m i *n*eF4<< THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES CONFIDENCES. CONFIDENCES BY THE AUTHOE OF " RITA." " Homo sum ; humani nihil a me alienum puto." — Terence. LONDON: SMITH, ELDEE, AND CO., 65, COENHILL. 1859. \_The right of Translatmi is reserved.'] LONDON: ri'lutad by SUITU, ELDEB & Cu., IS, OIJ Uallcy. ■^00/ As. CONFIDENCES. From the Rev. Herbert Esdaile to his Sister, the Baroness Schonboen, at Dresden. I. AsHFORD, June 1, 1858. I SIT down, dear Mary, to begin a careful transcript of my life here written at odd intervals for my pleasure and your edification. We are so far apart now that it is impossible to send you a letter every other day, as I used when I was at College and you were at home. I shall congest half-a-dozen together, therefore, periodically. Horace has an oft-repeated line to the effect that those who cross the seas change their climate, but not their mind. I know it is so with you, INIary. Now that only we two are left in the world"of the old home-circle, I want to bring you as near me in spirit as possible. I am as yet a stranger in the land here, and feel I CONFIDENCES. at ti.ncs the want of a iVicna to whom 1 can open my heart. I will do so to you. A man ought not to want sympathy, I suppose, but go straight to his mark, without caring whether his motives arc understood or no. Well, remember I am but three-and-twenty, and my college life was altogether too prosperous and happy to counteract the defects of my natural tempera- ment, and of my home education. I have been a spoilt boy hitherto. At Baliol I had two or three most intimate friends, who took up where you left ofi; so to speak, in making my life pleasant and smooth. Then,' thanks to our dear father's training, I passed my " great go " rather triumphantly, so that until I came to Ashford, I had hardly had a rub or knock in this battle of life. But I know that this is not intended for anyone, and ought not to last. A curate's life in a large parish is not a bed of roses, though you must not imagine from this that I find my lot a very hard one : on the contrary. I have been at Ashford three weeks. Certainly neither Goldsmith nor any other painter (by pre- scriptive right) of an English village, ever con- ceived a lovelier spot. During my two months' CONFIDENCES. S tour abroad, I saw nothing that woukl be so constantly pleasant to English eyes as the scenery about here ; richly wooded and watered as it is, and wearing an aspect of health, peace, and plenty. The village lies at the foot of a short hill, up which the road winds, skirted on one side by the woods of Castle Ashford, and on the other by detached cottages, the last stragglers of the main street. Each of these is fronted by a strip of garden, in cultivating which the pos- sessors seem to emulate each other. Sir Richard, I am told, encourages this taste among his tenants ; and nowhere have I seen such holly- hocks and sweet peas as light up the roadside here. My interest was at once awakened in the occupants of these sunny little dwellings, and I have not been disappointed in finding them all industrious, well-conducted families. Mounting a few hundred yards higher to the brow of the hill, on looking back one sees the slender spire of our church rising amidst the red roofs and blue smoke of the village, backed by four yew trees, whose swarthy solemn boughs overshadow a great part of the small churchyard, Bej^ond this the eye travels over a wide tract ; * CONFIDENCES. following the river that winds, like a silver riband with its fringe of sedgy banks, among the June-meadows — now "leamincr, now hid a<:;ain ; till in the far distance, between the pollards, one narrow strip catches the clear sky for an instant and is lost for ever : then past farm-houses and green corn-fields to a range of soft undulating hills, not sharply cut against the sky, but melt- ing with the blue mist, and lit here and there by the white scar of a chalk quarry. Further to the ricrht, anions: those chcsnut woods, you may descry the grey tower of Sta- pylton Hall ; and beyond that again, higher up, the Grecian portico of Mr. Forsepp's (the scissors manufacturer's) great white mansion, swelling with importance, on a sloping ground from which every stick has been cut away, lest the eye should overlook it in the landscape. In spite of this blot it is a lovely rich English view ; worthy, I might say in conventional phrase, of the pencil of Claude, — who M-ould have put a Roman galley on the river, by tlic bye, and made Fawns dance under Mr. Forsei)p's portico — but you and I agreed in our walks through the Dres- den gallery that this compliment to nature is a CONFIDENCES. O tloubtful one, at best. So having taken you to the top of our hill and shown you the notable features therefrom, I must now walk you down again and introduce you to my humble dwelling. It is over the chemist's shop, in the main street of Ashford. Opposite is Mrs. Jones's universal warehouse, or " emporium" as she styles it : resembling a Turkish bazaar in its assemblage of incongruous merchandise. Here haberdashery and ni-asiin-Jlashery decoy your sex by the alluring signals they hang out. A man's hat, marked 45, 9d., swings from a sort of gibbet near the door, and a pair of trousers made to suit any emergency of shape, keep it company. Here, too, I purchased my tea and sugar (very bad they are), and was presented with a paper which informed me that Mrs. Jones dealt no less in Guiness's stout, Rowland's Odonto, boots and brushes, etc., etc., besides " a select assortment of articles direct from Paris." Had I time or inclination, there could not be a finer post for studying the characters and cus- toms of my female parishioners than my own window. Whenever I leave the house I am sure to see one of them hovering on the confines of the b CONFIDENCES. opposite door, and generally in the afternoon there are a succession of pony carriages station- ary there. The universality of Mrs. Jones's enterprises, and there being so few shops here, makes her's the centre of attraction, I ani told, to a very large neighbourhood. A few yards higher up stands the church, opposite the vil- lage green, where those rival houses, the Sun and Ashford Arms, face each other like two angry combatants, waving their shields truculently be- fore them. And there stands the House of Peace, like a grand calm judge above these and all other vain and vexed differences in our com- munity. Those who troubled it in other days, who sparred and wrangled as these do now, sleep around under the grey and mossy stones and in the shadow of those four great yews. How maxiy more generations shall go by and find us still far removed from Christian fellowship, tolera- tion, and good will ? The church has lately had a new Gothic frontage, porch, and steeple, and this has rather an incongruous effect with the old building, which is of a very debased period of architec- ture ; nothing but one window being left of the CONFIDENCES. original Saxon church. The architect's plans for remodelling the whole, when it was found necessary to enlarge it a year or two ago, were rejected as being too expensive : yet this is a wealthy neighbourhood. Can the owners of these great houses think the money spent on God's House thrown away ? But even more than for its unsightly exterior, are they to be blamed for insisting on the continuance of that absurd arrangement of huge family pews, like islands, curtained off from the congregational ocean, — a remnant of feudal barbarism I had hoped was obsolete. After this it is almost superfluous to say that the organ is broken- winded, the choir deplorable, and that the clerk responds through his nose. But I shall say no more on this subject for the present. Along one side of the churchyard runs a green lane, debutting from the main street, and about five hundred yards down it stands the Rectory. To judge from its appearance, it is about a century old, very ugly, but comfortable-looking ; of a dark purplish brick, with thick white sashes and divisions to the windows, which are cut up into very small panes. This seems a trivial par- 8 CONFIDENCES. ticular, but it gives you a better notion of tlie house in which, of course, a good deal of my time is spent, than if I were to describe its carpets and curtains. In a narrow study, close to the hall door, sits the Rector during the greater part of the day. The drawing-room is never used but for the reception of a morning visitor ; the symme- try of its annuals and china baskets is seldom disturbed. AVhcn I dine there, Mr. Brigstock and I sit in the dining-room after dinner, while Mrs. Brigstock retires to her nursery, where she spends all her time. I suppose the Rector occa- sionally intrudes into that department, otherwise he can sec very little of his wife. How shall I describe him, to you who believe that "the physical is always an index to the moral nature of a man ? " Picture to yourself an unusually tall one, broad, yet not impressing you with an idea of strength. Why, I cannot tell, but he looks as if he had sat away all his muscular energy : no free play about the limbs ; the hands, especially, having a dry, incapable look. His head, at the first glance, will strike you as a fine one. It is rather bald, but a few grey CONFIDENCES. 9 and sandy locks yet remain : the skull rises at that point where you phrenologists place benevo- lence, and yet higher to where I believe firmness (obstinacy ?) and self-esteem lie, when it makes an abrupt descent backwards. The brow is high, straight and narrow ; the eyes small and grey ; the upper lip of inordinate length ; the mouth well-shaped. Altogether, the face is comely for a man of fifty, but spoiled by an irritable red- ness of surface : it looks as though he had washed it with a nail-brush. Scrupulously clean in his person, of a remarkable sonorous voice, and a clerical dignity, not to say pomp of man- ner, to which, I fear, / shall never attain ; — these are his chief characteristics, at first sight. What do you make of them ? Listen. Mr. Brigstock is a good man ; by which I mean that he is thoroughly conscientious, acts up to what he considers his duty, is just, where his prejudices do not interfere, and even generous. Unfortunately, his ideas move in the very nar- rowest groove : he would have been an intolerant Puritan or a bigoted Romanist had circumstances permitted : he has no leniency to diflE'erence oi opinion, no sympathy of a large kind with human V 10 CONFJDENCKS. doubts and difllcultics. This, together with a harshness towards every moral deHnqucncy, pre- vents his having as much influence as he might have in his large parish, where Dissent has made great progress of late. In spite of his encourage- ment of virtue, and his own charities and blame- less life, the very best of his parishioners, I be- lieve, would as soon think of opening their hearts to him, as of asking him to share their dinner. And, I must confess, I feel like them. So few ideas have we in common, upon any subject, that I seldom advance an opinion in his company, and never dare trust myself to differ from his. I cannot tell where it would stop, and, in our respective positions, the less argumentative we arc the better. Moreover, it is folly to argue without a remote hope of bring- ing your antagonist nearer to you, sooner or later. So we discuss nothing but the Indian news, and the crops ; and I listen silently while Mr. Brigstock enlightens me as to the state of his parish, and denounces Hobbins, the drunken tinker. Mrs. Brigstock cau- only be described in a negative way. She is neither fat nor thin, plain CONFIDENCES. 11 nor pretty, old, young, clever, dull, nor different in any respect from the women one meets every day, and forgets at once. The only positive thinor about her is that she has six children, and — only that I know it is a natural impossibility — I should say they were all of the same age. She is entirely absorbed in their feeding, clothing, and teething. All the time she is talking, one has an uncomfortable conviction that her thoughts are in the nursery : and like Thea, there is "a listening fear in her regard" when any sound penetrates from that region. June 10. — I have dined with the Rector and his wife alone two or three times : but he said to me last Saturday, " I have asked two or three of our neighbours to come and dine with us to-morrow, Mr. Esdaile : you will favour me with your company at seven ? I shall be happy of the opportunity to introduce you to some of my parishioners of the upper class, as I have already done among the lower orders. Admiral Montacute expressed himself very favourably as to your delivery : you will meet him and his daughters. Also Mrs. Halliday — the lady in the green bonnet who sits 12 CONFIDENCES. immedlatelv underneath the readincr-clcsk — and her eldest daughter, u very riglit-niinded young woman. Colonel IShaddock we also expect — a distinguished Indian and Peninsular officer." " He was good enough to leave a card on me. Several gentlemen have called, indeed, but I have not made their personal acquaintance. Does the Colonel live here ?" " Yes ; in that white house at the end of the village, with a large garden. Like Cincinnatus, he has turned his sword into a ploughshare, and is an active Magistrate and one of our Poor-law Guardians. A most exemplary man : a constant attendant at divine service, INIr. Esdaile." " Whose is the little cottage, by-thc-bye, beyond the Colonel's ? the one with the creeper over it. Twice when I have passed it in the very early morning I have observed a remarkable looking man walking in the garden, reading." "Ah!" groaned the Rector, "that is Hum- boldt Ferrers, the autlior. Alas, Mr, Esdaile, a lost sheep !" "You surprise me ! How little one can judge of a man by his books. They breathe such a truly Christian spirit that I have always thought CONFIDENCES. 1-3 I should like to know the man who wrote them." '^An Unitarian, sir: where that is the case all must be hollow. I am unaware that there is anything against his moral character. I believe he pays his bills here very regularly and so on, but — ah ! — in short, you understand." " Oh ! of course, Mr. Brigstock. I suppose this is the person of whom the poor Irishwoman spoke yesterday. She called him Mr, Fars, and said he had saved her husband from jail, by paying the heavy fine the magistrates had imposed on him for being drunk and creating a disturbance." " The man is a most wretched character, besides being a Papist. Quite an unworthy object for charity. A mouth's hard work in jail without drink, would have been of more benefit to him than this ill-timed bounty: but 'tis thus a blind philanthropy ever acts, Mr. Esdaile." I was more provoked to an answer than usual, because I felt that, in the main, Mr. Brigstock was right. But some people have an un- fortunate way of presenting the wisest principle, so that it looks ugly and uncharitable. 14 CONFIDENCES. We sat ilown, ttn, at the liectory table, on Tuesday ; Mr. Jack Stapylton, the squire's second son, and Miss Tarragon, a spinster lady ot" great \v('ight in i\\v village, being added to the party named. At dinner, I was between Miss Halliday and Miss Montacute. Stapylton kept up a brisk conversation on the other side of the latter lady : they evidently know each other intimately, — probably from childhood. I gathered that he had been absent from home. He had evidently some good stories to tell, and his conversation was of that familiar nature, interspersed with jokes and allusions, that I should not have understood if I had heard every word. Till the end of the second course, there- fore, I only knew that Miss Montacute had a fine clear profile and a brown skin, and that she wore a white dress with coral beads round her neck. The other young lady and I kept up a pretty animated conversation. 1 have no idea what age she is ; but (through negligence or intention), she makes herself look much older than she need, by — what shall I call it ? — the widowed-matronlincss ol her attire. A dark CONFIDENCES. 15 grey silk, a black cross, and a lace shawl huddled about her, looked as out of season with the bright auburn hair, as they did with the June sun that streamed through the window on her head. " How do you like what you have seen of Ashford, Mr. Esdaile? Pretty, isn't it? Per- haps all places are alike to you, though. In your important calling, such trivial temporal considerations arc of little moment, naturallv." "Not at all; I assure you. I am much in- fluenced by locality, and, judging by myself, I believe the inhabitants are always more or less affected by it." "Ah! yes, you mean as regards health. But in a spiritual point of view, you don't think it influences the character ? " " Undoubtedly. Have not the Tyrolese in their mountain fastnesses, and the Dutch among their canals, all the characteristics of the lands they inhabit ? In a lesser degree, look at the difference between a Devonshire and a York- shire labourer. It would be ungrateful to this clear bracing air, and to the beautiful position of Ashford, if I said I would as soon be in a Lincolnshire fen, or be a curate in the City." 16 CONFIDENCES. " And yet, as Mr. Priestly says (you admire his books, I'm sure — charming, ain't they?) surely, lor a man, there is nothing like that rushing tide of life in the capital ! " " It depends on whether one is a good swimmer." " Such a much wider field of action ! For my part, I always long to join some of those earnest female labourers in London." " Really ! I should have thought you might have found enough work even in this small community of fifteen hundred souls." " Perhaps, if I might do as I liked : but mamma's ideas and mine don't agree. I can't go about at night as I should wish, and re- claim wanderers in the public-houses, and so on. There is so much conventionality about these things, isn't there, Mr. Esdaile ? Our sphere of action is so very limited. I am sure you agree with Priestly that we all oujltt to work?" " Yes ; though not quite in the way that clever author would have us." "IIow so?" " I see in God's order of creation that to CONFIDENCES. IT every living thing is allotted it's own work. There are thrushes and nightingales as well as barn-door fowls, thank goodness ! There are lilies in the field as well as potatoes, and the beasts there are not all horses and oxen. Be- sides the pot and the plough, there is the high spiritual delight in God's beautiful works, which I take to be fully as beneficial to us. Miss Halli- day." " I do not quite see . . . You would not encourage anyone to be idle, Mr. Esdaile ? You don't mean that? " " By all means, no. Only I think it absurd to expect every one to work in the same way. The same means, the same field, are not open to all. There is a vast deal of cant about this word ' work.' The poet and the novelist, in their chimney-corners, pen in hand, may do far wider and more lasting benefit than if, in a paroxysm of enthusiasm, they rushed into St. Giles's distributing Bibles, or turned scavengers, as Mr. Priestley seems to recommend. There is his mistake. He has but one heaii ideal of excellence for all manners of men." " I see what you mean, Mr. Esdaile ; but, as 2 18 CONFIUKNCES. regards myself (we had become quite intimate by this time), mamma is always wanting me to go into the world, and I'm so tired of it. It was all very well when I first came out, but it seems so empty now. It can give me nothing in return: there is nothing real or true about it. I should like to be a soeur de charite, so as to escape it all." I glanced over at her mamma in a helmet of roses, and thought she looked anything but tired. An insipid restlessness possessed the features : the daughter had far more of matronly repose ; and I could not help wondering at the relationship. " The world can give you nothing in return, as you say, Miss Halliday : but if you'll allow me to point out the moral of what I said just now ; it is to accept the ground and the tools God gives you, and make the most of them. To further His Word, — to be an industrious citizen for the good of your fellows in the country highways, or the crowded streets, in the closet, or the cottage, or the ball-room. I don 't believe there is any position in which you may not do good, if you set about it Judiciously. That isn't by preaching, understand me." CONFIDENCES. 19 " Yes : but mamma's opinions and mine are very diiFerent on these subjects ; and as I cannot make her see the necessity of my devoting myself to good works, I have sometimes thought of joining Miss Spark's sisterhood, Mr. Esdaile." "And you think anything could justify your deserting a mother ? however diiFerent her views may be from yours. This is one of the saddest things in the Romish Church, to my mind : the inculcation of that refined selfishness they call a 'vocation;' to leave the sweet home-charities and duties of domestic life, and build up, as they think, a narrow staircase for themselves to Heaven. Much good may it do them ! " I was rather heated, I suppose, for Miss Halli- day rejoined, in a low voice, " Mamma would still have Clemmy, my sister, who is much more suited to her in every way. However, of course you won't mention what I just said. I look on you already as my father- confessor, you see, Mr. Esdaile " (this with a winning smile). " Good Mr. Brigstock never is anyone's, of course." " I have not seen your sister yet. Miss Halli- day," said I, anxious to change the channel 20 CONKIDENCES, of conversation. " Is she coming here this evening ? " "No; she is in London for the season, with the Ashfords, enjoying all its frivolities, poor dear, as is natural at her age. Ah ! it will not last lo7ig ! " " The season, I believe, is nearly over," I rejoined, with a smile. " But then, I suppose, fashionable people, like the Ashfords, bring Lon- don down to them in the country." " Yes ! that is the worst of it. There is an endless round of gaiety at the Castle, and Mamma always wants me to go there. The Ashfords are very kind, but so frivolous : they don't suit me. They are Clemmy's friends." " Of what does the family consist ? " " There is Sir Richard and Lady Caroline, and a son and daughter. The son is in the Guards, and Blanche is a London beauty. They are the regular sort of London fashion- able " Here the sound of something falling over- head interrupted Miss Halliday, and shook down a piece of plaster from the ceiling ujjon her mamma's helmet of roses. CONFIDENCES. 21 " Dear rae ! what is this ? How very odd," said that lady. "I'm afraid/' cries Mrs. Brigstock, cutting into an anecdote of the Admiral's about Badajoz, and looking over her boiled fowls at the Rector, " I 'm afraid, papa, that Mary Jane has been and upset the washing-stand and bath again." Every one glanced up, nervously, expecting to see the water oozing down on us. The Rector alone paid no attention, but went on discoursing solemnly with Miss Tarragon, until his wife cried out once more, as a distant roar reached us, " Perhaps I 'd better run up and see whether Tommy has fallen on his head again ? " " What does it signify if he has ? " said Miss Tarragon, like an exasperated terrier at being deprived of its rat, for she was deep in poor- laws at that moment. The Rector, in his most rectorial manner, added, " The child will do very well without you, my love." " If I had a child," said Miss Tarragon (no one else would have dared suggest such a thing), "he should be made to tumble about 22 CONFIDKNCES. just to harden him ; ch / teach him not to bawl. Stuff and nonsense, molly-coddling, ch. Colonel ? When I was a child, no one ever troubled their heads about me. Got on pretty well, without it : ' guess I growed,' like Topsey. All fudge wrapping 'em up in brown paper ; can't make a parcel of 'em for life — wouldn't if I could. Teach 'em to rough it, Mrs. Brig- stock, as I have done." I am sure we were all considerably impressed by the specimen before us of what could be done by roughing it. I have felt more patience with Mrs. Brigstock's folly ever since. My attention now being drawn more particularly towards Miss Tarragon, I must describe her to you. Her face and bust is that of a very old, ill-used doll ; but she is five feet eight, and therefore has been reckoned " a fine woman," I am told. Iler hair looks as if it kept on her head by a nail driven through the top of it. Her face is a good deal blunted, as though she had fallen repeatedly on the end of her nose; but she has kept her eyes intact, and makes good use of them. The expression of her face is tart and vigilant. Nothing escapes CONFIDENCES. 23 her, and she succumbs to no one. The only person for whom I observed that she seemed to entertain some respect was Colonel Shaddock. Not even the Rector's opinions were sacred in her eyes. She knocked them down and buffeted them, so to speak, in the most irreverent manner. 1 am told she is considered an oracle here, — particularly in all farm and garden matters ; is to be seen delving among her roses at six every morning, or mounted on a ladder netting her wall-fruit. She rates the cottager soundly if his field is ill-drilled, or the cuttings she gave him ill-grafted ; but she is charitable in her own dictatorial way, though the poor woman must heave a sigh of relief when this imperative lady has deposited her sago and departed. I was amused in watching and listening to Miss Tarragon, when Miss Montacute asked me to hand her the sugar, which enabled me for the first time to see a pair of large and very intelligent grey eyes. I believe I followed up the opening so far as to remark on the fine- ness of the strawberries ; but the ladies, very soon after this, rose. I picked up a delicate little white glove, and was thanked by a grave 24 CONFIUKNCES. inclination of the head, very ditierent from the flutter of ordinary young Lidyhood. As the door closed, young Stapylton drew his chair near mine, and asked if I had known his bro- ther Bill at Oxford ? No, I had not ; what College did he belong to ? " Christ Church. A wild young dog, Mr. Esdaile ; not much in your line, I dare say. Only, as I never was at College, I always fancy that men who were there together must have known each other." " Has wild Bill settled yet what he is going to be?" said the Admiral, as he passed the wine. " No : he changes his mind every day. He is only fit for an active profession, however. He'll never stick to a desk." " Well, he is too old for my trade, luckily, and I hope he is not fool enough to think of ^listing. One sodger in the family is enough, I take it. Aye, Colonel, it's all very well shaking your head, but I tell you, sir, the Ser- vices are both going to the devil. (Beg pardon, parson.) No discipline ; nothing done without interest ; a set a-drawing-room puppies, walking the quarter-deck in kid gloves, and young fel- CONFIDENCES. 25 lows in marcliing regiments going about with portable tubs and the deuce knows what. Why, sir, in my young day, a man never thought it necessary to have a tub. But it's all of a piece — Horse Guards and Admiralty, both corrupt : a vote, sir, a vote will do anything; and when the head is corrupt, why of course so's the system — rotten throughout ! " I found, from the number of times he returned to it in conversation, that this was a favourite illustration of the Admiral's. The parts in his argument did not, indeed, quite hang together : for the connexion between the tubs and the Horse Guards was not clear, I believe, to any of our minds ; but it was forcible, and had been heard so often by every one present except myself, that no one thought of examining it minutely. " Well, Admiral," said Jack Stapylton with a merry smile, " in spite of this, you'll be glad to hear that Ned continues to like his regi- ment and the service altogether immensely. He writes from India in the best spirits, and gives such an account of his tiger hunts, that I long- to be in his shoes." 26 CONFIDENCES. " Better stick to the Dorminstcv Pack and old England, Jack, l^ity you can't make some- thing of a sportsman of Phil. I can't bear to see a fine young fellow stewing over his books as he dors, and not caring for a gun or a horse." " Phil is the scholar of the family, Admiral. He represents the learning and respectability of us all, as becomes the eldest son." " How many brothers have you, Mr. Stapyl- ton ?" I asked. "In the words of the poet, 'We are seven.' I have six natural enemies ; and as such we fought in the nursery, though now we are very good friends. Mr. Brigstock consoled my mother after the birth of Willie, the youngest of us, by telling her that seven was a mystic num- ber, that meant all sorts of good things; didn't you, sir ?" ** Your mother had no need of consolation : she is too devout a Christian, and too exem- plary a parent ; but I did point out to her that in Scripture the number seven was sin- gularly blest. In Joseph's dream " " Exactly ; and the seven champions of Chris- CONFIDENCES. 27 tendom, and so on. But it docs seem hard there shouldn't have been a sister amongst the seven. There was no provision against that, you know — eh?" " Aye/' said Colonel Shaddock, in his pecu- liarly gentle voice ; " your mother, sir, would have been glad of a girl, I doubt not." "Nothing like girls. Colonel," said the Ad- miral, " depend on it. A man always wishes for a boy. I did : now I 'm d very glad I never had one. No trouble, no bother with daughters, — looking out for their futures, and so on. There they are, and there they remain." " You cannot expect them, my dear Admiral, to remain with you ahoays," rejoined the courtly old Colonel, smiling. " That would be suppos- ing all the youngsters to have very bad taste. I am glad, however, that you appreciate the gifts the Gods have sent you." Mr. Brigstock looked slightly shocked at this Pagan form of speech, and remarked that they were, indeed, very estimable young women, of whom any father might be proud. The Admiral took a pinch of snufF, and turned to Jack Sta- pylton. 28 CONFIDENCES. " How is the S(iuire's twinge of the gout ? I met him on his grey coh two days ago, and he complained still, — said he couldn't ride. He is too fond of your fine old claret, Jack. Ha, ha! he should he as abstemious as I am," and the old gentleman filled his glass with port for the seventh or eighth time. " It is my belief the governor could vault over a five-barred gate, if he chose. At all events, he is not as bad as he fancies, or likes us to fancy him : he Avalked all round my farm to-day, and talks of going up to Ascot next ■week." " I trust you will dissuade him, Mr. John," said the Rector, " from so rash an enterprise, and in pursuit, too, of that earthly bubble- pleasure. Think of what it is, — over in a few brief hours, and what remains?" "Very true," said Jack with the air of one profoundly convinced ; but I suspect the sly dog was laughing in his sleeve. " Besides," continued the Rector, " as I never fail to point out from the pulpit, when the time of the neighbouring races draws near, such amusements as these are in reality the encourage- CONFIDENCES, 29 ment of theft and rascality in all shapes. There is your vagrant gipsey and your thimble-rigger, your pick-pocket and vendor of strong drinks, your bettors and gamblers, your " '' Ah ! " said Jack, getting impatient under this exordium ; " it is precisely on that account, you see the governor enjoys a race course be- yond all things, — the opportunity of picking up subjects for his pet hobby, the Reforma- tory." " It is perfectly inconceivable," said the Rector warmly, " how Mr. Stapylton can have taken up that absurd idea: a strong-minded sensible man, as he is, to be carried away by such an Utopian scheme!" " It is to give these poor young rascals a chance of becoming honest," said the Colonel mildly. "Honest?" repeated Mr. Brigstock, "Why, sir, what was the first thing that two of them did on leaving the Reformatory ? To rob Mr. Stapylton's — their benefactor's — orchard! What do you think of that, sir, by way of reforma- tion?" " Apples have proved a sore temptation from 30 COXFIUENCES. the beginning of all things," said the Colonel, smiling, " but if the system " " Rotten from the head downwards," remarked the Admiral, somewhat indistinctly, " and when that is corrupt, the members " " Still, if we can prove that in some cases it has done good," insisted the Colonel ; but the Rector waved his hand deprecatingly. " Colonel Shaddock, excuse me, but it will be the bane of our country — this sentimental interest in crime. What ! will you tell me it is fitting to see a young scoundrel, who should be expiating his sins against society at the galleys-? " " Put 'em all in chains, sir, and the Black Hole," murmured the Admiral. " I say, will you tell me it is fitting to see such a young miscreant pampered in the lap of luxury, driving out in an open carriage — yes, actually Mr. Forsepp was seen with one of these juvenile malefactors on the box of his britska — while the honest and hard-working tramp wearily mile after mile on the dusty road ? Again, I ask, is it a justifiable step to endanger the morals and safety of a neighbourhood, hitherto singularly free from vice, by introducing into it a portion CONFIDENCES. 31 of the dregs of the community, and accustoming our youth to the spectacle of crime rewarded: for so it is, sir ; put it as you will, so it is. And whose property is safe, when these interesting young criminals, after a year or two's clever dissimulation, are let loose on society ? Who can rest at ease, feeling that this hotbed of villany is within a few miles of him ? I am only thank- ful," added Mr. Brigstock, washing his hands vehemently in his finger glass, " that this Re- formatory is not in my parish. Its being six miles distant of course precludes the necessity of my interfering in the matter, and it would have been painful to me to oppose strenuously any scheme of Mr. Stapylton's. But" (here he wiped his fingers) " I thought it my duty to let him know my views, and I have no further responsibility in the matter." I was glad to see coffee brought in just then, not only because it put a stop to the Rector's angry diatribes, but because the Admiral had replenished his glass so constantly, that I began to feel uneasy as to how he would accomplish his voyage to the drawing-room. Jack Staplyton swallowed his cup of coflfee ; then, feeling, no 32 CONFIDKNCKS. doubt, that lie had enjoyed enough of the Rector's conversation, rose carelessly, and with- out waiting for the " ciders," sauntered out of the room to the ladies. " A fine young fellow, that," said the Colonel. I thought so too, as I looked after him : and the Admiral, rousing suddenly, burst in, " Aye, aye ; — but see him ride to hounds ! No man goes so straight us Jack. Then as to a shot; — I'll back him against any man in the county. Gad! sir, it's a terrible pity he is not the eldest son, instead of that land-lubber, Phil." " I like Philip Stapylton, and I respect him too," said the Colonel, mildly. "All men can't have the same tastes, my dear Admiral, and his, I am sure, do no one any harm." "I don't say that they do: but to think of his succeeding the Squire ! that jolly old cock ! and he that does nothing that / can see, but parlcy-vous and squallini at the piano. Why he don't know a pig from a i)otatoe, let alone sporting. He is obliged to get Jack to do all his farming business, and when he comes to the estate, he'll be as ignorant as a child about it." CONFIDENCES. 33 "Shall we join the ladies. Admiral?" said the Rector, rising. When we entered the drawing-room. Miss Tarragon's voice was heard exclaiming in a high pitch, above every one else, " Brown paper and vinegar ! Stuff and non- sense, Mrs. Brigstock, about pomade divine I "When I bark my shins, I never use anything but paper. I should like to know if ^ovl.''^ pomade divine in the Peninsular, Colonel ? He ! he ! " She sat in a high-backed chair, with one leg crossed on the other, and by a periodical move- ment of the foot, kicked out the flimsy silk of which her skirt was formed, lending thereby great emphasis to her discourse. But my attention was soon more agreeably occupied with the figures of two young girls who had joined the party since dinner. These, I found, were Miss Montacute's younger sisters. The elder of the two, Linda they called her, is a graceful animated girl, the least good-looking of the three sisters, and I should fancy the most popular. The youngest, who rejoices in the singular name of Vanda, is strikingly handsome, but shy and proud-looking. 1 can hardly 3 r' 34 confii>i:nci:s, believe she is an English girl : her movements and carriage have, in a yet greater degree, the peculiarity I observed in her eldest sister ; and there is a grandeur in all the lines of her figure which I have never seen but in some of the Florentine frescoes. I vi^as so engaged in watch • ing her that I did not observe Mrs. Brigstock ask Miss Montacute to play. But immediately she sat down to the piano and passed her fingers over the keys my attention was arrested. I have rarely heard such a touch. It has a nervous power, which seems independent of the mechani- cal agent. It affected me almost magnetically : I felt it to my fingers' ends, and remained entranced while she played two or three of Chopin's wild mazurkas in succession. Nearly everyone in the room talked, but that made no difference ; for I was far away, watching a group of Polish peasants in their frozen forests, clank- ing their heels round a fire to the music of their native dance. The fine expressive head seen over the piano was admirably in character with such a scene. I could observe it better tlian I had done yet. In full -face it Mas much less handsome than in profile, but the same power CONFIDEXCKS. 35 and sensibility that characterized her playing M'ere strongly written there. The varying ex- pressions passed over it like clouds, but the power remained. There was nothing M'eak or irresolute in a single line, and the breadth of forehead, too great perhaps for beauty, seemed to indicate the same grasp and vigour of intellect. The different effect produced on me by the two heads I have described was curious. My eyes were fascinated by the beauty of the youngest sister, but when once fixed on the elder I could not take them away. It was as though she said, *' I know it is difficult to make you look at me, but having looked you are mine now and cannot escape." How far this might be the effect of her divine playing, I will not stop to enquire. Suffice it that I was hardly able to murmur the most common-place thanks : while Mrs. Brig- stock, who had been pouring her nursery troubles into Mrs. Halliday's ear ever since INIiss Monta- cute began, broke off, and exclaimed, " A charming set of waltzes, that. Thank vou. So much obliged." ^liss Tarragon was honester, at least. "Do vou call that music, EUice ? It mav be 36 CONFIDENCES. all very fine, that hopping up and clown the piano, but I like something that's got a tune in it. It's as if a rat had got into the piano. Humbug ! -Any owe pretending to like that !" " Play some of the ' Elijah,' EUice dear," said Miss Ilalliday. Miss Montacute shook her head and beckoning to her sisters, said with a smile, ■'* They shall sing something adapted to the capacity of the audience. Instrumental music is not popular here, you know." This was spoken with the most perfect good humour : and she began to accoinpany her sisters in a lively little air, the words of which I could not recognise as belonging to any language I had ever lieard. When I asked the question at its close, it was with a latent dread that it might be Englibh. I was as much relieved as surprised to find it was Polish. The voices were small but in tune ; the singing spirited, and it met \\ ilh an encore, in Avhich Mr. Jack Stai)ylton was especially loud. "And now, ]Mr. Esdaile, will you favor us?" said ]\lrs. Brigstock ; " we are sure you sing, from the interest you lake about the choir. CONFIDENCF.S. 3T Have you your music? I dare say one of the young ladies Avill accompany you. What ! not sing at all, nor play? Well, I'm quite dis- appointed. I intend my Tommy to learn the piano as soon as he can read. Such a nice occupation, and so refined." Miss Tarragon's skirt was agitated in great scorn ; I turned to the younger members of the society who were grouped round the piano. Jack Stapylton was looking over some songs with Miss Linda, but they seemed to find each other's conversation more interesting than the score. The stately Vanda leant over her eldest sister's chair : and I ventured to say to Miss Montacute, " You are evidently a capital musician. Could not you and your sisters do something to improve our miserable choir? Have you never thought of taking it in hand?" " I tried, but the organist resented my inter- ference. Mr. Brigstock neither knows nor cares whether voices and organ are in the same key ; so I had no assistance from him, and my class fell to the ground." " I hope to establish one, and if you will assist me I think we shall improve in time. I 38 CONFIDENCES. will smooth all the difficulties for you and promise you shall have no trouble with the organist." "And, oh! Mr. Esdaile/' said :Miss Linda, " if you could stop that clerk's ridiculous way of roaring the responses, you would deserve a vote of public thanks." " Ton my soul," chimed in Jack, " it's as much as one's gravity can stand sometimes. When he * pants,' like the * ^eart for cooling streams,' I long to oblige him with a good ducking." Miss Linda laughed. She and her elder sister consented to take in hand the class for congre- gational singing I am anxious to form ; but Miss Vanda only muttered something about hav- ing- no talent for teaching. The fair Halliday (whose musical powers, I am told, are of the most rudimentary description) immediately offered her services, and of course I could not decline them. It was a new, though a small excitement. " You know, Mr. Esdaile," she said gravely, " my desire is to be of some use in my gene- ration, that my life may be earnest, and not altogether thrown away. Point out to me any sacrifice I ought to make, and 1 will make it." CONFIDENCES. 