke.) The doctor's speech was perhaps a little commonplace ; the 102 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Latin quotations which he used were not exactly novel ; but Phil need not have been so angry or ill-behaved. He went on sipping sheny, glaring at his father, and muttering observa- tions that were anything but complimentary to his parent. "Now look," saj's he, "he is going to be overcome b}^ his feelings. He will put his handkerchief up to his mouth, and show his diamond ring. I told you so ! It's too much. I can't swallow this . . , this sherr3\ I sa}-, you fellows, let us come out of this, and iiave a smoke somewhere." And Phil rose up and quitted the dining-room, just as his father was declaring what a jo}', and a pride, and a delight it was to him to think that the friendship with which his noble friend honored him was likely to be transmitted to their children, and that when he had passed away from this eartlil}' scene (cries of " No, no ! " " May you live a thousand years J ") it would be his joy to think that his son would always find a friend and pro- tector in the noble, the princely house of Ascot. We found the carriages waiting outside Grey Friars' Gate, and Philip Firmin, pushing me into his father's, told the footman to drive home, and that the doctor would return in Lord As- cot's carriage. Home then to Old Parr Street we went, where many a time as a boy I had been welcome. And we retired to Phil's private den in the back buildings of the great house : and over our cigars we talked of the Founder's-day Feast, and the speeches delivered ; and of the old Cistercians of our time, and how Thompson was married, and Johnson was in the army, and Jackson (not red-haired Jackson, pig-eyed Jackson,) was first in his year, and so forth ; and in this twaddle were most hap- pily engaged, when Phil's father flung open the tall door of the study. " Here's the governor ! " growled Phil ; and in an undertone, "What does />e want?" " Tiie governor," as I looked up, was not a pleasant object to behold. Dr. Firmin had very white false teeth, which per- haps were a little too large for his mouth, and these grinned in the gas-light very fiercely. On his cheeks were black whiskers, and over his glaring eyes fierce black e^'obrows, and his bald head glittered lilie a billiard-ball. You would hardly have known that he was the original of that melancholj' philosophic portrait which all the patients admired in the doctor's waiting- room. " I find, Philip, that you took my carriage," said the father ; " and Lord Ascot and I had to walk ever so far for a cab ! " " Hadn't he got his own carriage? I thought, of course, he ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 103 would have his carriage on a State-day, aud that you would come home with the lord," said Philip. " I had promised to bring him home, sir ! " said the father. " Well, sir, I'm very sorry," continued the son, curtly. " Sorry ! " screams the other. " I can't say an}' more, sir, and I am very sorry," answers Phil ; and he knocked the ash of his cigar into the stove. The stranger within the house hardl}- knew how to look on its master or his sou. There was evidently some dire quarrel between them. The old man glared at the young one, who calmly looked his father in the face. Wicked rage and hate seemed to flash from the doctor's e^'es, and anon came a look of wild pitiful supplication towards the guest, which was most painful to bear. In the midst of what dark famil}^ myster}' was I? What meant this cruel spectacle of the father's terrified auger, and the son's scorn? "I — I appeal to you, Pendennis," says the doctor, with a choking utterance and a ghastl}' face. " Shall we begin ub ovo, sir?" says Phil. Again the ghastly look of terror comes over the father's face. "I — I promise to bring one of the first noblemen in Eng- land," gasps the doctor, " from a public dinner, in my carriage ; and my son takes it, and leaves me and Lord Ascot to walk ! — Is it fair, Pendennis ? Is it the conduct of a gentleman to a gentleman ; of a son to a father ? " " No, sir," I said, gravely, " nothing can excuse it." Indeed I was shocked at the young man's obduracy and un- dutifulness. " I told you it was a mistake ! " cries Phil, reddening. "I heard Lord Ascot order his own carriage ; I made no doubt he would bring my father home. To ride in a chariot with a foot- man behind me, is no pleasure to me, and I would far rather have a Hansom and a cigar. It was a blunder, and I am sorry for it — there ! And if I live to a hundred I can't say more." " If you are sorry, Philip," groans the father, '' it is enough. You remember, Pendennis, when — when my son and I were not on this — on this footing," and he looked up for a moment at a picture which was hanging over Phil's head — a portrait of Phil's mother ; the lady of whom my own mother spoke, on that evening when we had talked of the boy's illness. Both the ladies had passed from the world now, and their images were but painted shadows on the wall. The father had accepted an apology, though the son had made none. I looked at the elder Firmin's face, and the char- 104 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP acter written on it. I remembered such particulars of his early history as had been told to me ; and I perfectly recalled that feel- ing of doubt and misliking which came over my mind when I first saw the doctor's handsome face some few years previously, when my uncle first took me to the doctor's in Old Parr Street ; little Phil being then a flaxen-headed, pretty child, who had just assumed his first trousers, and I a fifth- form bo}^ at school. My father and Dr. Firmin were members of the medical profession. They had been bred up as boys at the same school, whither families used to send their sons from genera- tion to generation, and long before people had ever learned that the place was unwholesome. Grey Friars was smoky, certainly ; I think in the time of the Plague great numbers of people were buried there. But had the school been situated in the most picturesque swamp in England, the general health of the boys could not have been better. We boys used to hear of epidemics occurring in other schools, and were almost sorry that they did not come to ours, so that we might shut up, and get longer vacations. Even that illness which subsequently befell Phil Finnin himself attacked no one else — the boys all luckily going home for the holida3-s on the very day of" poor Phil's seizure ; but of this illness more anon. When it was determined that little Phil Firmin was to go to Grey Friars, Phil's fiither bethought him that Major Pendennis, whom he met in the world and society, had a nephew at the place, who might protect the little fellow, and the Major took his nephew to see Dr. and Mrs. Firmin one Sunday after church, and we had lunch at Old Parr Street, and there little Phil was presented to me, whom I promised to take under my protection. He was a simple little man ; an artless child, who' had not the least idea of the dignity of a fifth-form boy. He was quite unabaslied in talking to me and other persons, and has remained so ever since. He asked my uncle how he came to have such odd hair. He partook freely of the delicacies on the table. I remember he hit me with liis little fist once or twice, which liberty at first struck me with a panic of astonishment, and then with a sense of the ridiculous so exquisitely keen, that I burst out into a fit of laughter. It was, you see, as if a stranger were to hit the Pope in the ribs, and call him " Old boy ; " as if Jack were to tweak one of the giants by the nose ; or Ensign Jones to ask the Duke of Wellington to take wine. I had a strong sense of humor, even in those early days, and enjoyed this joke accordingly'. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 105 " Philip ! " cries mamma, " j'ou will hurt Mr. Pendennis." "I will knock him down!" shouts Phil. Fanc}' knocking me down, — me, a fifth-form boy ! " The child is a perfect Hercules," remarks the mother. " He strangled two snakes in his cradle," says the doctor, looking at me. (It was then, as I remember, I felt Z)r. Fell towards him.) " La, Dr. Firmin ! " cries mamma, " I can't bear snakes. I remember there was one at Rome, when we were walking one da}^, a great, large snake, and I hated it, and I cried out, and I nearty fainted ; and my uncle Ringwood said I ought to like snakes, for one might be an agreeable rattle ; and I have read of them being charming in India, and I dare say you have, Mr. Pendennis, for I am told you are very clever ; and I am not in the least; I wish I were; but my husband is, very — and so Phil will be. Will you be a very clever boy, dear? He was named after my dear papa, who was killed at Busaco when I was quite, quite a little thing, and we wore mourning, and we went to live with m}' uncle Ringwood afterwards ; but Maria and I had both our own fortunes ; and I am sure I little thought I should marry a physician — la, one of uncle Ringwood's grooms, I should as soon have thought of marrying him ! — but, you know, m}' husband is one of the cleverest men in the world. Don't tell me, — ^^ou are, dearest, and you know it ; and when a man is clever, I don't value his rank in life ; no, not if he was that fender ; and I always said to uncle Ringwood, ' Talent I will marry, for talent I adore ; ' and I did marry you. Dr. Firmin, you know I did, and this child is your image. And you will be kind to liim at school," says the poor lady, tm-ning to me, her eyes filling with tears, " for talent is always Idnd, except uncle Ringwood, and he was very — " "A little more wine, Mr. Pendennis?" said the doctor — Dr. Fell still, though he was most kind to me. "I shall put ray little man under your care, and I know you will keep him from harm. I hope 3'ou will do us the favor to come to Parr Street whenever j'ou are free. In my father's time we used to come home of a Saturday from school, and enjoyed going to the play." And the doctor shook me cordially by the hand, and, I must say, continued his kindness to me as long as ever I knew him. When we went away, my uncle Pendennis told me many stories about the great earl and famil}' of Ring- wood, and how Dr. Firmin had made a match — a match of the affections —with this lady, daughter of Philip Ringwood, who was killed at Busaco ; and how she had been a great 106 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP beauty, and was a perfect grande dame always ; and, if not the cleverest, certainly one of the kindest and most amiable women in the world. In those days I was accustomed to receive the opinions of my informant with such respect that I at once accepted this statement as authentic. Mrs. Firmin's portrait, indeed, was beautiful : it was painted by young Mr. Harlowe, that year he was at Rome, and when in eighteen days he completed' a copy of the "Transfiguration," to the admiration of all the Acad- emy ; but I, for my part, only remember a lady weak, and thin, and faded, who never came out jof her dressing-room until a late hour in the afternoon, and whose superannuated smiles and grimaces used to provoke my juvenile sense of humor. She used to kiss Phil's brow ; and, as she held the boy's hand in one of her lean ones, would say, " Who would suppose such a great boy as that could be my son? " " Be kind to him when I am gone," she sighed to me, one Sunday evening, when I was taking leave of her, as her eyes filled with tears, and she placed the thin hand in mine for the last time. The doctor, reading by the fire, turned round and scowled at her from under his tall shining forehead. " You are nervous, Louisa, and had better go to your room, I told 30U 30U had," he said abruptly. " Young gentlemen, it is time for you to be off to Grey Friars. Is the cab at the door, Brice ? " And he took out his watch — his great shining watch, by which he had felt the pulses of so many famous personages, whom his prodigious skill had rescued from disease. And at parting, Phil flung his arms round his poor mother, and kissed her under the glossy curls ; the bor- rowed curls ! and he looked his father resolutely in the face (whose own glance used to fall before that of the boy), and bade him a gruff good-night, ere we set forth for Grey Friars. CHAPTER n. AT SCHOOL AND AT HOME. I DINED yesterday with three gentlemen, whose time of life may be guessed by their conversation, a great part of which consisted of Eton reminiscences and lively imitations of Dr. Keate. Each one, as he described how he had been flogged, mimicked to the best of his power the manner and the mode of ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 107 operating of the famous doctor. His little parenthetical re- marks dming the ceremony were recalled with great facetious- ness : the ver}^ hwhish of the rods was parodied with thrilling fidelity, and after a good hour's conversation, the subject was brought to a climax by a description of that awful night when the doctor called up squad after squad of bo^'s from their beds in their respective boarding-houses, whipped through the whole nisfht, and casti2:ated I don't know how manv hundred rebels. All these mature men lauglied, prattled, rejoiced, and became 3'oung again, as the}^ recounted their stories ; and each of them heartily and eagerl}^ bade the stranger to understand how Keate was a thorough gentleman. Having talked about their floggings, I say, for an hour at least, they apologized to me for dwelling upon a subject which after all was strictly local : but, indeed, their talk greatl}' amused and diverted me, and I hope, and am quite read3^, to hear all their jolly stories over again. Be not angr}', patient reader of former volumes b}' the author of the present historj', if I am garrulous about Grey Friars, and go back to that ancient place of education to find the heroes of our tale. We are young but once. When we remember that time of 3'outh, we are still young. He over whose head eight or nine lustres have passed, if he wishes to write of boys, must recall the time when he himself was a bo}'. Their habits -change ; their waists are longer or shorter ; their shirt-collars stick up more or less ; but the bo}' is the boy in King George's time as in that of his roval niece — once our maiden queen, now the anxious mother of man}' boj's. And young fellows are honest, nnd merry, and idle, and mischiev- ous, and timid, and brave, and studious, and selfish, and gen- erous, and mean, and false, and truth-telling, and affectionate, and good, and bad, now as in former daj'S. He with whom we have mainh' to do is a gentleman of mature age now wallcing the street with bo^'S of his own." He is not going to perish in the last chapter of these memoirs — to die of consumption with his love weeping b}' his bedside, or to blow his brains out in despair, because she has been married to his rival, or killed out of a gig, or otherwise done for in the last chapter but one. No, no, we will have no dismal endings. Philip Firmin is well and hearty at this minute, owes no man a shilling, and can enjoy his glass of port in perfect comfort. So, vay dear miss, if 3^ou want a pulmonary romance, the present won't suit 3'ou. So, 3'oung gentleman, if 3'ou are for melanchol3% despair, and sardonic satire, please to call at some other shop. That Philip shall have his trials is a matter of course — ma}' they 108 THE ADVEXTURES OF PHILIP be interesting, though they do not end dismally' ! That he shall fall and trip in his course sometimes is pretty certain. Ah, who does not upon this life-journey of ours? Is not our want the occasion of our brother's charity, and thus does not good come out of that evil? When the trayeller (of whom the Mas- ter spoke) feU among the thieves, his mishap was contrived to try many a heart beside his own — the Knave's who robbed him, the Levite's and Priest's who passed him by as he lay bleeding, the humble Samaritan's whose hand poured oil into his wound, and held out its pittance to relieve him. So little Philip Firmin was brought to school by his mamma in her carriage, who entreated the housekeeper to have a spe- cial charge of that angelic child ; and as soon as the poor lady's back was turned, Mrs. Bunee emptied the contents of the little bo}''s trunk into one of sixty or seventy little cupboards, wherein reposed other boys' clothes and haberdasherj' : and then Mrs. Firmin requested to see the Rev. Mr. X., in whose house Philip was to board, and besought him, and explained many things to him, such as the exceeding delicacy of the child's constitution, &c. &c. ; and Mr. X., who was very good- natured, patted the bo}' kindly on the head, and sent for the other Philip, Philip Ringwood, Phil's cousin, who had arrived at Grey Friars an hour or two before ; and Mr. X. told Ring- wood to take care of the little fellow ; and Mrs. Firmin, chok- ing behind her pocket-handkerchief, gurgled out a blessing on the grinning youth, and at one time had an idea of giving Master Ringwood a sovereign, but paused, thinking he was too big a boy, and that she might not take such a liberty, and presentl}^ she was gone ; and little Phil Firmin was intro- duced to the long-room and his schoolfellows of Mr. X.'s house ; and having plent}' of money, and naturally finding his way to the pastry-cook's, the next day, after school, he was; met by his cousin Ringwood and robbed of half the tarts which he had purchased. A fortnight afterwards, the hospi- table doctor and his wife asked their young kinsman to Old Parr Street, Burlington Gardens, and the two boys went ; but Phil never mentioned anything to his parents regarding the robbery of tarts, being deterred, perhaps, from speaking by awful threats of punishment which his cousin promised to ad- minister when they got back to school, in case of the little boy's confession. Subsequently, Master Ringwood was asked once in ever}^ term to Old Parr Street ; but neither Mrs. Fir- min, nor the doctor, nor Master Firmin liked the baronet's son, and Mrs. Firmin pronounced him a violent, rude boy. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 109 I, for my part, left school suddenly and early, and my little protege behind me. His poor mother, who had promised her- self to come for him every Saturday, did not keep her prom- ise. Smithfield is a long way from Piccadilly ; and an angry cow once scratched the panels of her carriage, causing her footman to spring from his board into a pig-pen, and herself to feel such a shock, that no wonder she was afraid of visiting the City afterwards. The circumstances of this accident she often narrated to us. Her anecdotes were not numerous, but she told them repeatedly. In imagination, sometimes, I can hear her ceaseless, simple cackle ; see her faii^t eyes, as she prattles on unconsciously, and watch the dark looks of her handsome, silent husband, scowHng from under his eye- brows and smiUng behind his teeth. I dare say he ground those teeth with suppressed rage sometimes. I dare say to bear with her endless volubility must have tasked his endurance. He may have treated her ill, but she tried him. She, on her part, may have been a not very wise woman, but she was kind to me. Did not her housekeeper make me the best of tarts and keep goodies from the company dinners for the young gentlemen when they came home? Did not her hus- band give me of his fees? I promise you, after I had seen Dx. Fell a few times, that first unpleasing impression produced by his darkling countenance and sinister good looks wore away. He was a gentleman. He had lived in the. great world, of which he told anecdotes delightful to boys to hear; and he passed the bottle to me as if I was a man. I hope and think I remembered the injunction of poor Mrs. Firmin to be kind to her boy. As long as we stayed together at Grey Friars, I was Phil's champion whenever he needed my protection, though of course I could not always be present to guard the little scapegrace from all the blows which were aimed kt his young face by pugilists of his own size. Thpre were seven or eight years' difference between us (he says ten, which is absurd, and which I deny) ; but I was always remarkable for my affability, and, in spite of our disparity of age, would often graciously accept the general invitation I had from his father for any Saturday and Sunday when I would like to accompan}' Philip home. Such an invitation is welcome to any schoolboy. To get away from Smithfield, and show our best clothes in Bond Street, was always a privilege. To strut in the Park on Sunday, and nod to the other fellows who were strutting there too, was better than remaining at school, "doing ' Diatcs aron,' " as 110 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP the phrase used to be, having that endless roast-beef for dinner, and hearing two sermons in chapel. There may have been more lively streets in London than Old Parr Street ; but it was pleasanter to be there than to look at Goswell Street over Grey Friars' wall ; and so the present biographer and reader's very humble servant found Dr. Firmin's house an agreeable resort. Mamma was often ailing, or, if well, went out into the world with her husband ; in either case, we boys had a good dinner pro^'ided for us, with the special dishes which Phil loved ; and after dinner we adjourned to the play, not being by any means too proud to sit in the pit with Mr. Brice, the doctor's confiden- tial man. On Sunda}'' we went to church at Lady Whittlesea's, and back to school in the evening ; when the doctor almost alwa3's gave us a fee. If he did not dine at home (and I own his absence did not much damp our pleasure) , Brice would lay a small enclosure on the 3'oung gentlemen's coats, which we transferred to our pockets. I beUeve schoolboy's disdain fees in the present disinterested times. Everything in Dr. Firmin's house was as handsome as might be, and yet somehow the place was not cheerful. One's steps fell noiselessly on the faded Turkey carpet ; the room was lai'ge, and all save the dining-table in a dmgy twilight. The picture of Mrs. Firmin looked at us from the wall, and followed us about with wild violet e3'es. Philip Firmin had the same violet odd bright ej-es, and the same colored hair of an auburn tinge ; in the picture it fell in long wild masses over the lady's back as she leaned with bare arms on a hai'p. Over the sideboard was the doctor, in a black velvet coat and a fur collar, his hand on a skull, like Hamlet. Skulls of oxen, horned, with wreaths, formed the cheerful ornaments of the cornice. On the side- table glittered a pair of cups, given by grateful patients, look- ing like receptacles rather for funereal ashes than for festive flowers or wine. Brice, the butler, wore the gravity and cos- tume of an undertaker. The footman stealthily moved hither and thither, bearing the dinner to us ; we always spoke under our breath whilst we were eating it. ' ' The room don't look more cheerful of a morning when the patients are sitting here, I can tell you," Phil would say ; indeed, we could well fancy that it was dismal. The drawing-room had a rhubarb-colored flock paper (on account of the governor's attachment to the shop, Master Phil said), a great piano, a harp smothered in a leather bag in the corner, which the languid owner now never touched ; and everybody's face seemed scared and pale in the great looking-glasses, which reflected you over and over again ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. Ill into the distance, so that you seemed to twinkle off right through the Albany into Piccadilly. Old Parr Street has been a habitation for generations of surgeons and physicians. I suppose the noblemen for whose use tlie street was intended in the time of the early Georges fled, finding the neighborhood too dismal, and the gentlemen in black coats came and took possession of the gilded, gloom^^ chambers which the sacred ynode vacated. These mutations of fashion have alwa^^s been matters of profound speculation to me. Why shall not one moralize over London, as over Rome, or Baalbec, or Troy town ? I like to walk among the Hebrews of Wardour Street, and fancy the place, as it once was, crowded with chairs and gilt chariots, and torches flashing in the hands of the running footmen. I have a grim pleasure in thinking that Golden Square was once the resort of the aristocracy, and Monmouth Street the delight of the genteel world. What shall prevent us Londoners from musing over the decline and fall of city sovereignties, and drawing our cockney morals? As the late Mr. Gibbon meditated his history leaning against a column in the Capitol, why should not I muse over mine, reclining under an arcade of tlie Pantheon ? Not the Pantheon at Rome, in the Cabbage Market by the Piazza Navona, where the immortal gods were worshipped, — the immortal gods who are now dead ; but the Pantheon in Oxford Street, ladies, where you purchase feeble pomatums, music, glassware, and baby-linen ; and whicli has its history too. Have not Selwj'n, and Walpole, and March, and Carlisle figured there? Has not Prince Florizel flounced through the hall in his rustling domino, and danced there in powdered splendor? and when the ushers refused admission to lovely Sophy Baddeley, did not the 3'oung men, her adorers, draw their rapiers and vow to slay the door- keepers ; and, crossing the glittering blades over the enchant- ress's head, make a warlike triumphal arch for her to pass under, all flushed, and smiling, and perfumed, and painted? The lives of streets are as the lives of men, and shall not the street- preacher if so minded, take for the text of his sermon the stones in the gutter? That 3'ou were once the resort of the fashion, Monmouth Street ! b}* the invocation of blessed St. Giles shall I not improve that sweet thought into a godly discourse, and make the ruin edifying? mes frh-es ! There were splen- did thoroughfares, dazzling company, bright illuminations, in our streets when our hearts were 3^oung : we entertained in them a noble youthful company of chivalrous hopes and lofty ambi- tions ; of blushing thoughts in snow}' robes spotless and virginal. 112 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP See, in the embrasure of the window, where you sat looking to the stars, and nestUng by the soft side of your first love, hang Mr. Moses' bargains of turned old clotlies, very cheap ; of worn old boots, bedraggled in how much and how many people's mud ; a great bargain. See ! along the street, strewed with flowers once mayhap — a fight of beggars for the refuse of an apple-stall, or a tipsy basket- woman reehng shrieking to the station. O me ! O my beloved congregation ! I have preached this stale sermon to you for ever so man^^ j^ears. O my jolly companions, I have drunk many a bout with you, and alwa3-s found vanitas vanitatum written on the bottom of the pot ! I choose to moralize now when I pass the place. The gar- den has run to seed, the walks are mildewed, the statues have broken noses, the gravel is dank with green moss, the roses are withered, and the nightingales have ceased to make love. It is a funereal street. Old Parr Street, certainly ; the carriages which drive there ought to have feathers on the roof, and the butlers who open the doors should wear weepers — so the scene strikes 3'ou now as you pass along the spacious empty pave- ment. You are bilious, my good man. Go and pay a guinea to one of the doctors in those houses ; there are still doctors there. He will prescribe taraxacum for 3'ou, or pil : h3'drarg : Bless you ! in my time, to us gentlemen' of the fifth form, the place was bearable. The yellow fogs didn't damp our spirits — and we never thought them too thick to keep us away from the play : from the chivalrous Charles Kemble, I tell j^ou, my Mirabel, my Mercutio, my princely Falconbridge : from his adorable daughter (O my distracted heart !) : from the classic Young : from the glorious Long Tom CotUn : from the un- earthl}' Vanderdecken — " Return, O m^' love, and we'll never, never part" (where art thou, sweet singer of that most thrilling ditt}^ of m3"3'outh?) : from the sweet, sweet Victorine and the Bottle Imp. Oh, to see that Bottle Imp again, and hear that song about the "Pilgrim of Love!" Once, but — hush; — this is a secret — we had private boxes, the doctor's grand friends often sending him these ; and finding the opera rather slow, we went to a concert in M-d-n Lane, near Covent Garden, and heard the most celestial glees, over a supper of fizzing sausages and mashed potatoes, such as the world has never seen since. We did no harm ; but I dare sa3' it was very wrong. Brice, the butler, ought not to have taken us. We bullied him, and made him take us where he liked. We had rum-shrub in the housekeeper's room, where we used to be diverted b3' the societ3' of other butlers of the neighboring ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 113 nobility and gentry, who would step in. Perhaps it was wrong to leave us so to the company of servants. Dr. Firmin used to go to his grand parties, Mrs. P'irmin to bed. "Did we enjoy the performance last night?" our host would ask at breakfast. " Oh, yes, we enjoyed the performance ! " But my poor Mrs. Firmin fancied that we enjoyed Semiramide or the Donna del Lago ; whereas we had been to the pit at the Adelphi (out of our own money), and seen that jolly John Reeve, and laughed — laughed till we were fit to drop — and stayed till the curtain was down. And then we would come home, and, as aforesaid, pass a delightful hour over supper, and hear the anecdotes of Mr. Brice's friends, the other butlers. Ah, that was a time indeed ! .There never was any liquor so good as rnra-shrub, never ; and the sausages had a flavor of Elysium. How hushed we were when Dr. Firmin, coming home from his parties, let himself in at the street-door ! Shoeless, we crept lip to our bedrooms. And we came down to breakfast with innocent young faces — and let Mrs. Firmin, at lunch, prattle about the opera ; and there stood Brice and the footman behind us, looking quite grave, the abominable hypocrites ! Then, sir, there was a certain way, out of the study window, or through the kitchen, and over the leads, to a building, gloomy indeed, but where I own to have spent delightful hours of the most flagitious and criminal enjoyment of some deUcious little Havanas, ten to the shilling. In that building there were stables once, doubtless occupied by great Flemish horses and rumbling gold coaches of Walpole's time ; but a celebi-ated sur- geon, when he took possession of the house, made a lecture- room of the premises, — " And this door," says Phil, pointing to one leading into the mews, " was very convenient for having the bodies in and out" — a cheerful reminiscence. Of this kind of furniture there was now ver}' little in the apartment, except a dilapidated skeleton in a corner, a few dusty casts of heads, and bottles of preparations on the top of an old bureau, and some mildewed harness hanging on the walls. This apartment became Mr. Phil's smoking-room when, as he grew taller, he felt himself too dignified to sit in the kitchen regions : the honest butler and housekeeper themselves pointing out to their young master that his place was elsewhere than among the servants. So there, privately and with great delectation, we smoked many an abominable cigar in that dreary back-room, the gaunt walls and twihght ceilings of which were by no means melancholy to us, who found forbidden pleasures the sweetest, after the absurd fashion of boys. Dr. Firmin was an enemy to 8 114 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP smoking, and ever accustomed to speak of the practice with eloquent indignation. "It was a low practice — the habit of cabmen, pothouse frequenters, and Irish apple-women," the doctor would saj^ as Phil and his friend looked at each other with a stealthy jo}'. Phil's father was ever scented and neat, the pattern of handsome propriet}'. .Perhaps he had a clearer perception regarding manners than respecting morals ; perhaps his conversation was full of platitudes, his talk (concerning people of fashion chiefl)') mean and uninstructive, his behavior to 3'oung Lord Egham rather fulsome and lacking of dignit}'. Perhaps, I say, the idea may have entered into young Mr. Pen- dennis's mind that his hospitable entertainer and friend. Dr. Firmin, of Old Parr Street, was what at the present day might be denominated an old humbug ; but modest 3'oung men do not come quickly to such unpleasant conclusions regarding their seniors. Dr. Firmin's manners were so good, his forehead was so high, his frill so fresh, his hands so white and slim, that for some. con- siderable time we ingenuously admired him ; and it was not without a pang that we came to view him as he actualh- was — no, not as he actually was — no man whose earl^- nurture was kindly can judge quite impartially the man who has been kind to him in bo3hood. I quitted school suddenly, leaving my little Phil behind me, a brave little handsome bo}-, endearing himself to old and 3'oung by his good looks, his gayet}', his courage, and his gentlemanlj- bearing. Once in a way a letter would come from him, full of that artless affection and tenderness which fills boys' hearts, and is so touching in their letters. It was answered with proper dignity and condescension on the senior boy's part. Our modest little country home kept up a friendlj' intercourse with Dr. Firmin's grand London mansion, of which, in his visits to us, my uncle, Major Pendennis, did not fail to bring news. A correspondence took place between the ladies of each house. We supplied Mrs. Firmin with little country presents, tokens of my mother's good-will and gratitude towards the friends who had been kind to her son. I went my wa}^ to the university, having occasional glimpses of Phil at school. I took chambers in the Temple, which he found great delight in visiting ; and he liked our homel}- dinner from Dick's, and a bed on the sofa, better than the splendid entertainments in Old Parr Street and his great gloomy chamber there. He had grown by this time to be ever so much taller than his senior, though he always persists in looking up to me unto the present day. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 115 A very few weeks after m^- poor mother passed that judg- ment on Mrs. Firmin, she saw reason to regret and revoke it. Phil's mother, who was afraid, or perhaps was forbidden, to at- tend her son in his ilhiess at school, was taken ill herself. Phil retnrned to Grey Friars in a deep suit of black ; the servants on the carriage wore black too ; and a certain tyrant of the place, beginning to laugh and jeer because Firmin's eyes filled with tears at some ribald remark, was gruffly rebuked by Sampson major, the cock of the whole school ; and with the question, " Don't j'ou see the poor beggar's in mourning, 3'ou great brute?" was kicked about his business. When Philip Firmin and I met again, there was crape on both our hats. I don't think either could see the other's face very well. I went to see him in Parr Street, in the vacant, melancholy house, where the poor mother's picture was yet hanging in her empty drawing-room. " She was always fond of yon, Pendennis," said Phil. "God bless you for being so good to her. You know what it is to lose — to lose what loves you best in the world. I didn't know how — how I loved her, till I had lost her." And man}' a sob broke his words as he spoke. " Her picture was removed from the drawing-room presently into Phil's own little study — the room in which he sat and de- fied his father. What harl passed between them ? The young man was very much changed. The frank looks of old days were gone, and Phil's face was haggard and bold. The doctor would not let me have a word more with his son after he had found us together, but with dubious appealing looks, followed me to the door, and shut it upon me. I felt that it closed upon two unhappy men. CHAPTER HI. A CONSULTATION. Shoui>d T peer into Firmin's privacy, and find the key to that secret? What skeleton was there in the closet? In the Gornhill Magazine* jou maj" remember, there were some verses about a {)ortion of a skeleton. Did 3-ou remark how the poet and present jM-oprietor of the human skull at once settled the sex of it, and determined off-hand that it must have belonsfed * No. 12 : December, 18G0. 116 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP to a woman ? Such skulls are locked up in many gentlemen's hearts asid memories. Bktebeard, you know, had a whole museum of them — as that imprudent little last wife of his found out to her cost. And, on the other hand, a lady, we suppose, would select hers of the sort which had carried beards when in the flesh. Given a neat locked skeleton cupboard, belonging to a man of a certain age, to ascertain the sex of the original owner of the bones, you have not much need of a picklock or a blacksmith. There is no use in forcing the hinge, or scratch- ing the pretty panel. We know what is inside — we arch rogues and men of the world. Murders, I suppose, are not many — enemies and victims of our hate and anger, destroyed and trampled out of life by us, and locked out of sight : but corpses of our dead loves, mj^ dear sir — my dear madam — have we not got them stowed away in cupboard after cupboard, in bot- tle after bottle ? Oh, fie ! And 3'oung people ! What doctrine is this to preach to them, who spell your book by papa's and mamma's knee? Yes, and how wrong it is to let them go to church, and see and hear papa and mamma publicly on their knees, calling out, and confessing to the whole congregation, that they are sinners ! So, though I had ilot the key, I could see through the panel and the glimmering of the skeleton in- side. Although the elder Firmin followed me to the door, and his eyes only left me as I turned the corner of the street, I felt sure that Phil ere long would open his mind to me, or give me some clue to that mystery. I should hear from him why his bright cheeks had become hollow, why his fresh voice, which I remem- ber so honest and cheerful, was now harsh and sarcastic, with tones that often grated on the hearer, and laughter that gave pain. It was about Philip himself that my anxieties were. The young fellow had inherited from his poor mother a considerable fortune — some eight or nine hundred a year, we always under- ^stood. lie was living in a costly, not to say extravagant man- ner. I thought Mr. Philip's juvenile remorses were locked up in^ the skeleton closet, and was grieved to think he had fallen in mischiefs way. Hence, no doubt, might arise the anger between him and his father. The boy was extravagant and headstrong ; and the parent remonstrant and irritated. I met my old friend Dr. Good enough at the club one even- ing ; and as we dined together I discoursed with him about his former patient, and recalled to him that day, years back, when the boy was ill at school, and when my poor mother and Phil's own were vet alive. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 117 Goodenongh looked very grave. " Yes," he said, " the boy was very ill ; he was nearly gone at that time — at that time — when his mother was in the Isle of Wight, and his father dangling after a prince. "We thought one day it was all over with him ; but — " "But a good doctor interposed between him and pallida mors." '•A good doctor? a good nurse! The boy was delirious, and had a fancy to walk out of window, and would have done so, but for one of my nurses. You.know her." " What ! the Little Sister? " "Yes, the Little Sister." " And it was she who nursed Phil through his fever, and saved his life? I drink her health. She is a good little soul." " Good ! " said the doctor, with his gruffest voice and frown. (He was alwa3's most fierce when he was most tender-hearted.) "Good, indeed! Will you have some more of this duck? — Do. Y'^ou have had enough already, and it's very unwhole- some. Good, sir? But for women, fire and brimstone ought to come down and consume this world. Y^our dear mother was one of the good ones. I was attending you when you were ill, at those horrible chambers you had in the Temple, at the same time when young Firmin was ill at Grey Friars. And I sup- pose I must be answerable for keeping two scapegraces in the world." ' ' Why didn't Dr. Firmin come to see him ? " " Hm ! his nerves were too delicate. Besides, he did come. Talk of the * * * " The personage designated by asterisks was Phil's father, who was also a member of our club, and who entered the dining- room, tall, stately, and pale, witli his stereot3'ped smile, and wave of his pretty hand. B}^ the wa3% that smile of Firmin's was a very queer contortion of the handsome features. As you came up to him, he would draw his lips over his teeth, causing his jaws to wrinkle (or dimple if you will) on either side. Mean- while his eyes looked out from his face, quite melancholy and independent of tlie little transaction in which the mouth was engaged. Lips said, "lam a gentleman of fine manners and fascinating address, and I am supposed to be happy to see you. How do you do?" Drear}', sad, as into a great blank desert, looked the dark eyes. I do know one or two, but only one or two faces of men, when oppressed with care, which can yet smile all over. 118 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Goodenongh nods grimly to the smile of the other doctor, who blandl}^ looks at our table, holding his chin in one of his pretty hands. " How do?" growls Goodenough, " Young hopeful well? " " Young hopeful sits smoking cigars till morning with some friends of his," says Firmin, with the sad smile directed towards me this time. " Boys will be boys." And he jDensivelj' walks awa}' from us with a friendlj^ nod towards me ; examines the dinner-card in an attitude of melancholy grace ; points with the jewelled hand to the dishes which he will have served, and is off, and simpering to another acquaintance at a distant table. " I thought he would take that table," saj'S Firmin's cynical confrere. " In the draught of the door? Don't you see how the can- dle flickers ? It is the worst place in the room ! " " Yes ; but don't 3'ou see who is sitting at the next table? " Now at the next table was a n-blem-n of vast wealth, who was growling at the qualit}' of the mutton cutlets, and the half- pint of sherry which he had ordered for his dinner. . But as his lordship has nothing to do with the ensuing historj^ of course we shall not violate confidence b}' mentioning his name. We could see Firmin smiling on his neighbor with his blandest melancholy, and the waiters presently bearing up the dishes which the doctor had ordered for his own refection. He was no lover of mutton-chops and coarse sherrj', as I knew, who had partaken of many a feast at his board. I could see the dia- mond twinkle on his pretty hand, as it daintil}- poured out creaming wine from the ice-pail by his side — the liberal hand that had given me man}' a sovereign when I w^as a boy. "I can't help liking him," I said to my companion, whose scornful eyes were now and again directed towards his col- league. ' ' This port is very sweet. Almost all port is sweet now," remarks the doctor. "He was very kind to me in my school-da^'s ; and Philip was a fine little fellow." "Handsome a boy as ever I saw. Does he keep his beauty ? Father was a handsome man — yavy. Quite a lady- killer — I mean out of his practice ! " adds the grim doctor. ' ' What is the boy doing ? " ' He is at the university. He has his mother's fortune. He is wild and unsettled, and I fear he is going to the bad a little." "Is he? Shouldn't wonder ! " grumbles Goodenough. We had talked very frankly and pleasantly until the appear- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 119 ance of the other doctor, but with Firmin's arrival Goodenough seemed to button up his conversation. He quiclvl}^ stumped awa}' from the dining-room to the drawing-room, and sat over a novel there until time came when he was to retire to his pa- tients or his home. That there was no liking between the doctors, that there was a difference between Philip and his father, was clear enough to me : but the causes of these ditferences I had j'et to learn. The stor^^ came to me piecemeal ; from confessions here, admissions there, deductions of my own. I could not, of course, be present at many of the scenes which I shall have to relate as though I had witnessed theui ; and the posture, language, and inward thoughts of Philip and his friends, as here related, no doubt are fancies of the narrator in many cases ; but the stor}' is as authentic as man}' histories, and the reader need only- give such an amount of credence to it as he may judge that its verisimilitude warrants. Well, then, we must not only revert to that illness which befell when Philip Firmin was a bo}' at Grej' Friars, but go back yet farther in time to a period which I cannot precisely ascertain. The pupils of old Gandish's painting academy may remem- ber a ridiculous little man, with a great deal of wild talent, about the ultimate success of which his friends were divided. Whether Andrew was a genius, or whether he was a zan^^ was always a moot question among the frequenters of the Greek Street billiard-rooms, and the noble disciples of the Academy and St. Martin's Lane. He may have been craz}- and absurd ; he ma}' have had talent too : such characters are not unknown in art or in literature. He broke the Queen's English ; he was ignorant to a wonder ; he dressed his little person in the most fantastic raiment and queerest cheap finer}' : he wore a beard, bless m}' soul ! twent}' years before beards were known to wag in Britain. He was the most affected little creature, and, if }ou looked at him, would pose in attitudes of such ludicrous dirty dignity, that if you had had a dun waiting for monc}' in the hall of j'our lodging-house, or your picture refused at the Academy — if you were suffering under ever so much calamit}- — you could not help laughing. He was the butt of all his ac- quaintances, the laughing-stock of high and low, and he had as loving, gentle, faithful, honorable a heart as ever beat in a little bosom. He is gone to his rest now ; his palette and easel are waste timber ; his genius, which made some little flicker of brightness, never shone much, and is extinct. In an old album 120 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP that dates back for more than a score of j^ears, I sometimes look at poor Andrew's strange wild sketches. He might have done something had he continued to remain poor ; but a rich widow, whom he met at Rome, fell in love with the strange errant painter, pursued him to England, and married him in spite of himself. His genius drooped under the servitude : he lived but a few short years, and died of a consumption, of which the good Goodenough's skill could not cure him. One da}', as he was driving with his wife in her splendid barouche through the Haymarket, he suddenly bade the coach- man stop, sprang over the side of the carriage before the steps could be let fall, and his astonished wife saw him shaking the hands of a shabbily dressed little woman who was passing, — shaking both her hands, and weeping, and gesticulating, and twisting his beard and mustachios, as his wont was when agitated. Mrs. Montfitchet (the wealth}^ Mrs. Carrickfergus she had been, before she married the painter), the owner of a young husband, who had sprung from her side, and out of her carriage, in order to caress a young woman passing in the street, might well be disturbed by this demonstration ; but she was a kind-hearted woman, and when Montfitchet, on reasceud- ing into the family coach, told his wife the history af the per- son of whom he had just taken leave, she cried plentifully too. She bade the coachman drive straightwa}^ to her own house : she rushed up to her own apartments, whence she emerged, bearing an immense bag full of wearing apparel, and followed by a panting butler, carrying a bottle-basket and a pie: and she drove off, with her pleased Andrew by her side, to a court in St. Martin's Lane, where dwelt the poor woman with whom he had just been conversing. It had pleased heaven, in the midst of dreadful calamity, to send her friends and succor. She was suffering under misfor- tune, povert}', and cowardly desertion. A man who had called himself Brandon when he took lodgings in her father's house, married her, brought her to London, tired of her, and left her. She had reason to think he had given a false name when he lodged with her father : he fled, after a few months, and his real name she never knew. When he deserted her, she went back to her father, a weak man, married to a domineering woman, who pretended to disbelieve the story of her marriage, and drove her from the door. Desperate, and almost mad, she came back to London, where she still had some little relics of property that her fugitive husband left behind him. He prom- ised, when he left her, to remit her money ; but he sent none, ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 121 or she refused it — or, in her wildness and despair, lost the dreadful paper which announced his desertion, and tliat he was married before, and that to pursue him would ruin him, and he knew she never would do that — no, however much he might have wronged her. She was penniless then, — deserted by all, — having made away with the last trinket of her brief days of love, having sold the last little remnant of her poor little stock of clothing, — alone in the great wilderness of London, when it pleased God to send her succor in the person of an old friend who had known her, and even loved her, in happier days. When the Samari- tans came to this poor child, they found her sick and shudder- ing with fever. They brought their doctor to her, who is never so eager as when he runs up a poor man's stair. And, as he watched by the bed where her kind friends came to help her, he heard her sad little story of trust and desertion. Her father was a humble person who had seen better daj's ; and poor little Mrs. Brandon had a sweetness and simplicitj' of manner which exceedingly touched the good doctor. She had little education, except that which silence, long-suffering, seclu- sion, will sometimes give. When cured of her illness, there was the great and constant evil of poverty to meet and over- come. How was she to live ? He got to be as fond of her as of a child of his own. She was tid\', thrifty, gay at times, with a little simple cheerfulness. The httle flowers began to bloom as the sunshine touched them. Her whole life hitherto had been cowering under neglect, and t3-ranny, and gloom. Mr. Montfitchet was for coming so often to look after the little outcast whom he had succored that I am bound to say Mrs. M. became hj-sterically jealous, and waited for him on the stall's as he came down swathed in his Spanish cloak, pounced on him, and called him a monster. Goodenough was also, I fanc}', suspicious of Montfitchet, and Montfitchet of Good- enough. Howbeit, the doctor vowed that he never had other than the feeling of a father towards his poor little protegee^ nor could any father be more tender. He did not try to take her out of her station in life. He found, or she found for herself, a work which she could do. "Papa used to say no one ever nursed him so nice as I did," she said. "I think I could do that better tlian anything, except my needle, but I like to be useful to poor sick people best. I don't tliink about myself then, sir." And for this business good Dr. Goodenough had her educated and employed. The widow died in course of time whom Mrs. Brandon's 122 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP father had married, and her daughters refused to keep him, speaking very disrespectfully of this old Mr. Gann, who was, indeed, a weak old man. And now Caroline came to the rescue of her old father. She was a shrewd little Caroline. She had saved a little money. Goodenough gave up a country-house which he did not care to use, and lent Mrs. Brandon the fur- niture. She thought she could keep a lodging-house and find lodgers. Montfitchet had painted her. There was a sort of beauty about her which the artists admired. When Ridley the Academician had the small-pox, she attended him, and caught the malad}'. She did not mind ; not she. " It won't spoil my beaut}^" she said. Nor did it. The disease dealt ver}' kindly with her little modest face. I don't know who gave her the nickname, but she had a good roomy house in Thornhaugh Street, an artist on the first and second floor ; and there never was a word of scandal against the Little Sister, for was not her father in permanence sipping gin-and-water in the ground-floor parlor? As we called her "the Little Sister," her father was called "the Captain" — a bragging, lazy, good-natured old man — not a reputable captain — and very cheerftil, though the conduct of his children, he said, had repeatedly broken his heart. I don't know how man}' 3'ears the Little Sister had been on duty when Philip Firmin had his scarlet fever. It befell him at the end of the terra, just when all the boys were going home. His tutor and his tutor's wife wanted their holidays, and sent their own children out of the way. As Phil's father was ab- sent. Dr. Goodenough came, and sent his nurse in. The case grew worse, so bad that Dr. Firmin was summoned from the Isle of Wight, and arrived one evening at Grey Friars — Grey Friars so silent now, so noisy at other times with the shouts and crowds of the playground. Dr. Goodenough's carriage was at the door when Dr. Fir- min's carriage drove up. " How was the boy? " " He had been very bad. He had been wrong in 'the head all da}-, talking and laughing quite wild-like," the servant said. The father ran up the stairs. Phil was in a great room, in which were several empt}' beds of boys gone home for the holidays. The windows were opened into Grey Friars Square. Goodenough heard his colleague's carriage drive up, and rightly divined that Phil's father had arrived. He came out, and met Firmin in the ante-room. "Head has wandered a little. Better now, and quiet;" ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 123 and the one doctor murmured to the other the treatment which he had pursued. Firmin stepped in gently towards the patient, near whose side the Little Sister was standing. "Who is it?" asked Phil. "It is I, dear. Your father," said Dr. Firmin, with real tenderness in his voice. The Little Sister turned round once, and fell down like a stone by the bedside. "You infernal villain!" said Goodenough, with an oath, and a step forward. " You are the man ! " "Hush! The patient, if 30U please, Dr. Goodenough," said the other physician. CHAPTER IV. A GENTEEL FAMILY. Have you made up your mind on the question of seeming and being in the world? I mean, suppose you are poor, is it right for you to seem to be well off'? Have people an honest right to keep up appearances? Are 3'ou justified in starving your dinnei'-table in order to keep a carriage ; to have such an expensive house that you can't by any possibility help a poor relation ; to array your daughters in costly milliners' wares because they live with girls whose parents are twice as rich? Sometimes it is hard to say where honest pride ends and hypoc- risy begins. To obtrude 3'our poverty is mean and slavish ; as it is odious for a beggar to ask compassion by showing his sores. Cut to simulate prosperity — to be wealthy and lavish thrice a year when you ask 3'our friends, and for the rest of the time to munch a crust and sit by one candle — are the folks who practise this deceit worth}' of applause or a whipping? Sometimes it is noble pride, sometimes shabby swindling. When I see Eugenia with her dear children exquisitely neat and cheerful ; not showing the slightest semblance of poverty, or uttering the smallest complaint ; persisting that Squander- field, her husband, treats her well, and is good at heart; and denying that he leaves her and her young ones in want ; I admire and reverence that noble falsehood — that beautiful constancy and endurance which disdains to ask compassion. 124 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP When I sit at poor Jezebella's table, and am treated to her sham bounties and shabby splendor, I only feel anger for the hospitality, and that dinner, and guest, and host, are humbugs together. Talbot Twysden's dinner-table is large, and the guests most respectabki. There is always a bigwig or two present, and a dining dowager who frequents the greatest houses. There is a butler who offers you wine ; there's a menu du dhier before Mrs. Twysden ; and to read it you would fancy you were at a good dinner. It tastes of chopped straw. Oh, the dreary sparkle of that feeble champagne ; the audacity of that public- house sherry ; the swindle of that acrid claret ; the fiery twang of that clammy port ! I have tried them all, I tell you ! It is .sham wine, a sham dinner, a sham welcome, a sham cheerful- ness among the guests assembled. I feel that that woman eyes and counts the cutlets as they are carried off' the tables ; perhaps watches that one which you try to swallow. She has counted and grudged each candle by which the cook prepares the meal. Does her big coachman fatten himself on purloined oats and beans, and Thorley's food for cattle? Of the rinsings of those wretched bottles the butler will have to give a recko^n- ing in the morning. Unless you are of the very great monde, Twysden and his wife think themselves better than you are, and seriously patronize you. They consider it is a privilege to be invited to those horrible meals to which they gravelj^ ask the greatest folks in the country. I actually met AViuton there — the famous Winton — the best dinner-giver in the world (ah, what a position for man !) I watched him, and marked the sort of wonder which came over him as he tasted and sent away dish after dish, glass after glass. " Try that Chateau Margaux, Winton ! " calls out the host. "It is some that Bottleby and I imported." Imported ! I see Winton's face as he tastes the wine, and puts it down. He does not like to talk about that dinner. He has lost a day. Twysden will continue to ask him every year ; will continue to expect to be asked in return, with Mrs. Twysden and one of his daughters ; and will express his surprise loudly at the club, saying, "Hang Wiuton ! Deuce take the fellow ! He has sent me no game this year ! " When foreign dukes and princes arrive, Twysden straightway collars them, and invites them to his house. And sometimes they go once — and then ask, " Qui done est ce Monsieur Ihisden, qui est si droW^" And he elbows his way up to them at the Minis- tei-'s assemblies, and frankl^^ gives them his hand. And calm Mrs. Twysden wriggles, and works, and slides, and pushes, and Mr. Frog requests the Honor of Prince Ox's Company at Dinner. 1 ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 125 tramples if need be, her girls following behind her, until she too has come up under the eyes of the great man, and bestowed on him a smile and a curts^'. Tw3'sden grasps prosperity cordially by the hand. He sa3'S to success, "Bravo!" On the contrar}', t never saw a man more resolute in not knowing unfortunate people, or more daringly forgetful of those whom he does not care to remember. If this Levite met a wa3'farer, going down from Jerusalem, who had Mien among thieves, do you think he would stop to rescue the fallen man ? He would neither give wine, nor oil, nor mone3% He would pass on perfect!}' satisfied with his own virtue, and leave the other to go, as best he might, to Jericho. What is this ? Am I angry because Twysden has left off asking me to his vinegar and chopped ha}'? No. I think not. Am I hurt because Mrs. Twysden sometimes patronizes my wife, and sometimes cuts her? Perhaps. Only women thor- oughl}' know the insolence of women towards one another in the world. That is a very stale remark. They receive and deliver stabs, smiling politel}'. Tom Sayers could not take punishment more gayly than the}' do. If you could but see iDider the skin, you would find their little hearts scarred all over with little lancet digs. I protest I have seen my own wife enduring the impertinence of this woman, with a face as calm and placid as she wears when old Twysden himself is talking to her, and pouring out one of his maddening long stories. Oh, no ! I am not angry at all. I can see that by the way in which I am writing of these folks. By the way, whilst I am giving this candid opinion of the Twysdens, do I sometimes pause to consider what they think of /ne ? What do I care ? Think what you like. Meanwhile we bow to one another at parties. We smile at each other in a sickly way. And as for the dinners in Beaunash Street, I hope those who eat them enjoy their food. Twysden is one of the chiefs now of the Powder and Poma- tum Office (the Pigtail branch was finally abolished in 1833, after the Reform Bill, with a compensation to the retiring under- secretary), and his son is a clerk in the same office. Wlien they came out, the daughters were very pretty — even my wife aUows that. One of them used to ride in the Park with her father or brother daily ; and knowing what his salary and wife's fortune were, and what the rent of his house in Beaunash Street, everybody wondered how the Twysdens could make both ends meet. They had horses, carriages, and a great house fit for at least five thousand a year ; they had not half as much, as every- 126 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP bod}' knew ; and it was supposed that old Ringwood must make his niece an allowance. She certainly" worked hard to get it. I spoke of stabs anon, and poor little breasts and sides scarred all over. No nuns, no monks, no fakeers take whip- pings more kindl}' than some devotees of the world ; and, as tlie punishment is one for edification, let us hope the world lays smartly on to back and shoulders, and uses the thong well. When old Ringwood, at the close of his lifetime, used -to come to visit his dear niece and her husband and children, he alwa3's brought a cat-o'-nine-tails in his pocket, and adminis- tered it to the whole household. He grinned at the povert}^, the pretence, the meanness of the people, as the}' knelt before him and did him homage. The father and mother trembling brought the girls up for punishment, and, piteously smiling, received their own boxes on the ear in presence of their chil- dren. " Ah ! " the little French governess used to sa^', grind- ing her white teeth, "I like milor to come. All day you vip me. When milor come, he vip you, and you kneel down and kiss de rod." Thej' certainly knelt and took their whipping with the most exemplary fortitude. Sometimes the lash fell on papa's back, sometimes on mamma's : now it stung Agnfes, and now it lighted on Blanche's pretty shoulders. But I think it was on the heir of the house, young Ringwood Tw^sden, that my lord loved best to operate. Ring's vanity' was very thin-skinned, his selfishness easily wounded, and his contortions under pun- ishment amused the old tormentor. As my lord's brougham drives up — the modest little brown brougham, with the noble horse, the lord chancellor of a coach- man, and the ineffable footman — the ladies, who know the whirr of the wheels, and may be quarrelling in the drawing- room, call a truce to the fight, and smooth down their ruffled tempers and raiment. Manmia is writing at her table, in that beautiful, clear hand which we all admire ; Blanche is at her book ; Agnes is rising from the piano quite naturally. A quar- rel between those gentle, smiling, delicate creatures ! Impos- sible ! About your most common piece of hypocrisy how men will blush and bungle : how easily, how gracefull}', how con- summately, women will perform it ! "Well," growls my lord, " ^'ou are all in such pretty atti- tudes, I make no doubt 3'ou have been sparring. I suspect, Maria, the men must know what devilish bad tempers the girls have got. ' Who can have seen you fighting? You're quiet enough hei'e, you little monkeys. I tell you what it is. Ladies'- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 127 maids get about and talk to the valets in the housekeeper's room, and the men tell their masters. Upon my word 1 believe it was that business last 3'ear at Whipham which frightened Greenwood off. Famous match. Good house in town and eountrv. No mother alive. Agnes might have had it her own wa3', but for that — " "We are not all angels in our family, uncle! " cries Miss Agnes, reddening. " And 30ur mother is too sharp. The men are afraid of you, Maria. I've heard several .young men say so. At White's they talk about it quite freely. Pity for the girls. Great pity. Fellows come and tell me. Jack Hall, and fellows who go about everywhere." ' ' I'm' sure I don't care what Captain Hall. sa3^s about me — odious little wretch ! " cries Blanche. " There 30U go off in a tantrum ! Hall never has any opinion of his own. He only fetches and carries T\'hat other people say. And he sa3's, fellows say the3' are frightened of 3'our mother. La bless 3-ou ! Hall has no opinion. A fellow might commit murder and Hall would wait at the door. Quite a discreet man. But I told him to ask about 3-ou. And that's what I hear. And he says that Agnes is making eyes at the doctor's boy." " It's a shame," cries Agnes, shedding tears under her mar- tyrdom. "Older than he is; but that's no obstacle. Good-looking boy, I suppose a'OU don't object to that? Has his poor mother's mone\-, and his father's : must be well to do. A vulgar fellow, but a clever fellow, and a determined fellow, the doctor — and a fellow, who, I suspect, is capable of anything. Shouldn't wonder at that fellow marrying some rich dowager. Those doctors get an immense influence over women ; and unless I'm mistaken in my man, Maria, 3-our poor sister got hold of a — " " Uncle ! " cries Mrs. Twysden, pointing to her daughters, " before these — " " Before those innocent lambs ! Hem ! Well, I think Firmin is of the wolf sort : " and the old noble laughed, and showed his own fierce fangs as he spoke. "I grieve to say, mv lord, I agree with you," remarks Mr. Tw3-sclen. " I don't think Firmin a man of high principle. A clever man? Yes. An accomplished man? Yes. A good physician? Yes. A prosperous man? Yes. But what's a man without principle? " " You ought to have been a parson, Tw3'sden." 128 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP "Others have said so, my lord. M3' poor mother often regretted that I didn't choose the Church. When I was at Cambridge I used to speak constantly at the Union. I prac- tised. I do not disguise from you that my aim was public life. I am free to confess I think the House of Commons would have been my sphere ; and, had my means permitted, should certainly have come forward." Lord Kingwood smiled and winked to his niece — " He means, my dear, that he would like to wag his jaws at my expense, and that I should put him in for Whipham." " There are, I thi«k, worse members of Parliament," re- marked Mr. Twysden. " If there was a box of 'em like you, what a cage it would be ! " roared m}" lord. " By George, I'm sick of jaw. And I would like to see a king of spirit in this country, who would shut up the talking-shops and gag the whole chattering crew ! " " I am a partisan of order — but a lover of freedom," con- tinues Twysden. "I hold that the balance of our constitu- tion — " I think my lord would have indulged in a few of those oaths with which his old-fashioned conversation was liberall}^ gar- nished ; but the servant, entei'ing at this moment, announces Mr. Philip Firmin ; and ever so faint a blush fluttei-s up in Agnes' cheek, who feels that the old lord's eye "is upon her. " So, sir, I saw you at the Opera last night," says Lord Ringwood. " I saw 3"ou, too," says downright Phil. The women looked terrified, and Twysden scared. The Twysdens had Lord Ringwood's box sometimes. But there were boxes in which the old man sat, and in which they never could see him. " Why don't you look at the stage, sir, when you go to the Opera, and not at me ? When you go to church you ought to look at the parson, oughtn't you ? " growled the old man. " I'm about as good to look at as the fellow who dances first in the ballet — and very nearly as old. But if I were you, I should think looking at the Ellsler better fun." And now you may fancy of wliat old, old times we are writ- ing — times in which those horrible old male dancers yet existed — hideous old creatures, with low dresses and short sleeves, and wreaths of flowers, or hats and feathers round their absurd old wigs — who skipped at the head of the ballet. Let ns be thankful that tliose old apes have almost vanished off the stage, and left it in possession of the beauteous bounders of the other ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 129 sex. Ah, my dear 3'oung friends, tiine will be when these too will cease to appear more than mortally beautiful ! To Philip, at his age, the}' yet looked as lovely as houris. At this time the simple young feUow, surveying the ballet from his stall at the Opera, mistook carmine for blushes, pearl-powder for na- tive snows, and cotton-wool for natural symmetry : and I dare say when he went into the world was not more clear-sighted about its rouged innocence, its padded pretensions, and its painted candor. Old Lord Rhigwood had a humorous pleasure in petting and coaxing Philip Firmin before Philip's relatives of Beaunash Street. Even the girls felt a little plaintive env}' at the par- tiality which uncle Riugwood exhibited for Phil ; but the elder Twysdens and Ringwood Twysden, their* son, writhed with ao'ony at the preference which the old man sometimes showed for tiie doctor's boy. Phil was much taller, mitch handsomer, much stronger, much better tempered, and much richer than young Twysden. He would be the sole inheritor of his father's fortune, and had his mother's thirty thousand pounds. Even when they told him his father would marry again, Phil laughed, and did not seem to care — "I wish him joy of his new wife," was all he could be got to say : '^ when he gets one, I suppose I shall go into chambers. Old Parr Street is not as gay as Pall Mall." I am not angry with Mrs. Twysden for having a little jealousy of her nephew. Her boy and girls were the fruit of a dutiful marriage ; and Phil was the son of a disobedient child. Her chilcU'en were always on their Jaest behavior before their great uncle ; and Phil cared for him no more than for any other man : and he liked Phil the best. Her boy was as humble and eager to please as an};- of his lordship's humblest henchmen ; and Lord Ringwood snapped at him, browbeat him, and trampled on the poor darling's tenderest feelings, and treated him scarcely better than a lackey. As for poor Mr. Twysden, m}' lord not onl}' yawned unreservedly' in his face — that could not be helped ; poor Talbot's talk set many of his acquaintance asleep — but laughed at him, inteiTupted him, and told him to hold his tongue. On this day, as the family sat togetlier at the pleasant hour — the before-dinner hour — the fireside and tea-table hour — Lord Ringwood said to Phil — " Dine with me to-day, sir? ' "Why docs he not ask me, with my powers of conversa- tion ? " thought old Twysden to himself. "Hang him, he always asks that beggar," writhed young Twysden, in his corner. 130 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP "Very sorry, sir, can't come. Have asked some fellows to dine at the ' Blue Posts,' " says Pliil. " Confound you, sir, why don't you put 'em off?" cries the old lord. " Yuiid put 'em off, Tw3sden, wouldn't 3'ou?" " Oh, sir ! " the heart of father and son both beat. "You know you would; and you quarrel with this hoy for not throwing his friends over. Good-night, Firmiu, since you won't come." And with this my lord was gone. The two gentlemen of the house glumh'- looked from the window, and saw my lord's brougham drive swiftly' away in the rain. "I hate your dining at those horrid taverns," whispered a young lady to Philip. " It is better fun than dining at home," Philip remarks. "You smoke and drink too much. You come home late, and 30U don't live in a proper monde^ sir ! " continues the young lady. " What would 3-on have me do?" "Oh, nothing. You must dine with those horrible men," cries Agnes ; " else 3'ou might have gone to Lady Pendleton's to-night." "I can throw over the men easily- enough, if 3-ou wish," answered the young man. " I ? I have no wish of the sort. Have you not already' refused uncle Ringwood?" '■'•You are not Lord Ringwood," sa3's Phil, with a tremor in his voice. " I don't know there is much I would refuse 3'Ou." "You silly bo3' ! What do I ever ask you to do that 30U ought to refuse? I want you to live in our world, and not with 3'our dreadful wild Oxford and Temple bachelors. I don't waut 3'Ou to smoke. I want 3'OU to go into the world of which you have the entree — and you refuse your uncle on account of some horrid engagement at a tavern ! " " Shall I stop here? Aunt, will 3'ou give me some dinner — here?" asks the young man. "We have dined: my husband and son dine out," said gentle Mrs. Twysden. There was cold mutton and tea for the ladies ; and Mrs. Twysden did not like to seat her nephew, who was accustomed to good fare and high living, to that meagre meal. " You see I must console m3-self at the tavern," Philip said. " We shall have a pleasant party there." " And pra3- who makes it?" asks the lady. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 131 " There is Ridle}- the painter." "My dear Philip! Do you know that his fatlier was ac- tually—" " In the service of Lord Todmorden? He often tells us so. He is a queer character, the old man." " Mr. Ridley is a man of genius, certainly. His })ictures are delicious, and he goes everywhere — but — but you provoke me, Philip, by 3'oui: carelessness ; indeed you do. Why should 3'ou be dining with the sons of footmen, when the first houses in the country might be open to you ? You pain me, you fool- ish boy." "For dining in company of a man of genius? Come, Agnes ! " And the young man's brow grew dark. " Besides," he added, with a tone of sarcasm in his voice, which Miss Agnes did not like at all — "besides, my dear, you know he dines at Lord Pendleton's." "What is that you are talking of Lad}^ Pendleton, chil- dren ? " asked watchful mamma from her corner. " Ridley dines there. He is going to dine with me at a tavern to-da}'. And Lord Halden is coming — and Mr. Win- ton is coming — having heard of the famous beefsteaks." " Winton ! Lord Halden I Beefsteaks! Where? Bv George! I have a mind to go, too! Where do you fellows dine? cm cabaret ? Hang me, I'll be one," shrieked little Twysden, to the terror of Philip, who knew his uncle's awful powers of conver- sation. But Twysden remembered himself in good time, and to the intense relief of young Firmin. "Hang me, I forgot! Your aunt and I dine with the Bladeses. Stupid old fellow, the admiral, and bad wine — Avhich is unpardonable; but we must go — on n'a qua sa parole, he}'? Tell Winton tlKit I had meditated joining him, and that I have still some of that Chateau Margaux he liked. Ilalden's father I know well. Tell him so. Bring him here. Maria, send a Thursday card to Lord Halden ! You must bring him here to dinner, Philip. That's the best wa}- to make acquaintance, my boy ! " And the little man swaggers off, waving a bed-candle, as if he was going to quaff a bumper of sparkling spermaceti. The mention of such great personages as Lord Halden and Mr. Winton silenced the reproofs of the pensive Agnes. " You won't care for our quiet fireside whilst 3"ou live with those fine people, Philip," she .sighed. Thei^e was no talk now of his throwing himself away on bad compan}^ So Philip did not dine with his relatives : but Talbot Tw3's- dcn took good care to let Lord Ringwood know how 3'oung 132 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Firmin had offered to dine with his aunt that da}^ after refusing his lordship. And everything to Pliil's discredit, and every act of extravagance or wildness which the young man committed, did Phil's uncle, and Phil's cousin Ringwood Twj'sden, convey to the old nobleman. Had not these been the informers. Lord Eingwood would have been angr^- : for he exacted obedience and servility from all round about him. But it was pleasanter to vex the Tw3-sdens than to scold and browbeat Philip, and so his lordship chose to laugh and be amused at Phil's insubordi- nation. He saw, too, other things of which he did not speak. He was a wily old man, who could afford to be blind upon occasion. What do you judge from the fact that Philip was ready to make or break engagements at a 3'oung lady's instigation? When you were twenty years old, had no young ladies an in- fluence over you ? Were they not commonly older than your- self? Did your youthful passion lead to anything, and are 3'ou verj- sorr}^ now that it did not? Suppose 30U had had jour soul's wish and married her, of what age would she be now? And now when you go into the world and see her, do j-ou on your conscience very much regret that the little affair came to an end? Is it that (lean, or fat, or stump}', or tall) woman with all those children Avhom 3'ou once chose to break your heart about ; and do you still envy Jones ? Philip was in love with his cousin, no doubt, but at the university had he not been previously in love with the Tomkinsian professor's daughter Miss Budd ; and had he not already written verses to Miss Flower, his neighbor's daughter in Old Parr Street? And don't 3'oung men alwaj-s begin b3' falling in love with ladies older than themselves ? Agnes certainly was Philip's senior, as her sister constantl3' took care to inform him. And Agnes might have told stories about Blanche, if she chose — as 3'ou ma3' about me, and I about 3'ou. Not quite true stories, but stories with enough allo3' of lies to make them serviceable coin ; stories such as we hear daily in the world ; stories such as we read in the most learned and conscientious history-books, which are told hy the most respectable persons, and perfectl3' authentic until contradicted. It is onl3' our his- tories that can't be contradicted (unless, to be sure, novelists contradict themselves, as sometimes the3'' will). What loe say about people's virtues, failings, characters, 3'ou ma3' be sure is all true. And 1 def3' an3'^ man to assert that mj opinion of the Tw3'sden family is malicious, or unkind, or unfounded in an3- particular. Agnes wrote verses, and set her own and other ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 133 writers' poems to music. Blanche was scientific, and attended the Albemarle Street lectures sedulousl}'. The}' are both clever women as times go ; well educated and accomplished, and very well mannered when they choose to be pleasant. If you were a bachelor, say, with a good fortune, or a widower who wanted consolation, or a lady giving very good parties and belonging to the monde, you would find them agreeable people. If you were a little Treasury clerk, or a young barrister with no prac- tice, or a lad}', old or young, 7iot quite of the monde, your opinion of them would not be so favorable. I have seen them cut, and scorn, and avoid, and caress, and kneel dov/n and worship the same person. When Mrs. Lovel first gave parties, don't I remember the shocked countenances of the Twysden family? Were ever shoulders colder than yours, dear girls? Now they love her ; they fondle her step-children ; they praise her to her face and behind her handsome back ; they take her hand in public ; the}' call her by her Christian name ; they fall into ecstasies over her toilettes, and would fetch coals for her dressing-room fire if she but gave them the word. She is not changed. vShe is the same lady who once was a governess, and no colder and no warmer since then. But you see her pros- perity has brought virtues into evidence, which people did not perceive when she was poor. C-ould people see Cinderella's beauty when she was in rags by the fire, or until she stepped out of her fairy coach in her diamonds? How are you to recognize a diamond in a dusthole? Only very clever eyes can do that. Whereas a lady in a fairy coach and eight naturally creates a sensation ; and enraptured princes come and beg to have the honor of dancing with her. In the character of infallible historian, then, I declare that if Miss Twysden at three-and-twenty feels ever so much or little attachment for her cousin, who is not yet of age, there is no reason to be angry with her. A brave, handsome, blunder- ing, downright young fellow, with broad shoulders, high spirits, and quite fresh blushes on his face, with very good talents, (thougli he has been wofuUy idle, and requested to absent him- self temporarily from his university,) the possessor of a com- petent fortune and the heir of another, may naturall}' make some impression on a lady's heart with wliom kinsmanship and circumstance bring him into daily communion. When had any sound so hearty as Phil's laugh been heard in Beaunash Street? His jolly frankness touched his aunt, a clever woman. She would smile and say, " My dear Philip, it is not only what you say, but what you are going to say next, which keeps me in 134 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP such a perpetual tremor." There may have been a time once when she was frank and cordial herself: ever so long ago, when she and her sister were two blooming girls, lovingl}^ clinging together, and just stepping forth into the world. But if \o\x succeed in keeping a fine house on a small income ; in showing a cheerful face to the world though oppressed with ever so much care ; in bearing with dutiful reverence an intolerable old bore of a husband (and I vow it is this quality- in Mrs. Twjsden for which I most admire her) ; in submitting to defeats patiently ; to humiliations with smiles, so as to hold 3"our own in 3'our darling monde ; you may succeed, but you must give up being frank and cordial. The marriage of her sister to the doctor gave Maria Ringwood a great panic, for Lord Ringwood was furious when the news came. Then, perhaps, she sacrificed a little private passion of her own : then she set her cap at a noble 3'oung neighbor of my lord's who jilted her; then she took up with Talbot Twysden, Esquire, of the Powder and Pomatum Office, and made a ver^^ faithful wife to him, and was a very careful mother to his children. But as for frankness and cordiality, my good friend, accept from a lady what she can give you — good manners, pleasant talk, and decent atten- tion. If you go to her breakfast- table, don't ask for a roc's egg, but eat that moderately fresh hen's egg which John brings you. When Mrs. Twysden is in her open carriage in the Park, how prosperous, handsome, and J0II3' she looks — the girls how smiling and young (that is, you know, considering all things) ; the horses look fat, the coachman and footman wealthy and sleek ; they exchange bows with the tenants of other carriages — well-known aristocrats. Jones and Brown, leaning over the railings, and seeing the Twysden equipage pass, have not the slightest doubt that it contains people of the highest wealth and fashion. " I say, Jones m}^ bo}', what noble familj- has the motto, Wei done Ttvys done ? and what cli[)ping girls there were in that barouche ! " B. remarks to J. ; " and what a hand- some young swell that is riding the bay mare, and leaning over and talking to the A'ellow-haired girl ! " And it is evident to one of those gentlemen, at least, that he has been looking at your regular first-rate tiptop people. As for Phil Firmin on his bay mare, witli his geranium in his button-hole, there is no doubt that Phili[)pus looks as hand- some, and as rich, and as brave as any lord. And I think Brown must have felt a little pang when his friend told him, "That a lord! Bless you, it's only a swell doctor's son." But while J. and B. fancy all the little partj^ very happy, they I ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 135 do not hear Phil whisper to his cousin, " I hope j-ou liked your partner last night?" and they do not see how anxious Mrs. Tvvj'sden is under her smiles, how she perceives Colonel Shafto's cab coming up (the dancer in question) , and how she would rather have Phil anywhere than b}' that particular wheel of her carriage ; how Lady Braglands has just passed tliem by without noticing them — Lady Braglands, who has a ball, and is de- termined not to ask that woman and her two endless girls ; and how, though Lady Braglands won't see Mrs. Twysden in her great staring equipage, and the three faces which have been beaming smiles at her, she instantly perceives Lady Lovel, who is passing ensconced in her little brougham, and kisses her fingers twentj- times over. How should poor J. and B., who are not, vous comprenez^ da monde^ understand these m3'steries? " That's young Firmin, is it, that handsome j'oung fellow? " sa3's Brown to Jones. "Doctor married the Earl of Ringwood's niece — ran away with her, you know." "Good practice?" " Capital. First-rate. All the tiptop people. Great ladies' doctor. Can't do without him. Makes a fortune, besides what he had with his wife." "We've seen his name — the old man's — on some very queer paper," says B. with a wink to J. Bj- which I conclude they are c\iy gentlemen. And ihey look very hard at friend Philip, as he comes to talk and shake hands with some pedes- trians who are gazing over the railings at the busy and pleasant Park scene. CHAPTER V. THE NOBLE KINSMAN. Having had occasion to mention a noble earl once or twice, I am sure no polite reader will consent that his lordship should push through this histor}- along with the crowd of commoner characters, and without a special word regarding himself. If you are in the least familiar with Burke or Debrett, j-ou know that the ancient family of Ringwood has long been famous for its great possessions, and its loyalty to the British crown. In the troubles which unhappily agitated this kingdom after the deposition of the late reigning house, the Ringwoods were 136 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP implicated with many other families, but on the accession of his Majesty George III. these differences happily ended, nor had the monarch anj- subject more loyal and devoted than Sir John Ringwood, Baronet, of Wingate and Whipham Market, Sir John's influence sent three Members to Parliament ; and during the dangerous and vexatious period of the American war, this influence was exerted so cordially and consistently in the cause of order and the crown, that his Majesty thought fit to advance Sir John to the diguit}' of Baron Ringwood. Sir John's brother. Sir Francis Ringwood, of Appleshaw, who followed the pro- fession of the law, also was promoted to be a Baron of his Majesty's Court of Exchequer. Tlie first baron, dying a. d. 1786, was succeeded by the eldest of his two sons — John, second Baron and first Earl of Ringwood. His loixlship's brother, the Honorable Colonel Philip Ringwood, died glori- ously, at the head of his regiment and in the defence of his countrj', in the battle of Busaco, 1810, leaving two daugliters, Louisa and Maria, who henceforth lived with the earl their uncle. The Earl of Ringwood had but one son, Charles Viscount Cinqbars, who, unhappily, died of a decline, in his twenty- second year. And thus the descendants of Sir Francis Ring- wood became heirs to the earl's great estates of Wingate and Whipham Market, though not of the peerages which had been conferred on the earl and his father. Lord Ringwood had, living with him, two nieces, daughters of his late brother, Colonel I*hilip Ringwood, who fell in the Peninsular War. Of these ladies, the youngest, Louisa, was his lordship's favorite ; and though both the ladies had con- siderable fortunes of their own, it was supposed their uncle would further provide for them, especially as he was on no very good terms with his cousin. Sir John of the Shaw, who took the Whig side in politics, whilst his lordship was a chief of the Tory party. Of these two nieces, the eldest, Maria, never any great favorite with her uncle, married, 1824, Talbot Twysden, Esq., a Commissioner of Powder and Pomatum Tax ; but the young- est, Louisa, incurred my lord's most serious anger by eloping with George Brand Firmin, Esq., M.D., a young gentleman of Cambridge University, who had been with Lord Cinqbars when he died at Naples, aiid had brought home his body to Wingate Castle. The quarrel with the youngest niece, and the indifference with which he generally regarded the elder (whom his lordship ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 137 was in the habit of calling an old schemer), occasioned at first' L a little rapprochement between Lord Ringwood and his heir, Sir f John of Appleshaw ; but both gentlemen were very firm, not to say obstinate in their natures. The}- had a quarrel with i-espect to the cutting off of a small entailed property, of which the earl wished to dispose ; and they parted with much rancor and bad language on his lordship's part, who was an especially free- I spoken nobleman, and apt to call a spade a spade, as the say- ' ing is. After this difference, and to spite his heir, it was supposed that tlie Earl of Ringwood would marry. He was little more than seventy years of age, and had once been of a very robust constitution. And though his temper was violent and his per- son not at all agreeable (for even in Sir Thomas Lawrence's 1 picture his countenance is very ill-favored), there is little doubt " he could have found a wife for the asking among the young beauties of his own count}^ or the fairest of Ma}' Fair. But he was a cynical nobleman, and perhaps morbidly con- scious of his own ungainl}' appearance. " Of course I can buy a wife" (his lordship would say). "Do 3-ou suppose people won't sell their daughters to a man of my rank and means ? Now look at me, my good sir, and say whether any woman alive could fall in love with me? I have been married, and once was enough. I hate ugly w^men, and your virtuous women, who tremble and ciy in private, and preach at a man, bore me. Sir John Ringwood of Appleshaw is an ass, and I hate him ; but I don't hate him enough to make myself miser- able for the rest of m}' days, in order to spite him. When I drop, I drop. Do you suppose I care wliat comes after me?" And with much sardonical humor this old lord used to play off one good dowager after another who would bring her girl in his way. He would send pearls to Elmily, diamonds to Fanny, opera-boxes to lively Kate, books of devotion to i)ious Selinda, and, at the season's end, drive back to his lonel}' great castle in the west. The}' were all the same, such was his lordship's opinion. I fear, a wicked and corrupt old gentleman, my dears. But ah, would not a woman submit to some sacrifices to reclaim that unhappy man ; to lead that gifted but lost being into the ways of right ; to convert to a belief in woman's purity that erring soul? They tried him with high-church altar-cloths for his chapel at Wingate ; they tried him with low-church tracts ; they danced before him ; they jumped fences on horseback ; they wore bandeaux or ringlets, according as his taste dictated ; they were always at home when he called, and poor you and I 138 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP were gruffly told the}- were engaged ; they gushed in gratitude over his bouquets ; tliey sang for him, and their mothers, con- ceahng their sobs, murmured, "• What an angel that Cecilia of mine is ! " Every variet^^ of delicious chaff they flung to that old bird. But he was uncaught at the end of the season : he winged his way back to his western hills. And if you dared to say that Mrs. Netle}" had tried to take him, or Lad}' Trapbo3's had set a snare for him, you know you were a wicked, gross calumniator, and notorious everywhere for your dull and vulgar abuse of women. Now, in the year 1830, it happened that this great nobleman was seized with a fit of the gout, which had ver^' nearly con- signed his estates to his kinsman the Baronet of Appleshaw. A revolution took place in a neighboring State. An illustrious reigning family was expelled from its country, and projects of reform (which would pretty certainl}' end in revolution) were rife in ours. The events in France, and those pending at home, so agitated Lord Ringwood's mind, that he was attacked by one of the severest fits of gout under which he ever sutfered. His shrieks, as he was brought out of his ^^acht at Ryde to a house taken for him in the town, were dreadful ; his language to all persons about him was frightfully expressive, as Lad}' Quamley and her daughter, who had sailed with him several times, can vouch. An ill return tha^rude old man made for all their kind- ness and attention to him. The}' had danced on board his 3'acht ; the}' had dined on board his yacht ; they had been out sailing with him, arid cheerfully braved the inconveniences of the deep in his company. And when they ran to the side of his chair — as what would they not do to soothe an old gentleman in illness and distress ? — when they ran up to his chair as it was wheeled along the pier, he called mother and daughter b}' the most vulgar and opprobrious names, and roared out to them to go to a place which I certainly shall not more particular!}' mention. Now it happened, at this period, that Dr. and Mrs. Firmin were at Ryde with their little boy, then some three years of age. The doctor was already taking his place as one of the most fashionable physicians then in London, and had begun to be celebrated for the treatment of this especial malady. (Firmin on " Gout and Rheumatism " was, you remember, dedicated to his Majesty George IV.) Lord Ringwood's valet bethought him of calling the doctor in, and mentioned how he was present in the town. Now Lord Ringwood was a nobleman who never would allow his angry feelings to stand in the way of his present ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 139 comforts or ease. He instantiy desired Mr. Firmiu's attend- ance, and submitted to bis treatment ; a part of wbieb was a hauteur to tbe full as great as tbat wbich tlie sick manexbibited. Firmin's appearance was so tall and grand, that be looked vastly more noble tban a great many noblemen. Six feet, a high manner, a polished forehead, a flashing eye, a snowy shirt-friU, a rolling velvet collar, a beautiful hand appearing under a veh^t cuff — all these advantages he possessed and used. He did not make the slightest allusion to bygones, but treated his patient with a perfect courtesy and an impenetrable self-pos- session. This defiant and darkling politeness did not always disjilease the old man. He was so accustomed to slavish compliance and eager obedience from all people round about him, that he sometimes wearied of tlieir servility, and relished a little inde- pendence. Was it from calculation, or because he was a man of high spirit, that Firmin determined to maintain an indepen- dent course with his lordship? From the first day of their meeting he never departed from it, and had the satisfaction of meeting with only ci\ il behavior from his noble relative and patient, who was notorious for his rudeness and brutality to almost every person who came in his wa^s'. From hints which his lordship gave in conversation, he showed the doctor that he was acquainted with some particulars of the latter's early career. It had been wild and stormy. Firmin had incurred debts ; had quarrelled with liis father ; liad left the university and gone abroad ; had lived in a wild socictj', which used dice and cards every niglit, and pistols sometimes in the morning ; and had shown a fearful dexterity in the use of the latter instrument, which he employed against the person of a famous Italian adventurer, who fell under his hand at Naples, When this centurj- was five-and-twent}- yeai's younger, the crack of the pistol-shot might still occasional!}' be heard in the suburbs of London in the very earlj- morning ; and the dice- box went round in many a haunt of pleasure. The knights of the Four Kings travelled from capital to capital, and engaged each other or made prey of the unwary. Now, the times are changed. The cards are coffined in their 'boxes. Only sous- officiers, brawling in their provincial cafes over their dominos, fight duels. " Ah, dear me," I heard a veteran punter sigh the other day at Bays's, " isn't it a melancholy thing to think, that if I wanted to amuse myself with a fifty-pound note, I don't know the place in London where I could go and lose it?" And he fondly recounted the names of twenty places where 140 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP he could have cheerfully staked and lost his money in his young time. After a somewhat prolonged absence abroad, Mr. Firmin came back to this country, was permitted to retui-n to the universitj^, and left it with a degree of Bachelor of Medicine. We haA'C told how he ran away with Lord Ringwood's niece, and incurred the anger of that nobleman. Bej-ond abuse and anger his lordship was powerless. The )'oung lady was free to marry whom she liked, and her uncle to disown or receive him ; and accordingly' she was, as we have seen, disowned by his lordship, until he found it convenient to forgive her. What were Lord Ringwood's intentions regarding his property, what were his accumulations, and who his heirs would be, no one knew. Meanwhile, of course, there were those who felt a ver}' great interest on the point. Mrs. Twvsden and her husband and children were hungry and poor. If uncle Ring- wood had money to leave, it would be ver^^ welcome to those three darlings, whose father had not a great income like Dr. Firmin. Philip was a dear, good, frank, amiable, wild fellow, and the}' all loved him. But he had his faults — that could not be concealed — and so poor Phil's faults were pretty con- stantly canvassed before uncle Ringwood, by dear relatives who knew them onl}' too well. The dear relatives ! How kind they are ! I don't think Phil's aunt abused him to my lord. That quiet woman calml}' and genth' put forward the claims of her own darlings, and affection ate I3' dilated on the 3'oung man's present prosperity, and magnificent future prospects. The interest of thirty thousand pounds now, and the inheritance of his father's great accumulations ! What young man could want for more? Perhaps he had too much alread}'. Perhaps he was too rich to work. The sly old peer acquiesced in his niece's statements, and perfectly understood the point towards which they tended. " A thousand a year ! What's a thousand a3'ear? " growled the old lord. " Not enough to make a gen- tleman, more than enough to make a fellow idle." "Ah, indeed, it was but a small income," sighed Mrs. Twysden. "With a large house, a good establishment, and Mr. Twysden's salary from his office — it was but a pittance." "Pittance! Starvation," gi'owls my lord, with his usual frankness. " Don't I know what housekeeping costs ; and see how 3'ou screw? Butlers and footmen, carriages and job-horses, rent and dinners — though youi^s, Maria, are not famous." "Very bad — I know they are very bad," saj' s the contrite lady. " I wish we could afford any better." ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 141 "Afford an}^ better? Of course you can't. You are the Crocker}' pots, and you swim down-stream with the brass pots. I saw Twysden the other da^- walking down St. James's Street with Rhodes — that tall fellow." (Here my lord laughed, and showed many fangs, the exhibition of which gave a peculiarly fierce air to his lordship when in good-humor.) "If Twysden walks with a big fellow, he always tries to keep step with him. Ton know that." Poor Maria naturallj' knew her hus- band's pecuharities ; but she did not say that she had no need to be reminded of them. " He was so blown he could hardly speak," continued uncle Ringwood ; "but he would stretch his little legs, and try and keep up. He has a little bod}', le cher mari^ but a good pluck. Those little fellows often have. I've seen him half dead out shooting, and plunging over the ploughed fields after fellows with twice his stride. Why don't men sink in the world, I want to know? Instead of a fine house, and a parcel of idle servants, why don't 3'ou have a maid and a leg of mutton, Maria? You go half crazy in trying to make both ends meet. You know you do. It keeps 3'ou awake of nights ; /know that very well. You've got a house fit for people with four times your money. I lend you my cook and so forth ; but I can't come and dine with you unless I send the wine in. Wh}' don't you have a pot of porter, and a joint, or some tripe ? — tripe's a famous good thing. The miseries which people entail on themselves in try- ing to live bej'ond their means are perfectly ridiculous, by George ! Look at that fellow who opened the door to me ; he's as tall as one of my own men. Go and live in a quiet little street in Belgravia somewhere, and have a neat little maid. Nobody will think a penny the worse of you — and 3'ou will be just as well off as if 30U lived here with an extra couple of thou- sand a year. The advice I am giving you is worth half that, ever}- shilling of it." "It is very good advice; but I think, sir, I should prefer the thousand pounds," said the lady. " Of course 3'ou would. That is the consequence of 3-our false position. One of the good points about that doctor is, that he is as proud as Lucifer, and so is his bo3'. The3' are not always hungering after mone3'. The}- keep their indepen- dence ; tiiough he'll have his own too, the fellow will. Wh}', when I first called him in, I thought, as he was a i-elation, he'd doctor me for nothing ; but he wouldn't. He would have his fee, by George ! and wouldn't come without it. Con- 142 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP founded independent fellow Firmin is. And so is the j'oung one." But when Tw3'sden and his son (perhaps inspirited hy Mrs. Twysden) tried once or twice to be independent in the pres- ence of this lion, he roared, and he rushed at them, and he rent them, so that the}' fled from him howling. And this re- minds me of an old stor^- 1 have heard — quite an old, old story, such as kind old fellows at clubs love to remember — of my lord, when he was onl}' Lord Cinqbars, insulting a half-pay lieutenant, in his own county, who horsewhipped his lordship in the most |>rivate and ferocious manner. It was said Lord Cinqbars had had a rencontre with poachers ; but it was my lord who was poaching and the lieutenant who was defending his own dovecot. I do not sa}- that this was a model nobleman ; but that, when his own passions or interests did not mislead him, he was a nobleman of very considerable acuteness, humor, and good sense ; and could give quite good advice on occasion. If men would kneel down and kiss his boots, well and good. There was the blacking, and you were welcome to embrace toe and heel. But those who would not, were free to leave the operation alone. The Pope himself does not demand the cere- mony from Protestants ; and if the}- object to the slipper, no one thinks of forcing it into their mouths. Phil and his father probably declined to tremble before the old man, not because they knew he was a bully who might be put down, but because the}' were men of spirit, who eared not whether a man was bully or no. I have told j'ou I like Philip Firmin, though it must be con- fessed that the 3'oung fellow had many faults, and that his career, especially his early career, was bj' no means exemplary. HaA^e I ever excused his conduct to his father, or said a word in apology of his brief and inglorious universit}' career ? I ac- knowledge his shortcomings with that candor which m}' friends exhibit in speaking of mine. Who does not see a friend's weaknesses, and is so blind that he cannot perceive that enor- mous beam in his neighbor's e3'e? Only a woman or two, from time to time. And even thej' are undeceived some day. A man of tlie world, I write about m}' friends as mundane fellow- creatures. Do 3'ou suppose there are man}' angels here? I say again, perhaps a woman or two. But as for you and me, my good sir, are there any signs of wings sprouting from our shoul- der-blades? Be quiet. Don't pursue your snarling, cynical remarks, but go on with your story. As you go through life, stumbling, and slipping, and stagger- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 143 ing to your feet again, ruefully aware of your own wretched weakness, and praying, with a contrite heart, let us trust, that you may not be led into temptation, have you not often looked at other fellow-sinners, and speculated with an awful interest on their career? Some there are on whom, quite in their early lives, dark Ahrimanes has seemed to lay his dread mark : chil- dren, 3'et corrupt, and wicked of tongue ; tender of age, 3'et cruel ; who should he truth-telling and generous 3'et (the_y were at their mothers' bosoms 3-esterda}') , but are false and cold and greedy before their time. Infants almost, they practise the art and selfishness of old men. Behind their candid faces are wiles and wickedness, and a hideous precocity of artifice. I can recall such, and in the vista of far-off, unforgotten boyhood, can see marching that sad little procession of enfans perdus. May they be saved, pray heaven ! Then there is the doubtful class, those who are still on trial ; those who fall and rise again ; those who are often worsted in life's battle ; beaten down, wounded, imprisoned ; but escape and conquer sometimes. And then there is the happy class about whom there seems no doubt at all : the spotless and white-robed ones, to whem virtue is eas}' ; in whose pure bosoms faith nestles, and cold doubt finds no entrance ; who are children, and good ; young men, and good ; husbands and fathers, and yet good. Why could the captain of our school write his Greek iambics without an effort, and without an error ? Others of us blistered the page with un- availing tears and blots, and might toil ever so and come in lag last at the bottom of the form. Our friend Philip belongs to the middle-class, in which you and I probably are, my dear sir — not yet, I hope, irredeemably consigned to that awful third class, whereof mention has been made. But, being homo, and liable to err, there is no doubt Mr, Philip exercised his privilege, and there was even no little fear at one time that he should overdraw his account. lie went from school to the university, and there distinguished himself certainly, but in a way in which very few parents would choose that their sons should excel. That lie should hunt, that he should give parties, that he should pull a good oar in one of the best boats on the river, that he should speak at the Union — all these were very well. But why should he speak such awful radicaUsm and republicanism — he with noble blood in his veins, and the son of a parent whose interest at least it was to keep well with people of high station ? " Why, Pendennis," said Dr. Firmin to me with tears in his eyes, and much genuine grief exhibited on his handsome pale 144 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP face — ' ' wln^ should it be said that Philip Firmin — both of whose grandfathers fought nobly for their king — should be forgetting the principles of his family, and — and, I haven't words to tell 3'ou how deepl^^ he disappoints me. Why, I ac- tually heard of him at that horrible Union advocating the death of Charles the First ! I was wild enough myself when I was at the university, but I was a gentleman." " Bo^-s, sir, are boys," I urged. " They will advocate any- thing for an argument ; and Philip would have taken the other side quite as readily." " Lord Axminster and Lord St. Dennis told me of it at the club. I can tell you it has made a most painful impression," cried the father. '' That my son should be a radical and a re- publican, is a cruel thDught for a father ; and I, who had hoped for Lord Ringwood's borough for him — who had hoped — who had hoped very much better things for him and from him. He is not a comfort to me. You saw how he treated me one night? A man might live on different terms, I think, with his only son ! " And with a breaking voice, a pallid cheek, and a real grief at his heart, the unhappy physician moved awa}' . How had the doctor bred his son, that the 3'oung man should be thus unrulj- ? Was the revolt the bo3''s fault, or the father's? Dr. Firmin's horror seemed to be because his noble friends were horrified by Phil's radical doctrine. At that time of my life, being young and ver}- green, I had a little mischiev- ous pleasure in infuriating Squaretoes, and causing him to pro- nounce that I was " a dangerous man." Now, I am ready to sa}' that Nero was a monarch with many elegant accomplish- ments, and considerable natural amiabilit}' of disposition. I praise and admire success wherever I meet it. I make allow- ance for faults and shortcomings, especiall}' in my superiors ; and feel that, did we know all we should judge them very differently. People don't believe me, perhaps, quite so much as formerly. But I don't offend : I trust I don't offend. Have I said anything painful ? Plague on my blundei's ! I recall the expression. I regret it. I contradict it flat. As I am ready to find excuses for everj'bod}^ let poor Philip come in for the benefit of this mild amnestj^ ; and if he vexed his father, as he certainly did, let us trust — let us be thankfully sure — he was not so black as the old gentleman depicted him. Nay, if I have painted the Old Gentleman himself as rather black, who knows but that this was an error, not of his com- l^lexion, but of m}' vision? Phil was unruly because he was bold, and wild, and young. His father was hurt, naturallj^ ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 145 hurt, because of the boy's extravagances and follies. They will come together again, as father and son should. These little differences of temper will be smoothed and equalized anon. The bov has led a wild life. He has been obliged to leave college. He has given his father hours of anxiety and nights of painful watching. But sta}', father, what of you? Have you shown to the boy the practice of confidence, the example of love and honor? Did 3'ou accustom him to virtue, and teach truth to the child at your knee? "Honor your father and mother." Amen. May his days be long who fulfils the com- mand : but implied, though unwritten on the table, is there not the order, "Honor 30ur son and daughter?" Pra}' heaven that we, whose da^-s are alread}^ not few in the land, may keep this ordinance too. What had made Philip wild, extravagant, and insubordi- nate? Cured of that illness in which we saw him, he rose up, and from school went his way to the university, and there en- tered on a life such as wild young men will lead. From that day of illness his manner towards his father changed, and re- garding the change the elder Firmin seemed afraid to question his son. He used the house as if his own, came and absented himself at will, ruled the servants, and was spoiled b}' them ; spent the income which was settled on his mother and her chil- dren, and ^ave of it liberall}' to poor acquaintances. To the remonstrances of old friends he replied that he had a right to do as he chose with his own ; that other men who were poor might work, but that he had enough to live on, without grind- ing over classics and mathematics. He was implicated in more rows than one ; his tutors saw him not, but he and the proctors became a great deal too well acquainted. If I were to give a history of Mr. Philip Firmin at the universit}', it would be the stor}' of an Idle Apprentice, of whom his pastors and masters were justified in prophesying evil. He was seen on lawless London excursions, when his father and tutor sup- posed him unwell in his rooms in college. He made acquaint- ance with jolly companions, with whom his father grieved that he should be intimate. He cut the astonished uncle Twysden in London Street, and blandly told him that he must be mis- taken — he one Frenchman, he no speak English. He stared the master of his own college out of countenance, dashed back to college with a Turpin-like celerit_y, and was in rooms with a ready-proved alibi when inquiries were made. I am afraid there is no doubt that Phil screwed up his tutor's door ; Mr. Okes discovered him in the act. He had to go down, the 10 146 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 3'oung prodigal. I wish I couM say he was repentant. But he appeared before his father with the utmost nonchalance ; said that he was doing no good at the university, and should be much better away, and then went abroad on a dashing tour to France and Italy, whither it is by no means our business to follow him. Something had poisoned the generous blood. The once kindly honest lad was wild and reckless. He had money in sufficienc}', his own horses and equipage, and free quarters in his father's house. But father and son scarce met, and seldom took a meal together. " I know his haunts, but I don't know his friends, Pendennis," the elder man said. " I don't think they ai-e vicious, so much as low. I do not charge him with vice, mind you ; but with idleness, and a fatal love of low compan}^ and a frantic, suicidal determination to fling his chances in life away. Ah, think where he might be, and where he is ! " Where he was? Do not be alarmed. Philip was only idling. Philip might have been much more industriousl}-, more profitably, and a great deal more wickedly employed. What is now called Bohemia had no name in Philip's young days, though many of us knew the country ver}' well. A pleasant land, not fenced with drab stucco, like T3burnia or Belgravia ; not guarded b^' a huge standing armj^ of footmen ; not echo- ing with noble chariots ; not replete with polite chintz drawing- rooms and neat tea-tables ; a land over which hangs an end- less fog, occasioned by much tobacco ; a land of chambers, billiard-rooms, supper- rooms, oysters ; a land of song ; a land where soda-water flows freelj- in the morning ; a land of tin- dishcovers from taverns, and frothing porter ; a land of lotos- eating (with lots of cayenne pepper), of pulls on the river, of delicious reading of novels, magazines, and saunterings in many studios ; a land where men call each other by their Christian names ; where most are poor, where almost all are ^i-oung, and where, if a few oldsters do enter, it is because they have preserved more tenderly' and carefully than other folks their youthful spirits, and the delightful capacit}' to be idle. I have lost my way to Bohemia now, but it is certain that Prague is the most picturesque city in the world. Having long lived there, and indeed only latel}' quitted the Bohemian land at the time whereof I am writing, I could not quite participate in Dr. Firmin's indignation at his son persist- ing in his bad courses and wild associates. When Firmin had been wild himself, he had fought, intrigued, and gambled in good company. Phil chose his friends amongst a banditti ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 147 never heard of in fashionable quarters. Perhaps he liked to play the prince in the midst of these associates, and was not averse to the flattery which a full purse brought him among men most of whose pockets had a meagre lining. He had not emigrated to Bohemia, and settled there altogether. At school and in his brief university career he had made some friends who lived in the world, and with whom he was still familiar. "These come and knock at my front door, my father's door," he would say, with one of his old laughs ; " the Bandits, who have the signal, enter only by the dissecting room. I know which are the most honest, and that it is not always the poor Freebooters who best deserve to be hanged." Like many a 3'oung gentleman who has no intention of pur- suing legal studies seriously, Philip entered at an inn of court, and kept his terms dulj', though he vowed that his conscience would not allow him to practise (I am not defending the opin- ions of this squeamish moralist — only stating them). His acquaintance here la}- amongst the Temple Bohemians. He had part of a set of chambers in Parchment Buildings, to be sure, and you might read on a door, " Mr. Cassid}-, Mr. P. Firmin, Mr. Van John ; ' but were these gentlemen likely to advance Philip in life ? Cassidj' was a newspaper reporter, and 3'Oung Van John a betting-man who was always attending races. Dr. Firmin had a horror of newspaper-men, and considered they belonged to the dangerous classes, and treated them with a distant affabilit3\ " Look at the governor, Pen," Philip would say to the pres- ent chronicler. "He always watches you with a secret sus- picion, and has never got over his wonder at your being a gentleman. I like him when he does the Lord Chatham busi- ness, and condescends towards j^ou, and gives you his hand to kiss. He considers he is your better, don't you see? Oh, he is a paragon of a pere noble, the governor is ! and I ought to be a 3'oung Sir Charles Grandison." And the 3'oung scape- grace would imitate his father's smile, and the doctor's manner of laying his hand to his breast and putting out his neat right leg, all of which movements or postures were, I own, rather pompous and affected. Whatever the paternal faults were, 3'ou will sa3' that Philip was not the man to criticise them ; nor in this matter shall I attempt to defend him. M3' wife has a little pensioner whom she found wandering in the street, and singing a little artless song. The child could not speak yet — onl}- warble its little song ; and had thus stra3'ed awa}' from home, and never once 148 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP knew of her danger. We kept her for a while, until the police found her parents. Our servants bathed her, and dressed her, and sent her home in such neat clothes as the poor little wretch had never seen until fortune s6nt her in the wa^^ of those good- natured folks. She pays them frequent visits. When she o-oes awa}^ from us she is alwaj's neat and clean ; when she comes to us, she is in rags and dirt}^ : a wicked little slattern ! And pray, whose duty is it to keep her clean ? and has not the parent in this case forgotten to honor her daughter? Suppose there is some reason which prevents Philip from loving his father — that the doctor has neglected to cleanse the l)03''s heart, and by carelessness and indifference has sent him erring into the world. If so, woe be to that doctor ! If I take my little son to the tavern to dinner, shall I not assuredly pay ? If I suft'er him in tender youth to go astray, and harm comes to him, whose is the fault? Perhaps the very outrages and irregularities of which Phil's father complained, were in some degree occasioned by the elder's own faults. He was so laboriously obsequious to great men, that the son in a rage defied and avoided them. He was so grave, so polite, so complimentary, so artificial, that Phil, in revolt at such hypocris}', chose to be frank, C3'nical, and familiar. The grave old bigwigs whom the doctor loved to assemble, bland and solemn men of the ancient school, who dined solemnl}' with each other at their solemn old houses — such men as old Lord Botley, Baron Bumpsher, Cricklade, (who pubhshed "Travels in Asia Minor," 4to, 1804,) the Bishop of St. Bees, and the like — wagged their old heads sadly when thc}^ collogued in clubs, and talked of poor Firmin's scapegrace of a son. He would come to no good ; he was giving his good father much pain ; he had been in all sorts of rows and disturbances at the university, and the Master of Boniface reported most unfavorably of him. And at the sol- emn dinners in Old Parr Street — the admirable, costl}', silent dinners — he treated these old gentlemen with a familiarity which caused the old heads to shake witii surprise and choking indignation. Lord Botley and Baron Bumpsher had proposed and seconded Firmin's boy at the Megatherium club. The pallid old boys toddled away in alarm when he made his ap- pearance there. He brought a smell of tobacco-smoke with him. He was capable of smoking in the drawing-room itself. They trembled before Philip, who, for his part, used to relish their senile auger ; and loved, as he called it, to tie all their pigtails together. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 149 In no place was Philip seen or heard to so little advantage as in his father's house. " I feel like a humbug myself amongst those old humbugs," he would sa,y to me. " Their old jokes, and their old compliments, and their virtuous old conversation sicken me. Are all old men humbugs, I wonder?" It is not pleasant to hear misanthropy from young lips, and to find eyes that are scarce twenty years old already looking out with dis- trust on the world. In other houses than his own I am bound to say Philip was much more amiable, and he carried with him a splendor of ga^'ety and cheerfulness which brought sunshine and welcome into many a room which he frequented. I have said that many of his companions were artists and journalists, and their clubs and haunts were his own. Ridley the Academician had Mrs. Brandon's rooms in Thornhaugh Street, and Philip was often in J. J.'s studio, or in the widow's little room below. He had a very great tenderness and affection for her ; her presence seemed to purify him ; and in her company the bois- terous, reckless young man was invariably gentle and respect- ful. Her e^'es used to fill with tears when she spoke about him ; and when he was present, followed and watched him with sweet motherly devotion. It was j^Jeasant to see him at her homely little fireside, and hear his jokes and prattle, with a fatuous old father, who was one of Mrs. Brandon's lodgers. Philip would play cribbage for hours with this old man, frisk about him with a hundred harmless jokes, and walk out by his invalid chair when the old captain went to sun himself in the New Road. He was an idle fellow, Philip, that's the truth. He had an agreeable perseverance in doing nothing, and would pass half a da}^ in perfect contentment over his pipe, watching Ridley at his easel. J. J. painted that charming head of Philip which hangs in Mrs. Brandon's little room — with the fair hair, the tawny beard and whiskers, and the bold blue eyes. Phil had a certain after-supper song of " Garryowen na Gloria," which it did you good to hear, and which, when sung at his full pitch, you might hear for a mile round. One night I had been to dine in Russell Square, and was brought home in his carriage b}^ Dr. Firmin, who was of the party. As we came through Soho, the windows of a certain club-room called the "Haunt" were open, and we could hear Philip's song booming through the night, and especially a certain wild-Irish war-whoop with which it concluded, amidst universal applause and enthusiastic battering of glasses. 150 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP The poor father sank back in the carriage as though a blow had struck him. " Do you hear his voice?" he groaned out. "Those are his haunts. My son, who might go anyivhere, prefers to be captain in a pothouse, and sing songs in a tap- room ! " I tried to make the best of the case. I knew there was no harm in the place ; that clever men of considerable note fre- quented it. But the wounded father was not to be consoled by such commonplaces ; and a deep and natural grief oppressed him in consequence of the faults of his son. What ensued by no means surprised me. Among Dr. Fir- min's patients was a maiden lady of suitable age and large fortune, who looked upon the accomplished doctor with favora- ble eyes. That he should take a companion to cheer him in his solitude was natural enough, and all his friends concurred in thinking that he should marry. Ever}^ one had cognizance of the quiet little courtship, except the doctor's son, between whom and his father there were only too man^^ secrets. Some man in a club asked Philip whether he should condole with him or congratulate him on his father's approaching mar- riage? His what? The 3'ounger Firmin exhibited the greatest surprise and agitation on hearing of this match. He ran home : he awaited his father's return. When Dr. Firmin came home and betook himself to his study, Philip confronted him there. " This must be a lie, sir, which I have heard to-day," the 3'oung man said, fiercely. "'a lie! what lie, Philip?" asked the father. They were both very resolute and courageous men. " That you are going to marry Miss Benson." " Do you make my house so happy, that I don't need any other companion? " asked the father. " That's not the question," said Philip, hotly. " You can't and mustn't marry that lady, sir." ' ' And whj' not, sir ? " " Because in the eyes of God and Heaven 5-ou are married already, sir. And I swear I will tell Miss Benson the story to-morrow, if 3'ou persist in your plan." " So j'ou know that story? " groaned the father. " Yes. God forgive you," said the son. "It was a fault of my youth that has been bitterly re- pented." " A fault ! — a crime ! " said Philip. "Enough, sir! Whatever my fault, it is not for you to charge me with it." ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 151 ' ' If 3-ou won't guard j'our own honor, I must. I shall go to Miss Benson now." ' • If you go out of this house you don't pretend to return to it." " Be it so. Let us settle our accounts, and part, sir." " Philip, Philip ! 3-ou break my heart," cried the father. " You don't suppose mine is very light, sir," said the son. Philip never had Miss Benson for a mother-in-law. But father and son loved each other no better after their dispute. CHAPTER VI. Brandon's. Thornhaugh Street is but a poor place now, and the houses look as if they had seen better da3-s : but that house with the cut centre drawing-room window, which has the name of Brandon on the door, is as neat as any house in the quarter, and the brass plate always shines like burnished gold. About Easter time many fine carriages stop at that door, and splendid people walk in, introduced by a tid}^ little maid, or else by an athletic Italian, with a glossy black beard and gold earrings, who conducts them to the drawing-room floor, where Mr. Kidley, the painter, lives, and where his pictures are privately exhibited before they go to the Royal A cade m}-. As the carriages drive up, you will often see a red-faced man, in an olive-green wig, smiling blandly over the blinds of the parlor, on the ground-floor. That is Captain Gann, the father of the lady who keeps the house. I don't know how he came by the rank of captain, but he has borne it so long and gallantly that there is no use in an}' longer questioning the title. Fie does not claim it, neither does he deny it. But the wags who call upon Mrs. Brandon can always, as the phrase is, "; draw" her father, b}' speaking of Prussia, France, Waterloo, or battles in general, until the Little Sister says, " Now, never mind about the battle of Waterloo, papa " (she says Pa — her A's are irregular — I can't help it) — " never mind about Waterloo, papa; 3'ou've told them all about it. And don't go on, Mr. Beans, don't, please^ go on in that way." Young Beans has already drawn "Captain Gann (assisted b}' Shaw, the Life-Guardsman) killing twenty-four French cui- 152 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP rassiers at "Waterloo." "Captain Gann defending Hougouniont." " Captain Gann, called upon by Napoleon Buonaparte to lay down his arms, saying, 'A captain of militia dies, but never surrenders.' " '' The Duke of Wellington, pointing to the ad- vancing Old Guard, and saying, ' Up, Gann, and at them.' " And these sketches are so droll that even the Little Sister, Gann's own daughter, can't help laughing at them. To be sure, she loves fun, the Little Sister ; laughs over droll books ; laughs to herself, in her little quiet corner at work ; laughs over pictures ; and, at the right place, laughs and S3'mpathizes too. Ridley says, he knows few better critics of pictures than Mrs. Brandon. She has a sweet temper, a merry sense of humor, that makes the cheeks dimple and the eyes shine ; and a kind heart, that has been sorely tried and wounded, but is still soft and gentle. Fortunate are they whose hearts so tried by suffering, yet recover their health. Some have illnesses from which there is no recovery, and drag through life after- wards, maimed and invalided. But this Little Sister, having been subjected in 3'outh to a dreadful trial and sorrow, was saved out of them b}^ a kind Providence, and is now so thoroughly restored as to own that she is happy, and to thank God that she can be grateful and useful. When poor Montfitchet died, she nursed him through his illness as tenderly as his good wife herself. In the days of her own chief grief and misfortune, her father, who was under the domination of his wife, a cruel and blundering woman, thrust out poor little Caroline from his door, when she returned to it the broken- hearted victim of a scoundrel's seduction ; and when the old captain was himself in want and houseless, she had found him, sheltered, and fed him. And i<^^ was from that da}' her wounds had begun to heal, and, from gratitude for this immense piece of good fortune vouchsafed to her, that her happiness and cheer- fulness returned. Returned ? There was an old servant of the family, who could not sta}' in the house because she was so abominably disrespectful to the captain, and this woman said she had never known Miss Caroline so cheerful nor so happy, nor so good-looking as she was now. So Captain Gann came to live with his daughter, and pat- ronized her with much dignity. He had a very few yearly pounds, which served to pay his club expenses, and a portion of his clothes. His club, I need not say, was at the "Ad- miral Bj'ng," Tottenham Court Road, and here the captain met frequently a pleasant little society, and bragged, unceasingly about his former prosperity. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOELD. 153 I have heard that the countr^'-house in Kent, of which he boasted, was a shabby little lodging-house at Margate, of which the furniture was sold in execution ; but if it had been a palace the captain would not have been out of place there, one or two people still rather fondly thought. His daughter, amongst others, liad tried to fancy all sorts of good of her father, and especially that he was a man of remarkably good manners. But she had seen one or two gentlemen since she knew the poor old father — gentlemen with rough coats and good hearts, like Dr. Goodenough ; gentlemen with superfine coats and su- perfine double-milled manners, like Dr. Firmin, and hearts — well, never mind about that point ; gentlemen of no A's, like the good, dear, faithful benefactor who had rescued her at the brink of despair ; men of genius, like Ridley ; great hearty, generous, honest gentlemen, like Philip ; — and this illusion about Pa, I suppose, had vanished along with some other fan- cies of her poor little maiden youth. The truth is, she had an understanding with the "Admiral Byng : " the landlady was instructed as to the supplies to be furnished to the captain ; and as for his stories, poor Caroline knew them a great deal too well to believe in them any more. I would not be understood to accuse the captain of habitual inebriety. He was a generous officer, and his delight was, when in cash, to order " glasses round " for the company at the club, to whom he narrated the history of his brilliant early days, when he lived in some of the tiptop society of this cit}', sir — a society in which, we need not say, the custom always is for gentlemen to treat other gentlemen to rum- and- water. Never mind — I wish we were all as happy as the captain. I see his jolly face now before me as it blooms tlirough the window in Thornhaugh Street, and the wave of the somewhat dingy hand that sweeps me a gracious recognition. The clergyman of the neighboring chapel was a very good friend of the Little Sister, and has taken tea in her parlor ; to which circumstance the captain frequently alluded, pointing out the very chair on which the divine sat. Mr. Gann attended his ministrations regularl}' every Sunday, and brought a rich, though somewhat worn, bass voice to bear upon the anthems and hymns at the chapel. His style was more florid than is general now among church singers, and, indeed, had been acquii-ed in a former age and in the performance of rich Bac- chanalian chants, such as delighted the contemporaries of our Incledons and Brahams. With a very little entreaty, the cap- tain could be induced to sing at the club ; and I must own that 154 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Phil Firmin would draw the captain out, and extract from him a song of ancient days ; but this must be in the absence of his daughter, whose little face wore an air of such extreme terror and disturbance when her father sang, that he presently ceased from exercising his musical talents in her hearing. He hung up his lyre, whereof it must be owned that time had broken many of the once resounding chords. With a sketch or two contributed by her lodgers — with a few gimcracks from the neighboring Wardour Street presented by others of her friends — with the chairs, tables, and bureaus as bright as beeswax and rubbing could make them — the Little Sister's room was a cheer}- little place, and received not a little company. She allowed Pa's pipe. " It's company to him," she said. "A man can't be doing much harm when he is smoking his pipe." And she allowed Phil's cigar. Anything was allowed to Pliil, the other lodgers declared, who professed to be quite jealous of Philip Firmin. She had a verj- few books. " When I was a girl I used to be always reading novels," she said; "but, la, they're mostly nonsense. There's Mr. Pen- dennis, who comes to see Mr. Ridley. I wonder how a married man can go on writing about love, and all that stuff! " And, indeed, it is rather absurd for elderly fingers to be still twang- ing Dan Cupid's toy bow and arrows. Yesterday is gone — 3'es, but very well remembered ; and we think of it the more now we know that To-morrow is not going to bring us much. Into Mrs. Brandon's parlor Mr. Ridley's old father would sometimes enter of evenings, and share the bit of bread and cheese, or the modest supper of Mrs. Brandon and the captain. The homel}' little meal has almost vanished out of our life now, but in former days it assembled many a famil}^ round its kindly board. A little modest supper-tray — a little quiet prattle — a little kindly glass that cheered and never inebriated. I can see friendl}^ faces smiling round such a meal, at a period not far gone, but how distant ! I wonder whether there are any old folks now, in old quarters of old country towns, who come to each other's houses in sedan-chairs, at six o'clock, and pla}' at quadrille until supper-tra}' time? Of evenings Ridley and the captain, I say, would have a solemn game at cribbage, and the Little Sister would make up a jug of something good for the two oldsters. She liked Mr. Ridle}' to come, for he always treated her father so respectful, and w^as quite the gentleman. And as for Mrs. Ridley. Mv. R.'s " good lady," — was she not also svateful to the Little Sister for having nursed her son during his malady ? Through their connection they were enabled The Old Fogies. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 155 to procure Mrs. Brandon many valuable friends ; and alwa3's were pleased to pass an evening with the captain, and were as civil to him as they could have been had he been at the very height of his prosperity' and splendor. M}- private opinion of the old captain, j'ou see, is that he was a worthless old captain, but most fortunate in his earl}- ruin, after which he had lived very much admired and comfortable, sufficient whiskey being almost alwaj'S provided for 'him. Old Mr. Ridley's respect for her father afforded a most precious consolation to the Little Sister. Ridley liked to have the paper read to him. He was never quite eas}^ with print, and to his last da3-s, manj' words to be met with in newspapers and elsewhere used to occasion the good butler much intellectual trouble. The Little Sister made his lodgers' bills out for him (Mr. R., as well as the captain's daughter, strove to increase a small income b}^ the letting of furnished apartments) , or the captain himself would take these documents in charge ; he wrote a noble mercantile hand, rendered now somewhat shaky by time, but still ver}' fine in flourishes and capitals, and very much at worth}' Mr. Ridley's service. Time was, when his son was a bo}', that J. J. himself had prepared these accounts, which neither his father nor his mother were ver}^ competent to arrange. " We were not, in oar 30ung time, Mr. Gann," Ridle}' remarked to his friend, " brought up to much scholar- ship ; and very little book-learning was given to persons in my rank of life. It was necessary and proper for you gentlemen, of course, sir." "Of course, Mr. Ridley," winks the other veteran over his pipe. " But I can't go and ask my son John James to keep his old father's books now as he used to do — which to do so is, on the part of you and Mrs. Brandon, the part of true friendship, and I value it, sir, and so do my son John James reckonize and value it, sir." Mr. Ridley had served gentlemen of the lonne ecole. No nobleman could be more courtly and grave than he was. In Mr. Gann's manner there was more humorous playfulness, which in no way, however, diminished the captain's high breeding. As he continued to be intimate with Mr. Ridley, he became loftier and more majestic. I think each of these elders acted on the other, and for good ; and I hope Ridley's opinion was correct, that Mr. Gann was ever the gentleman. To see these two good fogies together was a spectacle for edification. Their tumblers kissed each other on the table. Their elderly friendship brought comfort to themselves and their families. , A little matter of money once created a coolness between the two old gentlemen. Biit 156 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP the Little Sister paid the outstanding account between her father and Mr. Ridley : there never was any further talk of pecuniary loans between them ; and when they went to the ' ' Admiral Byng," each paid for himself. Phil often heard of that nightly meeting at the " Admiral's Head," and longed to be of the company. But even when he saw the old gentlemen in the Little Sister's parlor, they felt dimly that he was making fun of them. The captain would not have been able to brag so at ease had Phil been continually watching him. " I have 'ad the honor of waiting on your worth}' father at my Lord Todmorden's table. Our little club ain't no place for you, Mr. Philip, nor for my son, though he's a good son, and proud me and his mother is of him, which he have never gave us a moment's pain, except when he was ill, since he have came to man's estate, most thankful am I, and with my hand on my heart, for to be able to say so. But what is good for me and Mr. Gann, won't suit you young gentlemen. Fou ain't a tradesman, sir, else I'm mistaken in the familj', which I thought the Ringwoods one of the best in England, and the Firmins, a good one likewise." Mr. Ridley liked the sound of his own voice. At the festive meetings of the club, seldom a night passed in which he did not compliment his brother B3'ngs and air his own orator^-. Under this reproof Phil blushed, and hung his conscious head with shame. " Mr. Ridley," says he, " 3'ou shall find I won't come where I am not welcome ; and if I come to annoy you at the ' Admiral Byng,' may I be taken out on the quarterdeck and shot." On which Mr. Ridley pronounced Philip to^be a " most sing'lar, astrornar^-, and ascentric young man. A good heart, sir. Most generous to relieve distress. Fine talent, sir ; but I fear — I fear they won't come to much good, Mr. Gann — saving your presence, Mrs. Brandon, m'm, which, of course, 3'ou always stand up for him." When Philip Firmin had had liis ^jipe and his talk with the Lit- tle Sister in her parlor, he would ascend and smoke his second, third, tenth pipe in J. J. Ridle^-'s studio. He would pass hours before J. J.'s easel, pouring out talk about politics, about religion, about poetr\', about women, about the dreadful slav- ishness and meanness of the world ; unwearied in talk and idleness, as placid J. J. was in listening and labor. The painter had been too busy in life over his easel to read many books. His ignorance of literature smote him with a frequent shame. He admired book-writers, and 3'oung men of the uni- versity who quoted their Gj'cek and their Plorace glibl3^ He listened with deference to their talk on such matters ; no doubt ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 157 got good hints from some of them ; was always secretl}' pained and surprised wlien the universit}' gentlemen were beaten in argument, or loud and coarse in conversation, as sometimes thej' would be. " J. J. is a very clever fellow of course," Mr. Jarman would sa}' of him, " and the luckiest man in Europe. He loves painting, and he is at work all day. He loves toady- ing fine people, and he goes to a tea-party ever}- night." You all knew Jarman of Charlotte Street, the miniature-painter? He was one of the kings of the " Haunt." His tongiie spared no one. He envied all success, and the sight of prosperity made him furious : but to the unsuccessful he was kind ; to the poor eager with help and prodigal of compassion ; and that old talk about nature's noblemen and the glory of labor was very fiercely and eloquentl}' waged by him. His friends admired him : he was the soul of independence, and thought most men sneaks who wore clean linen and frequented gentlemen's society : but it must be owned his landlords had a bad opinion of him, and I have heard of one or two of his pecuniary transactions which certainly were not to Mr. Jarman's credit. Jarman was a man of remarkable humor. He was fond of the widow, and would speak of her goodness, usefulness, and honest}^ with teai's in his e3-es. She was poor and struggling yet. Had she been wealthy and pi'osperous, Mr. Jarman would not have been so alive to her merit. We ascend to the room on the first-floor, where the centre window has been heightened, so as to afford an upper light, and under that stream of radiance we behold the head of an old friend, Mr. J. J. Ridle}', the R. Academician. Time has somewhat thinned his own copious locks, and prematurely streaked the head with silver. His face is rather wan ; the eager, sensitive hand which poises brush and palette, and quivers over the picture, is ver}' thin : round his eyes are many lines of ill health and, perhaps, care, but the eyes are as bright as ever, and, when they look at the canvas or the model which he transfers to it, clear, and keen, and happ3^ He has a very sweet singing voice, and warbles at his work, or whistles at it, smiling. He sets his hand little feats of skill to perform, and smiles with a boyish pleasure at his own matchless dexterity. I have seen him, with an old pewter mustard-pot for a model, fashion a splendid silver flagon in one of his pictures ; paint the hair of an animal, the folds and flowers of a bit of brocade, and so forth, with a perfect delight in the work he w'as per- forming : a delight lasting from morning till sundown, during which time he was too busy to touch the biscuit and glass of 158 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP water which was prepared for his frugal hineheon. He is greedy of the last miaiite of light, and never can be got from his darling pictures without a regret. To be a painter, and to have your hand in perfect command, I hold to be one of life's summa bona. The happ}' mixture of hand and head work must render tiie occupation supremely pleasant. In the day's work must occur endless delightful difficulties and occasions for skill. Over the details of that armor, that drapery, or what not, the sparkle of that eye, the downy blush of that cheek, the jewel on that neck, tliei-e are battles to be fought and victories to be won. Each day there must occur critical moments of supreme struggle and triumph, when struggle and victory must be both invigorating and exquisitely pleasing — as a burst across coun- try is to a fine rider perfectly mounted, who knows that lais courage and his horse will never fail him. There is the ex- citement of the game, and the gallant delight in winning it. Of this sort of admirable reward for their labor, no men, I think, have a greater share than painters (perhaps a violin- player perfectly and t]-iumpliantly performing his own beautiful composition may be equally happy). Here is occupation: here is excitement : here is struggle and victor}' : and here is profit. Can man ask more from fortune ? Dukes and Rothschilds may be envious of such a man. Though Ridley has had his trials and troubles, as we shall presently learn, his art has mastered them all. Black Care may have sat in crupper on that Pegasus, but has never un- horsed the rider. In certain minds, art is dominant and supe- rior to alLbeside — stronger than love, stronger than hate, or care, or penury. As soon as the fever leaves the hand free, it is seizing and fondhng the pencil. Love ma}' frown and be false, but the other mistress never will. vShe is always true : always new : always the friend, companion, inestimable con- soler. So John James Ridle}' sat at his easel from breakfast till sundown, and never left his work quite willingly. I wonder are men of other trades so enamored of theirs ; whether lawyers cling to the last to their darling reports ; or writers prefer their desks and inkstands to society, to friendship, to dear idleness? I have seen no men in life loving their profession so much as painters, except, perhaps, actors, who, when not engaged themselves, always go to the play. Before this bus}- easel Phil would sit for hours, and pour out endless talk and tobacco-smoke. His presence was a de- light to Ridley's soul ; his face a sunshine ; his voice a cordial. Weakl}'- himself, and almost infirm of bod}', with sensibilities ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 159 tremulouslj' keen, the painter most admired amongst men strength, health, good spirits, good breeding. Of these, in his youth, Phihp had a wealth of endowment ; and I hope these precious gifts of fortune have not left him in his maturer age. I do not sa}' that with all men Philip was so popular. There are some who never can pardon good fortune, and in the company of gentlemen are on the watch for offence ; and, no doubt, in his course through life, poor downright Phil trampled upon corns enough of those who met him in his wa}'. " Do you know why Ridle^^ is so fond of Firmin?" asked Jar- man. "Because Firrain's father hangs on to the nobility by the pulse, whilst Ridley, 3'ou know, is connected with them through the sideboard." So Jarman had the double horn for his adversary : he could despise a man for not being a gentle- man, and insult him for being one. I have met with people in the world with whom the latter otfeuce is an unpardonable crime — a cause of ceaseless doubt, division, and suspicion. What more common or natural, Bufo, than to hate another for being what j'ou are not? The story is as old as frogs, bulls, and men. Then, to be sure, besid'es your enviers in life, there are your admirers. Beyond wit, which he understood — beyond genius, which he had — Ridle}' admired good looks and manners, and alwaj-s kept some simple hero whom he loved secretly to cherish and worship. He loved to be amongst beautiful women and aristocratical men. Philip Firmin, with his republican notions and downright bluntness of behavior to all men of rank superior to him, had a grand high manner of his own; and if he had scarce twopence in his pocket, would have put his hands in them with as much independence as the greatest dandy who ever sauntered on Pall Mall pavement. Wliat a coolness the fellow had ! Some men may, not unreasonabl}-, have thought it impudence. It fascinated Ridley. To be such a man ; to have such a figure and manner ; to be able to look society' in the face, slap it on the shoulder, if you were so minded, and hold it by the button — wliat would not Ridley give for such powers and accomplishments? You will please to bear in mind, I am not saying that J. J. was right, only that he was as he was. I hope we shall have nobody in this story without his little faults and peculiarities. Jarman was quite right when he said Ridlc}- loved fine company. I believe his pedigree gave him secret anguishes. He would rather have been gentleman than genius ever so great ; but let you and me, who have no 160 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP weaknesses of our own, try and look charitably on this con- fessed foible of my friend. J. J. never thought of rebuking Philip for being idle. Phil was as the lilies of the field, in the painter's opinion. He was not called upon to toil or spin ; but to take his ease, and grow and bask in sunshine, and be arra\'ed in glory. The little clique of painters knew what Firmin's means were. Thirty thousand pounds of his own. Thirty- thousand pounds down, sir ; and the inheritance of his father's immense fortune ! A splendor emanated from this gifted young man. His'opinions, his jokes, his laughter, his song, had the weight of thirtj^ thousand down, sir; and &c. &c. What call had he to work? Would you set a 3'oung nobleman to be an apprentice ? Philip was free to be as idle as an}' lord, if he liked. He ought to wear fine clothes, ride fine horses, dine off plate, and diink champagne every day. J. J. would work quite cheerfully till sunset, and have an eightpeun}' plate of meat in Wardour Street, and a glass of porter for his humble dinner. At the " Haunt," and similar places of Bohemian resort, a snug place near the fire was always found for Firmin. Fierce republican as he was, Jarman had a smile for his lordship, and used to adopt particularly dandified airs when he had been invited to Old Parr Street to dinner. I dare say Philip liked flatter}'. I own that he was a little weak in this respect, and that j'ou and I, my dear sir, are, of course, far his superiors. J. J., who loved him, would have had him follow his aunt's and cousin's advice, and live in better company ; but I think the painter would not have liked his pet to soil his hands with too much work, and rather admired Mr. Phil for being idle. The Little Sister gave him advice, to be sure, both as to the company he should keep and the occupation which was wholesome for him. But when others of his acquaintance hinted that his idleness would do him harm, she would not hear of their censure. " Wh}' should he work if he don't choose?" she asked. "He has no call to be scribbling and scrabbling. You wouldn't have Mm sitting all day painting little dolls' heads on canvas, and working like a slave. A pretty idea, indeed ! His uncle will get him an appointment. That's the thing /^e should have. Lie should be secretar}' to an ambassador abroad, and he will be ! " In fact Phil, at this period, used to announce his wish to enter the diplomatic ser- vice, and his hope tliat Lord Ringwood would further his views in that respect. Meanwhile he was the king of Thornhaugh Street. He might be as idle as he chose, and Mrs. Brandon ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 161 had always a smile for him. He might smoke a great deal too much, but she worked dalnt}' little cigar-cases for him. She hemmed his fine cambric pocket-handkerchiefs, and embroidered his crest at the corners. She worked him a waistcoat so splen- did that he almost blushed to wear it, gorgeous as he was in apparel at this period, and sumptuous in chains, studs, and haberdasher^'. I fear Dr. Firmin, sighing out his disapi)ointed hopes in respect of his son, has rather good cause for his dis- satisfaction. But of these remonstrances the Little Sister would not hear. "Idle, why not? Wlw should he work? Bo3's will be bo3'S. I dare sa}' his grumbling old Pa was not better than Pliilip when he was young ! " And this she spoke with a heightened color in her little face, and a defiant toss of her head, of which I did not understand all the significance then ; but attributed her eager partisanship to that admirable injustice which belongs to all good women, and for which let us be daily thankful. I know, dear ladies, you are angry at this statement. But, even at the risk of displeasing you, we must tell the truth. You would wish to represent 3-ourselves as equitable, logical, and strictlj' just. So, I dare say Dr. Johnson would have liked Mrs. Thrale to say to him, "Sir, your manners are graceful ; 3'our person elegant, cleanl3', and eminentl3^ pleasing; 3-our appetite small (especially for tea), and your dancing equal to the Violetta's ; " which, you per- ceive, is merely ironical. Women equitable, logical, and strictly just ! Mercy upon us ! If the3- were, population would cease, the world would be a howling wilderness. Well, in a word, this Little Sister petted and coaxed Philip Firmin in such an absurd wa3^ that every one remarked it — those who had no friends, no sweethearts, no mothers, no daughters, no wives, and those who were petted, and coaxed, and spoiled at home themselves ; as I trust, dearly beloved, is your case. Now, again, let us admit that Philip's father had reason to be angry with the boy, and deplore his son's taste for low com- pan3- ; but excuse the 3'oung man, on the other hand, somewhat for his fierce revolt and profound distaste at much in his home circle which annoyed him. " By heaven ! " he would roar out, pulling liis hair and whiskers, and with man3' fierce ejaculations, according to his wont, "the solemnity of those humbugs sick- ens me so, that I should like to crown the old bishop with the soup-tureen, and box Baron Bumpsher's ears with the saddle of mutton. At my aunt's, the huml)ug is just the same. It's better done, perhaps ; but oh, Pendennis ! if you could but know the pangs which tore into my heart, sir, the vulture which 11 1G2 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP gnawed at this confounded liver, when I saw women — women who ought to be pure — women who ought to be like angels — women who ought to know no art but that of coaxing our griefs awa}' and soothing our sorrows — fawning, and cringing, and scheming ; cold to this person, humble to that, flattering to the rich, and indifferent to the humble in station. I tell jou I have seen all this, Mrs. Pendennis ! I won't mention names, but I have met with those who have made me old before my time — a hundred years old ! The zest of life is passed from me " (here Mr. Phil would gulp a bumper from the nearest decanter at hand). " But if I like what your husband is pleased to cali low society, it is because I have seen the other. I have dangled about at line parties, and danced at fashionable balls. I have seen mothers bring their virgin daughters up to battered old rakes, and read^' to sacrifice their innocence for fortune or a title. The atmosphere of those polite drawing-rooms stifles me. I can't bow the knee to the horrible old Mammon. I walk about in the crowds as lonely as if 1 was in a wildei'ness ; and don't begin to breathe freely until I get some honest tobacco to clear the air. As for your husband" (meaning the writer of this memoir), " he cannot help himself; he is a worldling, of the earth, earth}'. If a duke were to ask him to dinner to-mor- row, the parasite owns that he would go. Allow me, m}- friends, my freedom, my rough companions, in their work-day clothes. I don't hear such lies and flatteries come from behind pi[)es. as used to pass from above white chokers when I was in the world." And he would tear at his cr-avat, as though the mere thought of the world's conventionality wellnigh strangled him. This, to be sure, was in a late stage of his career, but I take up the biography here and there, so as to give the best idea I may of ni}- friend's character. At this time — he is out of the country just now, and besides, if he saw his own likeness staring him in the face, I am confident he would not know it — Mr. Philip, in some things, was as obstinate as a mule, and in others as weak as a woman. He had a cliildish sensibility for what was tender, helpless, pretty, or pathetic ; and a mighty scorn of imposture, wherever he found it. He had many good pur- poses, which were often very vacillating, and were but seldom performed. He had a A-ast number of evil habits, whereof, 3'ou know, idleness is said to be tlie root. Many of these evil pro- pensities he coaxed and cuddled with much care ; and though he roared out peccavi most frankly when charged with his sins, this criminal would fall to peccation very soon after promising ijmendment. What he liked he would have. What he disliked ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 163 he could with the greatest difficulty be found to do. He liked good dinners, good wine, good horses, good clothes, and late hours ; and in all these comforts of life (or any others which he fancied, or which were within his means) he indulged himself with perfect freedom. He hated hypocrisy on his own part, and hypocrites in general. He said everything that came into his mind about tilings and people ; and, of course, was often wrong and often prejudiced, and often occasioned howls of in- dignation or malignant whispers of hatred b}' his free speaking. He believed evervthing that was said to him until his informant had misled him once or twice, after which he would believe nothing. And here 3"ou will see that his impetuous credulity was as absurd as the subsequent obstinac}' of his unbelief. My dear young friend, the profitable way in life is the middle v^ay. Don't quite believe anybody', for he ma}' mislead you ; neither disbelieve him, for that is uncomplimentar}- to your friend. Black is not so ver^^ black ; and as for white, bon Dieu! in our climate what paint will remain white long? If Philip was self- indulgent, I suppose other people are self-indulgent likewise : and besides, you know% j'our faultless heroes have ever so long gone out of fashion. To be young, to be good-looking, to be healtliy, to be hungr}' three times a da}', to have plenty of money, a great alacrity of sleeping, and nothing to do — all these, I dare say, are very dangerous temptations to a man, but I think I know some wiio would like to undergo the dangers of the trial. Sup- pose there be holidays, is there not work-time too? Suppose to-day is feast-day ; may not tears and repentance come to-mor- row? Such times are in store for Master Phil, and so please to let him have rest and comfort for a chapter or two. CHAPTER VII. IMPLETUR VETERIS BACCHI. That time, that merry time, of Brandon's, of Bohemia, of oysters, of idleness, of smoking, of song at night and profuse soda-water in the morning, of a pillow^, lonely and bachelor it is true, but with few cares for bedfellows, of plenteous pocket- money, of ease for to-day and little heed for to-morrow, was often remembered by Philip in after days. Mr. Phil's views of life were not very exalted, were they ? The fruits of this world, 164 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP which he devoured with such gusto, I must own were of the common kitchen-garden sort ; and the lazy rogue's ambition went no farther than to stroll along the sunshiny wall, eat his fill, and then repose comfortably in the arbor under the arched vine. Wh}' did Phil's mother's parents leave her tliirty thousand pounds ? I dare say some misguided people would be glad to do as much for their sons ; but, if I have ten, I am determined they shall either have a hundred thousand apiece, or else bare bread and cheese. " Man was made to labor, and to be lazy," Phil would affirm with his usual energy of expression. " When the Indian warrior goes on the hunting path, he is sober, active, indomitable. No dangers fright him, and no labors tire. He endures the cold of the winter ; he couches on the forest leaves ; he subsists on frugal roots or the casual spoil of his bow. When he returns to his village, he gorges to repletion ; he sleeps, perhaps, to excess. When the game is devoured, and the fire- water exhausted, again he sallies forth into the wilderness ; he outclimbs the 'possum and he throttles the bear. I am the Indian : and this ' Haunt' is my wigwam ! Barbara my squaw, bring me oysters ; bring me a jug of the frothing black beer of the pale-faces, or I will hang up thy scalp on my tent-pole ! " And old Barbara, the good old attendant of this " Haunt" of Bandits, would sa}', "Law, Mr. Philip, how you do go on, to be sure!" Where is the "Haunt" now? and where are the merry men all who there assembled ? The sign is down ; the song is silent ; the sand is swept from the floor ; the pipes are broken, and the ashes are scattered. A lit-tle more gossip about his merr}' days, and we have done. He, Philip, was called to the bar in due course, and at his call- supper we assembled a dozen of his elderly and youthful friends. Tlie chambers in Parchment Buildings were given up to him for this da}' . Mr. Van John, I think, was away attending a steeple- chase ; but Mr. Cassidy was with us, and several of Philip's acquaintances of school, college, and the world. There was Philip's father, and Philip's uncle Twysden, and I, Phil's revered and respectable school senior, and others of our ancient semi- nary. There was Burroughs, the second wrangler of his year, great in metaphysics, greater with the knife and fork. There was Stackpole. Eblana's favorite child — the glutton of all learn- ing, the master of man}- languages, who stuttered and blushed when he spoke his own. There was Pinkerton, who, albeit an ignoramus at the university, was already winning prodigious triumphs at the Parliamentary bar, and investing in Consols to the admiration of all his contemporaries. There was Rosebury ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 165 the beautiful, the May-Fair pet and delight of Almack's, the cards on whose mantel-piece made all men open the eyes of wonder, and some of us dart the scowl of env}-. There was m}^ Lord Egham, Lord Ascot's noble son. There was Tom Dale, who, having carried on his university career too splendidl}', had come to grief in the midst of it and was now meekly earning his bread in the reportei's' galler}', alongside of Cassidy. There was Mac- bride, who, having thrown up his fellowship and married his cousin, was now doing a brave battle with povert\", and making literature feed him until law should reward him more splendidl3^ There was Hay thorn, the country gentleman, who ever remem- bered his old college chums, and kept the memor}' of that friend- ship up by constant reminders of pheasants and game in the season. There were Raby and Maynard from the Guards' Club (Maynard sleeps now under Crimean snows), who preferred arms to the toga ; but carried into their military' life the love of their old books, the affection of their old friends. Most of these must be mute personages in our little drama. Could any chi'onicler remember the talk of all of them ? Several of the guests present were members of the Inn of Court (the Upper Temple) , which had conferred on Philip the degree of Barrister-at-Law. He had dined in his wig and gown (Blackmore's wig and gown) in the inn-hall that da}', in company with other members of his inn ; and, dinner over, we adjourned to Phil's chambers in Parchment Buildings, where a dessert was served, to which Mr. Firmin's friends were con- voked. The wines came from Dr. Firmin's cellar. His servants were in attendance to wait upon the compan3\ Father and son both foved splendid hospitalities, and, so far as creature com- forts went, Philip's feast was richly provided. "A supper, I love a supper of all things ! And in order that I might enjoy yours, I only took a single mutton-chop for dinner ! " cried Mr. Twysden, as he greeted Philip. Indeed, we found him, as we arrived from Hall, already in the chambers, and eating the 3'oung barrister's dessert. " He's been here ever so long," sa^-s Mr. Brice, who officiated as butler, "pegging awa}' at the olives and macaroons. Shouldn't wonder if he has pocketed some." There was small respect on the part of Brice for Mr. Twysden, whom the worthy butler frankly pronounced to be a stingy 'umbug. Meanwhile, Talbot believed that the old man re- spected him, and always conversed with Brice, and treated him with a cheerful cordiality. The outer Philistines quickly arrived, and but that the wine 166 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP and men were older, one might have fancied oneself at a college wine-party. Mr. Twysden talked for the whole compan3^ He was radiant. He felt himself in high spirits. He did the hon- ors of Philip's table. Indeed, no man was more hospitable with other folks' wine. Philip himself was silent and nervous. I asked him if the awful ceremony, which he had just under- gone, was weighing on his mind? He was looking rather anxiously towards the door ; and, knowing somewhat of the state of affairs at home, I thought that probably he and his father had had one of the disputes which of late da^'s had become so frequent between them. The company' were nearly all assembled and busy with their talk, and drinking the doctor's excellent claret, when Price entering, announced Dr. Firmin and Mr. Tufton Hunt. " Hang Mr. Tufton Hunt," Philip was going to say ; but he started up, went forward to his father, and greeted him very respe(5tfull3'. He then gave a bow to the gentleman introduced as Mr. Hunt, and they found places at the table, the doctor taking his with his usual handsome grace. Tlie conversation, which had been pretty brisk until Dr. Firmin came, drooped a little after his appearance. " We had an awful row two da_ys ago," Philip whispered to me. "We shook hands and are reconciled, as you see. Pie M^on't stay long. Pie will be sent for in half an hour or so. He will say he has been sent for by a duchess, and go and have tea at the club." Dr. Firmin bowed and smiled sadly at me, as Philip was speaking. I dare say I blushed somewhat and felt as if the doctor knew what his son was saying to me. He presently engaged in conversation with Lord Egham ; he hoped his good father was well ? "You keep him so, doctor. You don't give a fellow a chance," says the .young lord. " Pass tiie bottle, you young men ! Hey ! We intend to see you all out ! " cries Talbot Twysden, on pleasure bent and of the frugal mind. " Well said, sir," says the stranger introduced as Mr. Hunt ; *' and right good wine. Ha, Firmin ! I think I know the tap ! " and he smacked his lips over the claret. " It's your twenty- five, and no mistake." " The red-nosed individual seems a connoisseur," whispered Rosebury at my side. The stranger's nose, indeed, was somewhat rosy. And to this I may add that his clothes were black, his face pale, and ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 167 not well shorn, his white neck-cloth ding}', and his eyes blood- shot. " He looks as if he had gone to bed in his clothes, and carries a plentiful flue about his person. Who is your father's esteemed friend?" continues the wag, in an under voice. " You heard his name, Rosebury," says the young barrister, gloomily. "I should suggest that your father is in difficulties, and attended by an officer of the sheriff of London, or perhaps subject to mental aberration, and placed under the control of a keeper." "Leave me alone, do!" groaned Philip. And here Tw3"s- den, who was longing for an opportunity to make a speech, bounced up from his chair, and stopped the facetious barrister's further remarks by his own eloquence. His discourse was in praise of Philip, the new-made barrister. " What ! if no one else will give that toast, 3'our uncle will, and many a heartfelt blessing go ^ith you too, my boy ! " cried the little man. He was prodi- gal of benedictions. He dashed aside the tear-drop of emotion. He spoke with perfect fluencj^ and for a considerable period. He really made a good speech, and was greeted with deserved cheers when at length he sat down. Phil stammered a few words in reply to his uncle's voluble compliments ; and then Lord Ascot, a young nobleman of much familiar humor, proposed Phil's father, his health, and song. The physician made a neat speech from behind his ruffled shirt. He was agitated b}'- the tender feelings of a paternal heart, he said, glancing benignl}- at Phil, who was cracking filberts. To see his son happy ; to see him surrounded by such friends ; to know him embarked this day in a profession which gave the greatest scope for talents, the noblest reward for industry, was a proud and happy luoment to him, Dr. Firniin. What has the poet observed? ^'Ingenuas dididsse Jtdeliter artes " (hear, hear !) '■'■ emollit mores " — 3'es, '•'• emollit mores." He drank a bumper to the 3'oung barristei- (he waved his ring, with a thimbleful of wine in his glass). He pledged the young friends whom he saw assembled to cheer his son on his onward path. He thanked them with a father's heart ! He passed his emerald ring across his e3'es for a moment, and lifted them to the ceiling, from which quarter he requested a blessing on his bo3'. As though "spirits" approved of his invocation, immense tliumps came from above, along with the plaudits which saluted the doctor's speech from t])e gentlemen round the table. But the upper thumps were derisorj^, and came from Mr. Buffers, of the third 168 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP floor, who cliose this method of mocking our harmless little festivities. I think these cheers from the facetious Buffers, though meant in scorn of our party, served to enliven it and make us laugh. Spite of all the talking, we were dull ; and I could not but allow the force of my neighbor's remark, that we were sat upon and smothered by the old men. One or two of the younger gentlemen chafed at the license for tobacco-smoking not being yet accorded. But Philip interdicted this amusement as yet. " Don't," he said ; " my father don't like it. He has to see patients to-night ; and the}' can't bear the smell of tobacco by their bedsides." The impatient youths waited with their cigar-cases by their sides. They longed for the withdrawal of the obstacle to their happiness. " He won't go, I tell you. He'll be sent for," growled Philip to me. « The doctor was engaged in conversation to the right and left of him, and seemed not to think of a move. But, sure enough, at a few minutes after ten o'clock, Dr. Firmin's foot- man entered the room with a note, which Firmin opened and read, as Philip looked at me with a grim humor in his face. I think Phil's father knew that we knew he was acting. How- ever, he went through the comedy quite gravely. "A plwsician's time is not his own," he said, shaking his handsome, melancholy head. " Good-by, m}' dear lord ! Pray remember me at home ! Good night, Philip, my boy, and good speed to 3'ou in your career ! Pra}', pray don't move." And he is gone, waving the fair hand and the broad- brimmed hat, with the beautiful white liniitg. Phil conducted him to the door, and heaved a sigh as it closed upon his father — a sigh of relief, I think, that he was gone. "Exit Governor. What's the Latin for Governor?" says Lord Egham, who possessed much native humor, but not very profound scholarship. " A most venerable old parent, Firmin. That hat and appearance would command an}- sum of money." " Excuse me," lisps Rosebury, " but why didn't he take his elderly friend with him — the. dilapidated clerical gentleman who is drinking claret so freely? And also, why did be not re- move 3'Our avuncular orator ? Mr. Twj'sden, j'our interesting 5'oung neophyte has provided us with an excellent specimen of the cheerful produce of the Gascon grape." " Well, then, now the old gentleman is gone, let us pass the ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 169 bottle and make a night of it. Hey, m}' lord?" cries Twysden. " Philip, your claret is good ! I sa}', do 3^011 remember some Chateau Margaux I had, which Winton liked so? It must be good if he praised it, I can tell 3'ou. I imported it m^'sclf, and gave him the address of the Bordeaux merchant ; and he said he had seldom tasted an}' like it. Those were his very words. I must get 3'Ou fellows to come and taste it some day." ' ' Some day ! What day ? Name it, generous Amphitr3'on ! " cries Rosebury. " Some da}^ at seven o'clock. With a plain, quiet dinner — a clear soup, a bit of fish, a couple of little entrees, and a nice little roast. That's my kind of dinner. And we'll taste that claret, 3'oung men. It is not a heav}"- wine. It is not a first-class wine. I don't mean even to sa3' it is a dear wine, but it has a bouquet and a pureness. What, 3'ou will smoke, you fellows ? " " We will do it, Mr. Tw3'sden. Better do as the rest of us do. Tr3' one of these." The little man accepts the proffered cigar from the 3'Oung nobleman's box, lights it, hems and hawks, and lapses into silence. " I thought that would do for him," murmurs the facetious Egham. "It is strong enough to blow his old head off, and I wish it would. That cigar," he continues, "was given to my father b3' the Duke of Medina Sidonia, who had it out of the Queen of Spain's own box. She smokes a good deal, but naturalh' likes 'em mild. I can give 3'ou a stronger one." " Oh, no. I dare sa}' this is ver3^ fine. Thank 3'Ou ! " says poor Talbot. " Leave him alone, can't 3- on ! " says Philip. " Don't make a fool of him before the young men, Egham." Philip still looked very dismal in the midst of the festivit3'. He was thinking of his differences with his absent parent. We might all have been easil3' consoled, if the doctor had taken awa3' with him the elderh' companion whom he had in- troduced to Phil's feast. He could not have been ver3- welcome to our host, for Phil scowled at his guest, and whispered, " Hang Hunt ! " to his neighbor. "Hang Hunt" — the Reverend Tufton Hunt was his name — was in nowise disconcerted by the coolness of his reception. He drank his wine ver3^ freel3' ; addressed himself to his neigh- bors affabl3' ; and called out a loud " Hear, hear !" to Twysden, when that gentleman announced his intention of making a night of it. As Mr. Hunt warmed with wine he spoke to the table. 