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 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 VALERIUS, AND ADAM BLAIR. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD, EDINBURGH; 
 
 AND T. CADELL, LONDON. 
 
 M.DCCC.XXIIL
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 PRINTED BY JAMES BALLANTYNE AND CO.
 
 "T' 
 
 ?Ci 
 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 ^ 
 
 TO 
 HENRY MACKENZIE, ESQUIRE, 
 
 THESE VOLUMES 
 ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED. 

 
 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. I. 
 
 Keginald D ALTON had always a singular plea- 
 sure in recalling those images of perfect repose 
 with which he was surrounded, at the remotest 
 period to which his remembrance could go back — 
 the little sequestered parsonage-house, embosom- 
 ed among elms and sycamores, — the old-fashion- 
 ed garden, with its broad tiu-f walks, — the long 
 happy days spent in bright sunshine by the side of 
 the shining lake, — the unwearied kindnesses of 
 the mildest and most affectionate of parents. 
 
 There are few of us whose oldest impressions 
 are not, as his were, serene and delightful ; and I, 
 for one, cannot, I must confess, divest myself of 
 
 VOL. I. A
 
 2 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 a sort of half pleasing, half melancholy anticipa- 
 tion, that should age ever draw a defacing hand 
 over the strongest lines imprinted by the stirring 
 events of youth and manhood, the harmless trea- 
 sures of infant memory — the " trivial fond re- 
 cords"" — may be spared amidst the havoc. 
 
 Indeed, certain physiologists affirm, that the 
 countenance of a man, after he is dead, is fre- 
 quently found to have recovered much of the ori- 
 ginal expression it had borne, even although that 
 had luidergone signal changes, nay, perhaps al- 
 most entirely disappeared from view, dviring a 
 great part of the newly-terminated life. This, if 
 it really be as they say, — and, if I mistake not, 
 both Lord Bacon and Sir Thomas Browne are 
 among the number, — may, in all probability, be 
 the result of strong natural struggles in the part- 
 ing spirit to retrace, recover, or assert, what may 
 appear, in such an hour as that, the most valu- 
 able, because the most innocently acquired, of all 
 its fading fast-vanishing possessions. And I own, 
 there is, to my imagination, something very agree- 
 able in the notion of Mind and Body thus, on 
 the brink of long separation, making, as it were,
 
 HOOK I. CHAP. I. O 
 
 mutual and sympathetic efforts to be once more 
 as like as possible to what they had been in the 
 first and best days of their acquaintance. 
 
 Young Reginald was brought up with as much 
 tender care as if he had not been motherless. 
 While a child, he occupied the pillow of his dead 
 parent by his father's side ; and to him might 
 he well have addressed himself in the beautiful 
 words of Andromache to her lord, — 
 
 -1 see 
 
 My father, mother, brother, all in thee." 
 
 As he grew vip, he was with him almost all the 
 hours of the day, either as a pupil, or as a play- 
 thing. But, indeed, tlie last of these words would 
 give a false idea of the nature of their intercourse ; 
 for the truth is, that the solitary man neither had, 
 nor wished to have, any better companion than his 
 only child. His intellect stooped, but it was not 
 ashamed — perhaps, it was scarcely conscious — of 
 stooping. When they read together, for the first 
 time, Robinson Crusoe, the Seven Wise Masters, 
 the Pilgrim'^s Progress, or any such manual, the 
 delighted interest the father took in every inci- 
 dent was such, that the boy scarcely suspected him
 
 4 IlEGINALD DALTOM. 
 
 of having previously perused the book any more 
 than himself. 
 
 Even during the few years that have elapsed 
 since then, what an alteration has taken place in 
 the choice of books for children ! — Crusoe, in- 
 deed, keeps his place, and will probably do so as 
 long as any thing of the adventurous remains in 
 the composition of the national character among 
 a people, of whom Baron Jomini is so far right 
 when he says, " tout homme est marin ne ;"" but, 
 with this exception, I think every thing has been 
 altered, and almost all for the worse. The fine 
 oriental legend of the Seven Sages is altogether 
 forgotten, except among studious people and bib- 
 liomaniacs ; and even the masterpiece of John 
 Bunyan has been, in a great measure, supplanted 
 by flimsy and silly tracts. The young mind is 
 starved upon such fare as the writers of these 
 things can supply. Instead of the old genuine 
 banquet of strong imagery, and picturesque inci- 
 dent, by which the judgment was compelled to 
 feed itself through the medium of excited and en- 
 riched imagination, a tame milk-and-water diet is 
 now administered, which takes no firm or fervid
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. I. 5 
 
 grasp of the imagination at all, and which T should 
 humhly conceive to be about as barren of true 
 wisdom, as it certainly is of true wit. Even the 
 vigorous madness of the old romances of chivalry, 
 which used to be read aloud in the winter even- 
 ings, for the common benefit of young and old in 
 a family, was better stuff than what is now in fa- 
 shion ; for such reading, with all its defects, had 
 a strong tendency to nourish many of the noblest 
 parts of the intellect. 
 
 These opening years of life, then, flew over 
 his head in the most unambitious peacefulness. 
 He partook but little in the boisterous amuse- 
 ments common to children, placed among charac- 
 ters, and in situations, of a more busy descrip- 
 tion ; and it may be fairly supposed, that his early 
 character partook largely both of the excellencies 
 and of the defects which generally distinguish 
 those educated entirely in the seclusion of the pa- 
 ternal fire-side. His modesty was blended inex- 
 tricably with bashfulness ; his uprightness with ir- 
 resolution; his virtue depended on feeling much 
 more than on any thing like a basis of principle ; 
 and indeed, perhaps, almost all the good that was
 
 6 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 in him, consisted in nothing but the unconscious 
 depth of his fihal jiffection. 
 
 As to education^ (in the usual sense of the 
 word,) I beheve that was conducted, on the whole, 
 just to as much advantage, as it could have been 
 had his father sent him, at the usual time of Hfe, 
 to Westminster or Eton. At first, the desire of 
 pleasing his only instructor, was with him a mo- 
 tive quite as powerful as what is commonly called 
 emulation could have furnished ; and, after a lit- 
 tle while, he scarcely needed any motive in addi- 
 tion to the pleasure he himself derived from the 
 acquisition of knowledge. Their sequestered si- 
 tuation, and unbroken course of life, left him 
 scanty means of diversion beyond what he could 
 create for himself; and, fond as he was of rural 
 sports, he soon discovered, that, of all such means, 
 reading was at once the most effectual, and the 
 most inexhaustible. His fathers library was well 
 selected, and contained not only an excellent col- 
 lection of theology and classics, but a consider- 
 able store of the best French and English authors. 
 He was a Martinet about his books, and was not 
 fond of their being carried out of the room in which
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. I. 7 
 
 they were arranged ; so that the cheerful busy 
 mornings of Reginald's boyhood were spent al- 
 most entirely in the same apartment with , his 
 father, — and a pleasant apartment it was. The 
 view from its windows commanded a rich land- 
 scape of lake, and wooded shores, and distant hills ; 
 but, at night, when the fire shone bright, and the 
 curtains were drawn, there needed no better pros- 
 pect than the comely rows of fohos, with which 
 the room was chiefly surrounded, could afford 
 them. Comfort, and quiet, and sober cheerfulness, 
 presided over their dwelling. 
 
 The reader might naturally have expected me 
 to begin my hero's story with some account of the 
 ancestors from whom he was sprung ; but had I 
 done so, I should have been anticipating informa- 
 tion of which he himself possessed but Uttle, im- 
 til the years of his boyhood had drawn near their 
 close. In fact, one of the first discoveries Regi- 
 nald made for himself was, that Mr Dalton dis- 
 liked being asked questions about his family ; and 
 yet, to say nothing of his general demeanour, 
 there was something about his manner of avoid- 
 ing this very subject, which must have satisfied
 
 8 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 any one, that this rehictance proceeded from no 
 feehngs of conscious plebeianism. 
 
 Plowever, from putting together broken hints 
 and observations I suppose, Reginakl knew well 
 enough, in process of time, not only that his fa- 
 ther was a gentleman born, but that he had rela- 
 tions of considerable consequence living in one of 
 the neighbouring counties. That some coldness 
 subsisted between Mr Dalton and these kindi-ed, 
 was an inference which the lad could scarcely fail 
 to draw, from the mere fact of the families having 
 no intercourse with each other. Taking this dis- 
 tinct circumstance in connexion with others of a 
 nature less tangible, he began to suspect, and at 
 length to believe, that the alienation he witness- 
 ed had had its origin in a fault. That fault, 
 whatever it might be, he, of course, attributed not 
 - to his parent. 
 
 Some notions of this sort had imperceptibly 
 taken possession of Reginald's mind, but the sub- 
 ject was, as I have hinted, one on which he was 
 early taught not to question Mr Dalton ; and 
 there was no one else near him from whom he 
 thought himself likely to derive that information
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. I. y 
 
 which his father had never chosen to supply. 
 Perhaps, had he known that there were such 
 persons near him, the lad would have hesitated 
 very much about applying to them. Most assu- 
 redly he ought to have so hesitated, for, by ma- 
 king any such application to a stranger, he must 
 have betrayed an unseemly want, either of reliance 
 on his father's judgment, or of confidence in his 
 father's kindness. As it happened, there was no 
 such temptation, either to be indulged, or to be 
 resisted. 
 
 Of Reginald's mother, (who, as we have seen, 
 was dead before he had passed his infancy,) Mr 
 Dalton spoke almost as rarely, though not so ob- 
 sciurely, as of his own connexions. He gave his 
 son to understand, that she had been born in a 
 condition of life below his own ; but that she had 
 been the gentlest, the best of wives ; and Regi- 
 nald had too much reverence for his father's feel- 
 ings, to inquire farther. These, however, were, 
 I believe, the only topics, in regard to which the 
 Vicar of Lannwell was accustomed to treat his son 
 with anything like reserve.
 
 10 IlEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 In relation to the former of them, lie was m- 
 debted to a mere accident for a great increase, 
 both of his knowledge and of his perplexity. I 
 suppose he might be rather more than fifteen 
 years old, when, one day, Mr Dalton having gone 
 abroad on some of his parochial duties, the youth 
 was sitting alone, reading, as usual, in the library. 
 A servant brought in a packet, which had been 
 sent from the nearest market-town, and laid it 
 before him on the table. From the shape of the 
 packet, Reginald perceived that a book was the 
 inclosure ; and, as there was no seal, he, without 
 hesitation, cut the cord which secured it. 
 
 He found, as he had expected, a new book ; 
 but it was one of a species by which he was then 
 too young to be much attracted at first sight. It 
 was a History of the County of Lancaster ; a large
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. II. 11 
 
 folio, full of Latin charters, and other heavy-look- 
 ing materials. He turned, however, with more 
 pleasure to the engravings at the end of it ; and 
 after amusing himself for a while among views of 
 Lancaster Castle, Furness Abbey, the College at 
 Manchester, and the like, at length lighted upon 
 a print, the title of which effectually rivetted his 
 attention — " Grypherwast-Hall, the seat of 
 Richard Dalton, Esq." A shield of arms was re- 
 presented vinderneath, and Reginald recognized 
 the motto, the crest, the very griffin of his father's 
 seal. " Hah !" said he to himself, " have I at 
 length discovered it ? Here, then, is the seat of 
 my kinsmen, the home of my forefathers ! Was it 
 under these very roofs that my ancestors were 
 nursed ? Was it indeed under these venerable 
 oaks that they loitered .^" 
 
 Reginald gazed upon the image of this old hall, 
 until he had made himself intimate with every 
 projecting window and tower-like chimney belong- 
 ing to it, and then it occurred to him all at once, 
 that there might be some letter-press in the heart 
 of the book, bearing reference to the prints at its 
 conclusion. In what a flutter of zeal, after this
 
 12 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 idea had struck him, did the boy turn over the 
 huge leaves ! — with what dehght did his eye at 
 length catch again, at the head of a chapter, the 
 names of Gnjjpherwast and Dalton ! 
 
 To save my reader the trouble of referring to 
 a book, which, if he be not a Lancashire squire 
 or rector, is most probably not in his possession, 
 I shall tell him, in a very few sentences, the 
 amount of what Reginald here found expanded 
 over a goodly number of long pages. He found, 
 then, a prolix deduction of the Dalton pedigree, 
 from which it appeared, that the family had been 
 distinguished enough to furnish a sheriff and 
 knight of the shire, so far back as the days of 
 John of Gaunt ; but that their importance had 
 risen very considerably under the Eighth Henry, 
 in consequence of sundry grants, which that mo- 
 narch had bestowed upon the existing squire, at 
 the time of the dissolution of the monasteries. 
 The Daltons lost these lands again, under Mary ; 
 but it seemed that, on the accession of her sister, 
 the donation of the bluff monarch had quietly, and 
 as of its own accord, resumed its efficacy. From 
 thatperiod,Reginald Dalton had folio wed Richard,
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. II. 13 
 
 and Richard had followed Reginald, in regular 
 succession, from father to son — a long line of re- 
 spectable knights and esquires, who for the most 
 part contented them with taking care of the fa- 
 mily possessions at home, and leaving to cousins 
 and younger brothers, the honour of supporting 
 in arms, the ancient reputation of their name. 
 But the last paragraph was that which the young 
 Reginald read with tenfold interest. 
 
 " The present representative of this family, 
 and proprietor of Grypherwast-Hall, is Richard 
 Dalton, esquire, formerly M. P. for the burgh 
 
 of . This gentleman married Elizabeth, 
 
 daughter of Fairfax, Esq. and widow of the 
 
 late Charles Catline, Esq. by whom he has issue, 
 one daughter, Barbara. Mr Dalton is now a 
 widower ; and failing his daughter Barbara, the 
 nearest branch of the family is his cousin, the 
 Reverend John Dalton, vicar of Lannwell^a/'t^a, 
 Westmoreland." 
 
 Reginald had read this last paragraph, I take 
 it, a dozen times over — then ruminated on its con- 
 tents — and then returned to it again with yet un- 
 diminished interest ; and the book was, in short,
 
 14 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 Still lying open before him, when he heard the 
 sound of his father's approach. The Vicar seem- 
 ed to be trotting at a pretty brisk pace ; and, 
 without taking time to reflect, the boy obeyed his 
 first impulse, which was, to tie up the parcel again, 
 so as to conceal that he had looked into the book. 
 It was not that Reginald felt any consciousness 
 of having done wrong in opening this packet — 
 that he laboured under any guilty shame — that 
 he was anxious to escape from the detection of 
 meanness. Had twenty letters, addressed to his 
 father, been lying before him with their seals 
 broken, he was entirely incapable of looking into 
 one of them. He had had, at the moment when 
 he opened the packet, no more notion, intention, 
 or suspicion of violating confidence, or intruding 
 upon secrecy, than he should have had in taking 
 down any given volume from the shelves of his 
 father''s library. His feeling simply was, that he 
 hastily indeed, and almost involuntarily, but still 
 by his own act, put himself in possession of a cer- 
 tain piece of knowledge, which, for whatever rea- 
 son, his parent had deemed it proper to withliold 
 from him. To erase the impression that had been
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. II. 15 
 
 made on his mind, on his memory, was impossible ; 
 but to save his father the pain of knowing that 
 any such impression had been made there, ap- 
 peared to be quite possible ; and so, without 
 taking time to balance remoter consequences or 
 contingencies, Reginald followed, as I have said, 
 the first motion of a mind, the powers of which 
 had hitherto acknowledged the almost undivided 
 sway of paternal influence, and from no motive 
 but one, of fihal tenderness for his father's feel- 
 ings, he endeavoured, as well as he could, to re- 
 store to the packet its original appearance. 
 
 Having done so, he awaited his entrance quiet- 
 ly, with a book in his hand. Dinner was served 
 up shortly afterwards, and they quitted the library 
 together without IVIr Dalton's having taken any 
 notice of the packet. 
 
 Soon after the repast was concluded, he rose 
 from the table, and Reginald heard him re-enter 
 the library by himself Perhaps half an hour 
 might have elapsed, when he rung his bell, and the 
 boy heard him say to the servant who obeyed 
 the summons, " Go to Master Reginald, and tell
 
 16' REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 him I want to speak with him.'" There was 
 something in the manner of his saying these 
 words that struck Reginald at the moment as 
 unusual ; but the man delivered his message with 
 a smiling face, and he persuaded himself, ere he 
 rose to attend his father, that this must have been 
 merely the work of his own imagination. 
 
 When he entered the library, however, he per- 
 ceived, at one glance, that there was heaviness on 
 his father''s brow. " Reginald,' ' he said in a low 
 tone of voice, " I fear you have been guilty of 
 deceit — ^you have been ti-ying to deceive your 
 father, my boy — Is it not so .^" 
 
 Reginald could not bear the seriousness of his 
 looks, and threw his eyes upon the table before 
 him ; he saw the packet lying open there, and 
 then again meeting Mr Dalton's eye, felt himself 
 to be blushing intensely. 
 
 " You need not speak, Reginald," he proceed- 
 ed, " I see how it is. Look, sir, there was a letter 
 in this packet when you opened it, and you dropt 
 it on the floor as you were fastening it again. It 
 is not your opening the packet that I complain of, 
 
 1
 
 IJOOK I. CHAP. II. 17 
 
 but when you tied these cords again, you were tell- 
 ing a Ik to your father. Yes, Reginald, you have 
 told a lie this day. I would fain hope it is the first 
 you ever told — I pray God it may be the last ! 
 What was your motive V 
 
 Poor Reginald stood trembling before him — 
 alas ! for the misery of deceit ! Conscious though 
 he was that he had meant no wrong — conscious 
 though he was that had he loved his father less ten- 
 derly, had he revered him less awfully, he should 
 have escaped this rebuke at least — his tongue was 
 tied, and he could not muster courage enough even 
 to attempt vindicating himself by the truth. 
 
 Involuntarily he fell upon his knee, but Mr 
 Dalton instantly bade him rise again. 
 
 " Nay, nay, Reginald, kneel not to me. You 
 humble yourself here^ not for the sin, but the de- 
 tection. Retire to your chamber, my boy, and 
 kneel there to Him who witnessed your offence 
 at the moment it was committed."" Pie waved his 
 hand as he said so, and Reginald Dalton for the 
 first time quitted his father's presence with a bleed- 
 ing heart. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 18 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 By this time the evening was somewhat advan- 
 ced ; but there was still enough of daylight re- 
 maining to make him feel his bed-chamber an un- 
 natural place for being in. He sat down and wept 
 like a child by the open window, gazing inertly 
 now and then through his tears upon the beauti- 
 ful scenery, which had heretofore ever appeared 
 in unison with a serene and happy spirit. With 
 how different eyes did he now contemplate every 
 well-known feature of the smiling landscape ! How 
 dull, dead, oppressive, was the calm of sunset — 
 how melancholy the slow and inaudible waving 
 of the big green boughs — how intolerable the wide 
 steady splendour of the lake and western sky ! 
 
 I hope there is no one, who, from the strength 
 and sturdiness of his manhood, can cast back an 
 unmoved eye upon the softness, the delicacy, the 
 open sensitiveness of a young and virgin heart — 
 who can think without regret of those happy days, 
 when the moral heaven was so uniformly clear, 
 that the least passing vapour was sufficient to in- 
 vest it with the terrors of gloom — of the pure open 
 bosom that could be shaken to the centre by one
 
 BOOK r. CHAP. II. 19 
 
 grave glance from the eye of affection — of the 
 blessed tears that sprung unbidden, that flowed 
 unscalding, more sweet than bitter — the kindly 
 pang that thrilled and left no scar — the humble 
 gentle sorrow, that was not Penitence — only be- 
 cause it needed not Sin to go before it. 
 
 Reginald did not creep into his bed until the 
 long weary twilight had given place to a beautiful 
 star-light night. By that time his spirits had been 
 effectually exhausted, so that slumber soon took 
 possession of him. 
 
 But he had not slept long ere he was awaken- 
 ed, suddenly, but gently, by a soft trembling kiss 
 on his forehead ; he opened his eyes, and saw Mr 
 Dalton stanchng near his bed-side in his dressing- 
 gown. The star-light, that shewed the outline of 
 the figure, came from behind, so that the boy 
 could not see his father's face, and he lay quite 
 quiet on his pillow. 
 
 In a little while Mr Dalton turned away, but 
 ere he did so, the boy heard distinctly, amidst the 
 midnight silence, a whisper of God bless niTj child! 
 — Reginald felt that his father had not been able
 
 20 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 to sleep without blessing him — he felt the recon- 
 ciling influence fall upon his spirit like a dew 
 from heaven, and he sunk again lightly and soft- 
 ly into his repose.
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. Ill- 2] 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 When Reginald entered the breakfast-parlour 
 next morning, he was received by his father just 
 as if nothing particular had occurred the evening 
 before. The Vicar was not merely as kind, but 
 as cheerful as usual ; and the boy, ere the morn- 
 ing was over, had been sitting by his side, not 
 only reading in the Lancastrian folio, but asking 
 him an hundred questions about the old castles 
 and churches engraved for its decoration. 
 
 I need scarcely say, however, that Reginald 
 abstained from Grypherwast-hall ; although the 
 reader can be at no loss to believe, that had he 
 followed his own inclinations, he would have been 
 more inquisitive concerning that print than any 
 other in the volume. 
 
 But if the boy did not say anything as to that 
 tacitly forbidden matter, we may be sure he did
 
 5^% llEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 not think the less of it. In truth, from that day 
 forwards he dreamt of it by night, and wove out 
 of it by day the materials of many an endless 
 dream. Living, as he had done, in a world of 
 inaction, and accustomed to draw his subjects of 
 thought from anything rather than the witnessed 
 workings of actual nature, it was no wonder that 
 his fancy should even at this early period have ad- 
 dicted itself to the latter tempting species of 
 amusement. In point of fact, Reginald was sel- 
 dom at a loss how to occupy himself, provided he 
 had but a tree to sit down beneath. His eye con- 
 tinued open to the scene before him, but by de- 
 grees ceased to convey any impression of external 
 images to the mind within. That flew far away 
 on luxurious wings. Tlie last romance or poem 
 he had read, furnished Imagination with all she 
 required — and now, the habit of reverie having 
 been thus formed, it was an easy matter for the 
 youth to dream new dreams, and revel amidst new 
 romances, of which his idle self was the centre 
 and the hero. 
 
 Of what texture these were, the sagacious read- 
 er will scarcely require any explanation. AVhere
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. Ill 23 
 
 but at Grypherwast-hall should be the scene ? 
 Who but Miss Dalton should be the heroine ? 
 Reginald's fancy, of course, pourtrayed to him 
 the heiress of his ancestral domains, as the most 
 lovely of her sex. Of her age he had derived no 
 hint from the book ; but he soon settled that she 
 could not be older than himself. No, she must 
 just be a fair, blooming, innocent creature, in the 
 first blush of maiden beauty, wandering, like a 
 second Una, amidst those reverend groves, and 
 wherever she wandered, hke Una herself, 
 
 " Making a brightness in the shady place." 
 
 How simple seemed the issue — how completely 
 according to the established course of things in 
 the world of Romance ! The male heir of the 
 house of Dalton, the rightful representative of 
 all that generous lineage, how should he fail to 
 be enamoured of the beautiful virgin inheritrix 
 of his house ? And she, the daughter of all the 
 Daltons, could she hesitate for a moment between 
 any other suitor and the young kinsman, in whose 
 person the whole of her own lofty ancestry was re- 
 presented ? Prosaic must the ?oul be that could
 
 24 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 contemplate any termination but one — a few dif- 
 ficulties indeed there might, nay, there ought to 
 be — a few months, perhaps even a year or two, of 
 impediment, and probation, and struggling bosoms 
 — for that would be but the natural " course of true 
 love ;"" but all these things would soon be over ; 
 Nature, which had formed them for each other, 
 would triumph — the two yearning young hearts 
 would be united for ever, and the knightly halls 
 of Grypherwast, how they would be in a blaze 
 with festive exultation ! How glorious would be 
 the hour when Love had joined what envious Law 
 had striven to separate, and the just Heir of Dal- 
 ton stood proclaimed and asserted by his power 
 the Lord of Grypherwast ! 
 
 So did the imagination of Reginald expatiate. 
 It was so that 
 
 " The happy boy would creep about the tiekls, 
 Following his fancies by the hour, to bring 
 Tears down his cheeks, or solitary smiles 
 Into his face, until the setting sun 
 Wrote Fool upon his foreliead." 
 
 Happy could the early powei; of wrapping one's
 
 BOOK 1. CHAP. III. 25 
 
 spirit in the folds of merely ideal felicity, and .of 
 transporting one's self at a wish beyond the influ- 
 ences of reality, be formed and indulged without 
 any worse consequence than the mere waste of 
 time ! But alas ! such sickly and precocious ban- 
 quetting enervates while it consumes. The en- 
 ergy that should be reserved entire for life and 
 substance, is lavished on nothings, ere its value 
 can be estimated ; that becomes too soon the ex- 
 ercise which kind Nature meant for relaxation ; 
 and he who has given the bright hours of his open- 
 ing fancy to Reverie, must struggle hard with him- 
 self ere he can chain the full vigour of his intel- 
 lect to the oar of Necessity. 
 
 Reginald's great want was a companion of his 
 ovra time of life ; but unfortunately for him, in 
 that sequestered and thinly-inhabited district, this 
 was a want not likely to be supplied, even had it 
 been felt. The only gentleman's house in their 
 immediate neighbourhood, had stood untenanted 
 for a long series of years, and Mr Dalton, although 
 living on the best possible terms with his parish- 
 ioners, had never encouraged his son to cultivate
 
 26 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 any very intimate connexion among the families 
 of the few small statesmen who were resident near 
 the vicarage. Indeed, the young man's educa- 
 tion had been such, that it was not at all likely 
 he should have of himself sought much of that 
 sort of society which their domestic circles could 
 aiford. In earlier days, his father and his books 
 had been every thing to him ; but the natural 
 restlessness of a young mind soon demands other 
 exertion than can be supplied by reading, and by 
 the conversation of persons more advanced in life. 
 Reginald, as we have seen, became a dreamer. 
 The world of action, the mind of his contempora- 
 ries, were shut out from him — and he had recourse 
 to what he could create for himself. In the mean- 
 time, however, it is not to be supposed that his 
 studies were neglected ; on the contrary, he con- 
 tinued to apply himself to his books, if not with 
 the full fire of his own first undivided zeal, at least 
 so as to give perfect satisfaction to his father ; and 
 so far as mere scholarship went, perhaps there were 
 not many youths of the same age, whose attain- 
 ments would have entitled them to look down on
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. III. 27 
 
 Reginald Dalton at the opening of his eighteenth 
 summer. In every other particular, how differ- 
 ent was he from young men of that standing, 
 brought up amidst the hurry and excitement of 
 the living world — in many things, how great was 
 his advantage over them — in not a few, how deplo- 
 rable his inferiority ! 
 
 It was in the beginning of that summer that 
 Thorwold, the neglected manor-house to which 
 I have already alluded, began to assume the long 
 absent appearances of life, bustle, and preparation. 
 Mr Chisney, the proprietor of this place, and of 
 extensive estates in its neighbourhood, had come 
 of age about three years before, but having some 
 possessions in the south of England, had not as 
 yet visited his ancient inheritance. But he had 
 now married ; and the expence all of a sudden 
 bestowed upon Thorwold, seemed to intimate his 
 intention of making the Hall his permanent resi- 
 dence for the future. 
 
 The expected advent of the principal family of 
 the place, more especially after the absence of a 
 long minority, was of course ^an affair of great in- 
 terest ; and even in Lannwell-parsonage a consi-
 
 28 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 derable sensation was produced by its first an- 
 nouncement. Mr Dalton had the church new 
 white-washed ; orders were issued for repairing 
 and beautifying (to use the churchwarden's phrase) 
 the Thorwold Gallery, which had for seventeen 
 years been abandoned to the use of farm-servants ; 
 and even about the parsonage-house itself there 
 were sundry symptoms of preparation. As for 
 Reginald, the village tailor lavished all his bar- 
 barity on a new suit, and the young man looked 
 forward with a strange mixture of curiosity and 
 reluctance to the prospect of mingling at length 
 in that sort of society, to which, notwithstanding 
 his fine pedigree, he had hitherto been a stranger. 
 It was on a bright Saturday's evening that the 
 little belfry of Lannwell church sent forth its most 
 lively peal in honour of the arrival of the Chis- 
 neys. Reginald and his father were sitting toge- 
 ther, and the vicar, being in a very communicative 
 humour, told a variety of stories about the young 
 squire's father, and other members of the Thorwold 
 family, whom he had formerly known. Among 
 other things, Reginald found out that the Chis- 
 neys and the Daltons had intermarried about a
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. III. 29 
 
 hundred years before. Such and so profound was 
 that respect for the notions of cousinship, into 
 which he had nursed himself for some time back, 
 that he felt quite astonished how his father could 
 have so long concealed a matter of so much im- 
 portance. In fact, he lost no time in mounting 
 his hobby-horse, and long before he went to bed 
 that night, he had furnished the great romance of 
 Grypherwast with a very pretty episode from 
 Thorwold-hall.
 
 so KEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Boldly and gaily, however, as Reginald could 
 dream, he hung his head very sheepishly next 
 day, when he found that the long deserted gallery, 
 over against the vicar's pew, was really filled with 
 a blaze of fine ladies and gentlemen. In the 
 course of the sermon he stole a few glances, and 
 I beheve had sense enough to satisfy himself that 
 none of the bright eyes of that high sphere were 
 in any danger of being fixed upon him. But, in 
 truth, Reginald was an odd mixture, and there is 
 no saying what sillinesses might have passed over 
 his fancy. 
 
 The young squire and his bride, ere they got 
 into their carriage, received very graciously the 
 congratulations of Mr Dalton ; and Reginald 
 heard after they came home, not a little to his
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. IV. 31 
 
 discomposure it may be supposed, that his father 
 had accepted for them both an invitation to dine 
 in the course of the week at Thorwold. Indeed, 
 I take it our young gentleman wasted about as 
 many meditations on that dinner, ere he went to 
 it, as a young lady generally does on the coming 
 ball at which she is to come out. 
 
 It must be quite unnecessary to say, that he 
 bestowed on the toilet of that great day a double, 
 ay, a treble portion both of time and attention, 
 and almost as needless to add, that when he had 
 done, his appearance was infinitely more awkward 
 than usual. Had Reginald presented himself at 
 that time in any company, drest just as he was 
 accustomed to be when he was wandering at his 
 ease among the woods, he could scarcely have 
 failed to be regarded with some admiration. He 
 was naturally very handsome, and this, too, in a 
 somewhat uncommon style of handsomeness, con- 
 sidering his race and his country ; for though his 
 eyes were of that clear, grave blue, which is sel- 
 dom seen but in the north, the general cast of his 
 countenance, both as to features and complexion, 
 was rather what a painter would have called Ita-
 
 32 REGINALD DALTOX. 
 
 lian. A profusion of dark chesnut curls lay on his 
 forehead, the dancing blood of seventeen was in 
 his cheek, and his hp, just beginning to be shaded 
 with down, had that firm juvenile richness, which 
 so rarely survives a single season of debauchery, 
 or even of dissipation. His figure was light and 
 nervous, and there was even a certain elegance 
 about its motions, although Reginald had never 
 had one single lesson in fencing, and I believe 
 only about a dozen in dancing, from an itinerant 
 professor of the name of O'Leary. But as I have 
 hinted, the young man was at great pains on this 
 occasion in spoiling his own appearance. Nothing 
 could be more absurd than the manner in which 
 he had combed his fine hair back from the fore- 
 head it was meant to shade and to grace ; and as 
 for the new suit of clothes, it has been already in- 
 sinuated that old Nathaniel Foy was an artist who 
 had never sewed at the knee of any of the Stultzes. 
 According to the old-fashioned manners of the 
 northern counties, the families who had in former 
 times been intimate with the Chisneys, began, im- 
 mediately on the arrival of the young couple, to 
 pour in visits of congratulation ; so that Mr Dalton 
 
 18
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 CHAP. IV. 33 
 
 and his son, the day they went up to Thorwold-hall, 
 were ushered into a drawing-room, crowded as well 
 as gay. Groups of smiling young men and wo- 
 men were clustered about the windows, while high- 
 looking old ladies sat apart on sofas, nodding and 
 whispering ; and rosy-gilled esquires, with well 
 powdered curls, and capacious white waistcoats, 
 stood sturdily in the middle of the floor, talking 
 toryism and horse-flesh, and now and then look- 
 ins: at their watches. 
 
 Reginald had scarcely begun to recover him- 
 self from the flurry into which the first glimpse of 
 this animated scene had thrown him, ere the door 
 of an antichamber was flung open, and the young 
 Squire entered, leading by the hand his pretty and 
 languishing bride. In a moment there was such 
 a bustle of bowing and curtseying, presentation, 
 congratulation, and comphment, that nobody had 
 any leisure to take the least notice either of him 
 or of his confusion. Dinner was announced very 
 soon afterwards, and it is impossible to say how 
 much he was reheved, when he found himself 
 seated at table between a couple of hearty old fel- 
 lows, who had too much respect for business, to 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 34 llEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 think of troubling him or anybody else with con- 
 versation. When he looked round him, and saw the 
 easy assurance with which beaux comported them- 
 selves to belles, how did his heart sink within him 
 beneath the overwhelming consciousness of his own 
 rawness ! He knew he was blushing, and of course 
 blushed on deeper and deeper ; but luckily he 
 durst not refuse the champaigne, which was con- 
 tinually offered him, and so, in the course of a 
 few bumpers, his nerves acquired, in spite of him, 
 some strength, and his cheeks some coolness. 
 
 As for " the happy pair"' themselves, the moon 
 of bliss had not yet filled her horn, so that there 
 was little chance either of their observing the 
 awkwardness of their youthful guest, or of their 
 being displeased with that, (or indeed with any 
 thing else,) had they observed it. Mr Chisney 
 was naturally rather a sombre looking person, (very 
 sallow, and not a little marked with the small-pox;) 
 but at present the whole of his air and aspect 
 was instinct with a breath of buoyancy and mer- 
 curialism — it seemed, indeed, as if he now and then 
 were making an effort to bear himself gravely, and 
 look like himself; but the next moment his wife's
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. IV. 35 
 
 eye and his would meet, and the conscious simper 
 resume all its predominancy. The young lady, 
 however, was perhaps even more absurdly happy 
 than her lord. Her eye-lids were cast down from 
 time to time with a very pretty air of shyness ; 
 but whenever she lifted them again, the irrepres- 
 sible sparkle of glee was quite visible. The tones 
 of her voice were fortunately very soft and liquid, 
 so that the frequent giggle in which she indulged 
 was by no means so intolerable as that of a newly 
 married young woman most commonly is, A bluff 
 boisterous old boy of a baronet, who sat at her 
 right hand, made a thousand apologies for being 
 so antediluvian as to propose a bumper to their 
 health the moment the cloth was removed ; but 
 even this trying incident produced no worse con- 
 sequences than a charming blush and a tenfold 
 titter to carry it off. As she sailed out of the 
 dining-room, in the rear of all her female convoy, 
 her small ring-laden fingers received a gentle 
 squeeze en passant. When elderly people play 
 such honeymoon pranks, it may be difficult not to 
 laugh ; but here a person of any bowels would 
 scarcely have permitted himself even to smile.
 
 36 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 Mr Dalton was too much of a gentleman not 
 to have been at his ease, and too good-natured a 
 man not to have been pleased at such a party as 
 this ; but poor Reginald came home from it with 
 many more of painful than of pleasureable recol- 
 lections. And indeed had this been otherwise, he 
 must have added the original sin of dulness, to 
 the unfortunate accident of mauvaise lionte. 
 
 Neither Mr Chisney nor his lady had, as we 
 have seen, taken almost any notice of the Daltons 
 the first time they visited them ; but ere long, they 
 had rather more leisure upon their hands. The 
 bustle of formal congratulation could not last for 
 many weeks — any more than the intoxication of 
 their own spirits ; — and both of them, before the 
 summer was over, were of opinion it was a very 
 pleasant circumstance that the parsonage of Lann- 
 well was within so very easy a distance of Thor- 
 wald-hall. Mr Chisney, who was really a man of 
 very good sense, found that there was nobody near 
 him with whom he could live more agreeably than 
 with the vicar of his own parish ; while the young 
 lady, after her husband had given up spending 
 aZ/his mornings in her drawing-room, began some-
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. IV. ' 37 
 
 times to feel a little weary of herself, her piano- 
 forte, and her flower-drawings, and deigned to dis- 
 cover that Reginald was genteel in spite of bash- 
 fulness, and conversable in spite of his reserve. 
 
 To polish a fine young man, is a task which, 
 perhaps, no woman at all capable of executing it, 
 ever enters upon with much reluctance. The mo- 
 desty of Reginald flattered her vanity ; it was de- 
 lightful to be listened to with so much submission 
 by one who knew so many things that women ne- 
 ver know, and for which women have therefore so 
 great a respect — one who displayed, in the posses- 
 sion of what is commonly called knowledge, all 
 the charming humility of ignorance and inexpe- 
 rience. Besides, Reginald Dalton was really a 
 very handsome young fellow, and but for the un- 
 happy cut of his coat, it was easy to see that a 
 very httle training might convert him into a beau, 
 of whom no lady, married or unmarried, need be 
 ashamed. 
 
 " Much blood, Httle breaking," is a maxim with 
 which every sportsman is familiar, and the same 
 thing holds good in regard to ourselves. In the 
 course of a few weeks, Reginald Dalton could pre- 
 
 M .l^"- '.?>■■ ^J^ ^"^ l<» . I
 
 38 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 sent himself at the Hall, free not only from all the 
 painftil, but almost from all the awkward, parts of 
 his rusticity. He rode with Mr Chisney, walked 
 with his wife, and he and his father spent two or 
 three evenings in almost every week at Thorwold. 
 Rarely, perhaps, have the exterior manners of any 
 young man undergone more remarkable improve- 
 ment in so short a space. And, in truth, when 
 Reginald himself looked back, and compared him- 
 self at the beginning of that year's autumn with 
 what he had been at the termination of its spring, 
 the difference was so great, that he might be par- 
 doned for contemplating the rapidity of his own 
 progress, with a very considerable share of com- 
 placency. 
 
 In one point of view, at the least, it was fortu- 
 nate for Reginald that the young Squire and his 
 lady were left so much alone during the greater 
 part of that summer ; for, had their house been 
 from the beginning what it was towards the close 
 of the season, he must have either derived fewer 
 advantages from frequenting it, or purchased them 
 at the expence of undergoing a much severer spe- 
 cies of tutorage.
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. IV. 39 
 
 The shooting season had commenced several 
 weeks, ere Mr Frederick Chisney, the brother of 
 the Squire, arrived at Thorwold. He was seve- 
 ral years younger than Mr Chisney ; but he was 
 already, in his own opinion, and in that of many 
 others, the finer gentleman of the two. Every 
 body indeed is acquainted with that common say- 
 ing, which has, time out of mind, furnished the 
 vanity of cadets with some consolation for the 
 comparative lightness of their purses ; and in a 
 limited sense, at the least, there is no question the 
 saying has its origin in observation. Younger 
 brothers, aU the world over, have their wits sharp- 
 ened by the circumstances of their situation; while 
 the consciousness of perfect security has a natural 
 tendency to encourage indolence of mind, as well 
 as repose of demeanour. But, on the other hand, 
 is there nothing to refine in the sense of import- 
 ance and power ? Do not these things exert, over 
 happily-born spirits at least, a certain soothing 
 and ennobling influence .'' And while the cadet has 
 briskness for the bustle through which it is his 
 business to fight his way, has not your elder bro- 
 ther, generally speaking, something far better
 
 40 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 adapted for the calmer sphere in which his birth 
 has placed him ? Though he be not, in the ball- 
 room or mess-room sense of the word, the finer gen- 
 tleman, is he not in reality the more mild in dis- 
 position of the two, the more gentle in bearing ? 
 But Frederick Chisney was the younger bro- 
 ther all over, — full to the brim of all that vivacity 
 and restlessness of spirit, which your " terrarum 
 Domini" are so much the better for wanting — a 
 bold, gay, sprightly, and ardent youth. He had 
 already spent two years at Christ-Church, and ha- 
 ving gone thither from Eton, was at twenty as free 
 from exterior awkwardnesses as any man of forty, 
 and, in his own opinion, quite as knowing in men 
 and manners, as he could have been in reality, if 
 double his years had passed over his head. He 
 was a considerable coxcomb to boot — but, to be 
 sure, he had whatever excuse a handsome person 
 may furnish a coxcomb withal. Though tall and 
 athletic in his form, his hmbs had not as yet ac- 
 quired the knit symmetry of manhood, but his 
 countenance wanted nothing of its confidence. 
 His complexion was remarkably ftiir and brilliant, 
 and you might have sought all England over for
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. IV. 41 
 
 a pair of brighter eyes. To a strong taste for li- 
 terature, and intellectual accomplishments much 
 more varied and extensive than are generally to 
 be found among young Oxonians, even of the 
 highest promise, Frederick Chisney united a vio- 
 lent passion for every manly sport and exercise, 
 which few could have indulged as he had always 
 done, without retarding the progress of mental 
 improvement. But his keen spirit ever found its 
 relaxation, not in repose, but in change of exer- 
 tion. 
 
 Such was he — such at least he seemed to be — 
 when fortune threw Reginald Dalton in his way. 
 Our youth had already become in some sort the 
 Ami du Maison at Thorwold-hall, when Frede- 
 rick Chisney arrived there.
 
 42 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 This gay fellow regcarded Reginald at first, 
 as might have been expected, very much die hcmt 
 en bus. For although a great many tastes and 
 accomplishments were common to them both, Re- 
 ginald was obviously and extremely deficient in re- 
 spect to other matters, on his own proficiency in 
 which Frederick chiefly piqued himself. The Ox- 
 onian, therefore, began with quizzing the rustic ; 
 but he took all this with an unsuspecting simpli- 
 city, which, ere long, not only shamed Frederick 
 out of his malicious amusement, but really excited 
 feelings of kindness in his heart. 
 
 But above all, he found Reginald useful. Fre- 
 derick, although he considered himself at least as 
 much a man as his brother, nevertheless could 
 not help, when they were together, feeUng some
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. V. 43 
 
 little remains of the awe in which he had formerly 
 stood of him, at a time when the difference of but 
 a few years was important. The Squire, on the 
 other hand, did perhaps continue to look upon his 
 brother rather too much as a boy ; and, in short, 
 they were not accustomed to converse together on 
 terms of perfect equality, although there was no vi- 
 sible want of brotherly affection on either side. The 
 marriage of James, moreover, had given no great 
 satisfaction to Frederick. The lady, as he thought, 
 was not quite of that rank in which his brother 
 should have sought an alliance, and he was incli- 
 ned to regard her with something not unlike aver- 
 sion, as a pretty Cheltenhamite who had done a 
 very impudent thing in presuming to set her cap at 
 Mr Chisney of Thorwold. The perfect good tem- 
 per of the girl softened this last feeling very con- 
 siderably in the course of a little time ; but still 
 the mere domestic trio of Thorwold-hall was by 
 no means to Mr Frederick's mind, and he soon 
 found the pleasantest way in which he could spend 
 his morning, was shooting or fishing with Regi- 
 nald, who, over and above the merits of a most de- 
 vout listener, was as well acquainted with every
 
 44 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 Stream and cover in the neighbourhood, as if he 
 had been bred up on purpose for a poacher. And 
 how indeed should he have been otherwise, having 
 been, as we have seen, a sohtary walker all his 
 days, a"follower of his fancies through the fields?" 
 Friendship is, in truth, not less natural, and 
 scarcely slower of growth, at that time of life, than 
 love itself; and ere Frederick had been a fort- 
 night at the Hall, he and Reginald were friends. 
 How exquisite is the delight of young companion- 
 ship ! — how doubly exquisite was it to one who 
 had so long lived sequestered, and all but alone ! 
 Every hour furnished him with new ideas, not 
 transmitted from the world of books, nor sobered 
 by the comments of age, but fresh from the mo- 
 ving world, reflected from a fancy as bright, as 
 vivid, as glowing as his own. It seemed as if, in 
 the course of a single day, at times, his mind had 
 been enriched with the fruit and experience of 
 years. What new unimagined desires were every 
 moment springing up and strengthening within 
 him — how he dreamt of the busy world ! How 
 brilliant, how charming, were the visions he fra- 
 med of its doings — how earnest, how serious,
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. V. 45 
 
 was the thirst of kindled curiosity — how deep and 
 fervent his longings — how happy the excitement ! 
 To be pleased, is the easiest and surest of all ways 
 to please, and no wonder that Frederick was al- 
 most as happy as his pupil. 
 