39 This was said in the star-lit lane, as I was accompanying her home ; the Colonel being in front with Mrs Halliday. That lady had wished to accept the offer of his brougham, but her daughter protested so plaintively against being shut up, and assumed so ill-used a tone, that her mamma yielded. I ventured to reply, there- fore, to the young lady's remark, " Perhaps the best sacrifice you can make, is that of your own tastes and wishes to those of others." I have now brought down this veracious journal, my dear sister, to within two days of this date. I shall continue writing, as I have done, by snatches, from time to time, and only dispatch the result when it shall have assumed the size of a respectable budget. Let me have your comments on the same. Tell me what impression the people I introduce to you make. Criticise the sayings and doings of your brother as freely as you used in the happy home-days that are gone, alas ! never to be renewed ; and with love to Fritz, Believe me always, etc., etc. 40 CONFIDENCES. II. July 20. Thank you, my clear Mary, for your letter, which I received yesterday. I rejoiced in the good accounts it brought of you and Fritz, and — though last, not least (except physically) — of that important baby. AVhen you say that Mrs. Brigstock " has transferred her happiness from her husband's keeping to that of her chil- dren," are you sensible, ma'am, that few do- mestic ladies serve these two masters equally well I that if they retain their affection for their lords in all its first warmth and freshness, the chiklren are almost invariably neglected ? and that if (as with Mrs. B.) the nursery is the first consideration, it is very often the last and oidy one ? I see you shake your head indig- nantly, and point to Fritz smoking his pipe CONFIDENCES. 41 on one side, and the crib on the other. In answer to this, I only beg to remark that you are not yet surrounded by six cribs, as is the case with the worthy Rector's wife. You ob- serve, with your usual acumen, that I seem better pleased with my new life, towards the end of my letter, than I was at its commence- ment. You are right; and all you say of the dramatis personce in it is capital. But you seem to think I am too severe on Miss Halliday ; you have " no doubt there is some real good under all that exaggeration." Neither have I. She belongs to a class of young ladies very common now, which had no existence some twenty years ago. In their principles (which are the result probably of some disappointment in love, or what they call such) there is a noble wish and intention, which only wants the bal- last of sound judgment to render it very valu- able : in the exaggeration of these principles there is much that is morbid and unhealthy. This is the case with the young lady in ques- tion. Do not think me severe, for indeed I am hopeful of seeing her a more " enlightened instrument of good," to use her own phrase. 42 CONFIDKNCKS. than she now is. 1 cannot help, us you know, smiling over the little follies of my neighbours ; but this does not prevent my learning, every day I live, that there is more good in the world than Avc often give it credit for. In this parish, among high and low, I find plenty to confirm this view of human nature. It is true I also find prejudice, jealousy, ingratitude. I am obliged to guard myself against expcctiiuj any return for the interest I may feel among the poor, or that my views will be understood and shared by any among my rich parishioners. The K-ector and I are as wide apart as ever, and as friendly. Were it not for the interest I already feel in this village, and the hope of doing some good here in my own way, I should endeavour to find a curacy where my views were not so diametrically opposed to those of my " chief." Perhaps, however, for that very reason (I sometimes argue with myself) I am of more use here. By a little tact and management, I have already been able to work a beneficial change in some small matters, without actually opposing IMr. Brigstock. He now allows me to have the management of the school pretty CONFIDENCES, 43 much in my own hands. Our choral singing — thanks to the Lidies — is improving. Wc have two evenings' practice in the week, when every one is invited to join ; and tlie Miss Monta- cutes give some of the boys and girls instruc- tion separately at their own house. All this has been the cause of my seeing these young ladies a good deal lately, — more than any one else indeed. They are not an easy family to know ; and their history, which I will tell you as I gathered it from Colonel Shaddock in a walk two days since, accounts in some measure for this. Their father is a retired Admiral. Besides his pay they have very little to live on ; and, unless the Admiral has saved in former years, from his prize-monies, etc., these three girls will be left miserably off at his death. Their mother had no fortune : she was a Polish lady, of great beauty and accomplishment, who was reduced, by circumstances, to become a gover- ness. The Admiral met her abroad, fell in love, and married her ; though my informant just hinted that it was probable the lady only ac- cepted him to escape from her dependent posi- 44 CONFIDKNCFS. tion. At all events, he ijave me to understand there was a great prejudice against her in Eng- land : whether justified by her conduct, he cither could not, or would not, say ; and when the Admiral was ordered to the coast ot Africa, Mrs. Montacute, instead of remaining in Eng- land, which she couldn't bear, Avent to War- saw with her children. She never left it : she was seized with a painful illness before the Admiral's return, and under it she lingered some time, unable to leave her native country. The Admiral during this period was almost constantly employed. When his wife died, and he went to Warsaw to bring back his children, hi« eldest dauirhter was fourteen. That is nine years ago. They have lived here ever since, in a little cottage tliat was left to the Admiral when he was a young man, but where his wife only resided three years. The Colonel informs me that the youngest daughter, A'anda, is the exact image of her mother. It is not difficult to understand that poverty, a foreign education, and the fact of their mother having been slighted in England, which she probably never forgot, should have had the effect of making the eldest CONFIDENCES. 45 of these girls, at least, reserved, and prevent- ing her from being very intimate with any of the young ladies about here, with none of whom she has very congenial tastes. Mrs. Stapylton has been very kind to them, and the second daughter, Linda, used to be constantly at Sta- pylton Manor ; of late, not so much so. The youngest, I confess myself as yet unable to fathom. She seems dissatisfied with her pre- sent life, as far as I can make out. She has not much occupation, and I sometimes fancy that her eldest sister is rather uneasy about her ; but I may be mistaken. She says very little, which may be from the depth of her reflections, or from their shallowness ; and, in spite of her remarkable beauty, it does not seem that she has any special admirers among the young men of the neighbourhood. I am bound to add that she oflers very little en- couragement. To myself, though I have been now several times at the house, she has not addressed half-a-dozen words ; and though I admire her almost as much as the Venus of Milo, I feel just as little inclination to talk to her. 4G CONI'IDKNCKS. I must describe their cottage, for it is cha- racteristic of its gallant owner, and you have probably no idea that a nautical color can be given to anything so far inland. There is a ter- race in front, which is the nearest approach to a quarter-deck that can be fashioned out of grass and gravel. A couple of miniature cannon, and a mast with ropes and flying pennant, in the most correct style, complete the likeness. Beyond this, in the young ladies' domain, the flowers blossom luxuriantly, but here not a bud, not a daisy, is to be seen. Within, the walls are hung all round with drawings of vessels in every pos- sible attitude — except topsy-turvy. One, in full sail " off Cape Finisterre," under the command of Eear- Admiral INIontacute, C.B. ; and one, dis- masted, in a howling sea, and evidently under no command but that of the winds and waves. Tiiere is an Indian cabinet, and some Chinese screens, two great jars Irom Japan, and a variety of large and curious shells. Everything speaks of long voyages, and seems to have a smell of the salt sea. The furniture is exceedingly old and shal)by ; but Miss INIontacute's books and >\()ik,antl the open i)iano and the flowers, give CONFIDENCES. 47 the little room an air of comfort many a grander apartment wants. The Aclmii-al and I are very good friends. I do not suppose it is necessary to give you a metaphysical analysis of his character. He met me yesterday as I was leaving the church, when we had the following conversation : — " Good day, Mr. Esdaile. What have you been doing there ? It's none of vour Saint's days, is it ? Didn't see the girls getting their tackle ready this morning." " I have been christening a child, Admiral — Mrs. Crump the baker's wife's first baby. A love of fine names prevails here, I see, as else- where. The future baker of Ashford is Marnia- duke Crump. " Aye, aye — women are always foolish. Sir, about names. My poor wife, she christened her eldest after my old friend Ellice, who gave her a passage home from the Mediterranean — (not allowed to take one's own wife, though one may another man's, Mr. Esdaile). It was no use tell- ing her that Ellice was n't a woman's name. She could see no difference between it and Alice (she was a foreigner. Mi". Esdaile), and so she would 4S CONFIDEN'CES. have it. The second, I insisted on being named after their great aunt, j\Irs. Belinda Montacute, but her mother wouhl never call her anything but Linda, and so the old lady took offence and didn't leave her a farthing. The third is named after her poor mother. Aye, it's all very 'svell to ask ' What's in a name?' and then to say, ' a nose by any other name ^vould smell as sweet.' It's not true. Sir. All depends in life on the christening, and "svomen arc so proof; Ellice is as obstinate as my old friend Billy himself, and Vanda is the only one that is the image of her poor dear mother. Ah ! " " Are you speaking of Captain William Ellice, Admiral, Avho is now on half-pay ?" " The same, to be sure ; and a terrible shame it is. Left unemployed — got disgusted — went on the retired list. All the fault of the present iniquitous syt^tem, Sir : the First Lord, a servile dependent on family and parliamentary interest; and when the head is corrupt, why all the members " " Exactly. Captain A\'illiam Ellice is my mother's cousin. 1 have been told that his ungovernable tcpjpcr and violent language was CONFIDENCES. 49 the cause of his having remained unemployed for so many years. " Tut, tut, my good Sir, in our day no man ever gave an order on the quarter-deck without a dozen good round oaths. And so Bill EUice is your cousin, is he ? Why, it makes us seem almost related too, Mr. Esdaile ; for Billy is quite like an uncle to the girls. Temper ! Lord bless you ! ask them whether he is bad-tempered." I did ask them several questions concerning our almost-unknown cousin when we reached the cottage, and was informed by Miss Linda, who was more loquacious in the Captain's praise than his god-daughter, that he was "the dearest old fellow in the world — spoils us all — a trifle warm, perhaps, and headstrong, but such a generous heart ! and then so amusing — has seen so much of the world — tells such good stories." In short, on the strength of my relationship to the Captain, the vounsr ladies and I became more intimate than we have yet been. July 2Qth. — I mentioned in my first letter a row of cottages on the slope of the hill that had attracted my attention particularly from their trim gardens. One of these gardens has been looking 4 50 CONFIDENCES. neglected for the last fortnight. In it live a man and his wife who arc in great affliction from the death of their only child. This expression does not convey a right idea of the state of the man's mind. It is a sullen savage hopelessness, un- brightened by a ray of faith. The poor mother in all her grief has a firm and humble trust, but the effect produced on her husband by this blow renders her wretched. " O, Sir ! " she said to me, while the tears poured down her cheeks, " it was the only thing he cared for — the only soft place in John's heart, for he's got hard-like since we married, and don't care much, now he's used to me — but the child! It were our only one, as ever we've had; and O sir, when he says to me, ' Wife, how can you ask me to believe in a God of mercy that takes away the only thing I cared for ? ' what can I say. Sir ? I tells him it's a dispensation, but he laughs bitter-like, and calls it parson's jargon (humbly begging your pardon. Sir). Will you please speak to him ?" I found John Ihirst in that frame of mind on ■which it is tlie most difficult to make any im- pression. I told him how God tries thoec whom CONFIDENCES. 51 he loves through their afFections. " If a friend, John, were going away for a time and gave his garden into your charge, to look after, though you trained and watered the flowers and spent all your thoughts and your heart on it, yet would you hesitate to give it back to him when he came and claimed it again ? Wouldn't you feel that it was not yours, — only lent you for a time ? Well, so it is, John, that God lends us those we love. He means us to love and tend them. He doesn't want us to be cold and indifferent to His bles- sings, but he expects us to resign them without murmuring when he calls them back. Those who are cold and worldly-hearted he tries in other ways." " Why is Sam Timson's children left all sound and healthy?" said John, surlily. "He's got seven, and they ha'n't a scratch, and the eldest rising fifteen. He's none so good, neither, is Sam, for the matter o' that." " Perhaps for that very reason his children are spared ; but we can none of us foresee the secret workings of Providence. In this world, remem- ber, the good are not all rewarded and the wicked • punished. Very often it is just the contrary." 52 CONFIDENCES, "Aye. I don't see as your psalm-singers is any better off; and how do you make out that God is just, if he don't make any difference ? There's Nell says her prayers as reg'lar as clock- work, why warn't the child spared for her sake ?" " If there were not another world beyond this, John, it would be unjust; but Nell and I believe that those who have suffered here in patient faith will be rewarded by and by." He shook his head incredulously, and I said no more, thinking it wiser not to insist too far just then. The next day I gave Nelly Hurst one of those coarse German woodcuts we bought at Munich. It represents a group of angels bear- ing a little child up to heaven. She promised to pin it up on the wall opposite their bed, and who knows but that, as the rising sun strikes through the lattice there, and John's eyes open on it day after day, that little print may do more than all my talking ? What some people would call " a curious coincidence," happened a morning or two after my conversation with the Hursts. I go down to the river every morning between five and six o'clock to bathe. Some of the village youths who CONFIDENCES. 53 were there the first morning I went down plunged about in the water like hippopotami — though far less at their ease, for they were evidently ignorant of the noble art of swimming. I undertook to teach them. Before I knew what I had engaged upon, I found my class increased to some twelve or fifteen, and by the following morning, when the noise of my ecole de natation had been bruited abroad, there were no less than twenty. One of these is the son of the Sam Timson Hurst spoke of so enviously ; and a tall shrewd-looking boy he is, somewhat of a scamp I suspect ; but, like most of the boys in this parish, he has been much neglected. On the morning in question he was very nearly drowned. He struck out boldly (for he has plenty of pluck and adventure in his com- position), when I had shown him how to use his arms and legs, and the river carried him down, to the admiration of some of his more awkward com- panions, until I called out to him not to go too far, and he attempted to turn and breast the stream. Then, from nervousness or some other cause, he began to use arms and feet both at once, and bellowing lustily, down he sank, just where the river is deepest and the weeds grow thick and 54 CONFIDENCES. long. Had I not been so near, he would never have risen, for his feet were completely entangled. It was a minute or two before I could reach him, and -wlicn I brought him v;p he was insensible. A good rubbing on the warm bank, and a sound scolding (I dare say) from his mother when he got home, brought him round, but you may guess how John Hurst received the intelligence. "Oh! of course not! Sam Timson's son isn't drownded. No harm will ever happen to him. If it had been 7ny son he'd ha' gone to the bottom, and no one to pull him up. Preach away about justice: that's right." I walked over to Stapylton Hall one day last week to return the Squire's visit. The gout first and then his visit to London had prevented his calling before. INIr. Jack, too, was away, so I had seen nothing of the family. The Squire was out, but Mrs. Stapylton was at home. The house is a comfortable frightful English mansion, one wing alone retaining the distinctive character of a much older building. From this wing rises a square grey stone tower almost covered with ivy. The remainder of the old building was pulled down and rebuilt in the reign of George III., CONFIDENCES. 65' an epoch when architects seem to have tried how ugly it was possible to make a human habitation, and to have crowned their efforts with the most complete success. I was shown into a large drawing-room with a bay window, the blinds of which were drawn up to the top, so that the afternoon sun, pouring into the room and lighting up every corner and crevice with painful brilliancy, made one's eyes ache. The faded chintz covers, stretched upon the hard bony-looking chairs and sofas, demon- strated the number of seasons the sun had thus streamed. Windless, into the room. There were few books and no flowers ; some grim ladies and gentlemen, with very straight stiff bodies, hung round the walls, and on a round marble table beside Mrs. Stapylton lay the Times, a pair of spectacles, and Livingston's Travels. That lady was employed in some plain — very plain — work, and rose with formal courtesy to receive me, pointing to a chair opposite to her, and facing those blazing windows. As it was a warm day, and I had walked rather fast, my position was not enviable. Mrs. Stapylton is a thin precise woman, who has once been good-looking, in a 50 CONFIDENCES. hard way, and is of a very noble family. I make no doubt she has some good qualities : I shall let you know as soon as I have found them out. In conversation she cannot be said to shine. She never allows you, in the first place, to forget that you are addressing Mrs. Stapylton of Stapylton Hall. The sense of her importance is no doubt increased from the fact of her not having gone beyond a circle of ten miles from home dur- ing twenty years. She said, speaking of Mr. Forsepp's family, that they were " new people : I hardly know them. Mr. Stapylton wished me to call, as Mr. Forsepp has taken a great interest about the Reformatory ; but in our county it has 7iever been the custom to visit manufacturers, when they come and settle near us." "You make some concession to the times, I suppose, Mrs. Stapylton. The manufacturers are the great men of England now : where should we be without them ? " " This admixture of classes is a great evil in the present day," said the lady frigidly. " There are, no doubt, many excellent persons among them, but you must draw the line somewhere. CONFIDE^CKS. 57 I beg your pardon, but I believe yours is an old Huntinardonshire familv ? " Soon after this she rang the bell and sent the servant to see if Mr. Philip was at home. " He has his own set of apartments : we never see him until dinner time. My son unfortunately shuns general society " (this was said in a very hard voice), "but he sometimes likes the con- versation of an intelligent person — like yourself. Mr. Stapylton and myself would be glad if he could be induced to mix more. I mention it in case you have the opportunity, as a clergyman, some time or other, of speaking to him about it." I hardly knew how to reply to this : but the servant entered at that moment to say that Mr. Philip was not in the Old Tower ; he had been seen walking out. " I am sorry that neither Mr. Stapylton nor my son should be within," said the lady, as I rose ; " it has always been our custom to be on friendly terms with the clergy in our neighbour- hood, and we shall hope to see you often, Mr. Esdaile. Mr. Brigstock is a very excellent person: unfortunately my sons do not like him. I have hopes that the example and society of a 58 CONFIDENCES. younger clcrgynum may be of benefit to thorn. Young men will be young men, you know, Mr. Esdailc ; and my son John is wilder than I could wish at his age. lie has great abilities — all my sous have : they only require a little wholesome regulation. I hear you very highly spoken of at Ashford, I am happy to tell you. It gives Mr. Stapylton and myself great pleasure to en- courage rectitude of conduct, and we shall have pleasure in attending to any deserving cases you may bring to our notice. I shall be happy to show you my school any Saturday afternoon, Mr. Esdaile : I superintend it entirely myself. If you like to go back through the gardens and shubbery, you will find a wicket to your left hand that leads you a pleasant cut across the park. Good morning." Mrs. Stapylton extended a bony hand, and rang the bell. I crossed the great hall full of stuffed birds in glass cases, '^ wide-a-wakes" of all shapes and colors, whips, and riding-gloves. The servant directed me to the gardens, of course full of beautiful flowers, but stifiened up in beds of the most tasteless form, like fair creatures thrust into ugly ill-made gowns. No CONFIDENCES. 5^ artistic arrangement of color, or happy combina- tion of lines; but excellent gardening,, no doubt, and very fine lawn and gravel. I found the wicket and crossed the park. A stream runs through it, on the bank of -which stand some grand old beeches. The path leads close to one of these. Under it lay at full length a young man, smoking a short meerschaum pipe and readinsr an old folio volume. His straw hat lay on the grass beside him, so that I could observe his head well as I approached. He had a light brown beard, hazy blue eyes, and a broad forehead full of bumps and inequalities : what, I suppose, you phrenologists would pro- nounce not •well-balanced, though undoubtedly no common head. As to whether he would be called good-looking, I could hardly determine : it would probably depend on his expression in speaking, and, after that, on the individual taste and sympathy of those who gave an opinion. The young man did not hear me approach until I was close to him : he then looked up in some surprise, but did not attempt to move or take any further notice of me. Had I heard nothing of his peculiar character, I should have 60 CONFIDENCES. introduced myself to Mr. Philip Stapylton — for I had no doubt it was he — but knowing that the intrusion would probably be very distasteful, I left liiiu to the uninterrupted enjoyment of his worm-eaten old volume, under the flickering shadows of the beech leaves. Strange, I thought to myself, he looks more like a dreamy German student than the son and heir of an old English Squire. What a freak of Nature, to make that incarnation of country pomp and decorum I have just left the mother of this Rousseau. I wonder whether he is any- thing better than a sentimental faineant ? I cannot help laughing at the amusing imper- tinence with which Mrs. Stapylton dictated the part I was to play in her family ; though, to say the truth, I feel more curiosity in it than her manners, poor lady, quite justify. I must find out more about this young man. One good thing I have already discovered — that he is wholly unlike his mamma On the road home I overtook Colonel Shad- dock and his dog Ponto. "We skirted an en- closure where several colts and fillies were gambolling, and I remarked, CONFIDENCES. 61 " The Squire seems to have quite a nursery of young horses here. Does he breed them himself?" "Yes — yes;" then, after a little hesitation, " for racing purposes, you know. The Squire is fond of the turf." " Indeed ! Has he a racing establishment ?" "Yes: but not here. Mrs. Stapylton don't much like the sort of thing (here he nodded his head sagaciously). Indeed, I'm afraid, Mr. Esdaile, but this is between you and me, that he has been rather unfortunate lately. He lost a large sum on the Derby, I know, and it is said that he was still more unfortunate at Ascot, the other day: I hope it ain't true. It's a pity to see a man with seven sons wasting his money so — and a good-hearted generous man too, sir, only a trifle thoughtless for his years. Have you seen him ? Quite the old English gentleman." " No : but I suppose Mr. Jack resembles him somewhat — in his tastes, at least : he is a fine young English gentleman, frank and free ; some- thing amazingly pleasant about him." " Aye : rather too much of the Squire's tastes, I'm afraid. He is his father's favourite, and 62 CONFIDENCES. ever since lie was a boy has always gone about with him to races, and so no wonder he takes to it. His father has paid some large sums for him ; but he is steadying down, I hope, A sly smile twinkled in the Colonel's eye ; but I forbore questioning him, and observed that the elder son, at all events, gave his father no anxiety on this score. *' No ; I believe the Squire would like him better if he did." "Is the property entailed?" " Yes." " Then surely it is fortunate the heir does not inherit these ruinous tastes ; otherwise there Avould be little left for his brothers." " He would be much happier, I believe, if he were not the heir. He don't care for money, and would be content on a hundred a year, I believe, with his books, if he were left in peace. Poor Phil ! that's what he doesn't have here." " AVhy docs he remain at home doing nothing ? Surely it would be better, if lie and his father can't get on, to separate." CONFIDENCES. 63 " The Squire won't hear of it : he says he ought to learn to look after this large property ; and I'm afraid," added the Colonel sorrowfully, " that he keeps him rather close. He would be happier away from home ; but he is a good son, and, to tell you the truth, Mrs. Stapylton is a little difficult, sometimes. I like him : I have a regard for the young man, though I rarely see him. My society, sir, could give him no pleasure, I know ; but we are very good friends when we meet." *' I wonder he has not married, in a neigh- bourhood thick with pretty girls." " Ah ! ' thereby hangs a tale,' sir : the cause why, I fear, he and his father never can be really very cordial again. He was prevented from marrying the only woman he has ever seemed to care for ; but I must do the Squire the justice to say his objections were not un- reasonable; and Mrs. Stapylton's were even stronger, you see." ■ "Then I will answer for it, the lady was not one of your county families." " Oh ! she was not from his neighbourhood at all. It was when Philip was at one of the German Universities, and " 64 CONFIDENCES. " Ah ! I thought he had been brought up in Germany." " Aiul the huly whose acquaintance he made there had been an actress, a shiger, or some- thing of the sort, and was many years older than he. She was perfectly respectable, and living then a retired life ; a very charming woman, I understand. Indeed, she acted most admirably throughout; for when the Squire went over to get Philip out of his entangle- ment, he found that, though his son offered to abandon family and home and everything if she would only marry him, she refused to let him sacrifice himself, and the Squire brought him home in triumph. Let me see — that must be nine or ten years ago : he was just then twenty. Since then, in spite of all his mother's mancouvres, sir, he has never been more than distantly civil to a woman." " That," said I, smiling, " is a wonderful in- stance of constancy in these days. But does he do absolutely nothing but^cultivate his ' aesthetic' tendencies in his solitude ?" The Colonel looked rather puzzled at that fine word, but replied, " Ife don't understand CONFIDENCES. 65» much about rents and farming, I suppose, and as Jack is so much here, he thinks it as well to leave it to him, who is a sharp fellow in all agricultural matters, you see." *' That is a mistake," I said. " As the pro- perty will be his, he should make himself mas- ter of all the business connected with it now." " Perhaps so, Mr. Esdaile. We 're none of us perfect, sir ; and perhaps the young man follows the bent of his own tastes too much. But I'm bound to say he does what he can, in his ow)i way, for the tenantry, — gives them lectures at one of the farm-houses on the winter evenings occasionally, with simple experiments, and so forth. Then he takes an interest in his father's pet hobby, — the Reformatory." " I 'm glad to hear it," I said. " Does it work well?" " It does, sir, most excellently. I am one of the committee. In these matters, with all humility and with due respect to Mr. Brigstock, I venture to judge for myself. The system, as pursued by us here, seems to me to present none of the alarming features our worthy Rec- tor sees : the boys are hard worked ; they are CG CONKIUKNCES. no better fed than the lowest class of labourers. Great advantages, no doubt they have, but only such as must follow from their being in an enlightened Christian establishment, in cleanli- ness, in a pure air, with no temptation to thieve, and every encouragement to do well, for four whole years, Mr. Esdaile. Dear me ! sir, if we had not had a chance given us, as boys, where would most of us be now, I should like to know ? I remember distinctly '' (the Colonel prudently dropped his voice here) " robbing my master's orchard more than once at school. For less than that, some of these poor little urchins have been imprisoyied, and come out worse than they went in. We save them from this, Mr. Esdaile." "Have they all turned out well hitherto? How many have you?" " Sixty, and all arc doing well, though some of course better than others. Curious to say, the worst — the most neglected and depraved of the poor young wretches — turn out the best, and are less difficult to deal with than those carefully brought up. I can't tell you tohy : I leave the philosophers to answer that, sir." CONFIDENCES. 67 We shook hands, and parted. The fine qualities of the old soldier's heart, his kindly nature that is pained to think ill of any human being, his unostentatious charities, his clear good sense, and modest opinion of himself, have drawn me towards him the more I have seen him. If he alludes to the Penin- sular, it is never to mention any personal feats of his own ; when he speaks of the West Indies, where he held an important command for many years, it is only to amuse children (who always crowd round him) with stories of sharks and alligators. His old age, though solitary, is not a lonely one. He has such an extended sym- pathy with his fellow-creatures, that he is always occupied and cheerful in thinking for others. And surely no one grudges him his gardens and hot-house, liis pigs and his poultry, his sleek horses and his well-fed dosrs. Even Miss Tarragon, as I wrote to you, becomes subdued and mollified in the presence of Colonel Shad- dock July 28th. — I am going to finish my long letter this evening with two important announcements, one of a public, the other of a strictly private 68 CONFIDENCES. nature. Having done my day's work, I thought I would avail myself of the Admiral's general invitation, and pay him and his daughters a visit after dinner. I found tlicin all drinking tea on the lawn, just under the "quarter-deck," where a witch elm spreads the shade of its fantastic branches. It was only seven o'clock — for we keep primitive hours here, in our hoyne lives — and the sun still lighted up tlie quar- tette round the tea-table. There was the Ad- miral reading aloud an article, which couldn't interest any one, from to-day's Times, and the young ladies plying their works with busy fin- gers ; though I had much sooner one of them had been employed on the zither that lay be- side her. But Miss Montacute continued her work, and IMiss Linda almost immediately drew me into a discussion about making tea, in wliich the Admiral threw in his evidence as to the practice in China; and then Miss Linda be- came so animated about the delicate yellow tea in great Russian houses, and thence to Russians in general, that I saw no prospect of hearing the little Tyrolean instrument. Just when she was in the full swing of her most amusing CONFIDENCKS. G9 descriptions, there was a step on the gravel walk, and she turned quickly round. An ex- clamation burst from her lips, and every one seemed much astonished when Jack Stapylton walked up and held out his hand. (N.B. — First to her, and then to the Admiral, etc.) It was impossible to mistake the expression of de- light in the young lady's face, even had I not seen something similar once on the countenance of a Miss Mary Esdaile when a certain Ger- man Baron unexpectedly made his appearance. "Why, when did you come? We thought you were in London!" " So I am : I'm dining out in Bclgrave Square ; at least, grammatically speaking, I ought to was, only some jDarticular business of the governor's called me suddenly down here. I left by the three o'clock train." "Then you haven't been home yet?" said the Admiral. "No : I couldn't help running in as I passed. Here's some music for you, Ellice (he produced three parcels from his coat pocket) : I assure you it's the hardest and most incomprehensible Chapell could find, so I hope it'll please you 70 CONFIDENCES. Knowing your taste of old, Vanda, I brought you a French novel." Miss Montacute looked annoyed. " 1 wish. Jack, you " "Now I know all you're going to say, Ellice, beforehand ; but you need not be alarmed, for Phil, who is a model of propriety, recommended it. I asked him, not being strong at French myself, and he said it was a stunning book." "That I am sure he didn't," laughed Miss Montacute. " AVhat is it called?" "'Madame de — Bonneval.' Don't laugh at my pronunciation. There, Linda, is something less intellectual for you." He put a little morocco case into her hand, stooping down as he did so. " And now I must " " Stop, Jack, a minute," said the Admiral, rising ; " I want to say a word to you, my boy." lie put his arm within the young man's, and walked down the garden with him. A less welcome visitor, I suspect, appeared at that moment. The garden-gate opened nnd MlfJs Hallidav entered. CONFIDENCES. 71 " How d'ye do, dear Ellice f Good evening, Mr, Esdaile. I Avas passing, and thought, as I have so seldom time to come and see you in the morning, that I would just drop in to let you know that the Ashfords are expected down here almost immediately." "Really?" said Miss Montacute in the most uninterested tone. *^Yes. We heard from Clemmy this after- noon, and they all leave town on the seventh. And — isn't it a bore, dear? — they have got a large party, as I expected, at the castle the week after, for the races." " Indeed ! " replied Miss Montacute, as before. " Their cousins, the Roley Poleys, are coming, and young Lord Dumpling, and several sporting men Clemmy mentions ; and that handsome Count Bismark who was here last year." As Miss Halliday spoke my eyes happened to rest upon the lovely Vanda, looking with un- usual eagerness towards the speaker, and veiling her eyes the next instant under those long dark lashes. Her eldest sister, if I am not mistaken, shot a quick glance towards her, but except a slight flush over Miss Vanda's cheek, that 72 CONFIDENCES. young lady's face was as impervious as ever again. " I am sorry, Kate," said Miss Montacute, " for I suppose your mother will urge your going to the Race-ball, which you detest, I know. As to us, it does not make much difference," she added in a marked manner, "for we cannot afford to go to public balls." " I shall go," said Miss Vanda, without rais- ing her eyes, " for Papa has promised to take me." The Admiral and Jack rejoined the group just then. The latter stooped down again, and whispered into Miss Linda's ear ; then wished us good-bye. When I rose to take my leave a few minutes after. Miss llalliday asked me to sec her home, as " though the neighbourhood is very quiet, the lanes are so dark." She was extremely kind and friendly in her manner, assured me I had been of great benefit to her, begged I would tell her of all her faults, and reproached me with not coming oftener to see them. She kept me several minutes talking at the cottage-gate, and as the moon came out from behind a cloud and shone on her fair face, I CONFIDENCES. *73 thought her really a most attractive person : much more so than I had ever done before. One of my two facts is, of course, the return of the Ashford family : the other you will have been at no loss to discover. Linda Montacute is evidently engaged to Jack Stapylton : it must have been this to which the Colonel so slyly referred the other day ; but I suppose the engagement is still a secret, and I should very much doubt the Squire giving his consent. Good night, my dear Mary : write soon to your loving brother. 74 CONFIDENCES. III. August 2. I resume my journal five clays later. If it be sometimes rather introspective than a record of outward events, remember that I try to bring you as near me in my new life as I can, and that it is not always a record of outward events that will do this. I want you to have part in the thoughts and struggles of my own mind at the moment I write : just as I note down the trivial con- versations, the many little conceits and follies that have impressed me during the day. The history of any thinking mind, were it minutely and honestly written, would be more instructive than whole volumes of history. " C 'est dans les profondeurs de 1 'homme invisible, que se passent les evenements heureux ou malheureux de la vie," says Victor Cousin. The perplexities of CONFIDENCES. 75 my duty here oppress me so much at times (to- day, especially, I have been feeling this), that I ask myself whether I have not mistaken my calling — whether I am strong enough for the " care of the churches " that I have undertaken ? It is common, particularly by the devout, to regard clergymen as a sort of superior beings, elevated above the weaknesses incident to the flesh. I, at least, feel that I am stumbling for- wards upon the same narrow, thorny path with the very weakest of my brothers. If any one of them saw into my heart, would he not ask, "who art thou that preachest unto us?" I feel almost as though I were guilty of hypocrisy when doubts and difficulties arise within me, as they sometimes do : but a voice answers that. He who judges not as man judges, knows that with many inconsistencies and failings, passion, and weakness, and error, I am earnest in my wish to diffuse a more liberal faith on earth, a larger charity, and greater love for Him. But I am often discouraged, Mary. Religious party feeling runs very high here : there is a small nest of Roman Catholics (prin- cipally Irish labourers) who have no chapel, but 7G CONFIDENCES. are visited by a priest from Dominster. There are dissenters of every denomination, a liigh and a low churcli ijurty, i^nd many, alas ! of no church at all, like John Hurst. The acri- mony existing between all these, Mr. Brigstock has done very little to allay. Some of the parishioners blend their politics and their religion together. The Ashford Arms is Tory and High Church ; the Sun, Radical and Ana-Baptist. Even in our congregation this contentious spirit manifests itself between the churchwardens and some of the pew-holders : a perpetual and un- seemly struggle is going on about rights and privileges. In the school the numbers, pro- portionately to the parish, are very few, owing to the same feeling. Many of the parents seem to think they confer a favor on us, by sending their children; and some who have fallen justly under the Hector's censure, I am afraid in the belief tliat they inflict some personal injury on him, have removed their children to the care of a dissenting pedagogue, who charges two- pence a "week more. This is disheartening. So are the endless quarrels and bitternesses en- gendered throughout the parish by the intolerant CONFIDENCES. 7T spirit I have already spoken of. When the Eector set up a rival to Mr. Nacker, the old- established butcher here, because the latter seceded to the Dissenters, was it to be wondered at if Mrs. Jones over the way, and the head of the " Chapel" party, withdrew her custom from Mr. Crump, the orthodox baker ? or that the chemist is not on speaking terms with his next-door-neighbour, the chandler, for the same reason. As to the poor Romanists, they meet with scornful usage on all sides, and the priest runs a risk of being insulted every time he comes over here. Seeing which things I have resolved to try what my words from the pulpit can do to lead these people to a more tolerant frame of mind. Mr. Brigstock cannot surely object to this, though the doctrine is one he never inculcates. I am to preach next Sunday morning (I have only done so in the evening hitherto) ; and as the Ashford family will have arrived, in which are several foreign Homanist servants I am told, the opportunity for sucli a discourse will be a favourable one. Who says that manner is unimportant ? In certain positions, I believe it to be of the gravest 78 CONFIDENCES. consequence. Whether I possess the "cunning" to wind round men's hearts, the power to im- press them with the truth of my teaching, to make them look on me as a friend, and on my coming as a pleasure, instead of a neces- sary bore to be endured — this I sometimes doubt. Yet, without this special grace,* were I never so gifted, it is difficult to make any way. I am met by such stubborn ignorance and obduracy. The words of my predecessor — an easy-going young man, who thought the world was well enough as he found it — are quoted agaiilst me when I attempt any reform. He was better liked than I shall probably ever be. August 4ith. — I dined at Stapylton Manor last night. The only other guests were Mr. For- sepp, his wife, and daughter, whom I was some- what surprised to meet, considering the terms in which Mrs. Stapylton alluded to them ten days ago. They are quiet, soberly-conducted people : the lady, unremarkable in any way ; the father, probably a man of good sense, awed into silence by his extreme deference to Mrs. Stapylton. He got on much better with the CONFIDENCES. 