170 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP He talked a great deal about the Ringwood famUy, had been very intimate at Wingate, in old days, as he told Mr. Twysden, and an intimate friend of poor Cinqbars, Lord Ringwood's only son. Now, the memory of the late Lord Cinqbars was not an agreeable recollection to the relatives of the house of Ring- wood. He was in life a dissipated and disreputable young lord. His name was seldom mentioned in his family ; never bj^ his father, with whom he had had many quarrels. " You know I introduced Cinqbars to your father, Philip? " calls out the dingy clerg3'man. , " I have heard you mention the fact," says Philip. " They met at a wine in my rooms at Corpus. Brummell Firmin we used to call your father in those days. He was the greatest buck in the university — always a dressy man, kept hunters, gave the best dinners in Cambridge. We were a wild set. There was Cinqbars, Brand Firmin, Beryl, Toplady, about a dozen of us, almost all noblemen or fellow-commoners — fellows who all kept their horses and had their private servants." This speech was addressed to the company, who yet did not seem much edifled hy the college recollections of the dingy elderly man. " Almost all Trinity men, sir! We dined with each other week about. Many of them had their tandems. Desperate fellow across countr}^ A^our father was. And — but we won't tell tales out of school, he}' ?" "Na; please don't, sir," said Philip, clenching his fists, and biting his lips. The shabb}', ill-bred, swaggering man was eating Philip's salt ; Phil's lordly ideas of hospitality did not allow him to quarrel with the guest under his tent. " When he went out in medicine, we were all of us astonished. Wh}', sir. Brand Firmin, at one time, was the greatest swell in the university," continued Mr. Hunt, "and such a plucky fellow ! So was poor Cinqbars, though he had no stamina. He, I, and Firmin, fought for twenty minutes before Cains' Gate with about twenty bargeman, and you should have seen your father hit out ! I was a handy one in those days, too, with my fingers. We learned the noble art of self-defence in my time, young gentlemen ! We used to have Glover, the boxer, down from London who gave us lessons. Cinqbars was a pretty sparrer — but no stamina. Brandy killed him, sir — brandy killed him ! Why, this is some of j'our governor's wine ! He and I have been drinking it to-night in Parr Street, and talking over old times." ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOKLD. 171 " I am glad, sir, you found the wine to your taste," says Philip, gravel}', " I did, Philip my boy ! And when your father said he was coming to your wine, I said Pd come too." " 1 wish somebody would fling him out of window," groaned Philip. "A most potent, grave, and reverend senior," whispered Rosebury to me. " I read billiards, Boulogne, gambling- houses, in his noble lineaments. Has he long adorned your family circle, Firmin?" "I found him at home about a month ago, in my father's ante-room, in the same clothes, with a pair of mangy mous- taches on his face ; and he has been at our house everj' day since." '■'• Echappe de Toulon^'' says Rosebury, blandh', looking towards the stranger. " Gela se voit. Homme parfaitement distingue. You are quite right, sir. I was speaking of j'ou ; and asking our friend Philip where it was I had the honor of meeting 3'ou abroad last year? This courtes}-," he gently added, "will disarm tigers." "I was abroad, sir, last year," said the other, nodding his head. " Three to one he was in Boulogne gaol, or perhaps officiat- ing f naplain at a gambling-house. Stop, I have it ! Baden Bad:n, sir?" ' I was there, safe enough," says the clergyman. " It is a very pretty place ; but the air of the Apres kills you. Ha ! ha ! Your father used to shake, his elbow when he was a youngster too, Philip ! I can't help caUing you Philip. I have known your father these thirt}^ j'ears. We were college chums, you know." " Ah ! what would I give," sighs Rosebury, " if that vener- able being would but address me b}' xay Christian name ! Philip, do something to make 3-our part}^ go. The old gentlemen are throttling it. Sing something, somebody- ! or let us drown our melancholy in wine. You expressed your approbation of this claret, sir, and claimed a previous acquaintance with it?" • ''I've drunk two dozen of it in the last month," saj's Mr. Hunt, with a grin. "Two dozen and four, sir," remarks Mr. Brice, putting a fresh bottle on the table. "Well said, Brice! I make the Firmin Arms my head- quarters ; and honor the landlord with a good deal of my com- jjany," remark.'^ Mr. Hunt. 172 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " The Firmin Arms is honored by having such supporters ! " says Phil, glaring, and with a heaving chest. At each moment he was growing more and more angry with that parson. At a certain stage of conviviality Phil was fond of talking of his pedigree ; and, though a professor of very liberal opinions, was not a little proud of some of his ancestors. " Oh, come, I sa^' ! Sink the heraldry ! " cries Lord Egham. " I am very sorry ! I would do anything to obhge 30U, but I can't help being a gentleman ! " growls Philip. '* Oh, I sa}', if 30U intend to come King Richard III. over us — " breaks out my lord. " Egham ! your ancestors were sweeping counters when mine stood by King Richard in that righteous fight ! " shouts Philip. That monarch had conferred lands upon the Ringwood family. Richard III. was Philip's battle-horse ; when he trot- ted it after dinner he was splendid in his chivalry. "Oh, I say! If you are to saddle White Surre}^, fight Bosworth Field, and murder the kids in the Tower ! " continues Lord Egham. "Serve the little brutes right!" roars Phil. "They were no more heirs of the blood royal of England than — " " I dare say ! Only I'd rather have a song now the old boy is gone. I sa}^ you fellows, chant something, do now ! Bar all this row about Bosworth Field and Richard the Third ! Always does it when he's beer on board — always does it, give you my honor ! " whispers the young nobleman to his neighbor. "I am a fool! I am a fool!'' cries Phil, smacking his forehead. "There are moments when the wrongs of my race will intervene. It's not your fault, Mr. What-d'ye-call-'im, that you alluded to my arms in a derisive manner. I bear you no malice ! Na}- , I ask your pardon ! Nay ! I pledge you in this claret, which is good, though it's my governor's. In our house everything isn't, hum — Bosh! it's twenty-five claret, sir! Eg- ham's father gave him a pipe of it for saving a life which might be better spent ; and I believe the apothecary would have pulled you through, Egham, just as well as my governor. But the wine's good ! Good ! Brice, some more claret ! A song ! Who spoke of a song ? Warble us something, Tom Dale ! A song, a song, a song ! " Whereupon the exquisite ditty of " Moonlight on the Tiles " was given by Tom Dale with all his accustomed humor. Then pohteness demanded that our host should sing one of his songs, and as I have heard him perform it many times, I have the ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 173 privilege of here reprinting it : premising that the tune and chorus were taken from a German song-book, which used to ' delight us melodious 3-outh in bygone days. Philip accordingly lifted up his great voice and sang : — "DOCTOR LUTHER. " For the soul's edification Of this decent congregation. Worthy people ! by your grant, I will sing a holy chant, I will sing a holy chant. If the ditty sound but oddly, 'Twas a father wise and godly, Sang it so long ago. Then sing as Doctor Luther sang, As Doctor Luther sang, Who loves not wine, woman, and song, , He is a fool his wliole life long. " He by custom patriarchal, Loved to see tlie beaker sparkle. And he thought the wine improved, Tasted by the wife he loved. By the kindly lips he loved. Friends ! I wish this custom pious Duly were adopted by us, To combine love, song, wine ; And sing as Doctor Luther sang, As Doctor Luther sang. Who loves not wine, woman, and song, He is a fool his whole life long. " Who refuses this our credo, And demurs to drink as we do, Were he iioly as John Knox, I'd pronounce him heterodox, I'd pronounce iiim heterodox. And from out this congregation, With a solemn comniination, Banish quick the heretic. Who would not sing as Luther sang, As Doctor Luther sang, Who loves not wine, woman, and song, * He is a fool his whole life long." The reader's humble servant was older than most of the party assembled at this symposium, which may have taken place some score of years back ; but as I listened to the noise, the fresh laughter, the songs remembered out of old university days, the talk and cant phrases of the old school of which most 174 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP of us had been disciples, dear me, I felt quite young again, and when certain knocks came to the door about midnight, enjoj-ed quite a refreshing pang of anxious interest for a moment, deem- ing the proctors were rapping, having heard our shouts in the court below. The late comer, however, was only a tavern waiter, bearing a supper-tray ; and we were free to speechifj^, shout, quarrel, and be as 3'oung as we liked, with nobod_y to find fault, except, perchance, the bencher below, who, I dare say, was kept awajce with our noise. When that supper arrived, poor Talbot Tw3'sden, who had come so far to enjoy it, was not in a state to partake of it. Lord Eghani's cigar had proved too much for him ; and the worth}' gentleman had been lying on a sofa, in a neighboring room, for some time past, in a state of hopeless collapse. He had told us, whilst yet ca^jable of speech, what a love and re- gard he had for Philip ; but between him and Philip's father there was but little love. The}^ had had that worst and most iri'emediable of quarrels, a difference about twopence-halfpenny in the division of the property of their late father-in-law. Fir- min still thought Twysden a shabby curmudgeon ; and Twysden considered Firmin an unprincipled man. When Mrs. Firmin was alive, the two poor sisters had had to regulate their affec- tions by the marital orders, and to be warm, cool, moderate, freezing, accoixling to their husbands' state for the time being. I wonder are there many real reconciliations? Dear Tomkins and I arc reconciled, I know. We have met and dined at Jones's. And ah ! how fond we are of each other ! Oh, ver}'^ ! So with Firmin and Twysden. The}' met, and shook hands with perfect animosity. So did Twysden junior and Firmin junior. Young Twysden was the elder, and thrashed and bullied Phil as a boy, until the latter arose and pitched his cousin down stairs. MentaUy, they were always kicking each other down stairs. Well, poor Talbot could not partake of the supper when it came, and lay in a piteous state on the neigh- boring sofa of the absent Mr. Van John. Who would go home with him, where his wife must be anx- ious about him? I agreed to convoy him, and the parson said he was going our way, and would accompany us. We sup- ported this senior through the Temple, and put him on the front seat of a cab. The cigar had disgi-acefull}' overcome him ; and any lecturer on the evils of smoking might have pointed his moral on the helpless person of this wretched gen- tleman. The evening's feasting had onlj' imparted animation to Mr. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 175 Hunt, and occasioned an agreeable abandon in his talk, I had seen the man before in Dr. Firrain's house, and own that his society was almost as odious to me as to the doctor's son Philip. On all subjects and persons, Phil was accustomed to speak his mind out a great deal too openly' ; and Mr. Hunt had been an object of special dislike to him ever since he had known Hunt. I tried to make the best of the matter. Few men of kindly feeling and good station are without a dependant or two. Men start together in the race of life ; and Jack wins, and Tom falls by his side. The successful man succors and reaches a friendly hand to the unfortunate competitor. Remembiance of early times gives the latter a sort of right to call on his luckier com- rade ; and a man finds himself pitting, then enduring, then embracing a companion for whom, in old da3s, perhaps, he never had had any regard or esteem. A prosperous man ought to have followers : if he has none, he has a hard heart. This philosophizing was all very well. It was good for a man not to desert the friends of his bo_yhood. But to live with such a cad as that — with that creature, low, servile, swaggering, besotted — "How could his father, who had fine tastes, and loved grand company, put up with such a fellow ? " asked Phil. " 1 don't know when the man is the more odious : when he is familiar, or when he is respectful ; when he is paying compli- ments to my father's guests in Parr Street, or telling hideous old stale stories, as he did at my call-supper." The wine of which Mr. Hunt freely partook on that occasion made him, as I have said, communicative. " Not a bad fellow, our host," he remarked, on his part, when we came away together. " Bumptious, good-looking, speaks his mind, hates me, and I don't care. He must be well to do in the world, Master Philip." I said I hoped and thought so. " Brummell Firmin must make four or five thousand a year. He was a wild fellow in my time, I can tell 30U — in the days of the wild Prince and Poins — stuck at nothing, spent his own money, ruined himself, fell on his legs somehow, and mar- ried a fortune. Some of us have not been so luck3\ 1 had nobody to pay my debts. I missed m}' fellowship by idling and dissipating with those confounded hats and silver-laced gow'us. I liked good company in those days — always did when I could get it. If you were to write my adventures, now, 3'ou would have to tell some queer stories. I've been everj'where ; I've seen high and low — 'specially low. I've tried school-master- ing, bear-leading, newspapering, America, West Indies. I've 176 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP been in every city in Europe. I haven't been as lucky as Brummell Firmin. He rolls in his coach, he does, and I walk in my highlows. Guineas drop into his palm eveiy day, and are uncommonly scarce in mine, I can tell you ; and poor old Tufton Hunt is not much better off at fifty odd than he was when he was an undergraduate at eighteen. How do 30U do, old gentleman? Air do you good? Here we are at Beaunash Street ; hope you've got the key, and missis won't see you." A large butler, too well bred to express astonishment at any event which occurred out of doors, opened Mr. Tw^'sden's, and let in that lamentable gentleman. He was very pale and solemn. He gasped out a few words, intimating his inten- tion to fix a day to ask us to come and dine soon, and taste that wine that Winton liked so. He waved an unsteady hand to us. If Mrs. Twysden was on the stairs to see the condition of her lord, I hope she took possession of the candle. Hunt grumbled as we came out: "He miglit have offered us some refreshment after bringing him all that wa}' home. It's only half-past one. There's no good in going to bed so soon as that. Let us go and have a drink somewhere. I know a very good crib ,close by. No, you won't? I say" (here he burst into a laugh which startled the sleeping street), "I know what 3'ou've been thinking all the time in the cab. You are a swell, — you are, too! You have been thinking, 'This drearj' old parson will tr^' and borrow money from me.' But I won't, m}^ boy. I've got a banker. Look here ! Fee, faw, fum. You understand. I can get the sovereigns out of my medical swell in Old Parr Street. I prescribe bleeding for him — I drew him to-night. He is a very kind fellow, Brum- mell Firmin is. He can't deny such a dear old friend any- thing. Bless him ! " And as he turned away to some mid- night haunt of his own, he tossed up his hand in the air. I heard him laughing through the silent street, and Policeman X, tramping on his beat, turned round and suspiciously eyed him. Then I thought of Dr. Firmin's dark melancholy face and eyes. Was a benevolent remembrance of old times the bond of union between these men? All my house had. long been asleep, when I opened and gently closed my house-door. By the twinkling night lamp I could dimly see child and mother softly breathing. Oh, blessed they on whose pillow no remorse sits ! Happy you who have escaped temptation ! I may have been encouraged in my suspicions of the dingy ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 177 clerg3'man by Philip's own surmises regarding him, which were expressed with the speaker's usual candor. " The fellow calls for what he likes at the ' Firmin Arms,' " said poor Phil ; " and when my father's bigwigs assemble, I hope the reverend gen- tleman dines with them. I should like to see him hobnobbing with old Bnmpsher, or slapping the bishop on the back. He lives in Sligo Street, round the corner, so as to be close to our house and yet preserve his own elegant independence. Other- wise, I wonder he has not installed himself in Old Parr Street, where m}'' poor mother's bedroom is vacant. The doctor does not care to use that room. I remember now how silent they were when together, and how terrified she always seemed before him. Wliat has he done? I know of one affair in his early life. Does this Hunt know of any more ? They have been accomplices in some conspiracy, sir ; I dare say with that young Cinqbars, of whom Hunt is for ever bragging : the worthy son of the worth}- Ringwood. I say, does wickedness run in the blood? M3' grandfathers, I have heard, were honest men. Perhaps they were only not found out ; and the family taint will show in me some day. There are times when I feel the devil so strong within me, that I think some day he must have the master3\ I'm not quite bad yet : but I tremble lest I should go. Suppose I were to dix)wn, and go down? It's not a jollv thing, Pendennis, to have such a father as mine. Don't humbug 7ne with your charitable palliations and soothing sur- mises. You put me in mind of the world then, b}' Jove, j'ou do ! I laugh, and I drink, and I make merry, and sing, and smoke endless tobacco ; and I tell j^ou, I alwa^'s feel as if a little sword was dangling over my skull which will fall some day and split it. Old Parr Street is mined, sir, — mined! And some morning we shall be blown into blazes — into blazes, sir ; mark my words ! That's wh}"- I'm so careless and so idle, for which you fellows are always bothering and scolding me. There's no use in settling down until the explosion is over, don't 3'ou see ? Incedo per ignes suppositos, and, by George! sir, I feel m}' bootsoles already scoi'cliing. Poor thing ! poor mother " (he apostrophized his mother's picture which hung in the room where we were talking,) "were you aware of the secret, and was it the knowledge of that which made 3'our poor e3-es always look so frightened ? She was alwa3's fond of 3'OU, Pen. Do you remember how prett3' and graceful she used to look as she la3' on her sofa up stairs, or smiled out of the carriage as she kissed her hand to us bo3's ? I sa3', what if a woman marries and is coaxed and wheedled b}- a soft 12 178 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP tongue, and runs off, and afterwards finds her husband has a cloven foot ? " "Ah, Philip!" ' ' What is to be the lot of the son of such a man ? Is my hoof cloven, too?" It was on the stove, as he talked, ex- tended in American fashion. " Suppose there's no escape for me, and I inherit my doom, as another man does gout or con- sumption? Knowing this fate, what is the use, then, of doing anything in particular? I tell 3'ou, sir, the whole edifice of our present life will crumble in and smash." (Here he flings his pipe to the ground with an awful shatter.) "And until the catastrophe comes, what on earth is the use of setting to work, as you call it?' You might as well have told a fellow, at Pom- peii, to select a profession the day before the eruption." " If you know that Vesuvius is going to burst over Pompeii," I said, somewhat alarmed, " why not go to Naples, or farther if you will?" " Were there not men in the sentry-boxes at the city gates," asked Philip, "who might have run, and j^et remained to be burned there? Suppose, after all, the doom isn't hanging over us, — and the fear of it is only a nervous terror of mine ? Sup- pose it comes, and I survive it? The risk of the game gives a zest to it, old boy. Besides, there is Honor : and some One Else is in the case, from whom a man could not part in an hour of danger." And here he blushed a fine red, heaved a great sigh, and emptied a bumper of claret. CHAPTER VIII. WILL BE PROKOUNCED TO BE CYNICAL BY THE BENEVOLENT. Gentle readers will not, I trust, think the worse of their most obedient humble servant for the confession that I talked to my wife on my return home regarding Philip and his affairs. When I choose "to be frank, I hope no man can be more open than myself: when I have a mind to be quiet, no fish can be more mute. I have kept secrets so ineffably, that I have utterly forgotten them, until my memory was refreshed by people who also knew them. But what was the use of hiding this one from the being to whom I open all, or almost all — say »11, excepting just one or two of the closets of this heart? So ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 179 I sa}^ to her, " M}' love ; it is as I suspected. Philip and his cousin Agnes are carrying on together." "Is Agnes the pale one, or the very pale one?" asks the joy of my existence. "No, the elder is Blanche. They are both older than Mr. Finnin : but Blanche is the elder of the two." "Well, I am not saying anything malicious, or contrary to the fact, am I, sir?" No. Only I know b}' her looks, when another lady's name is mentioned, whether my wife likes her or not. And I am bound to sa}', though this statement may meet with a denial, that her countenance does not vouchsafe smiles at the mention The ladies declare he is a droll man, and full of fun. He rattles on, artlessly telling his little stories of sport, drink, adventure, in which the dusky little man himself is a prominent figure. Not honey-mouthed Plato would be listened to more kindly by those three ladies. A bland, frank smile shines over Talbot Twysden's noble face, as he comes in from his office, and finds the Creole prattling. "What, you here, Woolcomb? Hay ! Glad to see you ! " And the gallant hand goes out and meets and grasps Woolcomb's tiny kid glove. ' ' He has been so amusing, papa ! He has been making us die with laughing ! Tell papa that riddle 3'ou made, Captain Woolcomb ? " "That riddle I made? That riddle Nixon, our surgeon, made. ' All doctors like mj' first, that's clear,' " &c. And da capo. And the family, as he expounds this admira- ble rebus, gather round the 3'oung officer in a group, and the curtain drops. As in a theatre booth at a fair there are two or three per- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 195 formances in a day, so in Beaunash Street a little genteel corned}' is played twice : — at four o'clock with Mr. Firmin, at five o'clock with Mr. Woolcomb ; and for both young gentle- men, same smiles, same eyes, same voice, same welcome. Ah, bravo ! ah, encore ! CHAPTER X. IN WHICH WE VISIT " ADJURAL BTNG." From long residence in Bohemia, and fatal love of bachelor ease and habits, Master Philip's pure tastes were so destroyed, and his manners so perverted that, you will hardly believe it, he was actuallj' indifferent to the pleasures of the refined home we have just been describing ; and, when Agnes was awa}^, sometimes even when she was at home, was quite relieved to get out of Beaunash Street. He is hardly twenty yards from the door, when out of his pocket there comes a case ; out of the case there jumps an aromatic cigar, which is scattering fragrance around as he is marching briskly northwards to his next house of call. The pace is even more livelj' now than when he is hastening on what you call the wings of love to Beaunash Street. At the house whither he is now going, he and the cigar are alwa^'s welcome. There is no need of munch- ing orange chips, or chewing scented pills, or flinging your weed awa}- half a mile before you reach Thornhaugh Street — the low, vulgar place. I promise 3'ou Phil ma}- smoke at Brandon's, and find others doing the same. He ma}- set the house on fire, if so minded, such a favorite is he there ; and the Little Sister, with her kind, beaming smile, will be there to bid him welcome. How that woman loved Phil, and how he loved her, is quite a curiosity ; and both of them used to be twitted with this attachment by their mutual friends, and blush as they acknowledged it. Ever since the little nurse had saved his life as a schoolboy, it was a la vie a la mort between them. Phil's father's chariot used to come to Thornhaugh Street some- times — at rare times — and the doctor descend thence and have colloquies with the Little Sister. She attended a patient or two of his. She was certainly very much better oflT in her mone}- matters in these late years, since she had known Dr. Firmin. Do you think she took money from him? As a uov- 196 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP elist, who knows everything about his people, I am constrained to say, Yes. She took enough to pay some Httle bills of her weak-minded old father, and send the bailiffs hand from his old collar. But nO more. "I think 30U owe him as much as that," she said to the doctor. But as for compliments between them — "Dr. Firmin, I would die rather than be be- holden to you for anything," she said, with her little limbs all in a tremor, and her eyes flashing anger. " How dare 3-ou, sir, after old days, be a coward and pa}^ compliments to me ; I will tell your son of you, sir ! " and the little woman looked as if she could have stabbed the elderly libertine there as he stood. And he shrugged his handsome shoulders : blushed a little too, perhaps : gave her one of his darkling looks, and departed. She ^had believed him once. She had married him, as she fancied. He had tired of her ; forsaken her ; left her — left her even without a name. She had not known his for long years after her trust and his deceit. "No, sir, I wouldn't have your name now, not if it were a lord's, I wouldn't, and a coronet on your carriage. You are beneath me now, Mr. Brand Firmin ! " she had said. How came she to love the boy so? Years back, in her own horrible extremity of misery, she could remember a week or two of a brief, strange, exquisite happiness, which came to her in the midst of her degradation and desertion, and for a few days a baby in her arms, with eyes like Philip's. It was taken from her, after a -few days — only sixteen days. Insanity came upon her, as her dead infant was carried away: — insanity, and fever, and struggle — ah ! who knows how dreadful? She never does. There is a gap in her life which she never can recall quite. But George Brand Firmin, Esq., M.D., knows how very frequent are such cases of mania, and that women who don't speak about them often will cherish them for years after they appear to have passed away. The Little Sister says, quite gravely, sometimes, " They are allowed to come back. They do come back. Else what's the good of little cherubs bein' born, and smilin', and happy, and beautiful — say, for sixteen days, and then an end? I've talked about it to many ladies in "grief sim'lar to mine was, and it comforts them. And when I saw that child on his sick-bed, and he lifted his eyes, / hieio him, I tell you, Mrs. Ridley. I don't speak about it ; but I knew him, ma'am ; my angel came back again. I know him by the eyes. Look at 'em. Did you ever see such eyes? They look as if they had seen heaven. His father's don't." IMrs. Ridley beheves this theory solemnly, ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 197 and I think I know a lady, nearly connected with mj'self, who can't be got quite to disown it. And this secret opinion to women in grief and sorrow over their new-born lost infants Mrs. Brandon persists in imparting, "/know a case," the nurse murmurs, " of a poor mother who lost her child at six- teen days old ; and sixteen years after, on the very da^', she saw him again." PhiUp knows so far of the Little Sister's story, that he is the object of this delusion, and, indeed, it ver^^ strangely and tenderly affects him. He remembei's fitfullj' the illness through which the Little Sister tended him, the wild paroxysms of his fever, his head throbbing on her shoulders — cool tamarind drinks which she applied to his lips — great gusty night shad- ows flickering through the bare school dormitor}' — the little figure of the nurse gliding in and out of the dark. He must be aware of the recognition, which we know of, and which took place at his bedside, though he has never mentioned it — not to his father, not to Caroline. But he clings to the woman, and shrinks from the man. Is it instinctive love and antipathy? The special reason for his quarrel with his father the junior Firmin has never explicitly told me then or since. I have known sons much more confidential, and who, when their fathers tripped and stumbled, would bring their acquaintances to jeer at the patriarch in his fall. One day, as Philip enters Thornhaugh Street, and the Sister's little parlor there, fancy his astonishment on finding his father's dingy friend, the Rev. Tufton Hunt, at his ease by the fireside. " Surprised to see me here, eh?" says the dingy gentleman, with a sneer at Philip's lordly face of wonder and disgust. "Mrs. Brandon and I turn" out to be very old friends." "Yes, sir, old acquaintances," says the Little Sister, very gravely. " The Captain brought me home from the club at the ' Byng.' Jolly fellows the Byngs. My service to you, Mr. Gann and Mrs. Brandon." And the two persons addressed by the gentleman, who is " taking some refreshment," as the phrase is, made a bow in acknowledgment of this salutation. " You should have been at Mr. Philip's call-supper, Captain Gann," the divine resumes. "That was a night! Tiptop swells — noblemen — first-rate claret. That claret of your father's, Philip, is pretty nearly drunk down. And your song was famous. Did you ever hear him sing, Mrs. Bran- don?" 198 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ' ' "Who do you mean by him ? " says Philip, who always boiled with rage before this man. Caroline divines the antipathy. She la3's a little hand on Philip's arm. " Mr. Hunt has been having too much, I think," she says. " I did know him ever so long ago, Philip ! " " What does he mean by Him? " again says Philip, snorting at Tufton Hunt. " Him ? — Dr. Luther's Hymn ! ' Wein, Weib, und Gesang,' to be sure!" cries the clergyman, humming the tune. "I learned it in Germany mjself — passed a good deal of time in Germany, Captain Gann — six months in a specially shady place — Quod Strasse, in Frankfort-on-the-Maine — being per- secuted by some wicked Jews thei'e. And there was another poor English chap in the place, too, who used to chirp that song behind the bars, and died there, and disappointed the Philistines. I've seen a deal of life, I have ; and met with a precious deal of misfortune ; and borne it j^retty stoutlj", too, since jour father and I were at college together, Philip. You don't do anything in this wa}'? Not so early, eh? It's good rum, Gann, and no mistake." And again the chaplain drinks to the Captain, who waves the dingy hand of hospitality' towards his dark guest. For several months past Hunt had now been a resident in London, and a pretty constant visitor at Dr. Firmin's house. He came and went at his will. He made the place his house of call; and in, the doctor's trim, silent, orderly mansion, was perfectly free, talkative, dirt}', and familiar. Philip's loathing for the man increased till it reached a pitch of frantic hatred. Mr. Phil, theoretically a Radical, and almost a Republican (in opposition, perhaps, to his father, who, of course, held the highly respectable line of politics) — Mr. Sansculotte Phil was personally one of the most aristocratic and overbearing of joung gentlemen ; and had a contempt and hatred for mean people, for base people, for servile people, and especially for too famil- iar people, which was not a little amusing sometimes, which was provoking often, but which he never was at the least pains of disguising. His uncle and cousin Twysden, for example, he treated not half so civill}^ as their footmen. Little Talbot humbled himself before Phil, and felt not always easy in his company. Young Twysden hated him, and did not disguise his sentiments at the club, or to their mutual acquaintance behind Phil's broad back. And Phil, for his part, adopted towards his cousin a kick-me-down-stairs manner, which I own must have been provoking to that gentleman who was Phil's ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 199 senior by three 3-ears, a clerk in a public office, a member of several good clubs, and altogether a genteel member of society. Phil would often forget Ringvvood Twysden's presence, and pursue his own conversation entirely regardless of Ringwood's observations. He ivas very rude, I own. Que voulez-vous? We have all of us our little failings, and one of Philip's was an ignorant impatience of bores, parasites, and pretenders. So no wonder m}' young gentleman was not verj' fond of his father's friend, the dingy gaol chaplain. I, who am the most tolerant man in the world, as all my friends know, liked Hunt little better than Phil did. The man's presence made me uneasy. His dress, his complexion, his teeth, his leer at women — Que s^ais-je? — everything was unpleasant about this Mr. Hunt, and his ga3'ety and familiarit}" more specially dis- gusting than even his hostility. The wonder was that battle had not taken place between Philip and the gaol clergj'man, who, I suppose, was accustomed to be disliked, and laughed with C3'nical good- humor at the other's disgust. Hunt was a visitor of many tavern parlors ; and one day, strolhng out of the " Admu'al Byng," he saw his friend Dr. Firmin's well-known equipage stopping at a door in Thorji- haugh Street, out of which the doctor presently came ; " Bran- don " was on the door. Brandon, Brandon ? Hunt remembered a dark transaction of more than twenty years ago — of a woman deceived by this Firmin, who then chose to go by the name of Brandon. " He lives with her still, the old hypocrite, or he has gone back to her," thought the parson. Oh, 3'ou old sin- ner ! And the next time he called in Old Parr Street on his dear old college friend, Mr. Hunt was speciall3' jocular, and frightfully unpleasant and familiar. "Saw your trap Tottenham Court Road wa3'," sa3's the slang parson, nodding to the physician. "Have some patients there. People are ill in Tottenham Court Road," remarks the doctor. '■^Pallida mors aequo pede — ha3^ doctor? What used Flaccus to sa3^, when we were undergrads ? " '•'•^quopede" sighs the doctor, casting up his fine e3'es to the ceiling. " Sly old fox ! Not a word will he sa3' about her ! " thinks the clerg3'man. "Yes, yes, I remember. And, by Jove! Gann was the name." Gann was also the name of that queer old man who frequented the " Admiral Byng," where the ale was so good — the old boy whom the3' called the Captain. Yes ; it was clear now. That 200 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ugly business was patched up. The astute Hunt saw it all. The doctor still kept up a connection with the — the party. And that is her old father, sure enough. "The old fox, the old fox! I've earthed him, have I? This is a good game. I wanted a little something to do, and this will excite me," thinks the clergyman. I am describing what I never could have seen or heard, and can guarantee onl}^ verisimilitude, not truth, in my report of the private conversation of these worthies. The end of scores and scores of Hunt's conversations with his friend was the same — an application for money. If it rained when Hunt parted from his college chum, it was, " I sa}', doctor, I shall spoil my new hat, and I'm blest if I have any money to take a cab. Thank you, old boy. Au revoir." If the day was fine, it was, " My old blacks show the white seams so, that you must out of your charity rig me out with a new pair. Not your tailor. He is too expensive. Thank you — a couple of sover- eigns will do." And the doctor takes two from the mantel- piece, and the divine retires, jingling the gold in his greasy pocket. .The doctor is going after the few words about pallida mors, and has taken up that well-brushed broad hat, with that ever- fresh lining, which we all admire in him — " Oh, I say, Firmin ! " breaks out the clerg^^man. " Before 3'ou go out, you must lend me a few sovs, please. They've cleaned me out in Air Street. That confounded roulette ! It's a madness with me." " By George! " cries the other, with a strong execration, " you are too bad, Hunt. Ever^^ week of my life you come to me for money. You have had plenty. Go elsewhere. I won't give it 3'Ou." " Yes, you will, old boy," sa3'S the other, looking at him a terrible look ; ' ' for — " ' ' For what ? " saj's the doctor, the veins of his tall forehead growing very full. " For old times' sake," says the clergyman. " There's seven of 'em on the table in bits of paper — that'll do niceh*." And he sweeps the fees with a dirty hand into a dirty pouch. " Halloa ! Swearin' and cursin' before a clerg_yman. Don't cut up rough, old fellow ! Go and take the air. It'll cool you." " I don't think I would like that fellow to attend me, if I was sick," saj^s Hunt, shuffling away, rolling the plunder in his greasy hand. "I don't think I'd like to meet him by moon- light alone, in a very quiet lane. He's a determined chap. And his eyes mean miching malecho, his eyes do. Phew ! " ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 201 And he laughs, and makes a rude observation about Dr. Fir- min's eyes. That afternoon, the gents who used the "Admiral Byng" remarked the reappearance of the party who looked in last evening, and who now stood glasses round, and made himself uncommon agreeable to be sure. Old Mr. Ridley sa3s he is quite the gentleman. " Hevident have been in foring parts a great deal, and speaks the languages. Probbly have 'ad mis- fortunes, which many 'ave 'ad them. Drinks rum-and-water tremenjous. 'AA^e scarce no heppytite. Many get into this way from misfortunes. A plesn man, most well informed on almost every subjeck. Think he's a clergyman. He and Mr. Gann have made quite a friendship together, he and Mr. Gann 'ave. Which they talked of Watloo, and Gann is very fond of that, Gann is, mostcertny." I imagine Ridlej' delivering these sentences, and alternate little volleys of smoke, as he sits behind his sober calumet and prattles in the tavern parlor. After Dr. Firmin has careered through the town, standing by sick-beds with his sweet sad smile, fondled and blessed by tender mothers who hail him as the savior of their children, touching ladies' pulses with a hand as delicate as their own, patting little fresh cheeks with courtl}' kindness — little cheeks that owe their roses to his marvellous skill ; after he has soothed and comforted m}- lady, shaken hands with my lord, looked in at the club, and exchanged courtly salutations with brother big- wigs, and driven awa}" in the handsome carriage with the noble horses — admired, respecting, respectful, saluted, saluting — • so that every man says, " Excellent man, Firmin. Excellent doctor, excellent man. Safe man. Soundman. Man of good famil3\ Married a rich wife. Lucky man." And so on. After the daA-'s triumphant career, I fancy I see the doctor driving homeward, with those sad, sad eyes, that haggard smile. He comes whirling up Old Parr Street just as Phil saunters in from Regent Street, as usual, cigar in mouth. He flings away the cigar as he sees his father, and the}^ enter the house together. " Do you dine at home, Philip? " the father asks. " Do you, sir? I will if you do," says the son, " and if you are alone." " Alone. Yes. That is, there'll be Hunt, I suppose, whom you don't like. But the poor fellow has few places to dine at. What? D — Hunt? That's a strong expression about a poor fellow in misfortune, and your father's old friend." 202 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP I am afraid Philip had used that wicked monos^^llable whilst his father was speaking, and at the mention of the clergyman's detested name. " I beg your pardon, father. It slipped out in spite of me, I can't help it, I hate the fellow." " You don't disguise 3'our likes or dislikes, Philip," sa3^s, or rather groans, the safe man, the sound man, the prosperous man, the lucky man, the miserable man. For years and 3'ears he has known that his boy's heart has revolted from him, and detected him, and gone from him ; and with shame and remorse, and sickening feeling, he lies awake in the night-watches, and thinks how he is alone — alone in the world. Ah ! Love j^our parents, j^oung ones ! O Father Beneficent ! strengthen our hearts : strengthen and purify them so that we may not have to blush before our children ! "You don't disguise your likes and dislikes, Philip," says the father, then, with a tone that smites strangely and keenly on the young man. There is a great tremor in Philip's voice, as he says, " No, father, I can't bear that man, and I can't disguise my feelings. I have just parted from the man, I have just met him," "Where?" "At — at Mrs. Brandon's, father." He blushes like a girl as he speaks. At the next moment he is scared bj^ the execration which hisses from his father's lips, and the awful look of hate which the elder's face assumes — that fatal, forlorn, fallen, lost look which, man and boy, has often frightened poor Phil. Philip did not like that look, nor indeed that other one, which his father cast at Hunt, who presently swaggered in. ' ' What ! yott, dine here ? We rarely do papa the honor of dining with him," says the parson, with his knowing leer. "I suppose, doctor, it is to be fatted-calf da}' now the prodigal has come home. There's worse things than a good fillet of veal; eh?" Whatever the meal might be, the greasy chaplain leered and winked over it as he gave it his sinister blessing. The two elder guests tried to be lively and ga}', as Philip thought, who took such little trouble to disguise his own moods of gloom or merriment. Nothing was said regarding the occurrences of the morning when my young gentleman had been rather rude to Mr. Hunt ; and Philip did not need his father's caution to make no mention of his previous meeting with their guest. Hunt, as usual, talked to the butler, made sidelong remarks to the footman, and garnished his conversation with slippery double- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 203 entendre and dirty old-world slang. Betting-houses, gambling- houses, Tattersall's fights, and their frequenters, were his cheer- ful themes, and on these he descanted as usual. The doctor swallowed this dose, which his friend poured out, without the least expression of disgust. On the contrary, he was cheei'ful : he was for an extra bottle of claret — it never could be in better order than it was now. The bottle was scarce put on the table, and tasted and pro- nounced perfect, when — oh ! disappointment ! — the butler reappears with a note for the doctor. One of his patients. He must go. She has little the matter with her. She lives hard by, in May Fair. " You and Hunt finish this bottle, unless I am back before it is done ; and if it is done, we'll have another," says Dr. Firmin, jovially. "Don't stir. Hunt" — and Dr. Fii-min is gone, leaving Philip alone with the guest to whom he had certainly been rude in the morning. " The doctor's patients often grow ver}^ unwell about claret time," growls Mr. Hunt, some few minutes after. " Never mind. The drink's good — good ! as somebody said at j'our famous call-supper, Mr. Philip — won't call j'ou Phihp, as you don't like it. You were uncommon crusty to me in the morn- ing, to be sure. In my time there would have been bottles broke, or worse, for that sort of treatment." " I have asked 3'our pardon," Philip said. " I was annoyed about — no matter what — and had no right to be rude to Mrs. Brandon's guest." "I say, did j^ou tell the governor that 3'ou saw me in Thornhaugh Street?" asks Hunt. "I was very rude and ill-tempered, jind again I confess I was wrong," said Phil, boggling and stuttering, and turning very red. He remembered his father's injunction. "I say again, sir, did you tell your father of our meet- ing this morning?" demands the clerg3'man. "And pray, sir, what right have 3'ou to ask me about m^' private conversation with my father?" asks Philip, with tower- ing dignity. "You won't tell me? Then you have told him. He's a nice man, your father is, for a moral man." " I am not anxious for your opinion about my father's morahty, Mr. Hunt," sa^'s Philip, gasping in a bewildered man- ner, and drumming the table. " I am here to replace him in his absence, and treat his guest with civilit}-." "Civility! Pretty civility!" says the other, glaring at him. 204 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP "Such as it is, sir, it is my best, and — I — I have no other," groans the young man. " Old friend of your father's, a university man, a Master of Arts, a gentleman born, by Jove ! a clergyman — though I sink that — " "Yes, sir, j^ou do sink that," sa3's Philip. "Am I a dog," shrieks out the clergyman, "to be treated by you in this way ? Who are you ? Do you know who j'ou are?" "Sir, I am striving with all my strength to remember," says Philip. " Come ! I say ! don't try any of your confounded airs on me ! " shrieks Hunt, with a profusion of oaths, and swallowing glass after glass from the various decanters before him. "Hang me, when I was a young man, I would have sent one — two at 3'our nob, though 30U were twice as tall ! Who are you, to patronize your senior, j'our father's old pal — a university man : — you confounded, supercilious — " " I am here to pay every attention to m}' father's guest," saj's Phil; "but, if you have finished j^our wine, I shall be happ}' to break up the meeting as early as you please." " You shall paj' me ; I swear j'ou shall," said Hunt. " Oh, Mr. Hunt ! " cried Philip, jumping up, and clenching his great fists, " I should desire nothing better." The man shrank back, thinking Philip was going to strike him (as Philip told me in describing the scene), and made for the bell. But when the butler came, Philip only asked for coffee ; and Hunt, uttering a mad oath or two, staggered out of the room after the servant. Brice said he had been drink- ing before he came. He was often so. And Phil blessed his stars that he had not assaulted his father's guest then and there, under his own roof-tree. He went out into the air. He gasped and cooled himself under the stars. He soothed his feelings by his customary con- solation of tobacco. He remembered that Ridley in Thorn- haugh Street held a divan that night ; and jumped into a cab, and drove to his old friend. The maid of the house, who came to the door as the cab was driving away, stopped it ; and as Phil entered the passage, he found the Little Sister and his father talking together in the hall. The doctor's broad hat shaded his face from the hall lamp, which was burning with an extra brightness, but Mrs. Brandon's was very pale, and she had been crying. She gave a little scream when she saw Phil. " Ah ! is it ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 205 3'ou, dear?" she said. She ran up to him: seized both his hands : ching to him, and sobbed a thousand hot tears on his hand. "I never will. Oh, never, never, never!" she mur- mured. The doctor's broad chest heaved as with a great sigh of relief. He looked at the woman and at his son with a strange smile ; — not a sweet smile. " God bless j^ou, Caroline," he said, in his pompous, rather theatrical wav. "Good night, sir," said Mrs. Brandon, still clinging to Philip's hand, and making the doctor a little humble curtsy. And when he was gone, again she kissed Philip's hand, and dropped her tears on it, and said, "Never, my dear; no, never, never ! " CHAPTER XI. IN WHICH PHILIP IS VERT ILL TEMPERED. Philip had long divined a part of his dear little friend's history. An uneducated 3'oung girl had been found, cajoled, deserted by a gentleman of the world. And poor Caroline was the victim, and Philip's own father the seducer. He easily guessed as much as this of the sad little story. Dr. Firmin's part in it was enough to shock his son with a thrill of disgust, and to increase the mistrust, doubt, alienation, with which the father had long inspired the son. What would Philip feel, when all the pages of that dark book were opened to him, and he came to hear of a false marriage, and a ruined and outcast woman, deserted for 3'ears by the man to whom he himself was most bound? In a word, Philip had considered this as a mere case of early libertinism, and no more ; and it was as such, in the very few words which he may have uttered to me respecting this matter, that he had chosen to regard it. I knew no more than my friend had told me of the stor^^ as 3-et ; it was onlj' by degrees that I learned it, and as events, now subsequent, served to develop and explain it. The elder Firmin, when questioned by his old acquaintance, and, as it appeared, accomplice of former days, regarding the end of a certain intrigue at Margate, which had occurred some four or five and twenty j'ears back, and when Firmin, having reason to avoid his college creditors, chose to live i\.wa,y and 206 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP bear a false name, had told the clergyman a number of false- hoods which api^eared to satisfy him. What had become of that poor little thing about whom he had made such a fool of himself? Oh, she was dead, dead ever so many years before. He had pensioned her off. She had married, and died in Canada — yes, in Canada. Poor little thing! Yes, she was a good little thing, and, at one time, he had been very soft about her. I am sorry to have to state of a respectable gentle- man that he told lies, and told lies habitually and easily. But, you see, if you commit a crime, and break a seventh command- ment, let us say, or an eighth, or choose any number you will — you will probably have to back the lie of action by the lie of the tongue, and so you are fairly warned, and I have no help for you. If I murder a man, and the policeman inquires, " Pray, sir, did you cut this here gentleman's throat?" I must bear false witness, you see, out of self-defence, though I may be naturally a most reliable, truth-telling man. And so with re- gard to many crimes which gentlemen commit — it is painful to have to say respecting gentlemen, but they become neither more nor less than habitual liars, and have to go lying on through life to you, to me, to the servants, to their wives, to their children, to oh, awful name ! I bow and humble myself. May we kneel, may we kneel, nor strive to speak our falsehoods before Thee ! And so, my dear sir, seeing that after committing any in- fraction of the moral laws, you must tell lies in order to back 3'ourself out of your scrape, let me ask 3'^ou, as a man of honor and a gentleman, whether you had not better forego the crime, so as to avoid the unavoidable, and unpleasant, and dail}^ re- curring necessity of the subsequent perjury? A poor young girl of the lower orders, cajoled, or ruined, more or less, is of course no great matter. The little baggage is turned out of doors — worse luck for her ! — or she gets a place, or she mar- ries one of her own class, who has not the exquisite delicacy belonging to ' ' gentle blood " — and there is an end of her. But if you marry her privately and irregularly yourself, and then throw her off, and then marry somebody else, you are brought to book in all sorts of unpleasant ways. I am writing of quite an old story, be pleased to remember. The first part of the history I myself printed some twenty years ago ; and if you fancy I allude to any more modern period, madam, you are entirely out in 3'our conjecture. It must have been a most unpleasant dut^' for a man of fashion, honor, and good family, to lie to a poor tipsy, disrepu- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 207 table bankrupt merchant's daughter, such as Caroline Gann, but George Brand Firmin, Esq., M.D., had no other choice, and when he lied — as in severe cases, when he administered calomel — he thought it best to give the drug freel3^ Thus he lied to Hunt, saying that Mrs. Brandon was long since dead in Canada ; and he lied to Caroline, prescribing for her the ver^- same pill, as it were, and saying that Hunt was long since dead in Canada too. And I can fancy few more painful and humil- iating positions for a man of rank and fashion and reputation, than to have to demean himself so far as to tell lies to a little low-bred person, who gets her bread as a nurse of the sick, and has not the proper use of her A's. " Oh, yes. Hunt ! " Firmin had said to the Little Sister, in one of those sad little colloquies which sometimes took place between him and his victim, his wife of old days. " A wild, bad man. Hunt was — in days when I own I was little better ! I have deeply repented since, Caroline ; of nothing more than of my conduct to you ; for you were worthy of a better fate, and you loved me truly — madly." "Yes," says Caroline. "I was wild then! I was desperate! I had ruined my fortunes, estranged my father from me, was hiding from my creditors under an assumed name — that under which I saw you. Ah, why did I ever come to your house, my poor child? The mark of the demon was upon me. I did not dare to speak of marriage before my father. You have 3-ours, and tend him with your ever constant goodness. Do you know that my father would not see me when he died? Oh, it's a cruel thing to think of ! " And the suffering creature slaps his tall fore- head with his trembling hand ; and some of his grief about his own father, I dare say, is sincere, for he feels the shame and remorse of being alienated from his own son. As for the marriage — that it was a most wicked and unjus- tifiable deceit, he owned ; but he was wild when it took place, wild with debt and with despair at his father's estrangement from him — but the fact was, it was no marriage. " I am glad of that ! " sighed the poor Little Sister. " Why?" asked the other eagerly. His love was dead, but his vanity was still hale and well. "Did you care for some- body else, Caroline? Did you forget your George, whom you used to — " "No!" said the little woman, bravely. "But I couldn't live with a man who behaved to any woman so dishonest as you behaved to me. I liked you because I thought you was a 208 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP gentleman. My poor painter was whom you used to despise and trampled to hearth — and mj' dear dear Philip is, Mr. Firmin. But gentlemen tell the truth ! Gentlemen don't de- ceive poor innocent girls, and desert 'em without a penny ! " " Caroline ! 1 was driven b}' my creditors. I — " " Never mind. It's over now. I bear you no malice, Mr. Firmin, but I would not marry you, no, not to be doctor's wife to the Queen ! " This had been the Little Sister's language when there was no thought of the existence of Hunt, the clergyman who had celebrated their marriage ; and I don't know whether Firmin was most piqued or pleased at the divorce which the little wo- man pronounced of her own decree. But when the ill-omened Hunt made his appearance, doubts and terrors filled the phjsi- cian's mind. Hunt was needy, greedy, treacherous, unscrupu- lous, desperate. He could hold this marriage over the doctor. He could threaten, extort, expose, perhaps invalidate Philip's legitimacv. The first marriage, almost certainly, was null, but the scandal would be fatal to Firmin's reputation and practice. And the quarrel with his son entailed consequences not pleasant to think of. You see George P'irmin, Esq., M.D., was a man with a great development of the back head ; when he willed a thing, he willed it so fiercely that he must have it, never mind the consequences. And so he had willed to make himself master of poor little Caroline : and so he had willed, as a young man, to have horses, splendid entertainments, roulette and ecarte, and so forth ; and the bill came at its natural season, and George Firmin, Esq., did not always like to pay. But for a grand, prosj^erous, highly- bred gentleman in the best society — with a polished forehead and manners, and univer- sally looked up to — to have to tell lies to a poor, little, timid, uncomplaining, sick-room nurse, it was humiliating, wasn't it? And I can feel for Firmin. To have to lie to Hunt was disgusting : but somehow not so exquisitelj- mean and degrading as to have to cheat a little trusting, humble, houseless creature, over the bloom of whose gentle 3'oung life his accursed foot had already trampled. But then this Hunt was such a cad and ruffian that there need be no scruple about humbugging him ; and if Plrmin had had any humor he might have had a grim sort of pleasure in leading the dirty clergyman a dance thoro' bush thoro' briar. So, perhaps (of course I have no means of ascertaining the fact) , the doctor did not altogether dislike the duty which now devolved on him of hoodwinking his old acquaintance and accomplice. I don't ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 209 like to use such a vulgar phrase regarding a man in Doctor Firmin's high social position, as to say of him and the gaol chaplain that it was " thief catch thief; " but at any rate Hunt is such a low, graceless, friendless vagabond, that if he comes in for a few kicks, or is mystified, we need not be very sorry. When Mr. Thurtell is hung we don't put on mourning. His is a painful position for the moment ; but, after all, he has mur- dered Mr. William Weare. Firmin was a bold and courageous man, hot in pursuit, fierce in desire, but cool in danger, and rapid in action. Some of his gi-eat successes as a physician arose from his daring and suc- cessful practice in sudden emergency. While Hunt was only lurching about the town an aimless miscreant, living from dirty hand to dirty mouth, and as long as he could get drink, cards, and shelter, tolerably content, or at least pretty easily appeased by a guinea-dose or two — Firmin could adopt the palliative system ; soothe his patient with an occasional bounty ; set him to sleep with a composing draught of claret or brandy ; and let the day take care of itself. He might die ; he might have a fancy to go abroad again ; he might be transported for forgery or some other rascaldom. Dr. Firmin would console himself; and he trusted to the chapter of accidents to get rid of his friend. But Hunt, aware that the woman was aUve whom he had actu- ally, though unlawfully married to Firmin, became an enemy whom it was necessary to subdue, to cajole, or to bribe, and the sooner the doctor put himself on his defence the better. What should the defence be ? Perhaps the most effectual was a fierce attack on the enemy ; perhaps it would be better to bribe him. The course to be taken would be best ascertained after a little previous reconnoitring. " He will try and inflame Caroline," the doctor thought, " by representing her wrongs and her rights to her. He will show her that, as m}" wife, she has a right to my name and a share of my income. A less mercenary woman never lived than this poor little creature. She disdains mone}^ and, except for her father's sake, would have taken none of mine. But to punish me for certainly rather shabbj' behavior-; to claim and take her own right and position in the world as an honest woman, may she not be induced to declare war against me, and stand by her marriage ? After she left home her two Irish half-sisters desert- ed her and spat upon her ; and when she would have returned, the heartless women drove her from the door. Oh, the vixens ! And now to drive b}- them in her carriage, to claim a mainte- nance from me, and to have a right to my honorable name, U 210 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP would she not have her dearest revenge over her sisters by so declaring her marriage ? " Firmin's noble mind misgave him very considerably on this point. He knew women, and how those had treated their little sister. Was it in human nature not to be revenged? These thoughts rose straightway in Firmin's mind, when he heard that the much dreaded meeting between Caroline and the chaplain had come to pass. As he ate his dinner with his guest, his enemy, opposite to him, he was determining on his plan of action. The screen was up, and he was laying his guns behind it, so to-speak. Of course he was as civil to Hunt as the tenant to his landlord when he comes with no rent. So the doctor laughed, joked, bragged, talked his best, and was thinking the while what was to be done against the danger. He had a plan which might succeed. He must see CaroHne immediately. He knew the weak point of her heartj and where she was most likel}^ to be vulnerable. And he would act against her as barbarians of old acted against their enemies, when they brought the captive wives and children in front of the battle, and bade the foe strike through them. He knew how Caroline loved his bo}' . It was through that love he would work upon her. As he washes his pretty hands for dinner, and bathes his noble brow, he arranges his little plan. He orders himself to be sent for soon after the second bottle of claret — and it appears the doctor's servants were accustomed to the deliver}' of these messages from the master to himself. The plan arranged, now let us take our dinner and our wine, and make ourselves com- fortable until the moment of action. In his wild-oats daj'S, when travelling abroad with wild and noble companions, Firmin had fought a duel or two, and was always remarkable for his ga3-ety of conversation and the fine appetite which he showed at breakfast before going on to the field. So, perhaps. Hunt, had he not been stupefied by previous drink, might have taken the alarm bj^ remarking Firmin's extra courtesy and gayety, as they dined together. It was nunc vinum^ eras cequor. When the second Iwttle of claret was engaged. Dr. Firmin starts. He has an advance of half an hour at least on his ad- ;jcrsar3% or on the man who may be his adversary. If the Little Sister is at home, he will see her — he will lay bare his oandid heart to her, and make a clean breast of it. The Little Sister was at home. " I want to speak to you very particularly about that case of poor Lady Humandhaw," says he, dropping his voice. Nurse and Doctok ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 211 " I will step out, my dear, and take a little fresh air," sa3'8 Captain Gann; meaning that he will be off to the "Admiral Bjng ; " and the two are together. " I have had something on my conscience. I have deceived you, Caroline," says the doctor, with the beautiful shining fore- head and hat. "Ah, Mr. Firmin," says she, bending over her work; " 3'ou've used me to that." "A man whom you knew once, and who tempted me for his own selfish ends to do a very wrong thing by j'ou — a man whom I thought dead is alive : — Tufton Hunt, who performed that — that illegal ceremonj' at Margate, of which so often and often on my knees 1 have repented, Caroline ! " The beautiful hands are clasped, the beautiful deep voice thrills lowly through the room ; and if a tear or two can be squeezed out of the beautiful eyes, I dare say the doctor will not be sorry. " He has been here to-da}'. Him and Mr. Philip was here and quarrelled. Philip has told 3'ou, I suppose, sir?" " Before heaven, ' on the word of a gentleman,' when I said he was dead, Caroline, I thought he was dead ! Yes, I declare, at our college, Maxwell — Dr. Maxwell — who had been at Cambridge with us, told me that our old friend Hunt had died in Canada." (This, my beloved friends and readers, may not have been the precise long bow which George Firmin, Esq., M.D., pulled; but that he twanged a famous lie out, when- ever there was occasion for the weapon, I assure 3'ou is an un- doubted fact.) " Y^es, Dr. Maxwell told me our old friend was dead — our old friend? M3' worst enem}^ and yours ! But let that pass. It was he, Caroline, who led me into crimes which I have never ceased to deplore." "Ah, Mr. Firmin," sighs the Little Sister, "since I've known you, ^-ou was big enough to take care of 3'ourself in that way." " I have not come to excuse myself, Caroline," sa^'s the deep sweet voice. " I have done j^ou enough wrong, and I feel it here — at this heart. I have not come to speak about myself, but of some one I love the best of all the world — the only being I do love — some one you love, 3'Ou good and generous soul — about Philip." ' ' What is it about Philip ? " asks Mrs. Brandon, very quickly. " Do you want harm to happen to him?" " Oh, my darling boy, no ! " cries the Little Sister, clasping her little hands. 212 THE ADVENTURES OF PHIIJP " Would 3'ou keep him from harm?" "Ah, sir, you know I would. When he had the scarlet fever, didn't I pour the drink down his poor throat, and nurse him, and tend him, as if, as if— as a mother would her own child?" "You did, you did, you noble, noble woman; and heaven bless you for it ! A father does. I am not all heartless, Caro- line, as you deem me, perhaps." " I don't think it's much merit your loving him" says Caro- line, resuming her sewing. And, perhaps, she thinks within herself, " What is he a-coraing to? " You see she was a shrewd little person, when her passions and partialities did not over- come her reason ; and she had come to the conclusion that this elegant Dr. Firmin, whom she had admired so once was a — not altogether veracious gentleman. In fact, I heard her my- self say afterwards, " La ! he used to talk so fine, and slap his hand on his heart, you know ; but I usedn't to believe him, no more than a man in a play." " It's not much merit 3'our loving that boy," says Caroline, then. " But what about him, sir ? " Then Firmin explained. This man Hunt was capable of any crime for money or revenge. Seeing Caroline was alive . . . " I s'pose you told him I was dead too, sir," said she, look- ing up from the work. " Spare me, spare me! Years ago, perhaps, when I had lost sight of you, I may, perhaps, have thought ..." " And it's not to you, George Brandon — it's not to you," cries Caroline, starting up, and speaking with her sweet, inno- cent, ringing voice ; "it's to kind, dear friends, — it's to my good God that I owe my life, which you had flung it away. And I paid you back by guarding your boy's dear life, I did, under — under Him who giveth and taketh. And bless His name ! " " You are a good woman, and I am a bad, sinful man, Caro- line," says the other. " You saved my Philip's — our Phihp's life, at the risk of your own. Now I tell you that another immense danger menaces him, and may come upon him any da,y as long as yonder scoundrel is alive. Suppose his character is assailed; suppose, thinking 3'ou dead, I married another ? ". " Ah, George, you never thought me dead ; though, perhaps, you wished it, sir. And many would have died," added the poor Little Sister. "Look, Caroline! If I was married to you, my wife — Philip's mother — was not my wife, and he is her natural son. The property he inherits does not belong to him. The children of his grandfather's other daughter claim it, and Philip is a ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 213 beggar. Philip, bred as he has been — Philip, the heir to a mother's large fortune." " And — and his father's, too?" asks Caroline, anxiously. " I daren't tell you — though, no, by heavens ! I can trust you with everything. My own great gains have been swal- lowed up in speculations which have been almost all fatal. There has been a fate hanging over me, Caroline — a righteous punishment for having deserted you. I sleep with a sword over my head, which may fall and destro}' me. 1 walk with a volcano under my feet, which may burst au}^ day and annihi- late me. And people speak of the famous Dr. Firmin, the rich Dr. Firmin, the prosperous Dr. Firmin ! I shall have a title soon, I believe. I am believed to be happy, and I am alone, and the wretchedest man alive." "Alone, are you?" said Caroline. "There was a woman once would have kept by you, only you — jon flung her away. Look here, George Brandon. It's over with us. Years and years ago it lies where a little cherub was buried. But I love my Philip ; and I won't hurt him, no, never, never, never ! " And, as the doctor turned to go awa}-, Caroline followed him wistfully into the hall, and it was there that Philip found them. Caroline's tender "never, never," rang in Philip's memory as he sat at Ridley's party, amidst the artists and authors there assembled. Phil was thoughtful and silent. He did not laugh very loud. He did not praise or abuse an3-body outrageouslj', as was the wont of that most emphatic young gentleman. He scarcely contradicted a single person ; and perhaps, when Larkins said Scumble's last picture was beautiful, or Bunch, the critic of the Connoisseur, praised Bowman's last novel, contented himself with a scornful "Ho!" and a pull at his whiskers, by way of protest and denial. Had he been in his usual fine spirits, and enjoying his ordinary flow of talk, he would have informed Larkins and the assembled company not only that Scumble was an impostor, but that he, Larkins, was an idiot for admiring him. He would have informed Bunch that he was infatuated about that jackass Bowman, that cock- ney, that wretched ignoramus, who didn't know his own or any other language. He would have taken down one of Bowman's stories from the shelf, and proved the foil}', imbecilit}', and crass ignorance of that author. (Ridley has a simple little stock of novels and poems in an old cabinet in his studio, and reads them still with much artless wonder and respect). Or, to be sure, Phil would have asserted propositions the exact 214 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP contrary of those here maintained, and declared that Bowman was a genius, and Scumble a most accomplished artist. But then, you know, somebody else must have commenced by taking the other side. Certainly a more paradoxical, and pro- voking, and obstinate, and contradictor}^ disputant than Mr. Phil I never knew. I never met Dr. Johnson, who died before I came up to town ; but I do believe Phil Firmin would have stood up and argued even with him. At these Thursday divans the host provided the modest and kindly refreshment, and Betsy the maid, or Virgilio the model, travelled to and fro with glasses and water. Each guest brought his own smoke, and I promise you there were such liberal con- tributions of the article that the studio was full of it ; and new- comers used to be saluted by a roar of laughter as j'ou heard, rather than saw, them entering and choking in the fog. It was, "Holloa, Prodgers ! is that you, old boy?" and the beard of Prodgers (that famous sculptor) would presently loom through the cloud. It was, " Newcome, how goes?" and Mr. CUve Newcome (a mediocre artist, I must own, but a famous good fellow, with an uncommonly pretty villa and prett}^ and rich wife at Wimbledon) would make his appearance, and be warmly greeted by our httle host. It was, "Is that 3'ou, F. B.? would you like a link, old boy, to see you through the fog?" And the deep voice of Frederick Bayham, Esquire (the eminent -critic on Art), would boom out of the tobacco-mist, and would exclaim, " AUnk? I would like a drink." Ah, ghosts of youth, again ye draw near ! Old figures glimmer through the cloud. Old songs echo out of the distance. What were 3'ou saying anon about Dr. Johnson, boys? I am sure some of us mast remember him. As for me, I am so old, that I might have been at Edial 'school — the other pupil along with little Davy Garrick and his brother. We had a bachelor's supper in the Temple so lately that I think we must pay but a very brief visit to a smoking party in Thornhaugh Street, or the ladies will say that we are too fond of bachelor habits, and keep our friends away from their charming and amiable society. A novel must not smell of cigars much, nor should its refined and genteel page be stained with too frequent brandy-and-water. Please to imagine, then, the prattle of the artists, authors, and amateurs assembled at Ridley's divan. Fancy Jarman, the miniature painter, drink- ing more liquor than any man present, asking his neighbor {suh voce) why Ridley does not give his father (the old butler) five shillings to wait ; suggesting that perhaps the old man is ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 215 gone out, and is getting seven-and-sixpence elsewhere ; praising Ridley's picture aloud, and sneering at it in an undertone ; and when a man of rank happens to enter the room, shambling up to him and fawning on him, and cringing to him with fulsome praise and flattery. When the gentleman's back is turned, Jarman can spit epigrams at it. I hope he will never forgive Ridle}', and alwajs continue to hate him : for hate him Jarmau will, as long as he is prosperous, and curse him as long as the workl esteems him. Look at Pj^m, the incumbent of Saint Bronze hard by, coming in to join the literary and artistic assembl3', and choking in his white neck-cloth to the diversion of all the company who can see him ! Sixteen, eighteen, twenty men are assembled. Open the windows, or sure they will all be stifled with the smoke ! Why, it fills the whole house so, that the Little Sister has to open her parlor window on the ground-floor, and gasp for fresh air. Phil's head and cigar are thrust out from a window above, and he lolls there, musing about his own atfairs, as his smoke ascends to the skies. Young Mr. Philip Firmin is known to be wealthy, and his father gives very good parties in Old Parr Street, so Jarman sidles up to Phil and wants a little fresh air too. He enters into conversation by abusing Ridley's picture that is on the easel. "Everybody is praising it; what do you think of it, Mr. Firmin? Very queer drawing about those ej^es, isn't there?" " Is there ? " gi'owls Phil. " Very loud color." "Oh!" says Phil. " The composition is so clearly prigged from Raphael." "Indeed!" "I beg your pardon. I don't think you know who I am," continues the other, with a simper. " Yes, I do," says Phil,.glaring at him. " You're a painter and your name is Mr. Env}'." " Sir ! "shrieks the painter ; but he is addressing himself to the tails of Phil's coat, the superior half of Mr. Firmin's bod}' is stretching out of the window. Now, 3'ou may speak of a man behind his back, but not to him. So Mr. Jarman with- draws, and addresses himself, face to face, to somebody else in the company. I dare say he abuses that upstart, impudent, bumptious young doctor's son. Have I not owned that Philip was often very rude? and to-night he is in a specially bad humor. 216 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP As he continues to stare into the street, who is that who has just reeled up to the railings below, and is talking in at Mrs. Brandon's window? Whose blackguard voice and laugh are those which Phil recognizes with a shudder? It is the voice and laugh of our friend Mr. Hunt, whom Philip left not very long since, near his father's house in Old Parr Street ; and both of those familiar sounds are more vinous, more odious, more impudent than they were even two hours ago. "Holloa! I say !" he calls out with a laugh and a curse. "Pst! Mrs. What-d'3'ou-call-'em ! Hang it! don't shut the window. Let a fellow in ! " and as he looks towards the upper window, where Philip's head and bust appear dark before the light. Hunt cries out, "Holloa! what game's up now, I won- der? Supper and ball. Shouldn't be surprised." And he hiccups a waltz tune, and clatters time to it with his dirty boots. " Mrs. What-d'you-call ! Mrs. B ! " the sot then recom- mences to shriek out. " Must see 3'ou — most particular busi- ness. Private and confidential. Hear of something to your advantage." And rap, rap, rap, he is now thundering at the door. In the clatter of twenty voices few hear Hunt's noise except Philip ; or, if they do, only imagine that another of Ridley's guests is arriving. At the hall-door there is talk and altercation, and the high shriek of a well-known odious voice. Philip moves quickly from his window, shoulders friend Jarman at the studio door, and hustling past him obtains, no doubt, more good wishes from that ingenious artist. Philip is so rude and overbearing that I really have a mind to depose him from bis place of hero — only, you see, we are committed. His name is on the page overhead, and we can't take it down and put up another. The Little Sister is standing in her hall by the just opened door, and remonstrating with Mr. Hunt, who appears to wish to force his way in. ' ' Pooh ! shtuff, mj' dear ! If he's here I musht see him — particular business — get out of that ! " and he reels forward and against little Caroline's shoulder. " Get away, j'ou brute, 3-0U ! " cries the little lady. " Go home, Mr. Hunt ; 3'ou are worse than you were this morning." She is a resolute little woman, and puts out a firm little arm against this odious invader. She has seen patients in hospital raging in fever : she is not frightened hy a tipsy man. " La ! is it 3'ou, Mr. Philip ? Who ever will take this horrid man ? ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 217 He ain't fit to go up stairs among the gentlemen ; indeed he ain't." " You said Firmin was here — and it isn't the father. It's the cub! I want the doctor. Where's the doctor?" hiccups the chaplain, lurching against the wall ; and then he looks at Philip with bloodshot eyes, that twinkle hate. " Who wantsh 3^ou, I shUke to know? Had enough of you already- to-da}'. Conceited brute. Don't look at me in that sortawa}- ! I ain't afraid of 3'ou — ain't afraid anybod}'. Time was when I was a young man fight you as soon as look at 30U. I say, Philip ! " " Go home, now. Do go home, there's a good man," says the landlad}'. " I saj- ! Look here — hie — hi ! Philip ! On 3'our word as a gentleman, your father's not here? He's a sly old boots, Brummell Firmin is — Trinity man — I'm not a Trinit}' man — Corpus man. I say, Phihp, give us 3'our hand. Bear no mahce. Look here — something ver3'^ particular. After dinner — went into Air Street — 30U know — rouge gagne, et couleur — cleaned out. Cleaned out, on the honor of a gentleman and master of arts of the Universit3' of Cambridge. So was 30ur father — no, he went out in medicine. I sa3', Philip, hand us out five sovereigns, and let's tr3- the luck again ! What, 30U won't ! It's mean, I say. Don't be mean." " Oh, here's five shillings! Go and have a cab. Fetch a cab for him, Virgilio, do ! " cries the misti'ess of the house. "That's not enough, m3' dear!" cries the chaplain, advan- cing towards Mrs. Brandon, with such a leer and air, that Philip, half choked with passion, runs forward, grips Hunt 113- the coUar, and crying out, ' ' You filthy scoundrel ! as this is not m3' house, I may kick 3-ou out of it ! " — in another instant has run Hunt thi-ough the passage, hurled him down the steps, and sent him sprawling into the kennel. " Row down below," says Rosebur3'. placidly, looking from above. " Personal conflict. Intoxicated individual — in gutter. Our impetuous friend has floored him." Hunt, after a moment, sits up and glares at Philip. He is not hurt. Perhaps the shock has sobered him. He thinks, perhaps, Philip is going to strike again. "Hands off", Bas- TAKD ! " shiieks out the prostrate wretch. "O PhiUp, Philip! He's mad, he's tipsy !" cries out the Little Sister, running into the street. She puts her arms round Philip. "Don't mind him, dear — he's mad! Policeman! The gentleman has had too much. Come in, Philip ; come in ! " 218 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP She took him into her httle room. She was pleased with the gallantr}^ of the boy. She Uked to see him just now, stand- ing over her enem}', courageous, victorious, her champion. "La! how savage he did look; and how brave and strong you are ! But the little wretch ain't fit to stand before such as you ! " And she passed her little hand down his arm, of which the muscles we're all in a quiver from the recent skirmish. "What did the scoundrel mean by calling me bastard?" said Philip, the wild blue eyes glaring round about with more than ordinary fierceness. " Nonsense, dear ! Who minds anything he says, that beast? His language is always horrid ; he's not a gentleman. He had had too much this morning when he was here. What matters what he says? He won't know anything about it to-morrow. But it was kind of my Philip to rescue his poor little nurse, wasn't it? Like a novel. Come in, and let me make yoii some tea. Don't go to no more smoking : you have had enough. Come in and talk to me." And, as a mother, with sweet pious face, yearns to her little children from her seat, she fondles him, she watches him ; she fills her teapot from her singing kettle. She talks — talks in her homely wa}', and on this subject and that. It is a wonder how she prattles on, who is generallj^ rather silent. She won't see Phil's eyes, which are following her about very strangely and fiercely. And when again he mutters, ""What did he mean by ... " "La, mj' dear, how cross 30U are!" she breaks out. "It's always so; you won't be happy without your cigar. Here's a cheroot, a beauty ! Pa brought it home from the club. A China captain gave him some. You must light it at the little end. There ! " And if I could draw the picture which my mind sees of her lighting Phil's cheroot for him, and smiling the while, the little innocent Delilah coaxing and wheedling this young Samson, I know it would be a pretty picture. I wish Ridley would sketch it for me. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 219 CHAPTER Xn. DAMOCLES. On the next morning, at an hour so early that Old Parr Street was scarce awake, and even the maids who wash the broad steps of the houses of the tailors and medical gentlemen who inhabit that region had not yet gone down on their knees before their respective doors, a ring was heard at Dr. Firmin's night-bell, and when the door was opened by the yawning at- tendant, a little person in a gray gown and a black bonnet made her appearance, handed a note to the servant, and said the case was most urgent and the doctor must come at once. Was not Lady Humandhaw the noble person whom we' last mentioned, as the invalid about whom the doctor and the nurse had spoken a few words on the previous evening? The Little Sister, for it was she, used the very same name to the servant, who retired grumbling to waken up his master and deliver the note. Nurse Brandon sat awhile in the great gaunt dining-room where hung the portrait of the doctor in his splendid black collar and cuffs, and contemplated this masterpiece until an invasion of housemaids drove her from the apartment, when she took refuge in that other little room to which Mrs. Firmin's portrait had been consigned. "That's like him ever so many years and years ago," she thinks. " It is a little handsomer; but it has his wicked look that I used to think so killing, and so did my sisters, both of them — thej^ were ready to tear out each other's eyes for jeal- ousy. And that's Mrs. Firmin ! Well, I suppose the painter haven't flattered her. If he have she could have been no great things, Mrs. F. couldn't." And the doctor, entering softly by the opened door and over the thick Turkey carpet, comes up to her noiselessly, and finds the Little Sister gazing at the por- trait of the departed lad}'. " Oh, it's you, is it? I wonder whether 3'ou treated her no better than you treated me. Dr. F. I've a notion she's not the only one. She don't look happ}-, poor thing," says the little lady. " What is it, Caroline? " asks the deep-voiced doctor ; " and what brings you so early ? " 220 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP The Little Sister then explains to him. "Last night after he went away Hunt came, sure enough. He had been drink- ing. He was very rude, and Philip wouldn't bear it. Philip had a good coui'age of his own and a hot blood. And Philip thought Hunt was insulting her, the Little Sister. So he up with his hand and down goes Mr. Hunt on the pavement. Well, when he was down he was in a dreadful way, and he called Philip a dreadful name." "A name? what name?" Then Caroline told the doctor the name Mr. Hunt had used ; and if Firmin's face usually looked wicked, I dare say it did not seem ver^' angelical when he heard how this odious name had been applied to his son. "Can he do Philip a mischief?" Caroline continued. "I thought I was bound to tell his father. Look here, Doctor F., I don't want to do my dear boy a harm. But suppose what 3'ou told me last night isn't true — as I don't think you much mind ! — mind — saying things as are incorrect, you know, when us women are in the case. But suppose when you played the villain, thinking only to take in a poor innocent girl of sixteen, it was you who were took in, and that I was your real wife after all ? There would be a punishment ! " "I should have an honest and good wife, Caroline," said the doctor, with a groan. " This would be a punishment, not for you, but for ni}' poor Phihp," the woman goes on. "What has he done, that his honest name should be took from him — and his fortune per- haps ? I have been lying broad awake all night thinking of him. Ah, George Brandon ! Why, why did you come to my poor old father's house, and bring this misery down on me, and on your child unborn ? " " On myself, the worst of all," says the doctor. " You deserve it. But it's us innocent that has had, or will have, to suffer most. O George Brandon ! Think of a poor child, flung away, and left to starve and die, without even so much as knowing your real name ! Think of your boy, perhaps brought to shame and poverty through your fault ! " ' ' Do you suppose I don't often think of my Avrong ? " says the doctor. " That it does not cause me sleepless nights, and hours of anguish ? Ah ! Caroline ! " and he looks in the glass ; " I am not shaved, and it's very unbecoming," he thinks ; that is, if I may dare to read his thoughts, as I do to report his un- heard words. " You think of 3'our wrong now it may be found out, I dare say ! " saj'S Caroline. " Suppose this Hunt turns against you? ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 221 He is desperate ; mad for drink and money ; has been in gaol — as lie said this very night to me and my papa. He'll do or say anything. If you treat him hard, and Philip have treated him hard — not harder than served him right though — he'Jl pull the house down and himself under it ; but he'll be re- venged. Perhaps he drank so much last night that he may have forgot. But I fear he means mischief, and I came here to sa}' so, and hoping that you might be kep' on your guard, Doctor F., and if 3'OU have to quarrel with him, I don't know what you ever will do, I am sure — no more than if you had to fight a chimney-sweep in the street. I have been awake all night thinking, and as soon as ever I saw the daylight, I de- termined I would run and tell you." " When he called Philip that name, did the boy seem much disturbed ? " asked the doctor. ' ' Yes , he referred to it again and again — though I tried to coax him out of it. But it was on his mind last night, and I am sure he will think of it the first thing this morning. Ah, yes, doctor ! conscience will sometimes let a gentleman doze ; but after discovery has come, and opened your curtains, and said, ' You desired to be called earl^^ ! ' there's little use in try- ing to sleep much. You look very much frightened, Doctor F. ," the nurse continues. "You haven't such a courage as Philip has ; or as you had when 3'ou were a young man, and came a leading poor girls astray. You used to be afraid of nothing then. Do 3'ou remember that fellow on board the steamboat in Scotland in our wedding-trip, and, la ! I thought you was going to kill him. That poor little Lord Cinqbars told me ever so many stories then about yoiw courage and shooting people. It wasn't very courageous, leaving a poor girl without even a name, and scarce a guinea, was it? But I ain't come to call up old stories — only to warn 3-ou. Even iij old times, when he married us, and I thought he was doing a kindness, I never could abide this horrible man. In Scotland, when vou was awaj' shooting with ^'our poor little lord, the things Hunt used to say and look was dreadful. I wonder how ever 3'ou, who were gentlemen, could put up with such a fellow ! Ah, that was a sad honeymoon of ours ! I wonder why I'm a-thinking of it now ? I suppose it's from having seen the picture of the other one — poor lady ! " " I have told you, Caroline, that I was so wild and desperate at that unhapp}' time, I was scarcely' accountal)le for my ac- tions. If I left you, it was because I had no other resource but flight. I was a ruined, penniless man, but for my marriage 222 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP with Ellen Ringwood. You don't suppose the marriage was happy ? Happy ! when have I ever been happ}- ? M}"^ lot is to be wretched, and bring wretchedness down on those I love ! Qp you, on my father, on my wife, on m}- boj' — I am a doomed man. Ah, that the innocent should sutler for me ! " And our friend looks askance in the glass, at the blue chin, and hollow eyes which make his guilt look the more haggard. ^ "I never had my lines," the Little Sister continued, "I" never knew there were papers, or writings, or anything but a ring and a clergy-man, when 3'ou married me. But I've heard tell that people in Scotland don't want a clergj^man at all ; and if they call themselves man and wife, they are man and wife. Now, sir, Mr. and Mrs. Brandon certainly did travel together in Scotland — witness that man whom 3-ou were going to throw into the lake for being rude to 3'our wife — and ... . La ! Don't fly out so ! It wasn't me, a i)oor girl of sixteen, who did wrong. It was you, a man of the world, who was years and years older." When Brandon carried off his poor little victim and wife, there had been a journey to Scotland, where Lord Ciuqbars, then alive, had sporting quarters. His lordship's chaplain, Mr. Hunt, had been of the partj-, which fate very soon afterwards separated. Death seized on Cinqbars at Naples. Debt caused Firmin — Brandon, as he called himself then — to fly the coun- try. The chaplain wandered from gaol to gaol. And as for poor little Caroline Brandon, I suppose the husband who had married her under a false name thought that to escape her, leave her, and disown her altogether was an easier and less dangerous plan than to continue relations with her. So one da}', four months after their marriage, the young couple being then at Dover, Caroline's husband happened to go out for a walk. But he sent away a portmanteau by the back-door Avhen he went out for the walk, and as Caroline was waiting for her little dinner some hours after, the porter who carried the luggage came with a little note from her dearest G. B. : and it was full of little fond expressions of regard and affection, such as gentlemen put into little notes ; but dearest G. B. said the baiUffs were upon him, and one of them had arrived that morn- ing, and he must fly : and he took half the money he had, and left half for his little Carry. And he would be back soon, and arrange matters ; or tell her where to write and follow him. And she was to take care of her little health, and to write a great deal to her Gcorgy. And she did not know how to write very Tfell then ; but she did her best, and improved a great ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 223 deal ; for, indeed, she wrote a great deal, poor thing. Sheets and sheets of paper she blotted with ink and tears. And then the money was spent ; and the next monej' ; and no more came, and no more letters. And she was alone at sea, sinking, sink- ing, when it pleased heaven to send that friend who rescued her. It is such a sad, sad little story, that in fact I don't like dwelling on it ; not caring to look upon poor innocent, trusting creatures in pain. . Well, then, when Caroline exclaimed, "La! don't fly. out so, Dr. Firmin ! " I suppose the doctor had been crying out, and swearing fiercely, at the recollections of his friend Mr. Brandon, and at the danger which possibly hung over that gentleman. Marriage ceremonies are dangerous risks in jest or in earnest. You can't pretend to marry even a poor old bankrupt lodging-house-keeper's daughter without some risk of being brought subsequently to book. If you have a vulgar wife alive, and afterwards choose to leave her and many an earl's niece, j'ou will come to trouble, however well connected you are and highly placed in societ}'. If you have had thirty thousand pounds with wife No. 2, and have to pay it back on a sudden, the payment ma}' be inconvenient. Y^ou ma}^ be tried for bigam}', and sentenced, goodness knows to what pun- ishment. At any rate, if the matter is made public, and you are a most respectable man, moving in the highest scientific and social circles, those circles ma}- be disposed to request j'ou to walk out of their circumference. A novelist, I know, ought to have no likes, dislikes, pity, partiality for his characters ; but I declare I cannot help feeling a respectful compassion for a gentleman who, in consequence of a youthful, and, I am sure, sineerel}- regretted foil}-, ma}' be liable to lose his fortune, his place in society, and his considerable practice. Piuiishment hasn't a right to come with such a pede claudo. There ought to be limitations ; and it is shabby and revengeful of Justice to present her little bill when it has been more than twenty }cars owing:. . . . Havins: had his talk out with the Little Sis- ter, having a long-past crime suddenly taken down from the shelf; having a remorse long since supposed to be dead and buried, suddenly starting up in the most blustering, boisterous, inconvenient manner ; having a rage and terror tearing him within ; I can fancy this most respectable physician going about his day's work, and most sincerely sympathize with him. Who is to hoal the physician? Is he not more sick at heart than most of his patients that day ? He has to listen to Lady Megrim cackling for half an hour at least, and describing her 224 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP little ailments. He has to listen, and never once to dare to say, "Confound you, old chatterbox! What are jou prating about your ailments to me, who am suffering real torture whilst I am smirking in your face?" He has to wear the inspiriting smile, to breathe the gentle joke, to console, to whisper hope, to administer remedy ; and all day, perhaps, he sees no one so utterly sick, so sad, so despairing, as himself. The first person on whom he had to practise hypocrisy that day was his own son, who chose to come to breakfast — a meal of which son and father seldom now partook in company-. "What does he know, and what does he suspect?" are the father's thoughts ; but a louring gloom is on Philip's face, and the father's eyes look into the son's, but cannot penetrate their darkness. " Did 3-ou stay late last night, Philip? " says papa. "Yes, sir, rather late," answers the son. " Pleasant part}'?" " No, sir, stupid. Your friend Mr. Hunt wanted to come in. He was drunk, and rude to Mrs. Brandon, and I was obliged to put him out of the door. He was dreadfully violent and abusive." " Swore a good deal, I suppose?" " J^iercely, sir, and called names." I dare sa}' Philip's heart beat so when he said these last words, that they were inaudible : at all events, Philip's father did not appear to pay much attention to the words, for he was bus}^ reading the Morning Post, and behind that sheet of fash- ionable news hid whatever expression of agony there might be on his face. Philip afterwards told his present biographer of this breakfast meeting and dreary tete-a-tete. " I burned to ask what was the meaning of that scoundrel's words of the past night," PhiUp said to his biographer; "but I did not dare, somehow. You see, Pendenuis, it is not pleasant to say point- blank to 30ur father, ' Sir, are 3'ou a confirmed scoundrel, or are 3'ou not? Is it possible that 3'ou have made a double marriage, as yonder other rascal hinted ; and that my own legitimacy and my mother's fair fame, as well as poor, harmless Caroline's honor and happiness, have been destroyed by your crime?' But I had lain awake all night thinking about that scoundrel Hunt's words, and whether there was an}' meaning beyond drunken malice in what he said." So we find that three people had passed a bad night in consequence of Mr. Firmin's evil behavior of five-and-twenty 3'ears back, which surely was a most unreasonable punishment for a sin of such old date. I ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 225 wish, dearly beloved brother sinners, we could take all the pun- ishment for our individual crimes on our individual shoulders : but we drag them all down with us — that is the fact ; and when Macheath is condemned to hang, it is Polly and Lucy who have to weep and suffer and wear piteous mourning in their hearts long after the dare-devil rogue has jumped off the Tyburn ladder. " Well, sir, he did not say a word," said Philip, recounting the meeting to his friend ; " not a word, at least, regarding the matter both of us had on our hearts. But about fashion, par- ties, politics, he discoursed much more freely than was usual with him. He said I might have had Lord Eingwood's seat for Whipham but for m^' unfortunate politics. What made a Radical of me, he asked, who was naturally one of the most haughty of men? (and that, I think, perhaps I am," says Phil, " and a good many liberal fellows are.") " I should calm down, he was sure — I should calm down, and be of the politics des homm.es du monde." Philip could not say to his father, "Sir, it is seeing 3^ou cringe before great ones that has set mj' own back up." There were countless points about which father and son could not speak ; and an invisible, unexpressed, perfectly unintelligible mistrust, always was present when those two were tete-a-tete. Their meal was scarce ended when entered to them Mr. Hunt, with his hat on. I was not present at the time, and cannot speak as a certainty ; but 1 should think at his ominous appearance Philip may have turned red and his father pale. " Now is the time," both, I dare say, thought; and the doctor remembered his storm}' young da^'s of foreign gambling, in- trigue, and duel, when he was put on his ground before his adversar}', and bidden, at a given signal, to fire. One, two, three ! Each man's hand was armed with malice and murder. Philip had plenty of pluck for his part, but I should think on such an occasion might be a little nervous and fluttered, whereas his father's ej'e was keen, and his aim rapid and steady. " You and Philip had a difference last night, Philip tells me," said the doctor. " Yes, and I promised he should pay me," said the clergy- man. " And I said I should desire no better," says Mr. Phil. "He struck his senior, his father's friend — a sick man, a clergyman," gasped Hunt. " Were you to repeat what you did last night, I should re- peat what I did," said Phil. " You insulted a good woman." 15 226 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " It's a lie, sir," cries the other. " You insulted a good woman, a lad}' in her own house, and I turned you out of it," said Phil. " I sa}' again, it is a lie, sir ! " screams Hunt, with a stamp on the table. " That you should give me the lie, or otherwise, is perfectl}^ immaterial to me. But "whenever you insult Mrs. Brandon, or anj' harmless Avoman in my presence, I shall do my best to chastise 3'ou," cries Philip of the red moustaches, curling them with much dignity. " You hear him, Firmin?" sa^'s the parson. " Faith, I do. Hunt ! " says the ph3'sician ; " and I think he means what he says, too." " Oh ! you take that line, do you? " cries Hunt of the dirty hands, the dirty teeth, the dirt}' neck-cloth. ' ' I take what 3'ou call that line ; and whenever a rudeness is offered to that admirable woman in my son's hearing, I shall be astonished if he does not resent it," says the doctor. ' ' Thank you, Philip ! " The father's resolute speech and behavior gave Philip great momentary comfort. Hunt's words of the night before had been occup^-ing the 3'oung man's thoughts. Had Firmin been criminal, he could not be so bold. "You talk this wa}' in presence of 3'our son? You have been talking over the matter together before ? " asks Hunt. " We have been talking over the matter before — yes. We were engaged on it when you came in to breakfast," says the doctor. " Shall we go on with the conversation where we left it off? " " Well, do — that is, if you dare," said the clergyman, some- what astonished. "Philip, my dear, it is ill for a man to hide his head before his own son ; but if I am to speak — and speak I must one da}' or the other — why not now ? " "Why at all, Firmin?" asks the clergj-man, astonished at the other's rather sudden resolve. " Why? Because I am sick and tired of you, Mr. Tufton Plunt," cries the physician, in his most lofty manner, " of 3'ou and your presence in my house ; your blackguard behavior and your rascal extortions — because you will force me to speak one day or the other — and now, Philip, if you like, shall be the day," " Hang it, I say ! Stop a bit ! " cries the clergj^man. " I understand you want some more mone}' from me." ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 227 "I did promise Jacobs I would pa}^ him to-day, and that was what made me so sulky last night ; and, perhaps, I took a little too much. You see my mind was out of order ; and what's the use of telling a story that is no good to any one, Firmin — least of all to 3'ou," cries the parson, darkly. " Because, 3'ou ruffian, I'll bear with you no more," cries the doctor, the veins of his forehead swelhng as he looks fiercely at his dirty adversar3^ "In the last nine months, Philip, this man has had nine hundred pounds from me." " The luck has been so very bad, so bad, upon my honor, now," grumbles the parson. " To-morrow he will want more; and the next day more; and the next day more ; and, in fine, I won't live with this ac- cursed man of the sea round my neck. You shall have the story ; and Mr. Hunt shall sit b}' and witness against his own crime and mine. I had been very wild at Cambridge, when I was a young man. I had quarrelled with m3' father, lived with a dissipated set, and beyond my means ; and had had my debts paid so often by your grandfather, that I was afraid to ask for more. He was stern to me ; I was not dutiful to him. I own my fault. Mr. Hunt can bear witness to what I say. " I was in hiding at Margate, under a false name. You know the name." "Yes, sir, I think I know the name," Philip said, thinking he liked his father better now than he had ever liked him in his life, and sighing, "Ah, if he had always been frank and true with me ! " " I took humble lodgings with an obscure familj' ." [If Dr. Firmin had a prodigious idea of his own grandeur and impor- tance, you see I cannot help it — and he was long held to be such a respectable man.] " And there I found a young girl — one of the most innocent beings that ever a man plaj'ed with and betrayed. Betrayed, I own it, heaven forgive me ! The crime has been the shame of my life, and darkened my whole career with misery. I got a man worse than myself, if that could be. I got Hunt for a few pounds, which he owed me, to make a sham marriage between me and poor Caroline. Mj^ money was soon gone. My creditors were after me. I fled the country, and I left her." "A sham marriage! a sham marriage!" cries the clergy- man. " Didn't you make me perform it b}- holding a pistol to my throat? A fellow won't risk transportation for nothing. But I owed him money for cards, and he had my bill, and he said he would let me off, and that's why I helped him. Never 228 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP mind. I am out of the business now, Mr. Brummell Firmin, and you are in it. I liave read tlie Act, sir. Tlie clergyman who performs the marriage is liable to punishment, if informed against within three years, and it's twenty j-ears or more. But 3'ou, Mr. Brummell Firmin, — your case is difierent ; and you, mj' young gentleman, with the tier}' whiskers, who strike down old men of a night, — you may find some of us know how to revenge ourselves, though we are down." And with this, Hunt rushed to his greas}' hat, and quitted the house, discharging im- precations at his hosts as he passed through the hall. Son and father sat awhile silent, after the departure of their common enemy. At last the father spoke. " This is the sword that has always been hanging over my head, and it is now falling, Philip." "What can the man do? Is the first marriage a good marriage?" asked Philip, with alarmed face. "It is no marriage. It is void to all intents and purposes. You may suppose I have taken care to learn the law about that. Your legitimacy is safe, sure enough. But that man can ruin me, or nearly so. He will try to-morrow, if not to-day. As long as you or I can give him a guinea, he will take it to the gambling-house. I had the mania on me myself once. My poov father quarrelled with me in consequence, and died with- out seeing me. I married your mother — heaven help her, poor soul ! and forgive me for being but a harsh husband to her — with a view of mending my shattered fortunes. I wished she had been more happ}^, poor thing. But do not blame me utterh-, Philip. I was desperate, and she wished for the marriage so much ! I had good looks and high spirits in those days. People said so." [And here he glances obliquely at his own handsome portrait.] " Now I am a wreck, a wreck ! " " I conceive, sir, that this will annoj' you ; but how can it ruin you?" asked Philip. " What becomes of my practice as a family ph3-sician? The practice is not now what it was, between ourselves, Philip, and the expenses greater than you imagine. I have made unlucky speculations. If you count of much increase of wealth from me, m}' bo3', 3'OU will be disapi)ointed ; though you were never mercenar}', no, never. But the story bruited about by this rascal, of a physician of eminence engaged in two marriages, do you suppose my rivals won't hear it, and take advantage of it — my patients hear it, and avoid me?" ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 229 "Make terms with the man at once, then, sir, and silence him." " To make terms with a gambler is impossible. M}^ purse is alwajs there open for him to thrust his hand into when he loses. No man can withstand such a temptation. I am glad you have never fallen into it. I have quarrelled with you some- times for living with people below your rank : perhaps you were right, and I was wrong. I have liked, alwa^'s did, I don't disguise it, to live with persons of station. And these, when I was at the University, taught me pla}' and extravagance ; and in the world haven't helped me much. Who would? Who would?" and the doctor relapsed into meditation. A little catastrophe presently occurred, after which Mr. Philip Firmin told me the substance of this story. He de- scribed his father's long acquiescence in Hunt's demands, and sudden resistance to them, and was at a loss to account for the change. I did not tell my friend in express terms, but I fancied I could account for the change of behavior. Dr. Firmin, in his interviews with Caroline, had had his mind set at rest about one part of his danger. The doctor need no longer fear the charge of a double marriage. The Little Sister resigned her claims past, present, future. If a gentleman is sentenced to be hung, I wonder is it a matter of comfort to him or not to know beforehand the clay of the operation? Hunt would take his revenge. When and how? Dr. Firmin asked himself. Na}^ possibh", 30U will have to learn that this eminent practitioner walked about with more than danger hanging imminent over him. Perhaps it was a rope : perhaps it was a sword : some weapon of execution, at any rate, as we frequentlj' may see. A day passes : no assassin darts at the doctor as he threads the dim opera-colonnade passage on his way to his club. A week goes by : no stiletto is plunged into his well-wadded breast as he steps from his carriage at some noble patient's door. Philip says he never knew his father more pleasant, eas}^, good-humored, and affable than during this period, when he must have felt that a danger was hanging over him of which his son at this time had no idea. I dined in Old Parr Street once in this memorable period (memorable it seemed to me from immediately subsequent events). Never was the dinner better served : the wine more excellent : the guests and conversation more gravely respectable than at this entertainment ; and mj- neighbor remarked with pleasure how the ftither and son seemed to be on much better terms than ordinary. The doctor addressed Philip pointedly 230 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP once or twice ; alluded to his foreign travels, spoke of his mother's family — it was most gratifying to see the pair to- gether. Day after day passes so. The enemy has disappeared. At least, the lining of his dirty hat is no longer visible on the broad marble table of Dr. Firmiu's hall. But one day — it may be ten days after the quarrel — a little messenger comes to Philip and saj-s, " Philip dear, I am sure there is something wrong ;. that horrible Hunt has been here with a very quiet, soft-spoken old gentleman, and the}' have been going on with my poor pa about my wrongs and his — his, indeed ! — and they have worked him up to believe that somebody has cheated his daughter out of a great fortune ; and who can that somebody be but 3'our father? And whenever they see me coming, papa and that horrid Hunt go off to the ' Admiral B^'ng : ' and one night when papa came home he said, 'Bless you, bless you, my poor, innocent, injured child; and blessed 3'ou will be,' mark a fond father's words ! ' They are scheming something against Philip and Philip's father. Mr. Bond the soft-spoken old gentleman's name is : and twice there has been a Mr. Walls to inquire if Mr. Hunt was at our house." " Mr. Bond? — Mr. Walls? — A gentleman of the name of Bond was uncle Twj'sden's attorney. An old gentleman, with a bald head, and one eye bigger than the other?" "Well, this old man has one smaller than the other, I do think," sa3's Caroline. "First man who came was Mr. Walls — a rattling 3"0ung fashionable chap, alwa^'s laughing, talking about theatres, operas, everything — came home from the ' Byng ' along with pa and. his new friend — oh ! I do hate him, that man, that Hunt ! — then he brought the old man, this Mr. Bond. What are they scheming against you, Philip? I tell you this matter is all about you and your father." Years and years ago, in the poor mother's lifetime, Philip remembered an outbreak of wrath on his father's part, who called uncle Twj'sden a swindling miser, and this very Mr. Bond a scoundrel who deserved to be hung, for interfering in some way in the management of a part of the property' which Mrs. Twysden and her sister inherited from their own mother. That quarrel had been made up, as such quarrels are. The brothers-in-law had continued to mistrust each other ; but there was no reason why the feud should descend to the children ; and Philip and his aunt, and one of her daughters at least, were on good terms together. Philip's uncle's lawyers engaged with his father's debtor and enemy against Dr. Firmin : the alliance boded no good. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 231 "I won't tell you what I think, Philip," said the father. "You are fond of 3'our cousin?" "Oh! for ev— " ' ' For ever, of course ! At" least until we change our mind, or one of us grows tired, or finds a better mate." "Ah, sir!" cries Philip, but suddenly stops in his remon- strance, f ' ' What were you going to sa}', Philip, and why do you pause ? " " I was going to say, father, if I might without offending, that I think you judge hardly of women. I know two who have been very faithful to 3'ou." " And I a traitor to both of them. Yes ; and my remorse, Philip, my remorse ! " says his father in his deepest tragedy voice, clutching his hand over a heart that I believe beat very coolly. ' But, psha ! why am I, Philip's biographer, going out of the way to abuse Philip's papa? Is not the threat of big- amy and exposure enough to disturb any man's equanimity? I say again, suppose there is another sword — a rope, if 3'ou will so call it — hanging over the head of our Damocles of- Old Parr Street? .... Howbeit, the father and the son met and parted in these da3's with unusual gentleness and cordiality. And these were the last days in which thc}^ were to meet together. Nor could Philip recall without satisfaction, after- wards, that the hand which he took was pressed and given with a real kindness and cordiality. Why were these the last days son and father were to pass together? Dr. Firmin is still alive. Philip is a very tolerably prosperous gentleman. He and his father parted good friends, and it is the biographer's business to narrate how and where- fore. When Philip told his father that Messrs. Bond and Selby, his uncle Twysden s attorneys, were suddenly inter- ested about Mr. Brandon and his affairs, the father instantly guessed, though the son was too simple as yet to understand, how it was that these gentlemen interfered. If Mr. Brandon- Firmin's marriage with Miss Ringwood was null, her son was illegitimate, and her fortune went to her sister. Painful as such a duty might be to such tender-hearted people as our •Twj'sden acquaintances to deprive a dear nephew of his for- tune, yet, after all, duty is duty, and a parent must sacrifice every thijig for justice and his own children. " Had I been in such a case," Talbot Twj-sden subsequently and repeatedly declared, "I should never have been easy a moment if I thought I possessed wrongfully a beloved nephew's property. I«could not have slept in peace ; I could not have shown my 232 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP face at my own dub, or to my own conscience, had I the weight of such an injustice on my mind." In a word, when he found that there was a chance of annexing Philip's share of the property to his own, Tw^'sden saw clearly that his duty was to stand by his own wife and children. The information upon which Talbot Twysden, Esq., acted, was brought to him at his office by a gentleman in dingy black, who, after a long interview with him, accompanied him to his lawyer, Mr. Bond, before mentioned. Here, in South Square, Gray's Inn, the three gentlemen held a consultation, of which the results began quickly to show themselves. Messrs. Bond and Selby had an exceedingl}' lively, cheerful, jovial, and intel- ligent confidential clerk, who combined business and pleasure with the utmost affability, and was acquainted with a thou- sand queer things, and queer histories about queer people in this town ; who lent mone}' ; who wanted monej^ ; who was in debt : and who was outrunning the constable ; whose diamonds were in pawn ; whose estates were over-mortgaged ; who was over-building himself; who was casting eyes of longing at what pretty opera dancer — about races, fights, bill brokers, quicquid agunt homines. This Tom Walls had a deal of infor- mation, and imparted it so as to make you die of laughing. The Reverend Tufton Hunt brought this joll}^ fellow fiist to the "Admiral B^ng," where his amiabilit}' won all hearts at the club. At the "Byng" it was not very difficult to gain Captain Gann's easy confidence. And this old man was, in the course of a verj' trifling consumption of rum-and water, brought to see that his daughter had been the object of a wicked conspiracy, and w'as the rightful and most injured wife of a man who ought to declare her fair fame before the world, and put her in possession of a portion of his great for- tune. A great fortune? How great a fortune? Was it three hundred thousand, say? Those doctors, many of them, had fifteen thousand a-year. Mr. Walls (who perhaps knew bet- ter) was not at libert}^ to say what the fortune was : but it was a shame that Mrs. Brandon was kept out of her rights, that was clear. • Old Gann's excitement, when this matter was first broached to him (under vows of pi'ofound secrecy) was so intense that his old reason tottered on its ricket}' old throne. He well- nigh burst with longing to speak upon this m3'stery. Mr. and Mrs. Oves, the esteemed landlord and lady of the " Bj-ng," never saw him so excited. He had a great opinion of the ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 233 judgment of his friend, Mi'. Ridley ; in fact, he must have gone to Bedlam, unless he had talked to somebody on tliis most nefarious transaction, which might make the blood of every Briton curdle with horror — as he was free to say. Old Mr. Ridley was of a much cooler temperament, and altogether a more cautious person. The doctor rich? He wished to tell no secrets, nor to meddle in no gentleman's affairs : but he have heard very different statements regarding Dr. Firmin's affairs. When dark hints about treason, wicked desertion, rights denied, "and a great fortune which ^-ou are kep' out of, my poor Caroline, b\' a rascall}' wolf in sheep's clothing, you are ; and I alwa3's mistrusted him from the moment I saw him, and said to 3'our mother, ' Emil}', that Brandon is a bad fellow, Brandon is ; ' and bitterly, bitterly I've rued ever receiving him under mj^ roof" When speeches of this nature were made to Mrs. Caroline, strange to sa}', the little lad}^ made light of them. " Oh, nonsense, Pa ! Don't be bringing that sad old story up again. I have suffered enough from it alreadj'. If Mr. F. left me, he wasn't the only one who flung me away ; and I have been able to live, thank mere}', through it all." This was a hard hit, and not to be parried. The truth is, that when poor Caroline, deserted by her husband, had come back, in wretchedness, to her father's door, the man, and the wife who then ruled him, had thought fit to thrust her awa3^ And she had forgiven them : and had been enabled to heap a rare quantity of coals on that old gentleman's head. When the Captain remarked his daughter's indifference and unwillingness to reopen this painful question of her sham mar- riage with Firmin, his wrath was moved, and his suspicion ex- cited. "Ha!" saj-s he, "have this man been a tampering with 3'ou again ? " "Nonsense, Pa!" once more sa3's Caroline. "I tell you, it is this fine-talking lawyers' clerk has been tampering with you. You're made a tool of, Pa ! and 3'ou've been made a tool of all 3-our life ! " " Well, now, upon m3' honor, m3'^ good madam," interposes Mr. Walls. " Don't talk to me, sir ! I don't want an3' law3'ers' clerks to meddle in m3' business ! " cries Mrs. Brandon, ver3^ briskl3\ " I don't know what you're come about. I don't want to know, and I'm most certain it is for no good." I suppose it was the ill success of his ambassador that brought Mr. Bond himself to Thornhaugh Street ; and a more 234 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP kind, fatherly, little man never looked than Mr. Bond, although he may have had one eye smaller than the other, "What is this, my dear madam, I hear from m^' confidential clerk, Mr. Walls?" he asked of the Little Sister. "You refuse to give him your confidence because he is only a clerk? I wonder whether 3'ou will accord it to me as a principal?" "She may, sir, she may — every confidence!" says the Captain, laying his hand on that snuffy satin waistcoat which all his friends so long admired on him. ' ' She might have spoken to Mr. Walls." " Mr. Walls is not a family man. I am. I have children at home, Mrs. Brandon, as old as you are," says the benevo- lent Bond. "I would have justice done them, and for you too." " You're very good to take so much trouble about me all of a sudden, to be sure," says Mrs. Brandon, demurely. " I sup- pose 3'ou don't do it for nothing." "I should not require much fee to help a good woman to her rights ; and a lady I don't think needs much persuasion to be helped to her advantage," remarks Mr. Bond. " That depends who the helper is." "-Well, if I can do j^ou no harm, and help you possibly to a name, to a fortune, to a high place in the world, I don't think you need be frightened. I don't look very wicked or very art- ful, do I?" " Many is that don't look so. I've learned as much as that about 3'Ou gentlemen," remarks Mrs. Brandon. " You have been wronged by one man, and doubt all." "Not all. Some, sir!" " Doubt about me if I can by an}^ possibility injure j^ou. But how and why should I ? Your good father knows what has brought me here. I have no secret from him. Have I, Mr. Gann, or Captain Gann, as I have heard you addressed?" "Mr., sir — plain Mr. — No, sir; your conduct have been most open, honorable, and like a gentleman. Neither would you, sir, do aught to disparage Mrs. Brandon ; neither would I, her father. No ways, I think, would a parent do harm to his own child. May I oflfer you any refreshment, sir?" and a shak}', a ding3% but a hospitable hand, is laid upon the glossy cupboard, in which Mrs. Brandon keeps her modest little store of strong waters. " Not one drop, thank j^ou ! You trust me, I think, more than Mrs. Firm — I beg your pardon — -Mrs. Brandon, is dis- posed to do." ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 235 At the utterance of that inonos3'llable Firm Caroline became so white, and trembled so, that her interlocutor stopped, rather alarmed at the eflfect of his word — his word ! — his syllable of a word. The old law3'er recovered himself with much grace. "Pardon me, madam," he said ; " I know your wrongs ; I know your most melancholy histor}- ; I know your name, and was going to use it, but it seemed to renew painful recollections to 3'ou, which I would not needlessly recall." Captain Gann took out a snuffy pocket-handkerchief, wiped two red e^'cs and a shirt-front, and winked at the attorne}'', and gaspecl in a pathetic manner. " You know m}' stor3^ and name, sir, who are ji stranger to me. Have you told this old gentleman all about me and my affairs, Pa?" asks Caroline, with some asperity. " Have you told him that my ma never gave me a word of kindness — that I toiled for you and her like a servant — and when I came back to you, after being deceived and deserted, that 3'ou and ma shut the door in my face ? You did ! 3'ou did ! I forgive 3'ou ; but a hundred thousand billion 3'ears can't mend that injur3', father, while 3'ou broke a poor child's heart with it that day ! M3' pa has told 3'ou all this, Mr. What's-your-uame ? I'm s'prized he didn't find something pleasanter to talk about, I'm sure ! " " M3' love ! " interposed the Captain. " Pretty love ! to go and tell a stranger in a public-house, and ever so man3" thei*e besides, I suppose, 3'our daughter's misfortunes, pa. Prett3' love ! That's what I've had from you ! " " Not a soul, on the honor of a gentleman, except me and Mr. Walls." ' ' Then what do 3'Ou come to talk about me at all for ? and what scheme on hearth are 3'Ou driving at? and what brings this old man here?" cries the landlad3" of Thornhaugh Street, stamping her foot. "Shall I tell 3-ou frankl3', my good lad3'? I called you Mrs. Firmin now, because, on my honor and word, I believe such to be 3-our rightful name — because 3-ou are the lawful wife of George Brand Firmin. If such be your lawful name, others bear it who have no right to bear it -^ and inherit prop- erty to which they can la3' no just claim. In the year 1827, you, Caroline Gann, a child of sixteen, were married by a clergyman whom you know, to George Brand Firmin, calling himself George Brandon. He was guilt3' of deceiving 3-ou ; 236 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP but 3'ou were guilty of no deceit. He was a hardened and wily man ; but 3'ou were an innocent child out of a schoolroom. And though he thought the marriage was not binding upon him, binding it is by Act of Parliament and judges' decision ; and you are as assuredly George Firmin's wife, madam, as Mrs. Bond is mine ! " "You have been cruelly injured, Caroline," says the Cap- tain, wagging his old nose over his handkerchief. Caroline seemed to be very well versed in the law of the transaction. "You mean, sir," she said slowlj^, " that if me and Mr. Brandon was married to each other, he knowing that he was only playing at marriage, and me believing that it was all for good, we are reall}' married." " Undoubtedly you ai'e, madam — my client has — that is, I have had advice on the point." "But if we both knew that it was — was only a sort of a marriage — an irregular marriage, you know?" ' ' Then the Act says that to all intents and purposes the marriage is null and void." " But you didn't know, m}' poor innocent child ! " cries Mr. Gann. "How should you? How old was you? She was a chifd in the nursery, Mr. Bond, when the villain inveigled her away from her poor old father. She knew nothing of irregular marriages." " Of course she didn't, the poor creature," cries the old gentleman, rubbing his hands together with perfect good-humor. " Poor young thing, poor young thing ! " As he was speaking, Caroline, very pale and still, was sitting looking at Ridley's sketch of Philip, which hung in her little room. Presentl}' she turned round on the attorney, folding her little hands over her work. " Mr. Bond," she said, " girls, though they may be ever so young, know more than some folks fancy. I was more than sixteen when that — that business happened. I wasn't happy at home, and eager to get away. I knew that a gentleman of his rank wouldn't be likely really to marry a poor Cinderella out of a lodging-house, hke me. If the truth must be told, I — I knew it was no marriage — never thought it was a marriage — not for good, you know." And she folds her little hands together as she utters the words, and I dare say once more looks at Philip's portrait. " Gracious goodness, madam, yo\x must be under some error!" cries the attorney. "How should a child like you know that the marriage was irregular?" ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 237 " Because I had no lines ! " cries Caroline quickl}'. " Never asked for none ! And our maid we had then said to me, ' Miss Carr}-, where's 3'our lines? And it's no good without.' And I knew it wasn't ! And I'm read_y to go before the Lord Chan- cellor to-morrow and say so ! " cries Caroline, to the bewilder- ment of her father and her cross-examinant. " Pause, pause ! my good madam ! " exclaims the meek old gentleman, rising from his chair. " Go and tell this to them as sent 3'Ou, sir ! " cries Caroline, very imperiousl}', leaving the lawyer amazed, and her father's face in a bewilderment, over which we will fling his snuffy old pocket-handkerchief. "If such is unfortunatel}- the case — if 3'ou actuall}' mean to abide by this astonishing confession — which deprives you of a high place in society — and — and casts down the hope we had formed of redressing your injured reputation — I have nothing for it! I take my leave, madam ! Good morning, Mr, Hum! — Mr. Gann ! " And the old lawyer walks out of the Little Sister's room. ' ' She won't own to the marriage ! She is fond of some one else — the little suicide ! " thinks the old lawj'er, as he clatters down the street to a neighboring house, where his anxious principal was in waiting. " She's fond of some one else ! " Yes. But the some one else whom Caroline loved was Brand Firmin's son : and it was to save Philip from ruin that the poor Little Sister chose to forget her marriage to his father. CHAPTER XIII. LOVE ME LOVE MY DOG. Whilst the battle is raging, the old folks and ladies peep over the battlements, to watch the turns of the combat, and the behavior of the knights. To princesses in old days, whose lovel}^ hands were to be bestowed upon the conqueror, it must have been a matter of no small interest to know whether the slim young champion with the lovely e^^es on the milk-white steed should vanquish, or the dumpy, elderly, square-shoul- dered, squinting, carrot}' whiskerando of a warrior who was laying about him so savagely ; and so in this battle, on the 238 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP issue of which depended the keeping or losing of poor Philip's inheritance, there were several non-combatants deeply in- terested. Or suppose we withdraw the chivalrous simile (as in fact the conduct and views of certain parties engaged in the matter were anything but what we call chivalrous), and im- agine a wily old monkey who engages a cat to take certain chestnuts out of the tire, and puss}- putting her paw through the bars, seizing th^ nut and then dropping it? Jacko is dis- appointed and angry, shows his sharp teeth, and bites if he dares. When the attorney went down to do battle for Philip's patrimon}', some of those who wanted it were spectators of the fight, and lurking up a tree hard by. When Mr. Bond came forward to try and seize Phil's chestnuts, there was a wily old monkey who thrust the cat's paw out, and proposed to gobble up the smoking prize. If j-ou have ever been at the " Admiral Byng," j'ou know, my dear madam, that the parlor where the club meets is just behind Mrs. Oves's bar, so that by lifting up the sash of the window which communicates between the two apartments, that good-natured woman ma}' put her face into the club-room, and actually be one of the society. Sometimes for company, old Mr. Ridley goes and sits with Mrs. O- in her bar, and reads the paper there. He is slow at his reading. The long words puzzle the worthy gentleman. As he has plenty of time to spare, he does not grudge it to the study of his paper. On the day when Mr. Bond went to persuade Mrs. Brandon in Thornhaugh Street to claim Dr. Firmin for her husband, and to disinherit poor Philip, a little gentleman wrapt most solemnly and mysteriously in a great cloak appeared at the bar of the "Admiral Byng," and said in an aristocratic manner, "You have a parlor, show me to it." And being introduced to the parlor, (where there are fine pictures of Oves, Mrs. O , and " Spotty-nose," their favorite defunct bull-dog,) sat down and called for a glass of sherry and a newspaper. The civil and intelligent potboy of the "Byng" took the party Tlie Advertiser of yesterday (which to-day's paper was in 'and) and when the gentleman began to swear over the old paper, Frederic gave it as his opinion to his mistress that the new comer was a harbitrary gent, — as, indeed, he was, with the omission, perhaps, of a single letter ; a man who bulbed everybody who would submit to be bullied. In fact, it was our friend Talbot Twysden, Esq., Commissioner of the Powder and Pomatum Office ; and I leave those who know him to saj'' whether he is arbitrary- or not. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 239 To him present!}' came that bland old gentleman, Mr. Bond, who also asked for a parlor and some sherrj'-and-water ; and this is how Philip and his veracious and astute biographer came to know for a certainty that dear uncle Talbot was the person who wished to — to have Phihp's chestnuts. Mr. Bond and Mr. Tw3'^sden had been scarcely' a minute together, when such a storm of imprecations came clattering throuafh the glass-window which communicates with Mrs. Oves's bar, that I dare saj" they made the jugs and tumblers clatter on the shelves, and Mr. Ridle}', a very modest-spoken man, read- ing his paper, lay it down with a scared face, and say — " Well, I never." Nor did he often, I dare to say. This volley- was fired by Talbot Twysden, in consequence of his rage at the news which Mr. Bond brought him. " Well, Mr. Bond ; well, Mr. Bond ! What does she say?" he asked of his emissar3^ " She will have nothing to do with the business, Mr. Twys- den. We can't touch it ; and I don't see how we can move her. She denies the marriage as much as Firmin does : sa3'S she knew it was a mere sham when the ceremonj- was performed." " Sir, you didn't bribe her enough," shrieked Mr. Tw3'sden. "You have bungled this business ; by George you have, sir," " Go and do it yourself, sir, if you are not ashamed to appear in it," says the lawyer. " Y'ou don't suppose I did it because I liked it ; or want to take that poor young fellow's inheritance from him, as 3'ou do.." " I wish justice and the law, sir. If I were wrongfully de- taining his property I would give it up. I would be the first to give it up. I desire justice and law, and emploj' yon because you are a law agent. Are you not ? " " And I liave been on your errand, and shall send in my bill in due time ; and there will be an end of my connection with you as 3'our law agent, Mr. Twysden," cried the old lawyer. " You know, sir, how badly Firmin acted to me in the last matter." " Faith, sir, if 3'ou ask m}' opinion as a law agent, I don't think there was much to choose between you. How much is the sherry-and-water ? — keep the change. Sorry I'd no better news to bring you, Mr. T., and as you are dissatisfied, again recommend you to employ another law agent." "My good sir, I — " " My good sir, I have had other dealings with your family, and am no more going to put up with your highti-tightiness than 1 would with Lord Ringwood's when I was one of /lis law agents. 240 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP T am not going to tell Mr. Philip Firmin that his uncle and aunt propose to ease him of his property ; but if anj'body else does — that good little Mrs. Brandon — or that old goose Mr. What-d'3'e-call-um, her father — I don't suppose he will be over well pleased. I am speaking as a gentleman now, not as a law agent. You and your nephew had each a half-share of Mr. Philip Firrain's grandfather's property, and you wanted it all, that's the truth, and set a law agent to get it for 3'ou ; and swore at him because he could not get it from its right owner. And so, sir, I wish you a good morning, and recommend you to take your papers to some other agent, Mr. Twysden." And with this, exit Mr. Bond. And now, I ask 3'ou, if that secret could be kept which was known through a trembling glass-door to Mrs. Oves of the " Admiral Byng," and to Mr. Ridley the father of J. J., and the obsequious husband of Mrs. Ridle}-? On that very afternoon, at tea-time, Mrs. Ridley was made acquainted by her husband (in his noble and circumlocutory manner) with the conversation which he had overheard. It was agreed that an embassy should be sent to J. J. on the business, and his advice taken regarding it ; and J. J.'s opinion was that the conversation certainly should be reported to Mr. Philip Firmin, who might afterwards act upon it as he should think best. What? His own aunt, cousins, and uncle agreed in a scheme to overthrow his legitimacy, and deprive him of his grand- father's inheritance? It seemed impossible. Big with the tremendous news, Philip came to his adviser, Mr. Pendennis, of the Temple, and told him what had occurred on the part of father, uncle, and Little Sister. Her abnegation had been so noble, that you may be sure Philip appreciated it ; and a tie of friendship was formed between the 3'oung man and the little lad}' even more close and tender than that which had bound them previously. But the Twysdens, his kinsfolk, to employ a lawyer in order to rob him of his inheritance ! — Oh, it was dastardly ! Philip bawled, and stamped, and thumped his sense of the wrong in his usual energetic manner. As for his cousin Ringwood Twysden, Phil had often entertained a strong desire to wring his neck and pitch him down stairs. " As for Uncle Talbot : that he is an old pump, that he is a pompous old humbug, and the queerest old sycophant, I grant j-ou ; but I couldn't have believed him guilty of this. And as for the girls — oh, Mrs. Pendennis, you who are good, 3-ou who are kind, although you hate them, I know you do — j-ou can't sa}', 3'ou won't say, that they M'ere in the conspiracy?" "But suppose Twysden was asking onlj' for what he con- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 241 ceives to be his rights?" asked Mr. Pendennis. " Had 3'our fatlier been married to Mrs. Brandon, you would not have been Dr. Firmin's legitimate son. Had you not been his legitimate son, you had no right to a half-share of your grandfather's property. Uncle Talbot acts only the part of honor and jus- tice in the transaction. He is Brutus, and he orders you off to death, with a bleeding heart." " And he orders his family out of the "waj" roars Phil, " so that they mayn't be pained by seeing the execution ! I see it all now. I wish somebod}" would send a knife through me at once, and put an end to me. I see it all now. Do you know that for the last week I have been to Beaunash Street, and found nobody? Agnes had the bronchitis, and her mother was attending to her ; Blanche came for a minute or two, and was as cool — as cool as I have seen Lad^^ Iceberg be cool to her. Then they must go awa}^ for change of air. The}' have been gone these three da3'S : whilst Uncle Talbot and that viper of a Rino-wood have been closeted with their nice new friend, Mr. Hunt. Oh, conf — ! I beg your pardon, ma'am ; but I know you always allow for the energy of my language." "I should like to see that Little Sister, Mr. Firmin. She has not been selfish, or had am' scheme but for your good,' remarks my wife. "A little angel who drops her A's — a little heart, so good and tender that I melt as I think of it," says Philip, drawing his big hand over his eyes. " What have men done to get the love of some women? We don't earn it; we don't deserve it, perhaps. We don't return it. They bestow it on us. I have given nothing back for all this love and kindness, but I look a little like my father of old days, for whom — for whom she had an attachment. And see now how she would die to serve me ! You are wonderful, women are ! your fidelities and your fickle- nesses ahke marvellous. What can any woman have found to adore in the doctor? Do you think my father could ever have been adorable, Mrs. Pendennis ? And yet I have heard my poor mother say she was obliged to marr}- him. She knew it was a bad match, but she couldn't resist it. In what was my father so irresistible? He is not to jvij taste. Between ourselves, I think he is a — well, never mind what." " I think we had best not mind what? " says my wife with a smile. " Quite right — quite right ; only I blurt out everything that is on my mind. Can't keep it in," cries Phil, gnawing his mustachios. " If my fortune depended on my silence I should 16 242 THE ADVENTURES OF THILIP be a beggar, that's the fact. And, 3'ou see, if 3'ou had such a father as mine, you yourself would find it rather difficult to hold 3'our tongue about him. But now, tell me : this ordering away of the girls and Aunt Twysden, whilst the little attack upon my property is being carried on — isn't it queer?" "The question is at an end," said Mr. Pendennis. "You are restored to your atavis regibus and ancestral honors. Now that Uncle Twysden can't get the property without you ; have courage, my boy — he may take it, along with the encumbrance." Poor Piiil had not known — but some of us, who are prett}' clear-sighted when our noble selves are not concerned, had per- ceived that Philip's dear aunt was playing fast and loose with the lad, and when his back was turned was encouraging a richer suitor for her daughter. Hand on heart I can say of nw wife, that she meddles with her neighbors as little as any person I ever knew ; but when treacheries in love-affairs are in question, she fires up at once, and would persecute to death almost the heartless male or female criminal who would break love's sacred laws. The idea of a man or woman trifling with that holy compact awakens in her a flame of indignation. In curtain confidences (of which let me not vulgarize the arcana) she had given me her mind about some of Miss Twysden's behavior with that odious black- amoor, as she chose to call Captain Woolcoinb, who, I own, had a very slight tinge of complexion ; aud when, quoting the words of Hamlet regarding his father and mother, I asked, " Could she on this fair mountain leave to feed, and batten on this Moor?" Mrs. Pendennis cried out that this matter was all too serious for jest, and wondered how her husband could make word plays about it. Perhaps she has not the exquisite sense of humor possessed by some folks ; or is it that she has more reverence? In her creed, if not in her church, marriage is a sacrament, and the fond believer never speaks of it without awe. Now, as she expects both parties to the marriage engage- ment to keep that compact holy, she no more understands trifling with it than she could comprehend laughing and joking in a church. She has no patience with flirtations as they are called. "Don't tell me, sir," saj^s the enthusiast, "a light word be- tween a man and a married woman ought not to be permitted." And this is why she is harder on the woman than the man, in cases where such dismal matters happen to fall under discus- sion. A look, a word from a woman, she says, will check a libertine thought or word in a man ; and these cases might be ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 243 stopped at once if the woman but showed the slightest resoUi- tion. She is thus more angry (I am only mentioning the peculiarities, not defending the ethics of this individual moral- ist) — she is, I sa}', more angrilj' disposed towards the woman than the man in such delicate cases ; and, 1 am afraid, considers that women are for the most part only victims because they choose to be so. Now, we had happened during this season to be at several entertainments, routs, and so forth, where poor Phil, owing to his unhapp3' Bohemian prefei'ences and love of tobacco, &c., was not present — and where we saw Miss Agnes Twysden carrying on such a game with the tawny Woolcomb as set Mrs. Laura in a tremor of indignation. What though Agnes's blue-eyed mamma sat near her blue-eyed daughter and kept her keen clear orbs perfectly' wide open and cognizant of all that happened ? So much the worse for her, the worse for both. It was a shame and a sin that a Christian English mother should suffer her daughter to deal lightly' with the most holy, the most awful of human contracts ; should be preparing her child who knows for what after miseiy of mind and soul. Three months ago, 3"ou saw how she encouraged poor Philip, and now see her with this mulatto ! "Is he not a man, and a brother, my dear?" perhaps at this Mr. Pendennis interposes. "Oh, for shame. Pen, no levity on this — no sneers and laughter on this the most sacred subject of all." And here, I dare say the woman falls to caressing her own children and hugging them to her heart as her manner was when moved. Que voulcz-voiis? There are some women in the world to whom love and truth are all in all here below. Other ladies there are who see the benefit of a good jointure, a town and country house, and so forth, and who are not so very particular as to the character, intellect, or complexion of gentlemen who are in a position to offer their dear girls these benefits. In fine, I sa}', that regarding this blue-eyed mother and daughter, Mrs. Laura Pendennis was in such a state of mind that she was readv to tear their blue eyes out. Nay, it was with no little tlifliculty that Mrs. Laura could be induced to hold her tongue upon the matter and not give Philip her opinion. " What?" she would ask, " the poor young man is to be deceived and cajoled ; to be taken or left as it suits these people ; to be made miserable for life certainly if she marries hiin ; and his friends are not to dare to warn him? The cowards ! The cowardice of you men, Pen, upon matters 244 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP of opinion, of jou masters and lords of creation, is really des- picable, sir ! You dare not have opinions, or holding them yoxi dare not declare them and act by them. You compromise with crime every da}^ because you think it would be officious to de- clare yourself and interfere. You are not afraid of outraging morals, but of inflicting ennui upon societ}', and losing your popularity. You are as cynical as — as, what was the name of the horrid old man who lived in the tub — Demosthenes ? — well, Diogenes, then, and the name does not matter a pin, sir. You are as cynical, onl}' you wear fine* ruffled shirts and wristbands, and you carr^' your lantern dark. It is not right to ' put your oar in,' as 3'ou say in 30ur jargon (and even jour slang is a sort of cowardice, sir, for you are afraid to speak the feelings of your heart : — ) it is not right to meddle and speak the truth, not right to rescue a poor soul who is drowning — of course not. What call have jou fine gentlemen of the world to put your oar in? Let him perish! What did he in that galley? That is the language of the world, baby, darling. And, my poor, poor child, when you are sinking, nobody is to stretch out a hand to save 3'ou ! " As for that wife of mine, when she sets forth the maternal plea, and appeals to the exuberant school of philosophers, I know there is no reasoning with her. I i-etire to my books, and leave her to kiss out the rest of the argument over the children. Philip did not know the extent of the obligation which he owed to his little friend and guardian, Caroline ; but he was aware that he had no better friend than herself in the world ; and, I dare say, returned to her, as the wont is in such bar- gains between man and woman — woman and man, at least — a sixpence for that pure gold treasure, her sovereign affection. I suppose Caroline thought her sacrifice gave her a little au- thority to counsel Philip : for she it was who, I believe, first bid him to inquire whether that engagement which he had vir- tually contracted with his cousin was likel}' to lead to good, and was to be binding upon him but not on her? She brought Ridley to add his doubts to her remcTnstrances. She showed Philip that not only his uncle's conduct, but his cousin's, was interested, and set him to inquire into it further. That peculiar form of bronchitis under which poor dear Agnes was suffering was relieved by Absence from London. The smoke, the crowded parties and assemblies, the late hours, and, perhaps, the gloom of the house in Beaunash Street, dis- tressed the poor dear child ; and her cough was very much soothed by that fine, cutting east wind, which blows so liberally ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 245 along the Brighton chffs, and which is so good for coughs, as we all know. But there was one fault in Brighton which could not be helped in her bad case : it is too near London. The air, that chartered li))ertine, can blow down from London quite easily ; or people can come from London to Brighton, bringing, I dare say, the insidious London fog along with them. At any rate, Agnes, if she wished for quiet, poor thitig, might have gone farther and fai-ed better. Why, if you owe a tailor a bill, he can run down and present it in a few hours. Vulgar, in- convenient acquaintances thrust- themselves upon you at every moment and corner. Was ever such a tohubohu of people as there assembles? You can't be tranquil, if you will. Organs pipe and scream without cease at your windows. Your name is put down in the papers when 3'ou arrive ; and everybody naeets everybody ever so man}' times a day. On finding that his uncle had set lawyers to work, with the charitable purpose of ascertaining whether Philip's property was legitimately his own, Philip was a good deal disturbed in mind. He could not appreciate that high sense of moral obli- gation by which Mr. Tw3'sden was actuated. At least, he thought that these inquiries should not have been secretly set a- foot ; and as he himself was perfectly open — a great deal too open, perhaps — in his words and his actions, he was hard with those who attempted to hoodwink or deceive him. II could not be ; ah ! no, it never could be, that Agnes the pure and gentle was privy to this conspiracy. But then, how very — ver}* often of late she has been from home ; how very, very cold Aunt Tw}sden's shoulder had somehow become. Once, when he reached the door, a fishmonger's boy was leaving a fine salmon at the kitchen, — a salmon and a tub of ice. Once, twice, at five o'clock, when he called, a smell of cooking pervaded the hall, — that hall which culinary odors very seldom visited. Some of those noble Twysden dinners were on the tapis^ and Philip was not asked. . Not to be asked was no great deprivation ; but who were the guests? To be sure, these were trifles light as air ; but Philip smelt mischief in the steam of those Twysden dinners. He chewed that salmon with a bitter sauce as he saw it sink down the area steps and disappear with its attendant lobster in the dark kitchen regions. Yes ; eyes were somehow averted that used to look into his very frankl}- ; a glove somehow had grown over a little hand which once used to lie ver^' comfortably in his broad palm. Was anybody else going to seize it, and was it going to paddle in that blackamoor's unblest fingers ? Ah ! fiends and tortures ! 246 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP a gentleman may cease to love, but does he like a woman to cease to love him ? People cany on ever so long for fear of that declaration that all is over. No confession is more dis- mal to make. The sun of love has set. We sit in the dark. I mean jou, dear madam, and Cor3'don, or I and Amarjilis ; uncomfortably, with nothing more to say to one another ; with the night dew falling, and a risk of catching cold, drearily con- templating the fading west, with " the cold remains of lustre gone, of fire long passed away." Sink, fire of love ! Rise, gentle moon, and mists of chilly evening. And, my good Madam Amaryllis, let us go home to some tea and a fire. So Philip determined to go and seek his cousin. Arrived at his hotel, (and if it were the * * I can't conceive Philip in much better quarters), he had the opportunity of inspecting those delightful newspaper arrivals, a perusal of which has so often edified us at Brighton. Mr. and Mrs. Penfold, he was informed, continued their residence. No. 9G, Horizontal Place ; and it was with those guardians he knew his Agnes was sta}'- ing. He speeds to Horizontal Place. Miss Twysden is out. He heaves a sigh, and leaves a card. Has it ever happened to you to leave a card at that house — that house which was once THE house — almost your own ; where you were ever wel- come ;' where the kindest hand was ready to grasp 3'ours, the brightest eye to greet you? And now your friendship has dwindled away to a little bit of pasteboard, shed once a year, and poor dear Mrs. Jones (it is with J. 3'ou have quarrelled) still calls on the ladies of ^our famih^ and slips her husband's ticket upon the hall table. Oh, life and time, that it should have come to this ! Oh, gracious powers ! Do j'ou recall the time when Arabella Briggs was Arabella Thompson ? You call and taX^ fadaises to her (at first she is rather nervous, and has the children in) ; 3'ou talk rain and fine weather ; the last novel ; the next party; Thompson in the City? Yes, Mr. Thompson is in the City. He's pretty well, thank you. Ah ! Daggers, ropes, and poisons, has it come to this? You are talking about the weather, and another man's health, and another man's chil- dren, of which she is mother, to her'^ Time was the weather was all a burning sunshine, in which 30U and she basked ; or if clouds gathered, and a storm fell, such a glorious rainbow haloed round you, such delicious tears fell and refreshed you, that the storm was more ravishing than the calm. And now another man's children are sitting on her knee — their mother's knee ; and, once a 3'ear Mr. and Mrs. John Thompson request the honor of Mr. Brown's companj' at dinner ; and once a yeax ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 247 yon read in The Times ^ "In Nursery Street, the wife of J. Thompson, Esq., of a Son." To come to the once-beloved one's door, and find the knocker tied up with a white kid glove, is humiliating — say what j'ou will, it is humiliating. Philip leaves his card, and walks on to the Cliff, and of course, in three minutes, meets CUnker. Indeed, who ever went to Brighton for half an hour without meeting Clinker? "Father pretty well? His old patient. Lady Geminy, is down here with the children ; what a number of them there are, to be sure! Come to make any staj'? See your cousin, Miss Twysden, is here with the Penfolds. Little party at the Grigsons' last night ; she looked uncommonly well ; danced ever so many times with the Black Prince, Woolcomb of the Greens. Suppose I ma}^ congratulate you. Six thousand five hundred a year now, and thirteen thousand when his grand- mother dies ; but those negresses live for ever. I suppose the thing is settled. I saw them on the pier just now, and Mrs. Penfold was reading a book in the arbor. Book of sermons it was — pious woman, Mrs. Penfold. I dare say they are on the pier still." Striding with hurried steps Philip Firrain makes for the pier. The breathless Clinker cannot keep alongside of his face. I should like to have seen it when Clinker said that "the thing" was settled between Miss Twysden and the cav- alry gentleman. There were a few nurser}' governesses, maids, and children, paddling about at the end of the pier ; and there was a fat woman reading a book in one of the arbors — but no Agnes, no Woolcomb. Where can they be? Can they be weighing each other? or buying those mad pebbles, which people are known to purchase? or having their s^7//o«e/';es done in black? Ha ! ha ! Woolcomb would hardly have his face done in black. The idea would provoke odious comparisons. I see Philip is in a dreadfully bad sarcastic humor. Up there comes from one of those trap-doors which lead down from the pier-head to the green sea-waves ever restlessly jumping below — up there comes a little Skye-terrier dog with a red collar, who as soon as she sees Philip, sings, squeaks, whines, runs, jumps, jlwvps up on him, if I may use the ex- pression, kisses his hands, and with eyes, tongue, paws, and tail shows him a thousand marks of welcome and affection. " What, Brownie, Brownie ! " Philip is glad to see the dog, an old friend who has many a time licked his hand and bounced upon his knee. The greeting over, Brownie, wagging her tail with prodig- 248 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ious activity, trots before Philip — trots down an opening, down the steps under which the waves shimmer greenly, and into quite a quiet remote corner just over the water, whence you may command a most beautiful view of the sea, the shore, the Marine Parade, and the "Albion Hotel," and where, were I five-and- twenty say, with nothing else to do, I would gladly pass a quarter of an hour talking about " Glaucus, or the Wonders of the Deep " with the object of m}^ affections. Here, amongst the labyrinth of piles, Brownie goes flouncing along till she comes to a young couple who are looking at the view just described. In order to view it better, the young man has laid his hand, a pretty little hand most delicately gloved, on the lady's hand ; and Brownie comes up and nuzzles against her, and whines and talks as much as to sa}^ "Here's some- body," and the lady says, "Down, Brownie, miss." "It's no good, Agnes, that dog," says the gentleman (he has very curly, not to sa}^ wooll}' hair, under his natty little hat) . " I'll give you a pug with a nose you can hang your hat on. I do know of one now. My man Rummins knows of one. Do you like pugs ? " " I adore them," says the lady. " I'Jl give you one, if I have to pay fifty pounds for it. And they fetch a good figure, the real pugs do, I can tell you. Once in London there was an exhibition of 'em, and — " "Brownie, Brownie, down!" cries Agnes. The dog was jumping at a gentleman, a tall gentleman with a red moustache and beard, who advances through the chequered shade, under the ponderous beams, over the translucent sea. "Pray don't mind, Brownie won't hurt me," says a per- fectly well-known voice, the sound of which sends all the color shuddering out of Miss Agnes's pink cheeks. " You see I gave my cousin this dog. Captain Woolcomb," says the gentleman ; " and the little slut remembers me. Per- haps Miss Twysden prefers the pug better." "Sir!" " If it has a nose you can hang your hat on, it must be a very pretty dog, and I suppose you intend to hang your hat on it a good deal." " Oh, Philip ! " says the lady ; but an attack of that dread- ful coughing stops further utterance. Hand and Glove. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 249 CHAPTER XIV. CONTAINS TWO OF PHILIP's >nSHAPS. You know that, in some parts of India, infanticide is the common custom. It is part of the religion of the land, as, in other districts, widow-burning used to be. I can't imagine that ladies hke to destroy either themselves or their children, though they submit with bravery, and even cheerfulness, to the decrees of that religion which orders them to make away with their own or their young ones' hves. Now, suppose you and I, as Europeans, happened to drive up where a young creature was just about to roast herself, under the advice of her family and the highest dignitaries of her church ; what could we do ? Rescue her ? No such thing. We know better than to interfere with her, and the laws and usages of her country. We turn away with a sigh from the mournful scene ; we pull out our pocket-handkerchiefs, tell coachman to drive on, and leave her to her sad fate. Now about poor Agnes Twysden : how, in the name of goodness, can we help her? You see she is a well-brought-up and religious young woman of the Brahminical sect. If she is to be sacrificed, that old Brahmin, her ftither, that good and devout mother, that most special Brahmin her brother, and that admirable girl her strait-laced sister, all insist upon her under- going the ceremony, and deck her with flowers ere they lead her to that dismal altar flame. Suppose, I say, she has made up her mind to throw over poor Philip, and take on with some one else ? What sentiment ought our virtuous bosoms to enter- tain towards her? Anger? I have just been holding a conver- sation with a young fellow in rags and without shoes, whose bed is commonly a dry arch, who has been repeatedly in prison, whose father and mother were thieves, and whose grandfathers were thieves ; — are we to be angry with him for following tlie paternal profession? With one eye brimming with pity, the other steadily keeping watch over the family spoons, I listen to his artless tale. I have no anger against that child ; nor towards thee, Agnes, daughter of Talbot the Brahmin. For though duty is dut}', when it comes to the pinch, it is often hard to do. Though dear papa and mamma say that here is a gentleman with ever so man}' thousands a year, an un- 250 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP doubted part in So-and-so-shire, and whole islands in the western main, who is wildly in love with 3-our fair skin and blue eyes, and is read}^ to fling all his treasures at your feet ; yet, after all, when 30U consider that he is very ignorant, though very cunning ; very stingy, though very rich ; very ill- tempered, probably, if faces and e3'es and mouths can tell truth : and as for Philip Firmin — though actually his legiti- mac}' is dubious, as we have lately heard, in which case his maternal fortune is ours — and as for his paternal inheritance, we don't know whether the doctor is worth thh'ty thousand pounds or a shilling ; — yet, after all — as for Philip — he is a man ; he is a gentleman ; he has brains in his head, and a great lionest heart of which he has offered to give the best feelings to his cousin : — I sa^' , when a poor girl has to be off with that old love, that honest and fair love, and be on with the new one, the dark one, I feel for her ; and though the Brahmins are, as we know, the most genteel sect in Plindostan, I rather wish the poor child could have belonged to some lower and less rigid sect. Poor Agnes ! to think that he has sat for hours, with mamma and Blanche or tlie governess, of course, in the room (for, you know, when she and Pliilip were quite wee wee things dear mamma had little amiable plans in view) ; has sat for hours by Miss Twysden's side pouring out his heart to her ; has had, mayhap, little precious moments of confidential talk — ■ little hasty whispers in coriidors, on stairs, behind window- curtains, and — and so forth in fact. She must remember all this past ; and can't, without some pang, listen on the same sofa, behind the same window-curtains, to her dark suitor pour- ing out his artless tales of barracks, boxing, horseflesh, and the tender passion. He is dull, he is mean, he is ill-tempered, he- is ignorant, and the other was . . . . ; but she will do her duty : oh, 3'es ! she will do her duty ! Poor Agnes ! Vest a fendre h cceur. I declare I quite feel for her. When Philip's temper was roused, I have been compelled, as his biographer, to own how very rude and disagreeable he could be ; and you must acknowledge that a .young man has some reason to be displeased, when he finds the girl of his heart hand-in-hand with another young gentleman in an occult and shady recess of the wood-work of Biighton Pier. The green waves are softh^ murmuring : so is the ofHcer of the Life-Guards Green. The waves are kissing the beach. Ah, agonizing thought ! I will not pursue the simile, which ma}' be but a jealous man's mad fantas}'. Of this I am sure, no pebble on that beach is cooler than polished Agnes. But, then, Philip ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 251 drunk with jealousy is not a reasonable being like Philip sober. " He had a dreadful temper," Philip's dear aunt said of him afterwards, — "I trembled for my dear gentle child, united for ever to a man of that violence. Never, in my secret mind, could I think that their union could be a happy one. Besides, you know, the nearness of their relationship. My scruples on that score, dear Mrs. Candor, never, never, could be quite got over." And these scruples came to weigh whole tons, when Mangrove Hall, the house in Berkeley Square, and Mr. Wool-, comb's West India island were put into the scale along with them. Of course there was no good in remaining amongst those damp, reeking timbers, now that the prett}' little tete-a-tete was over. Little Brownie hung fondling and whining round Philip's ankles, as the part}- ascended to the upper air. " My child, how pale you look ! " cries Mrs. Penfold, putting down her vol- ume. Out of the Captain's opal eyeballs shot lurid flames, and hot blood burned behind his yellow cheeks. In a quarrel, Mr. Phihp Firmin could be particularly cool and self-possessed. When Miss Agnes rather piteously introduced him to Mrs. Penfold, he made a bow as polite and gracious as an}- per- formed by his royal father. " My little dog knew me," he said, caressing the animal. " She is a faithful little thing, and she led me down to my cousin ; and — Captain Woolcomb, I think, is your name, sir? " As Philip curls his moustache and smiles blandly. Captain Woolcomb pulls his and scowls fiercely. " Yes, sir," he mut- ters, " my name is Woolcomb." Another bow and a touch of the hat from Mr. Firmin. A touch? — a gracious wave of the hat ; acknowledged b}- no means so gracefully by Captain Woolcomb. To these remarks Mrs. Penfold says, "Oh!" In fact, " Oh ! " is about the best thing that could be said under the circumstances. " M}' cousin. Miss Twysden, looks so pale because she was out very late dancing last night. I hear it was a very pretty ball. But ought she to keep such late hours, Mrs. Penfold, with her delicate health? Indeed, you ought not, Agnes! Ought she to keep late hours. Brownie? There — don't, you little foolish thing ! I gave m}- cousin the dog : and she's very fond of me — the dog is — still. You were saying. Captain Woolcomb, when I came up, that you would give Miss Twys- den a dog on whose nose you could hang your .... I beg pardon ? " 252 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Mr. "Woolcomb, as Philip made this second allusion to the peculiar nasal formation of the pug, ground his little white teeth together, and let "slip a most improper monosyllable. More acute bronchial suffering was manifested on the part of Miss Twjsden. Mrs. Penfold said, " The day is cloud- ing over. I think, Agnes, I will have my chair, and go home." " May I be allowed to wallc with you as far as your house ? " says Philip , twiddling a little locket which he wore at his watch- chain. It was a little gold locket, with a little pale hair inside. Whose hair could it have been that was so pale and fine ? As for the pretty, hieroglyphical A. T. at the back, those letters might indicate Alfred Tennyson, or Anthony Trollope, who might have given a lock of their golden hair to Philip, for I know he is an admirer of their works. Agnes looked guiltily at the little locket. Captain Wool- comb pulled his moustache so, that 3'ou would have thought he would have pulled it off ; and his opal eyes glared with fearful confusion and wrath. ' ' Will 3' ou please to fall back and let me speak to you, Agnes? Pardon me. Captain Woolcomb, I have a private message for m^y cousin ; and I came from London expressly to deliver it." " If Miss Tw3'sden desires me to withdraw, I fall back in one moment," sa^s the Captain, clenching the little lemon- colored gloves. " My cousin and I have lived together all our lives, and I bring her a family message. Have you any particular claim to hear it. Captain Woolcomb ? " ' ' Not if Miss Twysden don't want me to hear it D — the little brute." " Don't kick poor little harmless Brownie ! He shan't kick you, shall he, Brownie?" "If the brute comes between my shins, I'll kick her!" shrieks the Captain. "Hang her, I'll throw her into the sea ! " ' ' Whatever you do to my dog, I swear I will do to you ! " whispers Philip to the Captjtln. "Where are you staging?" shrieks the Captain. "Hang you, 3'ou shall hear from me." " Quiet — ' Bedford Hotel.' Easy, or I shall think 3'ou want the ladies to overhear." " Your conduct is horrible, sir," says Agnes, rapidl3', in the French language. " Mr. does not comprehend it." ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 253 " it ! If you have any secrets to talk, I'll withdraw fast enough, Miss Agnes," says Othello. "Oh, Grenville ! can I have any secrets from you? Mr. Firmin is my first-cousin. We have lived together all our lives. Philip, I — I don't know whether mamma announced^ to 3'ou — my — my engagement with Captain Grenville Woolcomb." The agitation has brought on another severe bronchial attack. Poor, poor, little Agnes ! What it is to have a delicate throat ! The pier tosses up to the skies, as though it had left its moorings — the houses on the cliff dance and reel, as though an earthquake was driving them — the sea walks up into the lodging-houses — and Philip's legs are failing from under him : it is only for a moment. When you have a large, tough double- tooth out, doesn't the chair go up to the ceiling, and your head come off too ? But, in the next instant, there is a grave gentle- man before you, making you a bow, and concealing something in his right sleeve. The crash is over. You are a man again. Philip clutches hold of the chain-pier for a minute : it does not sink under him. The houses, after reeling for a second or two, reassume the perpendicular, and bulge their bow-windows towards the main. He can see the people looking from the windows, the carriages passing, Professor Spurrier riding on the cliff with eighteen young ladies, his pupils. In long after- days he remembers those absurd little incidents wdth a curious tenacit3\ "This news," Philip says, "was not — not altogether un- expected. I congratulate my cousin, I am sure. Captain Woolcomb, had I known this for certain, I am sure I should not have interrupted you. You were going, perhaps, to ask me to your hospitable house, Mrs. Penfold?" " Was she, though? " cries the Captain. "I have asked a friend to dine with me at the 'Bedford,' and shall go to towai, I hope, in the morning. Can I take any- thing for j'ou, Agnes? Good-by : " and he kisses his hand in quite a decjage manner, as Mrs. Penfold's chair turns eastward and he goes to the west. Silently the tall Agnes sweeps along, a fair hand laid upon her friend's chair. It's over ! it's over ! She has done it. He was bound, and kept his honor, but she did not : it was she who for- sook him. And I fear very much Mr. Philip's heart leaps with pleasure and an immense sensation of relief at thinking he is free. He meets half a dozen acquaintances on the cliff. He laughs,' jokes, shakes hands, invites two or three to dinner in the gayest manner. He sits down on that green, 254 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP not very far from his inn, and is laughing to himself, when he suddenly feels something nestling at his knee, — rub- bing, and nestling, and whining plaintively. "What, is that you?" It is little Brownie who has followed him. Poor little rogue Then Philip bent down his head over the dog, and as it jumped on him with little bleats, and whines, and innocent caresses, he broke out into a sob, and a great refreshing rain of tears fell from his eyes. Such a little illness ! Such a mild fever ! Such a speedy cure ! Some people have the comi^laint so mildl3- that they are scarcely ever kept to their beds. Some bear its scars for ever. Philip sat resolutely at the hotel all night, having given special orders to the porter to sa}' that he was at home, in case any gentleman should call. He had a faint hope, he after- wards owned, that some friend of Captain Woolcomb might wait on him on that officer's part. He had a faint hope that a letter might come explaining that treason, — as people will have a sick, gnawing, yearning, foolish desire for letters — letters which contain nothing, which never did contain anything — letters which, nevertheless, you — . You know, in ftict, about those letters, and there is no earthlv use in asking to read Philip's. Have we not all read those love-letters which, after love-quarrels, come into court sometimes? We have all read them; and how many have written them ? Nine o'clock. Ten o'clock. Eleven o'clock. No challenge from the Captain ; no explanation from Agnes. Philip declares he slept perfectly well. But poor little Brownie the dog made a piteous howling all night in the stables. She was not a well-bred dog. You could not have hung the least hat on her nose. We compared anon our dear Agnes to a Brahmin lady, meekly offering herself up to sacrifice according to the practice used in her highly- respectable caste. Did we speak in anger or in sorrow ? — surel}' in terms of respectful grief and sympa- thy. And if we pit}- her, ought we not likewise to pity her highl}' respectable parents ? When the notorious Brutus or- dered his sons to execution, 3-ou can't suppose he was such a brute as to be pleased? All three parties suffered b}- the trans- action : the sons, probabl}', even more than their austere father ; but it stands to reason that the whole trio Avere very melan- choly. At least, were I a poet or musical composer depicting that business, I certainly should make them so. The sons, piping in a very minor key indeed ; the father's manly basso accompanied by deep wind instruments, and interrupted by ap- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 255 propriate sobs. Though pretty fair Agnes is being led to exe- cution, I don't suppose she likes it, of that her parents are happy, who are compelled to order the tragedy. That the rich young proprietor of Mangrove Hall should be fond of her was merely a coincidence, Mrs. Twysden afterwards always averred. Not for mere wealth — ah, no ! not for mines of gold — would the_y sacrifice their darling child. But when that sad P'irmia affair happened, 3'ou see it also happened that Captain Woolcomb was much struck b}' dear Agnes, whom he met everywhere. Her scapegrace of a cousin would go no- where. He preferred his bachelof associates, and horrible smoking and drinking habits, to the amusements and pleasures of more refined societ}'. He neglected Agnes. There is not the slightest doubt he neglected and mortified her, and his wil- ful and frequent alisence showed how little he cared for her. Would you blame the dear girl for coldness to a man who him- self showed such indifference to her? "■ No, my good Mrs. Candor. Had Mr. Firmin been ten times as rich as Mr. Wool- comb, I should have counselled my child to refuse him. /take the responsibilit}' of the measure entirely on m3'self — I, and her father, and her brother." So Mrs. Twysden afterwards spoke, in circles where an absurd and odious rumor ran, that the Tw3-sdens had forced their daughter to jilt young Mr. Firmin in order to marry a wealthy quadroon. People will talk, you know, de me, de te. If Woolcomb's dinners had not gone off so after his marriage, I have little doubt the scandal would have died awa}', and he and his wife might have been prett}' gener- all}' respected and visited. Nor must you suppose, as we have said, -that dear Agnes gave up her first love without a pang. That bronchitis showed how acutely the poor thing felt her position. It broke out very soon after Mr. Woolcomb's attentions became a little particular ; and she actuall}' left London in consequence. It is true that he could follow her without difficulty, but so, for the matter of that, could Philip, as we have seen when he came down and behaved so rudely to Captain Woolcomb. And l.>efore Philip came, poor Agnes could plead, " My father pressed me sair," as in tlie case of the notorious Mrs. Robin Gra3\ Father and mother both pressed her sair. Mrs. Twysden, I think I have mentioned, wiote an admirable letter, and was aware of her accomplishment. She used to write reams of gossip regularly every week to dear uncle Ringwood when he was in the countrv : and when her daughter Blanche married, she is said to have written several of her new son's sermons. 