 Much asReginald's mind was occupied with these 
 novelties, it is not however to be supposed that 
 he entirely threw off his attachment to his own 
 old courses of thought. No — those long-cherish- 
 ed dreams still kept their place. The favourite 
 ground-work of fancy was retained, while every 
 new image employed in its decoration served but 
 to bind to it the more, and to lend new vigour to 
 that which otherwise might have been exhausted. 
 
 In short, the old Cltateau-en-Espagne was not 
 only in excellent preservation, but receiving con- 
 tinually new outworks and new ornaments, when 
 one morning Frederick Chisney came into the 
 vicarage, immediately after breakfast, equipped, 
 as usual, for a day of wandering in the woods. 
 Reginald flung his bag over his shoulder, seized 
 his fowling-piece, and was ready in a trice to set 
 out with him ; but just as the two young men 
 were quitting the room — indeed Reginald was al-
 
 46 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 ready in the lobby — Chisney halted, and said, 
 " O, Mr Dalton, I beg your pardon, I had very 
 nearly forgotten to deliver my brother's message. 
 There's a whole family of cousins of yours coming 
 to dinner to-day, and they hope you and Regi- 
 nald will come and meet them." 
 
 " Cousins of mine !" said the Vicar, his face 
 flushing up. 
 
 '•Yes, your cousins — are they not so ? The Dal- 
 tons of Grypherwast-hall. The old gentleman and 
 his daughter are both coming to see ' the happy 
 couple.' One of their servants is at the Hall before 
 them." 
 
 Reginald's heart, you may be sure, was throb- 
 bing as if it would burst his ribs, but he could not 
 help keeping his eye fixed upon his father's coun- 
 tenance ; seldom, indeed, had it exhibited such 
 symptoms of emotion — painful emotion. The co- 
 lour was going and coming, as in the cheek of a 
 poor maiden listening to a love-tale ; but how 
 different this scarlet from hers ! As for Frederick, 
 he was doing something about the lock of his gun, 
 so he took no notice of all Mr Dalton's perturba- 
 tion, but said, after the pause had continued for
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. V. 47 
 
 half a minute — Reginald would have sworn for 
 half an hour — " Well, I suppose we shall have 
 the pleasure of seeing you at five o'clock. In the 
 mean time, Reginald and I may pick up a leveret 
 or two — allons, Reginald !"'"' And with that he 
 shut the door, and went whistling down the stair 
 Reginald following him, as if instinctively, but 
 quite in the dark as to his father, and perplexed 
 besides with the thought that no answer had in 
 reality been made to the message from the Hall. 
 
 He had reached the threshold, when his father 
 opened his door and called after him, but without 
 shewing himself — " Reginald, Reginald — do you 
 hear me ? Take care you come home in good 
 time to dress for dinner." 
 
 The words were spoken quickly, but in the 
 Vicar''s usual tone of voice, and they relieved 
 Reginald from one part — and one only — of his 
 troubles. 
 
 Our youth was often extremely absent in his 
 manner, and this fault of his had by no means 
 escaped the quick eyes of Frederick Chisney ; 
 but during the whole of this morning it was car-
 
 48 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 ried to an excess he had never before witnessed. 
 In vain did he tell the best stories that had ever 
 charmed the ears of a Common Room : Reginald 
 smiled indeed when a sudden pause told him a 
 smile was expected ; he even laughed when an 
 example was set him ; but it was quite evident 
 these were mere tricks of surface-work. His mind 
 was obviously a thousand miles off. Though he 
 loaded and reloaded his gun, fired, hit, bagged, 
 and went through aU the business of their sport 
 quite as regularly and successfully as usual, he did 
 this with just as little expence of thought, as if he 
 had been a shooting machine. 
 
 Frederick endured it with patience for two 
 or three hours ; but at last he got quite sick of 
 trudging up and down the fields by the side of a 
 person who neither put questions at all, nor an- 
 swered them as if he understood what had been 
 said. So, taking his own dog with him, he 
 plunged into a deep winding dell,where he thought 
 he might have a fair chance of starting a pheasant, 
 leaving Reginald alone in a wide stubble-field, 
 which was bordered on one of its sides by this 
 
 ravine. Reginald took no notice of his having 
 
 18
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. V. 49 
 
 gone off, until some minutes had elapsed, and by 
 that time he had got much beyond his reach amidst 
 the thick coppice-wood, and nothing was to be 
 heard but the sound of the Beck rushing over its 
 rocky bed far below. The first shot Frederick 
 fired was at such a distance, that lleginald percei- 
 ved there was no great likelihood he should over- 
 take him ; so, having had already at least as much 
 sport as he cared for, he fairly sat down amidst the 
 stubble, and continued there, for I think the best 
 part of an hour, ruminating without interruption 
 — his eyes wandering idly all the while over the 
 woods and parks of Thorwold, stretched out be- 
 low him — the breathless lake beyond, with its frin- 
 ged shores — and the maze of mountains that on 
 every part close the prospect, and seem as if they 
 had been formed on purpose to shut in that quiet 
 and beautiful little valley from the world. 
 
 In what a sea of dreams was he lost ! what mul- 
 titudes of old fancies, mingled with new, chaced 
 each other over his mind ! Now would he imagine 
 himself kneeling at her feet amidst the voluptuous 
 mystery of twilight — how eloquently whispering, 
 
 VOL. I, D
 
 50 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 how softly heard, how ineffably answered ! And 
 then would come a gentle, speechless, sorrowful 
 parting — and then the meeting of quick rapture 
 — the joy of hope satisfied. The creature of his 
 imagination was as familiar to him as if she had 
 been a reality — it seemed as if every tone of her 
 voice had a thousand times thrilled on his ear, as 
 if her smile had penetrated to the centre of his 
 heart. 
 
 He was still lying wrapt in the folds of this 
 happy bewilderment, when his vacant eye hap- 
 pened to catch a glimpse of a carriage creeping 
 slowly along one of the avenues of the Thorwold- 
 park. He started to his feet and gazed upon it, 
 straining his eyes as if it had been in his own 
 power to abridge, by strong volition, the effect of 
 the distance. Yes, there were certainly four horses 
 and postilions — there was an outrider a little way 
 before — he could distinguish him here and there 
 between the openings of the trees — there was an 
 imperial on the top of the carriage itself — there 
 could not be a doubt they were travellers — yes, 
 this was the very party. A speck of white appear- 
 ed for a moment at the window — ha, herself I the
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. V. 51 
 
 very drapery of his destined fair ! After a mo- 
 ment the whole was lost to his view amidst the 
 massy foliage of the beeches. Alas, alas, not one 
 glimpse more ! His eye was dim and hot, ere he 
 withdrew it from the vain attempt, dropping the 
 weary lids with the longest, deepest sigh, that had 
 ever heaved his bosom. 
 
 He was yet standing like a statue rooted to the 
 spot, when Chisney hallooed to him, and in a 
 moment he was at his side. 
 
 " Well, Reginald, what cheer, my boy ? What 
 have you been doing with yourself all this time ? 
 I'm sure you have had no sport, however, for I 
 must have heard you fire if you had."" 
 
 " No, Frederick, I have not had a single shot 
 since we parted." 
 
 " By Jupiter, I believe you are either a poet, 
 or in love. — As I live you blush, Dalton ! Where, 
 in the name of all that is romantic, have you your 
 goddess concealed ^ — I thought I had seen every 
 pretty face in the parish. Speak out, man, breathe 
 the tender secret — I give ye my honour I shall 
 respect your preserve.'" 
 
 " You're quizzing me, Frederick "
 
 52 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 " You're blushing, Reginald- 
 
 " Blushing ? Why you would make any body 
 blush ; Fm no more in love than yourself."" 
 
 " Perhaps that's not saying very much neither 
 — but let it pass. You won't speak — mvim as a 
 dormouse. Well, take your own way. Murder 
 will out — I shall discover it all in due time."" 
 
 " For God's sake have done, man. 1 was only 
 lying here looking at the lake." 
 
 " Only lying here looking at the lake ! Ill tell 
 you what it is, Dal ton, your good father will make 
 a booby of you for life, if he don't send you to 
 Oxford — ay, and that the very next Michaelmas. 
 Why, if you stay here much longer, you'll stuff 
 your head so full of these meres and mountains, 
 that you'll never be a man for the world while you 
 exist. I wager you end in a sonnetteering parson, 
 ordained at Carlisle under the proud designation, 
 of a liter atus.'''' 
 
 " I hope not, Chisney ; my father was at the 
 university, you know, himself." 
 
 " Well, well, the sooner you go to the univer- 
 sity, or to some place where there is life and mo-
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. V. 53 
 
 tion, the better for yourself and him too — that''s all 
 I shall say. What college was Mr Dalton at .^'" 
 
 " At Queen's. I told you that once before, 
 Frederick."" 
 
 " Queen's ! I protest I had forgotten that there 
 was such a barbarous place in the world. You 
 must never go to Queen's, though — that's certain 
 — Queen's, ha, ha ! depend on't, it will never do, 
 sir. If you had only once heard that old cracked 
 trumpet of theirs braying about their dead quad- 
 rangles for dinner, you would never dream of such 
 a thing. 'Tis a Gothic place !" 
 
 " I thought the building had been Grecian. 
 'Tis so in my father's old Almanack." 
 
 " Poo ! poo ! you're a Goth yourself, man. I 
 was not thinking of their confounded pilasters — 
 But seriously, I hope you will come to Christ 
 Church — that is to say, if they have rooms for 
 you ; but that, I am afraid, is very doubtful." 
 
 Here there was a little pause of a minute or so, 
 during which Mr Frederick kept his eyes on the 
 ground with an air of great wisdom. He then 
 pulled out his watch, and said gaily, " Come, 
 Reginald, we shall scarce be in time for the Squire's
 
 54 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 dinner-bell — so we'U say no more of the Queen's 
 folks'' trumpet for the present. I shall certainly 
 make bold to talk to the Vicar about you one of 
 these days, however, and I think I shall be able to 
 make him hear a little reason, whatever you may 
 do." 
 
 With this the young sportsmen parted, Frede- 
 rick going down the face of the hill towards Thor- 
 wold, at his usual careless swinging pace, while 
 Reginald, with long hasty strides, traversed the 
 lane leading to the vicarage. Every now and then 
 he halted as he went, stood for a moment looking 
 down into the park, and then proceeded again as 
 rapidly as before ; so rapidly, indeed, that ere he 
 had accomplished half his walk, he had the mis- 
 fortune to give his ancle a twist in the crossing of 
 a style, which unseasonable accident prevented 
 him from arriving at Lannwell near so soon as 
 he had otherwise done. Still, however, he was 
 there a full hour before the time of dinner at 
 Thorwold, so that there was yet " ample room 
 and verge enough," both for dressing at leisure 
 and for walking quietly, or even limping, if that 
 should be necessary, to the Hall.
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. V. 55 
 
 Great, therefore, was his surprise, when, on 
 entering the parsonage, he was informed by the 
 servants that his father had already set out for 
 Thorwold, leaving word for the young gentleman 
 to follow him thither at his leisure. This circum- 
 stance would have been of itself enough to per- 
 plex his thoughts, even had these been more or- 
 derly than they were. As it was, he was quite 
 unable to form any feasible conjecture as to this 
 apparently (it must be owned) strange proceeding 
 on the part of the Vicar ; but there were other 
 matters on which we may easily suppose he could 
 not prevent his meditations from dwelling with 
 even greater interest. His fancy had ' metal more 
 attractive,' before it. Altogether, indeed, it was 
 no wonder that his hand shook a little, and that 
 one neckcloth did not suffice for that day''s toilet. 
 
 At length, however, Reginald was done with 
 his preparations ; and, making every effort to sub- 
 due the violence of his conflicting emotions, or at 
 least to banish their external symptoms, he began 
 to walk towards Thoi'wold, along that spacious, 
 stately, and sombre old avenue, which extends al- 
 most all the way between the manor-house and
 
 56 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 the village of Lannwell. There was something in 
 the very gloom of the place that was not without 
 its effect in calming the perturbation of his spirits, 
 and he advanced, after a little while, with much 
 composure, and indeed gravity of air. To say 
 truth, in whatever way it was looked upon, he 
 could not be blamed for feehng that this was a 
 day — an occasion — of some importance to him. 
 The degree of its importance, time, and the event 
 alone, could shew. The more he reflected, the 
 more serious did he become ; his efforts to acquire 
 the mastery of himself were strong, and, all things 
 considered, they were far from being unsuccessful. 
 It is true, that when he found himself clear of 
 the avenue, his gathered recollection was for a 
 moment very much disturbed. Nevertheless, al- 
 though he did not dare to look up towards the 
 windows, he walked right across the court, and 
 there was no time for any more reflection, for he 
 foimd himself in an instant at the threshold of the 
 drawing-room.
 
 LOOK 1. CHAP. VI. 57 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The old butler, who happened to be the only 
 servant at hand, was by this time so much accus- 
 tomed to see Reginald at the Hall, that, being- 
 busy at the moment, as well as rather more gouty 
 than usual, he did not think it necessary for him 
 to take the trouble of attending the young gentle- 
 man up stairs, and announcing him in due style : — 
 so he had to make his appearance as he might. 
 He opened the door very modestly, it may be sup- 
 posed, and had been within the room for two or 
 three seconds, ere any ohe took notice of him. In 
 fact, there was as yet nobody there but his father, 
 a gentleman standing beside him near the fire- 
 place, and an old stately dame established close by 
 them, in the chief chair of the corner, with her 
 spectacles and newspaper.
 
 58 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 It was the last-mentioned person -whose eye 
 first lighted on the young man. She kept it fixed 
 on him for a moment, and then, nodding very 
 graciously, said, " Brother, where are your eyes ? 
 Here comes a young gentleman, who, I am sure, 
 has no need to send his name before him." 
 
 Mr Dalton of Grypherwast turned round im- 
 mediately. " A Dalton, to be sure, if there''s 
 faith in Sir Joshua. — Why, cousin, your son looks 
 as if he had stepped out of one of the picture 
 frames in our old Hall." 
 
 So saying, the Squire advanced towards Regi- 
 nald, took him kindly by the hand, and led him 
 towards his sister, who had already risen from her 
 seat to receive and salute him. 
 
 All this was done so suddenly, that Reginald 
 had no time to think of any thing until it was over. 
 The old lady, besides, had called a tenfold blush 
 into his face, by some commendations of his good 
 looks, delivered in that hearty tone which an 
 Englishwoman under five-and-forty would, what- 
 ever she thought, rather eat her fingers than make 
 use of upon any similar occasion. But one thing 
 there was, which, after a moment's pause, Reginald
 
 UOOK I. CHAl'. VI. 59 
 
 could not help being very much struck with — and 
 this was neither more nor less than that Mr Dal- 
 ton of Grypherwast was a much older man than he 
 had ever fancied him to be. Having only read 
 and heard of him as his father's " cousin," he had, 
 hastily enough, but perhaps not very unnaturally, 
 conceived that he must be of course about the 
 same a^e with his father. This had all alon^ been 
 quite a settled matter with him, and no wonder, 
 therefore, that he was not a little surprised with 
 being introduced to this cousin in the shape of a 
 gentleman on the wrong side of threescore-and-ten. 
 The Squire''s appearance, however, though his 
 age was visible enough, shewed no symptoms of 
 any thing like infirmity. He was evidently in the 
 full possession of health and strength. His leg 
 was still a strong leg, although perhaps not quite 
 so neatly turned as it might have been at five-and- 
 thirty, and his eye was not a whit dimmed in the 
 midst of the wrinkles that surrounded it. In truth, 
 the Squire was a singularly hale-looking old gen- 
 tleman, for his years — grey, but not bent, fat, 
 but not unwieldy. He was, as W. W. hath it, 
 
 ^^ An ancient man of purple cheer, 
 A rosy man right plump to see ;"— .
 
 60 REGINALD D ALTON. 
 
 but there was a fine rustic brown mixed with the 
 red on his cheek, and altogether, although he 
 had very much the air of one that had sat at good 
 men's feasts enow, he was really no more like that 
 worthy member of the Celtic Society, Sir Wil- 
 ham Curtis, than the haunch of a fine Ulswater 
 buck is like a piece of the Durham ox. 
 
 The Squire's sister was as like himself, as it is 
 easy for a sister to be like a brother. They were 
 nearly, as it seemed, of the same age — certainly 
 there could not be more than a very few years be- 
 tween them, and these were, as they ought to be, 
 on the side of the gentleman. Mrs Elizabeth 
 Dalton must have been a very comely, nay, a 
 handsome woman in her youth ; for she had even 
 now the remains both of fine features and of a 
 stately figure ; if she had had any defect, it must 
 have been, in all probability, in her air, which 
 tended somewhat to the masculine. That might 
 have been not quite so well in a young beauty, 
 but now it was of but little importance. She was 
 a generous-looking old lady, with bright dark eyes, 
 and a good healthy colour in her cheek, though 
 nothing that could be called a complexion, or sus-
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. VI. 61 
 
 pected for rouge ; she wore on her head an old- 
 fnshioned high cap, with long lappets of the most 
 beautiful Brussels' lace ; her ample person was in- 
 ve.'ited in a gown and petticoat of very rich green 
 silk, the massive folds of which scarcely allowed 
 the tip of the toe to be visible, while from the long 
 sleeves, fastened at the wrists with broad heavy 
 bracelets of gold chased-work, and terminating in 
 point ruffles, there peeped a pair of hands still far 
 too neat for being kept continually in their gloves. 
 Every thing about INIrs Elizabeth spoke of com- 
 fort, substance, and good temper ; and in a word, 
 it must have required the tact of a very Beau 
 Nash to detect in her appearance the smallest 
 symptom of spinsterhood. 
 
 This cheerful pair of old people were both of 
 them, in their several ways, as kind as possible to 
 Reginald. They disputed together, with great 
 earnestness, whether he was more like one or an- 
 ther of their ancestors — the Squire giving it hollow 
 in favour of his own father as represented in his 
 youth by Reynolds, and the lady being equally 
 clear for Colonel Marmaduke Dalton, a cavalier 
 who fell at the relieving of Newark Castle.
 
 62 KEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 " Why, brother, do but look at the boy," said 
 she. " I protest if you had had eyes in your head, 
 you must have been struck with it at the first glance. 
 Bless me, "'tis the very face itself. Give him a 
 Spanish hat, with a falling red feather, and put 
 the least thing in the world of a mustachio on his 
 lip " 
 
 " Lord, how you rave, sister ! Why, I'll take 
 my bodily oath, that he's no more like the Colonel 
 than you are." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! you're out at length then, Dick ; 
 for I remember it as well as if it had been but a 
 yesterday's matter — it was just about the time you 
 came home from Paris, Sir Harry Roseter was 
 staying a night or two at Grypherwast, and he 
 said over and over again, that I was very like the 
 Colonel's picture. I remember I took it as a com- 
 pliment, so no offence to you, cousin Reginald." 
 
 " Clap a handsome wig and a lace cravat on 
 him," said the Squire, " and you'd soon see what 
 you'd see." 
 
 " To be sure I would," quoth Mrs Elizabeth ; 
 " but I'll bet you a pair of gloves on it, and here
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. VI. 63 
 
 comes a third person to be judge— will you refer 
 it to Barbara .?" 
 
 " Refer a bet to Barbara I What are you think- 
 ing of now .?" 
 
 Reginald turned his eyes with eager timidity 
 towards the door. Mrs Chisney was just entering 
 the room, and along with her, to be sure, there was 
 a lady. 
 
 But I shall not be so foolish as to make any 
 attempt at describing it. Let it be enough to 
 whisper into the reader's ear, that the Chateau en 
 Espagne was gone, demolished, undone, utterly 
 undone, in less time than I can put these words 
 vipon my paper. " The king rubbed his eyes, 
 but there was not a vestige of all Aladdin's splen- 
 dour." 
 
 In place of Reginald's dear, darling dream- 
 instead of his blooming blushing beauty — his Una 
 — his angel of seventeen, there appeared a pale, 
 sickly lady, whom the most poetic imagination in 
 Christendom could not have conceived to be a bit 
 under forty. In fact, Miss Barbara Dalton, the 
 heiress of Grypherwast, was at this time in her 
 thirty-seventh year ; but indifferent health, and
 
 G4- REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 various other circumstances, had given her all the 
 look of heing a full half dozen paces farther down 
 the hill. 
 
 There was a very singular plainness about her 
 dress — something almost approaching to an affec- 
 tation of Quakerism. There was not a single orna- 
 ment of any kind about her ; she wore very long 
 and full lawn sleeves, a tucker which came close 
 up to her chin, and a mob-cap. She made a very 
 low curtsey to the Vicar, another to his son, and 
 then took a seat by her aunt, keeping her eyes 
 fixed upon the carpet. Mrs Elizabeth took her 
 by the hand as she sat down ; and Reginald, who, 
 utterly confused as all his thoughts were, could 
 not avoid retaining possession of some of his sen- 
 ses, heard the aunt whimper in a very low and af- 
 fectionate tone, " Now, my love, do, pray, be 
 yourself — I know you will — my sweet girl — I 
 know you will exert yourself" 
 
 Something or other made him turn his eyes 
 towards his father, and although there was neither 
 a flush on his cheek, nor any thing else very much 
 out of the common way, still, somehow or other, 
 the boy could not help thinking the Vicar was ill 
 
 9
 
 BOOK 1. CHAP. vr. 65 
 
 at ease. But by this time the party were all as- 
 sembling, and in the midst of that sort of buzz and 
 bustle, he had enough to do to recover something 
 like a command over himself, without having any 
 leisure for speculating much about others. 
 
 The young man felt as if a weight had been 
 taken off his breast, when the beU rung for dimier, 
 and indeed he would fain have seated himself at a 
 distance from the seniors of the company ; but 
 Mrs Elizabeth called to him, and made him come 
 and occupy a chair wliich she had reserved for him 
 beside her own. 
 
 Mrs Betty was always a great talker, and it was 
 lucky for him that such was her disposition ; for, 
 in truth, although her frank gaiety, exquisite good 
 nature, and especial kindness, were far from being 
 without their effect on him, his imagination had 
 received such a shock, the whole stream of his 
 thoughts had been so turned from its channel, 
 that he could not for the soul of him command 
 presence of mind enough to have hid his confusion 
 from any less fluent observer. 
 
 After the ladies were gone, the old Squire got 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 66 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 into prodigious spirits, insisted that Reginald 
 sliould prove himself a Dalton by the fairness of 
 his filling ; and in the course of the evening, in- 
 dulged the company with a favourite stave of his, 
 which he sung in a voice that must have been a 
 fine one in its day, and with an air that hovered 
 quaintly enough between the jovial and the senti- 
 mental. 
 
 " Upbraid me not, capricious fair, 
 
 ^\'ith drinking to excess ; 
 I should not wait to drown despair, 
 ' M'crc your indifference less — 
 
 AVere your indifference less. 
 
 " The god of wine, the victory 
 
 To beauty yields with joy ; 
 Tor Bacchus only drinks like me, 
 
 \Vhen Ariadne's coy — 
 
 When Ariadne's coy," &c. &c. 
 
 But even the Sqmre"'s music could not make his 
 mirth more infectious. In vain did Reginald 
 struggle and strive to enjoy the jokes of " gentle 
 dulncss." In fact, there was a gloom which no- 
 tiiing could dissipate ; for Fancy had been stript of 
 her blossoms, and, like another Rachel, " Would 
 not be comforted because they were not."
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. VI. 67 
 
 The evening was far advanced ere they joined 
 the ladies in the drawing-room, and Reginald, no- 
 thing loth, heard his father whisper that it was 
 time they should move homewards. Both the 
 Squire and Mrs Betty shook hands with him cor- 
 dially ere they withdrew ; but a faint languid 
 smile, accompanied with rather a chilling inclina- 
 tion of the head, was all that Barbara Dalton be- 
 stowed either upon him or his papa. 
 
 The Vicar was excessively taciturn during their 
 walk to the Parsonage ; and Reginald was not 
 likely to trouble him with many remarks. 
 
 Just as they were come in front of the house, 
 (it was fine soft moonlight,) the Vicar stopped, 
 and looked his son full in the face. 
 
 " Reginald," said he, " you must be surprised 
 — you must be very much svirprised — I cannot 
 doubt that you are very curious — and hear me, 
 my boy, I am sensible that I ought to satisfy 
 you." 
 
 Reginald was quite unprepared for such an ad- 
 dress, so he said nothing, but stood with his eyes 
 and lips open. 
 
 " My dear boy," said the Vicar, after the pause
 
 68 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 of a moment, " come up stairs to my room, and I 
 will speak with you.'"* 
 
 He followed his father, and entered the libra- 
 ry, where the servant, having perceived their ap- 
 proach, had abeady lighted the candles and stir- 
 red up the fire. But whatever was the reason, 
 Mr Dalton had not been a minute in the room 
 ere he said abruptly, and in a tone of some agita- 
 tion, — " No, Reginald, it won't do here — it won"'t 
 do just now. Another time will do better — 
 Good-night— good-night." And so the Vicar re- 
 tired to his bed-chamber.
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. VII, 69 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The old Squire and Mrs Elizabeth were both 
 of them early risers ; at least, in comparison with 
 the general fashion of their degenerate age. She 
 in her woollen gloves and strong shoes, and he in 
 his green frock and short gaiters, were severally 
 astir by eight o''clock ; and they met by accident 
 in the flower-garden, before a single glimpse of 
 day-light had been permitted to enter the cham- 
 ber of their hosts. 
 
 " Good-morrow to you, sister," said the Squire ; 
 " have you seen any thing of Barbara this morn- 
 ing r 
 
 " No ; but I saw her maid," answered Mrs 
 Betty ; " and I take it, upon the whole, she has 
 had a better night than we expected. Poor thing ! 
 the meeting must have been a severe shock — I
 
 70 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 can perfectly enter into her feelings as to this 
 matter/' 
 
 " Lord bless me, Betty,"" quoth Mr Dalton, 
 " how sentimental you all are ? I think that pret- 
 ty young fellow might have been enough to 'e- 
 mind you how many years are gone." 
 
 " And to be sure so he did, brother ; but what 
 of that ? I'm sure cousin John, man though he 
 be, and married though he has been, was just in 
 as great a flurry ; ay, greater if the truth were 
 known ; at least, he shewed it more." 
 
 " No, no, Betty — there was an awkwardness 
 you know at first — hang him, that was all his own 
 fault for keeping away from us so long — but you 
 must own that before any body else joined us he 
 was quite himself. Poor fellow ! I can't help be- 
 ing sorry for him. It must have been something 
 very deep that produced such an effect on him. 
 But I wonder what infatuation it was that made 
 him in such a hurry for a wife — If he had only 
 waited " 
 
 " Only waited ! which of you is it that will 
 wait ? — YouVe all alike in these matters, brother 
 — so hot, so sudden, so boisterous — and then the
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. VII, 71 
 
 moment you meet with tlie least check, off you 
 go in a pet, forsooth. Nothing but sulks, sulks, 
 sulks ! O ! you may say what you will, but the 
 men have, in their own style, just as much vanity 
 as we have — and of a far more disagreeable sort, 
 too, I think." 
 
 " Do you think it was vanity that made him 
 marry the girl .? Every body said she was uncom- 
 monly pretty, I allow that." 
 
 " Vanity ! — what else could it be .'* — or pride — 
 you may give it whichever name yovi like the 
 best. He was one of the lords of the creation, 
 you know, and how should he forgive such an insult 
 from one of us ? — Would any body have expect- 
 ed such condescension ? — What ! be so humble 
 as to ask a second time, with the chance of being 
 refiised a second time !" 
 
 " Pooh, pooh, Betty — you told me yourself long 
 ago she would have taken him the second time."" 
 
 " Yes, and I don"'t deny that I said so — But 
 I told you at the same time, if you please to re- 
 member, that we are all of us a great deal too 
 good-natured — 'tis our weak point — our foible."
 
 72 REGINALD DALTOX. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! Betty ; upon my word, it makes 
 me laugh to hear you speak so — yoU'^ Betty Dal- 
 ton, you that have refused more coaches-and-six 
 in your time than '''' 
 
 " Nay, nay, Dick — none of your joking." 
 
 " There was Sir Benjamin Blount, Betty — 
 what made you reftise liim ? Tell the truth now 
 for once." 
 
 " O, the sad rakish man ! Why do you men- 
 tion him, brother!^ — Poor Sir Benjamin ! I be- 
 lieve there was something good about him, after 
 all." 
 
 " Good about him ? No, thafs too tender by 
 half, Betty. Blount was always a Whig." 
 
 " A Whig ! well, and what then ? Lord ! 
 when will you men be done with these foolish po- 
 litics ? YouVe all mad, I think. Do you really 
 suppose that a Whig may not make as good a 
 husband as a Tory, even although he do not drink 
 quite so much .'*" 
 
 " Come, come, Betty, none of your personality, 
 if you please ; Fm sure we had not much more 
 than a bottle a-piece. Wait till they give us
 
 BOOK I. CHAl'. VII. 73 
 
 breakfast — when will that be, I wonder? — and 
 you'll see if I chew high." 
 
 " See if you chew high ! Lord, what an odious 
 phrase that is !" 
 
 " Upon my honour, I have not the least touch 
 of the parrot tongue about me." 
 
 " The parrot tongue ! I'm sure you might 
 teach a parrot to speak more genteelly." 
 
 " Pooh, pooh, Betty, I only meant to say that 
 I was not cuf'' 
 
 " I can stand your slang no longer, brother. 
 But, seriously, was it not a shame of you to set 
 about teaching that innocent boy ? He looked 
 quite flustered when he came into the drawing- 
 room." 
 
 " Did he, faith ? Well, and I swear I like him 
 the better for that. I must have John to bring 
 the boy to Grypherwast-hall one of these days. 
 Now that the ice is broken, I'm resolved it shan't 
 be my fault if it ever freeze again. I like John 
 himself; he's not a man of my sort, 'tis true — he 
 is a book man, and a quiet one ; but there's some- 
 thing about him that I always did like, and al-
 
 74 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 ways shall like— ay, and respect too. But the 
 boy ! — the boy is a fine plant." 
 
 " He's a Dalton all over," quoth Mrs Eliza- 
 beth, with great emphasis ; " he''s a noble boy, 
 and I feel as if I could love him like a child of 
 my own." 
 
 They were both silent for a minute or two, and 
 then the Squire resumed, in a more serious tone — 
 " After all, sister," said he, " it is a great shame 
 that Reginald should have been allowed to grow 
 up to a man almost, without ever even seeing the 
 outside of Grypherwast. Why, it must all be his 
 own one day, Betty." 
 
 " Nay, nay, Dick, don't say that, neither ; 
 there's many things may happen, you know — 
 there's Barbara ; what's to hinder her to " 
 
 " To marry, say ye.^ No, no, Betty, that 
 won't do now. Poor Barbara ! her time is past 
 and you know as well as I what her mind's in 
 
 " Pooh, brother, you're not going to set it 
 down for a fixed thing that this stuft' is to last for 
 ever ? She'll soon get sick of it. I wish you could 
 but try her with one single winter at Bath." 
 
 5
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. VII. 75 
 
 " She's too far gone, Betty ; it has got into her 
 blood, I fear, and nothing will ever take it out 
 again. O dear ! it was a black sight the first time 
 she ever saw one of those fellow's faces ; and now 
 that Charles has joined them too, I give her quite 
 up — I am nothing against the two of them." 
 
 *' Charles CatUne is my 1 never liked him 
 
 — boy and man he was always my aversion."" 
 
 " Come, come, sister, he's Barbara's brother — 
 the only brother she has, more's the pity — but it 
 would be a hard thing to complain of her being 
 attached to him ; he was always kind to Barbara." 
 
 " Yes," quoth Mrs Elizabeth, with some emo- 
 tion ; " and I'll tell you what, brother" — here the 
 lady sunk her voice into a whisper — " I'U teU 
 you what is my honest belief, Dick, that when 
 you and I are out of the way, Grypherwast-hall 
 will be very nearly as much Charles Catline's 
 own, as if he had been Barbara's brother by both 
 sides of the house." 
 
 The Squire bit his lip, coloured a little, and 
 after a moment's pause, said, very solemnly, — 
 " No, no, Elizabeth, you carry matters too far
 
 t 
 
 76 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 now. Barbara, come what may, will never forget 
 that her blood is Dalton." 
 
 " Blood !" quoth Miss Betty — " I'll be very 
 plain with you, brother ; I don't think either blood 
 or name go for much, when once a person gives 
 into these crazy pernicious notions. They''ll per- 
 suade her among them to do any thing they please, 
 and they'll make her believe all the while that 'tis 
 her duty — that's the worst on't." 
 
 " That's the worst on't, indeed," echoed the 
 Squire — " confound their infernal cunning — 
 they've ruined my poor child." 
 
 Here followed another pause, during which 
 Mrs Elizabeth kept her eyes very fixedly on her 
 brother. " Richard," at length she said — " Ri- 
 chard, my dear brother, there's a thought that 
 has often come into my head, but even now I can 
 scarce out wi't." 
 
 " What is it, Betty .?— Speak freely, sister." 
 
 " Why, after all, Dick, you're a strong man, 
 very like to see many years yet, if you take de- 
 cent care of yourself — Would it not be possible 
 for you to pluck up your heart, and "
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. VII. 77 
 
 " Seek another wife, sister ; Is that what you 
 mean ? O, no, Elizabeth, if you love me, never 
 hint at any such matter again. My dear Mar- 
 garet—" Here the good old gentleman's voice 
 faltered a little, and his sister was extremely 
 sorry that she should have touched upon that 
 cord. How pamful its vibrations still were, she, 
 deceived like others by external appearances, had 
 not imagined. She now strove to change the sub- 
 ject as speedily as possible. 
 
 " Reginald," said she, " is certainly a very 
 noble-looking lad. I have been thinking a good 
 deal about him, brother ; and I am sure you will 
 quite agree with me, that he has been long enough 
 in this quiet place ; — it is high time certainly that 
 he should see a little of the world. Why don''t 
 you speak to John about sending him to College ? 
 There"'s the expense, to be sure." 
 
 " Pooh ! that's nothing, a mere trifle would 
 cover that ; and if John would just come over 
 with him, as I was saying, to Grypherwast, Bar- 
 bara and all of vis would be able to get acquainted 
 with him together ; and I don't suppose, as mat- 
 ters stand now-a-days, John would be at all above
 
 78 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 accepting a little help from me, if it be really so 
 that he's too poor to be able to send Reginald to 
 College himself." 
 
 '• Now, brother," quoth Miss Betty, " nothing 
 can be kinder than all this — 'tis just what I should 
 have expected of you — ^'tis just like yourself But 
 do take my advice for once — go about it quietly 
 and cautiously. John's a Dalton in his temper, for 
 all his quiet looks — we've had proof enough of that, 
 I think. Do let them come over to Grypherwast, 
 and be with us for a little while before you say 
 any thing about these matters. A rash word, how- 
 ever well designed, might do a world of harm, 
 Dick." 
 
 " But, sister, what will Barbara say, think ye ? 
 Will she like their coming .'*" 
 
 " No," says Mrs Elizabeth, " I don't think 
 she will — at least not just at the first blush of the 
 business — (you know how she hated the idea of 
 coming to Thorwold even) — but never mind, she'll 
 soon get reconciled." 
 
 " Yes, yes," says the Squire, " I'm sure she'll 
 get reconciled — she'll soon, as you say, get quite 
 reconciled, and then all parties will be pleased."
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. VII. 79 
 
 " Hum !" muttered Betty to herself, " I'm not 
 quite sure of that neither." — But whatever Mrs 
 Betty's thought was, she did not choose to let her 
 brother hear any thing of it ; so, for the present, 
 we also shall respect the lady's secret.
 
 80 UEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 It was on that same morning, while a gay and 
 merry party were assembled round the breakfast 
 table at Thorwold-hall, that the Vicar of Lann- 
 well, having gathered from his pillow that resolu- 
 tion which he could not command the evening 
 before, at length told his son the story of which 
 the reader must have collected some notion from 
 the dialogue in the last chapter. I shall not, 
 however, now repeat it as he told it, both because 
 that would occupy more space than I can aiford, 
 and because the Vicar (even had he told all he 
 himself knew, which he did not, and indeed could 
 not do,) would still have left untold much that 
 the reader of his son\s history may be the better 
 for learning. Leaving it to the reader''s own saga- 
 city to discover where I am most likely to be go- 
 
 13
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. VIII. 81 
 
 ing beyond the communication of the father to the 
 son, I shall, without farther .preamble, give him 
 some of the information at my disposal, in the 
 shape of a brief and connected sketch. 
 
 John Dalton's father was, like his son, a clergy- 
 man. He had, rather late in life, been presented to 
 a college living in the west of England, on which 
 he immediately settled ; and marrying the daugh- 
 ter of one of the neighbouring gentry, he became 
 so much tied to that part of the country, that he 
 had but slender opportunities of keeping up his 
 intimacy with the members of his own family in 
 the north. He died just about the time when his 
 son John was fit for going to the university, lea- 
 ving him in possession of a small patrimony, the 
 greater part of which was necessarily expended in 
 the course of a few years' residence at Oxford. 
 
 John, having taken his degree with some eclat, 
 obtained, through the kindness of a young gentle- 
 man educated at the same college with himself, 
 the small benefice of Lannwell, where, as we have 
 seen, he spent the remainder of his life. On ar- 
 riving in that part of England, he naturally lost 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 S2 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 no time in repairing to Grypherwast-hall, ■where 
 Mr Richard Dakon received him with all the 
 ready hospitality of northern kinsmanship. 
 
 John Dalton was at that time a very good-look- 
 ing young man. Though not possessing brilliant 
 talents, he had, being diligent and temperate, ob- 
 tained for himself considerable distinction among 
 his contemporaries at the vmiversity ; and it may 
 fairly be supposed, that when he came down to 
 take possession of his living in Westmoreland, 
 his manners partook of that mixture of conscious 
 dignity and stumbling rawness, which so often 
 marks the demeanour of a young stvident fresh 
 from the triumphs and the seclusion of a college 
 life. 
 
 Under these circumstances, it was perhaps no 
 great wonder that he should have wanted the tact 
 to distinguish between the open courtesy of a well- 
 bred cousin, and the attentive shyness of an admi- 
 ring girl. In short, he fell into the silly blunder 
 of supposing that Barbara Dalton (who then really 
 was both young and beautiful) had fallen in love 
 with him at first sight. He pondered over this 
 flatteringnotion until he had banished every doubt; 
 
 1
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. VIII. 83 
 
 and at last, one fine summer's day, ere the first 
 three months of his incumbency were expired, he 
 mounted his horse, rode to Grypherwast-hall, met 
 his fair cousin in the gardens, half boldly, half 
 bashfully told his errand, and was forthwith re- 
 fused in a style which satisfied even himself, that 
 the idea of such a thing had never entered the 
 young lady's head before. 
 
 I am almost ashamed to say how absurdly the 
 Vicar behaved himself after this little affair was 
 over. If he had known half as much of real young 
 ladies, as he did of the Phaedras, Sapphos, Didos, 
 et hoc genus, he would have been aware that very 
 few of them ever think of such matters, until they 
 have been desired to do so. He would have looked 
 very dolefully for a few months, and taken espe- 
 cial care to let Barbara see how dolefully he looked, 
 and returned again in half a year or so, and tried 
 his luck a second time. His was, I believe, the 
 very first offer his young kinswoman had ever re- 
 ceived, and who but a booby of a collegian needs 
 to be told, that the most dehghtful moment in a 
 young woman's life is that, not in which the first
 
 84 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 declaration is made to her, but in which she be- 
 gins to reflect within lierself that it has been made. 
 In the surprise of the instant she has refused the 
 swain ; indeed if one thinks of it for a moment, 
 what can be so unreasonable as to expect that such 
 a modest, blushing creature shall muster brass 
 enough to answer with a " Yes," the first time the 
 most serious of all questions is put to her ? A sly 
 experienced hand may no doubt manage matters 
 so that it shall be thus ; he may come so often 
 close to the point without ever touching it ; he 
 may so completely suggest, and yet so carefully 
 abstain from mentioning ; he may plead so effec- 
 tually, and yet so obscurely, that the poor thing's 
 heart is his ere he has asked it in set terms ; that 
 when he does ask it, he is conferring rather than 
 demanding a favour ; and that then a voiceless 
 beating of the timid virgin heart is enough to at- 
 test on her part the welcome, thrice welcome ter- 
 mination of 
 
 Hopes and fears, a mingled throng, 
 And gentle wishes long subdued, 
 Subdued and cherish 'd long. 
 
 .1
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. VIII. 85 
 
 But arts like these were of course immeasura- 
 bly beyond the theoretical, to say nothing of the 
 practical attainments of John Dalton. He had 
 read Ovid, but he knew no more of love than if 
 he had written the notes to the De Arte Jmandi. 
 He darted headlong at the ring, and having miss- 
 ed it once, never thought of caracoUing it gently 
 round and round the circle, and essaying his dart 
 again with a more leisurely aim, and a steadier 
 hand. His first disappointment effectually satis- 
 fied him ; and while, perhaps, from the moment 
 of its occurrence, Barbara Dalton neither thought 
 nor strove to think of anything but him, he ex- 
 erted all the force of his manhood in the struggle, 
 to think no more of her. His unskilful Vanity 
 had received a wound far deeper than she, poor 
 girl, had ever dreamt it was possible for herself to 
 have inflicted ; and Pride was the only physician 
 which he, in his ignorance, had ever thought of 
 calling to his aid. 
 
 In short, he became a perfect recluse within 
 the bounds of his little parsonage at Lannwell. 
 There the image of his cousin was associated by
 
 86 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 him with no ideas but those of pain — perhaps, for 
 there is no hmit to such kinds of folly, — even of 
 anger — of wrath. He did all he could, therefore, 
 to banish the image from his fancy ; and how- 
 ever much I may shock the fair reader by tell- 
 ing it, the result was, that he ere long was suc- 
 cessful in doing so to a very tolerable extent. He 
 fished in the Beck, that tumbled into the lake 
 close beside the hedge of his garden ; he took long 
 solitary walks among the woods and hills ; he eat 
 huge rashers of bacon, drank pots of home-brewed 
 beer, and read Greek at night, with his feet up 
 upon the hobs. Except on Sundays, when he 
 went to church very decently, he became exceed- 
 ingly careless and ultra-rustical in his attire. 
 There were, as we have seen, no gentlefolks resi- 
 dent very near him, and he would not be at the 
 trouble of visiting those at a distance. Above all, 
 he never once approached the gates of Grypher- 
 wast-hall ; but, to be sure, the Leven Sands were 
 between him and the seat of his kinsman, so that 
 might be less a matter of wonder. 
 
 Barbara Dalton, in the mean time, pined and 
 moped away for many weeks and months, always
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. VIII. 87 
 
 expacting another visit from her reverend cousin. 
 She had never mentioned what had happened to 
 her father, so he, even more than herself, was at 
 a loss to account for the young man's obstinate 
 absence. At length, news came to Grypherwast, 
 that the Vicar was married. 
 
 " Hah, hah !" said the Squire ; " and so this 
 is the upshot of the affair ! One might have sus- 
 pected John was in love from his never coming 
 to see us at the Hall. I hope we shall see more 
 of him, however, when once his honey-moon is 
 over." 
 
 When the Squire was more accurately inform- 
 ed as to the nature of the connection which his 
 young kinsman had formed, he was far from being 
 pleased with it ; and, indeed, it was not strange 
 that this should have been the case. 
 