79 Squire after dinner ; and I gathered that it was the first time he had dined there. The daughter, their only child, is rather pretty, expensively dressed, and much frightened. This is the only impression they made on me, except a feeling of profound pity for mother and daughter, when they retired with Mrs. Stapylton after dinner. What agonies they must have endured in that lady's society before we joined them ! The Squire is a fine specimen of the old sportsman, — rubicund, somewhat irascible, with keen, quick eyes, a benevolent brow, and weak mouth ; loud in his laugh, and long in his story of horse or hound; but every now and then appearing oppressed by some secret care that obtruded itself, — possibly Mrs. Stapylton's cur- tain lecture. His manner to his two sons — they were both at dinner — was very diiferent. To Philip he hardly spoke. Jack he constantly appealed to on some point or other, and seemed to derive immense satisfaction from the young man's jokes. His brother, as you will guess, was, of all present, the person about whom I had the most curiosity : we fraternised at once. He is one of the few men towards whom I 80 CONFIDENCES. have felt impelled by a strong sympathy on first acquaintance; and, after calling it a "sympa- thy," you will hardly expect me to give you a more satisfactory reason, unless it be that we are completely unlike each other, — unlike in character, unlike by education, though with natural tastes in common; but he is an accom- plished man in the most extended sense. These natural tastes M'ith him have been highly cul- tivated, while with me they remain little more than instincts. I know, indeed, something of music, and for that I have to thank you ; but while I was poring over Hebrew and divinity at Oxford, Philip Stapylton was acquiring a thorough knowledge, not only of that science, but of many others, concerning which I am profoundly ignorant. He is fond of astronomy, and on the top of his old tower here he has a fine glass, where he sometimes spends half the niglit in taking observations. He is, more- over, a man of varied reading in curious bye- paths of literature, has a valuable collection of rare books, and studies languages of which I could not read a letter, though I suppose I should beat him at Aristotle or Demosthenes. CONFIDENCES. 81 All this, and something more besides, I dis- covered only through fissures in his talk ; for he is not demonstrative of himself or his ac- quirements. Indeed, until after dinner, when the other three gentlemen got upon the state of the crops, and Philip turned to me, he scarcely spoke, though we sat next each other. His other neighbour was Miss Forsepp, and, I am sorry to say, he was not more communi- cative to her. He threw her into a violent agitation once by abruptly asking her whether she was fond of flowers ? She was so confused, that she answered hurriedly, " With great plea- sure;" after which effort, Philip gave her up, and relapsed again into silence. Mrs. Stapyl- ton seemed annoyed, and made several stately efforts to bring back her son into the fold of conversation. He was perfectly respectful in his manner to his mother ; but he evidently neither took, nor would pretend to take, any interest in what went forward. As soon as we entered the drawing-room after dinner, Mrs. Stapylton asked Miss Forsepp to play some- thing. The poor young woman begged to bes 6 y^ CONFIDENCES. excused : " She really " but lier mamma mildly interposed. "Don't be nervous, my dear; just go and play your jnecc.^^ That prepared me for what was to follow. The victim rustled to the piano, and tore her gloves in the trembling effort to get them off lier little red hands, while Jack opened the in- strument, and good-naturedly tried to re-assure her. Then came a so-called " brilliant morceau." Whatever it might have been at a less agitating moment, it now resembled nothing so much as a bag of nails dropped promiscuously over the keys. Jingle — jingle — jingle — bur-r-r. I stole a look towards Philip : he turned over the leaves of a book impatiently ; and Mrs. Stapyltoa Avas very gracious and complimentary when the young lady rose. Jack kindly undertook her for the remainder of the evening, and it Avas surprising how much more at ease she soon became. I 'heard fragments of ''race ball — my first — except one in London at tiie Hanover Square Rooms — Mrs. Alderman Moon took me — so pleasant — I hope," etc., etc. Then from the two matrons I caught this characteristic CONFIDENCES. 83 colloquy. Mrs. Stapylton tapping with an ivory paper-knife the open " Livingstone," on the table, " You have read this remarkable book, I presume? Does your daughter read much?" " My daughter went through all the standard works with her governess, and we read a por- tion every day. If you recommend that book, Ma'am, for a young person, I will procure it." " I shall be happy to lend it you, Mrs. Forsepp," said the other lady with amazing condescension. Where can all this lead, I thought ? but a name just then caught me from the other side of the room, and I turned to where the Squire, Philip, and Mr. Forsepp were discussing matters connected with the Reformatory. " Three more applications from the neighbour- ing county ; that makes fourteen, and only one vacancy. We must give the preference to our own county first, of course. I hope this young scamp, Sam Timson, is not beyond the age, Mr. Forsepp." " Sam Timson," I asked, '' what has he been doing?" 84 CONFinENCKS. "Ah! 1)y-tlie-bye : yes, Mr. Esdalle, the boy yoix saved from drowniriij t'other day. I '11^ glad — sorry, I mean — to tell you he has been apprehended tliis afternoon on a eharge of sheep- stealing. No doubt, I'm afraid, of his con^- plicity. He will bo brought before us to- morrow: I hope he ain't sixteen; fine ssubject for the Reformatory," said the Squire, rubbing his hands ; " a strong muscular lad with plenty of pluck and intelligence." "Pity he's not a Icetle younger," remarked Mr. Forsepp. I wa'= rather vexed at the professional way in which these good gentlemen spoke ; more like hospital students in a dissecting room than philanthropists ; and I said, " It is a sad business. The father has a large family, and this boy was beginning to assist him and earn something towards his own sup- port. Besides every other consideration, the disgrace attaching to one of tlie family Avill be a great drawback to them all in Ashford." " The happiest thing that could happen to the boy, Mr. Fsdaile. Gad, sir ! I 'd be bound he caii'f re;id or write: and if he is sharp we'll CONFIDENCKS. 85 • teach him a trade by which he can earn as many shillings as he now does pence as a hedger and ditcher." There was a good deal more of the same sort, and soon after I wished Mrs. Stapylton good night. Philip walked with me to the hall door and stood on the step, looking out into the clear starlight. " I should like to walk back -svith you, Mr. Esdaile, but my father will expect me to remain as long as those people do. I hope we may meet often. Of an evening so)netimes, after your day's work is done, we might have a stroll perhaps. I shall always be glad to see you. I know at once when a man will suit me, and it isn't often, for I am an unsociable beast, as you see. Good night." I see you shake your little head, Mary, as you read this, and declare that my new friend is conceited, Werther-esA, and disagreeable. Now do not judge too hastily. I promise to tell you fairly all I think of him as our ac- quaintance progresses : it is not yet four-and- twenty hours old. This morning my first visit Avas to John S6 CONFIDENCES. Hurst's cottage. The sweet peas are now tied up to the wall : the fowls no longer walk over the patch of flowers, but arc fenced out securely by a trellis of twigs that has been put into thorough repair since I was here last. John was sawing some wood. I had not seen him occupied since the child's death, and 1 thought it a good sign. When I spoke he looked up, put his hand to his cap and went on sawing. After asking for his wife, who was out, I said, '* I suppose, John, you have heard this bad news about young Sam Timson ? — taken up on a charge of sheep stealing." "I'm glad on it," said John, curtly, " sarve him right." "ISo, no: come, you're not glad at a neigh- bour's misfortune : and it is a very heavy one, too. The other day you quoted Timson as an instance of a man with whom everything pros- pered : all his children alive and well. I told you that God sends us trials and blessings as lie sees fit, — not as we judge best at the time. "What do you say now ? Sam is a hard worldly man. With his seven childi(^n, he would not have felt the death of one as he will the shame of CONFIDENCES. 87 having a son who is a felon. It will cling round him and his through life : it may prevent his ever getting employment. This is the hardest trial to such a nature as Timson's. Let us hope it may be the means of making him more careful in bringing up his other children." John looked up into my face with an ex- pression it is impossible to describe, — . " I 'd have kept my little 'un straight, if he 'd bin left me." I said, after a moment, " There is one still left you to take care of, — your wife, John. Remember all she suffered in bringing that child into the world, and try to comfort her, in her mother's sorrow, as a man should. God will not believe that you would have proved a care- ful father, if he sees you a careless husband." The entrance of Mrs. Hurst, looking so worn and wan that it made my heart ache to see the change in her, put a stop to our conver- sation. As I passed through the churchyard an hour afterwards, I saw, by what in this country is an unusual sight, that the poor woman had been there : on the little grave, in its quiet corner, lay a bunch of bluebells and sweetpeas. 88 CONFIDENCES. August 1th. — This is a glorious morning, after three days' heavy rain, and my spirits (which I find it very difficult to keep at a proper equipoise) arc unusually high ; so forgive any incoherences. I began the day well, with your letter and a plate of cherries. I was as much amused with the excellent description you give of your life and the society of the Saxon court, as I was interested in your comments on mine. But what, my dear Mary, can have put that absurd idea into your head about Miss Halli- day ? You have veered round in your esti- mate of that young lady, fronH,some inadvertent phrases in my last letter, I suppose : at all events, nothing can be more ridiculous than to imagine she has any " designs " on your poor curate brother. Ridiculous and unjust! for ray office warrants — nay, demands — that I shall see more of the female portion of my congregation than I should in any other position. The candour that appeals for guidance and counsel, the con- fidence that unbosoms itself to me, in my pastoral character, must never be misinterpreted. Your jealous regard for my welfare, Mary, perhaps your fears for my impressionable heart, have CONFIDENCES. 89 deceived you. Nothing is further Iroin Miss Halliday's thoughts than to marry a man in the receipt of less than three hundred a year, and v/ithout " interest " or " expectations ! " You are more just to the Montacute family, when you say that " these young ladies, at all events, are not liable to a similar accusation ; for of the two who are unahsorbed, one is silent and the other sulky." I begin to suspect that the latter is also absorhed, which may account for her singular bearing and manner, the malady showing itself in various ways. I have per- haps wrongly conveyed to you the impression that Miss Montacute is silent; her words, in- deed, are few, and I have found it difficult to recal them exactly, because they have seldom been more than lightly-scattered seeds of talk over a rich and thoughtful soil. Though there is but two years difference between each of the sisters. Miss Montacute has the weight of almost maternal authority over her second sis- ter, and a maturity of judgment that does not, unfortunately, always come with maternity. Not so with the youngest. I think something must have occurred to estrange her from her eldest 00 CONFIDENCES. sister, though EUicc — ;is I sliall now call her — never shows by her mr.nner that such is the case. She is constantly endeavouring to rouse Vanda to some healthy vigorous interest, but Avithout success. The latter never accompanies her sisters to their singing class, or to the Sunday school, and seldom, indeed, goes be- yond the precincts of the garden. Her father is doatingly fond of her, and I believe she re- turns his affection ; but the young lady is an enigma to me, and so probably will always remain, as our intercourse is of the very slight- est. Linda and her eldest sister are sincerely attached to each other, I am sure. There is no mistaking the whole look and tone that sub- sists between two women whose hearts arc open to each other and closely knit. Still I cannot help fancying that Linda's engagement — if en- gagement it be — to Jack Stapylton, is against Ellice's wish and advice. I gather this from something she said the other day relative to " long engagements." The conversation took place in a walk, and Linda was present. It was on this wise : the two sisters had been visiting some ]ioor woman, when I overtook CONFIDENCES. 91 them on the road. Linda inquired ahnost im- mediately how the party at Stapylton Hall the evening before had " come off ? " ' " It dropped off," I replied. " There was no party but the Forsepps family, who are not lively, as Mr. Philip Stapylton seemed to think, though I have no doubt they are excellent charitable people." " But that is not the essential quality at a dinner ? " smiled Miss Montacute. " I expected a more moral sentiment from you than that, Mr. Esdaile." "So the Forsepps dined there?" repeated Linda. " How very odd ! no wonder they asked no one else. After all Mrs, Stapylton has said about them, she could hardly have asked any of the 'County' she talks of to meet them. Poor people ! they must have been quite un- comfortable, being the first time, and so out of their own element." "Yes; but Mr. Jack good-naturedly took pity upon the young lady, and before the even- ing was over, I assure you he had quite suc- ceeded in putting her at her ease." " Indeed ? She is a very pretty girl," ob- 92 CONFIDENCES. served Linda ; then added dryly, " I suppose, as Jack Avould say, his lady-niothcr * put her through her paces,' — music, hteraturc, etc., etc. ; we have all heea through it in our time." *' And very creditably, no doubt," said I, smiling. " I am afraid not," replied Ellice : " we had just come from abroad when Mrs. Stapylton used to catechise us so much. I was fourteen at the time, and shamefully ignorant of modern English literature. I had read the ' Waverley Novels' to please myself, and James's ' Naval History" to please my father, and that was all, except Shakespeare and some of the old poets ; but these Mrs. Stapylton, I believe, thought worse than nothing. Of Hume and Gibbon I had never read a word : that was an unpar- donable offence in her eyes." " And does she still continue to supervise your reading, Miss INlontacute ?" "We see very little of !Mrs. Stapylton now; and I am afraid my reading is as desultory as ever." "What kind of books do you prefer?" " I like everything with a human interest, CONFIDENCES. 93 that lays bare the springs of human conduct ; the conduct itself I care less about. By that, I mean history, the dry history of facts, though I delight in biographies and memoirs, such as as George Stephenson's, for instance. I know- nothing about steam and machinery ; but the story of that man's indomitable will and energy until crowned with success, deeply interested me. " Then I suppose you do not care for novels." " Why not ? Nothing I like so much as a novel that I can believe to be true. And it is true, if it stands this test, though the facts may be fictitious. There is that higher truth of human nature, which common-place novels are perpetually violating ; for the rest, nothing is too improbable for the experience of every- day life, I think." Thereupon we fell to discussing several novels, and their claims to this primary merit : at last I named * * * *^ and asked Miss Montacute whether she had read it ? '^ Yes, and a true, though sad, little book it is." " I hate books that take that gloomy view of life," said Linda. 94 CONFIDENCES. " It is not u gloomy view of ///b," replied her sister. " It is only the gloomy view of an act which is common enough, — a long cngage- lueut." "Whiit?" said Linda with a heightened colour ; " are trust and fidelity so obsolete, that two people must no longer undertake to be constant to each other for longer than just the necessary time to get the marriage certificate ? If so, I wish the old times back when a true knight fought year after year with his lady's colours on his lance, while she sat in her tower and watched for his return." " Yet even in those model times," said I, " the knight occasionally changed the colours on his lance, or returned to find the lady con- soled in her tower." " Linda forgets that the fidelity of chivalry was often a thought unexpressed in words, — a life-long dedication unshackled by vows. Who cares for the constancy that is dependent on a vow ? Is it not more natural, when circum- stances prevent the present possibility of a mar- riage, that both parties should be Iree?" " Yes," I observed, " there is in reality less CONFIDENCES. 95 security immediately honour enters into a com- pact that should be purely one of the heart. But, after all, desertion would be as keenly felt either way. The woman must feel proud who inspired Philip Stapylton with a passion that has suffered neither change nor decay through so many years." " And she herself married four years ago." " Poor fellow ! I had not heard that. Do you know him well?" " No one now, I suppose, knows him well — no woman certainly. When we meet we discuss German books, and to me, at least, he is always agreeable and kind : but I very seldom see him." " The more 's the pity. I shall do all I can to rouse him from this morbid state." "And you will fail." This, as far as I can recollect it, was the substance of our conversation. And it was noticeable that Linda, after that one little burst relapsed into silence, and allowed her sister and me to talk on uncontradicted. It would not be difficult, I apprehend, to find out exactly how the affair stands between Jack and her- self, seeing that the element of gossip is not 96 CONFIDENCES. Avanting here more tliaii in any other viHage in the Jiritish dominions; and that Miss Tarra- gon rated me soundly in the street yesterday for the quantity ol' butchers' meat that had been seen to enter my door during the week. (N.B. For you alone, and lest you should think 1 am wallowing in the flesh-pots of Egypt, there is an almost destitute family living close to me, which from certain circumstances do not receive the parish bounty ; so " what the Abbot of Bamba cannot eat, he gives away for the good of his soul.") Therefore, to return to Linda's love aflfairs, I know that the small- est encouragement on my part would bring the story about my ears, with every detail of what the Squire said, and liow ]Mrs. Stapylton behaved, and Avhat Jack replied, and how the matter finally stands : above all what everybody onght to have done and didn't do, and how improper the whole business is. But I ask no questions, and shall never do so about my neighbours' private concerns, except when I see a prospect of being of some service. Monday, August '.*. — This morning ^^Ir. Brig- stock sent lor nie. 1 had not seen him since CONFIDENCES. 97 the morning service yesterday, as he had done duty in the afternoon in a neighbouring parish. He pushed back his spectacles loftily and shut the book he was reading with a loud report as I entered the study — unmistakeable tokens of displeasure in the worthy gentleman. " Be seated Mr. Esdaile. I regret the neces- sity that compels me to speak as I am about to do. During the short time that you have performed the duties of curate in this parish I have found you an industrious young man — somewhat enthusiastic perhaps, but well-mean- ing. I have thought favourably of you. I have ventured to hope that, when years should give force to your character and soundness to your judgment, you might prove an ornament to the Church. How, then, shall I express my sorrow and surprise at the tone of the sermon you thought fit to deliver in my church yester- day morning ? I was shocked, sir, grievously shocked. "What will my parishioners say to such lax doctrine ? and what have you to say, sir?" ■' That I am sorry if anything in my sermon displeased you, Mr. Brigstock. Perhaps you 7 'tiH CONFIUKNOES. would be good enough to point out to me what it was?" " Whtit it was ! Can you affect to be ignorant that the whole tone of it was subversive of all Church discipline : all unity, all — all " " Pardon me, but I must indeed disclaim any such intention. You misunderstood my mean- ing, sir, which was to widen the sphere of unity, rather than destroy it ; to soften those asperities that prevent men of different shades of feeling from seeing how much nearer they really are to each other than they imagine. And it was from the lamentable divisions in this parish that I was induced to speak as I did." " Exactly, sir : I have no doubt of it. This truckling to popular opinion, this wishing to be 'all things to all men' is the stumbling-block of such as use these sophistical arguments. To palliate the sinfulness of schism, to explain away the bulwarks of orthodoxy and conciliate differ- ent shades of opinion, as you term it ; this, sir, is not the teaching the Church looks for at the hands of her priesthood. This is weakness — the weakness of Aaron who listened to the voice of thr people, Mr. Esdaile." CONFIDENCES. 99 " I hope not, sir. Here is the sermon" — I drew it from my pocket : " Show me a passage that will justify your interpretation, and I shall with sorrow confess myself wrong. The great lesson of forbearance and charity, long-suffering and brotherly good-will, taught us by Christ himself, and superseding the fierce intolerance of the Mosaic law, these I have sought to in- culcate ; and are they never to be preached in your church, sir ?" The Rector held out his hand for the sermon. " This is mere trifling, Mr. Esdaile. As I said before, sir, your doctrine is weak — effeminately weak. . . . Why," he added, turning over the leaves of my discourse, "here you actually speak with — with consideration, with charity of the corrupt Church of Rome. ' Did we but regard them,' you say, ' in a right spirit, we should find, with all their errors, much that is high and admirable ; much that is worthy of imitation in many members of that church.' Here is a sentiment to be delivered to a Protestant congregation. Are you aware, Mr. Esdaile, that Sir Richard Ashford, the patron of this living, with all his family were 100 CONFIDENCES. present ? What ninst liavc been Ills feelings ? — a staunch Protestant — an upholder of Church and State, as Sir Richard has ever shown him- self, in Parliament and elsewhere ! Let me hope, at least, that you were not aware of his presence, Mr, Esdaile, when you made this unseemly display." I could hardly avoid smiling at the naivete of the Rector's speecli, but I replied gravely, " It was because the Ashford family Avere at church that I said what I did about Romanism, as 1 learnt that many of their servants were foreigners and of that persuasion. Religious discords are worse than any other, and in a family must be productive of many evils. Come, Mr. Brigstock, acquit me of schismatic tendencies, when I assure you that in all I said I was ])rompted solely by the desire to make men think less ill of each other and more humbly of themselves." " You cannot preach again in my church, ]\lr. Esdaile, giving utterance to these dangerous doctrines. I shall communicate with Sir Richard on the subject, and 1 hope that your youth and inexi)crience may induce him to take a CONFIDENCES. 101 lenient view of the case : but you must modify your views, sir, otherwise " " I cannot hold out any prospect of altering them, Mr. Brigstock, since " "That will do, sir;" the Eector waved his hand to prevent further discussion. " You will think over what I have said, and your good sense will lead you to see the justice of it, I am sure. Good morning." To speak honestly and Avithout false modesty, the Rector finds me more useful to him than any other curate he has had; otherwise, I should have received my dismissal there and then. As it is, I suppose my continuing here will depend in a measure on what the Baronet says of me and my discourse. What man- ner of man is this, the only one on earth of whom the Rector stands in awe ? I observed a tall spare gentleman, who, together with a young man and two fashionably dressed ladies, occupied the Ashford pew in church ; beyond this, I know nothing as yet of Sir Richard Ashford. I shall be very sorry if I am obliged to leave just as I have been sufficiently long here to become interested in this parish; but 102 CONFIDENCES. I cannot regret having spoken as 1 did, still less can I take a step backward. So I com- mend myself and you, and all wc love, to Him ■who knows what is good for us, and who ordercth " all things well." Good night. CONFIDENCES. 103 IV. AttgiMt 11. Let me terminate your suspense at once. I am not to leave Ashford. The Rector and I had another conversation to-day, which I will not inflict on vou : suffice it that he was mol- lified. But this conversation was preceded by a little scene which I must not omit, for it in- troduced me to four most distinguished per- sonages. I was hurrying up the street, feeling and looking, no doubt, very hot, with a bundle of school tracts under my arm, when I observed the Rector standing with two gentlemen out- side the post-office. He beckoned with his bony fore-finger to me ; but before I reached the group, I had ample time to observe the general appearance of the two strangers. The elder one had just torn open the Times, which stood 10-1 coNKii)i:NCL:i). on end in its ircsh creases between hh out- spread arms, while lie dived to the bottom of a column for some particular article, his hat tilted over his eyes as a sunshade. He wore an inordinately high blue stock, and his very thin leijs were clad in tight fawn-coloured trou- sers, with straps. I name all this because it was such a contrast to the younger gentleman's attire. A shirt powdered with forget-me-nots, wide open at the throat, a riband and a ring, a straw hat trimmed with sky-blue, and a suit of some gossamer material, the lower portions of which resembled in form those leg-of-mutton sleeves our mammas used once to wear. AV'ith this, a fair curly-moustached face, from which all human expression had been clean sponged out. " Mr. Esdaile, Sir Richard Ashford has been kind enough to request that I would present you to him : Mr. Esdaile, Sir Richard Ashford —Mr. Ashford, I\[r. Esdaile." " Happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Esdaile, very happy. Gratified by your sen- sible discourse on Sunday — sensible, very sen- sible. ' Live and let live,' that is the maxim CONFIDENCES. 105 of the age, and we must move loith the age, sir. No sacrifice of High Church principle, of course; but you are right, sir, right. The Jewish Disabilities Bill, you see, has passed; one spoke against it in the House — that is a matter of trade ; and you were bold, sir, to say what you did from the pulpit, calculated to offend our eminently Christian constituents here, who hate each other's creeds like poison — ha ! ha ! But you were right, sir, right : I applaud you. As a man of the world, w^hat difference does it make, as I was just saying to our excellent friend the Rector, if they are all Mahomedans or Hindoos ?" " Some difference, I hope. Sir Richard. It is because I don't think any conversion was ever effected by bitterness and recrimination, that I braved the Ashford lion — of discord — in its den." "Have a weed?" said the young man, lan- guidly holding out an embroidered cigar-case. " I never smoke, thank you." "That is right, Mr. Esdaile, quite right," said the Baronet ; " I wish you could prevail on that youngster to follow your wise example. 10(3 CONFIDENCKS. One of the growing follies of the age, sir. When I was a young man, 'twas comparatively rare. As an illustrious personage remarked to me the other day " But it was fated that we should lose the re- mark of the illustrious personage, for Miss Tar- ragon, striding out of the shop at that moment, brought confusion into our ranks. She shook hands with the Baronet, then turned sharply round to his son. " God bless me ! Dick Ashford, what do you mean by making such a guy of yourself? Did any one ever see such an absurd object?" ("Rector much shocked.) "Your mother always did dress you ridiculously as a child, when you used to come down and have strawberries and cream in my garden ; but really this beats I say. Sir Richard, -why don't you make him dress like a Christian?" "Ah, my dear ma'am, right, quite right; what I am always telling him, — very absurd, very — new school — young England — all alike ! Look at my dress, as I say ; but anything that is neat these young fellows call old-fashioned — arruTc." CONFIDENCES. 107 "Folly!" ejaculated Miss Tarragon, but whether at father or sou was not clear, until she added, " why must you follow all the young jackanapes in London, Master Dick? You are not — that is, you were not a year or two ago, when you left Eton, such a goose as you look now." The young man smiled good-naturedly and bowed, which raised him in my estimation. The lady continued, "By-the-bye, Sir Richard, I called on Lady Caroline yesterday and saw your new geranium garden. Very badly done ! Shocking gardener that of yours ! Why, my show in my very humble way is twice as good. It is positively a shame, with ten gardeners and spending all you do on your garden ! " " Ha ! no doubt — I dare say — sorry, my dear Miss Tarragon, but 'tis all Lady Caroline's affair. Dare say he is a rogue and a cheat — no doubt of it; but as long as I have my pines and peaches I never interfere — never." "But you ought to interfere. Turn him away, I'll get you twice as good a one. I should like to see anyone attempting to cheat me. Which reminds me, Mr. Esdaile, that yoti 108 CONFIDENCES. have been most egrcgiously taken in about that woman lirown — no more starving than I am, sir : and those Jones's you liavc been assisting are not niucli better than they shouhl be, let me tell you, though they do come to second service. There is Lady Caroline's carriage. Good gracious ! what a parasol ! AVell, I can't stop: I've fifty things to do before dinner. Good morning, Sir Richard," and greatly to the relief of everyone the Amazon departed. A barouche, with blue and silver servants, drove down the street at the same moment : it drew up at a sign from Sir Richard. He presented me to Lady Caroline and his daughter, who lay almost at full length inside in a cloud of muslin and lace. They seemed to have barely strength to raise their heads and incline them gracefully ; then sank back exhausted. Miss Ashford is a young repetition of her mother, who has been a pretty woman, but with none of the enduring qualities of beauty, and looks now much worn with her hard fashion- able life. The daughter herself has already lost the freshness and elasticity that should belong to youth. She had about as much color CO-NFIDKNCKS. 109 as the white parasol she held iu her hand, and seemed as weak as the fringe surrounding it. The expression of her face is gentle and vapid. Knowing nothing of London life, I imagine that all its young ladies look thus. " Ministers were very shaky, Caroline," said the Baronet. " Oh ! I suppose the paper has Lady Julia's marriage in it? Are you coming Avitli us? — a round of duty visits, you know. Horrid bore, but you really ought to come, and Eichard also. "With the chance of an election " "Duty! duty! Ha! Mr. Esdaile, what we suffer for our country? May I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you at dinner on Friday ? Half-past seven. Good morning. Come, Dick, you must sacrifice yourself for once, sir." And Sir Richard jumped nimbly into the carriage, followed much more languidly by his son. Then, as the Rector and I walked together to the school, followed that satisfactory con- versation of which I have given you the result. I cannot suppose that ]Mr. Brigstock's own opinion is changed, but he has become more Ho CONFIDENCES. lenient to mine since he found the patron sails trininied to toleration. Nor must you judge the good man too hardly on this account. Sir Richard is looked upon as an universal oracle here : the small place he held under the late Government increased his importance immensely among the Ashfordians, and it would require a stronger head than the Rector's to withstand the influence of the Baronet's opinion when he talks of " political expediency," and the necessity of " moving with the times." So, contenting himself with a long exordium, and cautioning me not to venture again on such a dangerous subject (as universal charity), the Rector parted from me not unkindly. I have walked with Philip Stapylton several times, and the more I see of him the more I feel that we are likely to become fast friends. It is a trite remark, that those who have few, care more for them than the liberal hearts who entertain an unlimited number, in their large capacity of attachment. Like all sweeping observations this is open to discussion, and is certainly not universally true : but, leading the peculiar life that Stapylton does, it is natural CONFIDENCES. Ill to suppose that in going out of his way to cultivate my acquaintance, he is actuated by something stronger than curiosity. Far cleverer, far more learned and brilliant society in London and at the University, he shunned : why should he seek mine ? Is it because the ' objective' turn of my mind, opposed to the 'subjective' turn of his, as he would probably term it, strikes out — it may be no more than a spark, yet — some- thing of new light and fire ? I know not. This afternoon Philip called as I was getting my fishing-tackle ready for an hour's stroll along the stream, before the sun went down. We walked together to a part of the river where it narrows and deepens, and where, from under the far-down pebbles, the speckled phantom of a trout glided ever and anon slowly beneath the deep still water. Philip threw himself on the bank, and I took my stand in the shadow of some alders, on the other side of which a sudden bend brought the high-road close to the river. We were effectually screened from the passers-by, though from where I stood I could see them between the branches. Our talk was desultory : of books and abstract questions 112 CONFIDENCES. rather than of men, as it generally is between us, and the only portion of it which had anything of a i)crsonal character was brought about bv hcariniif the clatter of horses' feet on the road at our backs. I observed to Philip that it was ]\[r. Forsepp and his daughter, accompanied by Jack, who seemed to be on quite intimate terms Avith them now. They were all laughing very merrily, and the young lady looked to particular advantage on a thorough-bred chesnut, which she managed to perfection. " If your brother continues making himself so agreeable," said I, smiling, " it will be dangerous to that poor girl's peace of mind. Listen to her laugh. She seems to have for- gotten that she ever was, or could be, shy and silent." " It is a way Jack has with women. He doesn't mean anything by it. His warm heart expands at once under the sunshine of a woman's smile, and closes again as soon as it is with- drawn." "Always?" " I hardly know yrt : I hope not. It is a CONFIDENCES, 113 pity he is not allowed to marry the only girl he has shown any strength and length of attachment to. I have said all I could to my father about it ; and though generally Jack can do anything with him he likes, my mother's influence was so strong, and her prejudice so violent against these Montacutes, that " "Why, except their being penniless, what objection is there to the poor girls?" " Their mother, I believe, was not a good character— at least so Mrs. Stapylton always says — and she calls these girls ' vulgar,' which is the more absurd as she patronised them very much until Jack returned from college and fell in love with Linda. Then it was she made a discovery of all their imperfections, and not till then. O world! world! There is nothing so vulgar, by-the-bye, as the outcry of vulgarity. It is the only word that carries a particular ban with it, easy to lay any one under, and almost impossible to be released from." " Yes," said I, laughing ; " for if you say that a man is a bad husband or father, one may reply that one doesn't believe it, that the world is scandalous, etc. ; but when you pro- 114 CONFinKNCES. nouncc this sentence on him, who dares say nay ? One's own delicacy of perception in nice social distinctions is challenged ; one shrinks from avowing that the man does not seem to one vulgar. I have been often surprised to see the most good-natured people silenced when this charge has been preferred." " For my part, I think nothing can be very vulgar which is simple and unpretentious ; but this is rarer than an aptitude for the received usages of good society. It isn't uncommon in the peasant's cottage, — that quiet dignity, with a manner at once unassuming and self-possessed. A little higher in the social scale, as we ap- proach the skirts of 'gentility,' this is much rarer. The lady's maid and the haberdasher's ' lady ' seldom have it, for they are often pre- tentious, striving after and apcing something they are not ; and all shams are vulgar. The For- sepps, in the main, are quiet unassuming people. The damsel's dress and her accomplishments, however, are outrageous vulgarisms, as I told Mrs. Stapylton that night after their departure." " Come, you are too severe : only venial follies to smile kindly at. Remember, they were all CONFIDENCES. 115 trying to do their very best in a society that was strange to them ; and when people are on their best behaviour, they seldom appear to ad- vantage. What did Mrs. Stapylton think of them?" 'Tor some good reason of her own, she chose to defend them. I had to stand an attack of more than usual severity on my boorishness." " And you deserved it. Why not play your part, Stapylton, in the give and take of society more cheerfully ? By rubbing against even the most ordinary natures, you may learn something more valuable, perhaps, than you would have acquired in the silence of your closet." " I doubt it, for they give me nothing of themselves, only a jargon of conventionalities, which bores me : I speak of general society. Any one that is earnest and true, ' loyal to fact,' as Carlyle would say, however illiterate or unrefined, has the power of arresting my attention, of interesting me. I can show him some portion of myself. With the rest, my talk, if I talk at all, is a sham; and I agree with old Montaigne, — ' De combien est le language fauls moin sociable que le silence!' 116 CONFIDENCES. Life is too short for it, Esdailc, or I am too lazy." " Intellectual selfishness, my dear fellow. Re- member what your favourite Goethe says : " ' Es bildet ein talent sich in der Stillc, Sich ein charakter in dem Strom der Welt.' ''And just because your inclination leads you to solitude and self culture, you should fight against indulging it too much. Depend on it, we weren't put into this Avorld to sit down and hug our own conceits, and talk of * shams,' and fancy ourselves vastly superior to our neighbours. Granted that they understand but little of your inner world, what does that signify to you ? They can't bring their shams in there. Let them see that there is heartiness and reality in you, show them that you feel an interest in what lies under their 'jargon of conventional- ities,' and you will seldom fail to draw out something worth attention, except in the most hurface natures, 'ihe^e Forsepps, for instance, wliat do YOU know of them beyond the fact liiat their W(\iltl\ doc<. not sit as easily and gracefully on them as on the old Patriciciu C0^"FI1)ENCES. 117 families to whom it comes as a matter of course ? Have you ever taken the pains, my dear Sta- pylton, to discover what qualities have raised old Forsepp to the respectable and respected position he now holds, from a very inferior one? A man who builds up a colossal fortune, not by fortunate speculation, but by industry and energetic will, depend on it, is no very ordinary man after all." Philip replied, after a short pause, " He has a capital head for business — that of course — and is a good-hearted man : in the management of our Reformatory affairs he is invaluable ; but any one who has made money the aim and God of his life, could never interest me much ; and that he has been successful makes no difference to me, though it makes all the difference to the world. Oh ! Esdaile," he added bitterly, " it is we Patricians who are in reality vulgar, when we bow down to the golden calf, as in this case. They are not good enough for us to know, till extravagance brings us to the brink of ruin, and then they are good enough for us to marry, forsooth!" "What do you mean, Stapylton?" 