256 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP As a Christian mother, was she not to give lier daughter her ad- vice at this momentous*period of her life ? That advice went against poor Philip's chances with his cousin, who was kept ac- quainted with aU the circumstances of the controversy of which we have just seen the issue. I do not mean to say that Mrs. Twysden gave an impartial statement of the case. What par- ties in a lawsuit do spealv impartially on their own side or tlieir adversaries' ? Mrs. Twysden's view, as I have learned subse- quently, and as imparted to her daughter, was this : — That most unprincipled man. Dr. Firmin, who had already' attempted, and unjustl}-, to deprive the Twysdens of a part of their prop- erty, had commenced in quite earlj' life his career of outrage and wickedness against the Ringwood familj*. He had led dear Lord Ringwood's son, poor dear Lord Cinqbars, into a career of vice and extravagance which caused the premature death of that unfortunate young nobleman. Mr. Firmin had then made a marriage, in spite of the tears and entreaties of Mrs. Twysden, with her late unhappy sister, whose whole life had been made wretched by the doctor's conduct. But the climax of outrage and wickedness was, that when he — he, a low, penniless adventurer — married Colonel Ringwood's daugh- ter, he was married already', as could be sworn b}' the repentant clergyman who had been forced, by threats of punishment which Dr. Firmin held over him, to perform the rite ! " The mind" — Mrs. Talbot Tw,ysden's fine mind — " shiiddered at the thought of such wickedness." But most of all (for to think ill of any one whom she had once loved gave her pain) there was reason to believe that the unhappy Philip Firmin was his father's accompliee, and that he knew of his oicn illegitimacy, Avhich he was determined to set aside by s^ny fraud or artifice — > (she trembled, she wept to have to say this : O heaven ! that there should be such perversity in thy creatures !) And so little store did Philip set by his mother s honor, that he actually' vis- ited the abandoned woman who acquiesced in her own infamy, and had brought such unspeakable disgrace on the Ringwood family ! The thought of this crime had caused Mrs. Twysden and her dear husband nights of sleepless anguish — had made them years and years older — had stricken their hearts with a glief which must endure to the end of their days. With people so unscrupulous, so grasping, so artful as Dr. Firmin and (must she say?) his son, the}- were bound to be on their guard ; and though the}^ had avoided Philip, she had deemed it right, on thg rare occasions when she and the young man whom she must now call her illegitimate nephew met, to be- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 257 have as though she knew nothing of this most dreadful con- troversy'. "And now, dearest child" . . . Surely the moral is obvious? The dearest child " must see at once that any foolish plans which were formed in childish days and under furmer delusions must be cast aside for ever as impossible, as unworthy of a Twysden — of a Ringwood. Be not concerned for the young man him- self," wrote Mrs. Twysden — "I blush that he should bear that dear father's name who was slain in honor on Busaco's glorious field. P. F. has associates amongst whom he has ever been much more at home than in our refined circle, and habits which will cause him to forget you only too easily. And if near you is one whose ardor shows itself in his every word and action, whose wealth and property may raise you "to a place worthy of my child, need I say, a mother's, a father's blessing go with you." This letter was brought to Miss Tw3'sden, at Brighton, by a special messenger ; and the superscription an- nounced that it was " honored by Captain Grenville Wool- comb." Now when Miss Agnes has had a letter to this eflject (I may at some time tell 3^ou howl came to be acquainted with its con- tents) ; when she remembers all the abuse her brother lavishes against Philip as, heaven bless some of them ! dear relatives can best do ; when she thinks how cold he has of late been — how he will come smelling of cigars — how he won't conform to the usages du monde^ and has neglected all the decencies of society — how she often can't understand his strange rhapsodies about poetry, painting, and the like, nor how he can live with such associates as those who seem to delight him — and now how he is showing himself actually imprincipled and abetting his horrid father ; when we consider mither pressing sair, and all these points in mither's favor, I don't think we can order Agnes to instant execution for the resolution to which she IS coming. She will give him up — she will give him up. Good-b}-, Philip. Good-by the past. Be forgotten, be for- gotten, fond words spoken in not unwilling ears ! Be still and breathe not, eager lips, that have trembled so near to one an- other ! Unlock, hands, and part for ever, that seemed to be formed for life's long journey ! Ah, to part for ever is hard ; but harder and more humiliating still to part without regret! That papa and mamma had influenced Miss Tw^-sden in her behavior my wife and I could easily imagine, when Philip, in his wrath and grief, came to us and poured out the feehngs of his heart. My wife is a repository of men's secrets, an unth'ing 17 258 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP consoler and comforter ; and she knows many a sad story whicli we are not at libert}' to tell, like this one of which this person, Mr. Firmin, has given us possession. •' Father and mother's orders," shouts Philip, " I dare say, Mrs. Pendennis ; but the wish was father to the thought of parting, and it was for the blackamoor's parks and acres that the girl jilted me. Look here. I told you just now that I ■slept perfecth' well on that infernal night after 1 had said fare- well to her. Well, 1 didn't. It was a lie. I walked ever so many times the whole length of the cliff, from Hove to Rotting- dean almost, and then went to bed afterwards, and slept a little out of sheer fatigue. And as I was passing b}' Horizontal Terrace ( — I happened to pass by there two or three times in the moonlight, like a great jackass — ) you know those verses of mine which I have hummed here sometimes?" (hummed ! he used to roar them !) " ' When the locks of burnished gold, ladj', shall to silver turn ! ' Never mind the rest. You know the verses about fidelity and old age? She was singing them on that night, to that negro. And I heard the beggar's voice say, ' Bravo ! ' through the open windows." "Ah, Piiilip ! it was cruel," says my wife, heartily pitying our friend's anguish and misfortune. " It was cruel indeed. I am sure T«e can feel for 3'Ou. But think what certain misery a marriage with such a person would have been ! Think of 3-our warm heart given away for ever to that heartless crea- ture." "Laura, Laura, have you not often warned me not to speak ill of people?" says Laura's husband. "I can't help it sometimes," cries Laura in a transport. "I try and do my best not to speak ill of my neighbors ; but the worldliness of those people shocks me so that I can't bear to be near them. The}- are so utterly tied and bound by con- ventionalities, so perfectly convinced of their own excessive high-breeding, that they seem to me more odious and more vulgar tiian quite low people ; and I'm sure Mr. Philip's friend, the Little vSister, is infinitely more lady-like than his dreary aunt or either of his supercilious cousins ! " Upon my word, when this lady did speak her mind, there was no mistaking her meaning. 1 believe Mr. Fii-min took a considerable number of people into his confidence regarding this love-affair. He is one of those individuals who can't keep their secrets ; and when hurt he roars so loudly that all his friends can hear. It has been remarked that the sorrows of such persons do not endure very ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 259 long ; nor surely was there an^' great need in this instance that Philip's heart should wear a lengthened mourning. Ere long he smoked his pipes, he played his billiards, he sliouted his songs ; he rode in the Park for the pleasure of severely cutting his aunt and cousins when their open carriage passed, or of riding down Captain Woolcomb or his cousin liingwood, should either of those worthies come in his wa}'. One day, when the old Lord Ringwood came to town for his accustomed spring visit, Philip condescended to wait upon him, and was announced to his lordship just as Talbot Tw^s- den and Ringwood his son were taking leave of their noble kinsman. Philip looked at them with a flashing e^'e and a dis- tended nostril, according to his swaggering wont. 1 dare sa}' the}' on their part bore a verj' mean and hang-dog appearance ; for m}' lord laughed at their discomfiture, and seemed im- mensely amused as they slunk out of the door when Philip came hectoring in. " So, sir, there has been a family row. Heard all about it: at least, their side. Your father did me the favor to marr}' my niece, having another wife already?" "Having no other wife already, sir — though my dear relations were anxious to show that lie had." " Wanted your money ; thirty thousand pound is not a trifle. Ten thousand apiece for those children. And no more need of an}' confounded pinching and scraping, as the}- have to do at Beaunash Street. Affair off between you and Agnes? Absurd affair. So much the better." " Yes, sir, so much the better." " Have ten thousand apiece. Would have twenty thousand if they got yours. Quite natural to want it." "Quite." "Woolcomb a sort of negro, I understand. Fine property here : besides the West India rubbish. Violent man — so people tell me. Luckily Agnes seems a cool, easy-going woman, and must put up with the rough as well as the smooth in marrying a property like that. Very lucky for you that that woman persists there was no marriage with your father. Tw\-sden says the doctor bribed her. Take it he's not got much money to bribe unless you gave some of yours." " I don't bribe people to bear false witness, my lord — and if—" " Don't be in a huff; I didn't say so. Twysden says so — perhaps tliinks so. When people are at law they believe any- thing of one another." 260 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " I don't know what other people may do, sir. If I had another man's money, I should not be easy until I had paid him back. Had my share of my grandfather's property not been lawfull}' mine — and for a few hours I thought it was not — please God, I would have given it up to its rightful owners — at least, my father would." " Why, haug it all, man, you don't mean to say your father has not settled with you ? " Philip blushed a little. He had been rather surprised that there had been no settlement between him and his father. "I am only of age a few months, sir. I am not under any apprehension. I get my dividends regularly enough. One of my grandfather's trustees. General Baynes, is in India. He is to return almost immediately, or we should have sent a power of attorney out to him. There's no hurry about the business." Philip's maternal grandfather, and Lord Ringwood's brother, the late Colonel Philip Ringwood, had died possessed of but trifling property of his own ; but his wife had brought him a fortune of sixty thousand pounds, which was settled on their children, and in the names of trustees — Mr. Briggs, a lawyer, and Colonel Baynes, an East India officer, and friend of Mrs. PhiUp Ringwood's family. Colonel Baynes had been in England some eight years before ; and Philip remembered a kind old gentleman coming to see him at school, and leaving tokens of his bounty behind. The other trustee, Mr. Briggs, a lawyer of considerable countj^ reputation, was dead long since, having left his affairs in an involved conditiori. During the trustee's absence and the son's minority, Philip's father received the dividends on his son's property, and liberally spent them on the boy. Indeed, I believe that for some little time at college, and during his first journe3's abroad, Mr. Philip spent rather more than the income of his maternal inheritance, being freely supplied by his father, who told him not to stint himself. He was a sumptuous man. Dr. Firmin — open-handed — sub- scribing to many charities — a lover of solemn good cheer. The doctor's dinners and the doctor's equipages were models in their waj^ ; and I remember the sincere respect with which my uncle the Major (the family guide in such matters) used to speak of Dr. Firmin's taste. " No duchess in London, sir," he would say, " drove better horses than Mrs. Firmin. Sir George Warrender, sir, could not give a better dinner, sir, than that to which we sat down yesterday." And for the exer- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 261 cise of these civic virtues the doctor had the hearty respect of the good Major. "Don't tell me, sir," on the other hand, Lord Ringwood would sa}^ ; "I dined with the fellow once — a swaggering fel- low, sir ; but a servile fellow. The way he bowed and flat- tered was perfectly absurd. Those fellows think we like it — and we may. Even at m}^ age, I like flattery — any quantity of it ; and not what you call delicate, but strong, sir. I like a man to kneel down and kiss my shoe-strings. I have my own opinion of him afterwards, but that is what I like — what all men like ; and that is what Fii-min gave in quantities. But you could see that his house was monstrously' expensive. His dinner was excellent, and you saw it was good everyday — ■ not like 3'our dinners, my good Maria ; not like your wines, Twysden, which, hang it, I can't swallow, unless I send 'em in myself. Even at ni}' own house, I don't give that kind of wine on common occasions which Firmin used to give. I drink the best myself, of course, and give it to some who know ; but I don't give it to common fellows, who come to hunting dinners, or to girls and boys who are dancing at my balls." "Yes; Mr. Firrain's dinners were very handsome — and a prett}^ end came of the handsome dinners ! " sighed Mrs. Twys- den. "That's not the question; lam only speaking about the fellow's meat and drink, and they were both good. And it's my opinion, that fellow will have a good dinner wherever he goes." I had the fortune to be present at one of these feasts, which Lord Ringwood attended, and at which I met Philip's trustee, General Baj-nes, who had just arrived from India. I remem- ber now the smallest details of the little dinner, — the bright- ness of the old plate, on which the doctor prided himself, and the quiet comfort, not to say splendor of the entertainment. The General seemed to take a great liking to Philip, whose grandfather had been his special friend and comrade in arms. He thought he saw something of Philip Ringwood in Philip Firmin's face. "Ah, indeed ! " growls Lord Ringwood. "You ain't a bit like him," says the downright General. "Never saw a handsomer or more open-looking fellow than Philip Ringwood." "Oh! I dare say I looked pretty open myself forty years ago," said my lord ; "now I'm shut, I suppose. I don't see the least likeness in this 3'oung man to my brother." 262 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " That is some sherry as old as the century," whispers the host ; " it is the same the Prince Regent liked so at a Mansion House dinner, five-and-twenty years ago." "Never knew anything about wine; was always tippling liqueurs and punch. What did j'ou give for this sherry, doctor?" The doctor siglied, and looked up to the chandelier. "Drink it while it lasts, my good lord; but don't ask me the price. The fact is, I don't like to say what I gave for it." "You need not stint 3'ourself in the price of sherry, doc- tor," cries the General gayly ; "you have but one son, and he has a fortune of his own, as I happen to know. You haven't dipped it, Master Philip?" " I fear, sir, I may have exceeded my income sometimes, in the last three years ; but m}- father has helped me." " Exceeded nine hundred a 3'ear ! Upon my word ! When I was a sub, my friends gave me fiffc}^ pounds a 3'ear, and I never was a shilling in debt ! Wliat are men coming to now ? " "If doctors drink Prince Regent's sherry at ten guineas a dozen, what can you expect of their sons, General Ba3nes?" grumbles my lord. " My father gives you his best, m}^ lord," sa^'s Philip ga}-^ ; " if 3'ou know of anj' better, he will get it for 30U. Si non Ins utere mecuni ! Please to pass me that decanter, Pen ! " I thought the old lord did not seem ill pleased at the young man's freedom ; and now, as I recall it, think I can remember that a peculiar silence and anxiety seemed to weigh ,upon our host — upon him whose face was commonly- so anxious and sad. The famous sherry, which had made many voyages to Indian climes before it acquired its exquisite flavor, had travelled some three or four times round the doctor's poUshed table, when Brice, his man, entered with a letter on his silver tray. Per- haps Philip's eyes and mine exchanged glances in which ever so small a scintilla of mischief might sparkle. The doctor often had letters when he was entertaining his friends ; and his patients had a knack of falling ill at awkward times. "Gracious heavens !" cries the doctor, when he read the despatch — it was a telegraphic message. "The poor Grand Duke ! " " What Grand Duke? " asks the surly lord of Ringwood. " My earliest patron and friend — the Grand Duke of Gron- ino;en ! Seized this morning at eleven at Potzendorif ! Has ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 263 sent for me. I promised to go to him if ever he had need of me. I must go ! I can save the night-train yet. General ! our visit to the City must be deferred till m^' return. Get a portmanteau, Brice ; and call a cab at once. Phihp will enter- tain m}- friends for the evening. My dear lorxl, ^ou won't mind an old doctor leaving you to attend an old patient? I v\dll write from Groningen. I shall be there on P'riday morning. Farewell, gentlemen ! Brice, another bottle of tliat sherry ! I pray, don't let anybod^^ stir ! God bless 3'ou, Philip, my boy ! " And with this the doctor went up, took his son by tlie hand, and laid the other ver}' kindly on the young man's shoulder. Then he made a bow round the table to his guests — one of his graceful bows, for which he was famous. I can see the sad smile on his face now, and the light from the chandelier over the dining-table glancing from his shining forehead, and casting deep shadows on to his cheek from his heavy brows. The departure was a, little abrupt, and of course cast some- what of a gloom upon the company. " M}' carriage ain't ordered till ten — must go on sitting here, I suppose. Confounded life doctor's must be ! Called up an}- hour in the night ! Get their fees ! Must go ! " growled the great man of the part}'. "People are glad enough to have them when the}^ are ill, m}' lord. I think I have heard that once when 3'Ou were at Ryde ..." The great man started back as if a little shock of cold water had fallen on him ; and then looked at Philii) with not un- friendi}' glances. '•' Treated for gout — so he did. Very well, too ! " said my lord ; and whispered, not inaudibly, " Cool hand, that boy ! " And then his lordship fell to talk with General Baynes about his campaigning, and his earl}' acquaintance with his own brother, Philip's grandfather. The General did not care to brag about his own feats of arms, but was loud in praises of his old comrade. Philip was pleased to hear his grandsire so well spoken of. The General had known Dr. Firmin's father also, who likewise had been a colonel in the famous old Peninsular army. "A Tartar that fellow w\as, and no mistake !" said the good officer. "Your father has a strong look of him ; and you have a glance of him at times. But you remind me of Philip Ringwood not a little ; and you could not belong to a better man." "• Ha ! " says ni}' lord. There had been differences between him and his brother. He may have been thinking of days when the}' were friends. Lord Ringwood now graciously asked if 264 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP General Baynes was stajdng in London ? But the General had only come to do this piece of business, which must now be de- layed. He was too poor to live in London. He must look out for a country place, where he and his six children could live cheaply. "Three bo3^s at school, and one at college, Mr. Philip — 3"ou know what that must cost; though, thank my stars, my college bo}' does not spend nine hundred a j'ear. Nine hundred ! Where should we be if he did ? " In fact, the da^'s of nabobs are long over, and the General had come back to his native country with only very small means for the sup- port of a great familj'. When my lord's carriage came, he departed, and the other guests presently took their leave. The General, who was a bachelor for the nonce, remained awhile, and we three prattled over cheroots in Philip's smoking-room. It was a night like a hundred I have spent there, and yet how well I remember it! We talked about Philip's future prospects, and he communicated his intentions to us in his lordly way. As for practising at the bar: " No, sir," he said, in reply to General Ba3'nes's queries, " he should not make much hand of that ; shouldn't if he were ever so poor. He had his own money, and his father's ; " and he condescended to say that " he might, perhaps, try for Par- liament should an eligible opportunity offer." " Here's a fellow born with a silver spoon in his mouth," says the General, as we walked away together. ' ' A fortune to begin with ; a for- tune to inherit. My fortune was two thousand pounds, and the price of my two first commissions ; and when I die my children will not be quite so well off as their father \^as when he began ! " Having parted with the old officer at his modest sleeping quarters near his club, I walked to m3' own home, little think- ing that yonder cigar, of which I had shaken some of the ashes in Philip's smoking-room, was to be the last tobacco I ever should smoke there. The pipe was smoked out. The wine was drunk. When that door closed on me, it closed for the last time — at least was never more to admit me as Philip's, as Dr. Firmin's, guest and friend. I pass the place often now. My 3'outh comes back to me as I gaze at those blank, shining windows. I see myself a bo3' and Philip a child ; and his fair mother ; and his father, the hospitable, the melancholy, the magnificent. I wish I could have helped him. I wish some- how he had borrowed mone3'. He never did. He gave me his often. I have never seen him since that night when his own door closed upon him. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 265 On the second day after the doctor's departure, as I was at breakfast with my famil}', I received the following letter : — " My dear Pendennis, — Could I have seen you in private on Tuesday niglit, I might liave warned you of the calamity which was hanging over my house. But to what good end i That you should know a few weeks, hours, before what all the world will ring with to-morrow ? Neitlier you nor I, nor one whom we both love, would have been the happier for know- ing my misfortunes a few hours sooner. In four-and-twenty hours every club in London will be busy with talk of the departure of the celebrated Dr. Firmin — the wealtliy Dr. Firmin ; a few months more and (I have strict and conjidential reason to believe) hereditary rank would liave been mine, but Sir George Firmin would have been an insolvent man, and his son Sir Philip a beggar. Perhaps the thought of this honor has been one of the reasons which has determined me on expatriating myself sooner than I otherwise needed to have done. " George Firmin, the honored, the wealthy physician, and his son a beggar ? I see you are startled at the news ! You wonder how, with a great practice, and no great ostensible expenses, such ruin should have come upon me — upon him. It has seemed as if for years past Fate has been determined to make war upon George Brand Firmin ; and who can battle against Fate 1 A man universally admitted to be of good judgment, I have embarked in mercantile speculations the most promising. Every- thing upon which I laid my hand has crumbled to ruin ; but I can say with the Roman bard ' Impavidum ferient ruinxe.' And, almost j^enniiess, almost aged, an exile driven from my country, I seek another where I do not de- spair — / even have ajirm belief that I shall be enabled to repair my shat- tered fortunes ! My race has never been deficient in courage, and Philip and Philip's father must use all theirs, so as to be enabled to face the dark times which menace them. Si celeres guatit pennas Fortima, we must resign what she gave us, and bear our calamity with unshaken hearts ! " There is a man, I own to you, whom I cannot, I must not face. Gen- eral Baynes has just come from India, with but very small savings, I fear; and these are jeopardized by his imprudence and my most cruel and un- expected misfortune. I need not tell you that my all would have been my boy's. My will, made long since, will be found in the tortoise-shell secre- taire standing in my consulting-room under the picture of Abraham offer- ing up Isaac. In it you will see that everything except annuities to old and deserving servants and a legacy to one excellent and faithful woman whom I own I have wronged — my all, which once was considerable, zs lefi to my hoy. " I am now worth less than notliing, and have compromised Philip's property along with my own. As a man of business. General Baynes, Colonel Ringwood's old companion in arms, was culpably careless, and I — alas! that I must own it — deceived him. Being the only surviving trustee (Mrs. Philip Ringwood's other trustee was an unprincipled attorney who has been long dead), General B. signed a paper authorizing, as he imagined, my bankers to receive Philip's dividends, but, in fact, giving me the power to dispose of the capital sum. On my honor, as a man, as a gentleman, as a father, Pendennis, I hoped to replace it ! I took it ; I embarked it in speculations in which it sank down with ten times the amount of my own private property. Half-year after half-j^ear, with straitened means and with the greatest difficalty to mi/setf, my poor boy has had his dividend ; and he at least has never known what was want or anx- iety until now. Want 1 Anxiety 'i Pray Heaven he never may suffer 266 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP the sleepless anguisli, the racking care which has pursued me ! * Past. equileni seikt aim cura,' our favorite poet says. Ah ! how truly, too, does lie remark, ' Palrice qiiis exul. se quocjue fuijit?' Think j'ou where I go grief and remorse will not follow ;iie 1 Tliey will never leave me until I shall return to this country — for that I shall return, my heart tells me — until I can reimburse General Baynes, who stands indebted to Piiilip through his incautiousness and my ovei-powering necessity; and my lieart — an erring but fond father's heart — tells me that my boy will not eventually lose a penny by my misfortune. " I own, between ourselves, that this illness of the Grand Duke of GriJningen was a pretext which I put forward. You will liear of me ere long from the place whither for some time past I have determined on bending my steps. I placed 100/. on Saturday, to Philip's credit, at his banker's. I take little more than that sum with me ; depressed, yet full of hope ; liaving done wrong, yet cltcrmined to retrieve it, and vowinj that ere I die my poor boy shall not have to blush at bearing the name of " Geokge Brand Firmin. " Good-by, dear Philip ! Your old friend will tell you of my misfor- tunes. When I write again, it will be to tell you wliex'e to address me ; and wherever I am, or whatever misfortuues oppress me, tliink of rae always as your fond Father." I had scarce read this awful letter when Philip Firmin himself came into our breakfast-room looking very much dis- turbed. CHAPTER XV. SAMARITANS. ' The children trotted up to their friend with outstretched hands and their usual smiles of welcome. Philip patted their heads, and sat down with very woe-begone aspect at the family table. " Ah, friends," said he, "■ do you know all?" "Yes, we do," said Laura, sadly, who has ever compassion for others' misfortunes. " What ! is it all over the town already? " asked poor Philip. "We have a letter from j'our father this morning." And we brought the letter to him, and showed him the affectionate special message for himself. " His last thought was for j-ou, Phihp ! " cries Laura. " See here, those last kind words ! " Philip shook his liead. " It is not untrue, what is written here : but it is not all the truth." And Philip Firmin dismayed ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 267 us by the intelligence which he proceeded to give. There was an execution in the house fn Old Parr Street. A hundred clamorous creditors had alread}' appeared there. Before going awa}', the doctor had taken considerable sums from those dan- gerous financiers to whom he had been of late resorting. They were in possession of numberless lately- signed bills, upon which the desperate man had raised monej'. He had professed to share with Philip, but he had taken the great share, and left Philip two hundred pounds of his own money. All the rest was gone. All Phihp's stock had been sold out. The father's fraud had made him master of the trustee's signature : and Phihp Firmiu, reputed to be so wealthy, was a beggar, iu my room. Luckily he had few, or very trifling debts. Mr. Philip had a lordlj* impatience of indebtedness, and, with a good bachelor-income, had paid for all his pleasures as he enjo^'ed them. Well ! He must work. A young man ruined at two-and- twent}', with a couple of hundred pounds yet in his pocket, hardl}' knows that he is ruined. He will sell his horses — live in chambers — has enough to go on for a year. " When I am very hard put to it," says Philip, "I will come and dine with the children at one. I dare say you haven't dined much at WilUams's in the Old Bailey? You can get a famous dinner there for a shilling — beef, bread, potatoes, beer, and a penny for the waiter." Yes, Philip seemed actually to enjoy his dis- comfiture. It was long since we had seen him in such spirits. " The weight is off my mind now. It has been throttling me for some time past. Without understanding whj' or wherefore, I have always been looking out for this. My poor father had ruin written in his face : and when those bailiffs made their appearance in Old Parr Street 3'esterday, I felt as if I had known them before. I had seen their hooked beaks in my dreams." "That unlucky General Baynes, when he accepted your mother's trust, took it with its consequences. If the sentry falls asleep on his post, he must pay the penalty," says Mr. Pendennis, ver}' severeh'. "Great powers, you would not have me come down on an old man with a large family, and ruin them all?" cries Philip. "No: I don't think Philip will do that," says my wife, looking exceedingly pleased. "If men accept trusts they must fulfil them, my dear," cries the master of the house. 268 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " And I must make that old gentleman suffer for my father's wrong? If I do, may I starve ! there ! " cries Philip. "And so that poor Little Sister has made her sacrifice in vain ! " sighed m}^ wife. " As for the father — oh, Arthur ! I can't tell you how odious that man was to me. There was something dreadful about him. And in his mauuer to women — oh! — " " If he had been a black draught, my dear, you could not have shuddered more naturally." ' ' Well, he was horrible ; and I know Philip will be better now he is gone." Women often make light of ruin. Give them but the be- loved objects, and povert}' is a trifling sorrow to bear. As for Phihp, he, as we have said, is gayer than he has been for 3'ears past. The doctor's flight occasions not a little club talk : but, now he is gone, many people see quite well that they were aware of his insolvenc}', and always knew it must end so. The case is told, is canvassed, is exaggerated as such cases will be. I dare saj- it forms a week's talk. But people know that poor Philip is his father's largest creditor, and eye the 3'oung man with no unfriendly looks when he comes to his club after his mishap, — with burning cheeks, and a tingling sense of shame, imagining that all the world will point at and avoid him as the guilty fugitive's son. No : the world takes very little heed of his misfortune. One or two old acquaintances are kinder to him than before. A few say his ruin, and his obligation to work, wifl do him good. Onlj' a very ver}' few avoid him, and look unconscious as he passes them by. Amongst these cold countenances, 30U, of course, will recognize the faces of the whole Twysden famil3^ Three statues, with marble e3'es, could not look more stou}'- calm than Aunt Twysden and her two daughters, as thej' pass in the stately barouche. The gentlemen turn red when the}' see Philip. It is rather late times for Uncle Tw^'sden to begin blushing, to be sure. "Hang the fellow! he will, of course, be coming for mone}'. Dawkins, I am not at home, mind, when 3'oung Mr. Firmin calls." So says Lord Ringwood re- garding Philip fallen among thieves. Ah, thanks to Heaven, travellers find Samaritans as well as Levites on life's hard way ! Philip told us with much humor of a rencontre which he had had with his cousin, Ringwood Twjsden, in a public place. Twys- den was enjoying himself with some 3'oung clerks of his oflSce ; but as Philip advanced upon him, assuming his fiercest scowl and most hectoring manner, the other lost heart, and fled. And ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 269 no wonder, "Do you suppose," says Twj^sden, "I will will- ingly sit in the same room with that cad, after the manner in which he has treated my famil}- ! No, sir ! " And so the tall door in Beaunash Street is to open for Philip Firmin no more. The tall .door in Beaunash Street flies open readily enough for another gentleman. A splendid cab-horse reins up before it every da}- . A pair of varnished boots leap out of the cab, and spring up the broad stairs, where somebody is waiting with a smile of genteel welcome — the same smile — on the same sofa — the same mamma at her table writing her letters. And beautiful bouquets from Covent Garden decorate the room. And after half an hour mamma goes out to speak to the house- keeper, vous comprenez. And there is nothing particularly new under the sun. It will shine to-morrow upon prett}' much the same flowers, sports, pastimes, &c, which it illuminated yes- terday. And when your love-making days are over, miss, and 3'ou are married, and advantageousl}' established, shall not your little sisters, now in the nursery', trot down and play their little games? Would you on your conscience, now — you who are rather incliued to consider Miss Agnes Twj-sden's conduct as heartless — would you, I sa^-, have her cry her pretty eyes out about a young man who does not care much for her, for whom she never did care much herself, and who is now, moreover, a beggar, with a ruined and disgraced father and a doubtful legitimacy? Absurd! That dear girl is like a beautiful fra- grant bower-room at the " Star and Garter" at Richmond, with honeysuckles mayhap trailing round the windows, from which you behold one of the most lovely and pleasant of wood and river scenes. The tables are decorated with flowers, rich wine- cups sparkle on the board, and Captain Jones's party have everything they can desire. Their dinner over and that com- pany gone, the same waiters, the same flowers, the same cups and crystals, array themselves for Mr, Brown and his party. Or, if you won't haA'e Agnes Twysden compared to the " Star and Garter Tavern," which must admit mixed company, liken her to the chaste moon who shines on shepherds of all com- plexions, swarthy or fair. When oppressed b}- superior odds, a commander is forced to retreat, we like him to show his skill by carrying oft' his guns, treasure, and camp equipages. Doctor Firmin, beaten by for- tune and compelled to fly, showed quite a splendid skill and coolness in his manner of decamping, and left the very smallest amount of spoils in the hands of the victorious enemy. His 270 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP wines had been famous amongst the grave epicures with whom he dined : he used to boast, Uke a worthy hon vivant who knows the value of wine-conversation after dinner, of the quantities which he possessed, and the rare bins which he had in store ; but when tlie executioners came to arrange his sale, there was found only a beggarly- account of empty bottles, and I fear some of the unprincipled creditors put in a great quantit3^ of bad liquor which they endeavored to foist off' on the public as the genuine and carefullv selected stock of a well-known con- noisseur. News of this dishonest proceeding reached Dr. Fir- min presentl}' in his retreat ; and he showed b}^ his letter a generous and manl}- indignation at the manner in which his creditors had tampered with his honest name and reputation as a hon vivant. He have bad wine ! For shame ! He had the best from the best wine-merchant, and paid, or rather owed, the best prices for it ; for of late years the doctor had paid no bills at all : and the wine-merchant api^eared in quite a hand- some group of figures in his schedule. In like manner his books were pawned to a book auctioneer ; and Brice, the butler, had a bill of sale for the furniture. Firmin retreated, we will not say with the honors of war, but as little harmed as possible by- defeat. Did the enemy want the plunder of his city? He had smuggled almost all his valuable goods over the wall. Did they desire his ships? He had sunk them : and when at length the conquerors poured into his stronghold, he was far beyond the reach of their shot. Don't we often hear still that Nana Sahib is alive and exceedingl}' comfortable ? We do not- love him; but we can't help having a kind of admiration for that slippery fugitive who has escaped from the dreadful jaws of the lion. In a word, when Firmin's furniture came to be sold, it was a marvel how little his creditors benefited \>j the sale. Con- temptuous brokers declared there never was such a shabby lot of goods. A friend of the house and poor Philip bought in his mother's picture for a few guineas ; and as for the doctor's own state portrait, I am afraid it went for a few shillings only,, and in the midst of a roar of Hebrew laughter. I saw in Wardour Street, not long after, the doctor's sideboard, and what dealers cheerfully call the sarcophagus cellaret. Poor doctor ! his wine was all drunken ; his meat was eaten up ; but his own bod}'- had slipped out of the reach of the hook-beaked birds of prey. We had spoken rapidly in undertones, innocently believing that the young people round about us were taking no heed of our talk. But in a lull of the conversation, Mr. Pendennis junior, who had always been a friend to Philip, broke out with — ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 271 " Philip ! if 30U are so very poor, j'ou'll be hungry-, 30U know, and you ma^" have m3^ piece of bread and jam. And I don't want it, mamma," he added ; " and you know PhiUp has often and often given me things." Pliilip stooped down and kissed this good little Samaritan. " I'm not hungry. Art}', m}' boy," he said; " and I'm not so poor but I have got — look here — a fine new shilling for Arty ! " "■ Oh, Philip, Phihp ! " cried mamma. " Don't take the mone}-, Arthur," cried papa. And the bo^' with a rueful face but a manl}- heart, prepared to give back the coin. " It's quite a new one ; and it's a very pretty one : but I won't have it, Philip, thank 30U," he said, turning ver^' red. " If he won't, I vow I will give it to the cabman," said PhiUp. " Keeping a cab all this while? Oh, Philip, Philip ! " again cries mamma, the economist. " Loss of time is loss of money, my dear lad}," saj-s Philip, very gravely. " I have ever so many places to go to. When I am set in for being ruined, 30U shall see what a screw I will become ! I must go to Mrs. Brandon, who will be verj- uneasy, poor dear, until she knows the worst." " Oh, Philip, I should like so to go with you ! " cries Laura. " Pray, give her our ver}' best regards and respects." '•'■Mercl .' " said the young man, and squeezed Mrs. Penden- nis's hand in his own big one. " I will take your message to her, Laura. J'aime qu'on I'aime, savez-voiis ? " " That means, I love those who love her," cries little Laura ; " but I don't know," remarked this little person afterwards to her paternal confidant, "that 1 like all people to love my mamma. That is, I don't like her to like them, papa — onl}^ you may, papa, and Ethel may, and Arthur may, and, I think, Philip may, now he is poor and quite, quite alone — and we will take care of him, won't we? And, I think I'll bu^^ him some- thing with my money which Aunt Ethel gave me." " And I'll give him ray money," cries a bo}-. " And I'll div him my — my — " Psha ! what matters what the little sweet lips prattled in their artless kindness ? But the soft words of love and pit}- smote the mother's heart with an exquisite pang of gratitude and joy ; and I know where her thanks were paid for those tender words and thoughts of her little ones. Mrs. Pendennis made Philip promise to come to dinner, and also to remember not to take a cab — which promise Mr. Firmia 272 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP had not much difficulty in executing, for he had but a few hun- dred yards to vfa\k across the Parle from his club ; and I must say that my wife took a special care of our dinner that da}-, preparing for Philip certain dishes which she knew he liked, and enjoining the butler of the establishment (who also hap- pened to be the owner of the house) to fetch from his cellar the very choicest wine in his possession. I have previously described our friend and his boisterous, impetuous, generous nature. When Philip was moved, he called to all the world to witness his emotion. When he was angry, his enemies were all the rogues and scoundrels in the world. He vowed he would have no mercy on them, and desired all his acquaintances to participate in his anger. How could such an open-mouthed son have had such a close-spoken father ? I dare say you have seen very well-bred young people, the children of vulgar and ill-bred parents ; the swaggering father have a silent son ; the loud mother a modest daughter. Our friend is not Amadis or Sir Charles Grandison ; and I don't set him up for a moment as a person to be revered or imitated; but try to draw him faithfully and as nature made him. As nature made him, so he was. I don't think he tried to improve himself much. Perhaps few people do. They suppose they do : and you read, in apologetic memoirs, and fond biographies, how this man cured his bad temper, and t'other worked and strove until he grew to be almost faultless. Very well and good, my good people. You can learn a language ; you can master a science ; I have heard of an old squaretoes of sixt}' who learned, by study and intense application, ver}^ satisfactoril}' to dance; but can you, by taking thought, add to your moral stature ? Ah me ! the doctor who preaches is only taller than most of us by the height of the pulpit : and wlien he steps down, I dare say he cringes to the duchess, growls at his children, scolds his wife about the dinner. All is vanity, look you : and so the preacher is vanit}', too. " Well, then, I must again say that Philip roared his griefs : he shouted his laughter : he bellowed his applause : he was extravagant in his humility as in his pride, in his admiration of his friends and contempt for his enemies : I dare say not a just man, but I have met juster men not half so honest ; and certainl}^ not a faultless man, though I know better men not near so good. So, I believe, m}' wife thinks : else why should she be so fond of him ? Did we not know bo^^s who never went out of bounds, and never were late for school, and never made a false "concord or quantitj', and never came under the ferule ; "Good Samaritans." ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 273 and others who were alwa^'s playing truant, and bhindering, and being whipped ; and 3-et, somehow, was not Mastei Naughty boj' better lilted than Master Goodcliild? When Mas- ter Naughty boy came to dine with us on the first day of his ruin, he bore a face of radiant happiness — he laughed, he bounced about, he caressed the children ; now he took a couple on his knees ; now he tossed the baby to the ceiling ; now he sprawled over a sofa, and now he rode upon a chair ; never was a penniless gentleman more cheerful. As for his dinner, Phil's appetite was always fine, but on this day an o'gre could scarcely play a more terrible knife and fork. He asked for more and more, until his entertainers wondered to behold him. " Dine for to-day and to-morrow too ; can't expect such fare as this every da}-, you know. This claret, how good it is ! May I pack some up in [japer, and take it home with me ? " The children roared with laughter at this admirable idea of carrying home wine in a sheet of paper. I don't know that it is always at the best jokes that children laugh : — children and wise men too. When we three were by ourselves, and freed from the company of servants and children, our friend told us the cause of his ga3-ety. " By George ! " he swore, " it is worth being ruined to find such good people in the world. My clear, kind Laura " — here the gentleman brushes his eyes with his fist — " it was as much as I could do this morning to prevent mj'self from hugging you in my arms, j'ou were so generous, and — and so kind, and so tender, and so good, by George. And after leaving you, where do you think I went? " " I think I can guess, Philip," says Laura. "Well," says Philip, winking his eyes again, and tossing off a great bumper of wine, " I went to her, of course. I think she is the best friend I have in the world. The old man was out, and I told her about everything that had happened. And what do 3-ou think she has done? She says she has been ex- pecting me — she has ; and she has gone and fitted up a room with a nice little bexl at the top of the house, with everything as neat and trim as possible ; and she begged and praj'ed I would go and stay with her — and I said I would, to please her. And then she takes me down to her room ; and she jumps up to a cupboard, which she unlocks ; and she opens and takes three- and-twenty pounds out of a — out of a tea — out of a tea-caddy — confound me ! — and she says, ' Here, Philip,' she says, and — Boo ! what a fool I am ! " and here the orator fairl}' broke down in his speech. 18 274 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP CHAPTER XVI. rN WHICH PHILIP SHOWS HIS METTLE. "When the poor Little Sister proffered her mite, her all, to Philip, I dare say some sentimental passages occurred between them which are much too trivial to be narrated. No doubt her pleasure would have been at that moment to give him not only that gold which she had been saving up against rent-da}', but the spoons, the furniture, and all the valuables of the house, including, perhaps, J. J's bric-a-brac, cabinets, china, and so forth. To perform a kindness, an act of self-sacrifice ; — are not these the most delicious privileges of female tenderness? Philip checked his little friend's enthusiasm. He showed her a purse full of money, at which sight the poor little soul was rather disappointed. He magnified the value of his horses, which, according to Philip's calculation, were to bring him at least two hundred pounds more than the stock which he had already in hand ; and the master of such a sum as this, she was forced to confess, had no need to despair. Indeed, she had never in her life possessed the half of it. Her kind dear little oflTer of a home in her house he would accept sometinies, and with gratitude. Well, there w^as a little consolation in that. In a moment that active little housekeeper saw the room ready ; flowers on the mantel-piece ; his looking-glass, which her father could do quite well with the little one, as he was always shaved by the barber now; the quilted counterpane, which she had her- self made : — I know not what more improvements she devised ; and I fear that at the idea of having Philip with her, this little thing was as extravagantly- and unreasonably happy as we have just now seen Philip to be. What was that last dish which Psetus and Arria shared in common ? I have lost my Lempriere's dictionary (that treasury of my youth ) , and forget whether it was a cold dagger aW naturel^ or a dish of hot coals a la Ro- maine, of which they partook ; but, whatever it was, she smiled, and delightedly received it, happy to share the beloved one's fortune. Yes : Philip would come home to his Little Sister some- times : sometimes of a Saturday, and they would go to church on Sunda}', as he used to do when he was a boy at school. " But then, you know," says Phil, " law is law ; study is study. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 275 1 must devote my whole energies to my work — get up very early." "Don't tire your eyes, my dear," interposes Mr. Philip's soft, judicious friend. "There must be no trifling with work," says Philip, with awful gravity. " There's Benton the Judge : Benton and Bur- bage, you know." "Oh, Benton and Burbage ! " whispers the Little Sister, not a little bewildered. " How do you suppose he became a judge before forty?" " Before forty who? law bless me ! " " Before he was forty, Mrs. Carry. When he came to work, he had his own way to make : just like me. He had a small allowance from his father : that's not like me. He took cham- bers in the Temple. He went to a pleader's office. He read fourteen, fifteen hours every day. He dined on a cup of tea and a mutton-chop." " La, bless me, child! I wouldn't have you to do that, not to be Lord Chamberlain — Chancellor what's his name ? De- stroy your youth with reading, and your eyes, and go without your dinner? You're not used to that sort of thing, dear ; and it would kill you ! " Philip smoothed his fair hair off his ample forehead, and nodded his head, smiling sweetly. I think his inward monitor hinted to him tliat there was not much danger of his killing himself by over- work. "To succeed at the law, as in all other professions," he continued, with much gravity, " requires the greatest perseverance, and industiy, and talent ; and then, perhaps, you don't succeed. Many have failed who have had all these qualities." "But the}' haven't talents like my Philip, I know they haven't. And I had to stand up in a court once, and was cross-examined b}' a vulgar man before a horrid deaf old judge ; and I'm sure if your lawyers are like them I don't wish you to succeed at all. And now, look ! there's a nice loin of pork coming up. Pa loves roast pork ; and 30U must come and have some with us ; and every day and all days, my dear, I should like to see you seated there." And the Little Sister frisked about here, and bustled there, and brought a cunning bottle of wine from some corner, and made the bo}' welcome. So that, you see, far from starving, he actuall}' had two dinners on that first day of his ruin. Caroline consented to a compromise regarding the moneys on Philip's solemn vow and promise that she should be his 276 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP banker whenever necessity called. She rather desired his povertj' for the sake of its precious reward. She hid awa}^ a little bag of gold for her darling's use whenever he should need it. I dare say she pinched and had shabby dinners at home, so as to save yet more, and so caused the Captain to grumble. Why, for that boy's sake, I believe she would have been capa- ble of shaving her lodgers' legs of mutton, and levying a tax on their tea-caddies and baker's stuff. If you don't like un- principled attachments of this sort, and only desire that your womankind should love you for yourself, and according to ^our deserts, I am your ver}' humble servant. Hereditary bonds- women ! you know, that were you free, and did j^ou strike the blow, ray dears, you were unhappy for 3-our pain, and eagerly would ciaim 3'our bonds again. What poet has uttered that sentiment? It is perfectly tiue, and I know will receive the cordial approbation of the dear ladies. Philip has decreed in his own mind that he will go and live in those chambers in the Temple where we have met him. Van John, the sporting gentleman, had determined for special rea- sons to withdraw from law and sport in this country-, and Mr. Firmin took possession of his vacant sleeping-cliamber. To furnish a bachelor's bedroom need not be a matter of much cost ; but Mr. Philip was too good-natured a fellow to haggle about the valuation of Van John's bedsteads and chests of drawers, and generously took them at twice theii- value. He and Mr. Cassidy now divided the rooms in equal reign. Ah, happy rooms, bright rooms, rooms near the sky, to remember you is to be 30ung again ! for I would have 30U to know that when Philip went to take possession of his share of the fourth floor in the Temple, his biographer was still comparativel3' juvenile, and in one or two ver3' old-fashioned families was called " 3-oung Pendennis." So Philip Firmin dwelt in a garret ; and the fourth part of a laundress and the half of a bo3' now formed the domestic es- tablishment of him who had been attended b3- housekeepers, butlers, and obsequious liveried menials. To be freed from that ceremonial and etiquette of plush and worsted lace was an immense relief to Firmin. His pipe need not lurk in crypts or back closets now : its fragrance breathed over the whole cham- bers, and rose up to the sk3% their near neighbor. The first month or two after being ruined, Philip vowed, was an uncommonl3' pleasant time. He had still plent3' of mone3^ in his pocket ; and the sense that, perhaps, it was im- prudent to take a cab or drink a bottle of wine, added a zest ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 277 to those enjoj^ments which the}' by no means possessed when the}' were eas}' and of dail}' occurrence. I am not certain that a dinner of beef and porter did not amuse our young man ahuost as well as banquets much more costl}- to which he had been accustomed. He laughed at the pretensions of his boyish da^'s, when he and other solemn 3'oung epicures used to sit down to elaborate tavern banquets, and pretend to criticise vintages, and sauces, and turtle. As yet there was not only content with his dinner, but plenty therewith ; and I do not wish to alarm you by supposing that Philip will ever have to encounter an}' dreadful extremities of poverty or hunger in the course of his history. The wine in the jug was very low at times, but it never was quite empty. This lamb was shorn, but the wind was tempered to him. So Philip took possession of his I'ooms in the Temple, and began actuall}' to reside there just as the long vacation com- menced, which he intended to devote to a course of serious study of the law and private preparation, before he should ven- ture on the great business of circuits and the bar. Nothing is more necessar}' for desk-men than exercise, so Philip took a good deal ; especial!}' on the water, where he pulled a famous oar. Nothing is more natural after exercise than refreshment ; and Mr. Firmin, now he was too poor for claret, showed a great capacity for beer. After beer and bodily labor, rest, of course, is necessary ; and Firmin slept nine hours, and looked as rosy as a girl in her first season. Then such a man, with such a frame and health, must have a good appetite for break- fast. And then every man who wishes to succeed at the bar, in the senate, on the bench, in the House of Peers, on the Woolsack, must know the quotidian history of his country ; so, of course, Philip read the newspaper. Thus, you see, his hours of study were perforce curtailed by the necessary duties which disti'acted him from his labors. It has been said that Mr. Firmin's companion in chambers, Mr. Cassidy, was a native of the neighboring kingdom of Ire- land, and engaged in literary pursuits in this country. A merry, shrewd, silent, observant little man, he, unlike some of his compatriots, always knew how to make both ends meet; feared no man alive in the character of a dun ; and out of small earnings managed to transmit no small comforts and subsidies to old parents living somewhere in Munster. Of Cassidy's friends was Finucane, now editor of the Pall Mall Gazette ; he married the widow of the late eccentric and gifted Captain Shandon, and Cass himself was the fashionable correspondent 278 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP of the Gazette^ chronicling the marriages, deaths, births, dinner- parties of the nobility. These Irish gentlemen knew other Irish gentlemen, connected with other newspapers, who formed a little literarj' society. They assembled at each other's rooms, and at haunts where social pleasure was to be purchased at no dear rate. Philip Firmin was known to manj- of them before his misfortunes occurred, and when there was gold in plenty in his pocket, and never-failing applause for his songs. "When Pendennis and his friends wrote in tliis newspaper. It was impertinent enough, and many men must have heard the writers laugh at the airs which they occasionally thought proper to assume. The tone which they took amused, annoyed, tickled, was popular. It was continued, and, of course, cari- catured by their successors. They worked for very moderate fees : but paid themselves by impertinence, and the satisfaction of assailing their betters. Three or four persons were reserved from their abuse ; but somebody was sure every week to be tied up at their post, and the public made sport of the victim's contortions. The writers were obscure barristers, ushers, and college men, but they had omniscience at their pens' end, and were ready to lay down the law on any given sul)ject — to teach any man his business, were it a bishop in his pulpit, a Minister in his place in the House, a captain on his quarter-deck, a tailor on his shopboard, or a jocke}' in his saddle. Since those early days of the Pall Mall Gazette^ when old Shandon wielded his truculent tomahawk, and Messrs. W — r- r — ngt — n and P — nd — nn — s followed him in the war path, the Gazette had passed through several hands ; and the victims who were immolated by the editors of to-day were very likely the objects of the best puffer^' of the last dynast}'. To be flogged in what was ^our own schoolroom — that, surely, is a queer sensation ; and when my Report was published on the decay of the sealing-wax trade in the three kingdoms (owing to the prevalence of gummed envelopes, — as you ma}' see in that masterl}' document) I was horsed up and smartly whipped in the Gazette by some of the rods which had come out of pickle since ray time. Was not good Dr. Guillotin executed by his own neat invention? I don't know who was the Monsieur Sanson who operated on me ; but have always had my idea that Digges, of Corpus, was the man to whom my flagellation was intrusted. His father keeps a ladies' school at Hackney ; but there is an air of fashion in everything which Digges writes, and a chivalrous conservatism which makes me pretty certain that D. was mv scarifier. All this, however, is naught. Let ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 279 us turn away from the author's private griefs and egotisms to those of the hero of the story. Does any one remember the appearance some twenty years ago of a httle book called " Trumpet Calls " — a book of songs and poetr}^, dedicated to his brother officers b}' Cornet Canter- ton ? His trumpet was ver}^ tolerably melodious, and the cornet played some small airs on it with some little grace and skill. But this poor Canterton belonged to the Life-Guards Green, and Philip Firmin would have liked to have the lives of one or two troops at least of that corps. Entering into Mr. Cassidj^'s room, Philip found the little volume. He set to work to ex- terminate Canterton. He rode him down, trampled over his face and carcass, knocked the "Trumpet Calls" and all the teeth down the trumpeter's throat. Never was such a smash- ing article as he wrote. And Mngford, Mr. Cassidy's chief and owner, who likes always to have at least one man served up and hashed small in the Pall Mall Gazette, happened at this ver}' juncture to have no other victim read}* in his larder. Philip's review appeared there in print. He rushed off with immense glee to Westminster, to show us his performance. Nothing must content him but to give a dinner at Greenwich on his success. Oh, Philip ! We wished that this had not been his first fee ; and that sober law had given it to him, and not the graceless and fickle muse with whom he had been flirt- ing. For, truth to say, certain wise old heads which wagged over his performance could see but little merit in it. His st3'le was coarse, his wit clumsy and savage. Never mind charac- terizing either now. He has seen the error of his ways, and divorced with the muse whom he never ought to have wooed. Tlie shrewd Cassidy not only could not write himself, but knew he could not — or, at least, pen more than a plain para- graph, or a brief sentence to the point, but said he would carry this paper to his chief. "His Excellency" was the nickname b}' which this chief .was called by his familiars. Mugford — Frederick Mugford was his real name — and putting out of sight that little defect in his character, that he committed a systematic literar}^ murder once a week, a more worthy good- natured little murderer did not live. He came of the old school of the press. Like French marshals, he had risen from the ranks, and retained some of the manners and oddities of the private soldier. A new race of writers had grown up since he enlisted as a printer's boy — men of the world, with the manners of other gentlemen. Mugford never professed the least gentility. He knew that his young men laughed at his pecn- 280 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP liarities, and did not care a fig for their scorn. As the knife with which he convej-ed his victuals to his mouth went down his throat at the plenteous banquets which he gave, he saw his young friends wince and wonder, and rather relished their sur- prise. Those lips never cared iu the least about placiug his A's in right places. Tliey used bad language with great freedom — (to hear him bullying a printing office was a wonder of elo- quence) — but they betrayed no secrets, and the words which they uttered you might trust. He had belonged to two or three parties,' and had respected them all. AVhen he went to the Under-Secretary's office he was never kept waiting ; and once or twice Mrs. Mugford, who governed him, ordered him to attend tlie Saturday- reception of the Ministers' ladies, where he might be seen, with dirty hands, it is true, but a richly- em- broidered waistcoat and fancy satin tie. His heart, however, was not in these entertainments. I have heard him say that be only came because Mrs. M. would have it ; and he frankly owned that he " would rather 'ave a pipe and a drop of some- thing 'ot, than all your ices and rubbish." Mugford had a' curious knowledge of what was going on in the world, and of the affairs of countless people. When Cass brought Philip's article to his Excellency, and mentioned the author's name, Mugford showed himself to be perfectly familiar with the histories of Philip and his father. " The old chap has nobbled the 3'oung fellow's money, almost every shilling of it, I hear. Knew he never would carry on. His discounts would, have killed any man. Seen his paper about this ten year. Young one is a gentleman — passionate fellow, hawhaw fellow, but kind to the poor. Father never was a gentleman, with all his fine airs and fine waistcoats. I don't set up in that line myself, Cass, but I tell you I know 'em when I see 'em." Philip had friends and private patrons whose influence was great with the Mugford family, and of whom he little knew. Every year Mrs. M. was in the habit of contributing a Mugford to the world. She was one of Mrs. Brandon's most regular clients ; and year after year, almost from his first arrival in London, Ridley, the painter, had been engaged as portrait painter to this worthy family. Philip and his illness ; Philip and his horses, splendors, and entertainments ; Philip and his lamentable downfall and ruin, had formed the subject of many an interesting talk between Mrs. Mugford and her friend the Little Sister ; and as we know Caroline's infatuation about the young fellow, we may suppose that his good qualities lost noth- ing in the description. When that article in the Pall 3MI ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 281 Gazette appeared, Nurse Brandon took the omnibus to Haver- stock Hill, where, as you know, Mugford had his villa ; — arrived at Mrs. Mugtbrd's, Gazette in hand, and had a long and delightful conversation with that lady. Mrs. Brandon bought I don't know how man}' copies of that PaU Mall Gazette. She now asked for it repeatedly in her walks at sundry- ginger-beer shops, and of all sorts of news venders. I have heard that when the Mugfords first purchased the Gazette, Mrs. M. used to drop bills from her pony-chaise, and distribute placards set- ting forth the excellence of the journal. " We keep our car- riage, but we ain't above our business, Brandon," that good lady would say. And the business prospered under the man- agement of these worthy folks ; and the pony-chaise unfolded into a nol)le barouche ; and the ponj' increased and multiplied, and became a pair of horses ; and there was not a richer piece of gold-lace round an^y coachman's hat in London than now decorated John, who had grown with the growth of his master's fortunes, and drove the chariot in which his worthy employers rode on the wa}' to Ilampstead, honor, and prosperity. "All this pitching into the post is very well, you know, Cassidy," says Mugford to his subordinate. " It's like shoot- ing a butterfly with a blunderbuss ; but if Firmin likes that kind of sport, I don't mind. There won't be an}' difficulty about taking his copy at our place. The duchess knows an- other old woman who is a friend of his" (" the duchess" was the title which Mr. Mugford was in the playful habit of confer- ring upon his wife). "It's my belief young F. had better stick to the law, and leave the writing rubbish alone. But he knows his own affairs best, and, mind you, the duchess is deter- mined we shall give him a helping hand." Once, in the daj's of his prosperity, and in J. J.'s company, Philip had visited Mrs. Mugford and her famil}- — a circum- stance which the gentleman had almost forgotten. The painter and his friend were taking a Sunda}' walk and came upon Mug- ford's prett}' cottage and garden, and were hospitably enter- tained there by the owners of the place. It has disappeared, and the old garden has long since been covered by terraces and villas, and Mugford and Mrs. M., good souls, where are the}'? But the lady thought she had never seen such a fine-looking young fellow as Philip ; cast al)out in her mind which of her little female Mugfords should marry him ; and insisted upon offering her guest champagne. Poor Phil ! So, you see, whilst, perhaps, he was rather pluming himself upon his literary talents, and imagining that he was a clever fellow, he was only 282 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP the object of a job on the part of two or three good folks, who knew his history, and compassionated his misfortunes. Mugford recalled himself to Philip's recollection, when they met after the appearance of Mr. Phil's first performance in the Gazette. If he still took a Sunday walk, Hampstead way, Mr. M. requested him to remember that there was a slice of beef and a glass of wine at the old shop. Philip remembered it well enough now : the ugly room, the ugly family, the kind worthy people. Ere long he learned what had been Mrs. Bran- don's connection with them, and the 3'oung man's heart was softened and grateful as he thought how this kind, gentle creature had been able to befriend him. She, we may be sure, was not a little proud of her protege. I believe she grew to fancy that the whole newspaper was written by Philip. She made her fond parent read it aloud as she worked. Mr. Ridley, senior, pronounced it was remarkably fine, reall}' now ; with- out, I think, entirely comprehending the meaning of the senti- ments which Mr. Gann gave forth in his rich loud voice, and often dropping asleep in his chair during tliis sermon. In the autumn, Mr. Firmin's friends, Mr. and Mrs. Penden- nis, selected the romantic seaport town of Boulogne for tlieir holida}' residence ; and having roomy quarters in the old town, we gave Mr. Philip an invitation to pay us a visit whenever he could tear himself away from literature and law. He came in high spirits. He amused us by imitations and descriptions of his new proprietor and master, Mr. Mugford — his blunders, his bad language, his good heart. One da^-, Mugford expected a celebrated literar}' character to dinner, and Philip and Cassidy were invited to meet him. The great man was ill, and was unable to come. " Don't dish up the side-dishes," called out Mugford to his cook, in the hearing of his other guests. " Mr. Lyon ain't a coming." Thej^ dined quite sufficiently without the side-dishes, and were perfectly cheerful in the absence of the lion. Mugford patronized his 3'oung men with amusing good-nature. " Firmin, cut the goose for the duchess, will you? Cass can't say Bo! to one, he can't. Ridley, a little of the stuffing. It'll make your hair curl." And Philip was going to imitate a frightful act with the cold steel (with which I have said Philip's master used to conve}' food to his mouth), but our dear innocent third daughter uttered a shriek of terror, which caused him to drop the dreadful weapon. Our darling little Florence is a nervous child, and the sight of an edged tool causes her anguish, ever since our darling little Tom nearly cut his thumb off with his father's razor. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 283 Our main amusement in this delightful place was to look at the sea-siek landing from the steamers ; and one day, as we witnessed this phenomenon, Philip sprang to the ropes which divided us from the arriving passengers, and with a cry of "How do you do. General?" greeted a yellow-faced gentle- man, who started back, and, to my thinking, seemed but ill inclined to reciprocate Philip's friendl}- greeting. The General was fluttered, no doubt, by the bustle and interruptions inciden- tal to the landing. A pallid lady, the partner of his existence probably, was calhng out, " Noof et doo domestiques, Doo ! " to the sentries who kept the line, and who seemed little inter- ested b^" this family news. A governess, a tall young lady, and several more male and female children, followed the pale lady, who, as I thought, looked strangely frightened when the gentleman addressed as General communicated to her Philip's name. " Is that him? " said the lady in questionable grammar ; and the tall young lady turned a pair of large eyes upon the individual designated as " him," and showed a pair of dank ringlets, out of which the envious sea-n^mphs had shaken all the curl. The general turned out to be General Baynes ; the pale lady was Mrs. General B. ; the tall young lady was Miss Charlotte Ba3'nes, the General's eldest child ; and the other six, forming nine, or " noof," in all, as Mrs. General B. said, were the other members of the Baynes family. And here I may as well say why the General looked alarmed on seeing Phihp, and why the General's lady frowned at him. In action, one of the bravest of men, in common life General Baynes was timorous and weak. Specially he was afraid of Mrs. General Baynes, who ruled him with a vigorous authority. As Philip's trustee, he had allowed Philip's father to make away with the boy's monc}'. He learned with a ghastly terror that he was answerable for hia own remissness and want of care. For a long while he did not dare to tell his commander-in-chief of this dreadful penalty which was hanging over him. When at last he ventured upon this confession, I do not envy him the scene which must have ensued between him and his commanding officer. The morning after the fatal confession, when the children assembled for breakfast and prayers, Mrs. Baj'nes gave their young ones their porridge : she and Charlotte poured out the tea and cofTee for the elders, and then addressing her eldest son, Ochterlony, she said, " Ocky, my boy, the General has announced a charming piece of news this morning." " Bought that pony, sir? " says Ocky. 284 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " Oh, what J0II3' fan ! " says Moira, the second son. " Dear ! dear papa ! what's the matter, and why do 3'ou look so? " cries Charlotte, looking behind her father's paper. That guilty man would ftiin have made a shroud of his Morning Herald. He would have flung the sheet over his whole body, and lain hidden there from all eyes. "• The fun, my dears, 'is that your father is ruined : that's the fun. Eat your porridge now, little ones. Charlotte, pop a bit of butter in Carrick's porridge; for you mayn't have any to-morrow." " Oh, gammon," cries Moira. " You'll soon see whether it is gammon or not, sir, when you'll be starving, sir. Your father has ruined us — and a very pleasant morning's work, I am sure." And she cahnly rubs the- nose of her youngest child who is near her, and too ,young, and innocent, and careless, perhaps, of the world's censure as yet to keep in a strict cleanliness her own dear little snub nose and dappled cheeks. " AVe are onl}- ruined, and shall be starving soon, my dears, and if the General has bought a pony — as I dare say he has ; ■fae is quite capable of buying a pony when we are starving — the best thing we can do is to eat the pony. M'Grigor, don't laugh. Starvation is no laughing matter. When we were at Dumdum, in '36, we ate some colt. Don't you remember Jubber's colt — Jubber of the Horse Artillery, General ? Never tasted anything more tender in all my life. Charlotte, take Jany's hands out of the marmalade ! We are all ruined, my dears, as sure as our name is Baynes." Thus did the mother of the family prattle on in the midst of her little ones, and announce to them the dreadful news of impending stai'vation. " General Baynes, by his carelessness, had allowed Dr. Firinin to make awa}- with the money over which the General had been set as sentinel. Philip might recover from the trustee, and no doubt would. Perhaps he would not press his claim? My dear, what can you expect Crom the son of such a father? Dej)end on it, Charlotte, no good fruit can come from a stock like that. The son is a bad one, the father is a bad one, and your father, poor dear soul, is not fit to be trusted to walk the street with- out some one to keep him from tumbling. Why did I allow him to go to town without me? We were quartered at Colches- ter then : and I could not move on account of your brother • M'Grigor. ' Baynes,' I said to your fixther, ' as sure as I let you go away to town without me, you will come to miscliief.' And go he did, and come to mischief he did. And through his ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 285 folly I and my poor children must go and beg our bread in the streets — I and my seven poor, robbed, penniless little ones. Oh, it's cruel, cruel ! " Indeed, one cannot fancy a more dismal prospect for this woi*th\' mother and wife tlian to see her children without pro- vision at the commencement of their lives, and her luckless husband robbed of his life's earnings, and ruined just when he was too old to work. "What was to become of them ? Now poor Charlotte thought, with pangs of a keen remorse, how idle she had been," and how she had snubbed her governesses, and how little she knew, and how badly she played tlie piano. Oh, neglected opportunities ! Oh, remorse, now the time was past and irrecoverable ! Does any young lady read this who, perchance, ought to be doing her lessons? M}' clear, lay down the story-book at once. Go up to 30UI' schoolroom, and practise 30ur piano for two hours this moment ; go that you may be prepared to support your famil}-, should ruin in any case fall upon you. A great girl of sixteen, I pity Charlotte Baynes's feelings of anguish. She can't write a very good hand ; she can scarcely answer any question to speak of in any educational books ; her pianoforte playing is very, very so-so indeed. If she is to go out and get a living for the famil}', how, in the name of goodness, is she to set about it? What are they to do with the boys, and the money that has been put away for Ochterlouy when he goes to college, and for Moira's commission? " Why, we can't afford to keep them at Dr. Pybus's, where the}' w'ere doing so well; and they were ever so much better and more gentlemanlike than Colonel Chandler's boys ; and to lose the army will break Moira's heart, it will. And the little ones, my little blue-eyed Carrick, and my darliug Jany, and my Mary, that I nursed almost mi- raculously out of her scarlet fever. God helij them ! God help us all ! " thinks the poor mother. No wonder that her nights are wakeful, and her heart in a tumult of alarm at the idea of the impending danger. And the father of the family? — the stout old General whose battles and campaigns are over, who has come home to rest his war-worn limbs, and make his peace with heaven ere it calls him awa}' — wliat must be his feelings when he thinks that he has been entrapped by a villain into committing an imprudence which makes his children penniless and himself dishonored and a beggar? Wlien he found wliat Dr. Firmin had done, and how he had been cheated, he went away, aghast, to his lawyer, who could give him no help. Philip's mother's trustee was answer- 286 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP able to Philip for his property. It had been stolen through Ba^'nes's own carelessness, and the law bound him to replace it. General Baynes's man of business could not help him out of his perplexity at all ; and I hope my worthy reader is not going to be angry with the General for what I own he did. Yoit never would, m}' dear sir, I know. No power on earth would induce 1/oit to depart one inch from the path of rectitude ; or, having done an act of imprudence, to shrink from bearing the con- sequence. The long and short of the matter is, that poor Baynes and his wife, after holding agitated, stealthy councils together — after believing that every strange face they saw was a bailift"s coming to arrest them on Philip's account — after horrible days of remorse, misery, guilt — I say the long and the short of the matter was that these poor people determined to run awa3\ They would go and hide themselves anywhere — in an impenetrable pine forest in Norway — up an inaccessible mountain in Switzerland. They would change their names ; dj'e their mnstachios and honest old white hair ; fly with their little ones away, away, awa}-, out of the reach of law and Philip ; and the first flight lands them on Boulogne Pier, and there is Mr. Philip holding out his hand and actually eying them as they get out of the steamer ! Eying them ? It is the e3'e of heaven that is on those criminals. Holding out his hand to them? It is the hand of fate that is on their wa-etched shoulders. No wonder they shuddered and turned pale. That which I took for sea-sicicness, I am sorry to say was a guilty conscience : and where is the steward, mj' dear friends, who can relieve us of that? As this part}' came staggering out of the Custom-house, poor Baj-nes still found Philip's hand stretched out to catch hold of him, and saluted him with a ghastly cordiality. "These are 3'our children. General, and this is Mrs. Baj-nes?" says Philip, smiling, and taking off his hat. "Oh, 3es ! I'm Mrs, General Ba3-nes ! " saj-s the poor woman; "and tliese are the children — j-es, j-es. Charlotte, this is Mr. Firmin, of whom you have heard us speak; and these are my boys, Moira and Ochterlonj-." " I have had the honor of meeting General Baynes at Old Parr Street. Don't you remember, sir?" saj-s Mr. Pendennis, with great affabilit}' to the General. "What, another who knows me?" I dare say the poor wretch thinks ; and glances of a dreadful meaning pass be- tween the guilty wife and the guilt}' husband. " You are going to stay at any hotel?" ON PUS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 287 '"Hotel dos Bains!'" '"Hotel du Nord ! '" '"Hotel d'Ansfleterre ! ' " here crv twenty commissioners in a breath. " Hotel? Oh, yes ! That is, we have not made up our minds whether we shall go on to-night or whether we shall sta}-," say those guilty ones, looking at one another, and then down to the ground ; on which one of the children, with a roar, says — "Oh, ma, what a story! You said you'd stay to-night ; and I was so sick in the beastlj' boat, and I won't travel any more!" And tears choke his artless utterance. "And you said Bang to the man who took your ke3's, you know 3-ou did," resumes the innocent, as soon as he can gasp a further remark. " Who told you to speak?" cried mamma, giving the boy a shake. " This is the way to the ' Hotel des Bains,' " says Philip, making Miss Baynes another of his best bows. And Miss Baynes makes a curtsy, and her" eyes look up at the handsome young man — large brown honest e3'es in a cornel}' round face, on each side of which depend two straight wisps of brown hair that were ringlets when they left Folkestone a few hours since. "Oh, I sa}', look at those women with the short petticoats ! and wooden shoes, by George ! Oh ! it's J0II3', ain't it? " cries one 3'oung gentleman. " By George, there's a man with earrings on ! There is, Ocky, upon mj word ! " calls out another. And the elder boy, turning round to his father, points to some soldiers. " Did you ever see such little beggars?" he saj's, tossing his head up. " They wouldn't take such fellows into our line." " I am not at all tired, thank you," saj's Charlotte. "I am accustomed to carry him." I had forgot to say that the young lady had one of the children asleep on her shoulder ; and another was toddling at her side, holding by his sister's dress, and admiring Mr. Firmin's whiskers, that flamed and curled very luminously and gloriously, like to the rays of the setting- sun. " I am ver}' glad we met, sir," sa3-s Philip, in the most friendly manner, taking leave of the General at the gate of his hotel. " I hope you won't go awa}' to-morrow, and that I may come and pa}' my respects to Mrs. Baynes." Again he salutes that lady with a coup de chapeau. Again he bows to Miss Ba3-nes. She makes a pretty curts}- enough, considering that she has a baby asleep on her shoulder. And they enter the hotel, the excellent Marie marshalling them to fitting apart- ments, where some of them, I have no doubt, will sleep very 288 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP soundl_y. How much more comfortably might poor Ba3''nes and bis wife have slept had they known what were Philip's feelings regarding them ! We both admired Charlotte, the tall girl who carried her little brother, and around whom the others clung. And we spoke loudl}- in Miss Charlotte's praises to Mrs. Teudennis, when we joined that lady at dinner. In the praise of Mrs. Baynes we had not a great deal to sa^', further than that she seemed to take command of the whole expedition, including the general officer, her husband. Though Marie's beds at the " Hotel des Bains " are as com- fortable as any beds in Europe, you see that admirable chamber- maid cannot la^' out a clean, easy conscience upon the clean, fragrant pillow-ease ; and General and Mrs. Baynes owned, in after days, that one of the most dreadful nights they ever passed was that of their first Itfliding in France. What refugee from his country can fly from himself? Railwa3'S were not as yet in that part of France. The General was too poor to fly with a couple of private carriages, which he nmst have liad for bis family of '• noof," his governess, and two servants. En- cumbered with such a train, his enem}^ would speedily have l^ursued and overtaken him. It is a fact that, immediately after landing at his hotel, he and his conmianding officer went off to see when thej' could get places for — never mind the name of the place where the}' really thought of taking refuge. The}' never told, but Mrs. General Baynes had a sister, Mrs. Major MacWhirter (married to MacW. of the Bengal Cavalry), and the sisters loved each other very affectionately, especially b}' letter, for it must be owned tiiat the}' quarrelled frightfully when together ; and Mrs. MacWhirter never could bear that her younger sister should be taken out to dinner before her, because she was married to a superior officer. Well, their little differences were forgotten when the two ladies were apart. The sisters wrote to each other prodigious long letters, in which houseliold affairs, the children's puerile diseases, the relative prices of veal, eggs, chickens, the rent of lodging and houses in various places, were fully discussed. And as Mrs. Baynes showed a surprising knowledge of Tours, the markets, rents, clergymen, society there, and as Major and Mrs. Mac. were staying there, I have little doubt, for my part, from this and another not unimportant circumstance, that it was to that fair city our fugitives were wending their way, when events oc- curred whidi must now be narrated, and which caused General Baynes at the head of his domestic regiment to do what the ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 289 King of France with twenty thousand men is said to have done in old times. Philip was greatl}^ interested about the famil}-. The trutli is, we were all very much bored at Boulogne. We read the feeblest London papers at the reading-room with frantic assi- duit}'. We saw all the boats come in : and the day was lost when we missed tlie Folkestone boat or the London boat. We consumed much time and absinthe at cafes ; and tramped leagues upon that old pier ever}- (\ay. Well, Philip was at the "Hotel des Bains" at a very earlj- hour next morning, and there he saw the General, with a woe-worn face, leaning on his stick, and looking at his luggage, as it la}- piled in the porte- cochere of the hotel. There they laj-, thirty-seven packages in all, including washing-tubs, and a child's India sleeping-cot ; and all these packages were ticketed M. le General Bayxes, Officier Anglais, Tours, Touraine, France. I say, putting- two and two together ; calling to mind Mrs. General's singular knowledge of Tours and familiarity with the place and its prices ; remembering that her sister Emily — Mrs. Major MacWhirter, in fact — was there; and seeing thirty-seven trunks, bags, and portmanteaus, all directed " M. le General Baynes, OfEcier Anglais, Tours, Touraine," am I wrong in supposing that Tours was the General's destination? On the other hand, we have the old officer's declaration to Philip that lie did not know where he was going. Oh, you sly old man ! Oh, 3-ou gray old fox, beginning to double and to turn at sixty-seven years of age ! Well? The General was in retreat, and he did not wish the enemy to know upon what lines he was retreating. What is the harm of that, pra}-? Besides, he was under the orders of his commanding officer, and when Mrs. General gave her orders, I should have liked to see any officer of hers disobey. " What a pyramid of portmanteaus ! You are not thinking of moving to-da}'. General?" sa3-s Philip. "It is Sunday, sir," sa3-s the General; which you will per- ceive was not answering the question ; but, in truth, except for a very great emergenc}', the good General would not travel on that da}-. " I hope the ladies slept well after their windy voj-age." "Thank you. M3- wife is an old sailor, and has made two voyages out and home to India." Here, you understand, the old man is again eluding his interlocutor's artless queries. "I should like to have some talk with you, sir, when 3-ou are free," continues Philip, not having leisure as 3-et to be sur- prised at the other's demeanor. 19 290 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " There are other days besides Sunday for talk on business," says that piteous sly-boots of an old officer. Ah, conscience ! conscience ! Twenty-four Sikhs, sword in hand, two dozen Pindarries, Mahrattas, Ghoorkas, what jou please — that old man felt that he would rather have met them tlian Phili^j's un- suspecting blue eyes. These, however, now lighted up with ratlier an angrj', "Well, sir, as j-ou don't talk business on Sunday, may I call on you to-morrow morning." And what advantage had the poor old fellow got b}' all this doubling and hesitating and artfulness ? — a respite until to- morrow morning ! Another night of horrible wakefulness and hopeless guilt, and Philip waiting ready the next morning with his little bill, and, ''Please pay me the thirty thousand which my father spent and you owe me. Please turn out into the streets with your wife and family-, and beg and starve. Have the goodness to hand nie out your last rupee. Be kind enough to sell your children's clothes and 3'our wife's jewels, and hand over the proceeds to me. I'll call to-morrow. Bye, bye." Plere there came tripping over the marble pavement of the hall of the hotel a tall young lady in a brown silk dress and rich curling ringlets falling upon her fair youug neck — beauti- ful brown curling ringlets, vous comprenez^ not wisps of m'oist* ened hair, and a broad clear forehead, and two honest eyes shining below it, and cheeks not pale as they were ycstercla}' ; and lips redder still; and she saj's, "Papa, papa, won't 3'ou come to breakfast ? The tea is — " What the precise state of the tea is I don't know — none of us ever shall — for here she says, " Oh, Mr. Firmin ! " and makes a curtsy. To which remark PhiHp replied, " Miss Baynes, I hope you are ver}- well this morning, and not the worse for 3'esterday's rough weatlier." "I am quite well, thank you," was Miss Baynes's instant reph'. The answer was not witty, to be sure ; but I don't know that under the circumstances she could have said any- thing more appropriate. Indeed, never was a pleasanter pic- tui'e of health and good-humor than the 3'oung lad}' presented ; a difference more pleasant to note than Miss Charlotte's pale face fi'om the steamboat on Saturday', and shining, rosy, happy, and innocent, in the cloudless Sabbath morn. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 291 " A Madame, "Madame le Major MacWhirter, "A Tours, " touraine, "France. " TiNTELLERIES, BoULOGNE-STJR-MeR, " Wednesday, August 24, 18.— "Dearest Emily, — After suffering more dreadfully in the two hours' passage from Folkestone to this place than I have in four passages out and home from India, except in that terrible storm off the Cape, in September, 1824, wiien I certainly did suffer most cruelly on board that horrible troopship, we readied this place last Saturday evening, having a full dtltrminiUioii to proceed immediately on our route. Notu, you will per- ceive that our minds are changed. We found this place pleasant, and the lodgings besides most neat, comfortable, and well found in everything, more reasomible than you proposed to get for us at Tours, which I am told also is damp, and might bring on the general's jungle fever again. Owing to the lio^ping-cougli having just been in the house, which, praised be mercy, all my dear ones have had it, including dear baby, who is quite well through it, and reconnnended sea air, we got tliis house more reasonable than prices you mention at Tours. A whole house : little room for two boys ; nursery ; nice little room for Charlotte, and a den for the General. I don't know how ever we should have brought our party safe all the way to Tours. Thirty-seven articles of luggage, and Miss Flixby, who announced herself as perfect French governess, acquired at Paris — perfect, but perfrtli/ useless. She can't understand the French people when they speak to her, and goes about the house in a most bewildering way. I am the interpreter; poor Charlotte is much too timid to speak when I am by. I have rubbed up the old French which we learned at Chiswick at Miss Pinkerton's ; and I find my Ilindostanee of great help : wliich I use it when we are at a loss for a word, and it answers extremely well. We pay for lodgings, the whole house francs per month. Butchers' meat and poultry plentiful but dear. A grocer in the Grande Rue sells excellent wine at fifteenpence per bottle ; and groceries pretty much at English prices. Mr. Blowman at the English chapel of the Tintelleries has a fine voice, a7id appears to be a most excellent clergyman. I have heard him only once, however, on Smiday evening, when I was so agitated and so unhappy in my mind that I own I took little note of his sermon. " Tlie cause of that agitation yon know, having imparted it to j'ou in my letters of July, June, and 24th of May, ult. My poor simple, guileless Baynes was trustee to Mrs. Dr. Firmin, before she married that most un- principled man. When we were at home last, and exchanged to the 120th from the 99th, my poor husband was inveigled by the horrid man into signing a paper which put the doctor in possession of all his ivlfe's projwrty ; whereas Charles thought lie was only signing a power of attorney, enabling him to receive his son's dividends Dr. F., afer the inost atrocious deceit, forgery, and criminality of every kind, fled the country ; and Hunt and Pegler, our solicitors, informed us tliat the General was answerable /or the wicked- ness of this miscreant. He is so weak that he has been many and nvmy times on the point of going to 3'oung Mr. F. and giving up everything. It was only by my pra3'ers, by my commands, that I have been enabled to keep him qiiiet ; and, indeed, Emily, the effort has almost killed him. Brandy re- peatedly I was obliged to administer on the dreadful night of our arrival here. 292 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP "For the first person we met on landing was Mr. Philip Firmin, with a pert friend of his, Mr. Pendennis, whom I don't at all like, though his wife is an amiable person like Emma Fletcher of the Horse Artillery : not witli Emma's style, however, but still amiable, and disposed to be most civil. Charlotte lias taken a great fancy to her, as she always does to every new person. Well, fancy our state on landing, wlien a young gentleman calls out, ' How do you do. General ^ ' and turns out to be Mr. Firmin ! I tiiought 1 should have lest Charles in the night. I have seen him before going into action as calm, and sleep and smile as sweet, as u)iy bale. It was all 1 could do to keep up his courage : and, but for me, but for my prayers, but for mij agonies, I think he would have jumped out of bed, and gone to Mr. F. that nii/ht, anil said, ' Take everything I have.' " The young man I own has behaved in the most honorahle icay. He came to see us before breakfast on Sunday, when the poor General was so ill that I thought he would have fainted over his tea. He was too ill to go to church, where I went alone, with my dear ones, having, as I own, but very small comfort in the sermon : but oh, Emily, fancy, on our return, when I went into our room, I found my General on his knees with his Church service before him, crying, crying like a baby! You know I am hasty in my temper sometimes, and his is indeed an angel's — and I said to him, ' Charles Baynes, be a man, and don't cry like a child!' 'Ah,' says he, 'Eliza, do you kneel, and thank God too;' on which I said that I thought I did not require instruction in my nligion from him or any man, except a clergyman, and many of these are but jiour instructors, as you know. " ' He has been here,' says Charles ; when I said, ' Who has been here ■? ' 'That noble young fellow,' says my General, 'that noble, noble Philip Firmin.' Which noble his conduct I own it has been. ' Whilst yoi^ were at church he came again — here into this very room, where I was sitting, doubting and despairing, with the Holy Book before my eyes, and no com- fort out of it. And he said to me, " General, I want to talk to you about my grandfather's will. You don't suppose that because my lather has deceived you and ruined me, I will carry the ruin farther, and visit his wrong upon children and innocent people "i " Those were the young man's words,' my General said; and, 'oh, Eliza! 'says he, 'what pangs of re- morse I felt when I remembered we had used hard words about him,' which I own we had, for his manners are rough and haughty, and I have heard things of him which I do believe now can't be true. "AH Monday my poor man was obliged to keep his bed with a smart attack of his fever. But yesterday he was quite bright and mil again, and the Pendennis party took Charlotte for a drive, and showed themselves most polite. She reminds me of Mrs. Tom Fletcher of the Horse Artillery, but that I think I have mentioned before. My paper is full ; and with our best to MacWhirter and the cliildren, I am always my dearest Emily's affectionate sister, "Eliza Baynes." ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 293 CHAPTER XVII. BREVIS ESSE LABORO. Never, General Baj-nes afterwards declared, did fever come and go so pleasantly as that attack to which we have seen the Mrs. General advert in her letter to her sister, Mrs. Major Mac- Whirter. The cold fit was merely a lively, pleasant cliatter and rattle of the teeth ; the hot fit an agreeable warmth ; and though the ensuing sleep, with which I believe such aguish attacks are usually concluded, was enlivened by several dreams of death, demons, and torture, how felicitous it was to wake and find that dreadful thought of ruin removed wliich had always, for the last few mouths, ever since Dr. Firmin's flight and the knowl- edge of his own imprudence, pursued the good-natured gentle- man ! What ! this boy might go to college, and that get his commission ; and their meals need be embittered by no more dreadful thoughts of the morrow, and their walks no longer were dogged by imaginary bailiffs, and presented a gaol in the vista ! It was too much bliss ; and again and again the old soldier said his thankful praj-ers, and blessed his benefactor. Philip thought no more of his act of kindness, except to be very grateful, and xevy happy that he had rendered other people so. He could no more have* taken the old man's all, and plunged that innocent lamily into povert}'. than he could have stolen the forks oflTm}' table. But other folks were disposed to rate his virtue much more highly ; and amongst these was my wife, who chose positively to worship this young gentleman, and I believe would have let him smoke in her drawing-room if he had been so minded, and though her genteelest acquaintances were in the room. Goodness knows what a noise and what piteous looks are produced if ever the master of the house chooses to indulge in a cigar after dinner; but then, you understand, /have never declined to claim mine and my children's right because an old gentleman would be inconvenienced : and this is what I tell Mrs. Pen. If I order a coat from my tailor, must I refuse to pay him because a rogue steals it, and ought I to expect to be let off? Women won't see matters of fact in a matter-of-fact point of view, and justice, unless it is tinged with a little romance, gets no respect from them. So, forsooth, because Philip has performed this certainly 294 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP most generous, most dashing, most reckless piece of extrava- gance, he is to be held up as a perfect jorewx chevalier. The most riotous dinners are ordered for him. We are to wait until he comes to breakfast, and ho is pretty nearly alwa^'s late. The children are to be sent round to kiss Uncle PhiHp, as he is now called. The children ? I wonder the mother did not jump up and kiss him too. EUe en ('tail capable. As for the osculations which took place between Mrs. Pendennis and her new-found young friend. Miss Charlotte Baynes, they were perfectly ridiculous ; two school-children could not have behaved more absurdly ; and I don't know which seemed to be the younger of these two. There were colloquies, assignations, meetings on the ramparts, on the pier, where know I ? — and the servants and little chil- dren of the two establishments were perpetuall}^ trotting to and fro with letters from dearest Laura to dearest Charlotte, and dearest Charlotte to her dearest Mrs. Pendennis. Why, my wife absolutely went the length of sa3ing that dearest Charlotte's mother, Mrs. Ba^mes, was a worthy, clever woman, and a good mother — a woman whose tongue never ceased clacking about the regiment, and all the officers, and all the officers' wives ; of whom, by the wa}^ she had very little good to tell. "A worthy mother, is she, my dear?" I say. " But, oh, mercy ! Mrs. Baynes would be an awful mother-in-law ! " I shuddered at the thought of having such a commonplace, hard, ill-bred woman in a state of quasi authority over me. On this Mrs. Laura must break out in quite a petulant tone — "Oh, how stale this kind of thing is, Arthur, from a man qui veut passer pour un homme d' esprit ! You are alwaj's attacking mothers-in-law ! " "Witness Mrs. Mackenzie, my love — Clive Newcome's mother-in-law. That's a nice creature ; not selfish, not wicked, not — " " Not nonsense, Arthur ! " "Mrs. Baynes knew Mrs. Mackenzie in the West Indies, as she knew all the female army. She considers Mrs. Macken- zie was a most elegant, handsome, dashing woman — onl}' a little too fond of the admiration of our sex. There was, I own, a fascination about Captain Goby. Do 3'ou remember, m}' love, that man with the sta3-s and dyed hair, who — " " Oh, Arthur! When our girls marry, I suppose you will teach their husbands to abuse, and scorn, and mistrust their mother-in-law. Will he, my darlings? will he, my blessings?" (This apart to the children, if 3-ou please.) " Go ! I have no patience with such talk ! " ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 295 "Well, my love, Mrs. Ba3'nes is a most agreeable woman ; and when I have heard that story about the Highlanders at the Cape of Good Hope a few times more " (I do not tell it here, for it has nothing to do with the present history), "I dare say I shall begin to be amused b}' it." "Ah! here comes Charlotte, I'm glad to say. How pretty she is ! What a color ! What a dear creature ! " To all which of course I could not say a contradictory word, for a prettier, fresher lass than Miss Baj'nes, with a sweeter voice, face, laughter, it was difficult to see. ' ' Wh}' does mamma like Charlotte better than she likes us ? " says our dear and justl\' indignant eldest girl. " I could not love her better if I were her mother-in-law" says Laura, running to her young friend, casting a glance at me over her shoulder ; and that kissing nonsense begins between the two ladies. To be sure the girl looks uncommonly bright and pretty with her pink cheeks, her bright eyes, her slim form, and that charming white India shawl which her father brought home for her. To this osculatory party enters presently Mr. Philip Firmin, who has been dawdUng about the ramparts ever since break- fast. He saj'S he has been reading law there. He has found a jolly quiet place to read law, has he ? And much good may it do him ! Why has he not gone back to his law and his re- viewing? " You must — you must stay on a little longer. Y^ou have only been here five da3's. Do, Charlotte, ask Philip to stay a little." All the children sing in a chorus, "Oh, do, Uncle Philip, stay a little longer!" Miss Baynes says, "I hope j-ou will stay, Mr. Firmin," and looks at him. "Five days has he been here? Five years. Five lives. Five hundred years. What do 3'ou mean ? In that little time of — let me see, a hundred and twenty hours, and, at least, a half of them for sleep and dinner (for Phihp's appetite was very fine) — do-3'ou mean that in that little time, his heart, cruelly stabbed by a previous monster in female shape, has healed, got quite well, and actuall}^ l)cgun to be wounded again ? Have two walks on the pier, as man3' visits to the Tintelleries (where he hears the story of the Highlanders at the Cape of Good Hope with respectful interest) , a word or two about the weather, a look or two, a squeezekin, perhaps, of a little handykin — I say, do you mean that this absurd young idiot, and that little round- faced girl, prett}', certainlj^, but ouly just out of the school- 296 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP room — do 3'ou mean to sa}- that they have — Upon my word, Laura, this is too bad. Why, Phihp has not a penny piece in the world." " Yes, he has a hundred pounds, and expects to sell his mare for ninety at least. He has excellent talents. He can easily write three articles a week in the Pall Mall Gazette. I am sure no one writes so well, and it is much better done and more amus- ing than it used toJ)e. That is three hundred a year. Lord Kingwood must be appUed to, and must and shall get him some- thing. Don't you know that Captain Baynes stood by Colonel Ringwood's side at Busaco, and that they were the closest friends? And pray how did %oe get on, I should like to know? How did xoe get on, baby?" " How did we det on?" says the bab3^ "Oh, woman! woman!" yells the father of the family. " Why, Philip) Firmin has all the habits of a rich man with the pa^' of a meclianic. Do 3'ou suppose he ever sat in a second- class carriage in his life, or denied himself any pleasure to which he had a mind ? He gave five francs to a beggar-girl yesterdaj'. " " He had always a noble heart," says my wife. " He gave a fortune to a whole family a week ago ; and " (out comes the pocket-handkerchief — oh, of course, the pocket-handkerchief) • — " and — ' God loves a cheerful giver ! ' " "He is careless; he is extravagant ; he is lazy; — I don't know that he is remarkably clever — " "Oh, yes ! he is your friend, of course. Now, abuse him — do, Arthur ! " " And, praj', when did you become acquainted with this as- tounding piece of news?" I inquire. " W hen ? From the very first moment when I saw Charlotte looking at him, to be sure. The poor child said to me only j'csterda^-, ' Oh, Laura ! he is our preserver ! ' And thek pre- server he has been, under Heaven." " Yes. But he has not got a five-pound note ! " I cry. "Arthur, I am surprised at _you. Oh, men are awfully worldly ! Do you suppose Heaven will not send him help vX its good time, and be kind to him who has rescued so many from ruin ? Do you suppose the pra3'ers, the blessings of that father, of those little ones, of that dear child will not avail him? Sup- pose he has to wait a 3'ear, ten 3'ears, have the3' not time, and will not the good da3- come ? " Yes. This was actuall3^ the talk of a woman of sense and discernment, when her prejudices and romance were not in the wa}', and she looked forward to the marriage of these folks ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 297 some ten years hence, as confidently as if they were both rich, and going to St. George's to-morrow. As for making a romantic stor}' of it, or spinning ont love conversations between Jenny and Jessaray, or describing moon- light raptnres and passionate outpourings of two 3'oung hearts and so forth — excuse me, s'il vous plait. I am a man of the world, and of a certain age. Let the young people fill in this outline, and color it as they please. Let the old folks wIk) read lay down the book a minute, and remember. It is well remembered, isn't it, that time? Yes, good John Anderson, and Mrs. John. Yes, good Darb}' and Joan. The lips won't tell now what they did once. To-day is for the happy, and to- morrow for the young, and yesterday, is not that dear and here too? I was in the company of an elderly gentleman, not ver}^ long since, who was perfectly sober, who is not particularly hand- some, or healthy, or wealthy, or witty ; and who, speaking of his past life, volunteered to declare that he would gladly live ever}^ minute of it over again. Is a man who can say that a hardened sinner, not aware how miserable he ought to be b}' rights, and therefore really in a most desperate and deplorable condition; or is he furtunatus m77iiuin, and ought his statue to be put up in the most splendid and crowded thoroughfare of the town? Would you, who are reading this, for exami)le, like to live ^o?/r life over again? What has been its chief joy? What are to-day's pleasures ? Are they so exquisite that you would prolong them for ever ? Would you like to have the roast beef on which you have dined brought back again to the table, and have more beef, and more, and more? Would you like to hear 3'esterday's sermon over and over again — eternally voluble? Would you like to get on the Edinburgh mail, and travel outside for fifty hours as 30U did in your youth ? You might as well say 3'ou would like to go into the flogging-room, and take a turn under the rods : you would like to l)e thrashed over again by your bully at school : you would like to go to the dentist's, where your dear parents were in the habit of taking a'ou : j'Oii would like to be taking hot Epsom salts, with a piece of dr}- bread to take away the taste : you would like to be jilted by 3'our first love : 3'ou would like to be going in to your father to tell him you had contracted debts to the amount of a; -j- ?/ -f- 2, whilst you were at the universit3'. As I consider the passionate griefs of childhood, the weariness and sameness of shaving, the agony of corns, and the thousand other ills to which flesh is heir, I cheerfull3' sa3' for one, I am not anxious to wear it for 298 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ever. No. I do not want to go to school again. I do not want to hear Trotman's sermon over again. Take me out and finish me. Give me the cup of hemlock at once. Here's a health to 3'ou, my lads. Don't weep, mj^ Simmias. Be cheer- ful, my Phfedon. Ha ! I feel the co-o-old stealing, stealing upwards. Now it is in my ankles — no more gout in my foot : now my knees are numb. What, is — is that poor executioner crying too? Good-b}'. Sacrifice a cock to ^scu — to ^s- cula — . . . Have 3'ou ever read the chapter in " Grote's His- tory?" Ah ! When the Sacred Ship returns from Uelos, and is telegraphed as entering into port, maj- we be at peace and ready ! What is this funeral chant, when the pipes should be play- ing gayly as Love, and Youth, and Spring, and Joy are dancing under the windows? Look you. Men not so wise as Socrates have their demons, who will be heard to whisper in the queerest times and places. Perhaps I shall have to tell of a funeral presentlj-, and shall be outrageously cheerful ; or of an execu- tion, and shall split ra^' sides with laughing. Arrived at mj' time of life, when I see a penniless young friend falUng in love and thinking of course of committing matrimony, what can I do but be melanchol}'? How is a man to marry who has not enough to keep ever so miniature a brougham — ever so small a house — not enough to keep himself, let alone a wife and famil_y ? Gracious powers ! is it not blasphemy to marry with- out fifteen hundred a j-ear? Poverty, debt, protested bills, duns, crime, fall assuredly- on the wretch who has not fifteen — sa}' at once two thousand a year ; for you can't live decently in London for less. And a wife whom 30U have met a score of times at balls or breakfasts, and with her best dresses and behavior at a country house ; — how do 30U know how she will turn out ; what her temper is ; what her relations are likel3' to be? Suppose she has poor relations, or loud coarse brothers who are alwa^'s dropping in to dinner? What is her mother like ? and can you bear to have that woman meddling and dom- ineering over 3'our establishment? Old General Baynes was ver3' well ; a weak, quiet and presentable old man : but Mrs. General Ba3'nes, and that awful Mrs. Major MacWhirter, — and those hobbledeho3's of boys in creaking shoes, hectoring about the premises? As a man of the world T saw all these dreadful liabilities impending over the husband of Miss Char- lotte Baynes, and could not view them without horror. Grace- full3' and slightly, but wittil3' and in m3' sarcastic wa3^, I thought it m3' duty to show up the oddities of the Baj-nes family to ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 299 Philip. I mimicked the bo3's, and their clumping Blncher boots. I touched off the drecadful military ladies, very smartly and cleverly as I thought, and as if I never supposed that Philip had any idea of Miss Baynes. To do him justice, he laughed once or twice ; then he grew very red. His sense of humor is ver}' limited ; that even Laura allows. Then he came out with a strong expression, and said it was a confouuded shame, and strode off with his cigar. And when I remarked to my wife how susceptible he was in some things, and how little in the matter of joking, she shrugged her shoulders and said, '^ Philip not onl}- understood perfectly well what I said, but would tell it all to Mrs. General and Mrs. Major on the first opportunity." And this was the fact, as Mrs. Baynes took care to tell me afterwards. She was aware who was her enemy. She was aware who spoke ill of her, and her blessed darling behind our backs. And " do you think it was to see you or any one belonging to 3-our stuck-up house., sir, that we came to you so often, which we certainly did, day and night, breakfast and supper, and no thanks to you? No, sir ! ha, ha ! " I can see her flaunting out of my sitting- room as she speaks, with a strident laugh, and snapi)ing her dingily gloved fingers at the door. Oh, Philip, Philip ! To think that you were such a coward as to go and tell her ! But I pardon him. From my heart I pity and pardon him. For the step which he is meditating you may be sure that the young man himself does not feel the smallest need of par- don or pit3^ He is in a state of happiness so craz}' that it is useless to reason with him. Not being at all of a poetical turn originall}', the wretch is actuall}' perpetrating verse in secret, and my servants found fragments of his manuscript on the dressing-table in his bedroom. Heart and art., sever and for ever, and so on ; what stale rhymes are these ? I do not feel at liberty to give in entire the poem which our maid found in Mr. Philip's room, and brought sniggering to my wife, who only said, "Poor thing!" The fact is, it was too pitiable. Such maun- dering rubbish ! Such stale rhymes, and such old thoughts ! But then, sa^'s Laura, "I dare say all people's love-making is not amusing to their neighbors ; and I know who wrote not very wise love-verses when he was 3oung." No, I won't publish Philip's verses, until some day he shall mortally offend me. I can recall some of my own written under similar circumstances with twinges of shame ; and shall drop a veil of decent friend- ship over my friend's foil}'. Under that veil, meanwhile, the 3'oung man is perfectl}' con- tented, na}-, uproariously' happy. All earth and nature smiles 300 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP round about him. "When Jove meets his Juno, in Homer, sir," says Philip, iu his hectoring way, " don't immortal flowers of beauty spring up around them, and rainbows of celestial hues bend over their heads? Love, sir, flings a halo round the loved one. Where she moves rise roses, ii3acinths, and ambrosial odors. Don't talk to me about po^•ert3■, sir ! He either fears his fate too much or his desert is small, who dares not put it to the touch and win or lose it all ! Haven't I endured poverty? Am I not as poor now as a man can be — and what is there in it? Do I want for an3-thing? Haven't I got a guinea in my pocket? Do I owe any man anything? Isn't there manna in the wilderness for those who have faith to walk in it? That's where 30U fail, Pen. By all that is sacred, 30U have no faith ; your heart is cowardl3', sir ; and if 3'ou are to escape, as per- haps you ma3', I suspect it is by your wife that you will be saved. Laura has a trust in heaven, but Arthur's morals are a genteel atheism. Just reach me that claret — the wine's not bad. I sa3' 3'our morals are a genteel atheism, and I shudder when I think of 3'Our condition. Talk to 7ne about a brougham being necessary for the comfort of a woman ! A broomstick to ride to the moon ! And I don't sa3' that a brougham is not a com- fort, mind 30U ; but that, when it is a necessit3', mark 30U, heaven will provide it ! Wh3', sir, hang it, look at me ! Ain't I suffering in the most abject poverty-? I ask you is there a man in London so poor as I am ? And since m3^ father's ruin do I want for an3-thing? I want for shelter for a day or two. Good. There's m3^ dear Little Sister ready to give it me. I want for mone3'. Does not that sainted widow's cruse pour its oil out for me? Heaven bless and reward her. Boo!" (Here, for reasons which need not be named, the orator squeezes his fists into his eyes. ) "I want shelter ; ain't I in good quarters ? I want work ; haven't I got work, and did 3'ou not get it for me? You should just see, sir, how I polished off that book of travels this morning. I read some of the article to Char — , to Miss , to some friends, in fact. I don't mean to sa3^ that the3' are very intellectual people, but 3-our common humdrum average audience is the public to tr3'. Recollect Moliere and his housekeeper, 3-0U know." "By the housekeeper, do 30U mean Mrs. Ba^'nes?" I ask, in m3' amontillado manner. (B3' the wa3', who ever heard of arnontillado m the earl3- da3's of which I write?) "In manner she would do, and I dare say in accomplishments ; but I doubt about her temper." " You're almost as worldlj' as the Twj'sdens, by George, 3'Ou ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 301 are ! Unless persons are of a certain monde^ you don't value them. A little adversit}' would do you good, Pen; and I heartil}' wish you might get it, except for the dear wife and children. You measure your morality b}' May Fair standards ; and if an angel unawares came to you in pattens and a cotton umbrella, you would turn away from her. You would never have found out the Little Sister. A duchess — God bless her ! A creature of an imperial generosity, and delicacy, and intre- pidity, and the finest sense of humor ; but she drops her A's often, and how could you pardon such a crime ? vSir, you are m}' better in wit and a dexterous application of your i)owers ; but I think, sir," says Phil, curhng the flaming moustache, " I am your su[)erior in a certain magnanimity ; though, by Jove, old fellow, man and boy, you have always been one of the best fellows in the world to P. F. ; one of the best fellows, and the most generous, and the most cordial, — that you have : onl}' you do rile me when you sing in that confounded May Fair twang." Here one of the children summoned us to tea — and " Papa was laughing, and Uncle Philip was flinging his hands about and pulling his beard off," said the little messenger. " I shall keep a fine lock of it for you, Nelly, ray dear," says Uncle Philip. On which the child said, "Oh, no! I know whom you'll give it to, don't I, mamma?" and she goes up to her mamma and whispei'S. Miss Nelly knows? At what age do those little match- makers begin to know, and how soon do they practise the use of their young eyes, their little smiles, wiles, and ogles? This 3'oung woman, I believe, coquetted whilst she was yet a baby in arms, over her nurse's shoulder. Before she could speak, she could be proud of her new vermilion shoes, and w^ould point out the charms of her blue sash. She was jealous in the nurs- ery, and her little heart had beat for years and 3ears before she left off pinafores. For whom will Philip keep a lock of that red, red gold which curls round his face? Can you guess? Of what color is the hair in that little locket which the gentleman himself occultly wears? A few months ago, I believe, a pale straw-colored wisp of hair occupied that place of honor ; now it is a chestnut-brown, as far as I can see, of precisely the same color as that which waves round Charlotte Baynes's pretty face, and tumbles in clusters on her neck, very nearly the color of Mrs. Paynter's this last season. So, you see, we chop and we change : straw gives place to chestnut, and chestnut is succeeded by ebony ; and, for our own parts, we defy time ; and if you want a lock of ray 302 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP hair, Belinda, take this pair of scissors, and look in that cup- board, in the band-box marked No. 3, and cut otY a thick glossy piece, darling, and wear it, dear, and m}^ blessings go with thee! What is this? Am I sneering because Corjdon and Phyllis are wooing and happy ? You see I pledged myself not to have an3' sentimental nonsense. To describe love-making is immoral and immodtst ; 3'ou know it is. To describe it as it really is, or would :ipijear to you and me as lookers-on, would be to describe the most dreary farce, to chronicle the most tau- tological twaddle. To take a note of sighs, hand-squeezes, looks at the moon, and so forth — does this business become our dignity as historians? Come away from those foolish young people — they don't want us ; and dreary as their farce is, and tautological as their twaddle, you may be sure it amuses them, and that the}- are happ}' enough without us. Ilapp}-? Is there any happiness like it, pray? Was it not ra[)ture to watch the messenger, to seize the note, and fee the bearer? — to retire out of sight of all prying eyes and read : — " Dearest ! Mamma's cold is better tliis morning. The Joneses came to tea, and Julia sang. I did not enjoy it, as mj' dear was at his horrid dinne}\ where I hope he amused himself. Send me a word by Buttles, who brings this, if onlv to say you are 3'our Louisa's own, own," &c. &c. &c. That used to be the kind of thing. In such coy lines artless Innocence used to whisper its little vows. So she used to smile ; so she used to warble ; so she used to prattle. Young people, at prcseiit engaged in the pretty sport, be assured your middle-aged parents have played the game, and remember the rules of it. Yes, under papa's bow-window of a waistcoat is a heart which took very violent exercise when that waist was slim. Now he sits tranquilly in his tent, and watches the lads going in for their innings. WI13', look at grandmamma in her spectacles reading that sermon. In /ler old heart there is a corner as romantic still as when she used to read the "Wild Irish Girl" or the "Scottish Chiefs" in the days of her misshood. And as for your grandfather, my dears, to see him now you would little suppose that that calm, polished, dear old gentleman was once as wild — as wild as Orson. . . . Under my windows, as I write, there passes an itinerant flower-merchant. He has his roses and geraniinns on a cart drawn by a quadrui^ed — a little long-eared quadruped, which lifts up its voice, and sings after its manner. When I was young, donkeys used to bray precisely m the same way ; and others will heehaw so, when we are silent and our ears hear no more. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 303 CHAPTER XVni. DRUM IST's so WOHL MIR IN DER WELT. Our new friends lived for a while contentedly enough at Boulogne, where they found comrades and acquaintances gath- ered together from those many regions which they had visited in the course of their military career. Mrs. Baynes, out of the field, was the commanding officer over the General. She ordered his clothes for him, tied his neck-cloth into a neat bow, and, on tea-party evenings, pinned his brooch into his shirt- frill. She gave him to understand when he had had enough to eat or drink at dinner, and explained, with great frankness, how this or that dish did not agree with him. If he was dis- posed to exceed, she would call out, in a loud voice: " Re- member, General, what jou took this morning ! " Knowing his constitution, as she said, she knew the remedies which were necessar}' for her husband, and administered them to him with great liberality. Resistance was impossible, as the veteran officer acknowledged. " The bo3's have fought about the medi- cine since we came home," he confessed, " but she has me under her thumb, by George. She reall}' is a magnificent physician, now. She has got some invaluable prescriptions, and in India she used to doctor the whole station." She would have taken the present writer's little household under her care, and proposed several remedies for my children, until their alarmed mother was obliged to keep them out of her sight. I am not saying this was an agreeable woman. Her voice was loud and harsh. The anecdotes which she was for ever nar- rating related to militar}- personages in foreign countries with whom I was unacquainted, and whose histor}' failed to interest me. She took her wine with much spirit, whilst engaged in this prattle. I have heard talk not less foolish in much finer company, and known people delighted to listen to anecdotes of the duchess and the marchioness who would yawn over the his- tory of Captain Jones's quarrels with his lady, or Mrs. Major Wolfe's monstrous flirtations with 3'oung Ensign Kyd. My wife, with the mischievousness of her sex, would mimic the Baynes's conversation ver}' drolly, but alwa3's insisted that she was not more really vulgar than many much greater persons. 304 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP For all thfs, Mrs. General Ba3'nes did not hesitate to declare that we were " stuck-up" people ; and from the- very first set- ting eyes on us she declared that she viewed us with a constant darkling suspicion. Mrs. P. was a harmless, washed-out creature, with nothing in her. As for that high and mighty Mr. P. and his airs, she would be glad to know whether the wife of a British general officer who had seen service in every part of (he (/lobe, and met the most distinguished governors, generals, and their ladies, several of whom ivere noblejum — she would be glad to know whether such people were not good enough for, &c. &c. Who has not met with these difficulties in life, and who can escape them? " Hang it, sir," Phil would say, twirling the red moustache, '' I like to be hated by some fellows ; " and it must be owned that Mr. Philip got what he liked. I suppose Mr. Philip's friend and biographer had some- thing of the same feeling. At any rate, in regard of this ladj the hypociisy of politeness was ver^- hard to keep up ; wanting us for reasons of her own, she covered the dagger with which she would have stabbed us : but we knew it was there clenched in her skinny hand in her meagre pocket. She would pay us the most fulsome compliments with anger raging out of her ejes — a little hate-bearing woman, envious, malicious, but loving her cubs, and nursing tliem, and clutching them in her lean arms with a jealous strain. It was " Good=by, darling! I sliall leave you here with your friends. Oh, how kind you are to her, Mrs. Pendennis ! How can I ever thank you, and Mr. P.', I am sure ; " and she looked as if she could poison both of us, as she went awa}-, curtsying and darting dreary parting smiles. This lady had an intimate friend and companion in arms, Mrs. Colonel Bunch, in fact, of the — th Bengal Cavalry, who was now in P^urope with Bunch and their children, who were residing at Paris for the young folks' education. At first, as we have heard, Mrs. Baynes's predilections had been all for Tours, where her sister was living, and where lodgings were cheap and food reasonable in proportion. But Bunch happen- ing to pass through Boulogne on his way to his wife at Paris, and meeting his old comrade, gave General Baynes such an account of the cheapness and pleasures of the French capital, as to induce the General to think of bending his steps thither. Mrs. Baynes would not hear of such a plan. She was all for her dear sister and Tours ; but when, in the course of conversation, Colonel Bunch described a ball at the Tuileries, where he and Mrs. B. had been received with the most flattering politeness ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 305 b}' the royal famil}-, it was remarked that Mrs. Bajnes's mind underwent a change. ■ When Bunch went on to aver that the balls at Government House at Calcutta were nothing compared to those at the Tuileries or the Prefecture of the Seine ; that the English were invited and respected everywhere ; that the ambassador was most hospitable ; that the clergymen were admirable ; and that at their boarding-house, kept by Madame la Generale Baronne de Smolensk, at the "Petit Chtiteau d'Espagne," Avenue de Valmy, Champs Elysees, they had balls twice a month, the most comfortable apartments, the most choice society", and every comfort and luxury at so man^- francs per month, with an allowance for children — I say Mrs. Baynes was • very greatly moved. " It is not," she said, " in consequence of the balls at the Ambassador's or the Tuileries, for I am an old woman ; and in spite of what you say. Colonel, I can't fancy, after Government House, anything more magnificent in any French palace. It is not for me., goodness knows, I speak : but the children should have education, and my Charlotte an entree into the world ; and what you say of the invaluable clergyman, Mr. X , I have been thinking of it all night; but above all, above all, of the chances of education for my darlings. Nothing should give way to that — nothing!" On this a long and delightful conversation and calculation took place. Bunch produced his bills at the Baroness de Smolensk's. The two gentlemen jotted up accounts, and made calculations all through the evening. It was hard even for Mrs. Baynes to force the figures into such a shape as to make them accord with the General's income ; but, driven away by one calculation after another, she returned again and again to the charge, until she OA-ercame the stubborn arithmetical difficulties, and the pounds, shillings, and pence lay prostrate before her. They could save upon this point ; they could screw upon that ; they must make a sacrifice to educate the children. " Sarah Bunch and her girls go to Court, indeed ! Why shouldn't mine go? " she asked. On which her General said, "By George, Eliza, that's the point you are thinking of." On which Eliza said, "No," and repeated "No" a score of times, growing more angry as she uttered each denial. And she declared before heaven she did not want to go to any Court. Had she not refused to be presented at home, though Mrs. Colonel Flack went, because she did not choose to go to the wicked expense of a train ? And it was base of the General, hase and mean of him to say so. And there was a fine scene, as I am given to understand ; not that I was present at this family fight^: but 20 306 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP my informnnt was Mr. Firmin ; and Mr. Firmin had his infor- mation from a little person who, about this time, had got to prattle out all the secrets of her young heart to him ; who would have jumped off the pier-head with her hand in his if he had said " Come," without his hand if he had said "• Go : " a little person whose whole life had been changed — changed for a month past — changed in one minute, that minute when she saw Philip's fiery whiskers and heard his great big voice saluting her father amongst the commissioners on the quai before the custom-house. Tours was, at any rate, a hundred and fift}* miles farther off than Paris from — from a city where a young gentleman lived in whom Miss Charlotte Baynes felt an interest ; hence, I sup- - pose, arose her delight that her parents had determined upon taking up their residence in the larger and nearer citj-. Besides, she owned, in the course of her artless confidences to m}' wife, that, when together, mamma and aunt MacWhirter quarrelled unceasingh' ; and had once caused the old bo3S, the Major and the General, to call each other out. She preferred, then, to live away from aunt Mac. She had never had such a friend as Laura, never. She had never been so happy as at Boulogne, never. She should always love everybody in our house, that she should, for ever and ever — and so forth, and so forth. The ladies meet ; cling together ; osculations are carried round the whole famil\^ circle, from our wondering eldest boy, who cries, "I say, hullo! what are yon kissing me so about?" to darling baby, crowing and sputtering unconscious in the rap- turous .young girl's embraces. I tell 30U, these two women were making fools of themselves, and they were burning with enthu- siasm for the " preserver" of the Baynes family, as they called that big fellow yonder, whose biographer I have aspired to be. The lazy rogue lay basking in the glorious wai-mth and sun- shine of early love. He would stretch his big limbs out in our garden ; pour out his feelings with endless volubility ; call upon hominum divumque volicptas^ alma Venus; vow that he had never lived or been happy until now ; declare that he laughed poverty to scorn and all her ills ; and fume against his mas- ters of the Pall 3Iall Gazette^ because the}' declined to insert certain love-verses which Mr. Philip now composed almost every da}'. Poor little Charlotte ! And didst thou receive those treasures of song ; and wonder over them, not perhaps comprehending them altogether ; and lock them up in i\\y heart's inmost casket as well as in th}'^ little desk ; and take them out in quiet hours, and kiss them, and bless heaven for ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 307 giving thee such jewels? I dare sa}-. I can fancy all this, without seeing it. I can read the little letters in the little desk, without piclving lock or breaking seal. Poor little letters ! Sometimes they are nt)t spelt right, quite ; but I don't know that the style is worse for that. Poor little letters ! You are flung to the winds sometimes and forgotten with all A'our sweet secrets and loving artless confessions ; but not always — no, not always. As for Philip, who was the most careless creature alive, and left all his clothes and haberdashery sprawling on his bedroom floor, he had at this time a breast-pocket stuffed out with papers which crackled in the most ridiculous wsxy. He was always looking down at this precious pocket, and putting one of his great hands over it as though he would guai'd it. The pocket did not contain bank-notes, j-ou may be sure of that. It contained documents stating that manima's cold is better; the Joneses came to tea, and Julia sang, &c. Ah, friend, however old you are now, however cold 30U are now, however tough, I hope you, too, remember how Julia sang, and the Joneses came to tea. Mr. Philip stayed on week after week, declaring to my wife that she was a perfect angel for keeping him so long. Bunch wrote from his boarding-house more and more enthusiastic re- ports about the comforts of the establishment. For his sake, Madame la Baronne de Smolensk would make unheard-of sacri- fices, in order to accommodate the General and Ids distinguished party. The balls were going to be perfectly splendid that win- ter. There were several old Indians living near ; in fact they could form a regular little club. It was agreed that Barnes should go and reconnoitre the ground. He did go. Madame de Smolensk, a most elegant woman, had a magnificent dinner for him — quite splendid, I give you my word, but only what they have ever}- day. Soup, of course, my love ; fish, capital wine, and, I should say, some five or six and thirty made dishes. Tiie General was quite enraptured. Bunch had put his boys to a famous school, where they might " Avhop" the French boys,* and learn all the modern languages. The little ones would dine early ; the baroness would take the whole family at an astonish- ingly cheap rate. In a word, the Baynes column got the route for Paris shortly before our family-party was crossing the seas to return to London fogs and duty. You have, no doubt, remarked how, under certain tender circumstances, women will help one another. They help where they ought not to help. When Mr. Darby ought to be sepa- rated from Miss Joan, and the best thing that could happen for 308 THE ADVENTURES OF PPITLIP both would be a lettre de cachet to whip off Mons. Darby to the Bastile for five years, and an order from her parents to lock up Mademoiselle Jeanne in a convent, some aunt, some relative, some pitying female friend is sure to be found, who will give the pair a chance of meeting, and turn her head away whilst those unhappy lovers are warbling endless good-b^'es close up to each other's ears. My wife, I have said, chose to feel this absurd sympath}' for the 3'oung people about whom we have been just talking. As the da3-s for Charlotte's departure drew near, this wretched, misguiding matron would take the girl out walk- ing into I know not what unfrequented bj'-lanes, quiet streets, rampart-nooks, and the like ; and la ! by the most singular co- incidence, Mr. Philip's hulking boots would assuredl}' come tramping after the women's little feet. What will 3'ou say, when I tell you, that I myself, the father of the famil}', the renter of the old-fashioned house, Rue Roucoule, Haute Ville, Boulogne-sur-Mer — as I am going into my own study — am met at the threshold by Helen, ni}' eldest daughter, who puts her little arms before the glass door at which I was about to enter, and says, "You must not go in there, papa! Mamma says we none of us are to go in there." " And wh}', pray?" I ask. " Because Uncle Philip and Charlotte are talking secrets there ; and nobod}' is to disturb them — nobody !" Upon my word, wasn't this too monstrous? Am I Sir Pandarus of Tro}' become ? Am I going to allow a penniless young man to steal away the heart of a .young girl who has not twopence halfpenny to her fortune ! Shall I, 1 sa}', lend my- self to this most unjustifiable intrigue? " Sir," says my wife (we happened to have been bred up from childhood together, and I own to have had one or two foohsh initiatory flirtations before I settled down to matrimonial fidelity) — "Sir," says she, "when you were so wild — so spoonej', I think is your elegant word — about Blanche, and tised to put letters into a hollow tree for her at home, I used to see the letters, and I never disturbed them. These two people have much warmer hearts, and are a great deal fonder of each other, than you and Blanche used to be. I should not like to separate Charlotte from Philip now. It is too late, sir. She can never like anybody else as she likes him. If she lives to be a hundred, she will never forget him. Why should not the poor thing be happy a little, while she ma}'?" An old house, with a green old courtjard, and an ancient mossy wall, through breaks of which I can see the roofs and • ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 309 gables of the quaint old town, the city below, the shining sea, and the white English cliffs beyond ; a green old courtyard, and a tall old stone house rising up in it, grown over with many a creeper on which the sun casts flickering shadows ; and under the shadows, and through the glass of a tall gray window, I can just peep into a brown twilight parlor, and there I see two hazy figures by a table. One slim figure has brown hair, and one has flame-colored whiskers. Look, a ray of sunshine has just peered into the room, and is lighting the whiskers up ! " Poor little thing," whispers my wife, very gently. " They are going away to-morrow Let them have their talk out. She is crying her little eyes out, I am sure. Poor little Charlotte ! " Whilst my wife was pitying Miss Charlotte in this pathetic wa}', and was going, I dare say, to have recourse to her own pocket-handkerchief, as I live there came a burst of laughter from the darkling chamber where the two lovers were billing and cooing. First came Mr. Philip's great boom (such a roar — such a haw-haw, or hee-haw, I never heard any other two- legged animal perform). Then follows Miss Charlotte's tink- ling peal ; and presently that young person comes out into the garden, with her round face not bedewed with tears at all, but perfectl}^ rosy, fresh, dimpled, and good-humored. Charlotte gives me a little curts}', and m}- wife a hand and a kind glance. The3' retreat through the open casement, twining round each other, as the vine does round the window ; though which is the vine and which is the window in this simile, I pretend not to say — I can't see through either of them, that is the truth. They pass through the parlor, and into the street beyond, doubtless : and as for Mr. Philip, I presentl^^ see his head popped out of liis window in the upper floor with his great pipe in his mouth. He can't " work " without his pipe, he says; and my wife believes him. Work indeed ! Miss Charlotte paid us another little visit that evening, when we happened to be alone. The children were gone to bed. The darlings ! Charlotte must go up and kiss them. Mr. Philip Firmin was out. She did not seem to miss him in the least, nor did she make a single inquiry for him. We had been so good to her — so kind. How should she ever forget our great kindness ? She had been so happ}' — oh ! so happy ! She had never been so happy before. Slie would write often and often, and Laura would write constantly — wouldn't she? " Yes, dear child ! " says my wife. And now a little more kissing, and it is time to go home to the Tintilleries. What a 310 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP lovely night ! Indeed the moon was blazing in full round in the purple heavens, and the stars were twinkling by mjriads. " Good-by, dear Charlotte; happiness go with you!" I seize her hand. I feel a paternal desire to kiss her fair, round face. Her sweetness, her happiness, her artless good-humor, and gentleness has endeared her to us all. As for me, I love her with a fatherly affection. "Stay, ni}' dear!" I cry, with a happy gallantry. " I'll go home with you to the Tintilleries." You should have seen the fair round face then! Such a piteous expi'ession came over it ! She looked at m}^ wife ; and as for that Mrs. Laura she pulled the tail of m}' coat. " AVhat do you mean, m}^ dear? " I ask. " Don't go out on such a dreadful night. You'll catch cold ! " says Laura. " Cold, my love! " I say. "Why, it's as fine a night as ever — " " Oh ! you — you stoopid ! " says Laura, and begins to laugh. And there goes Miss Charlotte tripping away from us without a word more. Philip came in about half an hour afterwards. And do you know I very strongly suspect that he had been waiting round the corner. Few things escape ?«e, you see, when I have a mind to be observant. And, certain!}:, if I had thought of that possibility and that I might be spoiHng sport, I should not have proposed to Miss Charlotte to walk home with her. At a ver}^ early hour on the next morning my wife arose, and spent, in my opinion, a great deal of unprofitable time, bread, butter, cold beef, mustard and salt, in compiling a heap of sandwiches, which were tied up in a copy of the Pall Mall Gazette. That persistence in making sandwiches, in providing cakes and other refreshments for a journe}-, is a strange infatu- ation in women ; as if there was not always enough to eat to be had at road inns and railwaj' stations I What a good dinner we used to have at Montrenil in the old da^s, before railways were, and when the diligence spent four or six and twenty cheerful hours on its way to Paris ! I think the finest dishes are not to be compared to that well-remembered fricandeau of youth, nor do wines of the most daint}- vintage surpass the rough, honest, blue ordinaire which was served at the plenteous inn-table. I took our bale of sandwiches down to the office of the Messageries, whence our friends were to start. We saw six of the Baynes family packed into the interior of the dili- gence ; and the boys climb cheeril}- into the rotonde. Char- Votte's pretty lips and hands wafted kisses to us from her corner. Charlotte's Convoy. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 311 Mrs. General Baynes commanded the column, pushed the little ones into their places in the ark, ordered the General and young ones hither and thither with her parasol, declined to give "the gTumbling porters any but the suiuUest gratuity, and talked a shrieking jargon of French and Hindustanee to the people assembled round the carriage. My wife has that command over me that she actually made me demean myself so far as to deliver the sandwich parcel to one of the Baynes boys. I said, " Take this," and the poor wretch held out his hand eagerly, evidently expecting that I was about to tip him with a five-franc piece or" some such coin. Fouette, cocher ! The horses squeal. The huge machine jingles over the road, and rattles down the street. Farewell, pretty Charlotte, with your sweet fiice and sweet voice and kind eyes! But why, pray, is Mr. Philip Firmin not here to sa^' farewell too? Before the diligence got under way, the Baynes boys had fouglit, and quarrelled, and wanted to mount on the imperial or cabriolet of the carriage, where there was only one passenger as yet. But the conductor called the lads off, sa3-ing that the remaining place was engaged by a gentleman who they were to take up on the road. And who should this turn out to be? Just outside tlie town a man springs up to the imperial ; his light luggage, it appears, was on the coach already, and that luggage belonged to Philip Firmin. Ah, monsieur! and that was the reason, was it, why the}- were so merry yesterday' — the parting day? Because they were not going to part just then. Because, when the time of execution drew. near, they had man- aged to smuggle a little reprieve ! Upon m}' conscience, I never heard of such imprudence in the whole course of my hfe ! Why, it is starvation — certain misery to one and the other. " I don't like to meddle in other people's affairs," I say to my wife ; " but I have no patience with such folly, or with myself for not speaking to General Baynes on the subject. I shall write to the General." " My dear, the General knows all about it," says Char- lotte's, Philip's (in my opinion) most injudicious friend. " We have talked about it, and, like a man of sense, the General makes light of it. ' Young folks will be 3'oung folks,' he sa,ys ; ' and, by George ! ma'am, when I married — I should say, wlien Mrs. B. ordered mc^ to marry her — she had nothing, and 1 but my captain's paj'. People get on, somehow. Better for a young man to marrj', and keep out of idleness and mischief; and I promise you, the chap who marries my girl gets a treas- ure. I like the boy for the sake of iny old friend Phil Ring- 312 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP wood. I don't see that the fellows with the rich wives are much the happier, or that men should wait to marry until they are gouty old rakes.'" And, it appears, the General instanced several officers of his own acquaintance ; some of whom had married when thej^ were .young and poor ; some who had mar- ried when they were old and sulky ; some who had never married at all. And he mentioned his comrade, my own uncle, the late Major Pendennis, whom he called a selfish old creature, and hinted that the Major had jilted some lady in early life, whom he would have done much better to marry. And so Philip is actually gone after his charmer, and is pur- suing her summd diligentid ? The Baynes family has allowed this penniless young law student to make love to their daugh- ter, or accompany them to Paris, to appear as the almost recog- nized son of the house. " Other people, when they were young, wanted to make imprudent marriages," says my wife (as if that wretched tu quoque were any answer to my remark !) "This penniless law student might have a good sum of money if he chose to press the Baynes famil}' to pa}' him what, after all, they owe him." And so poor little Charlotte was to be her father's ransom ! To be sure, little Charlotte did not object to offer herself up in payment of her papa's debt ! And though I objected as a moral man and a prudent man, and a father of a family, I could not be very seriously' ?iu^vy. I am secretl}' of the disposition of the time-honoi'ed pere de famille in the come- dies, the irascible old gentleman in the crop wig and George- the-Second coat, who is always menacing "Tom the young dog" with his cane. When the deed is done, and Miranda (the little sly-boots!) falls before my squaretoes and shoe- buckles, and Tom, the young dog, kneels before me in his white ducks, and they cry out in a pretty* chorus, " Forgive us, grand- papa ! " I say, " Well, 3'ou rogue, boys will be boys. Take her, sirrah ! Be happy with her ; and, hark ye ! in this pocket-book you will find ten thousand," &c. &c. You all know the story : I cannot help liking it, however old it may be. In love, some- how, one is pleased that young people should dare a little. Was not Bess}' Eldon famous as an economist, and Lord Eldon celebrated for wisdom and caution? and did not John Scott marry Elizabeth Surtees when they had scarcel}' twopence a year between them? " Of course, my dear," I say to the part- ner of my existence, " now this madcap fellow is utterly' ruined, now is the very time he ought to marry. The accepted doc- trine is that a man should spend his own fortune, then his wife's fortune, and then he may begin to get on at the bar. Philip ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 313 has a hundred pounds, let us say ; Charlotte has nothing ; so that in about six weeks we may look to hear of Philip being in successful practice — "- " Successful nonsense ! " cries the lady, " Don't go on hke a cold-blooded calculating machine ! You don't believe a word of what you say, and a more imprudent person never lived than you yourself were as a ^-oung man." Tiiis was departing from the question, which women will do. '' Nonsense ! " again -says my romantic being of a partner-of-existence. " Don't tell me, sir. They will be provided for ! Are we to be for ever taking care of the morrow, and not trusting that we shall be cared for? Tou may call your way of thinking prudence. I call it shifnl wo7-ldliness, sir." When my life-partner speaks in a certain strain, I know that remonstrance is useless, and argument un- availing, and I generally resort to cowardly subterfuges, and sneak out of the conversation by a pun, a side joke, or some other flippancy. Besides, in this case, though I argue against my wife, my sympathy is on her side. I know Mr. Philip is imprudent and headstrong, but I should like him to succeed, and be happy. I own he is a scapegrace, but I wish him well. So, just as the diligence of Lafitte and Caillard is clearing out of Boulogne town, the conductor causes the carnage to stop, and a young fellow has mounted up on the roof in a twinkhng ; and the postilion sa3-s "Hi!" to his horses, and away those squealing graj's go clattering. And a young lady, happening to look out of one of the windows of the intcrieur, has perfectly- recognized the 3'oung gentleman who leaped up to the roof so nimbly ; and the two bo^'s who were in tlie rotoude would have recognized the gentleman, but that the}' were alread}' eating the sandwiches which m^^ wife had provided. And so the diligence goes on, until it reaches that hill, where the girls used to come and offer to sell you apples ; and some of the passengers descend and walk, and the tall young man on the roof jumps down, and approaches the party in the interior, and a 3'oung ladj' cries out " La!" and licr mamma looks impene- trably grave, and not in the least surprised ; and her father gives a wink of one eye, and saj's, " It's him, is it, b}' George ! " and the two boys coming out of the rotonde, their mouths full of sandwich, cr}- out, " Hullo! It's Mr. Firmin." " How do you do, ladies?" he says, blushing as red as an apple, and his heart thumping — but that may be from walking up hill. And he puts a hand towards the carriage-window and a little hand comes out and lights on his. And IMrs. General Baynes, who is reading a religious work, looks up and says, 314 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " Oh ! how do 3^011 do, Mr. Firmui? " And this is the remr.ik- able dialogue that takes place. It is not very wittj' ; oul Philip's tones send a rapture into one 3'oung heart : and wAen he is absent, and has climbed up to his place in the cabrioiet, the kick of his boots on the roof gives the said young heart inexpressible comfort and consolation. Shine stars and moon. Shriek gray horses through the calm night. Snore sweetly, papa and mamma, in your corners, with your pocket-handker- chiefs tied round your old fronts ! I suppose, under all the stars of heaven, there is nobody more hapi)y than that child in that carriage — that wakeful girl, in sweet maiden meditation — who has given her heart to the keeping of the champion who is so near her. Has he not been always their champion and preserver? Don't they owe to his generosity everything in life? One of the little sisters wakes wildly, and cries in the night, and Ciiarlotte takes the child into her arms and soothes her. "Hush, dear! He's there — he's there," she whispers, as she bends over the chikl. Nothing wrong can happen with /iim there, she feels. If the robbers were to spring out from yonder dark pines, why, he would jump down, and the}' would all fly before him ! The carriage rolls on through sleeping villages, and as the old team retires all in a halo of smoke, and the fresh horses come clattering up to their pole, Charlotte sees a well- known white face in the gleam of the carriage-lanterns. Through the long avenues the great vehicle rolls on its course. The dawn peers over the poplars : the stars quiver out of sight : the sun is up in the sky, and the heaven is all in a flame. The night is over — the night of nights. In all the round world, whether lighted by stars or sunshine, there were not two people more happ}' than these had been. A very short time afterwards, at the end of October, our own little sea-side sojourn came to an end. That astounding bill for broken glass, chairs, crockery, was paid. The London steamer takes us all on board on a beautiful, sunny autumn evening, and lands us at the Custom-house Quay in the midst of a deep, dun fog, through which our cabs have to work their way over greasy pavements, and bearing two loads of silent and terrified chiMren. Ah, that return, if but after a fortnight's absence and holiday ! Oh, that heap of letters lyiug in a ghastly pile, and yet so clearly visible in the dim twilight of master's study ! We cheerfully breakfast b}' candlelight for the first two days after m\- arrival at home, and I have the pleasure of cutting a part of my chin off" because it is too dark to shave at nine o'clock in the morning. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 315 My wife can't be so unfeeling as to laugh and be merry because I have met with an accident which temporarily dis- figures me. If the dun fog makes her jocular, she has a very queer sense of humor. She has a letter before her, over which she is perfectly radiant. When she is especially pleased I can see by her face and a particular animation and affectionateness towards the rest of the famil}'. On this present morning her face beams out of the fog-clouds. The room is ilhuninated by it, and perhaps by the two candles which are placed one on either side of the urn. The fire crackles, and flames, and spits most cheerfully ; and the sky without, which is of the hue of brown paper, seems to setoti* the brightness of the little interior scene. "A letter from Charlotte, papa," cries one little girl, with an air of consequence. "And a letter from Uncle Philip, papa ! " cries another, " and they like Paris so much," continues the little reporter. " And there, sir, didn't I tell you?" cries the lady, handing me over a letter. "Mamma always told .you so," echoes the child, with an important nod of the head; "and I shouldn't be surprised if be were to be very rich, should you, mamma?" continues this arithmetician. I would not put Miss Charlotte's letter into print if I could, for do you know that little person's grammar was frequently incorrect ; there were three or four words spelt wrongly- ; and the letter was so scored and marked with dashes under every other word, that it is clear to me her education had been nes:- lected ; and as I am very fond of her, I do not wish to make fun of her. And I can't print Mr. Philip's letter, for I haven't kept it. Of what use keeping letters? I sa}'. Burn, burn, burn. No heart-pangs. No rei)roaches. No yester- day. Was it happy, or miserable? To think of it is always melancholy. Go to ! I dare say it is the thought of that fog, which is making this sentence so dismal. Meanwhile there is Madame Laura's face smiling out of the darkness, as pleased as may be ; and no wonder, she is always happ}' when her friends are so. Charlotte's letter contained a full account of the settlement of the Baynes family at Madame Smolensk's boarding-house, where they appear to have been really ver^' comfortable, and to have Uved at a very cheap rate. As for Mr. Philip, he made his way to a crib, to which his artist friends had reconuuended him, on the Faubourg St. Germain side of the water — the 316 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP "Hotel Poussin," in the street of that name, which lies, you know, between the Mazarin Library and the Musee des Beaux Arts. In former days, my gentleman had lived in state and bount}'^ in the English hotels and quarter. Now he found himself verj' handsomely lodged for thirty francs per month, and with five or six pounds, he has repeatedly said since, he could carry through the month very comfortably. I don't sa}^, my young traveller, that you can be so luck}' now-a-da3's. Are we not telling a stor^^ of twenty years ago ? Aye marry. Ere steam-coaches had begun to scream on French rails ; and when Louis Philippe was king. As soon as Mr. Philip Firmin is ruined he must needs fall in love. In order to be near the beloved object, he must needs follow her to Paris, and give up his promised studies for the bar at home ; where, to do him justice, I believe the fellow would never have done any good. And he has not been in Paris a fortnight when that fantastic jade Fortune, who had seemed to fly awa}' from him, gives him a smiling look of rec- ognition, as if to say, "Young gentleman, I have not quite done with 3'ou." The good fortune was not much. Do not suppose that Philip suddenly drew a twenty-thousand pound prize in a lot- tery. But, being in much want of money, he suddenly found himself enabled to earn some in a way pretty easy to himself. In the first place, Philip found his friends Mr. and Mrs. Mugford in a bewildered state in the midst of Paris, in which cit}- Mugford would never consent to have a luquais de, place, being firmly convinced to tlie day of his death that he knew the French language quite sufficiently for all purposes of con- versation. Philip, who had often visited Paris before, came to the aid of his friends in a two-franc dining-house, which he frequented for economy's sake ; and they, Ijecause they thought the banquet there provided not only clieap, but most mag- nificent and satisfactory. He interpreted for them, and res- cued them from their perplexity, whatever it was. He treated them handsomely to catty on the bullyvard, as Mugford said on returning home and in recounting the adventure to me. " He can't forget that he has been a swell : and he does do things like a gentleman, that Firmin does. He came back with us to our hotel — Meurice's," said Mr. Mugford, "and who should drive into the 3-ard and step out of his carriage but Lord Ringwood — you know Lord Ringwood? everybody knows him. As he gets out of his carriage — ' What ! is that you, Philip?' says his lordship, giving the young fellow ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 317 his hand. ' Come and breakfast with me to-morrow mornina:.' And awaj' he goes most friendly." How came it to pass that Lord Ringwood, whose instinct of self-preservation was strong — who, I fear, was rather a selfish nobleman — and who, of late, as we have heard, had given orders to refuse Mr. Philip entrance at his door — should all of a sudden turn round and greet the young man with cor- dialitj'? In the first place, Philip had never troubled his lord- ship's knocker at all ; and second, as luck would have it. on this very day of their meeting his lordship had been to dine with that \\ell-known Parisian resident and hon vivant, my Lord Viscount Trim, who had been governor of the Sago Islands when Colonel Baynes was there with his regiment, the gallant 100th. And the General and his old West India governor meeting at church, my Lord Trim straightway' asked General Baynes to dinner, where Lord Ringwood was present, along with other distinguished compau}', whom at present we need not particularize. Now it has been said that Philip Ringwood, my lord's brother, and Captain Ba^-nes in early youth had been close friends, and that the Colonel had died in the Captain's arms. Lord Ringwood, who had an excellent memory when he chose to use it, was pleased on this occasion to remember General Baynes and his intimac}' with his brother in old da3's. Arid of those old times the_v talked ; the General waxing more eloquent, I suppose, than his wont over Lord Trim's excellent wine. And in the course of conversation Philip was named, and the General, warm with drink, poured out a most en- thusiastic eulogium on his young friend, and mentioned how noble and self-denying Philip's conduct had been in his own case. And perhaps Lord Ringwood was pleased at hearing these praises of his brother's grandson ; and perhaps he thought of old times, when he had a heart, and he and his b]-other loved each other. And though he might think Philip Firmin an absurd young blockhead for giving up any claims which he might have on" General Baynes, at any rate I have no doubt his lordship thought, "This boy is not likely to come begging money from me ! " Hence, when he drove back to his hotel on the very night after this dinner, and in the courtyard saw that Philip Firmin, his brother's grandson, the heart of the old nobleman was smitten with a kindly sentiment, and he bade Philip to come and see him. I have described some of Philip's oddities, and amongst these was a very remarkable change in his appearance, which ensued very speedily after his ruin, I know that the greater 318 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP number of story readers are young, and those who are ever so old remember that tReir own .young da3S occurred but a very, verj' short while ago. Don't you remember, most potent, grave, and reverend senior, when you were a junior, and actu- ally rather pleased with new clothes? Does a new coat or a waistcoat cause you any pleasure now? To a well-constituted middle-aged gentleman, I rather trust a smart new suit causes a sensation of uneasiness — not from the tightness of the fit, which may be a reason — but from the gloss and splendor. When my late kind friend, Mrs. , gave me the emerald tabbinet waistcoat, with the gold shamrocks, I wore it once to go to Richmond to dine with her ; but I buttoned myself so closely in an upper coat, that I am sure nobody in the omnibus saw what a painted vest I had on. Gold sprigs and emerald tabbinet, what a gorgeous raiment ! Tt has formed for ten years the chief ornament of m}' wardrobe ; and though I have never dared to wear it since, I always think with a secret pleasure of possessing that treasure. Do women, wlien they are sixty, like handsome and fashionable attire, and a ^-outhful appearance? Look at Lad}' Jezebel's blushing cheek, her raven hair, her splendid garments ! But this disquisition^may be carried to too great a length. I want to note a fact which has occurred not seldom in my experience — that men who have been great dandies will often and suddenl}' give up their long-accustomed splendor of dress, and walk about, most happy and contented, with the shabbiest of coats and hats. No. The majority of men are not vain about their dress. For instance, within a very few years, men used to have pretty feet. See in what a resolute wa}' they have kicked their prett}' boots off almost to a man, and wear great, thick, formless, comforta- ble walking boots, of shape scarcely more graceful than a tub ! When Philip Firmin first came on the town, there were dan- dies still ; there were dazzling waistcoats of velvet and brocade, and tall stocks with cataracts of satin ; there were pins, studs, neck-chains, I know not what fantastic splendors of youth. His varnished boots grew upon forests of trees. He had a most resplendent silver-gilt dressing-case, presented to him by his father (for which, it is true, the doctor neglected to pay, leaving that duty to his son). " It is a mere ceremony," said the worthy doctor, " a cumbrous thing you ma}^ fanc}' at first; but take it about with you. It looks well on a man's dressing- table at a countr3'-house. It poses a man, 3-ou understand. I have known women come in and peei) at it. A trifle you may say, my bo}' ; but what is the use of flinging any chance in life ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 319 awa}-?" Now, when misfortune came, 3'onng Philip flung awa}' all these magnificent follies. He wrapped himsolt virtute sua ; and I am bound to say a more queer-looking fellow than friend Philip seldom walked the pavement of London or Paris. He could not wear the nap off' all his coats, or rub his elbows into rags in six months ; but, as he would say of himself with much simplicity, "■ I do think I run to seed more quickl}' than an}^ fellow I ever knew. All my socks in holes, Mrs. Pen- dennis ; all my shirt-buttons gone, I give ^'ou m}' word. I don't know how the things hold together, and why they don't tumble to pieces. I suspect I must have a *bad laundress." Suspect ! My children used to laugh and crow as the}- sewed buttons on to him. As for the Little Sister, she broke into his apartments in his absence, and said that it turned her hair gray to see the state of his poor wardrobe. I believe that Mrs. Brandon put surrei)titious linen into his drawers. He did not know. Lie wore the shirts in a contented spirit. The glossy boots began to crack and then to burst, and Philip wore them with perfect equanimit}'. Where were the beautiful lavender and lemon gloves of last year? His great naked hands (with which he gesticulates so grandly) were as brown an an Indian's now. We iKid liked him heartily in his days of splendor ; we loved him now in his" threadbare suit. I can fancy the .young man striding into the room where his lordship's guests were assembled. In the pre'sence of great or small, Philip has always been entirely unconcerned, and he is one of the half-dozen men I have seen in ni}- life upon whom rank made no impression. It appears that, on occasion of this breakfist, there were one or two dandies present who were aghast at I'hilip's freedom of behavior. He engaged in con- versation with a famous French statesman ; contradicted him with much energy in his own language ; and when the statesman asked whether monsieur was membre du Parlemcnt? Philip burst into one of his roars of langhter, which almost breaks tlie glasses on a table, and said, " Je suis journaliste, monsieur, a vos ordres ! " Young Timbury of the embassy was aghast at Philip's insolence ; and Dr. Botts, his lordshi[)'s travelling physician, looked at him with a terrified face. A bottle of claret was bronglit, which almost all the gentlemen present began to swallow, until Philip, tasting his glass, called ont, " Faugh ! It's corked ! " " So it is, and very badly corked," growls my lord, with one of his usual oatlis. "• Why didn't some of you fellows speak ? Do you like corked wine ? " There were gallant fellows round that table who would have drunk t-> 320 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP corked black dose, had his lordship professed to like senna. The old host was tickled and amused. "Your mother was a quiet soul, and your father used to bow like a dancing-master. You ain't mucli like him. I dine at home most days. Leave word in the morning with m}' people, and. come when j-ou like, Philip," he growled. A part of this news PhiUp narrated to us in his letter, and other part was given verballj' b}- Mr. and Mrs. Mugford on their return to London. "I tell you, sir," says Mugford, " he has been taken by the hand by some of the tiptop people, and I have booked him at three guineas a week for a letter to the Pall Mall Gazette." And this was the cause of m\' wife's exultation and tri- umphant " Didn't I tell j-ou ? " Philip's foot was on the ladder ; and who so capjible of mounting to tlie top? When happiness and a fond and lovel}' girl were waiting for him there, would he lose heart, spare exertion, or be afraid to climb? He had no truer well-wisher than m^'self, and no friend who liked him better, though, I dare say, many admired him much more than I did. But these were women for the most part ; and women become so absurdl}' unjust and partial to persons whom they love, when these latter are in misfortune, that I am surprised Mr. Pliilip did not quite lose his head in his poverty-, witli such fond flatterers and s^'cophants round about him. Would you grudge him the consolation to be had from these sweet uses of adversity? ^^lan}' a heart would be hardened but for the memory of past griefs ; when eyes, now averted, perhaps, were full of s^'mpathy, and hands, now cold, were eager to soothe and succor. CHAPTER XIK. QU'ON EST BIEN A VINGT ANS. A FAIR correspondent — and I would parenthetically hint that all correspondents are not fair — points out the discrepancy existing I)etween the text and the illustrations of our story ; * and justly remarks that the stor}- dated more than twent}' years back, while the costumes of the actors of our little com- edy are of the fashion of to-day. My dear madam, these anachronisms must be, or 3'ou would scared}' be able to keep any interest for our characters. What * This refers to an illustrated edition of the work. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 321 would be a woman without a crinoline petticoat, for example ? an object ridiculous, hateful, I suppose hardly proper. What would 3'ou think of a hero who wore a large high black-satia stock cascading over a figured silk waistcoat ; and a blue dress- coat, with brass buttons, mayhap? If a person so attired came up to ask you to dance, could you refrain from laughing? Time was when young men so decorated found favor in the e^es of damsels who had never beheld hooped petticoats, except in their grandmother's portraits. Persons who flourished in the first part of the century never thought to see the hoops of our ancestors' age rolled downwards to our contemporaries and children. Did we ever imagine that a period would arrive when our young men would part their hair down the middle, and wear a piece of tape for a neck-cloth ? As soon should we have thought of their dyeing their bodies with woad, and array- ing themselves like ancient Britons. So the ages have their dress and undress ; and the gentlemen and ladies of Victoria's time are satisfied witli their manner of raiment ; as no doubt in Boadicea's court they looked charming tattooed and painted blue. The times of which we write, the times of Louis Philippe the king, are so altered from the present, that when Phihp Firmin went to Paris it was absolutely a cheap place to live in ; and he has often bragged in subsequent days of having lived well dur- ing a month for five pounds, and bought a neat waistcoat with a part of the mone}'. " A capital bedroom, au premier^ for a franc a day, sir," he would call all persons to remark, ■" a bed- room as good as yours, my lord, at Meurice's. Very good tea or coffee breakfast, twenty francs a month, with lots of bread and butter. Twenty francs a month for washing, and fiftj' for dinner and pocket-money — that's about the figure. The din- ner, I own, is sh}', unless I come and dine with my friends ; and then I make up for banyan days." And so saying Philip would call out for more truffled partridges, or affably filled his gol)let with my Lord Ringwood's best Siller}'. "At those shops," he would observe, " where I dine, I have beer: I can't stand the wine. And yon see, I can't go to the cheap English ordinaries, of which there are manv, because English gentle- men's servants are there, you know, and it's not pleasant to sit with a fellow wlio waits on 3-ou the day after." "Oh! the English servants go to the cheap ordinaries, do they?" asks my lord, greatl}' amused, " and you drink biere de Mar$. at the shop where you dine ? " " And dine very badly, too, I can tell you. Alwa^'s come 21 322 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP away bungiy. Give me some champagne — the dry, if you please. They mix veiy well together — sweet and dry. Did you ever dine at Fiicoteau's, Mr. Pecker?" "/ dine at one of your horrible two-franc houses?" cries Mr. Pecker, with a look of terror. " Do you know, my lord, there are actually houses where people dine for two francs ? " "Two francs! Seventeen sous!" bawls out Mr. Firmin. "The soup, the beef, the rOti, the salad, the dessert, and the whitey-brown bread at discretion. It's not a good dinner, cer- tainly — in fact, it is a dreadful bad one. But to dine so would do some fellows a great deal of good." "What do 30U say. Pecker? Fiicoteau's; seventeen sous We'll make a little part\' and try, and Firmin shall do the lion ors of his restaurant," says my lord with a grin. "Mercy ! " gasps Mr. Pecker. " I had rather dine here, if ^-ou please, my lord," says the young man. "This is cheaper, and certainlj' better." My lord's doctor, and man^y of the guests at his table, my lord's henchmen, flatterers, and led captains, looked aghast at the freedom of the young fellow in the shabby coat. If they dared to be familiar with their host, there came a scowl over that noble countenance which was awful to face. They drank his corked wine in meekness of spirit. The}' laughed at his jokes trembling. One after another, they were the objects of his satire ; and each grinned piteously, as he took his turn of punishment. Some dinners are dear, though they cost noth- ing. At some great tables are not toads sei'ved along with the entrees'} Yes, and many amateurs are exceedingly fond of the dish. How do Parisians live at all? is a question which has often set me wondering. How do men in public offices, with fif- teen thousand francs, let us sa^', for a salary — and tliis, for a French official, is a high salarj^ — live in handsome apart- ments ; give genteel entertainments ; clothe themselves and their families with much more sumptuous raiment than Eng- lish people of the same station can afford ; take their countr}' holiday, a six weeks' sojourn, anx eaux ; and appear cheerful and to want for nothing? Paterfamilias, with six hundred a year in London, knows what a straitened life his is, with rent high, and beef at a shilling a pound. Well, in Paris, rent is higher, and meat is dearer ; and j-et madame is richl}' dressed when 3'ou see her ; monsieur has always a little money in his pocket for his club or his cafe ; and something is pretty surely put away every year for the marriage portion of the young ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 323 folks. " Sir," Philip used to saj', describing this period of his life, on which and on most subjects regarding himself, by the wa}', he was wont to be very eloquent, " when my income was raised to five thousand francs a 3'ear, I give 3'ou my word I was considered to be rich by my Fr'ench acquaintance. I gave four sous to the waiter at our dining-place : — in that respect I was always ostentatious : — and I believe the}' called me Milor. I should have been poor in the Rue de la Paix : but I was wealthy in the Luxembourg quarter. Don't tell me about povertj-, sir ! Poverty is a bully if you are afraid of her, or truckle to her. Poverty is good-natured enough if you meet her like a man. You saw how m}' poor old father was afraid of her, and thought the world would come to an end if Dr. Firmin did not keep his butler, and his footman, and his fine house, and tine chariot and horses? He was a poor man, if 3'ou please. He must have suffered agonies in his struggle to make both ends meet. P^verj'thing he bought must have cost him twice the honest price ; and when I tliink of nights that must have been passed without sleep — of that proud man having to smirk and cringe before creditors — to coax butchers, by George, and wheedle tailors — I pity him ; I can't be angry anj' more. That man has suffered enough. As for me, haven't 3'OU remarked that since I have not a guinea in the world, I swagger, and am a much greater swell than before?" And the truth is that a Prince Ko^al could not have called for his gens with a more magnificent air than Mr. Philip when he summoned the waiter, and paid for his petit verre. Talk of poverty-, indeed ! That period, Philip vows, was the happiest of his life. He liked to tell in after days of the choice acquaintance of Bohemians which he had formed. Their jug, he said, though it contained but small beer, was always full. Their tobacco, though it bore no higher rank than that of caporal, was plentiful and fragrant. He knew some admi- rable medical students ; some artists w^ho only wanted talent and industry to be at the height of their profession : and one or two of the magnates of his own calling, the newspaper cor- respondents, whose houses and tables were open to him. It was wonderful what secrets of politics he learned and trans- mitted to his own paper. He pursued P^rench statesmen of those days with prodigious eloquence and vigor. At the ex- pense of that old king he was wonderfully witt}- and sarcastical. He reviewed the affairs of iMirope, settled the destinies of Rus- sia, denounced the Spanish marriages, disposed of the Pope, and advocated the Liberal cause in France with an untiring 324 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP eloquence. "Absinthe used to be my drink, sir," so he was good enough to tell his friends. " It makes the ink run, and imparts a tine eloquence to the st3'le. Merc}^ upon us, how I would belabor that poor King of the P^'rench under the influence of absinthe, in that cafe opposite the Bourse where I used to make my letter ! Who knows, sir, perhaps the influence of those letters precipitated the fall of the Bourbon dynastj^ ! Before I had an office, Gilligan, of the Century, and I, used to do our letters at that cafe ; we compared notes and pitched into each other amicably." Gilligau of the Century, and Firmin of the Pall Mall Gazette^ were however, very 'minor personages amongst the London newspaper correspondents. Their seniors of the daily press had handsome apartments, gave sumptuous dinners, were closeted with ministers' secretaries, and "entertained members of the Chamber of Deputies. Philip, on perfectly easy terms with himself and the world, swaggering about the embassj' balls — Philip, the friend and relative of Lord Ringwood — was viewed by his professional seniors and superiors jvith an eye of favor, which was not certainl}' turned on all gentlemen following his calling. Certainly poor Gilligan was never asked to those dinners, which some of the newspaper ambassadors gave, whereas Philip was received not inhospitably. Gilligan received but a cold shoulder at Mrs. Morning Messenger's Thursday's; and as for being asked to dinner, " Bedad, that fellow, Firmin, has an air with him which will carrj' him through anywhere ! " Phil's brother correspondent owned. " Ila seems to patronize an ambassador when he goes up and .speaks to him ; and he sa3's to a secretary, ' My good fellow, tell 3-our master that Mr. Firmin, of the Pall Mnll Gazette, wants to see him, and will thank him to step over to the Cafe de la Bourse.' " I don't think Philip, for his part, would have seen much matter of surprise in a Minister stepping over to speak to him. To him all folk were alike, great and small : and it is recorded of him that when, on one occasion. Lord Ringwood paid him a visit at his lodgings in the Faubourg St. Germain, Philip affably offered his lordship a cornet of fried potatoes, with which, and plentiful tobacco of course, Philip and one or two of his friends were regaling themselves when Lord Ringwood chanced to call on his kinsman. A crust and a carafon of small beer, a correspondence with a weekl}' paper, and a remuneration such as that we have mentioned, — was Philip Firmin to look for no more than this pittance, and not to seek for more permanent and lucrative ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 325 employment? Some of his friends at home were rather vexed at what Philip chose to consider his good fortune ; namely, his connection with the newspaper, and the small stipend it gave him. He might quarrel with his employer any claj'. Indeed no man was* more likely to fling his bread and butter out of window than Mr. Philip. Pie was losing precious time at the bar ; where he, as hundreds of other poor gentlemen had done before him, might make a career for himself. For what are colonies made? Wh}' do bankruptcies occur? Why do people break the peace and quarrel with policemen, but that barristers may be emploj'ed as judges, commissioners, magistrates? A reporter to a newspaper remains all his life a newspaper re- porter, Philip, if he would but help himself, had friends in the world who might aid effectualh- to advance him. So it was we pleaded with him, in the language of moderation, urging the dictates of common sense. As if moderation and common sense could be got to move that mule of a Philip Firmin ; as if any persuasion of ours could induce him to do anything but what he liked to do best himself! " Tliat you should be worldly, ra^' poor fellow" (so Philip wrote to his present biographer) — " that you should be think- ing of money and the main chance, is no matter of surprise to me. You have suffered under that curse of manhood, that destroyer of generosit}- in the mind, that parent of sellishness — a little fortune. Y"ou have your wretched hundreds " (my candid correspondent stated the sum correcth' enough ; and I wish it were double or treble ; but tliat is not here tlie point :) " paid quarterly. The miserable pittance numbs yonv whole existence. It prevents freedom of thought and action. It makes a screw of a man who is certainly not without generous impulses, as I know, my poor old Ilarpagon : for hast thou not offered to open thy purse to me? I tell you I am sick of tlie way in which people in London, especially good people, think about mone_y. Y''ou live up to your income's edge. You are miserabh' poor. You brag and flattor ^'ourselves that you owe no man anything ; but your estate has creditors upon it as insatiable as any usurer, and as hard as any bailiff. You call me reckless, and prodigal, and idle, and all sorts of names, because I live in a single room, do as little work as I can, and go about with holes in m}' boots : and you flatter yourself you are prudent, because you have a genteel house, a grave flunk}^ out of livery, and two greengrocers to wait when you give 30ur half-dozen dreary dinner-parties. AY retched man ! You are a slave : not a man. Y''ou are a pauper, with a good house 326 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP and good clothes. You are so miserabl^^ prudent, that all your money is spent for you, except the few wretched shillings which you allow yourself for pocket-mone}'. You tremble at the expense of a cab. I believe you actually look at half a crown before you spend it. The landlord is your ntaster. The livery-stable keeper is your master. A train of ruthless, useless servants are your pitiless creditors, to whom you have to pay exorbitant dividends every da}-. I, with a hole in my elbow, who live upon a shilling dinner, and walk on cracked boot-soles, am called extravagant, idle, reckless, I don't know what; while you, forsooth, consider yourself prudent. Miserable delusion ! You are flinging away heaps of money on useless flunkies, on useless maid-servants, on useless lodgings, on useless finery — and you sa}', ' Poor Phil ! what a sad idler he is ! how he flings himself away ! in what a wretched, disreputable manner he lives ! ' Poor Phil is as rich as you are, for he has enough, and is content. Poor Phil can aflford to be idle, and you can't. You must work in order to keep that great hulking footman, that great raw-boned cook, that army of babbling nursery-maids, and I don't know what more. And if you choose to submit to the slavery and degradation inseparable from your condition ; — the wretched inspection of candle-ends, which you call order ; — the mean self-denials, which 3-ou must daily practise — I pity you, and don't quarrel with you. But I wish you would not be so insufferably virtuous, and read}- with your blame and pity for me. If I am happy, pray need you be disquieted? Suppose I pi'efer independence, and shabby boots? Are not these better than to be pinched by your abominable varnished conventionalism, and to be denied the libert,y of free action? M}- poor fellow, I pity 3-ou from my heart ; and it grieves me to think how those fine honest children — honest, and heart}-, and frank, and open as yet — are to lose their natural good qualities, and to be swathed, and swaddled, and stifled out of health and honesty b}' that obstinate worldling their father. Don't tell me about the world ; I know it. People sacrifice the next world to it, and are all the while proud of their prudence. Look at ni}- miserable relations, steeped in respectability. Look at my father. There is a chance for him, now he is down and in poverty. I have had a letter from him, containing more of that dreadful worldly advice which you Pharisees give. If it weren't for Laura and the children, sir, I heartily wish y-ou were ruined like your aff'ectionate — P. F. "N.B., PS. — Oh, Pen! I am so happy! She is such a little darling ! I bathe in her innocence, sir ! I strengthen ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 327 mj'self in her purity. I kneel before her sweet goodness and unconsciousness of guile. I walk from ni}' room, and see her ever\- morning before seven o'clock. I see her ever\' after- noon. She loves you and Laura. And 3'ou love her, don't you? And to think that six months ago I was going to marry a woman without a heart ! Whj', sir, blessings be on the poor old father for spending our money, and rescuing me from that horrible fate ! I might have been like that fellow in the ' Ara- bian Nights,' who married Amina — the respectable woman, wdio dined upon grains of rice, but supped upon cold dead bod}'. Was it not worth all the money I ever was heir to to have escaped from that ghoul? Lord Riugwood says he thinks I was well out of that. He calls people by Anglo-Saxon names, and nses very expressive monosyllables ; and of Aunt Twysden, of Uncle Tw3-sden, of the girls, and their brother, he speaks in a way which makes me see he has come to just conclusions about them. " PS. No. 2. —Ah, Pen ! She is such a darling. I think I am the happiest man in the world." And this was what came of being ruined ! A scapegrace, who, when he had plenty of money in his pocket, was ill-tem- pered, imperious, and discontented ; now that he is not worth twopence, declares himself the happiest fellow in the world ! Do you remember, my dear, how he used to grumble at our claret, and what wr}' faces he made when there was only cold meat for dinner? The wretch is absolutel}- contented with bread and clipese and small beer, even that bad beer which they have in Paris ! Now and again, at this time, and as our mutual avocations permitted, I saw Philip's friend, the Little Sister. He wrote to her dutifully from time to time. Lie told her of his love- affair with Miss Charlotte ; and my wife and I could console CaroHne, by assuring her that this time the young man's heart was given to a worthy mistress. I say console, for the news, after all, was sad for her. In the little chamber which she always kept ready for him, he Avould lie awake, and think of Home one dearer to him than a hundred poor Carolines. She would devise something that should be agreeable to the .young Uidy. At Christmas time there came to Miss Baynes a won- derfully worked cambric pocket-handkerchief, wilh '' Char- lotte " most beautifully embroidered in the corner. It was this poor widow's mite of love and tenderness which she meekl}'- laid down in the place where she worshipped. "And I have six for hiin, too, ma'am," Mrs. Brandon told my wile. " Poor 328 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP fellow ! his shirts was in a dreadful way when he went away from here, and that ^'ou know, ma'am." So 3'ou see this way- farer, having fallen among undoubted thieves, yet found many kind souls to relieve him, and man}' a good Samaritan ready with his twopence, if need were. The reason why Philip was the happiest "man in the world of course j'ou understand. French people are very early risers ; and, at the little hotel where Mr. Philip lived, the whole crew of the house were up hours before lazy Englisli masters and servants think of stirring. At ever so early an hour Phil had a fine bowl of coffee and milk and bread for his breakfast ; and he was striding down to the Invalides, and across the bridge to the Champs El^'sees, and the fumes of his pipe preceded liim with a pleasant odor. And a short time after passing the Eond Point in the Elysian Fields, where an active fountain was flinging up showers of diamonds to the sky, — after, I sa^-, leaving the Rond Point on his right, and passing under umbrageous groves in the direction of the present Castle of Flowers, Mr. Philip would see a little person. Sometimes a young sister or brother came with the little person. Some- times only a blush fluttered on her cheek, and a sweet smile beamed in her face as she came forward to greet him. For the angels were scarce purer than this 3'oung maid ; and Una was no more afraid of the lion, than Charlotte of her compan- ion with the loud voice and the tawny mane. I would not have envied that reprobate's lot who should have dared to say a doubtful word to this Una : but the truth is, she .never thought of danger, or met with anj'. The workmen were going to their labor ; the dandies were asleep ; and considering their age, and the relationship in which they stood to one another, I am not surprised at Philip for announcing that this was the happiest time of his life. In later days, when two gentlemen of mature age happened to be in Paris together, what must Mr. PhiHp Firmin do but insist upon walking me sentimentally to the Cliamps Elysees, and looking at an old house there, a rather shabby old house in a garden. "That was the place," sighs he. " That was Madame de Smolensk's. Tliat was the window, the third one, with the green jalousie. B}' Jove, sir, how happ3' and how miserable I have been behind that green blind ! " And m}' friend shakes his large fist at the somewhat dilapidated mansion, whence Madame de Smolensk and her boarders have long since departed. I fear that baroness had engaged in her enterprise with insufficient capital, or conducted it with such liberality that her k Morning Guketings. ON HTS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 329 profits were eaten up by her boarders. I could tell dreadful stories impugning the baroness's moral character. People said she had no right to the title of baroness at all, or to the noble foreign name of Smolensk. People are still alive who knew her under a different name. The baroness herself was what some amateurs call a fine woman, especially at dinnei'-time, when she appeared in black satin and with cheeks that bhished up as far as the eyelids. In her ■peignoir in the morning, she was perhaps the reverse of fine. Contours which were round at night, in the forenoon appeared lean and angular. Her roses only bloomed half an hour before dinner-time on a cheek which was quite 3'ellow until five o'clock. I am sure it is very kind of elderly and ill-complexioned people to supply the rav- ages of time or jaundice, and present to our view a figure blooming and agreeable, in place of an object faded and with- ered. Do 3'ou quarrel with 3-our opposite neighbor for paint- ing his house front or putting roses in his balcony ? You are rather thankful for the adornment. Madame de Smolensk's front was so decorated of afternoons. Geraniums were set pleasantly under those first-fioor windows, her eyes. Carcel lamps beamed from those windows : lamps which she had trimmed with her own scissors, and into which that poor widow poured the oil which she got somehow and anyhow. When the dingy breakfast papillotes were cast of an afternoon, what beautiful black curls appeared round her brow ! The dingy papillotes were put away in the drawer : the peignoir retired to its hook behind the door : the satin raiment came forth, the shining, the ancient, the well-kept, the well-wadded : and at the same moment the worthy woman took that smile out of some cunning box on her scanty toilet-tal)le — that smile which she Avore all the evening along with the rest of her toilette, and took out of her mouth when she went to bed and to think — to think how both ends were to be made to meet. Philip said he respected and admired that woman : and worthy of respect she was in her way. She painted her face and grinned at poverty. She laughed and rattled with care gnawing at her side. She had to coax the milkman out of his human kindness: to pour oil — his own oil — upon the stormy cpicier's soul : to melt the butterman : to tap the wine- merchant : to mollify the butcher : to invent new pretexts for the landlord: to reconcile the lady boarders,' Mrs. General Baynes, let us say, and the Honorable Mrs, -Boldero, who were always quarrelling: to see that the dinner, when procured, was cooked properl}- ; that Frangois, to whom she owed ever so 330 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP many months' wages, was not too rebellious or intoxicated ; that Auguste, also her creditor, had his glass clean and his lamps in order. And this work done and the hour of six o'clock arriving, she had to carve and be agreeable to her table ; not to hear the growls of the discontented (and at what table-d'hote are there not grumblers?) ; to have a word for CA'crybod}' pres- ent ; a smile and a laugh for Mrs. Bunch (with whom there had been veiy likely a dreadful row in the morning) ; a I'ciuark for the Colonel ; a polite phrase for the Geneial's lady ; and even a good word and compliment for sulky Auguste, who just be- fore dinner-time had unfolded the napkin of mutiny about his wages. AVas not this enough work for a woman to do ? To conduct a great house without sufficient mone}', and make soup, fish, roasts, and half a dozen entrees out of wind as it were? to conjure up wine in piece and b}' the dozen? to laugh and joke without the least gayety? to receive scorn, abuse, rebuffs, inso- lence, with gay good-humor? ajid then to go to bed wearied at night, and have to think about figures and that dreadful, dread- ful sum in arithmetic — given 5/. to pay 6/.? Lad}'^ Macbeth is supposed to have been a resolute woman : and great, tall, loud, hectoring females are set to represent the character. I Say No. She was a weak woman. She began to walk in her sleep, and blab after one disagreeable little incident had occurred in her house. She broke down, and got all the people away from her own table in the most abrupt and clumsy manner, because that drivelling, epileptic husband of hers fancied he saw a ghost. In Lady Smolensk's place Madame de Macbeth would have broken down in a week, and Smolensk lasted for years. If twenty gibbering ghosts had come to the boarding-house din- ner, madame would have gone on carving her dishes, and smil- ing and helping the live guests, the paying guests ; leaving the dead guests to gibber away and help themselves. "My poor father had to keep up appearances," Phil would say, recounting these things in after da3's ; "but how? You know he alwa3S looked as if he was going to be hung." Smolensk was the gayest of the gay always. That widow would have tripped up to her funeral pile and kissed her hands to her friends with a smiling " Bon jour ! " "Fray, who was Monsieur de Smolensk?" asks a simple lady who may be listening to our friend's narrative. " Ah, my dear lady ! there was a pretty disturbance in the house when that question came to be mooted, I promise 3'ou," 6a3'S our friend, laughing, as he recounts his adventures. And, I ON HIS WAY TPIROUGH THE WORLD. 331 nfter all, what does it matter to 3'on and me and this stoiy who Smolensk was ? I am sure this poor lady had hardships enough in her life campaign, and that Ney himself could not have faced fortune with a constanc}' more heroical. Well. When the Ba3neses first came to her house, I tell 3'ou Smolensk and all round her smiled, and our friends thought the}' were landed in a real rosy Elysium in the Champs of that name. Madame had a Corrick a V Indienne prepared in compli- ment to lier guests. She had had many Indians in her estab- lishment. She adored Indians. N'ctnit ce la polycjamie — they were most estimable people the Hindus. Surtout, she adored Indian shawls. That of Madame la Generale was ravishing. The company- at Madame's was pleasant. The Honorable Mrs. Boldero was a dashing woman of fashion and respectabiHty, who had lived in the best world — it was easy to see that. The young ladies' dtiets were very striking. The Honorable Mr. Boldero was awa^' shooting in Scotland at his brother, Lord Strongitharm's, and would take Gaberlunzie Castle and the duke's on his waj' south. Mrs. Baynes did not know Lady Estridge, the ambassadress? When the Estridges returned from C'hantill}', the Honorable Mrs. B. would be delighted to introduce her. " Your prett}' girl's name is Charlotte? So is Lad}' Estridge's — and verj- nearl}' as tall ; — fine girls the Estridges; fine long necks — large feet — but your girl. Lady Baynes, has beautiful feet. Lady Barnes, I said? Well, you must be Lady Ba^'ues soon. The General must be a K.C.B. after his services. What, you know Lord Trim? He will, and must, do it for 3'ou. If not, my brother Strongitharm shall." I have no doubt Mrs. Baynes was greatly elated by the attentions of Lord Strongitharm's sister ; and looked him out in the Peerage, where his Lordship's arms, pedigree, and residence of Gaberlunzie Castle are duly recorded. The Honor- able Mrs. Boldero's daughters, the Misses Minna and Brcnda Boldero, plaj'ed some rattling sonatas on a piano which was a good deal fatigued by their exertions, for the young ladies' hands were ver}' powerful. And madame said, ''Thank you," with her sweetest smile ; and Auguste handed about on a silver tra}' — I sa}' silver, so that the convenances ma}' not be wounded — well, say silver that was blushing to find itself copper — ■ handed up on a tra}' a white drink which made the Baynes bo3'S cr}' out, "I sa3', mother, what's this beastly tiling?" On which madame, with the sweetest smile, appealed to the company, and said, " The3' love orgeat, these dear in- fants!" and resumed her piquet with old M. Bidois — that 332 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP odd old gentleman with the long brown coat, with the red ribbon, who took so much sniifT and blew his nose so often and so londl}'. One, two, three rattling sonatas Minna and Brenda played; Mr. Clancy-, ofTrinit}' College, Dublin (M. de Clanci, madame called him), turning over the leaves, and presently being persuaded to sing some Irish melodies for the ladies. I don't think Miss Charlotte Baynes listened to the music much. She was listening to another music, which she and Mr. Firmin were performing together. Oh, how pleasant that music used to be ! There was a sameness in it, I dare say, but still it was pleasant to hear the air over again. The prett}- little duet a quatre mains, where the hands cross over, and hop up and down the ke3s, and the heads get so close, so close. Oh, duets, oh, regrets ! Psha ! no more of this. Go down stairs, old dotard. Take your hat and umbrella and go walk b}^ the sea-shore, and whistle a toothless old solo. "These are our quiet nights," whispers M. de Clanci to the Baynes ladies, when the evening draws to an end. " Madame's Thursdays are, I promise ye, much more fully attended." Good night, good night. A squeeze of a little hand, a hearty hand-shake from papa and mamma, and Philip is striding through the dark P^l3-sian fields and over the Place of Concord to his lodgings in the Faubourg St. Germain. Or, stay ! What is that glowworm beaming by the wall opposite Madame de Smolensk's house ? — a glowworm that wafts an aromatic incense and odor? I do believe it is Mr. Philip's cigar. And he is watching, watching a window by which a slim figure flits now and again. Then darkness falls on the little window. The sweet eyes are closed. Oh, blessings, blessings be upon them ! The stars shine overhead. And homeward stalks Mr. Firmin, talking to himself, and brandishing a great stick. I wish that poor Madame Smolensk could sleep as well as the people in her house. But Care, with the cold feet, gets under the coverlid, and says, " Here I am ; 3^ou know that bill is coming due to-morrow." Ah, atra cura ! can't you leaA^e the poor thing a little quiet? Hasn't she had work enough all day? ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 333 CHAPTER XX. COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. We beg the gracious reader to remember that Mr. Philip's business at Paris was onl_y with a weekly London paper as yet ; and hence that he had on his hands a great deal of leisure. He .could glance over the state of Europe ; give the latest news from the salons, imparted to him, I do believe, for the most part, by some brother hireling scribes ; be present at all the theatres by deputy ; and smash Louis Philippe or Messieurs Guizot and Thiers in a few easil}' turned pa«-agraphs, which cost but a very few hours' labor to that bold and rapid pen. A wholesome though humiliating thought it must be to great and learned public writers, that their eloquent sermons are but for the da}' ; and that, having read what the philosophers say on Tuesday or Wednesda}', we think about their yesterday's sermons or essa3-s no more. A score of 3'ears hence, men will read the papers of 1861 for the occurrences narrated — births, marriages, bankruptcies, elections, murders, deaths, and so forth; and not for the leading articles. " Though there were some of my letters," Mr. Philip would say, in after times, " that I fondl}' fancied the world would not willingly let die. I wanted to have tliem or see them reprinted in a volume, but I could find no publisher willing to undertake the risk. A fond being, who fancies there is genius in everything I say or write, would have had me reprint my letters to the Pall Mall Gazette;. but I was too timid, or she, perhaps, was too confident. The letters never were republished. Let them pass." They have passed. And he sighs, in mentioning this circumstance ; and I think tries to persuade himself, rather than others, that he is an unrecognized genius. " And then, you know," he pleads, " I was in love, sir, and spending all my days at Omphale's knees. I didn't do justice to my powers. If I hud had a daily paper, I still think I might have made a good public writer ; and that I had the stuff in me — the stuff in me, sir ! " The truth is that, if he had had a daily paper, and ten times as much work as fell to his lot, Mr. Philip would have found means of pursuing his inclination, as he ever through life has done. The being whom a young man wishes to see, he sees. 334 THE ADVENTURES OF rillLIP What business is superior to that of seeing her ? 'Tis a little Hellespontine matter keeps Leander from his Hero? He would die rather than not see her. Had he swum out of that difficult}' on that stormy night, and carried on a few months later, it might have been, "Beloved! m}' cold and rheumatism. are so severe that the doctor says I must not think of cold bathing at night ; " or, " Dearest ! we have a party at tea, and yon mustn't expect your ever fond Lambda to-night," and so forth, and so forth. But in the heat of his passion water could not stay him ; tempests could not frighten him ; and in one of them he went down, while poor Hero's lamp was twinkling and spending its best flame in vain. So Philip came from Sestos to Abydos daily — across one of the bridges, and paying a halfpenny toll very likel}' — and, late or earl}^ poor little Charlotte's virgin lamps were lighlssd in her eyes, and watching for him. Philip made man}' sacrifices, mind 30U : sacrifices which all men are not in the habit of making. When Lord Ringwood was in Paris, twice, thrice he refused to dine with his lordship, until that nobleman smelt a rat, as the saying is — and said, " Well, youngster, I suppose you are going where there is metal more attractive. AVhen you come to twehe lustres, my hoy, you'll find vanity and vexation in that sort of thing, and a good dinner better, and cheaper, too, than the best of them." And when some of Philip's rich college friends mot him in his exile, and asked him to the " Rocher" or the " Trois Freres," he would break away from those banquets ; and as for meeting at those feasts doubtful companions, whom young men will sometimes invite to their entertainments, Philip turned from such with scorn and anger. His virtue was loud, and he pro- claimed it loudly. He expected little Charlotte to giAe him credit for it, and told her of his self-denial. And she believed anything he said ; and delighted in everytliing he wrote ; and copied out his articles for the Pall Mall Gazette ; and treasured his poems in her desk of desks : and there never was in all Sestos, in all Abydos. in all Europe, in all Asia Minor or Asia Major, such a noble creature as Leander, Hero thought ; never., never ! I hope, ^oung ladies, you may all have a Leander on his wa}' to the tower where the light of your love is burning steadfastly'. I hope, young gentlemen, you have each of you a beacon in sight, and may meet with no mishap in swim- ming to it. From my previous remarks regarding Mrs. Ba3'nes, the reader has been made aware that the General's wife was no more faultless than the rest of her fellow-creatures ; and having ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 335 alreadj' candidly informed the public that the writer and his family were no favorites of this lady, I have now the pleasing duty "of recording my own opinions regarding /ler. Mrs. Gen- eral B. was an early riser. She was a frugal woman ; fond of her young, or, let us say, anxious to provide for their main- tenance ; and here, with my l^est compliments, I think the cata- logue of her good qualities is ended. She had a bad, violent temper ; a disagreeal)le person, attired in very bad taste ; a shrieking voice ; and two manners, the respectful and the pat- ronizing, which .were both alike odious. When she ordered Baynes to marry her, gracious powers ! why did he not run away? Who dared first to say that marriages are made in heaven ? We know that there are not only blunders, but roguery in the marriage office. Do not mistakes occur every day, and are not the wrong people coupled ? Had heaven anything to do with the bargain by which young Miss Blushrose was sold to old Mr. Hoarfrost? Did heaven order young Miss Tripper to throw over poor Tom Spooner, and marry the wealthy Mr. Bung? You may as well say that horses are sold in heaven, which, as you know, are groomed, are doctored, are chanted on to the market, and warranted b}- dexterous horse- venders as possessing every quality of blood, pace, temper, age. Agaiust these Mr. Greenhorn has his remedy sometimes ; but against a mother who sells you a warranted daughter, what remedy is there ? You have been jockeyed by false representa- tions into bidding for the Cecilia, and the animal is yours for life. She shies, kicks, stumbles, has an infernal temper, is a crib-biter — and she was warranted to you by her mother as the most perfect, good-tempered creature, whom the most timid might manage ! You have bought her. She is yours. Heaven bless you ! Take her home, and be miserable for the rest of your days. You have no redress. You have done the deed. Marriages were made in heaven, you know ; and in yours you were as much sold as Moses Primrose was when he bought the gross of green spectacles. I don't think poor General Baynes ever had a proper sense of his situation, or knew how miserable he ought by rights to have been. He was not uncheerful at times: a silent man, liking his rubber and his glass of wine ; a veiy weak person in the common affairs of life, as his best friends must own ; but, as I have heard, a very tiger in action. " I know your opinion of the General," Philip used to say to me, in his grandiloquent waj'. " You despise men who don't bully their wives ; you do, sir ! You think the General weak, I know, I know. Other 336 THE ADVENTURES OF THILIP brave men were so about women, as I dare say you have heard. This man, so weak at home, was mighty on the war-path ; and in his wigwam are the scalps of countless warriors." "In his wig whatV say I. The truth is, on his meek head the General wore a little curling chestnut top-knot, which looked very queer and out of place over that wrinkled and war- worn face. " If 3'ou choose to laugh at your joke, pray do," says Phil, majestically. " I make a noble image of a warrior. You pre- fer a barber's pole. Bon! Pass me the wine. The veteran whom I hope to salute as father ere long — the soldier of twenty battles ; — who Saw m}' own brave grandfather die at his side — die at Busaco, b}^ George ; 3'ou laugh at on account of his wig. It's a capital joke." And here Phil scowled and slapped the tal»le, and passed his hand across his e^'es, as though the death of his grandfather, which occurred long before Philip was born, caused him a very serious pang of grief. Philip's news- paper business brought him to London on occasions. I think it was on one of these visits that we had our talk about General Baynes. And it M^as at the same time Philip described the boarding-house to us, and its inmates, and the landlady, and the doings there. For that struggling landlady, as for all women in distress, our friend had a great sympathy and liking ; and she returned Philip's kindness by being very good to Mademoiselle Charlotte, and very forbearing with the General's wife and his other chil- dren. The appetites of those little ones were frightful, the temper of Madame la Generale was almost intolerable, but Charlotte was an angel, and the General was a mutton — a true mutton. Her own father had been so. The brave are often muttons at home. I suspect that, though madame could have made but little profit by the General's family, his monthly payments were very welcome to her meagre little exchequer. "Ah! if all my locataires .were like him!" sighed the poor lad}'. "That Madame Boldero, whom the Generaless treats alwa3-s as Honorable, I wish I was as sure of hers ! And others again ! " I never kept a boarding-house, but I am sure there must be many painful duties attendant on that profession. What can 3'ou do if a lady or gentleman doesn't pay his bill? Turn him or her out? Perhaps the very thing that lady or gentleman would desire. They go. Those trunks which you have insanely detained, and about which you have made a fight and a scan- dal, do not contain a hundred francs' worth of goods, and your ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 337 debtors never come back again. You do not like to have a row in a boarding-house anj^ more than 3'ou would like to have a party with scarlet-fever in your best bedroom. The scarlet- fever party sta3'S, and the other boarders go away. What, you ask, do I mean by this mystery? I am sorr}' to have to give up names, and titled names. I am sorry to say the Honorable Mrs. Boldero did not pay her bills. She was waiting for remit- tances, which the Honorable Boldero was dreadfully remiss in sending. A dreadful man ! He was still at his lordship's at Gaberlunzie Castle, shooting the wild deer and hunting the roe. And though the Honorable Mrs. B.'s heart was in the Highlands, of course how could she join her Highland chief without the money to pay madame? The Highlands, indeed! One dull day it came out that the Honorable Boldero was amusing him- self in the Plighlands of Hesse Homburg ; and engaged in the dangerous sport which is to be had in the green plains about Loch Badenbadenoch ! ' ' Did you ever hear of such depravity ? The woman is a desperate and unprincipled adventuress ! I wonder madame dares to put me and my children and my General down at table ■with such people as those, Philip ! " cries Madame la Generale. "I mean those opposite — that woman and her two daughters who haven't paid madame a shilling for three months — who owes me five hundred francs, which she borrowed until next Tuesday, expecting a remittance — a pretty remittance indeed — from Lord Strongitharm. Lord Strongitharm, I dare say! And she pretends to be most intimate at the embassy ; and that she would introduce us there, and at the Tuileries : and she told me Lady Garterton had the small-pox in the house ; and when I said all ours had been vaccinated, and I didn't mind, she folibed me off with some other excuse ; and it's my belief the woman's a humbug . Overhear me ! I don't care if she does overhear me. No. You may look as much as j'ou like, m}- Honorable Mrs. Boldero ; and I don't care if you do overhear me. Ogoost ! Ponidytare pour le General ! How tough madame's boof is, and it's boof, boof, boof every day, till I'm sick of boof. Ogoost ! why don't 3'ou attend to my children?" And so forth. By this report of the worthy woman's conversation, you will see tliat the friendship whicli had sprung up between the two ladies had come to an end, in consequence of painful pecuniar}'^ disputes between them ; that to keep a boarding-house can't be a ver3' i)leasant occu[)ation ; and that even to dine in a board- ing-house must be only bad fun when the company is frightened 22 338 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP and dull, and when there are two old women at table ready to fling the dishes at eacli other's fronts. At the period of which I now write, I promise you, there was very little of the piano- duet business going on after dinner. In the first place, ever}"- body knew the girls' pieces ; and when they began, Mrs. General Baj-nes would lift up a voice louder than the jingling old instrument, thumped Minna and Brenda ever so loudly, " Perfect strangers to me, Mr. Clancy, I assure you. Had I known her, you don't suppose I would have lent her the money. Honorable Mrs. Boldero, indeed ! Five weeks she has owed me five hundred frongs. Bong swor, Monsieur Bidois ! Sang song frong pas payy encor ! Promm^', pas pa^y ! " Fancy, I say, what a dreary life that must have been at the select board- ing-house, where these two parties were doing battle daily after dinner ! Fanc}-, at the select soirees, the General's lad}' seizing npon one guest after another, and calling out her wrongs, and pointing to the wrong-doer ; and poor Madame Smolensk, smirking, and smiling, and flying from one end of the salon to the other, and thanking M. Pivoine for his charming romance, and M. Brumm for his admirable performance on the violoncello, and even asking those poor Miss Bolderos to perform their duet — for her heart melted towards them. Not ignorant of evil, she had learned to succor the miserable. She knew what pov- erty was, and had to coax scowling duns and wheedle vulgar creditors. " Tenez, Monsieur Philippe," she said, " tlie Ge- nerale is too cruel. Thei-e are others here who might complain, and are silent." Philip felt all this ; the conduct of his future mother-in-law filled him with dismay and horror. And some time after these remai'kable circumstances, he told me, blushing as he spoke, a humiliating secret. " Do you know, sir," sa3'S he, " that that autumn I made a pretty good thing of it with one thing or another. I did my work for the Pall Mall Gazette : and Smith of the Daily Intelligencer, wanting a month's holidaj', gave me his letter and ten francs a day. And at that very time I met Redman, who had owed me twenty pounds ever since we were at college, and who was just coming back flush from Homburg, and paid me. Well, now. Swear you won't tell. Swear on your faith as a Christian man ! With this money I went sir, privily to Mrs. Boldero. I said if she would pay the dragon — I mean Mrs. Baynes — I would lend her the money. And I did lend her the monej', and the Boldero never paid back Mrs. Baynes. Don't mention it. Promise me you won't tell Mrs. Baynes. I never expected to get Redman's money, 3'ou know, and am no worse off than before. One day ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 339 of the Grandes Eaux we went to Versailles, I think, and the Honorable Mrs. Boldero gave us the slip. She left the poor girls behind her in pledge, who, to do them justice, cried and were in a dreadful way ; and when Mrs. Baynes, on our return, began shrieking about her ' sang song frong,' Madame Smolensk fairly lost patience for once, and said, ' Mais, madame, vous nous fatiguez avec vos cinq cent francs ; ' on which the other muttered something about ' Ansolong,' but was briskl}' taken up b}' her husband, who said, ' B3' George, Eliza, madame is quite right. And I wish the five hundred francs were in the sea.' " Thus, 3'ou understand, if Mrs. General Ba^mes thought some people were " stuck-up people," some people can — and hereby do by these presents — pay off Mrs. Baynes, b}- furnishing the public with a candid opinion of that lady's morals, manners, and character. How could such a shrewd woman be dazzled so repeatedly by ranks and titles? There used to dine at Madame Smolensk's boarding-house a certain German baron, with a large finger-ring, upon a dingy finger, towards whom the lady was pleased to cast the eye of favor, and who chose to fall in love with her pretty daughter ; young Mr. Clancy, the Irish poet, was also smitten with the charms of the fair young lad}- ; and this intrepid mother encouraged both suitors, to the unspeakable agonies of Philip Firmin, who felt often that whilst he was away at his work these inmates of Madame Smolensk's house were near his charmer — at her side at lunch, ever hand- ing her the cup at breakfast, on the watch for her when she walked forth in the garden ; and I take the pangs of jealousy to have formed a part of those unspeakable sufferings which Philip said he endured in the house whither he came courting. Little Charlotte, in one or two of her letters to her friends in Queen Squai-e, London, meekly complained of Philip's ten- denc}' to jealous}'. " Does he think, after knowing him, I can think of these horrid men? " she asked. " I don't understand what Mr. Clancy- is talking about, when he comes to me with his ' pomes and. potry ; ' and who can read poetry hke Philip himself? Then the Gei'man baron — who does not call even himself baron : it is mamma who will insist upon calling him so — has such very dirty things, and smells so of cigars, that I don't like to come near him. Philip smokes too, but his cigars are quite pleasant. Ah, dear friend, how could he ever think such men as these were to be put in comparison with him ! And he scolds so ; and scowls at the poor men in the evening when he comes ! and his temper is so high ! Do say 340 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP a word to him — quite cautiously and gentlj^ 3'ou know — in behalf of your fondly attached and most happy — only he will make me unhappy sometimes ; but you'll prevent him, won't 3'Ou? — Charlotte B." I could fancy Philip hectoring through the part of Othello, and his poor 3'oung Desdemona not a little frightened at his black humors. Such sentiments as Mr. Philip felt strongly, he expressed with an uproar. Charlotte's correspondent, as usual, made light of these little domestic confidences and griev- ances. -'Women don't dislike a jealous scolding," she said. "It may be rather tiresome, but it is always a compliment. Some husbands think so well of themselves, that they can't condescend to be jealous." "Yes," I saj^, "women prefer to have tyrants over them. A scolding you think is a mark of attention. Hadn't you better adopt the Russian system at once, and go out and buy me a whip, and present it to me with a curtsy, and 3'our comphments ; and a meek prayer that I should use it." " Present yon a whip ! present j-ou a goose ! " says the lad}', who encourages scolding in other husbands, it seems, but won't suffer a word from her own. Both disputants had set their sentimental hearts on the marriage of this young man and this young woman. Little Charlotte's heart was so bent on the match, that it would break, we fancied, if she were disappointed ; and in her mother's behavior we felt, from the knowledge we had of the woman's "disposition, there was a serious cause for alarm. . Should a better offer present itself, Mrs. Baynes, we feared, would fling over poor Philip : or it was in reason and nature, that he would come to a quarrel with her, and in the course of tlie pitched battle which must ensue between them, he would fire off ex- pressions mortall}' injurious. Are there not man}- people, in every one's acquaintance, who, as soon as the}' have made a bargain, repent of it? Philip, as "preserver" of General Baj-nes, in the first fervor of famil}^ gratitude for that act of self-sacrifice on the 3'oung man's part, was very well. But gratitude wears out ; or suppose a woman says, " It is my duty to my child to recall my word ; and not allow her to fling her- self awa}' on a beggar." Suppose that 3'Ou and I, strongl}' inclined to do a mean action, get a good, available, and moral motive for it? I trembled for poor Philip's course of true love, and little Charlotte's chances, when these surmises crossed my mind. There was a hope still in the honor and gratitude of General Ba3'nes. He would not desert his 3'oung friend and benefactor. Now General Ba3'nes was a brave man of war, ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 341 and so was John of Marlborough a brave man of war ; but it is certain that both were afraid of their wives. We have said by whose invitation and encouragement Gen- eral Baynes was induced to bring his faniil}' to the boarding- house at Paris ; the instigation, namel}-, of his friend and com- panion in arras, the gallant Colonel Bunch. When the Baynes famil}^ arrived, the Bunches were on the steps of madame's house, waving a welcome to the new-comers. It was, "Here we are, Bunch, m^- boy." " Glad to see you, Baynes. Right well you're looking, and so's Mrs. B." And the General replies, "And so are 3-ou, Bunch; and so do you^ Mrs. B." " How do, boj's? How d'^ou do. Miss Charlotte? Come to show the Paris fellows what a pretty girl is, hej-? Blooming like a rose, Baj'nes ! " "I'm telhng the General," cries the Colonel to the General's lady, " the girl's the very image of her mother." In this case poor Charlotte must have looked like a 3'ellow rose, for Mrs. Baj-nes was of a bilious temperament and complexion, whereas Miss Charlotte was as fresh pink and white as — what shall we say ? — as the very freshest strawberries mingled with the very nicest cream. The two old soldiers were of very great comfort to one another. They toddled down to Galignani's together daily, and read the papers there. They went and looked at the reviews in the Carrousel, and once or twice to the Champ de Mars: — recognizing here and there the numbers of the regi- ments against which they had been engaged in the famous ancient wars. They did not brag in the least about their achievements, they winked and understood each other. They got their old uniforms out of their old boxes, and took a voiture de remise^ by Jove ! and went to be presented to Louis Philippe. They bought a catalogue, and w^ent to the Louvre, and wagged their honest old heads before the pictures ; and, I dare sa}', winked and nudged each other's brave old sides at some of the n3-mphs in the statue gallery. They went out to Versailles with their families ; loyally' stood treat to the ladies at the restau- rateur's. (Bunch had taken down a memorandum in his pocket-book from Benyon, who had been the duke's aide-de- camp in the last campaign, to "go to Beauvillier's," onl}' Beauvillier's had been shut up for twenty years.) The}' took their families and Charlotte to the Theatre Fran9ais, to a traged}^ ; and the}^ had books : and the}'- said it was the most confounded nonsense they ever saw in their lives ; and I am bound to sa}' that Bunch, in the back of the box, snored so, that, though in retirement, he created quite a sensation. 342 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP "Corneal," he owns, was too much for him: give him Shak- speare : give him John Kemble : giA'^e him Mrs. Siddons : give him Mrs. Jordan. But as for this sort of tiring? " I think our phi}" da^'s are over, Baynes, — he}'? " And I also believe that Miss Charlotte Baynes, whose knowledge of the language was imperfect as 3'et, was very much bewildered during the traged}', and could give but an imperfect account of it. But then Philip Firmin was in the orchestra stalls ; and had he not sent three bouquets for the three ladies, regretting that he could not come to see soraebod3'in the Champs Elysees, because it was his post da}', and he must write his letter for tire Pall Mall Gazette'? There he was, her Cid ; her peerless champion : and to give up father and mother for him ? our little Chimene thought such a sacrifice not too difficult. After that dismal attempt at the theatre, the experiment was not repeated. The old gentlemen preferred their whist to those pompous Alexandrines sung through the nose, which Colonel Bunch, a facetious little Colonel, used to imitate, and, I am given to understand, very badly. The good gentlemen's ordinary amusement was a game at cards after dinner ; and they compared Madame's to an East Indian ship, quarrels and all. Sarah went on just in that way on board the " Burrumpooter." Always rows about precedence, and the services, and the deuce knows what. Women always will. Sarah Bunch went on in that way : and Eliza Baynes also went on in that way ; but I should think, from the most trustworthy information, that Eliza was worse than Sarah. "About any person with a title, that woman will make a fool of herself to the end of the chapter," remarked Sarah of her friend. " You remember how she used to go on at Barrack- pore about that little shrimp, Stoney Battersby, because he was an Irish viscount's son? See how she flings herself at the head of this Mrs. Boldero, — with her airs, and her paint, and her black front ! I can't bear the woman ! I know she has not paid maclanie. I know she is no better than she should be — and to see Eliza Baynes coaxing her, and sidling up to her, and flattering her ; — it'^ too bad, that it is ! A woman who owes ever so much to niadame ! a woman who doesn't pay her washerwoman ! " " Just like the ' Burrumpooter' over again, my dear," cries Colonel Bunch. " You and Eliza Baynes were always quarrel- ling, that's the fact. Why did you ask her to come here? I knew you would begin again, as soon as you met." And the o:n' his way through the world. 343 truth was that these ladies were alwaj-s fighting and making up again. " So 3'ou and Mrs. Bunch were old acquaintances?" asked Mrs. Boldero of her new friend. "My dear Mrs. Baynes ! I should hardl}^ have thought it : your manners are so different ! Your friend, if I may be so free as to speak, has the camp manner. Y"ou have not the camp manner at all. I should have thought you — excuse me the phrase, but I'm so open, and alwa3S speak my mind out — you haven't the camp manner at all. You seem as if 30U were one of us. Minna ! doesn't Mrs. Baynes put 3'Ou in mind of Lad^' Hm ? " (The name is in- audible, in consequence of Mrs. Boldero's exceeding sh3'ness in mentioning names — but the girls see the likeness to dear Lad3' Hm at once.) "And when 3-ou bring your dear girl to London you'll know the lad3' I mean, and judge for yourself. I assure you I am not disparaging you, m3' dear Mrs. Baynes, in comparing you to her ! " And so the conversation goes on. If Mrs. Major Mac- Whirter at Tours chose to betra3' secrets, she could give ex- tracts from her sister's letters to show how profound was the impression created in Mrs. General Ba3-nes's mind b3- the pro- fessions and conversations of the Scotch lad3'. "Didn't the General shoot and love deer-stalking? The dear General must come to Gaberlunzie Castle, where she would promise him a Highland welcome. Her brother Strong- itharm was the most amiable of men ; adored her and her girls : there was talk even of marrying Minna to the Captain, but she, for her part, could not endure the marriage of first-cousins. There was a tradition against such marriages in their faniil3\ Of three Bolderos and Strongitharms who married their first- cousins, one was drowned in Gaberlunzie lake three weeks after the marriage ; one lost his wife by a galloping consump- tion, and died a monk at Rome ; and the third married a fort- night before the battle of Culloden, where he was slain at the head of the Strongitharms. Mrs. Ba3'nes had no idea of the splendor of Gaberlunzie Castle ; sevent3' bedrooms and thirteen compan3'-rooms, besides the picture-galler3- ! In Edinburgh, the Strongitharm had the right to wear his bonnet in the pres- ence of his sovereign." " A bonnet ! how ver3' odd, m3' dear ! But with ostrich plumes, I dare sa3' it ma3' look well, especiall3' as the Highlanders wear frocks, too." " Lord Strongitharm had no house .in London, having almost ruined himself in build- ing his princel3' castle in the North. Mrs. Baynes must come there and meet their noble relatives and all the Scottish no- 344 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP bilit}^" " Nor do / care about these vanities, mj'^ dear, but to bring m}- sweet Charlotte into the world : is it not a mother's duty ? " Not only to her sister, but likewise to Charlotte's friends of Queen Square, did Mrs. Baynes impart these delightful S.jiews. But this is in the first ardor of the friendship which arises between Mrs. Baynes and Mrs. Boldero, and be- fore those unpleasant mone}' disputes of which we have spoken. Afterwards, when the two ladies have quarrelled regarding the memorable " sang song frong," I think Mrs. Bunch came round to Mrs. Boldero's side. " Eliza Baynes is too hard on her. It is too cruel to insult her before those two unhappy daughters. The woman is an odious woman, and a vulgar woman, and a schemer, and I always said so. But to box her ears before her daughters — • her honorable friend of last week ! it's a shame of Eliza ! " " My dear, j-ou'd better tell her so ! " sa3's Bunch, dr3'ly. " But if you do, tell her when I'm out of the way, please ! " And accordingly, one day when the two old officers return from their stroll, Mrs. Bunch informs the Colonel that she has had it out with Eliza; and Mrs. Ba3'nes, with a heated face, tells the General that she and Mrs. Colonel Bunch have quar- relled ; and she is determined it shall be for the last time. So that poor Madame de Smolensk has to interpose between Mrs. Baynes and Mrs. Boldero ; between Mrs. Baynes and Mrs. Bunch ; and to sit surrounded by glaring e}'es, and hissing in- nuendoes, and in the midst of feuds unhealable. Of course, from the women the quarrelling will spread to the gentlemen. That alwaj's happens. Poor madarae trembles. Again Bunch gives his neighbor his word that it is like the " Burrumpooter " East Indiaman — the ' ' Burrumpooter " in ver}' bad weather, too. " At any rate, we won't be lugged into it, Baynes my boy ! " says the Colonel, who is of a sanguine temperament, to his friend. " Hey, hey ! don't be too sure, Bunch ; don't be too sure," sighs the other veteran, who, it may be, is of a more despond- ing turn, as, after a battle at luncheon, in which the Amazons were fiercely engaged, the two old warriors take their walk to Galignani's. Towards his Charlotte's relatives poor Philip was respectful by dut}' and a sense of interest, perhaps. Before marriage, especially-, men are very kind to the relatives of the beloved ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 345 object. The}' pa}' compliments to mamma ; the}- listen to papa's old stories, and laugh appositely' ; they bring presents for the innocent .young ones, and let the little brothers kick their shins. Philip endured the juvenile Bayneses very kindly : he took the boys to Franconi's, and made his conversation as suitable as he could to the old people. He was fond of the old General, a simple and worthy old man ; and had, as we have said, a hearty sj-mpathy and respect for Madame Smolensk, admiring her constancy and good-humor under her manj' trials. But those who have perused his memoirs are aware that Mr. Firmin could make himself, on occasions, not a little disagreeable. When sprawling on a sofa, engaged in conversation with his charmer, he would not budge when other ladies entered the room. He scowled at them, if he did not like them. He was not at the least trouble to conceal his likes or dislikes. He had a manner of fixing his glass in his eye, putting his thumbs into the arm- holes of his waistcoat, and talking and laughing very loudly at his own jokes or conceits', which was not pleasant or respectful to ladies. " Your loud young friend, with the cracked boots, is very mauvais ton^ my dear Mrs. Baynes," Mrs. Boldero remarked to her new friend, in the first ardor of their friendship. " A rela- tive of Lord Ringwood's, is he? Lord Ringwood is a very queer person. A son of that dreadful Dr. Firmin, who ran away after cheating everybody? Poor 3'oung man! He can't help having such a father, as you say, and most good, and kind, and generous of you to say so. And the General and the Honorable Philip Ringwood were early companions together, I dare say. But, having such an unfortunate father as Dr. Firmin, I think Mr. Firmin might be a little less prononce ; don't 3'ou? And to see him in cracked boots, sprawling over the sofas, and hear him, when my loves are playing their duets, laughing and talking so very loud, — I confess isn't pleasant to me. I am not used to that kind of monde, nor are my dear loves. You are under great obligations to him, and he has be- haved nobl}', 3-ou say ? Of course. To get into your society an unfortunate young man will be on his best behavior, though he certainly does not condescend to be civil to us. But .... What ! that young man engaged to that lovely, innocent, charm- ing child, your daughter? My dear creature, you frighten me ! A man, with such a father ; and, excuse me, with such a manner ; and without a penny in the world, engaged to IMiss Baynes ! Goodness, powers ! It must never be. It shall not be, my dear Mrs. Baynes. Why, I have written to my nephew 346 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Lenox to come over, Strongitharm's favorite son and my favor- ite nephew. I have told him that there is a sweet young creature here, whom he must and ought to see. How well that dear child would look presiding at Strongitharm Castle? And you are going to give her to that dreadful 3'oung man with the loud voice and the cracked boots — that smoky 3'oung man — oh, impossible ! " Madame had, no doubt, given a very favorable report of her new lodgers to the other inmates of her house ; and she and Mrs. Boldero had concluded that all general officers returning from India were immensely rich. To think that her daughter might be the Honorable Mrs. Strongitharm, Baroness Strong- itharm, and walk in a coronation in robes, with a coronet in her hand ! Mrs. Baynes 3-ielded in loyalty to no woman, but 1 fear her wicked desires compassed a speedy royal demise, as this thought passed through her mind of the Honorable Lenox Strongitharm. She looked him out in the Peerage, and found that young nobleman designated as the Captain of Strong- itharm. Charlotte might be the Honorable Mrs. Captain of Strongitharm ! When jDoor Phil stall^ed in after dinner that evening in his shabby boots and smoky paletot, Mrs. Baynes gave him but a grim welcome. He went and prattled uncon- sciously by the side of his little Charlotte, whose tender ej-es dwelt upon his, and whose fair cheeks flung out their blushes of welcome. He prattled awa}'. He laughed out loud whilst Minna and Brenda were thumping their duet. " Taisez- vous done. Monsieur Philippe," cries madame, putting her fin- ger to her lip. The Honorable Mrs. Boldero looked at dear Mrs. Ba3-nes, and shrugged her shoulders. Poor Philip! would he have laughed so loudly (and so rudely too, as I own) had he known what was passing in the minds of those women? Treason was passing there : and before that glance of knowing scorn, shot from the Honorable Mrs. Boldero's e3-es, dear Mrs. General Ba3'nes faltered. How ver3' curt and dr3^ she was with Philip ! how testy with Charlotte ! Poor Philip, knowing that his charmer was in the power of her mother, was pretty humble to this dragon ; and attempted, by uncouth flatteries, to soothe and propitiate her. She had a queer, dr3^ humor, and loved a joke ; but Phil's fell very flat this night. Mrs. Ba3-nes received his pleasantries with an "Oh, indeed!" She was sure she heard one of the children crying in their nursery. Do, pra3', go and see, Charlotte, what that child is crying about." And awa3'' goes poor Charlotte, having but dim presentiment of misfortune ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. Sx^^k as 3'et. Was not mamma often in an ill humor ; and were the} ^ not all used to her scoldings ? As for Mrs. Colonel Bunch, I am sorry to say that, up to this time, Philip was not only no favorite with her, but was heartily disliked by that lad3\ 1 have told you our friend's faults. He was loud : he was abrupt : he was rude often : and often gave just cause of auno3-ance by his laughter, his dis- respect, and his swaggering manner. To those whom he liked he was as gentle as a woman ; and treated them with an extreme tenderness and touching rough respect. But those persons about whom he was indifferent, he never took the least trouble to conciliate or please. If the}' told long stories, for example, he would turn on his heel, or interrupt them by observations of his own on some quite different subject. Mrs. Colonel Bunch, then, positively' disliked that young man, and I think had very good reasons for her dislike. As for Bunch, Bunch said to Baynes, "Cool hand, that 3'oung fellow!" and winked. And Baynes said to Bunch, " Queer chap. Fine fellow, as I have reason to know pretty well. I play a club. No club? I mark honors and two tricks." And the game went on. Clancy hated Philip : a meek man whom Firmin had yet managed to offend. "That man," the pote Clancy remarked, "has a manner of treading on me corrans which is intolerable to me ! " The truth is, Philip was always putting his foot on some other foot, and trampling it. And as for the Boldero clan, Mr. Firmin treated them with the most amusing insolence, and ignored them as if the}- were out of existence altogether. So you see the poor fellow had not with his poverty learned the least lesson of humilitj', or acquired the very earliest rudiments of the art of making friends. I think his best friend in the house was its mistress, Madame Smolensk. Mr. Philip treated her as an equal : which mark of affabilit}' he was not in the habit of be- stowing on all persons. Some great people, some rich people, some would-be-fine people, he would patronize with an insuffer- able audacit3\ Rank or wealth do not seem somehow to influ- ence this man, as they do common mortals. He would tap a bishop on the waistcoat, and contradict a duke at their first meeting. I have seen him walk out of church during a stupid sermon, with an audible remark perhaps to that effect, and as if it were a matter of course that he should go. If the company bored him at dinner, he would go to sleep in the most unaffected manner. At home we were alwaj's kept in a pleasant state of anxiety, not only b}' what he did and said, but by the idea of what he might do or say next. He did not go to sleep at 34^ THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP yiadame's boarding-house, preferring to keep his eyes open to iOok at pretty Charlotte's. And were there' ever such sapphires as his? she thought. And hers? Ah! if they have tears to shed, I hope a kind fate will dry them quickly ! CHAPTER XXI. TREATS OF DANCING, DINING, DYING. Old schoolboys remember how, when pious ^neas was com- pelled by painful circumstances to quit his country, he and his select band of Trojans founded a new Tro}^, where they landed ; raising temples to the Trojan gods ; building streets with Trojan names ; and endeavoring, to the utmost of their power, to recall their beloved native place. In like manner British Trojans and French Trojans take their Troy everywhere. Algiers I have onl}^ seen from the sea ; but New Orleans and Leicester Square I have visited ; and have seen a quaint old France still lingering on the banks of the Mississippi ; a dingy modern France round that great Globe of Mr. Wyld's, which they sa}^ is coming to an end. There are French cafes, billiards, estaminets, waiters, markers, poor Frenchmen, and rich Frenchmen, in a new Paris — shabb}' and dirty, it is true — but offering the emigrant the dominoes, the chopine, the petit- verre of the patrie. And do not British Trojans, who emigrate to the continent of Europe, take their Troy with them ? You all know the quarters of Paris which swarm with us Trojans. From Peace Street to the Arch of the Star are collected thousands of refugees from our Ilium. Under the arcades of the Rue de Rivoli you meet, at certain hours, as man}' of our Trojans as of the natives. In the Trojan inns of " Meurice," the " Louvre," &c., we swarm. We have numerous Anglo-Trojan doctors and apothecaries, who give us the dear j)ills and doses of Pergamus. We go to Mi'S. Guerre or kind Mrs. Colombin, and can purchase the sandwiches of Troy, the pale ale and sherry of Troy, and the dear, dear muffins of home. We live for 3'ears, never speaking any lan- guage but our native Trojan ; except to our servants, whom we instruct in the Trojan way of preparing toast for breakfast ; Trojan l)read-sauce for fowls and partridges ; Trojan corn-beef, &c. We have temples where we worship according to the Tro- jan rites, A kindly sight is that which one beholds of a Sunday ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 349 in the El3'sian fields and the St. Honore quarter, of processions of English gi'own people and children, stalwart, red-cheeked, marching to their churches, their gilded prayer-books in hand, to sing in a stranger's land the sacred songs of their Zion. I am sure there are many English in Paris who never speak to any native above the rank of a waiter or sho[iman. Not long since I was listening to a Frenchman at Folkestone, speaking English to the waiters and acting as interpreter for his party. He spoke pretty well and very quickly. He was irresistibly comical. I wonder how we maintained our gravit}'. And j'ou and I, my dear friend, when we speak French, I dare say we are just as absurd. As absurd! And why not? Don't you be discouraged, 3'oung fellow. Courage^ mon jeime ami! Re- member Trojans have a conquering way with them. When ^neas landed at Carthage, I dare say he spoke Carthaginian with a ridiculous Trojan accent ; but, for all that, poor Dido fell desperately in love with him. Take example by the son of Anchises, my hoy. Never mind the grammar or the pronunci- ation, but tackle the lad}', and speak your mind to her as best you can. This is the plan which the Vicomte de Loisj' used to adopt. He w^as following a coiirs of English according to the celebrated methode Juhson. The cours assembled twice a week : and the Vicomte, with laudable assiduity, went to all English parties to which he could gain an introduction, for the purpose of acquir- ing the English language, and marrying une Ang/aise. This industrious young man even went an Temple on Sundays for the purpose of familiarizing himself with the English language ; and as he sat under Dr. Murrogh Macmanus of T. C. D., a very elo- quent preacher at Paris in those days, the Vicomte acquired a very fine pronunciation. Attached to the cause of.unfortunate monarchy all over the world, the Vicomte had fought in the Spanish "Carlist armies. He waltzed well : and madame thought his cross looked nice at her parties. Will it be believed that Mrs. General Baynes took this gentleman into special favor ; talked with him at soiree after soiree : never laughed at his Eng- lish ; encouraged her girl to waltz with him (which he did to per- fection, whereas poor Philip was but a hulking and clumsy performer) ; and showed him the veiy greatest favor, until one day, on going into Mr. Bonus's, the house-agent (wiio lets lodg- ings, and sells British pickles, tea, sheny, and the like), she found the Vicomte occupying a stool as clerk in JNIr. Bonus's establishment, where for twelve hundred francs a year he gave his invaluable services during the day ! Mrs. Baynes took poor 350 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP madame severely to task for admitting such a man to her assemblies. Madame was astonished. Monsieur was a gentle- man of ancient family who had met with misfortunes. He was earning his maintenance. To sit in a bureau was not a dishonor. Knowing that boutique meant shop and gargon meant bo}', Mrs. Ba3mes made nsje of the words boutujne gargon the next time she saw the Vicomte. The little man wept tears of rage and mortification. There was a ver}' painful scene, at which, thank mercy, poor Charlotte thought, Philip was not present. AVere it not for the General's cheveux hlancs (by which phrase the Vicomte very kindly designated General Baynes's chestnut top- knot), the Vicomte would have had reason from him. " Charm- ing miss," he said to Charlotte, " 3'our respectable papa is safe from ni}' sword ! Madame your mamma has addressed me words which I qualify not. But 3'ou — you are too 'andsome, too good, to despise a poor soldier, a poor gentleman ! " I have heard the Vicomte still dances at boai-ding-houses and is still in pur- suit of an Anglaise. He must be a wooer now almost as elderly as the good General whose scalp he respected. Mrs. Bajmes was, to be sure, a heav^' weight to bear for poor madame, but her lean shoulders were accustomed to many a burden ; and if the General's wife was quarrelsome and odious, he, as madame said, was as soft as a mutton ; and Charlotte's prett}" face and manners were the admiration of all. The 3'ellow Miss Bolderos, those hapless elderly orphans left in pawn, might bite their lips with envj', but they never could make them as red as Miss Charlotte's smiling mouth. To the honor of Madame Smolensk be it said that, never by word or hint, did she cause those unhappy 3'oung ladies any needless pain. She never stinted them of an^^ meal. No full-2:)riced pensioner of madame's could have breakfast, luncheon, din- ners served more regularly. The day after their mother's flight, that good Madame Smolensk took early cups of tea to the girls' rooms, with her own hands ; and I believe helped to do the hair of one of them, and otherwise to soothe them in their misfortune. The}' could not keep their secret. It must be owned that Mrs. Baj-nes never lost an opportunit}' of de- ploring their situation and acquainting all new-comers with their mother's flight and transgression. But she was good- natured to the captives in her grim wa}' : and admired ma- dame's forbearance regarding them. The two old officers were now especially polite to the poor things : and the General rapped one of his boys over the knuckles for sa3'ing to Miss Bren- da, "If 3-our uncle is a lord, why doesn't he give 3'ou an3' ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 351 money?" "And these girls used to hold their heads above mine, and their mother used to give herself such airs ! " cried Mrs. Bajnes. "And Eliza Ba3nes used to flatter those poor girls and their mother, and fancy they were going to make a woman of fashion of her ! " said Mrs. Bunch. " We all have our weaknesses. Lords are not 3'ours, my dear. Faith, I don't think you know one," says stout little Colonel Bunch. " I wouldn't pay a dnchess such court as Eliza paid that woman ! " cried Sarah ; and she made sarcastic inquiries of the General, whether Eliza had heard from her friend the Honorable Mrs. Boldero? But for all this Mrs. Bunch pitied the 3"oung ladies, and I believe gave them a little supply of coin from her private purse. A word as to their private his- tory. Their mamma became the terror of boarding-house keepers : and the poor girls practised their duets all over Europe. Mrs. Boldero's noble nephew, the present Strong- itliarm (as a friend who knows the fashionable world informs me) was victimized b}' his own uncle, and a most painful affair occurred between them at a game at " blind hooke}'." The Honorable Mrs. Boldero is living in the precincts of Holy rood ; one of her daughters is happil}' married to a minister ; and the other to an apothecary who was called in to attend her in quins}'. So I am inclined to think that phrase about " select" boarding-houses is a mere complimentary term ; and as for the strictest references being given and required, 1 certainly should not lay out extra monc}' for printing that expression in my advertisement, were I going to set up an establishment myself. ^ « Old college friends of Philip's visited Paris from time to time; and rejoiced in carrying him off" to "Borel's" or the " Trois Freres," and hospitabl}' treating him who had been so hospitable in his time. Yes, thanks be to heaven, there are good Samaritans in pretty large numbers in this world, and hands ready enough to succor a man. in misfortune. I could name two or three gentlemen who drive about in char- iots and look at people's tongues and write queer figures and queer Latin on note-paper, who occultly' made a purse con- taining some seven or ten score fees, and sent them out to Dr. Firmin in his l->anishment. Tlie poor wretch had behaved as ill as might be, but he was without a penn}- or a friend. I dare say Dr. Goodenough, amongst other philanthropists, put his hands into his pocket. Having heartily dishked and mistrusted Firmin in prosperity, in adversitj' he melted towards the poor fugitive wretch : he even could believe that 352 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Firmiii had some skill in his profession, and in his practice was not quite a quack. Philip's old college and school cronies laughed at hearing that, now his ruin was complete, he was thinking about mar- riage. Such a plan was of a piece with Mr. Firmin's known prudence and foresight. But the}' made an objection' to his proposed union, which had struck us at home previously. Papa-ia-law was well enough, or at least inotlensive : but ah, ye powers ! what a mother-in-law was poor Phil laying up for his future days ! Two or three of our mutual compan- ions made this remark on returning to work and chambers after their autumn holiday. We never had too much char- it}' for Mrs. Baynes ; and what Philip told us about her did not serve to increase our regard. About Christmas Mr. Firmin's own affairs brought him on a brief visit to London. We were not jealous that he took up his quarters with his little friend, of Thornhaugh Street, who was contented that he should dine with us, provided she could have the pleasure of housing him under her kind shelter. High and mighty people as we were — for under what humble roofs does not Vanity hold her sway? — we, who knew Mrs. Brandon's virtues, and were aware of her earlj' story, would have condescended to receive her into our societj' ; but it was the little lad}' herself who had her pride, and held aloof. "My parents did not give me the education you have had, ma'am," Caroline said to ray wife. " M}' place is not here, I know ver}' well ; unless you should be took ill, and then, ma'aip, 3'ou'll see that I will be glad enough to come. Philip can come and see me ; and a blessing it is to me to set eyes on him. But I shouldn't be happy in your drawing-room, nor 3'ou in having me. The dear children look surprised at my way of talking ; and no wonder : and they laugh sometimes to one anotlier, God bless 'em ! I don't mind. My education was not cared for. I scarce had any schooling but what I taught myself. My pa hadn't the means of learning me much : and it is too late to go to school at fort}' odd. I've got all his stockings and things darned; and his linen, poor fellow! — beautiful : I wish they kep' it as nice in France, where he is ! You'll give my love to the young lady, won't you, ma'am? and oh ! it's a "blessing to me to hear how good and gentle she is ! He has a high temper, Philip have : but them he likes can easy manage him. You have been his best kind friends ; and so will she be, 1 trust ; and they may be happy though they'i'e poor. But they've time to get rich, haven't they? And it's ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 353 not the richest that's the happiest, that I can see in man}^ a fine house where Nurse Brandon goes and has her eyes open, though she don't say much, you know." In this way Nurse Brandon would prattle on to us when she came to see us. She would share our meal, alwaj's thanking by name the ser- vant who helped her. She insisted on calling our children "'Miss" and "Master," and I think those 3'oung satirists did not laugh often or unkindly at her peculiarities. I know they were told that Nurse Brandon was vei-y good ; and that she took care of her father in his old age ; and that she had passed through very great griefs and trials ; and that slie had nursed Uncle Philip when he had been ver}' ill indeed, and wiien many people would have been afraid to come near liim ; and that her life was spent in tending the sick, and in doing good to her neighbor. One day during Philip's staj' with us we happen to read in the paper Lord Ringwood's arrival in London. My lord had a grand town-house of his own which he did not always inhabit. He liked the cheerfulness of a hotel better. Ringwood House was too large and too dismal. He did not care to eat a solitary mutton-chop in a great dining-room surrounded b^' ghostly im- ages of dead Ringwoods — his dead son, a boy who had died in his boyhood ; his dead brother attired in the uniform of his da}' (in which picture there was no little resemblance to Philip Firmin, the Colonel's grandson) ; Lord Ringwood's dead self, finally-, as he appeared still a young man, when Lawrence painted him, and when he was the companion of the Regent and his friends. "Ah! that's the fellow I least like to look at," the old man would say, scowling at the picture, and breaking out into the old-fashioned oaths which garnished many conversations in his young days. " That fellow could ride all day ; and sleep all night, or go without sleep as he chose ; and drink his four bottles, and never have a headache ; and break his collar-bone, and see the fox killed three hours after. That was once a man, as old Marlborough said, looking at his own picture. Now m^- doctor's my master ; my doctor and the infernal gout over him. I live upon pap and puddens, like a baby ; only I've shed all my teeth, hang 'em. If I drink three glasses of sherry, my butler threatens me. You young fellow, who haven't twopence in your pocket, by George, I would like to change with you. Only you wouldn't, hang you, you wouldn't. Why, I don't believe Todhunter would change with me: would you, Todhunter? — and you're about as fond of a great man as an}- fellow I ever knew. Don't tell me. You 23 354 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP are^ sir. Wh}', when I walked with you on R3de sands one day, I said to that fellow, ' Todhunter, don't 3'ou think I could order the sea to stand still?' I did. And you had never heard of King Canute, hanged if you had, and never read au}^ book except the Stud-book and Mrs. Glasse's Cooker}', hanged if 3'OU did." Such remarks and conversations of his relative has Philip reported to me. Two or three men about town had \QYy good imitations of this toothless, growling, blasphemous old c^'nic. He was splendid and penurious ; violent and easily led ; surrounded b}- flatterers and utterh' lonely. He had old- world notions, which 1 believe have passed out of the manners of great folks now. He thought it beneath him to travel by railway, and his post-chaise was one of the last on the road. The tide rolled on in spite of this old Canute, and has long since rolled over him and his post-chaise. Wh}', almost all his imitators are actually dead ; and only this year, when old Jack Mummers gave an imitation of him at "Bays's" (where Jack's mimicry used to be received with shouts of laughter but a few \'ears since), there was a dismal silence in the coft'ee-room, ex- cept from two or three young men at a near table, who said, "What is the old fool mumbling and swearing at now? An imitation of Lord Riugwood, and who was he? " 80 our names pass awa}', and are forgotten : and the tallest statues, do not the sands of time accumulate and overwhelm them ? / have not forgotten my lord ; an}' more than I have forgotten the cock of my school, about whom, perhaps, you don't care to hear. I see my lord's bald head, and hooked beak, and bush}' eyebrows, and tall velvet collar, and brass buttons, and great black mouth, and trembling hand, and trembling parasites around him, and I can hear his voice, and great oaths, and laughter. You parasites of to-day are bowing to other great peoi)le ; and this great one, who was alive only yesterday, is as dead as George IV. or Nebuchadnezzar. Well, we happen to read that Philip's noble relative Lord Ringwood has arrived at Hotel, whilst Philip is staying with us ; and I own that I counsel my friend to go and wait upon his lordship. He had been very kind at Paris : he had evidently taken a liking to Philip. Firmin ought to go and see him. Who knows? Lord Ringwood might be inclined to do something for his brother's grandson. This was just the point which any one who knew Philip should have hesitated to urge upon him. To try and make him bow and smile on a great man with a view to future favors, was to demand the impossible from Firmin. The king's men ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 355 may lead the king's horses to the water, but the king himself can't make them drink. I own that I came back to the sub- ject, and urged it repeatedly on my friend. "I have been," said PhiUp, sulkily. "I have left a card upon him. If he wants me, he can send to No. 120, Queen Square, Westminster, my present hotel. But if you think he will give me anything bej'ond a dinner, I tell you you are mistaken." We dined that day with Pliilip's employer, worth}^ Mr. Mugford, of the Pall Mall Gazette^ who was profuse in his hospitalities, and especially gracious to Philip. Mugford was pleased with Firmin's letters ; and 3'ou may be sure that severer critics did not contradict their friend's good-natured patron. We drove to the suburban villa at Ilampstead, and steaming odors of soup, mutton, onions, rushed out into the hall to give us welcome, and to warn us of the good cheer in store for the part}'. This was not one of Mugford's days for countermand- ing side-dishes, I promise you. Men in black with noble white cotton gloves were in waiting to receive us ; and Mrs. Mugford, in a rich blue satin and feathers, a profusion of flounces, laces, marabouts, jewels, and eau-de-Cologne, rose to welcome us from a stately sofa, where she sat surrounded by her children. These, too, were in brilliant dresses, with shining new-combed hair. The ladies, of course, instantly began to talk about their children, and my wife's unfeigned admiration for Mrs. Mug- ford's last bab}' I think won that worth}^ lady's good-will at once. I made some remark regarding one of the boys as being the picture of his father, whicli was not luck}'. I don't know why, but I have it from her husband's own admission, that Mrs. Mugford alwa3's thinks I am " chaffing" her. One of the bo3's frankly informed me there was goose for dinner ; and when a cheerful cloop was heard from a neighboring room, told me that was pa drawing the corks. Wh}- should Mrs. Mugford reprove the outspoken child and say, "James, hold 3'our tongue, do now?" Better wine than was poured forth, when those corks were drawn, never flowed from bottle. — I say, I never saw better wine nor more bottles. If ever a table ma}' be said to have groaned, that expression might with justice be applied to Mugford's mahogany. Talbot Twysden would have feasted forty people with the meal here provided for eight by our most hospitable entertainer. Though Mugford's editor was present, who thinks himself a very fine fellow, I assure you, but whose name I am not at liliert}' to divulge, all the honors of the entertainment were for the Paris Correspondent, who was specially requested to take Mrs. M. to dinner. As 356 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP an eaii's grand-nephew, and a lord's great-grandson, of course we felt that this place of honor was Firmin's right. How Mrs. Mugford pressed him to eat ! She carved — I am very glad she would not let Philip carve for her, for he might have sent the goose into her lap — she carved, I say, and I reall}' think she gave him more stuffing than to any of us, but that may have been mere envy on my part. Allusions to Lord Ring- wood were repeatedly made during dinner. "Lord R. has come to town, Mr. F., I perceive," says Mugford, winking. "You've been to see him, of course?" Mr. Firmin glared at me very fiercely, he had to own he had been to call on Lord Rinsfwood. Mugford led the conversation to the noble lord so frequently that Philip madly kicked my shins under the table. I don't know how many times I had to suffer from that foot which in its time has trampled on so many persons : a kick for each time Lord Ringwood's name, houses, parks, properties, were mentioned, was a frightful allowance. Mrs. Mugford would say, " May I assist you to a little pheasant, Mr. Firmin? I dare say the}^ are not as good as Lord Ringwood's " (a kick from Philip); or Mugford would exclaim, "Mr. F., try that 'ock ! Lord Ringwood hasn't better wine than that." (Dread- ful punishment upon my tibia under the table.) " John ! Two 'ocks, me and Mr. Firmin. Join us, Mr. P.," and so forth. And after dinner, to the ladies — as my wife, who betrayed their mysteries, informed me — Mrs. Mugford's conversation was incessant regarding the Ringwood family and Firmin's re- lationship to that noble house. The meeting of the old lord and Firmin in Paris was discussed with immense interest. "His lordship called him Philip most affable! he was very fond of Mr. Firmin." A little bird had told Mrs. Mugford that somebod}' else was ver^' fond of Mr. Firmin. She hoped it would be a match, and that his lordship would do the hand- some thing b}^ his nephew. What? My wife wondered that Mrs. Mugford should know about Philip's affairs? (and wonder indeed she did). A little bird had told Mrs. M. — a friend of both ladies, that dear, good little nurse Brandon, who was engaged — and here the conversation went off' into m_vsterics which I certainl}^ shall not reveal. Suffice it that Mrs. Mugford was one of Mrs. Brandon's best, kindest, and most constant patrons — or might I be permitted to saj' matrons ? — and had received a most favorable report of us from the little nurse. And here Mrs. Pendennis gave a verbatim report not only of our hostess's speech, but of her manner and accent. "Yes, ma'am," says Mrs. Mugford to Mrs. Pendennis, "our friend ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 357 Mrs. B. has told me of a certain geyitleman whose name shall be nameless. His manner is cold, not to say 'aughty. He seems to be laughing at people sometimes — don't say No ; I saw him once or twice at dinner, both him and Mr. Firmin. But he is a true friend, Mrs. Brandon sa3's he is. And wlien you know him, his heart is good." Is it? Amen. A distin- guished writer has composed, in not very late days, a comedy of which the cheerful moral is, that we are " not so bad as we seem." Aren't we? Amen, again. Give u^ thy hearty hand, lago ! Tartuffe, how the world has been mistaken in 3-ou ! Macbeth ! put that little affair of the murder out of your mind. It was a momentar}' weakness ; and who is not weak at times ? Blifil, a more maligned man than you does not exist ! O hu- manity ! how we have been mistaken in you I Let us expunge the vulgar expression "miserable sinners" out of all prayer- books ; open the portholes of all hulks ; break the chains of all convicts ; and unlock the boxes of all spoons. As we discussed Mr. Mugford's entertainment on our return home, I improved the occasion with Phihp ; I pointed out the reasonableness of the hopes which he might entertain of help from his wealthy kinsman, and actually forced him to promise to wait upon ray lord the next da^'. Now, when Philip Firmin did a thing against his will, he did it with a bad grace. When he is not pleased, he does not pretend to be happy ; and when he is sulky, Mr. Firmin is a very disagreeable companion. Though he never once reproached me afterwards with what happened, I own that I have had cruel twinges of conscience since. If I had not sent him on that dutiful visit to his grand- uncle, what occurred might never, perhaps, have occurred at all. I acted for the best, and that I aver ; however I may grieve for tlie consequences which ensued when the poor fellow followed my advice. If Philip held aloof from Lord Ringwood in London, you may be sure Philip's dear cousins were in waiting on his lord- ship, and never lost an opportunity of showing their respectful sympathy. Was Lord Ringwood ailing? Mr. Twysden, or Mrs. Twysden, or the dear girls, or Ringwood their brother, were daily in his lordship's antechamber, asking for news of his health. They bent down respectfully before Lord Ring- wood's major-domo. The}' would have given him money, as the}^ always averred, onl}' what sum could thej^ give to such a man as Rudge ? They actually oflei'cd to bribe Mr. Rudge with \ their wine, over which he made horrible faces. They fawned and smiled before him always. I should like to have seen that 358 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP- calm Mrs. Twysden, that serene, high-bred woman, who would cut her dearest friend if misfortune befell her, or the world turned its back ; — I should like to have seen, and can see her in my mind's e^'e, simpering and coaxing, and wheedling this footman. She made cheap presents to Mr. Rudge : she smiled on him and asked after his health. And of course Talbot Twys- den flattered him too in Talbot's jolly way. It was-a wink, and nod, and a hearty " How do you do?" — and (after due inquiries made and answered about his lordship) it would be, ' ' Rudge ! I think my housekeeper has a good glass of port wine in her room, if you happen to be passing that wa}', and my lord don't want you ! " And with a grave courtesy' , I can fancy Mr. Rudge bowing to Mr. and Mrs. Twysden, and thanking them, and descending to Mrs. Blenkinsop's skinny room where the port wine is ready — and if Mr. Rudge and Mrs. Blenkinsop are confidential, I can fancy their talking over the characters and peculiarities of the folks up stairs. Servants sometimes actually do ; and if master and mis- tress are humbugs, these wretched menials sometimes find them out. Now, no duke could be more lordl}- and condescending in his bearing than Mr. Philip Firmin towards the menial throng. In those da^'-s, when he had money in his pockets, he gave Mr. Rudge out of his plent}- ; and the man remembered his gener- osity when he was poor; and declared — in a select society, and in the company' of the relative of a person from whom I have the information — declared in the presence of Captain Gann at the " Admiral B — ng Club" in fact, that Mr. Heff was always a swell ; but since he was done, he, Rudge, " was blest if that 3'oung chap warn't a greater swell than hever." And Rudge actually liked this poor young fellow better than the family in Beaunash Street, whom Mr. R. pronounced to be "a shabb}- lot." And in fact it was Rudge as well as myself, who advised that Philip should see his lordsMp. When at length Philip paid his second visit, Mr. Rudge said, " My lord will see you, sir, I think. He has been speaking of you. He's ver}^ unwell. He's going to have a fit of the gout, I think. I'll tell him you are here." And coming back to Philip, after a brief disappearance, and with rather a scared face, he repeated the permission to enter, and again cautioned him, saj'ing, that " my lord was yery queer." In fact, as we learned afterwards, through the channel pre- viously indicated, my lord, when he heard Philip had called, cried, "He has.^ has he? Han^ him, send him in;" using, I A Quarrel. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 359 am constrained to say, in place of the monosyllable " hang," a much stronger expression. " Oh, it's yon, is it?" says mj' lord. ^' You have been in London ever so long. T\v3"sdeA told me of 3'ou yesterday." " I have called before, sir," said Philip, ver^- qnietl}'. " I wonder you have the face to call at all, sir ! " cries the old man, glaring at Philip. His lordship's countenance was of a gamboge color : his noble CA'es were bloodshot and start- ing ; his voice, always very harsh and strident, was now spe- cially unpleasant ; and from the crater of his mouth, shot loud exploding oaths. " Face, m}' lord?" says Philip, still ver}' meek. " Yes, if 3'ou call that a face which is covered over with hair like a baboon ! " growled my lord, showing his tusks. " Twys- den was here last night, and tells me some pretty news about you." Philip blushed ; he knew what the news most likely would be. " Twysden says that now you are a pauper, b}' George, and living by breaking stones in the street, — you have been such an infernal, drivelling, hanged fool, as to engage yourself to another pauper ! " Poor Philip turned white from red; and spoke slowly: "I beg your pardon, my lord, you said — " " I said you were a hanged fool, sir ! " roared the old man ; " can't you hear?" "I believe I am a member of your family, my lord," says Philip, rising up. In a quarrel, he would sometimes lose his temper, and speak out his mind ; or sometimes, and then he was most dangerous, he would be especially calm and Grandi- sonian. " Some hanged adventurer, thinking you were to get money from me, has hooked you for his daughter, has he?" "I have engaged myself to a young lady, and I am the poorer of the two," says Philip. " She thinks you will get money from me," continues his lordship. " Does she? I never did ! " rephed Philip. "By heaven, you shan't, unless you give up this rubbish." " I shan't give her up, sir, and I shall do without the money," said Mr. Plrmin very boldly. "Go to Tartarus ! " screamed the old man. On which Philip told us, "I said, ' Seniores priores, my lord,' and turned on my heel. So you see if he was going to 360 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP leave me something, and he nearly said he was, that chance is past now, and I have made a prett}' morning's work." And a pretty morning's work it was : and it was I who had set him upon it ! My brave Philip not only did not rebuke me for hav- ing sent him on this errand, but took the blame of the business on himself. "Since I have been engaged," he said, "I am growing dreadfully avaricious, and am almost as sordid about money as those Tw3'sdens. I cringed to that old man : I crawled before his gouty feet. Well, I could crawl from here to Saint James's Palace to get some monej' for my little Char- lotte." Philip cringe and crawl ! If there were no posture- masters more supple than Philip Firmin, kotowing would be a lost art, like tlie Menuet de la Cour. But fear not, 3'e great ! Men's backs were made to bend, and the race of parasites is still in good repute. When our friend told us how his brief interview with Lord Ringwood had begun and ended, I think those who counselled Philip to wait upon his grand-uncle felt rather ashamed of their worldly wisdom and the advice which they had given. We ought to have known our Huron sufficiently to be aware that it was a dangerous experiment to set him bowing in lords' ante- chambers. Were not his elbows sure to break some courtly china, his feet to trample and tear some lace train? So all the good we had done was to occasion a quarrel between him and his patron. Lord Ringwood avowed that he had intended to leave Philip money ; and by thrusting the poor fellow into the old nobleman's sick-chamber, we had occasioned a quarrel be- tween the relatives, who parted with mutual threats and anger. " Oh, dear me ! " I groaned in connubial colloquies. " Let us get him away. He will be boxing Mugford's ears next, and telling Mrs. Mugford that she is vulgar, and a bore." He was eager to get back to his work, or rather to his lady-love at Paris. We did not try to detain him. For fear of further accidents we were rather anxious that he should be gone. Crestfallen and sad, I accompanied him to the Boulogne boat. He paid for his place in the second cabin, and stoutly bade us adieu. A rough night : a wet, slippery deck : a crowd of frowzy fellow- passengers : and poor Philip in the midst of them in a thin cloak, his yellow hair and beard blowing about : I see the steamer now, and left her with I know not what feelings of contrition and shame. Why had I sent Philip to call upon that savage, overbearing old patron of his ? Why compelled him to that bootless act of submission ? Lord Ringwood's brutali- ties were matters of common notoriety. A wicked, dissolute, ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 361 C3' nical old man : and .we must try to make friends with this mammon of unrighteousness, and set poor Philip to bow before him and flatter him! Ah, mea culpa^ mea culpa! The wind blew hard that winter night, and man}- tiles and chinmej-pots blew down : and as I thought of poor Philip tossing in the frowz}^ second cabin, I rolled about m3'own bed ver}- uneasily. I looked into " Bays's Club" the day after, and there fell on both the Tw^-sdens. The parasite of a father was clinging to the button of a great man when I entered : the little reptile of a son came to the club in Captain Woolcomb's brougham, and in that distinguished mulatto officer's companj-. The}' looked at me in a peculiar way. I was sure they did. Talbot Twysden, pouring his loud, braggart talk in the ear of poor Lord Lepel, e3'ed me with a glance of triinnph, and talked and swaggered so that I should hear. Ringwood Twj'sden and Woolcomb, drinking absinthe to whet their noble appetites, exchanged glances and gi-ins. Woolcomb's eyes were of the color of the absinthe he swallowed. I did not see that Twysden tore off one of Lord Lepel's buttons, but that nobleman, with a scared countenance, moved away rapidly from his little perse- cutor. "Hang him, throw him over, and come to me!" I heard the generous Twysden say. "I expect Ringwood and one or two more." At this proposition, Lord Lepel, in a tremulous way, muttered that he could not break his engage- ment, and fled out of the clul). Twysden's dinners, the polite reader has been previously informed, were notorious ; and he constantly bragged of hav- ing the company of Lord Ringwood. Now it so happened that on this ver}" evening. Lord Ringwood, with three of his follow- ers, henchmen, or led captains, dined at Bays's Club, being determined to see a pantomime in which a very pretty 3'oung Columbine figured : and some one in the house joked with his lordship, and said, " Why, you are going to dine with Talbot Twysden. He said, just now, that he expected you." "Did he?" said his lordship. "Then Talbot Tvvj'sden told a hanged lie ! " And little Tom Eaves, my informant, remembered these remarkable words, because of a circumstance J, which now almost immediately followed. II A very few days after Philip's departure, our friend, the IlLittle Sister, came to us at our breakfast- table, wearing an expression of much trouble and sadness on her kind little face ; the causes of which soiTOw she explained to us, as soon as our children had gone away to their schoolroom. Amongst Mrs. Brandon's friends, and one of her father's constant compan- pi 362 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ions, was the worthy Mr. Ridle}^ father of the celebrated painter of that name, who was himself of much too honorable and noble a nature to be ashamed of his humble paternal ori- gin. Companionship between father and son could not be ver}'^ close or intimate ; especially as in the 3'ounger Ridley's boy- hood, his father, who knew notliing of the fine arts, had looked upon the child as a sickl3', half-witted creature, who would be to his parents but a grief and a burden. But when J. J. Ridley, Esq., began to attain eminence in his profession, his father's eyes were opened; in place of neglect and contempt, he looked up to his boy with a sincere, naive admiration, and often, with tears, has narrated the pride and pleasure which he felt on the da}^ when he waited on John James at his master Lord Todmorden's table. Ridley senior now felt that he had been unkind and unjust to his boy in the latter's early daj's, and with a very touching humility the old man acknowledged his previous injustice, and tried to atone for it by present re- spect and affection. Though fondness for his son, and delight in the company of Captain Gann, often drew Mr. Ridley to Thornhaugh Street, and to the " Admiral Bjng " Club, of which both were leading members, Ridley senior belonged to other clubs at the West End, where Lord Todmorden's butler consorted with the confi- dential butlers of others of the nobility : and I am informed that in those clubs Ridley continued to be called " Todmorden " long iifter his connection with that venerable nobleman had ceased. He continued to be called Lord Todmorden, in fact, just as Lord Popinjo}' is still called by his old friends Popinjoy, though his father is dead, and Popinjoy, as everybody knows, is at present Earl of Pintado. At one of these clubs of their order, Lord Todmorden's man was in the constant habit of meeting Lord Ringwood's man, when their lordships (master and man) were in town. These gentlemen had a regard for each other ; and, when they met, communicated to each other their views of society, and their opinions of the characters of the various noble lords and influ- ential commoners whom the}' served. Mr. Rudge knew ever}- thing about Philip Firmin's affairs, about the Doctor's flight, about Philip's generous behavior. "Generous! /call it ad- miral ! " old Ridley remarked, while narrating this trait of our friend's — and his present position. And Rudge contrasted Philip's manly behavior with the conduct of ^ome sneaks which he would not name them, but which thej' were always speaking ill of the poor young fellow behind his back, and sneaking up i ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 363 to m}' lord, and greater skinflints and meaner humbugs never were : and there was no accounting for tastes, but he, Rudge, would not marry his daughter to a black man. Now : that day when Mr. Firinin went to see my Lord Ringwood was one of m}' lord's ver}' worst da3-s, when it was almost as dangerous to go near him as to approach a Bengal tiger. " When he is going to have a fit of gout, his lordship (Mr. Rudge remarked) is hawful. He curse and swear, he do, at everj-bod}' ; even the clergy or the ladies — all's one. On that ver}' day when Mr. Firmin called he had said to Mr. Tw3'sden, ' G-et out, and don't come slandering, and back- biting, and bullying that poor devil of a boy any more. It's blackguardly, by George, sir — it's blackguardly.' And Tw^'sdeu came out with his tail between his legs, and he says to me — ' Rudge,' says he, ' my lord's uncommon bad to-da3\' Well, he hadn't been gone an hour when pore Phihp comes, bad luck to him, and mj' lord, who had just heard from Twysden all about that young woman — that party at Paris, Mr. Ridley — and it is about as gi'eat a piece of folly as ever I heard tell of — my lord turns upon the pore young fellar and call him names worse than Twysden. But Mr. Firmin ain't that sort of man, he isn't. He won't suffer any man to call him names ; and I suppose he gave my lord his own back again, for I heard my lord swear at him tremendous, I did, with my own ears. When my lord has the gout flying about I told you he is awful. When he takes his colchicum he's worse. Now, we have got a party at Whipham at Christmas, and at Whipham we must be. And he took his colchicum night before last, and to-da^^ he was in such a tre- mendous rage of swearing, cursing, and blowing up ever^'bod}', that it was as if he was red hot. And when Twvsden and Mrs. Twysden called that da}' — (if ^'ou kick that fellar out at the hall door, I'm blest if he won't come smirking down the chim- ney) — he wouldn't see anj' of them. And he bawled out after me, 'If Firmin comes, kick him down stairs — do you hear?' with ever so man}- oaths and curses against the poor fellow", ■while he vowed he would never see his hanged impudent face again. But this wasn't all, Ridle}-. He sent for Bradgate, his lawyer, that very day. He had back his will, which I signed m3self as one of the witnesses — me and Wilcox, the master of the hotel — and I know he had left Firmin something in it. Take my word for it. To that poor 3'oung fellow he means mischief." A full report of this conversation Mr. Ridle3' gave to his little friend Mrs. Brandon, knowing the interest which 364 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Mrs. Brandon* took in the j'oung gentleman ; and with these unpleasant news Mrs. Brandon came off to advise with those who — the good nurse was pleased to sa3' — were Philip's best friends in the world. We wished we could give the Little Sis- ter comfort : but all the world knew what a man Lord Ring- wood was — how arbitrary, how revengeful, how cruel! I knew Mr. Bradgate the lawj'er, with whom I had business, and called upon him, more anxious to speak about Philip's af- fairs than my own. I suppose I was too eager in coming to my point, for Bradgate saw the meaning of my questions, and de- clined to answer them. " M3' client and I are not the dearest friends in the world," Bradgate said, " but I must keep his counsel, and must not tell you whether Mr. Firmin's name is down in his lordship's. will or not. How should I know? He may have altered his will. He may have left Firmin money ; he may have left him none. I hope 3'oung Firmin does not count on a legacy. That's all. He may be disappointed if he does. Wh}', you maj' hope for a legac}' from Lord Ringwood, and you may be disappointed. I know scores of people who do hope for something, and who won't get a penny." And this was all the reply I could get at that time from the oracular little lawyer. I told my wife, as of course every dutiful man tells every- thing to every dutiful wife : — but, though Bradgate discour- aged us, there was somehow a lurking hope still that the old nobleman would provide for our friend. Then Philip would marry Charlotte. Then he would earn ever so much more money b}' his newspaper. Then he would be happ}' ever after. My wife counts eggs not only before the^?- are hatched, but be- fore they are laid. Never was such an obstinate hopefulness of character. I, on the other hand, take a rational and de- spondent view of things ; and if they turn out better than I expect, as sometimes they will, I affablj' own that I have been mistaken. But an earlj' day came when Mr. Bradgate was no longer heedful, or when he thought himself released from the obliga- tions of silence with regard to his noble client. It was two days before Christmas, and I took m}' accustomed afternoon saunter to " Bays's," where other habitues of the club were as- sembled. There was no little buzzing and excitement among the frequenters of the place. Talbot Tw3"sden always arrived at ' ' Ba3's's " at ten minutes past four, and scuffled for the evening paper, as if its contents were matter of great impor- tance to Talbot. He would hold men's buttons, and discourse ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 365 to them the leading article out of that paper with an astound- ing emphasis and gravit}'. On this da}', some ten minutes after his accustomed hour, he reached the club. Other gentle- men were engaged in perusing the evening journal. The lamps on the tables lighted up the bald heads, the gray heads, dN-ed heads, and the wigs of man}' assembled fogies — murmurs went about the room : "Very sudden," "Gout in the stomach." ' ' Dined here only four days ago." ' ' Looked very well." ' ' Very well ? No ! Never saw a fellow look worse in my life." " Yellow as a guinea." " Couldn't eat." " Swore dreadfully at the wait- ers, and at Tom Eaves who dined with him." " Seventy-six, I see. — Born in the same year with the Duke of York." " Forty thousand a year. " " Forty ? fifty-eight thousand three hundred, I tell you. Always been a saving man." " Estate goes to his cousin, Sir John Ringwood ; not a member here — member of ' Boodle's.' " " Hated each other furiously. Very violent tem- per, the old fellow was. Never got over the Reform Bill, they used to say." " Wonder whether he'll leave anything to old bow-wow Twys — " Here enters Talbot Twsyden, Esq. — " Ha, Colonel! How are you? What's the news to-night? Kept late at my office, making up accounts. Going down to Whip- ham to-morrow to pass Christmas with my wife's uncle — Ring- wood, you know. Always go down to Whipham at Christmas. Keeps the pheasants for us. No longer a hunting man myself. Lost my nerve, by George." Whilst the braggart little creature indulged in this pompous talk, he did not see the significant looks which were fixed upon him, or if he remai'ked them, was perhaps pleased by the atten- tion which he excited. " Bays's " had long echoed with Twys- den's account of Ringwood, the pheasants, his own loss of nerve in hunting, and the sum which their family would inherit at the death of tlieir noble relative. " I think I have heard you say Sir John Ringwood inherits after your relative?" asked Mr. Hookham. "Yes; the estate, not the title. The earldom goes to m}' lord and his heirs — Hookham. AVhy shouldn't he marry again ? I often say to him, ' Ringwood, why don't you marry, if it's onl}' to disappoint that Whig fellow, Sir John ? You are fresh and hale, Ringwood. You may live twenty years, five-and- twent}' years. If you leave your niece and my children any- thing we're not in a hurry to inherit,' I say ; ' why don't you marry?'" " Ah ! Twysden, he's past marrying," groans Mr. Hookham. "Not at all. Sober man, now. Stout man. Immense pow- 366 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP erful man. Health}^ man, but for gout. I often saj' to him, ' Ringwood ! I saj' — '" " Oh, for mercy's sake, stop this ! " groans old Mr. Tremlett, who alwaj's begins to shudder at the sound of poor Twysden's voice. " Tall him, somebody." " Haven't you heard, Twysden ? Haven't you seen? Don't 3'ou know?" asks Mr. Hookham, solemnly. " Heard, seen, known — what?" cries the other. " An accident has happened to Lord Ringwood. Look at the paper. Here it is." And Twysden pulls out his great gold e3'eglasses, holds the paper as far as his little arm will reach, and and merciful Powers ! — but I will not venture to depict the agony on that noble face. Like Timanthes the painter, I hide this Agamemnon with a veil. I cast the Globe newspaper over him. lUabatur orbis : and let imagination depict our Twysden under the ruins. What Tw3'sden read in the Globe was a mere curt para- graph ; but in next morning's Times there was one of those obituary notices to which noblemen of eminence must submit from the mj'sterious necrographer engaged by that paper. CHAPTER XXII. PULVIS ET UMBRA SUMUS. ' ' The first and onl}^ Earl of Ringwood has submitted to the fate which peers and commoners are alike destined to undergo. Hastening to his magnificent seat of Whipham Market, where he proposed to entertain an illustrious Christmas party, his lordship left London scarcely recovered from an attack of gout to which he has been for many years a martyr. The disease must .have flown to his stomach, and suddenl}' mastered him. At Turreys Regum, thirty miles from his own princely habita- tion, where he had been accustomed to dine on his almost ro,yal progresses to his home, he was already in a state of dreadful suffering, to which his attendants did not pay the attention which his condition ought to have excited ; for when laboring under this most painful malady his outcries were loud, and his lan- guage and demeanor exceedinglj' violent. He angrily refused to send for medical aid at Turreys, and insisted on continuing ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 367 bis journey liomewards. He was one of the old school, who never would enter a railway (though his fortune was greatly increased by the passage of the railway through his property) ; and his own horses always met him at " Popper's Tavern,' an obscure hamlet, seventeen miles from his princely seat. He made no sign on arriving at ' Popper's,' and spoke no word, to the now serious alarm of his servants. When they came to light his carriage-lamps, aud look into his post-chaise, the lord of many thousand acres, and, according to report, of immense wealth, was dead. The journey from Turreys had been the last stage of a long, a prosperous, and, if not a famous, at least a noto- rious and magnificent career. " The late John George, Earl and Baron Ringwood and Vis- count Cinqbars, entered into public life at the dangerous period before the French Revolution ; and commenced his career as the friend and companion of the Prince of Wales. When his Royal Highness seceded from the Whig party. Lord Ringwood also joined the Tory side of politicians, and an earldom was the price of his fidelity. But on the elevation of Lord Steyne to a marquisate. Lord Ringwood quarrelled for a while with his royal patron and friend, deeming his own services unjustly slighted, as a like dignity was not conferred on himself. On several occasions he gave his vote against Government, and caused his nominees in the House of Commons to vote with the Whigs. He never was reconciled to his late Majesty George IV., of whom he was in the habit of speaking with characteristic blunt- ness. The approach of the Reform Bill, however, threw this nobleman definitively on the Tory side, of which he lias ever since remained, if not an eloquent, at least a violent supporter. He was said to be a liberal landlord, so long as his tenants did not thwart him in his views. His only son died earl}' : and his lordship, according to report, has long been on ill terms with his kinsman and successor, Sir John Ringwood, of Appleshaw, Baronet. The Barony has been in this ancient family since the reign of George I., when Sir John Ringwood was ennobled, and Sir Francis, his brother, a Baron of the Exchequer, was advanced to the dignity- of Baronet by the first of our Hano- verian sovereigns." This was the article which my wife and I read on the morn- ing of Christmas eve, as our children were decking lamps and looking-glasses with holly and red berries for the approaching festival. I had despatched a hurried note, containing the news, to Philip on the night previous. We were painfull}' anxious about his fate now, when a few days would decide it. Again 368 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP toy business or cariosity took me to see Mr. Bradgate, the law- yer. He was in possession of the news of course. lie was not averse to talk about it. The death of his client unsealed the lawyer's lips partiall}- : and I must say Bradgate spoke in a man- ner not flattering to his noble deceased client. The brutalities of the late nobleman had been very hard to bear. On occa- sion of their last meeting his oaths and disrespectful behavior had been specially odious. He had abused almost every one of his relatives. His heir, he said, was a prating, republican humbug. He had a i-elative (whom Bradgate said he would not name) who was a scheming, swaggering, swindling lick- spittle parasite, always cringing at his heels and longing for his death. And he had another relative, the impudent son of a swindling doctor, who had insulted him two hours before in his own room ; — a fellow who was a pauper, and going to propagate a breed for the workhouse ; for, after his behavior of that day, he would be condemned to the lowest pit of Ache- ron, before he. Lord Ringwood, would give that scoundrel a penn}' of his money. "And his lordship desired me to send him back his will," said Mr. Bradgate. And he destro3'ed that will before he went away : it was not the first he had burned. "And I may tell 3'ou, now all is over, that he had left his brother's grandson a handsome legacy in that will, which your poor friend might have had, but that he went to see my lord in his unlucky fit of gout." Ah, mea culpa! mea culpa! And who sent Philip to see his relative in that unlucky fit of gout? Who was so worldly-wise — so Twysden-like, as to counsel Philip to flattery and submission ? But for that advice he might be wealthy now ; he might be happy ; he might be ready to many his .young sweetheart. Our Christmas turkey choked me as I ate of it. The lights burned dimly, and the kisses and laughter under the mistletoe were but melancholy sport. But for my advice, how happj- might m}^ friend have been ! I looked askance at the honest faces of my children. What would they say if they knew their father had advised a friend to cringe, and bow, and humble himself before a rich, wicked old man? I sat as mute at the pantomime as at a burial : the laughter of the little ones smote me as with a reproof. A burial? With plumes and lights, and upholsterers' pageantry, and mourning by the yard measure, they were burying my Lord Ring wood, who might have made Philip Firmin rich but for me. All lingering hopes regarding our friend were quickly put to an end. A will was found at Whipham, dated a year back, in which no mention was made of poor Philip Firmin. Small ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 369 legades — disgracefully shabby and small, Twj^sden said — were left to the Twysden family, with the full-length portrait of the late earl in his coronation robes, which, I should think, must have given but small satisfaction to his surviving relatives ; for his lordship was but an ill-favored nobleman, and the price of the carriage of the large picture from Whipham was a tax which poor Talbot made very wry faces at paying. Had the picture been accompanied by thirt}' or fort.y thousand pounds, or fifty thousand — why should he not have left them fifty thousand? — how different Talbot's grief would have been I Whereas when Talbot counted up the dinners he had given to Lord Ringwood, all of which he could easily calculate by his cunning ledgers and journals in which was noted down every feast at which his lordship attended, every guest assembled, and every bottle of wine drunk, Twysden found that he had absolutely- spent more money upon my lord than the old man had paid back in his will. But all the family went into mourning, and the Twysden coach- man and footman turned out in black worsted epaulettes in honor of the illustrious deceased. It is no't every day that a man gets a chance of publicly bewailing the loss of an earl his relative. I suppose Twysden took many hundred people into his confidence on this matter, and bewailed his uncle's death and his own wrongs whilst clinging to many scores of button- holes. And how did poor Philip bear the disappointment? He must have felt it, for I fear we ourselves had encouraged him in the hope that his grand-uncle would do something to relieve his necessit}-. Philip put a bit of crape round his hat, wrapped himself in his shabby old mantle, and declined an}' outward show of grief at all. If the old man had left him money, it had been well. As he did not, a puff of cigar, perhaps, ends the sentence, and our philosopher gives no further thought to his disappointment. Was not Philip the poor as lordly and inde- pendent as Philip the rich ? A struggle with povert}" is a whole- some wrestling-match at three or five and twenty-. The sinews are young, and are braced by the contest. It is upon the aged that the battle falls hardly, who are weakened by failing health, and perhaps enervated b}- long years of prosperit}'. Firmin's broad back could carry a heavy burden, and he was glad to take all the work which fell in his way. Phipps, of the Daily Intelligencer^ wanting an assistant, Philip gladly sold four hours of his day to Mr. Phipps : translated page after page of newspapers, French and German ; took an occasional turn at the Chamber of Deputies, and gave an account of a sitting of 24 370 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP importance, and made himself quite an active lieutenant. He began positivelj^ to save money. He wore dreadfully shabby clothes, to be sure : for Charlotte could not go to his chamber and mend his rags as the Little Sister had done : but when Mrs. Ba3'nes abused him for his shabby appearance — and indeed it must have been mortifying sometimes to see the fellow in his old clothes swaggering about in Madame Smolensk's apartments, talking loud, contradicting, and laj'ing down the law — Charlotte defended her maligned Philip. "Do ^-ou know wh}' Monsieur Philip has those shabby clothes ? " she asked of Madame de Smolensk. " Because he has been sending money to his father in America." And Smolensk said that Monsieur Philip was a brave 3'oung man, and that he might cbme dressed like an Iroquois to her soiree, and he should be welcome. And Mrs. Barnes was rude to Philip when he was present, and scorn- ful in her remarks when he was absent. And Philip trembled before Mrs. Baynes ; and he took her boxes on the ear with much meekness ; for was not his Charlotte a hostage in her mother's hands, and might not Mrs. General B. make that poor little creature suffer? One or two Indian ladies of Mrs. Ba^'nes's acquaintance hap- pened to pass this winter in Paris, and these persons, who had furnished lodgings in the Faubourg St. Honore, or the Champs Elysees, and rode in their carriages with, very likely, a footman on the box, rather looked down upon Mrs. Baynes for living in a boarding-house, and keeping no equipage. No woman likes to be looked down upon by any other woman, especially by such a creature as Mrs. Batters, the law3'er's wife, from Cal- cutta, who was not in societ}-, and did not go to Government House, and here was driving about in the Champs Elysees, and giving herself such airs, indeed ! So was Mrs. Doctor Macoon, with her lady's-maid^ and her man-cook^ and her open carriage^ and her close carriage. (Pray read these words with the most withering emphasis which you can la3' upon them.) And who was Mrs. Macoon, pra}-? Madame Beret, the French milliner's daughter, neither more nor less. And this creature must scat- ter her mud over her betters who went on foot. " I am telling m_y poor girls, Madame," she would sa}^ to Madame Smolensk, " that if I had been a milliner's girl, or their father had been a pettifogging attorne}', and not a soldier, who has served his sovereign in ever}^ quarter of the world, the}' would be better dressed than they are now, poor chicks ! — we might have a fine apartment in the Faubourg St. Honore — we need not live at a boarding-house." ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 371 " And if /had been a milliner, Madame la Generale," cried Smolensk, with spirit, " perhaps I should not have had need to keep a boarding-house. M3' father was a general officer, and served his emperor too. But what will you ? We have all to do disagreeable things, and to live with disagreeable people, Madame ! " And with this Smolensk makes Mrs. General Baynes a fine curtsy, and goes off to other affairs or guests. She was of the opinion of many of Philip's friends. "Ah, Monsieur Philip," she said to him, " when you are married, you will live far from that woman ; is it not ? " Hearing that Mrs. Batters was going to the Tuileries, I am sorr}' to sa}' a violent emulation inspired Mrs. Baynes, and she never was easj' until she persuaded her General to take her to the ambassador's, and to the entertainments of the citizen king who governed France in those days. It would cost little or nothing. Charlotte must be brought out. Her aunt, Mac- Whirter, from Tours, had sent Charlotte a present of money for a dress. To do Mrs. Baynes justice, she spent very little mone}' upon her own raiment, and extracted from one of her trunks a costume which had done duty at Barrackpore and Calcutta. "After hearing that Mrs. Batters went, I knew she never would be easy," General Baynes said, with a sigh. His wife denied the accusation as an outrage ; said that men always imputed the worst motives to women, whereas her wish, heaven knows, was only to see her darling child properly presented, and her husband in his proper rank in the world. And Char- lotte looked lovely, upon the evening of the ball ; and Madame Smolensk dressed Charlotte's hair very prettily, and offered to lend Auguste to accompany the General's carriage ; but Ogoost revolted, and said, " Non, merci ! he would do anything for the General and Miss Charlotte — but for the Generale, no, no, no ! " and he made signs of violent abnegation. And though Charlotte looked as sweet as a rosebud, she had little pleasure in her ball, Philip not being present. And how could he be present, who had but one old coat, and holes in his boots? So you see, after a sunny autumn, a cold winter comes, when the wind is bad for delicate chests, and muddy for little shoes. How could Charlotte come out at eight o'clock through mud or snow of a winter's morning, if she had been out at an evening party late over-night? Mrs. General Baynes began to go out a good deal to the Paris evening parties — I mean to the parties of us Trojans — parties where there are forty Eng- lish people, three Frenchmen, and a German who plays the piano. Charlotte was very much admired. The fame of her 372 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP good looks spread abroad. I pi'omise you that there wei'e per- sons of much more importance than the poor Vicomte de Gar- ^■on-boutique, who were charmed by her bright eyes, her bright smiles, her artless, rosy beauty. Why, little Hel}^ of the Embassy, actually invited himself to Mrs. Dr. Macoon's, in order to see this young beauty, and danced with her without ceasing : Mr. Hel}', who was the pink of fashion, 3'ou know ; who danced with the ro3al princesses ; and was at all the_grand parties of the Faubourg St. Germain. He saw her to her car- riage (a very shabby fly, it must be confessed ; but Mrs. Baynes told him they had been accustomed to a very different kind of equipage in India) . He actually called at the boarding-house, and left his card, M. Walsingham Hely, attache a V Ambassade de S. M. Britannique, for General Baynes and his lad3\ To what balls would Mrs. Baynes like to go? to the Tuileries? to the Embassy? to the Faubourg St. Germain? to the Faubourg St. Honore ? I could name many more persons of distinction who were fascinated by pretty' Miss Charlotte. Her mother felt more and more ashamed of the shabby' fly, in which our young lady was conveyed to and from her parties ; — of the shabby fly, and of that shabby cavalier who was in waiting sometimes to put Miss Charlotte into her carriage. Charlotte's mother's ears were only too acute when disparaging remarks were made about that cavalier. What? engaged to that queer red-bearded fellow, with the ragged shirt-collars, who trod upon everybody in the polka ? A newspaper writer, was he ? The son of that doctor who ran away after cheating everybody ? What a very odd thing of General Baynes to think of engaging his daughter to such a person ! So Mr. Firmin was not asked to man}^ distinguished houses, where his Charlotte was made welcome ; where there was dan- cing in the saloon, very mild negus and cakes in the salle-a- manger, and cards in the lady's bedroom. And he did not care to be asked ; and he made himself very arrogant and dis- agreeable when he was asked ; and he would upset tea-traj'S, and burst out into roars of laughter at all times, and swagger about the drawing-room as if he were a man of importance — he indeed — giving himself such airs, because his grandfather's brother was an earl ! And what had the earl done for him, pray? And what right had he to burst out laughing when Miss Cracklej' sang a little out of tune ? What could General Baynes mean by selecting such a husband for that nice, modest 3-ounggirl? The old General sitting in the best bedroom, placidly play- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 373 ing at whist with the other British fogies, does not hear these remarks, perhaps, but little Mrs. Baynes with her eager ej-es and ears sees and knows everything. Many people have told her that Philip is a bad match for her daughter. She has heard him contradict calmly quite wealthy people. Mr. Hobday, who has a house in Carlton Terrace, London, and goes to the first houses in Paris, Philip has contradicted him point blank, until Mr. Hobday turned quite red, and Mrs. Hobdaj- didn't know where to look. Mr. Peplow, a clergyman and a baronet's eld- est son, who will be one day the Rev. Sir Charles Peplow of Peplow Manor, was praising Tomlinson's poems, and offered to read them out at Mr. Badger's — he reads very finely, though a little perhaps through his nose — and when he was going to begin, Mr. Firmin said, "My dear Peplow, for heaven's sake don't give us an}' of that rot. I would as soon hear one of your own prize poems." Rot, indeed ! What an expression ! Of course Mr. Peplow was very much anno^-ed. And this from a mere newspaper writer. Never heard of such rudeness ! Mrs. Tuffin said she took her line at once after seeing this Mr. Firmin. " He maybe an earl's grand-nephew, for what I care. He ma}'^ have been at college, he has not learned good manners there. He may be clever, I don't profess to be a judge. But he is most overbearing, clums} , and disagreeable. I shall not ask him to my Tuesdays ; and Emma, if he asks you to dance, I beg you will do no such thing!" A bull, you understand, in a meadow, or on a prairie with a herd of other buffaloes, is a noble animal : but a bull in a china-shop is out of place ; and even so was Philip amongst the crocker}' of those little simple tea-parties, where his mane, and hoofs, and roar, caused end- less disturbance. These remarks concerning the accepted son-in-law Mrs. Ba3nes heard and, at proper moments, repeated. She ruled Baynes ; but was ver}- cautious, and secretl}' afraid of him. Once or twice she had gone too far in her dealings with the quiet old man, and he had revolted, put her down and never forgiven her. Beyond a certain point, she dared not provoke her husband. She would say, "Well, Baynes, marriage is a lottery : and I am afraid our poor Charlotte has not pulled a prize : " on which the General would reply, " No more have others, my dear ! " and so drop the subject for the time being. On another occasion it would be, " You heard how rude Philip Firmin was to Mr. Hobday ? " and the General would answer, "I was at cards, my dear." Again she might say, "Mrs. Tufiin says she will not have Philip Firmin to her Tuesdays, 374 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP m}^ dear:" and the General's rejoinder would be, "Begad, so much the better for him!" "Ah," she groans, "he's always offending some one ! " "I don't think he seems to please you much, Eliza!" responds the General: and she answers, "No, he don't, and that I confess ; and I don't like to think, Baynes, of m}' sweet child given up to certain poverty, and such a man ! " At which the General with some of his garrison phrases would break out with a " Hang it, "Eliza, do 30U sup- pose I think it is a very good match?" and turn to the wall, and, I hope, to sleep. As for poor little Charlotte, her mother is not afraid of little Charlotte : and when the two are alone the poor child knows she is to be made wretched by her mother's assaults upon Philip. Was there ever anything so bad as his behavior, to burst out laughing when Miss Crackley was singing? Was he called upon to contradict Sir Charles Peplow in that abrupt way, and as good as tell him he was a fool? It was verj- wrong certainl}-, and poor Charlotte thinks, with a blush perhaps, how she was just at the point of admiring Sir Charles Peplow's reading veiy much, and had been prepared to think Tomlinson's poems delightful, until Philip ordered her to adopt a contempt- uous opinion of the poet. "And did 3'ou see how he was dressed? a button wanting on his waistcoat, and a hole in his boot?" " Mamma," cries Charlotte, turning ver}' red. " He might have been better dressed — if — if — " "That is, 3'ou would like 3'our own father to be in prison, your mother to beg her bread, your sisters to go in rags, and your brothers to starve, Charlotte, in order that we should pay Philip Firmin back the pioney of which his father robbed him ! Yes. That's your meaning. You needn't explain yourself. I can understand quite well, thank you. Good-night. I hope you'll sleep well ; /shan't after this conversation. Good-night, Charlotte ! " Ah, me. O course of true love, didst thou ever run smooth ? As we peep into that boarding-house ; whereof I have already described the mistress as wakeful with racking care regarding the morrow ; wherein lie the Miss Bolderos, who must naturally be \^vy uncomfortable, being on sufferance and as it were in pain, as the}' lie on their beds ; — what sor- rows do we not perceive brooding over the nightcaps ? There is poor Charlotte who has said her prayer for her Philip ; and as she laj's her 3'oung eyes on the pillow, the3' wet it with their tears. Wh3' does her mother for ever and for ever speak against him ? Wh}^ is her father so cold when Philip's name is men- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 375 tioned? Could Charlotte ever think of an}^ but him? Oh, never, never ! And so the wet eyes are veiled at last ; and close in doubt and fear and care. And in the next room to Charlotte's, a little yellow old woman lies stark awake ; and in the bed by her side an old gentleman can't close his eyes for thinking — my poor girl is promised to a beggar. All the fine hopes which we had of his getting a legacy from that lord are over. Poor child, poor child, what will become of her? Now, Two Sticks, let us fl}' over the river Seine to Mr. Philip Firmin's quarters : to Philip's house, who has not got a penn}- ; to Philip's bed, who has made himself so rude and disagreeable at that tea-party. He has no idea that he has offended anybody. He has gone home perfectly well pleased. He has kicked off the tattered boot. He has found a little fire lingering in his stove by which he has smoked the pipe of thought. Ere he has jumped into his bed he has knelt a moment beside it ; and with all his heart — oh ! with all his heart and soul — has committed the dearest one to heaven's loving protection ! And now he sleeps like a child. CHAPTER XXIII. IN WHICH WE STILL HOVER ABOUT THE ELTSIAN FIELDS. The describer and biographer of my friend Mr. Philip Firmin has tried to extenuate nothing ; and, I hope, has set down naught in malice. If Philip's boots had holes in them, I have written that he had holes in his boots. If he had a red beard, there it is red in this stor3\ I might have oiled it with a tinge of brown, and painted it a rich auburn. Towards modest people he was ver}' gentle and tender ; but I must own that in general society he was not alwaj^s an agreeable companion. He was often haught}^ and arrogant : he was impatient of old stories : he was intolerant of commonplaces. Mrs. Baj'nes's anecdotes of her garrison experiences in India and Europe got a ver}' impatient hearing from Mr. Philip ; and though little Charlotte gently remonstrated with him, saying, "Do, do let mamma tell her story out ; and don't turn away and talk about something else in the midst of it ; and don't tell her you have heard the story before, yen rude man ! If she is not pleased Tfith you, she is angry with me, and I have to suffer when you 376 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP are gone away." Miss Charlotte did not say how much she had to suffer when Philip was absent ; how constantly her mother found fault with him ; what a sad life, in consequence of her attachment to him, the young maiden had to lead ; and I fear that clumsy Philip, in his selfish thoughtlessness, did not take enough count of the sufferings which his behavior brought on the girl. You see I am acknowledging that there were many faults on his side, which, perhaps, ma}- in some degree excuse or account for those which Mrs. General Baynes certainly committed towards him. She did not love Philip naturally ; and do you suppose she loved him because she was under great obligations to him? Do 3'ou love 3'our creditor because you owe him more than j-ou can ever pay ? If I never paid my tailor, should I be on good terms with him ? I might go on ordering suits of clothes from now to the j'car nineteen hundred ; but I should hate him worse year after year, I should find fault with his cut and his cloth : I dare say I should end by thinking his bills extortionate, though I never paid them. Kindness is very indigestible. It disagrees with very proud stomachs. I wonder was that traveller who fell among the thieves grateful afterwards to the Samaritan who rescued him ? He gave monc}' certainly ; but he didn't miss it. The religious opinions of Samaritans are lamentably heterodox. brother ! may we help the fallen still though the}' never pay us, and may we lend without exacting the usury of gratitude ! Of this I am determined, that whenever I go courting again, 1 will not pay my addresses to my dear creature — day after day, and from year's end to year's end, very likely, with the dear girl's mother, father, and half a dozen young brothers and sisters in the room. I shall begin by being civil to the old lady, of course. She is flattered at first by having a young fellow coming courting to her daughter. She calls me ' ' dear Edward ; " works me a pair of braces ; writes to mamma and sisters, and so forth. Old gentleman says, "Brown my boy" (I am here fondly imagining myself to be a young fellow named Edward Brown, attached, let us say, to Miss Kate Thompson) — Thompson, I say, says, "Brown my boy, come to dinner at seven. Cover laid for you always." And of course, de- licious thought ! that cover is by dearest Kate's side. But the dinner is bad sometimes. Sometimes I come late. Sometimes things are going badly in the City. Sometimes Mrs. Thompson is out of humor ; — she always thought Kate might have done better. And in the midst of these doubts and delays, suppose Jones appears, who is older, but of a better temper, a better ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 377 family, and — plague on him ! — twice as rich ? What are engagements ? What are promises ? It is sometimes an affec- tionate mother's duty to break her promise, and that duty the resolute matron will do. Tlien Edward is Edward no more, but Mr. Brown ; or, worse still, nameless in the house. Then the knife and fork are removed from poor Kate's side, and she swallows her own sad meal in tears. Then if one of the little Thompsons says, artlessly, "Papa, I met Teddy Brown in Regent Street; he looked so — " " Hold 3'our tongue, unfeeUng wretch ! " cries mamma. "Look at that dear child!" Kate is swooning. She has sal-volatile. The medical man is sent for. And presently — Charles Jones is taking Kate Thompson to dinner. Long A^oyages are dangerous ; so are long courtships. In long voyages passengers perpetually quarrel (for that Mrs. General could vouch) ; in long courtships the same danger exists ; and how much the more when in that latter ship you have a mother who is for ever putting in her oar ! And then to think of the annoyance of that love voyage when j'ou and the beloved and beloved's papa, mamma, half a dozen brothers and sisters, are all in one cabin ! For economy's sake the Ba3'neses had no sitting-room at Madame's — for you could not call that room on the second floor a sitting-room which had two beds in it, and in which the 3'oung ones practised the piano, with poor Charlotte as their mistress. Philip's courting had to take place for the most part before the whole family ; and to make love under such difficulties would have been horrilile and maddening and impossible almost, only we have admitted that our young friends had little walks in the Champs Elysees ; and then you must own that it must have been delightful for them to write each other perpetual little notes, which were delivered occultly under the ver}' nose of papa and mamma, and in the actual presence of the other boarders at Madame's, who, of course, never saw anything that was going on. Yes, those sly monkey's actually made little post-offices about the room. There was, for instance, the clock on the mantel-piece in the salon on which was carved the old French allegory', " Ze temps fait passer Vamour." One of those artful young people would pop a note into Time's boat, where you may be sure no one saw it. The trictrac board was another post-office. So was the drawer of the music-stand. So was the Sevres china flower-pot, &c., &c. ; to each of which repositories in its turn the lovers con- fided the delicious secrets of their wooing. Have you ever looked at 3'our love-letters to Darb}', when 378 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP you were courting, dear Joan? They are sacred pages to read. You have his tied up somewhere in a faded ribbon. You scarce need spectacles as 3'ou look at them. The hair grows black ; the eyes moisten and brighten ; the clieeks fill and blush again. I protest there is nothing so beautiful as Darby and Joan in the world. I hope Philip and his wife will be Darb}' and Joan to the end. I tell you tliey are married ; and don't want to make any mysteries about the business. I disdain that sort of arti- fice. In the days of the old three-volume novels, didn't you always look at the end, to see that Louisa and the earl (or young clergyman, as the case might be) wore happ}' ? If they died, or met with other grief, for my part I put the book awa}-. Tliis pair, then, are well; are married; are, I trust, happy: but before they married, and afterwards, they had great griefs and troubles ; as no doubt you have had, dear sir or madam, since 3'OU underwent that ceremony. Married? Of course they are. Do you suppose I would have allowed little Char- lotte to meet Philip in the Champs Elysees with onh' a giddy little boy of a brother for a companion, who would turn away to see Punch, Guignol, the soldiers marching b}', the old woman's gingerbread and toffy stall and so forth? Do you, I say, suppose I would have allowed those two to go out to- gether, unless the}' were to be married afterwards ? Out walk- ing together they did go ; and, once, as the}' were arm-in-arm in the Champs Elysees, whom should they see in a fine open carriage but young Twysden and Captain and Mrs. Woolcomb, to whom, as they passed, Philip doffed his hat with a profound bow, and whom he further saluted with a roar of immense laughter. Woolcomb must have heard the peal. I dare say it brought a little blush to Mrs. Woolcomb's cheek; and — and so, no doubt, added to the many attractions of that ele- gant lady. I have no secrets about my characters, and speak my mind about them quite freely. They said that Woolcomb was the most jealous, sting}', ostentatious, cruel little brute ; that he led his wife a dismal life. Well? If he did? Pm sure I don't care. "There is that swaggering bankrupt beggar Firmin ! " cries the tawny bridegroom, biting his moustache. " Impudent ragged blackguard," says Twysden minor. " I saw him." ' ' Hadn't you better stop the carriage, and abuse him to himself, and not to me?" says Mrs. Woolcomb, languidly, flinging herself back on her cushions. " Go on, hang you ! Ally ! Vite ! " cry the gentlemen in the carriage to the laquais de place on the box. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 379 " I can fancy 3-011 don't care about seeing him," resumes Mrs. Wooleomb. " He has a violent temper, and I would not have 3^ou quarrel for the world." So I suppose Wooleomb again swears at the laquais de place : and the happy couple, as the saying is, roll away to the Bois de Boulogne. " What makes you laugh so?" says little Charlotte, fondly, as she trips along by her lover's side. "Because I am so happy, my dearest!" says the other, squeezing to his heart the little hand that lies on his arm. As he thinks on yonder woman, and then looks into the pure eager face of the sweet girl beside him, the scornful laughter occa- sioned by the sudden meeting which is just over hushes : and an immense feeling of thankfulness fills the breast of the young man : — thankfulness for the danger from which he has escaped, and for the blessed prize which has fallen to him. But Mr. Philip's walks were not to be all as pleasant as this walk ; and we are now coming to a history of wet, slippery roads, bad times, and winter weather. All I can promise about this gloomy part is, that it shall not be a long story. You will acknowledge we made very short work with the love- making, which I give you my word I consider to be the very easiest part of the novel-writer's business. As those rapturous scenes between the captain and the heroine are going on, a writer who knows his business may be thinking about anything else — about the ensuing chapter, or about what he is going to have for dinner, or what you will ; therefore, as we passed over the raptures and joys of the courting so very curtly, you must please to gratify me by taking the grief in a very short" measure. If our young people are going to suffer, let the pain be soon over. " Sit down in the chair, Miss Baynes, if you please, and you, Mr. Firmin, in this. Allow me to examine you ; just open j-our mouth, if you please ; and — oh, oh, my dear miss — there it is out ! A little eau-de-Cologne and water, my dear. And now, Mr. Firmin, if you please, we will — what fangs ! what a big one ! Two guineas. Thank you. Good morning. Come to me once a year. John, show in the next part3\" About the ensuing painful business, then, I protest I don't intend to be much longer occupied than the humane and dex- terous operator to whom I have made so bold as to liken my- self. If my pretty Charlotte is to have a tooth out, it shall be removed as gently as possible, poor dear. As for Philip, and his great red-bearded jaw, I don't care so much if the tug makes him roar a little. And 3-et they remain, they remain and throb in after hfe, those wounds of early days. Have I not 380 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP said how, as I chanced to walk with Mr. Firmin in Paris, many years after the domestic circumstances here recorded, he paused before the window of that house near the Champs Elysees where Madame Smolensk once held her pension, shook his fist at a jalousie of the now dingy and dilapidated mansion, and inti- mated to me that he had undergone severe sufferings in the chamber lighted hy yonder window ? So have we all suffered ; so, very likely, my dear 3'oung miss or master who peruses this modest page, will you have to suffer in your time. You will not die of the operation, most probably' : but it is painful : it makes a gap in the mouth, voyez-vous ? and 3'ears and 3'ears, maybe, after, as you think of it, the smart is renewed, and the dismal tragedy enacts itself over again. Philip liked his little maiden to go out, to dance, to laugh, to be admired, to be happy. In her artless way she told him of her balls, her tea-parties, her pleasures, her partners. In a girl's first little season nothing escapes her. Have you not wondered to hear them tell about the events of the evening, about the dresses of the dowagers, about the compliments of the young men, about the behavior of the girls, and what not? Little Charlotte used to enact the over-night's comedy for Philip, pouring out her young heart in her prattle as her little feet skipped by his side. And to hear Philip roar with laughter ! It would have done you good. You might have heard him from the Obelisk to the Etoile. People turned round to look at him, and shrugged their shoulders wonderingly, as good- natured French folks will do. How could a man who had been lately ruined, a man who had just been disappointed of a great legacy from the Earl his great-uncle, a man whose boots were in that lamentable condition, laugh so, and have such high spirits? To think of such an impudent ragged blackguard, as Kingwood Twysden called his cousin, daring to be happy ! The fact is, that clap of laughter smote those three Tw3'sden people like three boxes on the ear, and made all their cheeks tingle and blush at once. At Philip's merriment clouds which had come over Charlotte's sweet face would be chased awa}'. As she clung to him doubts which throbbed at the girl's heart would vanish. When she was acting those scenes of the past night's entertainment, she was not always happy. As she talked and prattled, her own spirits would rise ; and hope and natural joy would spring in her heart again, and come flushing up to her cheek. Charlotte was being a h3'pocrite, as, thank heaven, all good women sometimes are. She had griefs : she ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 381 hid them from him. She had doubts and fears : they fled when he came in view, and she clung to his strong arm, and looked in his honest blue e3'es. She did not tell him of those painful nights when her eyQs were wakeful and tearful. A yellow old woman in a white jacket, with a nightcap and a night-light, would come, night after night, to the side of her little l)ed ; and- there stand, and with her grim voice bark against Philip. That old woman's lean finger would point to all tlie rents in poor Philip's threadbare paletot of a character — point to the holes and tear them wider open. She would stamp on those muddy boots. She would throw up her peaked nose at the idea of the poor fellow's pipe — his pipe, his great companion and com- forter when his dear little mistress was away. She would dis- course on the partners of the night; the evident attentions of this gentleman, the politeness and high breeding of that. And when that dreary nightl}' torture was over, and Char- lotte's mother had left the poor child to herself, sometimes Madame Smolensk, sitting up over her ledgers and bills, and wakeful with her own cares, would steal up and console poor Charlotte ; and bring her some tisane, excellent fur the nerves ; and talk to her about — about the subject of which Charlotte best liked to hear. And though Smolensk was civil to Mrs. Baj'nes in the morning, as her professional duty obliged her to be, she has owned that she often felt a desire to strangle Madame la Generale for her conduct to her little angel of a daughter ; and all because Monsieur Philippe smells the pipe, parbleu ! ' ' What ? a family that owes 3'ou the bread which they eat ; and they draw back for a pipe ! The cowards, the cowards ! A soldier's daughter is not afraid of it. Merci ! Tenez, M. Philippe," she said to our friend when matters came to an extremit}'. "Do 3'ou know what in 3'our place I would do ? To a Frenchman I would not say so ; that understands itself. But these things make themselves otherwise in Eng- land. I have no money, but I have a cachemire. Take him ; and if I were you, I would make a little voyage to Gretna Grin." And now, if you please, we will quit the Champs El3'sees. We will cross the road from Madame's boarding-house. We will make our wa3' into the Faubourg St. Honore, and actually enter a gate over which the L-on, the Un-c-rn, and the R-3'-l Cr-wn and A-ms of the Three K-ngd-ms are sculptured, and going under the porte-cochere, and turning to the right, a,scend a little stair, and ask of the attendant on the landing, who is in the chancellerie ? The attendant says, that several of those 382 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP messieurs y sont. In fixct, on entering the room, you find Mr. Motcomb, — let us say — Mr. Lowndes, Mr. Halkin, and our young friend Mr. Walsingham Llely, seated at their respective tables in the midst of considerable smoke. Smoking in the midst of these gentlemen, and bestriding his chair, as though it were his horse, sits that gallant young Irish chieftain. The O'Rourke. Some of the gentlemen are copying, in a large handwriting, despatches on foolscap paper. I would rather be torn to pieces b}- O'Rourke's wildest horses, than be understood to hint at what those despatches, at what those despatch-boxes contain. Perhaps they contain some news from the Court of Spain, where some intrigues are carried on, a knowledge of which would make your hair start off your head ; perhaps that box, for which a messenger is waiting in a neighboring apart- ment, has locked up twentj^-four yards of Chantillj- lace for Lady Belweather, and six new French farces for Tom Tiddler of the Foreign Office, who is mad about the theatre. It is 3-ears and j-ears ago ; how should I know what there is in those despatch-boxes ? But the work, whatever it may be, is not very pressing — for there is only Mr. Chesham — did I say Chesham before, by the way? You ma}' call him Mr. Sloanestreet if you like. There is only Chesham (and he always takes things to the grand serious) who seems to be much engaged in writing ; and the conversation goes on. " Who gave it?" asks Motcomb. " The black man, of course, gave it. We would "not pre- tend to compete with such a long purse as his. You should have seen what faces he made at the bill ! Thirty francs a bottle for Rhine wine. He grinned with the most horrible agony when he read the addition. He almost turned yelloAv. He sent away his wife early. How long that girl was hanging about London ; and think of her hooking a millionnaire at last ! Othello is a frightful screw, and diabolically jealous of his wife." "What is the name of the little man who got so dismally drunk, and began to crj- about old Ringwood?" " Tvvysden — the woman's brother. Don't you know Hum- bug Twysden, the father? The youth is more offensive than the parent." " A most disgusting little beast. Would come to the Varie- tes, because we said we were going : would go to Lamoignon's, where the Russians gave a dance and a lansquenet. Why didn't you come, Hely?" ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 383 Mr. Hely. — I tell 3'ou I hate the whole thing. Those painted old actresses give me the horrors. What do I want with win- ning Motcomb's money who hasn't got any ? Do 3-011 think it gives me any pleasure to dance with old Caradol ? She puts me in mind of my grandmother — only she is older. Do you think I want to go and see that insane old Boiitzoff leering at Corinne and Palmy rine, and making a group of three old wo- men together ! I wonder how 3'ou fellows can go on. Aren't you tired of truffles and ecrevisses a la Bordelaise ; and those old opera people, whose withered old carcasses are stufled with them ? Tlie O'R. — There was Cerisette, I give ye me honor. Ye never saw. She fell asleep in her cheer — Mr. Lowndes. — In her Invhat, O'R. ? The O'M. — Well, in her chair then ! And Figaroff sma3Ted her feece all over with the craym out of a Charlotte Roose. She's a regular bird and moustache, you know, Cerisette has. Mr. Hely. — Charlotte, Charlotte ! Oh ! (//e clutches his hair madly. His elbows are on the table.) Mr. Lowndes. — It's that girl he meets at the tea-parties, where he goes to be admired. Mr. Hely. — It is better to drink tea than, like you fellows, to muddle what brains you have with bad champagne. It is better to look, and to hear, and to see, and to dance with a modest girl, than, like 3'Ou fellows, to be capering about in taverns with painted old hags like that old Cerisette, who has got a face like a pomme cuite., and who danced before Lord Malmesbur3' at the Peace of Amiens. She did, I tell 3^ou ; and before Napoleon. Mr. Chesham. — {Looks up from his writing.) — There was no Napoleon then. It is of no consequence, but — Lowndes. — Thank 3'ou, I owe 3'ou one. You're a most valuable man, Chesham, and a credit to 3'our father and mother. Mr. Chesham. — Well, the First Consul was Bonaparte.. Lowndes. — I am obliged to 3'Ou. I sa3' I am obliged to 3-ou, Chesham, and if 3-ou would like any refreshment order it meis sumptibus., old bo3^ — at m3' expense. Chesham. — These fellows will never be serious. {He resumes his writing.) Hely. — (Ifernm, but very loiv.) — Oh Charlotte, Char — Mr. Lowndes. — Hely is raving about that girl — that girl with the horrible old mother in 3'ellow, don't 3'ou remem- ber? and old father — good old military part3', in a shabby- 384 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP old coat — who was at the last ball. What was the name ? O'Rourke, what is the rhyme for Baynes? TheO'R. — Pcti/s^ and be hanged to 3'ou. You're always makin' fun on me, 30U little cockney! Mr. Motcomh. — Hely was just as bad about the Danish girl. You know, Walse, 3'Ou composed ever so many verses to her, and wrote home to 3'our mother to ask leave to marry her ! The OR. — I'd think him big enough to marry without anybody's leave — only they wouldn't have him because he's so ugly. Mr. Hely. — Very good, O'Rourke. Very neat and good. You were diverting the company with an anecdote. Will 3'ou proceed ? Tlie (JR. — Well, then, the Cerisette had been dancing both on and off the stage till she was dead tired, I suppose, and so she fell dead asleep, and Figaroff', taking the what-d'ye-call'-em out of the Charlotte Roose, smayred her face all — Voice without. — Deet Mosho Ringwood Twysden, sivoplay, poor I'honorable Moshoo Lownds ! Servant. — Monsieur Twysden ! Mr. Twysden. — Mr. LovA'ndes, how are ,you? Mr. Lowndes. — Very well, thank you ; how are you ? Mr. Hely. — Lowndes is uncommonl3' brilliant to-da}'. Mr. Twysden. — Not the worse for last night? Some of us were a little elevated, I think ! Mr. Lowndes. — Some of us quite the reverse. (Little cad, what does he want? Elevated! he couldn't keep his little legs !) Mr. Twysden. — Eh! Smoking, I see. Thank 3-ou. I ver3' seldom do — but as you are so kind — puff. Eh — uncommonl3' handsome person that, eh — Madame Cerisette. The O'R. —Thank ve for teUing us. I/O Mr. Lowndes — If she meets witii your applause, Mr. Tw3'S- den, I should think Mademoiselle Cerisette is all right. The 0' R. — Maybe they'd raise her salary if ye told her. Mr. Twysden. — Heh — I see 30u're chaffing me. We have a good deal of that kind of thing in Somerset — in our — in — hem ! This tobacco is a little strong. I am a little shak3' this morning. Who, by the way, is that Prince Boutzoff who pla3^ed lansquenet with us? Is he one of the Livonian Boutzoffs, or one of the Hessian Boutzoffs ? I remember at m3- poor uncle's, Lord Ringwood, meeting a Prince Blucher de Boutzoff, some- thing like this man, by the wa3'. You knew my poor uncle? ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 385 Mr. Loiondes. — Dined with liim here three months ago at the "Trois P^reres." Mr. Twysden. — Been at Whipham, I dare say? I was bred up there. It was said once that I was to have been his heir. He was very fond of me. He was \ny godfather. The O'R. — Then he gave you a mug, and it wasn't a beauty {sotto voce), Mr. Twysden. — You said somethin'? I was speaking of Whipham, Mr. Lowndes — one of the finest places in England, I should say, except Chats worth, 3'ou know, and tliat sort of thing. My grandfather built it — I mean m}' great grandfather, for I'm of the llingwood family. Mr. Lowndes. — Then was Lord Ringwood your grandfather, or your grand godfather? Mr. Twysden. — He! he! My mother was his own niece. My grandfather was his own brother, and I am — Mr. Lowndes. — Thank you. I see now. Mr. Halkin. — Das ist sehr interessant. Ich versichere ihnen das ist SEHR interessant. Mr. Twysden. — Said somethin'? (This cigar is really — I'll throw it away, please.) I was saying that at Whipham, where I was bred up, we would be forty at dinner, and as many more in the upper servants' hall. Mr. Lowndes. — And jou dined in the — you had pretty good dinners. Mr. Twysden. — A French chef. Two aids, besides turtle from town. Two or three regular cooks on the establish- ment, besides kitchen-maids, roasters, and that kind of thing, you understand. How many have you here now? In Lord Estridge's kitchen you can't do, I should sa}^, at least without — let me see — wh}-, in our small way — and if you come to Loudon my father wiU be dev'lish glad to see you — we — Mr. Lowndes. — How is Mrs. Woolcomb this morning? That was a fair dinner Woolcomb gave us yesterday. Mr. Twysden. — He has plenty of mone}", plent}' of money. I hope, Lowndes, when you come to town — the first time 3'ou come, mind — to give you a hearty welcome and some of my father's old por — Mr. Hely. — Will nobody kick this little beast out? Strvant. — Monsieur Chesham peul-il voir M. Firmin? Mr. Chesham. — Certainly. Come in, Firmin ! Mr. Twysden. — Mr. FeaVmang — Mr. Fir — Mr. ivho ? You don't mean to say you receive that fellow, Mr. Chesham? 25 386 THE ADVENTURES. OF PHILIP Mr. Ohesham. — What fellow? and what do you mean, Mr. What-d'ye-call-'im ? Mr. Twysdeii. — That blackg — oh — that is, I — I beg your — Mr. Fir mi n (entering and going up to Mr. Chesham). — I say, give me a bit of news of to-day. What were you saying about that — hum and hum and haw — mayn't I have it? {He is talk- ing conjidentiallg loith Mr. Chesham^ token lie sees Mr. Twysden.) What ! you have got that little cad here ? 3fr. Lowndes. — You know Mr. Twysden, Mr. Firmin. He was just speaking about 3'ou. Mr. Firmin. — Was he? So much the worse for me. Mr. Twysden. — Sir ! We don't speak. You've no right to speak to me in this manner ! Don't speak to me : and I won't speak to you, sir — there! Good morning, Mr. Lowndes! Remember 3^our promise to come and dine with us when you come to town. And — one word — {he holds Mr. Lowndes by the button. By the way., he has very curious resemblances to Twys- den senior) — we shall be here for ten days certainly. I think Lady Estridge has something next week. I have left our cards, and — Mr. Lowndes. — Take care. He will be there {-pointing to Mr. Firmin). Mr. Twysden. — What? T^a? beggar? You don't mean to say Lord Estridge will receive such a fellow as — Good-by, good-by ! {Exit Mr. JTwysden.) Mr. Firmin. — I caught that little fellow's eye. He's my cousin, you know. We have had a quarrel. I am sure he was speaking about me. Mr. Lowndes. — Well, now you mention it, he was speaking about you. Mr. Firmin. — Was he? Then donH believe him, Mr. Lowndes. That is my advice. Mr. Hely {at his desk composing). — " Maiden of the blushing cheek, maiden of the — oh, Charlotte, Char — " he bites his pen 'and dashes off' rapid rhj'raes on Government paper. Mr. Firmin. — What does he say? He said Charlotte. Mr. Lowndes. — He is always in love and breaking his heart, and he puts it into poems ; be wraps it up in paper, and falls in love with somebody else. Sit down and smoke a cigar, won't you ? Mr. Firmin. — Can't stay. Must make up my letter. We print to-morrow. Mr. Lowndes. — Who wrote that article pitching into Peel? ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 387 Mr. Firmin. — Family secret — can't say — good-by. • ( Exit Mr. Firmin.) ' Mr. Cheskam. — In my opinion a most ill-advised and in- temperate article. That journal, the Pall Mall Gazette^ indulges in a very needless acrimou}', I think. 3fr. Lowndes. — Chesham does not like to call a spade a spade. He calls it a horticultural utensil. You have a great career before you, Chesham. You have a wisdom and gravity be^'ond ^our 3'ears. You bore us slightly, but we all respect you — we do indeed. What was the text at church last Sun- day? Oh, by the way, Hely, you little miscreant, you were at church ! Mr. Chesham. — You need not blush, Hel}'. I am not a joking man ; but this kind of jesting does not strike me as being particularly amusing", Lowndes. Mr. Lowndes. — You go to church because you are good, because your aunt was a bishop or something. But Hely goes because he is a little miscreant. You hypocritical little beggar, you got yourself up as if you were going to a dejeune., and 3'ou had 3'our hair curled, and you were seen singing out of the same hymn-book with that pretty Miss Baynes, you little wheed- ling sinner ; and you walked home with the family — my sisters saw you — to a boarding-house where they live — by Jove ! you did. And I'll telf your mother ! Mr. Chesham. — I wish 3'ou would not make such a noise, and let me do my work, Lowndes. You — Here Asmodeus whisks us out of the room, and we lose the rest of the young men's conversation. But enough has been overheard, I think, to show what direction young Mr. Hely's thoughts had taken. Since he was seventeen 3'ears of age (at the time when we behold him he may be twenty -three) , this romantic youth has been repeatedl3' in love : with his elderly tutor's daughter, of course ; with a 3'onng haberdasher at the universit3' ; with his sister's confidential friend ; with the bloom- ing 3'oung Danish beauty' last year ; and now, I very much fear, a 3'oung acquaintance of ours has attracted the attention of this imaginative Don Juan. Whenever Hely is in love, he fancies his passion will last for ever, makes a confidant of the first person at hand, weeps plenteously, and writes reams of verses. Do you remember how in a previous chapter we told you that Mrs. Tuffin was determined she would not ask Philip to her soirees, and declared him to be a forward and disagreeable young man? She was glad enough to receive young Walsing- ham Hely, with his languid air, his di'ooping head, his fair 388 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP curls, and his flower in his button-hole ; and Hely, being then in hot pursuit of one of the tall Miss Blacklocks, went to Mrs, Tutiin's, was welcomed there with all the honors ; and there, fluttering awa}^ from Miss Blacklock, our butterfly lighted on Miss Baynes. Now Miss Baynes would have danced with a mopstick, she was so fond of dancing : and Hely, who had practised in a thousand Cliauniieres, Mabilles (or whatever was the public dance-room then in vogue), was a most amiable, agile, and excellent partner. And she told Philip next da}- what a nice little partner she had found — poor Philip, who was not asked to that paradise of a party. And Philip said that he knew the little man ; that he believed he was rich ; that he wrote pretty little verses: — in a word, Phihp, in his leonine ways, regarded little Helj' as a lion regards a lapdog. Now this little Slyboots had a thousand artful little ways. He had a ver}' keen sensibility and a fine taste, which was most readily touched b3^ innocence and beauty. He had tears, 1 won't sa3' at command ; for they were under no command, and gushed from his fine e^'es in spite of himself. Charlotte's in- nocence and freshness smote him with a keen pleasure. Bon Dieu ! What was that great, tall Miss Blacklock who had tramped through a thousand ball-rooms, compared to this art- less, happ}- creature? He danced awa^" from Miss Blacklock and after Charlotte the moment he saw om* 3'ouug friend ; and the Blacklocks, who knew all about him, and his monej', and his motlier, and his expectations — who had his verses in their poor album, by whose carriage he had capered day after day in the Bois de Boulogne — stood scowling and deserted, as this young fellow danced off with that Miss Ba3-nes, who lived in a boarding-house, and came to parties in a cab with her horrid old mother! The Blacklocks were as though they were not henceforth for Mr. Hely. They asked him to dinner. Bless my soul, he utterly forgot all about it ! He never came to then- box on their night at the opera. Not one twinge of remorse had he. Not one pang of remembrance. If he did remember them, it was when they bored him, like those tall tragic women in black who are always coming in their great long trains to sing sermons to Don Juan. Ladies, your name is down in his lordship's catalogue ; his servant has it ; and you. Miss Anna, are number one thousand and three. But as for Miss Charlotte, that is a different affair. What innocence ! AVhat a frmclieur ! What a merry good-humor ! Don Slyboots is touched, he is tenderly interested : her artless voice thrills through his frame ; he trembles as he waltzes with ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 389 her ; as his fine eyes look at her, psha ! what is that film coming over them? O Slyboots, Slyboots! And as she has nothing to conceal, she has told him all he wants to know before long. This is her first winter in Paris : her first season of coming out. She has only been to two balls before, and two plays and an opera. And her father met Mr. Hely at Lord Trim's. That was her father playing at whist. And they lived at Madame Smolensk's boarding-house in the Champs Elysees. And they had been to Mr. Dash's, and to Mrs. Blank's, and she believed they were going to Mrs. Star's on Friday. And did they go to church? Of course they went to church, to the Rue d'Agues- seau, or wherever it might be. And Slyboots went to church next Sunday. You may perhaps guess to what church. And he went the Sunday after. And he sang his own songs, accom- panying himself on the guitar, at his lodgings. And he sang elsewhere. And he had a very pretty little voice, Slyboots had. I believe those poems under the common title of "Gretchen" in our Walsingham's charming volume were all inspired by Miss Baynes. He began to write about her and himself the very first night after seeing her. He smoked cigarettes and drank green tea. He looked so pale — so pale and sad that he quite pitied himself in the looking-glass in his apartments in the Rue Miromt'mil. And he compared himself to a wrecked mariner, and to a grave,' and to a man entranced and brought to life. And he cried quite freelj' and satisfactorily by himself. And he went to see his mother and sister next day at the " Hotel de la Terrasse," and cried to them and said he was in love this time for ever and ever. And his sister called him a goose. And after crying he ate an uncommonly good dinner. And he took every one into his confidence, as he alwaj's did whenever he was in love : always telling, always making verses, and always crying. As for Miss Blacklock, he buried the dead bod}' of that love deep in the ocean of his soul. The waves engulfed Miss B. The ship rolled on. The storm went down. And the stars rose, and the dawn was in his soul, &c. Well, well ! The mother was a vulgar woman, and I am glad 3'ou are out of it. And what sort of people are General Baynes and Mrs. Baynes ? "Oh, delightful people! Most distinguished oflftcer, the father; modest — doesn't say a word. The mother, a most lively, brisk, agreeable woman. You must go and see her, ma'am. 1 desire 3'ou'll go immediately'." " And leave cards with P. P! C for the Miss Blacklocks ! " says Miss Hel}', who was a plain lively person. And both mother and sister spoiled this young Hely ; as women ought 390 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP alwa3's to spoil a son, a brother, a father, husband, grandfather — any male relative, in a word. To see this spoiled son married was the good-natured mother's fond praj'er. An eldest son had died a rake ; a victim to too much money, pleasure, idleness. The widowed mother would give anything to save this one from the career through which the elder had passed. The young man would be one day eo wealthy, that she knew many and many a schemer would try and entrap him. Perhaps, she had been made to marry his father because he was rich ; and she remembered the gloom and wretchedness of her own union. Oh, that she could see her son out of temptation, and the husband of an honest girl ! It was the 3'oung lady's first season? So much the more likely that she should be unworldl3^ " The General — don't you remem- ber a nice old gentleman — in a — well, in a wig — that day we dined at Lord Trim's, when that horrible old Lord Ringvvood was there? That was General Ba3'nes ; and he broke out so enthusiastically in defence of a poor young man — -Dr. Firmin's son — who was a bad man, I believe; but I shall never have confidence in another doctor again, that I shan't. And we'll call on these people, Fanny. Yes, in a brown wig — the Gen- eral, I perfectly well remember him, and Lord Trim said he was a most distinguished officer. And I have no doubt his wife will be a most agreeable person. Those generals' • wives who have travelled over the world must have acquired a quantity of de- lightful information. At a boarding-house, are they? I dare say very pleasant and amusing. And we'll drive there and call on them immediately." On that day as Macgrigor and Moira Ba3'nes were disport- ing in the little front garden of Madame Smolensk's, I think Moira was just about to lick Macgrigor, when his fratricidal hand was stopped by the sight of a large yellow carriage — a large London dowager family carriage — from which descended a large London family' footman, with side-locks begrimed with powder, with calves such as onl}^ belong to large London famil^^ footmen, and with cards in his hand. " Ceci Madame Smo- lensk?" sa3'S the large menial. " Oui," sa3's the bo3^, nodding his head; on which the footman was puzzled, for he thought from his readiness in the use of the French language that the boy was a Frenchman. " Ici demure General Bang? " continued the man. " Hand us over the cards, John. Not at home," said Moira. " Who ain't at 'ome? " inquired the menial. " General Baynes, my father, ain't at home. He shall have ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 39 X the pasteboard when he comes in. 'Mrs. Hely?' Oh, Mac, it's the same name as that 3'oung swell who called the other day ! Ain't at home, John. Gone out to pay some visits. Had a fly on purpose. Gone out with m^- sister. 'Pon my word, they have, John." And from this accurate report of the boy's behavior, I fear that the young Ba3'nes must have been brought up at a classical and commercial academy, where economy was more studied than politeness. Philip comes trudging up to dinner, and as this is not his post day, arrives early ; he hopes, perhaps, for a walit with Miss Charlotte, or a coze in Madame Smolensk's little private room. He finds the two boys in the forecourt ; and they have Mrs. Hely's cards in their hands ; and the^' narrate to him the advent and departure of the lady in the swell carriage, the mother of the young swell with the flower in his button-hole, who came the other da}' on such a jolly horse. "Yes. And he was at church last Sunday, Philip, and he gave Charlotte a hymn-book. And he sang : he sang like the piper who played before Moses, Pa said. And Ma said it was wicked, but it wasn't : only Pa's fun, you know. And Ma said you never came to church. Why don't you?" Philip had no taint of jealous}' in his magnanimous compo- sition, and would as soon have accused Charlotte of flirting with other men as of stealing Madame's silver spoons. " So you have had some fine visitors," he sa3's, as the fly drives up. " I remember that rich Mrs. Hel}^ a patient of my father's. M}'' poor mother used to drive to her house." " Oh, we have seen a great deal of Mr. Hely, Philip ! " cries Miss Charlotte, not heeding the scowls of her mother, who is nodding and betkoning angril}^ to the girl. " You never once mentioned him. He is one of the greatest dandies about Paris : quite a hon," remarks PhiUp. ' ' Is he ? What a funn}' little lion ! I never thought about him," says Miss Charlotte, quite simply. O ingratitude ! in- gratitude ! And we have told how Mr. Walsingham was crying his eyes out for her. " She never thought about him?" cries Mrs. Baynes, quite eagerl3^ "Tire piper, is it, 3'ou're talking about?" asks papa. " I called him piper, 3'ou see, because he piped so sweetly at ch — Well, my love?" Mrs. Baynes was nudging her General at this moment. She did not wish that the piper should form the subject of conversa- tion, I suppose. 