 At the distance of about half a mile from the par- 
 sonage of Lannwell, there dwelt in those days, in 
 a snug little cottage by the way-side, a respectable 
 old man, by name Thomas Lethwaite, who, al- 
 though the land he cultivated was his own pro- 
 perty, and had descended to him from a long line 
 of forefathers, was still, in appearance, manners,
 
 88 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 and habits of life, nothing more than a peasant. 
 This good statesman (for so in that district of 
 England your small landed proprietor is styled,) 
 was very much distressed about the solitary and 
 melancholy manner in which his young neighbour 
 seemed to be spending his time. He, therefore, 
 did what he could do to comfort the recluse ; and, 
 in particular, he would never allow him to pass 
 homewards from his even-tide rambles, without 
 inviting him into his cottage ; or, if the weather 
 were fine, to rest and take a cup of mild ale with 
 him beneath the sycamore that shaded his porch. 
 The statesman was a widower ; but he had two 
 pretty daughters that lived with him — Ellen and 
 Lucy. The elder of them might be at this time 
 about sixteen years of age, but she was already the 
 favoui'ite toast on every skittle-green within five 
 miles of Lannwell ; and, indeed, she was so tall 
 and well-grown, that but for the almost infantine 
 simplicity of her manners, one might have easily 
 beheved her to be two or three years older than 
 she really was ; she liad the most charming ring- 
 lets of light brown hair, and the softest sweetest 
 blue eyes in all the valley.
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. Vlll. 89 
 
 This lovely creature was considered at first by 
 the melancholy scholar, as if she had been merely 
 a pretty child — a plaything ; and as her own papa 
 thought of and treated her in the same fashion, 
 she expected nothing else. By degrees, however, 
 the heart of the young Vicar (whether or not the 
 recent wounds had increased its tenderness and 
 susceptibility,) became sensible to the modest in- 
 fluences of her opening beauty. His evening walks 
 more and more frequently brought him under 
 Lethwaite's old sycamore ; nay, he even began 
 to halt there occasionally during the heat of noon- 
 day, when the worthy statesman himself was far 
 oft' among the hillsx 
 
 In a word, he stood in need of consolation, and 
 he had found where it might be had. He mar- 
 ried Ellen Lethwaite towards the close of the sea- 
 son. The statesman gave a grand fete champetre 
 beneath the sycamore, and while all the company 
 were busy dancing and singing, Mr Dalton led 
 his bride home all alone to his Parsonage, be- 
 neath the smiles of the brightest harvest-moon 
 that had ever tipt the groves of Lanuwell in 
 silver.
 
 90 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 [After all, I take it as many marriages are 
 brought about in this way as in any other ; at 
 least, among people who knew as little of the 
 world as Mr John Dalton and his bride might be 
 supposed to do. When a young gentleman in 
 such a situation has once made up his mind to 
 ask a young woman in marriage, she may refuse 
 him if she will ; but the chances are very great, 
 notwithstanding, that he marries either herself 
 or somebody else, ere the year is out.] 
 
 Mrs John Dalton was all that Ellen Lethwaite 
 had seemed — and promised to be — every thing 
 that was gentle, tender, affectionate, and good. 
 Her husband, who, although a most amiable man 
 by nature, had orig'inallf/ by no means the smooth- 
 est of all possible tempers, felt his happiness to be 
 improved a thousand fold, under the influence of 
 her soothing companionship. Happy as he was with 
 her, and satisfied as she had taught him to be with 
 his lot, there still, however, adhered to him certain 
 feelings, (I know not well how they could be descri- 
 bed,) which prevented him from renewing, in his 
 character of a married man, that intercourse with 
 his relations at Grypherwast-hall, which he had 
 
 i
 
 BOOK 1. CHAP. VIII. 91 
 
 SO absurdly broken off as a bachelor. We cannot 
 but take it for granted, that after a little time he 
 must have become in so far sensible to the odd 
 appearance, which his behaviour in this respect 
 could not fail to have in the eyes both of them 
 and of other people. But neither can one be at any 
 loss to understand, that this very consciousness 
 might of itself throw new and ever-increasing dif- 
 ficulties in his way. There is nothing more awk- 
 ward than the breaking off of an acquaintance, 
 except the renewing of one that has been broken 
 off; and thus from day to day, and from month 
 to month, the thing was deferred, until, I suppose, 
 he had taught himself to consider it as almost an 
 impossibility that he should ever shew himself 
 again at the Hall. At first, at the least, the wor- 
 thy Squire would no doubt attribute his persist- 
 ing in this strange conduct, to his being ashamed 
 of his humbly-born wife, or to some other cause 
 equally remote from the truth. Of course, Bar- 
 bara Dalton— and, I beheve, her aunt Mrs Eli- 
 zabeth too — even from the beginning — suspected 
 much more shrewdly.
 
 92 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 But be all these lesser matters as they might, 
 John Dalton and his beautiful wife lived happily 
 together in their secluded abode for nearly two 
 years ; at the end of which period Reginald (our 
 acquaintance) was born. Unfortunately the boy 
 did not come easily into the world, and Ellen ne- 
 ver recovered the shock this gave her delicate con- 
 stitution. A sad misfortune befel her sister Lucy 
 just about that time, in the course of an excursion 
 she made to the Preston-guild ; — a terrible mis- 
 fortune, of which, perhaps, more hereafter : And 
 what between bodily weakness and sore mental 
 distresses, so it was, that in the course of a few 
 months Mrs Dalton died, and her wedding-sheet, 
 which, according to the primitive fashion of the 
 district, had been carefully laid by for that pur- 
 pose, was formed into the shroud which enveloped 
 her remains. * 
 
 * I laavc no doubt that Denmark is the cradle from 
 which the chief part of the population of that district of 
 England derives its origin ; and among many other cir- 
 cumstances strongly corroborative of this belief, I remem-
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. VIII. 93 
 
 Thus were the Vicar's best hopes blasted for 
 ever, at the moment when he promised himself a 
 
 ber a very plain allusion to this identical fashion, in one 
 of the old Danish ballads. A lady, whose husband has 
 married a second wife, and suffered the children of the 
 house to be ill-used by their step-mother, is represented 
 as rising from her grave, and entering the chamber at 
 midnight, for the purpose of reproaching the forgetful 
 husband and negUgent father. And among other things 
 she says to him, (as nearly as I can recollect and render 
 the words,) 
 
 " Thou shrink'st, this pallid shroud to meet, 
 
 Damp from the darksome tomb ; 
 That shroud was once my wedding-sheet, 
 
 And thou my bold bridegroom." 
 
 There are more old songs of the North, in which the same 
 general idea may be found. By the way, in the solemn 
 observance of The White Fast, it is, to this day, the 
 custom of the Hebrews to be arrayed in their shroud^. 
 On that occasion, even the High-Priest, at the altar, per- 
 forms the most lofty service of their ritual in the very 
 vestment which he is one day to wear in his grave. And 
 here, perhaps, may be one more coincidence, in addition 
 to the many that have already been pointed out, between 
 ancient Scandinavia and the unchanging East.
 
 94 IlEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 doubling of all his joys. His spirits sunk woe- 
 fully under the severe infliction ; but 
 
 " Cords around his heart were spun, 
 That could not, would not be undone." 
 
 He was a father, and we have already seen how 
 he roused his energies for the sake of his child — 
 how he devoted the prime of his manhood to rear- 
 ing him in infancy and in boyhood — how, a few 
 sore subjects only excepted, he, from the dawn 
 almost of reason, condescended to bestow all the 
 confidence of a coeval upon Reginald. 
 
 As for Barbara Dalton — from the day she heard 
 of her cousin's marriage, her heart grew cold to 
 every thing about her — to man — to life — to the 
 world. Naturally of an ardent temper, the pas- 
 sion which had been too late kindled had soon 
 blazed into a flame — long, long ere that day came, 
 she had mused and nursed herself into the deep- 
 est love — it was the first, the last earthly flame 
 destined to disturb her peace. 
 
 Hitherto she had hated herself for the rash- 
 ness and the cruelty (so she looked upon it) of
 
 BOOK T. CHAP. VIII. 95 
 
 her behaviour to her cousin — she had thought 
 over all he said at that unhappy interview a thou- 
 sand and a thousand times, and every meditation 
 filled her with the more painful notion of what 
 she herself had said and done. Passion, the great 
 deceiver, convinced her that her conduct then had 
 been not only, what it really was, abrupt, and 
 perhaps ungentle — but what it certainly was not 
 —fcdse. In a word, Barbara had long hated her- 
 self, when slie reflected on the scene ; and yet 
 there were other feelings even more painful, which 
 took possession of her, when she found that she 
 was never to have any opportunity of undoing 
 what she had so rashly done ! It was now, in- 
 deed, that her anguish became intolerable. 
 
 The Vicar's wedding not only at once and for 
 ever put a period to all her hopes and dreams ; by 
 degrees, and in course of after-thought, it did more: 
 — It convinced her that she had been a fool for suf- 
 fering those dreams to sway her mind but for a 
 moment. It filled her with a general contempt for 
 MAN — for his levity, inconstancy, and want of aU 
 serious passion. There was something or other 
 that would not allow her to look on John Dalton
 
 96 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 as worse than other men ; on the contrary, she 
 could not, no, not even now, divest herself of her 
 long cherished belief, that he was superior to 
 others of his sex. Upon that sex at large she 
 poured out the vial which she durst not, desired 
 not, to scatter on his single head. She despised 
 his love— but she satisfied herself that no other 
 covdd ever bring her love more worthy of her ac- 
 ceptance. Strange, ill-assorted, wandering, per- 
 plexing, conflicting thoughts — how deep was the 
 possession which they took of a spirit, strong in 
 nothing but feeling, and thei-e not only strong, 
 but unable to strive against its own strength ! 
 
 Barbara Dalton, at the age of thirty-seven, was 
 still but imperfectly recovered from the effects of 
 this disappointment, which befel her while she 
 was but in the opening bloom of her youth. By 
 degrees, it is true, her mind had been soothed 
 and healed on the surface. She loved her father 
 and her aunt, and she was extremely attached to 
 her brother uterme, (of whom something has been 
 already said,) and his family. Of late, indeed, she 
 had been more than ever under Sir Charles Cat- 
 line's influence, in consequence of his being almost 
 
 12
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. VIII. 9T 
 
 the only one of her relations that did not discoun- 
 tenance some notions which she had embraced 
 very passionately in regard to a certain very im- 
 portant subject. Of all which, more in the se- 
 quel. 
 
 vol,. T. f'
 
 98 llEGIXALD DALTOX. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The reader would probably be not mucli edi- 
 fied by any very particular account of the little 
 incidents that occurred during the three days 
 spent at Thorwold-hall, by the family of Grypher- 
 wast. There were walks in the woods, rides on 
 the hill, and boating-parties on the lake ; but in 
 the greater part of these Barbara Dalton took no 
 share, and even when she did accompany the rest, 
 silent and reserved, just as she had been the first 
 evening Reginald saw her, she exhibited no symp- 
 toms of partaking in the pleasure diffused among 
 those with whom she was surrounded. In vain 
 did the old Squire talk, joke, and laugh ; in vain 
 did Mrs Betty use more quiet endeavours to en- 
 gage her attention ; in vain did Mr and Mrs 
 Chisney do every thing that kindness and hospi-
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. IX. 99 
 
 tality could suggest — there was still something so 
 painful to her feelings in being placed (as she al- 
 most continually was) within the sight of John 
 Dalton, and the sound of his voice, that she was 
 quite imable to resist the constraining and de- 
 pressing influence. The Vicar, on his part, ex- 
 erted himself, whatever his private feelings might 
 have been, Avith increasing success ; and as for 
 Reginald, the happy buoyancy of youth asserted 
 its privilege ; in spite of all that had happened, be- 
 fore his relations took their departure, he had not 
 only quite recovered the tranquillity of his exter- 
 nal demeanour, but, through dint of serious reflec- 
 tion, aided by the high stimulus of juvenile spi- 
 rits, reconciled his mind, in a great measure, to 
 the actual state of affairs — and almost taught 
 himself to think with less of regret, than of shame, 
 upon the delusions in which his idleness had so 
 long indulged itself. 
 
 His intercourse with Frederick Chisney had 
 first animated, if not infused into him, the desire 
 of mingling in the world ; and now this desii-e 
 became more and more strengthened, not only by 
 what he heard every hour in the common course of
 
 100 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 conversation, but in consequence of the more se- 
 rious reflections, which he could not help making 
 for himself, in regard to the business of life, and 
 the state of his own future prospects in the world. 
 His father, too, from the moment the Grypher- 
 wast family went away, began, he could not but 
 remark, to talk freely with him on subjects which 
 heretofore had been, perhaps, far too much avoided 
 — the necessity, namely, of his choosing a profes- 
 sion, and ere long devoting the whole of his ener- 
 gies to the active duties of life. 
 
 No topics could, in one point of view, be more 
 agreeable than these to Reginald — ^because the 
 very broaching of them implied that his father 
 was sensible he had spent enough of time already 
 in the seclusion of Lannwell ; but the youth was 
 perplexed, when he heard the Vicar speak so 
 strongly about the necessity of his looking for- 
 ward to a life of steady and laborious exertion ; 
 and although he did not venture to say out dis- 
 tinctly what was passing through his mind, Mr 
 Dalton could not recur again and again to that 
 subject, (which he did, and with ever-increasing 
 earnestness too,) without at length forming some
 
 BOOK I. CHAP IX. 101 
 
 suspicions ; and no sooner were these formed, than 
 he resolved to do what duty and affection ahke 
 dictated and prescribed. 
 
 It was on a Sunday evening, when they were 
 sitting together in the hbrary, that the Vicar first 
 said the long expected words, " Reginald, you 
 must spend the winter at Oxford. It is a sore 
 thing for me to lose you, but the time is come. 
 Perhaps we should have been thinking of it sooner." 
 
 Much as Reginald had thought of — much as 
 he had even desired what was now proposed, there 
 was a melancholy tenderness in his father's tone 
 of voice that went quite to his heart, and he al- 
 most wished the words had not been uttered. 
 However, he gathered his thoughts for a moment, 
 and answered, " My dear father, how is it possi- 
 ble for me to think of being weeks, months, a 
 whole winter, away from you ! and yet what can I 
 say ? I am nearly eighteen years old." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, my dear boy ; and as I have 
 already often said to you, and, indeed, as I have 
 no doubt you have often enough reflected with 
 yourself, the world is before you, for you to make
 
 ]t,02 REGINALD UALTON. 
 
 your own way in it. It is high time you were pre- 
 paring to look on yourself as a man." 
 
 " Will you go with m.e to Oxford .'*'" said Re- 
 ginald. 
 
 " I don't know," said the Vicar. " It is so 
 long since I left the place, that I dare say I should 
 be as much a stranger in it as yourself. I have 
 one old friend there, who, I am sure, will do all he 
 can to have you comfortably estabhshed. Besides 
 you know, my dear, the journey would be a very 
 considerable expence, and you are aware, that I 
 shall now have less money to spare than I have 
 ever had." 
 
 Reginald heard these last words with a new feel- 
 ing of pain ; for, in truth, money was a thing he 
 had scarcely ever thought of But ere he coidd 
 say any thing, his father went on, " I am sure 
 of one thing, that my dear boy will be careful of 
 the little I can afford to give him. Oxford was, 
 and always must be, a place of great temptation, 
 in more ways than one, Reginald. I trust you 
 will remember, when you are far away from Lann- 
 wellj the lessons of moderation you have learned
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. IX. 103 
 
 here. I hope you will forget nothing that you 
 ouglit to remember." 
 
 " My dear father," said he, " you may depend 
 upon it, I will never spend a single sixpence I can 
 help." 
 
 The Vicar smiled a little, and there was silence 
 for a minute or two on both sides. He then re- 
 sumed in a less serious tone, and said, " I shall 
 go as far as Grypherwast-hall with you, however 
 — ^"tis all in your way ; and you know I promised 
 Mr Dalton, that we should both of us pay him a 
 visit ere long." 
 
 Reginald's face involuntarily coloured up when 
 he heard this ; he paused, however, for a moment 
 ere he said in answer, " How happy I shall be to 
 see the old Hall, father ! and the Squire was so 
 very kind, and so was Mrs Elizabeth." 
 
 " Ay, Reginald," said the Vicar, " they are 
 kind, very kind people, and nothing can be more 
 proper than that you should be sensible of their 
 kindness ; but forgive me, my dear boy, if I am 
 wronging you, — do you know, I cannot help sus- 
 pecting, that, in spite of all the hints I have dropt
 
 104 llEGIXALD D ALTON. 
 
 from time to time, you indulge yourself in some 
 very foolish expectations from that quarter ?''' 
 
 The thing was so true, and the mention of it 
 so unexpected, that Reginald's face at once be- 
 trayed him. He blushed deeply, and looked any 
 way but towards his father. He, on his part, rose 
 from his seat, and traversed the room several times 
 with slow, heavy steps, ere he proceeded any far- 
 ther. 
 
 " Reginald,*" said he, resuming his chair, " since 
 we have come fairly upon this subject, let us make 
 an end of it once and for all. I tell you the truth, 
 so help me God, and nothing but the truth, when 
 I say to you, that I believe the possessions of our 
 ancestors will never be either mine or yours." 
 
 " But why, ray dear father," said Reginald, 
 taking courage — " why do you speak so positive- 
 ly ? The Squire is very old, and Miss Dalton, 
 you know, is not young — for a woman I mean." 
 
 " Hear me, boy, and I will tell you exactly 
 how the matter stands, so far as I have been able 
 to understand it myself — and I believe I have had 
 opportunities rather better than yours fordoing so. 
 Mr Dalton's estate goes of course to his daugh-
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. IX. 105 
 
 ter. If he would he could not alter that — but he 
 is devotedly attached to his child. She is his only 
 child, and she must be as dear to him, as you, 
 Reginald, are to me — how can one doubt that she 
 is most dear to him ?" 
 
 " Surely, surely," said Reginald ; " but if she 
 never marries ? " 
 
 " There is nothing to hinder her marrying," 
 said the Vicar, blushing a little, and looking 
 downwards in his turn — " There is nothing in 
 her age to prevent it, and between ourselves, Re- 
 ginald, she has got into the hands of a set of peo- 
 ple, among whom she might be very likely to find 
 a husband, but that there is one among them who 
 would rather she should never have one at all — 
 I mean her brother — I mean Sir Charles Catline." 
 
 " But, dear father, Sir Charles Catline is not 
 a Dalton, though he is her brother." 
 
 " True, my boy ; but although he is not a 
 Dalton, he may like very well to be the heir of 
 the Daltons." 
 
 " I can never believe Miss Dalton would have 
 the baseness " 
 
 " Come, come, Reginald, you talk like a boy
 
 106 llEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 indeed now. Sir Charles Catline is her brother ; 
 and knowing all that you do know, do you serious- 
 ly think it likely she should hesitate between Mm 
 and me F" 
 
 " Hesitate between justice and injustice, you 
 mean to say,"" answered Reginald. 
 
 " Call it as you will,'' quoth the Vicar, " such 
 is the case. But you shall go with me to Gry- 
 pherwast, and see with your own eyes, if you will 
 not put trust in what I say to you — ^you shall 
 witness the bondage, the vassalage, into which 
 artful, I fear, very artful, very designing people 
 have brought her — above all, you shall see this 
 Catline. For me, I know him of old." 
 
 " And what sort of a man is he, father ? But 
 why should I ask ? If he would take Grypher- 
 wast, were it in his power, he must be a villain 
 indeed." 
 
 The Vicar smiled again. " My dear boy," said 
 he, " you have many things to learn yet. But I 
 will confess one thing to you, and that is, that of 
 all the changes I have ever heard of, Sir Charles 
 Catline's must be the strangest, if he be at heart 
 what they now say he appears to be. — Alas, my
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. IX. 107 
 
 2)oor Lucy C — These last words were uttered in 
 a broken whisper, and the Vicar paused. — " And 
 yet, Reginald," he proceeded after a moment, 
 " God forbid that we should judge uncharitably. 
 There is nothing impossible to the Almighty. — 
 But in the meantime I repeat to you once more, 
 that you are to dismiss from your mind these vain, 
 silly dreams. Dismiss them instantly, my boy, 
 and be thankful to God, that if you make a proper 
 use of the faculties he has given you, no part of 
 your worldly happiness need be dependent on the 
 caprice of strangers. — Hear me, Reginald ! if you 
 are too wise in your own conceit to follow my ad- 
 vice, if you persist in this folly, this absurdity, 
 this madness, (for I can give it no other name,) 
 you will undo yourself— and me too, my dear boy, 
 for what have I in the world but you r 
 
 Reginald was exceedingly affected with the pas- 
 sionate manner in which his father delivered him- 
 self. A tear had gathered in his eye ere he an- 
 swered, (and he did it in a tone at once trembling 
 and energetic,) " My dearest father, what have I 
 but you — whom else have I to hsten to, to obey, 
 to love .^ I confess to you, that I have been silly
 
 108 llEGINALD D ALTON. 
 
 enough to regard all these matters in a different 
 light ; but henceforth I shall have no thoughts of 
 my own. In this, and in all things, be sure that 
 I shall endeavour to do according to your desire. 
 Would to God I could be such as you would 
 have me !"" 
 
 " My dearest boy, my only hope," said the 
 Vicar, '* you are, you are already all that I would 
 have yovi. I have told you my own weaknesses, 
 because I would rather you should know them, 
 and be strong yourself, than be weak in ignorance 
 of them. Go into the world, my Reginald, and 
 happy will my grey hairs be, if you prove in 
 manhood such a creature as I love in you now."
 
 HOOK I. CII.VP. X. 109 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 In spite of all the excitements of curiosity, all 
 the bustle of undefined expectation, the fortnight 
 during which Reginald looked forward to and pre- 
 paredforhis departure from Lannwell, was a period, 
 on the whole, of painful, far — far more than of 
 pleasureable emotion. His father's whole air and 
 aspect seemed to be suffused, as the day ap- 
 proached nearer and nearer, with the tones of an 
 ever-softening interest, and a more melancholy 
 seriousness of affection. The stillness of the au- 
 tumnal air, meanwhile, began to be broken by 
 sudden blasts of wind, that whistled and moaned 
 among the branches ; and every morning shewed 
 some favourite tree stript of half the foliage that 
 had mantled it over night in all the fragile grace- 
 fulness of October. The turfen walks of the gar-
 
 no IlEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 den lay encumbered with dead and rustling leaves. 
 Nature, indeed, was still beautiful, but it was the 
 beavity of decay, and its influences accorded well 
 with the gloom of pensive tenderness which hung 
 and deepened over the spirits both of the man and 
 of the boy. 
 
 At length the day came, and Reginald, al- 
 though his father was going along with him, did 
 not leave the vicarage without some sorrowful 
 enough farewells. Frederick Chisney, however, 
 joined them with a cheerful face at the gates of 
 Thorwold ; and the presence of a third person, 
 even less merry than he was, would have been 
 enough to divert, in some measure, the current 
 of their thoughts. Besides, after they had ad- 
 vanced a few miles on the way, every thing was 
 new to Reginald, and even the dreary novelty of 
 the Leven Sands was able to occupy and mterest 
 his mind. The good Vicar and Frederick, both 
 of them, smiled, though not at all in the same 
 sort, at some juvenile raptures he could not help 
 feeling now and then, and dreamt not of sup- 
 pressing ; — for every paltry collier sloop was a 
 ship, and Morecamb Bay was ocean itself to one,
 
 HOOlf I. CHAT. X. Ill 
 
 that had never before seen any thing greater than 
 a httle inland mere. 
 
 They halted to bait their horses at a little vil- 
 lage on the main coast of the Palatinate, and then 
 pursued their course leisurely through a rich and 
 level country, until the groves of Grypherwast 
 received them amidst all the breathless splendour 
 of a noble sunset. It would be difficult to express 
 the emotions with which young Reginald regard- 
 ed, for the first time, the ancient demesne of his 
 race. The scene was one which a stranger, of 
 years and experience very superior to his, might 
 have been pardoned for contemplating with some 
 enthusiasm ; but to him the first glimpse of the 
 venerable front, embosomed amidst its 
 
 " Old contemporary trees," 
 
 was the more than realization of cherished dreams. 
 Involuntarily he drew in his rein ; — and, the whole 
 party as involuntarily following the motion, they 
 approached the gateway together at the slowest 
 pace. 
 
 The gateway is almost in the heart of the vil- 
 lage, for the Hall of Grypherwast had been rear-
 
 112 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 eel long before English gentlemen conceived it to 
 be a point of dignity to have no humble roofs near 
 their own. A beautiful stream runs hard by, and 
 the hamlet is almost within the arms of the princely 
 forest, whose ancient oaks, and beeches, and gi- 
 gantic pine-trees, darken and ennoble the aspect 
 of the whole surrounding region. The peasantry, 
 who watch the flocks and herds in those deep and 
 grassy glades, the fishermen, who draw their sub- 
 sistence from the clear waters of the river, and 
 the woodmen, whose axes resound all day long 
 anions the inexhaustible thickets, are the sole in- 
 habitants of the simple place. Over their cot- 
 tages the Hall of Grypherwnst has predominated 
 for many long centuries, a true old Northern ma- 
 nor-house, not devoid of a certain magnificence 
 in its general aspect, though making slender pre- 
 tensions to any thing like elegance in its details. 
 The central tower, square, massy, rude, and almost 
 destitute of windows, recalls the knightly and trou- 
 bled period of the old Border wars; while the over- 
 shadowing roofs, carved balconies, and multifari- 
 ous chimnies, scattered over the rest of the build- 
 ing, attest the successive influence of many more 
 
 8
 
 COOK I. CHAP. X. 113 
 
 or less-tasteful generations. Excepting in the ori- 
 ginal baronial tower, the upper parts of the house 
 are all formed of oak, but this with such an air of 
 strength and solidity, as might well shame many 
 modern structures raised of better materials. No- 
 thing could be more perfectly in harmony with 
 tlie whole character of the place, than the au- 
 tumnal brownness of the stately trees around. 
 The same descending rays were tinging with rich 
 lustre the outlines of their bare trunks, and the 
 projecting edges of the old-fashioned bay-windows 
 which they sheltered ; and some rooks of very old 
 family were cawing over head almost in the midst 
 of the hospitable smoke-wreaths. 
 
 Within a couple of yards from the door of the 
 house, an eminently respectable-looking old man, 
 in a powdered wig, and very rich livery of blue 
 and scarlet, was sitting on a garden-chair, with a 
 pipe in his mouth, and a cool tankard within his 
 reach upon the ground. 
 
 This personage rose, and, laying down his tube, 
 uncovered himself, and performed as elaborate a 
 bow to the name of Dalton, as Dr Samuel John- 
 son himself ever did to the dignity of an arch- 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 114 llEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 bishop. He told them, with an air of concern, that 
 his master was confined to his room by a touch of 
 gout ; " but my young mistress,"" quoth he, " and 
 Mrs Ehzabeth, are sitting with him, and if you'll 
 just wait for a moment, I'll let them know who 
 are come." 
 
 So saying, the old man tottered on as fast as he 
 could before them, and, after ushering them into 
 a large dark-pannelled parlour, repeated his best 
 obeisance, and left them for a little to themselves. 
 But he might have staid a long while ere Regi- 
 nald at least had wearied, for the walls of the 
 room were quite covered with old portraits, and 
 the youth was in a moment too busy with these to 
 think of any thing besides. He had not, how- 
 ever, had time to examine more than two or three 
 of the embrowned and whiskered visages, ere the 
 man returned with a face full of smiles, to say 
 that his master was delighted to hear of their ar- 
 rival, and requested them to come into his dress- 
 ing-room. " The family have dined an hour ago," 
 added their guide, "but we'll soon get something 
 for you, and you'U dine beside the Squire, if you 
 have no objections.""
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. X. n5 
 
 " Any where you please," quoth Frederick 
 Chisney ; " but do make haste, old boy, for we're 
 as sharp as hawks." 
 
 " God bless you, sir," said Thomas Bishop ; 
 " I wish you had come a little earlier, for we had 
 one of the grandest haunches to-day that ever 
 mortal eye beheld ; but never fear, gentlemen, 
 we'll toss up a hash in five minutes time, and a 
 beef steak, maybe — perhaps your honours would 
 like to have a beef steak along with the hash .^'" 
 
 " Thou hast said it," quoth Chisney ; " and 
 now lead the way, my hearty." 
 
 The Vicar and his son followed, smiling in 
 spite of themselves, and after passing through 
 three or four spacious chambers, in one of which 
 was a bed, and in another a billiard-table, they 
 reached the snug httle habitacuhim where the 
 Squire was established in the " otium cum digni- 
 tatc''' of his customary disorder. As the door was 
 being opened, they could hear him saying, in ra- 
 ther a surly whisper, — " Away with all your con- 
 founded trumpery — shuffle your tracts and hymn- 
 books out of sight, I say :" And, to be sure, there 
 was almost as formidable an array of pamphlets on
 
 116 llEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 the table, as there was of phials on the chimney- 
 piece. 
 
 The Squire made an effort, and rose from the 
 abyss of his enormous elbow-chair, to welcome 
 them. Mrs Elizabeth laid down her knitting with 
 a most cordial smile ; and even Barbara, now that 
 she was under her own roof, and had guests to re- 
 ceive, acquitted herself with an air of frankness 
 totally unhke anything that Reginald had seen 
 her exhibit while at Thorwold. 
 
 " My brother has just left us," said she, — " 'tis 
 so unfortunate — but he's to be with us again to- 
 morrow ; and, in the meantime " 
 
 " They'll eat their dinner, to be sure," inter- 
 rupted the Squire ; " and if there was but one 
 bottle of wine in my cellar, they should have it. 
 Betty — Betty, my dear, you know best about such 
 things — -just desire the Bishop to fetch some of 
 the old green seal." 
 
 Mrs Betty whispered Thomas, who had just 
 re-entered the room, and who signified, by a know- 
 ing smile, that his foot needed no guide to the 
 binn in question. In the mean time, a table was 
 covered at the opposite side of the chamber, and
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. X. 117 
 
 in the course of a very few minutes the three tra- 
 vellers were paying their best respects to the 
 hachi. 
 
 A very ingenious author has recently written a 
 very delightful Essay on the " Pleasures of Sick- 
 ness," — but he has omitted one charming moment, 
 — I mean that when the convalescent man receives 
 in his chamber the first visit of a friend whose 
 face has never approached him during the seve- 
 rity of his illness. The Squire of Grypherwast 
 was now in fuU enjoyment of this. The associ- 
 ations of the sick-room were just vanishing be- 
 neath the influence of new looks and new voices, 
 and ere the strangers had made an end of their 
 repast, he had already got the length of declaring 
 he felt himself so much better, he thought he 
 might venture on a glass of claret. 
 
 In vain did Mrs Elizabeth shake her head : — 
 in vain did Miss Barbara lift her hands and her 
 eyes : in vain did even the old Bottleholder whis- 
 per caution as he set a glass of the smallest size 
 before him. The Squire's glee was up — the lit- 
 tle round table was wheeled towards the fireside,
 
 1 18 BOOK I. CHAP. X. 
 
 and the first smack of " the green seal,"" bathed 
 his lips in Elysium. 
 
 With what slow deliberate satisfied gusto did 
 he imbibe the " molten ruby !" No gulping, as 
 if it had been water, and merely intended for the 
 destruction of thirst; — no; — drop descended after 
 drop, calmly, leisurely : every individual liquid 
 atom came in contact with the palate over which 
 it glided ; — no waste of that precious dew : Had 
 it been nectar and poured by Hebe, it could not 
 have been drained more devoutly. — The ancient 
 butler stood in the door-way with his mild eyes 
 fixed on his master, while the draught descended. 
 The Squire's eye met his just as it Aras over. — 
 With a sort of half-apologetic, half-quizzical nod, 
 he filled the glass again to the brim, beckoned to 
 the time-honoured serving-man, and, handing the 
 bumper to him over his left shoulder, whispered, 
 " Take away this dwarfs cup, my Lord Bishop ; 
 I suppose you thought we were going to be at the 
 dram-bottle.'" — He concluded this brief but intel- 
 ligible address, with humming waggishly enough 
 the old tune of 
 
 " Busy curious, thirsty fly, 
 Drink with me, and drink as I."
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. X. 119 
 
 Thomas reverently bowed, — cast a self-reproaeli- 
 ing glance on the diminutive glass, tossed the 
 contents over his tongue with a single jerk, and 
 then, with all the solemn gravity of a Zeno, re- 
 placed the rejected vessel by one, whose tall, solid, 
 transparent, flower-woven stalk, towered some six 
 inches above the board. 
 
 In short, it was plain the night was to be a jolly 
 one. The ladies retired with sour looks, when the 
 tone in which the second magnum was called for had 
 sufficiently indicated that a third might chance to 
 follow — and the gentlemen saw no more of them 
 until next morning. There was a great deal of 
 talk about ReginaWs approaching entrance to the 
 University ; and the Squire, who also had worn 
 the square cap in his day, although, perhaps, it 
 had never sat quite so familiarly about his ears as 
 the hunting one, was not loath to have the oppor- 
 tunity of calling up fifty long forgotten stories 
 about proctors hit, and hull-dogs baffled. Chisney, 
 surveying with his quick and wicked glances the 
 portly and rotvmd old riu'al invalid, could not help 
 smiling to hear him representing himself in the
 
 120 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 light of a gay young spark, swaggering along 
 Magdalen meadow in a flowing silk gown, and 
 flirting with damsels that had long ago slept im- 
 der Carfax. Every now and then, however, the 
 good Squire was careful to interweave some pa- 
 renthesis of prudential warning — "Ah, you laugh, 
 you young dogs," he would say, " you laugh to 
 hear me telling of all these foolish pranks ; but 
 let them laugh that win, my lads ; what does the 
 old Archdeacon's rhyme say, Mr Chisney ? you 
 must have seen it ere now in the window of Mer- 
 ton Church. — Ah ! hang it, I'm rusted sorely 
 now-a-days ! how does it run, man ? 
 
 ' Post nisum, usum — visum, ' 
 
 Nay, confound it, I thought I could have remem- 
 bered that too. — Hang it, hang it, you dog, you're 
 new off^ the irons, how goes it ?" 
 
 Frederick muttered a little to himself, and then 
 spouted without hesitation the old leoline lines, 
 
 " Post visum, risum ; post risum, venit in usum ; 
 Post usum, tactum ; post factum venit in actum : 
 Post actum factum ; post factum poenitet actum."
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. X. 121 
 
 (( 
 
 Yes, yes/' quoth the Squire ; " that's the 
 very thing — how should I have forgot it — 
 
 ' Post pactum, factum, post actum poenitet factum ;' 
 
 but 'tis all as good and true in English as in La- 
 tin, after all. O you young devils, beware of wine 
 and wantonness — beware of wine and wantonness, 
 I say — but John, John, cousin John, your glass 
 is empty, man," 
 
 So saying, another bumper passed round the 
 board, and the Squire leaping in a moment from 
 his morahties, began to chaunt in his most sono- 
 rous tone, 
 
 " Old Chiron thus preached to his pupil Achilles, 
 ' I'U tell you, young gentleman, what the fates' will is : 
 You, my boy, 
 Must go 
 (The Gods will have it so) 
 
 To the siege of Troy : 
 Thence never to return to Greece again. 
 But before those walls to be slain. 
 Ne'er let your noble courage be cast down, 
 But all the while you lie before the town. 
 Drink, and drive care away : drink and be merry : 
 For you'll go ne'er the sooner to the Stygian ferry.' "
 
 122 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 The Vicar heard him with a benignant smile, 
 saying, he was sure Keginald would follow the 
 good advice the Squire had given him, in spite of 
 the seductive moral of his glee. 
 
 " Ay, ay," quoth the old man, " I'm sure he 
 will, I'm sure he will. Be a good lad, Reginald, 
 and mind your book, do ye hear ; and if you take 
 the honours, do ye hear me, and I live to see the 
 day, why, we'll kill the prettiest buck, and see if 
 there be no more of the green seal. But you'll be 
 corrupted by that time — ah, yes, in spite of all 
 your demure looks, you'll be well broken ere that 
 time — you'll be fit to lay an old boy hke me under 
 the table ere then, you dog. — Uo they give you 
 good black strap at Oxford in these days, Mr Fre- 
 derick ?" 
 
 Frederick hereupon began to talk of vintages 
 and so forth, with an air of understanding that 
 was far from being over and above pleasing to the 
 Vicar, whose son was just about to commence his 
 academical career under these auspices. The party 
 broke up soon afterwards, chiefly, it may be sup- 
 posed, in consequence of his reiterated hints and
 
 BOOK I, CHAP. X. 123 
 
 expostulations ; and Reginald, whose chamber 
 communicated with that of his father, was not suf- 
 fered to go to bed until he had heard a very se- 
 rious lecture. 
 
 This" youth, when his father had left him, found 
 himself the tenant of a very stately and lofty room, 
 all pannelled in black oak, with two or three quaint 
 hunting-pieces, hung here and there in huge car- 
 ved frames of the same material. The tall crim- 
 son bed was in keeping with the style of the apart- 
 ment, and might probably have stood there ever 
 since it was built. High-backed chairs, with down 
 cushions, that sunk half a yard when one pressed 
 them, were -ranged in great order all around, 
 and a curious little circular dressing- closet was 
 supplied, at one of the corners, by a turret. The 
 boy was, on the whole, happy with the occurrences 
 of the day, and he did not find himself alone for 
 the first time under that roof without feelings of 
 pride and gratification ; but at the same time he 
 had left home — and he was about to part with his 
 father — and in the quiet of the hour he could not 
 think, without something of timidity and heavi-
 
 124 
 
 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 ness, of being so near the brink of total novelty. 
 However, care is but an unnatural visitant for a 
 bosom so young — and we may add, so innocent as 
 his ; and Reginald ere long fell asleep. 
 
 A thousand antique forms flitted before him in 
 his dreams, and when he woke, which he did early, 
 and looked out from his piUow upon the grand old 
 chamber, and the big oak that stretched its arms 
 across the window, he still continued to dream : 
 Alas ! he said to himself, how many Daltons have 
 lain here before me ! The same blood that now 
 flows in my veins, has it not danced long ago here 
 in hght hearts, that are all crumbled into dust ? 
 Have not eyes of the same shape and fashion as 
 these of mine gazed on these very objects ? Have 
 not ancestors of mine been born in this very bed — 
 have they not died in it too ? — No one ever found 
 himself for the first time within the dwellino- of a 
 long line of his fore-fathers, without being greeted 
 by some such imaginings; — they came to Regi- 
 nald's bosom strongly, intensely, sorrowfully — so 
 much so, that I fancy he could almost have found 
 it in him to weep, at the moment when a rosy-
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. X. 125 
 
 cheeked young lad came in to take his clothes, 
 and bade him good morning with a hearty rustic 
 chuckle, — a searing-bell to sentiment.
 
 126 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The Squire did not of course appear at the 
 breakfast-table ; but Barbara and Betty did its 
 honours in a most hospitable style. The elder lady 
 scolded the Vicar a little for having given his coun- 
 tenance to something not unlike a debauch ; but 
 altogether much good humour prevailed. A walk 
 in the park was proposed, and Mrs Elizabeth soon 
 appeared accoutred for exercise ; but Barbara 
 said she was sorry she could not be of the party, 
 and whispered something into her aunt's ear about 
 children and a school. 
 
 Young Chisney, having discovered that an inti- 
 mate acquaintance of his was in the same neigh- 
 hood, begged one of the Squire's horses, and set 
 off to pay his visit ; while Mr Dalton and his son 
 began their inspection of the grounds, under the 
 supcrintendance of their worthy relation.
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XI. 127 
 
 She took them a long walk ; first through all 
 the gardens, and then by the side of the river, and 
 up the hill too, among fine open old groves, where 
 herds of beautiful deer were brousing. She could 
 not move very quickly, but she was indefatigable, 
 and as she walked between her cousins, leaning on 
 their arms, her conversation flowed on at once so 
 gaily and so sensibly, that neither of them had any 
 inclination to complain of the rate at which they 
 were proceeding. At last she brought them to 
 the edge of a small but deep hollow, very thickly 
 wooded with ancient trees, and, pausing for a mo- 
 ment, said to the Vicar, " Do you know whither 
 I am carrying ye now, cousin ? You surely do." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr Dalton, " I know it well, 
 ma'am ; but why should you take the trouble of 
 going down there ? I can shew it to Reginald an- 
 other time." 
 
 " Nay, nay," said the old lady, smiling very 
 sweetly, and yet rather solemnly too, " if thafs all 
 the matter you need not stop me here. There's 
 seldom a week passes but I pay my visit in this 
 quarter ; and we'll e'en go down together, if you 
 please, for we three may seek all the world over.
 
 128 llEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 I take it, without finding another spot wliere we 
 have so much in common.'" 
 
 So speaking, she resumed her hold of the Vicar's 
 arm, and leaning on it with rather a stronger pres- 
 sure than before, proceeded down the path, which 
 was too narrow for three to walk a-breast on it. 
 Reginald, following the pair, soon found himself 
 almost in darkness, for the trees there were chiefly 
 pines, and their strong and lofty red shafts stood 
 close together, so that there was a complete cano- 
 py, black rather than green, overhead. Neither 
 liis father nor Mrs Dalton was saying anything, 
 and somehow or other he did not like to ask any 
 questions, but there was a sort of elaborate gloom 
 in the place, so different from the aspect of any 
 other part of the grounds he had been traversing, 
 that he could not help divining something of 
 what the old lady had alluded to. 
 
 Deep down in the dell there is a space left open 
 among the trees : — smooth firm old turf, and a little 
 rivulet flowing clear as crystal over a bed of the 
 whitest pebbles. It was here that in ancient times 
 rose the nunnery of St Judith's — the same reU- 
 gious house, to some of the possessions of which 
 
 18
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XI. 129 
 
 the Dalton family succeeded in the reign of Henry 
 VIII. — a splendid and lofty structure in its day. 
 Of all that once wide and magnificent pile, there 
 remains nothing now but one or two prostrate 
 columns, a fragment of the cloister, and a single 
 very small chapel, quite open on one side to the 
 air, and mantled all over with ivy. This was ori- 
 ginally one of a great number of subordinate cha- 
 pels, branching off" from the nave of the conventual 
 church ; but the Daltons, long before they became 
 lords of the ground, had chosen to make it their 
 burying-place ; and hence probably its preserva- 
 tion in the midst of so much destruction or decay. 
 Mrs Elizabeth opened the wicket, and, without 
 saying anything, led the way into the enclosure. 
 When they were all beneath the roof of the cha- 
 pel, she sat down on the edge of a little altar- 
 tomb, while the gentlemen stood uncovered by her 
 side, their eyes wandering over the maze of old 
 effigies and inscriptions, with which the opposite 
 wall was laden. Reginald stirred neither foot 
 nor hand for some minutes, lost in pensive curio- 
 sity ; but at last stepped forward to spell out an 
 epitaph which he had not been able to understand. 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 130 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 Even when he had come quite close to it, it was 
 still illegible ; all but the words " 3iicgt«aXtf J3aX- 
 tnm;' and the date ^m^^W^^* 
 
 " Ay, ay," said Mrs Elizabeth, " that Reginald, 
 I believe, was but a very young man when he died. 
 His father was, slain at Flodden-field, and left him 
 an orphan, and that"'s all we know of him. Look 
 at the next stone, cousin, and you will find a plain 
 text, if I be not forgetful." 
 
 It was a simple slab of marble fixed low on the 
 wall, with the initials B. D. at the top of it, and 
 underneath these words in gilt capitals, seemingly 
 but recently carved there : — " Our fathers 
 
 FIND THEIR GRAVES IN OUR SHORT MEMORIES, 
 AND SADLY TELL US HOW W^E SHALL BE BURIED 
 IN OUR SURVIVORS. LeT ME BE FOUND IN THE 
 REGISTER OF GoD, NOT IN THE RECORD OF 
 
 MAN." 
 
 " Poor Barbara," said Mrs EHzabeth, after our 
 youth had read the words aloud; — "poor Barbara ! 
 this now is one of her fancies, and yet who can 
 say much against it .?" 
 
 " Barbara !" said the Vicar, " what has she 
 done, I pray you .'"
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XI. 131 
 
 " Only put up her own monument, cousin ;" she 
 replied, " you see it there before you ; but 'tis not 
 a thing of yesterday, as you may observe. I be- 
 lieve the inscription is almost as old as your Re- 
 ginald." 
 