118 CONFIDENCKS. " That my father, having lost so many thou- sands this year, is anxious I shoukl lionour Miss Forscpp by bestowing my hand upon her. There is the whole secret ol" the family being invited for the first time within our doors. What say you, reverend sir, are we not true and faithful worshippers of Mammon ? ' Quserenda pecunia prinium, virtus post nummos,' as Horace wrote. I am sick of it all, Esdaile, and sometimes think I shall strap my knapsack on my back and go and try for a professorship at some German University, — * passing rich on forty pounds a year,' eh ?" " You would be happier if you had obligatory work, of whatever kind, I believe. Yours is a lymphatic nature that must have work to keep it in healthy moral training. But from your own showing there is some as hard, and more important and responsible than a Gottingcn professorship before you. Don't overlook what is ready to your hand. Because your tastes are not those of a financier, you are disposed to slight the character and ability of the man who * masters fortune.' You arc wrong. If your father's affairs are really involved, lay CONFIDENCES. 119 your shoulder to the wheel, — use all your energy and talent towards extricating them. This is clearly a duty, and — I speak plainly — you already leave them too much to your brother. The management of the estate — why should you not master its details ? Why, in the pursuit of your aesthetic tastes, remain entirely ignorant of the value of land, its capabilities and requirements ? Are these things necessarily divided ? I think not. It is a buried talent you will have to render up an account of. And Jack, — he may be a good farmer, but his genius otherwise seems developed in getting rid of money in horse racing, etc., rather than in redeeming your fortunes." " I hope," interrupted Philip, " he may not be induced to redeem them by a step which — well, well — no matter. You are quite right, Esdaile. I ought to look after things more than I have done ; but I am a perfect fool in matters of business, that is the truth. Hallo, Piscator ! you missed there a venerable trout, two pound weight, at least. Come, it is time for us to be going. The sun is set and there is no stir of man or beast : not even the twitter 120 CONFIDENCES. of a bird. I bclievo your villauc of Ashford is already fast asleep. Only from the ale-house door there comes a burst of brutal merriment. What a problem these lives are ! "What Avcre they given for ? AVhither do they tend ? The working them out from the origin of evil to a happier solution — the great human question — is a better study, Esdaile, than the working out of pounds, shillings, and pence into infinitude." *' Do not let your energies dissipate themselves in German mysticism, Stapylton. Even before the great human question, stand the direct personal questions we shall all have to answer. Once again, you have plenty of that counter- grain distasteful work which he only is a real hero who will boldly encounter, leaving the more congenial fields of his imagination — the tournaments of romance, so to speak. The country lies before you : go in, like your name- sake of Macedon, and conquer. Here is my door. Good night." A man, this, wasting for lack of persistent strength and concentration to direct his rare gifts to their right use. A dreamer of high and poetical dreams, of a large human sympathy, CONFIDENCES. 121 and warm generous heart ; not without a clear judgment: a high, if not the highest order of intellect — why should he be what he is, a useless loiterer by the roadside, instead of one of the foremost in our race? I am deeply interested in Philip Stapylton, as you will see from the unconscionable length to which I have drawn out this budget. He is a fine fellow, who is better fitted by nature for almost any other position than that he now holds, and must hold hereafter. A painter, a poet, a philosopher, an orator in the senate, a statesman in the council : all or any of these, rather than the many-acred squire, hampered with hereditary debt, which he is likely to find himself one day. Will he sink or swim ? I ask sometimes : allow himself to be carried down resistless, or strike out boldly and prove he is not the listless dreamer men take him to be ? Time will show. L22 CONFIDKXCKS. August 20. 1 have a quiet hour to-night, which, being in a mood to talk, is to be devoted to your service. Pages of very trivial matter will be inflicted on you, which must be patiently borne, for I want you to know all my neighbours better than you do at present. I begin to feel perfectly at home here, and am as happy as any fellow of three-and-twenty, with good lungs, good legs, and plenty of work, deserves to be. I called yesterday on Mrs. Halliday. There , was an endeavour on the part of that lady to scuffle some article behind the sofa as I entered, but on lier eldest daughter's exclaim- ing, " It is only Mr. Esdaile, mamma," Mrs. Halliday, with an expression of considerable relief, disclosed a structure of lace and roses CONFIDENCKS. 1j23 upon which she was evidently engaged ; saying with a nod and a smile, that, as it was only me, she didn't mind. Poor curates never are minded : it is one of the special privileges of their social position. A pretty sharp-eyed young lady, much flounced, and with her hair a Vlmperatrice, entered. "My sister, Mr. Esdaile, whom I think you do not know," said Miss Halliday (wdth a deprecating glance at m.e which meant, " Be lenient to her frivolities.") . . . . " Clemmy, Mr, Esdaile. Have you that paper I lent you on the Reformation of Ethiopian Serenaders, dear? I wanted to show it to Mr. Esdaile." "Oh! do you go in for evangelicals?" asked the other young lady briskly, turning to me; *' because Kitty has got a sort of hydrophobia lately, — negroes and organ boys, and everything that is most opposed to fresh water and soap. High Church and a clean charity school for me ;> surplices and flowers and all that sort of thing, so much more jolly. I was in hopes you were of my way of thinking, Mr. Esdaile." I was somewhat staggered by the young lady's 1~4 CONFIDENCES. tone (the voice, by-thc-bye, like a flageolet, so rapid, sharp, and high), and assured her that I had no personal objection to the institution of soap and water, and indeed held cleanliness to be next to godliness. As I did not feel dis- posed to enter into a High Church controversy, I adroitly avoided that part of her challenge, by remarking that I hoped to find in her an able auxiliary in our Sunday-school. *' Fancy my teaching ! Why I never could learn anything in my life. 13y a special in- tervention of Providence, I can read, and my intimate friends are acquainted with certain hieroglyphics which stand for my name. Do you really think, now, I should make a respect- able Sunday-school teacher ? I talk about Tligh Church, but of course I know nothing about it, only it's all the go, now; and I do like tlie candles and embroidered cloths, it's so amusing, and gives one something to look at in church. And the schools, too ; it is just like a ballet, all the children rising up in a row, with their white aprons. By-thebye, if they want to learn tlie deux temps, you might safely send them to me ; no one better at rota- CONFILENCES. 125 tories, I flatter myself, or billiards. I'm a dab at billiards. Captain Chillington says." " How you do run on, dear child ! " said the fond and foolish mother from her sofa. And indeed that young lady had run on at a pace which left me breathless with astonish- ment far behind. Brothers hath she none. Whence, then, this club and college slang ? Is this the jargon of our rising liomies, — the " very fast " ladies of whom I occasionally hear ? Pray inform me, if you can. "You dine at the castle, to-morrow?" con- tinued Mrs. Halliday. " Is there to be a large party, do you know?" " No one but Count Bismark and Captain Chillington, I think," interposed the fair Clemmy. " They arrive to-day." I mildly observed that I understood the Mon- tacutes were invited. " Oh ! yes ; but they 're nobody." " Being neither Counts nor Guardsmen," re- marked Miss Kitty sarcastically. '' We know them so well," rejoined Clemmy ; "they're not worth dressing for. I know that was what the maternal's question meant." 126 tONFIDRNCES. " Yes," said the maternal. " Let me see ; seven and three are ten and two are twelve : eight roses, I should think, would be enough for twelve people, Clem?" holding up the cap thoughtfully in her hand. " The quantities of money you spend on arti- ficial flowers would be much better employed on the poor, riiamma," said her eldest daughter. A true remark, possibly; but we all know that good out of its place becomes evil. She continued, " I trust they will not play at vingt et un, or that horrid race-course game they are so fond of, to-morrow." " Mr. Esdaile will give you absolution, Kitty, for the sin of looking on at us," giggled Miss Clemmy. " She only accepted, when she heard you were to be there, Mr. Esdaile; she couldn't trust herself in our godless company without some spiritual help, for flesh is weak ! " " "What nonsense you do talk ! " said her sister, irritably, then abruptly changing the subject : " You have hc-ard, INIr. Esdaile, that the Priory is taken at last ? that melancholy old house that has been so longr uninhabited. I was always in hopes it might be occupied some day by a CONFIDENCES. 127 sisterhood : and now of course we shall be having some horrid common-place neighbours, and the whole interest and character of the grim old place will be gone." " Not if what I hear is true. I am told the new comer, Mrs. Morley, intends visiting no one, not even allowing a visitor inside her gates. Sally, my maid, whose brother is gardener at the Priory, volunteered the information this morning, so your fears of a common-place ac- quaintance are groundless." "Well, I do think," said :\[rs. Halliday, "it is very impertinent of any new comer giving themselves those airs. You will confess, Mr. Esdaile, with such a very aristocratic neigh- bourhood as we have, that " " I have no doubt she has a spiritual calling," interrupted Miss Halliday, " and her eyes are opened to the emptiness and frivolity of the world. I hope I may find in her a kindred spirit." "No doubt, Kitty; if Mrs. What's-her-name is shut up in the Priory, and you remain long enough in your own room, a magnetic sympa- thy will penetrate the walls," said Miss Clemmy. 128 CONFIDENCES. What inn it would be, by the way, to dress up en gar^on and invade the whole party, — I suppose she is old — in her solitude ?" Miss lialliday threw her soft eyes to the plaistcr ornament in the ceiling, and her sister continued, " Get over the wall — conceal one's-self among the trees : I should be up a tree, if I was dis- covered, ha, ha!" (joke lost on both ladies); " dart out on the old party in the middle of her walk, — nothing easier; oh! wouldn't it be immense fun, Mr. Esdaile?" It was evident the young " party" was trying to astonish me ; I answered composedly, " Darting out on any one in her walk has hardly been my idea of fun since I was five years old ; though no one enjoys the article more, I assure you, when I can have it to my taste." Soon after this I rose, moralizing on the strangely different results that the same pre- cepts and example have produced in these two .listers. Petted and spoilt at home, left to run very wild, taken to London, and honoured by the attention of bonie of the fast young men CONFIDENCES, 129 of the day, because " she is such fun," which attention she strives to retain by still further extravagance of slang talk and manner : this seems, in a few words, to be the history of Miss Clementina. In her sister I am disap- pointed. With a craving for religious excite- ments, there is considerable selfishness and an utter neglect of those unobtrusive duties that should fall quietly into the life of every woman. I learn that Mrs. Halliday is ill-ofF: it needs no gift of divination to decide that she is a " bad manager," always extravagant, always in difficulties. Her eldest daughter, far from help- ing her mother either in the management of household matters, or in the extrication of her complicated bills, considers such occupation as sublunary and vain, and multiplies the family debt by her assistance to Missions and Sister- hoods, almost as much as Miss Clem by her London season. Not thus is the good work forwarded : not thus (if I ever for a moment was deluded into thinking so) is a Avoman trained to become a good wife and head of a family ; least of all a clergyman's. Asliford Castle is in the pseudo-gothic style 9- 130 CONFIDENCES. that came m when Horace Walpolc built Straw- berry 1 1 ill, and introduced a taste for the '* Romantic." In other words, it is a foolish and ugly building, utterly unlike the feudal castles it affects to imitate, but strongly resem- bling the sand and shell structures we see on nursery mantel-pieces. But the interior is com- fortable : the long low library, with its pointed- arched windows, thanks to Lady Caroline, is a pretty and a pleasant room, with its air of London luxury and refinement in the heavy embroidered portieres and tables laden with the newest books and prints. Into this room I was shown, after my long walk, and found a gentleman stretched full- length in a causeuse — the only one of the party who was dressed for the evening. He rose and introduced himself with a very slightly foreign accent as Count Bismark. Tall and fair, remarkably handsome in feature and grace- ful in manner and movement, he has succeeded in attaining that desideratum of so many foreigners, "Pair Anglais.'^ Plis dress, not less than his address, is English : almost the only Germanism he retains is the occasional CONFIDENCES. 131 interjection, " So !" His manners are those of a man well-assured of his own position, and accustomed to mix in the best society. Courte- ous without condescension, easy without famili- arity: the effect of such a man's conversation I have always found is to make one feel pleased with oneself — one scarcely knows why. The mouth is a sensual one ; but it is difficult to resist the charm of those expressive eyes and the smile that plays over the face at times. He told me he knew the place well, that he had often been staying at the Castle : he talked of the excellent covers ; asked me if I liked "the chase?" then laughingly apologised when I told him I was the village curate ; and was so entertaining in the contrast he drew between English and German country life, that by the time Ladv Caroline and her daughter entered I had come to the conclusion that their guest was certainly a very agreeable man, whatever else he might be. Admiral Montacute with his eldest and youngest daughters arrived soon after, followed by the Hallidays and Colonel Shaddock. Then a fine old gentleman, the Dean of , an uncle of Lady Caroline's, 13g CONFIDENCES. who is staying in the Castle, with Sir Richard and his son, and Captain Chillington, a man of fashion about town, I am given to understand. At dinner I found myself between tMo young ladies, neither of whom seemed much disposed to converse. Miss Ashford, whom I had handed in, naturally found more amusement in the London Captain's small talk on the other side of her, than in the initiatory observations of the stranger-curate. They talked of the Cre- morne Fete — what a pity it had been such a wet night ! the smell of the river at that last breakfast they were at, and other subjects of a no less absorbing nature. In despair of finding any of similar interest to the young lady, I turned to Vanda Montacute, with whom, as you know, I never yet got on. Young Ash- ford's efforts on the other side of her had all been nipped in the bud : he had turned for consolation to the lively Clcmmy, so I resolved to make one more effort with my silent neighbour, and my perseverance was rewarded ; I never saw so far down into that strange young nature before. " Your sister looks tired this evening,*' (I observed that \''auda's eyes were rivcttcd on CONFIDENCES. 133 her, to whom the Count was makinf? himself agreeable at the other end of the table, or tryhig to do so, but judging from Ellice's face, not with complete success). " She has been working too hard with our troublesome classes, I am afraid: she is indefatigable. ,Why will you not help her ?" " My sister likes it : I don't. I hate everything that has to do with Ashford and its people." " I am sorry for that. How have they in- curred your lasting wrath?" No reply. " Our little parish has its faults, no doubt," I continued, " but there is plenty of kindly feeling, and we should all of us do the most to promote this between different classes, as well as in our own. Don't you think so ? I am bound to say that I individually have met with great kindness from both rich and poor since I came among you." " What do you call kindness from the poor ?" "What the kindness of the heart always is — patience and forbearance with my many short-comings, and a willingness to believe that I am heartily interested for them." 134 CONFIDENCES. " As wc have experienced nothing but the reverse of these fine qualities since we came to live in Ashford eight years ago, you'll excuse my doubting them. The poor only curtsey to one in the street, and come to your church, Mr. Esdailc, for tlic sake of the flannel and groceries ; and as to the rich " An expression of withering scorn supplied only too efficiently the conclusion of her sen- tence. " Come, you are trying to be a female Timon, Miss Vanda; but it won't do. Did I not hear you positively declare you would go to the race ball { Stand and deliver up your reasons for ever frequenting this despised society." " I must go out sometimes ; my father wishes it." "Not in this case, I believed' I tried to catch her eye ; but she evaded the look and the question. " I am not indebted to any one's hospitality for a race ball ; that is one comfort." " Do you really nourish this sort of feeling?" 1 said gravely ; " do you never like to feel your- self under an obligation to any one?" CONFIDENCES. 135 "We are very poor. We can never return any civilities, as they are called. We are in- vited to some houses because my sister plays and can amuse people, and perhaps because we are tolerably good looking. On those terms I had rather not go, when I reflect how we were treated, how my mother was treated, when we came to England first. I was a child, but I can remember it, the impertinence of these very Ashfords among the number ; and there is nothing I would not give to be in a position some day to repay them for their insolence. There, you have my reasons for hating Ashford society. Go and tell them, Mr. Esdaile; you are at liberty to do so." " It would hardly tend to the fellowship and good feeling I wish to promote." I tried to smile, but felt really saddened at this young girl's jaundiced view of society. "And now that you have denounced all you dislike so warmly, tell me what sort of life and people you prefer. I suppose a continental life? one of varied travel and perpetual excitement? and principally the society of foreigners?" " Perhaps. But the smallest German Court, 136 CONFIDENCES. the meanest town abroad, would be preferable to this stupid English country life." " You would not find a German Court an Utopia, as regards brotherly goodwill and affec- tion. Unless report belie them grossly, envy, hatred, and malice flourish in those refined soils even more — though you would not believe it — than in an English country village." " There, at least, people arc more upon a footing, and poverty is not a crime." " But pride is one, or very near it, all the world over, Miss Vanda; such pride as caused Lucifer's fall; such pride as " Fortunately for my politeness, perhaps, the ladies rose at that moment. Over the claret, conversation became general : there was a closing up towards Sir Richard's end of the table, and — out of compliment to the Dean, I suppose — the Jewish Disabilities Bill and other subjects of a religious-political character were moved round with the wine. The Dean did little else than nod, or shake his venerable head, as the occasion demanded, and sipped his glass at intervals. The Baronet's talk was common-place enough; it might be CONFIDENCES. 137 described as leading articles and water — all the obvious, conventional views on every question, with their strength diluted to suit the weakest brain. One thing struck me forcibly : the num- ber of times, without adequate occasion, that he introduced the names and sayings of illus- trious personages. " When I was staying at Windsor," was too often the preface to a most insignificant remark; " Her Majesty did me the honour to remark," or "the Prince observed to me in confidence," recurred with fatal pre- cision, like minute guns, throughout his talk. Like minute guns, too, when they were fired, one's ears waited in a state of irritable tension for the next report : a vulgarity this, peculiarly English, even in men as well born as Sir Richard. The Count, who, I dare say, is in- timate with half the crowned heads in Europe, drops them — as Jove did his intolerable gran- deur — when in converse with ordinary mortals. Turning from our royally-favoured host, I catch such fragments as the following on the oppo- site side, from young Ashford. " I say, Bismark, have you backed your mare heavily for the sweepstakes on Wednesday?" 138 CONFIDENCES, Cliillington loquitur. " I stand to win a cool thousand on her, but it'll be a tightish race; that horse of Jack Stapylton's showed good running the other day. Don't let any of those confounded fellows get hold of your trainer, Bismark. They'll make the mare safe, if you don't look out sharp." " Trust Bismark," says young Ashford, with a pale weak grin, " He 's too knowing a plant to be done, though he is a fureigiicer, as the grooms disrespectfully call him." " You give me credit for too much," replied Bismark, " I lost everything I entered for last year." " By-the-bye," said Chillington, " How came it that clipping horse of yours was withdrawn at the Derby ? and you yoursell' disappeared, no one knew wlicrc, for a time. You might have made a pot of money there." " I was out of England," said the Count with constraint, and, I fancied, the slightest possible shade crossing his face. " What on earth made you leave England just then?" asked young Ashford, blundering on without any tact. CONFIDENCES. 139 "Private business," was the cool reply. " Have you the same jock you had last year ?" drawled Chillington. " No : he broke his neck at the Leamington steeple-chase. I'm looking out for a young light weight with nerve. Any about here, Ashford?" The youth shook his head dubiously; and Chillington, sipping his claret, said with a freezing smile, "I say, you know, if you really want one, there's Clem Halliday with all the requisite qualifications, and ready, I'm sure, if you ask her. I don't mind backing her for a pony." Young Ashford exploded with mirth at this lively jest, and indulged us with sundry sugges- tions as to Clem's attire, until suddenly pulled up by old Shaddock. " Gentlemen," said the veteran, with a wave of his hand, as though warding off any dis- courteous interpretation to his words, "It was an understood rule in my regiment that ladies' names should never be mentioned at the mess- table, — unless, indeed, when we drank ' the health of the ladies.' I am old fashioned 140 CONFIDENCES. enough to tliink Loth the rule and the ex- ception good." Chillington stared at being addressed as a ''gentleman;" Ashford looked exceedingly con- fused, 'and blushed all round his shirt-collars ; Bisraark, feeling himself innocent, smiled quietly ; and the old Colonel, as not wishing to be too hard on these "boys," relaxed into a smile. " Talking of races puts me in mind of those I used to see in the West Indies — nigger boys tied on jackasses." (' On old Colonels, I suppose,' murmured Chillington). " Give you my word, sir, I never laughed more in my life. Excellent sport — excellent." Captain Chillington appeared to think it must have been indifferent sport, for he stared in a more glassy manner than ever, without the ripple of a smile on his face. The butler entered at that moment with a leathern bag which he delivered with great ceremony into the hands of Sir llichard. " Ha ! the evening post," exclaimed the Baronet, unlocking the bag. " Let us see — ' On Her Majesty's service,' eh ? The Secre- tary of State, ha! Three letters for Lady CONFIDENCES. 141 Caroline. The Dock's hand. One for you, Bismark ; and the Times second edition : any one like to open it ? There, Colonel, you will see the news from India." " Thank you," replied the Colonel hurriedly ; " but I shall see it to-morrow morning at break- fast. The Times comes in with my muffin, and I make a rule of never forestalling it. I shall know the news quite soon enough, thank you." And adhering resolutely to this, he shut his ears to the voice of the Times' syren, when pas- sages of her song were chaunted by one or other for the public benefit, and I am afraid actually re- garded it as a personal injury that his morning meal of politics should be thrust down his throat beforehand. Sir Richard, meantime, with ele- vated eyes, read schedules A and B, and looked exceedingly important and ofiicial over a fools- cap letter, with two inches of margin, — an oasis of writing, so to speak, in a desert of blue lined paper. The Admiral and the Dean hob-nobbed, and the Colonel talked pertinaciously to me, to avoid hearing the Husseliana that Chilling- tou or Ashford read aloud. Presently we rose to join the ladies ; and this was \\o\v the party 142 CONFIDENCES. soon disposed itself. Sir llicliard. Mrs. TTalli- day. Colonel Shaddock, and the Admiral sat down to whist ; Lady Caroline was good enough to invite nie to sit by her on the sofa ; then she asked Ellice to play, and, as a matter of course, indulged mc with a languid twaddle about her schools the whole time, till I felt unchristianly savage ; Captain Chillington assisted Miss Ashford in the arduous duties of the tea- table ; Miss Halliday engaged the Dean to listen to her views upon the state of the Church ; Miss Clem, at the open window, amused her- self — and noisily enough, too — with young Ash- ford ; Vanda sat at a distant table, turning over some prints. Was it not the most natural thing in life, that Bismark, the only unoccupied man, should saunter up and sit down beside her ? The ins2-)ection of that portfolio appeared to be interesting : from where I sat, I remarked that the study of each print occupied fully five minutes. " Blanche, my dear," said Lady Caroline, when Ellice rose from the piano, " and Clemmy, my love, come here ; I want you to arrange something about these tableaux we talked about. 1 dare say, C-'ount ]]ismark, you arc clever at CONFIDENCES. 143 that kind of tiling, and can arrange something or other. It is all a shocking bore and a trouble, but during the race week one must do some- thing. Sir Richard says, for popularity, — a dance or something. I'm sure, so worn out as one is after London, to have to begin it all over again is a shocking bore ; but one must sacrifice one's-self, as Sir Richard says." " Vauda," cried Clem, " we want to do a group of the passions. You've a tragedy-queen face, and will do capitally for Hatred." "And you for Jealousy, Clemmy," was the tart reply. "Oh! dear no; I've no pretensions to any- thing so grand. I shall be Mirth." " I didn't know Mirth was a j^assion. I thought it was only the expression of an empty head and heart." " Ellice shall be Anger," continued this in- teresting and sprightly girl : " look at her ! Linda shall be Love, — ' I love my love with an L.' "What will you be, Blanche?" " Oh ! poor I am fit for nothing but Fear." " But you must introduce some gentlemen into your group, my dear," said Lady Caroline. 144 CONFIDENCES. "Very well: there's the Count; he'll do for Remorse," pursued IMiss Clem : " remorse consequent on all his evil deeds. And Sir Richard — what shall we have for Sir Richard? In consideration of his years, we will give him Avarice; that's a good respectable old passion, isn't it, Lady Caroline?" *' Respectable, my love ? oh ! yes ; pray let everything be perfectly respectable. What do you think, by-the-bye, of trying something of Faust and IVIarguerite ? So pretty, you know — as they had at the Princess's." "You don't mean the angels dragging her up to heaven ? Good gracious ! who is there among us fit to be an angel ? — unless it's you, Mr. Esdaile, in a surplice, with wings." " Nonsense, my dear Clemmy," said Lady Caroline. " Of course I mean the scene in the garden, vou know. The Count would make a charming Faust : and who shall we have for Marguerite ? Perhaps Miss Vanda Montu- cute." " Marguerite ought to be fair," said Ellice, hastily, " and my sister is dark. ]Miss Ashford is more suited to it."' CONFIDENCES. 145 "Oh! dear no," Lady Caroline coldly re- joined, " Blanche is too young and too altogether I shouldn't wish her to appear in that sort of— of— you see she has no nerve — and " Seeing the puzzle she was in how to get out of her dilemma with a decent grace, Ellice rescued her. " Exactly — I understand. Miss Ashford is young and shy : but you will have no lack of young ladies, and if you will excuse us, my sisters and I had rather not perform." "What objection can you have?" cried Miss Clem. " Eeally, Ellice, you 're not becoming prudish and proper, I hope, like Kitty ? I shall begin to think it is all your fault, Mr. Esdaile," she continued, turning to me. I was angry at feeling myself growing red, but I replied, " On the contrary, I see no objection to tableaux, and shall have much pleasure in being a spectator, if I am invited." I was sure that Ellice was annoyed at the whole affair, though, with that admirable self- command I have before observed in her, she 10 146 CONFIDENCES. evinced it neither by look nor word. Presently, however, she withdrew from the chattering upon dresses and attitudes that ensued, and I followed her to the sofa. "How does your singing-class get on?" I could think of nothing better to open con- versation. " Pretty well. What was my sister talking to you about at dinner?" "Principally about herself — a subject upon which I confess myself curious." " Poor chHd ! " " Why so ? She seems singularly well able to defend herself." " Ah ! that is just it. Like Ishmael, her hand is against every man : and she believes that every man's hand is against her. If you could succeed in persuading her otherwise, you wouhl do her a real kindness." "Have you not great influence with her?" "Unfortunately, no. I love her very much, but hers is a strange nature. I could hardly make you understand it. She is a little jealous fif me, to begin with. She knows I have no real authority over her : my father's dealing CONFIDENCES. 147 fondness for her weakens any that I might have; and many circumstances in her early childhood have tended to embitter her dis- position. Poor darling! It is not her fault: she has a loving heart — I mean a heart capable of deep all-enduring love at the bottom — that makes it the more dangerous, unfortunately. Her manners are so little winning to the generality of the world, that when anyone, from whatever motive, resolves to conquer that proud young heart, a very little art I am afraid will make it yield," It was not difficult to divine the current of her thoughts. After a moment's pause, I said carelessly, " Have you much penetration into character ? " " Most women believe they have." " Now, as a stranger, what is the impression Count Bismark makes on you?" " He is not a stranger : he was here last year. I dislike him particularly." " There is something very attractive about him on first acquaintance. Do you think him in- sincere? or what is the reason of your dislike?" "I can't tell you why, but I have a natural 148 CONFIDENCES. repugnances to him. 1 am sure he is a man of inordinate vanity, and of no principle. His great desire is to charm, and he generally succeeds : men call him * a good fellow,' and women *a fi\scinating man;' but he exercises no fascination over me." " He is good-tempered, at all events, and not an unkind nature, or physiognomy is a hum- bug." " Perhaps so ; but sometimes in short, I can't argue about an antipathy, INlr. Esdaile ; no woman can. I only know I distrust Count Bismark. I think he is one of the men who, for the amusement of an hour, would sacrifice a girl's happiness. His self-love leads him to try and make every woman fall in love with him. That he is capable of a strong attachment himself, I doubt." " I do not wonder, then," I said in a low voice, " at your anxiety that your sister should not be much in his society. Her peculiar dis- position would offer a zest to the conquest in the eyes of such a man, if he is really what you believe. Docs not your father see the danger ?" . CONFIDEKCES. 149 " No ; he sees nothing but that Vanda, who cannot tolerate our quiet country society gene- rally, is anxious to come here, and to attend these races next week ; and my poor dear father is pleased, so my representations are of no effect, and only exasperate Vanda against me. She will not believe that it is my anxiety for her future happiness — her peace of mind — that prompts me. I have pointed out to her the impossibility of such a' man as that thinking of marrying a pennyless girl of no worldly posi- tion. She invariably replies that she knows it ; that she merely amuses herself, as he does, and scoffs at the idea of falling in love herself She generally ends by saying, it is hard that Linda and I who can find pleasure in some society here, should be jealous — as she calls it, poor dear ! — of her meeting any one who is con- genial to her. You can have no idea of the difficulty of dealing with such a character as Vanda'g." " If anything can deal successfully with it, it should be your wise and gentle forbearance." The whist party was broken up, and some one approaching at that moment, I rose and 150 CONFIDENCES. walked to the window, pondering on what I had just heard. The window was open, and the fragrant odour of cigars reached mc as I leant my head out, and beheld — was it possible ? nay, yes, by all that is incredible ! — Clem Hal- liday smoking a weed with Chillington and young Ashford. Now I have heard of such things ; but in my extraordinary greenness — would you believe it? — I have never seen a young lady smoke before. I almost ceased to wonder at those after dinner jests. But carriages are announced, and Mrs. Hal- liday is inquiring in a plaintive voice after Clem. That young damsel, throwing away the end of her cigar, steps carelessly into the room, and offers me a place home in their fly, which I decline, stating the truth, that I much prefer walking. So, after putting Ellice's shawl on, and promising young Ashford to join in the cricket match here on Monday, if no duty calls me elsewhere, I step out of the hall-door and strike across the park in the moonlight. What a glorious night ! IMyriads of stars are clustered about the heavens ; the eye vainly endeavours to count them scattered over that CONFIDENCES. 151 fathomless blue ocean. A tide of fleecy clouds flows past, through which, as in a clear water, the planets are seen burning steadily, and the small stars flash and quiver. The harvest moon, so large and lustrous, hangs over the woods yonder, rippling the lake with its steel-gold light, and striking with a sudden glory the steeple of the church below. How peaceful it all is! The cattle sleeping on the bank, the deer huddled under the wide-spreading beeches that "lay their dark arms about the field," the distant clock, with its tiny voice, striking the eleventh hour. What a contrast is this to the scene I have just quitted ! With two excep- tions, none of the actors are in harmony with it. To the pure-hearted old soldier and to that thoughtful girl it speaks of things beyond the breathless hunt after pleasure, ambition, or mere worldly prosperity. Has it nothing to say to those others, and thousands like them, scattered over England this night ? Ah ! brilliant and pleasant company though they be, we love not to picture them alone : anything but that. Their life is one long endeavour to escape from soli- tude: and the canker of this world eats more 152 CONFIDENCES. and more into the heart, till the latter becomes, indeed, a very tattered rag. Would that the night could bring its holy messages to them ! Sir Richard, elbow deep in royalties and politics, how does the moonlight shining down upon the floor of your dressing-room speak to you ? Does it bring a thought of anything be- yond the ripening crops of yonder farm ? Does it tell you anything of a time when those broad lands shall own another lord, and popularity and distinction for you shall be no more ? And you. Lady Caroline, have you energy enough to open that shutter, and gaze for five minutes on the fair expanse of flower and lawn bathed in pure moonlight ? Let it in a flood into your heart, and recal the days when you were fresh and unworldly. The hot breath has already scorched the brow of that young girl beside you. Is there no lesson you have taught her in all these years, that will tend to make her happier, when she stands like you, a withered woman in the shortening days of life ? And ye, O Bis- mark, Chillington, and Co., when ye come face to face with nature, as ye must in the solitude of your wind-blown moors and Norway fisheries. CONFIDENCES. 153 do ye ever encourage the thoughts that arise, I suppose, in every human mind at some time or other? Do ye not rather put them away, like unwelcome duns, from the door ? Beware ! for so might some have entertained angels un- awares. The silence of your own hearts has certain secrets to tell, worth, all the Derbys and St. Legers, if ye will but listen. It is past one o'clock, and here I am still scribbling away by the light of a perishing lamp. Many thoughts— some sweet, some sad — engendered this evening, are crowding in my brain ; but I will set none of them down, — no, not even if I could find words to do so. As you write to me that you are going from home on a tour, I shall send no more letters at pre- sent; but a budget of leaves from my diary — such portions as will most interest you — ' shall be forwarded by-and-bye. Ask Fritz if he knows anything of this Count Bismark, or can discover anything of his antecedents. Your loving brother, Herbert. 154 CONFIDENCES. DIARY. Friday. — Met Miss Tarragon in the street, who, as usual, bore down upon me and fired a broadside of questions. "Well, Mr. Esdaile, have you called on the new comer, Mrs. Morley, yet? No? Good gracious me ! why it 's the clergyman's place, of course. She has been a week at the Priory. Not receive anybody ? Stuff and nonsense. Of course she must see you. And I hear she's a very pretty woman, — more fool to wear a thick veil : did you see her at church ? Take care, now ; don't be making a fool of yourself. Taken the house for a year, I'm told. Do you know what she gives ? Brought two old servants with her. What a humbug old servants are ! they always have the upper hand of one. By-the- CONFIDENCES. 155 bye, I say, if she's going to take up the ex- clusive line towards us humble Ashfordians, you just tell her that it won't do : you can put it in clergyman's language, you know." "I observed that the lady occupying the Priory pew last Sunday was dressed in black; and I understand that she does not wish to see anyone : so she is probably in some deep affliction — and not an exclusive fine lady." " I hope so : nothing I hate so much. What Morleys is she of? Where does she come from ? There's something altogether mysterious about her. No one knows how or why she came here, and the servants, they all tell me, are as close as wax. Very absurd, ain't it? What's the use of making an Udolpho business of it ? Everything 's sure to be known in Ash- ford sooner or later. Probably a grocer's widow in the city. Talking about groceries, how can you be so extravagant, Mr. Esdaile, as to drink 5s. M. tea? Saw it down in Mrs. Jones' book, so it's no use saying you don't. And, by-the-bye, about widows, I wish you loould speak to that silly old woman, Mrs. Halliday, about the way she di'esses: I've 150 CONFIDENCES. (lone all I can. Why, good gracious me, as I tell her, look at the way / dress, and I'm fifteen years younger than she is, at the very least. Stuflf and nonsense, you go and give her a sound scolding from Corinthians, about vain adornments and plaiting of hair (false plaits too), and all the rest of it. There, I've fifty things to do before luncheon. Good bye." As Sir Walter Scott said that he never talked to a beggar without deriving information, so I endeavour to extract benefit even from Miss Tarragon's harangues. Acting on her sugges- tion I called at the Priory this afternoon, but, as I anticipated, was denied admittance. The white-headed respectable -looking butler who answered the door, instead of saying that Mrs. Morley was "not at home," plainly stated that his mistress did not receive visitors. I left my card and turned my steps towards John Hurst's cottage. I had not seen his wife for ten days, and was glad to find how much better she was looking. In answer to my enquiries for John, she replied, "Well, he be stout in health, and take to CONFIDENCES. 