392 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. " The piper's mother is very rich, and the piper will inherit after her. She has a fine house in London. She gives very fine parties. She drives in a great carriage, and she has come to call upon 3'ou, and ask you to her balls, I suppose." Mrs. Baynes was delighted at this call. And when she said, " I'm sure /don't value fine people, or their fine parties, or their fine carriages, but I wish that my dear child should see the world," — I don't believe a word which Mrs. Baynes said. She was much more pleased than Charlotte at the idea of visit- ing this fine lady ; or else, why should she have coaxed, and wheedled, and been so particularly gracious to the General all the evening? She wanted a new gown. The truth is, her yellow was very shabby ; whereas Charlotte, in plain white muslin, looked pretty enough to be able to dispense with the aid of any French milliner. I fanc^^ a consultation with Madame and Mrs. Bunch. I fancy a fly ordered, and a visit to the milliner's the next day. And when the pattern of the gown is settled with the milliner, I fanc}^ the terror on Mrs. Baynes's wizened face when she ascertains the amount of the bill. To do her justice, the General's wife had spent little upon her own homely person. She chose her gowns uglj^, but cheap. There were so many backs to clothe in that family that the thrifty mother did not heed the decoration of her own. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP. CATHERINE. \i I I THE ABVENTUEES OF PHILIP. CHAPTER I. NEC BULGES AMORES SPERNE, PUER, NEQUE TU CHOREAS. "Mr dear," Mrs. Baynes said to her daughter, "you are going out a great deal in the world now. You will go to a great number of places where poor I'hilip cannot hope to be ad- mitted." " Not admit Philip, mamma ! then I'm sure I don't want to go," cries the girl. "Time enough to leave off going to parties when you can't afford it and marr}- him. When I was a lieutenant's wife, I didn't go to any parties out of the regiment, my dear ! " " Oh, then, I am sure I shall never want to go out ! " Char- lotte declares. " You fancy 3'ou will always stop at home, I dare sa}'. Men are not all so domestic as your papa. Very few love to stop at liome like him. Indeed, I may sa^' that I have made his home comfortable. But one thing is clear, my child. Philip can't always expect to go where we go. He is not in the position in life. Recollect, your father is a general officer, C.B., and may jbe K.C.B. soon, and your mother is a general officer's lady. \ We may go anywhere. I might have gone to the drawing-room at home if I chose. Lady Biggs would have been delighted to present me. Your aunt has been to the drawing-room, and she Hs only Mrs. Major MacWhirter ; and most absurd it was of iJMac to let her go. But she rules him in everything, and they jluivc no childi-en. I have, goodness knows ! I sacrifice myself for my children. You little know what I deny myself for my Children. I said to Lndy Biggs, ' Xo, Lady Biggs ; my husband may go. He should go. He has his uniform, and it will cost him nothing except a fly and a bouquet for the uiau who drives ; 26 2 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP but /will not spend money on nij'self for the hire of diamonds and feathers, and, though I yield in loyalt}' to no person, I dare say m}' Sovereign ivoiit miss me.' And I don't think her Majes- ty did. She lias other tilings to think of besides Mrs. General Baynes, I suppose. She is a mother, and can appreciate a mother's sacrifices for her children." If I have not hitherto given you detailed reports of Mrs. Gen- eral Baynes's conversation, 1 don't think, my esteemed reader, you will be very angiy. " Now, child," tlie General's lady continued, "let me warn ^•ou not to talk much to Philip about those places to which you go without him, and to which his position in life does not allow of his coming. Hide anything from him? Oh, dear, no ! Only for his own good, you understand. I don't tell everything to your papa. I should only worrit him and vex him. When anything will please him and make him happ}', tlien I tell him. And about Philip? Philip, I must say it, my dear — I must as a mother say it — has his faults. He is an envious man. Don't look shocked. He thinks veiy well of himself; and having been a great deal spoiled, and made too much of in his unhappy father's time, he is so proud and haughty that he forgets his po- sition, and thinks he ought to live with the highest society. Had Lord Ringwood left him a fortune, as Philip led us to expect when we gave our consent to this most unluck}- match — for that my dear child should marry a beggar is most unlucky and most deplorable ; I can't help saying so, Charlotte, — if I were on my death-bed I couldn't help saying so ; and I wish with all my heart we hrd never seen or heard of him. — There ! Don't go off in one of your tantrums ! What was I saying, pray ? I say that Philip is in no position, or rather in a ver}' humble one, which — a mere newspaper-writer and a subaltern too — eveiybod}' acknowledges it to be. And if he hears us talking about our parties to wiiich we have a right to go — to which 3'ou haA'^e a riglit to go with ^our mother, a general officer's lad}' — wdiy, he'll be offended. He won't like to hear about them and think he can't be invited ; and you had better not tallv about them at all, or about the people you meet and dance with. At Mrs. Hely's you ma^' dance with Lord Headbuiy, tlie ambassa- dor's son. And if 30U tell Philip he will be offended. He will say that you boast about it. When I was onl^' a lieutenant's wife at Barrackpore, Mrs. Captain Capers used to go to Cal- cutta to the Government House balls. I didn't go. But I was offended, and I used to sa}' that Flora Capers gave herself airs, and was always boasting of her intimacy with the Mar- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 3 chioiK^ss of Hastings. We don't like our equals to be better off Uian ourselves. Mark my words. And if 30U talk to Philip about tlie people whom 3'ou meet in society, and whom he can't from his unfortunate station expect to know, 3'ou will offend him. That was why I nudged you to-day when you were going on about Mr. Hel}'. Anything so absurd ! I saw Philip get- ting angry at once, and biting his moustaches, as he always does when he is angry — and swears quite out loud — so vulgar ! There ! you are going to ])e angry again, my love ; I never saw anything like 3'ou ! Is this my Charly who never was angry? I know the world, dear, and you don't. Look at me, how I manage your papa, and I tell you don't talk to Philip about things which offend him ! Now, dearest, kiss your poor old mother who loves you. Go up stairs and bathe jour eyes, and come down happy to dinner." And at dinner Mrs. General Baynes was uncommonly gracious to Philip : and when gracious she was especially odious to Philip, whose magnanimous nature accommodated itself ill to the wheedling artifices of an ill-bred old woman. Following this wretched mother's advice, my poor Charlotte spoke scarcely at all to Philip of the parties to wliich she went, and the amusements which she enjoyed without him. I dare sa}' Mrs. Baynes was quite happy in thinking that she was "guid- ing" her child rightly. As if a coarse woman, because she is mean, and greedy, and hjpocritical, and fifty years old, h»s a right to lead a guileless nature into wrong ! Ah ! if some of us old folks were to go to school to our children, I am sure, mad- am, it would do us a great deal of good. There is a fund of good sense and honorable feeling about mj^ great-grandson Tomni}-, which is more valuable than all his grandpapa's ex- perience and knowledge of the world. Knowledge of the world forsooth! Compromise, selfishness modified, and double deal- ing. Tom disdains a lie : when he wants a peach, he roars for it. If his mother wishes to go to a party, she coaxes, and wheedles, and manages, and smirks, and curtsies for months, in order to get her end ; takes twenty rebuffs, and comes up to the scratch again smiling ; — and this woman is for ever lecturing lier daughters, and preaching to her sons upon virtue, honesty, and moral behavior ! Mrs. Hely's little party at the " Hotel cle la Terrasse " was ver}^ pleasant and bright ; and Miss Charlotte enjoyed it, although her swain was not present. But Philip was pleased that his little' Charlotte should be happy. She beheld with wonderment Parisian duchesses, American millionnaires, dan- k 4 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP dies from the embassies, deputies and peers of France with large stars and wigs like papa. She ga3'ly described her part}' to Philip ; described, that is to say, everything but her own success, which was undoubted. There were many beauties at Mrs. Hely's, but nobody fresher or prettier. The Miss Black- locks retired verj' early and in the worst possible temper. Prince Slyboots did not in the least heed their going away. His thoughts were all fixed upon little Charlotte. Charlotte's mamma saw the impression which the girl made, and was filled with a hungry joy. Good-natured Mrs. Hely complimented her on her daughter. "Thank God, she is as good as she is pretty," said the mother, I am sure speaking seriously this time regarding her daughter. Prince Slyboots danced with scarce anybody else. He raised a perfect whirlwind of com- pliments round about Charlotte. She was quite a simple per- son, and did not understand one-tenth part of what he said to her. He strewed her path with roses of poes}' : he scattered garlands of sentiment before her all the way from the ante- chamber down stairs, and so to the fly which was in waiting to take her and parents home to the boarding-house. "By George, Charlotte, I think you have smitten that fellow," cries the General, who was infinitelj' amused by young Hel}'^- — his raptures, his affectations, his long hair, and what Baynes called his l(^w dress. A slight white tape and a ruby button confined Help's neck. His hair waved over his shoulders. Bajnies had never seen such a specimen. At the mess of the stout 120th, the lads talked of their dogs, horses, and sport. A young civilian, smattering in poetry, chattering in a dozen languages, scented, smiling, perfectl}' at ease with himself and the world, was a novelt}' to the old officer. And now the Queen's birthday arrived — and that it may arrive for many scores of 3'ears ^'et to come, is, I am sure, the prayer of all of us — and with the birthday his Excellenc}" Lord Estridge's grand annual fete in honor of his sovereign. A card for their ball was left at Madame Smolensk's, for General, Mrs. and Miss Baynes ; and no doubt Monsieur Slyboots Walsing- ham Helv was the artful agent by whom the invitation was for- warded. Once more the General's veteran uniform came out from the tin-box, with its dingy epaulettes and httle cross and ribbon. His wife urged on him strongly the necessity- of hav- ing a new wig, wigs being ver}' cheap and good at Paris — but Baynes said a new wig would make his old coat look very shabb}', and a new uniform would cost more money than he would like to afford. So shabby he went de cap a pied, with a ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 5 moulting feather, a thi'eadbare suit, a tarnished wig, and a worn- out lace, sibi constans. Boots, trousers, sash, coat, wei'e all old and worse for wear, and "faith," says he, "my face follows suit." A brave, silent man was Baj'nes ; with a twinkle of humor in his lean, wrinkled face. And if Geuei-al Baynes was shabbily attired at the Embassy ball, I think I know a friend of mine who was shabb^^ too. In the daj's of his prosperity, Mr. Philip was -parcus cultor et infre- quens of balls, routs, and ladies' compan3\ Perhaps because his father was angered at Philip's neglect of his social advan- tages and indifference as to success in the world, Philip was the more neglectful and indifferent. The elder's comedj'-smiles, and solemn, h3'pocritical politeness caused scorn and revolt on the part of the younger man. Philip despised the humbug, and the world to which such humbug could be welcome. He kept aloof from tea-parties then : his evening-dress clothes served him for a long time. I cannot say how old his dress- coat was at the time of which we are writing. But he had been in the habit of respecting that garment and considering it new and handsome for many years past. Meanwhile the coat had shrunk, or its wearer had grown stouter ; and his grand em- broidered, embossed, illuminated, carved and gilt velvet dress waistcoat, too, had narrowed, had become absurdly tight and short, and I dare say was the laughing-stock of many of Philip's acquaintances, whilst he himself, poor simple fellow, was fanc3'- ing that it was a most splendid article of apparel. You know in the Palais Royal thej' hang out the most splendid reach- me-down dressing-gowns, waistcoats, and so forth. " No," thought Philip, coming out of his cheap dining-house, and swaggering along the arcades, and looking at the tailors' shops, with his hands in his pockets. " My brown velvet dress waist- coat with the gold sprigs, which I had made at college, is a much more tast}^ thing than these gaud}' ready-made articles. And my coat is old certainly, but the brass buttons are still very bright and handsome, and, in fact, it is a most becoming and gentlemanlike thing." And under this delusion the honest fellow dressed himself in his old clothes, lighted a pair of can- dles, and looked at himself with satisfaction in the looking- glass, drew on a pair of cheap gloves which he had bought, walked by the Quays, and over the Deputies' Bridge, across the Place Louis XV., and strutted up the Faubourg St. Ilonore to the Hotel of the British Embassy. A half-mile queue of car- riages was formed along the street, and of course the entrance to the hotel was magnificently illuminated. 6 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP A plague on those cheap gloves ! Why had not Philip paid three francs for a pair of gloves, instead of twenty-nine sous? Mrs. Baynes had found a capital cheap glove shop, whither poor Phil had gone in the simplicity of his heart ; and now as he went in under the grand illuminated porte-coclih-e, Philip saw that the gloves had given way at the thumbs, and that his hands appeared through the rents, as red as raw beefsteaks. It is wonderful how red hands will look through holes in white gloves. "And there's that hole in my boot, too," thought Phil ; but he had put a little ink over the seam, and so the rent was imperceptible. The coat and waistcoat were tight, and of a past age. Nevermind. The chest was broad, the arms were muscular and long, and Phil's face, in the midst of a halo of fair haiii' and flaming whiskers, looked brave, honest, and hand- some. For a while his eyes wandered fiercely and restlesslj^ all about the room from group to group ; but now — ah ! now — they were settled. They had met another pair of eyes, which lighted up with glad welcome when they beheld him. Two young cheeks mantled with a sweet blush. These w^ere Char- lotte's cheeks : and hard by them were mamma's, of a ver}' different color. But Mrs. General Baj-nes had a knowing turban on, and a set of garnets round her old neck, like goose- berries set in gold. The}' admired the rooms : the}' heard the names of the great folks who arrived, and beheld many famous personages. They made their curtsies to the ambassadress. Confusion ! With a great rip, the thumb of one of those cheap gloves of Philip's parts company from the rest of the glove, and he is ol)liged to wear it crumpled up in his hand : a dreadful mishap — for he is going to dance with Charlotte, and he will have to give his hand to the vis-a-vis. Who comes up smiling, with a low neck, with waving curls and whiskers, prett}' little hands exquisitely gloved, and tiny feet? 'Tis Walsingham Hely, lightest in the dance. Most affably does Mrs. General Baynes greet the 3'oung fellow. Very brightly and happil}" do Charlotte's ej-es glance towards her favorite partner. It is certain that poor Phil can't hope at all to dance like Hely. "And see what nice neat feet and hands he has got," sa3'S Mrs. Baj'nes. " Comme il est bien gante ! A gentleman ought to be alwaj^s well gloved." ' ' Why did you send me to the twenty-nine-sous-shop ? " says poor Phil, looking at his tattered haind-shoes and red obtruisive thumb. "Oh, you!" — (here Mrs. Baynes shrugs her yellow old Miss Charlotte and her Partners. ON HIS WAY THROUGH TPIE WORLD. 7 shoulders.) " Tuur hands would burst through any gloves. How do 3'ou do, Mr. Hely ? Is your mamma hero ? Of course she is ! What a delightful part}' she gave us ! The dear am- bassadress looks quite unwell — most pleasing manners, I am sure ; Lord Estridge, what a perfect gentleman ! " The Bayneses were just come. For what dance was Miss Ba}- nes disengaged ? ' ' As man}' as ever jon like ! " cries Charlotte, who, in fact, called Ilelj' her little dancing- master, and never thought of him except as a partner. " Oh, too much happiness ! Oh, that this could last for ever ! " sighed Hely, after a waltz, pollia, mazurka, I know not what, and fixing on Charlotte the full blaze of his beauteous blue e3'es. "• For ever ? " cries Charlotte, laughing. " I'm very fond of dancing, indeed ; and you dance beautifully ; but I don't know that I should like to dance for ever." Ere the words are over, he is whirling her round the room again. His little feet fly with sur2:)rising agilitj'. His hair floats behind him. He scatters odors as he spins. The handkerchief with which he fans his pale brow is like a cloudj' film of muslin — and poor old Philip sees with terror that his pocket-handkerchief has got three great holes in it. His nose and one eye appeared through one of the holes while Phil was wiping his forehead. It was very hot. He was very hot. He was hotter, though standing still, than young Hely who was dancing. "He! he! I compliment 3'ou on your gloves, and your handkerchief, I'm sure," sniggers Mrs. Baynes, with a toss of her turban. Has it not been said that a bull is a strong, courageous, and noble animal, but a bull in a china-shop is not in his place? "There 3'ou go. Thank you ! I wish you'd go somewhere else," cries Mrs. Baynes, in a fur}-. Poor Philip's foot has just gone through her flounce. How red is he ! how much hotter than ever ! There go Hely and Charlotte, whirling round like two opera- dancers ! PhiHp grinds his teeth, he buttons his coat across his cliest. How very tiglit it feels ! How savagely his eyes glare! Do y<)ung men stiU look savage and solemn at bails? An ingenuous young Englishman ought to do that duty of dancing, of course. Society calls upon him. But I doubt whether he ought to look cheerful during the performance, or flippantly engage in so grave a matter. As Charlotte's sweet round face beamed smiles upon Philip over Hely's shoulders, it looked so happy that he never thought of grudging her her pleasure : and happy he might have re- mained in this contemplation, regarding not the circle of dan- cers who were galloping and whirling on at their usual swift 8 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP rate, but her, who was the centre of all joy and pleasure for him; — when suddenly a shrill voice was heard behind him, crying, " Get out of the way, hang you ! " and suddenly there bounced against him Ringwood Twjsden, pulling Miss Flora Trotter round the room, one of the most powerful and intrepid dancers of that season at Paris. They hurtled past Philip ; they shot him forward against a pillar. He heard a screech, an oath, aud another loud laugh from Twysden, and beheld the scowls of Miss Trotter as that rapid creature bumped at length into a place of safet3\ I told you about Philip's coat. It was ver}^ tight. The daylight had long been struggling to make an entry at the seams. As he staggered up against the wall, crack ! went a great hole at his back ; and crack ! one of his gold buttons came off, leaving a rent in his chest. It was in those days when gold buttons still lingered on the breasts of some brave men, and we have said simple Philip still thought his coat a fine one. There was not only a rent of the seam, there was not only a burst button, but there was also a rip in Philip's rich cut-velvet waistcoat, with the gold sprigs, which he thought so handsome — a ffreat heart-rending scar. What was to be done ? Retreat was necessar3\ He told Miss Charlotte of the hurt he had received, whose face wore a very comical look of pity at his misadventure — he covered part of his wound with his gibus hat — and he thought he would try and make his way out by the garden of the hotel, which, of course, was illuminated, and bright, and crowded, but not so very bright and crowded as the saloons, galleries, supper-rooms, and halls of gilded light in which the company, for the most part, assembled. So our poor wounded friend wandered into the garden, over which the moon was shining with the most blank indifference at the fiddling, feasting, and party-colored lamps. He says that his mind was soothed b}^ the aspect of yonder placid moon and twinkling stars, and that he had altogether forgotten his trumper^^ little accident and torn coat and waistcoat : but I doubt about the entire truth of this statement, for there have been some occasions when he, Mr. Phihp, has mentioned the subject, and owned that he was mortified and in a rage. Well. He went into the garden : and was calming himself by contemplating the stars, when, just by that fountain where there is Pradier's little statue of — Moses in the Bulrushes, let us say — round which there was a beautiful row of illuminated lamps, lighting up a great coronal of flowers, which my dear ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 9 readers are at libert}' to select and arrange according to their own exquisite taste ; — near tliis little fountain he found three gentlemen talking together. The high voice of one Philip could hear, and knew from old days. Ringwood Twysden, Esquire, alwaj's liked to talk and to excite himself with other persons' liquor. He had been drinking the sovereign's health with great assiduity, I suppose, and was exceedingl}' loud and happy. With Ringwood was Mr. Woolcomb, whose countenance the lamps lit up in a fine lurid manner, and whose eyeballs gleamed in the twilight : and the third of the group was our 30ung friend Mr. Lowndes. "I owed him one, you see, Lowndes," said Mr. Ringwood Twysden. "I hate the fellow! Hang him, alwa3"s did! I saw the great hulkin' brute standin' there. Couldn't help my- self. Give you my honor, couldn't help myself. I just drove Miss Trotter at him — sent her elbow well into him, and spun him up against the wall. The buttons cracked off the beg- gar's coat, begad! What business had he there, hang him? Gad, sir, be made a cannon off an old woman in blue, and went into . . . . " Here Mr. Ringwood's speech came to an end : for his cousin stood before him, grim and biting his moustache. " Hullo ! " piped the other. " Who wants 5-ou to overhear my conversation ? Dammy, I say ! I .... " Philip put out that hand wath the torn glove. The glove was in a dreadful state of disruption now. He worked the hand well into his kinsman's neck, and twisting Ringwood round into a proper position, brought that poor old broken boot so to bear upon the proper quarter, that Ringwood was dis- charged into the little font, and lighted amidst the flowers, and the water, and the oil-lamps, and made a dreadful mess and splutter amongst them. And as for Philip's coat, it was torn worse than ever. I don't know how many of the brass buttons had revolted and parted company from the poor old cloth, which cracked and split, and tore under the agitation of that beating angry bosom. I blush as I think of Mr. Firmin in this ragged state, a great rent all across his back, and his prostrate enemy lying howling in the water, amidst the sputtering, crashing oil-lamps at his feet. When Cinderella quitted her first ball, just after the clock struck twelve, we all know how shabby she looked. Philip was a still more disreputable object when he slunk away. I don't know b}- what side door Mr. Lowndes eliminated him. He also benevolently took charge of Philip's kinsman and 10 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP antagonist, Mr. Ringwood Twysden. Mr. Twysden's hands, coat-tails, &c., were verj" much singed and scalded by the oil, and cut b}' the broken glass, which was all extracted at the Beaujon Hospital, but not without much suffering on the part of the patient. But though young Lowndes spoke up for Phili[), in describing the scene (I fear not without laughtei*), his Excel- lency' caused Mr. Firmin's name to be erased from his partj'' lists : and I am sure no sensible man will defend Philip's con duct for a moment. Of this lamentable fracas which occurred in the Hotel Gar- den, Miss Baynes and her parents had no knowledge for a while. Charlotte was too much occupied with her dancing, which she pursued with all her might ; papa was at cards with some sober male and female veterans, and mamma was looking with delight at her daughter, whom the young gentlemen of many embassies were charmed to choose for a partner. When Lord Headbur}-, Lord Estridge's son, was presented to Miss Baynes, her mother was so elated that she was ready to dance too. I do not env3' Mrs. Major MacWhirter, at Tours, the peru- sal of that immense manuscript in which her sister recorded the events of the ball. Plere was Charlotte, beautiful, elegant, accomplished, admired everywhere^ with 3'oung men, 3'oung noble- men of immense property' and expectations, wild about Iwr ; and engaged by a promise to a rude, ragged, presumptuous, ill-bred 3'Oung man, without a penny in the world — wasn't it provok- ing? Ah, poor Philip ! How that little sour, yellow mother-in- law elect did scowl at him when he came with rather a shamefaced look to pay his dutj' to his sweetheart on the da^' after the ball ! Mrs. Baynes had caused her daughter to dress with extra smart- ness, had forbidden the poor child to go out, and coaxed her, and wheedled her, and dressed her with I know not what orna- ments of her own, with a fond expectation that Lord Headburj-, that the yellow young Spanish attache, that the sprightly Prussian secretary, and Walsingham Hel^', Charlotte's partners at the ball, would certainlj' call ; and the onl}^ equipage that appeared at Madame Smolensk's gate was a hack cab, which drove up at evening, and out of which poor Philip's well-known tattered boots came striding. Such a fond mother as Mrs. Bajnes may well have been out of humor. As for Phihp, he was unusually' sh^' and modest. He did not know in what light his friends would regard his escapade of the previous evening. He had been sitting at home all the morning in state, and in company- with a Polish colonel, who lived in his hotel, and whom Philip had selected to be his second ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 11 in case the battle of the previous night should have any suite. He had left that colonel in company with a bag of tobacco and an order for unlimited beer, whilst he himself ran up to catch a glimpse of his beloved. The Bayneses had not heard of the battle of the previous night. The}' were full of the ball, of Lord Estridge's affabilit}', of the Golconda ambassador's dia- monds, of the appearance of the royal princes who honored the fete, of the most fashionable Paris talk in a word. Philip was scolded, snubbed, and coldly received by mamma; but he was used to that sort of treatment, and greatly relieved by finding that she was unacquainted with his own disorderly behavior. He did not tell Charlotte about the quarrel : a knowledge of it might alarm the little maiden ; and so for once our friend was discreet, and held his tongue. But if he had any influence with the editor of GaUgnani's Messenger, wh}' did he not entreat the conductors of that ad- mirable journal to forego all mention of the fracas at the Embassy ball? Two da^'s after the fete, I am sorry to say, there appeared a paragraph in the paper narrating the circum- stances of the fight. And the guilty Philip found a cop}^ of that paper on the table before Mrs. Baynes and the General when he came to the Champs Elysees according to his wont. Behind that paper sat Major-General Baynes, C.B., looking confused, and beside him his lady frowning like Rhadamanthus. But no Charlotte was in the room. CHAPTER II. INFANDI DOLORES. Philip's heart beat very quickly at seeing this grim pair, and the guilty newspaper before them, on which Mrs. Baynes' lean right hand was laid. "So, sir," she cried, "you still honor us with jour compan}' : after distinguishing yourself as you did the night before last. Fighting and boxing like a porter at his Excellency's ball. It's disgusting ! I have no other word for it : disgusting ! " And here I suppose she nudged the General, or gave him some look or signal by which he knew he was to come into action ; for Baynes straightway advanced and delivered his fire. 12 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP • "Faith, sir, more bub-ub-blackguard conduct I never heard of in my Ufe ! That's the only word for it : the only word for it," cries Baynes. " The General knows what blackguard conduct is, and yours is that conduct, Mr. Firmin ! It is all over the town : is talked of everywhere : will be in all the newspapers. When his lord- ship heard of it, he was furious. Never, never, will you be admitted into the Embassy again, after disgracing yourself as you have done," cries the lad}'. "Disgracing yourself, that's the word. — And disgraceful your conduct was, begad ! " cries the officer second in command. "You don't know my provocation," pleaded poor Philip. "As I came up to him Twysden was boasting that he had struck me — and — and laughing at me." "And a pretty figure you were to come to a ball. Who could help laughing, sir ? " " He bragged of having insulted me, and I lost my temper, and struck him in return. The thing is done and can't be helped," growled PhiUp. "Strike a little man before ladies! Very brave indeed ! " cries the lady. " Mrs. Baynes ! " "I call it cowardly. In the army we consider it cowardly to quarrel before ladies," continues Mrs. General B. "I have waited at home for two days to see if he wanted an}^ more," groaned Philip. " Oh, yes ! After insulting and knocking a little man down, you want to murder him ! And you call that the conduct of a Christian — the conduct of a gentleman ! " "The conduct of a ruffian, by George!" says General Ba3'nes. "It was prudent of jou to choose a verj' little man, and to have the ladies within hearing ! " continues Mrs. Baj'nes. " WJiy, I wonder 3'ou haven't beaten m}- dear children next. Don't 3'ou, General, wonder he has not knocked down our poor bo3^s? They are quite small. And it is evident that ladies being present is no hindrance to Mr. Firmin's boxing-matches." "The conduct is gross and unworthy of a gentleman," reiterates the General. "You hear what that man sa3's — that old man, who never sa3^s an unkind word ? That veteran, who has been in twent3' battles, and never struck a man before women yet? Did 3'OU, Charles? He has given 3'OU his opinion. He has called 3'OU a name which I won't soil my lips with repeating, but which ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 13 3'ou deserve. And do you suppose, sir, that I will give my blessed child to a man who has acted as you have acted, and been called a ? Charles ! General ! I will go to ray grave rather than see my daughter given up to such a man ! " "Good heavens!" said Philip, his knees trembling under him. " You don't mean to .say that you intend to go from your word, and — " "Oh! you threaten about money, do you? Because your father was a cheat, you intend to try and make us suffer, do you?" shrieks the lady. "A man who strikes a little man before ladies will commit any act of cowardice, I dare say. And if you wish to beggar my family, because your father was a rogue — " " My dear ! " interposes the General. "Wasn't he a rogue, Baynes? Is there any denying it? Haven't you said so a hundred and a hundred times ? A nice family to marry into ! No, Mr. Firmin ! You may insult me as you please. Y'^ou may strike little men before ladies. You may lift your great wicked hand against that poor old man, in one of your tipsy fits : but I know a mother's love, a mother's duty — and I desire that we see you no more." " Great Powers ! " cries Philip, aghast. " You don't mean to — to separate me from Charlotte, General? I have your word. You encouraged me. I shall break my heart. I'll go down on my knees to that fellow. I'll — oh ! — you don't mean what you say ! " And, scared and sobbing, the poor fellow clasped his strong hands together, and appealed to the General. Baj-nes was under his wife's eye. "I think," he said, "your conduct has been confoundedly bad, disorderly, and ungentlemanlike. You can't support my child, if you marry her. And if you have the least spark of honor in you, as you say you have, it is you, Mr. Firmin, who will break off the match, and release the poor child from certain misery. By George, sir, how is a man who fights and quarrels in a noble- man's ball-room to get on in the world? How is a man, who can't afford a decent coat to his back, to keep a wife? The more I have known you, the more I have felt that the engage- ment would bring misery upon my child ! Is that what you want? A man of honor — " (" Honor!" in italics, from Mrs. Baynes.) "Hush, my dear! — A man of spirit would give her up, sir. What have you to offer but beggary, by George? Do you want my girl to come home to your lodgings, and mend your clothes ? " — "I think I put that point pretty well, Bunch, 14 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP my boy," said the General, talking of the matter afterwards- " I hit him there, sir." The old soldier did indeed strike his adversary' there with a vital stab. Philip's coat, no doubt, was ragged, and his purse but light. He had sent money to his fiither out of his small stock. There were one or two servants in the old house in Parr Street, who had been left without their wages, and a part of these debts Phihp had paid. He knew his own violence of temper, and his unruly independence. He thought very humbly of his talents, and often doubted of his capacity to get on in the world. In his less hopeful moods, he trembled to think that he might be bringing poverty and unhappiness upon his dearest little maiden, for whom he would joyfully have sacrificed his blood, his life. Poor Philip sank back sickening and fainting almost under Baynes's words. ' ' You'll let me — you'll let me see her ? " he gasped out. "She's unwell. She is in her bed. She can't appear to- da}'^ ! " cried the mother. " Oh, Mrs. Baynes ! I must — I must see her," Philip said ; and fairly broke out in a sob of pain. "This is the man that strikes men before women!" said Mrs. Baynes. " Very courageous, certainl^M" "By George, Eliza!" the General cried out, starting up, " it's too bad — " "Infirm of purpose, give me the daggers!" Philip yelled out, whilst describing the scene to his biogi'apher in after days. " Macbeth would never have done the murders but for that little quiet woman at his side. When the Indian prisoners are killed, the squaws always invent the worst tortures. You should have seen that fiend and her livid smile, as she was drilling her gimlets into my heart. I don't know how I offended her. I tried to like her, sir. I had humbled mjself before her. I went on her errands. I pla^^ed cards with her. I sat and listened to her dreadful stories about Barrackpore and the Governor-General. I wallowed in the dust before her, and she hated me. I can see her face now : her cruel 5'ellow face, and her sharp teeth, and her gray ejes. It was the end of August, and pouring a storm that day. I suppose m}^ poor child was cold and suffering up stairs, for I heard the poking of a fire in her little room. When I hear a fire poked over- head now — twenty years after — the whole thing comes back to me ; and I suff"er over again that infernal agony. Were I to live a thousand years, I could not forgive her. I never did , ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 15 her a wrong, but I can't forgive her. Ah, my heaven, how that woman tortured me ! " "I think I know one or two similar instances," said Mr. Firmin's biographer. "You are alvva3's speaking ill of women," said Mr. Firmin's biographer's wife. "No, thank heaven!" said the. gentleman. "1 tbink I know some of whom I never thought or spoke a word of evil. My dear, will you give Philip some more tea?" and with this the gentleman's narrative is resumed. The rain was beating down the avenue as Philip went into the street. He looked up at Charlotte's window : but there was no sign. There was a flicker of a fire there. The poor girl had the fever, and was shuddering in her little room, weep- ing and sobbing on Madame Smolensk's shoulder. "Que c'etait pitie a voir," Madaine said. Her mother had told her she must break from Philip ; had invented and spoken a hun- dred calumnies against him ; declared that he never cared for her; that he had loose principles, and was for ever haunting theatres and bad company. "It's not true, mother, it's not true ! " the little girl had cried, flaming up in revolt for a mo- ment : but she soon subsided in tears and misery, utterly'' broken by the thought of her calamity. Then her father had been brought to her, who had been made to believe some of the stories against poor Philip, and who was commanded by his wife to impress them upon the girl. And Baynes tried to obey orders ; but he was scared and cruelly pained by the sight of liis little maiden's grief and sufl'ering. He attempted a weak expostulation, and began a speech or two. But his heart failed him. He retreated behind his wife. She never hesitated in speech or resolution, and her language became more bitter as her ally faltered. Philip was a drunkard ; Philip was a prod- igal ; Philip was a frequenter of dissolute haunts and loose companions. She had the best authority for what she said^ Was not a mother anxious for the welfare of her own child ? ("Begad, you don't suppose your own mother would do any- thing that was not for j'our welfare, now?" broke in the Gen- eral, feebly.) "Do you think if he had not been drunk he would have ventured to commit such an atrocious outrage as that at the Embassy? And do you suppose I want a drunkard and a beggar to marry my daughter? Your ingratitude. Char- lotte, is horrible ! " cries mamma. And poor Piiilip, charged with drunkenness, had dined for seventeen sous, with a caralbn of beer, and had counted on a supper that night by little Char- 16 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP lotte's side : so, while ttie child lay sobbing on her bed, the mother stood OA^er her, and lashed her. For General Baynes, — a brave man, a kind-hearted man, — to have to look on whilst this torture was inflicted, must have been a hard duty. He could not eat the boarding-house dinner, though he took his place at the table at the sound of the dismal bell. Madame herself was not present at the meal ; and you know poor Char- lotte's place was vacant. Her father went up stairs, and paused ' by her bedroom door, and listened. He heard murmurs within, and Madame's voice, as he stumbled at the door, cried harshly, " Qui est la?" He entered. Madame was sitting on the bed, with Charlotte's head on her lap. The thick brown tresses were falling over the child's white night-dress, and she lay almost motionless, and sobbing feebly. " Ah, it is you. Gen- eral ! " said Madame. "You have done a prett}- work, sir!" "Mamma sa3^s, won't you take something, Charlotte dear?" faltered the old man. " Will you leave her tranquil?" said Madame, with her deep voice. The father retreated. When Madame went out presently to get that panacea, une tasse de the, for her poor little friend, she found the old gentleman seated on a portmanteau at his door. " Is she — is she a little better now? " he sobbed out. Madame shrugged her shoulders, and looked down on the veteran with superb scorn. ' ' Vous n'etes qn'un poltron. General ! " she said, and swept down stairs. Baynes was beaten indeed. He was suffering horrible pain. He was quite unmanned, and tears were trickling, down his old cheeks as he sat wretchedly there in the dark. His wife did not leave the table as long as dinner and dessert lasted. She i"ead Galignani resolutely afterwards. She told the chil- dren not to make a noise, as their sister was up stairs with a bad headache. But she revoked that statement as it were (as she revoked at cards presently), by asking the Miss Bolderos to plaj- one of their duets. I wonder whether Philip walked up and down before the house that night? Ah ! it was a dismal night for all of them : a racking pain, a cruel sense of shame, throbbed under Ba3'nes's cotton tassel ; and as for Mrs. Baynes, I hope there was not much rest or comfort under her old nightcap. Madame passed the greater part of the night in a great chair in Charlotte's bed- room, where the poor child heard the hours toll one after the other, and found no comfort in the dreary rising of the dawn. At a very early hour of the dismal rainy morning, what made poor little Charlotte fling her arms round Madame, and ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 17 cry out, "Ah, que je vous aime ! ah, que vous etes bonne, Madame!" and smile almost happily through her tears? In the first place, Madame went to Charlotte's dressing-table, whence she took a pair 'of scissors. Then the little maid sat up on her bed. with her brown hair clustering over her shoul- ders ; and Madame took a lock of it, and cut a thick curl ; and kissed poor little Charlotte's red eyes ; and laid her pale cheek on the pillow, and carefull}^ covered her ; and bade her, with many tender words, to go to sleep. " If you are ver}- good, and will go to sleep, he shall have it in half an hour," Madame said. " And as I go down stairs, I will tell Fran^oise to have some tea ready for 3'ou when you ring." And this promise, and the thought of what Madame was going to do, comforted Charlotte in her misery. And with man}" fond, fond prayers for Philip, and consoled by thinking, "Now she must have gone the greater part of the way ; now she must be with him ; now he knows I will never, never' love any but him," she fell asleep at length on her moistened pillow : and was smiling in her sleep, and I dare say dreaming of Philip, when the noise of the fall of a piece of furniture roused her, and she awoke out of her dream to see the grim old mother, in her white night- cap and white dressing-gown, standing by her side. Nevermind. "She has seen him now. She has told him now," was the child's very first thought as her e^es fairly opened. " He knows that I never, never will think of any but him." She felt as if she was actually there in Philip's room, speaking herself to him ; murmuring vows which her fond lips had whispered man}' and many a time to her lover. And now he knew she would never break them, she was consoled and felt more courage. " You have had some sleep, Charlotte?" asks Mrs. Baynes. "Yes, I have been asleep, mamma." As she speaks, she feels under the pillow a little locket containing — what? I suppose a scrap of Mr. PhiUp's lank hair. " I hope you are in a less wicked frame of mind than when I left you last night," continues the matron. "Was I wicked for loving Philip? Then I am wicked still, mamma ! " cries the child, sitting up in her bed. And she clutches that little lock of hair which nestles under her pillow. " What nonsense, child ! This is what 3'ou get out of your stupid novels. I tell you he does not think about you. He is quite a reckless, careless libertine." "Yes, so reckless and careless that we owe him the bread we eat. He doesn't think of me ! Doesn't he ? Ah — " Here 27 18 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP she paused as a clock in a neighboring chamber began to strike. '"'Now," she thought, "he has got nn' message!" A smile dawned over her face. She sank back on her pillow, turning her head from her mother. She kiss'ed the locket, and mur- mured : " Not think of me ! Don't you, don't you, mN^ dear ! " She did not heed the woman by her side, hear her voice, or for a moment seem aware of her presence. Charlotte was away in Philip's room ; she saw him talking with her messenger ; heard his voice so deep and so sweet ; knew that the promises he had spoken he never would break. With gleaming eyes and flushing cheeks she looked at her mother, her enem}-. She held her talisman locket and pressed it to her heart. No, she would never be untrue to him ! No, he would never, never desert her ! And as Mrs. Baj'nes looked at the honest indignation beaming in the child's face, she read Charlotte's revolt, defiance, perhaps victory. The meek child who never before had questioned an order, or formed a wish which she would not sacrifice at her mother's order, was now in arms asserting independence. But I should think mamma is not going to give up the command after a single act of revolt ; and that she will try more attempts than one to cajole or coerce her rebel. Meanwhile let Fancy leave the talisman locket nestling on Charlotte's little heart (in which soft shelter methinks it were pleasant to linger). Let her wrap a shawl round her, and affix to her feet a pair of stout goloshes ; let her walk rapidly through the muddy Champs Elysees, where, in this inclement season, only a few policemen and artisans are to be found moving. Let her pay a halfpenny at the Pont des Invalides, and so march stoutly along the quad's, by the Chamber of Deputies, where as yet deputies assemble : and trudge along the river side, until she reaches Seine Street, into which, as you all know, the Rue Poussin debouches. This was the road brave Madame Smolensk took on a gusty, rainy autumn morning, and on foot, for five-france pieces were scai-ce with the good woman. Be- fore the " Hotel Poussin" (a/«, qiCon y etait bieu a vingt ans !) is a little painted wicket which opens, ringing, and then there is the passage, you know, with the stair leading to the upper regions, to Monsieur Philippe's room, which is on the first floor, as is that of Bouchard, the painter, who has his atelier over the way. A bad painter is Bouchard, but a worthy friend, a cheery companion, a modest, amiable gentleman. And a rare good fellow is Laberge of the second floor, the poet from Carcassonne, who pretends to be studying law, but whose heart is with the Muses, and whose talk is of Victor Hugo and Alfred de Musset, ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 19 whose verses he will repeat to all comers. Near Laberge (I think I have heard Philip say) lived Eseasse, a Southern man too — a capitalist — a clerk in a bank, quoi ! — whose apart- ment was decorated sumptuouslj' with his own furniture, who had Spanish wine and sausages in cupboards, and a bag of dollars for a friend in need. Is Eseasse alive still? Philip Firmin wonders, and that old colonel, who lived on the same floor, and who had been a prisoner in England? W^hat won- derful descriptions that Colonel Dujarret had of Ics Meess An- glaises and their singularities of dress and behavior ! Though conquered and a prisoner, what a conqueror and enslaver he was. when in our country ! You see, in his rough way, Philip used to imitate these people to his friends, and we almost fancied we could see the hotel before us. It was very clean ; it was very cheap ; it was very dark ; it was very cheerful ; — capital coffee and bread-and-butter for breakfast for fifteen sous ; capital bedroom au premier for thirt}' francs a month — dinner if you would for I forget how little, and a merry talk round the pipes and the grog afterwards — the grog, or the modest eau sucree. Here Colonel Dujarret recorded his victories over both sexes. Here Colonel Tymowski sighed over his en- slaved Poland. Tymowski was the second who was to act for Philip, in case the Ringwood Twysden affair should have come to any violent conclusion. Here Laberge bawled poetry to Philip, who no doubt in his turn confided to the young French- man his own hopes and passion. Deep into the night he would sit talking of his love, of her goodness, of her ])eauty, of her innocence, of her dreadful mother, of her good old father. Que s(;ais-je .? Have we not said that when this man had anything on his mind, straightway he bellowed forth his opinions to the universe? Philip, awa}' from his love, would roar out her praises for hours and hours to Laberge, until the candles l)nrned down, until the hour for j-est was come and could be delayed no longer. Then he M^ould hie to bed with a prayer for licr ; and the very instant he awoke begin to think of her, and bles.s her, and thank God lor her love. Poor as Mr. Philip was, yet as the possessor of health, content, honor, and that priceless pure jewel the girl's love, I think we will not pity him much ; though, on the night when he received his dismissal from Mrs. Baynes, he must have passed an awful time, to be sure. Toss, Philip, on 3-our bed of pain, and doubt, and fear. Toll, heavy hours, from night till dawn. Ah ! 'twas ^ a wear}- night through which two sad young hearts heard you tolling. At a pretty early hour the various occupants of the crib at 20 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP the Rue Poussin used to appear in the cling}' little salle-a-man- ger, and partake of the. breakfast there provided. Monsieur Menou, in his shirt-sleeves, shared and distributed the meal. Madame Menou, with a Madras handkerchief round her griz- zling head, laid down the smoking coffee on the shining oil-cloth, whilst each guest helped himself out of a little museum of nap- kins to his own particular towel. The room was small : the breakfast was not fine : the guests who partook of it were certainly not remarkable for the luxury of clean linen ; but Philip — who is many years older now than when he dwelt in this hotel, and is not pinched for money at all you will be pleased to hear, (and between ourselves has become rather a gourmand,) — declares he was a very happy j'outh at this hum- ble " Hotel Poussin," and sighs for the days when he was sigh- ing for Miss Charlotte. Well, he has passed a dreadful night of gloom and terror. I doubt that he has bored Laberge very much with his tears and despondency. And now morning has come, and, as he is having his breakfast with one or more of the before-named worthies, the little boy-of- all- work enters, grinning, his plumet under his arm, and cries " Une dame pour M. Philippe ! " " Une dame ! " says the French colonel, looking up from his paper. " Allez, mauvais sujet ! " "Grand Dieu ! what has happened?" cries Philip, running forward, as he recognizes Madame's tall figure in the passage. They go up to his room, I suppose, regardless of the grins and sneers of the little boy with the plumet^ who aids the maid-ser- vant to make the beds ; and who thinks Monsieur Philippe has a Nery elderlj* acquaintance. Philip closes the door upon his visitor, who looks at him with so much hope, kindness, confidence in her eyes, that the poor fellow is encouraged almost ere she begins to speak. "Yes, you have reason; I come from the little person," Madame Smolensk said. " The means of resisting that poor dear angel! She has passed a sad night! What? You, too, have not been to bed, poor young man ! " Indeed Philip had only thrown himself on his bed, and had kicked there, and had groaned there, and had tossed there ; and had tried to read, and, I dare say, remembered afterwards, with a strange in- terest, the book he read, and that other thought which was throbbing in his brain all the time whilst he was reading, and whilst the wakeful hours went wearily tolling b}^. " No, in effect," says poor Philip, rolling a dismal cigarette ; " the night has not been too fine. And she has suffered too? { ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 21 Heaven bless her ! " And then Madame Smolensk told how the little dear angel had cried all the night long, and how the Smolensk had not succeeded in comforting her, until she prom- ised she would go to Philip, and tell him that his Charlotte would be his for ever and ever ; that she never could think of any man but him ; that he was the best, and the dearest, and the bravest, and the truest Philip, and that she did not believe one word of those wicked stories told against him b}' — " Hold, Monsieur Philippe, I suppose Madame la Generale has been talking about ycm, and loves you no more," cried Madame Smolensk. "We other women are assassins — assassins, see you ! But Madame la Generale went too far with the little maid. She is an obedient little maid, the dear Miss ! — trem- bling before her mother, and always read}' to yield — only now her spirit is roused ; and she is yours and yours only. The little dear, gentle child ! Ah, how pretty she was, leaning on my shoulder. I held her there — 3es, there, m^' poor gargon, and I cut this from her neck, and brought it to thee. Come, embrace me. "Weep ; that does good, Philip. I love thee well. Go — and thy little — it is an angel!" And so, in the hour of their pain, myriads of manly hearts have found woman's love ready to soothe their anguish. Leaving to Philip that thick curling lock of brown hair, (from a head where now, mayhap, there is a line or two of matron silver,) this Samaritan plods her way back to her own house, where her own cares await her. But though the way is long, Madame's step is lighter now, as she thinks how Char- lotte at the journey's end is waiting for news of Philip ; and I suppose there are more kisses and embraces, when the good soul meets with the little suffering girl, and tells her how Phili[) will remain for ever true and faithful ; and how true love must come to a happy ending ; and how she, Smolensk, will do all in her power to aid, comfort, and console her 3'oung friends. As for the writer of Mr. Philip's memoirs, you see I never try to make any concealments. I have told 3'ou, all along, that Char- lotte and Philip are married, and I believe the}' are happy. But it is certain that they suffered dreadfull}' at this time of their lives ; and m}' wife sa3's that Charlotte, if she alludes to the period and the trial, speaks as though they had both under- gone some hideous operation, the remembi-ance of which for ever causes a pang to the memory. So, m}- j'oung lady, will 3'ou have your trial one day, to be borne, pray heaven, with a meek spirit. Ah, how surely the turn comes to all of us ! Look at Madame Smolensk at her luncheon-table, this day 22 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP after her visit to Philip at his lodging, after comforting little Charlotte in her pain. How brisk she is ! How good-natured ! How she smiles ! How she speaks to all her company, and carves for her guests ! You do not suppose slie has no griefs and cares of her own ? You know better. I dare say she is thinking of her creditors ; of her poverty ; of that accepted bill which will come due next week, and so forth. The KSamaritan who rescues 30U, most likely, has been robbed and has bled in his daj-, and it is a wounded arm that bandages yours when bleeding. If Anatole, the boy who scoured the plain at the " Hotel Poussin," with his plumet in his jacket-pocket, and his slippers soled with scrubbing brushes, saw the embrace between Philip and his good friend, I believe, in his experience at that hotel, he never witnessed a transaction more honorable, generous, and blameless. Put what construction you will on the business, Anatole, you little imp of mischief! your mother never gave 3'ou a kiss more tender than that which Madame Smolensk bestowed on Philip — than that wliich she gave Philip — than that which she carried back from liim and faithfull}' placed on poor little Charlotte's pale round cheek. The world is full of love and pit^', I say. Had there been less suffering, there would have been less kindness. I, for one, almost wish to be ill again, so that the friends who succored me might once more come to my rescue. To poor little wounded Charlotte in her bed, our friend the mistress of the boarding-house brought back inexpressible com- fort. Whatever might betide, Philip would never desert her ! " Think 3'ou I would ever have gone on such an embassy for a French girl, or interfered between her and her parents?" Ma- dame asked. "Never, never! But yoix and Monsieur Phi- lippe are already betrothed before heaven ; and I should despise you, Charlotte, I should despise him, were eitlier to draw back." This little point being settled in Miss Cliarlotte's mind, I can fancy she is immensely soothed and comforted ; that hope and courage settle in her heart ; that the color comes back to her 3'oung cheeks ; that she can come and join her family as she did ^-esterda}-. " I told 3-ou she never cared about him," says Mrs. Baynes to her husband. "Faith, no: she can't have cared for him much," sa3's Ba3'nes, with some- thing of a sorrow that his girl should be so light-minded. But 3'Ou and I, who have been behind the scenes, who have peeped into Philip's bedroom and behind poor Charlotte's modest cur- tains, know that the girl had revolted fi'om her parents ; and so children will if the authority exercised over them is too t3'ran- ON^ HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 23 aical or unjust. Gentle Charlotte, who scarce ever resisted, was aroused and in rebellion : honest Charlotte, who used to speak all her thoughts, now hid them, and deceived father and mother ; — 3'es, deceived : — what a confession to make regard- '\a ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 55 Eliza Baynes cowered in silence. Mac, the two sisters, and, I think, Colonel Bunch (but on this point my informant, Philip, cannot be sure) were having a dreary rubber when the General came in. Mrs. B. knew b}' the General's face that he had been having recourse to alcoholic stimulus. But she dared not speak. A tiger in a jungle was not more savage than Baynes sometimes. "Where's Char ? " he asked in his dreadful, his Bluebeard voice. " Char was gone to bed," said mamma, sorting her trumps. " Ilm ! Augoost, Odevee, Osho ! " Did P^liza Baynes interfere, though she knew he had had enough ? As soon interfere with a tiger, and tell him he had eaten enough Sepo}'. After Lad}' Macbeth had induced Mac to go through that business with Duncan, depend upon it she was very deferential and respectful to her general. No groans, praters, remorses could avail to bring his late majesty back to life again. As for you,- old man, though your deed is done, it is not past recalling. Though you have withdrawn from 3'our word on a sordid money pretext ; made two hearts miserable, stabbed cruellj' that one which you love best in the world ; acted with wicked ingratitude towards a young man, who has been nobly forgiving towards you and 3'ours ; and are suffering with rage and remorse, as you own your crime to yourself; — your deed is not past recalling as yet. You ma}' soothe that anguish, and dry those tears. It is but an act of resolution on your part, and a Arm resumption of your marital authority. Mrs. Baynes, after ker crime, is quite hum- ble and gentle. She has half murdered her child, and stretched Philip on an infernal rack of torture ; but she is quite civil to everybody at Madame's house. Not one word does she say respecting Mrs. Colonel Bunch's outbreak of the night before. She talks to sister Emily about Paris, the fashions, and Emily's walks on the Boulevard and the Palais Ro3'a] with her Major. She bestows ghastly smiles upon sundry lodgers at table. She thanks Augoost when he serves her at dinner — and says, " Ah, Madame, que le boof est bong aujourdhui, rien que j'aime comme le potofou." Oh, you old hypocrite ! But you know I, for my part, always disliked the woman, and said her good humor was more detestable than her anger. You hypocrite ! I say again : — ay, and avow that there were other hypocrites at the table, as 3'ou shall presently hear. When Baynes got an opportunity of speaking unobserved, as he thought, to Madame, you may be sure the guilty wretch asked her how his little Charlotte was. Mrs. Baynes trumped her partner's best heart at that moment, but pretended to ob- serve or overhear nothing. "She goes better — she sleeps," 56 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Madame said. " Mr. the Doctor Martin has commanded her a cahning potion." And what if I were to tell you that some- body had taken a little letter from Charlotte, and actually had given fifteen sous to a Savoyard youth to convey that letter to somebody else ? What if I were to tell you that the party to whom that letter was addressed, straightway wrote an answer . — directed to Madame de Smolensk, of course? I know it was very wrong ; ])ut I suspect Philip's prescription did quite as much good as Doctor Martin's, and don't intend to be very angiy with Madame for consulting the unlicensed practitioner. Don't preach to me, madam, about morality, and dangerous examples set to young people. Even at your present mature age, and with j'our dear daughters around you, if your lad3'ship goes to hear the " Barber of Seville," on which side are your sympathies — on Dr. Bartolo's, or Miss Rosina's? Although, then, Mrs. Baj-nes was most respectful to her husband, and by many grim blandishments, humble appeals, and forced humiliations, strove to conciliate and soothe him, the General turned a dark, lowering face upon the partner of his existence : her dismal smiles were no longer pleasing to him : he returned curt " Ohs ! ^' and " Ahs ! " to her remarks. When Mrs. Hely and her son and her daughter drove up in their famil}' coach to pa}^ 3'et a second visit to the Baynes family, the General flew in a passion, and cried, "Bless my soul, Eliza, 5'ou can't tkink of receiving visitors, with our poor child sick in the next room ? It's inhuman ! " The scared woman ventured on no remonstrances. She w^as so frightened that she did not attempt to scold the younger children. She took a piece of work, and sat amongst them, furtively weeping. Their artless queries and unseasonable laughter stabbed and punished the matron. You see people do wrong, though they are long past fifty j-ears of age. It is not onl^' the scholars, but the ushers, and the head-master himself, who sometimes deserve a chastisement. I, for my part, hope to remember this sweet truth, though I live into the year 1900. To those other ladies boarding at Madame's establishment, to Mrs. Mac and Mrs. Colonel Bunch, though they had de- clared against him, and expressed their opinions in the frankest way on the night of the battle royal, the General was provok- ingly polite and amiable. The}' had said, but twent3'-four hours since, that the General was a brute ; and Lord Chester- field could not have been more polite to a lovelj^ .young duchess than was Ba3'nes to these matrons next da}'. You have heard how Mrs. Mao had a strong desire to possess a new Paris bon- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 57 net, so that she might appear with proper lustre among the ladies on the promenade at Tours? Major and Mrs. Mac and • Mrs. Bunch talked of going to the Palais Royal (where Mac- Whirter said he had remarked some uncommonly neat things, by George ! at the corner shop under the glass gallery). On this, Baynes started up, and said he would accompany his friends, adding, " You know, Emily, I promised you a hat ever so long ago ! " And those four went away together, and not one offer did Baynes make to his wife to join the party ; though her best bonnet, poor thing, was a dreadfully old performance, with moulting feathers, rumpled ribbons, tarnished flowers, and lace bought in St. Martin's Alley months and months before. ' Emily, to be sure, safd to her sister, ^' Eliza, won't yojt be of the party ? We can take the omnibus at the corner, which will land us at the very gate." But as Emily gave this unlucky in- vitation, the General's face wore an expression of ill-will so savage and terrific, that Eliza Baynes said, "No, thank you, Emily ; Charlotte is still unwell, and I — I may be wanted at home." And the party went away without Mrs. Baynes ; and they were absent I don't know how long: and Emily Mac- Whirter came back to the boarding-house in a bonnet — the sweetest thing 3-ou ever saw ! — green pique velvet, with a ruche full of rosebuds, and a bird of paradise perched on the top, pecking at a bmich of the most magnificent grapes, pop- pies, ears of corn, barley, &c., all indicative of the bounteous autumn season. Mrs. General Baynes had to see her sister return home in this elegant bonnet ; to welcome her ; to acqui- esce in Emily's remark that the General had done the genteel thing ; to hear how the part}' had further been to Tortoni's and had ices ; and then to go up stairs to her own room, and look at her own battered, blowsy old chapeau^ with its limp streamers, hanging from its peg. This humihation, I say, Eliza Baynes had to bear in silence, without wincing, and, if possible, M'ith a smile on her face. In consequence of circumstances before indicated. Miss Charlotte was pronounced to be very much better when her papa returned from his Palais Royal trip. He found her seated on Madame's sofa, pale, but with the wonted sweetness in her smile. He kissed and caressed her with manj- tender words. I dare say he told her there was nothing in the world he loved so much as his Charlotte. He would never willingl}- do any- thing to give her pain, never! She had been his good girl, and his blessing, all his life ! Ah ! that is a prettier little pictui'e to imagine — that repentant man, and his ohild cling- 58 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ing to liim — than the tableau overhead, viz., Mrs. Baj^nes looking at her old bonnet. Not one word was said about Philip in the talli between Bajnies and his daughter, but those tender paternal looks and caresses carried hope into Charlotte's heart ; and when her papa went away (she said afterwards to a female friend), "I got up and followed him, intending to show him Philip's letter. But at the door I saw mamma coming down the stairs ; and she looked so dreadful, and frightened me so,' that I went back." There are some mothers I have heard of, who won't allow their daughters to read the works of this hum- ble homilist, lest thej^ should imbibe " dangerous" notions, &c. &c. My good ladies, give them "Goody Twoshoes"if j'ou lilte, or whatever work, combining instruction and amusement, you think most appropriate to their juvenile understandings ; but I beseech j'ou to be gentle with them. I never saw people on better terms with each other, more frank, affectionate, and cordial, than the parents and the grown-up young folks in the United States. And why? Because the children were spoiled, to be sure ! I say to you, get the confidence of yours — before the day comes of revolt and independence, after which love re- turneth not. Now, when Mrs. Baj-nes went in to her daughter, who had been sitting pretty comfortably kissing her father on the sofa in Madame's chamber, all those soft tremulous smiles and twinkling dew-drops of compassion and forgiveness w-hich anon had come to soothe the little maid, fled from cheek and eyes. They began to flash again with their febrile brightness, and her heart to throb with dangerous rapidit}'. " How are you now? " asks mamma, with her deep voice. "I am much the same," says the girl, beginning to tremble. "Leave the child; ^'ou agitate her, madam," cries the mistress of the house, coming in after Mrs. Baynes. That sad, humiliated, deserted mother goes out from her daughter's presence, hanging her head. She put on the poor old bonnet, and had a walk that evening on the Champs Elysees with her little ones, and showed them (ruignol : she gave a penny to Guignol's man. It is my belief that she saw no more of the performance than her husband had seen of the ballet the night previous, when Taglioni, and Noblet, and Duvernay, danced before his hot eyes. But then, you see, the hot e^'es had been washed with a refreshing water since, which enabled them to view the world much more cheerfully and brightly. Ah, gracious heaven gives us eyes to see our own wrong, however dim age ma}^ make them ; and knees not too stiff to kneel, in spite of years, cramp, and rheumatism ! ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 59 That stricken old woman, then, treated her children to the trivial comedy of Guignol. She did not cry out when the two bo3's climbed up the trees of the Elysian Fields, though the guardians bade them descend. She bought pink sticks of barley-sugar for the young ones. Withdrawing the glistening sweetmeats from their lips, they pointed to Mrs. Hely's splen- did barouche as it rolled citywards from the Bois de Bou- logne. The grey shades were falling, and Auguste was in the act of ringing the first dinner-bell at Madame Smolensk's establishment, when Mrs. General Baynes returned to her lodgings. Meanwhile, aunt MacWhirter had been to pay a visit to little Miss Charlotte, in the new bonnet which the General, Charlotte's papa, had bought for her. This elegant article had furnished a subject of pleasing conversation between niece and aunt, who held each other in very kindly regard, and all the details of the bonnet, the blue flowers, scarlet flowers, grapes, sheaves of corn, lace, &c., were examined and admired in detail. Charlotte remembered the dowdy old English thing v/hich aunt Mac wore when she went out? Charlotte did re- member the bonnet, and laughed when Mrs. Mac described how papa, in the hackney coach on their return hom^e, insisted upon taking the old wretch of a bonnet, and flinging it out of the coach-window into the road, where an old chittbnier passing picked it up with his iron hook, put it on his own head, and walked away grinning. I declare, at the recital of this narra- tive, Charlotte laughed as pleasantly and happily as in former days ; and, no doubt, there were more kisses between this poor little maid and her aunt. Now, you will remark, that the General and his party, though they returned from the Palais Royal in a hackney coach, went thither on foot, two and two — viz., Major Mac- Whirter leading, and giving his arm to Mrs. Bunch, (who, I promise 3'ou, knew the shops in the Palais Ro3'al well,) and the General following at some distance, with his sister-in-law for a partner. In that walk a conversation very important to Charlotte's interests took place between her aunt and her father. " Ah, Baynes ! this is a sad business about dearest Char," Mrs. Mac broke out with a sigh. " It is, indeed, Emily," says the General, with a very sad groan on his part. " It goes to my heart to see you, Baynes ; it goes to Mac's heart. We talked about it ever so late last night. You were 60 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP suffering dreadfully ; and all the brandy-pawnee in the world won't cure you, Charles." " No, faith," says the General, with a dismal screw of the raouth. " You see, Emily, to see that child suffer tears my heart out — by George, it does. She has been the best child, and the most gentle, and the merriest, and the most obedient, and I never had a word of fault to- find with her ; and — poo-ooh ! " Here the General's e^'es, which have been winking with extreme rapidit}'^, give way ; and at the signal pooh ! there issue out from them two streams of that eye-water which we have said is sometimes so good for the sight. " M}' dear kind Charles, you were always a good creature," says Emil}', patting the arm on which hers rests. Meanwhile Major-General Baynes, C.B., puts his bamboo cane under his disengaged arm, extracts from- his hind pocket a fine large yellow bandanna pocket-handkerchief, and performs a pro- digious loud obligato — just under the spray of the Rond-point fountain, opposite the Bridge of the Invalides, over which poor Philip has tramped many and many a day and night to see his little maid. "Have a care with your cane, then, old imbecile!" cries An approaching foot-passenger, whom the General meets and charges with his iron ferule. " Mille pardong, mosoo ; je vous demande nille pardong," 3ays the old man, quite meekl3\ "You are a good soul, Charles," the lady continues, " and my little Char is a darling. You never would have done this of your own accord. Mercy ! And see what it was coming to ! Mac only told me last night. You horrid, bloodthirsty crea- ture ! Two challenges — and dearest Mac as hot as pepper ! Oh, Charles Baynes, I tremble when I think of the danger from which you have" all been rescued ! Suppose you brought home to Eliza — suppose dearest Mac brought home to me killed by this arm on which I am leaning. Oh, it is dreadful, dreadful ! We are sinners all, that we are, Baynes ! " "I humbly ask pardon for having thought of a great crime. 1 ask pardon," says the General, very pale and solemn. " If you had killed dear Mac, would you ever have had rest again, Charles?" " No ; I think not. I should not deserve it," answers the contrite Barnes. " Tou have a good heart. It was not you who did this. I know who it was. She always had a dreadful temper. The way in which she used to torture our poor dear Louisa who is ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 61 dead, I can hardly forgive now, Baynes. Poor suffering angel ! Eliza was at her bedside nagging and torturing her up to the very last day. Did 3-ou ever see her with nurses and servants in India? The wa}' in which she treated them was — " "Don't say any more. I am aware of my wife's faults of temper. Heaven knows it has made me suffer enough ! " says the General, hanging his head down. " Why, man — do 3'ou intend to give way to her altogether? I said to Mac last night, ' Mac, does he intend to give way to her altogether? The " Army List " doesn't contain the name of a braver man than Charles Baynes, and is my sister Eliza to rule him entirely, Mac ! ' I said. No, if you stand up to Eliza, I know from experience she will give w-ay. We have had quar- rels, scores and hundreds, as you know, Ba3-nes." " Faith, I do," owns the General, with a sad smile on his countenance. " And sometimes she has had the best and sometimes I have had the best, Baynes. But I never yielded, as you do, without a fight for my own. No, never, Baynes ! And me and Mac are shocked, I tell you fairly, when we see the way in which you give up to her ! " " Come, come ! I think you have told me often enough that I am henpecked," says the General. " And you give up not 3'ourself only, Charles, but your dear, dear child — poor little suffering love ! " '' The young man's a beggar ! " cries the General, biting his lips. " What were you, what was Mac and me when we married? We hadn't much beside our pay, had we ? we rubbed on through bad weather and good, managing as best we could, loving each other, God be praised ! And here we are, owing nobody an}^- thing, and me going to have a new bonnet ! " and she tossed up her head, and gave her companion a good-natured look through her twinkling eyes. " Emily, you have a good heart ! that's the truth," says the General. "And you have a good heart, Charles, as sure as my name's MacWhirter ; and I want you to act upon it, and I propose — " "What?" " Well, I propose that — " But now 'they have reached the Tuiledes garden gates, and pass through, and continue their conversation in the midst of such a hubbub tliat we cannot overhear them. They cross the garden, and so make their 62 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP way into the Palais Royal, and the purchase of the bonnet tabes place ; and in the midst of the excitement occasioned by that event, of course, all discussion of domestic affairs becomes uninteresting. But the gist of Baynes's talk with his sister-in-law may be divined from the conversation which presently occurred between Charlotte and her aunt. Charlotte did not come in to the pub- lic dinner. She was too weak for that ; and " un hon bouillon " and a wing of fowl were served to her in the private apartment, where she had been reclining all dvcy. At dessert, however, Mrs. MacWhirter took a fine bunch of grapes and a plump rosy peach from the table, and carried them to the little maid, and their interview ma}^ be described with sufficient accuracy, though it passed without other witnesses. From the outbreak on the night of quarrels, Charlotte knew that her aunt was her friend. The glances of Mrs. Mac- Whirter's ej-es, and the expression of her bonny, homelj' face, told her sympathy to the girl. There were no pallors now, no angry glances, no heart-beating. Miss Char could even make a little -joke when her aunt appeared, and say, " AVhat beautiful grapes ! WI13', aunt, you must have taken them out of the new bonnet." " You should have had the bird of paradise, too, dear, only I see you have not eaten your chicken. She is a kind woman, Madame Smolensk. I like her. She gives very nice dinners. I can't think how she does it for the mone3% I am sure ! " " She has been very, ver3' kind to me ; and I love her with all m}' heart!" cries Charlotte. "Poor darling! We have all our trials, and yours have begun, ni}' love ! " "Yes, indeed, aunt!" whimpers the young person; upon which osculation possibl}^ takes place. " My dear ! when your papa took me to buy the bonnet, vre tiad a long talk, and it was about you." " About me, aunt?" warbles Miss Charlotte. " He would not take mamma ; he would only go with me, alone. I knew he wanted to sa}' something about you ; and >f hat do you think it was ? My dear, 3'ou have been very much agitated here. You and your poor mamma are likel}' to dis- agree for some time. She will drag you to those balls and fine parties, and bring 3-ou those fine partners.^' "Oh, I hate them ! " cries Charlotte. Poor little Walsing- ham Hely, what had he done to be hated? " Well. It is not for me to speak of a mother to her own ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOELD. 63 daughter. But you know mamma has a way with her. She expects to be obeyed. She will give 3'ou no peace. She will come back to her point again and again. You know how she speaks of some one — a certain gentleman ? If ever she sees him, she will be rude to him. Mamma can be rude at times — that I must sa}' of my own sister. As long as you remain here — " "Oh, aunt, aunt! Don't take me awa}', don't take me away!" cries Charlotte. " M}' dearest, are 3'ou afraid of your old aunt, and 3'our uncle Mac, who is so kind, and has always loved you? Major MacWhirter has a will of his own, too, though of course I make no allusions. We know how admirably somebodj' has behaved to 3'our famil}'. Somebody who has been most ungratefully treated, though of course I make no allusions. If you have given away your heart to your father's greatest benefactor, do you suppose I and uncle Mac will quarrel with 3'ou ? When Eliza married Baynes (your father was a penniless subaltern, then, m}' dear, — and my sister was certainly neither a fortune nor a beauty,) didn't she go dead against the wishes of our father? Certainl}^ she did I But she said she was of age — that she was, and a great deal more, too — and she would do as she liked, and she made Baynes marry her. Why should you be afraid of coming to us, love? You are nearer somebody here, but can you see him ? Your mamma will never let 3'ou go out, but she will follow you like a shadow. You may write to him. Don't tell me, child. Haven't I been young myself; and when there was a difficulty between Mac and poor papa, didn't Mac write to me, though he hates letters, poor dear, and certainl}' is a stick at them? And, though we were forbidden, had we not twent}' ways of telegraphing to each other? Law ! your poor dear grandfather was in such a rage with me once, when he found one, that he took down his great buggy whip to me, a grown girl ! " Charlotte, who has plenty of humor, would have laughed at this confession some other time, but now she was too much agitated by that invitation to quit Paris, which her aunt had just given her. Quit Paris? Lose the chance of seeing her dearest friend, her protector? If he was not with her, was he not near her? Yes, near her always ! On that horrible night, when all was so desperate, did not her champion burst forward to her rescue? Oh, the dearest and bravest! Oh, the tender and true I " Y'ou ai-e not listening, you poor child!" said aunt Mac, 64 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP «urve3'ing her niece with looks of kindness. " Now listen to me once more. Whisper ! " And sitting down on the settee by Charlotte's side, aunt Emily first kissed the girl's round cheek, and then whispered into her ear. NeA'cr, I declare, was medicine so efficacious, or rapid of effect, as that wondrous distilment which aunt Emily poured into her niece's ear ! " Oh, you goose ! " she began by saying, and the rest of the charm she whispered into that pearly little pink shell round which Miss Charlotte's soft brown ringlets clustered. Such a sweet blush rose straightway to the cheek ! Such sweet hps began to cry, " Oh, you dear, dear aunt," and then began to kiss aunt's kind face, that, I declare, if I knew the spell, I would like to pronounce it right off, with such a sweet young patient to practise on. " When do we go? To-morrow, aunt, n'est-ce pas? Oh, I am quite strong ! never felt so well in my life ! I'll go and pack up this instant" cries the young person. " Doucement ! Papa knows of the plan. Indeed, it was he who proposed it." " Dearest, best father ! " ejaculates Miss Charlotte, "But mamma does not; and if you show yourself very eager, Charlotte, she may object, you know. Heaven forbid that /should counsel dissimulation to a child; but under the circumstances, my love — At least I own what happened be- tween Mac and me. Law ! / didn't care for papa's buggy whip ! I knew it would not hurt ; and as for Baynes, I am sure he would not hurt a fly. Never was man more sorry for what he has done. He told me so whilst we walked away from the bonnet-shop, whilst he was carrying mj' old yellow. We met somebody near the Bourse. How sad he looked, and how handsome, too! /bowed to him, and kissed my hand to him, that is, the knob of m}' parasol. Papa couldn't shake hands with him, because of my bonnet, you know, in the brown-paper bag. He has a grand beard, indeed ! He looked like a wounded lion. I said so to papa. And I said, ' It is you who wound him, Charles Baynes ! ' 'I know that,' papa said. ' I have been thinking of it. I can't sleep at night for thinking about it : and it makes me dee'd unhappy.' You know what papa sometimes says ? Dear me ! You should have heard them, when Eliza and I joined the armj', years and years ago ! " For once, Charlotte Baynes was happy at her father's being unhappy. The little maiden's heart had been wounded to think that her father could do his Charlotte a wrong. Ah! take The Poor helping the Poor. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 65 warning by him, ye graj^beards ! And however old and tooth- less, if you have done wrong, own that 3'ou have done so ; and sit down and sa}' grace, and mumble ^'our humble pie ! The General, then, did not shake hands with Philip ; but Major MacWhirter went up in the most marked way, and gave the wounded lion his own paw,_ and said, " Mr. Firmin, glad to see you ! If ever you come to Tours, mind, don't forget my wife and me. Fine day. Little patient much better ! Bou courage, as they say ! " I wonder what sort of a bungle Philip made of his corre- spondence with the Pall Mall Gazette that night ? Every man who lives by his pen, if by chance he looks back at his writings of former 3'ears, lives in the past again. Our griefs, our pleas- ures, our youth, our sorrows, our dear, dear friends, resusci- tate. How we tingle with shame over some of those fine passages ! How dreary are those disinterred jokes ! It was Wednesday night. Philip was writing off at home, in his inn, one of his grand tirades, dated "Paris, Thursday" — so as to be in time, you understand, for the post of Saturday, when the little waiter comes and says, winking, "Again that lady, Monsieur Philippe ! " " What lady?" asks our own intelhgent correspondent. " That old lad}' who came the other day, you know." " C'est moi, mon ami!" cries Madame Smolensk's well- known grave voice. " Here is a letter, d'abord. But that says nothing. It was written before the grande nouvelle — the great news — the good news ! " " What good news?" asks the gentleman. " In two da3-s miss goes to Tours with her aunt and uncle — this good Macvirterre. They have taken their places by the diligence of Lafitte and Caillard. They are thy friends. Papa encourages her going. Here is their card of visit. Go thou also ; they will receive thee with open arms. What hast thou, my son ? " Philip looked dreadfully sad. An injured and unfortunate gentleman at New York had drawn upon him, and he had paid away everything he had but four francs, and he was living on credit until his next remittance arrived. " Thou hast no monc}- ! I have thought of it. Behold of it ! Let him wait — the proprietor ! " And she takes out a bank- note, which she puts in the young man's hand. " Tiens, 11 I'erabrasse encor c'te vieille ! " says the little kuiife-boy. " J'aimerai pas 9a, moi, par examp ! " 80 66 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP CHAPTER VI. in the departments op seine, loire, and styx (inferieur) . Our dear friend Mrs. Bavnes was sufferins; under the in- fluence of one of those panics which sometimes seized her, and during which she remained her husband's most obedient Eliza and vassal. AVhen Ba3-nes wore a certain expression of counte- nance, we have said that his wife knew resistance to be useless. That expression, I suppose, he assumed, when he announced Charlotte's departure to her mother, and ordered Mrs. General Baynes to make the necessary" preparations for the girl. " She might stay some time with her aunt," Baynes stated. "A change of air would do the child a great deal of good. Let everything necessary in the shape of hats, bonnets, winter clothes, and so forth, be got ready." "Was Char, then, to stay away so long? " asked Mrs. B. " She has been so happy here that you want to keep her, and fancy she can't be happy without 3'ou ! " I can fancy the General grimly replying to the partner of his existence. Hanging down her withered head, with a tear mayhap trickling down her cheek, I can fancy the old woman silently departing to do the bidding of her lord. She selects a trunk out of the store of Baj-nes's baggage. A 3'oung ladj's trunk was a trunk in those days. Now it is a two or three storied edifice of wood, in which two or three full- grown bodies of 3"0ung ladies (without crinoline) might be packed. I saw a little old country- woman at the Folkestone station last year with her travelling baggage contained in a band-box tied up in an old cotton handkerchief hanging on her arm ; and she surve3'ed Lady Knightsbridge's twenty-three black trunks, each wellnigh as large as her lad3'ship's opera-box. Before these great edifices that old woman stood wondering dumbly. That old lad}^ and I had lived in a time when crino- line was not ; and yet, I think, women looked even prettier in that time than they do now. Well, a trunk and a band-box were fetched out of the baggage heap for little Charlotte, and I dare say her little brothers jumped and danced on the box with much energy to make the lid shut, and the General brought out his hammer and nails, and nailed a card on the box with "Mademoiselle Baynes" thereon printed. And mamma had ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 67 to look on and witness those preparations. And Walsingham Hely had called ; and he wouldn't call again, she knew ; and that fair chance for the establishment of her child was lost by the obstinacy of her self-willed, reckless husband. That woman had to water her soup with her furtive tears, to sit of nights behind hearts and spades, and brood over her crushed hopes. If I contemplate that wretched old Niobe much longer, I shall begin to pity her. Away softness ! Take out thy arrows, the poisoned, the barbed, the rankling, and prod me the old creature well, god of the silver bow ! Eliza Baynes had to look on, then, and see the trunks packed ; to see her own authority over her own daughter wrested away from her; to see the undutiful girl prepare with perfect delight and alacrity to go away, without feeling a pang at leaving a mother who had nursed her through adverse illnesses, who had scolded her for seventeen years. The General accompanied the party to the diligence office. Little Char was very pale and melancholy indeed when she took her place in the coupe. " She should have a corner : she had been ill, and ought to have a corner," uncle Mac said, and cheer- full}' consented to be bodkin. Our three special friends are seated. Theother passengers clamber into their places. Awa}" goes the clattering team, as the General waves an adieu to his friends. " Monstrous fine horses those gray Normans ; famous breed, indeed," he remarks to his wife on his return. " Indeed," she echoes. " Pray, in what part of the carriage was Mr. Firmin?" she presently asks. " In no part of the carriage at all ! " Baj'nes answers fiercely, turning beet-root red. And thus, though she had been silent, obedient, hanging her head, the woman showed that she was aware of her master's schemes, and why her girl had been taken away. She knew ; but she was beaten. It remained for her but to be silent and bow her head. I dare say she did not sleep one wink that night. She followed the diligence in its journe3\ " Char is gone," she thought. " Yes ; in due time he will take from me the obedience of my other children, and tear them out of my lap." He — that is, the General — was sleeping mean- while. He had had in the last few days four awful battles — with his child, with his friends, with his wife — in which latter combat he had been conqueror. No wonder Ba}- nes was tired, and needed rest. Any one of those engagements was enough to wear}' the veteran. If we take the liberty of looking into double-bedded rooms, and peering into the thoughts which are passing under private 68 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP nightcaps, maj^we not examine the coupe of a jingling diligence with an open window, in which a young lady sits wide awake by tlie side of her uncle and aunt ? These perhaps are asleep ; but she is not. Ah ! she is thinking of another journey ! that bliss- ful one from Boulgne, when he was there 3'onder in the imperial, by the side of the conductor. When the MacWhirter party had come to the diligence office, how her little heart had beat ! How she had looked under the lamps at all the people lounging . about the court ! How she had listened when the clerk called out the names of the passengers ; and, merc3^ what a fright she had been in, lest he should be there after all, while she stood yet leaning on her father's arm! But there was no — well, names, I think, need scarcely be mentioned. There was no sign of the individual in question. Papa kissed her, and sadly said good-by. Good Madame Smolensk came with an adieu and an embrace for her dear Miss, and whispered, " Courage, mon enfant," and then said, " Hold, I have brought 3'ou some bonbons." There they were in a little packet. Little Char- lotte put the packet into her little basket. Away goes the dili- gence, but the individual had made no sign. Away goes the diligence ; and every now and then Charlotte feels the little packet in her little basket. What does it contain — oh, what? If Charlotte could but read with her heart, she would see in that little packet — the sweetest bonbon of all per- haps it might be, or, ah me ! the bitterest almond ! Through the night goes the diligence, passing relay after relay. Uncle Mac sleeps. I think I have said he snored. Aunt Mac is quite silent, and Char sits plaintively with her lonely thoughts and her bonbons, as miles, hours, relays pass. "These ladies will they descend and take a cup of coffee, a cup of bouillon?" at last cries a waiter at the coupe door, as the carriage stops in Orleans. " By all means a cup of coffee," says aunt Mac. " The little Orleans wine is good," cries uncle Mac. " Descendons ! " " This way, madame," saj-s the waiter. " Charlotte my love, some coffee? " ' ' I will — I will sta}' in the carriage. I don't want anj'thing, thank you," says Miss Charlotte. And the instant her relations are gone, entering the gate of the " Lion Noir," where, you know, are the Bureaux des Messageries Lafitte, Caillard et C* — I sa}', on the ver}- instant when her relations have disap- peared, what do 3'ou think Miss Charlotte does? She opens that packet of bonbons with fingers that tremble — tremble so, I wonder how she could undo the knot of the string (or do you think she had untied that knot under her ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 69 shawl in the dark ? I can't say. We never shall know). Well; she opens the packet. She does not care one fig for the lolli- pops, ahnonds, and so forth. She pounces on a little scrap of paper, and is going to read it by the light of the steaming stable lanterns, when — oh, what made her start so? — In those old da3-s there used to be two diligences which trav- elled nightlj- to Tours, setting out at the same hour, and stop- ping at almost the same relays. The diligence of Lafitte and Caillard supped at the " Lion Noir" at Orleans — the diligence of the Messageries Roj^ales stopped at the "Ecu de France," hard by. Well, as the Messageries Royales are supping at the "Ecu de France," a passenger strolls over from that coach, and strolls and strolls until he comes to the coach of Lafitte, Caillard, and Company, and to the coupe window where Miss Baynes is trying to decipher her bonbon. He comes up — and as the night-lamps fall on his face and beard — his rosj* face, his yellow beard — oh! — What means that scream of the 3'oung lad}' in the coupe of Lafitte, Caillard et Compagnie ! I declare she has dropped the letter which she was about to read. It has dropped into a pool of mud under the diligence off fore-wheel. And he with the yellow beard, and a sweet happy laugh, and a tremble in his deep voice, sajs, "You need not read it. It was onl}' to tell you what you know." Then the coupe window says, " Oh, Philip ! Oh, my — " My what? You cannot hear the words, because the gray Norman horses come squealing and clattering up to their coach- pole with such accompanying cries and imprecations from the horsekeepers and postilions, that no wonder the little warble is lost. It was not intended for jou and me to hear ; but perhaps you can guess the purport of the words. Perhaps in quite old, old days, you may remember having heard such little whispers, in a time when the song birds in 3'our grove carolled that kind of song very pleasantl}- and freel}'. But this, my good madam, is written in Februar}-. The birds are gone : tlie branches are bare : tlie gardener has actually' swept the leaves off" the walks : and the whole affair is an aflTair of a past .year, you understand. Well! carpe diem,fngithora, &c. &c. There, for one minute, for two minutes, stands Philip over the diligence off fore-wheel, talking to Charlotte at the window, and their heads are quite close — quite close. What are those two pairs of lips warbling, whispering? "Hi! Gare ! Ohe ! " The horsekeepers, I say, quite prevent 3'ou from hearing ; and here come the passengers 70 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP out of the " Lion Noir," aunt Mac still munching a great slice of bread-and-butter. Charlotte is quite comfortable, and does not want anything, dear aunt, thank you. I hope she nestles in her corner, and has a sweet slumber. On the journey the twin diligences pass and repass each other. Perhaps Charlotte looks out of her window sometimes and towards the other car-* riage. I don't know. It is a long time ago. What used you to do in old days, ere railroads were, and when diligences ran?i The}' were slow enough : but they have got to their journey's end somehow. The}- were tight, hot, dust}', dear, stuffy, and uncom- fortable ; but, for all that, travelling was good sport sometimes. And if the world would have the kindness to go back for five- and-twent}' or thirty years, some of us who have travelled on the Tours and Orleans Railway very comfortably would like to take the diligence journe}^ now. Having myself seen the city of Tours only last year, of course I don't remember much about it. A man remembers boyhood, and the first sight of Calais, and so forth. But after much travel or converse with the world, to see a new town is to be introduced to Jones. He is like Brown ; he is not unlike Smith. In a little while j'ou hash him up with Thompson. I dare not be particular, then, regarding Mr. Firmin's life at Tours, lest I should make topographical errors, for which the critical schoolmaster would justl}' inflict chastisement. In the last novel I read about Tours, there were blunders from the effect of which you know the wretched author never recovered. It was b}' one fScott, and had 3'oung Quentin Durward for a hero, and Isabel de Croye for a heroine ; and she sat in her hostel, and sang, " Ah, Count}' Guy, the hour is nigh." A pretty bal- lad enough : but what ignorance, my dear sir ! What descrip- tions of Tours, of Liege, are in that fallacious story ! Yes, so fallacious and misleading, that I remember I was sorry, not because the description was unlike Tours, but because Tours was unlike the description. So Quentin Firmin went and put up at the snug little hostel of the " Faisan ; " and Isabel de Baynes took up her abode with her uncle the Sire de MacWhirter ; and I believe Master Firmin had no more money in his poc-ket than the Master Dur- ward whose story the Scottish novelist told some forty years since. And I cannot promise you that our young English adventurer shall marry a noble heiress of vast property, and engage the Boar of Ardennes in a hand-to-hand combat ; that sort of Boar, madam, does not appear in our modern drawing- room histories. Of others, not wild, there be plenty. They ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 71 gore 3'ou in clubs. Thej' seize 3'ou b}' the doublet, and pin 3'ou against posts in public streets. They run at 3'Ou in parks. I have seen them sit at bay after dinner, ripping, gashing, tossing, a whole company. These our 3'oung adventurer had in good sooth to encounter, as is the case with most knights. Who escapes them ? I remember an eminent person talking to me about bores for two hours once. Oh, you stupid eminent per- son ! You never knew that you 3'ourself had tusks, little eyes in your hure ; a bristly mane to cut into tooth-brushes ; and a curl}' tail ! I have a notion that the multitude of bores is enormous in the world. If a man is a bore himself, when he is bored — and you can't denj- this statement — then what am I, what are 3'ou, what your father, grandfather, sou — all your amiable acquaintance, in a word ? Of this I am sure. Major and Mrs. MacWhirter were not brilliant in conversation. What would you and I do, or say, if we listen to the tittle-tattle of Tours. How the clergyman was certainly too fond of cards, and going to the cafe ; how the dinners those Popjoys gave were too absurdly ostentatious ; and Popjoy, we know, in the Bench last j-ear. How Mrs. Flights, going on with that Major of French Carabiniers, was reall}- too &c. &c. " How could I endure those people ? " Philip would ask himself, when talking of that personage in after days, as he loved, and loves to do. "How could I endure them, I sa}'? Mac was a good man; but I knew secretly in my heart, sir, that he was a bore. Well : I loved him. I liked his old stories. I liked his bad old din- ners : there is a very comfortable Touraine wine, by the way — a ver}^ warming little wine, sir. Mrs. Mac 3'ou never saw, my good Mrs. Pendennis. Be sure of this, 3-ou never would have liked her. Well, I did. I liked her house, though it was damp, in a damp garden, frequented b}- dull people. I should like to go and see that old house now. I am perfectl3' h^PPJ with my wife, but I sometimes go away from her to enjo}' the luxur}' of living over our old da3's again. With nothing in the world but an allowance which was precarious, and had been spent in advance ; with no particular plans for the future, and a few five-franc pieces for the present, — by Jove, sir, how did I dare to be so happ3-? What idiots we were, m3' love, to be happ3' at all ! We were mad to many. Don't tell me : with a purse which didn't contain three months' consumption, would we dare to marr3^ now ? We should be put into the mad ward of the workhouse : that would be the only place for us. Talk about trusting in heaven. Stuff and nonsense, ma'am ! I have as good a right to go and buy a house in Belgrave Square, 72 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP and trust to heaven for the payment, as I had to many when 1 did. We were paupers, Mrs. Char, and j^ou know that very well!" " Oh, 3'es, We were ver^^ wrong : ver}^ ! " sa3's Mrs. Char- lotte, lookmg up to her chandelier (which, by the way, is of very handsome Venetian old glass). "We were ver^' wrong, were not we, m}' dearest? " And herewith she will begin to kiss and fondle two or more babies that disport in her room — as if two or more babies had anything to do with Philip's argument, that a man has no right to marr}' who has no pretty well-assured means of keeping a wife. Here, then, by the banks of Loire, although Philip had but a very few francs in his pocket, and was obliged to keep a sharp look-out on his expenses at the Hotel of the "Golden Pheasant," he passed a fortnight of such happiness as I, for ni}' part, wish to all young folks who read his veracious history. Though he was so poor, and ate and drank so modestly in the house, the maids, waiters, the landlady of the " Pheasant," were as civil to him — yes, as civil as they were to the gouty old IMarchioness of Carabas herself, who sta^-ed here on her way to the south, occupied the grand apartments, quarrelled with her lodging, dinner, breakfast, bread-and-butter in general, insulted the landlady in bad French, and only paid her bill under com- pulsion. Philip's was a little bill, but he paid it eheerfull}-. He gave onl}' a small gratuit}' to the servants, but he was kind and heart}', and they knew he was poor. He was kind and hearty, I suppose, because he was so happy. I have known the gentleman to be by no means civil ; and have heard him storm, and hector, and browbeat landlord and waiters, as fiercely as the Marquis of Carabas himself. But now Philip the Bear was the most gentle of bears, because his little Char- lotte was leading him. Away with trouble and doubt, with squeamish pride and gloomy care ! Philip had enough money for a fortnight, during which Tom Glazier, of the Monitor, promised to supply Philip's letters for the Pall Mall Gazette. All the designs of France, Spain, Russia, gave that idle "own correspondent" not the slightest anxiety. In the morning it was Miss Baynes ; iu the afternoon it was Miss Baj'ues. At six it was dinner and Charlotte ; at nine it was Charlotte and tea. " Anyhow, love- making does hot spoil his appetite," Major MacWhirter cor- rectly remarked. Indeed, Philip had a glorious appetite ; and health bloomed in Miss Charlotte's cheek, and beamed in her happy little heart. Dr. Firmin, in the height of his practice, ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 73 never completed a cure more skilfullj- than that which was performed bj Dr. Firmin, junior. "I ran the thing so close, sir," I remember Phihp bawling out, in his usual energetic way, whilst describing this period ol his life's greatest happiness to his biographer, " that I came back to Paris outside the diligence, and had not money enough to dine on the road. But I bought a sausage, sir, and a bit of bread — and a brutal sausage it was, sir — and I reached my lodgings with exactly two sous in my pocket." Roger Bontemps himself was not more content than our easy philosopher. So Philip and Charlotte ratified and sealed a treaty of Tours, which they determined should never be broken by either partN'. Marr^' without papa's consent? Oh, never! Marry anybod}- but Philip? Oh, never — never! Not if she lived to be a hundred, when Philip would in consequence be in his hundred and ninth or tenth 3'ear, would this young Joan have an}- but her present Darby. Aunt Mac, though she may not have been the most accomplished or highly-bred of ladies, was a warm- hearted and affectionate aunt Mac. She caught in a mild form the fever from these young people. She had not much to leave,, and Mac's relations would want all he could spare when he was gone. But Charlotte should have her garnets, and her teapot,, and her India shawl — that she should.* And with many bless- ings this enthusiastic old lady took leave of her future nephew- in-law when he returned to Paris and dut3\ Crack your whip, and scream your hi! and be off quick, postilion and diligence ! I am glad we have taken Mr. Firmin out of that dangerous, lazy, love-making place. Nothing is to me so sweet as senti- mental writing. I could have written hundreds of pages de- scribing Philip and Charlotte, Charlotte and Philip. But a stern sense of dut}- intervenes. M3' modest Muse puts a finger on her lip, and says, "Hush about that business!" Ah, m}' worthy friends, you little know what soft-hearted people those c^'uics are ! If you could have come on Diogenes b}' surprise, I dare say j-ou might have found him reading sentimental novels and whimpering in his tub. Philip shall leave his sweetheart and go back to his business, and we will not have one word about tears, promises, raptures, parting. Never mind about these sentimentalities, but please, rather, to depict to ^-ourself * I am sorry to say that in later clays, after Mrs. Major MacWhirter's decease, it was found that slie liad promised tliese treasures in uriting to several members of her husband's family, and that much heart-burning arose in consequence. But our story has nothing to do with these painful disputes. 74 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP our young fellow so poor that when the coach stops for dinner at Orleans he can only afford to purchase a penny-loaf and a sausage for his own hungiy cheek. When he reached the " Hotel Poussin," with his meagre carpet-bag, they served him a supper which he ate to the admiration of all beholders in the little coffee-room. He was in great spirits and g&jetj. He did not care to make any secret of his povert}', and how he had been unable to afford to pay for dinner. Most of the guests at " Plotel Poussin " knew what it was to be poor. Often and often they had dined on credit when they put back their napkins into their respective pigeon-holes. But my landlord knew his guests. They were poor men — honest men. They paid him in the end, and each could help his neighbor in a strait. After Mr. Firmin's return to Paris, he did not care for"^ while to go to the Elj'sian Fields. The}" were not Elj-sian for him, except in Miss Charlotte's compan}'. He resumed his newspaper correspondence, which occupied but a day in each week, and he had the other six — na}', he scribbled on the seventh da}' likewise, and covered immense sheets of letter- paper with remarks upon all manner of subjects, addressed to a certain Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle Baynes, chez M. le Ma- jor Mac, &c. On these sheets of paper Mr. Firmin could talk so long, so loudly, so ferventl}', so eloquentlj' to Miss Ba3'nes, that she was never tired of hearing, or he of holding forth. He began imparting his dreams and his earliest sensations to his beloved before breakfast. At noon-day he gave her his opinion of the contents of the morning papers. His packet was ordina- rily full and brimming over b}' post-time, so that his expres- sions of love and fidelity leaked from under the cover, or were squeezed into the queerest corners, where, no doubt, it was a delightful task for Miss Baynes to trace out and detect those little Cupids w^hich a faithful lover despatched to her. It would be, " I have found this little corner unoccupied. Do you know what I have to sa}' in it? Oh, Charlotte, I," &c. &c. M}' sweet young lad}', you can guess, or will one day guess, the rest ; and will receive such dear, delightful, nonsensical double letters, and will answer them with that elegant propriety which I have no doul)t Miss Baynes showed in her replies. Ah ! if all who are writing and receiving such letters, or who have written aud received such, or who remember writing and re- ceiving such letters, would order a copy of this novel from the publishers, what reams, and piles, and pyramids of paper our ink would have to blacken ! Since Charlotte and Philip had been engaged to each other, he had scarcely, except in those ON HTS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 75 dreadful, ghastly days of quarrel, enjoyed the luxury of absence from his soul's blessing — the exquisite delights of writing to her. He could do few things in moderation, this man — and of this delightful privilege of writing to Charlotte he now enjo3'cd his heart's fill. After brief enjoyment of the weeks of this rapture, when winter was come on Paris, and icicles hung on the bough, how did it happen that one day, two days, three days passed, and the postman brought no little letter in the well-known little handwriting for Monsieur, Monsieur Philip Firmin, a Paris? Three days, four days, and no letter. O torture, could she be ill? Could her aunt and uncle have turned against her, and forbidden her to write, as her father and mother had done be- fore ? grief, and sorrow, and rage ! As for jealousy, our leonine friend never knew such a passion. It never entered into his lordly heart to doubt of his little maiden's love. But still four, five days have passed, and not one word has come from Tours. The little " Hotel Poussin " was in a commotion. I have said that when our friend ■ felt any passion veiy strongly he was sure to speak of it. Did Don Quixote lose any oppor- tunit}' of declaring to the world that Dulcinea del Toboso was peerless among women? Did not Antar bawl out in battle, '' I am the lover of Ibla? " Our knight had taken all the people of the hotel into his confidence somehow. Tliey all knew of his condition — all, the painter, the poet, the half-pay Polish offi- cer, the landlord, the hostess, down to the little knife-bo}' who used to come in wnth, " The factor comes of to pass — no letter this morning." No doubt Philip's political letters became, under this out- ward pressure, verj' desponding and gloomy. One day, as he sat gnawing his moustaches at his desk, the little Anatole en- ters his apartment and cries, " Tenez, M. Philippe. That lady again ! " And the faithful, the watchful, the active Madame Smolensk once more made her appearance in his chamber. Phihp blushed and hung his head for shame. " Ungrateful brute that I am," he thought; "I have been back more than a week, and never thought a bit about that good, kind soul who came to my succor. I am an awful egotist. Love is always so." As he rose up to greet his friend, she looked so grave, and pale, and sad, that he could not but note her demeanor. " Bon Dieu ! had anything happened?" " Ce pauvre General is ill, very ill, Philip," Smolensk said, in her grave voice. 76 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP He was so gravely ill, Madame said, that his daughter had been sent for. " Had she come? " asked Philip, with a start. "You think bnt of her — you care not for the poor old man. You are all the same, you men. All egotists — all. Go ! I know you ! I never knew one that was not," said Madame. Philip has his little faults : perhaps egotism is one of his defects. Perhaps it is yours, or even mine. ' ' You have been here a week since Thursday last, and you have never written or sent to a woman who loves you well. Go ! It was not well, Monsieur Phihppe." As soon as he saw her, Philip felt that he had been neglect- ful and ungrateful. We have owned so much already. But how should Madame know that he had returned on Thursday week ? When they looked up after her reproof, his eager eyes seemed to ask this question. " Could she not write to me and tell me that you were come back? Perhaps she knew that 3"ou would not do so yourself. A woman's heart teaches her these experiences early," contin- ued the lad}', sadly; then she added: "I tell 3'ou, you are good-for-nothings, all of you ! And I repent me, see 3-ou, of having had the betise to pity you ! " " I shall have my quarter's pay on Saturday. I was coming to 3'ou then," said Philip. " Was it that I was speaking of? What ! 3'Ou are all cow- ards, men all ! Oh, that I have been beast, beast, to think at last I had found a man of heart ! " How much or how oftevi this poor Ariadne had trusted and been forsaken, I have no means of knowing, or desire of in- quiring. Perhaps it is as well for the polite reader, who is taken into my entire confidence, that we should not know Ma- dame de Smolensk's history from the first page to the last. Granted that Ariadne was deceived by Theseus : but then she consoled herself, as we ma}' all read in " Smith's Dictionar}- ; " and then she must have deceived her father in order to run away with Theseus. I suspect — I suspect, I say, that these women who are so vet-y much betrayed, are — but we are specu- lating on this French lad3''s antecedents, when Charlotte, her lover, and her family are the persons with whom we have mainly to do. These two, I suppose, forgot self, about which each for a moment had been bus}', and Madame resumed: — "Yes, you have reason ; Miss is here. It was time. Hold ! Here is a ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 77 note from her." And Philip's kind messenger once more put a paper into his hands. '• M}' dearest father is ver}^, ver}^ ill. Oh, Philip ! I am so unhappy ; and he is so good, and gentle, and kind, and loves me so." "It is true," Madame resumed. "Before Charlotte came, he thought onh' of her. When his wife comes up to him, he turns from her. I have not loved her much, that lady, that is true. But to see her now, it is navrant. He will take no medi- cine from her. He pushes her away. Before Charlotte came, he sent for me, and spoke as well as his poor throat would let him, this poor General! His daughter's arrival seemed to comfort him. But he sa^'s, ' Not my wife ! not my wife ! ' And the poor thing has to go away and cry in the chamber at the side. He says — in his French, you know — he has never been well since Charlotte went away. He has often been out. He has dined but rarel}- at our table, and there has always beeu a silence between him and Madame la Generale. Last week he had a great imflammation of the chest. Then he took to bed, and Monsieur the Docteur came — the little doctor whom 30U know. Then a quinsy has declared itself, and he now is scarce able to speak. His condition is most grave. He lies suffering, dying, perhaps — 3'es, dying, do j^ou hear? And you are thinking of your little school-girl ! Men are all the same. Monsters ! Go ! " Philip, who, I have said, is very fond of talking about Philip, survey's his own faults with great magnanimity and good-humor, and acknowledges them without the least intention to correct them. " How selfish we are ! " I can hear him say, looking at himself in the glass. " B}' George! sir, when 1 heard simul- taneously the news of that poor old man's illness, and of Char- lotte's return, I felt that I wanted to see her that instant. I must go to her, and speak to her. The old man and his suffer- ing did not seem to affect me. It is humiliating to have to own that we are selfish beasts. But we are, sir — we are brutes, b}- George ! and nothing else." — And he gives a finishing twist to the ends of his flaming moustaches as he survey's them in the glass. Poor little Charlotte was in such affliction that of course she must have Philip to console her at once. No time was to be lost. Quick ! a cab this moment : and, coachman, 3'ou shall have an extra for drink if 3'ou go quick to the Avenue de Valmy ! Madame puts herself into the carriage, and as the}' go along, tells Philip more at length of the gloom}' occurrences of the last 78 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP few days. Four clays since the poor General was so bad with his quinsy that he thought he should not recover, and Charlotte was sent for. He was a little better on the day of her arrival ; but yesterday the inflammation had increased ; he could not swallow ; he could not speak audibly ; he was in very great suf- fering and danger. He turned awav from his wife. The un- happ}' Generaless had been to Madame Bunch in her tears and grief, complaining that after twenty years' fidelit}- and attach- ment her husband had withdrawn his regard from her. Baynes attributed even his illness to his wife ; and at other times said it was a just punishment for his wicked conduct in breaking his word to Philip and Charlotte. If he did not see his dear child again he must beg her forgiveness for having made her suffer so. He had acted wickedly- and ungratefully, and his wife had forced him to do what he did. He pra3-ed that heaven might pardon him. And he had behaved with wicked injustice towards Philip, who had acted most generously towards his famil}-. And he had been a scoundrel — he knew he had — and Bunch, and Mac- Whirter, and the Doctor all said so — and it was that woman's doing. And he pointed to the scared wife as he painfully hissed out these words of anger and contrition : ^ " When I saw that child ill, and almost made mad, because I broke my word, I felt I was a scoundrel, Martin ; and I was ; and that woman made me so ; and 1 deserve to be shot ; and I shan't recover ; I tell you I shan't." Dr. Martin, who attended the General, thus described his patient's last talk and behavior to Philip. It was the doctor who sent Madame in quest of the 3'oung man. He found poor Mrs. Baynes with hot, tearless e3'es and livid face, a wretched sentinel outside the sick-chamber. " You will find General Baynes very ill, sir," she said to Philip with a ghastl}' calmness, and a gaze he could scarcely' face. " M}' daughter is in the room with him. It appears I have off'ended him, and he refuses to see me." And she squeezed a dry handkerchief which she held, and put on her spectacles again, and tried again to read the Bible in her lap. Philip hard!}' knew the meaning of Mrs. Baynes's words as yet. He was agitated by the thought of the General's illness, perhaps by the notion that the beloved was so near. Her hand was in his a moment afterwards ; and, even in that sad chamber, each could give the other a soft pressure, a fond, silent signal of mutual love and faith. The poor man laid the hands of the 3^oung people together, and his own upon them. The suffering to which he had put his daughter seemed to be the crime which specially affected him. At the Sick Man's Door. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 79 He thanked heaven he was able to see he was wrong. He whispered to his little maid a prayer for pardon in one or two words, which caused poor Charlotte to sink on her knees and cover his fevered hand with tears and kisses. Out of all her heart she forgave him. She had felt that the parent she loved and was accustomed to honor had been mercenary and cruel. It had wounded her pure heart to be obliged to think that her father could be other than generous, and just, and good. That he should humble himself before her, smote her with the keenest pang of tender commiseration. I do not care to pursue this last scene. Let us close the door as the children kneel by the sufferer's bedside, and to the old man's petition for forgiveness, and to the 3'oung girl's sobbing vows of love and fondness, say a reverent Amen. By the following letter, which he wrote a few da3's before the fatal termination of his illness, the worthy General, it would appear, had already despaired of his recovery: — "My dear Mac, — I speak and breathe with such difficult}' as 1 write this from my bed, that. I doubt whether I shall ever leave it. I do not wish to vex poor Eliza, and in my state cannot enter into disputes which I know would ensue regarding settlement of propert3^ When I left England there was a claim hanging over me (young Firmin's) at which I was needlessly frightened, as having to satisfy' it would swallow up much more than every- thing I possessed in the loorld. Hence made arrangements for leaving everything in Eliza's name and the children after. Will with Smith and Thompson, Raymond Buildings, Gray's Inn. Think Char won't be happy for a long time with her mother. To break from F., who has been most generous to us, will break her heart. Will you and Emily keep her for a little ? I gave F. my promise. As you told me, I have acted ill by him, which I own and deeply lament. If Char marries, she ought to have her share. May God bless her, her father prays, in case he should not see her again. And with best love to Emily, am yours, dear Mac, sincerely, — Charles Baynes." On the receipt of this letter, Charlotte disobeyed her father's wish, and set forth from Tours instantlj', under her worthy uncle's guardianship. The old soldier was in his comrade's room when the General put the hands of Charlotte and her lover together. He confessed his fault, though it is hard for those who expect love and reverence to have to own to wrong and to ask pardon. Old knees are stiff to bend : brother reader, young or old, when our last hour comes, maj' ours have grace to do so. 80 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP CHAPTER VII. RETURNS TO OLD FRIENDS. The three old comrades and Philip formed the little mourn- ing procession which followed the General to his place of rest at Montmartre. When the service has been read, and the last volley has been fired over the buried soldier, the troops march to quarters with a quick step, and to a lively tune. Our vet- eran has been laid in the grave with brief ceremonies. We do not even prolong his obsequies with a sermon. His place knows him no longer. There are a few w^ho remember him : a very, very few wlio grieve for him — so few that to think of them is a humiliation almost. The sun sets on the earth, and our dear brother has departed off its face. Stars twinkle ; dew^s fall ; children go to sleep in awe and ma^'be tears ; the sun rises on a new day, which he has never seen, and children wake hungry'. They are interested about their new black clothes, perhaps. The}' are presently at their work, plays, quarrels. The}' are looking forward to the day when the holidays will be over, and the eyes which shone here j^esterday so kindly are gone, gone, gone. A drive to the cemetery, followed b}' a coach with four acquaintances dressed in decorous black, who sepai'ate and go to their homes or clubs, and wear 3'our crape for a few days after — can most of us expect much more ? The thought is not ennobling or exhilarating, worthy sir. And, pray, wh}- should we be proud of ourselves ? Is it because we have been so good, or are so wise and great, that we expect to be beloved, la- mented, remembered? Why, great Xerxes or blustering Boba- dil must know in that last hour and resting-place how abject, how small, how low, how lonely the}- are, and what a little dust will cover them. Quick, drums and fifes, a lively tune ! Whip the black team, coachman, and trot back to town again — to the world, and to business, and duty ! I am for sajing no single unkindness of General Ba3"nes which is not forced upon me by my story-teller's office. We know from Marlborough's story that the l^ravest man and great- est military genius is not always brave or successful in his bat- tles with his wife ; that some of the greatest warriors have committed errors in accounts and the distribution of meum and tuum. We can't disguise from ourselves the fact that Bayues ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOULD. 81 permitted himself to be misled, and had weaknesses not quite consistent with the highest virtue. When he became aware that his carelessness in the matter of Mrs. Firmin's trust-money had placed him in her son's power, we have seen how the old General, in order to avoid being called to account, fled across the water with his family and all his little fortune, and how terrified he was on landing on a foreign shore to find himself face to face with this dread- ful creditor. Philip's renunciation of all claims against Baynes soothed and pleased the old man wonderfully-. But Philip might change his mind, an adviser at Ba3'nes's side repeatedly urged. To live abroad was cheaper and safer than to live at home. Accordingly Baynes, his wife, family-, and money, all went into exile, and remained there. What savings the old man had I don't accurately know. He and his wife were A-ery dark upon this subject with Philip : and when the General died, his widow declared herself to be almost a pauper ! It was impossible that Baynes should have left much money ; but that Charlotte's share should have amounted to — that sum which ma}- or maj' not presently be stated — was a little too absurd! You see Mr. and Mrs. Fir- min are travelling abroad just now. When I wrote to Firmin, to ask if I might mention the amount of his wife's fortune, he gave me no answer ; nor do I like to enter upon these matters of calculation without his explicit permission. He is of a hot tem])er ; he might, on his return, grow angry with the friend of his youth, and say, "Sir, how dare you to talk about my private affairs? and what has the public to do with Mrs. Fir- min's private fortune ? " W^hen, the last rites over, good-natured uncle Mac proposed to take Charlotte back to Tours her mother made no objection. The widow had tried to do the girl such an injury, that perhaps the latter felt forgiveness was impossible. Little Char loved Philip with all her heart and strength ; had been authorized and encouraged to do so, as we have seen. To give him up now, because a richer suitor presented himself, was an act of treason from which her faithful heart revolted, and she never could pardon the instigator. You see, in this simple stor}', I scarcely care even to have reticence or secrets. I don't want 3-ou to understand for a moment that Walsingham Hely was still crying his e3'es out about Charlotte, Goodness bless you ! It was two or three weeks ago — four or five weeks ago, that he was in love with her! He had not seen the Duchesse d'lvry then, about whom you niav remember he had the quarrel with 31 82 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Podichon, at the club in the Rue de Grammont. (He and the Duchesse wrote poems to each other, each in the other's native language.) The Charlotte had long passed out of the young fellow's mind. That butterti}' had fluttered oflf from our Eng- hsh rosebud, and had settled on tlie other elderly flower ! I don't know that Mrs. Baj-nes was aware of young Hely's fickleness at this present time of which we are writing ; but his visits had ceased, and she was angry and disappointed ; and not the less angry because her labor had been in vain. On her part, Charlotte could also be resolutely unforgiving. Take her Philip from her ! Never, never ! Her mother force her to give up the man Avhom she had been encouraged to love? Mamma should have defended Philip, not betrayed him ! If I command m^' son to steal a spoon, shall he obey me? And if he do obey and steal, and be transported, will he love me afterwards ? I think I can hardly ask for so much filial afiec- tion . So there was strife between mother and daughter ; and anger not the less bitter, on Mrs. Baynes's part, because her husband, Avhose cupidity or fear had, at first, induced him to take her side, had deserted her and gone over to her daughter. In the anger of that controversy Baynes died, leaving the victor}^ and right with Charlotte. He shrank from his wife : would not speak to her in his last moments. The widow had these injuiies against her daughter and Philip : and thus neither side forgave the other. 8he was not averse to the child's going away to her uncle : put a lean, hungry face against Charlotte's lip, and received a kiss which I fear had but little love in it. I don't envy those children who remain under the widow's lonely com- mand ; or poor Madame Smolensk, who has to endure the arro- gance, the grief, the avarice of that grim woman. Nor did Madame suffer under this tyranny long. Galignani's Messenger very soon announced that she had lodgings to let, and I re- member being edified b}^ reading one day in the Pall Mall Ga- zette that elegant apartments, select societ}^ and an excellent table were to be found in one of the most airy and fashionable quarters of Paris. Inquire of Madame la Baronne de S sk. Avenue de Valmy, Champs Eiysees. We guessed without difficult}^ how this advertisement found its wa}^ to the Pall Mall Gazette ; and very soon after its appear- ance Madame de Smolensk's friend, Mr. Philip, made his ap- pearance at our tea-table in London. He was alwa3's welcome amongst us elders and children. He wore a crape on his hat. As soon as the young ones were gone, you may be sm'e he ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 83 poured his story out ; and enlarged upon the death, the burial, the quarrels, the loves, the partings we have narrated. How could he be put in a way to earn three or four hundred a year? That was the present question. Ere he came to see us, he had alread}^ been totting up ways and means. He had been with our friend Mrs. Brandon : was sta3"ing with her. The Little Sister thought three hundred would be sufficient. They could have her second floor — not for nothing ; no, no, but at a mod- erate price, which would pay her. The}' could have attics, if more rooms were needed. They could have her kitchen fire, and one maid, for the present, would do all their work. Poor little thing ! She was ver^^ young. She would be past eigh- teen by the time she could marry ; the Little Sister was for early marriages, against long courtships. "Heaven helps those as helps themselves," she said. And Mr. Philip thought this excellent advice, and Mr. Philip's friend, when asked for his opinion — "Candidly now, what's your opinion?" — said, " Is she in the next room? Of course you mean 3'ou are mar- ried alread}^" Philip roared one of his great laughs. No, he was not mar- ried already. Had he not said that Miss Baynes was gone away to Tours to her aunt and uncle ? But that he wanted to be married ; but that he could never settle down to work till he married ; but that he could have no rest, peace, health till he married that angel, he was ready to confess. Read}'? All the street might hear him calling out the name and expatiating on the angelic charms and goodness of his Charlotte. He spoke so loud and long on this subject that my wife grew a little tired ; and my wife always likes to hear other women praised, that (she sa^'s) I know she does. But when a man goes on roaring for an hour about Dulcinea? You know such talk becomes fulsome at last ; and, in fine, when he was gone, my wife said, " W^ell, he is very much in love ; so were you — I mean long before my time, sir ; but does love pay the house- keeping bills, pray?" " No, my dear. And love is always controlled b}' other people's advice : — always," says Philip's friend ; who, I hope, you will perceive was speaking ironicalh'. Philip's friends had listened not impatiently to Philip's talk about Philip. Almost all women will give a sympathizing hearing to men who are in love. Be they ever so old, they grow young again with that conversation, and renew their own early times. Men are not quite so generous : Tityrus tires of hearing Corydon discourse endlessly on the charms of his shop- 8-i THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP herdess. And 3'et egotism is good talk. Even dull autobiogra- phies are pleasant to read: and if to read, why not to hear? Had Master Philip not been such an egotist, he would not have been so pleasant a companion. Can't ^'ou like a man at whom you laugh a little ? I had rather such an open-mouthed conver- sationist than your cautious jaws that never unlock without a careful application of the key. As for the entrance to Mr. Philip's mind, that door was always open when he vras awake, or not hungry, or-in a friend's company-. Besides his love, and his prospects in life, his poverty, &c., Phihp had other favorite topics of conversation. His friend the Little Sister was a great theme with him ; his father was another favorite subject of his talk. By the wa}^ his father had written to the Little Sister. The doctor said he was sure to prosper in his newly adopted country'. He and another physician had invented a new medicine, which was to efiect wonders, and in a few years would assuredly make the fortune of both of them. Lie was never without one scheme or another for making that fortune which never came. Whenever he drew upon poor Philip for little sums, his letters were sure to be especiall}' magniloquent and hopeful. ' ' Whenever the doctor says he has invented the philosopher's stone," said poor Philip, "I am sure there will be a postscript to say that a little bill will be presented for so much, at so many da3's' date." Had he drawn on Philip lately? Philip told us when, and how often. We gave him all the benefit of our virtuous indig- nation. As for my wife's eyes, they gleamed with anger. What a man : what a father ! Oh, he was incorrigible ! " Yes, I am afraid he is," sa^'s poor Phil, comicalh-, with his hands roaming at ease in his pockets. The}' contained little else than those big hands. "My father is of a hopeful turn. His views re- garding property are peculiar. It is a comfort to have such a. distinguished parent, isn't it? I am always surprised to hear that he is not married again. I sigh for a mother-in-law," Philip continued. "Oh, don't, Philip!" cried Mrs. Laura, in a pet. "Be generous : be forgiving : be noble : be Christian ! Don't be C3'nical, and imitating — you know whom ! " Whom could she possibty mean, I wonder? After flashes, there came showers in this lady's ej'es. From long habit I can understand her tlioughts, although she does not utter them. She was thinking of those poor, noble, simple, friendless young people ; and asking heaven's protection for them. I am not in the habit of over-praising my friends, goodness knows. The ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 85 foibles of this one I have described honestly' enough. But if I wi'ite down here that he was courageous, cheerful in adversit}', generous, simple, truth-loving, above a scheme — after having said that he was a noble young fellow — dixi. ; and 1 won't can- cel the words. Ardent lover as he was, our friend was glad to be back in the midst of the London smoke, and wealth, and bustle. The fog agreed with his lungs, he said. He breathed more freely in our great city than in that little English village in the centre of Paris which he had been inhabiting. In his hotel, and at his cafe (where he composed his eloquent '' own correspond- ence"), he had occasion to speak a httle French, but it never came very trippingly from his stout English tongue. "You don't suppose I would like to be taken for a Frenchman," he would say, with much gravity. I wonder who ever thought of mistaking friend Philip for a Frenchmfln? As for that faithful Little Sister, her house and heart were still at the young man's service. We have not visited Thorn- haugh Street for some time. Mr. Philip, whom we have been bound to attend, has been too much occupied with his love- making to bestow much thought on his affectionate little friend. She has been trudging meanwhile on her humble course of life, cheerful, modest, laborious, doing her dut}', with a helping little hand ready to relieve many a fallen wayfarer on her road. She had a room vacant in her house when Philip came : — a room indeed ! Would she not have had a house vacant, if Philip wanted it? But in tlie interval since we saw her last, the Little Sister, too, has had to assume black robes. Her father, the old Captain, has gone to his rest. His place is vacant in the little parlor : his bedroom is read}' for Philip, as long as Philip will stay. She did not profess to feel much affliction for the loss of the Captain. She talked of him constantly as though he were present ; and made a supper for Philip, and seated him in her Pa's chair. How she bustled al^out on the night when Philip arrived ! What a beaming welcome there was in her kind eyes ! Her modest hair was touched with silver now ; but her cheeks were like apples ; her little figure was neat, and light, and active : and her voice, with its gentle laugh, and little sweet bad grammar, has always seemed one of the sweet- est of voices to me. Ver}^ soon after Philip's arrival in London, Mrs. Brandon paid a visit to the wife of Mr. Firmin's humble servant and biographer, and the two women had a fine sentimental con- sultation. All good women, 3'ou know, are sentimental. The 86 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP idea of 3'oung lovers, of match-making, of amiable poverty, tenderly excites and interests them. My wife, at this time, began to pour off fine long letters to Miss Baynes, to which the latter modestly and dutifully replied, with many expressions of fervor and gratitude for the interest Avhich her friend in London was pleased to take in the little maid. I saw by these answers that Charlotte's union with Philip was taken as a received point b}' these two ladies. The}' discussed the wa3's and means. They did not talk about broughams, settlements, town and country houses, pin-mone3-s, trousseaux : and mj' wife, in computing their sources of income, alwa^'s pointed out that Miss Charlotte's fortune, though certainly'' small, would give a ver}^ useful addition to the young couple's income. " Fift}' pounds a year not much! Let me tell 3'ou, sir, that fifty pounds a year is a very prett}' little sum : if Philip can but make three hundred' a 3'ear himself, Mrs. Brandon sa3-s they ought to be able to live quite nice!}'." You ask, my gen- teel friend, is it possible that people can live for four hundred a 3'ear? How do they manage, ces pauvres gens'? The3'^ eat, they drink, the3' are clothed, the3' are warmed, they have roofs over their heads, and glass in their windows ; and some of them are as good, happ3% and well-bred as their neighbors who are ten times as rich. Then, besides this calculation of mone3', there is the fond woman's firm belief that the da3' will bring its dail3' bread for those who work for it and ask for it in the proper quarter ; against which reasoning man3' a man knows it is in vain to argue. As to m3' own little objections and doubts, my wife met them by reference to Philip's former love- affair with his cousin. Miss Tw3'sden. " You had no objection in that case, sir," this logician would say. "You would have had him take a creature without a heart. You would cheerfull}' have seen him made miserable for life, because 3'ou thought there was money enough and a genteel connection. Money indeed ! Very happy Mrs. Woolcomb is with her mone3'. Very creditably to all sides has that marriage turned out ! " I need scarcely remind m3' readers of the unfortunate result of that marriage. Wool comb's behavior to his wife was the agreeable talk of London society and of the London clubs very soon after the pair were joined together in holy matrimony. Do we not all remember how Woolcomb was accused of striking his wife, of starving his wdfe, and how she took refuge at home and came to her father's house with a black e3'e? The two Tw3'sdens were so ashamed of this transaetion, that father and son left off" coming to " Ba^'s's," where I never heard their ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 87 absence regretted but b}- one man, who said that Talbot owed him money for losses at whist for which he could get no settle- ment. Should Mr. Firmin go and see his aunt in her misfortune ? Bygones might be bygones, some of Philip's advisers thought. Now, Mrs. Twysden was unhapp^y, her heart might relent to Philip, whom she certainly had loved as a boy. Philip had the magnanimity to call upon her ; and found her carriage waiting at the door. But a servant, after keeping the gentleman wait- ing in the dreary, well-remembered hall, brought him word that his mistress was out, smiled in his face with an engaging inso- lence, and proceeded to put cloaks, court-guides, and" other female gear into the carriage in the presence of this poor deserted nephew. This visit it must be owned was one of Mrs. Laura's romantic efforts at reconciling enemies : as if, my good creature, the Twysdens ever let a man into their house who was poor or out of fashion ! They lived in a constant dread lest Philip should call to borrow money of them. As if they ever lent money to a man who was in need ! If they ask the respected reader to their house, depend upon it they think he is well to do. On the other hand, the Twysdens made a very handsome entertainment for the new Lord of Whipham and Rmgwood who now reigned after his kinsman's death. The}' affably went and passed Christmas with him in the country ; and they cringed and bowed before Sir John Ringwood as the}^ had bowed and cringed before the earl in his time. The old eai'l had been a Tor}- in his latter days, when Talbot Tw3sden's views were also very conservative. The present Lord of Ring- wood was a Whig. It is surprising how liberal the Twysdens grew in the course of a fortnight's after-dinner conversation and pheasant-shooting talk at Ringwood. "Hang it! you know," 3'oung Tw3'sden said, in his office afterwards, " a fellow must go with the politics of his familj', you know ! " and he bragged about the dinners, wines, splendors, cooks, and pre- serves of Ringwood as freely as in the time of his noble grand- uncle. Any one who has kept a house-dog in London, which licks 3'our boots and your platter, and fawns for the bones in your dish, knows how the animal barks and flies at the poor who come to the door. The Twysdens, father and son, were of this canine species : and there are vast packs of such dogs here and elsewhere. If Philip opened his heart to us, and talked unreservedl}'- regarding his hopes and his plans, you ma^^ be sure he had his little friend, Mrs. Brandon, also in his confidence, and that no 88 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP person in the world was more eager to serve him. "Whilst we were talking about what was to be done, this little lady was also at work in her favorite's behalf. She had a firm all}' in Mrs. Mugford, the proprietor's lady of the Pall Mall Gazette. Mrs. Mugford had long been interested in Philip, his misfor- tunes and his love-affairs. These two good women had made a sentimental hero of him. Ah ! that they could devise some feasible scheme to help him ! And such a chance actually did ver}' soon present itself to these delighted women. In almost all the papers of the new 3'ear appeared a brilliant advertisement, announcing the speed}' appearance in Dublin of a new paper. It was to be called The Shajirock, and its first number was to be issued on the ensuing St. Patrick's day. I need not quote at length the advertisement which heralded the advent of this new periodical. The most famous pens of the national part}- in Ireland were, of course, engaged to con- tribute to its columns. Those pens would be hammered into steel of a different shape when the opportunity should ofl^'er. Beloved prelates, authors of world-wide fame, bards, the bold strings of whose lyres had rung through the isle already, and made millions of noble hearts to beat, and, by consequence, double the number of eyes to fill ; philosophers, renowned for science ; and illustrious advocates, whose manly voices had ever spoken the language of hope and freedom to an &c. &c., would be found rall3'ing round the journal, and proud to wear the symbol of The Shamrock. Finall}-, Michael Cassid}', Esq., was chosen to be the editor of this new journal. This was the M. Cassid}-, Esq., who appeared, I think, at Mr. Firmin's call-supper ; and who had long been the sub- editor of the Pall Mall Gazette. If Michael went to Dame Street, wh}' should not Philip be sub-editor at Pall Mall ? Mrs. Brandon argued. Of course there would be a score of candi- dates for Michael's office. The editor would like the patronage. Barnet, Mugford's partner in the Gazette^ would wish to ap- point his man. Cassidy, before retiring, would assuredl}' inti- mate his approaching resignation to scores of gentlemen of his nation, who would not object to take the Saxon's pay until they finall}' shook his 3'oke off, and would eat his bread until the happy moment arrived when they could knock out his brains in fair battle. As soon as Mrs. Brandon heard of the vacant place, that moment she determined that Philip shoukl have it. It was surprising what a quantit}' of information our little friend possessed about artists, and pressmen, and their lives, families, ways and means. Many gentlemen of both professions came ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 89 to Mr. Ridley's chambers, and called on the Little Sister on their way to and fro. How Tom Smith had left the Herald., and gone to the Post ; what price Jack Jones had for his pic- ture, and who sat for the principal figures. — I promise you Madam Brandon had all these interesting details by heart; and I think I have described this Uttle person very inadequately if I have not made you understand that she was as intrepid a little jobber as ever lived, and never scrupled to go any length to serve a friend. To be Archbishop of Canterbury, to be professor of Hebrew, to be teacher of a dancing-school, to be organist for a church: for any conceivable place or function this little person would have asserted Philip's capability. " Don't tell me! H.e can dance or preach (as the case may be), or write beautiful! And as for being unfit to be a sub- editor, I want to know, has he not as good a head and as good an education as that Cassidy, indeed? And is not Cambridge College the best college in the world ? It is, I say. And he went there ever so long. And he might have taken the very best prize, only money was no object to him then, dear fellow, and he did not hke to keep the poor out of what he didn't want ! " Mrs. Mugford had always considered the young man as very haughty, but quite the gentleman, and speedil}^ was infected by her gossip's enthusiasm about him. My wife hired a fly, packed several of the children into it, called upon Mrs. Mugford, and chose to be delighted with that lady's garden, with that lady's nursery — with everything that bore the name of Mugford. It was a curiosit}' to remark in what a flurr}- of excitement these women plunged, and how the}' schemed, and coaxed, and ca- balled, in order to get this place for their protege. My wife thought — she merely happened to surmise — nothing more of course — that Mrs. Mugford's fond desire was to shine in the world. "Could we not ask some people — with — with what you call handles to their names, — I think I before heard you use some such term, sir, — to meet the Mugfords ? Some of Philip's old friends, who I am sure would be very happj' to serve him." Some such artifice was, I own, practised. We coaxed, cajoled, fondled the Mugfords for Philip's sake, and heaven forgive Mrs. Laura her hypocrisy-. We had an enter- tainment then, I own. AVe asked our finest conipan}', and Mr. and Mrs. Mugford to meet them : and we praj-ed that unlucky Philip to be on his best behavior to all persons who were in- vited to the feast. Before my wife this lion of a Firmin was as a lamb. Eough, 90 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP captious, and overbearing in gefieral societj', with tliose whom he loved and esteemed Philip was of all men the most modest and humble. He would never tire of playing with our children, joining in their games, laughing and roaring at their little sports. I have never had such a laugher at mj' jokes as Philip Plrmin. I think my wife liked him for that noble guffaw with which he used to salute those pieces of wit. Pie arrived a little late sometimes with his laughing chorus, but ten people at table were not so loud as this faithful friend. On the contrary', when those people for whom he has no liking venture on a pun or other pleasantry, I am bound to own that Philip's acknowl- edgment of their waggery must be an^'thing but pleasant or flattering to them. Now, on occasion Qf this important din- ner, I enjoined him to be very kind, and ver}- civil, and very much pleased with everybody, and to stamp upon nobody's corns, as, indeed, why should he, in life? Who was he to be censor 7norum ? And it has been said that no man could admit his own faults with a more engaging candor than our friend. We invited, then, Mugford, the proprietor of the Pall Mall Gazette^ and his wife ; and Bickerton, the editor of that period- ical ; Lord Egham, Philip's old college friend ; and one or two more gentlemen. Our invitations to the ladies were not so for- tunate. Some were engaged, others awa}^ in the country keep- ing Christmas. In fine, we considered ourselves rather lucky in securing old Lady Ilixie, who lives hard b}' in Westminster, and who wall pass for a lad}^ of fashion when no person of greater note is present. M}^ wife told her that the object of the dinner was to make our friend Firmin acquainted with the editor and proprietor of the Pall 3Iall Gazette, with whom it was important that he should be on the most amicable footing. Oh ! very well. Lady Plixie promised to be quite gracious to the news- paper gentleman and his wife ; and kept her promise most graciously during the evening. Our good friend Mrs. Mugford was the first of our guests to arrive. She drove " in her trap " from her villa in the suburbs ; and after putting up his carriage at a neighboring liver3'-stable, her groom volunteered to help our servants in waiting at dinner. His zeal and activity were remarkable. China smashed and dish-covers clanged in the passage. Mrs. Mugford said that " Sam was at his old tricks ; " and I hope the hostess showed she was mistress of herself amidst that fall of china. Mrs. Mugford came before the ap- pointed hour, she said, in order to see our children. "With our late London dinner-hours," she remarked, "children was ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 91 never seen now." At Hampstead, hers always appeared at the dessert, and enlivened the table with their innocent outcries for oranges and struggles for sweetmeats. In the nursery, where one little maid, in her crisp long night-gown, was saying her prayers ; where another little person, in the most air^^ costume, was standing before the great barred fire ; where a third Lili- putian was sitting up in its nightcap and surplice, surveying the scene below from its crib; — the ladies found our dear Little Sister installed. She had come to see her little pets (she had known two or three of them from the very earliest times). She was a great favorite amongst them all; and, I believe, con- spired with the coolv down below in preparing certain delicacies for the table. A fine conversation then ensued about our chil- dren, about the Mugford children, about babies in general. And then the artful women (the house-mistress and the Little Sister) brought Philip on the tapis^ and discoursed, a qui mieux^ about his virtues, his misfortunes, his engagement, and that dear little creature to whom he was betrothed. This conversa- tion went on until carriage-wheels were heard in the square, and the knocker (there were actually knockers in that old-fash- ioned place and time) began to peal. "Oh, bother! There's the company a-corain'," Mrs. Mugford said ; and arranging her cap and flounces, with neat-handed Mrs. Brandon's aid, came down stairs, after taking a tender leave of the little people, to whom she sent a present next da}' of a pile of fine Christmas books, which had come to the Pall Mall Gazette for review. The kind woman had been coaxed, wheedled, and won over to our side, to Philip's side. He had her vote for the sub- editorship, whatever might ensue. Most of our guests had already arrived, when at length Mrs. Mugford was announced. I am bound to sa}' that she pre- sented a remarkable appearance, and that the splendor of her attire was such as is seldom beheld. Bickerton and Philip were presented to one another, and had a talk about French politics before dinner, during which conversation Philip behaved with perfect discretion and polite- ness. Bickerton had happened to hear Philip's letters well spoken of — in a good quarter, mind ; and his cordiality in- creased when Lord Egham entered, called Philip by his sur- name, and entered into a perfectly' free conversation with him. Old Lady Hixie went into perfect!}' good society, Bickerton condescended to acknowledge. "As for Mrs. Mugford," says he, with a glance of wondering compassion at that lady, "of course, I need not tell you that she is seen nowhere — no- 92 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP where," This said, Mr. Bickerton stepped forward, and cahiily patronized my wife, gave me a good-natured nod for my own part, reminded Lord Egham that he had had the pleasure of meeting him at Egham ; and then fixed on Tom Page, of the Bread-and-Butter Office (wlio, I own, is one of our most genteel o-uests), with whom he entered into a discussion of some politi- cal matter of that day — I forget what : but the main point was that he named two or three leading public men with whom he had discussed the question, whatever it might be. He named very great names, and led us to understand that with the pro- prietors of those very great names he was on the most intimate and confidential footing. With his owners — with the proprie- tor of the PaJl 3MI Gazette, he was on the most distant terms, and indeed I am afraid that his behavior to myself and my wife was scai-cely respectful. I fancied I saw Philip's brow gather- ing wrinkles as his eye followed this man strutting from one person to another, and patronizing each. The dinner was a little late, from some reason best known in the lower regions. " I take it," says Bickerton, winking at Phihp, in a pause of the conversation, ' ' that our good friend and host is not much used to giving dinners. The mistress of the house is evidently in a state of perturbation." Philip gave such a horrible grimace that the other at first thought he was in pain. " You, who have hved a great deal with old Ringwood, know what a good dinner is," Bickerton continued, giving Firmin a knowing look. "Any dinner is good which is accompanied with such a welcome as I get here," said Philip. "Oh! very good people, very good people, of course!" cries Bickerton. I need not say he thinks he has perfectly succeeded in adopt- ing the air of a man of the world. He went off to Lady Hixie and talked with her about the last great party at which he had met her ; and then he turned to the host, and remarked that my friend, the doctor's son, was a fierce-looking fellow. In five minutes he had the good fortune to make himself hated by Mr. Firmin. He walks through the world patronizing his bet- ters. ' ' Our good friend is not much used to giving dinners," — isn't he ? I say, what do you mean by continuing to endure this man? Tom Page, of the Bread-and-Butter office, is a well-known diner-out ; Lord Egham is a peer ; Bickerton, in a pretty loud voice, talked to one or other of these during dinner and across the table. He sat next to Mrs. Mugford, but he turned his back on that bewildered woman, and never conde- \ ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 93 scended to address a word to her personally. " Of course, I understand you, m}' dear fellow," he said to me when, on the retreat of the ladies, we approached within whispering distance. " You have these people at dinner for reasons of state. You have a book coming out, and want to have it noticed in tlie paper. I make a point of keeping these people at a distance — the only way of dealing with them, I give 3'ou m}' word." Not one offensive word had Philip said to the chief writer of the Pall Mall Gazette ; and I began to congratulate m3^self that our dinner would pass without an}- mishap, when some one unluckily happening to praise the wine, a fresh supply was ordered. " Very good claret. Who is your wine-merchant? Upon my word, I get better claret here than I do in Paris — don't vou think so, Mr. Fermor? Where do 3-ou generall}- dine at Paris ? " " I generally dine for thirt}^ sous, and three francs on grand days, Mr. Beckerton," growls Philip. " My name is Bickerton." ("What a \-ulgar thing for a fellow to talk about his thirty-sous dinners ! " murmured mj'' neighbor to me.) "Well, there is no accounting for tastes! When I go to Paris, I dine at the ' Trois Freres.' Give me the Burgund}' at the ' Trois Freres.'" " That is because you gi-eat leader-writers are paid better than poor correspondents. I shall be dehghted to be able to dine better." And with this Mr. Fh-min smiles at Mr. Mug- ford, his master and owner. " Nothing so vulgar as talking shop," says Bickerton, rather loud. " I am not ashamed of the shop I keep. Are you of 3'ours, Mr. Bickerton ? " growls Phihp. " F. had him there," says Mr. Mugford. Mr. Bickerton got up from table, turning quite pale. " Do you mean to be offensive, sir? " he asked. " Offensive, sir? No, sir. Some men are offensive without meaning it. You have been several times to-night ! " says Lord Philip. " I don't see that I am called upon to bear this kind of thing at any man's table!" cried Mr. Bickerton. "Lord Egham, I wish you good-night ! " " I say, old boy, what's the row about?" asked his lordship. And we were all astonished as my guest rose and left the table in great wrath. " Serve him right, Firmin, I say ! " said Mr. Mugford, again drinking off a glass. 94 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " Why, don't you know? " says Tom Page. " His father keeps a haberdasher's shop at Cambridge, and sent him to Ox- ford, where he took a good degree." And this had come of a dinner of conciliation — a dinner which was to advance Philip's interest in life ! " Hit him again, I say," cried Mugford, whom wine had rendered eloquent. " He's a supercilious beast, that Bickerton is, and I hate him, and so does Mrs. M." CHAPTER Vin. NARRATES THAT FAMOUS JOKE ABOUT JHSS GRIGSBT. For once Phihp found that he had offended without giving general offence. In the confidence of female intercourse, Mrs. Mugford had already, in her own artless but powerful lan- guage, confirmed her husband's statement regarding Mr. Bick- erton, and declared that B. was a beast, and she was only sorry that Mr. F. had not hit him a little harder. So different are the opinions which different individuals entertain of the same event ! I happen to know that Bickerton, on his side, went away, averring that we were quarrelsome, underbred peo- ple ; and that a man of any refinement had best avoid that kind of society. He does really and seriously believe himself our superior, and will lecture almost any gentleman on the art of being one. This assurance is not at all uncommon with 3-our parventf. Proud of his newly acquired knowledge of the art of exhausting the contents of an egg, the well-known little boy of the apologue rushed to impart his knowledge to his grand- motlier, who had been for man^' j-ears familiar with the process Avhich the child had just discovered. Which of us has not met with some such instructors? I know men who would be ready to step forward and teach Taglioni how to dance, Tom Sa3'ers how to box, or tlie Chevalier Bayard how to be a gentleman. We most of us know such men, and undergo, from time to time, the ineffable benefit of their patronage. Mugford went away from our little entertainment vowing, b}'- George, that Philip shouldn't want for a friend at the proper season ; and this proper season very speedily arrived. I laughed one day on going to the Pall Mall Gazette ofiice, to find ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 95 Philip installed in the sub-editor's room, with a provision of scissors, wafers, and paste-pots, snipping paragi-aphs from this paper and that, altering, condensing, giving titles, and so forth ; and, in a word, in regular harness. The three-headed calves, the gi-eat prize gooseberries, the old maiden ladies of wonderful ages who at length died in country places — it was wonderful (considering his little experience) how Firmin hunted out these. He entered into all the spirit of his busi- ness. He prided himself on the clever titles which he found for his paragraphs. When his paper was completed at the week's end, he survej'ed it fondl}' — not the leading articles, or those profound and j'et brilliant literary essa3's which ap- peared in the Gazette — but the births, deaths, marriages, mar- kets, trials, and what not. As a shop-bo}', having decorated his master's window, goes into the street, and pleased surveys his work ; so the fair face of the Pall Mall Gazette rejoiced Mr. Firmin, and Mr. Bince, the printer of the paper. They looked with an honest pride upon the result of their joint labors. Nor did Firmin relish pleasantry on the subject. Did his friends allude to it, and ask if he had shot any especially fine canard that week? Mr. Philip's brow would corrugate and his cheeks redden. He did not lilce jokes to be made at his expense : was not his a singular antipathy ? In his capacity of sub-editor, the good fellow had the priv- ilege of taking and giving awa}' countless theatre orders, and panorama and diorama tickets : the Pall Hall Gazette was not above accepting such little bribes in those da^'s, and Mrs. Mugford's familiarit}' with the names of opera singers, and splendid appearance in an opera-box, was quite remarkable. Friend Philip would bear away a heap of these cards of ad- mission, delighted to carr}' off our 3'oung folks to one exhibi- tion or another. But once at the diorama, where our young people sat in the darkness, ver}' much frightened as usual, a voice from out the midnight gloom cried out: " TF/?o has come in with orders from the Pall Hall Gazette?" A lady, two scared children, and Mr. Sub-editor Philip, all trembled at this dreadful summons. I think I should not c^are to print the story eA^en ii6w, did I not know that Mr. Firmin was travelling abroad. It was a blessing the place was dark, so that none could see the poor sub-editor's blushes. Rather than cause any mortification to this lady, I am sure Philip would have submitted to rack and torture. But, indeed, her anno^-ance was very slight, except in seeing her friend annoj'cd. The humor of the scene surpassed the annoyance in the lady's mind, 96 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP and caused her to laugh at the mishap ; but I own our httle bo}" (who is of an aristocratic turn, and rather too sensitive to ridicule from his schoolfellows) was not at all anxious to talk upou the subject, or to let the world know that he went to a place of public amusement " with- an order." As for Philip's landlady, the Little Sister, she, you know, had been familiar with the press, and pressmen, and orders for the play for ^-ears past. She looked quite young and pretty, with her kind smiling face and neat tight black dress, as she came to the theatre — it was to an Easter piece — on Philip's arm, one evening. Our children saw her from their cab, as they, too, were driving to the same performance. It was " Look, mamma ! There's PhiUp and the Little Sister ! " And then came such smiles, and nods, and delighted recognitions from the cab to the two friends on foot ! Of course I have forgotten what was the piece which we all saw on that Easter evening. But those children will never forget ; no, though they live to be a hundred years old, and though their attention was distracted from the piece by constant observation of Philip and his com- panion in the public boxes opposite. Mr. Firmin's work and pay were both light, and he accepted both very cheerfully. lie saved mone}' out of his little sti- pend. It was surprising how economically he could live with his little landlady's aid and counsel. He would come to us, recounting his feats of parsimony -with a childish delight : he loved to contemplate his sovereigns, as week by week the little pile accumulated. He kept a sharp eye upon sales, and pur- chased now and again articles of furniture. In this way he brought home a piano to his lodgings, on which he could no more pla}' than he could on the tight-rope ; but he was given to understand that it was a ver}' fine instrument ; and my wife pla3'ed on it one day when we went to visit him, and he sat listening, with his great hands on his knees, in ecstasies. He was thinking how one day, please heaven, he should see other hands touching the kej's — and plaj'er and instrument disap- peared in a mist before his happy eyes. Llis purchases were not all alwaj-s luck}'. For example, he was sadl}' taken in at an auction about a little pearl ornament. Some artful Llebrews at the sale conspired and " ran him up," as the phrase is, to a price more than equal to the value of the trinket. " But ^-ou know who it was for, ma'am," one of Philip's apologists said. " If she would like to wear his ten fingers he would cut 'em off and send 'em to her. But he keeps 'em to write her letters and verses — and most beautiful they are, too." ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 97 " And the dear fellow, who was bred up in splendor and luxury, Mrs. Mugford, as 3'ou, ma'am, know too well — he won't drink no wine now. A little whiske}- and a glass of beer is all he takes. And his clothes — he who used to be so grand — you see how he is now, ma'am. Always the gentleman, and, indeed, a finer or grander looking gentleman never entered a room ; but he is saving — j-ou know for what, ma'am." And, indeed, Mi's. Mugford did know ; and so did Mrs. Pendennis and Mrs. Brandon. And these three women worked themselves into a perfect fever, intei-esting themselves for Mr. Firmin. And Mugford, in his rough, funny wa_y, used to sa}', " Mr. P., a certain Mr. Heff has come and put our noses out of joint. He has, as sure as my name is Hem. And I am getting quite jealous of our sub-editor, and that is the long and short of it. But it's good to see him haw-haw Bickerton if ever they meet in the office, that it- is ! Bickerton won't bully him any more, I promise 3-ou ! " The conclaves and conspiracies of these women were endless in Philip's behalf. One day, I let the Little Sister out of my house with a handkerchief to her eyes, and in a great state of flurr}' and excitement, which perhaps communicates itself to the gentleman who passes her at his own door. The gentle- man's wife is, on her part, not a little moved and excited. "What do you' think Mrs. Brandon savs? Philip is learning shorthand. He says he does not think he is clever enough to be a writer of any mark ; — but he can be a reporter, and with this, and his place at Mr. Mugford's, he thinks he can earn enough to — Oh, he is a fine fellow ! " I suppose feminine emotion stopped the completion of this speech. But when Mr. Philip slouched in to dinner that day, his hostess did homage before him ; she loved him ; she treated him with a tender respect and S3'mpathy which her like are ever wont to bestow upon brave and honest men in misfortune. Why should not Mr. Philip Firmin, barrister-at-law, bethink him that he belonged to a profession which has helped very many men to competence, and not a few to wealth and honors? A barrister might surelj' hope for as good earnings as could be made by a newspaper reporter. We all know instances of men who, having commenced their careers as writers for the press, had carried on the legal profession simultaneously, and attained the greatest honors of the bar and the bench. " Can I sit in a Pump Court garret waiting for attorneys ? " asked poor Phil; "I shall break my heart before they come. My brains are not worth much ; I should addle them altogether in 32 98 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP poring over law books. I am not at all a clever fellow you see ; and I haven't the ambition and obstinate will to succeed which carr}' on many a man with no greater capacity than my own. I may have as good brains as Bickerton, for example : but I am not so bumptious as he is. By claiming the first place whercA'er he goes, he gets it very often. My dear friends, don't 3'ou see how modest I am ? There never was a man less likely to get on than myself — ^-ou must own that ; and I tell you that Charlotte and I must look forward to a life of poverty, of cheese-parings, and second-floor lodgings at Pentonville or Islington. That's about my mark. I would let her off, onh' I know she would not take me at my word — the dear little thing ! She has set her heart upon a htilking pauper : that's the truth. And I tell 3'ou what I am going to do. I am going seriously to learn the profession of povert}-, and make myself master of it. What's the price of cow-heel and tripe ? You don't know. I do ; and the right place to buy 'em. I am as good a judge of sprats as any man in London. M}^ tap in life is to be small beer henceforth, and I am growing quite to like it, and think it is brisk, and pleasant, and wholesome." There was not a little truth in Philip's account of himself, and his capacities and in- capacities. Doubtless, he was not born to make a great name for himself in the world. But do we like those only who are famous ? As well sa^' we will only give our regard to men who have ten thousand a 3'ear, or are more than six feet high. While of his three female friends and advisers, my wife ad- mired Philip's humilit}', Mrs. Brandon and Mrs. Mugford were rather disappointed at his want of spirit, and to think that he aimed so low. I shall not say which side Firmin's biographer took in this matter. Was it my business to applaud or rebuke him for being humble-minded, or was I called upon to advise at all? M}^ amial)le reader, acknowledge that you and I in life pretty much go our own way. We eat the dishes we like because we like them, not because oiu' neighbor relishes them. We rise early, or sit up late ; we work, idle, smoke, or what not, because we choose so to do, not because the doctor orders. Philip, then, was like you and me, who will have our own way when we can. Will we not? If 3'Ou won't, you do not deserve it. Instead of hungering after a stalled ox, he was accustoming himself to be content with a dinner of herbs. Instead of braving the tempest, he chose to take in sail, ci'eep along shore, and wait for calmer weather. So, on Tuesday of every week let us say, it was this modest sub-editor's duty to begin snipping and pasting paragraphs for ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 99 the ensuing Saturday's issue. He cut down the parliamentary speeches, giving due favoritism to the orators of the Pall Mail Gazette party, and meagre outUnes of their opponent's dis- courses. If the leading public men on the side of the Pall Mall Gazette gave entertainments, you may be sure they _ were duly chronicled in the fashionable intelligence; if one of their party wrote a book, it was pretty sure to get praise from the critic. I am speaking of simple old days, 3'ou understand. Of course there is no puffing, or jobbing, or false praise, or un- fair censure now. Every critic knows what he is writing about, and writes with no aim but Lo tell truth. Thus Philip, the dandy of two years back, was content to wear the shabbiest old coat ; Philip, the Philippus of one-and- twenty, who rode showy horses, and rejoiced to display his horse and person in the Park, now humbly took his place in an omnibus, and only on occasions indulged in a cab. From the roof of the larger vehicle, he would salute his friends with perfect affability, and stare down on his aunt as she passed in her barouche. He never could be quite made to acknowledge that she purposely would not see him ; or he would attribute her blindness to the quarrel which they had had, not to his poverty and present position. As for his cousin Ringwood, " That fellow would commit any baseness," Philip acknowl- edged ; " and it is I who have cut him" our friend averred. A real danger was lest our friend should in his poverty be- come more haughty and insolent than he had been in his days of better fortune, and that he should make companions of men who were not his equals. Whether was it better for him to be slighted in a fashionable club, or to swagger at the head of the company in a tavern parlor? This was the danger wo might fear for Firmin. It was impossible not to confess that he was choosing to take a lower place in the world than that to which he had been born. " Do you mean that Philip is lowered, because he is poor?" asked an angry lady, to whom this remark was made by her husband — man and wife being both very good friends to Mr. Firmin. "My dear," replies the worldling of a husband, "suppose Philip were to take a fancy to buy a donkey and sell cabbages ? He would be doing no harm ; but there is no doubt he would lower himself in the world's estimation." "Lower himself!" says the lady, with a toss of her head. " No man lowers himself by pursuing an honest calling. No man ! " 100 THE ADVENTURES OE PHILIP "Very good. There is Grundsell, the greengrocer, out of Tuthill Street, who waits at our dinners. Instead of asking him to wait, we should beg him to sit down at table ; or per- haps we should wait, and stand with a napkin behind Grund- sell." " Nonsense ! " " Grundsell's calling is strictly honest, unless he abuses his oportunities, and smuggles away — " ' ' — smuggles away stuff and nonsense ! " "Very good; Grundsell is not a fitting companion, then, for us, or the nine little Grundsells for our children. Then why should Philip give up the friends of his j'outh, and forsake a club for a tavern parlor ? You can't say our little friend, Mrs. Brandon, good as she is, is a fitting companion for him?" "If he had a good little wife, he would have a companion of his own degree ; and he would be twice as happy ; and he would be out of all danger and temptation — and the best thing he can do is to marr}^ directly ! " cries the lady. " And, my dear, I think I shall write to Charlotte and ask her to come and sta}' with us." There was no withstanding this argument. As long as Charlotte was with us we were sure that Philip would be out of harm's way, and seek for no other compam*. There was a snug little bedroom close b}' the quarters inhabited by our own children. My wife pleased herself by adorning this cham- ber, and uncle Mac happening to come to London on business about this time, the young lady came over to us under his con- voy, and I should like to describe the meeting between her and Mr. Philip in our parlor. No doubt it was very edifying. But my wife and I were not present, vous congevez. We onlj* heard one shout of surprise and delight from Philip as he went into the room where the young lady was waiting. We had but said, " Go into the parlor, Philip. You will find your old friend Major Mac there. He has come to London on business, and has news of — " There was no need to speak, for here Philip straightway bounced into the room. And then came the shout. And then out came Major Mac, with such a droll twinkle in his ej'es ! What ai'tifices and hy- pocrisies had we not to practise previouslj^, so as to keep our secret from our children, who assuredly would have discovered it ! I must tell 3'ou that the paterfamilias had guarded against the innocent prattle and inquiries of the children regarding the preparation of the little bedroom, by informing them that it was intended for Miss Grigsby, the governess, with whose ad- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 101 vent they had long been threatened. And one of onr girls, when the nn conscious Phihp arrived, said, " Phihp if^'ougo into the parlor you will find Miss Grigsby, the governess, ^there." And then Philip entered into that parlor, and then arose that shout, and then out came uncle Mac, and then, &c. &c. And we called Charlotte Miss Grigsby all dinner-time ; and we called her Miss Grigsby next day ; and the more we called her Miss Grigsb}^ the more we all laughed. And the baby, who could not speak plain yet, called her Miss Gibby, and laughed loudest of all ; and it was such fun. But I think Pliilip and Cliarlotte had the best of the fun, my dears, though they may not have laughed quite so loud as we did. As for Mrs. Brandon, who, j'ou maj^ be sure, speedily came to pay us a visit, Charlotte blushed, and looked quite Ijeantifnl when she went up and kissed the Little Sister. " He have told you about me, then ! " she said, in her soft little voice, smooth- ing the young lady's brown hair. " Should I have known him at all but for you, and did j'ou not save his life for me when he was ill?" asked Miss Baynes. "And mayn't I love every- body who loves him?" she asked. And we "left these women alone for a quarter of an hour, during which they became the most intimate friends in the world. And all our household, great and small, including the nurse, (a woman of a most jeal- ous, domineering, and uncomfortable fidelity,) thought well of our gentle young guest, and welcomed Miss Grigsby. Charlotte, yon see, is not so exceedingly handsome as to cause other women to perjure themselves by protesting that she is no great things after all. At the period with which we are concerned, she certainly had a lovely complexion, which her black dress set off, perhaps. And when Pliilip used to come into the room, she had alwa3'S a fine garland of roses ready to offer him, and growing upon her cheeks, the moment he appeared. Her manners are so entirel}^ unaffected and simple that they can't be otherwise than good : for is she not grateful, truthful, unconscious of self, easily pleased and interested in others ? Is she very witty ? I never said so — though that she appreciated some men's wit (whose names need not be men- tioned) I cannot doubt. " I say," cries Philip, on that memo- rable first night of her arrival, and when she and other ladies had gone to bed, " by George ! isn't she glorious, I say ! What can I have done to win such a pure little heart as that? JVon sum dignus. It is too much happiness — too much, by George ! " And his voice breaks behind his pipe, and he squeezes two fists into eyes that are brimful of joy and thanks. Where Fortune 102 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP bestows such a bounty as this, I think we need not pity a man for what she withdraws. As Philip walks awaj' at midnight, (walks away ? is turned out of doors ; or surely he would have gone on talking till dawn,) with the rain beating in his face, and fifty or a hundred pounds for all his fortune in his pocket, I think there goes one of the happiest of men — the happiest and richest. For is he not possessor of a treasure which he could not buy, or would not sell, for all the wealth of the world? My wife may say what she will, but she assuredl}^ is answer- able for the invitation to Miss Baynes, and for all that ensued in consequence. At a hint that she would be a welcome guest in our house, in London, where all her heart and treasin-e la}- , Charlotte Baynes gave up straightway^ her dear aunt at Tours, who had bfien kind to her ; her dear uncle, her dear mamma, and all her dear brothers — following that natural law which ordains that a woman, under certain circumstances, shall resign home, parents, brothers, sisters, for the sake of that one indi- vidual who is henceforth to be dearer to her than all. Mrs. Ba3nes, the widow, growled a complaint at her daughter's ingratitude, but did not refuse her consent. She may have known that little Hel^-, Charlotte's volatile admirer, had flut- tered off to another flower b}' this time, and that a pursuit of that butterfly was in vain : or she may have heard that he was going to pass the spring — the butterfly season — in London, and hoped that he perchance might again hght on her girl. Howbeit, she was glad enough that her daughter should accept an invitation to our house, and owned that as yet the poor child's share of this life's pleasures had been but small. Charlotte's modest httle trunks were again packed, then, and the poor child was sent off, I won't say with how small a provision of pocket-mone}^ by her mother. But the thrifty woman had but little, and of it was determined to give as little as she could. "Heaven will provide for my child," she would piously say; and hence interfered very little with those agents whom heaven sent to befriend her children. "Her mother told Charlotte that she would send her some money next Tuesday," the Major told us; "but, between ourselves, I doubt whether she will. Between ourselves, m}^ sister-in-law is always going to give money next Tuesday : but somehow Wednesday comes, and the mone}' has not arrived. I could not let the little maid be without a few guineas, and have provided her out of a half-pay purse ; but mark me, that pay-day Tuesday will never come." Shall I deny or confirm the worthy Major's statement? Thus far I will say, that Tuesda}^ most certainly came ; and a letter ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 103 from her mamma to Charlotte, which said that one of her broth- ers ami a ^-oiuiger sister were going to stay with Aunt Mac ; and that as Char was so happ}' with her most hospitable and kind friends, a fond widowed mother, who had given up all pleasures for herself, would not interfere to prevent a darling child's hai)[)iness. It has been said that three women, whose names have been given up, were conspiring in the behalf of this 3'oung person and the young man her sweetheart. Three days after Char- lotte's arrival at our house, my wife persists in thinking that a drive into the country would do the child good, orders a brougham, dresses Charlotte in her best, and trots away to see ]Mrs. Mugford at Ilampstcad. Mrs. Brandon is at Mrs. Mugford's, of course quite bj' chance : and I feel sure that Charlotte's friend compliments Mrs. Mugford upon her garden, upon her nursery, upon her luncheon, upon everything that is hers. "Why, dear me," says Mrs. Mugford (as the ladies discourse upon a certain subject), " what does it matter? Me and Mugford married on two pound a week ; and on two pound a week in}- dear eldest children were born. It was a hard strug- gle sometimes, but we were all the happier for it ; and I'm sure if a man won't risk a little he don't deserve much. I know / would risk, if I were a man, to marry such a prett}^ young dear. And I should take a young man to be but a mean-spirited fel- low who waited and went shilly-shallying when he had but to sa}'^ the word and be happy. I thought Mr. F. was a brave, courageous gentkiuian, I did, Mrs. Brandon. Do vou want me for to have a bad opinion of him? My dear, a little of that cream. It's very good. We 'ad a dinner yesterday, and a cook down from town on purpose." This speech, with appro- priate imitations of voice and gesture, was repeated to the pres- ent biographer b^^ the present biographer's wife, and he now began to see in what webs and meshes of conspiracy tliese artful women had enveloped tlie subject of the present biography. Like Mrs. Brandon, and the other matron, Charlotte's friend, Mrs. Muglbrd became interested in the gentle young creature, and kissed her kindly, and made her a present on going awa}'. It was a brooch in the shape of a thistle, if I remember aright, set with amethysts and a lovely Scottish stone called, I believe, a cairngorm. " She ain't no style about her; and I confess, from a general's daughter, brought up on the Continent, I should have expected better. But we'll show her a little of the world and the opera, Brandon, and she'll do very well, of that I make no doubt." And Mrs. Mugford took Miss Baynes to the opera, 104 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP and pointed out the other people of fashion there assembled. And delighted Charlotte was. I make no doubt there was a 5'oung gentleman of our acquaintance at the back of the box who was ver}' happ}^ too. And this year, Philip's kinsman's wife, Lady Ringwood, had a box, in which Philip saw her and her daughters, and little Ringwood Twj^sden paying assiduous court to her lad^'ship. They met in the crush-room bj^ chance again, and Lad}' Ringwood looked hard at Philip and the blush- ing 3'oung lady on his arm. And it happened that Mrs. Mug- ford's carriage — the little one-horse trap which opens and shuts so conveniently — and Lad}' Ring wood's tall, emblazoned char- iot of state, stopped the way together. And from the tall emblazoned chariot the ladies looked not unkindly at the trap which contained the beloved of Philip's heart : and the carriages departed each on its way ; and Ringwood Twysden, seeing his cousin advancing towards him, turned ver}' pale, and dodged at a double quick down an arcade. But he need not have been afraid of Philip. Mr. Firmin's heart was all softness and be- nevolence at that time. He was thinking of those sweet, sweet eyes that had just glanced to him a tender good-night ; of that little hand which a moment since had hung with fond pressure on his arm. Do you suppose in such a frame of mind he had leisure to think of a nauseous little reptile crawling behind him? He was so happy that night, that Pliilip was King Philip again. And he went to the " Haunt," and sang his song of Garryowen na gloria, and greeted the boys assembled, and spent at least three shillings over his supper and drinks. But the next day being Sunday, Mr. Firmin was at Westminster Abbey, listen- ing to the sweet church chants, by the side of the very same 3^oung person whom he had escorted to the opera on the night before. They sat together so close that one must have heard exactly as well as the other. I dare say it is edif3'ing to listen to anthems a deux. And how complimentary to the clergj'man to have to wish that the sermon was longer ! Through the vast cathedral aisles the organ notes peal gloriously. Ruby and topaz and ameth3'st blaze from the great church windows. Under the tall arcades the 3'oung people went together. Hand in hand the3^ passed, and thought no ill. Do gentle readers begin to tire of this spectacle of billing and cooing? I have tried to describe Mr. Philip's love-affairs with as few words and in as modest phrases as ma}' be — omit- ting the raptures, the passionate vows, the reams of correspond- ence, and the usual commonplaces of his situation. And 3'et, my dear madam, though 3'ou and I ma3' be past the age of ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 105 billing and cooing, though your ringlets, which I remember a lovely auburn, are now — well — are now a rich purple and green black, and my brow may be as bald as a cannon-ball ; — I say, though we are old, we are not too old to forget. We may not care about the pantomime much now, but we like to. take the young folks, and see them rejoicing. From the win- dow where I write, I can look down into the garden of a certain square. In that garden I can at this moment see a young gentleman and lady of my acquaintance pacing up and down. They are talking some such talk as Milton imagines our first parents engaged in ; and yonder garden is a paradise to my young friends. Did they choose to look outside the railings of the square, or at any other objects than each other's noses, they might see — the tax-gatherer we will say — with his book, knocking at one door, the doctor's l)rougham at a second, a hatchment over the windows of a third mansion, the baker's boy discoursing with the housemaid over the railings of a fourth. But what to them are these phenomena of life ? Arm in arm my young folks go pacing up and down their Eden, and dis- coursing about that happy time which I suppose is now draw- ing near, about that charming little snuggery for which the furniture is ordered, and to which, miss, your old friend and very humble servant will take the liberty of forwarding his best regards and a neat silver teapot. I dare say, with these young people, as with Mr. Philip and Miss Charlotte, all occurrences of life seemed to have reference to that event which forms the subject of their perpetual longing and contemplation. There is the doctor's brougham driving awa}-, and Imogene says to Alonzo, " What anguish I shall have if you are ill!" Then there is the carpenter putting up the hatchment. " Ah, my love, if you were to die, I think the}- might put up a hatchment for both of us," says Alonzo, with a killing sigh. Both s^'mpa- thize with Mar}- and the baker's bo}' whispering over the rail- ings. Go to, gentle baker's bo}-, we also know what it is to love ! The whole soul and strength of Charlotte and Philip being bent upon marriage, I take leave to put in a document which Philip received at this time ; and can imagine that it occasioned no little sensation : — " AsTOR House, New York. " And so you are returned to the great city — to tlie fiimum, the strepi- tiim, and I sincerely hope the opes of our Rome! Your own letters are but brief; but I have an occasional correspondent (there are few, alas! who remember the exile!) who keeps me au couranl of my Philip's history, and 106 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP tells me that you are industrious, that you are cheerful, that you prosper. Cheerfulness is the companion of Industry, Prosperity their offspring. That that prosperity may attain the fullest growth, is an absent fatlier's fondest prayer ! Perhaps ere long I shall be able to announce to you that I too am prospering. I am engaged in pursuing a scientific discovery here • (it is medical, and connected with my own profession), of which the results omiht to lead to Fortune, unless the jade has for ever deserted George Brand Firmin ! So you have embarked in the drudgery of the press, and liave become a member of the fourth estate. It has been despised, and press- man and poverty were for a long time supposed to be synonymous. But the power, the wealth of the press are daily developing, and they will in- crease yet furtlier. I confess 1 sliould have liked to hear that my Philip was pursuing his profession of the bar, at which honor, splendid compe- tence, nay, aristocratic rank, are the prizes of the bold, the industrious, and the deseriin;/. Why should you not? — should I not still hope that you may gain legal eminence and position ? A father who has had much to suffer, who is descending the vale of years alone and in a distant land, would be soothed in his exile if he thought ins son would one day be able to repair the shattered fortunes of his race. But it is not yet, I fondly tiiink, too late. You may yet qualify for the bar, and one of its prizes may fall to you. I confess it was not witliout a pang of grief I heard from our kind little friend Mrs. B., you were studying sliorthand in order to become a newspaper reporter. And iias Fortune, then, been so relentless to me that my son is to be compelled to follow such a calling ? I shall try and be resigned. I had hoped higher things for you — for me. " My dear boy, with regard to your romantic attacliment for Miss Baynes, which our good little Brandon narrates to me, in her peculiar or- thography, but with much touching simpliciti/, — I make it a rule not to say a word of comment, of warning, or remonstrance. As sure as you are your father's son, you will take your own line in any matter of attachment to a woman, and all the fathers in the world won't stop you. In PhiUp of four-and-twenty I recognize his father thirty years ago. My father scolded, entreated, quarrelled witli me, never forgave me. I will learn to be more generous towards my son. I may grieve, but I bear you no malice. If ever I acliieve wealth again, you shall not be deprived of it. I suffered 60 myself from a harsh father, that I will never be one to my son ! " As you have put on the livery of the Muses, and regularly entered yourself of the Fraternity of the Press, what say you to a little addition to your income by letters addressed to my friend, the editor of the new journal, called here the Gazette of the Upper Ten Thousand. It is the fash- ionable journal published here ; and your qualifications are precisely those which would make your services valuable as a contributor. Doctor Ger- aldine, the editor, is not, I believe, a relative of the Leinster family, but a self-made man, who arrived in this country some years since, poor, and an exile from his native country. He advocates Repeal politics in Ireland ; but with these of course you need have nothing to do. And he is much too liberal to expect these from his contributors. I have been of service professionally to Mrs. Geraldine and himself. My friend of tlie Emerald introduced me to the doctor. Terrible enemies in print, in private they are perfectly good friends, and the little passages of arms between the two jour- nalists serve rather to amuse than to irritate. ' The grocer's boy from Or- mond Quay ' (Geraldine once, it appears, engaged in that useful but humble ealling), and the ' miscreant from Cork ' — the editor of the Emerald comes from that city — assail each other in public, but drink whiskey -and-water galore in private. If you write for Geraldine, of course you will say nothing ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 107 disrespectful nhoiit grocers' boys:. His dollars are good silver, of that you may- be sure. Dr. G. knows a part of your liistory : iie knows that you are now fairly engaged iu literary pursuits ; that you are a man of education, a gentleman, a man of the world, a man of courage. I have answered for your possessing all these qualities. (Tlie doctor, in his droll, humorous way, said that if you were a chip of the old block you would be just what he called ' the grit.') Political treatises are not so nmcli wanted as per- sonal news regarding the notabilities of London, and these, I assured him, you were the very man to be able to furnish. You, who know everybody ; who have lived with the great world — the world of lawyers, the world of artists, the world of the university — have already had an experience which few gentlemen of the press can boast of, and may turn that experience to profit. Suppose you were to trust a little to your imagination in composing these letters ■? there can be no harm in being poetical. Suppose an intelli- gent correspondent writes that he has met the D-ke of W-U-ngt-n, had a private interview with the Pr-m-r, and so forth, who is to say him nay 1 And this is the kind of talk onr f/obeinoucMes of New York delight in. My worthy friend, Doctor Geraldine, for example — between ourselves his name is Finnigan, but his private history is strictly eiitre nous — when he first came to New York astonished the people by the copiousness of his anecdotes regarding the English aristocracy, of wliom he knows as much as he does of the Court of Pekin. He was smart, ready, sarcastic, amusing; he found readers : from one success he advanced to another, and the G'a- zetle of the Upper Ten Thousand is likely to make this worthy man's fortune. You really may be serviceable to him, and may justly earn the liberal re- muneration which lie offers for a weekly letter. Anecdotes of men and women of fashion — the more gay and lively the more welcome — the guicquid agunt homines, in a word, — should be the farrago libel! i. Who are the reigning beauties of London ? and Beauty, you know, has a rank and fashion of its own. Has any one lately won or lost on the turf or at play ? What are the clubs talking about ? Are there any duels 1 What is the last scandal ? Does the good old Duke keep his health 1 Is that affair over between the Duchess of This and Captain That '? " Such is the information which our badauds here like to have, and for which my friend the doctor will pay at the rate of dollars per letter. Your name need not appear at all. The remuneration is certain. C'est a prendre ou « laisser, as our lively neighbors say. Write in the first place in confidence to me ; and in whom can you confide more safely than in your father ? " You will, of course, pay your respects to your relative the new Lord of Ringwood. For a young man whose family is so powerful as yours, there can surely be no derogation in entertaining some feudal respect, and who knows whether and how soon Sir- John Ringwood may be able to help his cousin ? By the way, Sir John is a Whig, and 3'our paper is a Conser- vative. But you are, above .all, homme du monde. In such a subordinate place as you occupy with the Pall Mall Gazette, a man's private politics do not surely count at all. If Sir John Ringwood, your kinsman, sees any way of lielping you, so much the better, and of course your politics will be those of your family. I have no knowledge of him. He was a very quiet man at college, where, I regret to say, your father's friends were not of the quiet sort at all. I trust I have repented. I have sown my wild oats. And ah! how pleased I shall be to hear that my Philip has bent his proud head a little, and is ready to submit more than he used of old to the customs of the world. Call upon Sir John, then. As a Whig gentleman of large es- tate, I need not tell you that he will expect respect from you. He is your 108 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP kinsman ; the representative of your grandfather's gallant and noble race. He bears the name your mother bore. To her my Philip was always gen- tle, and for her sake you will comply with the wishes of " Your affectionate father, " G. B. F." " I have not said a word of compliment to mademoiselle. I wish her so well that I own I wish she were about to marry a richer suitor tlian my dear son. Will fortune ever permit me to embrace my daughter-in-law, and take your cliildren on my knee 1 You will speak kindly to tiiem of their grandfather, will you not ? Poor General Baynes, I liave heard, used violent and unseemly language regarding me, which I most heartily pardon. I am grateful when I think tliat I never did General B. an injiiri/ : grateful and proud to accept benefits from my own son. These I treasure up in my heart ; and still hope I shall be able to repay with something more substantial than my fondest prayers. Give my best wishes, then, to Miss Charlotte, and try and teach her to tliink kindly of her Philip's father." Miss Charlotte Ba3'nes, who kept the name of Miss Grigsby, the governess, amongst all the roguish children of a facetious father, was with us one month, and her mamma expressed great cheerfulness at her absence, and at the thought that she had found such good friends. After two months, her uncle, Major MacWhirter, returned from visiting his relations in the North, and offered to take his niece back to France again. He made this proposition with the jolliest air in the world, and as if his niece would jump for joy to go back to her mother. But to the Major's astonishment. Miss Baynes turned quite pale, ran to her hostess, flung herself into that lad^-'s arms, and then there began an osculatory performance which perfectly astonished the good Major. Charlotte's friend, holding Miss Ba3'nes tight in her embrace, looked fiercely at the Major over the girl's shoulder, and defied him to take her away from that sanc- tuar3^ "Oh, you dear, good dear friend!" Charlotte gurgled out, and sobbed I know not what more expressions of fondness and gi'atitude. But the truth is, that two sisters, or mother and daughter, could not love each other more heartilj^ than these two person- ages. Mother and daughter forsooth ! You should have seen Charlotte's piteous look when sometimes the conviction would come on her that she ought at length to go home to mamma ; such a look as I can fancy Iphigenia casting on Agamemnon, when, in obedience to a painful sense of duty, he was about to — to use the sacrificial knife. No, we all loved her. The children would howl at the idea of parting with their Miss Grigsby. Charlotte, in return, helped them to very pretty les- A Lettek FR03I New Yokk. 02T HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 109 sons in music and French — served hot, as it were, from her own recent studies at Tours — and a good daily governess operated on the rest of their education to everybody's satis- faction. And so months rolled on and our 3'oung favorite still re- mained with us. Mamma fed the little maid's purse with occa- sional remittances ; and begged her hostess to supply her with all necessarj- articles from the milliner. Afterwards, it is true, Mrs. General Baynes * * But wh}- enter upon these pain- ful family disputes in a chapter which has been devoted to sentiment? As soon as Mr. Firmiti received the letter above faithfully copied, (with the exception of the pecuniary offer, which I do not consider myself at liberty to divulge,) he hurried down from Thornhaugh Street to Westminster. He dashed by Buttons, the page ; he took no notice of my wondering wife at the draw- ing-room door ; he rushed to the second floor, bursting open the schoolroom door, where Charlotte was teaching our dear third daughter to play " In m}' Cottage near a Wood." ' ' Charlotte ! Charlotte ! " he cried out. "La, Philip ! don't 3"ou see Miss Grigsby is giving us les- sons?" said the children. But he would not listen to those wags, and still beckoned Charlotte to him. That 3'oung woman rose up and followed him out of the door, as, indeed, she would have followed him out of the window ; and there, on the stairs, they read Dr. Firmin's letter, with their heads quite close together, you understand. "Two hundred a year more," said Philip, his heart throb- bing so that he could hardly speak ; ' ' and your fift^^ — and two hundred the Gazette — and — " "Oh, Philip!" was all Charlotte could sa}^, and then — There was a pretty group for the children to see, and for an artist to draw ! 110 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP CHAPTER IX. WAYS AND MEANS. ■, Of course any man of the world, who is possessed of decent 'prudence, will perceive that the idea of niarr3ing on four hun- dred and fifty pounds a year, so secured as was Master Philip's income, was preposterous and absurd. In the first place, you can't live on four hundred and fifty pounds a year, that is a certaint3\ People do live on less, I believe. But a life with- out a brougham, without a decent house, without claret for dinner, and a footman to wait, can hari.lly be called existence. Philip's income might fail any da3\ He might not please the American paper. He might quarrel with the Pall Mall Gazette. And then what would remain to him ? Onl^' poor little Char- lotte's fift}^ pounds a 3-ear ! So Philip's most intimate male friend — a man of the world, and with a good deal of experi- ence — argued. Of course I was not surprised that Philip did not choose to take m3' advice ; though I did not expect he would become so violently angr3', call names almost, and use most rude expressions, when, at his express desire^ this advice was tendered to him. If he did not want it, wh3^ did he ask for it? The advice might be unwelcome to him, but wh3' did he choose to tell me at my own table, over my own claret, that it was the advice of a sneak and a worldling? My good fellow, that claret, though it is a second growth, and I can afford no better, costs sevent3'-two shillings a dozen. How much is six times three hundred and sixt3--five? A bottle a day is the least 3'ou can calculate (the fellow would come to m3' house and drink two bottles to himself, with the utmost nonchalance). A bottle per diem of that light claret — of that second-growth stuff — costs one hundred and four guineas a 3-ear, do 3'oif understand? or, to speak plainl3' with 3'ou, one hundred and nine pounds four shillings ! "Well," says Philip, "apres? We'll do without. Mean- time I will take what I can get ! " and he tosses off about a pint as he speaks (these mousseline glasses are not only enor- mous, but the3' break by dozens). He tosses off a pint of my Larose, and gives a great roar of laughter, as if he had said a good thing ! 02T HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. Ill Philip Firmiii ^5 coarse and offensive at times, and Bickerton in holding this opinion is not altogether wrong. "■I'll drink claret when I come to 3'ou, old bo}'," he sa3's, grinning ; " and at home I will have whiskej-and- water." " Bnt suppose Charlotte is ordered claret ! " " Well, she can have it," says this liberal lover ; " a bottle will last her a week." " Don't you see," I shriek out, " that even a bottle a week costs something like — six by fift3--two — eighteen pounds a year ! " (I own it is really only fifteen twelve ; but, in the hurr}' of argument, a man may stretch a figure or so.) " Eigh- teen pounds for Charlotte's claret ; as much, at least, 3'ou great booz}' toper, for your whiskey' and beer. Why, j'ou actually want a tenth part of 3'our income for the liquor 3-ou consume ! And then clothes ; and then lodging ; and then coals ; and then doctor's bills ; and then pocket-money ; and then sea-side for the little dears. Just have the kindness to add these things up, and 3"ou will find that a'ou have about two-and-ninepence left to pa3' the grocer and the butcher." " What 3'ou call prudence," sa3's Philip, thumping the table, and, of course, breaking a glass, "I call cowardice — I call blasphem3' ! Do 3'ou mean, as a Christian man, to tell me that two 3'oung people and a famil3-, if it should please heaven to send them one, cannot subsist upon five hundred pounds a 3'ear? Look round, sir, at the m3'riads of God's creatures who live, love, are hap])y and poor, and be ashamed of the wicked doubt which you utter ! " And he starts up, and strides up and down tlie dining-room, curling his flaming moustache, and rings the bell fiercel3', and sa3's, " Johnson, I've broke a glass. Get me_ another." In the drawing-room, mA' wife asks what we two were fight- ing about? And, as Charlotte is up stairs, telling the children stories as the3' arc put to bed, or writing to her dear mamma, or what not, our friend bursts out with more rude and violent expressions than he had used in the dining-room over mv glasses which he was smasliing, tells m3' own wife that I am an atheist, or at best a miserable sceptic and Sadducee : that I doubt of the goodness of heaven, and am not thankful for m3' dai]3^ bread. And, with one of her kindling looks directed towards the 3'oung man, of course my wife sides with him. Miss Char presentl3' came down from the 3'oung folks, and went to the piano, and plaved us Beethoven's " Dream of Saint Jerome," which alwa3's soothes me, and charms me, so that I fanc3' it is a poem of Tenn^'son in music. And our children, as thej' sink 112 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP off to sleep overhead, like to hear soft music, which soothes them into slumber, Miss Baynes sa3-s. And Miss Charlotte looks very pretty at her piano : and Philip lies gazing at her, with his great feet and hands tumbled over one of our arm- chairs. And the music, with its solemn cheer, makes us all very happy and kind-hearted, and ennobles us somehow as we listen. And ray wife wears her benedictory look whenever she turns towards these young people. She has worked herself up to. the opinion that yonder couple ought to marry. She can give chapter and verse for her belief. To doubt about the matter at all is wicked according to her notions. And there are certain points upon which, I humbly own, that I don't dare to argue witli her. When the women of the house have settled a matter, is there much use in man's resistance? If my harem orders that I shall wear a yellow coat and pink trousers, I know that, be- fore three months are over, I shall be walking about in rose- tendre and canar3^-colored garments. It is the perseverance which conquers, the dail}'^ return to the object desired. Take my advice, my dear sir, when 3'ou see your womankind resolute about a matter, give up at once, and have a quiet life. Perhaps to one of these evening entertainments, where Miss Baynes played the piano, as she did very pleasantly, and Mr. Philip's great clumsy fist turned the leaves, little Mrs. Brandon would come tripping in, and as she surve3'ed the young couple., her remark would be, " Did 3'ou ever see a better suited couple? " When I came home from chambers, and passed the dining- room door, my eldest daughter with a knowing face would bar the way and say, "You mustn't go in there, papa! Miss Grigsby is there, and Master Philip is not to he disturbed at his lessons ! " Mrs. Mugford had begun to arrange marriages be- tween her young people and ours from the ver}"^ first day she saw us ; and Mrs. M.'s ch. filly Toddles, rising two years, and our three-year old colt Billyboy, were rehearsing in the nui'sery the endless little comedy which the grown-up young persons were performing in the drawing-room. With the greatest frankness Mrs. Mugford gave her opinion that Philip, with four or five hundred a year, would be no better than a sneak if he delayed to marr}'. How much had she and Mugford when they married, she would like to know? "Emily Street, Pentonville, was where we had apartments," she remarked; "we were pinched sometimes; but we owed nothing : and our housekeeping books I can show 3'Ou." I be- lieve Mrs. M. actually brought these dingy relics of her hone3'- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 113 moon for my wife's inspection. I tell you, mj' house was peopled with these friends of matrimony. Flies were for ever in requi- sition, and our boys were very sulky at having to sit for an hour at Schoolbred's, while certain ladies lingered there over blankets, tablecloths, and what not. Once I found my wife and Charlotte flitting about Wardour Street, the former lady much interested in a great Dutch cabinet, with a glass cupboard and corpulent drawers. And that cabinet was, ere long, carted off to Mrs. Brandon's, Thornhaugh Street ; and in that glass cup- board there was presently to be seen a neat set of china for tea and breakfast. The end was approaching. That event, with which the third volume of the old novels used to close, was at hand. I am afraid our .young people can't drive off from St. George's in a chaise and four, and that no noble relative will lend them his castle for the hone3-moon. Well : some people cannot drive to happiness, even with four horses ; and other folks can reach the goal on foot. My venerable Muse stoops down, unlooses her cothurnus with some difficulty, and prepares to fling that old shoe after the pair. Tell, venerable Muse ! what were the marriage gifts which friendship provided for Philip and Charlotte? Philip's cousin, Ringwood Twysden, came simpering up to me at " Ba^'s's Club " one afternoon, and said: " I hear my precious cousin is going to marry. I think I shall send him a broom to sweep a crossin'." I was nearly going to say, "This was a piece of generosity to be expected from your father's son ; " but the fact is, that I did not think of this withering repartee until I was crossing St. James's Park on my way home, when Twysden of course was out of ear-shot. A great number of my best wit- ticisms have been a little late in making their appearance in the world. If we could but hear the wwspoken jokes, how we should all laugh ; if we could but speak them, how witty we should be ! When you have left the room, you have no notion what clever things I was going to say when you balked me by going awa}-. Well, then, the fact is, the Twysden family gave Philip nothing on his marriage, being the exact sum of regard which they pro- fessed to have for him. Mrs. Major MacWhirter gave the bride an Indian brooch, representing the Taj Mahal at Agra, which General Ba3'nes had given to his sister-in-law in old days. At a later period, it is true, Mrs. Mac asked Charlotte for the brooch back again ; but this was when many family quarrels had raged between the relatives — quarrels which to describe at length would be to tax too much the writer and the readers of this history. 33 114 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Mrs. Mdgford presented an elegant plated coffee-pot, six drawing-room almanacs (spoils of the Pall Mall Gazette)^ and fourteen richly cut jelly-glasses, most useful for negus if the young couple gave evening-parties ; for dinners they would not be able to afford. Mrs. Brandon made an offering of two tablecloths and twelve dinner napkins most beautifully worked, and 1 don't know how much house linen. The Lady of the Present Writer — Twelve tea-spoons in buUion, and a pair of sugar-tongs. Mrs. Baynes, Philip's mother-in-law, sent him also a pair of sugar-tongs, of a light manufacture, easily broken. He keeps a tong to the present day, and speaks very satirically regarding that relic. Philip's Inn of Court — A bill for commons and Inn taxes, with the Treasurer's compliments. And these, I think, formed the items of poor little Charlotte's meagre trousseau. Before Cinderella went to the ball she was almost as rich as our little maid. Charlotte's mother sent a grim consent to the child's marriage, but declined herself to attend it. She was ailing and poor. Her year's widowhood was just over. She had her other children to look after. M}' impression is that Mrs. Ba3'nes thought that she would be out of Pliilip's power so long as she remained abroad, and that the General's savings would be secure from him. So she dele- gated her authority to Philip's friends in London, and sent her daughter a moderate wish for her happiness, which may or may not have profited the young people. "Well, my dear, you are rich, compared to what I was, when I married," little Mrs. Brandon said to her young friend. " You will have a good husband. That is more than I had. You will have good friends ; and I was almost alone for a time, until it pleased God to befriend me." It was not without a feeling of awe that we saw these young people commence that voyage of life on which henceforth the}^ were to journey to- gether ; and I am sure that of the small company who accom- panied them to the silent little chapel where the^' were joined in marriage there was not one who did not follow them with tender good wislies and heartfelt prayers. The}' had a little purse provided for a montli's holida3\ They had health, hope, good spirits, good friends. I have never learned that life's trials were over after marriage ; only luck}' is he who has a loving companion to share them. As for the lady with whom Charlotte had stayed before her marriage, she was in a state of the most lachrymose sentimentality. She sat on the bed in ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 115 the chamber which the httle maid had vacated. Her tears flowed copiously. She knew not why, she could not tell how the girl had wound herself round her maternal heart. And I think if heaven had decreed this young creature should be poor, it had sent her many blessings and treasures in com- pensation. Every respectable man and woman in London will, of course, pity these young people, and reprobate the mad risk which they were running, and yet, by the influence and exam- ple of a sentimental wife probably, so madly sentimental have I become, that I own sometimes I almost fancy these mis- guided wretches were to be envied. A melancholy little chapel it is where they were married, and stands hard by our house. We did not decorate the church with flowers, or adorn the beadles with white ribbons. We had, I must confess, a dreary little breakfast, not in the least enlivened by Mugford's jokes, who would make a speech de circonstance^ which was not, I am thankful to sa}', reported in the Pall Mall Gazette. "We shan't charge you for advertis- ing the marriage ^Aere, my dear," Mrs. Mugford said. "And I've already took it myself to Mr. Burjoyce." Mrs. Mugford had insisted upon pinning a large white favor upon John, who drove her from Hampstead : but that was the only ornament present at the nuptial ceremony, much to the disappointment of the good lad}'. There was a very pretty cake, with two doves in sugar, on the top, which the Little Sister made and sent, and no other lymeneal emblem. Our little girls as bridesmaids appeared, to be sure, in new bonnets and dresses, but everybody' else looked so quiet and demure, that when we went into the church, three or four street urchins knocking about the gate, said, "Look at 'em. They're going to be 'ung." And so the words are spoken, and the indissolu- ble knot is tied. Amen. For better, for worse, for good days or evil, love each other, cling to each other, dear friends. Fulfil your course, and accomplish your life's toil. In sorrow, soothe each other ; in illness, watch and tend. Cheer, fond wife, the husband's struggle ; lighten his gloomy hours with your tender smiles, and gladden his home with your love. Husband, father, whatsoever your lot, be ^our heart pure, your life honest. For the sake of those who bear 3'our name, let no bad action sully it. As 3'ou look at those innocent faces, which ever tenderl}' greet you, be 3-ours, too, innocent, and your conscience without reproach. As the 3'oung people kneel before the altar-railing, some such thoughts as these pass 116 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP through a friend's mind who witnesses the ceremony of their marriage. Is not all we hear in that place meant to apply to ourselves, and to be can-ied away for everyday cogitation ? After the ceremonj- we sign the book, and walk back de- murely to breakfast. And Mrs. Mugford does not conceal her disappointment at the small preparations made for the recep- tion of the marriage party. " I call it shabby, Brandon ; and I speak m}' mind. No favors. Only your cake. No speeches to speak of. No lobster-salad : and wine on the side-board. I thought your Queen Square friends knew how to do the thing better ! When one of my gurls is married, I promise you we shan't let her go out of the back-door ; and at least we shall have the best four grays that Newman's can furnish. It's my belief your young friend is getting too fond of money, Brandon, and so I have told Mugford." But these, j-ou see, were only questions of taste. Good Mrs. Mugford's led her to a green satin dress and a pink turban, when other ladies were in gray or quiet colors. The intimac}^ between our two families dwin- dled immediately after Philip's marriage ; Mrs. M., I am sorry to say, setting us down as shabby-genteel people, and she couldn't bear screwing — never could! Well : the speeches were spoken. The bride was kissed, and departed with her bridegroom : they had not even a valet and lady's-maid to bear them company. The route of the happy pair was to be Canterbury, Folkestone, Boulogne, Am- iens, Paris, and Italy perhaps, if their little stock of pocket- money would serve them so far. But the ver}' instant when half was spent, it was agreed that these young people should turn their faces homeward again ; and meanwhile the printer and Mugford himself agreed that they would do Mr. Sub- editor's duty. How much had they in the little purse for their pleasure-journey? That is no business of ours, surelj^ ; but with youth, health, happiness, love, amongst their posses- sions, I don't think our young friends had need to be discon- tented. Away then they drive in their cab to the railway station. Farewell, and heaven bless you, Charlotte and Philip ! I have said how I found m3'wife crying in her favorite's vacant bedroom. The marriage table did coldly furnish forth a funeral kind of dinner. The cold chicken choked us all, and the jelly was but a sickl}' compound to my taste, though it was the Little Sister's most artful manufacture. I own for one I was quite miserable. I found no comfort at clubs, nor could the last new novel fix my attention. I saw Philip's eyes, and ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 117 heard the warble of Charlotte's sweet voice. I walked off from " Baj-s's," and through Old Parr Street, where Philip had lived, and his parents entertained me as a boy ; and then tramped to Thornhaugh Street, rather ashamed of myself. The maid said mistress was in Mr. Philip's rooms, the two pair, — and what was that I heard on the piano as I entered the apartment? Mrs. Brandon sat there hemming some chintz window-curtains, or bed-curtains, or what not : by her side sat my own eldest girl stitching away ver}' resolutely ; and at the piano — the piano which Philip had bought — there sat mj^ own wife picking out that " Dream of Saint Jerome," of Beethoven, which Charlotte used to play so delicatel3\ We had tea out of Philip's tea-things, and a nice hot cake, which consoled some of us. But I have known few evenings more melancholy than that. It felt like the first night at school after the holidays, when we all used to trj- and appear cheerful, you know. But ah ! how dismal the gayety was ; and how drearj' that lying awake in the night, and thinking of the happy days just over ! The way in which we looked forward for letters from our bride and bridegroom was quite a curiosity. At length a letter arrived from these personages : and as it contains no secret, I take the liberty to print it in extenso. "Amiens, Friday. Paris, Saturday. "Dearest Friends, — (For the dearest friends you are to us, and will continue to be as long as we live) — We perform our promise of writing to you to say tliat we are well, and safe, and happi/ ! Philip says I mustn't use dashes, but I can't help it. He says, he supposes I am dashing off a letter. You know his joking way. Oh, wliat a blessing it is to see him so happy. And if he is happy I am. I tremble to think how happy. He sits opposite me, smoking his cigar, looking so noble! / like it, and I went to our room and brought him this one. He says, ' Char, if I were to say bring me your head, yoii would order a waiter to cut it off.' Pray, did I not promise three days ago to love, honor, and obey him, and am I going to break my promise already "? I hope not. I pray not. All my life I hope I shall be trying to keep that promise of mine. We liked Canterbury almost as much as dear Westminster. We had an open carriage and took a qlorious drive to Folkestone, and in the crossing Philip was ill, and I wasn't. And lie looked very droll; and he was in a dreadful bad humor; and that was my first appearance as nurse. I think I should like him to be a little ill sometimes, so that I may sit up and take care of him. We went through the cords at the custom-house at Boulogne; and I remembered how, two years ago, I passed through those very cords with my poor papa, and he stood outside, and saw us ! We went to the ' Hotel des Bains.' We walked about the town. We went to the Tintclleries, where we used to live, and to your house in the Haute Ville, where I remember even/thing as if it was yrsterdai/. Don't you remember, as we were walking one day, you said, ' Charlotte, there is the steamer coming ; there is the smoke of his funnel ; ' 118 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP and I said, ' What steamer 1 ' and you said, ' The Philip, to be sure.' And he came up, smoking his pipe ! We passed over and over tlie old ground where we used to walk. We went to the pier, and gave money to tiie poor little hunchback who plays the guitar, and he said, ' Mcrci, madaine.' How droll it sounded 1 And that good kind Marie at the ' Hotel des Eains ' re- membered us, and called us ' ines enfUns.' And if you were not the most good-natured woman iri the world, I think I should be ashamed to write such nonsense. " Think of Mrs. Brandon having knitted me a purse, which she gave me as we went away from dear, dear Queen Square ; and when I oi)ened it, there were five sovereigns in it ! Wlien we found what the purse contained, Philip used one of his great jurons (as he always does when he is most tender-hearted), and he said that wonjan was an angel, and that we would keep those five sovereigns, and never change them. Ah! lam thankful my husband has such friends! I will love all who love him — you most of all. For were not you the means of bringing this noble heart to me ? I fancy I have known hiiiger people, since I have known you, and some of your friends. Their talk is simpler, their thoughts are greater tlian — those with whom I used to live. P. says, heaven has given Mrs. Brandon such a great heart, that she must have a good intellect. If loving my Philip be wisdom, I know some one who will be very wise ! " If I was not in a very great hurry to see mamma, Philip said we might stop a day at Amiens. And we went to the Cathedral, and to whom do you think it is dedicated 1 to mij saint : to Saint Firmin ! and oh ! I prayed to heaven to give me strength to devote my life to mi/ s'u'nt's service, to love him always, as a pure true wife: in sickness to guard him, in sor- row to soothe him. I will try and learn and studii, not to make my intellect equal to his — very few women can hope for that — but that I may better comprehend him, and give him a companion more worthy of him. I wonder whether there ai"e many men in the world as clever as our Imsbands? Though Philip is so modest. He says he is not clever at all. Yet I know he is, and grander somehow than other men. I said nothing, but I used to listen at Queen Square ; and some who came who thought best of them- selves, seemed to me pert, and worldly, and small ; and some were like princes somehow. My Pliilip is one of the princes. Ah, dear friend ! may I not give thanks where tlianks are due, that I am chosen to be the wife of a true gentleman 1 Kind, and brave, and loyal Philip ! Honest and generous, — above deceit or selfish scheme. Oh! I hope it is not wrong to be so happy ! " We wrote to mamma and dear Madame Smolensk to say we were com- ing. Mamma finds Madame de Valentinois' boarding-house even dearer than dear Madame Smolensk's. I don't mean a pun ! She says she has found out that Madame de Valentinois' real name is Cornichon ; that she was a person of the worst character, and that cheating at e'carte' was prac- tised at her house. She took up her own two francs and another two-franc piece from the card-table, saying that Colonel Boulotte was cheating, and by rights the money was hers. She is going to leave Madame de Valen- tinois at the end of her month, or as soon as her children, who have the measles, can move. She desired that on no acconnt I would come to see her at Madame V.'s ; and she brought Philip 12^. 10s. in five-franc pieces, which she laid down on the table before him, and said it was my first quarter's payment. It is not due yet, I know. ' But do you think I will be beholden,' says she, ' to a man like you ! ' And P. shrugged his shoul- ders, and put the rouleau of silver pieces into a drawer. He did not say a word, but, of course, I saw he was ill pleased. ' What shall we do with I ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 119 your fortune, Char? ' he said, when mamma went away. And a part we spent at the opera and at Ve'ry's restaurant, where we took our dear kind Madame Smolensk. Ah, how good tliat woman was to me ! Ah, how I suffered in that house when mamma wanted to part me from Philip ! We walked by and saw the windows of the room where that horrible, horrible tragedy was performed, and Philip shook his fist at the green Jalousies. 'Good heavens!' he said: ' how, my darling, how I was made to suffer there ! ' I bear no malice. I will do no injury. But I can never forgive : never! I can forgive mamma, wlio made my husband so unhapi)y; but can I love her again 1 Indeed and indeed I have tried. Often and often in my dreams that horrid tragedy is acted over again ; and they are taking him from me, and I feel as if I should die. When I was with you I used often to be afraid to go to sleep for fear of that dreadful dream, and I kept one of his lettei-s under my pillow so that I might hold it in the night. And now! No one can part us! — oh, no one! — until the end comes ! " He took me abotit to all his old bachelor haunts ; to the ' Hotel Pous- sin,' where he used to live, which is very dingy but comfortable. And he introduced me to the landlady, in a Madras handkerchief, and to the land- lord (in earrings and with no coat on), and to the little boy who frottes the floors. And he said, ' Tiens ' and ' merci, madame ! ' as we gave him a &ve- iranc piece out of 7)11/ fortune. And then we went to the cafe opposite the Bourse, where Philip used to write his letters ; and then we went to the Palais Royal, where Madame de Smolensk was in waiting for us. And then we went to the play. And then we went to Tortoni's to take ices. And then we walked a part of the way home with Madame Smolensk un- der a hundred million blazing stars ; and then we walked down the Champs Elyse'es avenues, by which Philip used to come to me, and beside the plashing fountains shining under the silver moon. And, oh, Laura ! I wonder imder the silver moon was anybody so happy as your loi-iitfj and grateful C. F." " P.S." [In the handwriting of Philip Pirmin, Esq.] — My dear Friends. — I'm so jolly that it seems like a dream. I have been watching Charlotte scribble, scribble for an hour past ; and wondered and thought is it actually true 7 and gone and convinced myself of the truth by looking at the paper and the dashes which she will put tinder the words. My dear friends, what have I done in life that I am to be made a present of a little angel 1 Once there was so much wrong in me, and my heart was so black and revengeful, that I knew not what might happen to me. She came and rescued me. The love of this creature purifies me — and — and I think that is all. I think I only want to say that I am the happiest man in Europe. That Saint Firmin at Amiens ! Didn't it seem like a good omen ? By St. George ! I never heard of St. F. until I lighted on him in the cathe- dral. When shall we write next ? Where shall we tell you to direct t We don't know where we are going. We don't want letters. But we are not the less grateful to dear kind friends ; and our names are "P. andC. F." 120 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP CHAPTER X. DESCRIBES A SITUATION INTERESTING BUT NOT UNEXPECTED. Only very toilful and sill}' children cry after the moon. Sen- sible people vr lo have shed their sweet tooth can't be expected to be very much interested about honey. We may hope Mr. and Mrs. Philip Firmin enjoyed a pleasant wedding tour and that sort of thing : but as for chronicling its delights or ad- ventures, Miss Sowerby and I vote that the task is altogether needless and immoral. Young people are already much too sentimental, and inclined to idle, maudlin reading. Life is earnest. Miss Sowerby remarks (with a strong inclination to spell " earnest" with a large E). Life is labor. Life is duty. Life is rent. Life is taxes. Life brings its ills, bills, doctor's pills. Life is not a mere calendar of honey and moonshine. Very good. But without love. Miss Sowerby, life is just death, and I know, my dear, you would no more care to go on with it, than with a new chapter of — of our dear friend Boreham's new stor}'. Between ourselves, Philip's humor is not much more light- some than that of the ingenious contemporary above named ; but if it served to amuse Philip himself, why balk him of a little sport? Well, then : he wrote us a great ream of lumber- ing pleasantries, dated Paris, Thursday ; Geneva, Saturday'. Summit of Mont Blanc, Monday ; Timbuctoo, Wednesda}'. Pekin, Frida}- — with facetious descriptions of those spots and cities. He said that in the last-named place, Charlotte's shoes being worn out, those which she purchased were rather tight for her, and the high heels annoj'ed her. He stated that the beef at Timbuctoo was not cooked enough for Charlotte's taste, and that the Emperor's attentions were becoming rather marked, and so forth ; whereas poor little Char's simple postscripts men- tioned no travelling at all ; but averred that they were staying at Saint Germain, and as happy as the daj^ was long. As happy as the daj- was long? As it was short, alas! Their little purse was very slenderly furnished ; and in a very, ver}'' brief holiday, poor Philip's few napoleons had almost all rolled away. Luckil}-, it was pay-day when the young people came back to London. They were almost reduced to the Little Sister's wedding present : and surely they would rather work ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 121 than purchase a few hours' more ease with that poor widow's mite. Who talked and was afraid of poverty? PhiUp, with his two newspapers, averred that he had enough ; more than enough ; could save ; could put b}' . It was at this time that Ridley, the Academician, painted that sweet picture. No. 1,976 — of course you remember it — " Portrait of a Lady." He became roman- tically^ attached to the second-floor lodger ; would have no noisy parties in his rooms, or smoking, lest it shoulj:l annoy her. Would Mrs. Firniin desire to give entertainments of her own ? His studio and sitting-room were at her orders. He fetched and carried. He brought presents and theatre-boxes. He was her slave of slaves. And she gave him back in retm-n for all this romantic adoration a condescending shake of a soft little hand, and a kind look from a pair of soft eyes, with which the painter was fain to be content. Low of stature, and of mis- shapen form, J. J. thought himself naturally outcast from mar- riage and love, and looked in with longing eyes at the paradise which he was forbidden to enter. And Mr. Philip sat within this Palace of Delight ; and lolled at his ease, and took his pleasure, and Charlotte ministered to him. And once in a way, my lord sent out a crumb of kindness, or a little cup of comfort, to the outcast at the gate, who blessed his benefactress, and my lord his benefactor, and was thankful. Charlotte had not two- pence : but she had a little court. It was the fashion for Philip's friends to come and bow before her. Very fine gentlemen who had known him at college, and forgot him, or sooth to say, thought him rough and overbearing, now suddenly remembered him, and his young wife had quite fashionable assemblies at her five o'clock tea-table. All men liked her, and Miss Sowerby of course saj's Mrs. Firmin was a good-natured, quite harmless little woman, rather pretty, and — j'ou know, mj^ dear — such as men like. Look you, if I like cold veal, dear Sowerbj', it is that my tastes are simple. A fine tough old drj' camel, no doubt, is a much nobler and more sagacious animal — and per- haps 3^ou think a double hump is quite a delicacy. Yes : Mrs. Philip was a success. She had scarce any female friends as yet, being too poor to go into the world : but she had Mrs. Pendennis, and dear little Mrs. Brandon, and Mrs. Mug- ford, whose celebrated trap repeatedly brought delicacies for the bride from Ilampstead, whose chaise was once or twice a week at Philip's door, and who was very much exercised and impressed b}' the fine compan}- whom she met in Mrs. Firmin's apartments. " Lord Thingambury's card ! what next, Brandon, 122 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP upon m}^ word? Lady Slowbj' at home? well, I never, Mrs. B. ! " In such artless phrases Mrs. Mugford would express her admiration and astonishment during the early time, and when Charlotte still retained the good lady's favor. That a state of things far less agreeable ensued, I must own. But though there is ever so small a cloud in the sky even now, let us not heed it for a while, and bask and be content and happy in the sunshine. "Oh, Laura, I tremble when I think how happy I am l[' was our little bird's perpetual warble. " How did I live when I was at home with mamma?" she would sa^'. " Do you know that Philip never even scolds me? If he were to say a rough word I think I should die ; whereas mamma was barking, barking from morning till night, and I didn't care a pin." This is what comes of injudicious scolding, as of any other drug. The wholesome medicine loses its effect. The inured patient calmly takes a dose that would frighten or kill a stranger. Poor Mrs. BaN'nes's crossed letters came still, and I am not prepared to pledge my word that Charlotte read them all. Mrs. B. ottered to come and superintend and take care of dear Philip when an interesting event should take place. But Mrs. Brandon was already engaged for this important oc- casion, and Charlotte became so alarmed lest her mother should invade her, that Philip wrote curtly, and positively forbade Mrs. Baynes. You remember the picture " A Cradle " b}' J. J. ? the two little rosy feet brought I don't know how man}' hundred guineas apiece to Mr. Ridle}'. The mother herself did not study babydom more fondl}' and devotedly than Ridley did in the ways, looks, features, anatomies, attitudes, babj'-clothes, &c., of this first-born infant of Charlotte and Philip Firmin. My wife is very angr}' because I have forgotten whether the first of the young Firmin brood was a boy or a girl, and saj'S I shall forget the names of my own children next. Well? " At this distance of time, I think it was a bo}-, — for their boy is ver^^ tall, you know — a great deal taller — Not a boy? Then, between our- selves, I have no doubt it was a — " "A goose," says the lad}', which is not even reasonable. This is certain, we all thought the young mother looked very pretty with her pink cheeks and beaming e3'es, as she bent over the little infant. J. J. sa3's he thinks there is something heav- enly in the looks of young mothers at that time. Nay, he goes so far as to declare that a tigress at the Zoological Gardens looks beautiful and gentle as she' bends her black nozzle over her cubs. And if a tigress, wh^' not Mrs. Philip? O ye powers of sentiment, in what a state J. J. was about this young woman ! ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 123 There is a brightness in a young mother's e3'e : there are pearl and rose tints on her cheek, which are sure to fascinate a painter. This artist used to hang about Mrs. Brandon's rooms, till it was droll to see him. I believe he took off his shoes in his own studio, so as not to disturb by his creaking the lady overhead. He purchased the most preposterous mug, and other presents for the infant. Philip went out to his club or his newspaper as he was ordered to do. But Mr. J. J. could not be got away from Thornhaugh Street, so that little Mrs. Bran- don laughed at him : — absolutely laughed at him. During all this while Philip and his wife continued in the very greatest favor with Mr. and Mrs. Mugford, and were invited b}^ that worthy couple to go with their infant to Mug- ford's villa at Hampstead, where a change of air miglit do good to clear baby and dear mamma. Philip went to this village retreat. Streets and terraces now cover over the house and grounds which worthy Mugford inhabited, and which people say he used to call his Russian Irby. He had amassed in a small space a heap of country pleasures. He had a little garden ; a little paddock ; a little greenhouse ; a little cucum- ber-frame ; a little stable for his little trap; a little Guernsey cow ; a little dairy ; a little pigsty ; and with this little treasure the good man was not a little content. He loved and praised everything that was his. No man admired his own port more than Mugford, or paid more compliments to his own butter and' home-baked bread. He enjoyed his own happiness. He ap- preciated l)is own \\'Orth. Pie loved to talk of the days when he was a poor boy on London streets, and now — "now try- that glass of port, my bo}', and say whether the Lord Ma^or has got an}- better," he would saj', winking at his glass and his company. To be virtuous, to be luck}', and constantly to think and own that you ai'e so — is not tliis true happiness? To sing hymns in praise of himself is a charming amusement — at least to the performer ; and anybody who dined at Mugford's table was prett}' sure to hear some of this music after dinner. I am Sony to say Philip did not care for this trumpet-blowing. He was frightfully bored at llaverstock Hill ; and when bored, Mr. Philip is not altogether an agreeable companion. He will 3'awn in a man's face. He will contradict 3'ou freely. He will say the mutton is tough, or the wine not fit to drink ; that such and such an orator is overrated, and such and such a politician is a fool. Mugford and his guest had battles after dinner, had actuall}- high Avords. " What-hever is it, Mugford? and what were 3'ou quarrelling about in the dining-room ? " asks Mrs. 124 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Mugford. "Quarrelling? It's only the sub-editor snoring," said the gentleman, with a flushed face. " My wine ain't good enough for him ; and now m^' gentleman must put his boots upon a chair and go to sleep under my nose. He is a cool hand, and no mistake, Mrs. M." At this juncture poor little Char would gently glide down from a visit to her baby : and would play something on the piano, and soothe the rising auger ; and thus Philip would come in from a little walk in the shrubberies, where he had been blowing a little cloud. Ah ! there was a little cloud rising indeed : — quite a little one — nay, not so little. When 3'ou consider that Philip's bread de- pended on the good-will of these people, you will allow that his friends might l)e anxious regarding the future. A word from Mugford, and Philip and Charlotte and the child were adrift on the world. And these points Mr. Firmin would freely admit, while he stood discoursing of his own affairs (as he loved to do), his hands in his pockets, and his back warming at our fire. "My dear fellow," says the candid bridegroom, "these things are constantly in ni}' head. I used to talk about 'em to Char, but I don't now. The}' disturb her, the poor thing ; and she clutches hold of the baby ; and — and it tears my heart out to think that an\' grief should come to her. I try and do my best, my good people — but when I'm bored, I can't help show- ing I'm bored, don't you see? I can't be a hypocrite. No, not for two hundred a year or for twenty thousand. You can't make a silk purse out of that sow's ear of a Mugford, A very good man, I don't say no. A good father, a good husband, a generous host, and a most tremendous bore and cad. Be agreeable to him? How can I be agreeable when I am being killed? Pie has a story about Leigh Hunt being put into Newgate, where Mugford, bringing him proofs, saw Lord Byron. I cannot keep awake during that story any longer; or, if awake, I grind mj' teeth, and swear inwardl}', so that I know I'm dreadful to hear and- see. Well, Mugford has 3'ellow satin sofas in the ' d roaring-room' — " " Oh, Philip ! " sa3-s a lady ; and two or three circumjacent children set up an insane giggle, which is speedily and sternly silenced. "I tell vou she calls it ' droaring-room.' You know she does, as well as I do. She is a good woman : a kind woman : a hot-tempered woman. I hear her scolding the servants in the kitchen with immense vehemence, and at prodigious length. But how can Char frankly be the friend of a woman who calls I Mugfokd's Favorite. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 125 a drawing-room a droaring-room? With our dear little friend in Tliornhaugh Street it is different. She makes no pretence even at equality. Here is a patron and patroness, don't you see? When Mugford walks me round his paddock and gar- dens, and says, ' Look 3'ear, Firmin ; ' or scratches one of his pigs on the back, and saj'S ' We'll 'ave a cut of this fellow on Saturday'" — (explosive attempts at insubordination and de- rision on the part of the children again are severely checked by the parental authorities) — " ' we'll 'ave a cut of this fellow on Saturday,' I felt inclined to throw him or myself into the trough over the palings. Do you know that that man put that hand into his pocket and offered me some filberts ? " Here I own the lady to whom PhiUp was addressing himself turned pale and shuddered. "I can no more be that man's friend que celui du domes- tique qui vient d'apporter le what-d'you-call'em ? le coal-scuttle — (John entered the room with that useful article during Philip's oration — and we allowed the elder children to laugh this time, for the fact is, none of us knew the French for coal- scuttle, and I will wager there is no such word in Chambaud). " This holding back is not arrogance," Philip went on. " This reticence is not want of humility. To serve that man honestly is one thing ; to make friends with him, to laugh at his dull jokes, is to make friends with the mammon of unrighteous- ness, is subserviency and hypocrisy on my part. I ought to say to him, Mr. JMugford, I will give 3'ou mj' work for 30ur wage ; I will compile 3-our paper, I will produce an agreeable miscellany containing proper proportions of news, politics, and scandal, put titles to ^'our paragraphs, see the Pall Mall Gazette ship-shape through the press, and go home to my wife and din- ner. You are m}^ emplo3er, but you are not my friend, and — bless my soul ! there is five o'clock striking ! " (The time- piece in our drawing-room gave that announcement as he was speaking.) " We have what Mugford calls a white-choker din- ner to-day, in honor of the pig ! " And with this Philip plunges out of the house, and I hope reached Hampstead in time for the entertainment. Philip's friends in Westminster felt no little doubt about his prospects, and the Little Sister shared their alarm. " They are not fit to be with those folks," Mrs. Brandon said, " though as for Mrs. Philip, dear thing, I am sure nobody can ever quarrel with her. With me it's different. I never had no edu- cation, vou know — no more than the Mugrfords, but I don't like to see my Philip sittiu' down as if he was the guest and 126 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP equal of that fellar." Nor indeed did it ever enter " that fellar's " head that Mr. Frederick Mug-ford could be Mr. Phihp Firmin's equal. With our knowledge of the two men, then, we all dismally looked forward to a rupture between Firmin and his patron. As for the New York journal, we were more eas}' in respect to Philip's success in that quarter. Several of his friends made a vow to help him. We clubbed club-stories ; we begged from our polite friends anecdotes (that would bear sea-transport) of the fashionable world. We happened to overhear the most remarkable conversations between the most influential public characters who had no secrets from us. We had astonishing intelligence at most European coui'ts ; exclusive reports of the Emperor of Russia's last joke — his last? his next, ver}- likelj'. We kncAV the most secret designs of the Austrian Privy Coun- cil ; the views which the Pope had in his eye ; w'ho was the latest favorite of the Grand Turk, and so on. The Upper Ten Thousand at New York were supplied with a quantity of in- formation wdiich I trust profited them. It w^as " Palmerston remarked 3'esterday at dinner," or, "The good old Duke said last night at Apsley House to the French Ambassador," and the rest. The letters were signed " Philalethes ; " and, as no- body was wounded by the shafts of our long bow, I trust Mr. Philip and his friends may be pardoned for twanging it. By information procured from learned female personages, we even managed to give accounts, more or less correct, of the latest ladies' fashions. We were members of all the clubs ; we were present at the routs and assemblies of the political leaders of both sides. We had little doubt that Philalethes would be successful at New York, and looked forward to an increased payment for his labors. At the end of the first 3'ear of Philip Firmin's married life, we made a calculation b}' which it was clear that he had actually saved money. His expenses, to be sure, -were increased. There w^as a baby in the nurserj- : but there was a little bag of sovereigns in the cupboard, and the thrifty young fellow hoped to add still more to his store. We were relieved at finding that Firmin and his wife were not invited to repeat their visit to their employer's house at Ilampstead. An occasional invitation to dinner was still sent to the young people ; but Mugford, a haughty man in his way, with a proper spirit of his own, had the good sense to see that much intimac}^ could not arise between him and his sub-editor, and magnanimously declined to be angr}- at the 3'oung fellow's easy superciliousness. I think that indefatigable Little Sister ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 127 was the peacemaker between the houses of Mngford and Firmin junior, and that she kept both Phihp and his master on their good behavior. At all events, and when a quarrel did arise between them, I grieve to have to own it was poor Philip who was in the wrong. You know in the old, old da3'S the J'oung king and queen never gave any christening entertainment without neglecting to invite some old fairy, who was furious at the omission. I am Sony to saj- Charlotte's mother was so angry at not being ap- pointed godmother to the new baby, that she omitted to make her little quarterly payment of 12/. 10s. ; and has altogether discontinued that payment from that remote period up to the present time ; so that Philip saj's his wife has brought him a fortune of 35^., paid in three instalments. There was the first quarter paid when the old lady " would not be beholden to a man like him." Then there came a second quarter — and then — but I dare say I shall be able to tell when and how Pliilip's mamma-in-law paid the rest of her poor little daughter's fortune. Well, Regent's Park is a fine healthy plac^ for infantine diversion, and I don't think Philip at all demeaned himself in walking there with his wife, her little maid, and his baby on his arm. " lie is as rude as a bear, and his manners are dreadful ; but he has a good heart, that I will say for him," Mugford said to me. In his drive from London to Ilampstead Mugford once or twice met the little famil}' group, of which his sub-editor formed the principal figure ; and for the sake of Philip's 3'oung wife and child Mr. M. pardoned the young man's vulgarity, and treated him with long-suffering. Poor as he was, this was his happiest time, my friend is disposed to think. A young child, a .young wife, whose whole life was a tender caress of love for child and husband, a young husband watching both : — I recall the group, as we used often to sec it in those days, and see a something sacred in the homely figures. On the wife's bright face what a radiant hap- piness there is, and what a rapturous smile ! Over the sleeping infant and the happy mother the father looks with pride and thanks in his 63-68. Happiness and gratitude fill his simple heart, and prayer involuntar}- to the Giver of good, that he may have strength to do his duty as father, husband ; that he may be enabled to keej) want and care fix)m those dear innocent beings ; that he may defend them, befriend them, leave them a good name. I am bound to sa}' that Philip became thrifty and saving for the sake of Char and the child ; that he came home 128 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP early of nights ; that he thought his child a wonder ; that he never tired of speaking about tliat infant in our house, about its fjitness, its strength, its weight, its wonderful early talents and humor. He felt himself a man now for the first time, he said. Life had been play arid folly until now. And now especiall}' he regretted that he had been idle, and had neglected his opportunities as a lad. Had he studied for the bar, he might have made that profession now profitable, and a source of honor and competence to his famil3\ Our friend estimated his own powers very humbly : I am sure he was not the less amiable on account of that humility. O fortunate he, of whom Love is the teacher, the guide and master, the reformer and chastener ! Where was our friend's former arrogance, self- confidence, and boisterous profusion? He was at the feet of his wife and child. He was quite humbled about himself, or gratified himself in fondling and caressing these. The}^ taught him, he said ; and as he thought of them, his heart turned in awful thanks to the gracious heaven which had given them to him. As the tiny infant hand closes round his fingers, I can see the father bending over mother and child, and interpret those maybe unspoken blessings which he asks and bestows. Happ3^ wife, happj' husband ! However poor his little home may be, it holds treasures and wealth inestimable ; whatever storms may threaten without, the home fireside is brightened with the welcome of the dearest eyes. CHAPTER XI. IN WHICH I OWN THAT PHILIP TELLS AN UNTRUTH. Charlotte (and the usual little procession of nurse, baby, &c.) once made their appearance at our house in Queen Square, where they were ever welcomed by the lady of the mansion. The young woman was in a great state of elation, and when we came to hear the cause of her delight, her friends too opened the eyes of wonder. She actually announced that Dr. Firmin had sent over a bill of forty pounds (I may be incorrect as to the sum) from New York. It had arrived that morning, and she had seen the bill, and Philip had told her that his father had sent it ; and was it not a comfort to think that poor Doctor Firmin was endeavoring to repair some of the evil which he ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 129 had done ; and that he was repenting, and, perhaps, was going to become quite honest and good ? This was indeed an astound- ing piece of intelligence : and the two women felt joy at the thought of that sinner repenting, and some one else was accused of cynicism, scepticism, and so forth, for doubting the correct- ness of the information. "You believe in no one, sir. You are always incredulous about good," &c. &c. &c., was the accusation brought against the reader's very humble servant. Well, about the contrition of this sinner, I confess I still con- tinued to have doubts ; and thought a present of forty pounds to a son, to whom he owed thousands, was no great proof of the doctor's amendment. And oh ! how vexed some people were when the real story came out at last ! Not for the mone} 's sake — not because the}- were wrong in argument, and I turned out to be right. Oh, no ! But because it was proved that this unhapp}- doctor had no present intention of repenting at all. This brand would not come out of the burning, whatever we might hope ; and the doctor's supporters were obliged to admit as much when they came to know the real stor3\ " Oh, Philip," cries Mrs. Laura, when next she saw Mr. P'irmin. " How pleased I was to hear of that letter ! " " What letter?" asks the gentleman. "■That letter ffom j-our father at New York," saj's the lady. " Oh," says the gentleman addressed, with a red face. " What then ? Is it not — is it not all true ? " we ask. "Poor Charlotte does not understand about business," sa^-s Philip; " I did not read the letter to her. Here it is." And he hands over the document to me, and I have the liberty to publish it. " New York "And so, my dear Philip, I may congratulate myself on having flchieved ancestm/ honor, and may add grandfather to my titles ? How quickly this one has come! I feel myself a young man still, in spite of the blows of misfortune. — at least I know I was a young man but yesterday, wlien I may say with our dear old poet, Non sine gloria militavi. Suppose I too were to tire of solitary widowhood and re-enter the married state ? There are one or two ladies here who would still condescend to look not unfavorably on the retired Enrjiisk gentleman. Without vanity I may say it, a man of birth and position in England acquires a polish and refinement of manner which dollars cannot purchase, and many a Wail Street millionary might envy ! " Your wife has been pronounced to be an angel by a little correspondent of mine, wlio gives me much fuller intelligence of my family than my son condescends to furnish. Mrs. Philip I hear is gentle ; Mrs. Brandon says 31 130 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP she is beautiful, — she is all good-humored. I hope you have taught her to think not rery badly of her husband's father? I was the dupe of vil- lains who lured me into tlieir schemes ; who robbed me of a life's earnings ; who induced me by their false representations to have such confidence in them, that I embarked all my own property, and yours, my poor boy, alas ! in tlieir undertakings. Your Charlotte will take the liberal, the wise, the just view of the case, and pity ratlier than blame my misfortune. Such is the view, I am happy to say, generally adopted in this city: where there are men of the world who know the vicissitudes of a mercantile career, and can make allowances for misfortune. What made Rome at first great and prosperous ? Were its first colonists all wealthy patricians ? Nothing can be more satisfactory than the disregard shown here to mere pecuniary dijjiadty. At the same time to be a gentleman is to possess no trifling privilege in this society, where the advantages of birth, respected name, and early education aliraijs tell in tlie possessor's favor. Many persons whom I visit here have certainly not these advantages — and in the higliest society of the city I could point out individuals who have had pecuniary misfortunes like myself, who have gallantly renewed the combat after their fall, and are now fullt/ restored to competence, to wealth, and the respect of the world ! I was in a house in Fifth Avenue last night. Is Wasliington White shunned by his fellow-men because he has been a bank- rupt three times ? Anything more elegant or profuse than his entertain- ment I have not witnessed on this continent. His lady had diamonds which a duchess might envy. The most costly wines, the most magnificent supper, and myriads of canvas-backed ducks covered liis board. Dear Charlotte, my friend Captain Colpoys brings you over three brace of these from your father-in-law, who hopes they will furnish your little dinner- table. We eat currant jelly with them here, but I like an old English lemon and cayenne sauce better. "By tlie way, dear Philip, I trust you will not be inconvenienced by a little financial operation, which necessity (alas!) has compelled me to perform. Knowing that your quarter with the Upper Ten Thousand Gazette was now due, I have made so bold as to request Colonel to pay it over to me. Promises to pay must be met here as with us — an obdurate holder of an unlucky acceptance of mine (I am happy to say there are very few such) would admit of no delay, and I have been compelled to appropriate my poor Philip's earnings. I have only put you off for ninety days: with your credit and wealthy friends you can easily neyotinte the bill enclosed, and I promise you tliat when presented it shall be honored by my Philip's ever affectionate father, G. B. F." " By the way, your Philalethes' letters are not quite spicy enough, my wortliy friend the colonel says. They are elegant and gay, but the public here desires to have more personal news; a little scandal about Queen Elizabeth, you understand 1 Can't you attack somebody ? Look at the letters and articles published by my respected friend of the New York Emerald ! The readers here like a high-spiced article: and I recommend P. F. to put a little more pepper in his dishes. What a comfort to me it is to think, that I have procured this place for you, and have been enabled to help my son and his young family ! G. B. F." Enclosed in this letter was a slip of paper which poor Philip supposed to be a cheque when he first beheld it, but which turned out to be his papa's promissory note, payable at New ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 131 York four months after date. And this document was to repre- sent the money which the elder Firmin had received in his son's name ! Philip's eyes met his friend's when they talked about this matter. Firmin looked almost as much ashamed as if he himself had done the wrong. ' ' Does the loss of this money aunoy you ? " asked Philip's friend. " The manner of the loss does," said poor Philip. " I don't care about the money. But he should not haye taken this. He should not have taken this. Think of poor Charlotte and the chiki being in want possibl}- ! Oh. friend, it's hard to bear, isn't it? I'm an honest fellow, ain't I? I think I am. I pray heaven I am. In any extremity of povei-ty could I have done this? Well. It was my father who introduced me to these people. I suppose he thinks he has a right to my earnings : and if he is in want, 3-ou know, so he has." " Had you not better write to the New York publishers and beg them henceforth to remit to you directly?" asks Philip's friend. "That would be to tell them that he has disposed of the money," groans Philip. " I can't tell them that my father is a " " No ; but you can thank them for having handed over such a sum on your account to the doctor : and warn them that ^'ou will draw on them from this country henceforth. They won't in this case pay the next quarter to the doctor." " Suppose he is in want, ought I not to suppl}' him?" Firmin said. "As long as there are four crusts in the house, the doctor ought to have one. Ought I to be angry with him for helping himself, old boy?" and he drinks a glass of wine, poor fellow, with a rueful smile. By the way, it is my duty to mention here, that the elder Firmin was in the habit of giving ver3' elegant little dinner-parties at New York, where little dinner-parties are much more costly than in Europe — "in oi'der," he said, " to establish and keep up his connection as a physician." As a hon-vivant^ I am informed, the doctor began to be celebr.^ted in his new dwelling-place, where his anecdotes of the British aristocrac}^ were received with pleasure in certain circles. But it would be as well henceforth that Philip should deal directly with his American correspondents, and not employ the services of so very expensive a broker. To this suggestion he could not but agree. Meanwhile, — and let this be a warning to men never to deceive their wives in any the slightest circum- 132 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP stances ; to tell them everything they wish to know, to keep nothing hidden from those dear and excellent beings — 3^011 must know, ladies, that when Philip's famous ship of dollars arrived from America, Firmin had promised his wife that baby should have a dear delightful white cloak trimmed with the most lovely tape, on which poor Charlotte had often cast a longing eye as she passed by the milliner and curiosity shops in Hanwa^' Yard, which, I own, she loved to frequent. Well ; when Philip told her that his father had sent home forty pounds, or what not, thereby deceiving his fond wife, the little lady went away straight to her darling shop in the Yard — (Hanwa}- Yard has become a street now, but ah ! it is always delightful) — Charlotte, I say, went off, ran off to Hanway Yard, pavid with fear lest the darling cloak should be gone, found it — oh, jo}^ ! — still in Miss Isaacson's window ; put it on baby straightway then and there ; kissed the dear infant, and was delighted with the effect of the garment, which all the 3'oung ladies at Miss Isaacson's pronounced to be perfect ; and took the cloak away on baby's shoulders, promising to send the mone}', five pounds, if you please, next day. And in this cloak baby and Charlotte went to meet papa when he came home ; and I don't know which of them, mamma or bab}^ was the most pleased and absurd and happy baby of the two. On his way home from his newspaper, Mr. Philip had orders to pursue a certain line of streets, and when his accustomed hour for returning from his business drew nigh, Mrs. Char went down Thornhaugh Street, down Charlotte Street, down Rathbone Place, with Betsy the nursekin and bab}' in the new cloak. Behold, he comes at last — papa — striding down the street. He sees the figures : he sees the child, which laughs, and holds out its little pink hands, and crows a recognition. And "Look — look, papa," cries the happy mother. (Away ! I cannot keep up the myster}' about the babv any longer, and though I had forgotten for a moment the child's sex, rememl^ered it the instant after, and that it was a girl to be sure, and that its name was Laura Caroline.) "Look, look, papa!" cries the happy mother. "She has got another little tooth since the morning, such a beautiful little tooth — and look here, sir, don't 3'ou observe an3-thing ? " " An}* what?" asks Philip. " La ! sir," says Betsv, giving Laura Caroline a gi'eat toss, so that her white cloak floats in the air. " Isn't it a dear cloak?" cries mamma ; " and doesn't baby look like an angel in it ? I bought it at Miss Isaacson's to-day. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 133 as you got your money from New York ; and oh, my dear, it ■only cost five guineas." " Well, it's a week's work," sighs poor Philip ; " and I think I need not grudge that to give Charlotte pleasure." And he feels his empty pockets rather ruefully. " God bless you, Philip," says my wife, with her e3-es full. " They came here this morning, Charlotte and the nurse and the baby in the new — th§ new — " Here the lady seized hold of Philip's hand, and fairly broke out into tears. Had slie embraced Mr. Firmin before her husband's own e^'es, I should not have been surprised. Indeed she confessed that she was on the point of giving wa^' to this most sentimental outbreak. And now, m}- brethren, see how one crime is the parent of many, and one act of duplicity leads to a whole career of deceit. In tlie first place, you see, Philip had deceived his wife — with the pious desire, it is true, of screening his father's little pecu- liarities — but, mat ccelum^ we must tell no lies. No : and from this da}' forth I order John never to say Not at home to the greatest bore, dun, dawdle of my acquaintance. If Philip's father had not deceived him, Philip would not have deceived his wife; if. he had not deceived his wife, she would not haA^e given five guineas for that cloak for the baby. If she had not given five guineas for the cloak, my wife would never have entered into a secret correspondence with Mr. Firmin, which might, but for m}' own sweetness of temper, have bred jealous}-, mistrust, and the most awful quarrels — nay, duels — between the heads of the two families. Fanc}' Philip's body lying stark upon Hampstead Heath with a bullet through it, despatched by the hand of his friend ! • Fancy a cab driving up to my own house, and from it — under the eyes of the chil- dren at the parlor-windows — their father's bleeding corpse ejected! — Enough of this dreadful pleasantry'! Two days after the affair of the cloak, I found a letter in Philip's hand- writing addressed to my wife, and thinking that the note had reference to a matter of dinner then pending between our fami- lies, I broke open the envelope and read as follows : — " Thornhacgh Street, Thursday. " Mt dear, kind Godmamma, — As soon as ever I can write and speak, I will thank you for being so kind to me. My mamma says she is very jealous, and as she bouglit my cloak she can't think of allowing you to pay for it. But she desires me never tQ forget your kindness to us, and though I don't know anything about it now, she promises to tell me when I am old enough. Meanwhile I am your grateful and affectionate little goddaughter, L. C. F." 134 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Philip was persuaded by his friends at home to send out the request to his New York emplo^'ers to pay his salary henceforth to himself; and I remember a dignified letter came from his parent, in which the matter Avas spoken of in sorrow rather than in anger ; in which the doctor pointed out that this pre- cautionary measure seemed to imply a doubt on Philip's side of his father's honor ; and surel}', surel}', he was unhappy enough and inifortunate enough already' withqut meriting this mistrust from his sou. The duty of a sou to honoj" his father and mother was feelingly pointed out, and the doctor meekly trusted that Philip's children would give liim more confidence than he seemed to be inclined to award to his unfortunate father. Never mind. lie should bear no malice. If Fortune ever smiled on him again, and something told him she would, he would show Philip that he could forgive ; although he might not perhaps be able to forget that in his exile, his solitude, his declining years, his misfortune, his own child had mistrusted him. This he said was the most cruel blow of all for his susceptible heart to bear. This letter of paternal remonstrance was enclosed in one from the doctor to his old friend the Little Sister, in which he vaunted a discover}' which he and some other scientific gentle- men were engaged in perfecting — of a medicine which was to be extraordinarily efficacious in cases in which Mrs. Brandon herself was often " specially and professionally engaged, and he felt sure that the sale of this medicine would go far to retrieve his shattered fortune. He pointed out the complaints in which this medicine was most efficacious. He would send some of it, and details regarding its use, to Mrs. Brandon, who might try its efficacy upon her patients. He was advancing slowly, but steadily, in his medical profession, he said ; though of course, he had to suffer from the jealous}' of his professional brethren. Never mind. Better times, he was sure, were in store for all ; when his son should see that a wretched matter of forty pounds more should not deter him from paying all just claims upon him. Amen ! We all heartily wished for the day when Philip's father should be able to settle his little accounts. Meanwhile, the proprietors of the Gazette of the Upper Ten Thousand were instructed to write directl}^ to their London correspondent. Although Mr. Firmin prided himself, as we have seen, upon his taste and dexterity as sub-editor of the Pall Mall Gazette^ I must own that he was a ver}' insubordinate officer, with whom his superiors often had cause to be angiy. Certain people were praised in the Gazette — certain others were attacked. Very ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 135 dull books were admired, and very lively works attacked. Some men were praised for everything they did ; some others were satirized, no matter what their works were. " I find," poor Philip used to say with a groan, " that in matters of criti- cism especially there are so often private reasons for the praise and the blame administered, that I am glad, for my part, m}- onl}^ duty is to see the paper through the press. For instance, there is Harrocks, the tragedian, of Drury Lane : every piece in which he appears is a masterpiece, and his performance the greatest triumph ever witnessed. Very good. Harrocks and m3" excellent emploj'er are good friends, and dine with each other ; and it is natural that Mugford should like to have his friend praised, and to help him in eveiy way. But Balderson, of Coveut Garden, is also a very fine actor. Wh}- can't our critic see his merit as well as Harrocks's? Poor Balderson is never allowed any merit at all. He is passed over with a sneer, or a curt word of cold commendation, while columns of flattery are not enough for his rival." "Why, Mr. F., what a flat you must be, askin' ^-our par- don," remarked Mugford, in replj' to his sub-editor's simple remonstrance. " How can we praise Balderson, when Har- rocks is our friend? Me and Harrocks are thick. Our wives are close friends. If I was to let Balderson be praised, I should drive Harrocks mad. I can't praise Balderson, don't you see, out of justice to Harrocks ! " Then there was a certain author whom Bickerton was for ever attacking. They had had a private qu-arrel, and Bickerton revenged himself in this way. In reply to Philip's outcries and remonstrances, Mr. Mugford only laughed : " The two men are enemies, and Bickerton hits him whenever he can. Why, that's only human nature, Mr. F.," sa3s Philip's employer. "Great heavens!" bawls out Firmin, "do you mean to say that the man is base enough to strike at his private enemies through the press ? " "Private enemies! private gammon, Mr. Firmin!" cries Philip's employer. " If I have enemies — and I have, there's no doubt about that — I serve them out whenever and wherever I can. And let me tell you I don't half relisli having my con- duct called base. It's only natural ; and it's right. Perhaps you would like to praise your enemies, and abuse your friend? If that's 3'our line, let me tell you you won't do in the noos- paper business, and had better take to some other trade." And the employer parted from his subordinate in some heat. Mugford, indeed, feelingl}^ spoke to me about this insubor- 136 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP dination of Philip. " What does the fellow mean by quarrelling with his bread and butter?" Mr. Mugford asked. " Speak to him and show him what's what, Mr. P., or we shall come to a quarrel, mind you — and I don't want that, for the sake of his little wife, poor little delicate thing. Whatever is to happen to them, if we don't stand by them?" What was to happen to them, indeed? Any one who knew Philip's temper as we did, was aware bow little advice or remonstrance were likely to affect that gentleman. "Good heavens ! " he said to me, when I endeavored to make him adopt a conciliatory tone towards his employer, " do you want to make me Mugford's gallej^-slave ? I shall have him standing over me and swearing at me as he does at the printers. He looks into my room at times when he is in a passion, and glares at me as if he would like to seize me by the throat ; and after a word or two he goes off, and I hear him curse the boys in the passage. One day it will be on me that he will turn, I feel sure of that. I tell you the slavery is beginning to be awful. I wake of a night and groan and chafe, and poor Char, too, wakes and asks, ' What is it, Philip? ' I say it is rheumatism. Rheumatism ! " Of course to Philip's malady his friends tried to appl}' the commonplace anodynes and consolations. He must be gentle in his bearing. He must remember that his employer had not been bred a gentleman, and that though rough and coarse in language, Mugford had a kind heart. " There is no need to tell me that he is not a gentleman, I know that," says poor Phil. "He is kind to Char and the child, that is the truth, and so is his wife. I am a slave for all that. He is m}^ driver. He feeds me. He hasn't beat me yet. When I was away at Paris I did not feel the chain so much. But it is scarcely tolerable now, when I have to see my gaoler four or five times a week. M}' poor little Char, wh}^ did I drag you into this slavery ? " " Becvause you wanted a consoler, I suppose," remarks one of Philip's comforters. " And do ^'ou suppose Charlotte would be happier if she were away from 3'ou? Though you live up two pair.of stairs, is any home happier than yours, Philip? You often own as much, when j-on are in happier moods. Who has not his work to do, and his burden to bear? You sa}^ some- times that 5'ou are imperious and hot-tempered. Perhaps your slavery, as you call it, may be good for 3'ou." " I have doomed myself and her to it," says Philip, hanging down his head. " Does she ever repine?" asks his adviser. " Does she not ON HIS WAT THROUGH THE WORLD. 137 think herself the happiest Kttle wife in the world ? See here, Pnilip, here is a note from her yesterday in which she says as much. Do you want to know what the note is about, sir? " says the lady v/ith a smile. " Well, then, she wanted a receipt for that dish which you liked so much on Friday-, and she and Mrs. Brandon will make it for 3'ou." "And if it consisted of minced Charlotte," says Philip's other friend, '' you know she would cheerfully chop herself up, and have herself served with a little cream-sauce and sippets of toast for 3-our honor's dinner." This was undoubtedly true. Did not Job's ft-iends make many true remarks when they \asited him in his affliction? Patient as he was, the patriarch groaned and lamented, and why should not poor Philip be allowed to grumble, who was not a model of patience at all ? He was not broke in as ^-et. The mill-horse Avas restive and kicked at his work. He would chafe not seldom at the daily drudger^^, and have his fits of revolt and despondency. Well? Have others not had to toil, to bow the proud head, and carry the daily burden? Don't you see Pegasus, who was going to win the plate, a weary, broken- kneed, broken-down old cab-hack shivering in the rank ; or a sleek gelding, mayhap, pacing under a corpulent master in Rotten Row ? Philip's crust began to be scanty, and was dipped in bitter waters. I am not going to make a long story of this part of his career, or parade my friend as too hungry and poor. He is safe now, and out of all peril, heaven be thanked ! but he had to pass through hard times, and to look out very wistfully lest the wolf should enter at the door. He never laid claim to be a man of genius, nor was he a successful quack who could pass as a man of genius. When there were French prisoners in England, we know how stout old officers who had plied their sabres against Mamelouks, or Russians, or Germans, were fain to carve little gimcracks in bone witli their penknives, or make baskets and boxes of chipped straw, and piteously sell them to casual visitors to their prison. Philip was poverty's prisoner. He had to make such shifts, and do such work, as he could find in his captivity-. I do not think men who have undergone the struggle and served the dire task-master, like to look Imck and recall the grim apprenticeship. When Philip sa3-s now, " What fools we were to marry. Char," she looks up radiantly, with love and happiness in her eyes — looks up to heaven, and is thank- ful ; but grief and sadness come over her husband's face at the thought of those days of pain and gloom. Slie may soothe him, and he may be thankful too ; but the wounds are still there 138 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP which were dealt to him in the cruel battle with fortune. Men are ridden down in it. Men are poltroons and run. Men ma- raud, break ranks, are guilt}' of meanness, cowardice, shabb}' plunder. Men are raised to rank and honor, or di'op and per- ish unnoticed on the field. Happy he who comes from it with his honor pure ! Philip did not win crosses and epaulets. He is like us, m}' dear sir, not a heroic genius at all. And it is to be hoped that all three have behaved with an average pluck, and have been guilt}' of no meanness, or treachery, or deser- tion. Did you behave otherwise, what would wife and children sa}'? As for Mrs. Philip, I tell j'ou she thinks to this day that there is no man like her husband, and is ready to fall down and worship the boots in which he walks. How do men live? How is rent paid? How does the din- ner come day after day ? As a rule there is dinner. You might live longer with less of it, but you can't go without it and live long. How did my neighbor 23 earn his carriage, and how did 24 pa}' for his house? As I am writing this sentence Mr Cox, who collects the taxes in this quarter, walks in. How do you do, Mr. Cox? We are not in the least afraid of meeting one another. Time was — two, three years of time — when poor Philip was troubled at the sight of Cox ; and this troublous time his biographer intends to pass over in a very few pages. At the end of six months the Upper Ten Thousand of New York heard with modified wonder that the editor of that fash- ionable journal had made a retreat from the city, carrying with him the scanty contents of the till ; so the contributions of Philalethes never brought our poor friend any dollars at all. But though one fish is caught and eaten, are there not plenty more left in the sea? At this very time, when I was in a nat- ural state of despondency about poor Philip's affairs, it struck Tregarvan, the wealthy Cornish Member of Parliament, that the Government and the House of Commons slighted his speeches and his views on foreign politics ; that the wife of the Foreign Secretary had been very inattentive to Lady Trcgan^an ; that the designs of a certain Great Power were most menacing and dangerous, and ought to be exposed and counteracted ; and that the peerage which he had long desired ought to be bestowed on him. Sir John Tregarvan apphed to certain lit- erary and political gentlemen with whom he was acquainted. He would bring out the European Review. He would expose the designs of that Great Power which was menacing Europe. He would show up in his proper colors a Minister who was careless of the country's honor, and forgetful of his own : a ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 139 Minister whose arrogance ought no longer to be tolerated by the country gentlemen of England. Sir John, a little man in brass buttons, and a tall head, who loves to hear his own voice, came and made a speech on the above topics to tlie writer of the present biography ; that writer's lady was in his study as Sir John expounded his views at some length. She listened to him with the greatest attention and respect. She was shocked to hear of the ingratitude of Government ; astounded and ter- rified bv his exposition of the designs of — of that Great Power whose intrigues were so menacing to European tranquillity. She was most deeply interested in the idea of establishing the Re- vieio. He would, of course, be himself the editor ; and — and — (here the woman looked across the table at her husband with a strange triumph in her eyes) — she knew, they both knew, the very man of all the world who was most suited to act as sub-editor under Sir John — a gentleman, one of the truest that ever lived — a university man ; a man remarkably versed in the European languages — that is, in French most certainly. And now the reader, I dare sa^', can guess who this individual was. " I knew it at once," saj's the lady, after Sir John had taken his leave. " I told you that those dear children would not be forsaken." And I would no more try and persuade her that the European Review was not ordained of all time to afford maintenance to Philip, than I would induce her to turn Mor- mon, and accept all the consequences to which ladies must submit when they make profession of that creed. " You see, my love," I say to the partner of my existence, "what other things must have been ordained of all time as well as Philip's appointment to be sub-editor of the European. Review. It must have been decreed ah initio that Lady Plin- limmon should give evening-parties, in order that she might offend Lady Tregarvan by not asking her to those parties. It must have been ordained by fate that Lady Tregarvan should be of a jealous disposition, "^so that she might hate Lady Plin- limmon, and was to work upon her husband, and inspire him with anger and revolt against his chief. It must have been ruled by destiny that Tregarvan should be rather a weak and wordy personage, fancying that he had a talent for literary composition. Else he would not have thought of setting u'p the Review. Else he would never have been angry with Loi'd Plinlimmon for not inviting him to tea. Else lie would not have engaged Philip as sub-editor. So, yon see, in order to bring about this event, and put a couple of hundred a year into Philip Firmin's pocket, the Tregarvans have to be born from 140 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP the earliest times : the Plinlimmons have to spring up in the remotest ages, and come down to the present da}^ : Doctor Firmin has to be a rogue, and undergo his destin}^ of cheating his son of money : — all mankind up to the origin of our race are involved in your proposition, and we actually arrive at Adam and Eve, who are but fulfilling their destiny, which was to be the ancestors of Philip Firmin." " Even in our first parents there was doubt and scepticism and misgiving," says the lady, with strong emphasis on the words. " If 3'ou mean to say that there is no such thing as a Superior Power watching over us, and ordaining things for our good, you are an atheist — and such a thing as an atheist does not exist in the world, and I would not believe you if you said you were one twenty times over." I mention these points b}' the way, and as samples of lady- like logic. I acknowledge that Philip himself, as he looks back at his past career, is very much moved. " I do not den}'," he says, gravelly, "that these things happened in the natural order. I say I am grateful for what happened ; and look back at the past not without awe. In great grief and danger may- be, I have had timely rescue. Under great suffering I have met with supreme consolation. When the trial has seemed almost too hard for me it has ended, and our darkness has been lightened. Ut vivo et valeo — si valeo, I know by Whose per- mission this is, — and would 3'OU forbid me to be thankful? to be thankful for my life ; to be thankful for my children ; to be thankful for the daily bread which has been granted to me, and the temptation from which I have been rescued? As I think of the past and its bitter trials, I bow m}' head in thanks and awe. I wanted succor, and I found it. I fell on evil times, and good friends pitied and helped me — good friends like yourself, your dear wife, many another I could name. In what moments of depression, old friend, have you not seen me, and cheered me? Do you know in the moments of our grief the inexpressible value of your sympathy? Your good Samar- itan takes out onl}' twopence maybe for the wayfarer whom he has rescued, but the little timely supply saves a life. You remember dear old Ned St. George — dead in the West Indies years ago? Before he got his place Ned was hanging on in London, so utterly poor and ruined, that he had not often a shilling to bu}^ a dinner. He used often to come to us, and my wife and our children loved him ; and I used to leaA'e a heap of shillings on my study-table, so that he might take two or three as he wanted them. Of course you remember him. You were ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 141 at the dinner which we gave him on his getting his place. I forget the cost of that dinner ; but I remember my share amounted to the exact number of shillings which poor Ned had taken off my table. He gave me the mone^' then and there at the tavern at Blackwall. He said it seemed providential. But for those shillings, and the constant welcome at our poor little table, he said he thought he should have made awa}' with his life. I am not bragging of the twopence which I gave, but thanking God for sending me there to give it. Benedico bene- dictus. I "wonder sometimes am I the I of twenty years ago? before our heads were bald, friend, and when the little ones reached up to our knees? Before dinner you saw me in the library' reading in that old European Review which j'our friend Tregarvan established. I came upon an article of m^- own, and a very dull one, on a subject which I knew nothing a^out. ' Persian politics, and the intrigues at the Court of Teheran.' It was done to order. Tregarvan had some special interest about Persia, or wanted to vex Sir Thomas Nobbles, who was Minister there. I breakfasted with Tregarvan in the ' Albany,' the facts (we will call them facts) and papers were supplied to me, and I went home to point out the delinquencies of Sir Thomas, and the atrocious intrigues of the Russian Court. Well, sir. Nobbles, Tregarvan, Teheran, all disappeared as I looked at the text in the old volume of the Review. I saw a deal table in a little room, and a reading-lamp, and a voimg: fellow writing at it, with a sad heart, and a dreadful apprehen- sion torturing him. One of our children was ill in the adjoin- ing room, and I have before me the figure of vay wife coming in from time to time to my room and saying, ' She is asleep now^ and the fever is much lower.' " Here our conversation was interrupted hy the entrance of a tall young lady, who says, " Papa, the coffee is quite cold : and the carriage will be here veiy soon, and both mamma and my godmother say they are growing very angr}-. Do you know you have been talking here for two hours ? " Had two hours actually' slipped awa^' as we sat prattling about old times? As I narrate them, I prefer to give Mr. Firmin's account of his adventures in his own words, where I can recall or imitate them. Both of us are graver and more reverend seigniors than we were at the time of which I am writing. Has not Firmin's girl grown up to be taller than her godmother? Veterans both, we love to prattle about the merrj^ da3-s when we were young — (the merr^- da3-s ? no, the past is never merry) — about the days when we were young ; and do we grow young 142 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP in talking of them, or onl^^ indulge in a senile cheerfulness and prolixity ? Tregarvan sleeps with his Cornish fathers : Europe for many- years has gone on without her Review : but it is a certainty that the establishment of that occult organ of opinion tended very much to benefit Philip Firmin, and helped for a while to supply him and several innocent people dependent on him with their daily bread. Of course, as they were so poor, this worthy family increased and multiplied ; and as they increased, and as they multiplied, my wife insists that I shall point out how support was found for them. When there was a second child in Philip's nurser}^ he would have removed from his lodgings in Thorn- haugh Street, but for the pra3'ers and commands of the affec- tionate Little Sister, who insisted that there was plenty of room in the house for everybody', and who said that if Philip went away* she would cut off her little godchild with a shilling. And then indeed it was discovered for the first time, that this faith- ful and affectionate creature had endowed Philip with all her little property. These are the rays of sunshine in the dungeon. These are the drops of water in the desert. And with a. full heart our friend acknowledges how comfort came to him in his hour of need. Though Mr. Firmin has a ver^^ grateful heart, it has been admitted that he was a loud, disagreeable Firmin at times, im- petuous in his talk, and violent in his behavior : and we are now come to that period of his history, when he had a quarrel in which I am sorry to say Mr. Philip was in the wrong. 'Why do we consort with those whom we dislike? Why is it that men tvill try and associate between whom no love is ? I think it was the ladies who tried to reconcile Phihp and his master ; who brought them together, and strove to make them friends ; but the more they met the more they disliked each other ; and now the Muse has to relate their final and irreconcilable rupture. Of Mugford's wrath the direful tale relate, O Muse ! and Philip's pitiable fate. I have shown how the men had long been inwardly envenomed one against the other. "Because Jlrmin is as poor as a rat, that's no reason wh}' he should adopt that hawhaw manner, and them high and might}^ airs towards a man who gives him the V)read he eats," Mugford argued not unjustly. " What do /care for his being a university man? I am as good as he is. I am better than his old scamp of a father, who was a college man too, and lived in fine company. I made my own way in the world, independent, and supported myself since I was fourteen years of age, and helped my mother and brothers ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 143 too, and that's more than m}' sub-editor can say, who can't sup- port himself yet. I could get fift}" sub-editors as good as he is, by calling out of window into the street, I could. I say, hang Firmin ! I'm a-losing all patience with him." On the other hand, Mr. Philip was in the habit of speaking his mind with equal candor. " What right has that person to call me Fir- min? " he asked. " I am Firmin to my equals and friends. I am this man's laborer at four guineas a week. I give him his money's worth, and on ever}' Saturday evening we are quits. Call me Philip indeed, and strike me in the side ! I choke, sir, as I think of the confounded familiarity!" " Confound his impudence ! " was the crj', and the not unjust cry of the laborer and his emplo^-er. The men should have been kept apart : and it was a most mistaken Christian charity and female conspirac}^ which brought them together. " Another invitation from Mug- ford. It was agreed that I was never to go again, and I won't go," sa^ys Phihp to his meek wife. "Write and say we are engaged, Charlotte." " It is for the 18th of next month, and this is the 23rd," said poor Charlotte. " We can't well say that we are engaged so far off." "It is for one of his grand ceremony parties," urged the Little Sister. " You can't come to no quarrelling there. He has a good heart. So have-^^ou. There's no good quarrelling with him. Oh, Phihp, do forgive, and be friends ! " Philip yielded to the remonstrances of the women, as we all do ; and a letter M^as sent to Hampstead, announcing that Mr. and Mrs, P. F. would have the honor of, &c. In his quality of newspaper proprietor, musical professors and opera singers paid much court to Mr. Mugford ; and he liked to entertain them at his hospitable table ; to brag about his wines, cooker}', plate, garden, prosperity, and private vir- tue, during dinner, whilst the artists sat respectfully listening to him ; and to go to sleep and snore, or wake up and join cheerfully in a chorus, when the professional people performed in the drawing-room. Now, there was a lady who was once known at the theatre by the name of Mrs. Ravenswing, and who had been forced on to the stage bj' the misconduct of her husband, a certain Walker, one of the greatest scamps who ever entered a gaol. On Walker's death, this lady married a Mr. Woolsey, a wealthy tailor, who retired from his business, as he caused his wife to withdraw from hers. Now, more worthy and honoralile people do not live than Woolsc}' and his wife, as those know who are acquainted with 144 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP their histoiy. Mrs. Woolsey is loud. Her h's are by no means where they should be ; her knife at dinner is often where it should not be. She calls men aloud by their names, and without an}' prefix of courtes3\ She is very fond of porter, and has no scruple in asking for it. She sits down to pla}' the piano and to sing with perfect good-nature, and if j'ou look at her hands as they wander over the keys — well, I don't wish to say anything unkind, but I am forced to own that those hands are not so white as the ivory which they thump. Wool- sey sits in perfect rapture listening to his wife. Mugford presses her to take a glass of " somethink " afterwards; and the good-natured soul says she will take " something 'ot." She sits and listens with infinite patience and good-humor whilst the little Mugfords go through their horrible little musi- cal exercises ; and these over, she is read}' to go back to the piano again, and sing more songs, and drink more " 'ot." I do not say that this was an elegant woman, or a fitting companion for Mrs. Philip ; but I know that Mrs. Woolsey was a good, clever, and kindly woman, and that Philip behaved rudely to her. He never meant to be rude to her, he -eaid ; but the truth is, he treated her, her husband, Mugford, and Mrs. Mugford, with a haughty ill-humor which utterly exas- perated and perplexed them. About this poor lady, who w«s modest and innocent as Susannah, Philip had heard some wicked elders at wicked clnbs tell wicked stories in old times. There was that old Trail, for instance, what woman escaped from his sneers and slander? There were others who could be named, and whose testimony was equally untruthful. On an ordinary occasion Philip would never have cared or squabbled about a question of precedence, and would have taken any place assigned to him at any table. But when Mrs. Woolsey in crumpled satins and blows}' lace made her appearance, and was eagerly and respectfully sainted by the host and hostess, Philip remembered those early stories about the poor lady : his eyes flashed wrath, and his breast beat with an indignation which almost choked him. Ask that woman to meet my wife? he thought to himself, and looked so fero- cious and desperate that the timid little wife gazed with alarm at her Philip, and crept up to him and whispered, " What is it, dear?" Meanwhile Mrs. Mugford and Mrs. Woolsey were in full colloquy about the weather, the nursery, and so forth — and Woolsey and Mugford giving each other the hearty grasp of friendship. Philip, then, scowling at the newly arrived ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WOKLD. 145 guests, turning bis great hulking back upon the company, and talking to bis wife, presented a not agreeable figure to his enter- tainer. ' ' Hang the fellow's pride ! " thought Mugford. ' ' He chooses to turn his back upon mj company because Woolsc}' was a tradesman. An honest tailor is better than a bankrupt, swin- dling doctor, I should think. Woolsey need not be ashamed to show his face, 1 suppose. Wh^^ did you make me ask that fellar again, Mrs. M. ? Don't you see, our society" ain't good enough for him ? " Philip's conduct, then, so irritated Mugford, that when din- ner was announced, he stepped forward and offered his arm to Mrs. Woolsey ; having intended in the first instance to confer that honor upon Charlotte. " I'll show him," thought Mug- ford, " that an honest tradesman's lady who pays his way, and is not afraid of anybody, is better than my sub-editor's wife, the daughter of a bankrupt swell." Though the dinner was illuminated by Mugford's grandest plate, and accompanied by his very best wine, it was a gloomy and wear}' repast to several people present, and Philip and Charlotte, and I dare say Mug- ford, thought it never v^'ould be done. Mrs. Woolsey, to be sure, placidl}^ ate her dinner, and drank her wine ; whilst, re- membering these wicked legends against her, Philip sat before the poor unconscious lady, silent, with glaring e^-es, insolent and odious ; so much so, that Mrs. Woolsey imparted to Mrs. Mugford her surmise that the tall gentleman must have got out of bed the wrong leg foremost. Well, Mrs. Woolsey's carriage and Mr. Firmin's cab were announced at the same moment; and immediately Philip started up and beckoned his wife away. But Mrs. Woolsey's carriage and lamps of course had the precedence ; and this lady Mr. Mugford accompanied to her carriage step. He did not pay the same attention to Mrs. Firmin. Most hkely he forgot. Possibly he did not think etiquette required he should show that sort of politeness to a sub-editor's wife : at any rate, he was not so rude as Philip himself had been during the evening, but he stood in the hall looking at his guests departing in their cab, when, in a sudden gust of passion, Philip stepped out of the carriage, and stalked up to his host, who stood there in his own hall confronting him, Philip de- clared, with a most impudent smile on his face. "Come back to light a pipe I suppose? Nice thing for your wife, ain't it?" said Mugford, relishing his own joke. "I am come back, sir," said Philip, glaring at Mugford, 35 146 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " to ask how 3'ou dared invite Mrs. Philip Fiiniiin to meet that woman ? " Here, on his side, Mr. Mugford lost his temper, and from this moment his wrong begins. When he was in a passion, the language used by Mr. Mugford was not, it appears, choice. We have heard that when angrj^, he was in the habit of swear- ing freely at his subordinates. He broke out on this occasion also with many oaths. He told Philip that he would stand his impudence no longer ; that he was as good as a swindling doc- tor's son ; that though he hadn't been to college he could buy and pay them as had ; and that if Philip liked to come into the back yard for ten minutes, he'd give him one — two, and show him whether he was a man or not. Poor Char, who, indeed, fancied that her husband had gone back to light his cigar, sat awhile unconscious in her cab, and supposed that the two gen- tlemen were engaged on newspaper business. When Mugford began to pull his coat off, she sat wondering, but not in the least understanding the meaning of the action. Philip had de-- scribed his employer as walking about his office without a coat and using energetic language. But when, attracted by the loudness of the talk, Mrs. Mug- ford came forth from her neighboring drawing-room, accom- panied by such of her children as had not yet gone to roost — when seeing Mugford pulling off his dress-coat she began to scream — when, lifting his voice over hers, Mugford poured forth oaths and frantically shook his fists at Philip, asking how that blackguard dared insult him in his own house, and pro- posing to knock his head off at that moment — then poor Char, in wild alarm, sprang out of the cab, and ran to her husband, whose whole frame was throbbing, whose nostrils were snorting with passion. Then Mrs. Mugford springing forward, placed her ample form before her husband's, and calling Philip a great cowardly beast, asked him if he was going to attack that little old man ? Then Mugford dashing his coat down to the ground, called with fresh oaths to Philip to come on. And, in fine, there was a most unpleasant row, occasioned by Mr. Philip Firmin's hot temper. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 147 CHAPTER XII. RES ANGUSTA DOMI. To reconcile these two men was impossible, after such a quarrel as that described in the last chapter. The only chance of peace was to keep the two men apart. If they met, they would fly at each other. Mugford always persisted that he could have got the better of his great hulking sub-editor, who did not know the use of his fists. In Mugford's youthful time, bruising was a fashionable art ; and the old gentleman still believed in his own skill and prowess. "Don't tell me," he would sa}' ; ''though the fellar is as big as a life-guardsman, I would have doubled him up in two minutes." I am very glad, for poor Charlotte's sake and his own, that Philip did not undergo the doubling-up process. He himself felt such a wrath and surprise at his employer as, I suppose, a lion does when a little dog attacks him. I should not like to be that little dog ; nor does my modest and peaceful nature at all prompt and impel me to combat with lions. It was mighty well Mr. Philip Firmin had shown his spirit, and quarrelled with his bread and butter ; but when Saturday came, what philanthropist would hand four sovereigns and four shillings over to Mr. F., as Mr. Burjoice, the publisher of the Pall Mall Gazette, had been accustomed to do? I will say for m}^ friend that a still keener remorse than that which lie felt about money thrown away attended him when he found that Mrs. Woolsey, towards whom he had cast a sidelong stone of persecution, was a most respectable and honorable lady. "I should like to go, sir, and grovel before her," Phihp said, in his energetic wa}'. " If I see that tailor, I will request him to put his foot on my head, and trample on me with his highlows. Oh, for shame ! for shame ! Shall I never learn charity towards in}' neighbors, and always go on believing in the lies which people tell me? When I meet that scoundrel Trail at the club, I must chastise him. How dared he take away the reputation of an honest woman? " Philip's friends besought him, for the sake of society and peace, not to carry this quarrel farther. 148 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ''If," we said, " every woman whom Trail has maligned had a champion who should box Trail's ears at the club, what a vul- gar, quarrelsome place that club would become ! My dear Philip, did you ever know Mr. Trail sa}' a good word of man or woman?" and by these or similar entreaties and arguments, we succeeded in keeping the Queen's peace. Yes : but how find another Pall Mall Gazette ? Had Philip possessed seven thousand pounds iu the three per cents, his income would have been no greater than that which he drew from Mugford's faitliful bank. Ah ! how wonderful ways and means are ! When I think how this very line, this very word, which I am writing represents monej', I am lost in a respectful astonishment. A man takes his own case, as he says his own praj'ers, on behalf of himself and his family. I am paid, we will say, for the sake of illustration, at the rate of sixpence per line. With the words, "Ah, how wonderful," to the words " per line," I can bu}' a loaf, a piece of butter, a jug of milk, a modicum of tea, — actually enough to make breakfast for the family ; and the servants of the house ; and the charwoman, their servant, can shake up the tea-leaves with a fresh supply of water, sop the crusts, and get a meal tant Men que mal. Wife, children, guests, servants, charwoman, we are all actually making a meal off Philip Firmin's bones as it were. And my next-door neighbor, whom I see marching away to chambers, umbi'ella in hand? And next door but one the City man? And next door but two the doctor? — I know the baker has left loaves at every one of their doors this morning, that all their chimneys are smoking, and the}- will all have breakfast. Ah, thank God for it ! I hope, friend, you and I are not too proud to ask for our daily bread, and to be grateful for getting it? Mr. Philip had to work for his, in care and trouble, like other children of men : — to work for it, and I hope to pray for it, too. It is a thought to me awful and beautiful, that of the daily prayer, and of the myriads of fellow-men uttering it, in care and in sickness, in doubt and in poverty, in health and in wealth. Panem noslrum da nobis hodie. Philip whispers it b}' the bedside where wife and child lie sleeping, and goes to his early labor with a stouter heart : as he creeps to his rest when the da3?'s labor is over, and the quotidian bread is earned, and breathes his hushed thanks to the bountiful Giver of the meal. All over this world what an endless chorus is singing of love, and thanks, and prayer. Day tells to da}' the wondrous story, and night recounts it unto night. — How do I come to think of PATi;i:i-AJ]ILlAd. -J ON HIS AVAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 149 a sunrise which I saw near twenty years ago on the Nile, when the river and sky flushed and glowed with the dawning light, and as the luminary appeared, the boatmen knelt on the rosy deck, and adored Allah? So, as thy sun rises, friend, over the humble housetops round about 3'our home, shall you wake many and many a day to dut}' and labor. Ma}' the task have been honestly done wlien the night comes ; and the steward deal kindl}- Avith the laborer. So two of Philip's cables cracked and gave way after a very brief strain, and the poor fellow held by nothing now but that wonderful European liecieio established by the mysterious Tre- garvan. Actors, a people of superstitions and traditions, opine that heaven, in some m3'sterious way, makes managers for their benefit. In like manner, Review proprietors are sent to provide the pabulum for us men of letters. With what com- placency did my wife listen to the somewhat long-winded and pompous orator}- of Tregarvan ! He pompous and common- place? Tregarvan spoke with excellent good sense. That wil}' woman never showed she was tired of his conversation. She praised him to Philip behind his back, and would not allow a word in his disparagement. As a doctor will punch your chest, your liver, your heart, listen at your lungs, squeeze your pulse, and what not, so this practitioner studied, shampooed, auscultated Tregarvan. Of course, he allowed himself to be operated upon. Of course, he had no idea that the lady was flattering, wheedling, humbugging him ; but thought that he was a ver}' well-informed, eloquent man, who had seen and read a great deal, and had an agreeable method of imparting his knowledge, and that the lady in question was a sensible woman, naturallj' eager for more information. Go, Delilah ! I under- stand 3'our tricks ! I know man}' another Omphale in London, who will coax Plerculcs away from his club, to come and listen to her wheedling talk. One great difficulty we had Avas to make Philip read Trc- garvan's own articles in the Review. He at first said he could not, or that he could not rememl.)er them ; so that there was no use in reading them. And Philip's new master used to make artful allusions to his own writings in the course of conversa- tion, so that our unwary friend would find himself under exami- nation in any casual interview with Tregarvan, whose opinions on free-trade, malt-tax, income-tax, designs of Russia, or what not, might be accepted or denied, but ought at least to be known. We actually made Philip get up his owner's articles. 150 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP We put questions to him, privily, regarding them — " coached" him, according to the university phrase. My wife humbugged that wretched Member of Parliament in a way which makes me shudder, when I think of what hypocrisy the sex is capable. Those arts and dissimulations with which she wheedles others, suppose she exercise them on me ? Horrible thought ! No, angel ! To others thou mayest be a coaxing h3'pocrite ; to me tliou art all candor. Other men ma}' have been humbugged by oth&r women ; but I am not to be taken in by that sort of thing ; and thou art all candor ! We had then so much per annum as editor. We were paid, besides, for our articles. We had really a snug little pension out of this Review, and we prayed it might last for ever. We might write a novel. We might contribute articles to a daily paper ; get a little parliameutar}' practice as a barrister. We actually did get Phihp into a railway- case or two, and my wife must be coaxing and hugging solicitors' ladles, as she had wheedled and coaxed Members of Parliament. Why, I do believe my Delilah sec up a flirtation with old Bishop Cros- sticks, with an idea of getting her protege a living ; and though the lady indignantly repudiates this charge, will she be pleased to explain how the bishop's sermons were so outrageously praised in the Review ? Philip's roughness and frankness did not displease Tregp,r- van, to the wonder of us all, who trembled lest he should lose this as he had lost his former place. Tregarvan had more countrj'-houses than one, and at these not only was the editor of the Review made welcome, but the editor's wife and children, whom Tregarvan's wife took into especial regard. In London, Lady Mary had assemblies where our little friend Charlotte made her appearance ; and half a dozen times in the course of the season the wealthy Cornish gentleman feasted his retainers of the Review. His wine was excellent and old ; his jokes were old, too ; his table pompous, grave, plentiful. If Philip was to eat the bread of dependence, the loaf was here very kindly prepared for him ; and he ate it humbly, and with not too much grumbling. This diet chokes some proud stomachs and disagrees with them ; but Philip was verj' humble now, and of a nature grateful for kindness. He is one who requires the help of friends, and can accept benefits without losing inde- pendence — not all men's gifts, but some men's, whom he re- pa3's not only with coin, but with an immense affection and gratitude. How that man did laugh at my witticisms ! How ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 151 he worshipped the ground on which mj- wife walked ! He elected himself our champion. He quarrelled with other peo- ple, who found fault with our characters, or would not see our perfections. There was something affecting in the way in which this big man took the Iiumble place. We could do no wrong in his ej'es ; and woe betide the man who spoke disparagingly' of us in his presence ! One day, at his patron's table, Philip exercised his valor and championship in our behalf b}- defending us against the evil speaking of that Mr. Trail, who has been mentioned before as a gentleman difficult to please, and credulous of ill regarding his neighbor. The talk happened to fall upon the character of the reader's most humble servant, and Trail, as may be im- agined, spared me no more than the rest of mankind. Would you like to be liked by all people ? That would be a reason wh}' Trail should hate you. Were you an angel fresh dropped from the skies, he would espy dirt on your robe, and a black feather or two in 3'our wing. As for me, I know I am not angelical at all ; and in walking my native earth, can't help a little mud on my trousers. Well : Mr. Trail began to paint my portrait, laying on those dark shadows which that well-known master is in the habit of employing. I was a parasite of the nobilit}' ; I was a heartless sycophant, house-breaker, drunkard, murderer, returned convict, &c. &c. With a little imagination, Mrs. Candor can fill up the outline, and arrange the colors so as to suit her amiable fanc}'. Philip had come late to dinner ; — of this fault, I must con- fess, he is guilty only too often. The company were at table ; he took the only place vacant, and this happened to be at the side of Mr. Trail. On Trail's other side was a portly indi- vidual, of a healthy and rosy countenance and voluminous white waistcoat, to whom Trail directed much of his amiable talk, and whom he addressed once or twice as Sir John. Once or twice already we have seen how Philip has quarrelled at table. He cried mea culpa loudly and honestly enough. He made vows of reform in this particular. He succeeded, dearly beloved brethren, not much worse or better than you and I do, who confess our faults, and go on promising to improve, and stumbling and picking ourselves up every day. The pavement of life is strewed with orange-peel ; and who has not slipped on the flags? "He is the most conceited man in London," — Trail was going on, " and one of the most worldly. He will throw over 152 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP a colonel to dine with a general. He wouldn't throw over you two baronets — he is a great deal too shrewd a fellow for that. He wouldn't give you up, perhaps, to dine with a lord ; but an}' ordinary baronet he would." " And wh}- not us as well as the rest? " asks Tregarvan, who seemed amused at the speaker's chatter. "Because 3'ou are not like common baronets at all. Be- cause your estates are a great deal too large. Because, I sup- pose, you might either of you go to the Upper House any day. Because, as an author, he may be supposed to be afraid of a certain Revieiv" cries Trail, with a loud laugh. "Trail is speaking of a friend of yours," said the host, nodding and smiling, to the new-comer. " Very lucky for my friend," growls Philip, and eats his soup in silence. ' ' By the way, that article of his on Madame de Sevigne is poor stuff. No knowledge of the period. Three gross blunders in French. A man can't write of French society unless he has lived in French society. What does Pendennis know of it? A man who makes blunders like those can't understand French. A man who can't speak French can't get on in French society. Therefore he can't write about French society. All these prop- ositions are clear enough. Thank you. Dry champagne, if 3'ou please. He is enormously over-rated, I tell you ; and so is his wife. They used to put her forward as a beauty : and she is only a dowdy woman out of a nurser}'. She has no st^de about her." " She is only one of the best women in the world," Mr. Firmin called out, turning very red ; and hereupon entered into a defence of our characters, and pronounced a eulogium upon both and each of us, in which I hope there was some littl truth. However, he spoke with great enthusiasm, and Mr. Trail found himself in a minority. " You are right to stand up for your friends, Firmin ! " cried the host. " Let me introduce you to — " " Let me introduce myself," said the gentleman on the other side of Mr. Trail. " Mr. Firmin, 3'ou and I are kinsmen, — I am Sir John Ringwood." And' Sir John reached a hand to Philip across Trail's chair. They talked a great deal together in the course of the evening : and when Mr. Trail found that the great county gentleman was friendly and familiar with Philip, and claimed a relationship with him, his manner towards Firmin altered. He pronounced afterwards a warm eulogj- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 153 upon Sir John for his frankness and good-nature in recognizing his unfortunate relative, and charitably said, "Philip might not be like the doctor, and could not help having a rogue for a father." In former days, Trail had eaten and drunken freely at that rogue's table. But we must have truth, 3'ou know, before all things : and if your own brother has com- mitted a sin, common justice requires that yoa should stone him . In former daj-s, and not long after Lord Ringwood's death, Philip had left his card at this kinsman's door, and Sir John's butler, driving in his master's brougham, had left a card upon Philip, who was not over well pleased b}' this acknowledgment of his civility, and, in fact, employed abusive epithets when he spoke of the transaction. But when the two gentlemen actually met, their intercourse was kindly and pleasant enough. Sir John listened to his relative's talk — and it appears, Philip comported himself with his usual free and easy manner — with interest and curiosity ; and owned afterwards that evil tongues had previously been busy with the young man's character, and that slander and untruth had been spoken regarding him. In this respect, if Philip is worse off than his neighbors, I can only sa}' his neighbors are fortunate. Two da^-s after the meeting of the cousins, the tranquillit}' of Thornhaugh Street was disturbed b3- the appearance of a mag- nificent 3'ellow chariot, with crests, hammer-cloths, a bewigged coachman, and a powdered footman. Bets}-, the nurse, who was going to take bab}' out for a walk, encountered this giant on the threshold of Mrs. Brandon's door : and a lady v.ithin the chariot delivered three cards to the tall menial, who trans- ferred them to Betsy. And Betsy persisted in saying that the lad\- in the carriage admired baby very much, and asked its age, at which baby's mamma was not in the least surprised. In due course, an invitation to dinner followed, and our friends became acquainted with their kinsfolk. If you have a good memory for pedigrees — and in m}' youthful time ever^' man de bonne maison studied genealogies, and had his English families in his memory — yon know that this Sir John Ringwood, who succeeded to the principal portion of the estates, but not to the titles of the late earl, was de- scended from a mutual ancestor, a Sir John, whose elder son was ennobled (temp. Geo. I.), whilst the second son, following the legal profession, became a judge, and had a son, who be- came a barouet, and who begat that present Sir John who has 154 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP just been shaking hands with Philip across Trail's back.* Thus the two men were cousins ; and in right of the heiress, his poor mother, Philip might quarter the Ringwood arms on his car- riage, whenever he di'ove out. These, you know, are argent, a dexter sinople on a fesse wavy of the first — or pick out, m}^ dear friend, an^^ coat you like out of the whole heraldic ward- robe, and accommodate it to our friend Firmin. When he was a young man at college, Philip had dabbled a little in this queer science of heraldrj', and used to try and believe the legends about his ancestr}', which his fond mother imparted to him. He had a great book-plate made for him- self, with a prodigious number of quarterings, and could recite the alliances by which such and such a quartering came into his shield. His father rather confirmed these histories, and spoke of them and of his wife's noble family with much re- spect : and Philip, artlessly whispering to a vulgar boy at school that he was descended from King John, was thrashed very unkindly b}^ the vulgar upper boy, and nicknamed King John for many a long day after. I dare saj^ many other gen- * Copied, by permission of P. Firmin, Esq., from the Genealogical Tree in his possession. Sir J. Ringwood, Bart., of Winerate and Whipham. b. 1649; ob.l725. Sir J., Bart., 1st Baron Ringwood. ob. 1770. John, 2d Baron created Earl of Ringwood and Visct. Cinqbars. I Cliarles, Visct. Cinqbars, b. 1802 ; ob. 1824. Philip, a Colonel in the Army. ob. 1803. Maria, b. 1801, in' Dear Philip, — I beheve the BEAREu OF THE BOWSTRING has arrived ; and has been with the L. S. this very day," The L. S.? the bearer of the bowstring? Not one of the bachelors dining in Parchment Buildings could read the riddle. Only after receiving the scrap of paper Philip had jumped up and left the room ; and a friend of ours, a sly wag and Don Juan of Pump Court, offered to take odds that there was a lady in the case. At the hasty little council which was convened at our house ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 183 on the receipt of the news, the Little Sister, whose instinct had not betrayed her, was made acquainted with the precise nature of the danger which menaced Phihp ; and exhibited a fine hearty wrath when she heard how he proposed to meet the enemy. He had a certain sum in hand, lie would borrow more of his friends, who knew that he was an honest man. This bill he would meet, whatever might come ; and avert at least this dis- grace from his father. What? Give in to those rogues? Leave his children to starve, and his poor wife to turn drudge and house-servant, who was not fit for anything but a fine lad^-? (There was no love lost, you see, between these two ladies, who both loved Mr. Philip.) It was a sin and a shame ! Mrs. Brandon averred, and declared she thought Philip had been a man of more spirit. Philip's friend has before stated his own private sentiments re- garding the calamity which menaced Firmin. To pay this bill was to bring a dozen more down upon him. Philip might as well resist now as at a later da}'. Such, in fact, w^as the opin- ion given b}' the reader's ver}- humble servant at command. My wife, on the other hand, took Philip's side. She was very much moved at his announcement that he would forgive his father this once at least, and endeavor to cover his sin. "As you hope to be forgiven yourself, dear Philij), 1 am sure 3-ou are doing right," Laura said ; " 1 am sure Charlotte will think so." "Oh, Charlotte, Charlotte!" interposes the Little Sister, rather peevishly ; " of course, Mrs. Philip thinks whatever her liusband tells her ! " ' ' In his own time of trial Philip has been met with wonder- ful succor and kindness," Laura urged. " See how one thing after another has contributed to help him ! When lie wanted, there were friends alwa3-s at his need. If he wants again, 1 am sure my husband and I will share with him." (I may have made a wry face at this ; for with the best feelings towards a man, and that kind of thing, j'ou know it is not alwaj's conven- ient to be lending him five or six hundred pounds without secu- rity.) " M}^ dear husband and 1 will share with him," goes on Mrs. Laura ; " won't we, Arthur? Yes, Brandon, that we will. Be siu-e, Charlotte and the children shall not want because Philip covers his fatlior's wrong, and hides it from the world ! God bless you, dear friend ! " and what does this woman do next, and before her husband's face? Actually she goes up to Phihp; she takes his hand — and — Well, what took place before my own eyes, 1 do not choose to write down. 184 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " She's encouraging him to ruin the children for the sake of that — that wicked old brute ! " cries Mrs. Brandon. " It's enough to provoke a saint, it is ! " And she seizes up her bon- net from the table, and claps it on her head, and walks out of our room in a little tempest of wrath. My wife, clasping her hands, whispers a few words, which say : " Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them who tres- pass against us." " Yes," says Philip, very much moved. "It is the Divine order. You are right, dear Laura. I have had a weary time ; and a terrible gloom of doubt and sadness over my mind whilst I have been debating this matter, and before I had determined to do as 3'ou would have me. But a great weight is off my heart since I have been enabled to see what my conduct should be. What hundreds of struggling men as well as myself have met with losses, and faced them ! I will pay this bill, and I w411 warn the drawer to — to spare me for the future." Now that the Little Sister had gone away in her fit of indig- nation, you see I was left in a minorit}' in the council of war, and the opposition was quite too strong for me. I began to be of the majority's opinion. I dare say I am not the only gentle- man who has been led round by a woman. We men of great strength of mind very frequently are. Y'es : m}^ wife convinced me with passages from her text-book, admitting of no contra- diction according to her judgment, that Philip's duty was to forgive his father. "And how lucky it was we did not buy the chintzes that da}' ! " says Laura, with a laugh. "Do 3'ou know there were' two which were so prett}' that Charlotte could not make up her mind which of the two she would take ? " Philip roared out one of his laughs, which made the windows shake. He was in great spirits. For a man who was going to ruin himself, he was in the most enviable good-humor. Did Charlotte know about this — this claim which was impending over him? No. It might make her anxious, — poor little thing ! Philip had not told her. He had thought of conceal- ing the matter from her. What need was there to disturb her rest, poor innocent child? You see, we all treated Mrs. Char- lotte more or less like a child. Philip played with her. J. J., the painter, coaxed and dandled her, so to speak. The Little Sister loved her, but certainly with a love that was not respect- ful ; and Charlotte took ever3'body's good- will with a pleasant meekness and sweet smiling content. It was not for Laura to give advice to man and wife (as if the woman was not always ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 185 giving lectures to Philip and his young wife !) ; but in the pres- ent instance she thought Mrs. Philip certainly ought to know what Philip's real situation was ; what danger was menacing ; "and how admirable and right, and Christian — and you will have your reward for it, dear Philip ! " interjects the enthusias- tic lady — " your conduct has been ! " AVhen we came, as we straightway did in a cab, to Char- lotte's house, to expound the matter to her, goodness bless us ! she was not shocked, or anxious, or frightened at all. Mrs. Brandon had just been with her, and told her of what was hap- pening, and she had said " Of course, PhiHp ougl^t to help his father ; and Brandon had gone away quite in a tantrum of an- ger, and had really been quite rude ; and she should not pardon her, only she knew how dearly the Little Sister loved Philip ; and of course they must help Dr. Firmin ; and what dreadful, dreadful distress he must have been in to do as he did ! But he had warned Philip, you know," and so forth. '• And as for the chintzes, Laura, why I suiDpose we must go on with the old shal)b3' covers. You know they will do very well till next year." This was the way in which Mrs. Charlotte received the news M'hich Philip had concealed from her, lest it should ter- rif}' her. As if a loving woman was ever ver}' much frightened at being called upon to share her husband's misfortune ! As for the little case of forgery, I don't believe the young person could ever be got to see the heinous nature of Dr. Fir- min's offence. The desperate little logician seemed rather to pity the father than the son in the business. " How dreadfully pressed he must have been when he did it, poor man ! " she said. "To be sure, he ought not to have done it at all ; but think of his necessity ! That is what I said to Brandon. Now, there's little Philip's cake in the cupboard which you brought him. Now suppose papa was very hungr}', and went and took some without asking I'hilly, he wouldn't be so very wrong, I think, would he ? A child is glad enough to give for his father, isn't he? And when I said this to Brandon, she was so rude and violent, I really have no patience with her ! And she for- gets that I am a lady, and " &c. &c. So it appeared the Little Sister had made a desperate attempt to bring over Charlotte to her side, was still minded to rescue Philip in spite of himself, and had gone off in wrath at her defeat. We looked to the doctor's letters, and ascertained the date of the bill. It had crossed the water and would be at Philip's door in a very few days. Had Hunt brought it? The rascal would have it presented through some regular channel, no 186 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP doubt ; and Philip and all of us totted up wajs and means, and strove to make the slender figures look as big as possible, as the thrifty housewife puts a patch here and a darn there, and cuts a little shce out of this old' garment, so as to make the poor little frock serve for winter wear. We had so much at the banker's. A friend might help with a little advance. We would fairly ask a loan from the Review. We were in a scrape, but we would meet it. And so with resolute hearts, we would prepare to receive the Bearer of the Bowstring. CHAPTER XV. THE BEARER OF THE BOWSTRING. The poor Little Sister trudged away from Milman Street exasperated with Philip, with Philip's wife, and with the deter- mination of the pair to accept the hopeless ruin impending over them. " Three hundred and eighty-six pounds four and three- pence," she thought, "to pay for that wicked old villain ! It is more than poor Philip is worth, with all his savings and his little sticks of furniture. I know what he will do : he will borrow of the money-lenders, and give those bills, and renew them, and end b}^ ruin. When he have paid this bill, that old villain will forge another, and that precious wife of his will tell him to pay that, I suppose ; and those little darlings will be begging for bread, unless the^- come and eat mine, to which — God bless them ! — they are always welcome." She calculated — it was a sum not difficult to reckon — the amount of her own little store of saved read}^ mone}'. To pa}- four hundred pounds out of such an income as Philip's, she felt, w^as an attempt A^ain and impossible. " And he mustn't have my poor little stocldng now," she argued; " they will want that pres- ently when their pride is broken down, as it will be, and my darlings are hungering for their dinner ! " Revolving this dismal matter in her mind, and scarce knowing where to go for comfort and counsel, she made her way to her good friend, Dr. Goodenough, and found that worthy man, who had always a welcome for his Little Sister. She found Goodenough alone in his great dining-room, taking a very slender meal, after visiting his hospital and his fift}' patients, among whom I think there were more poor than ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 187 rich : and the good sleepy doctor woke up with a vengeance, when he heard his httle nurse's news, and fired off a volley of angry language against Philip and his scoundrel of a father ; " which it was a comfort to hear him," little Brandon told us afterwards. Then Goodenough trotted out of the dining-room into the adjoining library and consulting-room, whither his old friend followed him. Then he pulled out a bunch of ke3S and opened a secretaire, from which he took a parchment-covered volume, on which J. Goodenough^ Esq.^ M.D.^ was written in a fine legible hand, — and which, in fact, was a banker's book. The inspection of the MS. volume in question must have pleased the worth}' physician ; for a grin came over his venerable features, and he straightway drew out of the desk a slim volume of gra}' paper, on each page of which were inscribed the highly respectable names of Messrs. Stumpy and Rowdy and Co., of Lombard Street, Bankers. On a slip of gray paper the doctor wrote a prescription for a draught, statim sumendus — (a draught — mark my pleasantry) — which he handed over to his little friend. " There, you little fool ! " said he. " The father is a rascal, but the boy is a fine fellow ; and you, you little silly thing, I must* help in this business mA'self, or 30U will go and ruin your- self; I know 3'ou will ! Offer this to the fellow for his bill. Or, sta}' ! How nmch money is there in the house ? Perhaps the sight of notes and gold will tempt him more than a cheque." And the doctor emptied his pockets of all the fees which hap- pened to be therein — I don't know how many fees of shining shillings and sovereigns, neatly wrapped up in paper ; and he emptied a drawer in which there was more silver and gold : and he trotted up to his bedroom, and came panting, presently, down stairs with a fat little pocket-book, co^itaining a bundle of notes, and, with one thing or another, he made up a sum of — I won't mention what ; but this sum of money, I say, he thrust into the Little Sister's hand, and said, "Try the fellow with this. Little Sister ; and see if you can get the bill from him. Don't say it's my money, or the scoundrel will be for having twent}' shillings in the pound. Say it's j'ours, and there's no more where that came from ; and coax him, and wheedle him, and tell him plenty of lies, my dear. It won't l)reak your heart to do that. What an immortal scoundrel Brummell Firmin is, to be sure ! Though, by the way, in two more cases at the hospital I have tried that — " And here the doctor went off into a professional conversation with his favorite nurse, which I could not presume to repeat to any non-medical men. 188 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP The Little Sister bade God bless Doctor Goodenongh, and wiped her glistening eyes with her handkerchief, and put away the notes and gold with a trembling little hand, and trudged otf with a lightsome step and a happy heart. Arrived at Totten- ham Court Road, she thought, shall I go home, or shall I go to poor Mrs. Philip and take her this money ? No. Their talk that day had not been very pleasant : words, very like high words, had passed between them, and our Little Sister had to own to herself that she had been rather rude in her late colloquj- with Charlotte. And she was a proud Little Sister : at least she did not care for to own that she had been hasty or disrespectful in her conduct to that young woman. She had too much spirit for that. Have we ever said that our little friend was exempt from the prejudices and vanities of this wicked world? Well, to rescue Philip, to secure the fatal bill, to go with it to Char- lotte, and sa}', "There, Mrs. Philip, there's your husband's liberty." It would be a rare triumph, that it would ! And Philip would promise, on his honor, that this should be the last and only bill he would pay for that wretched old father. With these happy thoughts swelling in her little heart, Mrs. Brandon made her way to the familiar house in Thornhaugh Street, and would have a little bit of supper, so she would. And laid her own little cloth ; and set forth her little forks and spoons, which were as bright as rubbing could make them ; and I am authorized to state that her repast consisted of two nice little lamb-chops, which she pui'chased from her neighbor, Mr. Chump, in Tottenham Court Road, after a pleasant little conversation with that gentleman and his good lady. And, with her bit of supper, after a da^^'s work, our little friend would sometimes indulge in a glass — a little glass — of something comfortable. The case-bottle was in the cupboard, out of which her poor Pa had been wont to mix his tumblers for many a long da}'. So, having prepared it with her own hands, down she sat to her little meal, tired and happy ; and as she thought of the occurrences of the da}', and of the rescue which had come so opportunel}' to her beloved Philip and his children, I am sure she said a grace before her meat. Her candles being lighted and her blind up, an}' one in the street could see that her chamber was occupied ; and at about ten o'clock at night there came a heavy step clinking along the pavement, the sound of which, I liaA'c no doubt, made the Little Sister start a little. The heavy foot paused before her window, and presently clattered up the steps of her door. Then, as her bell rang — I consider it is most probable that her cheek flushed ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 189 a little — she went to her hall-door and opened it herself. " Lor', is it you, Mr. Hunt? Well, I never ! that is, I thought j-ou might come. Really, now" — and with the moonlight behind him, the dingy Hunt swaggered in. "How comfortable ^-ou looked at your little table," says Hunt, with his hat over his eye. "Won't 3'ou step in and sit down to it, and take some- thing?" asks the smiling hostess. Of course, Hunt would take something. And the greasy hat is taken off his head with a flourish, and he struts into the poor Little Sister's little room, pulling a wisp of grizzling hair, and endeavoring to assume a careless, fashionable look. The dingy hand had seized the case-bottle in a moment. " What! you do a little in this wa}', do j'ou?" he says, and winks amiabl3- at Mrs. Brandon and the bottle. She takes ever so little, she owns ; and reminds him of da3's which he must remember, when she had a wine-glass out of poor Pa's tumbler. A bright little kettle is singing on the fire, — will not Mr. Hunt mix a glass for himself? She takes a bright beaker from the corner-cup- board, which is near her, with her keys hanging from it. " Oh — ho ! that's where we keep the ginuims, is it?" saj's the graceful Hunt, with a laugh. "My papa alwa3's kept it there," says Caroline, meekl3\ And whilst her back is turned to fetch a canister from the cup- board, she knows that the astute Mr. Hunt has taken the opportunity^ to fill a good large measure from the square bottle. "Make 3-ourself welcome," says the Little Sister, in her ga3', artless way; "there's more whei'e that came from!" And Hunt drinks his hostess's health : and she bows to him, and smiles, and sips a little from her own glass ; and the little lad3' looks quite pretty, and ros3', and bright. Her cheeks are like apples, her figure is trim and graceful, and always attired in the neatest-fitting gown. By the comfortable light of the candles on her sparkling tables, 3'ou scarce see the silver lines in her light hair, or the marks which time has made round her e3'es. Hunt gazes on her with admiration. " Wh3^," sa3s he, " I vow you look 3-ounger and prettier than when — when I saw 3'ou first." "Ah, Mr. Hunt!" cries Mrs. Brandon, with a flush on her cheek, which becomes it, "don't recall that time, or that — that wretch who served me so cruel ! " "He was a scoundrel, Caroline, to treat as he did such a woman as you ! The fellow has no principle ; he was a bad cue from the beginning. Why, he ruined me as well as you : 190 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP got me to play ; run me into debt by introducing me to his fine companions. I was a simple young fellow then, and thought it was a fine thing to live with fellow-commoners and noblemen who drove their tandems and gave their grand dinners. It was he that led me astray, I tell you. I might have been Fellow of my college — had a living — married a good wife — risen to be a bishop, by George ! — for I had great talents, Caroline ; only I was so confounded idle, and fond of the cards and the bones." " The bones?" cries Caroline, with a bewildered look. "The dice, my dear! 