 The Vicar's countenance underwent a change 
 sudden and melancholy, upon his hearing these 
 words, and he walked away by himself to the other 
 extremity of the chapel. Mrs Elizabeth followed 
 him with a look of deep regret, and then, as if 
 checking her thoughts, she tiu-ned to Reginald, 
 and said to him in an energetic and lively tone, 
 " Look round ye, young man, and tell me your 
 mind — Whether, now, would ye lie here, after 
 having been a good and great divine, like the 
 Dean on your left, or after having been a gallant 
 and good soldier, like Sir Marmaduke under your 
 foot .'' The one died at eighty-five, and the other 
 at eight- and-twenty ; but what matters that now .^" 
 
 " Wherever I live," said the youth, " I hope 
 I shall be buried here." 
 
 " Ay," said Elizabeth very quickly, and yet 
 very seriously, " and I hope you will remember 
 the saying of one of the wisest men that ever lived :
 
 132 REGINALD DALTOX. 
 
 * Happy is he who so lives, that when he dies he 
 makes no commotion among the dead.*' Always 
 remember that you are a Dalton, my dear boy, 
 and remember that we shall aU have our wakening 
 together here, as well as our sleep." 
 
 The Vicar turned round hastily when he heard 
 this, and said to his son, " Be thankful, my boy, 
 for Mrs Dalton''s good advice, but do not persuade 
 yourself that you are even to have a grave at Gry- 
 
 pherwast " He stopped suddenly, when the 
 
 words were out, with the air of one that has said 
 more than he intended to say ; but the old lady 
 rose at once from her seat, and taking Reginald 
 by the hand, said in an audible whisper, " Nay, 
 nay, young man, they won't grudge you that : 
 but we've been long enough here for this time ; 
 don't let us forget the world while the sun is yet 
 over our heads." 
 
 So saying, Mrs Elizabeth led Reginald out of 
 the chapel, and the Vicar followed them Hnger- 
 ingly through the wood. The path by which they 
 quitted its precincts was a different one from that 
 by which they had approached them ; and much 
 to Reginald's surprise, they were scarcely beyond
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XI. 13S 
 
 the shadow of the pines, ere the hamlet and the 
 manor-house lay bright in view, not two hundred 
 yards from them in the valley below. 
 
 " You see," said Mrs Elizabeth, " one''s last 
 journey here is anything but a long one. I must 
 step into the village, though, before I go home, for 
 Barbara sometimes forgets the hours when she's 
 busy with her affairs. Will you walk with me, and 
 see her in her school-room ?" 
 
 " Perhaps," said the Vicar, " we might be in- 
 truding on Miss Dalton." 
 
 " Nay, nay," said the old lady, " you need not 
 stand upon that ceremony. Barbara will be pleased 
 with your coming ; I know she will. The school 
 is the very pride of her heart, poor thing." 
 
 The situation of this school was certainly a very 
 beautiful one. The cottage itself was long and 
 low, neatly white-washed, with creepers about the 
 windows, a wide porch in the centre, and at ei- 
 ther end one of those tall round chimneys which 
 give such a picturesque effect to the hamlets of 
 northern Lancashire, and some of the neighbour- 
 ing counties. Placed within a little garden-green, 
 and shaded from behind by a gigantic elm-tree, it
 
 134 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 seemed the very picture of humble repose, and the 
 subdued hum of young voices which reached the 
 ear in approaching, did not disturb that impres- 
 sion. The Vicar paused when they had reached 
 the door, as if to let Mrs Elizabeth go in and teU 
 they were there ; but she, once more nodding en- 
 couragement, lifted the latch, and they found 
 themselves in a moment beyond the threshold. — 
 A cheerful low-roofed room was filled with little 
 girls ; some sewing, others reading ; — and Miss 
 Dalton was sitting in the midst at work, on what 
 seemed to be a flannel petticoat, while two gentle- 
 men, and a very young lady in a riding-habit, ap- 
 peared to be occupied in catechising some of the 
 children. 
 
 Miss Dalton did not look in the least ashamed 
 of being caught in her good works, but rose to re- 
 ceive them with a smile of courteous surjirise. 
 After bidding them severally welcome, she turned 
 round and said to the elder of the two gentlemen 
 behind lier, " Charles, my dear, what has become 
 of your eyes ? I am sure you have seen my cousin 
 Mr John Dalton before." 
 
 Sir Charles Catline, upon being thus admonish-
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XI. 135 
 
 ed, stepped a pace or two forward ; but the Vicar 
 of Lannwell remained where he was, and the pro- 
 found bow he made was so very grave and cere- 
 monious, that the Baronet halted, and rephed to 
 it by one equally distant, although performed in a 
 manner somewhat less deliberate. Miss Barbara, 
 without apparently observing this, introduced the 
 other gentleman as Mr Collins, the curate of a 
 neighbouring parish, and the young lady as Miss 
 Catline, and then, resuming her seat and her work, 
 said, "Don't stop, Charles, my dear; let Lucy have 
 out her lesson, you know, and then we'U all go to- 
 gether to the Hall."" 
 
 " Lucy .''"' said the Vicar, in a whisper, and bit 
 his lip and looked downwards. 
 
 Sir Charles glanced keenly at him from under 
 his eyehds, and then, stooping quickly, took upthe 
 book which he had dropt on the floor, and began 
 again to put questions to the child ; but he did 
 this in such a stammering and hesitating style, 
 that Miss Dalton said, " Nay, Charles, you're 
 quite put out, man ; Lucy can't understand you, 
 if you deliver yourself thus ; but you can't play 
 the teacher before strangers, I suppose."
 
 166 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 He closed the book instantly, as if pleased to 
 have done with the affair, and once more the cold 
 and steady eye of the Vicar met his. He return- 
 ed the gaze for a moment, and a deep flush pass- 
 ed athwart his countenance while he did so ; but 
 that also was over immediately, and he resumed, 
 though not apparently without an effort, the usual 
 serenity of his aspect and demeanour. The Vicar 
 seemed to make an effort too, but his was not 
 ^uite so successful. Indeed, from the moment he 
 entered the school-room, a cloud was visible on 
 his brow, throughout almost the whole of tlie 
 day. There was an unusual absence in his man- 
 ner, which even young Reginald could not help re- 
 marking, though he was far enough from guess- 
 ing the true cause of its appearance. 
 
 Reginald had been, as we have seen, somewhat 
 prepared to dislike Sir Charles Catline long ere 
 now ; yet when the boy saw him, he was obliged 
 to confess to himself that he was a very good-look- 
 ing man. He was now some years turned of forty, 
 and his forehead was rather bald, but his com- 
 plexion was still fresh and rosy, and his cheeks as 
 smooth as possible. Any unprejudiced stranger
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XI. 137 
 
 would certainly have pronounced the Baronet to 
 be a person of smgularly mild and amiable aspect, 
 and though his dress was rather shabby, and by 
 no means fashionable in the cut, and arranged, 
 moreover, in an extremely demure and precise 
 way, still there was no effectual concealment of an 
 air and tournure, which could only have been de- 
 rived from the heau-monde. Mr Collins, who ac- 
 companied Sir Charles, was a young man of mild 
 and soft manners also, and he, too, had rather a 
 handsome face ; but there was a stiffiiess about 
 him which betrayed the mere curate, except, 
 perhaps, to the eyes of Barbara Dalton, and her 
 pretty little niece and god-daughter, both of 
 whom, indeed, seemed to treat the young divine 
 with a more than ordinary measure of respect and 
 attention. For, after all, {soit dit en passant,) 
 there are certain little clerical privileges and ad- 
 vantages which it is quite possible to enjoy in to- 
 lerable perfection, even in countries where cowls 
 and tonsures have had the fortune to be exploded. 
 There was a considerable party that day at 
 dinner, for, in addition to the persons to whom 
 we have already been introduced, Lady Catline,
 
 138 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 and another of her daughters, were there. Regi- 
 nald found himself placed, as usual, beside Mrs 
 Elizabeth ; and the old lady had chosen her chair 
 at the Squire''s end of the table, while Sir Charles 
 and Mr CoUins were near Miss Dalton at the 
 head of it. 
 
 The Squire himself was rather out of humour ; 
 for though it was the first day he had dined out 
 of his own room for more than a week, he was 
 still far from feeling quite well, and the number 
 of his party gave him some annoyance. Besides, 
 he was, or thought himself, obliged to keep up 
 conversation with Lady Catline, who sat by him ; 
 and, to say truth, although her ladyship was, like 
 himself, fond of talking, the Squire and she were 
 two persons that had by no means the same taste 
 as to topics. She bothered him with prosing about 
 new novels of which he had never heard ; and 
 when he, in his politeness, made any attempt to in- 
 troduce Roderick Random, or Peregrine Pickle, 
 she professed total ignorance of any such naughty 
 books. She minced some liberal sentiments, and 
 he was the very bear of Tories. She even dared to 
 insinuate a sneer or two about High-Church ; and
 
 BOOK I. CHAl'. XI. 139 
 
 if she had trampled with the whole weight of her 
 heel upon the Squire's cloth shoe, she.could scarce- 
 ly have offended in a quarter more painfully sensi- 
 tive. To sum up the whole of her demerits, she 
 was a Blue-stocking — and a Whig, — and nobody 
 could tell who was her grandfather ; and she was a 
 blowsy-faced little woman — and she eat lustily of 
 half-a-dozen different dishes — and her hair was 
 
 reddish — and her hands and ears were big and 
 
 the Squire had never liked her. Perhaps Method- 
 ism was the only thing he thoroughly despised 
 that covild not be laid to her charge ; and perhaps, 
 considering the style of his opinions as to the re- 
 lative duties of the female sex, Sir Charles Cat- 
 line's wife was rather more disagreeable to him 
 for presuming to keep free of that particular ble- 
 mish, than she could have been for wearing it be- 
 tween her eyes. The Vicar, who supported this 
 lady on the other side, appeared to be not much 
 more taken with her than his kinsman. 
 
 Throughout the whole of the evening, Regi- 
 nald could not help making observation, that his 
 father and Sir Charles Catline never, by any ac-
 
 140 UEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 cident, exchanged words ; but when the gentlemen 
 rejoined the ladies in the drawing-room, which 
 was a very long and spacious apartment, three 
 distinct parties were formed, and these seemed to 
 have about as little to do with each other, as if they 
 had been ten miles asunder. The Squire sat in 
 his arm-chair by the fire-side, with Reginald, the 
 Vicar, and IVIrs Betty, close to him. The Baro- 
 net, Miss Dalton, Barbara Catline, and the Cu- 
 rate, kept possession of the table on which tea had 
 been served; while Frederick Chisney found his 
 amusement between Lady Catline and her second 
 daughter Julia, quizzing the one, flirting a little 
 with the other, and now and then suffering himself 
 to be beat at troiv-madame. The last was certainly 
 the gayest set of the three ; perhaps the only one 
 amongst all the members of which the announce- 
 ment of Sir Charles's carriage was an unwelcome 
 occurrence. 
 
 The moment they were gone, the Squire order- 
 ed supper ; and, when he found that the two young 
 men must really set off on their journey south- 
 ward in the morning, and the Vicar also for West- 
 moreland, a huge jorum of mulled port was called
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XI. 141 
 
 in to alleviate the affliction of the parting. But 
 even after a second edition of the tankard, the 
 kind old gentleman could not go to his bed until 
 he had made them all promise to come and take 
 farewell of him ere they started.
 
 142 llEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 As the Vicar and Reginald were walking down 
 the long gallery towards their bed-chambers, and 
 talking together as they went, Mrs Elizabeth, who 
 had retired from the party below stairs some con- 
 siderable time earlier, made her appearance in her 
 night-cap and a wide dimity dressing gown, at the 
 door of an apartment, in which a brilliant fire was 
 blazing. The Vicar was halting his pace, for he was 
 naturally iniwilling to contaminate, even by a pass- 
 ing glance, the vestal penetralia of the old spin- 
 ster ; but she stood firm to her post, and beckoning 
 them onwards with her finger, said, with a slight 
 mixture of mystery, and of roguery too, in the tone 
 of her whisper, — " Your black cloth will take no 
 spot, cousin John, although you should venture 
 yourself for a moment — Come — come hither — I
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XII. 143 
 
 have something I would fain speak to you about, 
 — but don't keep Reginald from his bed. — Good 
 night, my dear Reginald." 
 
 The Vicar, with a smile and a blush, followed 
 his venerable Armida into her bower ; and the door 
 was instantly closed upon our youth, who, it must 
 be confessed, was not without some feeling of cu- 
 riosity as to the scope and tendency of this fur- 
 tive interview. He was fain, however, to creep 
 into his bed, since there was nothing better in his 
 power. 
 
 There were two most comfortable easy-chairs 
 in Miss Betty's dressing-room, and as soon, as she 
 and her reverend visitor were estabhshed in these, 
 at the opposite sides of the fire, the old lady 
 coughed once or twice, and then spoke as follows, 
 though not without something both of hesitation 
 and confusion in her manner : — 
 
 " I am going to take a great freedom, Mr Dal- 
 ton — but I hope you will just consider me as a 
 sort of old aunt, and let me have my own way.'"' 
 
 The Vicar bowed respectfidly, and met the old 
 
 lady's kind look with an eye from which gratitude 
 
 all but ran over. 
 
 2
 
 144 REGINALD DALTON 
 
 '' Well,"" she proceeded — " this now is just as it 
 should be among friends and kindred — But why 
 should I make any more speeches ? — Your living 
 is not a great one, John Dalton, and this pretty 
 boy of yours will cost you money, now he''s agoing 
 to Oxford — Will you treat me like a friend indeed, 
 and not hurt me by refusing to accept of this small 
 mark of my good-will — my affection for you 
 
 both r 
 
 With this Miss Betty lifted a letter from the 
 table by her side, broke the seal, and handing it to 
 the Vicar, said — " I had written a great deal of 
 stuff, you see, but I thought it would be better 
 just to take courage and speak for myself; so put 
 the letter in the fire if you please, John, and the 
 enclosure in your pocket.'" 
 
 " 'Tis two hundred pounds, ma'am," said the 
 Vicar, his face getting quite red — " I protest, I am 
 quite ashamed of this, Mrs Dalton — I have no 
 need of "" 
 
 " Nay, nay," interrupted the good spinster — 
 " there was never a man in the world yet that had 
 as much money as he wanted. 'Tis only an use- 
 less old body like me that can lay by money, for
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XII. 145 
 
 not knowing wliat to do with it ; but don't twirl 
 the bill about your fingers so, cousin John ; I 
 assure you I wish I had been richer at Lancaster 
 just now, that it might have been worth double 
 the money ; and besides, what are you thinking of? 
 'tis only giving Reginald a few books ; I wish I 
 had had wit enough to save you the trouble of 
 choosing them for me."" 
 
 The Vicar, with true manliness, and true po- 
 liteness, said no more, but put the bill in his 
 pocket, and prest with all tlie warmth of confidence 
 the hand which was extended towards him. Two 
 generous spirits could not be long of understand- 
 ing each other, and if any slight feeling of awk- 
 wardness remained, I take it this was fulJy more 
 on the side of the donor, than on that of the re- 
 ceiver ; however that might be, it was Miss Betty 
 that changed the subject of their conversation. 
 
 "Come," she said, "cousin John, come, sincewe 
 are here alone at such an hour as this, why, there's 
 no more harm to be done ; let me hear what you 
 think of our visitors to-day. I don't think you and 
 Sir Charles seemed to take over and above well 
 with each other; and yet you were old acquaint- 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 146 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 ances, were you not ? Sure my memory is altoge- 
 ther failing me, (here the old lady drew her finger 
 once or twice along the deepest furrow in her brow,,) 
 — but I think I can't be mistaken, sure you used 
 to meet here at Grypherwast long ago, John ?" 
 
 " Why, no," said the Vicar, " I really don t 
 think we ever did, ma'am, but we have met ere now. 
 I knew Sir Charles, though very slightly, at Ox- 
 ford ; he entered, I think, just a few terms ere I 
 took my degree, and afterwards we met, (here Mr 
 Dalton's voice sunk a few notes,) we met at my 
 own house and elsewhere, in Westmoreland."" 
 
 " Ay, ay," quoth Miss Betty, " I thought you 
 had met somewhere ; I was sure I had heard of it ; 
 but why did you look so coldly on each other, 
 then ? But pardon me, I see 'tis a disagreeable 
 subject somehow or other — I beg your pardon, 
 John." 
 
 " Oh, no begging of pardons, Mrs Dalton, 
 there's not the least occasion for that ; I really do 
 not 'knoxv any thing that should make me speak 
 hardly of Sir Charles Catline. A dark, a miser- 
 ' able, a fearful story indeed there is — if there be 
 indeed a sin beyond forgiveness but no, I shall
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XII. 147 
 
 not say so — no, madam, 1 say again that I do 
 
 not know any thing of the matter, and even if I 
 did, years, long, long years, have flown over the 
 heads of us all — and who shall limit what is unli- 
 mited ? he may, even if it were so, I say — he may 
 still be all he seems — God forgive proud human 
 thoughts i"' 
 
 " Nay, what is this, Cousin John ?" said she, — 
 "' what is all this you are talking of? you have no 
 reason, have you, to think any thing very bad of 
 Sir Charles ?" 
 
 The Vicar paused for half a minute, and then 
 said, dropping his eyes, and with very tremulous 
 lips — " 'Tis indeed a tale of tears. Miss Ehza- 
 beth — but why should I vex you with the telling 
 of it ? — I repeat once more, that I have no sort of 
 right to say that I know any thing against Sir 
 Charles." 
 
 " Come, come, John, you've got a sad story, and 
 you'll be none the worse for telhng it out. I need 
 not say your stories are all safely told hej-ey 
 
 " I know that indeed, ma'am," said he, " I 
 know that well ; but I have just one request to 
 fnake to you, and I must make it ere I say any-
 
 148 KEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 thing of this matter ; and that is, that you will 
 promise me never to repeat this sad story either 
 to your brother or Miss Dalton. I have a parti- 
 cular reason for making this request." 
 
 " God bless me !"" said the lady, getting cu- 
 rious, " is that all the matter ? You may depend 
 on it, neither they nor any other creature under 
 heaven shall ever hear a single syllable of it from 
 me. lYaith, cousin John, I assure you I have 
 had secrets enow to keep from them ere now, 
 tliough not for my sake, but for their own."" 
 
 " I know it all well, I do indeed, ma'am," said 
 the Vicar ; " but why should I be so foolish ? 
 You have said all 1 wished to hear, and you shall 
 have this story, this sad sorrowful story, as freely 
 as I can give it. But, first of all, tell me one 
 thing, my dear madam, were you at the last Pres- 
 ton-guild ?" 
 
 Ay, indeed was I," quoth Mrs Ehzabeth ; 
 
 that's not a yesterday's story, John, and yet I 
 remember the one before that, too, as well as if it 
 had happened three months ago. Ah ! John, 
 that first Guild I went to was a gay one, and I 
 had a light heart to enjoy it. My brother was 

 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XII. 149 
 
 newly married, and he, and I, and Mrs Dalton, 
 went all together ; we had a coach-and-six, and 
 out-riders, and all sorts of grand things ; and 
 there were balls and beaux in plenty. I have the 
 market-place this moment before my eyes — it was 
 a splendid sight, I assure you, quite crowded with 
 fine ladies and fine gentlemen ; nothing but the 
 nodding of ostrich feathers from one end of it to 
 the other." 
 
 " But the second one, Mrs Elizabeth, what 
 sort of a thing was it ? — it is that I want to hear 
 of.?" 
 
 " Oh, it was a very pretty Guild, too, I war- 
 rant ye, though not, I think, quite like the other ; 
 but to be sure I was twenty years older of course, 
 and I don't think any of us were quite in the right 
 sort of glee for the enjoyment of it — I think it 
 fell soon after the time of — of " 
 
 " My marriage," said the Vicar ; " yes, it was 
 so indeed, ma'am." 
 
 " Well, I thought it must have been so. For 
 I remember Barbara — poor thing — but that's all 
 over now long ago — Barbara would scarcely be per- 
 suaded to go with Dick and me. Charles Cat-
 
 150 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 line, he was not Sh- Charles then, for it was be- 
 fore his uncle's death — indeed, the old Admiral 
 himself was at the Guild, I believe — but how- 
 ever, Mr Catline was in the house, as it happen- 
 ed, and though he had not much time to spare, 
 he thought, like the rest of us, the variety of a 
 week at Preston might do Barbara good ; and so 
 he would take no refusal, and she was at last ob- 
 hged to give her consent, and we all went down 
 to the Guild, in company with the Curzon family 
 and the Wards of Langthorpe-hall, I think, and 
 a number of strangers besides. Yes — ^yes, I re- 
 member all that went on quite well now. Mr 
 Catline got some letters the next day after we 
 came to Preston, that made it necessary for him 
 to move southwards sooner than he had intended. 
 I remember he set off very unwillingly, for he 
 was a gay fellow in those days you know ; a very 
 gay fellow, and a very comely one too, that I 
 shall say for him, although he was not any great 
 favourite of mine even then, neither — and Bar- 
 bara was anxious to get home again, and I think 
 we did not stay quite to the end of the gala." 
 The Vicar had risen from his chair, — " Is it so
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XII. 1^1 
 
 indeed, madam ?" he cried, " are you indeed cer- 
 tain INlr Catline left Preston the second day of 
 the Guild r 
 
 " Yes, Lord love ye, what does that signify ? 
 But I a77i quite sure of it, for I remember Barbara 
 could never be persuaded to go to any of the balls, 
 except the opening one, and he was with us there ; 
 sure I danced a bumpkin with the boy myself af- 
 ter supper, the more fool that I was ; but there 
 were older fools there to keep me in countenance. 
 — But what is all this to your story, John .'*'" 
 
 " In truth, I believe very little — nothing at 
 all I should say,'' quoth the Vicar ; " but no 
 matter, I thought it might have been otherwise ; 
 the more shame to me for being so hasty. But I 
 won't trouble you with any more of it. — My poor 
 wife's maiden name, you know, was Ellen Leth- 
 waite." — Mrs Elizabeth nodded gravely to the 
 Vicar. — " There were two sisters of them, ma'am, 
 and believe me, they were both of them exqui- 
 sitely beautiful." 
 
 " We were always told Mrs Dalton was a very 
 lovely young woman." 
 
 " Yes, she was so indeed, ma'am ; but even in
 
 152 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 my opinion Lucy was quite as handsome as she — - 
 she was darker in the complexion, and had larger 
 eyes, and was a more playful creature than my 
 poor Ellen — I never saw such a wild irrepressible 
 flow of spirits about any human being — yet she 
 was a good modest girl for all that." 
 
 " I'm to understand that she's gone, Mr Dal- 
 ton," said Elizabeth, in a very low tone. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, madam ; she is gone — long, 
 long ago ; and that is my dark story." 
 
 " Poor girl ! what was it that befell her ? — Did 
 she die before your Mrs Dalton ?" 
 
 " Would to God she had !" said the Vicar ; 
 " My poor Ellen would have been spared many 
 a heavy thought. Nay, I sometimes think — but 
 what avails it to dream thus ? — The Lord willed 
 
 it so." 
 
 Mrs Elizabeth edged her chair a little nearer 
 to him, and after a moment he proceeded. 
 
 " I don't know how to give you a notion of 
 what Lucy Lethwaite was, Mrs Ehzabeth — she 
 was the very soul of merriment, the best-humour- 
 ed, laughing girl in the world, for the most part, 
 and yet serious and pensive sometimes too. But
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XII. 153 
 
 one of our Westmoreland poets has described her 
 better than I can ever do. The moment I saw 
 the verses I got them by heart, for I could not 
 help saying to myself, if Lucy had been in the 
 world, I should have sworn this man had seen her." 
 Mr Dalton paused, and after whispering to 
 himself for a few moments, repeated slowly, and 
 with a sad emphasis, those delightful lines, which 
 no man need ever make an apology for being able 
 to recite. 
 
 " She was a Phantom of deliglit, 
 
 When first she gleam'd upon my sight : 
 
 A lovely Apparition, sent 
 
 To be a moment's ornament; 
 
 Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair ; 
 
 Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair ; 
 
 But all things else about her drawn 
 
 From IMay-time and the cheerful Dawn : 
 
 A dancing Shajie, an Image gay, 
 
 To haunt, and startle, and way-lay. 
 
 I saw her upon nearer view, 
 
 A Spirit, yet a Woman too ! 
 
 Her household motions light and free, 
 
 And steps of virgin liberty ; 
 
 A countenance in which did meet 
 
 Sweet records, promises as sweet ; 
 
 A Creature not too bright or good 
 
 For human nature's daily food ; 
 
 For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
 
 Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles."
 
 ]i54 REGINALD D ALTON. 
 
 " Beautiful verses, truly," quoth Mrs Eliza- 
 beth ; " and a beautiful creature she must have 
 been." 
 
 " A radiant creature, indeed, Mrs Elizabeth,"" 
 quoth the Vicar, " but her fate was a very dark 
 one. — 
 
 " It was in the autumn season, if you remem- 
 ber, that I was married ; the mother of these two 
 girls had been dead for several years, and their 
 old father, a worthy, honest, good, simple man, 
 (a small statesman, ma'am) lived in his forefa- 
 thers' little cottage, hard by the side of our mere. 
 He was a Catholic, ma'am ; but, notwithstanding, 
 we had been good friends ever since I went toLann- 
 well. When I took Ellen away, I had stript their 
 home of half of its merriment ; and you may sup- 
 pose Lucy was often with her sister and me for 
 days together, at the vicarage, during the winter 
 that followed. The old man sometimes complained 
 a little of being left alone ; but, to say truth, I be- 
 lieve he was on the whole well pleased, thinking 
 that Lucy would be improved by living at the 
 vicarage, and perhaps that she too might get a 
 husband rather above their own rank in life. For 

 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XII. 155 
 
 I need not conceal that Mr Thomas (Cathohc 
 though he was) was exceedingly gratified with 
 our marriage.''' 
 
 " Ay," interrupted Miss Betty, bridling up a 
 little, " and well he might be so, truly." 
 
 " However all that might be, Mrs Ehzabeth," 
 proceeded the Vicar — " The old man began to 
 fall off a little in his health towards the spring ; 
 he had a severe attack of rheumatic fever, which 
 not only kept Lucy at home, but drew Ellen from 
 me too, that she might assist in nursing him. — - 
 When that was over, which it soon was, there was 
 a certain debility left behind, that for some time 
 prevented Lucy from ever thinking of sleeping 
 a night away from home. For indeed, madam, she 
 was a most affectionate creature, and one that 
 would rather have then denied herself any gay 
 pleasure, than lost the gratification of doing one 
 act that might contribute in any way to her fa- 
 ther's comfort. By this time my wife was in a 
 condition that made it improper for her to walk 
 abroad much ; and in short, what between her 
 state and that of the old man, the two households 
 came to have comparatively but few means or op-
 
 156 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 portunities of intercourse through the earlier part 
 of that summer. 
 
 " I think it might be towards the latter end of 
 July, and neither my wife nor I had seen Lucy 
 for about a week, I believe, when one evening she 
 came over to the vicarage, drest a good deal more 
 gaily than was her custom, and attended by a 
 young gentleman, whom Ellen had never heard 
 of before, and whose appearance in that part of 
 the country was quite unexpected by myself — Mr 
 Catline, I mean." 
 
 " Charles Catline, cousin ? — well, say on." 
 " I believe I said already that I had met Mr 
 Catline at Oxford before that time, but we had 
 never visited each other, nor had anything more 
 than a sort of passing acquaintance. In so remote 
 a part of the country, however, I should certainly 
 have found nothing strange in his calling on me, 
 if he happened to be in my neighbourhood ; but 
 his coming in company with Lucy was the thing 
 that surprised me." 
 
 , " Pooh ! pooh ! Mv John," interrupted Betty, 
 " I thought you had just been describing her pretty 
 face." 
 
 2
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XII. 157 
 
 A very sorrowful smile passed over the Vicar's 
 lips, and that again was chased by a frown — 
 but he paused for a moment, and resumed : — 
 " Mr Catline, it seemed, had been amusing him- 
 self with an angling excursion among our hills, 
 and being smitten with the beautiful situation of 
 a little public-house on the side of our mere, he 
 had rested there for several days — and indeed, 
 over and above the charming situation, he might 
 have sought all the country from Patterdale to 
 Wass-water, without finding a better fishing quar- 
 ter than ours is ; I mean all about Lannwell and 
 Thorwold, and so up to Bonfell ; for there are 
 twenty different streams within an easy walk of 
 the inn where he stayed. But Mr Catline would 
 fain try his hand at trolling for jack in the lake 
 besides ; and the boat that belonged to the people 
 of the public-house was in bad order, and they 
 borrowed Thomas Lethwaite's little wherry for 
 him ; — and then he must go to thank Thomas for 
 lending it ; and the old man was delighted with 
 having a young and expert sportsman to come 
 and chat with him in his chimney corner — and so, 
 madam, Mr Catline and our Lucy had become
 
 158 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 acquainted. In truth, ours is a very simple region, 
 and there was nothing in all this to excite the 
 smallest astonishment. — iMr Catline was a gay, 
 rattling young man, and he talked very pleasantly 
 about the fine country he had been traversing, and 
 he had Oxford stories too in abundance, and both 
 my wife and I were, on the whole, pleased with 
 him ; and as for Lucy, alas ! poor girl, she was 
 far too artless to be able to conceal from either of 
 us how much she was flattered with the notion of 
 having so fine a beau as this to squire her. Alas ! 
 poor Lucy. I suppose she thought since her sis- 
 ter had married so great a man as the Vicar of 
 Lannwell, there was never a gentleman in Eng- 
 land that need be too high to make a husband 
 for herself." 
 
 " The young woman would have her dreams, 
 I warrant ye," said our old lady, rather sarcasti- 
 cally. 
 
 " Alas, madam," said the Vicar, " but you 
 never saw Lucy. — But, however, ma'am, after 
 tea away they walked again together, for the 
 inn was quite near to Lethwaite's house, and 
 we saw no more of Lucy for several days. — I con-
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. xir. 159 
 
 fess, ma'am,"" he proceeded, " I was rather struck 
 when I heard, near a week afterwards, that j\Ir 
 CatHne was still in our neighbourhood, for to us 
 he had spoken as if he were just on the wing; 
 and, in short, I had confidence in every thing 
 about Lucy except her prudence, and I walked 
 over myself to the cottage. In fact, ma'am, I 
 had heard Mr Catline talked of at Oxford as ra- 
 ther a dissipated character, and I began to feel a 
 vague sort of anxiety." 
 
 " Well you might — well you might, sir. But 
 go on." 
 
 " When I got to the point where the cottage 
 stood — for it stands no Ioniser — I found the old 
 man in his garden ; I asked for Lucy, and he an- 
 swered me at once, and apparently without the 
 least concern, that she had gone out a little while 
 ago with mij friend Mr Catline — that he belie- 
 ved they were on the water, but that they would 
 soon be home, no doubt, as the sun had gone 
 down. We turned with that, and looked out upon 
 the lake, and the wherry, to be sure, was in sight. 
 His eyes did not serve him to observe more than 
 that the boat was there \ but I, for my part, could
 
 160 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 easily perceive, not only that there were just two 
 figures in it, but that these were sitting toge- 
 ther in the stern. There was scarce wind enough 
 to carry them on at the rate of half-a-knot, but 
 there they were with the sail flapping before them. 
 It was, indeed, a most beautiful, soft, glorious 
 July evening, ma''am, and the lake was like liquid 
 gold all round them ; and, said I to myself at the 
 moment, I am sure Lucy never will he in heaven 
 more certainly than she thinks herself there now.**' 
 Here Miss Betty tapped her snuff-box once or 
 twice, with a slow and pensive finger, and I ra- 
 ther think she had not sighed so deeply for half 
 a score of winters. 
 
 " For a considerable time," proceeded the Vi- 
 car, " the boat seemed to lie on the water with- 
 out making scarce any progress towards the shore ; 
 but all of a sudden the sail was pulled down, and 
 I saw the oars in motion. It now came rapidly 
 along, and the old man and I received Lucy and 
 Mr Cathne at the little inlet below their ararden. 
 He, I thought, was a little confused, and Lucy's 
 eyes, I could not help noticing, were clouded — 
 indeed I am sure she had been crying. How-
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XII. 161 
 
 ever, Mr Catline got his tackle out of the boat, 
 and took farewell both of her and her father in 
 my presence, intending, as he said, to be off early 
 next day, having already lost more time than he 
 should have done in their pleasant country. I 
 myself walked with him towards the inn where he 
 had his lodging. We parted at the little inn, 
 ma'am — and I never saw Mr Catline again, from 
 that hour until this day." 
 
 " But the girl — the poor girl, ]\Ir Dalton. — 
 What became of her .'* I pray you, let me hear 
 the end of it." 
 
 " Why, ma'am, a very few words more will 
 be sufficient. Lucy came over next day to the 
 Vicarage, and she talked freely enough about 
 iNIr Catline and his departure ; in truth, after 
 what I had witnessed over night, I was rather a 
 little surprised to see in what spirits she was ; and 
 so indeed it continued for several days. But after 
 that, Mrs Dalton, Lucy was no longer like her- 
 self: She began aU of a sudden to mope and 
 pine, and would come over to us with her hair 
 hanging loose about her brows ; while as to Mr 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 162 REGINALD D ALTON. 
 
 Catline, she never said a single word of him. 
 This melancholy hung about the girl for two or 
 three weeks, and then it seemed to pass away 
 from her again just as suddenly as it had come 
 on. Lucy was Lucy herself again ; and how de- 
 lighted were we all to find her so ! She joked and 
 laughed as she had used to do — she was once 
 more the liveliest and gayest of all our little circle. 
 The Preston Guild fell that same year, as we have 
 been saying, and Lucy kept continually talking 
 about it, until at length she overpersuaded her 
 father, and he gave his consent to let her go and 
 see the Guild, in company with several of their 
 neighbours — for indeed half the parish, I think, 
 went thither as well as she. But Lucy"" — he said 
 the words so low that they could with difficulty 
 be understood — " Lucy never returned !"" 
 
 " Oh, God ! Oh, God !" said Mrs Dalton ; 
 " What became of the poor mad deluded girl .?" 
 
 " Nay, nay," said the Vicar, once more rising 
 from his chair, " why should I speak on, when I 
 can speak nothing from knowledge .'' The friends 
 that left Lannwell with Lucy came all home, 
 thinking that she was there before them ; and when
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. xir. 163 
 
 we found that she had deceived them so, what could 
 we think but that slie had done so for the sake of 
 gaining time and baffling inquiry ? She had left 
 Preston the day before the Guild sports were 
 over. She had told them that she was afraid her 
 father might be taken worse again, and that she 
 had found another acquaintance to see her home 
 in safety. I do confess, madam, my suspicion rest- 
 ed immediately upon Mr Catline, and it was so in- 
 deed with the whole of us ; for one of our Lann- 
 well lads had recognized him in the street of 
 Preston." 
 
 " Stop a moment," said Mrs Ehzabeth, " let 
 
 me consider No, no, John, you were certainly 
 
 doing him injustice as to this part of it — ^for now 
 that I have had time to recollect the particulars, 
 I remember we all saw him get into the mail-coach 
 the second day of the Guild ; but, as you say, if I 
 understand you aright, the unfortunate young wo- 
 man did not go off until five or six days after that 
 time. Depend upon it, my recollection is per- 
 fectly exact — I will lay my life on it that he went 
 the second day."" 
 
 The Vicar stood musing for a few seconds —
 
 1C4 KEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 '' Indeed, indeed, Mrs Dalton, I must freely say, 
 tliat I have no sort of proof whatever to lay against 
 what you have said. My poor wife received a 
 letter from Lucy very soon after we had lost her ; 
 it was a very short one indeed, but she conjured 
 us to comfort her father, and called heaven to wit- 
 ness that she was both happij and innocent. Alas ! 
 we could scarcely believe the whole of that story ! 
 The letter had no date, but the Bristol post-mark 
 was upon it. I had a friend at Bristol, and I instant- 
 ly applied to him, (for my wife was in such a way 
 that I could not leave home myself, I really could 
 not ;) and he made every sort of inquiry — God 
 knows, gold was not spared, although there was 
 but little of that amongst us ; — but it was all in 
 vain. No sort of trace of her could be found any- 
 where in that part of the country, and the next 
 letter had the Dublin mark, and the next again 
 the Exeter one, and then there was one from 
 London ; and in short we were altogether at sea, 
 for it was evident these letters were transmitted 
 from the most opposite quarters on purpose to 
 perplex all our inquiries. At last I did a thing 
 which I thought my duty, and that is all I shall
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XII. 
 
 165 
 
 now say for myself. I Avrote to a friend in Oxford 
 when the Michaehnas term was begun, to ask par- 
 ticularly after Mr Catline, and the answer I got 
 was, that Mr Catline had been for some time in 
 France. — Some weeks elapsed ere my friend again 
 wrote to me, saying that he had come back to Ox- 
 ford and was Hving in College as usual. The mo- 
 ment I heard of this, I wrote to Mr Catline him- 
 self; and whether or not I had written in improper 
 terms, I can't say, but he returned me for answer 
 my own letter, madam, with merely a note on 
 the outside of it, cautioning me to beware of in- 
 svdting his honour by any repetition of such im- 
 pertinent, false, and scandalous imputations— ^/Z^^ 
 and scandalous were the words. — I had not had 
 time to digest this, however, before I received an- 
 other of quite a different character from him — 
 apologizing for his heat — condoling with our af- 
 fliction, — offering all manner of assistance. What 
 could one think or do ? — Whither could we turn ? 
 Lucy had been near a week at Preston, living a 
 racketing life among strangers of all sorts — dan- 
 cing, as we could hear, and flirting with fifty people 
 — what could we make of it ? How her follv had
 
 166 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 begun we knew, but how or in what it had ended, 
 we were unable to divine. Wearied and worn out 
 with so many fruitless attempts, we at last gave it 
 up as a hopeless matter. My wife, meantime, was 
 sickening worse and worse in body and in mind — 
 and Reginald was born — and then she drooped 
 more rapidly than ever — until I was left alone in 
 the world with my poor little orphan boy. As for 
 the broken-hearted old man, oh, Mrs Elizabeth, 
 could Lucy have seen his condition ! — Nobody to 
 comfort him but myself, and now and then a call 
 from the old Priest from Lottesmore. — But he 
 too died, and was at rest." 
 
 Mrs Ehzabeth motioned to the Vicar to resume 
 his chair. He did so in silence, and in paleness — 
 She kept her eyes for some time fixed upon his de- 
 jected countenance, — at last " The thing is just 
 possible," she began, — " the thing may have been 
 so — for there is no saying how deeply cunning may 
 lay its snares. But 'tis very hard, after all, to be 
 hasty in such matters. Sir Charles was married 
 very soon after the time you have been speaking 
 of, Mr Dalton." 
 
 " Ay," said the Vicar, endeavouring to rouse
 
 HOOK I. CHAP. XII. 167 
 
 himself, " and so indeed he was, my dear madam. 
 We heard of his coming to his title, and then of 
 his wedding. In truth, ma'am, I had before that 
 time almost worked myself out of the notions I 
 had taken up as to him ; and when we saw his 
 wedding in the papers so very soon after the thing 
 happened, why, that no doubt confirmed me in 
 the idea that he was innocent as to Lucy. Other 
 things had since, I must confess, revived some of 
 my old suspicions — and to-day I will own to you, 
 when I saw him for the first time, there was some- 
 thing in his look that I could not fathom. Ah, if 
 indeed it were so, with what — but once more, «o ; 
 — God, madam, God knows all things — we are 
 poor blind creatures, and often enough uncharitable 
 in our blindness. — As for poor Lucy, after the 
 lapse of a few months more, we ceased to hear 
 from her — her last letters were quite wild some of 
 them, others as melancholy things as you can ima- 
 gine, and the last of all contained a lock of her hair. 
 Ah ! me, madam, a sad, a woeful heart must have 
 been hers when she wrote that letter, for the curl 
 and the paper were all stained and glued together 
 with tears. 
 
 IS.
 
 168 REGINALD D ALTON. 
 
 " She died then I" qvioth Elizabeth — "you have 
 no doubt she was ill and died." 
 
 " Doubt, ma'am ? Indeed we could not help 
 doubting every thing ; but our hope, our only, our 
 miserable hope, is that Lucy died then. To think 
 that she could have lived on without having any 
 tiling to say to her friends, would have been worst 
 of all." 
 
 " Indeed it would," said Miss Betty, " you 
 are quite right there. Well, I shall drop a hint 
 or two that will bring some light upon the matter. 
 I warrant you, he will know what I allude to, 
 and if he really be the man, I think 'I shall be 
 able to read his looks." 
 
 " I beseech you, ma''am," said the Vicar, " I 
 beseech you to do nothing of this kind. Even if 
 he had been guilty then, years and years have 
 passed away, and who shall say that he might not 
 have repented, and been forgiven, even of such 
 deadly sin as that .'' — Rut once again I protest to 
 you, that I no longer blame Sir Charles Catline — 
 unless, indeed, (for that I ever must do,) for ha- 
 ving thrown Lucy's mind first off its balance, by 
 strolling about the woods with her so, and rowing
 
 BOOK I. CH.AP. XII. 169 
 
 her out upon the mere, and flattering her, no 
 doubt ; — for it was flattery that was her ruin. But 
 above all, Mrs Dalton, remember I pray you, that 
 Sir Charles Catline has a wife and a family. 
 What right can any of us have to do any thing 
 that might tend to breed uneasiness and distrust 
 among them ?" 
 
 " Uneasiness and distrust among tliem, indeed !" 
 said the old lady, shaking her head with an air of 
 great derision — " Why, did you not see enough 
 of them to-day, to satisfy you, that they are all 
 at sixes and sevens, and cross purposes already, 
 as much as they ever can be .'' He hates his wife, 
 Mr Dalton." 
 
 " Indeed ! — Well, I could perceive from Lady 
 Catline's conversation, that she has not the same 
 way of thinking as to rehgious matters. But, 
 for my part, it seemed to me, that Sir Charles 
 treated her with great kindness." 
 
 " You mean, I suppose, that he always called 
 her, ' Julia, my love,' or, ' my dear Julia.' — ^Ha ! 
 ha ! INIr John, is that all the length you can see 
 through a mill-stone ? Depend on it, sir, there is 
 not a more vmhappy woman at home in England
 
 170 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 — but, indeed, much of that is her own fault, for 
 she's a silly creature at the best." 
 
 " A very talkative lady, indeed,"" quoth the 
 Vicar ; " very fond of hearing her own voice, as 
 it seemed to me." 
 
 " Ay, poor body ! I suppose 'tis a luxury she 
 is not much indulged in, except when she's abroad. 
 Well, what a change from the first months of their 
 marriage !" 
 
 " They were happy and fond then, no ques- 
 tion r 
 
 " To be sure, Mr Dalton ; who, for that mat- 
 ter, are not happy and fond then ? But between 
 ourselves, my good friend, I believe Sir Charles 
 has never been the same man to her since her fa- 
 ther s bankruptcy. He had married her, perhaps 
 you might hear at the time, under the notion that 
 she was to be a mighty great heiress. Her father 
 was a topping person in his way at Liverpool — a 
 very vulgar low-bred man, every body said, not- 
 withstanding — and he, forsooth, must have a fine 
 villa on Windermere, and he used to come down 
 thither with this daughter of his in the summer 
 time, and keep a very full noisy house in great splen-
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XII. 171 
 
 dour. But the north-country gentry, you know, are 
 but shy of such people ; at least, it was so then, 
 John ; — and except perhaps at an Ambleside ball, 
 or a Bo'ness regatta, once in the season, the Span- 
 kies were but rarely to be seen in the same room 
 with the old families of the county. Miss, again, 
 who had been at a Bath boarding-school, was ra- 
 ther inclined to turn up her nose at the showy 
 boobies of merchants her father had about the 
 house, and what between her ambition, and the 
 coldness of her country neighbours, I believe she 
 would have been happier any where else than in 
 their gaudy bauble of a cottage ornee, stuck down 
 there beneath the shadow, as it were, of a set of 
 old stately halls, to which Pride gave them no ac- 
 cess. Sir Charles, in the mean time, had just 
 succeeded to his uncle the Admiral's title, but 
 though he had expected a great deal, the title was 
 really almost the whole of his succession. For 
 the Admiral, old Sir William, was an open-hand- 
 ed, free-hearted man — and he was almost devour- 
 ed out of house and home by the host of old 
 half-pay acquaintances, and so forth, that were 
 always nestling about him after he had settled at
 
 172 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 Little-Pyesworth. And over and above all this, 
 there was a dirty fellow, of the name of Jennings, 
 that had once been the old gentleman's secretary, 
 when he commanded on the Cork station, and 
 this man had taken up a sort of trade of being ex- 
 ecutor to people, and he contrived to wind him- 
 self sadly about the Admiral ; and after the affairs 
 were all looked into, and the executor's legacy 
 paid, there was really, as I was saying, but a poor 
 remainder for Sir Charles. In the mean time he 
 had, it was well known, spent a good deal of mo- 
 ney himself, thinking he was sure of a fine fortune 
 from the Admiral ; and, in short, he was but a 
 poor young baronet, at least compared to what he 
 had always thought he was to be. 
 