157 his work kinder nor he did, sir, but yet in- different-like, and dull when he be come home. If he did but know, sir, how it makes my heart ache to see him a-setting there like a stone, hour after hour with his pipe, staring at the poor babby's crib — and never says no- think to no one !" Miss Montacute came in just then, bringing some work for Mrs. Hurst, and soon after- wards I accompanied the former home. She was silent, and her face, generally so calm and inscrutable, looked anxious. At length she said, " I have been writing to-day to your cousin — my godfather Captain Ellice. He is a man of the world." " Do you use that in a complimentary or an opprobrious sense?" " His opinion has weight with my father : he will listen to him," was her answer. "What about?" A pause. "About Count Bismark. I cannot get my father to see it. It makes mc very unhappy. Do you not see, Mr. Esdailc, that the admi- 158 CONFIDENCES. ration of a man of that sort is a great disad- vantage to a girl ?" " Certainly : if he is not in earnest. But are you really sure that Count Bisniark is in- capable of a serious attachment?" " I do not know that, but I do feel very sure that he will not marry a girl in Vanda's position : and what is amusement to him will be death to her. I know too well her proud keenly-sensitive nature — capable of making any sacrifice if she should ever really love, and incapable of surviving desertion, or even that domestic neglect which is the lot of so many of us women. Vanda must be everything or nothing. Therefore I am doubly uneasy about her, seeing as I do what misery she is preparing for herself. Were she in poor Linda's position are the village gossips busy with Linda's name, Mr. Esdaile ?" " I am not well up in village gossip, and yet I saw Miss Tarragon this morning, but she said nothing. Do you refer to Jack Stapylton ?" " Yes : of course we think his father and mother have behaved very badly. As a boy CONFIDENCES. 159 he was constantly allowed to be with us, like our own brother : and in those days we were always at the Hall. They should at the very first have put a decided veto upon the engage- ment, not let it hang on so long, and then say he shall not marry before he is five-and- thirty. Eight years is a long, long time in this short life of ours. And Jack, though a fine fellow, is volatile and I am afraid weak : so I hope Linda will have the courage herself to break it oif; but it is not the less hard on her, and she bears it so nobly — with such con- stancy, and patieiice, and gentleness ! To Vanda, with her strong feelings, this indignity put upon us is not unnaturally another source of irritation and bitterness. You will hear it all canvassed over and over again, no doubt ; so I tell you beforehand, Mr. Esdaile, as one whom I — whom we already venture to consider a friend, and to talk unreservedly with on these matters." The wind lifted the brown feather of her hat and heightened (perhaps ?) the colour in her cheek, and, as she raised her clear and candid eyes into m}^ face, I thought I had never seen her look .so charming. 160 CONFIDENCES. " Pray continue to do so, and count on nic ever for such advice or lielp as I can give you. Not being 'a man of the world,' I don't know how far society sanctions or disapproves of this sort of thing ; but one thing my own sense shows me, that people must make or mar their own happiness in this world. It is worse than useless to interfere ; it is assuming a re- sponsibility God never meant us to have over each other. By all means point out the diffi- culties or dangers of any course to your sisters ; but do not exert your influence beyond this." " I cannot sit by," Ellice replied warmly, " and see them each sacrifice her life to a dream, without interposing to try and prevent it. It mayn't be philosophical ; but I cannot." "It is not as being philosophical, if you use the word to denote abstract reasoning into which the heart docs not enter, that I say this, but because we arc, every one of us, so differently constituted, that — putting aside those contin- gencies upon which we have no right to count, and with which God unexpectedly brightens the darkest lives sometimes — it is impossible we can decide on what shall constitute our CONFIDENCES. 161 brother's future happiness or misery. What would be the misery of one is the consolation of another. Doesn't the poet say — 'Better to have loved and been deceived, .£^'^- -" Than never to have loved at all,' or something like it? And, in confirmation of this, I remember hearing a woman say, after a most unhappy married life, that she would go through it all again, sooner than have lived Mw-loved, though the love in her case soon died out, and left nothing but ashes." "We were at the gate and Ellice held out her hand. "Your line of argument is singular, Mr, Esdaile, but I dare say you are right. Only, as regards Vanda, I cannot be wrong in trying to ward off the danger before it be too late. Are you going to these tableaux on Tuesday? As Vanda was resolute, and my father would not object, I thought it better she should not be alone, so we both act, after all. You will come, won't you ?" Monday Evening. — Mr. Brigstock improved the occasion yesterday morning by holding forth eloquently against the forthcoming races. He 11 162 CONFIDENCES. must have obtained his tuteL^ry Baronet's sanc- tion to the proceeding, or he would not have ventured to denounce an aniusenient patronized by "the Castle," in such strong terms. But, in the first place, Sir Richard himself has no sporting tastes, and tolerates them in his son and his guests merely as an exigence of fashion. And, in the next place, the oration was evidently addressed to " the lower orders ;" and it was asumed, I suppose, that the dangers to them were other and greater than to the rich. Per- haps so ; but I thought the Rector wrong ; not because he didn't say a vast deal that was true and incontrovertible, but because he didn't fear- lessly say the whole truth. Who believes that there is anything wicked in running one horse against another ? Who can expect the poor man to believe it, when he sees all that he is taught to venerate most. Peers, Legislators, nay, Royalty itself, taking a keen interest in the sport, and personally encouraging it in all ways ? Cock-fighting is gone out among us ; so is prize-fighting in a great measure ; but a love of the trial of animal speed or courage, in some form, seems inherent in our national CONFIDENCES. 168 character. Not shutting our eyes to the fact, let us boldly say, " It is by your conduct on such occasions that you have it in your power to elevate or degrade the sport you love. Let no drunkenness, brawls, or other ill-con- duct, bring it into ill-repute. Be especially careful as to that most English virtue of honesty. There are not two laws : all that is not fair dealing is foul. Remember that it is as dis- honest to stake the sixpence that you owe on a chance, as it is to pick a pocket or nobble a race-horse. If you go, as many of you will, be not carried away by your excitement ; keep a careful watch over your eye, your hand, your tongue. There will be many temptations ; if you do not feel strong enough to say ' I will resist them,' stay away." Some such words might reach their under- standings, and have a practical effect. Whereas, our Rector's tirade against the " devices of Satan" are so much 'sound and fury, signi- fying nothing,' when they behold the Castle carriages sweep down the street towards the race-course, and know that their betters are en- joying its abominable ddights. 164 CONF/DEKCE3. I was sorry to observe that the Priory pe^T was empty, fearing that the solitary Mrs. Morley might have been alarmed by my card into ab- staining even from divine service ; but the doubt was more satisfactorily solved this morning, by my meeting Julep, the apothecary, just as he was leaving the Priory. "No one ill there, I hope?" " Our new comer ; but nothing very serious. Hysteria and general debility of the nervous system, — more of the mind than the body, I suspect. Fine woman, sir, very fine ; splendid anatomical specimen, and very stylish in her manners," After expressing a regret that I was not allowed to minister to her mind diseased, I parted from the worthy man. I have had a busy day, so busy that I was obliged to forego the game of cricket I had promised myself; but late in the afternoon I Avalkcd round by the Castle meadows, on my return from a distant part of the parish, and the match was not yet over. The Castle and its inmates were playing the Parish, and the latter were having their last innings as I came; CONFIDENCESo 165 up. The sides were tolerably matched, but it was going against us; and I doubly regretted having had to yield my place to our loutish young butcher. Jack Stapylton performed pro- digies of batting on the parish side, and looked the picture of a British Athlete in his suit of white flannel, much to the admiration of the bystanders. But at last even he gave in before the steady bowling of a thick-set little fellow with a bloated face and long arms, who 1 found was a groom of Bismark's, and the great card of the Castle side. Another little man, not much unlike a groom either, whom they called Lord Dumpling, played well, and all the young men staying now at the Castle, except Bisraark and Chillington, took part in the game. The latter devoted himself to the service of the ladies in the marquee ; the former smoked his cigar with the players outside. " It is the only one of your English amuse- ments that I cannot get a taste for," he said. " Anything you will but this : tenis — anything in short — but to put a man to stand out there in a field for a couple of hours, with the distant hope to catch a ball, without moving 166 ( ONFIDliNCES. except every hall-hour to walk to the other side of the field, — this, truly, seems strauge amusement ! " " Though very nearly English, you sec, you are not quite so. We imbibe a love of cricket Avith our mother's milk — or, more correctly to speak, with the milk and water of our great public and private schools." " So ! It is a better imbibe — how do you say ? taste in short, than that of duelling in our universities. But I admire all your institu- tions, Mr. Esdaile, and if I ever have a son he shall be educated in England." " Do you intend permanently settling in this country?" I asked, looking him full in the face. "Ha! ha!" he laughed a short low laugh; "your 'permanently' is a long word. But look ! look ! That was a good stroke of Dumpling's." Cries of " Bravo, Dumpling ! run again !" and then shouts of laughter when the ball knocked off the hat of a bystander — a man in a flashy waistcoat, who made an inartistic clutch in the air at the ball, lost his balance and rolled over on the grass. CONFIDENCES. 167 " That's a soft party — that is/' observed a bystander. "Poor Peter!" laughed the Count, "he thought it was my head he had between his fingers." Which speech was dark to me, until I discovered that the prostrate hero was the Count's valet. That stroke decided the fate of the battle ; and the ladies fluttered out of the tent, affecting great triumph, though of course they didn't care twopence who lost or won. There is a great accession of numbers since I dined at the Castle last week : several elderly ladies and some young ones ; among others Lord Dumpling's sisters, the Miss Roley-Poleys, un- affected little maidens with very red cheeks. Lady Caroline extended a torpid hand. "We shall see you to-morrow evening ?" Then as I was walking away, one of the elderly women evidently asked who I was, to which Lady Caroline responded audibly, " Oh ! only our new Curate. Really a very gentlemanlike unassuming young man — plain, but so unassuming, and it's such a thing to have a gentleman in that sort of position." 168 CONFIDENCES. "VVhiercon I pondered, naturally much elated at her Ladyship's kind opinion. Wednesday, September 1. — The pictures at the Castle last night gave great satisfaction to a large gathering of the neighbourhood. It was a popularity entertainment, so that the invitations included all manners and degrees of men, terminating in the little Dorminster attorney, who docs Sir Richard's electioneering business, and his elated spouse, who, you may be sure, will talk of little else for the next month to her less fortunate acquaintance. The evening terminated with a dance too, which was a most politic measure, as it enabled that large portion of the society, who always prefer being actors to spectators, to take a more prominent part in the amusements of their aristocratic neighbours. The tarlatanes and deux tetnps of the Dorminster fail* were seen to the best advantage under the patronage of Dick Ashford and his fashionable young friends, who thought it great fun " trotting out these three-year olds," and by their condescension secured, let us hope, several votes for Sir Richard's next contested election. CONFIDENCES. 169 The pictures had been capitally arranged and grouped by the Count, though not with- out difficulty. Objections had been raised to several of the subjects chosen. Lady Caroline, at the eleventh hour, had misgivings about a scene in which her daughter was to appear. Then Millais' "Hugonot" fell through, because none of the actors were nearly related to each other : and how could anything short of man and vn{e, or brother and sister, present that pleasing entanglement of arms in the flesh, which is so picturesque on canvass ? But Lady Caroline, as I observed the other evening, is not so particular about "appearances" when her own daughter is not concerned. So she encouraged Vanda Montacute to appear as "Marguerite" to the Count's '^ Faust:" and an extremely good picture they made, with Sir Richard as " Mephistopheles " and an elderly " Martha" in the background. But I readily understood EUice's objection to her sister's taking the part. I could not see the burning passionate gaze of that handsome man fixed on the Marguerite he is resolved to subdue, without an involuntary shudder to think that the actor. 170 CONFIDENCES. perhaps, resembled only too closely the part he represented. The Admiral, good easy man, sat next me ; but no such fancies disquieted him. His remarks on a species of entertain- ment so entirely new to him were amusing. "When the curtain obstinately refused to be drawn, and stuck half-way, as it did at first, he cried aloud, " Heave away. Now, boys, look alive : why, your rigging 's out of order." And when at last Vanda was discovered as Mary, Queen of Scots, surrounded by her ladies, Douglas, Roland Gramme, et cetera, the Admiral again exclaimed, " Bless me ! why there's my Van : she looks like a Queen, now don't she? Well, but why don't they begin to talk? They're not going to stare at each other in that way all the time, without saying a word, are they ? Mighty dull work for 'em, that, I should say. "What, the curtain down already ! So this is what you call a Tabblc O, is it? Hem, what have we got now ? Cleopatra. Ah ! saw her needles when I Avas a middy : took a look at 'em from Alexandria, where we lay. Well, she wasn't a beauty if she was like tlcat. Deuced CONFIDENCES. 171 plain woman, sir: who is she? And my old girlj Ellice, leaning over her ! What is she doing to her head?" " She is doing nothing to her head, Admiral — Cleopatra is dead — and her attendants, Iris and Charmion, are weeping over her." '• Oh ! that's it. Well, if she's dead, of course she can't speak; but I think the others might say something, eh? This next is a " remains puzzled, double-eye glass in one hand, programme held a long way off, in the other. " A Wattean group. Admiral ! Those are the Miss Roley-Poleys, dressed as shepherdesses, and that is young Ashford as a shepherd, with a crook — meant to imitate Dresden china figures." " Hem ! more like common delft I should say ! Shocking red arms those girls have ! Do you suppose. Sir, a shepherd was ever dressed like that? He looks a great spoon, eh? Why, Zounds, what have we here ? What are those fellows doing in petticoats?" "They are ancient Romans. Chillington is Julius Caesar, and Jack Stapylton is Brutus." " Oh ! oh ! go it Jack — pitch into him— that's 172 CONFIDENCES. right, my boy. Ho ! ho ! your arm's shaking, Sir — had too much port at dinner — steady's the word. So these Romans used to wear petticoats, did they?" Thus we went, arm in arm, so to speak, through the Picture-gallery: the old sailor ask- ing all his questions at the top of his voice, as though he were on the quantcr-dcck ; and be- stowing the full benefit of his natural criticisms on the public. When it was over, and that the guests had flocked into the drawing-rooms and were bcgin- ning to dance, I sought for Ellice everywhere. But my patience was sorely tried by finding myself unexpectedly Tarragoned in a doorway. May it be laid to my account, as an act of Christian self-denial and charity, that I convoyed the Spinster-Dragon to the tea-room. "Really, Mr. Esdaile," she began, "I'm sur- prised to see you here ! what in the world brings you? Silly business all this dressing up and sticking into frames : wonder Lady Caroline can be so silly. Stuff and nonsense ! fit for children! And have you really got nothing better to do than to come here and look on CONFIDENCES, 173 at people bobbing up and down a room like so many grasshoppers ? Ah ! there goes Mr, Jack and Miss Linda. The Admiral is a great idiot to let that go on. But it's the same with 'em all, — the Squire, and Mrs. Halliday, and Lady Caroline ; all these fathers and mothers — they do make such fools of themselves and of their children, too ! They 're at the bottom of all the miseries in life: that's why I never would marry. If I'd been a mother, I should have been as silly as any of them. It's only because I'm unmarried, that I'm a sen- sible woman ! "SYho has Miss Ashford got hold of? Oh ! Lord Dumpling, is it ? Good heavens ! Is that the way young women dance now-a-days ? Is that the fashion, Mr. Esdaile ? Sprawled over her partner's shoulder as if she were hanging over a balcony. And look at Clementina Hal- liday, — now just look at her ! What a saucy minx that is ! Come, Mr. Esdaile, get me a cup of tea. If you will come to these places, try and make yourself useful if you can — come!" Not until the Tarragon has fastened upon Colonel Shaddock in the tea-room, am I justi- 174 CONFIDENCES. iied ill leaving her. Then, -with a feeling of thankful relief, I dart away, and, passing through the conservatory, come unexpectedly upon Faust and Marguerite among the orange trees. It was nearly a quarter of an hour before I found Ellice seated in the furthest room with Philip Stapylton. " I had no idea you were here," I said to him ; " where have you concealed yourself all the evening ? " " Merit is ever overlooked," he replied with a smile. " I came here expressly to see !Miss Montacutc. Wc have had a long talk, and now I will resign my place to a worthier than I. It is getting late, and I have to walk back." "Stay a little longer, and we will perform half the journey in company. You sec I am so seldom dissipated, that I can't be moderate, and " But Chillington came up to claim Ellice for a quadrille. t. " We shall be going when it is over," she said to me; and thus deprived of my only in- ducement to remain, I put my arm in Philip's, and wo walked away. CONFIDENCES. 175 " That is a very remarkable girl, Esdaile." '* Have you only just discovered that?" I said, almost angrily. " I had supposed, as you came here expressly to talk to her, that your discernment was not so much in fault." " I have never had an opportunity of seeing so much of her before. She is not very demon- strative : we have generally talked of books, and I have found her sensible and unaffected. But women seldom give you anything of them- selves, unless it is especially called out by cir- cumstances. That girl has a heart worth win- ning, Esdaile ; but not easily w^on. Deep, strong, and quiet, — none of your passionate streams boiling over rocks, but one that flows noiselessly on its way ; and whatever course it takes, there it will go on for ever. How keen and far-sighted these women are when the ques- tion is love ! I discussed Jack's engagement with her sister, and told her, unreservedly, how unlikely it was that he would be able to marry for years. My father is in that state of health that any opposition to his wishes might kill him. He has had very heavy losses, as you know, and he certainly will not hear of Jack's 176 CONFIDENCES. marriage. All this I told Ellicc Montacutc, and more still. I boldly said that my father having failed in his Forsepp scheme with mc, is now turning to Jack : but I entreated her not to let her sister, from any false generosity, release him from his engagement — for it is an engagement, though my father will not hear it called so. No, Jack loves the little girl, I sin- cerely believe : and he is an honorable fellow ; he will not give her up, if she holds fast by him, and it will be the saving of him hereafter. But he niusn't be free — with my father and mother both at him — no ! he is not strong enough for that. My own life, Esdaile, has been sacrificed to the parental authority ; I must save Jack, if I can. And I could tell EUice Montacute this, and speak to her unre- servedly, fof that girl has a clear well-balanced judgment, and a large heart." What did I reply ? I know not. I felt the blood tingling in my checks far more than if he had praised myself. But wc had reached the corner of the village, and with a hearty grasp of the hand, he struck across the fields to the Hall, while I turned down the silent CONFIDENCES. 177 moon-lit street. I dreamt exceedingly pleasant dreams last night! As Lucretius says — " in qua rations fuit contenta magis mens, In somnis eadem plerumque videmur obire." Friday Night, September 3. — I was one of the princij^al actors in a very disagreeable scene this evening. I had been to that distant part of the parish called Wood's End, to visit a man who is dying, and was returning home in the twilight. My road lay along a narrow lane — not the principal road — that leads from the village to the race-course, and is bounded by high quickset hedges from the Ashford meadows on one side, and from the common (of which the race-course forms part) on the other. This has been the last day of the races, and at an earlier hour the lane was no doubt crowded ; now, seven o'clock, it was deserted. I walked quickly, the light fading more and more, yet enough remained to distinguish objects and even faces indistinctly. Suddenly I hjeard a scream, short and smothered, from the other side of the hedge, and apparently close to me. Then a violent scuffle, a low curse, and the sound of 12 178 CONFIDENCES. a heavy fall. I sprang up the bank, beat down the hedge as best I could with my stick, and leapt over. Not many yards from me, a short thickset man was struggling to prevent a woman who was on the ground from rising. With one hand he pressed her shawl over her mouth, with the other he held her down. I saw at a glance that he was twice as powerful as I, and it was not a moment to argue with the ruffian : there was but one thing to do. Seizing the back of his neck, I dragged him off, and sent him spinning into the hedge. The man was drunk, and as he recovered his legs and rushed blindly upon me with the howl of an infuriated beast, I planted a well-aimed blow full in his face, which made him again reel back. But he was not to be disposed of so easily. Though the blood streamed freely from his face, ho charged once more, head down- ward this time, and, before I was aware of it, his long powerful arms were round me. In wrestling with him, I should have had no chance ; but his unsteady footing and an old school trick saved me. Slipping my leg through his, we both came heavily down together. I CONFIDENCES. 179 was uppermost, not that it signified, for the brute was stunned by his fall, and lay motion- less. I then sprang up and ran to the woman, who was sitting on the ground crying violently. I was much shocked when I recognised her. It was Mrs. Hurst. Her bonnet crushed, her shawl torn, trembling, and too frightened even to rise, but not hurt, I helped her up, and gave her my arm to conduct her home, intend- ing to come back and look after the prostrate man. But half articulate curses already evinced his returning consciousness, and I hurried the terrified woman away ; not, however, before I had turned to give a parting look at the man's face, which I thought I also recognised. "How did this happen, Mrs. Hurst?" I asked, when time and distance had tranquilised her somewhat. "How came you to be there? and do you know the fellow?" " No more than the babe unborn, sir. I was a walking home, as I have done ofttimes of an evening, sir, across the common, not think- ing nothink, for this is a quiet place, sir, ex- cept it be in these race times, and no harm comes to folks generalwise ; and so, on a sudden, 180 CONFIDENCES. I sec that drunken beast afore me, sir, and he asked me to give liini a kiss, and it give me such a turn, that my legs like give way under me, and I couldn't run, the which I did have ought, for he couldn't walk straight, let alone run, and I should have got off. I used to run well a year or two ago; hut ye see, sir, I've not been so strong since my baby came, and then when it was took away I got weaker like: it's fullish, I know, to cry and tremble like this, but I can't help it, sir." " Never mind ; but try and have it all out before John sees you : and now here we are close to your cottage, so I will leave you, and return to see after that wretched man." " Oh ! please, sir, don't, — now don't ! Let him bide — he'll do well ; and mischief might come, sir, if ye go back. You're but young, and not up to such as he : please don't go, sir ! " "You needn't be alarmed, Mrs. Hurst; no harm will come to me. The police station is beyond the spot ; and meantime the man is perhaps hurl. 1 cariuot leave him there: he liiusl be taken to the station." CONFIDENCES. 18L Mrs. Hurst still urged ; but finding me in- exorable, she turned sharp round, and almost ran home, I walked swiftly back; but, on reaching the common, nothing was to be seen but the blue autumn mist lying in the hollows ; nothing to be heard save the grind of a dis- tant cart on the high road. Perhaps, sobered by his fall and loss of blood, the man had quickly and quietly betaken himself home ; per- haps some unusual policeman, passing just when he was wanted, had saved him the trouble of choosing his own road. After carefully exam- ining the ground, I was about to proceed to the station, when I heard some one leap over the hedge, and John Hurst's voice, trembling with passion, cried out, "Where is he, sir? You haven't let the scoundrel escape ? I '11 break every bone in his body, if I catch him, the d d black- guard!" " Silence, John ; I can't listen to this violent language. How came you here ? Have you seen your wife?" " Ax your pardon ; yes, and of course she wa'n't going to let you tackle him all alone. 18!ii CONFIDENCES. Nelly says as you knows him, she thinks. Who is he ? If I don't give him such a hiding as his own mother wouldn't know him again. The cowardly brute — bin and tore my old girl's things off her back, and her face scratched, too; I'll murder him, if I catch him. I'll '* " Come, come, John, no more of this. The man was drunk, and he shall be punished by tho law for his assault, if I find him ; but not by you. You are much too excited to en- counter him, and might actually do what you would repent all your life long. Come." I laid my hand on his arm to draw him away, though, to say the truth, I was well pleased to sec him at last roused from his lethargy and apparent deadness of feeling. " No, no, parson," he exclaimed, almost fiercely: "that's all fine gospel talk for you, but I shan't rest till I have at him, and let the law settle with him afterwards. He be one o' those chaps as drinks at the Sun, I'll bet a crown. Which be he I* I won't rest till 1 find him." " Well, then, you must go and look for him there," I replied, feeling tolerably sure that CONFIDENCES. 18S there he would not find him ; " only I warn you once more not to be carried away by the heat of youi- anger, John. As to my assisting your search in your present spirit, of course it would be out of the question, even if I were certain that I knew the man's face, which I am not." After a moment's hesitation, and a surly re- joinder, John sprang over the hedge and strode back towards the village. I then turned my steps towards the police station, but a couple of quiescent policemen smoking their pipes of peace, with a fierce watch-dog, by way of con- trast, and a pervading atmosphere of garlic was all I found. The delinquent had neither been seen nor heard of. A thieving gipsey and a cheating thimble-rigger in the adjoining lock- up, were the only fruits of the race-course that had been culled by the police this day. So I returned home, not perhaps very sorry on the whole that the object of my inquiries should escape undetected by John Hurst, as he pro- bably now will. But of this, more to-morrow. My part in the business is not yet terminated. I was glad to hear this evening that Jack 184 CONFIUENCES. Stapylton's horse had won the principal race. It will put the Squire into good humor : it will bring a gleam of sunshine into poor little Linda's heart ; decidedly, as somebody avus to win, I am glad it was Jack. Saturday Night. — At a reasonable hour — as I innocently imagined — this morning {i.e. some three hours after my own breakfast) I walked over to the Castle, and asked to see Count I3is- mark. I was informed that the Count was not out of his room : the butler adding, apologetically, that the party had been very late at the ball the night before. I sent up my card, begging to know when the Count would be visible. Like a well-bred man of the world he requested that I would walk up to his dressing-room, if I would excuse his receiving me there. And there I found him, looking even handsomer in his Turkish dressing trousers, open shirt and jacket, than as I had hitherto seen him, " a curled and oiled Assyrian bull." He shook hands, without expressing any surprise at my early visit, offered me a cigar, and drew a chair to the fire, which I declined. "My object in paying you this early visit. CONFIDENCES. 185 Count, was to ask you to institute some enquiries relative to your groom, last night : to find out at what hour and in what condition he returned home ; and, if you do not object to it, to question him on these points before me. I believe him to have been guilty of a dastardly assault on a woman, for which he is amenable to the law : but I am not certain of his identity, or it would have been my duty to send up the police here, instead of coming myself. I claim your assist- ance therefore. Count, in sifting this affair ; and it is of course understood that unless I am firmly persuaded of the man's culpability, I will not proceed against him." I then detailed the circumstances of last night : Bismark leaning with his back to the mantelpiece the while, puffing leisurely at his cigar, and seldom interrupting the narrative with more than a movement of his head or an occasional " So ! " At its conclusion he remarked slowly, perhaps I might say languidly (but then he had been dancing till five o'clock, it is true), " Ah ! these women, Mr. Esdaile, are at the bottom of everything. And when a man has 186 CONFIDENCES. taken rather more than is good for him, why if he meets " "Good heavens! Count Bismark, you don't mean to palliate the conduct of such a ruffian ? If we once accept drunkenness as an excuse, why a man has only to drink in order that he may commit any atrocity with impunity. I cannot believe that you wish to protect and retain in your service — supposing he is guilty — a man who is likely any day to do the same again, or worse." " Well, the fellow is a drunken brute, Mr. Esdaile, I admit, but a clever one. He is worth a great deal to me. No one understands a horse like him. I should be sorry to part with him, though he has his weak points." " But you cannot place confidence in a man who gets drunk?" "Oh! he's never so drunk as not to know what he's about. He looks sharp enough after my interests." " Then your plea for his irresponsibility falls to the ground. Come, let us see the fellow, at all events, and hear what he has to say for himself." CONFIDENCES. 187 "I suppose, Mr. Esdaile," said the Count, taking the cigar from his lips with something like impatience, " this is after all only an affair of money. You seem to have given Bill a good thrashing (at least his beauty was much disfigured when I saw him half-an-hour ago, though he did not tell me how), and I hope it will be a lesson to the fellow not to prosecute his love affairs in that fashion. I am very sorry it happened — very sorry indeed — but it can't be helped now; so, if you will give the poor woman this and tell her not to say anything more about it, I shall feel obliged to you." He drew from his pocket-book a five pound note, and handed it to me. I shook my head. " You do not understand the character of an honest upright English peasant. Count. He might indeed prosecute by law for the insult offered to his wife, and accept damages, but such a man as Hurst would never take a bribe for his silence, as an equivalent for the injury. The fine awarded by Justice is a very different thing from the premium to a mean-spirited prudence. No, Count Bismark, these people are not so poor but that they would fling back 188 CONFIDENCES. the money in your face. John Hurst docs not know his aggressor, but he will spare no pains to discover him, and will succeed no doubt. If you remain here, as I understand, some weeks, I ask you whether it is not better to let the law take its just and righteous course towards your groom, instead of risking, Avhat I warn you will surely come to pass, a deadly broil between these men ?" The Count looked at his delicate blue- enameled watch, and then pulled the bell. "We will send for him if he is in the way. Excuse me for a moment, ]\Ir. Esdaile," and as his flashy valet appeared at the door the Count passed out and held a moment's con- versation with that functionary in the adjoining room. On his return he began quickly and adroitly to open out on a variety of topics far removed from the one under discussion, and gave a humorous account of the Dorminster ball. So five — ten minutes, — a quarter-of-an- hour passed by. The valet then reappeared. " If you please, my lord Count, the grttmes say that W^liam rode out on the chesnut mere about 'alf an hour ago, upon the London road." CONFIDENCES. 189 t The staircase clock struck twelve : the Lon- don train is clue at the station at a quarter past. A very distinct suspicion crossed my mind that I had been " done." But humili- ating as that feeling always is^ I managed to conceal it, as I took my leave, and before I reached home had philosophically made up my mind it was all much better as it was. My opinion of the Count, however, is certainly not raised. I have since had a most polite little note from him, saying that he finds his groom " misunderstood''^ his orders, and has returned to London with the horse that was beaten in yesterday's race. John Hurst held out his big horny hand when I entered his cottage this evening. "You'll take my hand token-like that you forgive me. Parson Esdaile. I were unmannerly rude yesternight. You behaved like a man to my Nelly, and thank 'ee, sir, for it: and like a man to me also, in trying for to keep me back from murdering that ere chap. It's lucky for him I didn't find him — perhaps for me too. sir." " I. am glad to find you in such a much better lyU CONFIDENCES. frame ol" mind, John. I came to assure you that I have spared no pains in trying to dis- cover the man and having him properly punished by law, as he deserves. But he has left the place. I certainly should have wished him to have been made an example, but as it is, you will at all events be glad to know that the village no longer harbours this unknown ruffian." John looked at me for one moment — it was but one — as though doubtful whether I was not playing off some pious fraud on him. Then, holding out his hand again, " I believe you, sir : and God bless ye. You're one o' the right sort, as teaches the difference atwcen justice and revenge : for with such as me, when one's blood's up it's all the t'other. But you've done me good now, you have : more than all the preaching, 'cause I sees you're in earnest; so I don't mind coming to church to-morrow particular, if you likes it." Of course I said 1 did like it ; though it was difficult to repress a smile at the way in which Jolin conferred this mark of his approba- tion on mc as the highest possible favor. I CONFIDENCES. 191 took care to add that, if lie came once to please me, I hoped he would return weekly to please himself. And so we parted. Monday, September 6. — I cannot recover from my surprise at the singular coincidence and revelation consequent upon it, which have been made known to me this day. I wish to write down the facts while they are all fresh in my mind : for they are remarkable enough — the scene being our peaceful little village — to prove that truth is often " stranger than fiction." Daring the morning service yesterday I had observed with some interest the tall figure in mourning who occupied the Priory pew. From my position in the reading-desk I was the only person in church who could see over those high scarlet curtains, where, thickly veiled, sat the solitary lady. At the conclusion of the service she still sat there, patiently waiting for the great tide of the congregation to have passed out. The Castle pew had just emptied itself, as Mrs. Morley slowly drew back the curtains. I had left the communion-table and was walk- ing down the aisle to the vestry. Immediately in front of me. Count Bismark brought up the 192 CONFIDENCES. rear of the Ashford party, which was slowly defiling out of church. It was at this moment the scarlet curtains were moved aside and the tall figure stepped out into the aisle between me and the Count. A moment afterwards I heard a low stifled sound, something between a sob and a scream, and Mrs. Morley caught hold of an open pew- door. She would have fallen had I not been immediately at hand to support her, and she trembled so violently that I was glad of the sexton's assistance to get her into the vestry. The Church, meantime, had emptied. One or two stragglers came up to ask if they could be of any use, and Colonel Chillington turned a languid eye upon the obscure female who had thought fit to faint; but the carriages were waiting and the party moved off, I am thank- ful to say, leaving Mrs. Morley to my care : for the Hector, with his Sunday's early dinner awaiting him, had bustled off before I had reached the vestry. So there, upon a hard chair beside the open window with a glass of water before her, sat Mrs. Morley, very pale, but wonderfully handsome now that I saw her CONFIDENCES. 193 face, with lips tightly compressed, silent and motionless. I had despatched the Sexton for her maid and for Mr. Julep, and in the mean- time all I could do was to try and induce her to drink some wine. She only shook her head; then after awhile it sank slowly between her hands upon the table, and there, oblivious probably of everything around, her heart charged with bitter memories, she remained until the opening door aroused her. She then rose and for the first time addressed me. It was a common expression of thanks, but the tone rings in my ears still : there is a thrilling sad- ness about it " far above singing." She was strong enough to walk home with her maid's arm : she was obliged to me but she required no other assistance. To-morrow, however, if I would call on her, she should be glad to see me. And when Julep, armed with a medicine-chest, appeared, she resolutely declined his assistance, and glided out followed by her grim domestic. " Hysteria, sir : a highly nervous subject ; much the same case as last week, I doubt not — a sudden prostration of the system — but obstinate, sir — a true M'oman, eh i very obstinate. Told 13 194 CONFIDENCES. her she should drive out daily: wouldn't hear of it. Offered that Mrs. Julep should come and cheer her up a bit : positively refused. Fine eyes, eh ? Mr. Esdaile : monstrous fine woman altogether, / think. Ah ! well, I see you arc anxious to be off. Three services a-day ! God bless my soul 1 Hard work for the lungs, that. Good morning." And the little man bustled away, leaving me to ruminate on my encounter with Mrs. Morley, as I walked home alone. Of my conjectures and reflections it boots not noAV to write, seeing that they are more than twenty-four hours old, and that in the interim I have gained a clear knowledge of those things whereon I speculated. The Priory is a melancholy house, and its drawing-room, albeit it looks upon a pretty quaint old garden, is a melancholy room. A cedar, growing close to the window, throws its baneful shadow riglit across the floor, and the diamond-shaped flags of the terrace outside are enameled with a close green moss that tells of dripping boughs and of the rare influence of sunshine. AV^ithin this room, with its paper onre sky-blue now faded to sea-green, against CONFIDENCES. 195 which, her black dress formed a contrast such as the Venetians loved to paint, sat Mrs, Morley ; her back to the light, her feet on a low stool near the fire, a packet of letters on the table at her side. I had a better opportunity now of examining her face and figure than under a bonnet and cloak. She is apparently rather more than thirty, but has already lost all the bloom of youth, which often lingers round a happy woman to a much later period. Her eyes are singularly lustrous, but, unless when animated, the clear brown iris is half veiled under thick black lashes : and during the whole of our long interview it was only occasionally that she permitted the fire that trembles beneath them to flash forth. The outline of the features is remarkably handsome : the mouth somewhat large, perhaps, but one of the most expressive I have ever seen. Hers is a se?isitioe upper lip — I can convey my meaning by no other word — over which hover the shadows of a thou- sand fleeting emotions long before thev are expressed in words — perhaps unexpressed at all. The slight tall figure, more graceful than perfectly built, the thin feverish hand, the 196 CONFIDENCES. finely-formed head with its wealth of raven hair, gathered carelessly (perhaps a woman would call it untidily) into a silk net, I translated into so many indications of a highly-wrought, pas- sionate temperament, — a sympathy with great and noble things, and that restive imagination which ever tends to make a woman unhappy in the dead level of ordinary life. But that she has learned to endeavour to conceal her emotions in some measure was shown by her manner throughout this interview. Though speaking of things which she felt with all the passionate energy of a strong nature, she was, to outward appearance, calm enough. Her voice occasionally quivered, her fingers often wound and twitched about the fringes of her dress ; but there were no wild bursts of tears, such as Mr. Julep might have led me to expect. Either she exhausts these in her solitude, or, what I think more likely from what I see of her, they come upon her suddenly, unexpectedly, like the snapping of a cord after a long and undue tension. When 1 was seated and the door had closed on tlic old butler, she said^ CONFIDENCES. im "I did not ask you to call, Mr. Esdaile, that I might thank you for your kind atten- tion yesterday. I could have done that per- haps as well by a note, without breaking the rule I laid down when I came here, that I would receive no visitors, without exception. I have been led to do so in this instance by a singular and painful circumstance." I bowed, not seeing clearly what reply to make ; and, after a pause, she continued, " Did it occur to you, Mr. Esdaile, that there was any particular reason for my being taken so suddenly ill yesterday ? Or are you aware that any one in the church accounted for it?" " I — I — fancied it was possible that you re- cognized some face you knew ; but as I alone was near you at the time, I feel sure that no one else can have thought so." " You were right. It was the unexpected sight of one who has been the cause of a bur- then of suffering to me that I shall carry to my grave; and it is about him I would speak to you. The sacred character of your office enables me to do so unreservedly, Mr. Esdaile. 