'Seven's the main' was my ruin. ' Seven's the main ' and eleven's the nick to seven. That used to be the little game ! " And he made a graceful gesture with his empty wine-glass, as though he were tossing a pair of dice on the table. "The man next to me in lecture is a bishop now, and I could knock his head off' in Greek iambics and Latin hexameters too. In my second year I got the Latin declamation prize, I tell you — " " Brandon alwa3'S said you were one of the cleverest men at the college. He always said that, I remember," remarks the lady, very respectfully. ' ' Did he ? lie did say a good word for me then ? Brummell Firmin wasn't a clever man ; he wasn't a reading man. Whereas I would back myself for a Sapphic ode against an\^ man in my college — against an}^ man ! Thank j^ou. You do mix it so uncommon hot and well, there's no saying no ; indeed, there ain't ! Though I have had enough — upon my honor, I have." "Lor'! I thought you men could drink an^'thing ! And Mr. Brandon — Mr. Firmin 30U said?" " Well, I said Brummell Firmin was a swell somehow. He had a sort of grand manner with him — " " Yes, he had," sighed Caroline. And I dare say her thoughts wandered back to a time long, long ago, when this grand gentleman had captivated her. ' ' And it was trying to keep up with him that ruined me ! I quarrelled with my poor old governor about monej', of course ; grew idle, and lost nxy Fellowship. Then the bills came down upon me. I tell 3'ou, there are some of my college ticks ain't paid now." " College ticks? Law ! " ejaculates the lady. " And — " . " Tailors' ticks, tavern ticks, liver^'-stable ticks — for there were famous hacks in our da^'s, and I used to hunt with the tip-top men. I wasn't bad across country, I wasn't. But we o ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 191 can't keep the pace with those rich fellows. We try, and the}' go ahead — the}- ride us down. Do 3'ou think, if I hadn't been very hard up, I would have done what I did to3'ou, Caio- line? You poor little innocent sutfering thing. It was a shame. It was a shame ! " " Yes, a shame it was," cries Caroline. " And that I never gainsay. You did deal hard with a poor girl, both of you." " It was rascall}'. But Firmin was the worst. lie had me in his power. It was he led me wrong. It was he drove me into debt, and then abroad, and then into qu — into gaol, per- haps : and then into this kind of thing." (" This kind of thing " has before been explained elegantly- to signify a tumbler of hot grog.) "And my father wouldn't see me on his death-bed; and my brothers and sisters broke with me ; and I owe it all to Brummell Firmin — all. Do you think, after ruining me, he oughtn't to pay me?" and again he thumps a dusky hand upon the table. It made dingy marks on the poor Little Sister's spotless tablecloth. It rubbed its owner's forehead, and lank, grizzling hair. " And me, Mr. Hunt? What do he owe me?" asks Hunt's hostess. "Caroline!" cries Hunt, "I have made Brummell Firmin pay me a good bit back already, but I'll have more ; " and he thumped his breast, and thrust his hand into his breast-pocket as he spoke, and clutched at something within. " It is there ! " thought Caroline. She might turn pale ; but he did not remark her pallor. He was all intent on drink, on vanity, on revenge. " I have him, I say. He owes me a good bit ; and he has paid me a good bit ; and he shall pa}' me a good bit more. Do 3-ou think I am a fellow who will be ruined and insulted, and won't revenge myself? You should have seen his face when I turned up at New York at the ' Astor House,' and said, ' Brum- mell, old fellow, here I am,' I said ; and he turned as white — as white as this tablecloth. '/'// never leave you, m}- bo}-,' I said. ' Other fellows may go from you, but old Tom Hunt will stick to j-ou. Let's go into the bar and have a drink ! ' and he was obliged to come. And I have him now in my power, I tell you. And when I say to him, 'Brummell, have a drink,' drink he must. His bald old head must go into the pail ! " And Mr. Hunt laughed a laugh which I dare say was not agreeable. After a pause he went on : " Caroline ! do you hate him, I say ? or do you like a fellow who deserted you and treated you 192 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP like a scoundrel? Some women do. I could tell of women who do. I could tell 3'ou of other fellows, perhaps, but I won't. Do 3-ou hate Brummell Firmin, that bald-headed Brum — h3-pocrite, and that — that insolent rascal who laid his hand on a clergyman, and an old man, by George, and hit me — and hit me in that street. Do j-ou hate him, I say ! IIoo ! hoo ! hick ! I've got 'em both ! — here, in my pocket — both ! " " You have got — what? " gasped Caroline. " I have got their — hallo! stop, what's that to 3'ou what I've got?" And he sinks back in his chair, and grins, and leers, and triumphantly tosses his glass. " Well, it ain't much to me ; I — I never got any good out of either of 'em yet," says poor Caroline, with a sinking heart. " Let's talk about somebody else than them two plagues. Be- cause 3'ou were a little merr^^ one night — and I don't mind what a gentleman says when he has had a glass — for a great big strong man to hit an old one — " ' ' To strike a clergyman ! " 3'ells Hunt. " It was a shame — a cowardl3' shame ! And I gave it him for it, I promise 3'OU ! " cries Mrs. Brandon. ' ' On your honor, now, do you hate 'em ? " cries Hunt, starting up, and clenching his fist, and dropping again into his chair. " Have I any reason to love 'em, Mr. Hunt? Do sit down and have a little — " " No : 3'Ou have no reason to like 'em. You hate 'em — I hate 'em. Look here. Promise — 'pon 30ur honor, now, Caro- line — I've got 'em both, I tell you. Strike a clerg3-man, will he? What do 3'ou say to that?" And starting from his chair once more, and supporting him- self against the wall (where hung one of J. J.'s pictures of Philip), Hunt pulls out the greas3' pocket-book once more, and fumbles amongst the greas3' contents : and as the papers flutter on to the floor and the table, he pounces down on one with a dingy hand, and 3-ells a laugh, and sa3-s, "I've cotched 30U ! That's it. What do 3'Ou sa3' to that? — ' London, JUI3' 4tli. — Five months after date, I promise to pa3' to — ' No, 30U don't." "La! Mr. Hunt, won't 3'Ou let me look at it?" cries the hostess. "Whatever is it? A bill? M3' Pa had plenty of 'em." " What? with candles in the room? No, 3'OU don't, I sa3\" ' ' What is it ? Won't you tell me ? " ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 193 "It's the .young one's acceptance of the old man's draft," says Hunt, hissing and laughing. " For how much? " ' ' Three hundred and eightj'-six four three — that's all ; and I guess I can get more where that came from ! " sa3-s Hunt, laughing more and more cheerfully. " What will you take for it? I'll buy it of 3^ou," cries the Little Sister. "I — I've seen plenty of my Pa's bills; and I'll — I'll discount this, if you like." ' ' What ! are 3'ou a little discounter ? Is that the way you make your money, and the silver spoons, and tlie nice supper, and everything delightful about you? A little discountess, are you — you little rogue? Little discountess, b}' George ! How much will you give, little discountess?" And the reverend gentleman laughs and winks, and drinks and laughs, and tears twinkle out of his tipsy old eyes, as he wipes them with one hand, and again says, "How much will you give, little dis- countess? " W^hen poor Caroline went to her cupboard, and from it took the notes and the gold which she had had we know from whom, /ind added to tliese out of a cunning box a little heap of her own private savings, and with tremljling hands poured the notes, and the sovereigns, and the shillings into a dish on the table, I never heard accurately how much she laid down. But she must have spread out everything she had in the world ; for she felt her pockets and emptied them ; and, tai)ping her head, she again applied to the cupboard, and took from thence a little store of spoons and forks, and then a brooch, and then a watch ; and she piled these all up in a dish, and she said, " Now, Mr. Hunt, I will give you all these for that bill." And she looked up at Philip's picture, which hung over the parson's bloodshot, sat3-r face. "Take these," she said, "and give me that! There's two hundi-ed pound, I know ; and there's thirty-four, and two eighteen, thirty -six eighteen, and there's the plate and watch, and I want that bill." " What? have you got all this, you little dear?" cried Hunt, dropping back into his chair again. "Why, you're a little fortune, by Jove — a pretty little fortune, a little discountess, a little. wife, a little fortune. I say, I'm a University man; I could write alcaics on'ce as well as any man. I'm a gentleman. I say, how much have you got? Count it over aoain, my dear." ^ ' ^ And again she told him the amount of the gold, and the notes, and tlie silver, and the number of the poor little si)oons. 194 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP A thought came across the fellow's booz}^ brain: "If jou offer so much," says he, "and 3'ou're a little discountess, the bill's worth more ; that fellow must be making his fortune ! Or do you know about it? I say, do you know about it? No. I'll have my bond. I'll have m}- bond ! " And he gave a tipsy imitation of Shylock, and lurched back into his chair, and laughed. "Let's have a little more, and talk about things," said the poor Little Sister ; and she daintily heaped her little treasures and arranged them in her dish, and smiled upon the parson laughing in his chair. "Caroline," says he, after a pause, "you are still fond of that old bald-headed scoundrel ! That's it ! Just like you women — just like, but I won't tell. No, no, I won't tell! You are fond of that old swindler still, I say ! Wherever did you get that lot of money ? Look here now — with that, and this little bill in my pocket, there's enough to carr}'^ us on for ever so long. And when this mone3''s gone, I tell 3^ou I know who'U give us more, and who can't refuse us, I tell you. Look here, Caroline, dear Caroline ! I'm an old fellow, I know ; but I'm a good fellow : I'm a classical scholar : and I'm a gentleman." . The classical scholar and gentleman bleared over his words as he uttered them, and with his vinous eyes and sordid face gave a leer, which must have frightened the poor little lad}^ to wiiom he proffered himself as a suitor, for she started back with a pallid face, and an aspect of such dislike and terror, that even her guest remarked it. " I said I was a scholar and gentleman," he shrieked again. " Do you doubt it? I am as good a man as Brummell Firmin, I sa3\ I ain't so tall. But I'll do a copy of Latin alcaics or Greek iambics against him or an}^ man of ray weight. Do you mean to insult me? Don't I know who you are? Are 3'OU better than a Master of Arts and a clerg^'man ? He went out in medicine, Firmin did. Do 3"0U mean, when a Master of Arts and classical scholar offers you his hand and fortune, that you're above him and refuse him, by George?" The Little Sister was growing bewildered and frightened by the man's energy and horrid looks. "Oh, Mr. Hunt!" she cried, " see here, take this ! See — there are two hundred and thirty — thirty-six pounds and all these things ! Take them, and give me that paper." "Sovereigns, and notes, and spoons, and a watch, and what I have in my pocket — and that ain't much — and Fir- min's bill ! Three hundred and eightj'-six four three. It's a Judith and Holofernes. I ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 195 fortune, my dear, with economy ! I won't have you gohig on being a nurse and that kind of thing. I'm a scholar and a gentleman — I am — and that place ain't fit for Mrs. Hunt. We'll first spend j'our money. No : we'll first spend my money — three hundred and eight3^-six and — and hang the change — and when that's gone, we'll have another bill from that bald-headed old scoundrel : and his son who struck a poor cler — We will, I say, Caroline — we — " The wretch was suiting actions to his words, and rose once more, advancing towards his hostess, who shrank back, laugh- ing half-hysterically, and retreating as the other neared her. Behind her was that cupboard which had contained her poor little treasure and other stores, and appended to the lock of which her keys were still hanging. As the brute approached her, she flung back the cupboard-door smartly upon him. The keys struck him on the head ; and bleeding, and with a curse and a crj-, he fell back on his chair. In the cupboard was that bottle which she had received from America not long since ; and about which she had taUvcd with Goodenough on that very day. It has been used twice or thrice by his direction, by hospital surgeons, and under her eye. She suddenly seized this bottle. As- the ruffian before her uttered his imprecations of wrath, she poured out a quantity of the con- tents of the bottle on her handkerchief. She said, " Oh ! Mr. Hunt, have I hurt 3-0U? I didn't mean it. But you shouldn't — you shouldn't frighten a lonelj^ woman so! Here, let me bathe you ! Smell this ! It will — it will do you — good — it will — it will, indeed." The handkerchief was over his face. Bewildered b}- drink before, the fumes of the liquor which he was absorbing served almost instantly to overcome him. He struggled for a moment or two. " Stop — stop ! you'll be bet- ter in a moment," she whispered. "Oh, yes! better, quite better ! " She squeezed more of the liquor from the bottle on to the handkerchief. In a minute Hunt was quite inanimate. Then the little pale Avoman leant over him, and took the pocket-book out of his pocket, and from it the bill which bore Philip's name. As Hunt lay in stupor before her, she now squeezed more of the liquor over his head ; and then thrust the bill into the fire, and saw it burn to ashes. Then she put back the pocket-book into Hunt's breast. She said afterwards that she never should have thought about that Chloroform, but for her brief conversation with Dr. Goodenough that evening, regarding a case in which she had employed the new remedy under Ms ordei's. 196 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP How long did Hunt lie in that stupor ? It seemed a whole long night to Caroline. She said afterwards that the thought of that act that night made her hair grow gra}-. Poor little head ! Indeed, she would have laid it down for Philip. Hunt, I suppose, came to himself when the handkerchief was withdrawn, and the fumes of the potent liquor ceased to work on his brain. He was ver}^ much frightened and bewil- dered. " What was it? Where am I?" he asked in a husky voice. " It was the keys struck 3'ou in the cupboard-door when 3'ou — 3'ou ran against it," said pale Caroline. "Look! you are all bleeding on the head. Let me dry it." " No ; keep off! " cried the terrified man. ' ' Will you have a cab to go home ? The poor gentleman hit himself against the cupboard-door, Mary. You remember him here before, don't you, one night?" And Caroline, with a shrug, pointed out to her maid, whom she had summoned, the great square bottle of spirits still on the table, and indicated that there laj^ the cause of Hunt's bewilderment. " Are you better now ? Will you — will you — take a little more refreshment?" asked Caroline. " No ! " he cried with an oath, and with glaring, bloodshot eyes he lurched towards his hat. " Lor', mum ! what ever is it? And this smell in the room, and all this here heap of mone}' and things on the table? " Caroline flung open her window. " It's medicine, which Dr. Goodenough has ordered for one of his patients. I must go and see her to-night," she said. And at midnight, looking as pale as death, the Little Sister went to the doctor's house, and roused him up from his bed, and told him the story here narrated. " I offered him all you gave me," she said, " and all I had in the world besides, and he wouldn't — and — " Here she broke out into a fit of hysterics. The doctor had to ring up his servants ; to administer remedies to his little nurse ; to put her to bed in his own house. "By the immortal Jove," he said afterwards, "I had a great mind to beg her never to leave it ! But that my house- keeper would tear Caroline's eyes out, Mrs. Brandon should be welcome to stay for ever. P^xcept her h's, that woman has every virtue : constancy, gentleness, generosity, cheerfulness, and the courage of a lioness ! To think of that fool, that dan- dified idiot, that triple ass, Firmin" — (there were few men in the world for whom Goodenough entertained a greater scorn than for his late confrere, Fu-min of Old Parr Street) — ' ' think ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 197 of the villain having possessed such a treasure — let alone his having deceived and deserted her — of his having possessed such a treasure and flung it awa_y ! Sir, I always admired Mrs. Brandon ; but I think ten thousand times more highly of her, since her glorious crime, and most righteous robbery. If the villain had died, dropped dead in the street — the drunken miscreant, forger, housebreaker, assassin — so that no punishment could have fallen upon poor Brandon, I think I should have respected her onlj' the more ! " At an early hour Dr. Goodenough had thought proper to send off messengers to Philip and myself, and to make us ac- quainted with the strange adventure of the previous night. We both hastened to him, I myself was summoned, no doubt, in consequence of my profound legal knowledge, which might be of use in poor little Caroline's present trouble. And Philip came because she longed to see him. By some instinct she knew when he arrived. She crept down from the chamber where tbe doctor's housekeeper had laid her on a bed. She knocked at the doctor's study, where we were all in consultation. She came in quite pale, and tottered towards Philip, and flung herself into his arms, with a burst of tears that greatl}- relieved her excitement and fever. Firmin was scarcelj' less moved. "You'll pardon me for what I have done, Philip," she sobbed. "If they — if the}'' take me up, vou won't forsake me?" " Forsake 3'ou? Pardon you? Come and live with us, and never leave us ! " cried Philip. "I don't think Mrs. Philip would like that, dear," said the little woman sobbing on his arm; "but ever since the Grey Friars school, when 3'Ou was so ill, you have lieen like a son to me, and somehow I couldn't help doing that last night to that villain — I couldn't." "Serve the scoundrel right. Never deserved to come to life again, my dear," said Dr. Goodenough. "Don't you be exciting ^-ourself, little Brandon ! I must have you sent back to lie down on 3'our bed. Take her up, Philip, to the little room next mine ; and order her to lie down and be as quiet as a mouse. You are not to move till I give you leave, Bran- don — mind that, and come back to us, Firmin, or we shall have the patients coming." So Philip led away this poor Little Sister ; and trembling, and clinging to his arm, she returned to the room assigned to her. " She wants to be alone with him," the doctor said ; and be 198 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP spoke a brief word or two of that strange delusion under which the little woniau labored, that this was her dead child come back to her. "I know that is in her mind," Goodenough said; "she never got over that brain fever in which I found her. If I were to swear her on the book, and say, ' Brandon, don't 3'ou believe he is your son alive again ? ' she would not dare to sa}^ no. She will leave him everything she has got. I only gave her so much less than that scoundrel's bill yesterday, because I knew she would like to contribute her own share. It would have offended her mortally to have been left out of the sub- scription. The}' like to sacrifice themselves. Why, there are women in India who, if not allowed to roast with their dead husbands, would die of vexation," And by this time Mr. Philip came striding back into the room again, rubbing a pair of very red e3'es. '• Long ere this, no doubt, that drunken ruffian is sobered, and knows that the bill is gone. He is likely enough to ac- cuse her of the robber}'," sa3'S the doctor. " Suppose," sa^'s Philip's other friend, "I had put a pistol to 3'our head, and was going to shoot 3'ou, and the doctor took the pistol out of my hand, and flung it into the sea, would 3'ou help me to prosecute the doctor for robbing me of the pistol?" " You don't suppose it will be a pleasure to me to pay that bill? " said Philip. " I said, if a certain bill were presented to me, purporting to be accepted by Philip Firmin, I would pay it. But if that scoundrel. Hunt, only says that he had such a bill, and has lost it ; I will cheerfully take my oath that I have never signed any bill at all — and they can't find Brandon guilty of stealing a thing which never existed." " Let us hope, then, that the bill was not in duplicate ! " And to this wish all three gentlemen heartily said Amen ! And now the doctor's door-bell began to be agitated by arriving patients. His dining-room was already full of them. The Little Sister must lie still, and the discussion of her affairs must be defen-ed to a more convenient hour ; and Philip and his friend agreed to reconnoitre the house in Thornhaugh Street, and see if anything had happened since its mistress had left it. Yes : something had happened. Mrs. Brandon's maid, who ushered us into her mistress's little room, told us that in the early morning that horrible man who had come over-night, and been so tipsy, and behaved so ill, — the very same man ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 199 who had come there tipsy afore once, and whom Mr, Philip had flang into the street — had come battering at the knocker, and pulling at the bell, and swearing and cursing most dread- ful, and calling for "Mrs. Brandon! Mrs. Brandon! Mrs. Brandon ! " and frightening the whole street. After he had rung, he knocked and battered ever so long. Mary looked out at him from her upper window, and told him to go along- home, or she would call the police. On this the man roared out that he would call the police himself if Marj' did not let him in; and as he went on calling "Police!" and yelling from the door, Mary came down stairs, and opened the hall-door, keeping the chain fastened, and asked him what he wanted ? Hunt, from the steps without, began to swear and rage more loudly, and to demand to be let in. He must and would see Mrs. Brandon. Mar}', from behind her chain barricade, said that her mis- tress was not at homo, but that she had been called out that night to a patient of Dr. Goodenough's. Hunt, with more shrieks and curses, said it was a lie ; and that she was at home ; and that he would see her ; and that he must go into her room ; and that he had left something there ; that he had lost something ; and that he would have it. "Lost something here?" cried Marj'. " Why here ? when 3'ou reeled out of this house, 3'ou couldn't scarce walk, and 3'ou almost fell into the gutter, which I have seen j-ou there before. Get awa}-, and go home ! You are not sober yd, you horrible man ! " On this, clinging on to the area-railings, and demeaning himself like a madman, Hunt continued to call out, "Police, police ! I have been robbed, I've been robbed ! Police ! " until astonished heads appeared at various windows in the quiet street, and a policeman actuall}' came up. When the policeman appeared. Hunt began to sway and pull at the door, confined by its chain : and he frantically reiterated his charge, that he had been robbed and hocussed in that house, that night, b}^ Mrs. Brandon. The policeman, by a familiar expression, conveyed his utter disbelief of the statement, and told the dirty, disreputable man to move on, and go to bed. Mrs. Brandon was known and respected all round the neighborhood. She had befriended numerous poor round about ; and was known for a hundred charities. She attended man}^ respectable fninilics. In that parish there was no woman more esteemed. And !)v the word 200 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " Gammon," the policeman expi'essed liis sense of the utter absurdity of the cliarge against the good lady. Hunt still continued to yell out that he had been robbed and hocussed ; and Mary from behind her door repeated to the officer (with whom she perhaps had relations not unfriendly) her statement that the beast had gone reeling away from the house the night before, and if he had lost anything, who knows where he might not have lost it? " It was taken out of this pocket, and out of this pocket- book," howled Hunt, clinging to the rail. "I give her in charge. I give the house in charge ! It's a den of thieves ! " During this shouting and turmoil, the sash of a window in Ridle3^'s studio was thrown up. The painter was going to his morning work. He had appointed an early model. The sun could not rise too soon for Ridley ; and, as soon as ever it gave its light, found him happy at his labor. He had heard from his bedroom the brawl going on about the door. "Mr. Ridley!" says the policeman, touching the glazed hat with much respect — (in fact, and out of uniform, Z 25 has figured in more than one of J. J.'s pictures) — " Here's a fel- low disturbing the whole street, and shouting out that Mrs. Brandon have robbed and hocussed him ! " Ridley ran down stairs in a high state of indignation. He is nervous, like men of his tribe ; quick to feel, to pit}', to love, to be angry. He undid the chain, and ran into the street. " I remember that fellow drunk here before," said the painter ; " and lying in that very gutter." "Drunk and disorderly! Come along !" cries Z 25; and his hand was quickly fastened on the parson's greasy collar, and under its strong grasp Hunt is forced to move on. He goes, still yelling out that he has been robbed. "Tell that to his worship," says the incredulous Z. And this was the news which Mrs. Brandon's friends received from her maid, when the}^ called at her house. ' ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. ' 201 CHAPTER XVI. IN WHICH SEVERAL PEOPLE HAVE THEIR TRIALS. If Philip and his friend had happened to pass through High Street, Marylebone, on their way to Thornhaugh Street to reconnoitre the Little Sister's house, they would have seen the Reverend Mr. Hunt, in a very dirty, battered, crestfallen and unsatisfactory state, marching to Marylebone from the station, where the reverend gentleman had passed the night, and under the custody of the police. A convoy of street boys followed the prisoner and his guard, making sarcastic remarks on both. Hunt's appearance was not improved since we had the pleasure of meeting him on the previous evening. With a grizzled beard and hair, a dingy face, a dingy shirt, and a countenance mottled with dirt and drink, we may fanc}" the reverend man passing in tattered raiment through the street to make his ap- pearance before the magistrate. You have no doubt forgotten the narrative which appeared in the morning papers two da3-s after the Thornhaugh Street incident, but my clerk has been at the pains to hunt up and copy the police report, in which events connected with our history are briefly' recorded. " Marylebone, Wednesday. — Thomas Tufton Hunt, profess- ing to be a clergyman, but wearing an appearance of extreme squalor, was brought before Mr. Beaksby at this office, charged by Z 25 with being drunk and very disorderl}- on Tuesday se'nnight, and "endeavoring by force and threats to effect his re-entrance into a house in Thornhaugh Street, from which he had been previously ejected in a most unclerical and inebriated state. " On being taken to the station-house, the reverend gentle- man lodged a complaint on his own side, and averred that he had been stupefied and hocussed in the house in Thornhaugh Street by means of some drug, and that, whilst in this state, he had been robbed of a bill for 386/. 4s. 3c?., drawn by a per- son in New York, and accepted b}^ Mr. P. Firmin, barrister, of Parchment Buildings, Temple. " Mrs. Brandon, the landlady of the house. No. — , Thorn- haugh Street, has been in the habit of letting lodgings for many years past, and several of her friends, including Mr. Firmin, 202 • THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Mr. Ridle}', the Rl. Acad., and other gentlemen, were in atten- dance to speak to her character, which is most respectable. After Z 25 had given evidence, the servant deposed that Hunt had been more than once disorderl}^ and drunk before that house, and had been forcibly ejected from it. On the night when the alleged robber^' was said to have taken place, he had visited the house in Thornhaugh Street, had left it in an in- ebriated state, and returned some hours afterwards, vowing that he had been robbed of the document in question. " Mr. P. Firmin said : ' I am a barrister, and have chambers at Parchment Buildings, Temple, and know the person calling himself Hunt. I have not accepted any bill of exchange, nor is my signature affixed to an}' such document.' " At this stage the worthy magistrate interposed, and said that this only went to prove that the bill was not completed Iw Mr. F.'s acceptance, and would b}' no means conclude the ease set up before him. Dealing with it, however, on the merits, and looking at the way in which the charge had been preferred, and the entire absence of sufficient testimony to warrant him in deciding that even a piece of paper had been abstracted in that house, or by the person accused, and believing that if he were to commit, a conviction would be impossible, he dismissed the charge. " The lad}- left the court with her friends, and the accuser, when called upon to pay a fine for drunkenness, broke out into \eY}' miclerical language, in the midst of which he was forcibly removed." Philip Firmin's statement, that he had given no bill of ex- change, was made not witliout hesitation on his part, and in- deed at his friends' strong entreat}'. It was addressed not so much to the sitting magistrate, as to that elderly individual at New York, who was warned no more to forge liis son's name. I fear a coolness ensued between Philip and his parent in con- sequence of the younger man's behaAnor. The doctor had thought better of his boy than to suppose that, at a moment of necessity^ Philip would desert him. He forgave Philip, never- theless. Perhaps since his marriage other influences were at work upon him, &c. The parent made further remarks in this strain. A man who takes your money is naturalh' offended if 3-ou remonstrate ; you wound his sense of delicac}' b}' protest- ing against his putting his hand in your pocket. The elegant doctor in New York continued to speak of his unhappy son with a mournful shake of the head ; he said, perhaps believed, that Philip's imprudence was in part the cause of his own » ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 203 exile. "This is not the kind of entertainment to which I would have invited you at ni}- own house in England," he would sa^-. "I thought to have ended my days there, and to have left ni}' son in comfort — ■ na\^, splendor. I am an exile in poverty : and he — but I will use no hard words." And to his female patients he would say : " No, my dear madam ! — not a syllable of reproach shall escape these lips regarding that mis- guided boy ! But you can feel for me ; I know 3'ou can feel for me." In the old days, a high-spirited highwa3man, who took a coach-passenger's purse, thought himself injured, and the traveller a shabb}" fellow, if he secreted a guinea or two under the cushions. In the doctor's now rare letters, he breathed a manlj' sigh here and there, to think that he had lost the confidence of his boy. I do believe that certain ladies of our acquaintance were inclined to think that the elder Firmin had been not altogether well used, however much the}- loved and admired the Little Sister for her lawless act in her boj-'s defence. But this main point we had won. The doctor at New York took the warning, and wrote his son's signature upon no more bills of exchange. The good Goodenough's loan was carried back to him in the very coin which he had supplied. He said that his little nurse Brandon was splendide mendax^ and that her robbery was a sublime and courageous act of war. In so far, since his marriage, Mr. Philip had been prett}' fortunate. At need, friends had come to him. In moments of peril he had had succor and relief. Thongli he had married without money, fate had sent him a sufficiency. His flask had never been empt}', and there was always meal in his bin. But now hard trials were in store for him : hard trials which we liave said were endurable, and which he has long since lived through. An}' man who has played the game of life or whist, knows how for one while he will have a series of good cards dealt him, and again will get no trumps at all. After he got into his house in Milman Street and quitted the Little Sister's kind roof, our friend's good fortune seemed to desert him. "Perhaps it was a punishment for my pride, because I was haught}- with her, and — and jealous of that dear good little creature," poor Charlotte afterwards owned in conversation with other friends : — " but our fortune seemed to change when we were away from her, and that I must own." Perhaps, when she was yet under Mrs. Brandon's roof, the Little Sister's provident care had done a great deal more for Charlotte than Charlotte knew. Mrs. Philip had the most sim- ple tastes in the world, and upon herself never spent an un- 204 THE ADVENTURES OF PHlLIP necessary shilling. Indeed, it was a wonder, considering her small expenses, how neat and nice Mrs. Philip ever looked. But she never could deny herself when the children were in question ; and had them arrayed in all sorts of fine clothes ; and stitched and hemmed all day and night to decorate their little persons ; and in reply to the remonstrances of the matrons her friends, showed how it was impossible children could be dressed for less cost. If anything ailed them, quick, the doctor must be sent for. Not worthy Goodenough, who came without a fee, and pooh-poohed her alarms and anxieties ; but dear Mr. Bland, who had a feeling heart, and was himself a father of children, and who supported those children by the produce of the pihs, draughts, powders, visits, which he bestowed on all families into whose doors he entered. Bland's sympath}- was very con- solatory ; but it wjis found to be very costly at the end of the year. " And, what then ? " says Charlotte, with kindling cheeks. " Do you suppose we should grudge that money, which was to give health to our dearest, dearest babies? No. You can't have such a bad opinion of me as that ! " And accordingly Mr. Bland received a nice little annuity from our friends. Philip had a joke about his wife's housekeeping which perhaps may apply to other young women who are kept b}' overwatchful mothers too much in statu pupillari. When they were married, or about to be married, Philip asked Charlotte what she would order for dinner? She promptly said she would order leg of mutton. "And after leg of mutton ? " "Leg of beef, to be sure ! " says Mrs. Charlotte, looking ver^' pleased, and know- ing. And the fact is, as this little housekeeper was obhged demurely to admit, their household bills increased prodigiously after they left Thornhaugh Street. " And I can't understand, my dear, how the grocer's book should mount up so ; and the butterman's, and the beer," «fec. &c. We have often seen the prett}' little head bent over the dingy volumes, puzzling, puzzling : and the eldest child would hold up a warning finger to ours, and tell them to be very quiet, as mamma was at her " atounts." And now, I grieve to sa}", money became scarce for the pay- ment of these accounts ; and though Philip fancied he hid his anxieties from his wife, be sure she loved him too much to be deceived by one of the clumsiest hypocrites in the world. Only, being a much cleverer h3'pocrite than her husband, she pretended to be deceived, and acted her part so well that poor Philip was mortified with her gayetN^ and chose to fancy his wife was in- different to their misfortunes. She ought not to be so smiling ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 205 and happ3^ he thought; and, as usual, bemoaned his lot to his friends. " I come liome racked with care, and thinking of those inevitable bills ; I shudder, sir, at every note that lies on the hall table, and would tremble as I dashed them open as the}^ do on the stage. But I laugh and put on a jaunty air, and humbug- Char. And I hear her singing about the house and lauo-hino; and cooing with the children, by Jove. She's not aware of anj-thing. She does not know how dreadfull}' the res domi is squeezing me. But before marriage she did, I tell 3'ou. Then, if anything annoyed me, she divined it. If I felt ever so little unwell, you should have seen the alarm on her face ! It was ' Philip dear, how pale you are ; ' or, ' Philip, how flushed you are ; ' or, ' I am sure you have had a letter from your father. Why do you conceal anything from me, sir? You never should — never ! ' And now when the fox is gnawing at m}' side under my cloak, I laugh and grin so naturally that she believes I am all right, and she comes to meet me flouncing the children about in my face, and wearing an air of consummate happiness ! I would not deceive her for the world, 3'Ou know. But it's morti- fying. Don't tell me ! It is mortifying to be tossing awake all night, and racked with care all clay, and have the wife of 3-our bosom chattering and singing and laughing, as if there were no cares, or doubts, or duns in the world. If I had the gout and she were to laugh and sing, I should not call that S3'mpath3\ If I were arrested for debt, and she wei'e to come grinning and laughing to the sponging- house, I should not call that consolation. Wh3' doesn't she feel? She ought to feel. There's Bets3', our parlor-maid. There's the old fellow who comes to clean the boots and knives. They know how hard up I am. And m3' wife sings and dances whilst I am on the verge* of ruin, by Jove ; and giggles and laughs as if life was a pan- tomime ! " Then the man and woman into whose ears poor Philip roared out his confessions and griefs, hung down their blushing heads in humbled silence. The3' are tolerabl3^ prosperous in life, and, I fear, are prett3^ well satisfied with themselves and each other. A woman who scai'cely ever does an3^ wrong, and rules and governs her own house and famil3', as my , as the wife of the reader's humble servant most notoriousl3' does, often becomes — must it be said? — too certain of her own virtue, and is too sure of the correctness of her own opinion. We virtuous people give advice a good deal, and set a considerable value upon that advice. We meet a certain man who has fallen among thieves, let us Ba,y. We succor him readil3- enough. 206 THE ADVENTURES OF rHILIP We take him kindly to the inn, and pay his score there ; but we say to the landlord, "You must give this poor man his bed ; his medicine at such a time, and his broth at such another. But, mind j^ou, he must have that physic, and no other ; that broth when we order it. We take his case in hand, you under- stand. Don't listen to him or anybody else. We know all about everything. Good-by. Take care of him. Mind the medicine and the broth ! " and Mr. Benefactor or Lady Boun- tiful goes awa}^, perfectl^^ self-satisfied. Do you take this allegory ? When Philip complained to us of his wife's friskiness and gayety ; when he bitterly contrasted her levity and carelessness with his own despondency and doubt, Charlotte's two principal friends were smitten by shame. " Oh, Philip ! dear Philip ! " his female adviser said, (having looked at her husband once or twice as Firmin spoke, and in vain endeavored to keep her guilty e3'es down on her work,) " Char- lotte has done this, because she is humble, and because she takes the advice of friends who are not. She knows everjthing, and more than everything ; for her dear tender heart is filled with apprehension. But we told her to show no sign of care, lest her husband should be disturbed. And she trusted in us ; and she puts her trust elsewhere, Philip ; and she has hidden her own anxieties, lest yours should be increased ; and has met you gayly when her heart was full of dread. We think she has done wrong now ; but she did so because she was so simple, and trusted in us who advised her wrongl3^ Now we see that there ought to have been perfect confidence always between you, and that it is her simplicity and faith in us which have misled her." Philip hung down his head for a moment, and hid his ejes ; and we knew, during that minute when his face was concealed from us, how his grateful heart was employed. " And 3'ou know, dear Philip — " says Laura, looking at her husband, and nodding to that person, who certainlj' understood the hint. "And I say, Firmin," breaks in the lady's husband, " you understand, if 3'ou are at all — that is, if you — that is, if we can — " " Hold your tongue ! " shouts Firmin, with a face beaming over with happiness. " I know what }'ou mean. You beggar, you are going to offer me money ! I see it in 3'our face ; bless 3'ou both ! But we'll tr3' and do without, please heaven. And — it's worth feeling a pinch of povert3' to find such friends as I have had, and to share it with such a — such a — dash dear ON" HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 207 little thing as I have at home. And I won't try and humbug Char an}' more. I'm bad at that sort of business. And good night, and I'll never forget j'our kindness, never ! " And he is off a moment afterwards, and jumping down the steps of our door, and so into the park. And though tliere were not five pounds in the poor little house in Milmau Street, there were not two happier people in London that night than Charlotte and Philip Firmin. If he had his troubles, our friend had his im- mense consolations. Fortunate he, however poor, who has friends to help, and love to console him in his trials. CHAPTER XVII. IN WHICH THE LUCK GOES VERY MUCH AGAINST US. Every man and woman amongst us has made his vo3'^age to Lilliput, and his tour in the kingdom of Brobdingnag. When I go to m}' native country' town, the local paper announces our arrival ; the laborers touch their hats, as the pony-chaise passes, the girls and old women drop curtsies ; Mr. Hicks, the grocer and hatter, comes to his door and makes a bow, and smirks and smiles. When our neighbor Sir John arrives at the hall, he is a still greater personage ; the bell-ringers greet the hall family with a peal ; the rector walks over on an early da}', and pays his visit ; and the farmers at market press round for a nod of recognition. Sir John at home is in Lilliput: in Belgrave Square he is in Brobdingnag, where almost everybody we meet is ever so much taller than ourselves. "Which do you like best, to be a giant amongst the pigmies, or a pigmy amongst the giants?" I know what sort of company I prefer myself: but that is not the point. What I would hint is, that we possi- bl\' give ourselves patronizing airs before small people, as folks higher placed than ourselves give themselves airs before us. Patronizing airs? Old Miss Mumbles, the half-pay lieutenant's daughter, who lives over the plumber's, with her maid, gives herself in her degree more airs than any duchess in Belgravia, and would leave the room if a tradesman's wife sat down in it. Now it has been said that few men in this city of London are so simple in their manners as Philip Firmin, and that he treated 208 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP the patron whose bread he ate, and the wealthy relative who condescended to visit him, with a like freedom. He is blunt, but not familiar, and is not a whit more polite to m^^ lord than to Jack or Tom at the coffee-house. He resents familiarity from vulgar persons, and those who venture on it retire maimed and mortified after coming into collision with him. As for the people he loves, he grovels before them, worships their boot- tips, and their gown-hems. But he submits to them, not for their wealth or rank, but for love's sake. He submitted very magnanimously, at first, to the kindnesses and caresses of Lady Ringwood and her daughters, being softened and won by the regard which they showed for his wife and children. Although Sir John was for the Rights of Man everywhere, all over the world, and had pictures of Franklin, Lafa^-ette, and Washington in his library, he likewise had portraits of his own ancestors in that apartment, and entertained a verj^ high opinion of the present representative of the Ringwood family. The character of the late chief of the house was notorious. Lord Ringwood's life had been irregular and his morals loose. His talents were considerable, no doubt, but they had not been de- voted to serious stud^^ or directed to useful ends. A wild man in early life, he had only changed his practices in later life in consequence of ill health, and became a hermit as a Certain Person became a monk. He was a frivolous person to the end, and was not to be considered as a public man and statesman ; and this light-minded man of pleasure had been advanced to the third rank of the peerage, whilst his successor, his superior in intellect and morality, remained a Baronet still. How blind the Ministry was which refused to recognize so much talent and worth ! Had there been public virtue or common sense in the governors of the nation, merits like Sir John's never could have been overlooked. But Ministers were notoriously a family clique, and only helped each other. Promotion and patronage Avere disgracefully monopolized by the members of a very few families who were not better men of business, men of better character, men of more ancient lineage (though birth, of course, was a mere accident) than Sir John himself. In a word, until they gave him a peerage, he saw very little hope for the cabinet or the country. In a very early page of this history*, mention was made of a certain Philip Ringwood, to whose protection Philip Firmin's mother confided her bo}^ when he was first sent to school. Philip Ringwood was Firmin's senior by seven years ; he came to Old Parr Street twice or thrice diuing his stay at school, ON" HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 209 condescended to take the " tips," of which the poor doctor was liberal enough, but never deigned to take an}' notice of 3'oung Firmili, who looked up to his kinsman with awe and ti'embling. From school Philip Ringwood speedily departed to college, and then entered upon public life. He was the eldest son of Sir Jolin Ringwood, with whom our friend has of late made ac- quaintance. Mr. Ringwood was a much greater personage than the baro- net his father. Even when the latter succeeded to Lord Rins;- wood's estates and came to London, he could scarcely be said to equal his son in social rank ; and the younger patronized his parent. What is the secret of great social success ? It is not to be gained by beaut}', or wealth, or birth, or wit, or valor, or eminence of any kind. It is a gift of Fortune, bestowed, like that goddess's favors, capriciously. Look, dear madam, at the most fashionable ladies at present reigning in London. Are the}^ better bred, or more amiable, or richer, or more beautiful than 3'ourself? See, good sir, the men who lead the fashion, and stand in the bow-window at " Black's ; " are they wiser, or wittier, or more agreeable people than you? And yet 3'ou know what your fate would be if 3'ou were put up at that club. Sir John Ringwood never dared to be proposed there, even after his great accession of fortune on the earl's death. His son did not encourage him. People even said that Ringwood would blackball his father if he dared to offer himself as a can- didate. I never, I sa}^ could understand the reason of Philip Ring- wood's success in life, thoua-h vou must acknowledge that he is one of our most eminent dandies. He is affable to dukes. He patronizes marquises. He is not witty. He is not clever. He does not give good dinners. How many baronets are there in the British empire? Look to your book, and see. I tell 3'ou there are many of these whom Philip Ringwood would scarcely admit to wait at one of his bad dinners. By calmly asserting himself in life, this man has achieved his social emi- nence. We may hate him ; but we acknowledge his superiority. For instance, I should as soon think of asking him to dine with me, as I should of slapping the Archbishop of Canterbury on the l)ack. Mr. Ringwood has a meagre little house in Maj^ Fair, and belongs to a public oflice, where he patronizes his chef. His own family bow down before him ; his mother is humble in his company ; his sisters are respectful ; his father does not brag of his own liberal principles, and never alludes to the rights of 39 210 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP man in the son's presence. He is called " Mr. Ringwood" in the family. The person who is least in awe of him is his younger brother, who has been known to make faces behind the elder's back. But he is a dreadfuU}- headstrong and ignorant child, and respects nothing. Lady Ringwood, b\^ the wa}', is Mr. Ringwood's step-mother. His own mother was the daugh- ter of a noble house, and died in giving birtli to this paragon. Philip Firmin, who had not set eyes upon his kinsman since they were at school together, remembered some stories which were current about Ringwood, and by no means to that eminent dandy's credit — stories of intrigue, of pla}', of various libertine exploits on Mr. Ringwood's part. One day, Philip and Char- lotte dined with Sir John, who was talking and chirping, and laying down the law, and bragging away according to his wont, when his son entered and asked for dinner. He had accepted an invitation to dine at Garterton House. The Duke had one of his attacks of gout just before dinner. The dinner was off. If Lady Ringwood would give him a slice of mutton, he would be very much obliged to her. A place was soon found for him. "And, Philip, this is your namesake, and our cousin, Mr. Philip Firmin," said the Baronet, presenting his son to his kinsman. "Your father used to give me sovereigns, when I was at school. I have a faint recollection of j'ou, too. Little white- headed bo3% weren't you? How is the doctor, and Mrs. Fir- min? All right?" " Wh}', don't you know his father ran awa^^?" calls out the youngest member of the family. "Don't kick me, Emily, He did run away." Then Mr. Ringwood remembered, and a faint blush tinged his face. "Lapse of time. I know. Shouldn't have asked after such a lapse of time." And he mentioned a case in which a duke, who was very forgetful, had asked a marquis about his wife who had run awa}' with an earl, and made inquiries about the duke's son, who, as everybody knew, was not on terms with his father. "This is Mrs. Firmin — Mrs. Philip Firmin!" cried Lady Ringwood, rather nervously ; and I suppose Mrs. Philip bluslied, and the blush became her ; for Mr. Ringwood afterwards con- descended to say to one of his sisters, that their new-found relative seemed one of your rough-and-ready sort of gentlemen, but his wife was really- very well bred, and quite a pretty young woman, and presentable anj'where — really anywhere. Char- lotte was asked to sing one or two of her little songs after ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 211 dinner. Mi-. Eingwood was delighted. Her voice was per- fectly true. What she sang, she sang admirably. And he was good enough to hum over one of her songs (during which performance he showed that his voice was not .exempt from little frailties), and to say he had heard Lady Philomela Shak- erlej' sing that very song at Glenmavis, last autumn ; and it was such a favorite that the Duchess asked for it every night — actuall}' every night. When our friends were going home, Mr. Eingwood gave Philip almost the whole of one finger to shake ; and while Philip was inwardly raging at his imperti- nence, believed that he had entirely fascinated his humble relatives, and that he had been most good-natured and friendly. I cannot tell why this man's patronage chafed and goaded our worthy' friend so as to drive him beyond the bouuds of all politeness and reason. The artless remarks of the little boy, and the occasional simple speeches of the young ladies, had oul}^ tickled Philip's humor, and served to amuse him when he met his relatives. I suspect it was a certain free-and-easy manner which Mr. Eingwood chose to adopt towards Mrs. Philip, which annoyed her husband. He had said nothing at which offence could be taken : perhaps he was quite unconscious of offending; nay, thought himself eminentlj' pleasing : perhaps he was not more impertinent towards her than towards other women : but in talking about him, Mr. Firmin's e^-es flashed very fiercely, and he spoke of his new acquaintance and relative, with his usual extreme candor, as an upstart, and an arrogant conceited puppy whose ears he would like to pull. How do good women learn to discover men who are not good? Is it by instinct? How do the}' learn those stories about men? I protest I never told m}' wife anything good or bad regai'ding this Mr. Eingwood, though of course, as a man about town, I have heard — who has not? — little anecdotes regarding his career. His conduct in that affair with Miss WiUowby was heartless and cruel ; his behavior to that un- happy Blanche Painter nobody can defend. M}- wife conve^'s her opinion regarding Philip Eingwood, his life, principles, and morality, by looks and silences which are more awful and kill- ing than the bitterest words of sarcasm or reproof. Philip Firmin, who knows her ways, watches her features, and, as I have said, humbles himself at her feet, marked the lady's awful looks, when he came to describe to us his meeting with his cousin, and the magnificent patronizing airs which Mr. Eing- wood assumed. 212 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP "What?" he said, "3-ou don't like him any more than I do? I thought you wOuld not ; and I am so glad." Philip's Iriend said she did not know Mr. Ringwood, and had never spoken a word to him in her life. "Yes ; but you know of him," cries the impetuous Firmin. " "What do you know of him, with his monstrous puppyism and arrogance?" Oh, Mrs. Laura knew very little of him. She did not believe — she had much rather not believe — what the world said about Mr. Ringwood. " Suppose we were to ask the Woolcombs their opinion of 3'our character, Philip?" cries that gentleman's biographer, with a laugh. "My dear!" says Laura, with a 3"et severer look, the severity of which glance I must explain. The differences of "VVoolcomb and his wife were notorious. Their unhappiness was known to all the world. Society was beginning to look with a very, very cold face upon Mrs. Woolcomb. After quarrels, jealousies, battles, reconciliations, scenes of renewed violence and furious language, had come incUfference, and the most reckless ga3'ety on the woman's part. Her home was splendid, but mean and miserable ; all sorts of stories were rife regardhig her husband's brutal treatment of poor Agnes, and her own imprudent behavior. Mrs. Laura was indignant when this unhapp}' woman's name was ever mentioned, except when she thought how our warm, true-hearted Philip had escaped from the heartless creature. "What a blessing it was that j-ou were ruined, Phihp, and that she deserted 3'ou ! " Laura would say. "What fortune would repa}- you for marr3-ing such a woman ? " "Indeed it was worth all I had to lose her," sa3's Philip, " and so the doctor and I are quits. If he had not spent m3' fortune, Agnes would have married me. If she had married me, I might have turned Othello, and have been hung for smothering her. Why, if I had not been poor, I should never have been married to little Char — and fancy not being married to Char ! " The worthy' fellow here lapses into silence, and indulges in an inward rapture at the idea of his own excessive happiness. Then he is scared again at the thought which his own imagination has raised. " I say ! Fanc3^ being without the kids and Char ! " he cries with a blank look. " That horrible father — that dreadful mother — pardon me, Philip ; but when I think of the worldliness of those unhappy people, and how that poor unhappy woman has been bred in ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 213 it, and ruined b}' it — I am so, so, so enraged, that I can't keep ray temper!" cries the lady. "Is the woman answerable, or- the parents, who hardened her heart, and sold her — sold her to that — O ! " Our illustrious friend Woolcomb was signified by "that O," and the lady once more paused, choked with wrath as she thought about that O, and that O's wife. "I wonder he has not Othello'd her," remarks Philip, with his hands in his pockets. "I should, if she had been mine, and gone on as they say she is going on." "It is dreadful, dreadful to contemplate!" continues the lady. " To think she was sold by her own parents, poor thing, poor thing ! The guilt is with them who led her wrong." "Nay," says one of the three interlocutors. "Why stop at poor Mr, and Mrs. Twysden? Why not let them off, and accuse tlieir parents? who lived worldly too in their generation. Or stay ; they descend from AVilham the Conqueror. Let us absolve poor Talbot Twysden and his heartless wife, and have the Norman into court." " Ah, Arthur ! Did not our sin begin with the beginning," cries the lady, " and have we not its remedy? Oh, this poor creature, this poor creature ! May she know where to take refuge from it, and learn to repent in time ! " The Georgian and Circassian girls, they sa}', used to submit to their lot very complacently, and were quite eager to get to market at Constantinople and be sold. Mrs. Woolcomb wanted nobody' to tempt her awaj' from poor Philip. She hopped away from the old love as soon as ever the new one appeared with his bag of money. She knew quite well to whom she was sell- ing herself, and for what. The tempter needed no skill, or artifice, or eloquence. He had none. But he showed her a purse, and three fine houses — and she came. Innocent child, forsooth ! She knew quite as much about the world as papa and mamma ; and the lawj-ers did not look to her settlement more warily, and cooll}^, than she herself did. Did she not live on it afterwards? I do not say she lived rcputabh', but most comfortably^ : as Paris, and Rome, and Naples, and Florence can tell you, where she is well known ; where she receives a great deal of a certain kind of companj^ ; where she is scorned and flattered, and splendid, and lonely, and miserable. She is not miserable when she sees children : she does not care for other persons' children, as she never did for her own, even when they were taken from her. She is of course hurt and angry, when quite common, vulgar people, not in society, you understand, turn away from her, and avoid her, and won't come to her parties. She 214 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP gives excellent dinners which jolly fogies, rattling bachelors, and doubtful ladies frequent : but she is alone and unhappy — un- happy because she does not see parents, sister, or brother? Allons, mon bon Monsieur ! She never cared for parents, sister, or brother ; or for baby : or for man (except once for Philip a little, little bit, when her pulse would sometimes go up two beats in a minute at his appearance). But she is unhapp}-, because she is losing her figure, and from tight lacing her nose has become very red, and the pearl-powder won't lie on it somehow. And though you may have thought AYoolcomb an odious, ignorant, and under- bred little wretch, you must own that at least he had red blood in his veins. Did he not spend a great part of his fortune for the possession of this cold wife ? For whom did she ever make a sacrifice, or feel a pang? I am sure a greater misfortune than any which has befallen friend Philip might have happened to him, and so congratulate him on his escape. Having vented his wrath upon the arrogance and impertinence of this solemn puppy of a Philip Ringwood, our friend went away somewhat soothed to his club in 8t. James's Street. Tiie " Megatherium Club " is only a ver}^ few doors from the much more aristocratic establishment of " Black's." Mr. Philip Ring- Avood and Mr. Woolcomb were standing on the steps of "Black's." Mr. Ringwood waved a graceful little kid-gloved hand to Philip, and scniled on him. Mr. Woolcomb glared at our friend out of his opal ej'eballs. Philip had once proposed to kick Woolcomb into the sea. He somehow felt as if he would like to treat Ringwood to the same bath. Meanwhile, Mr. Ringwood labored under the notion that he and his new-found acquaintance were on the ver}' best possible terms. At one time poor little Woolcomb loved to be seen with Philip Ringwood. He thought he acquired distinction from the companionship of that man of fashion, and would hang on Ringwood as they walked the Pall Mall pavement. "Do you know that great hulking, overbearing brute?" sa3-s Woolcomb to his companion on the steps of " Black's." Perhaps somebody overheard them from the bow-window. (I tell 3-ou everything is overheard in London, and a great deal more too.) "Brute, is he?" sa3's Ringwood; "seems a rough, over- bearing sort of chap." " Blackguard doctor's son. Bankrupt. Father ran away," says the dusky man with the opal e^'eballs. " I have heard he was a rogue — the doctor ; but I like him. Remember he gave me three sovereigns when I was at school. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 215 Always like a fellow who tips j'ou when 3'ou are at school." And here Eiugwood beckoned his brougham which was in waiting. "Shall we see 3'Ou at dinner? Where are 3'ou going?" asked Mr. AVoolcomb. " If 3'ou are going towards — " " Towards Gray's Inn to see my lawyer; have an appoint- ment there ; be with j'ou at eight ! " And Mr. Ringwood skipped into his little brougham and was gone. Tom Eaves told Philip. Tom Eaves belongs to "Black's Club," to "Bays's," to the "Megatherium," I don't know to how many clubs in St. James's Street. Tom Eaves knows everybod^-'s business, and all the scandal of all the clubs for the last fort}" years. He knows who has lost monc}' and to whom ; what is the tallc of the opera-box and what the scandal of the coulisses; who is making love to whose daughter. Whatever men and women are doing in May Fair, is the farrago of Tom's libel. He knows so man}" stories, that of course he makes mis- takes in names sometimes, and saj-s that Jones is on the verge of ruin, when he is thriving and prosperous, and it is poor Brown who is in difficulties ; or informs us that Mrs. Fann}- is flirting with Captain Ogle when both are as innocent of a flirtation as j'ou and I are. Tom certainly is mischievous, and often is wrong ; but when he speaks of our neighbors he is amusirig. "It is as good as a play to see Ringwood and Othello together," says Tom to Philip. " How prond the black man is to be seen with him ! Heard him abuse you to Ringwood. Ringwood stuck up for you and for your poor governor — spoke up like a man — like a man who sticks up for a -fellow wlio is down. How the black man brags about ha\-ing Ringwood to dinner ! Always having him to dinner. You should liave seen Ringwood shake him off! Said he was going to Gray's Inn. Heard him say Gray's Inn Lane to his man. Don't believe a word of it." Now I dare say you are much too fashionable to know that Milman Street is a little cul de sac of a street, which leads into Guildford Street, which leads into Gray's Inn Lane. Philip went his way homewards, shaking off Tom Eaves, who, for his i^art, trotted off to his other clubs, telling people how he had just been talking wnth that bankrupt doctor's son, and wondering how Philip should get money enough to pay his club subscription. Philip then went on his way, striding homewards at his usual manly pace. Whose black brougham was that? — the black lirougham with the chestnut horse walking up and down GuikUbrd Street. Mr. Ringwood's crest was on the brougham. When Philip 216 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP entered his drawing-room, having opened the door with his own kej- , there sat Mr. Ringwood, talking to Mrs. Cliarlotte, wlio was talking a cup of tea at five o'clock. She and the children liked that cup of tea. Sometimes it served Mrs. Char for dinner when Philip dined from home. " If I had known you were coming here, j-ou might have brought me home and saved me a long walk," said Philip, wip- ing a burning forehead. " So I might — so 1 might!" said the other. "I never thought of it. I had to see my lawyer in Gray's Inn ; and it was then I thought of coming on to see you, as I was telling Mrs. Firmin ; and a very nice quiet place 3'ou live in ! " This was very well. But for the first and only time of his life, Philip was jealous. "Don't drub so with 3'our feet! Don't like to ride when you jog so on the floor," said Philip's eldest darling, who had clambered on papa's knee. " Whj- do you look so? Don't squeeze m}' arm, papa ! " Mamma was utterly unaware that Philip had an}' cause for agitation. "You have walked all the way from Westminster, and the club, and you are quite hot and tired ! " she said. " Some tea, my dear?" Philip nearly choked with the tea. From under his hair, which Itll over his forehead, he looked into his wife's face. It wore such a sweet look of innocence and wonder, that, as he regarded her, the spasm of jealous}' passed off. No : there was no look of guilt in those tender e^'es. Philip could only read in them the wife's tender love and anxiety for himself. But what of Mr. Ringwood's face? When the first little blush and hesitation had passed away, Mr. Ringwood's pale countenance reassumed that calm self-satisfied smile, which it customaril}' wore. "The coolness of the man maddened me," said Philp, talking about the little occurrence afterwards, and to his usual confidant. "Gracious powers," cries the other. "If I went to see Charlotte and the children, would you be jealous of me, you bearded Turk ? Are you prepared with sack and bowstring for every man who visits Mrs. Firmin? If you are to come out in this character, you will lead yourself and 3'our wife pretty lives. Of course you quarrelled with Lovelace then and there, and threatened to throw him out of window then and there ? Your custom is to strike when you are hot, Avitness — " "Oh, dear, no!" cried Philip, interrupting me. "I have not quarrelled with him yet." And he ground his teeth, and More Free than Welcome. SI I ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 217 gave a very fierce glare with his eyes. "I sat him out quite civilly. I went with him to the door ; and I have left direc- tions that he is never to pass it again — that's all. But I have not quarrelled with him in the least. Two men never behaved more politely than we did. We bowed and grinned at each other quite amiabl}'. But I own, when he held out his hand, I was obliged to keep mine behind my back, for they felt very mischievous, and inclined to — . Well, never mind. Perhaps it is, as you say ; and he meant no sort of harm." Where, I say again, do women learn all the mischief they know? Wh}^ should my wife have such a mistrust and horror of this gentleman ? She took Philip's side entirely. She said she thought he was quite right in keeping that person out of his house. What did she know about that person? Did I not know mj'self ? He was a libertine, and led a bad life. He had led 3'oung men astra}', and taught them to gamble, and helped them to ruin themselves. We have all heard stories about the late Sir Philip Ringwood ; that last scandal in which he was engaged, three years ago, and which brought his career to an end at Naples, I need not, of course, allude to. But fourteen or fifteen j^ears ago, about which time this present portion of our little story is enacted, what did she know about Ringwood's misdoings ? No : Philip Firmin did not quarrel with Philip Ringwood on this occasion. But he shut his door on Mr. Ringwood. He refused all invitations to Sir John's house, which, of course, came less frequently, and which then ceased to come at all. Rich folks do not like to be so treated by the poor. Had hady Ringwood a notion of the reason why Philip kept away from her house? I think it is more than possible. Some of Philip's friends knew her ; and she seemed only pained, not surprised or angr}', at a quarrel which somehow did take place between the two gentlemen not very long after that visit of Mr. Ringwood to his kinsman in Milman Street. " Your friend seems very hot-headed and violent-tempered," Lady Ringwood said, speaking of that very quarrel. "I am sorr3' he keeps that kind of compau}'. I am sure it must be too expensive for him." As luck would have it, Philip's old school-friend-, Lord Egham, met us a ver}' few days after the meeting and parting of Philip and his cousin in Milman Street, and invited us to a bachelor's dinner on the river. Our wives (without whose sanction no good man would surely ever look a whitebait in the face) gave us permission to attend this entertainment, and remained at 218 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP home, and partook of a tea-dinner (blessings on them !) with the dear cliildren. Men grow 3'oung again when they meet at these parties. We talk of flogging, proctors, old cronies ; we recite old school and college jokes. I hope that some of us may carrj^ on these pleasant entertainments until we are four- score, and that our toothless old gums will mumble the old stories, and will laugh over the old jokes with ever-renewed gusto. Does the kind reader remember the account of such a dinner at the commencement of this history? On this after- noon, Egham, Ma3'nard, Burroughs (several of the men for- merly mentioned), reassembled. I think we actually' like each other well enough to be pleased to hear of each other's suc- cesses. I know that one or two good fellows, upon whom fortune has frowned, have found other good fellows in that company to help and aid them ; and that all are better for that kindl}' freemasonry. Before the dinner was served, the guests met on the green of the hotel, and examined that fair landscape, which surely does not lose its charm in our eyes because it is commonlj^ seen before a good dinner. The crested elms, the shining river, the emerald meadows, the painted parterres of flowers around, all wafting an agreeable smell of friture^ of flowers and flounders exquisitely commingled. Who has not enjoyed these delights ? May some of us, I say, live to drink the '58 claret in Ihe 3'ear 1900 ! I have no doubt that the survivors of our society will still laugh at the jokes which we used to relish when the present century was still only middle-aged. Egham was going to be married. Would he be allowed to dine next year ? Frank Berry's wife would not let him come. Do j'ou remember his tremendous fight with Biggs? Remember? who didn't? Marston was Berr3''s bottle-holder ; poor Marston, who was killed in India. And Biggs and Beny were the closest friends in life CA^er after. AYho would ever have thought of Brackley becoming serious, and being made an archdeacon? Do 3'ou remember his fight with Riugwood? What an infernal bully he was, and how glad we all were when Brackley thrashed him. What different fates await men ! Who would ever have imagined Nosey Brackley- a curate in the mining districts, and ending hy wearing a rosette in his hat? Who would ever have thought of Riugwood becoming such a prodigious swell and leader of fashion ? He was a very shy fellow ; not at all a good-looking fellow : and what a wild fellow he had become, and what a lad^'-killer ! Isn't he some conuection of 3'ours, Firmin? Philip said }es, but that he had scarcely met Ring- ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 219 wood at all. And one man after another told anecdotes of Ivingwood ; how he had young men to pla}' iu his house ; how he had played in that very "Star and Garter;" and how he alwa^'s won. You must please to remember that our story dates back some sixteen 3'ears, when the dice-box still rattled occasional!}', and the king was turned. As this old school gossip is going on, Lord Egham arrives, and with him this very Ringwood about whom the old school- fc^llows had just been talking. He came down in Egham's phaeton. Of course, the greatest man of the part}' alwa^'s waits for Ringwood. " If we had had a duke at Gre}- Friars," says some grumbler, "Ringwood would have made the duke bring him down." Philip's friend, when he beheld the arrival of Mr. Ringwood, seized Plrmin's big arm, and whispered — " Hold your tongue. No fighting. No quarrels. Let b}- gones be b3-gones. Remember, there can be no earthly use in a scandal." " Leave me alone," says Philip, " and don't be afraid." I thought Ringwood seemed to start back for a moment, and perhaps fancied that he looked a little pale, but he advanced with a gracious smile towards Philip, and remarked, "It is a long time since we have seen 3'ou at my father's." Philip grinned and smiled too. ' ' It was a long time since he had been in Hill Street." But Philip's smile was not at all pleasing to behold. Indeed, a worse performer of comedy than our friend does not walk the stage- of this life. On this the other gayly remarked he was glad Philip had leave to join the bachelor's part}'. " Meeting of old school- fellows very pleasant. Hadn't been to one of them for a long time : though the ' Friars ' was an abominable hole : that was the truth. Who was that in the shovel-hat? a bishop? what bishop?" It was Brackley, the Archdeacon, who turned very red on seeing Ringwood. For the fact is, Brackley was talking to Pennystone, the little boy about whom the quarrel and fight had taken place at school, when Ringwood had proposed for- cibly to take Penny stone's money from him. "I think, Mr. Ringwood, that Pennystone is big enough to hold his own now, don't you ? " said the Archdeacon ; and with this the Venerable man turned on his heel, leaving Ringwood to face the little Pennystone of former years ; now a gigantic country squire, with health ringing in his voice, and a pair of great arms and fists that would have demolished six Ringwoods in the field. 220 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP The sight of these quondam enemies rather disturbed Mr. Ringvvood's tranquillit}'. " I was dreadfully' bullied at that school," he said, in an ap- pealing manner, to Mr. Pennystone. " I did as others did. It was aliorrible place, and I hate the name of it. I say, Egham, don't you think that Barnaby's motion last night was verj'- ill- timed, and that the Chancellor of the Exchequer answered him very neatly ? " This became a cant phrase amongst some of us wags after- wards. Whenever we wished to change a conversation, it was, "I say, Egham, don't you think Barnaby's motion was ver}'- ill-timed ; and that the Chancellor of the Exchequer answered him very neatly ? " You know Mr. Ringwood would scarcely have thought of coming amongst such common people as his old schoolfellows, but seeing Lord Egham's phaeton at " Black's," he condescended to drive down to Richmond with his lordship, and I hope a great number of his friends in St. James's Street saw him in that noble compan3^ Wiudliam was the chaii-man of the evening — elected to that post because he is very fond of making speeches to which he does not in the least expect 3'ou to listen. All men of sense are glad to hand over this office to him : and I hope, for my part, a da}' will soon arrive (but I own, mind 3'ou, that I do not carve well) when we shall have the speeches done bj^ a skilled waiter at the side table, as we now have the carving. Don't you find that you splash the grav}', that 3-ou mangle the meat, that 3'ou can't nick the joint in helping the compan3' to a dinner-speech? I, for my part, own that I am in a state of tremor and absence of mind before the operation ; in a condi- tion of imbecility during the business ; and that I am sure of a headache and indigestion the next morning. What then ? Have I not seen one of the bravest men in the world, at a Citv dinner last year, in a state of equal panic ? — I feel that I am wan- dering from Philip's adventures to his biographer's, and confess I am thinking of the dismal fiasco I m3'self made on this occa- sion at the Richmond dinner. You see, the order of the day at these meetings is to joke at everything — to joke at the chairman, at all the speakers, at the arm3- and nav3', at the venerable the legislature, at the bar and bench, and so forth. If we toast a bai'rister, we show how ad- mirabl}' he would have figured in the dock : if a sailor, how lamentablv sea-sick he was : if a soldier, how nimbl3' he ran awa3'. For example, we drank the Venerable Archdeacon Brackle3' and the arm3'. We deplored the perverseness whicli bad led him to ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 221 adopt a black coat instead of a red. War had evidently been his vocation, as he had shown bj^ the frequent battles in which he had been engaged at school. For what was the other great warrior of the age famous ? for that Roman feature in his face, which distinguished, which gave a name to, our Brackle}- — a name by which we fondly clung (cries of " Nose^-, jS^osey ! ") Might that feature ornament ere long the face of — of one of the chiefs of that arm}' of which he was a distinguished field- officer ! Might — liere I confess I fairl}' broke down, lost the thread of my joke — at which Brackley seemed to look rather severe — and finished the speech with a gobble about regard, esteem, everybody respect you, and good health, old boy — which answered quite as well as a finished oration, however the author might be discontented with it. The Archdeacon's little sermon was very brief, as the dis- courses of sensible divines sometimes will be. He was glad to meet old friends — to make friends with old foes (loud cries of " Bravo, Nosey ! ") In the battle of life, every man must meet with a blow or two ; and ever}- brave one would take his tacer with good-humor. Had he quarrelled with any old schoolfellow in old times ? He wore peace not onl}- on his coat, but in his heart. Peace and good-will were the words of the day in the army to which he belonged ; and he hoped that all officers in it were animated b}' one esprit de corps. A silence ensued, during which men looked towards Mr. Ringwood, as the " old foe " towards whom the Archdeacon had held out the hand of amity : but Ringwood, who had lis- tened to the Archdeacon's speech with an expression of great disgust, did not rise from his chair — only remarking to his neighbor Egham, "Why should I get up? Hang him, I have nothing to say. I say Egham, why did you induce me to come into this kind of thing ? " Fearing that a collision might take place between Philip and his kinsman, I had drawn Philip away from the place in the room to which Lord Egliam beckoned him, saying " Never mind, Philip, about sitting b}' the lord," by whose side I knew perfectly well that Mr. Ringwood would find a place. But it was our lot to be separated from his lordship by merely the table's Itreadth, and some intervening vases of flowers and fruits thi'ough which we could see and hear our opposite neigh- bors. Wlien Ringwood spoke "of this kind of thing," Philip glared across the table, and started as if he was going to speak ; but his neighbor pinched him on the knee, and whis- pered to him, " ISileuce — no scandal. Remember!" The 222 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP other fell back, swallowed a glass of wine, and made me far from comfortable by performing a tattoo on mj^ chair. The speeches went on. If they were not more eloquent thej^ were more noisy and lively than before. Then the aid of song was called in to enliven the banquet. The Archdea- con, who had looked a little uneas}' for the last half-hour, rose up at the call for a song, and quitted the room. " Let us go too, Philip," said Philip's neighbor. " You don't want to hear those dreadful old college songs over again?" But Philip sulkily said, "You go, I should like to stay." Lord Egham was seeing the last of his bachelor life. He liked those last evenings to be merry ; he lingered over them, and did not wish them to end too quickly. His neighbor was long since tired of the entertainment, ancl sick of our compan3% Mr. Ringwood had lived of late in a world of such fashion that ordinary mortals were despicable to him. He had no affec- tionate rememlDrance of his earl^' days, or of anybody belonging to them. Whilst Philip was singing his song of " Doctor Luther," I was glad that he could not see the face of surprise and disgust which his kinsman bore. Other vocal performances followed, including a song by Lord Egham, which I am bound to sa}', was hideously out of tune ; but was received by his near neighbor complacently enough. The noise now began to increase, the choruses were fuller, the speeches were louder and more incoherent. I don't think the company heard a speech by little Mr. Van John, wliose health was drunk as representative of the British Turf, and who said that he had never known anything about the turf or about play until their old schoolfellow, his dear friend — his swell friend, if he might be permitted the expression — Mr. Ring- wood, tauglit him the use of cards ; and once, in his own house, in May Fair, and once in this very house, the " Star and Gar- ter," showed him how to play the noble game of Blind Hooke}-. " The men are drunk. Let us go aAva}^ Egham. I didn't come for this kind of thing ! " cried Ringwood, furious, by Lord Egham's side. This was the expression which Mr. Ringwood had used a short time before, when Philip was about to interrupt him. He had lifted his gun to fire then, but his hand had been held back. The bird passed him once more, and he could not help taking aim. "This kind of thing is very dull, isn't it. Ring- wood?" he called across the table, pulling away a flower, and glaring at the other through the little open space. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 22 o "Dull, old boy? I call it cloosed good fun," cries Lord Egham, in the height of good-humor. " Dull? What do you mean? " asked my lord's neighbor. " I mean you would prefer having a couple of packs of cards, and a little room, where you could win three or four hundred from a young fellow? It's more profitable and more quiet than ' this kind of thing.' " " I say, I don't know what you mean ! " cries the other. " What ! You have forgotten already? Has not Van John just told you how you and Mr. Deuceace brought him down here, and "won his money from him; and then how you gave him his revenge at your own house in — " " Did I come here to be insulted by that fellow?" cries Mr. Ringwood, appealing to his neighbor. "If that is an insult, you may put it in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Ringwood ! " cries Philip. "Come away, come away, Egham! Don't keep me here listening to this bla — " " If you say another word," says Philip, " Pll send this de- canter at your head ! " " Come, come — nonsense ! No quarrelling ! Make it up ! Everybody has had too much! Get the bill, and order the omnibus round ! " A crowd was on one side of the table, and the other. One of the cousins had not the least wish that the quarrel should proceed any further. When, being in a quarrel, Phihp Firmin assumes the calm and stately manner, he is perhaps in his most dangerous state. Lord Egham's phaeton (in which Mr. Ringwood showed a great unwillingness to take a seat by the driver) was at the hotel gate, an omnibus and a private carriage or two were in readi- ness to take home the other guests of the feast. Egham went into the hotel to light a final cigar, and now Philip springing forward, caught by the arm the gentleman sitting on the front seat of the phaeton. " Stop ! " he said. " Y''ou used a word just now — " " What word? I don't know anything about words ! " ci'les the other, in a loud voice. "Y"ou said 'insulted,'" murmured Philip, in the gentlest tone. " I don't know what I said," said Ringwood peevishly. "I said, in reply to the words which you forget, 'that I would knock you down,' or words to that effect. If 3'ou feel in the least aggrieved, you know where my chambers are — with Mr. Van John, whom you and your mistress inveigled to 224 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP play cards -when he was a boy. You are not fit to come into an lionest man's liouse. It was only because I wished to spare a lady's feelings that I refrained from turning you out of mine. Good-night, Egham ! " and with great majesty Mr. Philip re- turned to his companion and the Hansom cab which was in waiting to convey these two gentlemen to London. I was quite correct in my surmise that Philip's antagonist would take no further notice of the quarrel to Philip personally. Indeed, he affected to treat it as a drunken brawl, regarding which no man of sense would allow himself to be seriously disturbed. A quarrel between two men of the same family : — between Philip and his own relative who had only wished him well? — It was absurd and impossible. What Mr. Ring- wood deplored was the obstinate ill temper and known violence of Philip, which were for ever leading him into these brawls, and estranging his family from him. A man seized by the coat, insulted, threatened with a decanter ! A man of station so treated by a person whose own position was most question- able, whose father was a fugitive, and who himself was strug- gling for precarious subsistence ! The arrogance was too great. With tlie best wishes for the unhappy young man, and his amiable (but empty-headed) little wife, it was impossible to take further notice of them. Let the visits cease. Let the carriage no more drive from Berkeley Square to Milman Street. Let there be no presents of game, poultry, legs of mutton, old clothes, and what not. Henceforth, therefore, the Ringwood carriage was unknown in the neighborhood of the Foundling, and the Ringwood footmen no more scented with their pow- dered heads the Firmins' little hall ceiling. Sir John said to the end that he was about to procure a comfortable place for Philip, when his deplorable violence obliged Sir John to break off all relations with the most misguided young man. Nor was the end of the mischief here. We have all read how the gods never appear alone — the gods bringing good or evil fortune. When two or three httle pieces of good luck had befallen our poor friend, my wife triumphantly cried out, " I told you so ! Did I not always say that heaven would befriend that dear, innocent wife and children ; that brave, generous, imprudent father?" And now when the evil days came, this monstrous logician insisted that poverty, sickness, dreadful doubt and terror, hunger and want almost, were all equally intended for Philip's advantage, and would woi'k for good in the end. So that rain was good, and sunshine was good ; so that sickness was good, and health was good ; that Phihp ill ox HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 225 was to be as liapp}' as Philip well, and as thankful for a sick house and an empty pocket as for a warm fireside and a com- fortable larder. Mind, I ask no Christian philosopher to revile at his ill fortunes, or to despair. I will accept a toothache (or an}' evil of life), and bear it without too much grumbling. But I cannot say that to have a tooth pulled out is a blessing, or fondle the hand which wrenches at m}' jaw. " They can live without their fine relations, and tlieir dona- tions of mutton and turnips," cries my wife with a toss of her head. "The way in which those people patronized Philip and dear Charlotte was perfectl}' intolerable. Lady Ringwood knows how dreadful the conduct of that Mr. Ringwood is, and — and I have no patience with her ! " How, I repeat, do women know about men ? How do they telegraph to each other their notices of alarm and mistrust? and fly as birds rise up with a rush and a skurry when danger appears to be near? All this was very well. But Mr. Tregarvan heard some account of the dispute lietween Philip and Mr. Ringwood, and applied to Sir John for further particulars ; and Sir John — liberal man as he was and ever had been, and priding himself little, heaven knew, on the privilege of rank, which was merely adventitious — was con- strained to confess that this young man's conduct showed a great deal too much laissez aller. He had constantly, at Sir John's own house, manifested an independence which had bor- dered on rudeness ; he was always notorious for his quarrel- some disposition, and latel}- had so disgraced himself in a scene with Sir John's eldest son, Mr. Ringwood — had exhib- ited such brutality, ingratitude, and — and inebriation, that Sir John was free to confess he had forbidden the gentleman his door. " An insubordinate, ill-conditioned fellow, certainly ! " thinks Tregarvan. (And I do not say, though Philip is my friend, that Tregarvan and Sir John were altogether wrong regarding their protege.) Twice Tregarvan had invited him to breakfast, and Philip had not appeared. More than once he had con- tradicted Tregarvan about the Review. He had said that the Review was not getting on, and if you asked Philip his candid opinion, it would not get on. Six numl>ers had appeared, and it did not meet with that attention which the public ought to pay to it. The public was careless as to the designs of that Great Power which it was Tregarvan's aim to defy and con- found. He took counsel with himself. He walked over to the publisher's, and inspected the l)ooks ; and the result of that inspection was so disagreeable, that he went home straightway 40 226 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP and wrote a letter to Philip Firmin, Esq., New Milman Street, Guildford Street, which that poor fellow brought to his usual advisers. That letter contained a cheque for a quarter's salary, and bade adieu to Mr. Firmin. The writer would not recapitulate the causes of dissatisfaction which he felt respecting the con- duct of the Review. He was much disappointed in its progress, and dissatisfied with its general management. He thought an opportunity was lost which never could be recovered for ex posing the designs of a Power which menaced the liberty and tranquillity of Europe. Had it been directed with proper energy that Review might have been an «gis to that threatened libert3% a lamp to lighten the darkness of that menaced freedom. It might have pointed the way to the cultivation bonarum litera- rum ; it miglit have fostered rising talent, it might have chas- tised the arrogance of so-called critics ; it might have served the cause of truth. Tregarvan's hopes were disappointed : he would not say by whose remissness or fault. He had done his utmost in the good work, and, finally, would thank Mr. Firmin to print off the articles already purchased and paid for, and to prepare a brief notice for the next number, announcing the discontinuance of the Revieio ; and Trcgarvan showed my wife a cold shoulder for a considerable time afterwards, nor were we asked to his tea-parties, I forget for how many seasons. This to us was no great loss or subject of annoyance : but to poor Philip ? It was a matter of life and almost death to him. He never could save much out of his little pittance. Here were fifty pounds in his hand, it is true ; but bills, taxes, rent, the hundred little obligations of a house, were due and pressing upon him ; and in the midst of his anxiety, our dear little Mrs. Philip was about to present him with a third orna- ment to his nursery. Poor little Tertius arrived duly enough ; and, such hypocrites were we, that the poor mother was abso- lute U' thinking of calling the child Tregarvan Firmin, as a compliment to Mr. Tregarvan, who had been so kind to them, and Tregarvan Firmin would be such a pretty name, she thought. We imagined the Little Sister knew nothing about Philip's anxieties. Of course, she attended Mrs. Philip through her troubles, and we vow that we never said a word to her regarding Philip's own. But Mrs. Brandon went in to Philip one da}^, as he was sitting very grave and sad with his two first-born children, and she took both his hands, and said, "You know, dear, I have saved ever so much: and I always intended it for — you know who." And here she loosened one ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 227 hand from him, and felt in her pocket for a purse, and put it into Philip's hand, and wept on his shoulder. And Phihp kissed her, and thanked God for sending him such a dear friend, and gave her back her purse, though indeed he had but five pounds left in his own when this benefactress came to him. Yes : but there were debts owing to him. There was his wife's little portion of fifty pounds a year, which had never been paid since the second quarter after their marriage, which had happened now more than three years ago. As Philip had scarce a guinea in the world, he wrote to Mrs. Baynes, his wife's mother, to explain his extreme want, and to remind her that this mone}' was due. Mrs. General Baynes was living at Jersey at this time in a choice society of half-pay ladies, clergymen, captains, and the like, among whom I have no doubt she moved as a great ladj'. She wore a large medallion of the deceased General on her neck. She wept dry tears over that interesting cameo at frequent tea-parties. She never could forgive Philip for taking away her child from her, and if any one would take away others of her girls, she would be equally unforgiving. Endowed with that wonderful logic with which women are blessed, I believe she never admitted, or has been able to admit to her own mind that she did Philip or her daughter a wrong. In the tea-parties of her acquaintance she groaned over the extravagance of her son-in-law and his brutal treat- ment of her blessed child. Many good people agreed with her and shook their respectable noddles when the name of that prodigal Philip was mentioned over her muffins and Bohea. He was prayed for ; his dear widowed mother-in-law was pitied, and blessed with all the comfort reverend gentlemen could sup- pl}' on the spot. " Upon my honor, Firmin, Emil}- and I were made to believe that you were a monster, sir," the stout Major MacWhirter once said ; " and now I have heard your story, by Jove, I think it is you, and not Eliza Ba3'nes, who were wronged. She has a deuce of a tongue, Eliza has : and a temper — poor Charles knew what that was ! " In fine, when Philip, reduced to his last guinea, asked Charlotte's mother to pay her debt to her sick daughter, Mrs. General B. sent Philip a ten-pound note, open, l\y Captain Swang, of the Indian arm}', who hap- pened to be coming to England. And that, Philip says, of all the hard knocks of fate, has been the ver}^ hardest which he has had to endure. But the poor little wife knew nothing of this cruelty, nor, iifdeed, of the very poverty which was hemming round her curtain ; and in the midst of his griefs, Philip Firmin was im- 228 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP mensely consoled by the tender fidelit}^ of the friends whom God had sent him. Theii- griefs were drawing to an end now. Kind readers all, may your sorrows, maj' mine, leave us with hearts not embittered, and humbly acquiescent to the Great WiU! CHAPTER XVIII. IN WHICH WE REACH THE LAST STAGE BUT ONE OF THIS JOURNEY. Although poverty was knocking at Philip's humble door, little Charlotte in all her trouble never knew how menacing the grim visitor had been. She did not quite understand that her husband in his last necessity sent to her mother for his due, and that the mother turned awaj and refused him. "Ah," thouglit poor Pliilip, groaning in his despair, "I wonder whether the thieves who attacked the man in the parable were robbers of his own family, who knew that he carried money with him to Jerusalem, and wa^'laid him on the journey? " But again and again he has thanked God, with grateful heart, for the Samaritans whom he has met on life's road, and if he has not forgiven, it must be owned he has never done any wrong to those who robbed him. Charlotte did not know that her husband was at his last guinea, and a pre}' to dreadful anxiety for her dear sake, for after the birth of her child a fever came upon her ; in the delirium consequent upon which the poor thing was ignorant of all that happened round her. A fortnight with a wife in extremit}', with crying infants, with hunger menacing at the door, passed for Philip somehow. The young man became an old man in this time. Indeed, his fair hair was streaked with white at the temples afterwards. But it must not be imagined that he had not friends during his affliction, and he always can gratefully count up the names of many persons to whom lie might have applied had he been in need. He did not look or "ask for these succors from his relatives. Aunt and uncle Twysden shrieked and cried out at his extravagance, impru- dence, and folly. Sir John Ringwood said he must really wash his hands of a young man who menaced the life of his own son. Grenville Woolcomb, with many oaths, in which brother-in-la'W Ringwood joined chorus, cui-sed Philip, and said he didn't care, ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 229 and the beggar ought to be hung, and his father ought to be hung. But I think I know half a dozen good men and true who told a different tale, and who were ready with their sym- pathy and succor. Did not Mrs. Flanagan, the Irish laundress, in a voice broken by sobs and gin, offer to go and chare at Philip's house for nothing, and nurse the dear children ? Did not Good- enough say, " If 30U are in need, my dear fellow, of course you know where to come ; " and did he not actually give two pre- scriptions, one for poor Charlotte, and one for fifty pounds to be taken immediately, which he handed to the nurse by mistake ? You may be sure s'he did not appropriate the money, for of course you know that the nurse was Mrs. Brandon. Charlotte has one remorse in her life. She owns she was jealous of the Little Sister. And now when that gentle life is over, when Philip's poverty trials are ended, when the children go some- times and look wistfully at the grave of their dear Caroline, friend Charlotte leans her head against her husband's shoulder, and owns humbly how good, how brave, how generous a friend heaven sent them in that humble defender. Have you ever felt the pinch of poverty? In many cases it is like the dentist's chair, more dreadful in the contemplation than in the actual suttering. Philip says he never was fairly beaten, but on that day when, in reply to his solicitation to have his due, Mrs. Baynes's friend, Captain Swang, brought him the open ten-pound note. It was not much of a blow ; the hand which dealt it made the hurt so keen. " I remember," saj'S he, " bursting out crying at school, because a big boy hit me a slight tap, and other boys said, ' Oh, 3'ou coward.' It was that I knew tlie bo}' at home,, and my parents had been kind to him. It seemed to me a wrong that Bumps should strike me," said Philip ; and he looked, while telling the story, as if he could cry about this injury now. I hope he has revenged himself by presenting coals of fire to his wife's relations. But this da}', when he is enjoying good health, and competence, it is not safe to mention mothers-in-law in his presence. He fumes, shouts, and rages against them, as if all were like his ; and his, I have been told, is a lad}^ perfectly well satisfied with herself and her conduct in this world ; and as for the next — but our stor}' does not dare to point so far. It onl}' interests itself about a little clique of people here below — their griefs, their trials, their weaknesses, their kindl}' hearts. People there are in our histor}' who do not seem to me to have kindl}- hearts at all ; and yet, perhaps, if a biography could be written from their point of view, some other novelist 230 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP might show how Phihp and his biographer were a pair of selfish worlclUngs unwortliy of credit : how uncle and aunt Tw^-sden were most exemplary people, and so forth. Have I not told you how many people at New York shook their heads when Philip's name was mentioned, and intimated a strong opinion that he used his father very ill ? When he fell wounded and bleeding, patron Tregarvan dropped him off his horse, and cousin Ringwood did not look behind to see how he fared. But these, again, may have had their opinion regarding our friend, wlio may have been misrepresented to them — I protest as I look back at the past portions of this history, I begin to have qualms, and ask myself whether the folks of whom we have been prattling have had justice done to them ; whether Agnes Twysden is not a suffering martyr justly offended by Philip's turbulent behavior, and whether Philip deserves any particular attention or kindness at all. He is not transcendently clever ; he is not gloriously beautiful. He is not about to illuminate the darkness in which the people grovel, with the flashing ema- nations of his truth. He sometimes owes money, which he cannot pay. He slips, stumbles, blunders, brags. Ah! he sins and repents — pray heaven — of faults, of vanities, of pride, of a thousand shortcomings ! This I say — Bffo — as my friend's biographer. Perhaps I do not understand the other characters round about him so well, and have overlooked a number of their merits, and caricatured and exaggerated their little defects. Among the Samaritans who came to Philip's help in these his straits, he loves to remember the name of J. J., the paint- er, whom he found sitting with the children one day making drawings for them, which the good painter never tired to sketch. Now if those children would but have kept Ridley's sketches, and waited for a good season at Christie's I have no doubt they might have got scores of pounds for the drawings ; but then, you see, they chose to improve the drawings with their own hands. They painted the soldiers yellow, the horses blue, and so forth. On the horses they put soldiers of their own con- struction. Ridley's landscapes were enriched with representa- tions of " omnibuses," which the children saw and admired in the neighboring New Road. I dare say, as the fever left her, and as "she came to see things as they were, Charlotte's ej-es dwelt fondly on the pictures of the omnibuses inserted in Mr. Ridley's sketches, and she put some aside and showed tliem to her friends, and said, " Doesn't our darling show extraordinary ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 231 talent for drawing? Mr. Ridlej^ says he does. He did a great part of this etching." But, besides the drawings, what do you tliink Master Ridley offered to draw for his friends ? Besides the prescriptions of medicine, what drafts did Dr. Goodenough prescribe? When nurse Brandon came to Mrs. Philip in her anxious time, we know what sort of payment she proposed for her services. Who says the world is all cold? There is the sun and the shadows. And the heaven which ordains poverty and sickness sends pity, and love, and succor. During Charlotte's fever and illness, the Little Sister had left her but for one 'day, when her patient was quiet, and pro- nounced to be mending. It appears that Mrs. Charlotte was very ill indeed on this occasion ; so ill that Dr. Goodenough thought she might have given us all the slip : so ill that, but for Brandon, she would, in all probability, have escaped out of this troublous world, and left Philip and her oiphaned little ones. Charlotte mended then : could take food, and liked it, and was specially pleased with some chickens which her nurse informed her were " from the country." " From Sir John Ringwood, no doubt? " said Mrs. Firmin, remembering the presents sent from Berkeley Square, and the mutton and the turnips. ° "Well, eat and be thankful!" says the Little Sister, w^ho was as gay as a little sister could be, and who had prepared a beautiful bread sauce for the fowl ; and who had tossed the baby, and who showed it to its admiring brother and sister ever so many times ; and who saw that Mr. Philip had his dinner comfortable ; and who never took so much as a drop of porter — at home a little glass sometimes was comfortable, but on duty, never, never ! No, not if Dr. Goodenough ordered it ! she vowed. And the doctor wished he could say as much, or believe as much, of all his nurses. Milraan Street is such a quiet little street that our friends had not carpeted it in the usual way ; and three da3-s after her temporary absence, as nurse Brandon sits by her patient's bed, powdering the back of a small pink infant that makes believe to swim upon her apron, a rattle of wheels is heard in the quiet street — of four wheels, of one horse, of a jingling carriage, which stops before Philip's door. "It's the trap," says nurse Brandon, delighted. " It must be those kind Ringwoods," sa3-s Mrs. PhiHp. " But stop, Brandon. Did not the}', did not we? — oh, how kind of them ! " She was trying to recall the past. Past and present for days had been strangely- mingled in her fevered brain. "Hush, my dear! you are to be kep' quite 232 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP still," says the nurse — and then proceeded to finish the polish- ing and powdering of the pink frog on her lap. The bedroom window was open towards the sunny street : but Mrs. Philip did not hear a female voice say, " 'Old the 'orse's 'ead, Jim," or she might have been agitated. The horse's head was held, and a gentleman and a lady with a great basket containing pease, butter, greens, flowers, and other rural produce, descended from the vehicle and rang at the bell. . Philip opened it ; with his little ones, as usual, trottmg at his knees. " Why, my darlings, how you air grown ! cries the lady. ^ " Bygones be bygones. Give us your 'and, Firmin : here's mine. My missus has brought some country butter and things for your dear good lady. And we hope you liked the chickens. And God bless you, old fellow, how are you? " The tears were rolling down the good man's cheeks as he spoke. And Mrs. Mugford was likewise exceedingly hot, and very much affected. And the children said to her, " Mamma is betternow : and we have a little brother, and he is crying now up stairs." " Bless you, my darlings ! " Mrs. Mugford was off by this time. She put down her peace-offering of carrots, chickens, bacon, butter. She cried plentifully. " It was Brandon came and told us," she said; " and when she told us how all your great people had flung you over, and you'd been quarrelling again, you naughty fellar, I says to Mugford, ' Let's go and see after that dear thing, Mugford,' I says. And here we are. And year's two nice cakes for A'our children " (after a forage in the cornucopia), " and, lor', how they are grown ! " A little nurse from the up-stairs regions here makes her ap- pearance, holding a bundle of cashmere shawls, part of which is removed, and discloses a being pronounced to be ravishingly beautiful, and "jest like Mrs. Mugford's Emaly ! " " I say," says Mugford, " the old shop's still open to you. T'other chap wouldn't'do at all. He was wild when he got the drink on board. Hirish. Pitched into Bickerton, and black'd 'is eye. It was Bickerton who told you lies about that poor lady. Don't see 'im no more now. Borrowed some money of me ; haven't seen him since. We were both wrong, and we must make it up — the missus sa3's we must." " Amen! " said Philip, with a grasp of the honest fellow's hand. And next Sunday he and a trim little sister, and two children, went to an old church in Queen Square, Bloomsbury, which was fashionable in the reign of Queen Anne, when Rich- Thanksgiving. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 233 arcl Steele kei)t house, and did not pay rent, hard b}'. And when the clergyman in the Thanksgiving particularized those who desired now to " offer up their praises and thanksgiving for late mercies vouchsafed to them," once more Philip Firmin said " Amen," on his knees, and with all his heart. CHAPTER XIX. THE REALMS OF BLISS. You know — all good bo^-s and girls at Christmas know — that, before the last scene of the pantomime, when the Good Fairy ascends in a blaze of glorj', and Harlequin and Columbine take hands, having danced through all their tricks and troubles and tumbles, there is a dark, brief, seemingly meaningless, penultimate scene, in which the performers appear to grope about perplexed, whilst the music of bassoons and trombones, and the like, groans tragically. As the actors, with gestures of dismay and outstretched arms, move hither and thither, the war}' frequenter of pantomimes sees the illuminators of the Abode of Bliss and the Hall of Prismatic Splendor nimbi}' mov- ing behind the canvas, and streaking the darkness with twink- ling fires — flres which shall blaze out presently in a thousand colors round the Good Fairy in the Revolving Temple of Blind- ing Bliss. Be happy. Harlequin ! Love and be happy and dance, pretty Columbine ! Children, mamma bids you put j^our shawls on. And Jack and Mar}- (who are young and love pan- tomimes,) look lingeringl}' still over the ledge of the box, whilst the fairy temple yet revolves, wliilst the fireworks play, and ere the Great Dark Curtain descends. M}' dear 3'oung people, who have sat kindl}' through the scenes during which our entertainment has lasted, be it known to you that last chapter was the dark scene. Look to 3'our cloaks, and tie up your little throats, for I tell you the great baize will soon fall down. Have I had any secrets from you all through the piece ? I tell you the house will be empty and you will be in the cold air. When the boxes have got their night- gowns on, and you are all gone, and I have turned off the gas, and am in the empty theatre alone in the darkness, I promise you I shall not be merry. Never mind ! We can make jokes 234 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP though we are ever so sad. We can jump over head and heels, though I declare the pit is half emptied already, and the last orange- woman has slunk away. Encore une pirouette, Colom- bine ! Saute, Arlequin, mon ami ! Though there are but five bars more of the music, my good people, we must jump over them briskl}-, and then go home to supper and bed. Philip Firmin, then, was immensely moved by this mag- nanimity and kindness on the part of his old employer, and has always considered Mugford's arrival and friendhness as a special interposition in his favor. He owes it all to Brandon, he says. It was she who bethought herself of his condition, represented it to Mugford, and reconciled him to his enemy. Others were most ready with their money. It was Brandon who brought him work rather than alms, and enabled him to face fortune cheerfully. His interval of poverty was so short, that he actually had not occasion to borrow. A week more, and he could not have held out, and poor Brandon's little mar- riage present must have gone to the cenotaph of sovereigns — the dear Little Sister's gift which Philip's family cherish to this hour. So Philip, T\ath a humbled heart and demeanor, clambered up on his sub-editorial stool once more at the Pall Mall Gazette, and again brandished the paste-pot and the scissors. I forget whether Bickerton still remained in command at the Pall Mall Gazette, or was more kind to Philip than before, or was afraid of him, having heard of his exploits as a fire-eater ; but certain it is, the two did not come to a quarrel, giving each other a wide berth, as the saying is, and each doing his own duty. Good-by, Monsieur Bickerton. Except mayhap, in the final group, round the Fairy Chariot (when, I promise you, there will be such a blaze of glory that he will be invisible) , we shall never see the little spiteful envious creature more. Let him pop down his appointed trap-door ; and, quick fiddles ! let the brisk music jig on. Owing to the coolness which had arisen between Philip and his father on account of their different views regarding the use to be made of Philip's signature, the old gentleman drew no further bills in his son's name, and our friend was spared from the unpleasant persecution. Mr. Hunt loved Dr. Firmin so ardently that he could not bear to be separated from the doctor long. Without the doctor, London was a dreary wilderness to Hunt. Unfortunate remembrances of past pecuniary transac- tions haunted him here. We were all of us glad when he finally ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 235 retired from the Covent Garden taverns and betook himself to the Bowery once more. And now friend Philip was at work again, hardly earning a scanty meal for self, wife, servant, children. It was indeed a meagre meal, and a small wage. Charlotte's illness, and other mishaps, had swept awa}^ poor Philip's little savings. It was determined that we would let the elegantl}'' furnished apart- ments on the first floor. You might have fancied the proud Mr. Firmin rather repugnant to such a measure. And so he was on the score of convenience, but of dignity, not a whit. To this day, if necessity called, Philip would turn a mangle with perfect gravity. I believe the thought of Mi"S. General Bajaies's horror at the idea of her son-in-law letting lodgings g»eatly soothed and comforted Philip. The lodgings were ab- solutely taken b}^ our country acquaintance. Miss P^-bus, who was coming up for the May meetings, and whom we persuaded (heaven be good to us) that she would find a most desirable quiet residence in the house of a man with three squalling children. Miss P. came, then, with my wife to look at the apartments ; and we allured her by describing to her the de- lightful musical services at the Foundling hard b}^ ; and she was very much pleased with Mrs. Philip, and did not even wince at the elder children, whose prett}' faces won the kind old lady's heart : and I am ashamed to say we were mum about the haby : and Pybus was going to close for the lodgings, when Philip burst out of his little room, without his coat, I believe, and objurgated a little printer's boy, who was sitting in the hall, waiting for some " copj' " regarding which he had made a blunder ; and Philip used such violent language towards the little lazj- boy, that Pybus said ' ' she never could think of taking apartments in that house," and hui'ried thence in a panic. When Brandon heard of this project of letting lodgings, she was in a fur}'. She might let lodgin's, but it wasn't for Philip to do so. " Let lodgin's, indeed ! Buy a broom, and sweep a crossin' ! " Brandon always thought Charlotte a poor-spirited creature, and the wa}^ she scolded Mrs. Firmin about this trans- action was not a little amusing. Charlotte was not angr3\ She liked the scheme as little as Brandon. No other person ever asked for lodgings in Charlotte's house. May and its meetings came to an end. The old ladies went back to their country towns. The missionaries returned to Caffraria. (Ah ! where are the pleasant-looking Quakeresses of our youth, with their cornel}' faces, and pretty dove-colored robes? They say the. goodly sect is dwindling — dwindling.) The Quakeresses went 236 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP out of town : then the fashionable world began to move : the Parliament went out of town. In a word, everybod}^ who could, made away for a holiday, whilst poor Philip remained at his work, snipping and pasting his paragraphs, and doing his hum- ble drudgery. A sojourn on the sea-shore was prescribed by Dr. Goode- nough, as absolutely necessary for Charlotte and her young ones, and when Philip pleaded certain cogent reasons why the family could not take the medicine prescribed by the doctor, that ec- centric physician had recourse to the same pocket-book which we have known him to produce on a former occasion ; and took from it, for what I know, some of the very same notes which he had formerly given to the Little Sister. "I suppose you may as well have them as that rascal Hunt?" said the Doctor, scowling very fiercely. "Don't tell me. Stuff and nonsense. Pooh ! Pay me when you are a rich man ! " And this Samari- tan had jumped into his carriage, and was gone, before Philip or Mrs. Philip could say a word of thanks. Look at him as he is going off. See the green brougham drive away, and turn westward, and mark it well. A shoe go after thee, John Goodenough ; we shall see thee no more in this stor3\ You are not in the secret, good reader : but I, who have been living with certain people for many months past, and have a hearty liking for some of them, grow very soft when the hour for shak- ing hands comes, to think we are to meet no more. Go to ! when this tale began, and for some months after, a pair of kind old eyes used to read these pages, which are now closed in the sleep appointed for all of us. And so page is turned after page, and behold Finis and the volume's end. So Philip and his young folks came down to Periwinkle Bay, where we were staying, and the girls in the two families nursed the baby, and the child and mother got health and com- fort from the fresh air, and Mr. Mugford — who believes him- self to be the finest sub-editor in the world, and I can tell you there is a great art in sub-edil.ing a paper — Mr. Mugford, I say, took Philip's scissors and paste-pot, whilst the latter en- joyed his holiday. And J. J. Ridley, R.A., came and joined us presently, and we had many sketching parties, and my draw- ings of the various points about the bay, viz., Lobster Head, the Mollusc Rocks, &c. &c., are considered to be very spirited, though my little boy (who certainly has not his father's taste for art) mistook for the rock a really capital portrait of Philip, in a gray hat and paletot, sprawling on the sand. Some twelve miles inland from the bay is the little town of ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 237 Whipham Market, and Whipham skirts the park palings of that castle where Lord Ringwood had lived, and where Philip's mother was born and bred. There is a statue of the late lord in Whipham market-place. Could he have had his will, the borough would have continued to return two Members to Par- liament, as in the good old times before us. In that ancient and grass-grown little place, where your footsteps echo as you pass through the street, where you hear distinctly the creaking of the sign of the " Ringwood Arms" hotel and posting-house, and the opposition creaking of the ' ' Ram Inn " over the way — where the half-pay captain, the curate, and the medical man stand before the fly-blown window-blind of the " Ringwood In- stitute " and survey the strangers — there is still a respect felt for the memory of the great lord who dwelt behind the oaks in yonder hall. He had his faults. His lordship's life was not that of an anchorite. The company his lordship kept, es- pecially in his latter days, was not of that select description which a nobleman of his lordship's rank might command. But he was a good friend to Whipham. He was a good landlord to a good tenant. If he had his will, Whipham would have kept its own. His lordship paid half the expense after the burning of the town-hall. He was an arbitrary man, certainly, and he flogged Alderman Duffle before his own shop, but he apologized for it most handsome afterwards. W^ould the gen- llemen like port or sherry ? Claret not called for in Whipham ; not at all : and no fish, because all the fish at Periwinkle Bay is bought up and goes to London. Such were the remarks made by the landlord of the " Ringwood Arms" to three cava- liers who entered that hostelry. And you may be sure he told us about Lord Ringwood's death in the post-chaise as he came from Turreys Regum ; and how his lordship went through them gates (pointing to a pair of gates and lodges which skirt the town) , and was drove up to the castle and laid in state ; and his lordship never would take the railway, never ; and he alwa3's travelled like a nobleman, and when he came to a hotel and changed horses, he alwaj's called for a bottle of wine, and only took a glass, and sometimes not even that. And the present Sir John has kept no company here as yet ; and they say he is close of his money, they say he is. And this is cer- tain, Whipham haven't seen much of it, Whipham haven't. We went into the inn-3'ard, which may have been once a stirring place, and then sauntered up to the park gate, sur- mounted by the supporters and armorial bearings of the Ring- woods. " I wonder whether my poor mother came out of that 238 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP gate when she eloped with m}^ father?" said Philip. " Poor thing, poor thing ! " The great gates were shut. The wester- ing sun cast shadows over the sward where here and there the deer were browsing, and at some mile distance lay the house, with its towers and porticos and vanes flaming in the sun. The smaller gate was open, and a girl was standing by the lodge-door. Was the house to be seen ? " Yes," says a little red-cheeked girl, with a curtsy. "No!" calls out a harsh voice from within, and an old woman comes out from the lodge and looks at us fiercely. "Nobody is to go to the house. The family is a-coming." That was provoking. Philip would have liked to behold the great house where his mother and her ancestors were born. "Marry, good dame," Philip's companion said to the old beldame, " this goodly gentleman hath a right of entrance to yonder castle, which,! trow, ye wot not of. Heard ye never tell of one Philip Ringwood, slain at Busaco's glorious fi — " " Hold your tongue, and don't chafl" her. Pen," growled Firm in . "Nay, and she knows not Philip Ringwood's grandson," the other wag continued, in a softened tone, "this will con- vince her of our right to enter. Canst recognize this image of your queen ? " "Well, I suppose 'ee can go up," said the old woman, at the sight of this talisman. " There's only two of them staying there, and they're out a-driviu'." Philip was bent on seeing the halls of his ancestors. Gray and huge, with towers, and vanes, and porticos, they lay before us a mile off, separated from us by a streak of glistening river. A great chestnut avenue led up to the river, and in the dappled grass the deer were browsing. You know the house of course. There is a picture of it in Watts, bearing date 1783. A gentleman in a cocked hat and pigtail is rowing a lady in a boat on the shining river. Another nobleman in a cocked hat is anghng in the glistening river from the bridge, over which a post-chaise is passing. " Yes, the place is like enough," said Philip ; " but I miss the post-chaise going over the bridge, and the lady in the punt with the tall parasol. Don't you remember the print in our housekeeper's room in Old Parr Street? My poor mother used to tell me about the house, and I imagined it grander than the palace of Aladdin. It is a very handsome house," Philip went on. " ' It extends two hundred and sixty feet by seventy-five, and consists of a rustic basement and principal story, with an ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 239 attic in the centre, the whole executed in stone. The grand front towards the park is adorned with a noble portico of the Corinthian order, and ma}" with pi'opriet}' be considered one of the finest elevations in the .' I tell 3"ou I am quoting out of Watts's ' Seats of the Nobility and Gentrj',' published by John and Josiah Bo3"dell, and l^ing in our drawing-room. Ah, dear me ! I painted the boat and the lady and gentleman in the drawing-room cop^', and m}' father boxed my ears, and my mother cried out, poor dear soul ! And this is the river, is it ? And over this the post-chaise went with the club-tailed horses, and here was the pig-tailed gentleman fishing. It gives me a queer sensation," says Philip, standing on the bridge, and stretching out his big arms. " Yes, there are the two people in the punt by the rushes. I can see them, but you can't ; and I hope, sir, you will have good sport." And here he iook oflf his hat to an imaginary gentleman supposed to be angling from the balustrade for ghostl}^ gudgeon. We reach the house pres- ently. W^e ring at the door in the basement under the portico. The porter demurs, and says some of the family is down, but they are out, to be sui;e. The same half-crown argument an- swers with him which persuaded the keeper at the lodge. We go through the show-rooms of the stately but somewhat faded and melanchol}' palace. In the cedar dining-room there hangs the grim portrait of the late earl ; and that fair-haired officer in red ? that must be Philip's grandfather. And those two slim girls embracing, surely those are his mother and his aunt. Philip walks softly through the vacant rooms. He gives the porter a gold piece ere he goes out of the great hall, fort}' feet cube, ornamented with statues brought from Rome by John first Baron, namely, Heliogabalus, Nero's mother, a priestess of Isis, and a river god ; the pictures over the doors by Pedi- mento ; the ceihng by Leotardi, &c. ; and in a window in the great hall there is a table with a visitors' book, in which Philip writes his name. As we went awa}^, we met a carriage which drove rapidly- toAtards the house, and which no doubt contained the members of the Ringwood family, regarding whom the por- teress had spoken. After the family differences previousl}'' related, we did not care to face these kinsfolks of Philip, and passed on quickly in twilight beneath the rustling umbrage of the chestnuts. J. J. saw a hundred fine pictorial effects as we walked ; the palace reflected in the water ; the dappled deer un- der the chequered shadow of the trees. It was, " Oh, what a jolly bit of color," and, " I sa}', look, how well that old woman's red cloak comes in ! " and so forth. Painters never seem tired 240 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP of their work. At seventy they are students still, p&tient, docile, happ}-. May we too, mj^ good sir, live for fourscore years, and never be too old to learn ! The walk, the brisk ac- companying conversation, amid stately scener}- around, brought us with good appetites and spirits to our inn, where we were told that dinner would be served when the omnibus arrived from the railwa}'. At a short distance from the " Ringwood Arms," and on the opposite side of the street, is the "Ram Inn," neat post- chaises and farmers' ordinary ; a house, of which the preten- sions seemed less, though .the trade was somewhat more livch'. When the tooting of the horn announced the arrival of the omnibus from the railway, I should think a crowd of at least fifteen people assembled at various doors of the High Street and Market. The half-pay captain and the curate came out from the " Ringwood Athenaeum." The doctor's apprentice stood on the step of the surgery door, and the surgeon's lady looked out from the first floor. We shared the general CLiriosit3\ We and the waiter stood at the door of the " Ringwood Arms." We were mortified to see that of the five, persons conve^-ed by the 'bus, one was a tradesman, who descended at his door, (Mr. Packwood, the saddler, so the waiter informed us,) three travellers were discharged at the " Ram," and only one came to us. " Most!}' bagmen goes to the ' Ram,' " the waiter said, with a scornful air ; and these bagmen, and their bags, quitted the omnibus. ^— - Only one passenger remained for the " Ringwood Arms Hotel," and he presently descended under the porte-cockere ; and the omnibus — I own, with regret, it was but a one-horse machine — drove rattling into the court-yarl, whei^e the bells of the " Star," the " George," the " Rodney ," the " Dolphin," and so on, had once been wont to jingle, and the court had echoed with the noise and clatter of hoofs and ostlers, and the cries of " P^'irst and second, turn out." AYho was the merry-faced little gentleman in black, who got out of the omnibus, and cried, when he saw us, "What, you here?" It was Mr. Bradgate, that law3^er of Lord Ringwood's with whom we made a brief acquaintance just after his lord- ship's death. "What, you here?" cries Bradgate, then, to Philip. "Come down about this business, of course? Very glad that you and — and certain parties have made it up. Thought 3-ou weren't friends." What business? What parties? We had not heard the ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 241 news ? We had only come over from Periwinkle Bay by chance, in order to see the house. ' ' How very singular ! Did you meet the — the people who were staying there ? " We said we had seen a carriage pass, but did not remark who was in it. What, however, was the news? Well. It would be known immediately', and would appear in Tuesday's Gazette. The news was that Sir John Ringwood was going to take a peerage, and that the seat for Whipham would be vacant. And herewith our friend produced from his travelling bag a proclamation, which he read to us, and which was ad- dressed — " To THE WORTHY AND INDEPENDENT ELECTORS OF THE BOROUGH OF RiNGWOOD. " London, Wednesday. ' ' Gentlemen, — A gracious Sovereign having been pleased to order that the family of Ringwood should continue to be represented in the House of Peers, I take leave of my friends and constituents who have given me their kind confidence hitherto, and promise them that my regard for them will never cease, or m}^ interest in the town and neighborhood where my famil}' have dwelt for man}- centuries. The late lamented Lord Ringwood's brother died in the service of his Sovereign in Portugal, following the same flag under which his ancestors for centuries have fought and bled. My own son serves the Crown in a civil capacity. It was natural that one of our name and family should continue the relations which so long have sub- sisted between us and this lo^'al, affectionate, but independent borough. Mr. Ringwood's onerous duties in the office which he holds are sufficient to occup}- his time. A gentleman united to our family by the closest ties will oflTer himself as a candidate for your suffrages — " " Why, who is it ? He is not going to put in uncle Twj'sden, or my sneak of a cousin ? " "No," saj's Mr. Bradgate. "Well, bless m}' soul! he can't mean me," said Philip. " Who is the dark horse he has in his stable? " Then Mr. Bradgate laughed. "Dark horse yon may call him. The new Member is to be Grenville A\'"oolcomb, Esq., your West India relative, and no other." Those who know the extreme energj' of Mr. P. Firmin's 41 242 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP language when he is excited, may imagine the explosion of Philippine wrath which ensued as our friend heard this name. "That miscreant : that skinflint : that wealthy ci'ossing-sweeper : that ignoramus who scarce could do more than sign his name ! Oh, it was horrible, shameful ! Why, the man is on such ill terms with his wife that the}^ say he strikes her. AVhen I see him 1 feel inclined to choke him, and murder him. That brute going into Parliament, and the republican Sir John Ringwood sending him there ! It's monstrous ! " " Famil}' arrangements. Sir John, or, I should sa}^ my Lord Ringwood, is one of the most aflfectionate of parents," Mr. Bradgate remarked. " He has a large famih* by his second marriage, and his estates go to his eldest sou. We must not quarrel with Lord Ringwood for wishing to provide for his 3"oung ones. I don't say that he quite acts up to the extreme Liberal principle of which he was once rather fond of boasting. But if you were offered a peerage, what would yon do ; what would i do? If 3'ou wanted money for 3'our 3'oung ones, and could get it, would you not take it? Come, come, don't let us have too much of this Spartan virtue ! If we were tried, my good friend, we should not be much worse or better than our neighbors. Is my fly coming, waiter?" We asked Mr. Brad- gate to defer his departure, and to share our dinner. But he declined, and said he must go up to the great house, where he and his client had plenty of business to arrange, and where no doubt he would stay for the night. He bade the inn servants put his portmanteau into his carriage when it came. "The old lord had some famous port wine," he said; "I hope my friends have the key of the cellar." The waiter was just putting our meal on the table, as we stood in the bow-window of the "Ringwood Arms" coffee- room, engaged in this colloqu^^ Hence we could see the street, and the opposition inn of the " Ram," where presentlj' a great placard was posted. At least a dozen street-boys, shopmen, and rustics were quickl}' gathered round this manifesto, and we ourselves went out to examine it. The "Ram" placard denounced, in terms of unmeasured wrath, the impudent attempt from the Castle to dictate to the free and independent electors of the borough. Freemen were invited not to promise their votes ; to show themselves worthy of their name ; to submit to no Castle dictation. A county gentleman of property, of influence, of liberal principles — no West Indian, no Castle Flunky, but a True English Gentleman, would come for- ward to rescue them from the tyranny under which they ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 243 labored. On this point the electors might rely on the word of A Briton. " This was brought down by the clerk from Bedloe's, He and a newspaper man came down in the train with me ; a Mr. ." As he spoke, there came forth from the "Ram" the news- paper man of whom Mr. Bradgate spolce — an old friend and comrade of Philip, that energetic man and able reporter, Phipps of the Daily Intelligencer^ who recognized Philip, and cordially greeting him, asked what he did down here, and supposed he had come to support his family. Philip explained that we were strangers, had come from a neighboring watering-place to see the home of Philip's ancestors, and were not even aware, until then, that an electioneering contest was pending in the place, or that Sir John Ringwood was about to be promoted to the peerage. Meanwhile, Mr. Bradgate's fly had driven out of the hotel 3-ard of the " Ring- wood Arms," and the lawyer running to the house for a bag of papers, jumped into the carriage and called to the coachman to drive to the Castle. " Bon appetit!" sa3"s he, in a confident tone, and he was gone. " Would Phipps dine with us?" Phipps whispered, " I am on the other side, and the ' Ram' is our house." We, who were on no side, entered into the " Ringwood Arms," and sat down to our meal — to the mutton and the catsup, cauliflower and potatoes, the copper-edged side-dishes, and the water}^ melted butter, with which strangers are regaled in inns in declining towns. The town badauds, who had read the placard at the " Ram," now came to peruse the proclama- tion in our window. I dare say thirty pairs of clinking boots stopped before the one window and the other, the while we ate tough mutton and drank fiery sherry-. And J. J., leaving his dinner, sketched some of the figures of the townsfolk staring at the manifesto, with the old-fashioned "Ram Inn" for a back- ground — a picturesque gable enough. Our meal was just over, when, somewhat to our surprise, our friend Mr. Bradgate the lawyer returned to the " Ringwood Arms." He wore a disturbed countenance. He asked what he could have for dinner? Mutton, neither hot nor cold. Hum ! That must do. So he had not been invited to dine at the Park? We rallied him with much facetiousness on this disappointment. Little Bradgate's eves started with wrath. "What a churl •o- 244 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP the little black fellow is ! " he cried. " I took him his papers. I talked with him till dinner was laid in the very room where we were. French beans and neck of venison — I saw the housekeeper and his man bring them in ! And Mr. Woolcomb did not so much as ask me to sit down to dinner — but told me to come again at nine o'clock ! Confound this mutton — it's neither hot nor cold ! The little skinflint ! " The glasses of fiery sherry which Bradgate now swallowed served rather to choke than appease the lawj'er. We laughed, and this jocu- larity angered him more. " Oh," said he, " I am not the only person Woolcomb was rude to. He was in a dreadful ill temper. He abused his wife : and when he read somebody's name in the strangers' book, I promise you, Firmin, he abused you. I had a mind to say to him, ' Sir, Mr. Firmin is dining at the " Eingwood Arms," and I will tell him what you say of him,' What india-rubber mutton this is ! What villanous sherry ! Go back to him at nine o'clock, indeed ! Be hanged to his impudence ! " "You must not abuse Woolcobab before Firmin," said one of our part}-. " Philip is so fond of his cousin's husband, that he cannot bear to hear the black man abused." This was not a ver}' brilliant joke, but Philip grinned at it with much savage satisfaction. " Hit Woolcomb as hard as you please, he has no friends here, Mr. Bradgate," growled Philip. "So he is rude to his law}' er, is he ? " "I tell you he is worse than the old earl," cried the indig- nant Bradgate. " At least the old man was a peer of England, and could be a gentleman Avhen he wished. But to be bullied by a fellow who might be a black footman, or ought to be sweeping a crossing ! It's monstrous ! " "Don't speak ill of a man and a brother, Mr. Bradgate. Woolcomb can't help his complexion." "But he can help his confounded impudence, and shan't practise it on me ! " the attorney cried. As Bradgate called out from his box, puffing and fuming, friend J. J. was scribbling in the little sketch-book which he always carried. He smiled over his work. " I know," he said, " the Black Prince well enough. I have often seen him driving his chestnut mares in the Park, with that bewildered white wife by his side. I am sure that woman is miserable, and, poor thing — " ' ' Serve her right ! What did an English lady mean by marrying such a fellow ! " cries Bradgate. ON HIS. WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 245 " A fellow who does not ask his lawyer to dinner ! " remarks one of the company ; perhaps the reader's verj- humble servant. ' ' But what an imprudent lawyer he has chosen — a lawyer who speaks his mind." " I have spoken my mind to his betters, and be hanged to him ! Do 3'ou think I am going to be afraid of him ? " bawls the irascible solicitor. ' ' Contempsi Catilince gladios — do you remember the old quotation at school, Philip ? " And here there was a break in our conversation, for chancing to look at friend J. J.'s sketch- book, we saw that he had made a wonderful little drawing, representing Woolcomb and Woolcomb's wife, grooms, phaeton, and chestnut mares, as they were to be seen any afternoon in Hyde Park, during the London season. Admirable ! Capital ! Everybody at once knew the likeness of the dusky charioteer. Iracundus himself smiled and snig- gered over it. "Unless you behave yourself, Mr. Bradgate, Ridley will make a picture of you^" says Philip. Bradgate made a comical face, and retreated into his box, of which he pretended to draw the curtain. But the sociable little man did not long remain in his retirement ; he emerged from it in a short time, his wine decanter in his hand, and joined our little party ; and then we fell to tallving of old times ; and we all remembered a famous drawing by H. B., of the late Earl of Ringwood, in the old-fashioned swallow-tailed coat and tight trousers, on the old-fashioned horse, with the old-fashioned groom behind him, as he used to be seen pounding along Rot- ten Row. "I speak my mind, do I?" sa^^s Mr. Bradgate, presently. "I know somebody who spoke his mind to that old man, and who would have been better off if he had held his tongue." " Come, tell me, Bradgate," cried Philip. "It is all over and past now. Had Lord Ringwood left me something? I declare I thought at one time that he intended to do so." "Nay, has not your friend here been rebuking me for speaking my mind? I am going to be as mum as a mouse. Let us talk about the election," and the provoking lawyer would say no more on a subject possessing a dismal interest for poor Phil. ''I have no more right to repine," said that philosopher, '"* than a man would have who drew number x in the lottery, when the winning ticket was numlier y. Let us talk, as you say, about the election. Who is to oppose Mr. Woolcomb?" Mr. Bradgate believed a neighboring squire, Mr. Hornblow, 246 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP was to be the candidate put forward against the Eingwood nominee. '• Ilornblow ! what, Hornblow of Gre}^ Friars ? " cries Phihp. "A better fellow never lived. In this case he shall have our vote and interest ; and I think we ought to go over and take another dinner at the ' Ram.' " The new candidate actually turned out to be Philip's old school and college friend, Mr. Hornblow. After dinner we met him with a staff of canvassers on the tramp throuo-h the little town. Mr. Hornblow was paying his respects to such tradesmen as had their shops yet open. Next day being mar- ket-day, he proposed to canvass the market-people. " If I meet the black man, Firmin," said the burly squire, "I think I can ehatr him off his legs. He is a bad one at speaking, I am told." As if the tongue of Plato would have prevailed in Whipham and against the nominee of the great house ! The hour was late to be sure, but the companions of Mr. Hornblow on his canvass augured ill of his success after half an hour's walk at his heels. Baker Jones would not promise nohow : that meant Jones would vote for the Castle, Mr. Hornblow's legal aide-de- camp, Mr. Batley, was forced to allow. Butcher Brown was having his tea, — his shrill-voiced wife told us, looking out from her glazed back parlor : Brown would vote for the Castle. Saddler Briggs would see about it. Grocer Adams fairly said he would vote against us — against us? ■ — against Hornblow, whose part we were taking already. I fear the flattering prom- ises of support of a great body of free and unbiassed electors, which had induced Mr. Hornblow to come forward and, &c., were but inventions of that little lawyer, Batle}', who found his account in having a contest in the borough. When the polling- day came — j-ou see, I disdain to make any mysteries in this simple and veracious story — Mr. Grenville Woolcomb, whose solicitor and agent spoke for him — Mr. Grenville Woolcomb, who could not spell or speak two sentences of decent English, and whose character for dulness, ferocit}', penuriousness, jealousy, almost fatuity, was notorious to all the world — was returned by an immense majority, and the country gentleman brought scarce a hundred votes to the poll. We who were in nowise engaged in the contest, nevertheless found amusement from it in a quiet countr}- place where little else was stirring. We came over once or twice from Peri- winkle Bay. We mounted Hornblow's colors openly. We ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 247 drove up ostentatiously to the '•'Ram," forsaking the "Ring- wood Arms," where Mr. Grenville Woolcomb's Committee Room was now established in tliat ver}^ coffee-room wliere we had dined in Mr. Bradgate's company. We warmed in the contest. We met Bradgate and his principal more than once, and our Montagus and Capulets defied each other in the public street. It was fine to see Philip's great figure and noble scowl when he met Woolcomb at the canvass. Gleams of mulattcf hate quivered from the e3'es of the little captain. Darts of fire flashed from beneath Philip's eyebrows as he elbowed his way forward, and hustled Woolcomb off the pavement. Mr. Philip never disguised any sentiment of his. "Hate the little igno- rant, spiteful, vulgar, avaricious beast? Of course I hate him, and I should like to pitch him into the river." " Oh, Philip ! " Charlotte pleaded. But there was no reasoning with this savage when in wrath. I deplored, though perhaps I was amused by, his ferocitj-. The local paper on our side was, filled with withering epi- grams against this poor Woolcomb, of which, I suspect, Philip was the author. I think I know that fierce style and tremen- dous invective. In the man whom he hates he can see no good : and in his friend no fault. When we met Bradgate apart from his principal, we were friendly enough. He said we had no chance in the contest. He did not conceal his dis- lilve and contempt for his client. He amused us in later days (when he actuall}' became Philip's man of law) b}' recounting anecdotes of Woolcomb, his fury, his jealous}-, his avarice, his brutal behavior. Poor Agnes had married for money, and he gave her none. Old Twysden, in giving his daughter to this man, had hoped to have the run of a fine house ; to ride in Woolcomb's carriages, and feast at his table. But Woolcomb was so stingy that lie grudged the meat which his wife ate, and would give none to her relations. He turned those relations out of his doors. Talbot and Ringwood Twysden, he drove them both away. lie lost a child, because he would not send for a physician. His wife never forgave him that meanness. Her hatred for him became open and avowed. They parted, and she led a life into which we will look no farther. She quarrelled with parents as well as husband. " Why," she said, "did they sell me to that man?" Why did she sell herself? She required little persuasion from father ccnd mother when she committed that crime. To be sure, they had educated her so well to worldliuess, that when the occasion came she was ready. 248 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP We used to see this luckless woman, with her horses and servants decked with Woolcomb's ribbons, driving about the little town, and making feeble efforts to canvass the towns- people. They all knew how she and her husband quar- relled. Reports came very quickly from the Hall to the town. Woolcomb had not been at Whipham a week when people began to hoot and jeer at him as he passed in his carriage. ^' Think how weak j-ou must be," Bradgate said, " when we can win with this horse ! I wish he would stay awa}', though. We could manage much better without him. He has insulted I don't know how many free and independent electors, and in- furiated others, because he will not give them beer when they come to the house. If Woolcomb would sta^- in the place, and we could have the election next 3'ear, I think 3'our man might win. But, as it is, he may as well give in, and spare the expense of a. poll." Meanwhile Hornblow was very confident. We believe what we wish to believe. It is marvellous what faith an enthusiastic elecljoneering agent can inspire in his client. At any rate, if Hornblow did not win this time, he ■would at the next election. The old Ringwood domination in Whipham was gone henceforth for ever. When the day of election arrived, 30U maj^ be sure we came over from Periwinkle Bay to see the battle. By this time Philip had grown so enthusiastic in Plornblow's cause — (Philip, by the way, never would allow the possibility of a defeat) — that he had his children decked in the Hornblow ribbons, and drove from the baj', wearing a cockade as large as a pancake. He, I, and Ridley the painter, went together in a dog-cart. We were hopeful, though we knew the enemy was strong ; and cheerful, though, ere we had driven five miles, the rain began to fall. Philip was very anxious about a certain great roll of paper which we carried with us. When I asked him wliat it con- tained, he said it was a gun ; which was absurd. Ridlej' smiled in his silent wa}'. When the rain came, Philip cast a cloak over his artillerj', and sheltered his powder. We little guessed at the time what strange game his shot would bring down. When we reached Whipham, the polling had continued for some hours. The confounded black misci'eant, as Philip called his cousin's husband, was at the head of the poll, and with every hour his majority increased. The free and independent electors did not seem to be in the least influenced by Philip's articles in the county paper, or b^' the placards which our side had pasted over the little town, and in which freemen were ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 249 called upon to do their duty, to support a fine old English gen- tleman, to submit to no Castle nominee, and so forth. The pressure of the Ringwood steward and bailiffs was too strong. However much they disliked the black man, tradesman after tradesman, and tenant after tenant, came up to vote for him. Our drums and trumpets at the " Ram " blew loud defiance to the brass band at the " Ringwood Arms." From our balcony, I flatter myself, we made much finer speeches than the Ring- wood people could deliver. Hornblow was a popular man in the count}'. When he came forward to speak, the market- place echoed with applause. The farmers and small tradesmen touched their hats to him kindl}', but slunk off sadly to the polling-booth, and voted according to order. A fine, healthy, handsome, red-cheeked squire, our champion's personal appear- ance enlisted all the ladies in his favor. "if the two men," bawled Philip, from the "Ram" win- dow, " could decide the contest with their coats oft' before the market-house yonder, which do you think would win — the fair man or the darky?" (Loud cries of "Hornblow for iver!" or " Mr. Phihp, we'll have yeio") " But you see, my friends, Mr. Woolcomb does not like a fair fight. Why doesn't he show at the ' Ringwood Arms ' and speak? I don't believe he can speak — not English. Are you men ? Are jou English- men? Are you white slaves to be sold to that fellow?" (Im- mense uproar. Mr. Finch, the Ringwood agent, in vain tries to get a hearing from the ])alcony of the " Ringwood Arms.") " Wh}' does not Sir John Ringwood — ni}' Lord Ringwood now — come down amongst his tenantr}^, and back the man he has sent down? I suppose he is ashamed to look his tenants in the face. I should be, if I ordered them to do such a degrad- ing job. You know, gentlemen, that I am a Ringwood myself. My grandfather lies buried — no, not buried — in yonder church. His tomb is there. His body lies on the glorious field of Bu- saco ! " (" Hurray ! ") " I am a Ringwood." (Cries of " Hoo — down. No Ringwoods year. We wunt haxQ un ! ") " And before George, if I had a vote, I would give it for the gallant, the good, the admirable, the excellent Hornblow. Some one holds up tlie state of the poll, and AVoolcomb is ahead ! I can only say, electors of AVhipham, the more shame for youl" " Hoora}' ! Bravo ! " The boys, the people, the shouting, are all on our side. The voting, I regret to say, steadily continues in favor of the enemy. As Philip was making his speech, an immense banging of drums and blowing of trumpets arose from the balcony of the 250 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP " Ringwood Arms," and a something resembling the song of triumph called, " See the Conquering Hero comes," was per- formed by the opposition orchestra. The lodge-gates of the park were now decorated with the Ringwood and Woolcomb flags. The}^ were flung open, and a dark green chariot with four gra}^ horses issued from the pai'k. On the chariot was an earl's coronet, and the people looked rather scared as it came towards us, and said — " Do'ee look, now, 'tis my lard's own post-chaise ! " On former days Mr. Woolcomb, and his wife as his aide-de-camp, had driven through the town in an open ba- rouche, but, to-day being rainy, preferred the shelter of the old chariot, and we saw, presently, within, Mr. Bradgate, the Lon- don agent, and by his side the darkling figure of Mr. Wool- comb. He had passed many agonizing hours, we were told subsequently, in attempting to learn a speech. He cried over it. He never could get it by heart. He swore like a frantic child at his wife, who endeavored to teach him his lesson. " Now's the time, Mr. Briggs ! " Philip said to Mr. B., our lawyer's clerk, and tlie intelligent Briggs sprang down stairs to obey his orders. Clear the road there ! make way ! was heard from the crowd below us. The gates of our inn court-yard, which had been closed, were suddenly flung open, and, amidst the roar of the multitude, there issued out a cart drawn by two donke3S, and driven b}' a negro, beasts and man all wearing Woolcomb's colors. In the cart was fixed a placard, on which a most undeniable likeness of Mr. Woolcomb was designed : w^ho was made to say, ••' Vote for me ! Am I not a man and A BRUDDER? " This cart trotted out of the yard of the " Ram," and, with a cortege of shouting bo^'s, advanced into the market- place, which Mr. Woolcomb's carriage was then crossing. Before the market-house stands the statue of the late earl, whereof mention has been made. In his peer's robes, a hand extended, he points towards his park gates. An inscription, not more mendacious than many other epigraphs, records his rank, age, virtues, and the esteem in which the people of Whip- ham held him. The mulatto who drove the team of donkeys was an itinerant tradesman who brought fish from the ba}' to the little town ; a J0II3' wag, a fellow of indiflTerent character, a frequenter of all the ale-houses in the neighborhood, and rather celebrated for his skill as a bruiser. He and his steeds streamed with AVoolcomb ribbons. With ironical shouts of "Woolcomb for ever !" Yellow Jack urged his cart towards the chariot with the white hoi'ses. He took off his hat with mock respect to the candidate sitting within the green chariot. ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 251 From the balcony of the " Earn" we could see the two vehicles ajDproaching each other ; and Yellow Jack waving his ribboned hat, kicking his bandy legs here and there, and urging on his donkeys. What with the roar of the people, and the banging and trumpeting of the rival bands, we could hear but little : but I saw AYoolcomb thrust his yellow head out of his chaise- window — he pointed towards that impudent donke^'-cart, and urged, seemingly, his postilions to ride it down. Plying their whips, the post-boys galloped towards Yellow Jack and his vehicle, a yelling crowd scattering from before the horses, and rall3'ing behind them, to utter execrations at Woolcomb. His horses were frightened, no doubt; for just as Yellow Jack wheeled nimbly round one side of the Ringwood statue. Wool- comb's horses were all huddled together and plunging in con- fusion beside it, the fore-wheel came in abrupt collision with the stonework of the statue-railing : and then we saw the vehicle turn over altogether, one of the wheelers down with its rider, and the leaders kicking, plunging, lashing out right and left, wild and maddened with fear. Mr. Philip's countenance, I am bound to say, wore a most guilty and queer expression. This accident, this collision, this injury, perhaps death of Woolcomb and his lawyer, arose out of our fine joke about the Man and the Brother. We dashed down the stairs from the " Ram " — Hornblow, Philip, and half a dozen more — and made a way through the crowd towards the carriage, with its prostrate occupants. The mob made way civilly for the popular candidate — the losing candidate. When we reached the chaise, the traces had been cut : the horses were free : the fallen postilion was up and rub- bing his leg : and, as soon as the wheelers were taken out of the chaise, AYoolcomb emerged from it. He had said from within (accompanying his speech with many oaths, which need not be repeated, and showing a just sense of his danger), " Cut the traces, hang 30U ! And take the horses away : I can wait until they're gone. I'm sittin' on my lawyer ; I ain't goin' to have my head kicked off b}- those wheelers." And just as we reached the fallen post-chaise he emerged from it, laughing and saying, " Lie still, you old beggar ! " to Mr. Bradgate, who was writhing underneath him. His issue from the carriage was received with shouts of laughter, which increased prodigiously when Yellow Jack, nimbly clambering up the statue-railings, thrust the outstretched arm of the statue through the picture of the Man and the Brother, and left that cartoon "flapping in the air over Woolcomb's head. 252 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP Then a shout arose, the like of which has seldom been heard in that quiet little town. Then Woolcomb, who had been quite good-humored as he issued out of the broken post-chaise, began to shriek, curse, and revile more shrilly than before ; and was heard, in the midst of his oaths, and wrath, to say, "He would give any man a shillin' who would bring him down that con- founded thing ! " Then scared, bruised, contused, confused, poor Mr. Bradgate came out of the carriage, his employer taking not the least notice of him. Hornblow hoped Woolcomb was not hurt, on which the little gentleman turned round and said, "Hurt? no; whoarej'ou? Is no fellah goin' to bring me down that confounded thing? I'll give a shillin', I say, to the fellah who does ! " - " A shilling is offered for that picture ! " shouts Philip with a red face, and wild with excitement. " Who will take a whole shilling for that beauty ? " On which Woolcomb began to scream, curse, and revile more bitterly than before. "You here? Hang you, why are you here? Don't come bullj'in' me. Take that fellah away, some of you fellahs. Bradgate, come to my committee-room. I won't stay here, I sa}'. Let's have the beast of a carriage, and — Well, what's up now ? " While he was talking, shrieking, and swearing, half a dozen shoulders in the crowd had raised the carriage up on its three wheels. The panel which had fallen towards the ground had split against a stone, and a great gap was seen in the side. A lad was about to thrust his hand into the orifice, when Wool- comb turned upon him. "Hands off, you little beggar!" he cried, "no priggin' ! Drive away some of these fellahs, you post-boys ! Don't stand rubbin' 3'our knee there, you great fool. What's this?" and he thrusts his own hand into the place where the boy had just been marauding. In the old travelling carriages there used to be a well or swordcase, in which travellers used to put swords and pistols in da3-s when such weapons of defence were needful on the road. Out of this swordcase of Lord Ringwood's old post-chariot, Woolcomb did not draw a sword, but a foolscap paper folded and tied with a red tape. And he began to read the superscrip- tion — "Will of the Right Honorable John, Earl of Ringwood. Bradgate, Smith, and Burrows." " God bless ray soul ! It's the will he had back from my office, and which I thought he had destroyed. My dear fellow, I congratulate you with aU my heart ! " And herewith Mr. ON ins WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 25 o Bradgate the lawyer began to shake Philip's hand with much warmth. " Allow me to look at that paper. Yes, this is in m}^ handwriting. Let us come into the ' Ringwood Arms ' — the ' Ram ' ^- anywhere, and read it to you ! " . . Here we looked up to the balcony of the " Ringwood Arms," and beheld a great placard announcing the state of the poll at one o'clock. WOOLCOMB 216 HORNBLOW 92 " We are beaten," said Mr. Hornblow, very good-naturedly. " We may take our flag down. Mr. Woolcomb, I congratulate you." " I knew we should do it," said Mr. W^oolcomb, putting out a little yellow-kidded hand. "Had all the votes beforehand — knew we should do the trick, I s&j. Hi! 30U — What-do- you-call-'im — Bradgate ! What is it about, that will ? It does not do any good to that beggar, does it?" and with laughter and shouts, and cries of "Woolcomb for ever," and "Give us something to drink, 3'our honor," the successful candidate marched into his hotel. And was the tawny Woolcomb the fairy who was to rescue Philip from grief, debt, and poverty? Yes. And the old post- chaise of the late Lord Ringwood was the fair}' chariot. You have read in a past chapter how the old lord, being transported with anger against Philip, desired his law^'er to bring back a will in which he had left a handsome legacy to the 3'oung man, as his mother's son. My lord had intended to make a provision for Mrs. Firmin, when she was his dutiful niece, and yet under his roof. When she eloped with Mr. Firmin, Lord Ringwood vowed he would give his niece nothing. But he was pleased with the independent and forgiving spirit exhibited by her son ; and, being a person of much grim humor, I dare say chuckled inwardl}^ at thinking how furious the Twysdens would be, when the}' found Philip was the old lord's favorite. Then Mr. Philip chose to be insubordinate, and to excite the wrath of his great- «ancle, who desired to have his will back again. He put the document into his carriage, in the secret box, as he drove away on that last journey, in the midst of which death seized him. Had he survived, would he have made another will, leaving out all mention of Philip? Who shall sa}-? M}' lord made and cancelled many wills. This certainh', duly drawn and wit- nessed, was the last he ever signed ; and by it Philip is put in 254 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP possession of a sum of money which is sufficient to ensure a provision for those whom he loves. Kind readers, I know not whether the fairies be rife now, or banished from this work-a-day earth, but Philip's biographer wishes you some of those blessings which never forsook Philip in his trials : a dear wife and children to love 3"0U, a true friend or two to stand b}' you, and in health or sickness a clear conscience, and a kindlj' heart. If you fall upon the wa}^ may succor reach 3-ou. And may joa, in your turn, have help and pitj^ in store for the unfortunate whom you overtake on life's journey. Would 3-ou care to know what happened to the other person- ages of our narrative? Old Twysden is still babbling and bragging at clubs, and though aged is not the least venerable. He has quarrelled with his son for not calling Woolcomb out, when that unhappy difference arose between the Black Prince and his wife. ^ He saj's his family has been treated with cruel injustice b}' the late Lord Ringwood, but as soon as Philip had a little fortune left him he instantly was reconciled to his wife's nephew. There are other friends of Firmin's who were kind enough to him in his evil da^'s, but cannot pardon his prosperity'. Being in that benevolent mood which must accompany any leave-taking, we will not name these ill-wishers of Philip, but wish that all readers of his story may have like reason to make some of their acquaintances angry. Our dear Little Sister would never live with Philip and his Charlotte, though the latter especially and with all her heart besought Mrs. Brandon to come to them. That pure and use- ful and modest life ended a few years since. She died of a fever caught from one of her patients. She would not allow Philip or Charlotte to come near her. She said she was justly punished for being so proud as to refuse to live with them. All her little store she left to Philip. He has now in his desk the five guineas which she gave him at his marriage ; and J. J. has made a little picture of her, with her sad smile and her sweet face, which hangs in Philip's drawing-room, where father, mother, and children talk of the Little Sister as though she were among them still. She was dreadfully agitated when the news came from New York of Doctor Firmin's second marriage. " His second ? His third?" she said. "The villain, the villain!" That strange delusion which we have described as sometimes possessing her increased in intensity after this news. More than ever, she lielieved that Philip was her own child. She came wildly to him, and cried that his father had forsaken them. It was only ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD. 255 when she was excited that she gave utterance to this opinion. Doctor Goodenough says that though generally silent about it, it never left her. Upon his marriage Dr. Finnin wrote one of his long letters to his sou, announcing the event. He described the wealth of the lady (a widow from Norfolk, in Virginia) to whom he was about to be united. He would pay back, ay, with interest, ever}^ pound, every dollar, ever}- cent he owed his son. Was the lad}- wealthy? We had only the poor doctor's word. Three montlis after his marriage he died of yellow feveh, on his wife's estate. It was then the Little Sister came to see us in widow's mourning, very wild and flushed. She bade our servant say, " Mrs. Firmin was at the door ; " to the astonish- ment of the man, who knew her. She had even caused a mourning-card to be printed. Ah, there is rest now for that little fevered brain, and peace, let us pra}-, for that fond faithful heart. The mothers in Philip's -household and mine have alread}' made a match between our children. We had a great gathering the other day at Roehampton, at the house of our friend, Mr. Clive Newcome (whose tall bo}', m}- wife saj-s, was very atten- tive to our Helen), and, having been educated at the same school, we sat ever so long at dessert, telling old stories, whilst the children danced to piano music on the laMn. Dance on the lawn, young folks, whilst the elders talk in the shade ! Wliat? The night is falling : we have talked enough over our wine : and it is time to go home? Good night. Good night, friends, old and young ! The night will fall : the stories must end : and the best friends must part. CATHEKINE: A STORY. By IKEY SOLOMONS, ESQ., JUNIOR. ADVERTISEMENT. The story of "Catherine," which appeared in Eraser's Magazine in 1839-40, was written by Mr. Thackeray, under the name of Ikey Solomons, Jun., to counteract the injurious influence of some popular fictions of that day, wliich made heroes of highwaymen and burglars, and created a false sympathy for the vicious and criminal. With this purpose, the author chose for the subject of his story a woman named Catherine Hayes, who was burned at Tyburn, in 1726, for the deliberate murder of her husband, under very revolting circumstances. Mr. Thackeray's aim obviously was to describe the career of this wretched woman and her associates with such fidelity to truth as to exhibit the danger and folly of investing such persons with heroic and romantic qualities. CATHEBINE: A STOEY. CHAPTER I. INTRODUCING TO THE READER THE CHIEF PERSONAGES OF THIS NARRATIVE. / At that famous period of histoiy, when the seventeenth centur}' (after a deal of quarrelhng, king-killing, reforming, republicanizing, restoring, re-restoring, plaj-- writing, sermon- writing, Oliver-Cromwelhzing, Stuartizing, and Orangizing, to be sure) had sunk into its grave, giving place to the lusty eighteenth ; when Mr. Isaac Newton was a tutor of Trinity, and Mr. Joseph Addison Commissioner of Appeals ; when the presiding genius that watched over the destinies of the French nation had played out all the best cards in his hand, and his adversaries began to pour in their trumps ; when there were two kings in Spain emplo^'ed perpetually in running awa}- from one another ; when there was a queen in England, with such rogues for Ministers as have never been seen, no, not in our own day ; and a General, of whom it may be severely argued, whether he was the meanest miser or the greatest hero in the world ; when Mrs. Masham had not j^et put Madam Marl- borough's nose out of joint ; when people had their ears cut off for writing very meek political pamphlets ; and very large full-bottomed wigs were just beginning to be wojn with pow- der ; and the face of Louis the Great, as his was handed in to him behind the bed-curtains, was, when issuing thence, ob- served to look longer, older, and more dismal dailj'. About the year One thousand seven hundred and five, that is, in the glorious reign of Queen Anne, there existed certain characters, and befell a series of adventures, wiiich, since they are strictly in accordance with the present fashionable style and taste ; since they have been already partly described in the "Newgate Calendar;" since they are (as shall be seen anon) 260 CATHERINE: A STORY. agreeably low, delightfully disgusting, and at the same time eminently pleasing and pathetic, may properly be set down here. | And though it may be said, with some considerable show of reason, that agreeably low and delightfully disgusting charac- ters have already been treated, both copiously and ably, by some eminent writers of the present (and, indeed, of future) ao-es ; though to tread in the footsteps of the immortal Fagin requires a genius of inordinate stride, and to go a-robbing after the late though deathless Turpin, the renowned Jack Shep- PARD, or the embyro Duval, may be impossible, and not an infringement, but a wasteful indication of ill-will towards the eighth commandment; though it may, on the one hand, be asserted that only vain coxcombs would dare to write* on sub- jects already described by men really and deservedly eminent ; on the other hand, that these subjects have been described so fully, that nothing more can be said about them ; on the third hand (allowing, for the sake of argument, three hands to one figure of speech), that the pubhc has heard so much of them, as to be quite tired of rogues, thieves, cut-throats, and Newgate altogether; — though all these objections may be urged, and each is excellent, yet we intend to take a few more pages from the " Old Bailey Calendar," to bless the public with one more draught from the Stone Jug:* — yet awhile to listen, hurdle- mounted, and riding down the Oxford Road, to the bland con- versation of Jack Ketch, and to hang with him round the neck of his patient, at the end of our and his history. We give the reader fair notice, that we shall tickle him with a few such scenes of villany, throat-cutting, and bodily suffering in gen- eral, as are not to be found, no, not in ; never mind com- parisons, for such ai-e odious. In the year 1705, then, whether it was that the Queen of England did feel seriously alarmed at the notice that a French prince should occupy the Spanish throne ; or whether she was tenderly attached to" the Emperor of Germany ; or whether she was obliged to fight out the quarrel of William of Orange, who made us pay and fight for his Dutch provinces ; or whether poor old Louis Quatorze did really frighten her ; or whether Sarah Jennings and her husband wanted to make a fight, knowing how much they should gain by it ; — whatever the reason was, it was evident that the war was to continue, and there was almost as much soldiering and recruiting, parading, pike and * This, as your ladyship is aware, is the polite name for her Majesty's prison of Newgate. CATHERIXE: A STORY. 261 gun-exercising, flag-flying, drura-beating, powder-blazing, and military enthusiasm, as we can all remember in the ^-ear 1801, what time the Corsican upstart menaced our shores. A recruit- ing-party and captain of Cutts's regiment (which had been so mangled at Blenheim the year before,) were now in Warwick- shire ; and having their depot at Warwick, the captain and his attendant, the corporal, were used to travel through the coun- try, seeking for heroes to fill up the gaps in Cutts's corps, — and for adventures to pass away the weary time of a country life. Our Captain Plume and Sergeant Kite (it was at this time, by the way, that those famous recruiting-officers were playing their pranks in Shrewsbury-,) were occupied very much in the same manner with Farquhar's heroes. They roamed from Warwick to Stratford, and from Stratford to Birmingham, per- suading the swains of Warwickshire to leave the plough for the pike, and despatching, from time to time, small detach- ments of recruits to extend Marlborough's lines, and to act as food for the hungry cannon at Ramillies and Malplaquet. Of those two gentlemen who are about to act a ver}' impor- tant part in our history, one only was probabl3' a native of Brit- ain, — we say probably, because the individual in question was himself quite uncertain, and, it must be added, entirely indiffer- ent about his birthplace ; but speaking the English language, and having been during the course of his life prett}^ generally engaged in the British service, he had a tolerabh' fair claim to the majestic title of Briton. His name was Peter Brock, other- wise Corporal Brock, of Lord Cutts's regiment of dragoons ;flie was of age about fifty-seven (even that point has never been ascertained) ; in height, about five feet six inches ; in weight, nearl}^ thirteen stone ; with a chest that the celebrated Leitch himself might env}' ; an arm, that was like an opera-dancer's leg ; a stomach so elastic that it would accommodate itself to au}^ given or stolen quantity of food ; a great aptitude for strong liquors ; a considerable skill in singing chansons de table of not the most delicate kind ; he was a lover of jokes, of which he made many, and passably bad ; when pleased, simply coarse, boisterous, and jovial ; when angr}', a perfect demon : bullying, cursing, storming, fighting, as is sometimes the wont with gen- tlemen of his cloth and education, f Mr. Brock was strictly, what the Marquis of Rodil styled him- self in a proclamation to his soldiers after running awa^*, a hijo de Ja guerra — a child of war. Not seven cities, but one or two regiments, might contend for the honor of giving him birth : for 262 CATHERINE: A STORY. his mother, whose name he took, had acted as camp-follower to a Royalist regiment ; had then obeyed the Parliamentarians ; died in Scotland when Monk was commanding in that country- ; and the first appearance of Mr. Brock in a public capacity dis- played him as a fifer in the General's own regiment of Cold- streamers, when they marched from Scotland to London, and from a republic at once into a monarch)-. Since that period, Brock had been always with the army ; he had had, too, some promotion, for he spake of having a command at the battle of the Boyne ; though probably (as he never mentioned the fact) upon the losing side. The ver}' year before this narrative com- mences, he had been one of Mordaunt's forlorn hope at Schel- lenberg, for which service he was promised a pair of colors : he lost them, however, and was almost shot (but fate did not or- dain that his career should close in that wa}') for drunkenness and insubordination immediately after the battle ; but having in some measure reinstated himself b}^ a display of much gal- lantry at Blenheim, it was found advisable to send him to Eng- land for the purpose of recruiting, and remove liim altogether from the regiment, where his gallantr)- only rendered the exam- ple of his riot more dangerous. Mr. Brock's commander was a slim young gentleman of twentj'-six, about whom there was likewise a history, if one would take the trouble to inquire. Pie was a Bavarian b)' birtli (his mother being an English lady), and enjoyed along with a dozen other brothers the title of count : eleven of these, of course, were penniless ; one or two were priests, one a monk, six or seven in various military services, and the elder at home at Schloss Galgenstein breeding horses, hunting wild boars, swindling tenants, living in a great house with small means ; obliged to be sordid at home all the j-ear, to be splendid for a month at the capital, as is the waj' with many other noblemen/ Our young count. Count Gustavus Adolphus Maximilian von Galgenstein, had been in the service of the French, as page to a nobleman; then of his Majest3^'s gardes du corps ; then a lieu- tenant and captain in the Bavarian service ; and when, after the battle of Blenheim, two regiments of Germans came over to the winning side, Gustavus Adolphus Maximilian found himself among them ; and at the epoch when this storj^ commences, had enjoyed English pa)- for a 3'ear or more. It is unnecessary to saj' how he exchanged into his present regiiBcnt ; how it appeared that, before her marriage, handsome John Churchill had known the 3'oung gentleman's mother, when they were both penniless hangers-on at Charles the Second's court ; — it is, we say, quite CATHERINE: A STORY. 263 useless to repeat all the scandal of which we are perfecth' masters, and to trace step by step the events of his history. Here, however, was Gustavus Adolphus, in a small inn, in a small village of Warwickshii'e, on an autumn evening in the year 1705 ; and at tlie very moment when this history begins, he and Mr. Brock, his corporal and friend, were seated at a round table before the kitchen fire, while a small groom of the estab- lishment was leading up and down on the village green, before the inn door, two black, glossy, long-tailed, barrel-bellied, thick- flanked, arched-neck, Roman-nosed Flanders horses, which were the property of the two gentlemen now taking their ease at the " Bugle Inn." The two gentlemen were seated at their ease at the inn table, drinking mountain-wine ; and if the reader fancies from the sketch which we have given of their lives, or from his own blindness and belief in the perfectibility' of human nature, that the sun of that autumn evening shone upon anj' two men in count}- or city, at*' desk or harvest, at court or at New- gate, drunk or sober, "who were greater rascals than Count Gustavus Galgenstein and Corporal Peter Brock, he is egre- giouslj' mistaken, and his knowledge of human nature is not worth a fig. If they had not been two prominent scoundrels, what earthly business should we have in detailing their histories ? What would the public care for them? Who would meddle with dull virtue, humdrum sentiment, or stupid innocence, when vice, agreeable vice, is the only thing which the readers of romances care to hear ? The little hor'^e-boy, who was leading the two black Flanders horses up and down the green, might have put them in the stable for an^' good that the horses got by the gentle exercise which they were now taking in the cool evening air, as their owners had not ridden very far or very hard, and there was not a hair turned of their sleek shining coats ; but the lad had been especially- ordered so to walk the horses about until he received furtlier commands from the gentlemen reposing in the "Bugle" kitchen ; and the idlers of the village seemed so pleased with the beasts, and their smart saddles and shining bridles, that it would have been a pit}- to deprive them of the pleasure of contemplating such an innocent spectacle. Over the Count's horse was thrown a fine red cloth, richly embroidered in 3-ellow worsted, a very large count's coronet and a cipher at the four corners of the covering ; and under this might be seen a pair of gorgeous silver stirrups, and above it, a couple of silver-mounted pistols repos- ing in bearskin holsters ; the bit was silver too, and the horse's head was decorated with many smart ribbons. Of the Cor- 264 CATHERINE: A STORY. poral's steed, suffice it to say, that the oi'naments were in brass, as bright, though not perliaps so vakiable, as those which deco- rated the Captain's animal. The bo3's, who had been at play on the green, first paused and entered into conversation with the horse-bo3' ; then the village matrons followed ; and after- wards, sauntering by ones and twos, came the village maidens, who love soldiers as flies love treacle ; presentl}^ the males began to arrive, and lo ! the parson of the parish, taking his evening walk with Mrs. Uobbs, and the four children his off- spring, at length joined himself to his flock. To this audience the little ostler explained that the animals belonged to two gentlemen now reposing at the " Bugle : " one 3'oung with gold hair, the other old with grizzled locks ; both in red coats ; both in jack-boots ; putting the house into a bustle, and calling for the best. He then discoursed to some of his own companions regarding the merits of the horses ; and the parson, a learned man, explained to the villagers, that one of the travel- lers must be a count, or at least had a count's horse-cloth ; pro- nounced that the stirrups were of real silver, and checked the impetuosity of his son, William Nassau Dobbs, who was for mounting the animals, and who expressed a longing to fire off one of the pistols in the holsters. As this family discussion was taking place, the gentlemen whose appearance had created so much attention came to the door of the inn, and the elder and stouter was seen to smile at his companion ; after which he strolled leisurely over the green, and'seemed to examine with much benevolent satisfaction the assemblage of villagers who were staring at him and the quad- rupeds. Mr. Brock, when he saw the parson's band and cassock, took off" his beaver reverently, and saluted the divine : "I hope _your reverence won't balk the little fellow," said he ; "I think I heard him calling out for a ride, and whether he should like my horse, or his lordship's horse, I am sure it is all one. Don't - be afraid, sir! the horses are not tired; we liave only come seventy mile to-day, and Prince Eugene once rode a matter of fifty-two leagues (a hundred and fifty miles), sir, upon that horse, between sunrise and sunset." "Gracious powers! on which horse?" said Doctor Dobbs, ver}' solemnl3\ "On this, sir, — on mine. Corporal Brock of Cutts's black gelding, 'William of Nassau.' The Prince, sir, gave it me after Blenheim fight, for I had m}' own legs carried away bj' a CATHERINE: A STORY. 265 cannon-ball, just as I cut down two of Sanerkrauter's regiment, who had made the Prince prisoner." " Your own legs, sir ! " said the Doctor. " Gracious good- ness ! this is more and more astonishing ! " " No, no, not my own legs, m}" horse's I mean, sir ; and the Prince' gave me ' William of Nassau' that very da}'." To this no direct reply was made ; but the Doctor looked at Mrs. Dobbs, and Mrs. Dobbs and the rest of the children at her eldest son, who grinned and said, "Isn't it wonderful?" The Corporal to this answered nothing, but, resuming his account, pointed to the other horse and said, " That horse, sir — good as mine is — that horse, with the silver stirrups, is his Excel- lency's hoi'se, Captain Count Maximilian Gustavus Adolphus von Galgenstein, captain of horse and of the Holy Roman empire" (he lifted here his hat with much gravit}-, and all the crowd, even to the parson, did likewise). " AYe call him ' George of Denmark,' sir, in compliment to her Majesty's hus- band : he is Blenheim too, sir ; Marshal Tallard rode him on that day, and you know how he was taken prisoner by the Count." " George of Denmark, Marshal Tallard, William of Nassau ! this is strange indeed, most wonderful ! Wh}', sir, little are you aware that there are before you, at this moment, two other living beings who bear these venerated names ! My boys, stand for- ward ! Look here, sir : these children have been respectivel}' named after our late sovereign and the husband of our present Queen." "And very good names too, sir; aj, and very noble little fellows too ; and I propose that, with your reverence and your ladyship's leave, AVilliam Nassau here shall ride on George of Denmark, and George of Denmark shall ride on William of Nassau." When this speech of the Corporal's was made, the whole crowd set up a loyal hurrah ; and, with much gravity, the two little boys were lifted up into the saddles ; and the Corporal leading one, entrusted the other to the horse-boy, and so to- gether marched stately up and down the green. The popularity wliich Mr. Brock gained by this manoeuvre was very great ; but with regard to the names of the horses and children, which coincided so extraordinaril}-, it is but fair to state, that the christening of the quadrupeds had onlj' taken place about two minutes before the dragoon's appearance on the green. For if the fact must be confessed, he, while seated near the inn window, had kept a pretty wistful eye upon all '2QQ CATHERINE: A STORY. going on without ; and the horses marching thus to and fro for the wonderment of the village, were onl}' placards or advertise- ments for the riders. There was, besides the boy now occupied with the horses, and the landlord and landlady- of the " Bugle Inn," another person connected with that establishment — a very smart,'hand- some, vain, giggling servant-girl, about the age of sixteen, who went by the familiar name of Cat, and attended upon the gen- tlemen in the parlor, while the landlady was employed in cook- ing their supper in the kitchen. TThis young person had been educated in the village poor-house, and having been pronounced by Doctor Dobbs and the schoolmaster the idlest, dirtiest, and most passionate little minx with whom either had ever had to do, she was, after receiving a very small portion of literar^^ instruction (indeed it must be stated that the young lady did not know her letters), bound apprentice at the age of nine 3xars to Mrs. Score, her relative, and landlady of the "Bugle Inn." If Miss Cat, or Catherine Hall, was a slattern and a minx. Mrs. Score was a far superior shrew ; and for seven years of her apprenticeship, the girl was completely at her mistress's mercy. Yet though wondrously stingy, jealous, and violent, while her maid was idle and extravagant, and her husband seemed to abet the girl, Mrs. Score put up with the wench's airs, idleness, and caprices, without ever wishing to dismiss her from the "Bugle." The fact is, that Miss Catherine was a great beauty ; and for about two years, since her fame had be- gun to spread, the custom of the inn had also increased vastly. When there was a debate whether the farmers, on their way from market, would take t'other pot, Catherine, by appearing with it, would straightway cause the liquor to be swallowed and paid for; and when the traveller who proposed riding that night and sleeping at Coventry or Birmingham, was asked by Miss Catherine whether he would like a fire in his bedroom, he generally was induced to occupy it, although he" might before have vowed to Mrs. Score that he would not for a thousand guineas be absent from home that night. The girl, had, too, half a dozen lovers in the village ; and these were bound in honor to spend their pence at the alehouse she inhabited. O woman, lovely woman ! what strong resolves canst thou, twist round thy little finger! what gunpowder passions canst thou kindle with a single sparkle of thine eye ! what lies and fribble nonsense canst thou make us listen to, as they were gospel truth or splendid wit ! above all, what bad liquor canst thou Mrs. Catherine's Temptation. CATHERINE: A STORY. 