 "He had met with these Spankies — in the course 
 of the very fishing excursion, I rather think, you 
 were talking of— and now away he went again to 
 the Lake-country, and the first news we had was 
 that every thing was arranged for a wedding be- 
 tween him and the rich Liverpool man's only 
 daughter. My brother and Barbara went over to 
 Windermere, and were present at the ceremony, 
 and the young people came soon after to Little-
 
 BOOK I. cHAi'. xn. IT'3 
 
 Pyesworth, and began to keep house in the same 
 dashing way the Admiral had done, or perhaps even 
 rather more extravagantly. But what sort of a folly 
 is it to build upon the notion of a mercantile per- 
 son's wealth ! In the course of time old Spankie 
 went all to shivers ; and since then, to be sure, 
 Sir Charles and Lady Catline have been obliged to 
 make a great change in their way of living. 
 
 " Well, sir, it was not long after the failure, 
 before Sir Charles first began to take up with the 
 same religious notions that poor Barbara had be- 
 trayed her great fondness of, long ere then ; and 
 ever since, you know, we have heard of nothing 
 but Missionary Societies, and Bible Societies, and 
 Tract Societies, and travelling ministers, and Sun- 
 day Schools, and all the rest of it. But as for Bar- 
 bara, I sometimes think 'tis, after all, a mercy 
 that she has found something to occupy so much 
 of her time and thoughts — and then, my dear Mr 
 Dalton, there is such a deal that is very good 
 and amiable about her ways of going on, though 
 I cannot for one be persuaded that it is at all neces- 
 sary to carry things quite so far. Poor thing, I 
 am sure I sometimes think she must be in the 
 right, and I in the wrong, when I see her working
 
 174 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 her fingers off for poor old people and children, 
 in the hardest season of winter." 
 
 " Nay, nay," says the Vicar, " this is assured- 
 ly being too tender-conscienced. Why, my dear 
 madam, who can believe that it is either the bu- 
 siness or the duty of a lady in Miss Dalton's situ- 
 ation to spend her time in the hemming of flan- 
 nel petticoats ? Far wiser and far kinder, too, to 
 employ the poor that can work, in working for those 
 that cannot. But although it be a mistake, God 
 forbid that we should not reverence the amiable 
 feelings from which it arises." 
 
 " God forbid that, indeed," quoth the old lady. 
 " Heavens, what a difference between such a crea- 
 ture as my niece, and that sister-in-law of hers, for 
 example ! — a talking, chattering, idle, gaudy fool, 
 that never does a single turn either for her own 
 family, or for her poor neighbours, but sits at 
 home mum, like a dormouse, devouring silly no- 
 vels and reviews from morning till night, and then 
 comes abroad with a tongue that goes like a mill- 
 clack after a thaw ; and she's bringing up that 
 second Miss of hers, her own namesake, to be just 
 such another. But the elder one, as you must 
 have noticed, takes more after the father. Slie is
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XII. 175 
 
 a wonderful favourite with our Barbara ; but I am 
 siu:e I don''t believe one half of her serious speeches 
 can be sincere ; for 'tis not natural, Mr Dalton. 
 I have no notion of your devout misses in their 
 teens. Lord bless me ! what can be more absurd ? 
 one's heart is all in such a whirl and bustle at 
 that time of day." 
 
 Here the Vicar smiled a little. " Upon my 
 word, Miss Betty," saidhe, "when a comely young 
 girl takes such a turn, it may be great uncharitable- 
 ness, but I can scarce ever help thinking that it 
 is only for want of some pretty young fellow to 
 whisper it out of her in the course of a week, and 
 put anything he pleases in its place." 
 
 The old lady tapped her snuff-box with a smile, 
 rather tending to the disdainful, and then said, 
 after dividing her pinch into three or four very 
 deliberate instalments, " Upon my word, Mr 
 John, I think even the parsons among you seem 
 to have a very sweet opinion of themselves." 
 
 With that she rung for her maid, (who, poitr 
 parenthtse, was at no great distance all this while) 
 and dismissed the Vicar with another very cordial 
 shake of her hand.
 
 170 REGINALD DAI.TON. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Reginald, Chisney, and the Vicar also, had 
 done ample justice to their cold pasty and muffins 
 next morning, ere they were invited by Mr Bishop, 
 in propria 2)erso7ia, to visit the Squire in his bed- 
 room. They found the old gentleman lying in 
 great state, with a night-cap as tall as Lord Pe- 
 ter's triple crown in the old prints to the Tale of 
 a Tub, a pot of chocolate simmering over a spirit- 
 lamp on his night-table, and a good fire of rifted 
 pine-root shedding a warm blaze upon his bed-cur- 
 tains. The room was a picturesque one ; — its lof- 
 ty roof, divided into innumerable small compart- 
 ments, exhibited in each of them some old Lan- 
 castrian coat of arms ; its walls were hung with ta- 
 pestry, representing some of the most grotesque at- 
 titudes in the Duke of Newcastle''s horsemanship ; 
 one huge dark pannel over the mantle-piece was 
 occvipied by a star-shaped ornament, the centre 
 thereof being a yeomanry helmet of lackered lea- 
 
 4
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XIII. 177 
 
 ther, with pewter cheek-pieces — and the 7-adu a 
 motley groupe of rapiers, bayonets, daggers, and 
 broad-swords. A tall old French looking-glass set 
 in frame-work of chased silver — a relic of the am- 
 bassadorial splendour of some defunct Dalton — 
 was conspicuous in one corner ; and from another 
 stared a flashy water-coloured portrait of a favour- 
 ite pointer-bitch. 
 
 " Ha !"" said the old man when they entered his 
 dormitory, " and so you are all booted and ready 
 for the road ? You might have staid a single day 
 more with me, I think, John Dalton, if it were 
 but to console me for losing these sparks so soon. 
 Well, ods my life, 'tis a long look now back to the 
 morning, when I came into this very room to take 
 farewell of my own good father on setting oif for 
 Alma Mater ! And yet as I Uve, cousin Vicar, it 
 seems as if it were not so long ago neither. God 
 bless my soul, I remember every thing that hap- 
 pened. There — just where Mr Frederick is stand- 
 ing — there was my mother, rest her kind soul, with 
 a very doleful face I promise ye, and a fine new 
 prayer-book, that she had got ready for me, in her 
 hands. And here, ay, here in this very bed, sirs, 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 178 KEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 lay the good Squire, setting the best front on the 
 thing he could ; but sorely his hand shook, for all 
 that, when he squeezed mine. Ah, cousin John, 
 little did I think it was the last time I was ever 
 to see him : he was ailing, but he was barely forty. 
 What a melancholy home-coming was mine — all 
 the house in lamentation — my mother a widow, 
 poor soul — and Betty running out to meet me with 
 a heart like to break. Ah, my young friends, it had 
 been a merry household that was broken up that 
 day ! God bless you, my good lads — youll per- 
 haps never see all you are parting with to-day again 
 — but what avails speaking of such things ? Be 
 good boys, — and fear God and honour the King, 
 my dears, — and keep light hearts as long as you 
 can, and take the world while it is before ye ; for 
 its face, mayhap, won't always be qidte so bright 
 as it is now."" 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, my dear sir,'' said the Vicar 
 of Lannwell, " I trust our young friends will not 
 forget these things, when they are far away from 
 us. I trust Reginald will come back unspoiled to 
 us, and enjoy a merry meeting with us all, when 
 the long vacation comes round."
 
 ii 
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XIII. 179 
 
 " Yes, yes," quoth the Squire, raising himself 
 up in his bed — " let us hope the best, let us hope 
 all that is good and pleasant ; for, do the best we 
 can, a parting is a pain. But, above all, look sharp 
 to yourself, Reginald, boy — have a care that you 
 don't come back either a Whig or a Methodist." 
 I'll be bound he shan't," cried Chisney. 
 By Jupiter, we'll make minced meat of the buck, 
 if he ever dares but to be detected within smell 
 of St Edmund's Hall, or insult Church and 
 King with a single hair's-breadth of day-light." 
 
 " There spoke a true boy," quoth the Squire, 
 with a hearty chuckle. " Everlastingly confound 
 all traitors and rebels, say I ; for what, in Hea- 
 ven's name, are our Whigs but rebels ? Aren't 
 they doing all they can, rot 'em, to let Buonaparte 
 have his own way .'' aren't they piping everywhere 
 against honest old George, and trying, what they 
 can, to rail his old English heart out of his bosom ? 
 and who are they but the devil's children for do- 
 ing so ? has not old Sam Butler told us the truth 
 long ago ? 
 
 ' The devil was the first o' the name, 
 From whom the race of rebels came ; 
 He was the first bold undertaker 
 Of bearing arms against his Maker.'
 
 180 HEGINALD DAL TON. 
 
 " But Billy's Spirit at least is at the helm, yelj, 
 my lads, and Sir Arthur's the boy — ^God bless 
 him, he's the boy that will do for all their bastardly 
 Monsieurs ! Who the deuce cares for what Hol- 
 land-house and Sheridan, and all their rabble can 
 do ?— We'll do yet, mind me, my boys, we'll do 
 yet — O, d — m them all, I hope I shall live to see 
 the end of them yet." 
 
 " Nay, nay," said the Vicar, " perhaps the end 
 of the struggle is not quite so near yet ; but spite 
 of all, why should we be cast down ? We are in 
 the right, my dear sir, and the right will prevail 
 in the long run." 
 
 " To be sure it will, and it must," cried Chis- 
 ney. 
 
 " Oh ! quid Typhaeus et validus Mimas, 
 Aut quid minaci Porphyrion statu, 
 Quid RhsBtus, evulsisque truncis 
 Enceladus, jaculator audax, 
 Contra sonantem Palladis £egida 
 Possent ruentes ?" 
 
 " Virgil for a tester," cries the Squire, " Ah ! 
 God bless us, what are all your new poets they 
 make such a din about to old Virgil ? 
 
 ' Anna virumque cano, Trojce qui primus ab oris !' 
 
 Match me that if you can — match me that if you
 
 HOOK I. CHAP. XIII. 
 
 181 
 
 can, out of all your psalm-singing, piperly Cow- 
 pers and Hayleys. Ay, ay, stick to your books, 
 Reginald ; see what a fine thing it is to be able to 
 quote Virgil off hand like Frederick Chisney there. 
 Ah, bless me, I could have done something in that 
 way once myself— but no matter, past praying for 
 now, my buck. Bring me these books there oft' the 
 table, I laid out one a-piece for you overnight, 
 and my spectacle-case is beside them." 
 
 Reginald handed a couple of very comely vel- 
 lum-bound volumes to the Squire, who, after put- 
 ting on his spectacles and looking at the title pages, 
 said, " Ay, here it is, here's a Greek one for you, 
 Frederick ; 'tis Sophocles, man, a very fine author 
 was Sophocles, but I dare say you have him all at 
 your finger-ends ; and here, Reginald, my cock, 
 here's Virgil himself for you. Take good care of 
 him, now, for it was the great Doctor Dalton's own 
 copy — the great Jeremy Dalton, Dean of Win- 
 chester, you know. You'U see his arms there on 
 the first leaf, and I've put your own name below 
 it, with my best wishes, and may you live to be an 
 honour and a credit to the name you bear, my lad. 
 And now a good journey to you all — and you, Mr
 
 182 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 \ icar, remember we're to see you when the Yule- 
 log's lighted." 
 
 So saying, the Squire shook them all very tender- 
 ly by the hand, and they turned from his bedside ; 
 but just as Reginald, who walked last, was pass- 
 ing the threshold of the room, the old gentleman 
 called him back again in a whisper. "• Here,"" said 
 he, " my dear lad, come here for a moment ; take 
 this too with you, from your kinsman — nay, don't 
 colour up so, — don't stare one in the face, boy — 
 wer'nt they your fore-elders as well as mine that 
 drew the old acres together ? take it, boy, and 
 heartily welcome you are, and may God Almighty 
 bless you. Put it in your pocket, though, for you 
 need not be blabbing." 
 
 With that the Squire thrust into Reginald's 
 hesitating hand a little silken purse which he had 
 drawn from underneath his pillow, and with an 
 admonitory and intelligent wink sent him once 
 more out of the room. 
 
 Barbara Dalton was not yet stirring, but Mrs 
 Elizabeth was the bearer of her " kind good 
 wishes" to all the party, and of a small packet ad- 
 dressed to Reginald. " I dare say," whispered the
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XIII. 183 
 
 old lady, " "tis some very good book, my dear, and 
 'tis kindly meant, at any rate." Qln point of fact 
 it was Kirke White.] At the same time Miss 
 Betty presented the boy with an old-fashioned lit- 
 tle silver toothpick-ease, which she begged him to 
 accept of as a mark of " a very old woman's re- 
 gard." She kissed both him and his father on the 
 cheek, saw them all fairly on horseback, and was 
 still lingering at the Hall-gate when they turned 
 the corner into the village lane. 
 
 It may be about a couple of miles from Gry- 
 pherwast to the great northern road, and the Vi- 
 car insisted on going so far out of his way, that 
 he might see them fairly embarked in their dili- 
 gence. They all rode together at a brisk pace ; 
 but even if they had been going never so slowly, 
 there was such a weight at the Vicar's heart, and 
 at young Reginald's too, that I doubt if either of 
 them would have been able to trust himself with 
 many words. 
 
 As it happened, the horn was heard near and 
 loud just as they reached the alehouse to which 
 the young men's luggage had been sent on. It was
 
 184 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 i 
 
 the first vehicle of the kind our hero had ever 
 seen, and no doubt it appeared to him a very 
 splendid affair in its way ; for it was, in truth, 
 not only one of the largest and heaviest, but one 
 of the gayest and gaudiest also of all possible 
 stage-coaches. It bore the then aU-predominant 
 name of the hero of Trafalgar, and blazing daubs 
 of Neptunes, BeUonas, and Britannias, illumina- 
 ted every pannel that could be spared from a 
 flourishing catalogue of inns and proprietors. The 
 conductor was a cheerful-looking old fellow, with 
 a regular beer face, and the bulk of a Hercules. 
 A yomig woman ran out with a foaming cann 
 the moment the coach stopped, and our friend 
 had scarce finished the welcome and expected 
 draught, ere both the portmanteaus and their mas- 
 ters were safely stowed on board. 
 
 Perhaps the moment when the Admiral Nel- 
 son was once more under weigh, was the saddest 
 that had yet occurred in Reginald Dalton's Hfe. 
 His father"'s eye and his continued fixed upon each 
 other — but a moment more, and that last painful 
 pleasure too was among the^^i^*.
 
 BOOK I. CHAP. XLII. 185 
 
 Chisney, meantime, who had gone outside, was 
 exerting all his eloquence to coax the old man's 
 ribbons out of his fingers, and in five minutes 
 time this high piece of academical ambition was 
 gratified. 
 
 END OF BOOK FIRST.
 
 SEE ! UNFADING IN HONOURS, IMMORTAL IN YEARS, 
 THE GREAT MOTHER OF CHURCHMEN AND TORIES 
 APPEARS ! 
 
 New Oxford Sausage.
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Mr Reginald had been for perhaps the best part 
 of an hour indulging in meditations sad enough, 
 and sohtary too — for there was only one inside 
 passenger besides himself, and she was a very 
 drowsy woman — when the Admiral pulled up op- 
 posite to a small but handsome gateway, where two 
 gentlemen were standing, as if in expectation of 
 the arrival of the vehicle. One of these was Sir 
 Charles Catline, who seemed to look a little sur- 
 prised on recognizing our two young men, but 
 next moment came up and saluted them both 
 with a degree of bland and courteous suavity, 
 such as his demeanour at Grypherwast-hall on 
 the preceding day had not prepared either of 
 them to expect. To Reginald, in particular, he 
 addressed so many kind inquiries, and expressed
 
 188 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 SO many kind wishes, and all this in a manner so 
 perfectly free and unembarrassed, that the boy 
 could scarcely believe it was the same person whose 
 cold, shrinking, formal civilities had so lately ex- 
 cited somewhat of his spleen. The Baronet's com- 
 panion was a strong, robust, thick-set, hard-visa- 
 ged man, apparently about sixty, dressed in black 
 clothes, huge mvid-boots, a hairy cap of formida- 
 ble roughness, and a cloak of dingy tartan. He 
 shook Sir Charles by the hand, and observing with 
 a sage nod, " that the best o"* friends maun pairt,"" 
 hoisted himself into the Diligence, and took his 
 place opposite to Reginald. 
 
 This personage, after a single " gude day, sir," 
 sat quite silent for some time. At length he hand- 
 ed his large silver snufF-box towards the boy, which 
 Reginald decHned by a gesture that at once ac- 
 knowledged the civility, and told his own perfect 
 inexperience of the nicotian luxury. The stranger 
 hereupon indulged his own nostrils with an abun- 
 dant pinch, and then drumming on the lid with his 
 yet occupied finger and thumb, said in a high 
 strong tone, that would have overcome all the 
 rattling of fifty wheels — " YeVe gotten a wae look
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. I. 189 
 
 wi' you, I think, my young friend — ye're new frae 
 hame, nae doubt ; yell hae just be pairtin wi' your 
 folk, I'se warrant." 
 
 " You have guessed quite rightly, sir," said 
 Reginald, smiling the best way he could ; " I have 
 just left home for the first time in my life." 
 
 " Ay, I thought it behoved to be so," quoth 
 the Scot, " an' yell no be come ony great feck o' 
 gait yet, I'm thinking ?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," said Reginald, " but 
 I really don't perfectly understand you." 
 
 " You'll no be far from your home yet, I was 
 saying," (quoth he in a tone yet higher than be- 
 fore ;) " I saw ye were acquainted wi' my friend 
 Sir Charles — yon's a bonny bit place o' his, yon 
 Little-Pyesworth." 
 
 " 1 only saw the upper part of the house, over 
 the hedgerow. It seemed a neat Uttle park, sir." 
 
 " Ay, ay, a vera bonny bit place indeed — a 
 
 pleasant house, sir, a very pleasant house inside, 
 
 and a fine family — a very engaging family, sir — 
 
 Everything very comfortable yonder, sir — a very 
 
 bien bit yon. May I take the freedom to ask if 
 
 'tis near this ye bide yourself, sir .^" 
 
 11
 
 190 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 " I live in Westmoreland, sir ; but I have 
 some relations in this neighbourhood." 
 
 " An youVe just been taking your leave o"' 
 them a' ? and hoo far are ye going ? (if I may 
 speer the question.) Are we to have the pleasure 
 of your company as far as Manchester ? Or 'tis 
 maybe Liverpool ye're for ; there''s an unco deal 
 of young lads goes to Liverpool now-a-days." 
 
 " I am going to Oxford," said Reginald ; " I 
 am just about to be entered at College."' 
 
 " Ay, ay, "'tis Oxford College yeVe for, is it ? 
 But od, man, are ye no rather ahint the hand .'' 
 are ye no rather auld for beginning to be a coUe- 
 gianer ?'"'' 
 
 " I believe," said the youth, smiling modestly 
 — " I believe "tis not common to go much sooner 
 to the University — I am barely eighteen, sir." 
 
 " Eighteen !" said the stranger ; " and ca' ye 
 that going early to the College ? Od, man, I was 
 a Maister o' Airts myself ere I was that time 
 o' day." 
 
 " Were you at Oxford, sir ?''"' said the boy. 
 
 " Oxford indeed !" quoth the stranger ; " na, 
 na, my man, I didna go quite so far frae hame for
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. I. 191 
 
 my lair. I gaed through my curriculum just 
 where I was born and bred — ^in bonny Sant An- 
 drews." 
 
 " Ah !"" said Reginald, " I have heard of Saint 
 Andrews. 'Tis one of the Scotch archbishopricks, 
 is it not, sir .'*'" 
 
 " An archbishoprick, said ye ?" quoth the 
 other. " Od, but your education has been a little 
 negleckit, I'm thinking, my man. Did ye really 
 think we had bishopricks and archbishopricks in 
 our country ?'''' 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Reginald, colouring 
 rather sheepishly. " I was aware that Presbyte- 
 rianism is the established religion in your country ; 
 but I had understood that you had still an Epis- 
 copal Church remaining there also." 
 
 " Ou ay," quoth the stranger ; " ou ay, sir, 
 it was that ye was driving at, was it ? My certy, 
 we have an Episcopal Church, no doubt, and a 
 bonny like church it is, I warrant ye, and very 
 good bishops too, sir, — most apostolical chields, 
 reverend and right reverend bishops too, wi' their 
 tale, man — although I'm thinking ye wadna may- 
 be think vera meikle o' them, if ye saw them, ony
 
 192 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 mair than my Lord Stafford's south-country flun- 
 kies, when he first brought them down wi' him till 
 Dunrobin — him thafs married on the Countess of 
 Sutherland, ye ken/"' 
 
 " Lord Stafford's xvhat, I pray you, sir ?"" 
 
 " His flunkies, man, his servant-men, his va- 
 lets-de-chambres, and French cooks, and fat blawn 
 up Enghsh butlers, no offence to you, and a' the 
 rest of sichke clanjamphray." 
 
 " Well, sir, and what did all these fine gentle- 
 men say to the Scotch bishops ?" 
 
 " What did they say to them ? Od, they said 
 but vera little matter, sir. Ye see my lord and 
 my leddy, and a' their train, are coming north in 
 great form — after their wedding, just as ye may 
 suppose ; and they're lying a night at some small 
 town on their journey ; and thae braw Enghsh 
 chields, and gay upsetting leddy 's maids, that are 
 mair plague and fash aboot a house than fifty 
 coontesses, they hear some Episcopals that were 
 down stairs, (for there's a deal of them in that 
 part of the country yet,) talliing and talking away 
 amang themselves about the Bishop and the Bi- 
 shop — and that their Bishop, forsooth, was to
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. I. 193 
 
 come in the next day for a confirmation .^ I think 
 ye call it ; and so up gangs ane o"* them to my lord 
 and my leddy wi' a humble request and petition, 
 that they be allowed to stay a while ahint their 
 time the morn's morning, to see the Bishop mak 
 his entry into the town. My lord, ye ken, would 
 most likely ken little about thae matters then ; but 
 my leddy she was up to the joke in no time ; and 
 to be sure, they got leave to stay and take their 
 glower at the Bishop, puir creatures. Out they a' 
 gang to the end of the town, and there they rank 
 themselves in a grand raw by the roadside. They 
 hing on for an hour or twa, and are wonderfu' 
 surprised, no doubt, to see no crowd gathering, 
 binna a wheen o' the town bairns, that had come 
 out to look at their ainsells ; but at last and at 
 length, up comes a decent, little auld manny, in 
 a black coat and velveteen breeches, riding on a 
 bit broken-kneed hirplin beast of a Heeland pow- 
 ney, wi' a red and white checked napkin tied round 
 his neck, and a bit auld ravel of a spur on ane 
 o' his heels, and the coat-tails o' him pinned up 
 before wi' twa corkin preens, to keep them frae be- 
 ing filed with the auld shelty's white hairs coming 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 194 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 aff ; and up steps ane o"" our braw liverymen, and 
 ' My good man,' says he, ' can you have the komd- 
 ness to inform us, if My Lord Bishop's hkely to 
 arrive soon ; for we've been waiting here ever since 
 breakfast to see his lordship make his entrance.' — 
 ' Fat's that ye're saying, folk ?' says the man. 
 ' Troth, if ye've been waiting for the bishop, ye 
 may e'en gang your wa's hame again now ; for 
 I'm a' ye'll get for him,' quo' he ; and sae on he 
 joggit, to be sure, saddlebags and a', puir body ! 
 — And now what think ye o' our Bishops, my 
 man .'"' 
 
 " I perceive that their church is poor," says 
 Reginald ; " but I don't see why they should not 
 be worthy men, ay, and right Bishops too, not- 
 withstanding. The earliest among their prede- 
 cessors were poorer still." 
 
 " Ay, in truth were they," cries our kindly 
 Scot ; " and if nane o' their successors had ever 
 been richer, it would have been telling a' body 
 but themsels ; — but I crave your grace, young 
 gentleman, ye'll maybe be designing for that line 
 yoursel. Are your freends thinking to mak a mi- 
 nister o' you, young man .''"
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. I. 195 
 
 " Indeed I have not thought much of these 
 things as yet ; but my father is in the church." 
 
 " Hoo mony chaulders may't run ?"" 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir, I really don't " 
 
 " Hoot, man ! I was only asking what the stee- 
 pend might come to." 
 
 " Stipend, sir ! I really don't understand you. 
 He's Vicar of Lannwell." 
 
 " Ay, just so ; and it's a braw fat kirk I houp 
 for your sake ; for no doubt ye'll be etthn to stap 
 in Helper and Successor, when ye're done wi' 
 your courses." 
 
 " My cou7'ses ! — Once more, sir " 
 
 " Ay, your courses, your classes, your College 
 courses, man ; how mony years wiil't tak ye, or 
 ye can be through the Hall .'*" 
 
 " The Hall, sir ? I rather think I shall be of 
 * * * College." 
 
 " I meant the Deveenity-hall, man ; but that's 
 a lang look yet. Wha's your Professor o' Huma- 
 nity .?" 
 
 " Humanity, sir ! I never heard of such a pro- 
 fessorship." 
 
 " Latin, then, man ; I'm sure Latin and Hu- 
 manity's a' ae thing."
 
 196 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 " Nay, indeed,"" said Reginald, laughing ; " I 
 fear we're always to be at cross-purposes, sir — I 
 fear we shall never understand each other." 
 
 '' Nae great matter, maybe," muttered the 
 Scot, wrapping his plaid close about his chin. — 
 " Yell maybe have heard," he added, after a 
 pause, " of such a book as Ovid's Epistles." 
 
 " Surely, sir, I have both heard of and read 
 them," said Reginald. 
 
 " And yet, under favour, ye dinna appear to 
 have made meikle hand of the twa bonniest and 
 wisest lines in them a' ;" and with that he spout- 
 ed, with an air of considerable self-satisfaction, in 
 his broad coarse note, 
 
 — " Ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes, 
 Emollit mores, nee sinit esse feros." 
 
 But the lines were scarcely uttered, ere an un- 
 fortunate accident interrupted him. A certain 
 individual, by name, or rather by nickname, "Ben- 
 jamin the Waggoner," — (by the way, he has since 
 had the honour to be " married to mortal verse") 
 — had, most immorally and unpoetically, lingered 
 to drink a pot of purl with a pedlar of the name 
 of Peter Bell, and some other old acquaintances,
 
 BOOK ir. CHAP. I. 197 
 
 whom he had casually met with, at a little hedge 
 alehouse, about a hundred yards off. Benjamin's 
 team, however, not being invited to be of the 
 purl-party, had thought proper to proceed on their 
 journey towards Shap, which they well knew it 
 was their duty to reach before next morning : — 
 Peter BelFs Jackass, trotting very gallantly by the 
 side of the Brown Mare, had somewhat discomposed 
 the line of march ; and, in brief. Master Chisney, 
 being a bold rather than a blameless whip, had 
 suffered part of the Admiral's tackhng to come in 
 contact with one of those enormous circles, upon 
 which that hugest of all moving things was rolling 
 its slow length along. Jolt went the whole concern 
 with a stagger, such as Benjamin the purl-swigger 
 himself had never exhibited to human eyes — away 
 flew the old coachman, right over the hedge, like 
 a cork out of a champaigne bottle — crack went 
 the drowsy lady's head against the smashing pane 
 — in short, it was 
 
 " Disaster dire, and total overthrow," 
 
 although, luckily, there was neither life lost nor 
 bone broken.
 
 198 REGINALD DALTOX. 
 
 The fat woman made a most bitter outcry, 
 which, considering the bleeding nose, and the 
 weight of the superincumbent Scotchman together, 
 was not wonderful ; but he, without taking much 
 notice of her lamentations, soon sprawled himself 
 out of the upper window, and was seated in secu- 
 rity upon the horizontal pannel of the Admiral Nel- 
 son. Reginald, forcing the door open, extricated 
 as he best might the poor widow and himself, but 
 thought of nothing but Chisney, when he saw that 
 unfortunate Jehu stretched apparently Ufeless up- 
 on the ground. He lifted him up, and dashing 
 a handful of ditch water on his brow, had the sa- 
 tisfaction to see him open his eyes almost imme- 
 diately. The young man closed them with a quick 
 involuntary shudder, as the image of the giant 
 wheel grinding close past his ear again rose on his 
 fancy ; while the son of Caledonia, adjusting some 
 of his own discomposed habihments, and at the 
 same time making a narrow scrutiny of the marks 
 on the road, said, in an accent of most Hyperbo- 
 rean tenderness — " ]\Iy troth, gin yon chield had 
 shaved twa inches nearer you, your head, my man, 
 would have lookit very like a bluidy pancake.
 
 BOOK IT. CHAP. I. 199 
 
 'J'his will learn ye, again, ye young ramshackle ! 
 How daur ye, sir, how daur ye pit Christian folk 
 intill sic jeopardy, how daur ye ?'" 
 
 Chisney^s eye was just beginning to flame upon 
 the North Briton, when Benjamin the waggoner, 
 and a few more of the purl party [ — all of them, 
 indeed, except Mr P. Bell, who ran on furious- 
 ly with his " sapling white as cream" — ] came 
 up with reeling steps and steaming faces, to 
 assist in setting the coach to rights. The old 
 coachman, who had been much less hurt than 
 Frederick, was far too sensible of his own situa- 
 tion to make half so speedy a recovery ; but after 
 a sufficient allowance of rubbing, sighing, and cur- 
 sing, he also joined the company by the side of his 
 prostrate vehicle, and the horses having fortunate- 
 ly made no effort to stir after the crash, the Ad- 
 miral was ere long hoisted once more on his beam- 
 ends, by the united exertions of the whole assem- 
 blage. 
 
 Chisney and our other friends being all seated 
 together within the coach, sour and cold looks 
 prevailed for a season, and total silence, save a 
 continued low moaning from the female sufferer,
 
 200 IIEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 who kept sea-sawing up and down with her head 
 in a most deplorable fashion. The first who spoke 
 was the Scotchman : — offering a pinch, (his perpe- 
 tual panacea,) to the groaning old lady, he re- 
 marked to her in a sort of consolatory whisper — 
 " I have no doubt, a very fair action will lie, 
 mem ; partictdarly if any of the teeth be out, there 
 will be no question of very pretty damages — very 
 pretty damages, indeed — very sweet damages. I 
 dare say the proprietors are very sponsible folk, 
 
 mem.'*' 
 
 " What the devil have you got to do with the 
 business, sir V cried Frederick, sharply. 
 
 " O nothing, nothing at all, young gentleman. 
 If the leddy pleases to take her battered chops and 
 saynothing about it,'tis her own affair, sir ; there's 
 no question, 'tis all her own business ; but if it had 
 been me that it had happened to, friend, I can tell 
 you there should have been twa words or ive pairt- 
 ed — that's all, sir. No offence, no offence." 
 
 " Now, jontlemen, jontlemen," interjected the 
 wounded woman, taking her bloody handkerchief 
 from her mouth, " do not make a quarrel about 
 it, for the love of greace — do not make a quarrel in
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. I. 201 
 
 the coach, swate jontlemen ; for the blading is 
 stopt, and I'm sure the young man did not mane 
 to do us any harm." 
 
 " Weel, weel, madam, you"'re of a very Chris- 
 tian forgiveness truly, thafs all I sail say, madam. 
 Tak yoiu: ain gait though, by a' means." 
 
 This was said with such an intolerable air of 
 contempt, that the old lady''s spirit could not di- 
 gest it. — " An indade, sir," said she, taking a 
 hearty snuff of her smelling-bottle, " I think you 
 might just as well say little about the matter, 
 for now that my nose is done blading, barrin 
 the tramp you gave me when you climbed out 
 at the window, I should have been nothing the 
 worse for it at all, at all. I behove the mark will 
 stay with me for a month," she added ; " and sich 
 an indacent thing it was for a gintleman to look 
 to himself first, when there was a wuman below 
 him — I'm sure I dare say the young man never 
 did sich a thing in his born dees." 
 
 The Scotsman staring her full in the face, with 
 a grin not of malice but of malice^ said, in quite a 
 different tone from what he had hitherto spoken 
 in, " he's a very pretty young man, mem ; is not
 
 202 llEGINALU DALTON. 
 
 he a very nate proper lad ? is not he weel set on 
 his shanks, mem ? for I dare say yeVe an expe- 
 rienced skillful ee as to a' sic matters." 
 
 " I squorns your words," was the reply, " I 
 squorns your words, sir, and you'^re no jontleman, 
 sir, to make sich an insinivation to any lady ; and 
 I beg you to take notice, sir, that I am a lady, 
 though I rides in a steege-coach — and my name, 
 if you wish for to have it, is O'Moore — and my 
 husband thafs dead and gone, bliss him and rist 
 him, was an O'Donnell ; and, sure as peas, Fm 
 much to seek if there''s e*'er a wan o' ye has a pret- 
 tier name for to go to market with !" 
 
 " Ha I an O'Moore," cried Chisney, with an 
 air of enthusiasm, " who can ever hear the name 
 without respect ? Who can ever forget the glo- 
 rious lines — 
 
 ' O ye heroes so high, and so haughty of yore, 
 
 O'DonneU, O'Hara, O'Mara, O'Moore ! 
 
 All houses so noble, so worthy, so old, 
 
 Every drop of your blood is worth ounces of gold.' " 
 
 " Don't mintion it, don't mintion it, my swate 
 young masther," so said, or rather so sobbed, the 
 daughter of the Milesian, once more cramming
 
 BOOK II. CHAP, I. 203 
 
 her rosy countenance into the obscurity of the 
 pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 " I am sure, mem," cried the Scotchman, relax- 
 ing the rigidity of his grin into a very courteous 
 simper, " I am sure, nobody can have a greater 
 respect for you than myself, and why should not 
 I tell you the truth, since it is the truth ? Do 
 you know, I must crave your permission to look 
 upon myself as in some sort your kinsman." 
 
 " There's ne'er a Scot of ye all is my kins- 
 man," cried the unbending dame. 
 
 " I don't knaw that, mem,"" he continued ; 
 " I'm really very far from agreeing with you, as 
 to that point, mem. My own name is Macdo- 
 nald, mem, and 'tis well knawn that we're all ori- 
 ginally from the same root." 
 
 " There's been many a sore graft in the tree 
 then," whispered Mrs Paddy — but whether the 
 Scot heard her or not, I am uncertain. He handed 
 the snuff-box once more, and he did it with such an 
 air of concihation, that she could no longer resist 
 him. In short, there was great good humour 
 among the party, long before they stopt to dinner 
 at Proud Preston. Mrs O'Donnell took the head
 
 204 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 of the table, Mr Macdonald the foot, and the two 
 boys forgetting, the one his bad driving, and the 
 other his maladie des adieux, the whole quartette 
 sympathised in paying devoted attention to a su- 
 perb round of beef, a turkey, a sucking pig, tur- 
 nips, carrots, and a portentous apple-dumpling, — 
 all which, according to a custom not yet denounced 
 by the Lancastrian Kitcheners, had been fished 
 out of the same pot. 
 
 A good-humoured controversy arose after din- 
 ner, who should have the honour of paying for 
 Mrs O'Donners share. " Na, na," said the 
 Scotchman ; " 111 take nae denials — It''s my right 
 to take this matter on me — bluid's thicker than 
 water, ye ken."" 
 
 " For that very reason," said Chisney slyly, 
 pointing to the handlierchief, — " I insist upon it." 
 
 " Hand your tongues, bairns,"" quoth Macdo- 
 nald. " Od, ye"'re but twa lads on the way to the 
 College ; and my certy, ye maun be rifer a deal o' 
 siller than I was at that time o"" day, if ye hae 
 mair bawbees than you'll hae occasion for. Let me 
 stand to the shot, I say. Do you no see that I 
 might be your father, man ? What signifies sic
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. I, 205 
 
 clishmaclavering ? Pay your ain half-crowns, cal- 
 lants." 
 
 So saying, the generous son of Morven con- 
 ducted the no longer disdainful Milesian to her 
 seat in the vehicle. " What a beautiful, beauti- 
 ful town !" cried Reginald, as they were about to 
 get in. 
 
 " Beautiful, indeed !" echoed Chisney. 
 
 " Gae wa\ gae wa"","" roared Saunders, " yeVe 
 never seen Bonny Dundee, my boys; but the 
 toon's a very descent bit toon, no question, for 
 a' that."
 
 206 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 It was, after all, a stupid notion of Mr Gait's 
 to write a book about a " Steam-Boat." — A Steam- 
 Boat has all the disadvantages of a hoy or a smack 
 — I mean, all the discomforts — and it has a thou- 
 sand new ones of its own besides. Its inflexible 
 pertinacity — its always sticking to the proper point 
 of the compass — its main chance — is disgusting : 
 the clack of the oily machinery is monotonous as 
 Rogers ; if you go away from the mast-chimney 
 you shiver, and, if you stand near it, your clothes 
 are seethed about your body, from the escape-valves. 
 Smoking is forbidden upon deck — a piece of tyran- 
 ny, as indefensible as would be that of preventing 
 a boy from setting off his squib in the neighbour- 
 hood of an ordnance review — and down below, if 
 you are not sick yourself, you are surrounded with 
 frowsy old women ; ugly old men, afraid of open 
 windows; squawling, sprawling children; Cockney
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. II. 207 
 
 tourists with red morocco memorandum-books; no- 
 blemen's servants, passing themselves off for gentle- 
 men at large ; squeamish girls going to the board- 
 ing-school ; pleasuring shop-keepers, sentimental 
 conveyancers, and sulky H. P.'s — Such a mode 
 of existence is destructive of individual comfort, 
 and the mortal enemy of all social intercourse. 
 The dishes are greasy, the spoons are pewter, the 
 table-cloth is dowlass, the beer vapid, the port 
 black poison, and the motion a weariness of the 
 flesh. — What are swiftness and cheapness, to set 
 against such a conglomeration of bores ? Had the 
 ancients foreseen Watt and Bolton, old Charon 
 would certainly have had a steam-boat for his 
 " (7;t<K^<^<av.'" — No, — I can forgive my friend Gait 
 his " Wheelie''' — ay, even his " Cardinal Wolsey," 
 or his " Earthquake," more easily than this. 
 
 Nothing in human life is more delightful, on 
 the other hand, than a journey in a stage-coach. 
 Comfortable cushions prop your back and your 
 sides ; the world is whirled along in your view, like 
 a perpetual panorama ; your friend sits opposite 
 to you as comfortable as yourself, and you may 
 have a paper of sandwiches and a bottle of sherry,
 
 208 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 usquebaugh, curagao, any thing you like at youi' 
 elbow, if you have a mind. A thousand delight- 
 ful little varieties are continually occurring. — If 
 the chatty old lady leaves you, the blooming dam- 
 sel takes her place the next stage. There is al- 
 ways some one, either to laugh with or at ; and in 
 spite of all that has been said by Laureate Es- 
 priella, and other superfine Dons, you have ex- 
 cellent meals three times a-day, and snowy sheets 
 every night. Unless a man is travelling with a 
 Challenge, or a Licence, or something of that 
 sort in his pocket, I have no notion of his be- 
 ing unhappy in an English mail-coach. We, for 
 one, never hear the horn blowing without envying 
 those that are setting out — above all those that 
 are starting, hke our friend Reginald, for the first 
 time. 
 
 I have mentioned a panorama already, I meant 
 one of the revolving kind, and I can find no 
 image that will so well illustrate the rapidity and 
 variety of his new impressions during this career. 
 The Irishwoman to whom we have been introdu- 
 ced, was journeying with a small cargo of smuggled 
 India handkerchiefs, (the bloody one a specimen,) 
 
 3
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. II. 209 
 
 and she stopped at Manchester, after having dis- 
 posed of her whole stock between her junior com- 
 panions. But Mr Ralph Macdonald, W.S., was 
 not so soon to be got rid of: Every town they 
 came to they expected to lose sight of him, but 
 no ; although he said nothing of his plans over- 
 night, he was always sure to start again in the same 
 vehicle the next morning ; and when he supped at 
 Birmingham, he was the first to remark that Ox- 
 ford would be their next supping place. To say 
 the truth, even Frederick Chisney had contracted 
 something that might almost be called a fondness 
 for the old gentleman ere then ; for though all the 
 prejudices of the Scotchman were pitched on keys 
 utterly and horribly at discordance from his own, 
 there was an air of quaint and barbarous and fo- 
 reign novelty, about the style in which he ex- 
 pressed his opinions, quite sufficient to ensure the 
 tolerance of so light-headed and light-hearted an 
 antagonist. Besides, it must not be forgotten 
 that Ralph was somewhat an humourist in his 
 style ; and then, though he was a Whig, he was 
 not a very bad specimen, apparently ; at all events, 
 no man ever testified more withering indignation 
 VOL. I. o
 
 210 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 than he did, when, on having casually announced 
 himself to be a writer in Edinburgh, he found 
 that his youthful and shuddering associates ima- 
 gined this to be the same thing with a writer in 
 the Edinburgh Revieio. 
 
 But Saunders was only one feature in the pic- 
 ture — and what a strange motley picture it was ! 
 First of all there was the country. Never had Re- 
 ginald opened his eyes on that richest — and per- 
 haps grandest, too — of all earthly prospects, a 
 mighty English plain, until he saw it in all its 
 perfection from the Hill of Haynam, that spot 
 where Charles Edward, according to the local 
 tradition, stood rooted below a sycamore, and ga- 
 zing with a fervour of admiration which even ri- 
 sing despair could not check, uttered the pathetic 
 exclamation, — " Alas ! this is England." The 
 boundless spread of beauty and of grandeur — for 
 even hedges and hedgerows are woven by distance 
 into the semblance of one vast wood — the appa- 
 rent ease — the wealth — the splendour — the limit- 
 less magnificence — the minute elaborate comfort 
 — the picturesque villages — the busy towns — the 
 embosomed spires — the stately halls — the ances- 
 tral groves — everything, the assemblage of which
 
 liOOK II. CHAP. II. 211 
 
 Stamps " England herself alone" — they all lay be- 
 fore him, and there needed no " Alas," to preface 
 his confession. — But as to the particulars, are 
 they not written in John Britton, F.A.S. ? — And 
 who is it that has not seen all that Reginald saw, 
 just as well as he.'* Who is not acquainted with 
 the snug unpretending little inns, with their neatly 
 papered parlours, and prints of Hambletonian and 
 Lord Granby, and handy waiters, and neat-finger- 
 ed waiting-maids, and smiling landladies, and bow- 
 ing landlords, and good dinners smoking in sight 
 of the stopping coach ? and the large noisy bust- 
 ling inns, with travellers'' rooms full of saddle-bags 
 and dread-noughts, and tobacco smoke and Welsh 
 rabbits, enormous hams, and jugs of porter, and 
 stained newspapers, and dog-eared Directories, 
 and chattering, joking, waiter-awing bagmen, and 
 civil contemplative Quakers, 
 
 " Some sipping punch, some sipping tea, 
 AU silent, and all " ? 
 
 and the charming airy country towns " near a 
 shady grove and a murmuring brook," with clean- 
 ly young girls seen over the Venetian blinds, in 
 the act of rubbing comfortable old fellows'* bald
 
 212 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 pates — and other comfortable old fellows just 
 mounting their easy pad-nags to ride out a mile — 
 and other cleanly young girls laying the table- 
 cloth for " roast mutton rather than ven'son or 
 teal ?" — and the filthy large towns, with manu- 
 factories and steam-engines, and crowded sloppy 
 streets, and doctors' bottles, " green and blue"" 
 in the windows ? — and the stately little cities, 
 with the stately httle parsons walking about them, 
 two or three abreast, in well-polished shoes, and 
 blameless silk aprons some of them, and grand old 
 churches, and spacious well-built closes, and trim 
 gardens, and literary spinsters ? — We have all of 
 us seen these things — and they are all of them 
 good in their several ways. We have all been at 
 such places as Preston, and Manchester, and Bir- 
 mingham, and Litchfield. We have all seen 
 statesman Brougham's paddock, and listened to 
 
 " Long-Preston Peggy to Proud-Preston went, 
 For to see the bould rebels it was her intent." 
 