198 CONFIDENCES. The person to whom I allude is Count Blsmaik. Arc you personally acquainted with him ?" "I am." " Can you tell me what he is doing here ?" " He is staying at Sir Richard Ashford's. He is a great friend of the family, and has been down here before." " Lady Caroline Ashford, I believe, is not young. Has she a grown-up daughter?" " She has ; but if you ask the question as relative to the Count, she is not a person likely to attract him, — a very insipid young lady." "What can be his object then" (as though half speaking to herself) " in remaining here ? He would consider it a waste of time, without some special object in view. Do you know the character of the man whom Sir Richard receives as an intimate friend into his family circle ?" " I know very little of Count Bismark, except that he is handsome, agreeable, and evidently all that is meant by ' a man of the world.' As to the inducement he finds in remaining here, I am afraid I can account for it by the undis- guised admiration he shows for a young lady CONFIDENCES. 199 in this village, to whom it is likely to prove only a source of disappointment and misery." '*That it will, indeed!" said Mrs. Morley bitterly. " She is probably neither rich nor nobly born." *' Even so. She is the youngest daughter of an old Admiral, with little besides his pay." " Then he will never marry her, and my sus- picions are too well justified. Bismark is a man utterly without principle, Mr. Esdaile, and the most dangerous admirer such a girl can have. He has been the spoilt child of fortune, accus- tomed to gratify every whim, to indulge every passion. Except in the excitement of such a pursuit as this, he is never happy, and, I be- lieve, no considerations would restrain him from its attainment. He is not without good qualities — is capable of kindness, generosity, perhaps even sacrifice occasionally ; but the cultivation of self has leavened the whole man beyond recal. He has never yet felt a true devoted love for any woman, but has frittered it away in a dozen counterfeits. You must save this girl, Mr. Esdaile, and to this end I must tell you some- thing of my own terrible past, that you may 200 CONFIDENCES. warn her while there is yet time. The name I bear, as perhaps you may have guessed, is assumed. But before I tell you who I am, I require a solemn promise that you will neter reveal my real name. Painful as it must be to touch upon portions of my past life, I shall not shrink from doing so ; and of this know- ledge you arc at liberty to make what use you think best; but for the sake of another, I re- quire that my name should never pass your lips. I tell it that you may the better under- stand my position, and also test the truth, if you will, of what I am about to communicate. I am the wife of ." I confess I started to hear the name of one of our oldest patrician houses. " I have been married eight years. I loved my husband truly, passionately — I would say devotedly, but I dare not use that word. I can sincerely declare, however, that I never have loved, nor ever could love, any other man. And he returned my love, though not quite as a romantic girl's nature demanded. I had expected a more constant companion, I looked for more complete devotion than any woman CONFIDENCES. 201 has a right to expect, after the early days of her marriage. And so, when, after a few months, my husband entered Parliament — the natural sphere for his great abilities — I slowly awoke to discover that life was not the long summer's day I had looked forward to. I be- came a secondary object — at least, so I thought — secondary to the great schemes for his coun- try's legislation which occupied my husband's mind. I was left all day alone. Sometimes he returned to dinner ; sometimes a hurried line from the House desired me not to wait for him, and it was often one or two in the morning before he came in. This is only what numbers of other young wives have to bear patiently ; but they are not constituted as I was, or they have children on whom to pour out some portion of their hearts, and to divert their thoughts into another pure and healthy channel. In another class of life, again, I know that many a young wife bears her lot of soli- tude or neglect resignedly ; but to such the necessity of each hard day's work is an ines- timable boon : she has not time to sit with folded hands, and murmur at her lot. Both s 202 CONFIDENCES. these blessings were denied mc : I was child- less, and I was born to be a great lady. I had never been educated to make interests for myself, and my husband did not teach me. He was glad that I should be amused — as he thought — in the way that most women of his own set found amusement. If I had gone to him and said, ' All this round of gaiety is very unsatis- fying to me, and I want something to do ; show me in what humble way I can forward any of the great work you have in hand, he would not have appreciated the motive that prompted me. As it was, he encouraged my going out every night by myself; and the life that I de- tested at first became at last a necessary stimu- lant in ray cheerless solitude. I was miserable ; for, having been a spoilt child, I fancied my- self neglected, though, had I been wise, I should have better understood my husband's character, and appreciated his feeling for me. From his peculiar temperament, and the deep subjects that engrossed his attention, which he naturally considered out of a woman's province, even Avhen we were together, he was often silent and abstracted. I knew that I had no cause CONFIDENCES. 20S for jealousy : I sometimes almost wished that I had — a tangible object on -which to expend my rage and bitterness ; but my husband never looked at any other woman, and in me he had the most blind and perfect conj&dence, — a con- fidence, alas ! which no one human being has a right to place in another. *' It is one condition of our nature, I believe, that the feelings, like the body, undergo a sure but gradual change. No one's mind remains in the same state for very long. After the first few years of my married life, abandoning myself to what seemed the inevitable course of things, I grew callous, almost desperate, in my search after excitement. I was too proud to complain. If he, on the rare occasions when he spent the evening at home, preferred his study and his dry papers to my society, / could now order my carriage, and find society else- where. The time was, when I should have cried myself quietly to sleep ; that time was past, though, even now, God knows, upon the smallest hint that he wished it, I would gladly have given it all up, and have followed him into seclusion anywhere. ^04 CONFIDKNCES. " It was at this time that I made the acquaint- ance, unfortunately, of Count Karl Bismark. The most popular, the most admired man in all Loudon, as great a favourite with men as with women, it was impossible that I should not find his society agreeable when he showed — but in the most respectful and delicate manner — his marked preference for mine. He is far beyond the vulgar vanity of liking a woman to be talked about in connection with him, and he studiously avoided allowing his attentions to be too evident to the world. But to me, who was now unused to this silent watchful sort of attention — the most seductive of all kinds of flattery — it was pleasant, and I thought harmlessly so. For I knew that my heart was perfectly safe. And here was the danger and the wrong. I am ashamed to speak of it — to think of it now. Had I not felt perfectly secure of myself, as I thought, I should never have ventured to play with such edge tools. And it was a double wrong deserving of heavy punishment, that, feeling thus secure, I did not at once discourage a growing passion that God forbid I should ever have returned. You CONFIDENCES. 205 cannot feel half the loathing of this ignoble vanity, this miserable craving for something which every true wife should blush to receive, that I myself feel now. My punishment is heavy : yes, Mr. Esdaile, very heavy for one so young as I am, with such a long, long road before her, but it is not a bit heavier than I deserve. " It was towards the end of a London season that I first knew Count Bismark. We were going abroad shortly for my husband's health, which had suffered from the hard work of a long session. A few evenings before our de- parture Count Bismark asked me if it was decided to which of the German baths we were going, and I answered Carlsbad. He made no other remark than that it was a pretty place, and less infested than others of the kind with French and English canaille. We went there : and I was in hopes that now at least I should have had my husband to myself, for a relaxation from books and writing was much recommended for him. But he found at Carls- bad a number of foreigners of diplomatic emi- nence, whose acquaintance he was glad to have an opportunity of making, and in whose con- SOG CONFIDENCES. versatlon he was much interested. I was foolish enough to feel disappointed and hurt when he left me to walk up and down those tiresome walks, discussing the affixirs of Europe with an Austrian or Russian diplomatist; and, just when I was beginning to think the place insupportably odious. Count Bismark appeared upon the walks one morning. He made no allusion to his expectation of finding us, but a woman's penetration was not to be deceived by his plea of health. It was the line he invariably adopted, T afterwards found, that of not alarming by an unnecessary demonstration of his motives. I found him more agreeable than ever : so much knowledge of the world, such a perception of the beautiful as well as of the humorous, and so easy and apparently perfectly natural : but it was my intellect, not my heart, that was interested, and my vanity alone that was touched. A Viennese lady — the only one I knew well — smiled very knowingly when I asked her about Bismark. He was a sad inauvais siijet, she said, but everyone liked him, only he had sucli an Aivjlomanie now, that they saw very little of him at Vienna : doubtless he found CONFIDENCES. 207 particular attractions in England. My husband, who had hardly known Bismark before, sub- mitted, like all the rest of the world, to the charm of his influence. '"What a pity,' he said, 'that clever fellow should idle his life away without an object! He has a great deal of ability, and, with de- termination, he might do anything he chose.' " I remember starting at the particular Avords used, for I could not doubt but that, in one sense, he had an object, though he would never, never succeed in it. I urged my husband, how- ever, that very day, to leave Carlsbad, as soon as the doctor would allow him. I said it was getting cold, and made other excuses for my desire to be back in England. I was, in fact, becoming frightened, — uneasy, for the first time, at the consequences of a danger I had courted. On parting with the Count, I purposely avoided giving him any clue to our probable winter residence. I said, if my husband's health was not re-established, we should not be in Lon- don at the beginning of the session, and I par- ried his adroit questions to discover where we were likely to be. ^08 CONFIDENCES. " We returned home. My husband found that he must visit his father's estates in Ireland. But when I proposed accompanying him, with the assurance that I did not mind sleeping in a cabin, if necessary, he threw so many obstacles in the way, that I saw he evidently would pre- fer my remaining at home, though he was too kind to say so exactly. But it was such kind- ness as one shows a child. Oh ! that he would only have made me his companion ! I was thrown back now as before on my own foolish and sensitive feelings. " Instead of my remaining alone in London, he wished me to go down to his uncle, the Duke's, to pass the few weeks of his absence. He promised to meet me there at Christmas. There was a large party in the house : every- body except myself was, or managed to appear to be, very gay. I believe, and, strange to say, I now hope that I was set down universally as having a bad temper. It was not conceiv- able that a Avife should fret at her husband's going to Ireland without her. No: I did not receive as much attention as I expected, and that was the reason oi my ' sulks.' 1 actually CONFIDENCES. 209 overheard a lady saying this one morning : and it did not increase my disposition to make myself agreeable. The only moments of real unalloyed pleasure I had, were when hearing my husband spoken of in terms of the highest respect and admiration by several public men who were staying in the house. I felt a glow of pride — which has since turned to shame and heaviness of heart, alas ! — when I read his name, coupled with renown and honor, in the papers. But this state of things was not to continue for ever. Ten days before my husband's return there was a fresh importation of guests from town. On coming down to dinner that day, the first person I recognized in the drawingroom was Count Bismark. No- thing could be more natural: the hien venu in every country house, why should he not be here ? Nevertheless, the blood rushed into my face, and had not the room been so ill-lit my confusion must have been remarked. He handed me into dinner, but only alluded to meeting me here, as a happy accident. He avoided in any marked way singling me out from the other women for especial attention ; 14 210 •CONFIDENCES, but when one is under the same roof there arc a thousand little cu-cumstances during the day, that enable a man to show tacitly what the feelings are he dare not evince more openly. Whether by a prevision and clever calculation of chances and of my peculiar nature, I know not, but he could not have timed his arrival more opportunely, to be welcome to me. I was heartily sick of the cold uninteresting people by whom I was surrounded : my husband's family, indeed, I never cared for much. But a month earlier the recollection of my Carlsbad misgivings would have been too fresh in my mind for me not to have seen Bismark with apprehension. In the interim I had laughed at myself for the folly of avoiding the friendship of an exceedingly agreeable person, when I was so secure of my own heart, and so convinced that no man -was comparable to my own husband. " Why do 1 linger on these varying shades of feeling, Mr. Esdaile ? Why do I dwell on every incident of tliat time ? That by understanding, if possible, something of the weak, passionate, wayward woman before you, CONFIDENCES. 211 you may more thoroughly appreciate the cha- racter of the man with whom you have to deal. " My husband at last returned, and I was overjoyed. But such is the inconsistency of our nature, that I was angry with him for not evincing a shade of jealous suspicion at Bismark's presence. On the contrary, he shook hands with him very cordially : aiid, after the first short half-hour, I saw less of my husband than he did of the leaders of his party who were staying in the house. And I had not the tact to conceal my vexation. One afternoon, when we were walking, the Duchess asked what had become of my husband? she had not seen him all day. I was imprudent enough to reply hastily that no one knew less of his movements than I did, and that I had seen as little of him as herself. I immediately saw the Duchess exchange glances Avith one or two of the other ladies, which meant very plainly, * What a temper she has ! and how much he is to be pitied, poor fellow ! ' But this was not the worst I had brought upon myself. Bismark, who was present, lost no opportunity 212 CONFIDENCES. from this moment forwards of alluding to the misery of ill-assorted marriages — of natures that did not assimilate — of the impossibility of a cold unimpassioned character ever ap- preciating a warm, enthusiastic, and imaginative one. There Avas nothing in these remarks, so often insisted on, and so adroitly brought to bear on the gossip of every day, that I could reject or resent. And yet, at first I felt angry at beinc: oblicred to listen to them : for I knew that my own indiscretion had been the original cause of his adopting this tone. Then by degrees — little by little — I grew accustomed to that abstract talk about sympathies and affinities, until at length I found myself on the brink of making a confidant of the man Avhom of all others I should most have avoided. I withdrew a step : but the toils of that wary hunter were too securely round me. It was of little moment that the party was breaking up. What had advanced so far in the country would be still better prosecuted in London. *' We all met there in February. Oh, my God ! how 1 hate to think of that last month ! It is like a hideous dream : so impressed on CONFIDENCES. 213 the mind in every detail that one cannot think it unreal ; and so unnatural, so imjyossible when one awakes, that one cannot believe it all actually happened ! How the man became more and more wound up in my daily life ; how in my long hours of solitude I looked to his visit as the one excitement of the day, till it became a species of dram-drinking that I could not live without — all this crept on me stealthily, and gradually, before I perceived the change in our relative positions. " There was great distress in the manu- facturing districts just at that time, which occupied my husband's thoughts entirely. At night he often returned worn out in body, yet his energetic mind not permitting him to rest. He would throw himself down on the sofa, then start up and pace the room, muttering, as he revolved in his mind how the misery of the people was to be alleviated. My misery he never noticed. What was there I had not ? Generous to me as he was self-denying to himself, he knew that he had never left a whim of mine ungratified. It would never have occurred to him that I could be unhappy. 214 CONFIDRNCKS. I was handsome, not without sonic talent ; made, he thought, to sliinc in the workl ; 1 had no business to be unliappy, since I had everything this worhl could give. Oh ! if he could only have seen my heart at that moment — its rest- less, uneasy, miserable state ! But he saw nothing : and so the end at last came. " I sprained my foot in getting out of the carriage one evening. A doctor was sent for, who said it was nothing very serious ; but I passed the night in great pain, and felt ill and nervous in the morning. My husband entered my room early, with some letters in his hand. He said he was going down to Nottingham that evening to see about the poor weavers there, and that he should be back the following day, when he hoped to find me much better. "'Don't go,' I could not help saying ; 'pray don't leave me, Charles, don't.' " He looked very much surprised, and said, " ' Why, my dear Carry, what do you mean ? You're upset and nervous, my poor child ; but you are surely not serious in wishing me to remain here, because you've sprained your ankle, when hundreds of your fellow creatures are CONFIDENCES. 215 dying, and the object of my going is to try and save their lives ?' " I could only reply by a sort of hysterical sob, as my husband kissed me, and said he had just ordered a new carriage for me, the step of which he hoped I should find more convenient. Never was gift so ungraciously received : it was like giving a sugar-plum to a child to pacify it, I thought. If my hus- band was disappointed at the way in which I received this, he certainly didn't show it, but left the room, saying that, as he was on a com- mittee, and should be kept at the House till late in the afternoon, he should not return home, but desire his valet to meet him with his things at the terminus. And so we parted. '^ Bismark, I knew, would call in the after- noon, so I got up, though in pain, and managed to crawl down to the drawing-room, with my maid's arm, — restless, nervous, craving for some excitement, anything was better than my own thoughts. I lay on the sofa in the back room, and desired that any visitors should be admitted ; but none came. It began to grow dusk, and I grew more nervous and irritable every mo- 21G CONFIDENCES. ment, wondering what could have kept Bismark, and with strange inconsistency, as I perfectly remember, upbraiding my husband with his neglect. At last there was a knock at the door. The butler brought in the lamp, and announced Count Bismark. I tried in vain to conceal all traces of agitation. I felt my voice tremble as I greeted him, and my eyes were red and swollen. He sat down by my sofa, and, with that peculiarly soothing musical voice, drew from me, in spite of myself, what I most wished to conceal — that I felt wretched and lonely, that my husband, who did not understand my foolishly sensitive nature, had left London, and that the sympathy of a friend "was a great comfort. " I believe he cunningly chose this moment to look at his Avatch, get up, and declare that he must be going — he was engaged to dinner. It was all arranged beforehand, I'm sure — his coming so late ; for he had one of our servants in his pay, I afterwards discovered, and must have known of my husband's absence. So there he stood, holding my hand in his, bidding me * good-bye.' CONFIDENCES, 217 " ' So soon ? ' I said : ' you have not been here half-an-hour.' " ' If you ask me to stay, it is enough ; ' that was his reply. "And thereupon followed such a flood of passionate eloquence, as only men like Bismark have at their command at these moments. He was upon his knees, calling me ' Caroline,' and urging me no longer to sacrifice my whole life to one who was incapable of a^jpreciating me. Let him, at least, whose soul beat in unison with mine have some share, some corner in my existence, for the ties of the heart were the only real ones — with other such sophistries as these. " To my eternal shame, I let him hold this language — God forgive me ! I was bewildered, — conscious, for the first time in my life, that I was passionately loved ; but confused, stunned, only half conscious of the wrong. My hands remained in his, my head almost drooped upon his shoulder, while he poured out his vehement words. " Suddenly I was aware of a shadow cross- ing the lamp 218 confidp:nces. " I look up and shrieked. . . My husband stood between the foldinsr doors ! " You may imagine better than I can describe, Mr. Esdaile, tlie scene that followed. I threw myself on my knees, I trailed myself at his feet. Never shall I forget the look of despair in Ins face, Bismark's rage, and the few terrible words that passed between them ! . . . I know not how it terminated, for nature at last came to my help, and I fell fainting on the floor. I had a succession of these fits, and the doctor and my maid were with me the greater part of the night. Once I opened my eyes and saw my husband writing in the room, and then I fell into a deep sleep, which lasted till morn- ing "My first thought was to inquire for my husband, as the terrible events of the previous night came crowding back on my mind. The maid handed me a letter, and my heart sank within mc. This is it." And, taking one from the table, she read what, as far as I can remember, was to the follow- ing effect. It was dated midnight. After the discovery I accidentally made CONFIDENCES. 219 last night, Caroline, of course all is at an end between us. God and vour own conscience know how far your protestations of innocence are true. As to actual guilt, I wish to believe them; as to a long course of duplicity, and the encouragement, at least, of this man's pas- sion, I cannot. But what / believe, signifies little ; your reputation in the eyes of the world, at all events, shall not sufier. A home where confidence is once destroyed, is a home no longer : you would be miserable, fancying your- self always watched ; I, probably, should be ready to interpret innocent acts wrongly. There- fore it is necessary we should part ; and we do so, remember, from incompatibility of tem- per. We may, indeed, say that with truth ! This shock is too recent for me to review my conduct as rigidly and impartially as I may do hereafter. If I have been to blame, forgive me : you know that I had the most unbounded confidence in you. It is for ever shaken in woman — God forgive you ! I would sooner have plucked out my two eyes than have seen what I did last night. I shall carry the bitter fruit of that experience to my grave. You need 220 CONFIDENCES. not fear my avenging my honour, as it is called, by fighting a duel. AV'ero I not deterred upon far higher grounds, the fear of your name com- ing thus before the world, would prevent me. 1 have loved you, Caroline, better than you thought; but my nature is not a demonstrative one. " ' When this reaches you, 1 shall be on my road to Nottingham, where I was prevented going yesterday by a mere chance. I shall not return to London until 1 hear what you propose doing. If you wish to remain in this house, it is yours ; and, whether you do so or not, I shall make such arrangements for your comfort as will prevent your feeling, I hope, any outward change in your position. As far as I can see my way at present, this seems the right course for mc to pursue, and I act on it at once, to spare you the needless trial of another agitating scene. Justification, recri- mination, or self-reproaches, are alike useless. Only lay this warning to heart, Caroline, and may it keep you from further danger. " ' Your truest friend and sorrowing husband. CONFIDENCES. 221 " I cannot describe to you," continued Mrs. Morley (as I must still call her), " the effect this letter produced on me. I was stunned. I could not believe for a long time that it was really true, and that I was separated for ever from him. If he could have known the agony of my mind, I think he would have had pity on me. I tried to write. Of what use was it to assure him that I loved him far more than ever, that in my heart of hearts I had never swerved in my allegiance to him? How could I expect him to believe it? It sounded mon- strous, incredible ; and scalding tears blotted the words as I wrote them. Then I abandoned myself to paroxysms of remorse, and reproach towards the cause of all this misery. As re- garded him, the revulsion of feeling was com- plete. A scale seemed to have fallen from my eyes. I now saw him in his true colours, and shuddered to think that I had ever listened to him with complacency, ever tolerated his false insidious sentiment. His words had lost all charm. To the numberless notes he wrote me in the course of the next few days, I only replied in the brief cold terms necessary to ^22 CONFIDKNCES. show liiin my true feelings. Most of those notes 1 burned as soon as read; but one I kept. Here it is. I ^v•as actuated by the hope that my husband miglit some day know " She broke off, and lianded me the note, written in his minute foreign hand, but ad- mirably e.xpressed in English, somewhat as follows : — " You reject my offers, and do great injustice to my true sentiments, most adorable of women ! As you refuse to fly with me and share the existence of one whose future should be entirely given up to you, what is it you expect from your husband ? Not forgiveness and recon- ciliation ? You know his cold hard nature too well. I have offered him satisfaction, but he refuses it : does he then intend procuring a divorce ? As I cannot believe that your affec- tions any longer belong to one (though you persist in asserting so) who has treated you for years with such studied neglect, I must think that you will regard this divorce as a release, and that you will no longer refuse the love and protection of him who can then offer you an honorable fuitne. If this is so, gladly (X)NF1DENCES. 223 shall I liail the clay, whenever it come, that I may be permitted to claim you as my wife. And to this I hold myself hound hy every tie of heart and of honour. I feel with sorrow that you are now suffering from my imprudence and impetuosity. I only await the word that shall call me to your side. " B." " You may imagine," continued Mrs. Morley, after a pause, " I was not long in making up my mind that if I was to be separated from my husband — and I could not demur at the justice of his decision — I was better out of London : altogether away, where he would not be subject to the annoyance of seeing or hearing of me. Almost broken-hearted, I quitted his roof, acquainting him Avith my immediate plans in a letter in which I made no appeal to his feel- ings, nor attempted to induce him to revoke his sentence. I was too thoroughly humbled with the consciousness of my own vanity and folly, and of my unworthiness to be his wife, for me to dare to plead even the excuses I have done to you, Mr. Esdaile. The only thing I assured him was, that my future life should be one against 224 CONFIDENCES. which no breath could be raisctl. I begged him to institute the strictest enquiry, in order to satisfy himself that however much she had sinned, the lesson his unhappy wife had learnt was not thrown away. And, greatly with this view, I requested that two old family servants, a butler and housekeeper, might accompany me in my wanderings. They have done so ever since — eight months, which have seemed like years, and have changed me from a young to a middle-aged woman, Mr. Esdaile ! " I travelled abroad. I have, literally speak ing, wandered up and down the face of the earth, never stationary for more than two days together in any place. I have never made any new acquaintances ; I have shunned the old ones whom chance threw in my way. I had the satisfaction, through all this, of knowing that I was regarded as a disagreeable, violent- tempered woman, from whom my husband had found himself obliged to separate. But at last I was worn out with this life — spent in mind and body, and only desirous of rest. This I /found it almost impossible to have under my old name. 1 took a house for a few weeks CONFIDENCES. 225 in the summer at a place where I was personally unknown, but my husband's name brought troops of visitors to my door, invitations and offers of assistance, which fairly frightened me away. It was then I bethought me of the simple plan which I have successfully adopted hitherto, to escape this kind of invasion. If the question, *Who is she?' cannot be satis- factorily answered, one is always safe in England. I chose this part of the country, because I knew no one here : neither has my husband any connections in the neighbourhood. The un- known Mrs. Morley, therefore, was likely to escape notice. Little did I anticipate the strange improbable coincidence of meeting that man whom of all others I should least wish to know of my being here ! "Of him I have only to add further, that three months after that fatal evening he fought a duel at Baden, with a French officer, about the wife of the latter. This is the man against whom you must warn every woman whom he selects for the amusement of the hour. His life is made up of such aims, alas ! It is an ' exciting sport, this gambling with human hearts, 15 S26 CONFIDKNCES. and every game won increases the passion for it. Yot this man originally was made for better things. lie had once a heart, if it had ever been fired with an earnest enduring love. Now I fear it is altogether corrupt. Vanity, success, sensuality, have brought him to be what he is. And it is the horror I feel when I remember all the misery he has brought, not only on me, but on many another happy home, that has made me go over the painful history of my past, Mr. Esdaile. It is a bitter trial to speak of it. I have never done so to a human being. But if, with all its terrible consequences to me, it may prove a warning to any other woman, I feel I ought to let her know it. For God's sake, Mr. Esdaile, speak to this girl or to her father. Tell them that the vows Bisniark has probably ere now poured forth to her have been made to twenty other women. Tell them if you will, in short, all I have told you." After a short pause I said, " I will do so : at least I will think over the best means of guarding this young girl. Her disposition, unfortunatelj', renders any ap- CONFIDENCES. 22T peal to herself difficult. Bat I hope and believe such an insight into the character of Count Bismark cannot but have its effect. Your story has deeply interested me : and since you have entrusted me with your secret, you will not think it mere impertinent curiosity, I hope, if I ask whether you have still any communica- tion with your husband?" " He does write to me occasionally," she said, sadly ; " and whether it be that / am changed, and better able to understand his nature, I know not, but his letters seem more tenderly anxious for my well-being than I believed at one time possible. Both the servants, whom I may now call old and faithful friends, write to him from time to time and let him know how I go on. I can very rarely bring myself to do so. Or rather I write letters and destroy them. My written words seem to mock and jeer at me. I cannot express to him all I have at my heart. My life of utter seclusion and my broken health must do that." Soon after this I took my leave, saying that as she had once broken through her rule in my favor, I hoped she would allow me to 2^8 rONFTDFNCFS. repeat my visit occasionally. I added that, from what I knew publicly of her husband's character, I did not think he would regret her having a friend in the clergyman of the parish, to whom she could always apply for counsel and assistance. This interview has given me matter for much serious thought all to-day. A confession, which, taken by itself, and without reference to the peculiar character of the speaker, sounds hardly credible — that a woman loving her own hus- band should be on the point of giving herself up to another whom she does not love ! . . . . This suggests the enquiry, how often the honor of a home has not fallen victim to a sort of systematic neglect on the part of many an other- wise excellent man? Public men, especially, often seem to think that their country demands a sacrifice of these sweet humanizing charities : others, overlooking the clear, obvious duties, that lie ready to hand — just because they are so clear — go out into the wilderness to hunt and scour about for duties, " calls," they would say, forgetting that, in a very broad as in a close sense, charity begins at home. Here is CONFIUEXCES. 229 this fine fellow — whom I must call Mr. Morley — a generous advocate of the oppressed, a man who feels keenly the sorrows of his fellow men, energetic and high principled as we all know. Yet he does not hesitate to leave that sensitive, imafjinative woman he has made his wife to pine away with scarce more than the crumbs of affection that fall frona his philan- thropic soul, after feeding its five thousand. If it be dulce et decorum pro patria moi'i, our schoolboys are not taught that the life and happiness of another is to be sacrificed on the same altar. But all Englishwomen expect this sort of life when they marry, it is said. Their husbands are in active professions, out on the broad seas, or on the burning plains in India; busy among parchments in the Temple, or with scrip and consol in the City ; at all events, comparatively few hours of their life can be devoted to the culture of their household gods. And Englishwomen would not wish it other- wise. Their hearts, however, do still look for something of the chivalrous tenderness of old, when their Paladins return after the day's hard fight is over. And the man — I care not whether 230 CONFIDENCES. senator, priest, or usurer — wlio does not take " sweet counsel " of that gentle loving creature, who has been anxiously listening for his knock all the evening, — the man, I say, who is so absorbed in his own schemes for good or ill, that he neglects at such rare hours to cherish the light of his dwelling, deserves to find it, as he too often does, extinguished by a rude hand, suddenly and for ever ! My pen has run away with me : a perfect steeple- chase of long periods. However, as it is all true, let it stand. Now about this Bismark and the Montacutes. What is to be done ? Speaking to Ellice is, of course, the first thing that suggests itself Indeed, I know that, under any circumstances where a woman's heart and keen intuition may be called into council, I should go to her before any one. If my sister ever sec these pages she will pardon this, when she learns (probably no one else ever will) that the common lot of all men has overtaken me. Yes, it has come at last : I cannot conceal from myself any longer that 1 am falling deeply in love with Ellice Montacutc. I find myself tiiinking of CONFIDENCES, 231 her in all seasons and places : I am ashamed to say, even in church yesterday I found my eyes following my thoughts to that distant pew in the quiet side aisle. I suppose I ought not to encourage these thoughts at any time. What has a curate on eighty pounds a-year, with an independent fortune of two hundred more, to do with matrimony ? AVould she ever think of it, but Avith pity at my folly ? And am I justified, I who preach to others, in rushing blindly into a passionate attachment, and then pleading it in justification of the selfish desire that she should take upon herself all the privations of a very poor man's wife? I fear not. Yet it resolves itself into this. If she really loved me, the privations would be none to her : dearer a thousand times than the solitude of unlove. But the truth is, I can detect in Ellice no "'symptoms of more than a candid reliant regard, that would apply to me, I hope, in all difiiculties, confident in my earnest sympathy. Danger, except to my- self, there is none. Not the less, however, now that my eyes are open, should I turn aside bravely and steadily from the ppril before me. . , . 232 CONFIDENCES. To return to Vanda. I cannot believe that when she learns the truth concerning this man, she will persist in continuing an intimacy of such doubtful appearance. Her pride, if nothing better, -svill revolt against the construction the world will naturally put on this renowned Lothario's attentions. Callous, in a measure, I fear she is : scornfully dashing away the drops as they fall — a temper partly imbibed from her fierce foreign mother, partly grown upon her in contact with a hard world ; but not utterly lost, surely, to all tenderness and truth ? Unloveable, nay repellent, as the girl's character is, there is one green sweet touch in it — her love for her father. She will read to him, walk with him for hours, and prefers his society evidently to that of her sisters. AVhether it is a love that would sacrifice anything — would even yield him implicit obedience is per- haps doubtful — remains to be proved. Seldom has been put to the trial, I should think ; the Admiral, except in veriest trifles, never dream- ing of controlling his favourite darling. I have not much hope, therefore, of working any good by an appeal to " the foolish fond old man," CONFIDENCES. 233 which must, however, be made. But first, to lay some facts in this sad story before Ellice. 7 a.m., Wednesday . — I have been sorrowfully and most unexpectedly employed during the last twenty-four hours. Up all last night. Now in the early morning, while the little maid is preparing my breakfast, I sit down to note hurriedly the event that has personally affected me so much — more than I could have believed possible a few weeks ago. I called at Sunny Cove early on Tuesday, intending to speak to Ellice. Found the little household all in confusion : runnings to and fro, doors open, and a sound as of sobs from the upper floor. The Admiral had had a very alarming fit : lay, it was feared, between life and death. His daughters, of course, were with him, and I sent to ask if they would like me to see their father. After a few minutes I was shown up into a tiny cabin of a room where the old sailor lay, his face much drawn and haggard, the eyes fixed with intensity on the low sloping wall opposite. On that wall was pinned the water colour sketch of a young and handsome woman : I noticed it and the other details of 234 CONFIDENCES. tlic room, not then, ])ut as I sat bosicle him through that long afternoon. The chest, still marked '' Captain Montacutc," with its great brass clamps, rusted with sea air and spray in many a distant voyage ; the old-fashioned sword and compass hung above ; even that skeleton washing-stand, and the hand-glass swinging over it, all had a color of the man's former life. At the pillow, her hands in his, her head in the counterpane, over which the black hair fell unbound, knelt Vanda — silent, motionless, save when the slight figure shook with an inward sob — a very touching sight, I thought, remembering her hard habitual aspect. Poor Linda in tears, hurrying to and fro with medicines and what not : Ellice in close earnest conference with Julep in the recess of the little casement — that was the group as I entered. I approached the latter, and Ellice turned to me at once, calm and collected, but with the shadow of a heavy grief, or at least alarming anxiety, on her brow and the least tremble in her voice. " The immediate danger is over : he is sensible now, and I shall be glad for you to speak to him — to sit with him." CONFIDENCES. 