267 make us swallow when thou puttest a kiss within the cup — and we are content to call the poison wine ! The mountain-wine at the " Bugle" was, in fact, execrable ; but Mrs. Cat, who served it to the two soldiers, made it so agreeable to them, that the}' found it a passable, even a pleas- ant task, to swallow the contents of a second bottle. Tlie miracle had been wrought instantaneousl}^ on her appearance : for whereas at that very moment the C'ount was emplo3ed in cursing the wine, the landlady, the wine-grower, and the Eng- lish nation generally, when the 3'oung woman entered and (choosing so to interpret the oaths) said, " Coming, your honor ; I think 3"our honor called" — Gustavus Adolphus whistled, stared at her \evy hard, and seeming quite dumb-stricken by her appearance, contented himself b}' swallowing a whole glass of mountain by way of reply. Mr. Brock was, however, bj- no means so confounded as his captain : he was thirty' years older than the latter, and in the course of fift}' 3'ears of military life had learned to look on the most dangerous enem}', or the most beautiful woman, with the like daring, devil-ma3'-care determination to conquer. " My dear Mary," then said that gentleman, "his honor is a lord ; as good as a lord, that is ; for all he allows such humble fellows as I am to drink with him." Catherine dropped a low curtsy, and said, "Well, I don't know if you are joking a poor country girl, as all _you soldier gentlemen do ; but his honor looks like a lord : though I never see one, to be sure." " Then," said the Captain, gathering courage, " how do 3'ou know I look like one, pretty Mary ? " " Pretty Catherine : I mean Catherine, if you please, sir." Here Mr. Brock burst into a roar of laughter, and shouting with many oaths that she was right at first, invited her to give him what he called a buss. Prett}' Catherine turned away from him at this request, and muttered something about "Keep your distance, low fellow! Duss indeed ! poor country girl," &c. &c., placing herself, as if for protection, on the sicle of the Captain. That gentleman looked also ver}- angr}- ; but whether at the sight of innocence so outraged, or the insolence of the Corporal for daring to help himself first, we cannot say. " Hark ye, Mr. Brock," he cried ver}- fiercel}', "I will suffer no such liberties in my presence: remember, it is only my condescension which permits you to share my bottle in this way ; take care I don't give 30A1 instead a taste of m3' cane." So sa3'ing, he, in a protecting manner, 268 CATHERINE: A STORY. placed one hand round Mrs. Catherine's waist, holding the other clenched very near to the Corporal's nose. Mrs. Catherine, for her share of this action of the Count's, di'opped another curts}', and said, '' Thank 3'ou, m}^ lord." But Galgenstein's threat did not appear to make any impression on Mr. Brock, as indeed there was no reason that it should ; for the Corporal, at a combat of fisticuffs, could have pounded his commander into a jelly in ten minutes : so he contented him- self by saying : " Well, noble Captain, there's no harm done ; it is an honor for poor old Peter Brock to be at table with you, and I am sorry sure enough." " In truth, Peter, I believe thou art ; thou hast good reason, eh, Peter? But never fear, man; had I struck thee, I never would have hurt thee." "I know you would not," replied Brock, laying his hand on his heart with much gravity ; and so peace was made, and healths were drank. Miss Catherine condescended to put her lips to the Captain's glass ; who swore that the wine was thus converted into nectar ; and although the giii had not previously heard of that liquor, she received the compliment as a compli- ment, and smiled and simpered in return. The poor thing had never before seen anybody so handsome, or so finely dressed as the Count ; and, in the simplicity of her coquetry, allowed her satisfaction to be quite visil)le. Nothing could be more clums}' than the gentleman's mode of compli- menting her ; but for this, perhaps, his speeches were more ef- fective than others more delicate would have been ; and tliough she said to each, "Oh, now, my lord," and "La, Captain, how can you flatter one so ? " and ' ' Your honor's laughing at me," and made such polite speeches as are used on these occa- sions, it was manifest from the flutter and blush, and the grin of satisfaction which lighted up the buxom features of the little eountr}^ beauty, that the Count's first operations had been highly successful. When following up his attack, he produced from his neck a small locket (which had been given him b}^ a Dutch lady at the Brill) , and begged Miss Catherine to wear it for his sake, and chucked her under the chin and called her his little rosebud, it was pretty clear how things would go : anybody who could see the expression of Mr. Brock's countenance at this event might judge of the progress of the irresistible High-Dutch conqueror. Being of a very vain, communicative turn, our fair barmaid gave her two companions not onl}^ a pretty- long account of her- self, but of many other persons in the village, whom she could CATHERINE: A STORY. 269 perceive from the window opposite to which she stood. " Yes, 3^our lionor," said she — " my lord, I mean ; sixteen last March, though tliere's many a girl in the village that at my age is quite cliits. There's Polly Randall, now, that red-haired girl along with Thomas Curtis : she's seventeen if she's a day, though he is the very first sweetheart she has had. Well, as I am saying, I was bred up here in the village — father and mother died very young, and I was left a poor orphan — well, bless us ! if Thom- as haven't kissed her! — to the care of Mrs. Score, my aunt, who has been a mother to me — a step-mother, j'ou know; — and I've been to Stratford fair, and to Warwick many a time ; and there's two people who have offered to marry me, and ever so manj- who want to, and I won't have none — only a gentleman, as I've alwa3's said ; not a poor clodpole, like Tom there with the red waistcoat (he was one that asked me) , nor a drunken fellow like Sam Blacksmith jonder, him whose wife has got the black eye, but a real gentleman, like — " "Like whom, my dear?" said the Captain, encouraged. "La, sir, how can 3-ou? why, like our squire, Sir John, who rides in such a mortal fine gold coach ; or, at least, like the par- son, Doctor Dobbs — that's he in the black gown, walking with Madam Dobbs in red." " And are those his children?" "Yes: two girls and two boys; and only think, he calls one William Nassau, and one George Denmark — isn't it odd ? " And from the parson, Mrs. Catherine went on to speak of sev- eral humble personages of the village community, who, as they are not necessary to our story, need not be described at full length. It was when, from the window. Corporal Brock saw the altercation between the worthy divine and his son, respect- ing the latter's ride, that he judged it a fitting time to step out on the green, and to bestow on the two horses those ftimous his- torical names which we have just heard applied to them. Mr. Brock's diplomacy was, as we have stated, quite suc- cessful ; for, when the parson's boys had ridden and retired along with their mamma and papa, other young gentlemen of humbler rank in the village were placed upon "George of Den- mark" and "William of Nassau;" the Corporal joking and laughing with all the grown-up people. The women, in spite of Mr. Brock's age, his red nose, and a certain squint of his eye, vowed the Corporal was a jewel of a man ; and among the men his popularit}' was equally great. " How much dost thee get, Thomas Clodpole?" said Mr. Brock to a countryman (he was the man whom Mrs. Catherine 270 ^ CATHERINE: A STORY. had described as her suitor) , who had laughed loudest at some of his jokes : " how much dost thee get for a week's work now ? " Mr. Clodpole, whose name was really BuUock, stated that his wages amounted to " three shillings and a puddn." ' ' Three shillings and a puddn ! — monstrous ! — and for this you toil like a galley-slave, as I have seen them in Turkey and America, — ay, gentlemen, and in the countr^^ of Frester John ! You shiver out of bed on icy winter mornings, to break the ice for Ball and Dapple to drink." " Yes, indeed," said the person addressed, who seemed as- tounded at the extent of the Corporal's information. " Or 3'ou clean pigsty, and take dung down to meadow ; or you act watchdog and tend sheep ; or you sweep a scythe over a great field of grass ; and when the sun has scorched the eyes out of your head, and sweated the flesh out of your bones, and wellnigh fried the soul out of your body, you go home, to what? — three shillings a week and a puddn ! Do you get pudding ever}' da}' ? " "No; only Sundays." ' ' Do j-ou get money enough ? " " No, sure." ' ' Do 3'ou get beer enough ? " "Oh no, NEVER ! " said Mr. Bullock quite resolutely. "Worthy Clodpole, give us thy hand: it shall have beer enough this day, or my name's not Corporal Brock. Here's the money, bo}' ! there are twenty pieces in this purse : and how do you think I got 'em ? and how do 3'ou think I sliall get others when these are gone? — by serving her sacred Majesty to be sure : long life to her, and down with the French King ! " Bullock, a few of the men, and two or three of the boj's, piped out an hurrah, in compliment to this speech of the Cor- poral's : but it was remarked that the greater part of the crowd drew back — the women whispering ominously to them and looking at the Corporal. " I see, ladies, what it is," said he. " You are frightened, and think I am a crimp come to steal your sweethearts away. What! call Peter Brock a double-dealer? I tell you what, bo3^s. Jack Churchill himself has shaken this hand, and drunk a pot with me : do you think he'd shake hands with a rogue ? Here's Tummas Clodpole has never had beer enough, and here am I will stand treat to him and an}- other gentleman ; am I good enough company for him? I have money, look 30U, and like to spend it : what should / be doing dirty actions for — hay, Tummas?" CATHERINE: A STORY. 271 A satisfactory reply to this query was not, of course, ex- pected by tlie Corporal nor uttered by Mr. Bullock ; and the end of the dispute was, that he and three or four of the rustic bystanders were quite convinced of the good intentions of their new friend, and accompanied him back to the " Bugle," to regale upon the promised beer. Among the Corporal's guests was one young fellow whose dress would show that he was somewhat better to do in the world than Clodpole and the rest of the sunburnt ragged troop, who were marching towards the alehouse. This man was the only one of his hearers who, per- haps, was sceptical as to the truth of his stories ; but as soon as Bullock accepted the invitation to drink, John Ha3'es, the carpenter (for such was his name and profession), said, " Well, Thomas, if thou goest, I will go too." •'I know thee wilt," said Thomas: " thou'lt goo anj-where Catty Hall is, provided thou canst goo for nothing." " Nay, I have a penny to spend as good as the Corporal here." " A penny to heep^ you mean : for all j'our love for the lass at the 'Bugle,' did thee ever spend a shilling in the house? Thee wouldn't go now, but that I am going too, and the Cap- tain here stands treat." " Come, come, gentlemen, no quarrelling," said Mr. Brock. " If this pretty fellow will join us, amen say I: there's lots of liquor, and plenty of money to pay the score. Comrade Tum- mas, give us th}' arm. Mr. Ha^-es, you're a hearty cock, I make no doubt, and all such are welcome. Come along, m}' gentleman farmers, Mr. Brock shall have the honor to pay for ^on all." And with this, Corporal Brock, accompanied b}^ Messrs. Haj-es, Bullock, Blacksmith, Baker's-boy, Butcher, and one or two others, adjourned to the inn ; the horses being, at the same time, conducted to the stable. Although we have, in this quiet way, and without any flour- ishing of trumpets, or beginning of chapters, introduced Mr. Hayes to the public ; and although, at first sight, a sneaking carpenter's boy may seem hardly worthy of the notice of au intelligent reader, who looks for a good cut-throat or highway- man for a hero, or a pickpocket at the very least : this gentle- man's words and actions should be carefully studied by the public, as he is destined to appear before them under very polite and curious circumstances during the course of this his- tory. The speech of the rustic Juvenal, Mr. Clodpole, had seemed to infer that Hayes was at once careful of his money and a warm admirer of Mrs. Catherine of the " Bugle : " and 272 CATHERINE: A STORY. both the charges were perfectly true. Hayes's father was re- ported to be a inau of some substance ; and 3'oung John, who was performing his apprenticeship in tlie village, did not fail to talk very big of his pretensions to fortune — of his entering, at the close of his indentures, into partnership with his father — and of the comfortable farm and house over which Mrs. John Hayes, whoever she might be, would one day pi-eside. Thus, next to the barber and butcher, and above even his Own master, Mr. Hayes took rank in the village : and it must not be con- cealed that his representation of wealth had made some im- pression upon Mrs. Hall, towards whom the 3"oung gentleman had cast the eyes of affection. If he had been tolerably well- looking, and not pale, rickety, and feeble as he was ; if even he had been ugly, but withal a man of spirit, it is probable the girl's kindness for him would have been ipuch more decided. But he was a poor weak creature, not to compare with honest Thomas Bullock, by at least nine inches ; and so notoriously timid, selfish, and stingy, that there was a kind of shame in receiving his addresses openly ; and what encoui'agement Mrs. Catherine gave him could onl}^ be in secret. But no mortal is wise at all times : and the fact was, that Hayes, who cared for himself intensely, had set his heart upon winning Catherine ; and loved her with a desperate, greedy eagerness and desire of possession, which makes passions for women often so fierce and unreasonable among veiy cold and selfish men. His parents (whose frugality he had inherited) had tried in vain to wean him from this passion, and had made many fruitless attempts to engage him with women who pos- sessed money and desired husbands : but Hayes was, for a wonder, quite proof against their attractions ; and, though quite readv to acknowledge the absurdity of his love for a penni- less alehouse servant-girl, nevertheless persisted in it doggedly. " I know I'm a fool," said he ; " and what's more, the girl does not care for me ; but marry her I must, or I think I shall just die : and marry her I will." For very much to the credit of Miss Catherine's modesty, she had declared that marriage was with her a sine qua non^ and had dismissed, with the loudest scorn and indignation, all propositions of a less proper nature. Poor Thomas Bullock was another of her admirers, and had offered to marr^' her; but three shillings a week and a puddn was not to the girl's taste, and Thomas had been scornfuU}' rejected. Hayes had also made her a direct proposal. Cathe- rine did not say no : she was too prudent : but she was .young and could wait ; she did not care for Mr. Hayes yet enough to CATHERINE: A STORY. 273 marry him — (it did not seem, indeed, in the 3'oung woman's nature to care for anybod}' ) — and she gave her adorer flatter- ingly to understand that, if nobody better appeared in the course of a few years, she might be induced to become Mrs. Hayes. It was a dismal prospect for the poor fellow to live upon the hope of being one day Mrs. Catherine's pis-aller. In the meantime she considered herself free as the. wind, and permitted herself all the innocent gayeties which that " chartered libertine," a coquette, can take. She flirted with all the bachelors, widowers, and married men, in a manner which did extraordinary credit to her years : and let not the reader fanc}' such pastimes unnatural at her early age. The ladies — heaven bless them ! — are, as a general rule, coquettes from babyhood upwards. Little she's of three years old play little airs and graces upon small heroes of five ; simpering misses of nine make attacks upon young gentlemen of twelve ; and at sixteen, a well-grown girl, under encouraging circum- stances, — say, she is pretty, in a family of ugly elder sisters, • or an only child and heiress, or an humble wench at a country inn, like our fair Catherine — is at the very pink and prime of her coquetry : they will jilt 30U at that age with an ease and arch infantine simplicity that never can be surpassed in ma- turer j-ears. Miss Catherine, then, was a franche coquette, and Mr. John Haj^es was miserable. His life was passed in a storm of mean passions and bitter jealousies, and desperate attacks upon the indiflfereuce-rock of Mrs. Catherine's heart, which not all his tempest of love could beat down. O cruel, cruel pangs of love uni'equited ! Mean rogues feel them as well as great heroes. Lives there the man in Europe who has not felt tliem many times? — who has not knelt, and fawned, and supplicated, and wept, and cursed, and raved, all in vain ; and passed long wakeful nights with ghosts of dead hopes for company ; shadows of buried remembrances that glide out of their graves of nights, and whisper, "We are dead now, but we were once; and we made 30U happ}', and we come now to mock .you: — despair, O lover, despair, and die?" — O cruel pangs! dismal nights! — Now a si}' demon creeps under your nightcap, and drops into your ear those soft, hope-breathing, sweet words, uttered on the well-remembered evening : there, in the drawer of .your dressing-table (along with the razors, and Macassar oil), lies the dead flower that Lady Amelia Wilhelmina wore in her bosom on the night of a certain ball — the corpse of a glorious hope that seemed once as if it would live for ever, so strong 43 274 CATHERINE: A STORY. was it, so full of jo3^ and sunshine : there, in your writing-desk, among a crowd of unpaid bills, is the dirty scrap of paper, thimble-sealed, which came in company' with a pair of niufl'etees of her knitting (she was a butcher's daughter, and did all she could, poor thing!), begging "you would ware them at col- Kdge, and think of her who" — married a pubhc-house three weeks afterwards, and cares for 3:ou no more now than she does for the pot-boy. But why multiply instances, or seek to depict the agony of poor, mean-spirited John Hayes? No mistake can be greater than that of fancying such great emo- tions of love are only felt by virtuous or exalted men : depend upon it. Love, like Death, plays havoc among the panperum f.abernas, and sports with rich and poor, wicked and virtuous, alike. I have often fancied, for instance, on seeing the hag- gard, pale young old-clothesman, who wakes the echoes of our street with his nasal cry of "Clo'!" — I have often, I said, fancied that, besides the load of exuvial coats and breeches under which he staggers, there is another weight on him — an atrior cura at his tail — and while his unshorn lips and nose together are performing that mocking, boisterous, Jack-indif- ferent cry of "Clo', clo'!" who knows what woful utterances are crying from the heart within ? There he is chaffering with the footman at No. 7, about an old dressing-gown ; 3'ou think his Vv'hole soul is bent only on the contest about the garment. Psha ! there is, perhaps, some faithless girl in Holywell Stieet Avho fills up his heart ; and that desultory Jew-boy is a peripa- tetic hell ! Take another instance : — take the man in the beef- shop in Saint Martin's Court. There he is, to all appearances quite calm : before the same round of beef — from morning till sundown — for hundreds of years very likely. Perhaps when the shutters are closed, and all the world tired and silent, there is HE silent, but untired — cutting, cutting, cutting. You enter, yoii get your meat to j^our liking, you depart; and, quite un- moved, on, on he goes, reaping ceaselessly the Great Harvest of Beef. You would fancy that if Passion ever failed to conquer, it had in vain assailed the calm bosom of that man. I doubt it, and would give much to know his history. Who knows what furious iEtna-fiames are raging underneath the surface of that calm flesh-mountain — who can tell me that that calmness itself is not despair ? The reader, if he does not now understand why it was that Mr. Haj-es agreed to drink the Corporal's proflTered beer, had CATHERINE: A STORY. 275 better just read the foregoing remarks over again, and if he does not understand then^ vvlij, small praise to his brains. Hayes could not bear that Mr. Bullock should have a chance of seeing, and perhaps making love to Mrs. Catherine in his absence ; and though the 3'oung woman never diminished her coquetries, but, on the contrary, rather increased them in his presence, it was still a kind of dismal satisfaction to be miser- able in her company. On this occasion, the disconsolate lover could be wretched to his heart's content ; for Catherine had not a word or a look for him, but bestowed all her smiles upon the handsome stranger who owned the black horse. As for poor Tummas Bullock, his passion was never violent ; and he was content in the present instance to sigh and drink beer. He sighed and drank, sighed and drank, and drank again, until he had swallowed so much of the Corporal's liquor, as to be induced to accept a guinea from his purse also ; and found himself, on returning to reason and sobriety, a soldier of Queen Anne's. But oh ! fanc3^ the agonies of Mr. Haj'es when, seated with the Corporal's friends at one end of the kitchen, he saw the. Captain at the place of honor, and the smiles which the fair maid bestowed upon him ; when, as she lightly whisked past him with the Captain's supper, she, pointing to the locket that once reposed on the breast of the Dutch lady at the Brill, looked archl}' on Ha3'es and said, "See, John, what his lord- ship has given me ; " and when John's face became gi'een and purple with rage and jealousy, Mrs. Catherine laughed ten times louder, and cried, "Coming, m}' lord," in a voice of shrill triumph, that bored through the soul of Mr. John Hayes and left him gasping for breath. On Catherine's other lover, Mr. Thomas, this coquetry' had no effect : he, and two comrades of his, had by this time quite fallen under the spell of the Corporal ; and hope, glor}-, strong beer. Prince Eugene, pairs of colors, more strong beer, her blessed Majest}', plenty more strong beer, and such subjects, martial and bacchic, whirled through their dizzy brains at a rail- road pace. And now, if there had been a couple of experienced reporters present at the " Bugle Inn," the}^ might have taken down a conversation on love and war — the two themes discussed by the two parties occupying the kitchen — which, as the parts were sung together, duetwise, formed together some very curious harmonies. Thus, while the Captain was whispering the softest nothings the Corporal was shouting the fiercest combats of the 276 CATHEKINE: A STORY. war ; and, like the gentleman at Penelope's table, on it exiguo pinxit prcelta tola beio. For example : — Captain. — " What do you say to a silver trimming, pretty Catherine? Don't you think a scarlet riding-eloak, handsomely laced, would become you wonderfully well? — and a gray hat with a blue feather — and a pretty nag to ride on — and all the soldiers to present arms as you pass, and say, There goes the Captain's lad}'? What do you thiiik of a side-box at ' Lincoln's Inn ' playhouse, or of standing up to a minuet with my Lord Marquis at ? " Corporal. — " The ball, sir, ran right up his elbow, and was found the next da}' by Surgeon Splinter of ours, — where do 3'ou think, sir? — upon my honor as a gentleman it came out of the nape of the neck of his — " Captain. — " Necklace — and a sweet pair of diamond ear- rings, mayhap — and a little shower of patches, which ornament a lady's face~wondrously — and a leetle rouge — though, egad! such peach-cheeks as 3'ours don't want it ; — fie ! Mrs. Cather- ine, 1 should think the birds must come and peck at them as if the}' were fruit — " Corporal. — "Over the wall; and three-and-twenty of our fellows jumped after me. By the Pope of Rome, friend Tum- mas, that was a day ! — Had you seen how the Mounseers looked when four-and-twenty rampaging he-devils, sword and pistol, cut and thrust, pell-mell came tumbling into the redoubt ! Why, sir, we left in three minutes as many artillerymen's heads as there were cannon-balls. It was, ' Ah sacre ! ' ' D you, take that ! ' ' O mon Dieu ! ' run him through. ' Ventrebleu I ' and it was ventrebleu with him, I warrant you : for bleii^ in the French language, means ' through ; ' and ventre — why you see, ventre means — " Captain. — " Waists, which are worn now excessive long ; — and for the hoops, if you could but see them — stap my vitals, my dear, but there was a lady at Warwick's Assembly (she came in one of my lord's coaches) who had a hoop as big as a tent : you might have dined under it comfortably ; — ha ! ha ! 'pon my faith, now — " Corporal. — "And there we found the Duke of Marl- borough seated along with Marshal Tallard, who was endeav- oring to drown his sorrow over a cup of Johannisberger wine ; and a good drink too, my lads, only not to compare to War- wick beer. ' Who was the man who has done this ? ' said our noble General. I stepped up. ' How many heads was it,' says he, ' that you cut off ? ' ' Nineteen,' says I, ' besides CATHERINE: A STORY. 277 wounding several.' When he heard it (Mr. Ha^es, you don't drink) I'm blest if he didn't burst into tears! 'Noble, noble fellow,' says he. ' Marshal, jou must excuse me, if I am pleased to hear of the destruction of 30ur countrymen. Noble, noble fellow ! — here's a hundred guineas for you.' Which sum he placed in my hand. ' Nay,' says the Marshal, ' the man has done his dut}' : ' and pulling out a magnificent gold diamond- hilted snuff-box, he gave me-»-" Mr. Bullock. — "What, a goold snuff-box? Wauns, but thee wast in luck, Corporal ! " — Corporal. — " No, not the snuff-box, but — a pinch of snuff ^ — ha ! ha ! — run me through the bod}' if he didn't ! Could you but have seen the smile on Jack Churchill's grave face at this piece of generosity ! So, beckoning Colonel Cadogan up to him, he pinched his ear and whispered — " Captain. — " ' May I have the honor to dance a minuet with 3^our ladyship ? ' The whole room was in titters at Jack's blun- der ; for, as you know ver}-^ well, poor Lady Susan has a wooden leg. Ha ! ha ! fancy a minuet and a wooden leg, hey, my dear? — " Mrs. Catherine. — " Giggle — giggle — giggle : he ! he ! he ! Oh, Captain, j'ou rogue, j'ou — " Second table. — "Haw! haw! haw! Well, 3-0U be a foony mon, sergeant, zure enoff." • ••••••• This little specimen of the conversation must be sufficient. It will show pretty clearlv that each of the two military com- manders was conducting his operations with perfect success. Three of the detachment of five attacked b}^ the Corporal sur- rendered to him : Mr. Bullock, namely, who gave in at a very earl}- stage of the evening, and ignominiously laid down his arms under the table, after standing not more than a dozen vollej-s of beer ; Mr. Blacksmith's boy,' and a laborer whose name we have not been able to learn. Mr. Butcher himself was on the point of yielding, when he was rescued b}- the furi- ous charge of a detachment that marched to his relief: his wife nameh', who, with two squalling children, rushed into the " Bugle," boxed Butcher's ears, and kept up such a tremen- dous fire of oaths and screams upon the Corporal, that he was obliged to retreat. Fixing then her claws into Mr. Butcher's hair, she proceeded to drag him out of the premises ; and thus Mr. Brock was overcome. His attack upon John Ha^-es was a still greater failure; for that young man seemed to be invin- cible by drink, if not b}' love : and at the end of the drinking- 278 CATHERINE : A STORY. bout was a great deal more cool than the Corporal himself; to whom he wished a very polite good-evening, as calmly he took his hat to depart. He turned to look at Catherine, to be sure, and then he was not quite so calm : but Catherine did not give any reply to his good night. She was seated at the Captain's table playing at cribbage with him ; and though Count Gustavus Maximilian lost every game, he won more than he lost, — sly fello\^! — and Mrs. Catherine was no match for him. It is to be presumed that Hayes gave some information to Mrs. Score, the landlady : for, on leaving the kitchen, he was seen to linger for a moment in the bar ; and very soon after Mrs. Catherine was called away from her afttendance on the Count, who, when he asked for a sack and toast, was furnished with those articles by the landlady herself: and, during the half-hour in which he was emplo^'ed in consuming this drink. Monsieur de Galgenstein looked very much disturbed and out of humor, and cast his e^-es to the door perpetually ; but no Catherine came. At last, verj^ sulkily, he desired to be shown to bed, and walked as well as he could (for, to say truth, the noble Count was by this time somewhat unsteady on his legs) to his chamber. It was Mrs. Score who showed him to it, and closed the curtains, and pointed triumphantly to the white- ness of the sheets. " It's a -sery comfortable room," said she, " though not the best in the house ; which belong of right to 3'our lordship's worship; but our best room has two beds, and Mr. Corporal is in that, locked and double-locked, with his three tipsy recruits. But your honor will find this here bed comfortable and well-aired ; I've slept in it myself this eighteen 3'ears." "What, m^^ good woman, j^ou are going to sit up, eh? It's cruel hard on 3'ou, madam." "Sit up, my lord? bless you, no! I shall have half of our Cat's bed ; as I always do when there's company." And with this Mrs. Score curtsied and retired. Very early the next morning the active landlady and her bustling attendant had prepared the ale and bacon for the Corporal and his three converts, and had set a nice white cloth for the Captain's breakfast. The young blacksmith did not eat with much satisfaction ; but Mr. Bullock and his friend betrayed no sign of disconf;ent, except such as may be consequent upon an evening's carouse. They walked very contentedly to be registered before Doctor Dobbs, who was CATHERINE: A STORY. 279 also justice of the peace, and went in search of their slender bundles, and took leave of their few acquaintances without much regret : for the gentlemen had been bred in the work- house, and had not, therefore, a, large circle of friends. It wanted only an hour of noon, and the noble Count had not descended. The men were waiting for him, and spent much of the Queen's money (earned by the sale of their bodies overnight) while thus expecting him. Perhaps Mrs. Catherine expected him too, for she had offered many times to run up — with my lord's boots — with the hot water —> to sliow Mr. Brock the way ; who sometimes condescended to officiate as barber. But on all these occasions Mrs. Score had prevented her ; not scolding, but with much gentleness and smiling. At last, more gentle and smiUng than ever, she came down stairs and said, " Catherine, darling, his honor the Count is might}- hungry this morning, and vows he could pick the wing of a fowl. Run down, child, to Farmer Brigg's and get one : pluck it before you bring it, you know, and we will make his lordship a prett}' breakfast." Catherine took up her basket and away she went by the back-yard, through the stables. There she heard the little horse-bo}' whistling and hissing after the manner of horse- boj's ; and there she learned that Mrs. Score had been invent- ing an ingenious story to have her out of the way. The ostler said he was just going to lead the two horses round to the door. The Corporal had been, and they were about to start on the instant for Stratford. The fact was that Count Gustavus Adolphus, far from wishing to pick the wing of a fowl, had risen with a horror and loathing for ever^-thing in the shape of food, and for any liquor stronger than small beer. Of this he had drunk a cup, and said he should ride immediately to Stratford ; and when, on ordering his horses, he had asked politel^^ of the landlady '• why the d she always came up, and why she did not send the girl," Mrs. Score informed the Count that her Cath- erine was gone out for a walk along with the young man to whom she was to be married, and would not be visible that day. On hearing tliis the Captain ordered his horses that mo- ment, and abused the wine, the bed, the house, the landlady, and everything connected with the " Bugle Inn." Out tlie horses came : the little boys of the village gathered round ; tlie recruits, with bunches of ribbons in their beavers, appeared presently ; Corporal Brock came swaggering out, and, slapping tht^ pleased blacksmith on the back, bade him mount 280 CATHERINE: A STORY. his horse ; while the boys hurrahed. Then the Captain came out, gloomy and majestic ; to him Mr. Brock made a military salute, which clumsily, and with much grinning, the recruits imitated. "I shall walk on with these brave fellows, 3'our honor, and meet you at Stratford," said the Corporal. " Good," said the Captain, as he mounted. The landladj- curtsied ; the children hurrah'd more ; the little horse-boy, who held the bridle with one hand and the stirrup with the other, and expected a crown-piece from such a noble gentleman, got only a kick and a curse, as Count von Galgenstein shouted, "D ^-ou all, get out of the way ! " and galloped off; and John Hayes, who had been sneaking about the inn all the morning, felt a weiglit off his heart when he saw the Captain ride off alone. O foolish Mrs. Score ! O dolt of a John Hayes ! If the lancllad}' had allowed the Captain and the maid to have their wa}-, and meet but for a minute before recruits, sergeant, and all, it is probable that no harm would have been done, and that this history would never have been written. When Count von Galgenstein had ridden half a mile on the Stratford road, looking as black and dismal as Napoleon gal- loping from the romantic village of Waterloo, he espied, a few score yards onwards, at the turn of the road, a certain ob- ject which caused him to check his horse suddenly, brought a tingling red into his cheeks, and made his heart to go thump — thump ! against his side. A young lass was sauntering slowly along the footpath, with a basket swinging from one hand, and a bunch of hedge-flowers in. the other. She stopped once or twice to add a fresh one to her nosegay, and might have seen him, the Captain thought ; but no, she never looked directl}' towards him, and still walked on. Sweet innocent ! she was singing as if none were near ; her voice went soaring up to the clear sky, and the Captain put his horse on the grass, that the sound of the hoofs miijht not disturb the music. 'S5' " Wlien the kine had given a pailful " — sang she, " Ami the slieep came bleating home, Poll, wlio knew it would be healthful, Went a-wa Iking out with Tom. Hand in hand, sir, on the land, sir, As they walked to and fro, V. Tom made jolly love to Polly, But was answered no, no, no." The Captain had put his horse on the grass, that the sound of Ms hoofs might not disturb the music ; and now he pushed its CATHERINE: A STORY. 281 head oa to the bank, where straightway " George of Denmark" began chewing of such a salad as grew there. And now the Captain sUd off stealthily ; and smiling comically, and hitching up his great jack-boots, and moving forward with a jerking tiptoe step, he, just as she was trilling the last o-o-o of the last no in the above poem of Tom D'Urfey, came up to her, and touching her lightly on the waist, said, " My dear, your very humble servant." Mrs. Catherine (you know you have found her out long ago !) gave a scream and a start, and would have turned pale if she could. As it was, she only shook all over, and said, "Oh, sir, how you did frighten me ! " " Frighten you, my rosebud ! why, run me through, I'd die rather than frighten you. Gad, child, tell me now, am I so venj frightful? " "Oh, no, your honor, I didn't mean that; only I wasn't thinking to meet 3'ou here, or that you would ride so early at all : for, if you please, sir, I was going to fetch a chicken for your lordship's breakfast, as my mistress said 30U would like one ; and I thought, instead of going to Farmer Brigg's down Birmingham way, as she told me, I'd go to Farmer Bird's, where the chickens is better, sir — my lord, I mean." " Said I'd like a chicken for breakfast, the old cat! why, I told her I would not eat a morsel to save me — I was so dru — , I mean I ate sucli a good supper last night — and I bade her to send me a pot of small beer, and to tell you to bring it ; and the wretch said 3"0U were gone out with your sweetheart — " "What! John Hayes, the creature? Oh, what a naught}' story-telling woman ! " " — You had walked out with your sweetheart, and I was not to see you any more ; and I was mad with rage, and ready to kill mj'self ; I was, m}' dear." " Oh, sir ! pray pray don't." " For your sake, my sweet angel?" " Yes, for my sake, if such a poor girl as me can persuade noble gentlemen." "Well, then, for your sake, I won't: no, I'll live ; but why live? Hell and fur}', if I do live I'm- miserable without you; 1 am, — 3'ou know I am, — you adorable, beautiful, cruel, wicked Catherine ! " Catherine's reply to this was " La, bless me ! I do believe your horse is running away." And so he was ; for having finished his meal in the hedge, he first looked towards his master and paused, as it were, irresolutely ; then, bj^ a sudden 282 CATHERINE: A STORY. impulse, flinging up his tail and his hind legs, he scampered down the road. Mrs. Hall ran lightly after the horse, and the Captain after Mrs. Hall ; and the horse ran quicker and (Quicker every mo- ment, and might have led them a long chase — when lo ! debouching from a twist in the road, came the detachment of cavalry and infantry under Mr. Brock. The moment he was out of sight of the village, that gentleman had desired the blacksmith to dismount, and had himself jumped into the sad- dle, maintaining the subordination of his army by drawing a pistol and swearing that he would blow out the brains of any person who attempted to run. When the Captain's horse came near the detachment he paused, and suffered himself to be caught by Tummas Bullock, who held him until the owner and Mrs. Catherine came up. Mr. Bullock looked comically grave when he saw the pair ; but the Corporal graciously saluted Mrs. Catherine, and said it was a fine da^^ for walking. "La, sir, and so it is," said she, panting jn a very pretty and distressing way, "but not for i-unniug. I do protest — ha ! — and vow that I really can scarcely stand. I'm so tired of running after that naughty, naughty horse ! " "How do, Cattern?" said Thomas. "Zee, I be going a zouldiering because thee wouldn't have me." And here Mr. Bullock grinned. Mrs. Catherine made no sort of reply, but protested once more she should die of running. If the truth were told, she was somewhat vexed at the arrival of the Cor- poral's detachment, and had had very serious thoughts of find- ing herself quite tired just as he came in sight. A sudden thought brought a smile of bright satisfaction in the Captain's eyes. He mounted the horse which Tummas still held. '•^ Tired, Mrs. Catherine," said he, "and for mj" sake? B3' heavens, 3'ou shan't walk a step farther! No, you shall ride back with a guard of honor ! Back to the village, gentlemen ! — rightabout face ! Show those fellows. Corporal, how to rightabout face. Now, my dear, mount behind me on Snowball ; he's easy as a sedan. Put 3'our dear little foot on the toe of my boot. There now, — up ! — jump ! hurrah ! " " That's not the way. Captain," shouted out luomas, still holding on to the rein as the horse began to move. "Thee woan't goo with him, will thee, Catt}'?" But Mrs. Catherine, though she turned away her' head, never let go her hold round the Captain's waist ; and he, swearing a tb'eadful oath at Thomas, struck him across the face and hands CATHERINE: A STORY. 283 with his riding-whip. Tlie poor fellow, who at the first cut still held on to the rein, dropped it at the second, and as the pair gal- loped off, sat down on the roadside and fair]}' began to weep. '•'March, you dog!" shouted out tlie Corporal a minute after. And so he did : and when next he saw Mrs. Catlierine slie was the Captain's lad^' sure enough, and wore a gray hat with a blue feather, and red riding-coat trimmed with silver- lace. But Thomas was then on a bare-backed horse, which Corporal Brock was flanking round a ring, and he was so occu- pied looking between his horse's ears that he had no time to crj- then, and at length got the better of his attachment. This being a good opportunity for closing Chapter I., we ought, perhaps, to make some apologies to the public for intro- ducing them to characters that are so utterly worthless ; as we confess all our heroes, with the exception of Mr. Bullock, to be. In this we have consulted nature and history-, rather than the prevailing taste and the general manner of authors. The amus- ing novel of "Ernest Maltravers," for instance, opens with a seduction ; but then it is performed hy people of the strictest virtue on both sides : and there is so much religion and phi- losophy in the heart of the seducer, so much tender innocence in tiae soul of the seduced, that — bless the little dears ! — their very peccadilloes make one interested in tliem ; and their naughtiness becomes quite sacred, so deliciously is it de- scribed. Now, if we are to be interested by rascall}' actions, let us have them with plain faces, and let them be performed, not by virtuous pliilosophers, but by rascals. Another clever class of novelists adopt the contrary system, and create inter- est b}' making their rascals perform virtuous actions. Against these popular plans we here solemnly ni)peal. We say, let your rogues in novels act like rogues, and your honest men like honest men ; don't let us have any juggling and thimblei'igging with virtue and vice, so that, at the end of three volumes, the bewildered reader shall not know which is which ; don't let us find ourselves kindling at the generous qualities of thieves, and sympathizing with the rascalities of noble hearts. For our own part, we know what the public likes, and have chosen rogues for our characters, and have taken a stor^^ from the "Newgate Calendar," which we hope to follow out to edifica- tion. Among the rogues, at least, we will have nothing that shall be mistaken for virtues. And if the British public (after 284 CATHERINE: A STORY. calling for three or four editions) shall give up, not only our rascals, but the rascals of all other authors, we shall be content : — we shall apply to Government for a pension, and think that oui" duty is done. CHAPTER II. IN WHICH ARE DEPICTED THE PLEASURES OP A SENTIMENTAL ATTACHMENT. It will not be necessar}', for the purpose of this history, to follow out ver}^ closely all the adventures which occurred to Mrs. Catherine from the period when she quitted the '^ Bugle" and became the Captain's lady; for, although it would be just as easy to show as not, that the young woman, by following the man of her heart, had only yielded to an innocent impulse, and by remaining with him for a certain period, had proved the depth and strength of her affection for him, — although we might make very tender and eloquent apologies for the error of both parties, the reader might possibly be disgusted at such descriptions and such arguments : which, besides, are already done to his haud in the novel of " Ernest Maltravers" before mentioned. From the gentleman's manner towards Mrs. Catherine, and from his brilliant and immediate success, the reader will doubt- less have concluded, in the first place, that Gustavus Adolphus had not a very violent affection for Mrs. Cat ; in the second place, that he was a professional lady-killer, and therefore likely at some period to resume his profession ; thirdly, and to conclude, that a connection so begun, must, in the nature of things, be likely to end speedily-. And so, to do the Count justice, it would, if he had been allowed to follow his own inclination entirely ; for (as many young gentlemen will, and yet no praise to them) in about a week he began to be indifferent, in a month to be weary, in two months to be angry, in three to proceed to blows and curses ; and, in short, to repent most bitterly the hour when he had ever been induced to present Mrs. Catherine the toe of his boot, for the purpose of lifting her on to his horse. " Egad ! " said he to the Corporal one da}-, when confiding his griefs to Mr. Brock, '• I wish my toe had been cut off before ever it served as a ladder to this little vixen." CATHERINE: A STORY. 285 " Or perhaps your honol would wish to kick her down stairs with it? " delicately suggested Mr. Brock. " Kick her ! wh}-, the wench would hold so fast by the ban- isters that I could not kick her down, Mr. Brock. To tell you a bit of a secret, I have tried as much — not to kick her — no, no, not kick her, certainl}' : that's ungentlenianly — but to induce her to go. back to that cursed pot-liouse where we fell in with her. I have given her many hints — " " Oil, yes, I saw your honor give her one yesterday — with a mug of beer. By the laws, as the ale run all down her face, and she clutched a knife to run at you, I don't thinlv I ever saw such a she-devil ! That woman will do for your honor some da}^, if you provoke her." " Do for me? No, hang it, Mr. Brock, never! She loves every hair of m}' head, sir : she worships me. Corporal. Egad, yes ! she worshijjs me ; and vv'ould much sooner apply a knife to her own weasand than scratch my little finger ! " " I think she does," said Mr. Brock. . " I'm sure of it," said the Captain. " AVomen, look 3'ou, are like dogs, the}^ like to be ill-treated : they like it, sir ; I know the}' do. I never had anything to do with a woman in my life but I ill-treated her, and she liked me the better." " Mrs. Hall ought to be very fond of 30U then, sure enough ! " said Mr. Corporal. "Very fond; — ha, ha! Corporal, you wag, you — and so she is very fond. Yesterda}", after the knife-and-beer scene — no wonder I threw the liquor in her face : it was so dev'lish flat that no gentleman could drink it : and I told her never to draw it till dinner-time — " " Oh, it was enough to put an angel in a fury ! " said Brock. " — Well, yesterday, after the knife business, when 3'ou had got the carver out of her hand, off she flings to her bedroom, will not eat a bit of dinner forsooth, and remains locked up for a couple of hours. At two o'clock afternoon (I was over a tankard), out comes the httle she-devil, her face pale, her e3-es bleared, and the tip of her nose as red as fire with sniffling and weeping. Making for my hand, ' Max,' sa^ys she, ' will 3'ou forgive me? ' ' What ! ' says I. ' Forgive a murderess? ' says I. ' No, curse me, never ! ' ' Your cruelty will kill me,' sobbed she. ' Cruelty be hanged ! ' says I ; ' didn't 3'ou di-aw that beer an hour before dinner?' She could say nothing to this, you know, and I swore that every time she did so I would fling it into her face again. Whereupon back she flounced to her chamber, where she wept and stormed until night-time." 286 CATHERINE: A STORY. " AVhen j'ou forgave her? " * " I did forgive her, that's positive. You see I had supped at the ' Rose ' along with Tom Trippet and lialf a dozen pretty fellows ; and I had eased a great fat-headed Warwickshire land- junker — what d'ye call him? — squire, of forty pieces; and I'm dev'lish good-humored when I've won, and so Cat and I made it up : but I've taught her never to bring me stale beer again — ha, ha ! " This conversation will explain, a great deal better than any description of ours, however eloquent, the state of things as between Count Maximilian and Mrs. Catherine, and the feel- ings which they entertained for each other. The woman loved him, that was the fact. And, as we have shown in the pre- vious chapter how John Hayes, a mean-spirited fellow as ever breathed, in respect of all other passions a pigmy, was in the passion of love a giant, and followed Mrs. Catherine with a furious longing which' might seem at the first to be foreign to his natiu'e ; in the like manner, and pla3ing at cross-purposes, Mrs. Hall had become smitten of the Captain ; and, as he said truly, only liked him the better for the brutality which she re- ceived at his hands. For it is my opinion, Madam, that love is a bodily infirmit^y, from which humankind can no more escape than from small-pox ; and which attacks every one of us, from the first duke in the Peerage down to Jack Ketch inclusive ; which has no respect for rank, virtue, or roguery in man, but sets each in his turn in a fever ; which breaks out the deuce knows how or why, and, raging its appointed time, fills each individual of the one sex with a blind fury and longing for some one of the other (who may be pure, gentle, blue-ej'ed, beautiful, and good ; or vile, shrewish, squinting, hunchbacked, and hide- ous, according to circumstances and luck) ; which dies awa^', perhaps in the natural course, if left to have its waj' , but which ■ contradiction causes to rage more furiously than ever. Is not history, from the Trojan war upwards and downwards, full of instances of such strange inexplicable passions? Was* not Helen, b}^ the most moderate calculation, ninet}' A'ears of age when she went off with his Royal Highness Prince Paris of Troy? Was not Madame La Valliere ill-made, blear-eyed, tallow-complexioned, scraggy, and with hair like tow? Was not Wilkes the ugliest, charmingest, most successful man in the world? Such instances might be carried out so as to fill a volume ; but cui bono ? Love is fate, and not will ; its origin not to be explained, its progress irresistible : and the best proof of this may be had at Bow Street any day, where, if CATHERINE: A STORY. 287 3"ou ask an}- officer of the establishment liow they take most thieves, he will tell you at the houses of the women. The}- must see the dear creatures though they hang for it ; they will love, though they haA^e their necks in the halter. And with re- gard to the other position, that ill-usage on the part of the man does not destroy the affection of the woman, have we not num- berless police reports showing how, when a bystander would beat a husband for beating his wife, man and wife fall together on the interloper and punish him for his meddling ? These points, then, being settled to the satisfaction of all parties, the reader will not be disposed to question the assertion that Mrs. Hall had a real affection for the gallant Count, and grew, as Mr. Brock was pleased to say, like a beefsteak, more tender as she was thumped. Poor thing, poos- thing ! his flashy airs and smart looks had overcome her in a single hour ; and no more is wanted to plunge into love over head and ears ; no more is wanted to make a first love with — and a woman's first love lasts for ever (a man's twent3'-fourth or twent^'-fifth is per- haps the best) : you can't kill it, do what 3'ou will ; it takes root, and lives and even grows, never mind what the soil ma}^ be in which it is planted, or the bitter weather it must bear — often as one has seen a wall^flower grow — out of a stone. In the first weeks of their union, the Count had at least been liberal to her : she had a horse and fine clothes, and received abroad some of those flattering attentions which she held at such high price. He had, however, some ill-luck at pla}-, or had been forced to paj- some bills, or had some other satis- factory reason for being poor, and his establishment was very speedilj' diminished. He argued that, as Mrs. Catherine had been accustomed to wait on others all her life, she might now wait upon herself and him ; and when the incident of the beer arose, she had been for some time emplo3'ed as the Count's house- keeper, with unlimited superintendence over his comfort, his cellar, his linen, and such matters as bachelors are delighted to make over to active female hands. To do the poor wretch justice, she actuallj' kept the man's menage in the best order ; nor was there any point of extravagance with which she could be charged, except a little extravagance of di'ess displayed on the very few occasions when he condescended to walk abroad with her, and extravagance of language and passion in the frequent quarrels the}' had together. Perhaps in such a con- nection as subsisted between this precious couple, these faults are inevitable on the part of the woman. She must be silly and vain, and will pretty surely therefore be foud of di'ess ; and she 288 CATHERINE: A STORY. must, disguise it as she will, be perpetually miserable and brooding over her fall, which will cause her to be violent and quarrelsome. Such, at least, was Mrs. Hall ; and very earl}' did the poor, vain, misguided wretch begin to reap what she had sown. For a man, remorse under these circumstances is perhaps uncommon. No stigma affixes on him for betraying a woman : no bitter pangs of mortified vanit}' ; no insulting looks of su- periorit}' from his neighbor, and no sentence of contemptuous banishment is read against him ; these all fall on the tempted, and not on the tempter, who is permitted to go free. The chief thing that a man learns after having successfully practised on a woman is to despise the poor wretch whom he has won. The game, in fact, and the glory, such as it is, is all his, and the punishment alone falls upon her. Consider this, ladies, when charming young gentlemen come to woo you with soft speeches. You have nothing to win, except wretchedness, and scorn, and desertion. Consider this, and be thankful to your Solomons for telling it. It came to pass, then, that the Count had come to have a perfect contempt and indirt'erence for Mrs. Hall ; — how should he not for a 3'oung person who had given herself up to him so easily ? — and would have been quite glad of any opportunity of parting with her. But there was a certain lingering shame about the man, which prevented him from saying at once and abruptly, "Go!" and the poor thing did not choose to take such hints as fell out in the course of their conversation and quarrels. And so they kept on together, he treating her with simple insult, and she hanging on desperately, b}' whatever feeble twig she could find, to the rock beyond which all was naught, or death, to her. Well, after the night with Tom Trippet and the pretty fel- lows at the " Rose," to which we have heard the Count allude in the conversation just recorded. Fortune smiled on him a good deal ; for the Warwickshire Squire, who had lost fbrtj' pieces on that occasion, insisted on having his revenge the night after ; when, strange to say, a hundred and fift}' more found their way into the pouch of his Excellency the Count. Such a sum as this quite set the young nobleman afloat again, and brought back a pleasing- equanimity to his mind, which had been a good deal disturbed in the former difficult circumsta,n- ces ; and in this, for a little and to a certain extent, poor Cat had the happiness to share. He did not alter the style of his establishment, which consisted, as before, of herself and a small CATHERrXE: A STORY. 289 person who acted as scourer, kitchen-wench, and scullion ; Mrs. Catherine always putting her hand to the principal pieces of the dinner ; but he treated his mistress with tolerable good-humor ; or, to speak more correctly, with such bearable brutality as might be expected from a man like him to a woman in lier con- dition. Besides, a certain event was about to take place, which not unusually occurs in circumstances of this nature, and Mrs. Catherine was expecting soon to lie in. The Captain, distrusting naturally the strength of his own paternal feelings, had kindly endeavored to provide a parent for the coming infant ; and to this .end had opened a negotia- tion with our friend Mr. Thomas Bullock, declaring that Mrs. Cat should have a fortune of twentj' guineas, and reminding Tummas of his ancient flame for her : but Mr. Tummas, when this proposition was made to him, declined it, with many oaths, and vowed that he was perfectly satisfied with his present bachelor condition. In this dilemma, Mr. Brock stepped for- ward, wlio declared himself very read}' to accept JMrs. Cath- erine and her fortune ; and might possibly have become the. possessor of both, had not Mrs. Cat, the moment she heard of the proposed arrangement, with fire in her eyes, and rage — oh, how bitter! — in her heart, prevented the success of the measure b}' proceeding incontinently to the first justice of the peace, and there swearing before his worship who was the father of the coming child. This proceeding, which she had expected- would cause not a little indignation on the part of her lord and master, was received by liim, strangely enough, with considerable good- humor : he swore that the wench had served him a good trick, and was rather amused at the anger, the outbreak of fierce rage and contumely, and the wretched, wretched tears of heart- sick desperation, which followed her announcement of this step to him. For Mr. Brock, she repelled his offer with scorn and loathing, and treated the notion of a union with Mr. Bullock with yet fiercer contempt. Marry him indeed ! a workhouse pauper carrying a brown-bess ! She would have died sooner, she said, or robbed on the highway. And so, to do her justice, she would ; for the little minx was one of the vainest creatures in existence, and vanity (as I presume everybody knows) be- comes the principle in certain women's heaiis — their moral spectacles, their conscience, their meat and drink, theii- only rule of right and wrong. As for IMr. Tummas, he, as we have seen, was quite as un- friendly to the proposition as she could be ; and the Corporal, 44 290 CATHERINE: A STORY. • with a good deal of comical gravity, vowed that, as he could not be satisfied in his dearest wishes, he would take to drinking for a consolation : which he straightway did. " Come, Tummas," said he to 'Mr. Bullock, " since we can't have the girl of our hearts, why, hang it, Tummas, let's drink her health ! " To which Bullock had no objection. And so strongly did the disappointment weigh upon honest Corporal Brock that even when, after unheard-of quantities of beer, he could scarcely utter a word, he was seen absolutely to weep, and, in accents almost unintelligible, to curse his confounded ill-luck, at being deprived, not of a wife, but of a child : he wanted one so, he said, to comfort him in his old age. The time of Mrs. Catherine's couche drew near, arrived, and was gone through safely. She presented to the world a chop- ping boy, who might use, if he liked, the Galgenstein arms with a bar-sinister ; and in her new cares and duties had not so many opportunities as usual of quarrelling with the Count : who, per- haps, respected her situation, or, at least, was so properly aware of the necessity of quiet to her, that he absented himself from home morning, noon, and night. The Captain had, it must be confessed, turned these contin- ued absences to a considerable worldly profit, for he plaj'ed in- cessantly ; and, since his first victory over the Warwickshire Squire, Fortune had been so favorable to him, that he had at various intervals amassed a sum of nearly a thousand pounds, which he used to bring home as he won ; and which he de- posited in a strong iron chest, cunningly screwed down by him- self under his own bed. This Mrs. Catherine regularly made, and the treasure underneath it could be no secret to her. However, the noble Count kept the key, and bound her by many solemn oaths (that he discharged at her himself) not to reveal to any other person the existence of the chest and its contents. But it is not in woman's nature to keep such secrets ; and the Captain, who left her for days and days, did not reflect that she would seek for confidants elsewhere. For want of a female companion, she was compelled to bestow her sympathies upon Mr. Brock ; who, as the Count's corporal, was much in his lodgings, and who did manage to survive the disappoint- ment whidi he had experienced by Mrs. Catherine's refusal of him. About two months after the infant's birth, the Captain, who was annoyed by its squalling, put it abroad to nurse, and dis- missed its attendant. Mrs. "Catherine now resumed her house- CATHERINE: A STORY. 291 hold duties, and was, as before, at once mistress and servant of the establishment. As such, she had the ke^'s of the beer, and was prettj- sure of the attentions of the Corporal ; who became, as we have said, in the Count's absence, his lady's chief friend and companion. After the manner of ladies, she very speedih' confided to him all her domestic secrets : the causes of her former discontent ; the Count's ill-treatment of her ; the wicked names he called her ; the prices that all her gowns had cost her ; how he beat her ; how much money he won and lost at pla}' ; how she had once pawned a coat for him ; how he had four new ones, laced, and paid for ; what was the best wa}' of cleaning and keeping gold-lace, of making cherry-brandy, pickling salmon, &c. &c. Her confidences upon all these subjects used to follow each other in rapid succession ; and Mr. Brock became, ere long, quite as well acquainted with the Captain's history for the last 3'ear as the Count himself: — for he was careless, and forgot things ; women never do. The}^ chronicle all the lover's small actions, his words, his headaches, the dresses he has worn, the things he has liked for dinner on certain da^'s ; — all which circumstances com- monly are expunged from the male brain immediately after they have occurred, but remain fixed with the female. To Brock, then, and to Brock only (for she knew no other soul), Mrs. Cat breathed, in strictest confidence, the history of the Count's winnings, and his way of disposing of them ; how he kept his money screwed down in an iron chest in their room : and a very luck}' fellow did Brock consider his officer for having such a large sum. He and Cat looked at the chest ; it was small, but mighty strong, sure enough, and would defy picklocks and thieves. Well, if an}' man deserved raone,y, the Captain did ( ' ' though he might buy me a few 3'ards of that lace I love so," interrupted Cat) , — if any man deserved money, he did, for he spent it like a prince, and his hand was alwa^'s in his pocket. It must now be stated that Monsieur de Galgenstein had, during Cat's seclusion, cast his e_yes upon a young lad}' of good fortune, who frequented the Assembl}' at Birmingham, and who was not a little smitten by his title and person. The "four new coats, laced, and paid for," as Cat said, had been purchased, most probabl}', by his P^xcellency for the purpose of dazzling the heiress ; and he and the coats had succeeded so far as to win from the 3'oung woman an actual profession of love, and a promise of marriage provided Pa would consent. This was obtained, — for Pa was a tradesman ; and I suppose 292 CATHERINE: A STORY. every one of m}- readers has remarked hovr great an effect a title has on the lower classes. Yes, thank heaven ! there is about a free-born Briton a cringing baseness, and lickspittle awe of rank, which does not exist under an}' tyranny in Eu- rope, and is onl}' to be found here and in America. All these negotiations had been going on quite unknown to Cat; and, as the Captain had determined, before two months were out, to fling that 3'oung woman on the pave, he was kind to her in the meanwhile : people alwa3's are when they are swindling you, or meditating an injury against you. The poor girl had much too high an opinion of her own charms to suspect that the Count could be unfaithful to them, and had no notion of the plot that was formed against her. But Mr. Brock had : for he had seen manj' times a gilt coach with a pair of fat white horses ambling in the neighborhood of the town, and the Captain on his black steed caracolling ma- jestically by its side ; and he had remarked a fat, pudg}-, pale- haired woman treading heavily down the stairs of the Assem- bly, leaning on the Captain's arm : all these Mr. Brock had seen, not without reflection. Indeed, the Count one day, in great good-humor, had slapped him on the shoulder and told him that he was about speedily to purchase a regiment; when, by his great gods, Mr. Brock should have a pair of colors. Perhaps this promise occasioned his silence to Mrs. Catherine hitherto ; perhaps he never would have peached at all ; and perhaps, therefore, this history would never have been written, but for a small circumstance which occurred at this period. " What can 3'ou want with that drunken old Corporal always about your quarters ? " said Mr. Trippet to the Count one clay, as they sat over their wine, in the midst of a merry company, at the Captain's rooms. " What ! " said he. " Old Brock? The old thief has been more useful to me than many a better man. He is brave in a row as a lion, as cunning in intrigue as a fox ; he can nose a dun at an inconceivable distance, and scent out a pretty woman be she behind ever so man}' stone walls. If a gentle- man wants a good rascal now, I can recommend him. I am going to reform, you know, and must turn him out of m}' service." " And pretty Mrs. Cat?" " Oh, curse prettj' Mrs. Cat ! she ma}' go too.*^' "And the brat?" "Why, you have parishes, and what not, here in England. Egad ! if a gentleman were called upon to keep all his children, CATHERINE: A STORY. 293 there would be no living : no, stap my vitals ! CrcEsus couldn't stand it." "No, indeed," said Mr. Trippet : " 3'ou are right; and when a gentleman marries, he is bound in honor to give up such low connections as are useful when he is a bachelor." " Of course ; and give them up I will, when the sweet Mrs. Dripping is mine. As for the girl, 3'ou can have her, Tom Trippet, if^you take a fancy to her; and as for the Corporal, he may be handed over to my successor in Cufcts's : — for I will have a regiment to mj'self, that's poz ; and to take with me such a swindling, pimping, thieving, brandy-faced rascal as this Brock will never do. Egatl ! he's a disgrace to the ser- vice. As it is, I've often a mind to have the superannuatec' vagabond drummed out of the corps." Although this resume of Mr. Brock's character and accom- plishments, was very just, it came perhaps with an ill grace from Count Gustavus Adolphus Maximilian, who had profited by all his qualities, and who certainly would never have given this opinion of them had he known that the door of his dining- parlor was open, and that the gallant Corporal, who was in the passage, could hear every sjdlable that fell from the lips of his commanding officer. We shall not say, after the fashion of the story-books, that Mr. Brock listened with a flashing e3-e and a d/stended nostril ; that his chest heaved tumultuously, and that his hand fell down mechanically to his side, where it played with the brass handle of his swoi'd. Mr. Kean would have gone through most of these bodily exercises had he been acting the part of a villain enraged and disappointed like Corporal Brock ; but that gentleman walked away without any gestures of any kind, and as gently as possible. " He'll turn me out of the regiment, will he?" says he, quite piano; and then added (^con molta espressione) , " I'll do for him." And it is to be remarked how generally, in cases of this nature, gentlemen stick to their word. 294 CATHERINE: A STORY. CHAPTER III. IN WHICH A NARCOTIC IS ADMINISTERED, AND A GREAT DEAL OF GENTEEL SOCIETY DEPICTED. When the Corporal, who had retreated to the street-door immediate I}' on hearing the above conversation, returned to the Captain's lodgings and paid his respects to Mrs. Catherine, he found that lady in high good-humor. The Count had been with her, she said, along with a friend of his, Mr. Trippet ; had promised her twelve 3'ards of the lace she coveted so much ; had vowed that the child should have as much more for a cloak ; and had not left her until he had sat with her for an hour, or more, over a bowl of punch, which he made on purpose for her. Mr. Trippet stayed too. " A mighty pleasant man," said she ; " only not very wise, and seemingly- a good deal in liquor." "A good deal indeed!" said the Corporal. " He was so tipsy just now, that he could hardly- stand. He and his honor were talking to Nan Fantail in the market-place ; and she pulled Trippet's wig off, for wanting to kiss her." "The nast}' fellow!" said Mrs. Cat, "to demean himself with such low people as Nan Fantail, indeed ! Wh}^, upon m}- conscience now. Corporal, it was but an hour ago that Mr. Trippet swore he never saw such a pair of ej'es as mine, and would like to cut the Captain's throat for the love of me. Nan Fantail indeed ! " "Nan's an honest girl, Madam Catherine, and was a great favorite of the Captain's before some one else came in his way. No one can saj' a word against her — not a word." "And pray. Corporal, who ever did?" said Mrs. Cat, rather offended. "A nasty, angr}' slut! I wonder what the men can see in her? " " She has got a smart wa}' with her, sure enough ; it's what amuses the men, and — " " And what? You don't mean to say that my Max is fond of her now ? " said Mrs. Catherine, looking veiy fierce. " Oh, no ; not at all : not of her ; — that is — " " Not of her ! " screamed she. ' ' Of whom, then ? " "Oh, psha ! nonsense ! Of you, my dear, to be sure : who else should he care for? And, besides, what business is it of mine ? " And herewith the Corporal began whistling, as if he CATHERINE: A STORY. 295 would have no more of the conversation. But Mrs. Cat was not to be satisfied, — not she, and carried on her cross-questions. " Wliy, look you," said the Corporal, after parrying many of these, — " Wh}-, look you, I'm an old fool, Catherine, and I must blab. That man has been the best friend I ever had, and so I was quiet ; but I can't keep it in any longer, — no, hang me if I can ! It's my belief he's acting like a rascal by 3-ou : he deceives 3'ou, Catherine ; he's a scoundrel, Mrs. Hall, that's the truth on't." Catherine prayed him to tell all he knew ; and he resumed. "He wants you off his hands; he's sick of j'ou, and so brought here that fool Tom Trippet, who has taken a fancy to 30U. He has not the courage to turn 3-ou out of doors like a man ; though in-doors he can treat you like a beast. But I'll tell you what he'll do. In a month he will go to Coventry, or pretend to go there, on recruiting business. No such thing, Mrs. Hall : he's going on marriage business ; and he'll leave 3'ou without a farthing, to starve or to rot, for him. It's all arranged, I tell you : in a month, you are to be starved into becoming Tom Trippet's mistress ; and his honor is to marry rich Miss Dripping, the twenty-thousand-pounder from London ; and to purchase a regiment; — and to get old Brock drummed out of Cutts's too," said the Corporal, under his breath. But he might have spoken out, if he chose ; for the poor 3'oung woman had sunk on the ground in a real honest fit. "I thought I should give it her," said Mr. Brock, as he procured a glass of water; and, lifting her on to a sofa, sprin- kled the same over her. " Hang it ! how prettj' she is." When Mrs. Catherine came to herself again, Brock's tone with her was kind, and almost feeling. Nor did the poor wench herself indulge in any subsequent shiverings and hysterics, such as usuall}' follow the fainting-fits of persons of higher degree. She pressed him for further explanations, which he gave, and to which she listened with a great deal of calmness : nor did man}' tears, sobs, sighs, or exclamations of sorrow or anger escape from her : only when the Corporal was taking his leave' and said to her point-blank, — " Well, Mrs. Cathe- rine, and what do 3'ou intend to do?" she did not rcpl}- a word ; but gave a look which made him exclaim, on leaving the room, — " By heavens ! the woman means murder ! I would not be the Holofernes to lie by the side of such a Judith as that — not I ! " And he went his wa}^, immersed in deep thought. 296 CATHERINE: A STORY. When the Captain returned at night, she did not speak to him ; and wlien he swore at her for being sulky, she onl}' said she had a headache, and was dreadfull}' ill : with which excuse Gustavus Adolphus seemed satisfied, and left her to herself. He saw her the next morning for a moment : he was going a-shooting. Catherine had no friend, as is usual in tragedies and roman- ces, — no mysterious sorceress of her acquaintance to whom she could apply for poison, — so she went simply to the apoth- ecaries, pretending at each that she had a dreadful toothache, and procuring from them as much laudanum as she thought would suit her purpose. Wlien she went home again, she seemed almost ga}'. Mr. Brock complimented her upon the alteration in her appearance ; and she was enabled to receive the Captain at his return from shooting in such a manner as made him remark that she had got rid of her sulks of the morning, and might sup with them, if she chose to keep her good-humor. The supper was got read^', and the gentlemen had the punch-bowl when the cloth was cleared, — Mrs. Catherine, with her delicate hands, pre- paring the liquor. It is useless to describe the conversation that took place, or to reckon the number of bowls that were emptied ; or to tell how Mr. Trippet, who was one of the guests, and declined to play at cards when some of the others began, chose to remain by Mrs. Catherine's side, and make violent love to her. All this might be told, and the account, however faithful, would not be ver}^ pleasing. No, indeed ! And here, though we are only in the third chapter of this history, we feel almost sick of the characters that appear in it, and the adventures which they are called upon to go through. But how can we help ourselves? The public will hear of nothing but rogues ; and the onl}^ way in which poor authors, who must live, can act honestl_y by the public and themselves, is to paint such thieves as the}' are : not dand}', poetical, rose-water thieves ; but real downright scoundrels, leading scoundrell}^ lives, drunken, profligate, dis- solute, low ; as scoundrels will be. They don't quote Plato, like Eugene Aram ; or live like gentlemen, and sing ^le pleas- antest ballads in the world, like jolly Dick Turpin ; or prate eternally about to KaXor, like that precious canting Maltravers, whom we all of us have read about and pitied ; or die white- washed saints, like poor " Biss Dadsy" in "Oliver Twist." No, my dear Madam, 3-ou and 3'our daughters have no right to admire and sj'mpathize with anj^ such persons, fictitious or CATHERINE: A STORY. 297 real : jou ought to be made cordially to detest, scorn, loathe, abhor, and abominate all people of this kidney. Men of genius like those whose works we have aboA^e alluded to, have no business to make these charactei'S interesting or agreeable ; to be feeding your morbid fancies, or indulging their own, with such monstrous food. For our parts, young ladies, we beg you to bottle up 3'our tears, and not waste a single drop of them on any one of the heroes or heroines in this history- : they are all rascals, every soul of them, and behave '' as sich." Keep your sympath}' for those who deserve it : don't carry it, for preference, to the Old Bailej^, and grow maudlin over the com- pany assembled there. Just, then, have the kindness to fancy that the conversation which took place over the bowls of punch which Mrs. Catherine prepared, was such as might be expected to take place where the host was a dissolute, dare-devil, libertine captain of dra- goons, the guests for the most part of the same class, and the hostess a 3'oung woman originallj- from a country alehouse, and for the present mistress to the entertainer of the societ}'. They talked, and they drank, and they grew tipsy ; and very little worth hearing occurred during the course of the whole evening. Mr. Brock officiated, half as the servant, half as the companion of the society. Mr. Thomas Trippet made violent love to Mrs. Catherine, while her lord and master was placing at dice with the other gentlemen : and on this nio;ht, strano-e to say, the Captain's fortune seemed to desert him. Tlie War- wickshire Squire, from whom he had won so much, had an amazing run of good luck. The Captain called perpetually for more drink, and higher stakes, and lost almost every throw. Three hundred, four hundred, six hundred — all his winnings of the previous months were swallowed up in the course of a few houi's. The Corporal looked on ; and, to do him justice, seemed very grave, as, sum by sum, tlie Squire scored down the Count's losses on the paper before him. Most of the company had taken tlieir hats and staggered off. The Squire and Mr. Trippet were the only two that remained, the latter still lingering by Mrs. Catherine's sofa and table ; and as she, as we have stated, had been employed all the evening in mixing the liquor for the gamesters, he was at the head-quarters of love and drink, and had swallowed so much of each as hardly to be able to speak. The dice went rattling on; the candles were burning dim, with great long wicks. Mr. Trippet could hardly see the Cap- tain, and thought, as far as his muzzj' reason would let him, 298 CATHERINE: A STORY. that the Captain could not see him : so he rose from his chair as well as he could, and fell down on Mrs. Catherine's sofa. His eyes were fixed, his face was pale, his jaw hung down ; and he flung out his arms and said, in a maudUn voice, " Oh, j-ou b^'oo-oo-oo-tifHe Cathrine, I must have a kick-kick-iss." " Beast ! " said Mrs. Catherine, and pushed him away. The drunken wretch fell off the sofa, and on to the floor, where he stayed ; and, after snorting out some unintelligible sounds, went to sleep. The dice went rattling on ; the candles were burning dim, with great long wicks. "Seven's the main," cried the Count. "Four. Three to two against the caster." " Ponies," said the Warwickshire Squire. Rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, clatter, nine. Clap, clap, clap, clap, eleven. Clutter, clutter, clutter, clutter: "Seven it is." saj'S the Warwickshire Squire. " That makes eight hundred. Count." " One throw for two hundred," said the Count. " But stop ! Cat, give us some more punch." Mrs. Cat came forward ; she looked a little pale, and her hand trembled somewhat. " Here is the punch. Max," said she. It was steaming hot, in a large glass. " Don't drink it all, said she ; " leave me some." " How dark it is ! " said the Count, eying it. " It's the brandy," says Cat. "Well, here goes! Squire, curse you! here's .your health, and bad luck to you ! " and he gulj^ed off" more than half the liquor at a .draught. But presently he put down the glass and cried, "What infernal poison is this. Cat?" " Poison ! " said she. " It's no poison. Give me the glass." And she pledged Max, and drank a little of it. ' ' 'Tis good punch. Max, and of my brewing ; I don't think j'ou will ever get an}' better." And she went back to the sofa again, and sat down, and looked at the pla^-ers. Mr. Brock looked at her white face and fixed eyes with a grim kind of curiosit}' . The Count sputtered, and cursed the horrid taste of the punch still ; but he presently took the box, and made his threatened throw. As before, the Squire beat him ; and having booked his win- nings, rose from table as well as he might, and besought Cor- poral Brock to lead him down stairs ; which Mr. Brock did. The liquor had evidently stupefied the Count : he sat with his head between his hands, muttering wildly about ill-luck, CATHERINE: A STORY. 299 seven's the main, bad punch, and so on. The street-door banged to ; and the steps of Bx'ock and the Squire were heard, until they could be heard no more. " Max," said she; but he did not answer. " Max," said she again, laying her hand on his shoulder. " Curse you," said that gentleman, " keep off, and don't be laying your paws upon me. Go to bed, you jade, or to , for what I care ; and give me first some more punch, — a gallon more punch, do you hear?" The gentleman, by the curses at the commencement of this little speech, and the request contained at the end of it, showed that his losses vexed him, and that he was anxious to forget them temporarily. "Oh, Max!" whimpered Mrs. Cat, "3'ou — don't — want — any more punch ? " " Don't! Shan't I be drunk in my own house, you cursed whimpering jade you ? Get out ! " And with this the Captain proceeded to administer a blow upon Mrs. Catherine's cheek. Contrary to her custom, she did not avenge it, or seek to do so, as on the many former occasions when disputes of this nature had arisen between the Count and her ; but now Mrs. Catherine fell on her knees, and clasping her hands, and look- ing pitifull}- in the Count's face, cried, " Oh, Count, forgive me, forgive me ! " * "Forgive .you ! What for? Because I slapped your face? Ha, ha ! I'll forgive you again, if 3'ou don't mind." " Oh, no, no, no ! " said she, wi-inging her hands. " It isn't that. Max, dear Max, will you forgive me? It isn't the blow — I don't mind that : it's — " ' ' It's what, 3-ou — maudlin fool ? " '■'It's the punch!" The Count, who was more than half-seas-over, here assumed, an air of much tips}- gravity. " The punch ! No, I never will forgive you that last glass of punch. Of all the foul, beastly drinks I ever tasted , that was the worst. No, I never will for- give you that punch." " Oh, it isn't that, it isn't that ! " said she. " I tell you it is that, you! That punch, I say that punch was no better than paw — aw — oison." And here the Count's head sank back, and he fell to snore. " It was poison ! " said she. " What!'' screamed he, waking up at once, and spurning her awa}^ from him. "What, 3'ou infernal murderess, have vou killed me ? " 300 CATHERINE: A STORY. "Oh, Max!— don't kill me, Max! It was laudanum — indeed it was. You were going to be married, and 1 was furious, and I went and got — " " Hold your tongue, you fiend," roared out the Count ; and with more presence of mind than politeness, he flung the re- mainder of the hquor (and, indeed, the glass with it) at the head of Mrs. Catherine. But the poisoned chalice missed its mark, and fell right on the nose of Mr. Tom Trippet, who was left asleep and unobserved under the table. Bleeding, staggering, swearing, indeed a ghastly sight, up sprung Mr. Trippet, and drew his rapier. "Come on," says he ; " never say die ! What's the row ? I'm ready for a dozen of you." And he made many blind and furious passes about the room. " Curse 3'ou, we'll die together!" shouted the Count, as he too pulled out his toledo, and sprung at Mrs. Catherine. " Help ! murder ! thieves ! " shrieked she. " Save me, Mr. Trippet, save me ! " and she placed that gentleman between herself and the Count, and then made for the door of the bed- room, and gained it, and bolted it. " Out of the way, Trippet," roared the Count — " out of the wa_y, you drunken beast ! I'll murder her, I will — I'll have the devil's life." And here he gave a swinging cut at Mr. Trippet's sword : it sent the weapon whirling clean out of his hand, and through a window into the street. "Take my life, then," said Mr. Trippet: "I'm drunk, but I'm a man, and, damme ! will never say die." " I don't want your life, you stupid fool. Hark you, Trip- pet, wake and be sober, if you can. That woman has heard of my marriage with Miss Dripping." "Twenty thousand pound," ejaculated Trippet. "She has been jealous, I tell you, and poisoned us. She has put laudanum into the punch." " What, in my punch?" said Trippet, growing quite sober, and losing his courage. " O Lord ! O Lord ! " " Don't stand howling there but run for a doctor; 'tis our only chance." And away ran Mr. Trippet, as if the deuce were at his heels. The Count had forgotten his murderous intentions regarding his mistress, or had deferred them at least, under the conscious^ ness of his own pressing danger. And it must be said, in the praise of a man who had fought for and against Marlborough and Tallard, that his courage in this trying and novel predica- ment never for a moment deserted him, but that he showed the CATHERINE: A STORY. 301 greatest daring, as well as ingenuit\', in meeting and averting the danger. He flew to the side-board, where were the relics of a supper, and seizing the mustard and salt pots, and a bottle of oil, he emptied them all into a jug, into which he further poured a vast quantity of hot water. This pleasing mixture he then, without a moment's hesitation, placed to his lips, and swallowed as much of it as nature would allow him. But when he had imbibed about a quart, the anticipated effect was pro- duced, and he was enabled, by the power of this ingenious extemporaneous emetic, to get rid of much of the poison which Mrs. Catherine had administered to him. He was employed in these efforts when the doctor entered, along with Mr. Brock and Mr. Trippet ; who was not a little pleased to hear that the poisoned punch had not in all proba- bilit}^ been given to him. He was recommended to take some of the Count's mixture, as a precautionary measure ; but this he refused, and retired home, leaving the Count under charge of the phj'sician and his faithful corporal. It is not necessary to sa}- what further remedies were em- ploj'ed b}" them to restore the Captain to health ; but after some time the doctor, pronouncing that the danger was, he hoped, averted, recommended that his patient should be put to bed, and that somebody should sit by him ; which Brock promised to do. " That she-devil will murder me, if you don't," gasped the poor Count. ' ' You must turn her out of the bedroom ; or break open the door, if she refuses to let you in." And this step was found to be necessary ; for, after shouting many times, and in vain, Mr. Brock found a small iron bar (indeed he had the instrument for many days in his pocket) , and forced the lock. The room was empty, the window was open : the pretty barmaid of the " Bugle" had fled. " The chest," said the Count — " is the chest safe? " The Corporal flew to the bed, under which it was screwed, and looked, and said, " It is safe, thank heaven ! " The Avin- dow was closed. The Captain, who was too weak to stand without help, was undressed and put to bed. The Corporal sat down by his side ; slumber stole over the eyes of the patient ; and his wakeful nurse marked with satisfaction the progress of the beneficent restorer of health. • ••••••* When the Captain awoke, as he did some time afterwards, he foimd, very much to his surprise, that a gag had been placed in his mouth, and that the Corporal was in the act of wheeling 302 CATHERINE: A STORY. Ills bed to another part of the room. He attempted to move, and gave utterance to such unintelligible sounds as could issue through a silk handkerchief. ' ' If your honor stirs or cries out in the least, I will cut your honor's throat," said the Corporal. And then, having recourse to his iron bar (the reader will now see why he was provided with such an implement, for he had been meditating this cowp for some days), he proceeded first to attempt to burst the lock of the little iron chest in which the Count kept his treasure, and failing in this, to un- screw it from the ground ; which operation he performed satis- factorily. " You see. Count," said he, calmly, " when rogues fall out, there's the deuce to pay. You'll have me drummed out of the regiment, will you? I'm going to leave it of my own accord, look you, and to live like a gentleman for the rest of my daj's. Schlafen sie wohl^ noble Captain : hon repos. The Squire will be with you pretty early in the morning, to ask for the monej^ you owe him." With these sarcastic observations Mr. Brock departed ; not by the window, as Mrs. Catherine had done, but by the door, quietly, and so into the street. And when, the next morning, the doctor came to visit his patient, he brought with him a story how, at the dead of night, Mr. Brock had roused the ostler at the stables where the Captain's horses were kept — had told him that Mrs. Catherine had poisoned the Count, and had run off with a thousand pounds ; and how he and all lovers ot justice ought to scour the country in pursuit of the criminal. For this end Mr. Brock mounted the Count's best horse — that very animal on which he had carried awa}^ Mrs. Catherine : and thus, on a single night. Count Maximilian had lost his mistress, his money, his horse, his corporal, and was very near losing his life. CATHERINE: A STORY. 303 CHAPTER IV. IN WHICH MRS. CATHERINE BECOMES AN HONEST WOMAN AGAIN. In this woful plight, moneyless, wifeless, horseless, corpo- ralless, with a gag in his mouth and a rope round his body, are we compelled to leave the gallant Galgenstein, until his friends and the progress of this history shall deliver him from his du- rance. Mr. Brock's adventures on the Captain's horse must likewise be pretermitted ; for it is our business to follow Mrs. Catherine through the wandow by which she made her escape, and among the various chances that befell her. She had one cause to congratulate herself, — that she had not her bab}' at her back ; for the infant was safely housed under the care of a nurse, to whom the Captain was answera- ble. Bej'ond this her prospects were but dismal : no home to fly to, but a few shillings in her pocket, and a whole heap of injuries and dark revengeful thoughts in her bosom : it was a sad task to her to look either backwards or forwards. Whither was she to fly ? How to live ? What good chance was to be- friend her? There was an angel watching over the steps of Mrs. Cat — not a good one, 1 think, but one of those from that unnamable place, who have their many subjects here on earth, and often are pleased to extricate them from worse per- plexities. Mrs. Cat, now, had not committed murder, but as bad as murder ; and as she felt not the smallest repentance in her heart — as she had, in the course of her life and connection with the Captain, performed and gloried in a number of wicked coquetries, idlenesses, vanities, lies, fits of anger, slanders, foul abuses, and what not — she was fairly* bound over to this dark angel whom we have alluded to ; and he dealt with her, and aided her, as one of his own children. I do not mean to say that, in this strait, he appeared to her in the likeness of a gentleman in black, and made her sign her name in blood to a document conveying over to him her soul, in exchange for certain conditions to be performed by him. Such diabolical bargains have always appeared to me unworthy of the astute personage who is sui)posed to be one of the par- ties to them ; and who would scarcel}' be fool enough to pay dearly for that which he can have in a few 3'ears for nothing. 304 CATHERINE: A STORY. It is not, then, to be supposed that a demon of darkness ap- peared to Mrs. Cat, and led her into a flaming chariot, har- nessed by dragons, and careering through air at the rate of a thousand leagues a minute. No such thing : the vehicle that was sent to aid her was one of a much more vulgar descrip- tion. The "Liverpool carr3^van," then, which in the year 1706 used to perform the journey between London and that place in ten days, left Birmingham about an hour after Mrs. Catherine had quitted that town ; and as she sat weeping on a hillside, and plunged in bitter meditation, the lumbering, jingling vehi- cle overtook her. The coachman was marching by the side of his horses, and encouraging them to maintain their pace of two miles an hour ; the passengers had some of them left the vehi- cle, in order to walk up the hill ; and the carriage had arrived at the top of it, and, meditating a brisk trot down the declivit}', waited there until the lagging passengers should arrive : when Jehu, casting a good-natured glance upon Mrs. Catherine, asked the pretty maid whence she was come, and whether she would like a ride in his carriage. To the latter of which ques- tions Mrs. Catherine replied trulv yes ; to the former, her an- swer was that she had come from Stratford : whereas, as we very well know, she had lately quitted Birmingham. " Hast thee seen a woman pass this way, on a black horse, with a large bag of goold over the saddle?" said Jehu, prepar- ing to mount upon the roof of his coach. " No, indeed," said Mrs. Cat. "Nor a trooper on another horse after her — no? Well, there be a mortal row down Birmingham way about sich a one. She have killed, the}' say, nine gentlemen at supper, and have strangled a German prince in bed. She have robbed him of twenty thousand guineas, and have rode away on a black horse." " That can't be I," said Mrs. Cat, naively ; " for I have but three shillings and a groat." " No, it can't be thee, truly, for where's your bag of goold? and, besides, thee hast got too pretty a face to do such wicked things as to kill nine gentlemen and strangle a German prince." " Law, coachman," said Mrs. Cat, blushing archl}^ — " Law, coachman, do you think so ? " The girl would have been pleased with a compliment even on her waj' to be hanged ; and the par- ley ended hy Mrs. Catherine stepping into the carriage, where there was room for eight people at least, and where two or three individuals had already taken their places. CATHERINE: A STORY. 305 For these Mrs. Catherine had in the first place to make a story, which she did ; and a very gUb one for a person of her years and education. Being asked whither she was bound, and how she came to be alone of a morning sitting b}- a road- side, she invented a neat histor}^ suitable to the occasion, which elicited much interest from her fellow-passengers : one in particular, a ^oung man, who had caught a ghmpse of her face under her hood, was very tender in his attentions to her. But whether it was that she had been too much fatigued by the occurrences of the past day and sleepless night, or whether the little laudanum which she had drunk a few hours previously now began to act upon her, certain it is that Mrs. Cat now suddenly' grew sick, feverish, and extraordinaril}- sleep}- ; and in this state she continued for many hours, to the pit}' of all her fellow-travellers. At length the "carry van" reached the inn, where horses and passengers were accustomed to rest for a few hours, and to dine ; and Mrs. Catherine was somewhat awakened by the stir of the passengers, and the friendl}' voice of the inn-servant Velcoming them to dinner. The gentleman who had been smitten by her beauty now urged her very po- litel}- to descend ; which, taking the protection of his arm, she accordingl}' did. He made some very gallant speeches to her as she stepped out ; and she must have been very much occupied by them, or rapt up in her own thoughts, or stupefied by sleep, fever, and opium, for she did not take any heed of the place into which she was going : which had she done, she would probably have preferred remaining in the coach, dinnerless and ill. Indeed, the inn into which she was about to make her entrance was no other than the " Bugle," from which she set forth at the com- mencement of this history ; and which then, as now, was kept by her relative, the thrifty Mrs. Score. That good landlady, seeing a lady, in a smart hood and cloak, leaning, as if faint, upon the arm of a gentleman of good appearance, concluded them to be man and wife, and folks of qualit}^ too ; and with much discrimination, as well as sympathy, led them through the public kitchen to her own private parlor, or bar, where she handed the lady an arm-chair, and asked what she would like to drink. By this time and indeed at the verj^ moment she heard her aunt's voice, Mrs. Catherine was aware of her situa- tion ; and when her companion retired, and the landlady with much ofl!iciousness insisted on I'emoving her hood, she was quite prepared for the screech of surprise which Mrs. Score gave on 45 306 CATHERINE: A STORY. dropping it, exclaiming, "Why, law bless us, it's our Cathe- rine ! " " I'm very ill, and tired, aunt," said Cat ; " and would give the world for a few hours' sleep." "A few hours and welcome, my love, and a sack-posset too. You do look sadly tired and poorly, sure enough. Ah, Cat, Cat ! you great ladies are sad rakes, I do believe. I wager now, that with all j^our balls, and carriages, and fine clothes, 3'ou are neither so happy nor so well as when you lived with your poor old aunt, who used to love you so." And with these gentle words, and an embrace or two, which Mrs. Cathe- rine wondered at, and permitted, she was conducted to that very bed which the Count had occupied a year previously, and undressed, and laid in it, and affectionately' tucked up, by her aunt, who marvelled at the fineness of her clothes, as she re- moved them piece by piece ; and when she saw that in Mrs. Catherine's pocket there was onl}^ the sum of three-and-four- pence, said, archly, " There was no need of money, for the Cap- tain took care of that." Mrs. Cat did not undeceive her ; and deceived Mrs. Score certainly was, — for she imagined the well-dressed gentleman who led Cat from the carriage was no other than the Count ; and, as she had heard, from time to time, exaggerated reports of the splendor of the establishment which he kept up, she was induced to look upon her niece with the very highest respect, and to treat her as if she were a fine lad}^ " And so she is a fine lady," Mrs. Score had said months ago, when some of these flattering stories reached her, and she had overcome her first fury at Catherine's elopement. '* The girl was very cruel to leave me ; but we must recollect that she is as good as mar- ried to a nobleman, and must all forget and forgive, you know." This speech had been made to Dr. Dobbs, who was in the habit of taking a pipe and a tankard at the " Bugle," and it had been roundly reprobated by the worth}^ divine : who told Mrs. Score that the crime of Catherine was onl}' the more heinous, if it had been committed from interested motives ; and protested that, were she a princess, he would never speak to her again. Mrs. Score thought and pronounced the Doctor's opinion to be very bigoted ; indeed, she was one of those persons who have a marvellous respect for prosperit}', and a corresponding scorn for ill-fortune. When, therefore, she returned to the public room, she went graciously to the gentleman who had led Mrs. Catherine from the carriage, and with a knowing curtsy wel- CATHERINE: A STORY. 307 corned him to the ' ' Bugle ; " told him that his lady would not come to dinner, but bade her say, with her best love to his lordship, that the ride had fatigued her, and that she would lie in bed for an hour or two. This speech was received with much wonder b}' his lordship ; who was, indeed, no other than a Liverpool tailor going to London to learn fashions ; but he only smiled, and did not un- deceive the landlady, who herself went off, smilingly-, to bustle about dinner. The two or three hours allotted to that meal b}' the liberal coachmasters of those daj'S passed away, and Mr. Coachman, declaring that his horses were now rested enough, and that the}-^ had twelve miles to ride, put the steeds to, and summoned the passengers. Mrs. Score, who had seen with much satisfaction that her niece was reall}' ill, and her fever more violent, and hoped to have her for many da3's an inmate in her house, now came forwai'd, and casting upon the Liverpool tailor a look of profound but respectful melauchol}^ said, " M3' lord (for I recollect your lordship quite well) , the lady up stairs is so ill, that it would be a sin to move her : had I not better tell coach- man to take clown your lordship's trunks, and the lady's, and make you a bed in the next room ? " Ver}^ much to her surprise, this proposition was received with a roar of laughter. " Madam," said the person addressed, " I'm not a lord, but a tailor and draper ; and as for that young woman, before to-da}' I never set eyes on her." '■'■W/iat!" screamed out Mrs. Score. "Are not you the Count? Do you mean to say that ^'ou a' n't Cat's ? Bo you mean to say that you didn't order her bed, and that 3-ou won't pay this here little bill?" And with this she produced a document, by which the Count's lad}' was made her debtor in a sum of half a guinea. These passionate words excited more and more laughter. " Pay it, my lord," said the coachman ; " and then come along, for time presses." " Our respects to her ladyship," said one passenger. " Tell her my lord can't wait," said another ; and with much merriment one and all quitted the hotel, entered the coach, and rattled off. Dumb — pale with terror and rage — bill in hand, Mrs. Score had followed the company ; but when the coach disappeared her senses returned. Back she flew into the inn, overturning the ostler, not deigning to answer Dr. Dobbs (who, from behind soft tobacco-fumes, mildly asked the reason of her disturbance) , 308 CATHERINE: A STORY. and, bounding up stairs like a fury, she rushed into the room where Catherine la3\ " Well, madam!" said she, in her highest key, " do you mean that you have come into this here house to swindle me? Do you dare for to come with your airs here, and call yourself a nobleman's lady, and sleep in the best bed, when you're no better nor a common tramper? I'll thank you, ma'am, to get out, ma'am. I'll have no sick paupers in this house, ma'am. You know your way to the workhouse, ma'am, and there I'll trouble you for to go." And here Mrs. Score proceeded quickly to pull off the bedclothes ; and poor Cat arose, shivering witli fright and fever. She had no spirit to answer, as she would have done the day before, when an oath from any human being would have brought half a dozen from her in return ; or a knife, or a plate, or a leg of mutton, if such had been to her hand. She had no spirit left for such repartees ; but in reply to the above words of Mrs. Score, and a great many more of the same kind — which are not necessary for our history, but which that lady uttered with inconceivable shrillness and volubility, the poor wench could say little, —only sob and shiver, and gather up the clothes again, crying, "Oh, aunt, don't speak unkind to me! I'm very unhappy, and very ill ! " " 111, you strumpet ! ill, be hanged ! Ill is as ill does ; and if you are ill, it's only what you merit. Get out ! dress yourself — tramp ! Get to the workhouse, and don't come to cheat me any more! Dress yourself — do you hear? Satin petticoat forsooth, and lace to her smock ! " Poor, wretched, chattering, burning, shivering, Catherine huddled on her clothes as well as she might : she seemed hardly to know or see what she was doing, and did not reply a single word to the many that the landlady let fall. Cat tot- tered down the narrow stairs, and through the kitchen, and to the door ; which she caught hold of, and paused awhile, and looked into Mrs. Score's face, as for one more chance. " Get out, you nasty trull ! " said that lady, sternly, with arms akimbo ; and poor Catherine, with a most piteous scream and outgush of tears, let go of the door-post and staggered away into the road. • •••... "Why, no — yes — no — it is poor Catherine Hall, as I live ! " said somebody starting up, shoving aside Mrs. Score very rudely, and running into the road, wig off and pipe in hand. It was honest Dr. Dobbs ; and the result of his inter- CATHERINE: A STORY. 309 view with Mrs. Cat was, tliat he gave up for ever smoking his pipe at the ' ' Bugle ; " and that she lay sick of a fever for some weeks iu his house. • ••••• •• Over this part of Mrs. Cat's history we shall be as brief as possible ; for, to tell the truth, nothing immoral occurred dur- ing her whole sta}' at the good Doctor's house ; and we are not going to insult the reader by offering him silly pictures of piety, cheerfulness, good sense, and simplicit}^ ; which are milk-and- water virtues after all, and have no relish with them like a good strong vice, highly peppered. Well, to be short: Dr. Dobbs, though a profound theologian, was a very simple gentleman ; and before Mrs. Cat had been a month in the house, he had learned to look upon her as one of the most injured and repent- ant characters in the world ; and had, with Mrs. Dobbs, resolved man3- plans for the future welfare of the young Magdalen. ' ' She was but sixteen, my love, recollect," said the Doctor ; " she was carried off, not by her own wish either. The Count swore he would marry her ; and, though she did not leave him until that monster tried to poison her, 3'et think what a fine Christian spirit the poor girl has shown ! she forgives him as heartily — more heartil}', 1 am sure, than I do Mrs. Score for turning her adrift in that wicked way." The reader will perceive some differ- ence iu the Doctor's statement and ours, which we assure him is the true one ; but the fact is, the honest rector had had his tale from Mrs. Cat, and it was not in his nature to doubt, if she had told him a history ten times more wonderful. The reverend gentleman and his wife then laid their heads together ; and, recollecting something of John Hayes's former attachment to Mrs. Cat, thought that it might be advantageous!}- renewed, should Ha^es be still constant. Having ver}^ adroitly' sounded Catherine (so adroitl}', indeed, as to ask her "whether she would like to marry John Ha3es ? ") , that young woman had replied, " No. She had loved John Hayes — he had been her earl}', onl}' love ; but she was fallen now, and not good enough for him." And this made the Dobbs family admire her more and more, and cast about for means to bring the marriage to pass. Hayes was away from the village when Mrs. Cat had arrived there ; but he did not fail to hear of her illness, and how her aunt had deserted her, and the good Doctor taken her in. The worthy Doctor himself met Mr. Hayes on the green ; and, tell- ing him that some repairs were wanting in his kitchen, begged him to step in and examine them. Ha}es first said no, plump, o 10 CATHERINE: A STORY. and then no, gently ; and then pished, and then psha'd ; and then, trembling very much, went in : and there sat JVIi-s. Cath- erine, trembling ver^' nmch too. What passed between them? If your ladyship is anxious to know, think of that morning when Sir John himself popped the question. Could there be anything more stupid than the conversation which took place? Such stuff is not worth repeat- ing : no, not when uttered by people in the very genteelest of company ; as for the amorous dialogue of a carpenter and an ex-barmaid, it is worse still. Suffice it to sa}^ that Mr. Hayes, who had had a year to recover from his passion, and had, to all appearances, quelled it, was over head and ears again the very moment he saw Mrs. Cat, and had all his work to do again. Whether the Doctor knew what was going on, I can't say ; but this matter is certain, that every evening Ha^'es was now in the rectory kitchen, or else walking abroad with Mrs. Catherine : and whether she ran awaj- with him, or he with her, I shall not make it m}- business to inquire ; but certainly at the end of three months (which must be crowded up into this one little sentence), another elopement took place in the village. "I should have prevented it, certainl}^" said Dr. Dobbs — whereat his wife smiled ; " but the young people kept the matter a secret from me." And so he would, had he known it ; but though Mrs. Dobbs had made several attempts to acquaint him with tii-e pre- cise hour and method of the intended elopement he peremptorily ordered her to hold her tongue. The fact is, that the matter had been discussed b}^ the rector's lad}" many times. " Young Hayes," would she say, '" has a pretty little fortune and trade of his own ; he is an only son, and ma}- marry as he likes ; and though not specially handsome, generous, or amiable, has an undeniable love for Cat (who, 3-ou know, must not be particu- lar), and the sooner she marries him, I think, the better. They can't be married at our church, you know, and — " "•Well," said the Doctor, " if they are married elsewhere, /can't help it, and know nothing about it, look you." And upon this hint the elopement took place : which, indeed, was peaceably peiformed earh' one Sunda}' morning about a month after ; Mrs. Hall getting behind Mr. Hayes on a pillion, and all the children of the parsonage giggling behind the window-blinds to see the pair go oif. During this month Mr. Haj-es had caused the banns to be published at the town of Worcester ; judging rightly that in a great town they would cause no such remark as in a solitary CATHERINE: A STORY. 311 village, and thither he conducted his lady. O ill-starred John Hayes ! whither do the dark fates lead you ? O foolish Dr. Dobbs, to forget that 3'oung people ought to honor their parents, and to yield to silly Mrs. Dobbs's ardent propensity for making matches ! • • • •"• • • • The London Gazette of the 1st April, 170G, contains a procla- mation b}' the Queen for putting into execution an Act of Par- liament for the encouragement and increase of seamen, and for the better and speedier manning of her Majesty's fleet, which authorizes all justices to issue warrants to constables, pett}^ constables, head-boroughs, and tithing-men, to enter, and if need be, to break open the doors of any houses where they shall believe deserting seamen to be ; and for the further increase and encouragement of the navy, to take able-bodied landsmen when seamen fail. This act, which occupies four columns of the Gazette^ and another of similar length and mean- ing for pressing men into the army, need not be quoted at length here ; but caused a mighty stir thi-oughout the kingdom at the time when it was in force. As one has seen or heard, after the march of a great army, a number of rogues and loose characters bring up the rear ; in like manner, at the tail of a great measure of State, follow many roguish personal interests, which are protected by the main body. The great measure of Reform, for instance, car- ried along with it much private jobbing and swindling — as could be shown were we not inclined to deal mildly with the Whigs ; and this Enlistment Act, which, in order to maintain the British glories in Flanders, dealt most cruelly with the British people in England (it is not the first time that a man has been pinched at home to make a fine appearance abroad), created a great company of rascals and informers throughout the land, who lived upon it ; or upon extortion from those who were subject to it^ or not being subject to it were frightened into the belief that they were. When Mr. Hayes and his lady had gone through the mar- riage ceremony at Worcester, the former, concluding that at such a place lodging and food might be procured at a cheaper rate, looked about carefully for the meanest public-house in the town, where he might deposit his bride. In the kitchen of this inn, a party of men were drinking ; and, as Mrs. Hayes declined, with a proper sense of her supe- riority, to eat in company with such low fellows, the landlady 312 CATHERINE: A STORY. showed her and her husband to an inner apartment, where they might be served in private. The kitchen party seemed, indeed, not such as a lady would choose to join. There was one huge lanky fellow, that looked like a soldier, and had a halberd ; another was habited in a sailor's costume, with a fascinating patch over one eye ; and a third, who seemed the leader of the gang, was a stout man in a sailor's frock and a horseman's jack-boots, whom one might fancy, if he were anj'thing, to be a horse-marine. Of one of these worthies, Mrs. Haj^es thought she knew the figure and voice ; and she found her conjectures were true, when, all of a sudden, three people, without " with 3'our leave " or " by your leave," burst into the room, into which she and her spouse had retired. At their head was no other than her old friend, Mr. Peter Brock ; he had his sword drawn, and his finger to his lips, enjoining silence, as it were, to Mrs. Cathe- rine. He with the patch on his e^'e seized incontinently on Mr. Hayes ; the tall man with the halberd kept the door ; two or three heroes supported the one-e3'ed man ; who, with a loud voice, exclaimed, "Down with your arms — no resistance! you are my prisoner, in the Queen's name ! " And here, at this lock, we shall leave the whole company until the next chapter ; which may possibly explain what they were. CHAPTER V. CONTAINS MR. BROCK's AUTOBIOGRAPHY, AND OTHER MATTER. " You don't sure believe these men?" said Mrs. Hayes, as soon as the first alarm caused by the irruption of Mr. Brock and his companions had subsided. " These are no magistrate's men : it is but a trick to rob you of your money, John." " I will never give up a farthing of it ! " screamed Hayes. "Yonder fellow," continued Mrs. Catherine, " I know, for all his drawn sword and fierce looks ; his name is — " " Wood, madam, at your service ! " said Mr. Brock. " I am follower to Mr. Justice Gobble, of this town : a'n't I, Tim ? " said Mr. Brock to the tall halberd-man who was keeping the door. "Yes, indeed," said Tim, archly; "we're all followers of his honor, Justice Gobble." CATHERIXE: A STORY. 313 " Certainly ! " said tlie one-ej-ed man. " Of course ! " cried the man in the nightcap. " I suppose, madam, you're satisfied wow?" continued Mr. Brock a. Wood. '■' You can't deny the testimon}- of gentlemen like these ; and our commission is to apprehend all able-bodied male persons who can give no good account of themsehes, and enroll them in the service of her Majest}-. Look at this Mr. Hayes" (who stood trembling in his shoes). '• Can there be a bolder, properer, straighter gentleman ? We'll have him for a grenadier before the day's over ! " ^'Take heart, John — don't be frightened. Psha ! I tell you I know the man," cried out Mrs. Hayes : " he is only here to extort mone3\" " Oh, for that matter, I do think I recollect the lady. Let me see? where was it? At Birmingham, I think, — ay, at Birmingham, — about the time when they tried to murder Count Gal — " "Oh, sir! " here cried Madam Hayes, dropping her voice at once from a tone of scorn to one of gentlest entreaty, " what is it you want with my husband? I know not, indeed, if ever I saw you before. For what do you seize him? How much will you take to release him, and let us go? Name the sum ; he is rich, and — " '•'•Rich., Catherine!" cried Hayes. "Rich! — O heavens I Sir, I have nothing but my hands to support me : I am a poor carpenter, sir, working under m^' father ! " " He can give tweut}' guineas to be free ; I know he can ! " said Mrs. Cat. " I have but a guinea to cany me home," sighed out Ha3'es. " But 3'ou have twenty at home, John," said his wife. " Give these brave gentlemen a writing to 3'our mother, and she will pay ; and 3'ou wUl let us free then, gentlemen — won't you?" " When the money's paid, yes," said the leader, Mr. Brock. " Oh, in course," echoed the tall man with the halberd. "What's a thrifling dethition, ni}' dear?" continued he, ad- dressing Ha^-es. "We'll amuse j'ou in your absence, and drink to the health of your prett}' wife here." This promise, to do the halberdier justice, he fulfilled. He called upon the landlady to produce the desired liquor ; and when Mr. Hayes flung himself at that lady's feet, demanding succor from her, and asking whether there was no law in the land — "There's no law at the ' Three Rooks' except this!" said 314 CATHERINE: A STORY. Mr. Brock in reply, holding up a horse-pistol. To which the hostess, grinning, assented, and silently went her way. After some further solicitations, John Haj-es drew out the necessary letter to his father, stating that he was pressed, and would not be set free under a sum of twenty guineas ; and that it would be of no use to detain the bearer of the letter, inasmuch as the gentlemen who had possession of him vowed that they would murder him should any harm befall their comrade. As a further proof of the authenticity of the letter, a token was added : a ring that Hayes wore, and that his mother had given him. The missives were, after some consultation, entrusted to the care of the tall halberdier, who seemed to rank as second in command of the forces that marched under Corporal Brock. This gentleman was called indifferentlj' Ensign, Mr., or even Captain Macshane ; his intimates occasionally in sport called him Nosey, from the prominence of that feature in his counte- nance ; or Spindleshins, for the very reason which brought on the first Edward a similar nickname, Mr. Macshane then quitted Worcester, mounted on Hayes's horse ; leaving all parties at the "Three Rooks" not a little anxious for his return. This was not to be expected until the next morning ; and a Vfeaxy nuit de noces did Mr. Hayes pass. Dinner was served, and, according to promise, Mr. Brock and his two friends enjo3'ed the meal along with the bride and bridegroom. Punch followed, and this was taken in compan^^ ; then came supper. Mr. Brock alone partook of this, the other two gentlemen preferring the society of their pipes and the landlady in the kitchen. " It is a sorry entertainment I confess," said the ex-corporal, " and a dismal way for a gentleman to spend his bridal night ; but somebody must stay with .you, my dears : for who knows but 3'ou might take a fancy to scream out of window, and then there would be murder, and the deuce and all to pa}^ ? One of us must stay, and my friends love a pipe, so 3"0u must put up with my company until he can relieve guard." The reader will not, of course, expect that three people who were to pass the night, however unwillingly, together in an inn- room, should sit there dumb and mood}', and without an}^ per- sonal communication ; on the contrary, Mr. Brock, as an old soldier, entertained his prisoners with the utmost courtesy', and did all that la^- in his power, by the help of liquor arid conversa- tion, to render their durance tolerable. On the bridegroom his attentions were a good deal thrown away : Mr. Hayes consented The Interrupted Marriage. CATHERINE: A STORY. 315 to drink copiously, but could not be made to talk much ; and, in fact, the fright of the seizure, the fate hanging over him should his parents refuse a ransom, and the tremendous outlay of money which would take place should they accede to it, weighed alto- gether on his mind so much as utterly to unman it. As for Mrs. Cat, I don't think she was at all sorry in her heart to see the old Corporal : for he had been a friend of old times — dear times to her ; she had had from him, too, and felt for him not a little kindness : and there was really a very tender, innocent friendship subsisting between this pair of rascals, who relished much a night's conversation together. The Corporal, after treating his prisoners to punch in great quantities, proposed the amusement of cards : over which Mr. Ha3es had not been occupied more than an hour, when he found himself so excessively sleepy as to be persuaded to fling himself down on the bed, dressed as he was, and there to snore away until morning. Mrs. Catherine had no inclination for sleep : and the Corpo- ral, equally wakeful, plied incessantly the bottle, and held with her a great deal of conversation. The sleep, which was equiva- lent to the absence of John Hayes, took all restraint from their talk. She explained to Brock the circumstances of her mar- riage, which we have already described ; they wondered at the chance which had brought them together at the " Three Rooks : " nor did Brock at all hesitate to tell her at once that his calling- was quite illegal, and that his intention was simply to extort money. The worthy Corporal had not the slightest shame re- garding his own profession, and cut manj' jokes with Mrs. Cat about her late one : her attempt to murder the Count, and her future prospects as a wife. And here, having brought him upon the scene again, we ma}' as well shortly narrate some of the principal circumstances which befell him after his sudden departure from l^irmingham ; and which he narrated with much candor to Mrs. Catherine. He rode the Captain's horse to Oxford (having exchanged his miUtary dress for a civil costume on the road), and at Ox- ford he disposed of "George of Denmark," a great bargain, to one of the heads of colleges. As soon as Mr. Brock, who took on himself the style and title of Captain Wood, had suffi- ciently examined the curiosities of the University, he proceeded at once to the capital : the only place for a gentleman of his fortune and figure. Here he read, with a great deal of philosophical indifference, in the Daily Post, the Courant, the Observator, the Gazette, and 316 CATHERINE: A STORY. the chief journals of those days, which he made a point of ex- amining at "Button's" and "Will's," an accurate description of his person, his clothes, and the horse he rode, and a prom- ise of flftj guineas' reward to any person who would give an account of him (so that he might be captured) to Captain Count Galgenstein at Birmingham, to Mr. Murfey at the " Golden Ball" in the Savoy, or Mr. Bates at the "Blew Anchor in Pickadilly." But Captain Wood in an enormous full-bottomed periwig that cost him sixty pounds,* with high red heels to his shoes, a silver sword, and a gold snuff-box, and a large wound (obtained, he said, at the siege of Barcelona), which disfigured much of his countenance, and caused him to cover one e^'e, was in small danger, he thought, of being mistaken for Corpo- ral Brock, the deserter of Cutts's ; and strutted along the Mall with as grave an air as the very best nobleman who appeared there. He was generally, indeed, voted to be very good com- pany ; and as his expenses were unlimited ("A few convent candlesticks, my dear," he used to whisper, "melt into a vast number of doubloons "), he commanded as good society as he chose to ask for ; and it was speedily known as a fact through- out town, that Captain Wood, who had served under his majesty Charles III. of Spain, had carried off the diamond petticoat of our Lady of Compostella, and lived upon the pro- ceeds of the fraud. People were good Protestants in those days, and man}- a one longed to have been his partner in the pious plunder. All surmises concerning his wealth. Captain Wood, with much discretion, encouraged. He contradicted no report, but was quite ready to confirm all ; and when two different rumors were positively put to him, he used to laugh, and say, "My dear sir, / don't make the stories ; but Pm not called upon to deny them ; and I give you fair warning, that I shall assent to every one of them ; so you may believe them or not, as 3-ou please." And so he had the reputation of being a gentleman, not only wealthy, but discreet. In truth, it was almost a {Aty that worthy Brock had not been a gentleman born ; in which case, doubtless, he would have lived and died as became his station ; for he spent his money like a gentleman, he loved women like a gentleman, he would fight like a gentleman, he gambled and got drunk like a gentleman. What did he want else? Only a matter of six descents, a little money, and an estate, to render him the equal of St. John or Harle3\ "Ah, * In the ingenious contemporary history of Moll Flanders, a periwig is mentioned as costing that sum. Captain Brock appears at Court with my Lord Peterborough I CATHERINE: A STORY. • 317 those were raeny daj's ! " would Mr. Brock sa}', — for he loved, in a good old age, to recount the story of his London fashion- able campaign; — "and when I think how near I was to become a great man, and to die perhaps a general, I can't but marvel at the wicked obstinac}^ of my ill-luck." "I will tell you what I did, my dear : I had lodgings in Pic- cadilly, as if I were a lord ; I had two large- periwigs, and three suits of laced clothes ; I kept a little black dressed out like a Turk ; I walked daily in the Mall ; I dined at the politest ordinary in Covent Garden ; I frequented the best of coffee- houses, and knew all the pretty fellows of the town ; I cracked a bottle with Mr. Addison, and lent many a piece to Dick Steele (a sad debauched rogue, my dear) ; and, above all, I'll tell you what I did — the noblest stroke that sure ever a gentleman performed in my situation. " One day, going into ' Will's,' I saw a crowd of gentlemen gathered together, and heard one of them say, ' Captain Wood ! I don't know the man : but there was a Captain AVood in Southwell's regiment.' Egad, it was my Lord Peterborough himself who was talking about me! So, putting off my hat, I made a most gracious conge to my lord, and said I knew him^ and rode behind him at Barcelona on our entry into that town . " ' No doubt you did, Captain Wood,' says my lord, taking my hand ; ' and no doubt you know me : for many more know Tom Fool, than Tom Fool knows.' And with this, at which all of us laughed, my lord called for a bottle, and he and I sat down and drank it together. "Well, he was in disgrace, as 3'ou know, but he grew mighty fond of me, and — would you believe it? — nothing would satisfy him but presenting me at Court ! Yes, to her sacred Majesty the Queen, and my Lady Marlborough, who was in high feather. Ay, truly, the sentinels on duty used to salute me as if I were Corporal John himself I I was in the high road to fortune. Charley Mordaunt used to call me Jack, and drink canary at nry- chambers ; I used to make one at m}' Lord Treasurer's levee ; I had even got Mr. Army-Secretary Walpole to take a hundred guineas in a compliment ; and he had promised me a majority : when bad luck turned, and all my fine hopes were overthrown in a twinkling. "You see, my dear, that after we had left that gab}*, Gal- genstein, — ha, ha, — with a gag in his mouth, and twopence- halfpenny in his pocket, the honest Count was in the sorriest plight in the world ; owing money here and there to tradesmen, 318 CATHERINE: A STORY. a cool thousand to the Warwickshire Squire : and all this on eighty pounds a year ! Well, for a little time the tradesmen held their hands ; while the jolly Count moved heaven and earth to catch hold of his dear Corporal and his dear money- bags over again, and placarded every town from London to Liverpool with descriptions of m3' pretty person. The bird was flown, however, — the money clean gone, — and when there was no hope of regaining it, what did the creditors do but clap my gay gentleman into Shrewsbury gaol : where I wish he had rotted, for my part, "But no such luck for honest Peter Brock, or Captain Wood, as he was in those days. One blessed Monday I went to wait on Mr. Secretary, and he squeezed my hand and whis- pered to me that I was to be Major of a regiment in Virginia — the very tiling : for you see, my dear, I didn't care about join- ing my Lord Duke in Flanders ; being pretty well known to the army there. The Secretary squeezed ra}^ hand (it had a fifty-pound bill in it) and wished me joy, and called me Major, and bowed me out of his closet into the ante-room ; and, as gay as may be, I went off to the ' Tilt-yard Coffee-house ' in Whitehall, which is much frequented by gentlemen of our pro- fession, where I bragged not a little of my good luck. " Amongst the company were several of my acquaintance, and amongst them a gentleman I did not much care to see, look you ! I saw a uniform that I knew — red and 3-ellow facings — Cutts's, my dear ; and the wearer of this was no other than his Excellency Gustavus Adolphus Maximilian, whom we all know of! "He stared me full in the face, right into my 63-6 (t'other one was patched, you know) ; and after standing stock-still with his mouth open, gave a step back, and then a step for- ward, and then screeched out, ' It's Brock ! ' " ' I beg your pardon, sir,' says I ; ' did 3'ou speak to me?' " ' I'll swem^ it's Brock,' cries Gal, as soon as he hears m3'^ voice, and laid hold of my cuff (a pretty bit of mechlin as ever you saw, by the wa3-). " ' Sirrah ! ' sa3's I, drawing it back, and giving my lord a little touch of the fist (just at the last button of the waistcoat, m3'- dear, — a rare place if 3'ou wish to prevent a man from speaking too much : it sent him reehng to the other end of the room). ' Ruffian ! ' says I. ' Dog ! ' says I. ' Insolent puppy and coxcomb ! w^iat do 3-ou mean 1^3^ laying 3'our hand on me ? ' " ' Faith, Major, you giv him his billyful^' roared out a long Irish unattached ensign, that I had treated with many a glass CATHERINE: A STORY. 319 of Nantz at the tavern. And so, indeed, I had ; for the wretch could not speak for some minutes, and all the officers stood laughing at him, as he writhed and wriggled hideousl}'. " ' Gentlemen, this is a monstrous scandal,' sa^-s one officer. ' Men of rank and honor at fists like a parcel of carters ! ' " ' Men of honor ! ' says the Count, who had fetched up his breath by this time. (I made for the door, but Macshane held me and said, 'Major, you are not going to shirk him, sure?' Whereupon I gripped his hand and vowed ,1 would have the dog's life.) " ' Men of honor ! ' saj's the Count. ' I tell you the man is a deserter, a thief, and a swindler ! He was my corporal, and ran away with a thou — ' "'Dog, 3'ou lie!' I roared out, and made another cut at him with my cane ; but the gentlemen rushed between us. "'O bluthanowns ! ' says honest Macshane, 'the lying scounthrel this fellow is ! Gentlemen, I swear be me honor that Captain Wood was wounded at Barcelona ; and that I saw him there ; and that he and I ran away together at the battle of Almanza, and bad luck to us.' " You see, my dear, that these Irish have the strongest im- aginations in the world ; and that I had actually persuaded poor Mac that he and I were friends in Spain. Everybody knew Mac, who was a character in his way, and believed him. "'Strike a gentleman!' says I. 'I'll have your blood, I will.' " ' This instant,' says the Count, who was boiling with fury ; ' and where you like.' "'Montague House,' sa3's I. 'Good,' says he. And off we went. In good time too, for the constables came in at the thought of such a disturbance, and wanted to take us in charge. " But the gentlemen present, being militar}' men, would not hear of this. Out came Mac's rapier, and that of half a dozen others ; and the constables were then told to do their dut}' if they liked, or to take a crown-piece and leave us to ourselves. Otf they went ; and presently, in a couple of coaches, the Count and his friends, I and mine, drove off to the fields behind Mon- tague House. Oh, that vile coffee-house ! wh}' did I enter it? "We came to the ground. Honest Macshane was m^' second, and much disappointed because the second on the other side would not make a fight of it, and exchange a few passes with him ; but he was an old major, a cool old hand, as brave as steel, and no fool. Well, the swords are measured, Galgeustein strips off his doublet, and I my handsome cut- 320 CATHERINE: A STORY. velvet in like fashion. Galgenstein flings off his hat, and I handed mine over — the lace on it cost me twenty pounds. I longed to be at hira, for — curse him! — I hate him, and know that he has no chance with me at sword's-play. "'You'll not fight in that periwig, sure?' sa^-s Macshane. ' Of course not,' sa3-s I, and took it otf. "May all barbers be roasted in flames; may all periwigs, bobwigs, scratch wigs, and Ramillies cocks, frizzle in purgatory from this day forth to the end of time ! Mine was the ruin of me : what might I not have been now but for that wig? ^ I gave it over to Ensign Macshane, and with it went what I had quite forgotten, the large patch which I wore over one eye., which popped out fierce, staring, and lively as was ever an}- eye in the world. " ' Come on ! ' sa^'s I, and made a lunge at my Count ; but he sprang back, (the dog was as active as a hare, and knew, from old times, that I was his master with the small-sword,) and his second, wondering, struck up my blade. " ' I will not fight that man,' saj's he, looking mighty pale. ' I swear upon mj- honor that his name is Peter Brock : he was for two years my corporal, and deserted, running away with a thousand pounds of ni}' mone3^s. Look at the fellow ! what is the matter with his eye? why did he wear a patch over it? But stop ! ' says he. 'I have more proof. Hand me my pocket-book.' And from it, sure enough, he produced the infer- nal proclamation announcing my desertion ! ' See if the fellow has a scar across his left ear ' (and I can't say, m}' dear, but what I have : it was done by a cursed Dutchman at the Bo3'ne). ' Tell me if he has not got C. R. in blue upon his right arm ' (and there it is sure enough). 'Yonder swaggering Irishman may be his accomplice for what I know ; but I will have no dealings with Mr. Brock, save with a constable for a second.' " ' This is an odd storj^. Captain Wood,' said the old Major, who acted for the Count. " ' A scounthrelly falsehood regarding me and my friend ! ' shouted out Mr. Macshane ; ' and the Count shall answer for it.' " ' Stop, stop,' says the Major. ' Captain Wood is too gal- lant a gentleman, I am sure, not to satisfy the Count ; and will show us that he has no such mark on his arm as only private soldiers put there.' " 'Captain Wood,' sa^-s I, 'will do no such thing, Major. I'll fight that scoundrel Galgenstein, or you, or any of you, like a man of honor ; but I won't submit to be searched like a thief.'-' CATHERINE: A STORY. 321 " 'No, in coorse,' said Macshane. " ' I must take my man off the ground,' says the Major. " ' Well, take him, sir,' says I, in a rage, ' and just let me have the pleasure of telling him that he's a coward and a liar ; and that my lodgings are in Piccadilly, where, if ever he finds courage to meet me, he may hear of me ! ' '^ ' Faugh ! I shpit on ye* all,' cries my gallant ally Macshane. And sure enough he kept his word, or all but — suiting the action to it at any rate. " And so we gathered up our clothes, and went back in our separate coaches, and no blood spilt. " ' And is it thrue now,' said Mr. Macshane, when we were alone — ' is it thrue now, all these divvies have been saying? ' " ' Ensign,' says I, ' you're a man of the world ? ' " 'Deed and 1 am, and Insign these twenty-two years.' " ' Perhaps you'd like a few pieces?' says I. " ' Faith and I should ; for, to tell you the secred thrut, I've not tasted mate these four days.' " ' Well then, Ensign, it is true,' says I ; ' and as for meat, 3'ou shall have some at the first cook-shop.' I bade the coach stop until he bought a plateful, which he ate in the carriage, for my time, was precious. I just told him the whole story : at which he laughed, and swore that it was the best piece of gen- eralship he ever heard on. When his belly was full, I took out a couple of guineas and gave them to him. Mr. Macshane began to cry at this, and kissed me, and swore he never would desert me : as, indeed, my dear, I don't think he will ; for we have been the best of friends ever since, and he's the only man I ever could trust, I think. " I don't know what put it into my head, but I had a scent of some mischief in the wind ; so stopped the coach a little be- fore I got home, and, turning into a tavern, begged Macshane to go before me to my lodging, and see if the coast was clear : wdiich he did ; and came back to me as pale as death, saying that the house was full of constables. The cursed quarrel at the Tilt-yard had, I suppose, set the beaks upon me; and a pretty sweep they made of it. Ah, my dear ! five hundred pounds in money, five suits of laced clothes, three periwigs, besides laced shirts, swords, canes, and snufll'-boxes ; and all to go back to that scoundrel Count. " It was all over with me, I saw — no more being a gentle- man for me ; and if I remained to be caught, onl}- a choice between Tyburn and a file of grenadiers. My love, under such circumstances, a gentleman can't be particular, and must be 46 322 CATHERINE: A STORY. prompt : the liver3--stable was hard by where I used to hire my coach to go to Court, — ha ! ha ! — and was known as a man of substance. Thither I went immediately. ' Mr. Warmmash,' sa^'s I, ' my gaUant friend here and I have a mind for a ride and a supper at Twickenham, so you must lend us a pair of your best horses.' Which he did in a twinkling, and off we rode. " "We did not go into the Park, but turned off and cantered smartlj^ up towards Kilburn ; and, when we got into the country, galloped as-if the devil were at our heels. Bless ^uju, m}- love, it was all done in a minute : and the Ensign and I found our- selves regular knights of the road, before we knew where we were almost. Only think of our finding you and your new hus- band at the ' Three Rooks ! ' There's not a greater fence than the landlady in all the country. It was she that put us on seizing your husband, and introduced us to the other two gen- tlemen, whose names I don't know any more than the dead." "And what became of the horses?" said Mrs. Catherine to Mr. Brock, when his tale was finished. "Eips, madam," said he; "mere rips. We sold them at Stourbridge fair, and got but thirteen guineas for the two." "And — and — the Count, Max; where is he, Brock?" sighed she. "AVhew! " w-histled Mr. Brock. "What, hankering after him still? My dear, he is off to Flanders with his regiment; and I make no doubt, there have been twenty Countesses of Galgenstein since j'our time." " I don't believe any such thing, sir," said Mrs. Catherine, starting up very angi'il3\ "If you did, I suppose j'ou'd laudanum him; wouldn't you?" "Leave the room, fellow," said the lady. But she recol- lected herself speedily again ; and, clasping her hands and looking very wretched at Brock, at the ceiling, at the floor, at her husband (from whom she violentl}' turned away her head), she began to cr}^ piteously : to which tears the Corporal set up a gentle accompaniment of whistling, as they trickled one after another down her nose. I don't think they were tears of repentance ; but of regret for the time when she had her first love, and her fine clothes, and her white hat and blue feather. Of tlie two, the Corporal's whistle was much more innocent than the girl's sobbing: he was a rogue ; but a good-natured old fellow, when his humor was CATHERINE: A STORY. 323 not crossed. Surely our novel-writers make a great mistake in divesting their rascals of all gentle human qualities ; they have such — and the only sad point to think of is, in all private concerns of life, abstract feelings, and dealings with friends, and so on, how dreadful!}' like a rascal is to an* honest man. The man who murdered the Italian boy, set him first to plaj^ with his children whom he loved, and who doubtless de- plored his loss. CHAPTER VI. THE ADVENTURES OF THE AMBASSADOR, MR. MACSHANE. If we had not been obliged to follow history in all respects, it is probable that we should have left out Ihe last adventure of Mrs. Catherine and her husband, at the inn at Worcester, altogether ; for, in truth, verj^ little came of it, and it is not ver}^ romantic or striking. But we are bound to stick closel}^ above all, b}- the truth — the truth, though it be not particu- larly' pleasant to read of or to tell. As an3'body may read in the "Newgate Calendar," Mr. and Mrs. Hayes were taken at an inn at Worcester ; were confined there ; were swindled by persons who pretended to impress the bridegroom for military service. What is one to do after that? Had we been writino; novels instead of authentic histories, we might have carried them anywhere else we chose : and we had a great mind to make Hayes philosophizing with Bolingbroke, like a certain Devereux ; and Mrs. Catherine mcntresse en titre to Mr. Alexan- der Pope, Doctor Sacheverel, Sir John Reade the oculist, Dean Swift, or Marshal Tallard ; as the very commonest romancer would under such circumstances. But alas and alas ! truth must be spoken, whatever else is in the wind ; and the excel- lent " Newgate Calendar," which contains the biographies and thanatographies of Hayes and his wife, does not sa^' a word of their connections with an}' of the leading literary or military heroes of the time of her Majesty Queen Anne. The " Calen- dar" says, in so many words, that Ha3'es was obliged to send to his father in AVarwickshire for money to get him out of the scrape, and that the old gentleman came down to his aid. By this truth must we stick ; and not for the sake of the' most brilliant episode, — no, not for a bribe of twenty extra guineas per sheet, would we depart from it. 324 CATHERINE: A STORY. Mr. Brock's account of his adventure in London has sriven the reader some short notice of his friend, Mr. Macsliane. Neither the wits nor the principles of that worth}' Ensign were particularly firm : for drink, poverty, and a crack on the skull at the 'battle of Steenkirk had served to injure the former ; and the Ensign was not in his best days possessed of any share of the latter. He had really, at one period, held such a rank in the army, but pawned his half-pay for drink and pla}^ ; and for many years past had lived, one of the hundred thousand miracles of our citj', upon nothing that anybody knew of, or of which he himself could give an}' account. Who has not a catalogue of these men in his list? who can tell whence comes the occasional clean shirt, who sujDplies the continual means of drunkenness, who wards off the daily -impending starvation? Their life is a wonder from day to day : their breakfast a wonder ; their dinner a miracle ; their bed an interposition of Providence. If 3'ou and I, my dear sir, want a shilling to-morrow, who will give it us? Will our butchers give us mutton-chops? will our laundresses clothe us in clean linen? — not a bone or a rag. Standing as we do (ma}' it be ever so) somewhat removed from want,* is there one of us who does not shudder at the thought of descending into the lists to com- bat with it, and expect anything but to be utterly crushed in the encounter? Not a bit of it, my dear sir. It takes much more than you think for to starve a man. Starvation is very little when you are used to it. Some people I know even, who live on it quite comfortably, and make their daily bread by it. It had been our friend Macshane's sole profession for many years ; and he did not fail to draw from it such a livelihood as was sufficient, and perhaps too good, for him. He managed to dine upon it a certain or rather uncertain number of days in the week, to sleep somewhere, and to get drunk at least three hundred times a year. He was known to one or two noblemen who occasion- ally helped him with a few pieces, and whom he helped in turn — never mind how. He had other acquaintances whom he pestered undauntedly ; and from whom he occasionally extracted a dinner, or a crown, or mayhap, by mistake, a gold-headed cane, which found its way to the pawnbroker's. When flush of cash, he would appear at the coffee-house ; when low in funds, the deuce knows into what mystic caves and dens he slunk for food and lodging. He was perfectly ready with his * The author, it must be remembered, has his lodgings and food pro- vided for him by the government of his country. CATHERINE: A STORY. 325 sword, and when sober, or better still, a very little tips}^, was a complete master of it ; in the art of boasting and lying he had hardly any equals ; in shoes he stood six feet five inches ; and here is his complete signalement. It was a fact that he had been in Spain as a volunteer, where he had shown some gallantr}'^, had had a brain-fever, and was sent home to starve as before. Mr. Macshane had, however, like Mr. Conrad, the Corsair, one virtue in the midst of a thousand ci'imes, — he was faithful to his employer for the time being : and a story is told of him, which may or may not be to his credit, viz., that being hired on one occasion by a certain lord to intlict a punishment upon a roturier who had crossed his lordship in his amours, he, Macshane, did actuall}^ refuse from the person to be belabored, and who entreated his forbearance, a larger sum of money than the nobleman gave him for the beating ; which he performed punctually, as bound in honor and friendship. This tale would the Ensign himself relate, with much self-satisfaction ; and when, after the sudden flight from London, he and Brock took to their roving occupation, he cheerfully submitted to the latter as his commanding officer, called him always Major, and, bating blunders and drunkenness, was perfectly true to his leader. He had a notion — and, indeed, I don't know that it was a wrong one — that his profession was now, as before, strict!}' military, and according to the rules of honor. Robbing he called plundering the enem}' ; and hanging was, in his idea, a dastardly and cruel advantage that the latter took, and that called for the sternest reprisals. The other gentlemen concerned were strangers to Mr. Brock, who felt little inclined to trust either of them upon such a message, or with such a large sum to bring back. They had, strange to say, a similar mistrust on their side ; but Mr. Brock lugged oiit five guineas, which he placed in the landlady's hand as security for his comrade's return ; and Ensign Macshane, being mounted on poor Hayes's own horse, set off to visit the parents of that unhappy .young man. It was a gallant sight to behold our thieves' ambassador, in a faded sk^'-blue suit with orange facings, in a pair of huge jack-boots unconscious of blacking, with a mighty basket-hilted sword by his side, and a little shabby beaver cocked over a large tow-periwig, ride out from the inn of the " Three Rooks" on his mission to Hayes's paternal village. It was eighteen miles distant from Worcester ; but Mr. Macshane performed the distance in safety, and in sobriet}'' 326 CATHERINE: A STORY. moreover (for such had been his instructions), and had no difficulty in discovering the house of old Hayes : towards which, indeed, John's horse trotted incontinently. Mrs. Haj^es, who was knitting at the house-door, was not a little surprised at the appearance of the well-known gray gelding, and of the stranger mounted upon it. Flinging himself off the steed with much agility, Mr. Mac- shane, as soon as his feet reached the ground, brought them rapidly together, in order to make a profound and elegant bow to Mrs. Hayes ; and slapping his greasy beaver against his heart, and poking his periwig almost into the nose of the old lady, demanded whether he had the " shooprame honor of adthressing Misthriss Hees ? " Having been answered in the affirmative, he then proceeded to ask whether there was a blackguard boy in the house who would take ' ' the horse to the steeble ; " whether ' ' he could have a dthrink of small-beer or buthermilk, being, faith, un- common dthry;" and whether, finally, "he could be feevored with a few minutes' private conversation with her and Mr. Hees, on a matther of consitherable impartance?" All these prelimi- naries were to be complied with before Mr. Macshane would enter at all into the subject of his visit. The horse and man were cared for ; Mr. Hayes was called in ; and not a little anxious did Mrs. Hayes grow, in the meanwhile, with regard to the fate of her darling son. " Where is he ? How is he ? Is he dead? " said the old lady. " O yes, I'm sure he's dead ! " " Indeed, madam., and you're misteeken intirely : the young man is perfectly well in health." " Oh, praised be heaven ! " " But mighty cast down in sperrits. To misfortunes, madam, look you, the best of us are subject ; and a trifling one has fell upon 3our son." And herewith Mr. Macshane produced a letter in the hand- writing of young Hayes, of which we have had the good luck to procure a copy. It ran thus : — "Honored Father and Mother, — Tlie bearer of this is a kind gentleman, who has left me in a great deal of trouble. Yesterday, at this towne, I fell in with some gentlemen of the queene's servas ; after drinking with whom, I accepted her Majesty's mony to enliste. Repenting thereof, I did endeavor to escape ; and, in so doing, had the misfortune to strike my superior officer, whereby I made myself liable to Death, accord- ing to the rules of warr. If, however, I pay twenty ginnys, CATHERINE: A STORY. 327 all will be wel. You must give the same to the barer, els I shall be shott without fail on Tewsday morning. And so no more from your loving son, "John Hates. " From my prison at Bristol, this unliappy Monday." When Mrs. Hayes read this pathetic missive, its success with her was complete, and she Avas for going immediately to the cupboard, and producing the money necessary for her dar- ling son's release. But the carpenter Hayes was much more suspicious. "I don't know you, sir," said he to the ambas- sador. "Do 3'ou doubt my honor, sir?" said the Ensign, very fiercely. " Why, sir," replied Mr. Ha.yes, " I know little about it one way or other, but shall take it for granted, if 3'ou will explain a little more of this business." " I sildom condescind to explean," said Mr. Macshane, " for it's not the custom in my rank ; but I'll explean anything in reason." "Pray, will you tell me in what regiment my son is en- listed?" "In coorse. In Colonel Wood's fut, my dear; and a gal- lant corps it is as any in the arm3\" "And you left him?" " On me soul, only three hours ago, having rid like a horse- jockey ever since ; as in the sacred cause of humanity, curse me, every m.an should." As Hayes's house was seventy miles from Bristol, the old gentleman thought this was marvellous quick riding, and so cut the conversation short. "You have said quite enough, sir," said he, " to show me there is some roguery in the matter, and that the whole storv is false from beginning to end." At this abrupt charge the Ensign looked somewhat puzzled, and then spoke with much gravity. " Roguer}^," said he, " Misthur Hees, is a sthrong term; and which, in consider- ation of my friendship for your family, I shall pass over. You doubt your son's honor, as there wrote by him in black and white?" " You have forced him to write," said Mr. Hayes. " The sly old divvle's right," muttered Mr. Macshane, aside. " Well, sir, to make a clean breast of it, he has been forced to write it. The story about the enlistment is a pretty fib, if you 328 CATHERINE: A STORY. will, from beginning to end. And wliat then, my dear? Do you think 3-our son's any better off' for that? " "Oh, wliere is he?" screamed Mrs. Ha^es, plumping down on her knees. " We will give him the money, won't we, John?" " I know you will, madam, when I tell you where he is. He is in the hands of some gentlemen of my acquaintance, who are at war with the present government, and no more care about cutting a man's throat than they do a chicken's. He is a prisoner, madam, of our sword and spear. If 3-ou choose to ransom him, well and good ; if not, peace be with him ! for never more shall you see him." " And how do I know yon won't come back to-morrow for more money?" asked Mr. Hayes. " Sir, you have my honor ; and I'd as lieve break my neck as my word," said Mr. Macshane, gravely. " Twenty guineas is the bargain. Take ten minutes to talk of it — take it then, or leave it ; it's all the same to me, m}- dear." And it must be said of our friend the Ensign, that he meant every word he said, and that he considered the embassy' on which he had come as perfectly honorable and regular. " And pray, what prevents us," said Mr. Ha^-es, starting up in a rage, " from taking hold of 3-ou, as a surety for him?" " You wouldn't fire on a flag of truce, would ye, you dis- honorable ould civilian?" replied Mr. Macshane, '•Besides," says he, "there's more reasons to prevent you: the first is this," pointing to his sword ; " here are two more " — and these were pistols; "and the last and the best of all is, that yow might hang me and dthraw me and quarther me, and 3'et never see so much as the tip of your son's nose again. Look 3'ou, sir, we run might}- risks in our profession — it's not all pla}', I can tell 3'ou. We're obliged to be punctual, too, or it's all up with the thrade. If I promise that 3'our son will die as sure as fate to-morrow morning, unless I return home safe, our people must keep my promise ; or else what chance is there for me ? You would be down upon me in a moment with a posse of con- stables, and have me swinging before Warwick gaol. Pooh, m_y dear ! j-ou never would sacrifice a darling boy like John Ha^'cs, let alone his lad}', for the sake of my long carcass. One or two of our gentlemen have been taken that way already, because parent? and guardians would not believe them." '■''And lohat became of the poor children'?'' said Mrs. Hayes, who began to perceive the gist of the argument, and to grow dreadfully frightened. CATHERINE: A STORY. 329 "Don't let's talk of thera, ma'ara : humanity shndthers at the thought ! " And herewith Mr. Macshane drew his flngei-^ across his throat, in such a dreadful way as to make tlie two parents tremble. "It's the way of war, madam, look 30U. The service I have the honor to belong to is not paid by the Queen ; and so we're obliged to make our prisoners pay, accord- ing to established military practice." No lawyer could have argued his case better than Mr. Mac- shane so far ; and he completely succeeded m convincing Mr. and Mrs. Hayes of the necessity of ransoming their son. Prom- ising that the young man should be restored to them next morning, along with his beautiful lad}', he courteously took leave of the old couple, and made the best of his way back to Worcester again. The elder Haves wondered who the lady could be of whom the ambassador had spoken, for their son's elopement was altogether unknown to thera ; b«it anger or doubt about this subject was overwhelmed by their fears for tlieir darling Jolin's safety. Away rode the gallant Macshane with the money necessary to effect this ; and it must be mentioned, as highly to his credit, that he never once thought of appropri- ating the sum to himself, or of deserting his comrades in any- way. His ride from Worcester had been a long one. He had left that city at noon, but before his return thitlier the sun had gone down ; and the landscape, which had been dressed like a prodi- gal, in purple and gold, now appeared like a Quaker, in dusky gray ; and the trees by the road-side grew black as undertakers or physicians, and, bending their solemn heads to each other, whispered ominously among themselves ; and. the mists hung on the common ; and the cottage lights went out one by one ; and the earth and heaven grew black, but for some twinkling useless stars, whicli freckled tiie ebon countenance of the latter ; and the air grew colder ; and about two o'clock the moon appeared, a dismal, pale-faced rake, walking solitary througli the deserted sky ; and about four, mayhap, the Dawn (wretched 'prentice- boy !) opened in the east the shutters of the Day: — in other words, more than a dozen hours had passed. Corporal Brock had been relieved by Mr. Redcap, the latter by Mr. Sicklop, the one-eyed gentleman : Mrs. John Hayes, in spite of her sorrows and bashfnlness, had followed the example of her husband, and fallen asleep by his side — slept for many hours — and awakened still under the guardianship of Mr. Brock's troop ; and all par- ties began anxiously to expect the return of the ambassador, Mr. Macshane. 330 CATHERINE: A STORY. That officer, who had performed the first part of his journey .with such distinguished prudence and success, found tlie night, on his journey homewards, was growing might}- cold and darlc ; and as he was thirsty and hungry, had money in his purse, and saw no cause to hurry, he determined to take refuge at an ale- house for the night, and to make for Worcester by dawn the next morning. He accordingly alighteS at the first inn on his road, consigned his horse to the stable, and entering the kitchen, called for the best liquor in the house. A small company was assembled at the inn, among whom Mr. Macshane took his place with a great deal of dignity ; and having a considerable sum of money in his pocket, felt a mighty contempt for his society, and soon let them know the contempt he felt for them. After a third flagon of ale, he discovered that the liquor was sour, and emptied, with much spluttering and grimaces, the remainder of the beer into the fire. This process so offended the parson of the pai-ish (who in those good old times did not disdain to take the post of honor in the chimney- nook), that he left his corner, looking wrathfully at the offender ; who without any more ado instantly occupied it. It was a fine thing to hear the jingling of the twenty pieces in his pocket, the oaths which he distributed between the landlord, the guests, and the liquor — to remark the sprawl of his mighty jack-boots, before the sweep of which the timid guests edged further and further away ; and the langaishing leers which he cast on the land- lady, as with wide-spread arms he attempted to seize upon Iier. When the ostler had done his duties in the stable, he entered the inn, and whispered the landlord that "the stranger was riding John Hayes's horse : " of which fact the host soon con- vinced himself, and did not fail to have some suspicions of his guest. Had he not thought that times were unquiet, horses might be sold, and one man's money was as good as another's, he probably would have arrested the Ensign immediately, and so lost all the profit of the score which the latter was causing every moment to be enlarged. In a couple of hours, with that happy facility which one may have often remarked in men of the gallant Ensign's nation, he had managed to disgust every one of the landlord's other guests, and scare them from the kitchen. Frightened by his addresses, the landlady too had taken flight ; and the host was the only person left in the apartment ; who there stayed for interest's sake merel}-, and listened moodily to his tipsy"'guest's conversation. In an hour more, the whole house was awak- ened by a violent noise of howling, curses, and pots clattering CATPIERINE: A STORY. 331 to and fro. Forth issued Mrs. Landlady in lier niglit-gear, out came Jolin Ostler witii his pitchfork, down stairs tumbled Mrs. Cook and one or two guests, and found the landlord and Ensign on the kitchen floor — the wig of the latter laying, much singed and emitting strange odors, in the fireplace, his face hid- eously distorted, and a great quantity of his natural hair in the partial occupation of the landlord ; who had drawn it and the head down towards him, in order that he might have the bene- fit of pummelling the latter more at his ease. In revenge, the landlord was undermost, and the Ensign's arms were working up and down his face and body like the flaps of a paddle- wheel : the man of war had clearly the best of it. The combatants were separated as soon as possible ; but as soon as the excitement of the fight was over, Ensign Macshane was found to have no further powers of speech, sense, or loco- motion, and was carried by his late antagonist to bed. His sword and pistols, which had been placed at his side at the commencement of the evening, were carefully put b3', and his pocket visited. Twenty guineas in gold, a large knife — used, probably, for the cutting of bread-and-cheese — some crumbs of those delicacies and a paper of tobacco found in the breeches-pockets, and in the bosom of the sky-blue coat the leg of a cold fowl and half of a raw onion, constituted his whole property. These articles were not very suspicious ; but the beating which the landlord had received tended greatl}' to confirm his own and his wife's doubts about their guest ; and it was deter- mined to send off in the early morning to Mr. Hayes, inform- ing him how a person had lain at their inn who had ridden thither mounted upon young Hayes's horse; Off set John Ostler at earliest dawn ; but on his way he woke up Mr. Jus- tice's clerk, and communicated his suspicions to him ; and Mr. Clerk consulted with the village baker, who was up always early ; and the clerk, the baker, the butpher with his cleaver, and two gentlemen who were going to work, all adjourned to the inn. According]}', when Ensign Macshane was in a truckle-bed, plunged in that deep slumber which only innocence and drunk- enness enjoy in this world, and charming the ears of morn by the regular and melodious music of his nose, a vile plot was laid against him ; and when about seven of the clock he woke, he found, on sitting up in his bed, three gentlemen on each side of it, armed and looking ominous. One held a constable's staff", and, albeit unprovided with a warrant, would take upon 332 CATHERINE: A STORY. himself the responsibilit}' of seizing Mr. Macshane, and of carrying him before his worship at the hall. " Taranouns, man ! " said the Ensign, springing up in bed, and abruptly breaking off a loud, sonorous j'awn, with which he had opened the business of the day, "you won't deteen a gentleman who's on life and death? I give ye my word, an affair of honor." " How came 3'ou by that there horse? " said the baker. " How came 30U bj' these here fifteen guineas?" said the landlord, in whose hands, by some process, live of the gold pieces had disappeared. "What is this here idolatrous string of beads?" said the clerk. Mr. Macshane, the fact is, was a Catholic, but did not care to own it; for in those days his religion was not popular. "Baids? Holy Mother of saints! give me back them baids," said Mr. Macshane, clasping his hands. "They were blest, I tell 3'^ou, by his holiness the po — psha ! I mane they be- long to a darling little daughter I had that's in heaven now : and as for the money and the horse, I should like to know how a gentleman is to travel in this counthry without them ? " " Why, you see, he ma}' travel in the country" to f/it 'em," here shrewdly remarked the constable; "and it's our belief that neither horse nor monej' is honest!}' come by. If his wor- ship is satisfied, why so, in course, shall we be ; bnt there is highway-men abroad, look you ; and, to our notion, 3'ou have very much the cut of one." Further remonstrances or threats on the part of Mr. Mac- shane were useless. Although he vowed that he was first- cousin to the Duke of Leinster, an officer in her Majesty's service, and the dearest friend Lord Marlborough had, his impudent captors would not believe a word of his statement (which, further, was garnished with a tremendous number of oaths) ; and he was» about eight o'clock, carried up to the house of Squire Ballance, the neighboring justice of the peace. When the worthy magistrate asked the crime of which the prisoner had been guilty, the captors looked somewhat puzzled lor the moment; since, in truth, it could not be shown that the Ensign had committed an}' crime at all ; and if he had confined himself to simple silence, and thrown upon them the onus of proving his misdemeanors, Justice Ballance must have let him loose and soundly rated his clerk and the landlord for detaining an honest gentleman on so frivolous a charge. I CATHERINE: A STORY. 333 But this caution was not in the Ensign's disposition ; and though his accusers produced no satisfactory charge against him, his own words were quite enough to show how suspi- cious his character was. When asked his name, he gave it in as Captain Geraldine, on his wa}- to Ireland, by Bristol, on a visit to his cousin the Duke of Leinster. He swore sol- emnly that his friends, the Duke of Marlborough and Lord Peterborougli, under both of whom he had served, should hear of the manner in Avhich he had been treated ; and when the justice, — a sly old gentleman, and one that read the Gazettes, — asked him at what battles he had been present, the gallant Ensign pitched on a couple in Spain and in Flanders, which had been fought within a week of each other, and vowed that he had been desperately wounded at both ; so that, at the end of his examination, which had been taken down by the clerk, he had been made to acknowledge as fol- lows : — Captain Geraldine, six feet four inches in height ; thin, with a very long red nose, and red hair ; gray eyes, and speaks with a strong Irish accent; is the first-cousin of the Duke of Leinster, and in constant communication with him : does not know wliether his Grace has any children ; does not know whereabouts he lives in London ; cannot say what sort of a looking man his Grace is : is acquainted with the Duke of Marlborough, and served in the dragoons at the battle of Ilam- illies ; at which time he was with my Lord Peterborough before Barcelona. Borrowed the horse which he rides from a friend in London, three weeks since. Peter Hobbs, ostler, swears that it was in his master's stable four days ago, and is the property of John Hayes, carpenter. Cannot account for the liftcen guineas found on him by the landlord ; says they were twentj' ; sa3"S he won them at cards, a fortnight since, at Edinburgh ; says he is riding about the country for his amusement; afterwards says he is on a matter of life and death, and going to Bristol ; declared last night, in the hear- ing of several witnesses, that he was going to York ; says he is a man of independent property, and has large estates in Ireland, and a lumdred thousand pounds in the Bank of England. Has no shirt or stockings, and the coat he wears is marked "S.S." In his boots is written " Thomas Rodgers," and in his hat is the name of the " Ilev. Doctor SnofHer." Dr. Snoffler lived at Worcester, and had lately advertised in the Hue and Cry a number of articles taken from his house. Mr. Macshane said, in reply to this, that his hat had been changed at the inn, and he was ready to take his oath that 334 CATHERINE: A STORY. he came thither in a gold-laced one. But this fact was dis- proved by the oaths of many persons who had seen him at the inn. And he was about to be imprisoned for the thefts which lie had not committed (the fact about the hat being, that he had purchased it from a gentleman at the " Three Rooks " for two pints of beer) — he was about to be remanded, when, behold, Mrs. Hayes the elder made her appearance ; and to her it was that the Ensign was indebted for his free- dom. Old Hayes had gone to work before the ostler arrived ; but when his wife heard the lad's message, she instantly caused her pillion to be placed behind the saddle, and mount- ing the gray horse, urged the stable-boy to gallop as hard as ever he could to the justice's house. She entered panting and alarmed. "Oh, what is j'our honor going to do to this honest gentleman? " said she. " In the name of heaven, let him go! His time is precious — he has important business — business of life and death." "I tould the jidge so," said the Ensign, "but he refused to take my word — the sacred wurrd of honor of Captain Geraldine." Macshane was good at a single lie, though easily flustered on an examination ; and this was a very creditable stratagem to acquaint Mrs. Hayes with the name that he bore. "What! you know Captain Geraldine?" said Mr. Bal- lance, who was perfectly well acquainted with the carpenter's wife. "In coorse she does. Hasn't she known me these tin years? Are we not related? Didn't she give me the very horse which I rode, and, to make belave, toukl you I'd bought in London ? " " Let her tell her own story. Are you related to Captain Geraldine, Mrs. Hayes?" " Yes — oh, yes ! " A very elegant connection ! and j'ou gave him the horse, did you, of your own free-will? " "Oh, 3'es ! of my own will — I would give him anything. Do, do, j-our honor, let him go ! His child is dying," said the old lady, bursting into tears. " It may be dead before he gets to — before he gets there. Oh, jour honor, your honor, pray, pray, don't detain him ! " The justice did not seem to understand this excessive sj^m- path}' on the part of Mrs. Hayes ; nor did the father himself appear to be nearlj' so affected by his child's probable fate as CATHERINE: A STORY. 335 the honest woman who interested herself for him. On the con- trary, when she made this passionate speech, Captain Geraldine only grinned and said, " Niver mind, my dear. If his honor wiU keep an honest gentleman for doing nothing, wh}' let him — the law must settle between us ; and as for the child, poor thing, the Lord deliver it ! " At this, Mrs. Hayes fell to entreating more loudly than ever ; and as there was really no charge against him, Mr. Ballance was constrained to let him go. The landlord and his friends were making off, rather con- fused, when Ensign Macshane called upon the former in a thun- dering voice to stop, and refund the five guineas which he had stolen from him. Again the host swore there were but fifteen in his pocket. But when, on the Bible, the Ensign solemnly vowed that he had twent}", and called upon Mrs. Hayes to say whether yesterda}', half an hour before he entered the inn, she had not seen him with twenty guineas, and that lady expressed herself ready to swear that she had, Mr. Landlord looked more crestfallen than ever, and said that he had not counted the money Avhen he took it ; and though he did in his soul believe that there were only fifteen guineas, rather than be suspected of a shabby action, he would pay the five guineas out of his own pocket: which he did, and with the Ensign's, or rather Mrs. Ha3'es's own coin. . As soon as they were out of the justice's house, Mr. Mac- shane, in the fulness of his gratitude, could not help bestowing an embrace upon Mrs. Hayes. And when she implored him to let her ride behind him to her darling son, he yielded with a very good grace, and off the pair set on John Hayes's gray. " Who has Nosey brought with him now? " said Mr. Sicklop, Brock's one-ej'ed confederate, who, about three hours after the above adventure, was lolling in the yard of .the " Three Rooks." It was our Ensign, with the mother of his captive. They had not met with an3^ accident in their ride. " I shall now have the shooprame bliss," said Mr. Mac- shane, with much feeling, as he lifted Mrs. Hayes from the saddle — "the shooprame bliss of intwining two harrts that are mead for one another. Ours, my dear, is a dismal pro- fession ; but ah ! don't moments like this make amiuds for years of pain? This wa}', my dear. Turn to your right, then to your left — mind the stip — and the third door round the corner." All these precautions were attended to ; and after giving his 336 CATHERINE: A STORY. concerted knock, Mr. Macshane was admitted into an apart- ment, which he entered holding his gold pieces in the one hand,, and a lady by the other. We shall not describe the meeting which took place between mother and son. The old lady wept copiously ; the young man was really glad to see his relative, for he' deemed that his troubles were over. Mrs. Cat bit her lips and stood aside, looking somewhat foolish ; Mr. Brock counted the money ; and Mr. Macshane took a large dose of strong waters, as a pleasing solace for his labors, dangers, and fatigue. When the maternal feelings were somewhat calmed, the old lady had leisure to look about her, and really felt a kind of friendship and good-will for the company of thieves in which she foimd herself. It seemed to her timt" they had conferred an actual favor on her, in robbing her of twenty guineas, threaten- ing her son's life, and finally letting him go. "Who is that droll old gentleman?" said she; and bemg told that it was Captain Wood, she dropped him a curtsy, and said, with much respect, "Captain, your very humble servant ; " which compliment Mr. Brock acknowledged by a gracious smile and bow. "And who is this pretty young lady?" continued Mrs. Hayes. "Why — hum — oh — mother, you must give her your blessing. She is Mrs. John Hayes." And herewith Mr. Hayes brought forward his interesting lady, to introduce her to "his mamma. TJie news did not at all please the old lady ; who received Mrs. Catherine's embrace with a very sour face indeed. How- ever, the mischief was done ; and she was too glad to get back her son to be, on such an occasion, very angry with him. So, after a proper rebuke, she told Mrs. John Hayes that though she never approved of her son's attachment, and thought he married below his condition, yet as the evil was done, it was their duty to make the best of it ; and she, for her part, would receive her into her house, and make her as comfortable there as she could. " I wonder whether she has any more money in tliat house? " whispered Mr. Sicklop to Mr. Redcap ; who, with the landlady, had come to the door of the room, and had been amusing them- selves by the contemplation of this sentimental scene. " What a fool that wild Hirishman was not to bleed her for more," said the • landlady ; "but he's a poor ignorant Papist. I'm sure my man " (this gentleman had been hanged) " wouldn't have come away with such a beggarly sum." CATHERINE: A STORY. 337 " Suppose we have some more out of 'em? " said Mr. Red- cap. " What prevents us? We have got the old mare, and the colt too, — ha ! ha ! and the pair of 'em ought to he worth at least a hundred to us." This conversation was carried on sotto voce ; and I don't know whether Mr. Brock had any notion of the plot which was arranged by tlie three worthies. The landlady' began it. " Which punch, madam, will you take?" says she. "You must have something for the good of the house, now you are in it." *' In coorse," said the Ensign. "Certainly," said the other three. But the old lady said she was anxious to leave the place ; and putting down a crown- piece, requested the hostess to treat the gentlemen in her absence. "■ Good-by, Captain," said the old Xady. " Ajew ! " cried the Ensign, " and long life to you, my dear. You got me out of a scrape at the justice's yonder ; and, split me ! but Inbign Macshane w ill remimber it as long as he lives." And now Hayes and the two ladies made for the door ; but the landlady placed herself against it, and Mr. Sicklop said, " No, no, my pretty madams, you ain't a-going off so cheap as that neitlier ; you are not going out for a beggarly twenty guineas, look you, — we must have more." Mr. Hayes starting back, and cursing his fate, fairly burst into tears ; the two women screamed ; and Mr. Brock looked as if the proposition both amused and had been expected by him : but not so I^nsign Macshane. " Major ! " said he, clawing fiercely hold of Brock's arms. "Ensign," said Mr. Brock, smiling. " Arr we, or arr we not, men of honor?" " Oh, in coorse," said Brock, laughing, and using Macshane's favorite expression. " H* we arr men of honor, we are bound to stick to our word ; and hark ye, you dirty one-eyed scoundrel, if you don't imma- diately make way for these leedies, and this lily-livered young jontloVnan who's crying so, tlie Meejor here and I will lug out and force you." And so saying, he drew his great sword and made a pass at Mr. Sicklop ; whicli that gentleman avoided, and which caused hhn and his companion to retreat from tlie door. Tlie landlady still kept her position at it, and Avith a storm of oaths against the Ensign, and against two Englisiimen who ran away from a wild Hirishman, swore she woukl not budge a foot, and would stand there until her dying day. " Faith, then, needs must," said the Ensign, and made a 47 338 CATHERINE: A STORY. lunge at the hostess, which passed so near the wretch's throat, that she screamed, sank on her knees, and at last opened the door. Down the stairs, then, with great state, Mr. Macshane led the elder lady, the married couple following ; and having seen them to the street, took an afliectionate farewell of the party, whom he vowed that he would come and see. " You can walk the eighteen miles ais}-, between this and nightfall," said he. " Walk!" exclaimed Mr. Hayes. "Why, haven't we got Ball, and shall ride and tie all the way? " "Madam!" cried Macshane, in a stern voice, "honor be- fore everything. Did 3-ou not, in the presence of his worship, vow and declare that you gave me that horse, and now d'3'e talk of taking it back again ! Let me tell you, madam, that such paltr}' thricks ill become a person of your years and re- spectability, and ought never to be played with Insign Timothy Macshane." He waved his hat and strutted down the street ; and Mrs. Catherine Hayes, along with her bridegroom and mother-in-law, made the best of their wa}^ homeward on foot. CHAPTER VII. •WHICH ElMBRACES A PERIOD OF SEVEN YEARS. The recovery of so considerable a portion of his property from the clutches of Brock was, as may be imagined, no trifling source of joy to that excellent 3'oung man, Count Gustavus Adolphus de Galgenstein ; and he was often known to say, with much archness, and a proper feeling of gratitude to the Fate which had ordained things so, that the robber}- was, in reality, one of the best things that could have happened to him : for, in event of Mr. Brock's not stealing the money, his Excellency the Count would have had to pay the whole to the AYarwickshire Squire,