 We have all heard of Whitaker's History, and 
 the late Dr Ferrier, and the Literary and Philo- 
 sophical Society of the " Mancunian Mart." We 
 have all admired Soho, and pin-making, and Chan- 

 
 BOOK II. CHAP. II. 213 
 
 try's bust of James Watt. We have all heard 
 of Anna Seward, and sighed over her lines on the 
 death of Major Andre ; and sympathized with the 
 indignation of Richard Lovell Edgeworth, Esq. 
 at the " damned good-natured friend," who ask- 
 ed across the table for Mrs Edgeworth and the 
 babies, just when he and Anna were opening the 
 trenches of their flirtation. And we have all seen 
 the house where Samuel Johnson's father sold 
 books ; and many of us have (like Reginald,) 
 walked half-a-mile farther, on purpose to see the 
 willow which " Surly Sam" himself planted in 
 Tetsy's daughter's garden. And we have all been 
 at Stratford-upon-Avon, and written our names 
 in black lead upon the wall, and heard that old 
 body that says she is Shakespeare's great-great- 
 great-great-great-great-gran d-niece- in-law, spout 
 the opening scene of her " Waterloo, a Tra- 
 gedy." 
 
 " Dear Captain Brown, the postman has been here, 
 
 And you look sad 
 
 Now, marry, say not so ; 
 But the regiment has at last received its orders, 
 And I must take my seat for the Isle o' Wight. 
 Farewell, farewell, dear Kate," &c. &c.
 
 214 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 If you have ever happened to travel that road 
 about the end of October, you have probably seen 
 a great deal even of the more transitory and occa- 
 sional sort of things that fell under the inspection 
 of Reginald and his companions. You have pro- 
 bably observed abundance of rosy-cheeked old 
 Staffordshire parsons, in grey-worsted stockings, 
 seeing their sons into the Oxford-bound coach, 
 just below the rectory ha-ha. You have been 
 annoyed with the troops of empty, talking, con- 
 sequential, beardless " men,*" chattering to each 
 other about " First Class" and " Second Class" 
 — Sir Roger Newdigate's prize-poem — the Dean 
 of Christchurch — Coplestone''s pamphlets — and 
 the Brazen-nose Eight-oar. You have been amu- 
 sed with the smug tutors, in tight stocking panta- 
 loons and gaiters, endeavouring to shew how com- 
 pletely they can be easy, well-bred, well-informed 
 men of the world, when they have not their mas- 
 ters"" gowns upon their backs — hazarding a jocular 
 remark, perhaps, even to an under-graduate the 
 one moment, and biting their lips, and draw- 
 ing themselves up the moment after. You have 
 been distrest with their involuntary quotations 
 
 I
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. II. 215 
 
 from Joe Miller and the Quarterly Review ; and 
 if you have taken a second " cheerer"' with them 
 after supper, you may have been regaled with 
 some classical song out of The Sausage — " the 
 swapping, swapping Mallard*" — or, 
 
 " Your voices, brave boys, one and all I bespeak 'em, 
 In due celebration of "William of ^^'ickham ; 
 Let our chorus maintain, whether sober or mellow, 
 That old Billy Wickham was a very fine fellow," &c. 
 
 You have not, indeed, it is most probable, en- 
 joyed the advantage of hearing and seeing all these 
 fine things in company with a sturdy Presbyterian 
 Whig, grinning one grim and ghastly smile all 
 the time, reviling all things, despising all things, 
 and puffing himself up with all things ; but, ne- 
 vertheless, you would in all likelihood think a 
 fuller description no better than a bore. 
 
 Chisney, as was very much his custom, took an 
 outside place for the joiurney between Birmingham 
 and Oxford ; and there was nobody within the 
 vehicle, which happened to be the heavy Shrews- 
 bury, but Reginald, Mr Macdonald, and an old 
 Shropshire gentleman, who was carrying his son 
 to College. This gentleman was possessed of very
 
 216 llEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 mild and engaging manners, and perceiving that 
 Reginald was, like his own yovith, a Freshman^ 
 he naturally was disposed to treat him with some- 
 thing like a sort of paternal kindness and atten- 
 tion. The Scotchman, on his part, was in an 
 uncommonly placid frame of mind that day ; and 
 altogether the par^i^g^zmrree passed their timevery 
 agreeably in the coach. 
 
 While it stopped to change horses at Wood- 
 stock, Chisney, running into The Bear for a glass 
 of something, or perhaps a chat with the bar- 
 maid, found a whole knot of his Oxonian ac- 
 quaintances making merry. These young bucks 
 having come up from their counties a day before 
 the beginning of the term, had been amusing 
 themselves with a ride through the Duke"'s Park 
 at Blenheim, and a dinner in the adjoining town 
 had, of course, been the consequence. Chisney, 
 after speaking with some of them for a minute, 
 came down and asked Reginald, if he would ex- 
 cuse him for leaving him. " You will be the 
 fresher man to-morrow,"" quoth he, " for having 
 gone early to bed. Take care of my luggage, and 
 I'll be with you ere you've done breakfast in the 
 morning."
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. II. 217 
 
 lleginalcl of course made no opposition to all 
 this. The Shropshire gentleman, (who was, as it 
 had peeped out, an old militaire,) remarked, when 
 he heard the clamour of the young men, that they 
 were making a jolly mess of it for once. Macdo- 
 nald, with a more than sardonic grin, thrust his 
 head out of the coach, and squinting up to the 
 lighted windows of the inn, exclaimed, " Od, but 
 the young chields are birling their bawbees at a 
 gay rate the night. My certy, some of the puir 
 paurents have but little guess how their siller's go- 
 ing." But the conversation ere long took another 
 turn, and indeed Reginald had but little share in 
 it, whatever it was ; for the last stage is always an 
 endless one to appearance, and the boy could 
 scarcely remain three minutes on end, without 
 looking out to see whether the " glittering spires 
 and pinnacles," of which he had heard and read so 
 largely, were not yet coming into view. 
 
 The moon had just risen in splendour : — but the 
 country is very flat on that side of Oxford, and at 
 the distance of less than a mile, Reginald could 
 stiU see nothing but trees — or towers, which, under 
 such circumstances, it was impossible to distin- 
 
 5
 
 218 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 guish from them. All of a sudden — -just when ex- 
 pectation was on the utmost stretch — -just when 
 such an accident was more disagreeable than it 
 ever could have been before — a spring gave way, 
 and down came Shrewsbury. 
 
 Had the gentlemen been aware how near Ox- 
 ford was, they would certainly have preferred 
 walking the remainder of the way ; but the coach- 
 man, anxious of course to prevent his passengers 
 from outstripping him, and thereby giving addi- 
 tional blazon to the misfortune, swore the distance 
 was three times what it really amounted to. A 
 peal of laughter fell on their ears just while they 
 were hesitating — and John carried his point more 
 easily than he might otherwise have succeeded in 
 doing, when he had made known the immediate 
 neighbourhood of a house of entertainment. 
 
 His halloo was speedily answered from behind 
 the trees that skirted that side of the highway, 
 and the coach was soon surrounded by some half- 
 dozen men, women, and children. At the head of 
 them figured a stout portly old fellow, with a well- 
 powdered beaver in one hand, and a tallow-candle
 
 1500K II. CHAP. II, 219 
 
 blazing in the other, who seemed to order all the 
 rest about with an air of so much authority, that 
 Major Harvey (for that was the Shropshireman's 
 name) set him down, in spite of his handsome 
 black suit, for the Boniface of the place. This 
 notion, however, did not last long ; for another of 
 the party, one of a very different sort of aspect, 
 announced himself in terminis as landlord, re- 
 questing the gentlemen to enter his house, and 
 rest themselves there until the mishap could be 
 properly looked into. The person who uttered the 
 invitation was a pale, stooping, hatchet-faced bo- 
 dy, exceedingly frail and tremulous, and yet some- 
 how or other not old-looking neither ; but a single 
 glassy sparkle of joviality still lingering unextin- 
 guished in his eye, might perhaps furnish some 
 explanation of this apparent contradiction. 
 
 These and the others, who seemed from their 
 habiliments to be common hinds and labourers, or 
 at the best, small farmers, escorted the Major, his 
 son, and Reginald, into a very small hamlet, (but 
 indeed it scarcely merited the name,) the entrance 
 to which branched off from the highway but a few 
 paces beyond the spot where the accident had oc-
 
 220 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 curred. The smith being summoned, declared 
 that in the course of ten minutes he could make 
 the coach fit for finishing its journey ; and vmtil 
 this should be accomplished, our friends were fain 
 to accept the shelter offered by the officious lord 
 of the rural hospitium. 
 
 The house into which he ushered them is a 
 little crazy tenement, which, though not seldom 
 frequented by very fine gentlemen, preserves un- 
 injured and undisguised all its original features of 
 rudeness and rusticity. The gay young fellows of 
 the neighbouring university escape occasionally 
 with gladness from the splendid formalities of 
 their halls, to the simple cheer afforded under such 
 humble roofs, to 
 
 " Quaff home-brew'd beer from plain brown bowls, 
 And snatch the savoury rasher from the coals." 
 
 A cheerful fire, then, was roaring up a black, 
 wide-mouthed chimney, in the midst of a spacious 
 circle occupied by stout oaken benches. Pots and 
 flagons of every shape and hue, and pipes of every 
 length and every shade, were scattered within the 
 full influence of the blazing hearth — while, an op-
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. II. 221 
 
 posite door being open, the softer light of a fine 
 October moon shewed the bright turf of a skittle- 
 green, and the chequering shadows of the willow 
 bowers with which its verge was surrounded. 
 
 Here the Major, (for canny St Andrews had 
 staid without to look after the repairs) took his place 
 without delay close by the fire, in an enormous old 
 chair, each leg of which might be as thick as any 
 modern bed-post. The landlord, without waiting 
 for an order, produced a bottle of excellent cyder, 
 which he drew with some little difficulty, and then 
 placed it on a small table by the left elbow of his 
 senior guest. The portly person, of whom men- 
 tion has already been made, arranged himself mean- 
 while very comfortably on the opposite side of the 
 chimney, put fresh tobacco into his pipe, and be- 
 gan to puff in that slow deliberate style, which is 
 so characteristic of your old and knowing smoker. 
 The Major, whose segar was already between his 
 lips, did not fail to recognize in the stranger a ge- 
 nuine brother of the tube, and immediately began 
 to address him in that tone of suavity, which is 
 prompted by, and which so well becomes, the most 
 benign and philosophical of all debauches.
 
 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 {( 
 
 May I be bold enough,"" said he, " to ask if 
 I have the honour to be in the company of an 
 Oxonian ? — I need scarcely ask the question." 
 
 The person to whom these words were address- 
 ed, rolled out a cloud of smoke which it must have 
 taken at least a minute to accumulate within his 
 mouth. Quietly and composedly did he send forth 
 the fragrant vapour, and not until its last white 
 trail had escaped into the upper air did he vouch- 
 safe his answer, which was as follows : — 
 
 " I crave your pardon, sir, but I thought at 
 first you were an old son of Alma Mater yourself, 
 sir ; but it cant be so, sir — forgive my freedom, 
 sir, for there^s never a man, sir, has smoked a pipe 
 within a mile of Carfax these forty years, sir, that 
 does'nt know Jem Brank, sir. Did your honour 
 ever hear of old Jem Brank ?" 
 
 The Major, without taking the segar from be- 
 tween his lips, signified by a shake negative his 
 total ignorance of Mr Brank. 
 
 Jem, in the meantime, had sucked in another 
 vast treasure of smoke, which, unlike himself, he 
 got rid of by means of three or four hasty jerks, 
 and then resumed —
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. II, 223 
 
 " Your honour, then, was a Cantab .'*" 
 
 " Not at all," quoth the Major, smiling ; " you 
 college folks think all the world must have been 
 at college. I never was either in Oxford or Cam- 
 bridge in my life." 
 
 INIr Brank blew three or four clouds more, 
 looked first at his own leg, then at the Major's, 
 and said, " Crave your pardon, sir, but I thought 
 your honour seemed to tread a little tenderly." 
 
 The Major smiled more pleasantly than before, 
 and knocking off the long grey tail of his segar 
 against the edge of the elbow chair, said, " Yes, 
 my good friend ; and yet, however odd it may seem 
 to you, I never had a single touch of gout since I 
 was born." 
 
 " O dear !" quoth Jem, " I fear me your ho- 
 nour has had some bad accident, sir — Was it a 
 hedge and a double-ditch, sir ? — I think, for one, 
 that no gentleman should suffer such a thing on 
 his estate, sir." 
 
 The Major laid his left hand gently upon his 
 knee, pronounced the words, " Only Eunker's- 
 hiU, Mr Brank," and resumed his segar. He add- 
 ed, however, after a shght pause — " I am so far
 
 224 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 on my way to Oxford, to enter my son at * * * 
 college ; and here is another young gentleman, 
 who does not know what college he is to be of." 
 
 Mr Brank rose from his chair as if instinc- 
 tively, on hearing this last sentence, and making 
 a low bow to the Major, said, " Crave your ho- 
 nour^s pardon for my freedom, sir, but I am the 
 barber of * * * *, (my mother was the laundress, 
 sir, and my grandfather was head butler ;) and I 
 hope my young master will be Jem Brank"'s cus- 
 tomer, sir. Excuse my freedom, your honour, 
 but our trade's not what it used to be — and be- 
 sides, it's a shame to hear of it, sir — they've di- 
 vided the office, sir." 
 
 " They've divided a sinecure, my friend," said 
 the Major, laughing, " that is, if all your custom- 
 ers be like this. My boy has not a beard yet !" 
 
 " A beard ! Lord bless your honour, I was not 
 expecting a beard ; but my master can't go to hall 
 without his hair being turned." 
 
 " Well, well, Mr Brank, if his hair must be 
 turned, I hope you'll take care not to turn his head 
 along with it." 
 
 " IMany thanks to your honour's kindness — I
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. II. 225 
 
 have the honour to drink your honour and my 
 young master's health," said Jem, Hfting his tan- 
 kard to his hps. He set it down, after taking what 
 seemed to be no trivial pull, and then re-seated 
 himself, having edged off his chair, however, to a 
 more respectful distance from the chimney. 
 
 " Dr Kennett is your head,'" quoth the Major, 
 " but I am not acquainted with the names of any 
 of the fellows. Who are the leading resident 
 members of your college, Mr Brank ?''"" 
 
 " O, there's Mr Ainsworth, an please your 
 honour, he's the chief manager now-a-days that 
 the Provost is rather failing, and he tutors most 
 of the young gentlemen ; and there's Mr Leedes, a 
 very fine man, he tutors a few too — I always dress 
 Mr Leedes — he's said to be a main strong'un in the 
 mathematical department, sir ; and there's a young 
 man, lately elected, Mr Valpy ; and there's the 
 senior fellow, sir, Mr Burton, (here Jem's voice 
 fell two or three notes,) who, if they say true, is 
 the most learned man in all our college, but he 
 lives retired, sir — takes no part in any thing that 
 goes on amongst us, sir, and has not, I believe, 
 
 VOL. I. V
 
 226 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 had a single pupil these twelvemonths past. I only 
 wait upon him on the Sundays," 
 
 " And why does Mr Burton live so retiredly, 
 if I may ask ?" 
 
 " Lord love your honour, there"'s ne'er a one 
 can answer that question that I knows of — a very 
 strange gentleman is Mr Burton." 
 
 " Well, but what is the common talk about 
 him .'' A man can never act strangely, without 
 being strangely talked about." 
 
 " Why," quoth Jem, (once more putting his 
 
 pipe to his mouth, and at the same- time drawing 
 
 his chair somewhat nearer to the Major's,) — 
 
 " why, really, to tell the truth, your honour, we 
 
 knows nothing of it for certain ; but the general 
 
 saying is, as how Mr Burton was crossed in love, for 
 
 he was once, well do I remember that, the very 
 
 gayest gentleman in all St John's, and he went 
 
 abroad for a year or better, and he came back and 
 
 stood for a fellowship in * * * ; and he got it ; 
 
 for, as I was saying, there's none like him for 
 
 learning, but from that day to this, he has been 
 
 an altered man, sir. He's no more like the same 
 
 Mr Burton that he was a matter of twenty years 
 
 I
 
 I5001C II. ciiAi'. II. 227 
 
 ago, no more than I'm like the Dean of Christ- 
 church."" 
 
 " I never saw the Dean of Christ-church," said 
 the Major ; " but if you had been dressed in a 
 cassock, Mr Brank, I should certainly have take 
 you for a Prebendary, or a Doctor of Divinity at 
 the least."" 
 
 " O Lord, sir," whispered Jem, " if I may 
 be so bold, sir, I hope your honour won t teach 
 my young master to talk so lightly about such 
 great folks. O Lord, sir, there's a proper old 
 saying we have, ' hands oif the bull-dogs, tongues 
 off the caput."* "" 
 
 Just as Brank was finishing the above caution- 
 ary sentence, the coachman came into the house, 
 announcing the completion of the blacksmith"'s la- 
 bours. The officious barber was most active in ar- 
 ranging the Major"'s travelling cloak. The Major, 
 in return, gave him half-a-crown to drink " Mr 
 Harvey "'s health :'''' — and the old Shrewsbury, in 
 the course of another minute, was rolling once 
 more smoothly and safely towards Oxford. 
 
 Although Reginald did not take any part in the 
 foregoing colloquy, yet he was a good deal interest-
 
 228 llEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 eel in the latter part of it ; and indeed how could 
 it be otherwise, since the only letter in his pocket- 
 book was addressed to the gentleman whose singu- 
 lar habits of life had been the subject of discourse ? 
 This was no other than the old and only friend 
 whom his father had supposed himself to possess 
 in Oxford — this was the very Mr Burton to whose 
 care and superintendance he had furnished his son 
 with the warmest of introductions and recommen- 
 dations. However, he had scarcely mentioned 
 this to Major Harvey, when at last the long-look- 
 ed-for Dome of RatclifFe appeared in view, and 
 Reginald had eyes for nothing but the opening 
 splendours of lihedycina.
 
 BOOK II, CHAP. III. 229 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 •' Tax not the prince or peer with vain expense, 
 Arith ill-match'd aims the architect — who plann'd 
 (Albeit labouring for a scanty band 
 Of white-robed scholars only) some immense 
 And glorious work of fine intelligence." 
 
 So says {O ! si sic omnia !) a great living poet ; 
 and, in truth, a very prosaic animal must he be, who 
 for the first time traverses that noble and ancient 
 City of the Muses, without acknowledging the in- 
 fluences of the Genius Loci ; and never was 
 man or youth less ambitious of resisting such in- 
 fluences than Reginald Dalton. Born and reared 
 in a wild sequestered province, he had never seen 
 any great town of any sort, until he began the 
 journey now just about to be concluded. Almost 
 at the same hour of the preceding evening, he 
 had entered Birmingham; and what a contrast 
 was here ! No dark narrow brick lanes, crowded
 
 S30 KEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 with waggons — no flaring shop-windows, passed 
 and repassed by jostling mukitudes — no discord- 
 ant cries, no sights of tumult, no ring of anvils 
 —every thing wearing the impress of a grave, 
 peaceful stateliness — hoary towers, antique battle- 
 ments, airy porticos, majestic colonnades, following 
 each other in endless succession on either side — 
 lofty poplars and elms ever and anon lifting their 
 heads against the sky, as if from the heart of those 
 magnificent seclusions — wide, spacious, solemn 
 streets — everywhere a monastic stillness and a Go- 
 thic grandeur. Excepting now and then some 
 
 solitary gowned man pacing slowly in the moon- 
 light, there was not a soul in the High-street ; 
 nor, excepting here and there a lamp twinkling 
 in " some high lonely tower,"" where some one 
 might, or might not, be " unsphering the spirit of 
 Plato," was there any thing to shew that the ve- 
 nerable buildings which lined it were actually in- 
 habited. 
 
 Reginald, in the hurry at Woodstock, had for- 
 got to say anything to Chisney about what inn he 
 should put up at in Oxford, so he entered, along 
 with Mr Macdonald and the Harveys, the one
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. III. 231 
 
 Avhere the coach stopped. It is one of the oldest 
 in the town, — the same indeed, if tradition may be 
 trusted, where erst the Swan of Avon used some- 
 times to roost, when Sir WiUiam D'Avenant's mo- 
 ther's husband was the innkeeper. Major Harvey- 
 complained of his leg a httle,for it was a sharp frost, 
 and he, with his son, retired almost immediately 
 from the public room. And Reginald, although 
 his spirits were far too much excited for him to 
 be thinking of weariness, was desirous to be early 
 in his bed, that he might be able to rise early and 
 walk about the city before breakfast ; so he also, 
 having swallowed a cup of coffee, was about to go 
 up stairs, but Macdonald arrested his steps. — 
 " Hoots, hoots," quoth he ; " this is no neigh- 
 bour-hke behaviour at all, man. Dog on it, we've 
 been three days companions, and now ye're at the 
 end of your journey, and I'm off for Lunnun in 
 the morning, and we'll maybe ne'er meet other 
 again, man. Just sit your ways down, Mr Dal- 
 ton, for we maun have ae mair crack thesither 
 ere we part." Reginald could not, of course, re- 
 sist this invitation, and he instantly resumed his 
 chair over against his Scottish friend. " By and 
 bye," said Macdonald, " I'm expectin' a very auld
 
 232 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 acquaintance o' mine tliat"'s in this town, to come 
 and talk over a little business wi' me, but a very 
 little time will be enough for all weVe gotten to 
 say as to that matter ; and if he*'s no a changed 
 man since I saw him last, he'll mak no mouths 
 at a drap of something warm, this frosty night. 
 Od, we'll have something comfortable for supper, 
 and keep it up cheerily for ance, man." Reginald 
 touched the bell, and the bill of fare being pro- 
 duced, — " Od, save us," quoth the Scot, " it's as 
 weel I had mind of that, tliough. 'Tis Friday 
 night, and we maun have a bit fried fish for jVI r 
 Keith. Gae away, my lad," — addressing the waiter 
 — " and ask if there's ne'er such a thing as a had- 
 dock or a whiting about the house, for we've got- 
 ten a Roman to supper wi' us." 
 
 " I'm quite sure," replied the waiter, " that 
 there is not a single bit of jRsh, else it would have 
 been in the fare." 
 
 " Ay," quoth IMacdonald, " that's vera un- 
 lucky, man ; but stop, here's snipes, I see, and 
 they'll do weel eneugh at a pinch, for langnebbit 
 water-fowl's nae flesh meat, I trow ; and a marrow 
 pudding's i' the bill, too. Od, ye may e'en send
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. III. 233 
 
 it ben for the remove ; but be sure ye swear 
 it's only eggs and butter, if there"'s ony questions 
 speered. Gae your ways now, and see that 'tis a"* 
 right set about. Gae away, you lazy chield — 
 tramp, I say. Od, ye stap about as grave like 
 as if ye were some Principal yoursel, I think." 
 
 " A jolly-looking old fellow, ?vlr INIacdonald." 
 
 " Na, saw ye ever such a kyte, Mr Dalton ? 
 Gude save us a' ! — a waiter wi' a belly ! — He's 
 no fed on deaf nuts yon chiel, rfaith." 
 
 Mr Macdonald now called for pen and ink, and 
 having written and dispatched a very brief note, 
 he again turned to Reginald. " You must know, 
 my young friend," he said, " that 'tis not ony 
 common sneak of a priest body I'm sending for. 
 Mr Keith's a gentleman born — no a man in braid 
 Scotland come of a better family than he is. — 
 Faith, if he hadna been a Roman priest, he 
 would have been a very good laird this day." 
 
 " Don't suppose I have any prejudice against 
 a Roman Catholic clergyman, merely because he 
 is one," said Reginald. " My own mother, sir, was 
 of that persuasion." 
 
 " Na, I ken naething about that, Mr Dalton ; 
 but, my troth, though Archy Keith might have
 
 231< llEGINALl) DALTON. 
 
 done a very gowk-like thing when he joined their 
 cloth, it cannot be disputed that he has done a 
 very genteel part by sticking to it — more genteel 
 than sensible, to my thinking, but however. — Od, 
 man, if he had only flung by his gown, he might 
 have been Keith of Keithquhangs at this blessed 
 hour ; but he had ta'en the vows, ye see, and he 
 wouldna hear a word about it, but just let his 
 brither be the laird, and could be got to accept of 
 nothing but a sma' bit matter of an annuity to 
 himself." 
 
 " Very like a gentleman and a man of honour, 
 indeed," said Reginald. " And now he is the 
 Catholic priest here, I suppose." 
 
 " Ay, he"'s just come ower the sea to be at the 
 head of a small Roman Cathohc congregation 
 here ; but I assure ye 'tis a sair downcome for Mr 
 Keith. He had a very fine hving in Germany, 
 but now Buonaparte has dung him out, as he has 
 mony a ane that's cheaper o't, in his time. But 
 Archy Keith was aye a contented creature. I 
 would not wonder if ye were to see him with just as 
 bhthe a face as if naething had happened till him." 
 " I shall be very happy, indeed, sir, to see so 
 truly respectable a gentleman as your friend,"
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. III. 235 
 
 They might have been talking together in this 
 sort of strain for rather more than half-an-hoiir, 
 ere the waiter ushered in a httle old man wrapt in 
 a dark cloak, with a great deal of fur about it, 
 who paused for a moment in the door-way, and 
 then trotting up to Macdonald, shook him by 
 both hands, and, raising himself on tiptoe, kissed 
 first the one cheek and then the other. It was at 
 first, " My dear Mr Macdonald," and " My 
 dear Mr Keith ;" but they were at " Hech, me !" 
 and " Oh, Ralph, man !" ere they quitted hold of 
 each other's hands. 
 
 After the first heat of their salutation was over, 
 Mr Macdonald introduced Reginald Dalton to 
 his friend, and the old gentleman bowed himself 
 half-a-dozen times, with an elaborate courtesy that 
 rather disconcerted our home bred youth. The 
 two Scots then retired to the other end of the 
 room, and laying their heads together over a 
 side-table, conversed for some time in whispers. 
 Reginald was too well-bred to look in that di- 
 rection, but he saw, in the course of one or two 
 involuntary glances, that some papers were ex- 
 changed between them ; and he rather thought
 
 236 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 several bank-notes were, inter alia, handed to the 
 priest by the Presbyterian. 
 
 However, it was not long ere they both came 
 back to the fire-side. Mr Keith, throwing oiF his 
 formidable cloak, exhibited a suit of black, and a 
 pair of tall dragoon boots, both of these too clum- 
 sily fashioned to be suspected for English manu- 
 facture. He wore a brown periwig, curled all 
 over in straight lines, which also had an outland- 
 ish aspect ; and he drew from the side-pocket 
 of his mantle, ere he laid it away from him, a 
 long and massy tobacco-pipe, the silk-wrapt stalk 
 and silver chain-work of which were exposed to 
 view, while its fine Meerschaum head remained 
 closely swathed in a bag of crimson-leather. But 
 although the good man had begun to produce the 
 picker, the flint, and all his subsidiary smoking- 
 tackle, he laid them aside with an air of great 
 resignation, when the waiter came into the room 
 with his tray, " dispensing odorous sweets ;" — 
 and both the snipes and the marrow pudding met 
 with a most orthodox degree of attention at his 
 hands. The cloth being removed, and the de- 
 canters substituted, Mr Keith composed a jolly
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. III. 237 
 
 mixture of toddy, which he called e'ln treffl'iclies 
 ponch^ fired his picturesque tube, and talked gaily 
 about Old Scotland, and dear Germany, his se- 
 cond " fatherland," between the rolUng puffs. 
 
 " My certy, Archy Keith,"" quoth Macdonald, 
 *' but you must have had a proper run for it. By 
 Jove, it was a lucky chance that brought the fly- 
 ing Brunswickers in your way, my boy." 
 
 " Flying Brunswickers!" quoth he, discharging 
 a treble vapour ; " I promise you they had but 
 little the look of flying, notwithstanding. Our 
 French lads crackit crously enow, I warrant ye, 
 and they had all their guns upon the brigg too, 
 and every thing looked like a brave siege, at the 
 least penny. But, 'faith, sir, the first Brunswick 
 Schako shook their mettle for them, and all our 
 swashing custom-house billies took to their heels ; 
 and the soldiers, there was a matter of six hundred, 
 laid down their guns in the market, though there 
 were but some hundred and fifty, and a couple of 
 six-pounders, to guard both them and the town 
 when it was done." 
 
 " What town was this, man .^" quoth Macdo- 
 nald.
 
 238 KEGIXALD DALTON. 
 
 " Bremen, to be sure. Did not I tell you it 
 was from thence we made our escape ?" 
 
 " Indeed, but you did no such things, Mr 
 Keith ; I thought you said it was Leipsick you 
 took to after your misfortunes." 
 
 " Misfortune ! pooh, pooh ! We'se not call it 
 by a hard name that has brought us home once 
 more; for after a, Ralph Macdonald, home's 
 home, and I reckon myself at home when I'm in 
 Britain — indeed I do." 
 
 " To be sure you do," cried Macdonald; 
 
 " cl it, man, can a man be the less a Briton, 
 
 because he happens to have been born of one re- 
 ligion or another .'^" 
 
 " I don t speak," cried Mr Keith, " of being 
 lorn this or that, Mr Macdonald ; but can a man 
 be the less a Briton, sir, because he be in heart 
 and in sincerity of the religion of the Alfreds, the 
 Bruces, the Wallaces, the Mores ?— or if you 
 speak of poets, sir, what, after all, have ye to set 
 against the Popes, the Drydens, ay, and the 
 Shakespeares ?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Reginald, " but
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. III. 239 
 
 indeed, sir, I never before heard that Shakespeare 
 was a Cathohc."" 
 
 " Perhaps not," said the priest, gradually ri- 
 sing out of his usual quiet tone ; " but do only 
 think of it, sir. Shakespeare lived under EHza- 
 beth and James I. ; he lived when the prejudices 
 against the Catholics were at their first and most 
 furious heat ; he lived when the stage was a court 
 amusement, in a higher and truer sense than it 
 has ever since been ; he lived when literature was, 
 comparatively speaking, a guileless, artless thing, 
 when men spoke in their works what they thought 
 and felt in their own heads and hearts, sir ; above 
 all, he was Shakespeare, and yet where, in all 
 his writings, do ye find a single sarcasm against 
 the old Faith ? Had Shakespeare lived now, and 
 been a Tory or a Whig, do ye suppose he could 
 have helped abusing, in some way or other, them 
 that belonged to the party opposite to his ? No, 
 no, sir, you find no cunning crafty confessors, no 
 infidel monks, no lascivious nuns, in his writings ; 
 on the contrary, you find him daring to exhibit 
 these characters under the best possible point of 
 view — uniformly so — and this in the very face of
 
 240 KEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 the feelings and prejudices — the most violent feel- 
 ings, and the most violent prejudices — of the au- 
 diences on whose breath his existence depended — 
 and do you, after all this, doubt that Shakespeare 
 was a Catholic at heart ? or, believing that he was 
 such, do you, does any man, dare to say, that ours 
 is an un-English Faith ?" 
 
 Mr Macdonald coughed and nodded to Regi- 
 nald once or twice during this dissertation, as if 
 to caution him against saying anything that might 
 tend to prolong the discussion — and indeed the 
 youth himself was sufficiently unwilling to do so, 
 seeing, as he did, how the old gentleman's face 
 had flushed, and all the light gaiety of his pre- 
 vious manner been lost, in consequence of the 
 broaching of these too interesting topics. But the 
 moment Mr Keith paused in his strain, his coun- 
 tryman broke in with " YeVe letten a' the tobacco 
 drap out of your pipe, man ; fill your tumbler 
 
 again ; wha cares a fiddler's d what profession 
 
 a playactoring chield like Shakespeare made ? Fill 
 up your glass again, I say, and let's hear how you 
 and the young leddy won away frac the French in 
 the hindcrend.''"' 
 
 8
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. III. 241 
 
 With a placid smile the old man did as he was 
 bid as to the tumbler ; and^ relighting his pipe at 
 the same time, came back to his campaign quite in 
 his customary soft and agreeable tone of voice- 
 " If it had been only myself,"" said he, " ye ken 
 weel, Ralph Macdonald, I had seen the Hke be- 
 fore, and could have borne't all without mickle 
 gruing." 
 
 " Ah ! plague on you, Fse warrant ye thought 
 the forty-five was come back again; but your shanks 
 were suppler then, I*'m thinking, my friend." 
 
 " Troth, Ralph, but they served me in decent 
 stead, nevertheless, man. At first, to be sure, we 
 had only one horse between us, and my poor las- 
 sie, nothing could persuade her but she must walk, 
 and I ride. I took her up behint me, to be sure, 
 but then the beast flung and capered like mad ; 
 and though I got her to mount now and then af- 
 terwards, it was never ten minutes till down she 
 lap again, and would have me up right or wrong. 
 To say the truth, I had had a very bad fever and 
 cold, and was but weakly at the time." 
 
 " What a sair turn for the puir lassie !" said 
 
 VOL. I. Q.
 
 242 REGINALD DALTOX. 
 
 Macdonald : — at the same time he whispered to 
 Reginald, " 'Tis Mr Keith's niece he's speaking o' 
 — She"'s come over wi' him from Germany in the 
 midst of all these troubles, ye see." 
 
 " Troubles I houts, houts ! we aye keepit up 
 our hearts weel enough, an' be not when we came 
 to the waterside, the Linda they call it, and found 
 there was never a boat to be had for love or mo- 
 ney, every stick burnt and riven by that tinkler 
 chield Rewbell — and nothing for it but the swim- 
 ming. God safe us ! I thought at the first glimpse 
 o't, that all was over wi' poor Ellen and me ; for 
 what kind of a hand could an old man like me, 
 or a bit delicate thing like Ellen, make of swim- 
 ming such a broad water in the midst of a hundred 
 and fifty tramping soldiers, wi' wives and bairns, 
 and bag and baggage, and Rewbell at our very 
 heels? However, God be thanked, the commander 
 persuaded his men to leave every thing behind 
 them -, and a canny cliiel of a hussar clinkit up 
 Ellen behint him before we could say Jack Ro- 
 binson, and I spurred my beast, and in we plunged. 
 Sore work it was, sirs, but we got well through at 
 the upshot, with no greater damage than a good
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. III. 243 
 
 ducking ; for as to me, the water rose far o'er the 
 saddle ; and Ellen, when she came ashore, was as 
 druckit as a water-wagtail. We had no time to 
 think o"" these matters, though. On we behoved to 
 tramp, and we got all to the Duke's quarters about 
 two in the morning. But, Yaith, it would have 
 done your heart good, to see how she endured it 
 all ; never blenching a cheek, nor making a single 
 complaint ; but running hither and thither to get 
 what she could for me, that could do little or no- 
 thing for myself, the. cold water had made me so 
 rheumatical about the legs." 
 
 " A fine-spirited lass indeed," quoth Macdo- 
 nald. 
 
 " A noble young lady truly," cried Reginald 
 Dalton. 
 
 " Ye may say all that," quoth the old gentle- 
 man quietly, yet fervently — " But, God bless us ! 
 we had worse before us, though we thought all 
 our troubles had been over, in a manner, when we 
 were beside the Duke." 
 
 "He had hot wark to win away, the papers 
 said," quoth Macdonald. 
 
 " Hot work, and cold work too," said the Priest ;
 
 244 REGINALD D ALTON. 
 
 " and I promise ye we had our share of both ; 
 but alFs well that ends well ; here we are, safe 
 and sound, in merry England !"' 
 
 " Merry England, forsooth !" said Macdonald ; 
 " a pretty sort of merriment, my certy ! — But get 
 on, man, let''s hear the upshot." 
 
 " Why, you see, we were laid, little Ellen and 
 I, in a queer out-of-the-way nook, far ben in one 
 of their great Bauer's houses, where there's cattle, 
 and poultry, and men, women, and bairns, all stow- 
 ed away at night, beneath the same roof ; a place 
 as big as one of your MrTi:s in Scotland, or an 
 honest man's barn in merry England, or dull 
 England, if you will have it so. There we lay, 
 wrapt up, as best we might be, with an old cloak 
 or two hung up between us and the crowding and 
 racket that was in the place ; for I believe there 
 were a couple o' score of soldiers all snoring upon 
 the floor, as well as we : and, to be sure, we had 
 both had weariness enow ; and we slept as sound- 
 ly, sirs, as if we had been in our beds." 
 
 " Faith," quoth Macdonald, " ye were aye 
 a braw sleeper ; I'se say that for you, Maister 
 Keith."
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. III. .^45 
 
 " To be sure I was ; and I hope I shall be so 
 for some time yet ; and then there will be no fear 
 about sleep enow, my friend ; but, as ill luck would 
 have it, the alarm was given — very quietly you 
 may suppose — about half past four o'clock, and the 
 soldiers trooped away as lightly as they could, and 
 little Ellen and I were clean forgotten; and, 
 after all, what can one say, they were in such 
 a hurry and bustle. They had been every soul of 
 them out of the Dorf for half an hour, or near 
 hand it, ere the old Bauer's wife, redding up her 
 odds and ends a little, found us sleeping in our bit 
 corner. The good body raised us with a thump- 
 ing shake, I warrant ye ; and up we got, and soon 
 found what had happened. However, the old Frau 
 was a mettlesome body, and she swore we might 
 overtake them yet, ere the sea came in. For you 
 must know, the Duke had heard of the Enghsh 
 ships being off the headland about five miles be- 
 low, and the great matter was to get there by 
 crossing the bay — which is a great waste of sands 
 when the tide's out, and the sea itself, when 'tis 
 in. When we got down to the shore, there was a 
 mist upon the sands, but we could see the hind-
 
 246 KEGINALD Dx\LTON. 
 
 most of the Brunswickers. I take it they miglit 
 be the best part of a mile before us. What was to 
 be done ? If we staid where we were, we must of 
 course fall into RewbelFs mouth, and what could 
 we expect but to be sent away into some French 
 prison, for there were plenty o"* people that could 
 have recognized us at Bremen ; and there could 
 have been no denying that we had tried to get off 
 alongst with the Brunswickers. If we ventured on, 
 it was a bold venture, but Ellen was the first to 
 say that we had much better try it ; and, faith, my 
 heart was up too ; and when the kind-hearted old 
 Frau offered to give us her knecht and a couple 
 of horses to go over to the headland with us, there 
 was no more word of disputing — we buckled up 
 our alls ; that was soon done, I trow ; — and so we 
 took the sand gaily, Ellen cantering her beast at 
 my side, as hghtly as if she had been riding at a 
 broose.'''' 
 
 " I take it, sir," interrupted Reginald, " that 
 these sands are much like some I came over the 
 other day, on my way from Furness to Lancas- 
 
 ter." 
 
 " Like enough," quoth he ; " like enough, it
 
 BOOK II. ciixvp. III. 247 
 
 may be so ; and, I promise ye, I shall be in no 
 hurry to ride that journey, if they have the same 
 look with them, my young gentleman."" 
 
 " Get on, get on, man,"" roared Macdonald. 
 
 " Well, sir, we did get on,"" he proceeded; 
 " and we got on bravely and gaily too, for a time, 
 till all at once, sirs, the Bauer-knecht, that rode 
 before us, halted. The mist, you will observe, had 
 been clearing away pretty quickly on the right 
 hand, but it was dark enough towards the front, 
 and getting darker and darker ; but we thought 
 nought on"'t till the boy pulled up. ' Meinherr, 
 Meinherr !' cried the fellow, ' I am afraid I hear 
 the water." He stopt for a moment, and then said, 
 ' Stay you for a moment where you are, and I"'ll 
 soon see whether we are right."' With that, off he 
 went, as if the devil was at his tail ; and we, 
 what could we do — we stood like two stocks — and 
 poor little Ellen, she looked into my face so woe- 
 fully, that I wished to God we were both safe in 
 the blackest hole of Bieche. In short, I suppose 
 he had not galloped half a bow-shot, ere we quite 
 lost sight of the fellow, but for several minutes 
 more we could hear his horse"'s hoofs on the wet
 
 248 llEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 sand. We lost that too — and then, sirs, there 
 came another sound, but what it was we could not 
 at first bring ourselves to understand. Ellen sta- 
 red me in the face again, with a blank look, you 
 may swear ; and, ' Good God !"' said she at last, 
 * I am certain it's the sea, uncle ?"" — ' No, no I' 
 said I, ' Listen, listen ! I'm sure you are decei- 
 ved.'' She looked and listened, and so cUd I, sirs, 
 keenly enough ; and, in a moment, there came a 
 strong breath of wind, and away went the mist 
 driving, and we heard the regular heaving and 
 rushing of the waters. ' Ride, ride, my dear 
 uncle,' cried Ellen, ' or we are lost ;' and off we 
 both went, galloping as hard as we could away 
 from the waves. My horse was rather the stronger 
 one of the pair, but at length he began to pant 
 below me, and just then the mist dropt down again 
 thicker and thicker right and left, and I pulled up 
 in a new terror, lest we should be separated ; but 
 Ellen was alongside in a moment, and, faith, how- 
 ever it was, she had more calmness with her than 
 I could muster. She put out her hand, poor girl? 
 and grasped mine, and there we remained for, I 
 dare say, two or three minutes, our horses, both
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. III. 249 
 
 of them, quite blown, and we knowing no more 
 than the man in the moon where we were, either 
 by the village or our headland." 
 
 The old gentleman paused for a moment, and 
 then went on in a much lower tone — " I feel it all 
 as if it were now, sirs ; I was hke a man bewildered 
 in a dream. I have some dim sort of remem- 
 brance of my beast pawing and plashing with his 
 fore feet, and looking down and seeing some great 
 slimy eels — never were such loathsome wretches — 
 twisting and twirling on the sand, which, by the 
 way, was more water than sand ere that time. I 
 also recollect a screaming in the air, and then a 
 flapping of wings close to my ear almost, and then 
 a great cloud of the sea-mews driving over us 
 away into the heart of the mist. Neither of us 
 said any thing, but we just began to ride on again, 
 though, God knows, we knew nothing of whither 
 we were going ; but we still kept hand in hand. 
 We rode a good space, till that way also we found 
 ourselves getting vipon the sea ; and so round 
 and round, till we were at last convinced the wa- 
 ter had completely hemmed us all about. There 
 were the waves trampling, trampling towards us.
 
 250 REGIKALD DALTON. 
 
 whichever way we turned our horses' heads, and 
 the mist was all this while thickening more and 
 more ; and if a great cloud of it was dashed away 
 now and then with the wind, why, sirs, the pro- 
 spect was but the more rueful, for the sea was 
 round us every way. Wide and far we could see 
 nothing but the black water, and the waves leap- 
 ing up here and there upon the sand-banks. 
 
 '• Well, sir, the poor dumb horses, they backed 
 of themselves as the waters came gushing towards 
 us. Looking round, snorting, snuffing, and prick- 
 ing their ears, the poor things seemed to be as 
 sensible as ourselves to the sort of condition we 
 were all in ; and while Ellen's hand wrung mine 
 more and more closely, they also, one would have 
 thought, were always shrinking nearer and nearer 
 to each other, just as they had had the same kind 
 of feelings. Ellen, I cannot tell you what her be- 
 haviour was. I don't beheve there's a bold man 
 in Europe would have behaved so well, sirs. Her 
 cheek was white enough, and her lips were as 
 white as if they had never had a droji of blood in 
 them ; but her eye, God bless me ! after the first 
 two or three minutes were over, it was as clear as
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. III. 251 
 
 the bonniest blue sky ye ever looked upon. I, for 
 my part, I cannot help saying it, was, after a little 
 while, more grieved, far more, about her than my- 
 self. I am an old man, sirs, and what did it sig- 
 nify ? but to see her at blythe seventeen — But, 
 however, why should I make many words about 
 all that .'' I screamed, and screamed, and better 
 screamed, but she only squeezed my hand, and 
 shook her head, as if it was all of no avail. I 
 had shouted till I was as hoarse as a raven, 
 and was just going to give up all farther thoughts 
 of making any exertion ; for, in truth, I began to 
 feel benumbed and listless all over, my friends — 
 when we heard a gun fired. We heard it quite 
 distinctly, though the mist was so thick that 
 we could see nothing. I cried then ; you may 
 suppose how I cried ; and Ellen too, though she 
 had never opened her lips before, cried as lustily 
 as she could. Again the gun was fired, and again 
 we answered at the top of our voices ; and then, 
 God bless me ! — was there ever such a moment .'' 
 We heard the dashing of the oars, and a strong 
 breeze lifted the mist like a curtain from before us, 
 and there was a boat — a jolly ten-oar boat, sheer-
 
 252 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 ing right through the waters towards us, perhaps 
 about a couple of hundred yards off. A sailor 
 on the bow hailed and cheered us ; but you may 
 imagine how far gone we were when I tell you 
 that I scarcely took notice it was in English the 
 man cried to us. 
 