235 e< If he have not another attack, and have strength to rally," said Julep in a whisper, " he may do. I keep the young ladies up, sir, as much as I can. No use in letting 'em doAvn, poor things : but don 't you go for to let the old gentleman think he'll ever be quite himself again. Bring him up smart, sir, about his religion while he 's got time : bad case ! no knowing '^ And I turned from the man of medicine to the sick bed, beside which his daughter had set a chair for me. Instead of " bringing him up smart," I spread a Bible and read to him such passages as I thought best suited to his shaken wavering frame of mind. I doubt whether his thoughts followed them ; they were probably wandering far back into the past, or turning to his favourite child, for when his eyes moved heavily from his wife's picture, it was to fasten on her living image as she knelt beside him, and then the hard weather- beaten old hand feebly stroked the little one that lay within it. From time to time Ellice or Linda came in with wine or restorative medicines for their father : one or other, indeed. 230 CONFIDENCES. always remained in the room to bathe his temples with vinegar and watch the fluctuating shadows on his face; but, except for tlicsc low rustlings, occasional creaking of door, and w^hisper inter- changed between the sisters, the silence was unbroken. Thus some hours passed. In the old man's state, I felt that perhaps I was not of much real use, and yet my being there was a comfort to the sisters — two of them, at least, for the third took no cognizance of my presence. Julep came and went. Two serious cases in the village, so he could not stay ; but thouglit, or said he thought, more favourably of his patient in the afternoon. Talked of " tone," " cerebral action," and so on, but left nie painfully un- convinced. Even Mdien the poor old man found strength to thank me in a few words, I did not feel more hopeful : the rough sea-worn voice was so changed and feeble, like a far distant echo of the one I knew. Days — weeks, perhaps, still for him on earth, l)ut they were numbered. I had only read a few verses at intervals, fearing to tire him : I now asked whether he co^'FIDE^^CEs. 237 would like me to return in the eveninc: and read the Prayers for the Sick with him. He seemed pleased : murmured Avhat, by stooping, I caught to be, '' You'll try and persuade her to come, eh? Parson." I supposed that he referred to Vanda, and was rather surprised, but answered, " Certainly," though there was evidently no fear of the poor child's leaving her father's side. After some necessary visiting among the sick (which Mr. Brigstock, on account of his chil- dren and his wife's instances I believe, gives over entirely to me), I returned to Sunny Cove between seven and eight in the evening. " You will find my father better in some respects," said Ellice, though there was a look in her face that almost belied her words ; " his voice stronger, able to sit up and speak, but his head has been wandering. He keeps fancy- ing our mother is outside the door, and will not come in. He entreats her, and will not be pacified, poor dear ! and I think he looks to your coming, Mr. Esdaile, to persuade her to enter, and join in the services of the Church, 1^38 CONFIDKNCES, which slie would never do in licr life-time. Tlicn lie mixes it all up with talk of his sea days ; in short, I am afraid he is exciting him- self a great deal too much, and I dread another of those fearful attacks. ... But what is to be done ? It is essential to keep up his strength, not to lower it. Mr. Julep is very clever, I believe ; and, under any circumstances, the ex- pense of sending to London for a physician — I don't know how Ave could pay him; and it would excite my father so terribly if he knew it. You think Mr. Julep clever, don't you?" " I have no doubt he is ; and your father's is not a complicated case, I imagine, though a serious one. By-the-bye, would it not be well, on all accounts, to send for his old friend. Colonel Shaddock .'' If your father has left any- thing undone relative to — to matters of busi- ness, he might like to speak confidentially with him. It will make you happier also, to know that his mind is at ease on these points." Ellice is not one to start at shadows, when a stern reality is before her. She did not burst into tears at the idea of its being necessary ior her father to make bis AvilL She felt too CONFIDENCES. 239 deeply, I am sure, in Whose hands were the issues of life and death, to have any supersti- tious dread of meeting the idea of death half way. She sent for Colonel Shaddock, and led me in the meantime to her father's room. He was leaning up in bed, propped by pillows, and turned with feverish anxiety to the door, as I entered. " Where is she. Parson ? where is she ? Can't stay long : got my sailing orders, and time nearly up. Bring her in; do now: I've been waiting — waiting — waiting : and now the tide 's begin- ning to ebb, sir. We must heave the anchor. Heave away, boys ! yoy-hoy ." His head sank back, and the voice, which had burnt up to something of the old vigour, died suddenly aAvay. I oj)ened the Prayer Book, and knelt down, when he again muttered in a much weaker voice. "It's the last time. Van, the last time! I never was much of a hand at praying, but I couldn't bear your Popish mummeries. Can't you pray in our parish church as well as be- fore that bit of wood in your room ? No, no ; the children shan't Come, now; just for 240 CONFIDENCES. once, Van. Old Aunt Bell 'cl like to see us in church together, with her god-child too — come ! I'm seldom ashore, and Jack Tar's life is un- certain : perhaps," here his voice was almost inaudible, " we may never meet again, Van — never meet again ! " He ran on for a long time thus. His mind was evidently completely unhinged, and, indeed, so it has continued, more or less, all night. Tranquil occasionally, and always conscious of our presence ; but connecting it with scenes and days long passed away, — a coil of shreds and tatters, poor fellow ! Colonel Shaddock's arrival was a great relief to me every way. In the first place, the kindly generous old soldier did what I thought it more than possible he icould do, — telegraphed to Lon- don for the best medical advice, for his own private satisfaction, as he said, " not that I would for a moment insinuate that IMr. Julep is not a most able practitioner, sir ; but another opinion is always satisfactory," being almost as sensitive for the little doctor's feelings as Julep I could have been himself. Doctor will be here this morning by the 11.50 liain. The CONFIDENCES. 241 Colonel remained the greater part of the night with his old friend, in case the latter should wish to speak to him relative to his affairs. I also staved on the chance of the sick man's needing me : threw myself on a sofa in the drawing-room^ and from time to time stole up to the door, and held whispered consultations with Ellice. The little cabin was too crowded as it was : anxious daughters glid- ing in and out ; the Colonel in his arm-chair ; the doctor, more grave and anxious since the evening, trying by all means to allay the irritation of the brain. At last, towards morn- ing, by sedatives or otherwise, he fell asleep, and seeing I could be of no immediate service, I returned here for an hour or two. I dare not, alas ! hope for more than that the poor old Admiral may have a few days of unbroken peace to wind up his affairs in this world, and to prepare for his long journey to a better one. Saturday, September llth, Ten o'clock, a.m. — It is all over. Happily, as the poor orphan girls will one day believe, though now they are overwhelmed with their sudden sorrow. He never could have recovered to be himself again, 16 CONFIDENCES. I understand. Had he lived his life would have been a melancholy burthen. Bed-ridden, certainly, the doctors say, and his mind so mucli impaired, that probably much trial and suffering in all ways have been spared to his children, by God's mercy. Still the blow is no less severely felt — as it is meant to be. Heaven forbid that Christian philosophy should ever steel our hearts against aiHiction, and it has been a heart-rendins: sicrht to watch the fading hope in that little household from hour to hour. The London doctor came down on Wednesday. From that time we all knew the fate of the poor old Admiral. Doctor did not hold out any deceptive hopes, though only to the Colonel did he speak unreservedly. He confirmed all Julep's views, spoke in the highest terms of his treatment, and left us in a couple of hours : Julep, of course, much gratified, and us with the melancholy satisfac- tion, that all that mortal skill could do, had been done. The result was in God's hands, and every little symptom was eagerly watched during this and the following days. To the Colonel and myself it was clear, indeed, but C'OiNFIDElSCES. 243 the poor girls clung to their hopes almost to the very last. For one thing we must be for ever thankful. The cloud which hung over the dying man's mind, obscuring the sense of his present state with confused images of the past, was dispersed some hours previous to his death, enabling him not only to give clear directions as to his temporal affairs, but to devote his thoughts to the more important future. ***** He died very peacefully ; his heart, I truly believe, is in charity with all men. Honest simple old sailor ! Type of a race that is growing rarer every day, since the universal schoolmaster has boarded ship, and turns out our " naval cadet" an accomplished man of letters, before whom the Admirals of Nelson's time might have stood abashed. I do not object : far otherwise ; but the peculi- arities of the old English sailor are lost in the change, and there is something of rough tenderness in the character, which was always attractive to me from a boy. Poor old Admiral I I shall think of him with regret for many a ^'44 CONFIDENCES. clay. Not over-wise, perhaps, in any relation of life ; ovcr-indulgcnt husband and father ; dearly loving his bottle of port ; reckless in money (as I fear) ; but withal large-hearted, manly, and attaching. His love and constant recollection of his wife — living again in her likeness, Vanda — was to me almost poetical, in that brown weather-stained old man. The last words from him that were audible (the cloud fell partly on him again at last) were low mutterings to " make haste, for the tide is ebbing fast. Heave the anchor, and bring her head round, boys. A fair wind — and it ain't a long voyage, Van — so good-bye, my girl, and take care of yourself and of — the — little— little— one " His hand was on that " little one's" head, and thus the old man fell asleep last night at twelve o'clock. Saturday Afternoon, Six o"" clock. — Vanda's grief is of that wild savage kind that refuses any comfort. Poor Julc]i, who has felt and shown a real sympathy with them all, was mufh discomfited when, after the commonplaces ubual at these occasions, Vanda fiercely turned CONFIDENCES. 245 round on him, and in reply to the remonstrance that she was injuring her health, desired him to leave her. What could he or anyone know of her sorrow ? The only creature on earth who cared for her was gone. And so on. The others, as might be expected, take their bereave- ment differently : Ellice's brave heart gave way at first, after the long tension of her nerves, but she has regained something of her accustomed self-control this afternoon ; she feels there is so much to be done, and she alone to do it. Would I had the right to lift up this and all other burthens through life, and help her bear them : but I have not. Well, well, patience ! But it is hard to see one we love devotedly, suffering as she is, and not say out boldly, "■ Let me share your sorrows." My heart bled to hear her broken voice, saying, " It is so desolate to look forward, Mr. Esdaile. I see so many dark clouds a-head, and to meet them all single-handed ! . . . He was such a tender, good father " So he was ; and I loved her far better for forgetting how little the poor old Admiral had ever helped her in her struggles with Vanda. 246 CONFIDENCES. Yes ! she has probably many a hard and nn- gratcful task in store ; but that brave, patient heart, leaning on something yet surer for its strength, will carry her through every trial that He may see fit to appoint. Colonel Shaddock is sole executor of the will. Thoughtful for everything, uniting a soldier's precision with almost woman's delicacy of feel- ing, he has made the necessary arrangements for the funeral, etc., even down to the girls' mourning, having sent, as he told me, to the neighbouring town for a dressmaker. Feeling I had no right or excuse to remain at Sunny Cove (as I longed from my heart to do), since my services must now yield to the Colonel's, I have only called there occasionally in the course of the day, to learn how the poor girls were. I have just heard accidentally that the Ash- fords are off for Paris in a few days, and that Count Bismark has left the Castle. I am not surprised. In Vanda's present state, his remain- ing was lost time. Yet I am glad : he must always be a dangerous, never a profitable, neigh- bour to any of us. During the last few days CONFIDENCES. 247 I have hardly had time to think of him, except remotely, as of an evil warded oiF for the pre- sent, and become distant. To Ellice, in all her trouble, of course I said nothing of the heavy secret I had in my heart to tell her, before the storm-cloud of her sorrow burst. Time enough for that, and all contingent evils here- after. Friday Night, Vlth Septemher. — The funeral took place to-day. The three girls followed their father to his grave, and it was touching to see the crowds of poor who were gathered in the churchyard to testify their sympathy and respect. Scattered about among the graves, where probably each one €ould point to the resting-place of some of his kindred, they leaned on the lichen-covered stones, or talked in low voices over grassy mounds, waiting for that melancholy procession as it slowly wound its way up to the gate. I was glad, for once, that Mr. Brigstock read the service. I could re- main unnoticed in the background, with my eyes fixed on that trembling black hood and the little white handkerchief pressed convul- sively to the mouth. No sound — no wail ! . . . \ 348 CONFIDENCES. But as the body was lowered and the earth was closing over it, the tallest, slightest of those three black hoods sprang suddenly forward and leant over, held firmly back, though by another's hand. That was all. There we left him, under the shadow of the unchanging yews ; a green and peaceful spot, such as the old sailor, M-hen tempest-tost, little thought perhaps ever to reach, and may have longed wistfully for, instead of the "heavy-shotted hammock shroud." Ah, well ! to him it is now all one ; but to those who are left behind, the certainty that those few feet of ground cover all that remains of him here is not an indifferent thing. He does not seem quite gone, if they can steal up hither in the quicL sunsets, and know that he is close to them. Poor human nature ! so it is. Hard to separate the spiritual from the perishing clay, even to the very last. I was asked as a friend to be present at the opening of the will. It was short enough. The Admiral had saved very little; the principle source of his income had been his half-pay ; and as he was careless in money matters, it CONFIDENCES. 249 appears that a number of small debts have accu- mulated, which, when paid, will leave but a very slender income for the girls. Even in their small household there must be reduction, so Colonel Shaddock informs me, adding, "You see what I should like, would be to beg the poor young ladies to come and make their homes under my roof — plenty of room, sir, and no inconvenience to me. But all things considered, I doubt whether it isn't better, kinder, to let them remain where they are, and look after them there, as well as I can. You see, sir, this is a censorious world, and though I'm an old fellow, it's as well not to let ill-disposed persons have the opportunity to say malicious things, for the young ladies' sakes." I declared with warmth that it was impos- sible any one in Ashford could find it in their hearts to say anything malicious about him ; but he interrupted me. " When you have lived as long as I have, Mr. Esdaile, you'll find it wiser never to brave the world's opinion, except when you can't help it. I trust to God, sir, I shall never shrink from doing what I believe to be right, for fear 1250 CONFIDENCES. of the world ; but we mustn't provoke its tongue unnecessarily, sir, especially when the ladies are concerned." The neighbours, forgetting any little differ- ences, have one and all come forward to testify their sympathy with the poor girls. Sir Richard, the Squire, his sons, and every gentleman in the neighbourhood, attended the funeral; and even Mrs. Stapylton, I hear, has sent kind messages of inquiry. Nay, to the honour of human nature, be it said, the Halliday girls offered to help make their rivals' mourning (having high mantua-making abilities, it seems) ; and jNIiss Clcmmy showed more of woman's tenderness to-day, when speaking of the Mon- tacutes, than I had thought her capable of. Thursday, 30ih September. — Vanda is very ill. In addition to her sisters' other troubles, they have this anxiety. After much persuasion, she consented to see Julep, and he could not, of course, refrain from observing that he had told her so — he hieio how it icould he, and other retributive remarks of a like consolatory nature. He thinks her chest delicate, but says that with care she will soon be well. CONFIDENCES. 251 The cow is to be sold, the gardener who looked after it dismissed, and Linda must take his place, she says : perhaps the more occupa- tion each of them now can find the better. Some Indian screens, a cabinet and other foreign objects of value, were to have been sent to London for sale ; but the Colonel discovered that they were what he had long wanted, so he has become the purchaser (at a fabulous price) ; and now, with amusing naivete, he begs that they may remain at Sunny Cove "for the present," as his drawing-room is not yet ready to receive them, — nor ever will be ! The kindly little ruse does not of course deceive any one ; but EUice knows it would wound the old gen- tleman to seem to see through it ; and she has the wisdom, I believe, to discriminate between that right kind of pride that struggles through every difficulty to independence, and the false pride that rejects all help from those keenly interested in our welfare. So she will continue to receive daily that basket of cream, eggs, and butter, and she will feign a belief in the diffi- culty of finding a market for such commodities, which the Colonel's delicacy prompts him to i'ger C. Symons. Square. Price 3s. 6d. cloth. (Now ready.) Campaigning Experiences in Rajpootana and Central India during the Suppression of the Mutiny in 1857-8. By Mrs. Heney Dubekley, Author of a " Journal kept duriuo- the Russian ^Yar." Post 8vo, with Plan of Poute. Voyage to Japan, Kamtchatha, Siberia, Tar- tanj, and the Coast of China, in H.M.S. " Barracouta." By J. M. Teonson, R.K 8vo, icitli numerous Illustrations, Expositions of St. PauTs Epistles to the Corinthians. By the late Rev. Feed. W. Robertson. One Volume, Post 8i'o. Tlie Fool of Quality. By Henry Brooke. New and Revised Edition, with Biographical Preface by the Rev. C. KiNGSLEY, Rector of Eversley. Two Volumes, Post 8vo, with Portrait of the Author. (^Now ready.) The Elements of Perspective. 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By IIaruikt Martineau M'illi 'J /lice Plates (if Illii.'itnitire Uidi/rams, One Vol., Croirn Sro, price ds. cloth " This most liitercsting topic if liniidlod In a | (jrcnt credit Is due to Miss Mnrtincau for Imvin maKtc'i'lv nmnncr, luul in lUut ncciiliiir tiiid Ineid I xo rompartly, sr> spiritedly, with su nincli truth c Btylo wliicit li»s obtained for lll.ss }l:irtiuunu's | detiiil, iind at tlic m unc timt' su mnch foroo, plnoC' ■writinws such Hide popularity."- /'iv.'S. , tin- mnltpr before the public in this inlerestin "The purpose Willi nliicli Miss Martineau has and well-timed volume, —i'AiVpini/ UHd Jlercan written about Kn^'land and her soldiers is imrilv ti e (lazcttr. practical, and emiaPy so is the nianne • in which , " Miss Martineau has worked out lier subjcc she has treated tlie siibjci't. There is not in her | with crmrau'C, power, and conscientiousness wliole volume one line of invtclive a'.;ainst inilivi- Faithful in fact and rich in susjestion, she ha duals or classes. No eanilid leader can deny that i^iien ns in this volume a ver.v \ alunhle addilioi this effi'rt has been nuide opportunely, ably, and to our present store orknowledi of human Ifc."- /.i/eoir.v (;orc//('. ' a really valuable addition to that otherwise re "There are many traces of quiet, ;.;eninl humour, dunrlanl ( epailineiit of literature."— /Von. lirilliant and harmless as summer liKhtnin/, ; " The peasant life in Tuscany has, perhaps, no which agreeably relieve the more serious portions been so well photographed before."— ^?lo?n(.s^ ' little known to Kngllsh readers."— /;/Kt^;-u<« •■ The narrative fnllils the object of the author, I A'eics of the World. which is to present a lively account of whit he I The Oxford Museum. By IIexry W. Acland, M.D., and John Ruskin, A.M. Post 8ro, with Three Illustrations, price 'is. 6d. cloth. " Everyciio who cares for the advance of true I " There is as much si^iiillcance in thcoccasior Uarnin;;, and desires to note an onward >tep, | ofthi-s little volume as interest intliebookitsclf.' should buy and read this little volume."— J/o;-n- I —Spectator. iiii> Herald. \ The Vital Statistics of the European ana Native Armies in India. By JosEni Ewart, ]\I.D.. Beng'al INIcdical Service. Demy 8w), price 9.t. cloth. " K valuable work, in which Pr. Ewarl. with Cf|ual industry and skill, has compressed the esiencc and import of an immeuso mass otAc- ttd\i,"—Sjiectator. Social Innovators and their Schemes. By AVilll\m Lucas Sargant, Author of " The Science oi Social Opulence," &c. Post 8 vo, price \Qs G,l. cloth. 1.!' 'L""' ?'";^^"' l'"" written a veiv u.^cfnl sketch, i " Jlr. S.iritant lias done nood service in putlini? Ills book Is imiiartial, pleasantly written, and ! upon record some of the vaKarics of the psendo- txcollently rirraii'.ied."— .s,/n/r«'(i// A'tripic. | economists of the last twenty vears. Ills views It has the merit of Koinx deep into the suhlect are sound and moderate on this'iuiportaut (lucs- Tnatteral one of iIm most \ital points; and it is tion."— <.i/(in/ii/)i. this merit thai constitutes the special value of I " A work wliica will be read with considerable Mr. .Siinraiil s hook. His views are sensible and interest."- J/o>-)i/»(/ /'en*. sound, I lie.y are brought forward clearly and dis- "As a text-book, it will take hifth rank,"- rnsslouatelv, with (,uiet vigour and telling illus- Homing Chronicle. tr.ition. — Prist. One main idiject of this most valuable volume is to point out the causes which render the Indian climulc so fatal to £uropeau troops,"— Criiic. S3>IITII, EX.3DER ^^JSTID CO. NEW PUBLICATIONS— co?i«zn?^^(7. Christianity in India. Author of '•' Life of Lord 8ro, price ' ITr. Ka ve has written a histoi-j of the develop- »nt of Christianity in India by all its agencies d all its marafestations. . . . His whole .rrative is eloquent and informing, and he has ain made a valuable use of his great oppor- nities and indisputable talents, so that his book U probaldy become a standard authority."— mes. ' The autlior traces the liistory cf Christian ssions in India from their earliest commence- !nt down to the present time, with a light d eraceful pen, and is not wearisomel.v minute, t judicious'y discriminative."— ^^AeHa;i(»i. ' Mr. Kave's is, in many respects an able book, d it is likely to prove a very useful one. Mr. By John William Kaye, Metcalfe," &c. 16s., cloth. Kaye is not only most instructive from his fami- Il.uity with all points of detail, but he sees and judges everything as it was seen andjudgert by the great statesmen whose wisilom has made British government possible in India."— Sniurdai/ Review. " Seldom have we had the good foi-tune to read so simple, thorough, and excellent a history: it will remain astandard book."— Jiorn(«^C'Ar67/i>??. " Mr. Kaye lias done good serrice to the cause of Cliristiaii missions by the publication of his volume."— IHustrated Xet':s cf the World. " A clear and cireru! retrospect of tiie rise and progress of Christianity in the East."— Black - wood's ilagazine. t Lachjs Escajie from Gwalior, during the Mutinies of 1857. By Mrs. CooPLA^"D. Post 8vo, price 10 ' A plain, nnvamished tale, told in the simplest inner."— Press. ' This book is valuable as a contribution to the itory of the gi-.at Indian rebeUiou."—4 by NEA7 rUBLICATIONS- continued. Ser)nons. By tlic late Rev. Fred. AV. IIobertson, A.M. Incumbent of Trinity Chapel, Brighton. FIRST SERIES— 5/.r//i Eilitiou, Posl Sro, price 9s. cloth. SECOND SERIES— Zy/Zi Edition, price 9s. cloth. THIRD SERIES— Po«/7/i Edition, Post Sco, icith Portrait, price 9s. cloth. "TliPrp nro mnny persons, nml tlu-lr number increases c%er.v jenr, to \vlu>m Uolicrtson's writ- ings arc tlin most stnMe, cxlmiistlesH, niidsalis- faclory form of relijjioiiN toacliinn wliicli the ninflcpiilli ccnltiry lias vrtven— llic most wise, sui;)icstivc, anil iiraclical."— i'u/Hci/u.v ilccicw, "Tlicrc must be a srrat and trnc heart, wliore there is a itrcal and true preadier. And in that, boviind evcr.vtliini? else, lay the secret of Mr. K'tiortson's inlluence. His sermons show evi- diiiee enough of acute logical power. His analysis is exquisite in its subtleness and delicacy, lie has a clear, penetrative intellect, which carries lisiiit Willi it into the thickest darkness. Hut what \\c feel most in him is not tl\is. It is that a brother man is speakni'.; to \is as brother men ; that we are listenini;. not to the measured words of a calm, cool tbinker, but to the passioinile deep-toned voice of an earnest human soul."— i(/!«6«)vA C/iriiitidn ilai/a:i)ie. "These sermons are full of thouubt and beauty. There is not a sermon in the series that does not furnish evidence of originnlily without extrava- Rance, of discrimination without todlnusnoss, (in of piety witlujut cunt or convcntlourtUsm."- Brilhh Qtiai terli/. " Wo recommend the whole of the volumes totl: perusal of our readers. They will tind in lliei thought of a nui' and beauliful deseri|dlou. n earnotness of mind steadfast in the search i truth, ami a chaiity pure and all-embracing."- ivOOHOW/IHf. " \Vc should be Klad if all preachers more unitf with ourselves, preached such sermons us these. — ( /ii'ietian lieinembrancer, "The Sermons are altocetherout of the conimn st.v'e. They are stronij, free, and beautiful iittei aiiees of avtifled and cultivated miiHl."—7;V/ccf Jleii<'u\ "The Sermons are rich in evidence of his plon manly, and soaring; faith; and of his power m only to point to heaven, but to lead the way." Glohe. "They are very remarkable compositions. Tl thoui;hts are often very strikinif, and entirely oi of the track of ordinary sermonising."— Guun/io Lectures and Addresses on Literary and Socia Tojdcs. By the late Rev. Fred. W. Robertson, c Briii'hton. Post Qvo, price 7s. &d. cloth. " These lectures and addresses are marked by the same ciualities that made the author's ser- mons so ju.>lly and so widely )iopular. They manifest the same earnest, liberal spirit, the ardent love of truth, the lucid elo(|ueiice, the wide sympathy, and singleness of purpose."— 7orale, and deals with the entire subject nystematically."- .4^AfH(Ci(»n. "A work of great practical value, which bids fair to stand, for many .\ears to come, the chief praclieal authority ou the subject."- jyiViVar;/ diicctator. "\ coinpreheiisive disserlallon, abounding informulion, and full of siig.iis connected wi Gunnery is not to be (luestioiied."— t'ri/ic. ".\n acce))tablc contribution to profession literature, written in a popular stile,"— Uniti Sen-ice Mayazinc. "The most Interesting work of the kind th has come under our notice."— 5a<«r(/«j/ Jleciew, SIVIITH, ELDER .A^ISTD CO. NEW PUBLICATIONS— confinw^^. '^hantastes : a Faerie Roitiance for Men and Women. By Geoege MacDoxald, Author of " Within and Without." Post 8ro, price 10s. 6(/. cloth. "'Phantasies' is, in some respects, oi-iginal ; e kuon- of nothing with which it can be fairly mrared. It must he read, and re-read. Tliere an inilesci-iba')!e, nameless arace in tlie mixture deep thought and hriglit coloured fancy which Tvades the whole."— G/o?/e. " 'Phantasies' will he read for its story— for its dden meaning and solemn teaching." — yew uarterl)/. "The work is one which will form a source of ;reoa!jle reading to many. It is replete with wild imagery, strange flights of Panoy. and beau- tiful descriptions of nature."— i>'(?7// Telegraph. " Not without tine fanc.v, considerable invention, and an occasional vein of real poetic feeling."— Le iiler. "The whole book is instinct with poetry, with delicate perception of the hiddi )i emotions of the soul, with thought, and with id^al truth. The stor.v is in fact a parable— an allegory of human life, its temptations and its sorrows."— ij^ecari/ Gazette. r/ie Education of the Human Mace. first Trauslated from the Gerniau of Lessing. Fcap. St'o, antique cloth, price As. * * This remarkable work is now first publishecl in English. Now " An agreeable and flowing translation of one ' Lessing's tincst ¥.s%'M-s."— National Eeciew. "The Essay makes quite a gem in its English \ra."—Westinimterlieview. "This invaluable tract."— Cr(^^e. " A little book on a great subject, and one wliich, in its day, exerted no slight inllnenceupou Euro- pean thought."— 7H(2ins."—Literafij Gazette. " Simple poems, well s\iited to the taste of the Eisses for whom they are written."— G/ot/<;. " There is a real homely flavour abo it them, and tliov contain sound and wliolesomo lessons." — VrUic. Vlie Endowed Schools of Ireland. By Harriet MaKTINEAU. 8vo, 3s. 6c/., cloth, boards. " The friends of education will do well to possess themselves of this hook."— SiHctafor. Esmond. By W. M. Thackeray, Esq. A Neiv Edition, being the Third, in One Volume, Crown 8 vo, price 6s. cloth. " Apart from its special merits ' Esmond ' must ; read just now as an introduction to 'The Vir- inians.' It is quite impossible fully to understand nd enjoy the latter story without a knowledge r ' Esmond.' The new tale is in the strictest ;nse the sequel of the old, not only introducing lesame characters, hut continuing their history i a later period."— iearfer. " The book has the great charm of reality. ,neen Anne's colonel writes his life- anda very iterestinsr life it is— just as a Queen Anne's Lionel might be supposed to have written it. [r. Thackt5ray has selected for his hero a very oble type of the cavalier softening into the man r the eiglitcenth century, and for his heroine, ne of the sweetest women that ever breathed •om canvas or from book since Raft'aeUe painted nd Shakespeare wrote."— Spectator. "Tlie interest of 'Esm-md' is in the main urely human interest; the heart of the story has ecu the first object of consideration. It is more hail anything a family story. The pleasure comes roni the development and display of character." Sail!/ Xeies. "Once more wo feel that we have before us a lasciUiue and thoroughly English writer, uniting the power of subtle analysis, with a strong volition and a moving eloquence— an eloquence M'hich has gained in richness and harmony. 'Esmond' niust be read, not for its characters, but for its romantic plot, its spirited grouping, and its manv tlirilling utterances of the auguisli of the human lia!irt."—Athen(Eam. "This is the best work of its kind that has been published for many years. As a jiictiu-e of the social life and manners of English society in the reign of Queen Auue, it must long remain uu- ri vailed."— .4^/1(8. " There is a higher literai-y power, and a kindlier and truer humauity in this work than in any of its author's loriner productions." — Ffuser's Magazine. "The story of the novel is ingenious, and very elegantlv constiucted, and carried onward so as to gratify constant curiosity until the cud."— Examiner. "As a work of art— in thought— in liarmony— in tinish—' Esmond' ranks groat l.v above any- thing which Mr. Thackeray has yet produced."— British Qiiarterli/. 5 -WOEICS 37UBLISIIED BY NEW WORKS ON INDIA AND THE EAST. Dedicated by permission to the Ritjht //.»». Lord Stanley, Secretary of Stale fur India. Indian Scenes and Cliaracters, Sketched from Life. Bv Prince Alkxis Soltykoff. Sixteen Plates in Tinted Lilfiotiraphi/, u-ith Descriptions. Edited by Edw. n. Eastwich, Est/ , F.Il.S. Colomhier Folio. Half-bound in Morocco, Prints, 3l. 3s.; Proofs {only 50 copies printed), 4/. 4s. Personal Adventures dnrinr/ the Indian Rehel- lioii, in llolulcnnil, FuUcfjlinr, and Oude. By W. Kdwauds, Esq., B.C. S. Fourth Edition. Post 8vo, price 6.5. cloth. "Tot tonrliini inoitay and comfort of nianv other brave hearts."— f7i(((/-rt'nn. " The" narrative of Jlr. Kdwards's sufferini; and escapes is full of iiitirest ; it tells many a p iinful talc, but it also exhibits a man patiiiit under ad- versity, and lookiir.j to the (;na/ Jferifir. " A very touchini; narrative."- iif. Gazelle. " So accouutof it can do it justice."— G/otc. The Chaplains Narrative of the Siege of Delhi. By tlie Bcv. J. E. W. Botton, Chaplain to the Delhi Field Force. Post 8ro, uilh a Plan of the City ai " Mr. notion's work commends itself to us as a clear, .succinct, and most instructive narratire t f the sie'.;p of Delhi."- O'/hpit^'. "A simple and toucliini? statement, which bears the impress of truth in evei-y word. It has this udvantauc over the accounts which have yet been pul)lished, that it supplies some of those personal anecdotes and ininiite details which brins the CVPIits home to the uiidi istau.linn."— .-l^AcHrPKm. " "The Chaplain's Narrative' is remarkable lor Its pictures of men in amoral and reliitious nspiel. during the pniitress of a haras.sin^ sie-'e and when suddenly slricken down by the enemy or disease."— i'/ erialor. " A plain unvarnished record of what came under a Field Cliaplain's daily observation. Our aulliMr is a sincere, hard\vorkiii'.r. and Kciieroiis minded man, and his work « ill be most ncceplable to the friends and relations of the many (.hrislian heroes whoso fate it tells, and to whose later hours It alludes."— /yCU(/cc. " A book which has value as a careful narrative by an eye witness of one of the most stirriiiK episoi(eum. "Col. Bourchier describes the various opera- cus Willi a modest forget fulness of self, as easing; raid as rare as the clear ma* ly st.vlein hicli they are miTrnte(l."—Lit(rari/ Gazette. "Col. Bourchier relates his adventures ia a free id graceful manner, never giving an undue pro- minence to his o^Ti actions, and never withholding praise from the gallant deeds of others. '—Critic. " None who really desire to he more than very superficially acquainted with the rise and pro- gress of the rebellion may consider their studies complete until they h.ave read Col. Bourchier. The nicely engraved plans from the Colonel's own sketches confer additional value up^n his contri- bution to the literature of the Indian war." — Leader. Narrative of the Mission from the Governor- General of India to the Court of Ava in 1855. With Notices of the Country, Government, and People. By Captain Hen'rt Yule, Bengal Engineers. mperial 8i'o, with 24 Plates (12 coloured), .50 Woodcuts, and 4 Map?. Elegantly bound in cloth, with gilt edges, price 21. \2s. &d. "A stately volume in gorgeous golden covers. ] things, especially of the antiquities, are not only ach a book is in our times a larity. Large, curious in themselves, but lor the speculations lassive, and beautifvil in Itself, it is illustrated | they open up as to origin of the Burmese style, f a sprinkling of elegant woodcuts, and by a and the splendour of the empire, centuries ago." — !ries of admirable tinted lithographs Sj ectator. ^e have read it with curiosity aud gratification, | "CaptainTule, in the preparation of the splendid a fresh, full, and luminous report upon the volumebeforeus,liasavailedhimselfofthelaboiirs luditionof one of the most interesting divisions ' Asia beyond the Gauges."— Athe'ceum. " Captain Yule has brought to his narrative a noivledge of many things, which is the main elp to observation. He has a taste in archi- icture, art, aud the cognate sciences, as well as luch information on the history and religion of 16 Burmese. , . . His description of these ofthose who preceded him. To all wlio are desirous of possessing the best and fullest account tll.^t has ever boeh aiven to the public, of a great, and hitherto little known region of the globe, the interesting, conscientious, and well-written work of Captain Yule ■« ill have a deep interest, while to the political economist, geographer, and mer- chant It will be indispensable."— ixoj«i?ier. riie Autohiograplig of Lutfallali, a JSlohame- dan Gentleman, with an Account of his Visit to England. Edited by E. B. Eastwick, Esq. Third Edition, Small Post Svo. "Thank you, Munshi Lutfullah Khan ! We ave read your book with wonder and delight, our adventures are more curious than you aie ware. . . . But your book is chiefly striking )r Its genuineness. . . . Th? stoi-y mllaid, in :s di-gree, to some sort of understanding of the ndian insurrection. The adventures of Jlunshi .utfuUah, however strange, are of less interest ban his views and opinions. The first tells us hietty of an individual, the others present to us race. Professor Eastwick has done a grateful ervice in making known this valuable volume."— lt!ien(ei>.m. " Kead fifty volumes of travel, and a thousand mitations of the Oriental novel, and you will not :et the flavour of Eastern life and thought, or the est of its romance, so perfectly as in LTutfuUah's lOok. The book, to be appreciated, must be read rom the first to the last imse."— Leader. "This is a remarkable book. We have auto- liographies in abundance of Englishmen, Frencli- nen, and Uermans ; but of Asiatics and jlahome- ans, few or none. ... As the autobiography if a Mahometan muUa, it is in itself singularly nteresting. As the observations of an cye- vitiuss of our Indian possessions and our policy ind proceedings in the peninsula, it possesses a alueofits own, quite distinct from any European nemorials on the same subjects."— i7o7idai*rf. Price 5s. cloth. "Tills is the freshest and most original work that it has been our good fortune to meet with for long. It Dears every trace of being a most genuine account of the feelings and doings of the author. The whole tone of tne book, the turn of every thousht, the association of ideas, the allusions, are all fresh to the English reader; it opens up a new vein, and many v.ill be astonished to find how rich a vein it is. Lutfullah is by no means an ordinary specimen ofhis race. . . . Everything which contributes to eive us a right understanding of the character of our Indian subjects is of im- portance; in this li2ht we consider Liitfullah's autobiography no less valuable than entertaining. It gives, too, a few indications of the character we bear in the eyes of the ■nat\yes."—Eco7ioniist. "This veritable autobiography, reads like a mix- ture of the Life and Adventure of Gil Bias, vith those of the Three Calendars. . . - Every one who is interested in the present state of matters in India should read Liitfullah's own account of himself and his people, as vieW as their peculiar ai d eeneral feeling towards the Eeriugees."— Globe. "It is readable, instructive, and entertaining, and it is most creditable to its a.\itiiOT."— Saturday Review. "As an autobiography, the book is very curious. It bears the strongest resemblance to Gil Blasof anything we have ever Tecii,"— Spectator. 7 AVOKIvS rUELISHED 33 Y NEW AVOKKS ON INDIA AND Cuntinuvd. THE EAST— Life and Correspondence of Lord Metccdfe. By John William Kaye. New and Cheap Edition, in 2 Vols., Small Post 8t'0, wilh Purtrait, price 12s. cloth. resent ilny. This rovlsctl odition has scvcrnl '• Lonl Mctoniro posspssort oxlnionliimry onpo-- tunitics (>r nmkiiii; hiiiiseir nn(|ii:iiiiti'il with the native oliiimelrr, and of cstlmntinv? at Its corrcrt value the nature of tlie tenure liy whicli our Indian possessions were held: and at the present time we ciin value inorelilKlily the wrent pnietioal discornMient of one whose fortune it was to In; lauulied at by the snperlleial. because he believed In the Insecurity of our Indian empire. Some midil ions which have been nnide to the present voluimts, place in a stroma lii!ht the siiwacity and Soodsense of Lord Metcalfe. . . . Tin; present einand for a new edition is a sulllcient commen- datiou of a work w hich lias already occupied the liiKlicst rank amouK bionraidiles of thcirreal men of moilorn limes."— O'/^c/vcr. ".\ new and revised edition of tho life of one of the greatest and purest men that ever aided in Kovcruina India. The new edition not only places a very instructive book w ithin the reach of n greater number of persons, but contains new matterof the utmost value and Interest."— CViVic. "Oiio of liio mo.st valuable bio.i;raphics of tho pr - . . fresh passaitcsof hivjb intcrer-t, now first inserted from amcini; Lord Metcalfe's papers, In which his clear prescience of the dangers that threalenod our Iiulian empire is remirkalily shown. lioth in size and price the new edition Is a great iiujirovc- nient on thcoriirinal work."— A'coHomi^f. " .Mr. Kaye's life of Lord Melcalfo is a work too well known to need an extended notice; but Iheru Is somethiu'.; to be; said for this reiiublieation. It is an edition revised with care anil Judgnuuit. Mr. Kaye has judiciously condensed that portion of his ori'.;lnal work wliich relates to the earlier career of tho itrcat Indian statesman. Another iniprovemrut in the work will In' found in the auirmcutalioniif that i>art sclliir.' forth Lord .Mit- enlfe's view s of the insecurity of our I lulian empii-c. Tlu^ Insccuril.v which cast a nloom over Jletcalfc's predictions has been fearfully verillcU by the events of \Xt7."—Cllohi'. "Aniueli improved edition of one of the most intercstiuK ptdi'ical hioivraphios iu English literature."— Ati^ioMui Bepieic. The Life and Corrcspondoice of Sir John Malcolm, G.C.B. By John William Kaye. Two Volume.1, Svo. With Portrait. Price 36s. cloth. "The hioarnphy is replete with interest and informal ion. ilcscrviui? to be ]jerused by the stu- dent of Indian history, and sure to recomnicud itself to the general reader."— ^/•. "There are a great many matters of general interest in these volumes. Not a little of the f spirit of Arthur Wellesley runs tlirongh the book." —G/oh/'. "Thoroughly agreeable, instructive reading."— I Tl'eftmhialer Review. J "A very valuable contribution to our Indian literature. We recommend it strongly to all w ho desire to learn something of tlie history of ' Hritish India."- JWic Qiuirterlj/ Jlecieic. " -Mr. Kayo's biograpli.v Isat oncea contribution to the history of our policy and dominion in the liast. and a worthy memorial of one of those wise and large hearted men whoso energy and prin- ciple have made Eu.;{land gvi:nt."—Bhtif/t Quar- terly Rccicw, The Parsees: their Histori/, Hclif/ion, Planners, and Customs. By Dosabhoy Fi;amjee. Post 8i'o, jirice lO.v. cloth. "Onr Ri'tlior'8 nccount of the inner lif' of the ' ".\n acceptable addition to our literature. It Pnrscos will be rcml with interest."— /J<;i7y/AVir.«. gives Information which many will be glad to "A very curious and well written book, by a liave carefully gathered together, and formed into {roung I'arsee, on the manners and customs of i a shapely whole."— i'coHonim/. lis own race."— -Vu^ioau/ JteKicu: \ Siic/gestions Towards the Future Government of India. By IfAititiET Martineau. Second Edition. JJemi/ Sro, price 5.v. cloth. "As the work of an honest able wriler. these Suggestions are well worthy of attcniion, and no doubt they will generally be duly apprcchitcd."— Ohnrrver. "ticnnino honest utterances of a clear, sound understanding, neither obscured nor enfeebled by party prejudice or personal sclllshness, M'e cor- dially recommend all who are In search of the truth to peruse and reperuso these pages."— Dai Iff Xews. British Hule in Lidia. Bv IIatii?iet Map^tineau. Sixth Thousand. Price 2s. Gd. cloth. "A good compendium of a .great subject."— Ntitiutiiil Jlcvieic. " A succinct and comprehensive volume."— Leader. ',' A reliable class-book for examination in the history of British India. S]MITII, EIL,X)Ii;ii .^.N^D CO. NEW WORKS ON INDIA AND THE EAST— Continued. lie Defence of Luchiow : a Staff-Officer's Diary. By Capt. Tiios. F.Wilson, IStli Bengal N. L, Assistant- Adj utant-Generul. ^ixth Tliousand. With Plan of the Bcsidencij. Small post 8t'o., price 2s. 6d. ' Unadorned and simple, the story is, nevcrthe- s, an elotiuent one. Tins is a narrative not to laid down until the last line has been read."— ider. 'The StalT-OIIlcer's Diary is simple and hrief, 1 has a special interest, inasmuch' as it gives a ler account than we have elsewhere seen of )se operations which were the chief human lans of salvation to our friends in Lncknow. e Statf-OlDocr brings home to us, by his details. the nature of that underground contest, upon the result of which the fat e of the beleaguered garrison especially depended." — Exaxiiner. Wecoramcnl the Staff-Otlicer's Diary for its unostentatious relation of tacts, i-ecurded with a degree of distinctness that vouches for the au- thenticity of the writer's statement."— Press. " The Staff-Olflcer supidies exact military infor- mation with brevity and distinctuess."—G^o6e. ^iger- Shooting in India. By Lieutenant William lliCE, 25th Bombay N. I. Super liui/al 8vo. With Twelve Plates in Chroma-lithography. 2\s. cloth. ' These adventures, told in handsome large nt, with spirited ehromo-liihographs to ilUis- ite them, make tlie volume before us as pleasant uliug as any recird of sporting acliievemeuts I have ever taken in h.and." — AtUeiui;um, 'A rcmarka'ily pleasant book of adventures ring several seasons of 'large game' hunting Rajpootana, The twelve chroluo-lithograplis are very valtiable accessories to the narrative ; the.v have wonderful spirit and freshness." — GlQhe. " A good volume of ■^^ ild sport, abonudiug in adventure, and handsomely illustrated with coloured plates from spirited designs by the author." — lixuminer. lie Cominei^ce of India icith Europe, and its Political Effects. By B. A. Irving, Esq. Post 8ro, price 7s. Gd. cloth. book of the progress and vicissitudes of European tra»le with India.."— Ec-jnomint. 'Sir. Irving's work is that of a man thoroughly rsed in his subject. It is a historical hand- ^iews and Opinions of Brigadier- General Jacob, C.B. Edited by Captain Leayis Pelly. Demy 8vo, price 12s. cloth. 'The statesm.aulike views and broad opinions undated in this work wouldcommaiul at tent ion ider any circumstances, but coming from one of ch experience and authority the.v are d julily luahle, and merit the consideration of legis- ;ors and politicians."— S«?i. 'The facts in this book are worth looking at. the reader desires to take a peep into the inie- )r of the mind of a great man, let him make acquaintance with the 'Views and Opinions of General Sacoh.'"— Globe. " This is trulj' a gallant and soldierly book ; very Napierish in its self-con tidence, in its capital sense, and in its devotelnes-? to professional honour and the public good. The book shorild be studied liy all wlio are interested in the choice of a new governmeut for India."— iiinVi/ -Vfffs. '^ajjers of the late Lord JSIetcalfe. Selected and Edited by J. W. KaYE. Bmnj Sco, price \Gs. cloth. "\Te commend this volume to all persons who 1 speculative sagacity of a philosophical statesman. ie to study State papers, in whitli the practical No Indian library should be vi ithoul it."— P/-ess. nse of a man of the world is joined to the 1 Fhe Life of Mahomet and History of Islam to the Era of the Hajira. By William JMuir, Esq., Bengal Civil Service. Ta-o volumes 8vo, price 32s. cloth. "The most perfect life of Jlahomet in the nglish language, or perhaps in any other. . . . lie w ork is at once learned aud interesting, and it cannot fail to be eagerly perused b.y all persons having any pretensions to historical knowledge." —Obierver. AVOKICS PUBLISHED BY MR. RUSKIN'S WORKS ON ART. TJie Two Paths : hcing Lectures on Art, and its relation to Manufactures and Decoration. One Volume, Crown 8i'o, with Two Steel Engravings, price 7s. Gd. cloth. " Tl\p niennliin of tho title of this l)0()k is, that tlific iiri' two cipiirses open to the iirllst. one of wliicii will lend him to nil Miit In iiohic In nrt, niul Mill inriilonliilly cxiill his :noriil nnturc; wljile the otlier will doliTiorntc his work nnd help to throw otistncles in the wny of liis indlviilniil moriility. . . . They nil contnin ninny uscfnl distinction!!, ncii'e rrmnrks.undvnlnnhle «nit«i fervid cloonenen which hns so mntcrinlly coiitH- hnted to llie niilhor's repnt ntion."— 7'rc»«. " The ■ Two I'lillis ' conlniiis miieh eloquent de- seription. |dnee» in a clear liitht some forirutten oi n<'i(li>i'teil trulh.s, :ind.like nil Mv. Uuskin's books is eminently snuirctivc."— /./Vcrar.v Cazetle. ■■ This honk is well cnlculated to encournge the humblest wurkor, iiud stimulate bim to nrtistit lions, nnd nre everywhere lit up with that glow of i ell'orl."— ii'infe**. Notes on the Picture Exhibitions of 1859. FijVi Tliunsaud. Price One Shilling. Lectures on Arcliitecture and Painting. With Fourteen Cuts, drawn by the Author. Second Fdiliun, Crown 8ro. Price 8.S-. 6(/. cloth " Mr. Rnskin's lectures— eloquent, arnphic, nnd impassioned— exposing and ridiculini; some of the vices of our present system of buildins, nnd cxoitins liis hearers by strong motives of duty nnd plensure to attend to architecture — ore very successful."— i'cOHOwnj*/. " ^ye conceive it to be impossible that nny intel' liseut persons could listen to the h-ctnres, how- ever they mi^■htdill■er from the judirmentsnsserted and fiom the scnernl propositions laid down without an clcvntini; intluenco and au aroutiod euthusiasm. "—i>i)Cc/a/or. Modem Painters, Scant I/. Yol. IV. On 31ountain Imperial 8rn, with Tliirlii-fivc Illustrations engraved on Steel, and IIG Woodcuts, drawn hy the Author. Price 2/. lO*-, cloth. "The present volume of Mr. Uuskin's elabornte work trc^nts clnetly of mountain scener.v, and discusses at lenuih the principles involved in the plensure we derive from mountnius and their pictorial representation. The sinsrulnr beauty of liis style the hearl.v sympathy with all ft>rnis of natural loveliiu^ss. th.e iirofiision of his illustra- tions form irresistible attiactloMs."— i)(((V;/.Yii''.v. "t'onsidercd as an illustrated volmne, thisisllie most remarkable which Mr. Uiiskin hasyet issued. The plates and woodcuts are profuse, and include numerous drawim;s of mountain form by the author, w liich prove Jlr. liuskiu to be essciilially an artist. He is an unique man, both amons artists and writers."— »Vj)Pc/ii/or. " Th'> fourtli volume brini?s fresh stores oi wondrous eloquence, close aiid patient observa- tions, and subtle disquisition. . . . Such f writer is a nnlional possession. He adds to oui store of kuowled-'c and enjoyment."— /.("(u/^t. " Mr. Ruskin is tlie most eloquent and thought aw akeninu writer on initure in its relation witl art. and the most potent inlluencc by the pi-ii, o youUK artists, whom thin country can boast."- National Bevieir. Modern Painters, Vol. III. OJ Many Things. With Eighteen Illustrations drawn by the Author, and engraved on Steel. Price 3Ss. cloth. " Every one who cares about nature, or poetry, or the story of hiiinnn development— every one who has atinze rpf liteiature or philosunhy. w ill lind somi'thinu I hat is for him in Ibis voluinc." — M'lthiiiiifti )• llcricw. ".Mr. Uuskiu is in possession of a clear nnd penetratin,' minil; he is unileninbly iirncticnl in lii.s fundamental ideas-, full of the dei'iiest reverence for all that appears to him beautiful nnd holy. His style is, as usual, clear, hold, rac.v. Jlr. Iluskin is one of the llr.-:t writers of the day." — livoiinm ht. " J'he present volume, viewed as a literary achievement, is tho hiichest and most strikini I'videnci' oi the author's abilities that has ycl bei-ii luiblished." — Latdrt', "All, it is to be liiqied, will read the book foi themselves. They will nnd it well worthacarcfu perusal."- .sV/^H/-(/(:)/ licrieir. "This work is eminently suzsestive, full of new thoiiirbts, of brilliant descriptions of scenery nnd eli«|iient moral application of them."— .Yen Qii'ifli rill Her'ii w. ".Mr. Ruskin lins deservedly won for himself t place ill tlie (list rank of modi^rn writers iipol the theory of the line arts."— iV/ct7ic-ii'eiitlc. Modern Painters. Vols. I. and II. Imperial %vo. Vol. /., j//i Edition, I85. cloth. Price 10.V. G(/. cloth. Vol. II., 4 th Edition. " A itenevons nnd impassioned review of the works of llvini; painters. A hearty and earnest woik, full of ilei-ji thouKlit.aiul developini; ureal nnd sirikiir.; tiullis in •,\.r\."—Biitisli Qi(iirlir!i/ llCli'ir, " \ very extrnordinnry nnd dellijlitfiil hook, full of truth and ifoodness, of power and beauty."— North Bnthh Kccieur. 10 " Mr. Rnskin's work will send the painter moP than ever to the study of nature; will train met who have always been ileliKhted spectators o luiture. to be also attentive observers. Oiireiitic will leaiii lo admire, and niereadmirers will lean how tocrillcise: thus apublic will be educated."- lilackwooil'ii Magazine. SIMITH, EI.3DEE ^ISTID CO. WORKS OF MR. UJJ SKl^— continued. The Stones of Venice. Complete in Three Volumes, Imperial 8vo, with Fifty-three Plates and numerous Woodcuts, draicn hy the Author. Price 5l, 15s. 6d., cloth. EACH VOLUME MAY BE HAD SEPAEATELY, Vol. I. THE FOUNDATIONS, with 21 Plates, price 2/. 2s. 2nd Edition. Vol. II. THE SEA STORIES, with 20 Plates, price 2/. 2s, Vol. ni. THE FALL, with 12 Plates, price 1/. lis. 6d. " The ' Stones of Venice ' is the production of an earnest, reli!?ious. progressive, antl informed mind . The author of this essay on architecture has con- densed it into a poetic apprehension, the fruit of awe of God, and deliirht in nature ; a knowledge, love, and just estimate of art; a holding fast to fact and repudiation of hearsay; an historic breadth, and a fearless challenge of existing social problems, whose union we know not where to find paralleled."— Si^ecJt'^or. [ " This book is one which, perhaps, no other man could have written, anil one for which the world i ousht to be and will be thankful. It is in the highest degree eloquent, acute, stimulating to thought, and fertile in s-uggestion. It will, we are convinced, elevate taste and intellect, raise the tone of moral feeling, kindle benevolence towards men, and increase the love and fear of I GoA,"— Times. The Seven Lamps of Architecture. Second Edition, with Fourteen Plates drawn by the Author. Price \l. Is. cloth. Imperial Qvo. "By 'The Seven Lamps of Architecture.' we underst.ind Mr. Kuskin to mean the Seven lunda- mental and cardinal laws, tlie observance of and obedience tu which are indispensable to the archi- tect, wlio would deserve the name. The politician, the moralist, the divine, villi And in it ample store of instructive matter, as well as the artist. The author of tliis work belongs to a class of thinkers of whom we have too few amongst us."— Exiirrdner. " Mr. Ruskin's book bears so uninistakeably the marks of keen and accur.ate observation, of a true and subtle judgment and refined sense of beauty, joined with so much earnestness, so noble a sense of the purposes and business of art, and such a command of rich and glowing language, that it cannot but teU powerfully in producing a more religious view of the uses of architecture, and a deeper insight into its artistic principles."— Giiurdian. The Political Economy of Art. Price 2s. Qd. cloth. " A most able, eloquent, and well-timed work. We hail it with satisfaction, thinking it calculated to do much practical good, and we cordially recom- mend it to our readers."— Jf'iYnpS.'. "Mr. lluskin's chief purpose is to treat the artist's power, and ihe art itself, as items of the world's wealth, and to show how these may be best evolved, produced, accumulated, and dis- tributed."— .'jjfc^i(?or. " We close this book with a feeling that, though nothing supersedes a master, yet that no student of art should launch forth without liiis work as a compass." — AlhencBiim. " It will be found not only an invaluable acqui- sition to the student, but agreeable audinstructive ng. th Illustrations drawn by the Author. 6d., cloth. reading for any one who wishes to refine his per- ceptions of luatural scenery, and of its wovthiest artistic representations."— i'conoJMjf. " Original as this treatise is, it cannot fail to be at once instructive and suggestive."— Z,4f?i-(tri/ Gazette. , . , , , ^^ "The most useful and practical book on the subject which has ever come under our notiee,"— Frees. A Portrait of John Ruskin, Esq., Engraved hy F. HoLL, from a Drawing hy Geoege Richmo>-d. Prints, One Guinea ; India Proofs, Two Guineas. 11 AVOIUCS rXJllT.TSHED T.Y MISCELLANEOUS. ANNALS OF BRITISH LEGIS- LATION, A Classified Sommary or 1'aki.iamemauy rAricits. El. by Professor Lkoni: Levi. The yearly issue consists of 1,000 papcos, Bupcr royal 8vo, anl the Subscrip- tion is Two Guineas, payable in advance. The Twunty-niiith Part : is just issued, commencing the Third Year's Issue. Volumes I. to IV. may be had, price 4.'. 4.v. cloth. I " A series that will, if il be nhvnys mnnaijed as It now is by I'rof-'ssor Levi, List ns luii,;: as tlicro | remains a Le;;lslntiire in (;ieiil Itritiiin. Tlicse ; Annals are to uive the esaenee of work (lone and i information Karnerpshitivcyear, a sninniary description of every I Act missed, a difest of the vital facts contained in every Hlne ISook issued, and of all documents relating to the public business of the cmiitry. The series will live, while generations of men die. if it be mainlained in its old aitc as ably and as conscientiously as it is now m its youth."— Examiner. "The idea was admirable, nor does the execu- tlou fall short of the plan. To accomplish this effectively, and at the same time brielly, was not an easv task ; but Professor Levi has undertaken it with Ki-cat success. The work is essentially a guide. It will satisfy those persons who refer to It merely for i?eneral purjjoses, while it will direct the research of others whose investigations take a wider ran^c."— .l^V(»t. 12 PARISH'S (CAPT. A.) SEA OFFICER'S MANUAL. Second Edition, Small I'osl bvo, price 5a\ cloth. ".•\ very lucid and compendious manual. We Would rucoinineiid youths intent upon a seafaring life to study H."—Al/ieii(tiim. "A little book that ounht to be In Rrcat request amoui;youn.^ scameu."— i'xa»ii;;er, ANTIQUITIES OF KERTCH, AND KeSEAKCIIES IN TUE ClM- MEUIAX BOSI'HOUCS. By DfNCAN JIcPiiERSON, M.l)., of the Madras Army, F.li.G.S., M..\.L Imp. 4to, ■with Fourteen Plates and numerous Illustrations, iiicliuliiifj Eight Coloured Eac-Similes of Relics of Antique Art, price Two Guineas. "It is a volume which deserves the careful attention of every student of classical anliiiuity. No one can fail to be pleased with a work which has so much to attract the eye and to gratify tho love of beauty and elegance in design The book is got up with great care and taste, and forms one of the h.audsomest works that have recently issued from the i^nglisli pross." — Saturdai/ Reiictr. WESTGARTH'S VICTORIA, AND THE Australian Gold JIines IN 1S57. PostSvo, with Maps, price 10s. Gd. cloth. "llr. V.'estzarth has produced a reliable and readable bouk well stocked with inlormation, and lilcasautly interspersed with incidents of travel and views of colonial life. It is clear, sensible, and snawslive."— At lieiur urn. " A lively account of the most wonderful bit of colonial experience that the world's history has furnished."— Kxnwi I Hfr. " \Ve think Mr. Westuarth's book much tho best which has appeared on Australia since tho great crisis in its hi^tury."— am urdij/ Jterieir. "A rational, viitorous, illustrative report upon the progress of the greatest colony in Australia." —Leader. "Tiie volume contains n Iari-itisU Qttar- terli/, THE COURT OF HENRY VIII.: BEING A Selection of the Despatches of Sebastian Gius- iiNiAN, Venetian Amdassador, 1515-1519. Translated by Raw- don Bro-^-n. Two vols., crown 8yo, price 21s. cloth. " It is seldom that a page of genuine old histoiT is reproduced for us with as much evidence of painstaking and real love of the suLject as m the selection oT despatches made and edited by Mr. Eawdon Brown."— 27i«es. "Very interesiing and suggestive volumes, — Britinh Quarterly Beiietc. •• Most ablj' edited."— fra«e/-'s Magazine. PAYN'S STORIES AND SKETCHES. Post Svo, price 2.s\ Gd. cloth. "A volume of pleasant readins. Some of the papers have true attic salt iu Wiem."— Literary Gnzette. " Mr. Pavn is gay, spirited, observant, and shows no little knowledge of men and books."— ieaifer. "A most amusing volume, full of humorous adventure and pleasant satire."— Press. STONEY'S RESIDENCE IN TAS- MANIA. Demy Bvo, with Plates, Cuts, and a Map, price 14s. cloth. " A plain and clear accoTint of the colonies in Van Diemen's i,a.nd."-~A'?ieiiilnir, nnd oonvoyini? an Impression of faithfuMieKH. "—Ai'^ioJie? Revinc. "Tlir aullior is linnuirous without boinR wll- ^^lly Mnart, Karcasiir withont liitteinoss, and shrewd witiuiut parading; liis kuowlcdgc and power uf observatiou."— A'xprcss. "A very lively, entertaiuiug compnulon."— Critic. " Quietly, but Imraorously, written." — Atfienaitm. THOMSON'S MILITARY FORCES AND INSTITUTIONS OF GREAT BRITAIN. 8vo, price 5s. cloth. '•A « ( 11 arranccd and carefully digested com- pilation, giving a clear insinlit into t lie economy of llie afniy, and the woiKmg of our military system."— i'i)ef(af or. LEVI'S MANUAL OF THE MER- CANTILE LAW OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND. Svo, price 12.S. cloth. " H is sound, clear, and practical. . . . Its conlents are strictly those of ninautml— a Iiaiid- hook for law chiimtierN, otllces, and countinit- liouscs; rcfiMii-itc in most of such places, and huperlliions in none."— yi^A<'?/r/'»/H. '■ Its .>.ini|li( ily mill fuilhrnlncss make it an ex- tremely i-rivuriihl"' intv\i."—Iixann>iei'. 'An adniiiable work of the kind."— Aow Timrs. 'It presents a fair sninnmry of the l,iw on llie eat subject of whieli it treats."— icncJic/t/ucoic. great THOMSON'S LAWS OF WAR AFFECTING COMMERCE AND SHIPPING. Second edit., prcatly enlarged. 8vo, price 4.v. CJ. boards. "5Ir. Thomson treats of the immediate clI'iTts of war ; 111 enemies and Iw stile pniirrty ; of prizes and privateers; of license, rnnsoiii, ii-ciiiiiMn', and s«l\a.Ke of iientiality, eoiitralmnil of war, blockade, riKht of fciircli, armed nentralilies, &c., l!iC."~li(Oiioiiiift. UNDINE, rroni the German of "De la ilottc Touque." Trice Is. Crf. MORICE'S HAND-BOOK OF BRITISH MARITIME LAW. Svo, price O.V., clulli. 14 HOPKINS'S HANDBOOK OF AVERAGE, bvo, price 12s. 6(/.d. WARING'S MANUAL OF THERA- PEUTICS. Fcap. 8vo, price 12s.Gt/. clolh. VOGEL ON DISORDERS OF THE BLOOD. Translated by Ciunuku C'ooMAL ]Ji:v. Svo, price 7s. 6(/. clolh. DUNCAN'S CAMPAIGN WITH THE TURKS IN ASIA. Tost Svo, price 2s. Ct/., cloth. SIR JOHN HERSCHEL'S ASTRO- NOMICAL OBSERVATIONS JIAUK AT HIE C'aI'I: UF G*-)OD Hope. 4to, with plates, price 4/. 4s. cloth. DARWIN'S GEOLOGICAL OBSER- VATIONS ON Coral Keefs, Vulcanic Islands, akd on Socth A.MEuiLA. With Maps, riates, and "Woodcut-s, 10s. G(/. cloth. SMITH'S ZOOLOGY OF SOUTH OF AFRICA. Koyal 4to, cloth, with Coloured Plates. MAMXIALEV £3 AVKS 7 KKl'TlLLA. 5 PISCES 2 INVEliTEBEATili 1 THE BOTANY OF THE HIMA- LAYA. Two vols., royal 4to, cloth, with Coloured Dates, reduced to 5/. 5s. LEVI'S COMMERCIAL LAW OF THE WORLD. Two vols., royal 4to, \iv\vc (■>/. cloth. GOETHE'S CONVERSATIONS WITH ECKERMANN. Iranslatcd by John Oxemoku. Two vols., post Svo, M. cloth. M'CANN'S ARGENTINE PRO- VINCES, .^c. Tvv„ vols., post 8vo, with Illustrations, i)rice 24s. cloth. S^VIITH, ELDER J^ISTID CO. UISCELLA^EOJJS— continued. ROSS'S ADVENTURES ON THE COLUMBIA RIVER. Post Svo, 2s. 6roi;v lnme ilcicribcs, from olit nmimseripi.s niid ol)srure liooks. tlie lifo of Eii«lish nierehnnts in iiii Imliaii Fiirtory. It contains fresli and amusin); koskIp, all lioarin'.; iin events luul oliarncters of liislorical import anre."—.'l^/i<'HfrH;n. ''A book of iicrinanonl value."— OM«r(/j(jn. LIFE IN ANCIENT INDIA. By Mrs. Sfi;ii:. AVith Sixty lllustfatioiis by O. RniAi:i-. 8vo, price l^.v., elegantly bound in cloth, gilt edges. " \Vc slioMlil in vaiu seek Tor any other trcaliso which, in so short a siiace, (tives so wcll-coiinccted an aceount ef the early period of Indian history." —Diiiti/ Afic*. "Whoever desires to have the best, the com- pletest, aiid the most popular view of what Oriental scholars have made known to \ir. respect- ing .\ncient India n:ust peruse the woik of Mrs. Sprir; in which he wil' lind the story told in clLur, correct, and nuallVcti-d Eniilish. The book 15 admirably lmI n\\,"—IUiUuiiiei\ THE CAUVERY, KISTNAH, AND GODAVERY : being a Kf:port ON TMi; Wol!K.S CONSTRUCTICI) ON TIIO.Si; KlVKUS, FOU THE IRRIGATION oi" I'kovinces in Tin: Pri;.nur liumiin Uiounht, eiinl)le this Uile to stauil hulilly out from thi' nm-». timl to iissiuiic its own plMCC in tlio bright liuld of rouiiintio literature."— 7 imfs. " ' June V.\rc ' is n bmik of decUloil power. The thouKhlH lire true, .souiiil, nnil oriim life. It is an episode iu this work-a- day W(irld, most interestini;, and touehed at once with a dariui; anil delicate hand. It is a book for the eujovnient of a feolinj? heart and vigorous underst;indiu!?."— .B/(ic7,(i-oo(/'ji Jlupaziiie. " For many years there h.as hcen no work of such power, piquaney, and oriiriuality. Us very faults are on the side of viitnur, and its beauties are all oriiriMal. It is a book of singular fascina- tion."— jB(?iHi/«)V/A ^^ertf if. " Almost all that we require in a novelist the WTiter has; perception or character nnd power of delineating it; picturesqucuess, p:issioii, and knowledue of lile. lioality — deep signillcaiit reality — is the characteristic of this book."— Frater'i Magazine. SHIRLEY. By Cureer Bkll. Price 2a. G(/. cloth. IS intense. There are scenes wlucii, lor strcnmii and delicacy of emotion, are not transcended iu the rau«e or English llclion."— i'jru/ninfc. " The same plereinR and lovintf rye, and tlio same hold and poetic inuiRery, are exliitdtcd hero an in ■ Jane Kyre.' Similar power is umnifestcd in the delineation of oharaclcr. With a few brief viKorouN touches, the picture starts into distinct- uess."- A'(/ih6((/v/' Jievicw. " ' Shirley ' is very clever. It could not ho other- wise. The faculty of Kraphic dcscripliou, stroni; imazination, ferviil and masculine diction, ana- lytic skill, all are visible. . . . Gems of rare tlioiiKht and Kloriuus passlou sliluo hero and there."— jTiinM. " ' .'ihlrley ' Is a hook dcmnndini? close perusal and careful consideration."— ^I/Aejurion. " ' Plilrley ' is a novel of remarkalde power and brilliancy; it is ciileulated to rous'! alhnlion, excite the iinaitinal ion, and keep the facultMs In eager and Impatient suspense."— J/orHiH(/ Pott, " ' Shirley ' is the anatomy of the female heart. It Is a book w Inch Indicates e.X(|uisite feeling, and very great pnwer of mind in Ihe writer. The women are all divine."— ii/iV// A'cicr. 18 VILLETTE. By Clkuer Bell. Trice 2a-. Gr/. cloth. '■'Villctte' Is n most remarkable work— a pro- duction altogether fiii o<''ieri». Fulness and viK.iur of tbomjht mark almost every sentonoe, itnil there is a sort of easy power pi^rvading the whole naiTutivc such as we have nuely met."— Kilinl'iiruli Ilrrifu-. "This iH.vel limply sustains the fame of the author of •June Eyre ' and ' Shirley ' as an ori^iiml and powerful writer. 'Vilhtle' is a most iilmi- nihly writlen novel, evnywlicre original, every- where shrewd."— 7.-j-n nil »er. "There is throiu-hout a charm of freshness which is intlciitelv ih-liiihtrul: freshness in obscr- Viition, freshness in feeling, fi-cshuess in expres- sion."— Li^'rorj/ Cnzefle. " Tlie tiile is i nc of the affections, and remark- able as a iiicturc of manners. A btirninit heart glows throughout it. and one tirilliantly distinct ehnracler Keeps it alive."— /I^Ac"i:i.i-. With Memoir by Currer Bell. I'ricc 2.s-. Gd. cloth. "There arc passages in this hook of ' Wnthering Heights' of which any novelist, nasi or present, miiilit be lu-oiul. It 1ms been said of Shakespeare that he diew cases which the physician might htudv; Ellis Hell has done no\v>s:'—l'(illiitliiim. "There Is, at all cv. nts, keeping iu the hook: the groujis of llgiires and the scenery are in har- mony with each other. There Is a touch of Siil- vator Rosa iu iiW."— At/an. •• ' Wutherlnit lleiu-lits' bears tbc stamp of a profoundly individual, strong, and passionate mind. 'Ihe memoir is one I'f the most touching chapters iu literary biography."- -iS'oHcoH/yCHiUii. A LOST LOVE. ByAsiiFouD Om-en. I'riee i.-. cloth. •"A Lovt I.ovc' is a story full of grace and genius. No outline of the siory would give any idea of its beauty."— yl^//f»rt-KHi. "A tale at once mo\iug nnd winning, natural nnd romantic, and certain to raifo all the liner sympathies of the reader's nature."— i'l-om. "A real picture of woman's life."— ir»*fmiH»fer Reviei''. "A very beautiful and touching stoiT. It is true to nature, and appeals to all who have not forgotten love and youth."— G/ofcs. " ,V novel of great giiiius ; beautiful and true as life itself."— Afic Quorlerlii lieiietr. "A stnking and original story: a work of genius and sensibility."— .s(i/i()-rf«;/ llrvieir. '"I'his Vol Mine displays unquestionable gcnitlS, and that of a high older."— Ladj/'i Ntuspaper. SISJIITH, EL.DEE ^VISTID CO. CHEAP SERIES OF POPULAR FICTIONS— Continued. D E E R B R O O K. By Harriet Maetineau. Price 2s. Q>d. cloth. " This popular fiction presents a true and ani- mated picture of country life araon* tiie upper mirtrtle classes of English resirtents, and is re- markable for its interest, arising n-oni the intluence of various characters upon each other, and the effect of ordinary circumstances upon them. The descriptions of rural scenery, and the daily pursuits in village hours, are among the most charming ol the author's writings ; but the way in which' exciting incidents gradually arise out of the most ordinary phases of life, and the skill with whicli natural and every-day characters are brought out in dramatic situations, attest the power of the author's genius."— "A pure and beautiful moral feeling pervades the wurk. and recommends it to families where novels are not generally admitted."— TALES OF THE COLONIES. By Charles Ko-wcroft. Price 25. 6;/. cloth. ■"Tales of the Colonies ' is an able and interest- ing book. The author has the tirst great requisite in fiction— a knowledge of the life he undertakes to describe; and his matter is solid and real. — Spectator. "It combines the fidelity of truth with the spirit of a romance, and has altogether much of De Foe in its character and composition. — Literary Gazette. "Since the time of Robinson Crusoe, literature has produced nothing like these ■ Tides of the Colonies.' "—3Ietropo!itan Muguzine. " This is a singular work. No mere romance, no mere fiction, however skilfully managed or powerfully executed, can surpass it. The work to which it bears the nearest similitude is Bobinsou Crusoe, and it is scarcely, if at .all, inferior to that extraordinary history."— Jo«n Bull. ROMANTIC TALES (including "Avillion"). By the Author of "John Halifax, Gentleman." A new edition. Price 2s. C(/. cloth. " In a nice knowledge of the refinements of the female heart, and in a happy power of depicting emotion, the authoress is excelled by very few story tellers of the day."— Globe. " As pleasant and fanciful a miscellany as has been aiven to the public in these latter days. '— At/ieruEum. "'Avillion' is a beautiful and fanciful story, and the rest make very agreeable reaeling. There is not one cf them unquickened by true feeling, exquisite taste, and a pure and vivid imagina- tion."— ii'xajjii'ne)'. PAUL FERROLL. Fourth edition, price 2.*. cloth. " We have seldom read so wonderful a romance. We can find no fault in it as a work of art. It leaves us in admiration, almost in awe, of the powers of its auMioi-."— -Veso Quarterly. " The art displayed in presenting Paul FerroU throughout the stoi-y is beyond all praise."— Eximi/ier. "The incidents of the book are extremely well managed."— ^?Ac)!rEit/n. " ' Paul FerruU ' is a book that will be very much read, talked about, and marvelled at."— Globe. "The fruit of much thoughtful investigation is represented to us in the character of Paul Pcrroll We do not need to he told how he felt and whv he acted thus and thus ; it will be obvious to most minds from the very opening pages. But the power of the story is not weak- ened by this early knowledge : rather is it heightened, since the artistic force of contrast is grand and fearful in the two figures who cling so closely together in their fond human love."— Uoriiina Chronicle. . . " ' Paul FerroU ' is a most strikingly original production. It msy be regarded as a pheuomeuon in literature— a book that must be read, and cannot be forgotten."— .1/n-wi!(£( Pout. „ ^ ^, "To all the elements of powerful effect, the story adds the merit of being ably and forcibly written."— JoAn BitU. " ' Paul I'erroll ' is an original conception wrought out with marvellous skill and mastery of language. It is by far the most extraordinary work of modern timts."— Illustrated News of the World '" Paul FerroU' is one of the novels of this generation that wiU be read by the ne:Lt."— Globe. SCHOOL FOR FATHERS. By Talbot GwY^-XE. Price 2s. cl. " 'The School for Fathers ' is one of the cleverest, most brilliant, genial, and instructive stories that we have read since the publication of ' Jane ^yve.'"— Eclectic Revieu: " The pleasantest tale we have read for many a day It is a storv of the 7\itler and Spectator davs, and is verv fitly associated with that time ot "good E.iglish literature by its manly feeling, direct unaffected manner of writing, and nicely- managed, well-turned narrative. The desoriiJtious are excellent; some of the country painting is as fresh as a landscape by Alfred Constable, or an idvl bv Tennyson."— iJxa;»/He/-. " i "capital picture of town and country a centarv ago; and is emphatically the freshest, raciest", aiid most artistic piece of fiction that has lately come in our way "-Xoncoyifortnist. . "'The School for Fathers' is at once highly amusing and deeply interesting- full of that gennine^huraour which is half pathos— and written with a freshness of feehng and raciness of style wliich entitle it to be called a tale of the ' \icar of Wakefield' achooV—Britanma. "A hale hearty, unaffected, honest, downright En"lish tale. A vigorous painting of English, men and manners, by an artist who is thoroughly national in his genius, taste, education, and. prejudices."- Gtofi.?. "A capit.al story, illustrating our towri and country life a hundred years ago."— £rit%sA Quarterly. PREPARING FOR PUBLICATION. (By the Author of "Jolia Halifax, Gen- DOIVlESTiC STORIES. \ tleman." &c. KATHIE BRANDE. By Holme Lee. AFTER DARK. By Wilkie Collins. AVOKlvS l^UULISIIED BY NEW NOVELS. (to Iti: llAK AT ALL LIHUAUIES.) CONFIDENCES. V.y the Autlior of THE CRUELEST WRONG OF ALL. "Kila.' " TRUST FOR TRUST. By A. J. BAunowcLU I r., Auilior of «' Anibcrliil]." :} vols. '•The still-} isHila.ir.ilily Jovolopul. ThPiiili;ri>st never M:ii;s, tlw' inr;il<"ifs ;inr imtiinil wllliiiiit hciiiK ooiui.uinpiano, iiii I the iiu'iiniul wmmiii talk niul iioHil-e liuni 111 tii-in^s. "—/'/■(■.■•.■<. " It Is seldom we lliiil. even in llim prent use or novel wiitin.;, so imicli tlial is jileis'iiil niid so little to ohieet to us in ' Trnsl for Trnst." It con- tains inuch orisiuiil lliou^-Ul iiud fresh humour. OLD AND YOUNG. 1 vol. " Tlie uriiir's p'lw rs of dcscripiinn nve cer- taiiilv almve the average. Tilt wnliiii tlironnli- out is that of awell-eiliiiated and polished seliolar. . . . The tune is manly and hcivlthful."—l/«/'HiH£/ llrrtiUI. ELLEN RAYMOND; or, Up.s and J)i)\VN.s. r.v Mrs. ViDAi., Autlior of "Talcs' fur llic Bush," &c. 3 vols. " The plot is wronaht out " i*h wonilerfnl iuse- nuilv. and the dillerent characters are su>tained in perfect keeping; to the ciiii."—llli(strutcd iVeics ofhic Uoi-ld. '• The ehnriictcrs arc stood, the style pure, cor- reet, tirisk, and easy."— /'»•«»». LOST AND WON. By Gkorgiana M. Ckaik, Author of "Iviverston." 1 vol. 2iid Edition. " NotliinR superior to this mvel has appeared durinK the pres-iit se f.ini."— Leader. " Miss Oraik's new story is n sool one and in point or aiiility above the average of ladies' novels." ^Dailu Xeics. AN OLD DEBT. By Florence Dawsdn. '1 \ ols. "A powcrfiillv written novel; one of the hest which has recently i.r.ne-iled from a female hand. . . . The dialogue is vigorous and spirited."— J/«fHi«r/ I'obt. SYLVAN HOLT'S DAUGHTER. r.v lloi.iMi; Lki:, Authorof " Kathie Brando," &c. 2nd edition. 3 vols. "The well-estahlished reputation of Holme Lee, as a novel writer, will receive an addilioiml Jlory from the puldicaticm of '.Sylvan Holt's )aimhtcr.' It is a charmlii!? tale of country life and character."— f.Vo'ie. "There is much that is attractive in "Sylvnii Holt's HanKlilor,' much that is uracefiil and re- lined, mucli that is fresh, healthy, and imlural." —Prcat. MY LADY : a Tale of IIoderx Like. 2 vols. "'.'ilv I.adv ' is a fine specimen of an English matriMi, exirihlliii:; that union of strength and Kcntleiie^s of common sense and romance, of ciicrny and (trace, which nearly approaches our Ideal of wnmauliood. "—/'/''-■.*•■.■*. ■' ■ .My l.ady ' evinces charming reeling and deli- cacy of touch. II is a novel thai « ill be read with Interest."— .(l'WARD.s. 2 vols. " A tale of English domestic life. The writing Is verv good, irraeerul, and iinanreleil ; it pleases « ith()Ut startltUL'. In the dialogue, people di not harangue, but tiilk. and talk iialMrally."— C'rffic. " "rbe narrative and scenes exhibit feminine spirit and (luiet Irulaof di'linealioii."— Sjirr^//or. "A novel made up of love, niire ami simiile, ii, the form of an aulobiograpliy. — /.cfi(?fr. MAUD SKILLiCORNE'S PENANCE. I'lV Mai!V C. J a< k>o\. Author of "The ytory of My Wardship." 2 vols. "The style is n.-xtural. and displ.iys considerable dramatic power."— C'ci7ic. "It is a well concocted tale and will ho very palatable to novel readers."— J/ofHi;i//J'w«<. S]MITII, ELDER J>iJNT> CO. NEW NOVELS— contimml THE PROFESSOR. By Cumrkii Bell. 2 vols. "■ffe think the aiithor's friends have shoTin sound judgment in publishins the ' I'rnfessoi-.' now that she is gone. . . . It shows the lirst germs of conception, which afterwards expanded and ripened into tlie great creations of her imagi- nation. At the same time her advisers were eiinaliy rislit wlien tlicy counselled her not to jniblish it in her lifetime. . . . But it abounds in merits."— Suiurclay Review. •• The idea is original, and we cver.v here and there detect germs of that power which took the world by storm in 'Jane E.vre.' The rejection of the 'Professor' was, in our opinion, no less ad- vantageous to the youns authoress than creditable to the discernment of the booksellers."— P/v«s. " Any thing which throws light upon the growth and composition of such a mind cannot be other- wise than interesting. In tlie ' Professor ' we may discover the germs of many trains of thinking, which afterwards came to be enlarged and illustrated in subsequent and more perfect works."— C/'iViO. "There is much new insight in it, m:-,ch ex- tremely characteristic genius, and one character, moreover, of fresher, lighter, and more airy gra.ce."—Eco}ionilst. " We have read it with the deepest Interest ; and C'lnfidenlly predict that tliis legacy of Char- lotte Bronte's genius will renew and confirm the general admiration of her extraordinary powers.' —Jiclectic, Georgiaxa M. RIVERSTON. By Craik. 3 vols. " It is highly nior.al in its tone and character, as well as deeidy interesting, and written in an excellent style."— Jlorjihii/ Herahl. "A decidedl.v good novel. The book is a ver.v clever one, containing much go.d writing, well discriminated sketches of character, and a story told so as to bind the reader pretty closely to the text."— £xi! miner. "3Iiss Craik is a very lively writer: she has wit, and she has sense, and she has made in the beautiful young governess, with her strong will, saucy independence, and promptness of repartee, an interesting picture."— Pr?ss. " 3Iiss Craik writes well ; she can paint cha- racter, passions, manners, with considerable effect ; her dialogue flows easily and expressively." — Daily News, " A production of no little mark, and tiualifled to interest old as well as young."— ifai/ec. "Decidedly a clever booji ; giving hopes of a capacity in the writer for better things in the tatiire."—Econcmi3t. "The author shows great command of language, a force and clearness of expression not otten met with. . . . We offer a welcon:e to jliss Craik, and we shall look with interest for her next ^\■or'k.."—Athenl^um. FARINA. By George Meredith. 1 vol. "A masque of ravishers in steel, of robber knights; of wat'r-woraen, more ravishing than lovel.v. It has also .a brave aiul tender deliverer, and a heroine proper for a romance of Cologne. Those who love a real, lively, aiulacious iiiece oi' extravagance, by «ay of a change, will enjoy ' Farina.' "—Athenceum. "An original and eutert.aining book."— ir'. " It is Ions, very loni?, since wc have read a narrntive of more power than this."— Srituili Qnurterlu Revimc. "This is a good and a noble book."— iVeif Quarterli/. FRIENDS OF B O H E M lA: oil, I'llAsKS OF LOXIJON LlFK. liy E. M. WiiiTTY, Author of Governing Classes." 2 vols. The "Mr. M'l.ittv is a genuine satirist, employing satiiT for a aenuiue piirpose. You laiieh witli him very niuili: but tiie lauuhtcr is fruity and ripe in tho'imht. His stylo is serious, and his cast of mind severe. 'I'he ninhor has a merriinent akin ta that of Jaques and Hint of Timon."— ^/AiHa'Kw. '"Men and women as they are, and life ns it is' mii?lil be the nicitl.. of .Mr. Wliiltys 'Friends of Bohemia.' Jlr. Whilty is a satiri-t. and s(-ldoin fi>rfi<'ts it. His dialoi;ues are rapid and drninatie ns thi'sei.f a French novel, and perfectly iiaturnl." — H'ertinhii'ter Uciicic. "'Friends of Bohemia' has the rare merit of paintiim clever pictures and of being spnrl>!ing and dramatic from beginning to vud.'—JJailj/ A'tirit. "Tlie b\tillior of Seek," &c. , By "WiLKiE Collins, " J5asil," " llule and 2 vols. "Mr. Wilkio Collins tels a story well and for- cibly—his st\le is eloriuent and plctuiestiue, and he has a keen insight into character."— i/ni'j/ Netct. " No man living belter tolls a story."— X*ad<;r. " Mr. Wilkie Collins takes high rank among the few who can iiiviut a thrilling story, and tell it with brief siinplieity."— G/ott. "These stories possess all the author's well- known beauty of stylo and dramatic power."— New Quarter!!/ Jiccieir, NOVELS FORTHCOMING. COUSIN STELLA; on, Conflict. I A NOVEL. By Miss E. W. Atkin- J{y the Authur of " Violet Bank." g^j^.^ Author of " Memoirs of t!ic 3 vols. ' „ ^ ,, • V o J . ».r-... ..•».. r-i r. .1 4 41 «( 1 Queens of Prussia. 2 vols. A NEW NOVEL. By the Author ol I ^ " Tile Heir of Vallis." 3 vols. i And other wvrfm of Fiction. 22 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. DEC 2 aoTD )rm L9-42m-8,'49(B5578)444 THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA ¥ r\C% A •VT^-ini WMt PR 4001 A28c UC SOUTHFRN RFGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 369 392 6