 " In five minutes we were safe on board. They 
 were kind, as kind as could be — good jolly Eng- 
 lish boys, every soul of them. Our boor lad 
 was sitting in the midst of them with a brandy 
 bottle at his head ; and, poor soul, he had need 
 enough of comfort, to be sure, for to Heligoland 
 he must go — and three horses lost, of course — 
 besides the anxiety of his friends. 
 
 " It was a good while ere I got my thoughts 
 anyways collected about me. Ellen, poor thing, 
 sat close nestled beside me, shaking all over like 
 a leaf. But yet it was she that first spoke to me, 
 and, upon my soul, I think her face was more woe- 
 ful than it had ever been when we were in our 
 utmost peril ; it was a sore sight truly, that had 
 made it so, and the poor lassie's heart was visibly 
 at the bursting. There were our two horses — the 
 poor dumb beasts — what think ye of it ? — there 
 they were, both of them, swimming just by the
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. III. 253 
 
 Stern of the boat. And our. honest Bauer, God 
 bless me ! the tears were running over his face 
 while he looked at them ; and by and by one of 
 the poor creatures made an exertion and came off 
 the side of the boat where the lad sat, quite close 
 to ourselves, with an imploring look and a whining 
 cry that cut me to the very heart. Ellen sat and 
 sobbed by me, but every now and then she bolted 
 up, and it was all I could do to hold her in her 
 place. At last the poor beast made two or three most 
 violent plunges, and reared himself half-way out 
 of the water, coming so near the boat, that one of 
 the men*'s oars struck him on the head ; and with 
 that he groaned most pitifully, snorted, neighed 
 and plunged again for a moment, and then there 
 was one loud, shrill cry, I never heard such a ter- 
 rible sound since I was born, and away he drifted 
 
 a-stern of us We saw him after a very little while 
 
 had passed, going quite passively the way the cur- 
 rent was running, the other had done so just be- 
 fore ; but I've been telling you a very long story, 
 and perhaps you'll think about very little matters 
 too. As for ourselves, we soon reached one of the 
 transports that Sir George Steuart had sent to
 
 254 IlEGINALD UALTON. 
 
 fetch off the brave Brunswickers ; and though the 
 rascally Danes kept firing at us in a most coward- 
 ly manner, whenever we were obliged to come 
 near their side on the tack, they were such miser- 
 able hands at their guns, that not one shot ever 
 came within fifty yards of one vessel that was 
 there. It would have been an easy matter to have 
 burnt Bremerlee about their ears, but the Duke 
 was anxious to have his poor fellows in their quar- 
 ters — God knows, they hadhad a sore campaign one 
 way and another — and so we only gave them a few 
 shots, just to see them skipping about upon the 
 sand, and so passed them all, and got safe out of the 
 Weser. We reached Heligoland next day, and 
 then, you know, we were at home among plenty 
 of English, and Ellen nursed my rheumatics ; and 
 as soon as I was able to move, we came over in 
 one of the King's packets, and here we are, alive 
 and kicking — I will say it once more — ^in merry 
 England^ 
 
 " Well, well, man," said Macdonald, " yeVe 
 had a perilous journey, and you may e'en take 
 things your own way, if it must be so ; but what, 
 I pray you, has made you change your tune so ?
 
 T300K n. CHAP. III. 255 
 
 Sure you used to be a railer, and a bitter one too, 
 or I'm much mistaken." 
 
 " Ay, Ralph," quoth the old gentleman ; " and 
 I might rail still, sir, if I were in a railing humour. 
 But I've lived to see changes that may weU shut 
 my mouth : — I mind the day, sir," — he proceeded, 
 lifting his voice — " I well mind the day, sir, 
 when a Catholic gentleman could neither inherit 
 the estate of his ancestors without some beggarly 
 quirk to evade the laws, nor buy lands, nor leave 
 them to his bairns — I weel mind the day, sir, 
 when the Honourable James Talbot was tried in 
 an English court, tried like a felon, for being in 
 Catholic orders — I mind good worthy Mr Malony 
 being tried in the same way, and sentenced to 
 perpetual imprisonment, because he pleaded ^'?<i/- 
 iy^ forsooth. These days are all gone past, Mr 
 Macdonald ; King George, though I bore arms 
 myself, when I was a beardless lad, against his 
 grandfather, is a good man, and a good king, sir, 
 and the prejudices of people must just get time to 
 wear out. I shall not live to see the day — that I 
 can scarcely expect — but come it will, and you, 
 Mr Dalton, I hope, will live to see it, when it will
 
 256 KEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 be no blot on any nian"'s escutcheon to be a Petre, 
 a Jerningham, a Throgmorton, or a Clifford." 
 
 " You need not be in such a heat, man," quoth 
 Macdonald ; " I'm sure I'm none o' the enemies 
 of your claims, as ye call them. For my part, I 
 think the Church of Rome and the Church of 
 England are sib to the back-bone — four pennies 
 the one, and a groat the other." 
 
 " Ay, ay, have I gotten ye there at last, ye 
 foul Whig loon .^" cried Keith, throwing himself 
 back in his chair with a scornful smile ; " Have 
 I brought ye to the sticking-place at length, my 
 friend ? It is such friendship as yours, sir, that 
 disgraces us now, and does more harm to the cause 
 than all the open enemies we ever mustered. 
 YouhateEpiscorACY, sir; you hate the church; 
 you are a vile Whig, it was born in you, and bred 
 in you, and it will rot in your bones, man. It's 
 just you, and the like o' you, being with us, that 
 makes those that should be with us stand against 
 us ; and if there's too many of ovu'selves that are 
 taken in wi' your vile snares, so much the worse. 
 Shame ! Shame ! and a black shame on all such 
 tod's tricks, I say. Non tali auxilio, non de- 
 
 FENSORIBUS ISTIS !"
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. III. ^57 
 
 " Hear till liim, hear till him, Mr Dalton ! 
 Wha saw ever sic a bleeze .f^" 
 
 But the jarring string had been touched, and 
 the old man had risen and flung his mighty cloak 
 about his shoulders ere Macdonald could find 
 means to pacify him. He walked to the door in 
 high dudgeon, but turned again just after he had 
 laid his fingers on the lock, and resuming all the 
 suavity of his usual smile, which was in truth a 
 most mild and gracious one, said, " We must not 
 part in ill blood, though, for all this, Ralph Mac- 
 donald. Here's my hand — God bless you — gie 
 my love to all friends in the Land o' Cakes — that 
 will be no great trouble to you now-a-days, man." 
 
 They shook hands, whispered together for a 
 little while at the door of the room, and then, af- 
 ter wishing Reginald good-night, in a tone of 
 great courtesy, and adding, that, as he was about 
 to be a resident in Oxford, he hoped to have the 
 pleasure of meeting with him again, the good 
 priest withdrew. 
 
 Macdonald, drawing his chair close to the fire- 
 place, entertained Reginald with a few moments"' 
 conversation about the old father and his adven- 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 258 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 turous expedition ; and then these two coach ac- 
 quaintainces exchanged a tolerably affectionate 
 farewell. Mr Macdonald was to set off at seven 
 next morning per Bobart, so that they had but 
 little prospect of seeing each other again.
 
 BOOK If. CHAP. IV. 259 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TiiK bed-room, to which Betty Chambermaid 
 conducted our young gentleman, was in a part of 
 the house very remote from their supper-parlour. 
 It is one of a great number situated along the line 
 of an open wooden gallery, and its windows look 
 out upon a lane branching from the street that 
 gives entrance to the inn. Reginald, seeing that 
 there was still fine moonlight, went to the window 
 to peep out for a moment, ere he should undress 
 himself. He threw up the sash, and was leaning 
 over the balcony, contemplating a noble Gothic 
 archway on the other side of the lane, when seve- 
 ral persons turned the corner from the street, some 
 retreating, apparently, and others following ; for, 
 though none of them were moving at speed, there 
 was opposition and anger in the tones of the 
 voices.
 
 200 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 ii 
 
 Say the word, then, speak it out," cried one 
 voice. " Say Toavn, d ye, or I'll floor your 
 
 carcase.*" 
 
 " Goran or Toxvn .?"" roared another ; " speak, 
 or by jingo " 
 
 " Stand back, stand back, I say ; halt, you 
 knaves,*" shouted a third — " I am a clergyman.*" 
 
 Reginald thought it was certainly very like Mr 
 Keith"'s voice ; but they were all on the dark side 
 of the lane, and he hstened for another moment. 
 
 " I am a clergyman, I am a priest, sirs,*" was 
 reiterated. 
 
 " A clergyman ! Then the deviPs in't if youre 
 not a gownsman — down with him, down with him, 
 I say." 
 
 " Come, come, don''t meddle with him ; he"'s an 
 old fellow, Hitchins.*" 
 
 " Old ! d him, havent they battered old 
 
 Dry'-s windows about his ears .'' down with him !" 
 
 " Staund back, I say ; help, help ! — God sauf 
 us ! watch, watch ! Stap out, ony one o*" you, if 
 you''re men.*'*' 
 
 Reginald could no longer be mistaken : He
 
 BOOK II. CHAI'. IV. 261 
 
 seized the poker, got out upon the balcony, and 
 dropt on the pavement m a twinkling. 
 " Gown or Town ? Gown or Town.^" 
 " Cowards ! rascals ! back, you scoundrels ! — 
 Mr Keith, Mr Keith, here stand beside me, 
 sir." 
 
 A violent tussle ensued : One fellow aimed a 
 blow at the priest's head, which he parried secun- 
 clton arie7?i, and returned with energy. Of two 
 that attacked Reginald, one got a push in the 
 midriif that made him sick as a dog ; the other, 
 after inflicting a sharp cut with his stick, was re- 
 paid by a crashing blow that might have shivered 
 the scapula of a Molineaux. The priest and another 
 fellow, getting into close embrace, rolled down 
 together, tozvti uppermost, in the kennel. Black 
 eyes and bloody noses were a cbug. Reginald 
 broke a bludgeon ; but the poker flew from his 
 grasp in doing so. Fists sounded like hammers for 
 a few seconds ; and then Town, first retreating 
 for a few paces in silence, turned absolute tail, 
 and ran into the street screaming and bellowing, 
 " Town ! Town ! Town !"
 
 262 KEOINALD DALTON. 
 
 REGINALD. 
 
 I am afraid you're hurt, sir. Take my arm, 
 Mr Keith. 
 
 KEITH. 
 
 There — that's a braw lad. Foul fa' the tinkler 
 loons ! Four on an auld man ! 
 
 REGINALD. 
 
 Here's your pipe, sir ; I'm afraid 'tis quite 
 broken. 
 
 KEITH. 
 
 Never heed the stalk. Ah me, my bonny 
 meershaum ! it's a' smashed — Just feel the bag, 
 man. 
 
 REGINALD. 
 
 Wrap your cloak about you, sir, and let's walk 
 as fast as we can, for they may come back. 
 
 KEITH. 
 
 My certy, there was ane o' them got his fairin 
 — he'll no fash us. Come awa, come awa — but 
 what am I saying ? ye have lost your hat. 
 
 REGINALD. 
 
 I never had it — never mind. Is your house 
 far off?
 
 LOOK II. ClIAr. iV. 
 
 263 
 
 KEITH. 
 
 Nae lang gate — but mercy on me, I'm no gaun 
 to take you wi' me at this time o' night, calland. 
 
 REGINALD. 
 
 No time for speeches, Mr Keith ; come along, 
 sliew me the way, sir. 
 
 Enter Proctor. 
 
 PROCTOR. 
 
 Here they are — here's some more of them — 
 grapple them, my lads. Are these your compa- 
 nions, you scoundrel ? 
 
 PRISONER {bluhher'mg.) 
 
 Oh let me go, sir — let me go for this once ! — 
 doey, doey now. 
 
 KEITH. 
 
 That's just one of the chaps that set on us. Keep 
 your grip, lad, that's the very chield that flung 
 me — I ken him by the red waistcoat. 
 
 PROCTOR. 
 
 Who are you ^ Are you Gownsmen ? Young 
 man, how dare ye be without your academicals ? 
 
 REGINALD. 
 
 I'm not a member of the University, sir, though 
 I mean to be so to-morrow morning. They were
 
 264 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 mauling tliis old gentleman in the street, and I 
 came out to assist liim. 
 
 BULL-DOG {wMspering proctoii.) 
 'Tis the new-comer Papish priest, your honour. 
 
 PROCTOR {hastily.) 
 Come, come, get away home, both of you ; and 
 you, young man, what's your name — Dalton, do 
 ye say ? Be sure you call on me at ten o'clock. 
 Come along, Roberts — look sharp, Munday. 
 
 So saying, the Proctor, a most portly figure in 
 cap and gown, with long and wide black velvet- 
 sleeves, together with his attendants, who were 
 stout fellows, with loose blue gowns and batons. 
 Went off as hastily as they had come — their pri- 
 soner being quickened in his paces by an occasional 
 kick, blow, or tug. The old Priest and Reginald, 
 as soon as they were gone, proceeded arm in arm 
 to the end of the Bridge — not the slightest ap- 
 pearance of disturbance met them — every thing 
 was as quiet as if no roxo since time began had 
 ever waked the echoes of the Charwell. The Priest 
 stopped at the door of a small house in St Cle- 
 ment's, and Reginald immediately touched the
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. IV. 26 
 
 O 
 
 knocker for him. " Go your ways home to your 
 bed, my kind young friend," quoth the Priest. 
 " God bless you for all your kindness — Gae away 
 hame now, and sleep sound, for youVe done a good 
 deed, my man — and I'll take it very kind indeed, 
 if yell come and see me in the morning, if ye have 
 leisure." 
 
 A soft female voice said from within, " Who's 
 there .?" 
 
 " It's me, my darhng," answered the old man, 
 and the door was opened. A young girl, with a 
 candle in her hand, appeared in the entrance, and 
 uttered something anxiously and quickly in a lan- 
 guage which Reginald did not understand. " Mein 
 susses kind," he answered — " my bonny lassie, 
 it's a mere scart, just a fleabite — I'm all safe and 
 sound, thanks to this young gentleman — Mr Dal- 
 ton, allow me to have the honour of presenting you 
 to my niece, Miss Hesketh. Miss Hesketh, Mr 
 Dalton. But we shall all be better acquainted 
 hereafter, I trust." 
 
 The old man shook Reginald most affectionate- 
 ly by the hand, and repeating his request that he 
 should go instantly home, he entered the house —
 
 ^66 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 the door was closed — and Reginald stood alone 
 upon the way. The thing had past in a single 
 instant, yet when the vision withdrew, the boy felt 
 as if that angel-face could never quit his imagina- 
 tion. So fair, so pensive — yet so sweet and light 
 a smile — such an air of hovering, timid grace — 
 such a clear, soft eye — such raven silken tresses 
 beneath that flowing veil — never had his eye be- 
 held such a creature — it was as if he had had one 
 momentary glimpse into some purer, happier, love- 
 lier world than this. 
 
 He stood for some moments rivetted to the spot 
 where this beautiful vision had gleamed upon him. 
 He looked up and saw, as he thought, something 
 white at one of the windows — but that too was 
 gone ; and, after a little while, he began to walk 
 back slowly into the city. He could not, however, 
 but pause again for a moment when he reached 
 the bridge ; — the tall fair tower of Magdalene ap- 
 peared so exquisitely beautiful above its circling 
 groves — and there was something so soothing to 
 his imagination, (pensive as it was at the moment,) 
 in the dark flow of the Charwell gurgling below 
 him within its fringe of willows. He stood leaning
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. IV. 267 
 
 over the parapet, enjoying the solemn loveHness 
 of the scene, when of a sudden, the universal still- 
 ness was disturbed once more by a clamour of 
 rushing feet and impetuous voices. 
 
 Anxious to get back to the inn without being- 
 involved in any new riot, he resumed and quick- 
 ened his pace. By crossing to the dark side of the 
 way, he hoped to escape observation, and gain his 
 quarters in safety ; but the sounds became louder 
 and louder as he advanced, and he had not moved 
 many paces beyond the arch of old Anthony-a- 
 Wood, ere he saw that a gToupe of young men 
 were standing at no great distance right before 
 him on the street. One or two of them had caps 
 on their heads, and they appeared for the moment 
 to be all laying their heads together as in consul- 
 tation, so that he said to himself they must be 
 gownsmen, and so on he went towards them, with- 
 out fear of being molested. 
 
 He was hailed by the old cry, " Town or Gown.''"''' 
 when he came near them ; but before he could 
 make any answer, Frederick Chisney reeled from 
 the midst of the groupe, and exclaimed, seizing 
 him by the collar, " Oh you dog, where have yo\i
 
 268 llEGINALD UALTON. 
 
 been hiding yourself? I called at both the Star 
 and the King"'s Arms for you — Here, my hearties, 
 here's my gay young fresh man — here's my West- 
 moreland Johnny Raw" — he went on, hickuping 
 between every word — " here's my friend, Reginald 
 Dalton, boys, well initiate him in style." 
 
 Reginald was instantly surrounded by a set of 
 young fellows, all evidently very much flustered 
 with wine, who saluted him with such violent sha- 
 king of hands, as is only to be expected from the 
 " Baccho pleni," or acquaintances of ten years' 
 standing. 
 
 " Stand fast, there !" cried Chisney, who seem- 
 ed, though excessively drunk, to be in some sort 
 the leader of the party. " Stand fast, my hearties, 
 and we'll soon get caps and gowns for us all — this 
 is certainly old Teddy's ; but, by Jupiter, I can't 
 
 read sign-posts by moonlight, I never could. 
 
 Look up, Dalton, your eye is unsophisticated — 
 can you spell what's over the door, there .^" 
 
 " There is nothing but Theed/' he answered. 
 
 " Ah I by Jupiter, I knew I could not be far 
 wrong. Well, now, what's to be done '^ shall wc 
 rouse old Snip .''"
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. IV. 269 
 
 " Rino; the bell," cried one. 
 
 " Do, do, Dalton, pull his wire for him, you 
 are nearest it," cried another of the strangers. 
 
 " But why ?" said Reginald, " what are you 
 about ? what are you wanting ?" 
 
 " Hold your tongue," stuttered Chisney, " you'll 
 soon see what we're after — but d — me, the goose 
 is not gone to roost yet — singing, by Jericho." 
 
 And to be sure, there was heard at the same 
 moment a cracked and squeaking voice from the 
 interior ; they all listened out one stanza in pa- 
 tience — 
 
 " John Wilkes he was for Middlesex, 
 
 And they chose him the Knight of the Shire ; 
 
 And he made a fool of Alderman Bull, 
 And called Parson Home a liar." 
 
 " Hear how the old sinner squawls," quoth Chis- 
 ney ; " confound him, we'll soon stop his scrannel 
 pipe." 
 
 But on went the noble strain : — 
 
 " King Nebuchadanosor 
 
 Lived in a costly palace, 
 He wore a crown of gold, and drank 
 
 His swipes in a golden chalice.
 
 270 llEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 " He was the cock of great kings, 
 
 And Babel tower he builded, 
 His mutton it was served in a silver disli, 
 
 And his gingerbread was gilded." 
 
 And then two or three more " most vile voices" 
 joined in the glorious chorus — 
 
 " But John Wilkes he was for Middlesex, 
 And they chose him the Anight of the Shire ; 
 
 It was he made a fool of Alderman JSidl, 
 And call'd Parson Home a liar." 
 
 " No more of this stinking breath," roared Chis- 
 ney, " Ring, Reginald." But before Dalton could 
 utter any remonstrance, Chisney himself was at his 
 side, and the bell-wire had snapt in his hand with 
 an alarum that would have roused the seven sleep- 
 ers. A momentary pause ensvied, and a bustling 
 and whispering were heard within ; a furious rattle 
 with a cane-head seconded the bell — a window was 
 thrown open above the door-way — and a highly- 
 powdered head-piece, a solemn cadaverous face, 
 and a pair of spectacles, made their appearance. 
 
 " In the name of , for the love of , 
 
 who are you ? Gentlemen, what do you want .'* 
 Is this a time ? ^^^lat behaviour is — ? Lord
 
 BOOK ir. CHAP. IV. 271 
 
 have mercy upon our souls ! they're at Town and 
 Gown !" 
 
 CHISNEY. 
 
 No palavers, Master Theed, we want half-a-do- 
 zen academicals. 
 
 SECOND GOWNSMAN. 
 
 Caps and gowns, you old snip. Open your door, 
 or youVe a gone fraction." 
 
 THEED. 
 
 O gentlemen ! O gentlemen ! what a night is 
 tliis ? Doey, now, docy, now, go home to College, 
 like crood civil crentlemen. 
 
 THIRD GOWNSMAN. 
 
 By the eternal fury, if you don't open 
 
 FOURTH GOWNSMAN (Jifting Up u jMving stone.) 
 Here goes, old Gander 
 
 THEED. 
 
 Alderman Plumridge — Alderman, I say, do 
 you hear this ? Takey care, gemmen, there's an 
 alderman of Oxford in the house — takey good care 
 what you do, gemmen. 
 
 FOURTH GOWNSMAN {hrecthivg a zvindnw.) 
 You shall have next chance yourself, Theed.
 
 272 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 ALDERMAN PLUMRIDGE. 
 
 Gentlemen, do ye know me, gentlemen ? Do 
 ye know who I am, gentlemen ? In the name of 
 the Mayor and the King of England, I charge 
 you all — keep 
 
 CHISNEY. 
 
 Keep you your peace, you mfernal old cheese- 
 monger ! — Open the door this instant, I say, 
 Theed. 
 
 SECOND GOWNSMAN. 
 
 Shall I sport his oak, Chisney ? 
 
 THEED. 
 
 O Mr Chisney, is that you, Mr Chisney .^ 
 That I should be so treated by an old customer ! 
 O Mr Chisney, Mr Chisney ! 
 
 CHISNEY. 
 
 I'll tell you what it is, Theed, if you don''t 
 open your door, and give us three or four caps 
 and gowns — no matter what sort they are, any 
 thing that's in the shop — by Jupiter, you shall 
 never put in a single stitch for Christ-Church. 
 
 THEED. 
 
 O Mr Chisney, Mr Chisney, you were always 
 a civil gentleman ; but who have ye got with ye .^ 
 
 14
 
 BOOK II. CHAl'. IV. !^73 
 
 I clon't know the gentlemen. I'm sure I would 
 do any thing for the University. 
 MRS THEED {opening another zoindow, and in 
 her night-cap.') 
 O gentlemen, have ye seen our Teddy ? O, 
 for the love of goodness, have any of ye seen my 
 Teddy Theed ? Oh, what a woeful night is this ! 
 ^{Bluhhcrs.) 
 
 CHISNEY. 
 
 He"'s safe enough, mother — he"'s in the Castle 
 this half hour, safe and sound — nothing but a 
 black peeper from the Popish Priest. 
 
 MRS THEED. 
 
 From the Popish Priest ? O judgment judge 
 him ! The Papish, the Papish to lick my Teddy ! 
 
 TIIEED. 
 
 Nothing but a black peeper ! O goodness be 
 praised ! — But, O gentlemen, O Mr Chisney,what 
 a state am I in .? what am I to do ? what can I do .'' 
 O Alderman ! O Mrs Theed ! Oh Jem Brank ! 
 Speak to them, Jem — speak to the gemmen. 
 JEM BRANK {appearing with his pipe in his 
 
 mouth.) 
 Gentlemen, I'm old Jem Brank, the barber of 
 
 VOT.. I. s
 
 274 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 * * * — D — n me, I'm the boy that will stick by 
 the tuft. — Are you resolved to have the gowns, 
 gentlemen ? Must I open the door for you, my 
 masters ? 
 
 THEED. 
 
 O gentlemen — O Mr Chisney ! (Aside.) Oh, 
 
 you d villain, Jem Brank ! Was it for this 
 
 I invited you ? Will you come in by your- 
 self, Mr Chisney, and be responsible, and choose 
 what you will have ? 
 
 CHISNEY. 
 
 To be sure, I will. There''s a good fellow, Jem 
 Brank — here's a crown for you. 
 
 And with that in rushed the whole party, over- 
 turning Brank, Plumridge, Mrs Theed, and three 
 half-naked apprentices. 
 
 THEED. 
 
 O Mr Chisney ! O the Alderman ! O Mr 
 Plumridge ! Oh Jack Horner ! Oh Bill Tape ! 
 Oh my apprentices, my apprentices ! Stop my 
 apprentices ! Oh what noise is this I hear ! 
 
 CHISNEY. 
 
 The caps this instant, you old devil, or you're 
 a dead man. Don't you hear the row coming ?
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. IV. 275 
 
 THEED {opening a door.) 
 Stand back, Mrs Theed — Goey in, gentlemen — 
 doey your pleasure — I'll neither make nor meddle, 
 I call you to witness, Mr Plumridge. 
 
 CHISNEY. 
 
 Here, boys, here's your sort. Here's a cap for 
 you, Hawkins — here's one for you, Dick Nowell. 
 D — n me here's one with a gold tuft — take it, Sir 
 James — you're the next step to honourable, how- 
 ever — and here's two gowns. By Jupiter, Dalton, 
 you shall wear the doctor's one. 
 
 SIR JAMES. 
 
 Go it, my hearties ; lift all the ellwands. 
 
 MR BRAXK. 
 
 Mayn't I take this cap under the table, my 
 masters .'' I'm all for the Gown — they're a-coming 
 — they're coming. 
 
 CHISNEY. 
 
 On with it, old boy. And here, here's a gown 
 for you too. Now fall in, all's tight. [Exeunt. 
 
 In short, by this time the High-street of Ox- 
 ford exhibited a scene as different from its custom 
 mary solemnity and silence, as it is possible to
 
 276 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 imagine. Conceive several hundreds of young men 
 in caps, or gowns, or both, but all of them, -without 
 exception, wearing some part of their academical 
 insignia, retreating before a band rather more 
 numerous, made up of apprentices, journeymen, 
 labourers, bargemen — a motley mixture of every 
 thing that, in the phrase of that classical region, 
 passes under the generic name of Raff. Several 
 casual disturbances had occurred in different quar- 
 ters of the town, a thing quite familiar to the last 
 and all preceding ages, and by no means uncom- 
 mon even in those recent days, whatever may be 
 the case wok'. Of the host of youthful academics, 
 just arrived for the beginning of the term, a con- 
 siderable number had, as usual, been quartered 
 for this night in the different inns of the city. 
 Some of these, all full of wine and mischief, had 
 first rushed out and swelled a mere passing scuffle 
 into something like a substantial roto. Herds of 
 the town-boys, on the other hand, had been ra- 
 pidly assembled by the magic influence of their 
 accustomed war-cry. The row once formed into re- 
 gular shape in The Corn-market, the clamour had 
 penetrated walls, and overleapt battlements ; from
 
 BOOK II. CHAl', IV. 277 
 
 College to College the madness had spread and 
 flown. Porters had been knocked down m one 
 quarter, iron-bound gates forced in another, and 
 the rope-ladder, and the sheet-ladder, and the 
 headlong leap, had all been put into requisition, 
 with as much eager, frantic, desperate zeal, as if 
 every old monastic tower had been the scene of an 
 unquenchable fire, every dim cloistered quadran- 
 gle of a yawning earthquake. In former days, as 
 I have asserted, such things were of familiar oc- 
 currence. There is an old rhyme which says, 
 
 •■' Chronica si penses, cum pugnent Oxonienses, 
 Post aliquot menses, volat ira per Angliginenses." 
 
 Had such disturbances been interpreted as 2)ug- 
 noe, England could never have enjoyed five years 
 of peace since she was the kingdom of kingdoms. 
 But it was not so ; they were regarded as but the 
 casual effervescences of juvenile spirit, and no se- 
 rious consequences ever attached or attributed to 
 their occurrence.* 
 
 * Though Hartford College has been erased from the list, I 
 should hope the window, from which Charles Fox made that il- 
 lustrious leap upon one of these occasions, has been spared by the 
 piety of the present Chancellor.
 
 278 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 But to our Story. Chisney and his companions, 
 the wine of the Black Bear of Woodstock still 
 fuming in their brains, were soon in the midst of 
 the retreating togati ; and our friend Reginald, 
 drest in the splendid attire of a Doctor of Physic, 
 could scarcely, under all the circumstances, be 
 blamed for following their guidance. Jem Brank 
 stuck close to the party, wielding in his fist the 
 fine gold-headed cane of Mr Alderman Plumridge. 
 At the same instant, a dozen or two of stout young 
 fellows rushed out from Queen's and University, 
 and the front began to stand firm once more ; 
 while the animating shouts of these new allies were 
 heard with fear and dismay by their assailants, 
 who never doubted that the whole of New College 
 had turned out, and who had on many former oc- 
 casions been taught abundantly, that the eleves of 
 William of Wickham can handle the single stick 
 with as much grace as ever their great founder did 
 the wreathed crosier. 
 
 It was now that a terrible conflict ensued — a 
 conflict, the fury of which might have inspired 
 lightness, vigour, and elasticity, even into the pa- 
 ragraphs of a Bentham, or the hexameters of a
 
 BOOK 11. CHAP. IV. 279 
 
 Southey — had either or both of these eminent 
 persons been there to witness — better still had 
 they been there to partake in, the genial phrenzy. 
 It was now that " The Science," (to use the lan- 
 guage of Thalaba,) " made itself to hejelt.'''' It 
 was now that, (in the words of Wordsworth,) 
 " the power of cudgels was a visible thing." It 
 was now that many a gown covered, as erst that 
 of the Lady Christabelle, 
 
 " half a bosom and a side ! 
 A sight to dream of, not to see." 
 
 It was now that there was no need for that pathe- 
 tic apostrophe of another living Sonneteer — 
 
 " Away all specious pliancy of mind 
 In men of low degree !" 
 
 For it was now that the strong Bargeman of Isis, 
 and the strong Batchelor of Brazen-nose, rushed 
 together " like two clouds with thunder laden,"" 
 and that the old reproach of " Baculo potius," 
 &c., was for ever done away with. It was now 
 that the Proctor, even the portly Proctor, shewed
 
 280 KEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 that he had sat at the feet of other Jacksons be- 
 sides Cyril ; — 
 
 " For he that came to preach, remained to play." 
 
 In a word, there was an elegant tussle which 
 lasted for five minutes, opposite to the side-porch 
 of All-Souls. There the townsmen gave way ; but 
 being pursued with horrible oaths and blows as 
 far as Carfax, they rallied again under the shadow 
 of that sacred edifice, and received there a wel- 
 come reinforcement from the purlieus of the Staf- 
 fordshire Canal, and the ingenuous youth of Pen- 
 ny-farthing Street. Once more the tide of war was 
 turned ; the gowned phalanx gave back — surly 
 and slow, indeed, but still they did give back. On 
 rolled the adverse and swelling tide with their 
 " few plain instincts and their few plain rules." 
 At every College gate sounded, as the retreating 
 band passed its venerable precincts, the loud, the 
 shrilly summons of — " Gown ! Gown !" — while 
 down each murky plebeian alley, the snoring me- 
 chanic doffed his night-cap to the alarum of — 
 " Town ! Town V Long and loud the tumult con-
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. IV. 281 
 
 tinued in its fearful rage, and much excellent 
 work was accomplished. Long and lasting shall 
 be the tokens of its wrath — long shall be the faces 
 of Pegge, Wall, Kidd, (and light shall be their 
 hearts,) as they walk their rounds to-morrow 
 morning — long shall be the stately stride of Ire- 
 land, a;id long the clysterpipe of West — long and 
 deep shall be the probing of thy skilful lancet, O 
 Tuckwell ; and long shall all your bills be, and 
 long, very long, shall it be ere some of them are 
 paid. Yet, such the gracious accident, homicide 
 was not. 
 
 A third furious battle took place on that fair 
 and spacious area which intervenes between Alag- 
 dalene's reverend front and the Botanic Garden. 
 But the constables of the city, and the bull-dogs 
 of the University, here at last uniting their forces, 
 plunged their sturdy wedge into the thickest mass 
 of the confusion. Many, on both sides, were right 
 glad of a decent excuse, and dispersion followed. 
 But up towards Holywell, and down towards 
 Love Lane, and away over the waters of Char- 
 well toward St Clement's parish, the war still
 
 282 KEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 lingered in fragments, and was renewed at inter- 
 vals. 
 
 Reginald, although a nimble and active young 
 fellow, broad in the chest, narrow in the pelvis, 
 thick in the neck, and lightsome in the region of 
 the bread-basket, a good leaper, and a runner 
 among ten thousand, was not, as has been former- 
 ly mentioned, a fencer ; neither was he a wrestler, 
 nor a boxer, nor an expert hand at the baton. 
 These were accomplishments, of which, his educa- 
 tion having, according to Mr MacdonaWs taunt, 
 been " negleckit," he had yet received scarcely 
 the slightest tincture. The consequence was, that 
 upon the whole, though his exertions were neither 
 few nor far between, he was, if mauling were sin, 
 fully more sinned against than sinning. The last 
 thing he could charge his memory withal, when 
 he afterwards endeavoured to arrange its " dis- 
 jecta fragmenta,"" was the vision of a brawny arm 
 uplifted over against him, and the moon shedding 
 her light very distinctly upon the red spoke of a 
 coach-wheel, with which that arm appeared to be 
 intimately connected.
 
 BOOK II. CHAI'. V. 283 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Reginald had been awake, in a certain sense 
 of the word, for some minutes, ere he could com- 
 mand anything hke a recollection of what had 
 passed. His head was hot, and there was a feel- 
 ing both of numbness and of pain about his limbs, 
 insomuch, that he could scarcely at first turn from 
 one side to the other. A confused remembrance 
 of noise, shouting, clamour, blows, flight, pursuit, 
 rose within him. He made an effort, pidled aside 
 his bed-curtains, and immediately perceived that 
 he had not been taking his ease in his inn. 
 
 In fact, it was broad daylight, and when the 
 curtain was withdrawn, he could see the open 
 fields almost without lifting himself above the pil- 
 low on which his head had rested ; the features of 
 the landscape were quite new to his eye, and he 
 remembered, after a moments consideration, that
 
 284 ilEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 the window of his bed-chamber at the inn had 
 looked out upon a tall pile of Gothic building. 
 
 But besides all this, the room in which he found 
 himself had no sort of appearance of belonging to 
 a house of public entertainment. It was small, 
 but neatly furnished ; there were books lying 
 about, and other symptoms of habitation. Above 
 all, right opposite to him, there stood a sofa, with 
 disordered bed-clothes heaped above the cushions, 
 just as if some one had risen from a couch of tem- 
 porary preparation. 
 
 He had gradually raised himself upon his bed 
 while taking these observations, and a moment 
 after, he heard footsteps as if ascending a wooden 
 staircase. The door was gently opened, and Mr 
 Keith stole softly into the room, treading on his 
 stocking- soles. The old gentleman's abundant 
 periwig had been replaced by a small scull-cap of 
 black velvet, and his black coat by a short surtout 
 of purple serge, and Reginald could scarcely have 
 recognized him at first glance but for the sound of 
 his voice. " Hah ! my bonnie lad,"" he said, ad- 
 vancing on tip-toe to the bed-side, " so youVe 
 alive at last again ? My word, yeVe ta'en a braw
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. V. 285 
 
 sleep on't, however. — Give me your hand, man 
 — ha ! well do very well, a little heat, but no- 
 thing to speak of — no bones broken, no fears, no 
 fears — let me look at your head, man i^" 
 
 So speaking, Mr Keith untied a handkerchief, 
 lifted Reginald's night-cap off his brow, and ap- 
 plying a delicate finger all round the edges of a 
 black patch of considerable magnitude, said, — 
 " Yes, yes, the swelling's nothing, nothing at 
 all ; ye"ll be ne'er a hair the worse for all that's 
 happened. O dear ! Mr Dalton, I cannot say how 
 glad I am to find things this way. What a sore 
 heart it would have been if ye had gotten some 
 serious injury, and a' for your kindness to a poor 
 old man that ye never saw in your life before. 
 Od, sir, I cannot say what I think about it. God 
 be praised, God be praised, 'tis all well now." 
 
 " jVIy dear sir," said Reginald, " I beg you 
 will not distress me ; but my recollection is very 
 much confused. Where am I ? — am I in your 
 house, Mr Keith ?'' 
 
 " 'Deed are you, my young friend ; and I'm 
 sure I may well bless Providence for the accident 
 that enabled us to take you in. There was a terrible
 
 286 REGINALB DALTON. 
 
 hillibaloo on the road, and Ellen Hesketh came 
 to my door and wakened me — I had just fallen 
 over — and said there was a crowd of lads fighting, 
 and a dead man lying beside our door. I rose up 
 as fast as I could, man, but they were all away 
 ere I could get out, and nothing left behind but 
 an old hat or two, and the dead man, who, I am 
 most heartily happy to say, has had a joyful re- 
 surrection.'" 
 
 " Myself.?" said Reginald. 
 
 *' Ay, just yourself; we got warm vinegar and 
 rubbed your brows, and as soon as we saw that 
 there was nothing but the cut on your head — iTaith 
 little Ellen was not three years in the Anton's 
 Kloster for nothing, man — we got ye all dressed 
 and bandaged in no time, and into the bed wi' 
 you. Hoot, it will not be visible in two days 
 time, man ; there's a wonderful vis renovatrix 
 about folk at your time of day — a glorious vis re- 
 novatrix. Rise up, man, and put on your clothes, 
 we've kept the breakfast things on the table for 
 you." 
 
 " What o'clock may it be .''" said Reginald. 
 
 " That's true," quoth the priest, " I had for-
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. V. 287 
 
 gotten my watch ; " and with this he walked 
 across the chamber towards the sofa, and took 
 possession of a huge old-fashioned affair of gold 
 chased work, which had been lying beneath the 
 piUow. 
 
 *' My dear sir," said Reginald, raising himself 
 higher in his bed, " I fear — Is it so ? I greatly 
 fear you have slept there. God bless me, I have 
 robbed you of your bed." 
 
 " Hoots, hoots, what's a' this about ? Never 
 heed, my braw man." 
 
 " I am distressed, ashamed " 
 
 " Hold yovir tongue, hold your tongue, cal- 
 lant ; I"'m an old campaigner." 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, my dear Mr Keith " 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, my dear Mr Dalton, 'tis past 
 eleven o'clock, and your trunk's at the door, and 
 ye had mickle better rise up." 
 
 So saying, the old gentleman dragged in Re- 
 ginald's portmanteau, and shaking his finger so as 
 to cut short aU further speechification, retreated 
 out of the chamber. Our youth got out of bed 
 with a little difficulty, but without delay ; and 
 when he looked at the melancholy condition of the
 
 288 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 coat in which he had travelled, he had good rea- 
 son to thank his kind host for the precaution of 
 sending to the inn for a new supply of raiment. 
 
 Reginald, on surveying his own image in the 
 mirror, was a good deal startled with the white- 
 ness of his countenance ; but both this and the 
 stiffiiess of his joints were very much gone ere he 
 had finished his toilet, and at length he descended 
 the staircase, looking perhaps rather more inte- 
 resting than he might have done, had there been 
 neither paleness nor patch. The old priest issued 
 forth when he heard him coming down, and usher- 
 ed him into the parlour where IVIiss Hesketh had 
 coffee and toast ready for his reception. It may 
 be taken for granted that he was in a condition 
 for doing great justice to his breakfast, yet we 
 should be giving a very false account of things, if 
 we omitted to insinuate that the fair creature who 
 sat by his side, and filled and refilled his cup for 
 him, had a far greater share of his attention. 
 
 She spoke to him easily, kindly, gaily — praised 
 him for his interference in IVIr Keith's favour — 
 half roguishly questioned him about the after 
 events of the evening — gave him playful little 
 
 9
 
 HOOK 11. CHAl'. IV. 289 
 
 hints about the propriety of keeping out of such 
 scrapes for the future ; and all this she did in pure 
 English, but with an accent about which there 
 was something not less distinctly foreign than 
 there was in the whole of her own appearance, 
 dress, and demeanour. A beautiful girl, indeed, 
 she was — a smile of gentle fearless innocence sat 
 enthroned in her soft dark eyes ; and if now and 
 then a shade of pensiveness hovered over their 
 drooping lids, it was chased in a moment by the 
 returning radiance of that young and virgin glee. 
 Her rich raven tresses were gathered beneath a 
 silken net upon the back part of her head, leaving 
 the fair open front entirely unshaded ; and this, 
 together with the style of her dress, which was 
 plainer, fuller, and infinitely more modest than 
 was at that time fashionable among English la- 
 dies, and the little golden cross, hung from a 
 rosary of black beads about her neck, gave to the 
 toute ensemble a certain grave and nun-like cha- 
 racter — ^not perhaps the less piquant on account of 
 the contrast which that presented to the cheerful 
 and airy grace of her manners. There was such 
 a total artlessness about every thing Miss Hes- 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 290 REGINALD D ALTON. 
 
 keth said and did, that Reginald, although but 
 little accustomed to the society of young unmar- 
 ried ladies, and full enough of those indescribable 
 feelings which generally render unsophisticated 
 young people shy and reserved in their first inter- 
 course with others of a different sex, could not 
 withstand the charming fascination, but spoke and 
 smiled in his turn as if they had been old ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 How much of this ease on both sides might be 
 the effect of the gay and kind old gentleman's 
 presence, I cannot pretend to say. In all such 
 cases, the influence of a tertium quid is, without 
 question, powerful ; and the fact is certain, that 
 when, on a knock of rather alarming loudness co- 
 ming to the door of the house, Mr Keith went out 
 of the apartment in which they were sitting, the 
 young couple, left to themselves, became sudden- 
 ly as reserved as they had the minute before been 
 the reverse. They were both sitting in silence — 
 trifling, the one with his tea-spoon, and the other 
 with her rosary, when, after the interval of a minute 
 or two, Mr Keith re-entered the parlour in com- 
 pany with Frederick Chisney. " No apologies,'"'
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. V. 291 
 
 he WHS saying — " no apologies, I pray, sir — you'll 
 find Mr Dalton as well as a man can be that has 
 had a tift overnight, and a sound sleep to come 
 after it." 
 
 There were no traces about Chisney's exterior, 
 of the affray in which he had borne so principal a 
 part. Fresh in colour, gay in aspect, and dressed 
 in the full academics of a Gentleman Commoner — 
 one of the most graceful, certainly, of all Euro- 
 pean costumes — perhaps his fine person had never 
 been exhibited to greater advantage than it was 
 now. The moment he was introduced to Miss 
 Hesketh, he began to lavish upon her all the no- 
 things and everythings of easy, assvued, accus- 
 tomed gallantry ; and, it must be confessed, that 
 poor Reginald was not without some little feelings 
 of rather a pamful sort, when he observed with what 
 perfect and fearless facility his handsome friend 
 made prize of the young lady's attentions. After 
 a little while, however, Mr Chisney, whether or 
 not he had read something like a rebuke in the 
 old priest's eye, stopt short suddenly in this " heaic 
 chemin,'''' where, in spite of the adage, he was but 
 too apt " trop courir."" He rose from his seat,
 
 292 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 and, observing that Reginald would have but 
 little enough time to be entered before dinner, 
 made his most respectful bow to Mr Keith and 
 his fair niece. 
 
 The old man drew our youth back again for 
 a moment, after Chisney had walked out of the 
 room, and said in a whisper, once more cordially 
 shaking him by the hand, — " Now, take ye care 
 o' yourself, my dear Mr Dalton — take ye good 
 care o"" yourself, my dear young man. You re far 
 from your friends, and youVe got wild hempies 
 enow to draw ye aside, if ye'll but yield to them — 
 take an old man's advice, and look carefully to what 
 ye do at the outset ; and, hear ye, Mr Dalton, 
 111 take it very kind if you 11 sometimes spare a 
 little o' your time to come and see us here in our 
 quiet dwelling. We live a very sober hfe, but 
 we'll aye have a mutton-chop for you, man, and a 
 very hearty, hearty welcome."" 
 
 Reginald caught one of Miss Hesketh's smiles — 
 a grave, but still a very gentle one — ere he made 
 a fitting answer to the old priest's kind invitation. 
 He then said that he would send for his portman- 
 teau in the course of the morning, and joined
 
 ItOOK II. CHAP. V. 293 
 
 Chisney, who stood whistling beyond the thresh- 
 old. 
 
 He took hold of Reginald's arm, and they had 
 walked a few paces down Heddington Hill, ere 
 any thing was said. It was Chisney who began. 
 " By my faith,"" he said, with a malicious smile — 
 " by my faith, Dalton, the old boy has a fair 
 taste. She''s a pretty creature, on my soul. Ah ! 
 hang them, leave them alone for choosing "" 
 
 " 'Tis Mr Keith's niece," quoth Reginald, ra- 
 ther hastily. " I don't know what ye mean, Chis- 
 ney, Miss Hesketh is ^" 
 
 " His niece — ay, that's the play, is it ? I 
 thought, perhaps, cousin might have been the 
 word." 
 
 " I really can't comprehend you. I never was 
 more kindly treated in my life — he's a most re- 
 spectable old gentleman, apparently ; and Miss 
 Hesketh, I am sure, you must allow "" 
 
 " Is a most charming creature. Certa,inly, 
 Dalton, I said nothing against her eyes — they're 
 as pretty a httle wicked pair of eyes as ever I saw 
 the devil nestled in."
 
 294 REGINALD DaLTON. 
 
 " I don't understand you. She seems to me to 
 be a most amiable and interesting young lady." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! — most amiable and interesting, in- 
 deed ! Do you know how long it may be since 
 she paid her last visit to the uncle in the coun- 
 try ?" 
 
 " The uncle in the country .'' I protest, I can''t 
 make any thing of what you say." 
 
 " Why, Gad-a-mercy, Reginald Dalton, are 
 you really such a Johnny-Raw as this comes to ? 
 Were you taken in, you foolish fellow ? Did you 
 bitCj hond Jide ? Did you not smoke the mon- 
 key r 
 
 " I know nothing of what you say. I saw no- 
 thing but a good kind old man, and a beautiful 
 girl, who treats him as if she were his daughter. 
 I really can't endure ^" 
 
 " Well, take your own way. La petite Fran- 
 caise " 
 
 " She's no Frenchwoman, Chisney ; she's an 
 Englishwoman, a Scotchwoman, I mean. At 
 least her uncle is Scotch ; but they've been living 
 a long time in Germany." 
 
 " In Germany ! better and better still. Sen-
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. V. 29-5 
 
 timent to the collar-bone, you may swear. I sup- 
 pose ye thought of Mynheer Werter and Mrs 
 Charlotte, when she was spreading your toast for 
 you." 
 
 " I don't know anything about Werter and 
 Mrs Charlotte." 
 
 *' No, no, I acquit you — nor about Mademoi- 
 selle Julie and Monsieur St Preux neither, I dare 
 say. The Vicar kept no such filthy seductive 
 books at Lannwell. You're pure, I see, quite pure 
 — immaculate — intact. Well, 111 say nothing 
 more about the matter." He added with another 
 provoking smile, " Maxima debetur pueris reve- 
 rentia.'''' 
 
 Reginald had seldom felt more inclined to be 
 angry. Perhaps he had been a little sore with 
 what passed ere they left Mr Keith's — but this 
 sneering strain had much aggravated the feehng. 
 He kept silence, however, for he saw that he had 
 not the means of producing any change on Chis- 
 ney's modes of thinking — but after a little while 
 he said, abruptly, " I do not think I shall be of 
 Christ-church, Chisney." 
 
 " I don't think it, neither," answered Frederick, 
 drily ; " for 1 made inquiry, and there's never a
 
 296 REGINALD DALTOX. 
 
 room for any body until after Easter. But where 
 will you go ? 
 
 " I shall, in the first place, go to * * * Col- 
 lege, if you will shew me where it stands, and con- 
 sult my father's friend, Mr Barton — I've got let- 
 ters for him in my pocket." 
 
 " WeU, please yourself, my hearty ; * * * is, 
 after all, a fairish enough place — there's some 
 very good fellows of my acquaintance in * * * — 
 several old Etonians — Dick Stukeley, and some 
 others — very pleasant company indeed — You may 
 pass your time very merrily at * * *." 
 
 " My purpose is to be a student, Chisney ; I 
 mean to have nothing whatever to do with your 
 dissipation." 
 
 Chisney turned round, and staring him in the 
 face, burst into a fit of incontrollable laughter. 
 " Nothing to do with my dissipation "^ You mean 
 to be a student, forsooth ! Why, am I no 
 student, Mr Reginald .? Do you really suppose I 
 have not as much Heathen Greek in my cap, as 
 e'er a plodding jack-ass that chews Hederick within 
 the ring of Tom ? Do you really imagine a man 
 reads the worse for a spree overnight ? Hang it.
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. V. 297 
 
 hang it, man ! I protest I'm ashamed of you— 
 you 11 take at least a term''s combing, Reginald." 
 " I shall adhere to my resolution, Frederick." 
 " Well, well, please yourself in the meantime, 
 however — I know you better than you do your- 
 self, my hearty — ^by and by you'll come it gaily— 
 no fear of you — But what's the use of prosing ? 
 We're at the gateway — this is old ^' * *. Do you 
 jump away, deliver your letter — you'll find him a 
 rum one, I believe — I'll take a walk in the gar- 
 den till you have done with him — but don't keep 
 me kicking my heels longer than is necessary, for 
 I have got to see you rigged at Theed's yet before 
 dinner, you know." 
 
 These words were spoken beneath the shadow 
 of a very old and venerable building — by no 
 means one of the first-rate Colleges in Oxford, 
 but one which has had the honour to maintain for 
 many centuries a character of eminent respectabi- 
 lity. Reginald, when he had passed the portal, 
 and surveyed the modest and unpretending, but 
 very beautiful architecture within — the quiet clois- 
 ter, the graceful tower, the ivy-mantled windows — 
 thought within himself that here he fain would be
 
 298 REGINALD BALTON, 
 
 at home. The old porter, who obeyed Chisiiey's 
 thundering summons at the lodge, testified a good 
 deal of surprise, when Keginald, with the letter 
 in his hand, asked to be shewn to Mr Barton's 
 apartments — but, after pausing for a moment, he 
 said, " Certainly, sir, I shall deUver the letter, 
 and perhaps Mr Barton may see you." 
 
 With this he preceded the young men along 
 the cloister ; and when he stopt at Mr Barton's 
 stair-case, Chisney passed on towards the gardens.
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. VI. 299 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Mk Daniel Bautox, of * * * College, was 
 a man, the like of whom it would be in vain to 
 seek for in England beyond the walls of Oxford or 
 Cambridge. Though a keen and indefatigable 
 student in his very early years, he had, during the 
 latter part of his residence at the University as an 
 Under-graduate, partaken more in the pleasures 
 than in the labours of the place. His behaviour 
 in this respect had considerably irritated his fa- 
 ther, who had formed extravagant expectations 
 from the precocious diligence of his boyhood. He 
 left England for a season, and by forming an im- 
 prudent matrimonial connexion in a foreign coun- 
 try, aggravated so deeply his father's displea- 
 sure, that on the death of the old gentleman, 
 which occurred very soon afterwards, he found 
 himself cut off from the succession to a respectable 
 family estate, and left in the world with no better
 
 300 REGI>JALD DALTON. 
 
 provision than a very trifling annuity. His pretty 
 little Swiss did not live long enough to be much 
 of a burden to his slender resources. She died 
 abroad, and he, immediately on his return to Eng- 
 land, came back to Oxford a melancholy and dis- 
 appointed man. 
 
 He was fortunate enough to obtain a fellowship 
 in * * * College very soon after this, and took 
 possession of the chambers in which Reginald 
 Dalton was now about to be introduced to him. 
 Here his irritated temper did not prevent him 
 from seeking and finding occupation and consola- 
 tion in his books. The few old friends he then 
 possessed in the University, being, ere long, taken 
 away from his neighbourhood, and scattered over 
 the world in various professions, his habits of read- 
 ing became more and more his resource ; — and at 
 length they constituted his only one. The head 
 of his own College was a man he did not like, and 
 gradually the society of the common room, form- 
 ed of course of this man's favourites, came to be 
 quite irksome to him. In short, he had now for 
 many years lived the life of a hermit — temperate 
 to abstinence, studious to slavery, in utter soli-
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. VI. 301 
 
 tude, without a friend or a companion. Years and 
 years had glided over a head scarcely conscious of 
 their lapse. Day after day the same little walk 
 had been taken exactly at the same hour; the 
 same silent servant had carried in his commons ; 
 the arrival of a new box of old books had been his 
 only novelty ; his only visits had been paid to the 
 Bodleian and the Clarendon. 
 
 His income, however, was so very limited, that 
 necessity — particularly at the outset — would have 
 made him willing enough to take a share in super- 
 intending the education of the young gentlemen 
 at his College ; but the Provost and he had 
 never, as we have seen, been friends, and amidst 
 abundance of more active competitors, it was no- 
 thing wonderful that he had remained, for far the 
 greater part of liis time, destitute of pupils. Now 
 and then some accident threw a young man in his 
 way — some old family or county connexion, or 
 the like. When he had such a duty imposed on 
 him, he had ever discharged it honestly and zeal- 
 ously ; but very young men like to be together 
 even in their hours of labour, and, great as, in 
 process of time, Mr Barton's literary reputation
 
 302 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 had grown to be, seldom was any one ambitious 
 of profiting by his soUtary instructions. His last 
 pupil had left CoUege more than a year ago, and 
 the arrival of another was not only a thing alto- 
 gether unexpected, but — occupied as he was in 
 preparing an extensive and very laborious work 
 for the press, and every day more and more wed- 
 ded to his toil — it was a thing of which, if he 
 thought of it at all, he certainly had never brought 
 himself to be desirous. 
 
 Although the prime of his manhood was scarce- 
 ly gone by, the habits of this learned Kecluse had 
 already stamped his person with something near 
 a-kin to the semblance of age. His cheek was 
 pale — his eye gleamed, for it was still bright, be- 
 neath grey and contracted brows ; Ids front was 
 seamed with wrinkles, and a meagre extenuated 
 hand turned the huge foMo page, or guided the 
 indefatigable pen. Such was the appearance of 
 one who had long forgotten the living, and con- 
 versed only with the dead, whose lamp had been 
 to him more than the sun, whose world had been 
 Iiis chamber. 
 
 The studies to which he had chiefly devoted
 
 HOOK II. CHAP. VI. 303 
 
 his time were mathematical ; yet he had, long ere 
 now, made himself a classical scholar of very- 
 high rank. Of modern literature he was almost 
 entirely ignorant. It would have been difficult to 
 find one English volume among every fifty in his 
 possession, and certainly there was not one there 
 that had been published for the last twenty years. 
 Of all the hghter and more transitory productions 
 which were at the moment interesting common 
 readers, he knew no more than if they had been 
 written in an antediluvian tongue. If anybody 
 had asked him what was the last book of celebri- 
 ty that had issued from the English press, he 
 would probably have named Burke's Reflections, 
 or Johnson s Lives of the Poets ; and it is not 
 improbable that he would have named them with 
 a sneer, and pointed in triumph to his Demos- 
 thenes or his Athenseus. Such a character may 
 be taken for a mere piece of fancy-work ; yet how 
 many are there among the inmates of those vene- 
 rable cloisters, that, without having either desert- 
 ed their Common Rooms, or earnedprematuregrey- 
 ness among the folios of ancient times, are con-
 
 304 HEGINALD DALTON. 
 
 tented to know just as little about all such mat- 
 ters as satisfied Mr Barton ! 
 
 Of recent events, he knew almost as little as of 
 recent books. Excepting from the fasts and 
 thanksgivings of the church — or perhaps from 
 some old newspaper brought to him accidentally 
 along with his supply of snuff or stationery — he 
 heard rarely either of our triumphs or of our de- 
 feats. The old College servant who attended him 
 daily in his chamber, had, long ere now, acquired 
 the habit of performing his easy functions without 
 disturbing him by many words ; and even the talk- 
 ative vein of Jem Brank, who dressed Mr Barton's 
 hair every Sunday morning, had learned, by de- 
 grees, the uncongenial lesson of restraint. In 
 truth, the extraordinary seclusion in which he li- 
 ved, the general opinion as to the greatness of his 
 acquirements, the vague belief that some unfortu- 
 nate event had saddened his mind and changed 
 his pursuits, and the knowledge that there was 
 some misunderstanding, or at least a very consi- 
 derable coldness, between him and the more ac- 
 tive members of the society to which he belonged 
 
 12
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. VI. 305 
 
 — these circumstances, taken altogether, had in- 
 vested the ordinary idea of Mr Barton's character 
 with a certain gloom of mystery — and the mer- 
 riest menials of the place, even where the buttery 
 hatch was double-barred, and the ale double stout, 
 lowered their voices into whispers, if his name 
 was mentioned. 
 
 Many long winters had elapsed since Mr Bar- 
 ton had even heard the name of his old acquaint- 
 ance the Vicar of Lannwell, yet, when he had 
 read Mr Dalton's letter, and received intimation 
 that the young gentleman who had brought it was 
 waiting at the door of his apartment, that affec- 
 tion with which all good men dehght to remem- 
 ber the associates of their young and happy years, 
 was at once revived in his heart. There was 
 something both of tender and of sad in the smile 
 with which he rose to welcome Reginald, but the 
 pressure of his hand was warm and fervid. In 
 surveying the blooming boy, he could not help re- 
 calling the merry days when he and the boy's fa- 
 ther had worn cheeks as smooth, and curls as 
 glossy. He turned round, half unconsciously, to 
 a little mirror which hung over his chimney-piece, 
 VOL. I. u
 
 306 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 and after regarding his own image there for a mo- 
 ment or two in silence, " Ah ! young gentleman," 
 he said, " it is now a long look to the time when 
 your worthy father and I made acquaintance ; — 
 we have been cast on different courses of life, but 
 I assure you it is very pleasant to me to hear of 
 his welfare, and to see his son. Your father is 
 well, and happy ; I trust it is so, indeed."" He 
 added, almost in a whisper, " When we knew each 
 other, I was the gayer of the two — perhaps it is 
 otherwise now." 
 
 But, almost before Reginald had answered his 
 inquiries about the good Vicar, Mr Barton had 
 again seated himself on his accustomed chair, 
 and his hand had instinctively resumed the pen. 
 Though every now and then gazing for a moment 
 on the young man's face, he did this with a look 
 of vacant abstraction, and seemed, indeed, to be 
 quite unable to keep his mind from the work in 
 which he was engaged. A considerable number 
 of minutes, therefore, elapsed before Reginald 
 could command so much of his attention as to be 
 able to make him understand that he had come 
 thither with the intention of becoming a member
 
 BOOK 11. 
 
 cHAr. VI. 307 
 
 of * * *, and commencing his academical studies 
 under his own direction. 
 
 This, however, once more roused him. After re- 
 flecting for a few moments, he rose from his chair, 
 and said, in a very kind manner, " Indeed, Mr 
 Dalton, I know not very well what to say to this ; 
 I am exceedingly happy to see the son of my old 
 friend, and any assistance I can give should sure- 
 ly be given to him with gladness. But I have 
 fallen out of the way of these things, Mr Dalton ; 
 I have forgotten, and I have been forgotten ; 
 there are other and more active people here, and 
 I must just whisper into your ear, that I don't 
 think our Provost will be disposed to receive you 
 the more graciously because / introduce you." 
 
 " You are my father's friend," answered Regi- 
 nald ; " it is under your care he will think I am 
 the safest — and indeed, indeed, sir, I beg you to 
 take me, for I have seen enough already to be 
 convinced that I shall be surrounded with tempt- 
 ation, and I would fain, very fain, have my fa- 
 ther's friend to be my guardian." 
 
 " Ay, indeed," said Barton ; " you speak very 
 seriously, my young friend. It is not so that
 
 308 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 young gentlemen for the most part look on things 
 when they come hither for the first time. I pray 
 you, tell me has anything happened to you ? — 
 Can 1 do anything for you ?"" 
 
 " Nay, indeed, sir," said Reginald ; " I want 
 nothing hut that you should take me for your pu- 
 pil. I have a gay young friend here, who, if you 
 do not, may, I fear, place me where I should he 
 less safe, and where I shall, therefore, he less hap- 
 py. Indeed, sir, I desire to be diligent, and to 
 please my father. I would very fain have your 
 guidance."" 
 
 " Then you shall have it," answered Barton, 
 seriously ; " you shall have w^hat I can give you. 
 Look round here ; you shall command my library, 
 and you shall spend a couple of hours every day 
 with me ; but more, I fear, I cannot promise you. 
 You must exert yourself, my young friend, and 
 you must trust to yourself. " 
 
 " I hope to be a hard reader, sir," said the 
 youth, " and I mean to live as retiredly as is pos- 
 sible." 
 
 " Nay, nay," quoth Mr Barton, " I must not 
 hear you speak quite so, neither. You are yovmg, 
 the world is before you ; you are to be a man and
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. VI. 309 
 
 a citizen, and you must not think to spend your 
 days here as if you were destined to become an 
 old monkish fixture like myself." Reginald was 
 rather at a loss for any answer to this, but while 
 he was hesitating, the Recluse proceeded. — 
 " This is my home^'' he said ; " I shall live and 
 die among these old towers, Mr Dalton. I have 
 bid adieu to the world long ago, and I know little 
 of what is passing in it. But you, sir, are like to 
 have duties and occupations of another sort ; for 
 these you can only fit yourself by learning the 
 world's learning, and living amidst the world. 
 No, no, my young friend, read, study, make your- 
 self a scholar, and there command my poor help 
 such as it is — but mix freely with your contempo- 
 raries, indeed you must do so — live with them, 
 and learn of them — you will, I doubt not, find 
 amiable, honourable friends, friends that will be 
 like brothers to you now — ay, and remember you 
 long after this with the kindness of brothers. He 
 that has made no friends in his youth, will scarce- 
 ly find them in his manhood, and perhaps he may 
 miss them sorely in his age."
 
 310 REGINALD D ALTON. 
 
 There was something of solemnity in his way 
 of saying these things — so much so, that young 
 Reginald Ustened without thinking of making any 
 answer. The pensive scholar cast a look round 
 his chamber, as if to say, Behold my friends ! 
 and, resuming his seat, said, " Excuse me for a 
 very few moments, and I shaU go with you to the 
 Provost." 
 
 He began writing eagerly, and continued to 
 do so for perhaps a quarter of an hour, without 
 taking any further notice of Reginald's presence. 
 The boy, meanwhile, fiill of serious thoughts and 
 high resolutions, perused the chamber of the 
 learned hermit round and round, as if he had ex- 
 pected the inspiration of lore to be breathed from 
 its walls. The room was part of a very ancient 
 building, and every thing about it was stamped 
 with antiquity. The high roof of dark unvar- 
 nished oak — the one tall, narrow window, sunk 
 deep in the massy wall — the venerable volumes 
 with which the sides of the apartment were every- 
 where clothed — the bare wainscot-floor, accurately 
 poHshed, but destitute of carpetting, excepting
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. VI. 311 
 
 one small fragment under the table — the want of 
 furniture — for there were just two chairs, and a 
 heap of folios had been dislodged, ere he himself 
 could occupy one of them — the chilhiess of the 
 place too, for, although the day was frosty, there 
 was no fire in the grate — all these, together with 
 the worn, emaciated, and pallid countenance of 
 the solitary tenant, and the fire of learned zeal 
 which glowed so bright in his fixed and stedfast, 
 but nevertheless melancholy eye, impressed Re- 
 ginald with a mingled feeling of surprise, of ad- 
 miration, of reverence, and of pity. 
 
 Mr Barton rose when he had come to the end 
 of his paragraph, locked his desk, and retired to 
 his bed-chamber, to which he had access by a 
 small stair-case, constructed in the turret that 
 flanked his apartments. He returned in a few 
 minutes, after having laid aside the dressing-gown 
 in which he was accustomed to study, and as- 
 sumed the only other garb in which he had ap- 
 peared for a long course of years — his academical 
 cap and gown. " We will now go at once to the 
 Provost," he said, " for it is improper that you
 
 312 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 should be another day in Oxford without becoming 
 a member of the University." 
 
 The apartments of the Head of the Society 
 presented a very different sort of appearance from 
 those of the recluse and laborious Senior Fellow 
 of * * *. Reginald was conducted, in short, into 
 a very handsome house, furnished in every part in 
 a style of profuse modern luxury, such as perhaps 
 did not quite accord either with the character of the 
 edifice to which it belonged, or with the form and 
 structure of the different apartments themselves. 
 After waiting for a considerable time in a large 
 and lofty room, where chintz curtains and otto- 
 mans, elegant paper hangings, and splendid pier- 
 glasses, contrasted strangely enough with a great 
 Gothic window, of the richest monastic painted 
 glass, a roof of solid stone, carved all over with 
 flowers, mitres, shields of arms, and heads of mar- 
 tyrs, and a fire-place, whose form and dimensions 
 spoke it at least three centuries old — they were at 
 last admitted into the presence of the Provost. 
 He received them in his library — what a different 
 kind of library from that which Reginald had
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. VI. 313 
 
 just left ! New and finely bound books, arranged 
 in magnificent cases of glass and mahogany — the 
 Courier, a number of the Quarterly, and a novel 
 of Miss Edgeworth, reposing on a rose-wood table 
 covered with a small Persian carpet — some of 
 Bunbury's caricatures, coloured and in gilt frames 
 — a massive silver standish, without a drop of 
 ink upon its brilliant surface — deep soft chairs in 
 red morocco — a parrot-cage by the window — and 
 a plump pet poodle upon the hearth-rug — these 
 were among the by no means " curta supellex^'' 
 of this more mundane " thinking shop." — A gay- 
 looking junior fellow and chaplain was caressing 
 the poodle, and the Head himself, a rubicund old 
 gentleman in grand canonicals and a grizzle-wig, 
 was seated in a dignified posture in a superb^w- 
 teu'il, while a padded foot-stool sustained in ad- 
 vance his gouty left leg. 
 
 Reginald, who had just been told by Mr Bar- 
 ton himself, that he and the Provost were upon 
 very indifferent terms, had naturally expected to 
 see them meet with cold looks ; but he was quite 
 mistaken. This haughty old Ecclesiastic was 
 far too much the man of the world to carry his
 
 314 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 heart upon his sleeve, and he welcomed the pale 
 recluse with smiles of the softest, and speeches of 
 the politest order. " My dear Mr Barton," said 
 he, " I am so happy to see you again ; I began to 
 think you had really quite buried yourself alive ; 
 and I am so doubly happy to see you with a pupil 
 in your hand. I beg you to be seated. Barton, 
 and you, my young gentleman — didn't you say 
 the name was Dalton, Barton .'' — do you, too, find 
 a chair for yourself, Mr Dalton. — Well, Barton, 
 and how does the magnum opus get on ? Ah ! 
 you shake your head, but I hear fine things of it 
 notwithstanding. Well, you are determined that 
 old * * * shall hold up her head one day, how- 
 ever. — But to business, to business. — Ainsworth, 
 don't hurt old Bab's ear, my dear fellow — Just reach 
 me the Buttery-book, Ainsworth, that we may see 
 what rooms are vacant." 
 
 Mr Ainsworth's fond attachment for the poodle 
 did not prevent him from instantly complying 
 with the request of the Superior. The Mighty 
 Book was unclasped and expanded before the 
 Provost, and he, after mounting his spectacles, 
 and running over a few columns, said, " Ha ! 'tis
 
 BOOK II. CHAl'. VI. 315 
 
 very fortunate this indeed. I find there's a very 
 nice little set of rooms at your service, Mr Dalton 
 -—small but comfortable — rent a trifle — furniture 
 neat — thirds moderate — yes, yes, just what one 
 could have wished — they belonged to a very pretty 
 young man who was drowned in the Charwell last 
 summer. I hope you are no swimmer, Mr Dalton 
 — be sure you don't get into the Charwell in cold 
 weather — nothing stands against cramp, sir — we 
 must not have you go the same way with poor httle 
 Polewhele. — Ainsworth, you 11 see the Manciple, 
 and desire Polewhele's rooms to be got ready im- 
 mediately for Mr Dalton. — Here, Mr Dalton, I 
 need not ask if you're sixteen years of age — Reach 
 me the Testament and Parecbole off the chimney- 
 piece, Ainsworth. — Come now, Mr Dalton, kiss 
 the book, and Ainsworth will swear you in for 
 me." 
 
 The passive youth, of course, took all the oaths 
 they proposed to him. He renounced in due form 
 the Devil, the Pope, the Pretender, and the au- 
 thority of the Mayor of Oxford. He swore that 
 he would never believe any thing but what is writ- 
 ten in the xxxix Articles of the Church of Eng-
 
 316 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 land — he swore that he would never miss the pray- 
 ers, the lectures, or the dinners of his College — 
 he swore that he would wear clothes " coloris ni- 
 gri aut subfusci," and cut according to the Uni- 
 versity pattern, (which, by the way, has under- 
 gone no alteration since the time of Charles II.) 
 — he swore that he would never " nourish whis- 
 kers or curls," nor indulge in " absurdo illo et fas- 
 tuoso publice in ocreis ambulandi more," which 
 means, being interpreted, " that absurd and arro- 
 gant fashion of walking publicly in boots or gait- 
 ers" — he swore that he would never drive a tandem, 
 nor neglect to cap a master of arts, nor acknow- 
 ledge the University of Ipswich* — in short, Je- 
 remy Bentham''s " Church-of-Englandism" had 
 not yet seen the light, and so Reginald, whatever 
 scruples he might have entertained, had the thing 
 occurred at a subsequent and more enlightened 
 period, never dreamt of hesitating to do that which 
 his fathers had done before him, and which it is 
 by no means improbable, his children and his 
 
 • There was an attempt to establish such a university about 
 four hundred years ago. 
 
 17
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. VI. 317 
 
 children's children, if he ever have any, may do 
 after him. 
 
 All the oaths being s\vorn, and all the fees be- 
 ing paid, Mr Barton, Mr Ainsworth, andReginald, 
 quitted the Provost's lodge together. Mr Barton, 
 drawing the youth aside for a moment, whispered 
 that he could be of no farther service for the 
 present, and that he should expect a visit from 
 him the next day after breakfast. With this the 
 recluse returned to his cell ; and Mr Ainsworth, 
 summoning manciples, porters, bed-makers, and 
 a whole crowd of subordinate functionaries about 
 him, quickly completed all the arrangements that 
 were necessary for the installing of Keginald in 
 his apartments. The youth, after seeing his 
 rooms, and sending for his baggage, made the 
 best of his way into the College gardens, where 
 Chisney was still expecting him, in the midst of 
 a merry group, whose game at bowls his advent 
 had interrupted. 
 
 Mr Frederick, after introducing our youth to 
 some of his future messmates, proposed walking 
 down the High-street, and favouring him with his 
 advice at the tailor"'s and elsewhere.
 
 318 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 Reginald was rather astonished, after all that 
 had happened the night before, by the utter non- 
 chalance ^'\th. which Chisney entered the precincts 
 of Mr Theed, and still more by the bland and 
 courteous reception which the tailor gave him. 
 To say truth, the many breaches which the night's 
 work had occasioned in the continuity of silks and 
 broad-cloths had quite consoled Teddy Major for 
 those which had taken place upon the skin of 
 Teddy Minor. He bowed the gentlemen into his 
 shop, where that promising young man, now the 
 most humble and obsequious of all disconsolate 
 dandies, was cutting out new gowns and caps, to 
 replace those which had been torn and shattered 
 by the violence of his brother Opjyidani. A green 
 shade protected the damaged eye, and but for that 
 unfortunate memorial of the affray, there was cer- 
 tainly nothing about Mr Theed, junior, which 
 could have led any one to imagine that he could 
 ever have lifted an irreverent hand against the 
 smallest shred of the sable vestment of Rhedycina. 
 The abject submission of his present demeanour 
 was, however, an apology of which Mr Chisney 
 deigned not to take any notice, until the over-
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. VI, 319 
 
 flowing chat of the officious mother forced it upon 
 his attention. 
 
 " Now goodness have gracious mercy upon 
 me !" she said, curtseying into the shop, with a 
 well-furnished salver in her hand — " Now how 
 should I be mistaken — I was sure it was Mr 
 Chisney I heard. Now do, your honours, do take 
 a glass of my own bottle, that I may be certain 
 sure bygones are bygones. O Mr Chisney, what 
 a night did I pass ! never a wink had I, Mr 
 Chisney. Mr Theed, says I, are you asleep, 
 says I ? are you asleep, Mr Theed, upon all this, 
 and perhaps never put in a stitch for Christ-church 
 again as long as your name's Teddy Theed? — Now 
 doey, my dear good Mr Chisney, doey now take 
 a drop of my orange- water — and you, Teddy 
 Theed, Teddy Theed, I say, is your eye so black 
 that you can''t see the gentlemen ? Why aren't you 
 
 down on your knees, you good-for-nothing ? 
 
 — cutting, cutting! marking, marking! — O Teddy 
 Theed, it may well be seen that youll bring our 
 grey hairs in sorrow to our grave ! You 11 be dis- 
 commons^d, sirrah ! — do you hear me, you'U be 
 discommons*'d ere you die, I say, and then what
 
 320 HEGINAL]) DALTON. 
 
 will become of us ? — a name, Mr Cliisney, that 
 has been known in Oxford for these fifty, ay, for 
 these hundred of years. Down, down on your 
 knees, I say, Teddy Theed." 
 
 " Lord bless you, ma'am,"" cries Chisney, " what 
 the devil is all this rumpus about now ? Teddy 
 has got a black eye from the Papist Priest, and 
 I'm sure that's sufficient punishment for him." 
 
 " Punishment ! Mr Chisney ! — you were always 
 a civil, well-spoken, sweet-tempered gentleman — 
 that's your name, Mr Chisney — from Magdalene 
 Bridge to the Castle there's ne'er a dog will bark 
 at that, Mr Chisney — but Teddy Theed's got no 
 punishment from them that should have given him 
 his punishment. O Mr Chisney, 'tis not what 
 you or any respectable gentleman of the Univer- 
 sity pleases to do, that I would ever have said a 
 word about— but when I thinks of the Papist, Mr 
 Chisney — when I thinks of that, as I was saying 
 — O sir, my blood boils ! — (here she tasted her 
 own cordial) — when I thinks of a vile old Roman 
 Antichrist Papish — when I thinks of Mm going 
 for to dare to lift his hand to our Teddy Theed ! 
 —Oh! Mr Chisney!" 
 
 Young Teddy, espying his opportunity, con-
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. VI. 321 
 
 trived, while his mother s glass was at her head, 
 to sneak into another and obscurer part of the 
 house. Old Teddy had also been on the watch, 
 and he at the same moment broke in with such a 
 voluminous speech about coats, waistcoats, breech- 
 es, &c. which he said it would be absolutely neces- 
 sary for Mr Dalton to have, that the good dame 
 found herself quite cut out. She had tact enough, 
 however, to perceive that the young gentlemen 
 were more taken up with old Teddy's pattern-book 
 than with young Teddy's pardonable and pardoned 
 transgressions. Setting down the salver, there- 
 fore, upon the board, but carefully retaining pos- 
 session of the bottle, she, in her turn, shuffled out 
 of view, curtseying and simpering to vacancy, 
 however, until she had got fairly beyond the 
 threshold of the only apartment in those premises, 
 where her rule was ever disputed. 
 
 All proper or improper arrangements having 
 been completed here and at some other shops, 
 Chisney reconducted our hero to the gates of his 
 Colleo;e ; and there he would have left him for 
 the day, but his acquaintance, Dick Stukeley, one 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 322 UEGINALU DAI.TON. 
 
 of the many most unstoical loungers at the porch, 
 prevailed on the Christ-church-man to promise 
 that he would for once share the humble fare of 
 * * * Hall, and spend the evening in his rooms, 
 in company with the Westmoreland Freshman.
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. VII, 323 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " From the days of Athenaeus to those of Dr 
 Johnson," says the philosophic D'lsraeli, " the 
 pleasures of literature have ever been heightened 
 by those of the table ;" and indeed, long before 
 I read the sentence, it had often struck me, that 
 such a man as D'Israeli himself might compose a 
 very edifying octavo " On Books and Cooks, or 
 the Connexion between the Love of Learning and 
 the Love of Eating." A great Encyclopaedia 
 " Sale-Dinner" in The Row, by Cruikshanks, 
 would certainly form the most appropriate of fron- 
 tispieces. 
 
 Our ingenious and estimable " detector curio- 
 sitafum'''' might begin with the ancients. The 
 Maeonian has, from time immemorial, been christ- 
 ened " Vinosus Homerus ;" but the dehght with 
 which he seizes upon every opportunity of singing 
 solid dinners and savoury suppers, might have 
 safely warranted an epithet of more extensive
 
 324 REGINALD D ALTON. 
 
 meaning. PincLar's charioteering heroes always go 
 home to a smoking-table, when the race is over ; 
 Euripides half tempts one to sympathize even 
 with the barbarous raptures of the canibal Poly- 
 phemus ; the great Kitchener himself might bor- 
 row a thousand phrases depictive of the most fer- 
 vid, and at the same time refined, gluttonous en- 
 joyment from Aristophanes ; Lucian cannot al- 
 lude to such subjects — he pauses in his most aerial 
 flight, and expatiates ; — Nay, even Plato himself 
 commences many of his most sublime Dialogues 
 with elaborate and con amove descriptions of the 
 delicious shell-fish, which were consumed ere the 
 conversation had leisure to flow. — It is the same 
 with all the Romans worth mentioning. That 
 man is little to be envied, who can read Horace 
 with a dry mouth ; Caesar, as Cicero commend- 
 ingly observes, '• Post cccnam evomere solebat, 
 ideoque largius edehat:'" Juvenal never denounces 
 a luxury, until he has made one wish to have dined 
 with the sumptuous subject of his satire ; and as 
 for Petronius, the most learned Petronius, does 
 not that one simple, nervous, exquisite, and conclu- 
 sive expression, " Gula ingeniosa mihi et docta^''
 
 1500K ir. CHAP. VII. 325 
 
 shew how well he merited to be reverenced as the 
 " Arbiter Elegantiarum^'' by the eating as well 
 as the reading public of his elegant time ? 
 
 The Spaniards have got the character of being 
 the most abstemious of European peoples ; but 
 their books are enough to prove that this is quite 
 a mistake. All their Vocabulary is saturated with 
 an intense exalted spirit of gormandizing, andevery 
 one must feel, upon the very threshold, how much 
 more is expressed in their stately, solemn, and mu- 
 sical jnvlotono'ia, than in the coarse and caco- 
 phonous term which our own language has bor- 
 rowed from it. In Lazarillo de Tormes, there is 
 a whole page upon one slice of bacon. The rigid 
 and austere style of the author of Guzman d'Al- 
 farache is at cnce swelled and softened, when a 
 luscious melon, or a cold partridge-pasty, is the 
 theme. Cervantes, had he not been a keen lover 
 of good things, could never have thrown so pathe- 
 tic an interest over the abstracted dainties of the 
 Governor of Barataria ; doubtless his own soul 
 breathes in the eloquent eulogies of the rich Ca- 
 macho*'s wedding-feast, and still more so in San- 
 cho's solitary adorations of the never-to-be-for- 
 gotten Icvcret-pie. — There are no entertainments
 
 336 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 on record more delicious than the Httle Florentine 
 suppers sketched by Boccaccio and his followers. 
 Berni is more than himself, when he paints the 
 luxury of eating a nice dish alone and in bed ; and 
 whenever there is a tid-bit in Ariosto, it seems to 
 refresh himself as much as his heroes. — What 
 ideas of passionate ecstatic devouring does not the 
 very name of Rabelais, recall ! Moliere — that 
 name, too, is enough. A weekly dinner at M. 
 Conrarfs was the origin of the Academic Fran- 
 9aise ! Le Sage (see Dr King's Anecdotes) was 
 the most delicate of epicures. The whole of the 
 French literature of the last aa-e is woven through 
 and through with petits soupers, as well as petites 
 maisons. Fontenelle, when his friend, who hked 
 butter to his asparagus, fell down in an apoplexy 
 just as dinner was announced, ran, " the first 
 thing," to the head of the stair-case, and scream- 
 ed, " toute a Tliuile ! — toutea rhuile r The sup- 
 pers of Julie and St Preux are as voluptuous as 
 any other incidents in their history ; and yet ima- 
 gination yields the pas to fond memory, where 
 Rousseau confesses those with which the Warcns 
 nurtured himself, —
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. VII. 327 
 
 " When first he sigh'd in woman's ear, 
 
 The soul-felt flame, 
 And blush'd at every sip to hear 
 
 The one loved name." 
 
 It is no matter of what sort the eatable that is 
 dwelt upon may be. The principle is safe when 
 Goethe''s Charlotte spreads the bread and butter 
 — when Schiller's Wolff raves about the fried tripe 
 of the Banditti — when the enormous boar smokes 
 with half his bristles about him on the table of 
 Biorn The One-eyed in Sintram — but indeed, as 
 for these Germans, it would be quite absurd to go 
 into any particulars about them. Their whole 
 ideas are penetrated and suffused with the fumes 
 of fat things ; and their language has as many 
 affectionately accurate, and precise epithets to de- 
 note the charms of individual greasy dishes, as 
 ever were invented by the poets of any other na- 
 tion under the inspiration of Almighty Love him- 
 self. Noi', to say the truth, are we ourselves much 
 better than our Teutonic kindred. From Chau- 
 cer to Burns gulosity floats buoyant on the Bri- 
 tish Castalie. We are more especially rich in 
 songs about good eating. There is more true se- 
 rious nature in " Great chieftain of the pudding 
 race," than in fifty " Alexander's feasts^'' where
 
 328 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 not one single dish is immortalized. Butler died 
 for want of the thing he liked best in the world — 
 a dinner. Pope"'s great favourite was a veal cut- 
 let, with lemon sauce, stewed in a silver pan. 
 Swift endured all the Achesons on account of my 
 lady's having a good cook ; — even the homely legs 
 of mutton and turnips at poor Sheridan's, are de- 
 scribed by him in a tone of unusual tenderness. 
 Thomson borrowed more from Berni than " the 
 Castle of Indolence," for he was fond of eating in 
 bed, and always did so when visited by the Muse. 
 Lady Mary Wortley Montague says, that Field- 
 ing's spirits could at any time be raised from the 
 lowest depths of melancholy by the sight of a ve- 
 nison-pasty ; and accordingly all his heroes are 
 gourmands ; — the cold round of Upton beef takes 
 precedence of Mrs Waters with Tom Jones ; and 
 Parson Adams is as fond of stuffing as Parson 
 Trulliber. I should suspect that the author of 
 Guy Mannering, the Antiquary, and Nigel, is 
 fond of grouse soup, friars' chicken, and cockey- 
 leekie — and to jump at a conclusion, where nature 
 and art have made none, JohnWilkes — the " dog," 
 the " rascal," the " scoundrel" John Wilkes — 
 won Samuel Johnson's heart, by helping him to
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. VII. 329 
 
 the brown part of Mr Strahan^'s roasted veal. In 
 fact, there is something in the substantial nature 
 of eating that has always harmonized in the most 
 perfect manner with the character of English Ge- 
 nius. Our literature is that of an eminently dining 
 nation — ^it is such as beseems a people accustomed 
 in all its transactions to consider a sirloin as the 
 sine qua non — whose hypocrites cannot harangue, 
 whose dupes cannot subscribe, whose ministers do 
 not consult, and whose assassins scarcely dream of 
 stabbing — elsewhere than at a dinner. The ruling 
 passion is strong even in our superstitions — A se- 
 ductive steam rises from the cauldron of a Bri- 
 tish Witch — and the ghosts of other people are 
 contented with ruined houses, churchyards, and 
 solitary midnight — but with us they are not scared 
 by bells or chandeliers — they beard laughter and 
 lackeys, and " push" supping usurpers " from 
 their stools" 
 
 But the last and most consummate union of the 
 love of cooks and letters was reserved for that 
 " little, plump, round oily man of God," the Re- 
 verend Thomas Frognall Dibdin. His " Tour" 
 should have been called " Daitographical" as well 
 as " Bibliographical ;" for it is at least as full of
 
 330 REGINALD Di^LTON. 
 
 rich dishes as of rare editions. He daUies in the 
 same style with dlndons and duodecimos — he 
 fondles folios and fowls with equal fervour. He 
 describes an Aldus as if it were an Omelet, an 
 Omelet as if it were an Aldus. We hear of a 
 " crisp fifteener" in the one page, and of a " crisp 
 fricassee" in the other. His admiration hesitates 
 between Caxton and Kitchener — between Valdar- 
 fer and Very. And when, on leaving Paris, he 
 gave a dinner at his favourite restaurateur''s to a 
 dozen of the primest French Bibliomaniacs, an il- 
 luminated representation of old WynkendeWorde 
 gleamed behind the chair of the Amphytrion Eru- 
 ditus, and every flask of Chambertin on the festal 
 board was flanked by " an uncut Editio Prin- 
 ce ps." 
 
 Yet it is perhaps in the descriptions of his vi- 
 sits to some of the old monasteries on the Danube, 
 that his double enthusiasm is at the highest pitch. 
 He arrives, un beau matin, within view of the 
 Convent of Molk — he breakfasts leisurely at the 
 foot of the hill on which it stands — he ascends 
 and delivers his credentials — he is conducted by 
 the hospitable fathers through all their venerable 
 cloisters, and is at length received beneath the
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. VII. 331 
 
 vaulted roof of their library. With what a flow of 
 eloquence does he retrace the beautiful illuminated 
 M SS.j the Lihri Rcu-issimi, the unique etchings and 
 wood-cuts, the peerless missals ! Suddenly the 
 clock strikes twelve, and the F rater Bibliotheca- 
 r«<5 whispers, "Dinner!"'' — Instantly springs up a 
 new, but kindred train of recollections — the hasty 
 walk to the refectory, the antique splendour of that 
 noble hall, the assembled brethren, the presiding 
 Abbot, the solemn Grace, the beautiful boar's- 
 head, the bursting haunch, the long-necked cob- 
 webbed bottles, the taU old glasses with arsenic 
 ornaments within the stalk, the balmy Johannis- 
 berg, the mild ]VIarkbrunner, the heavenly Hock- 
 heimer, the friendly ring of the saluting bumpers, 
 the joyous stave of the old chaplain, the crafty 
 bargain about the Boccaccio negociated inter po- 
 cula, the western sun staining with admonitory 
 glories the painted window over against the suc- 
 cessful negociator, the sudden half-sorrowful, half- 
 ecstatic departure — There is a life and truth about 
 the whole affair that must send their charm into 
 every bosom, and force, even from the man that 
 prefers a book to a title-page, a momentary echo of, 
 " I should like to dine with this Nongtong-paw."
 
 332 HKGINALD DALTON. 
 
 His animated view of what a dinner is at Molk 
 
 may furnish one, it is probable, with no inadequate 
 notion of what a dinner zoas, in the good olden 
 time, beneath the long dismantled arches of our 
 own Sweetheart, or St Alban's. The external fea- 
 tures of an old English monastery are still per- 
 ceived in our academical hospitia, but, alas ! a 
 dinner there is now shorn of mvich of its fair pro- 
 portion, and presents, at the best, but a faint and 
 faded image of the " glories of eld." 
 
 Enough, nevertheless, of the ancient form and 
 circumstance is still preserved, to impress, in no 
 trivial measure, the imagination of him who, for 
 the first time, is partaker in the feast — and it was 
 so with our hero. The solemn bell, sounding as if 
 some great ecclesiastical dignitary were about to 
 be consigned to mother earth — the echoing ves- 
 tibule — the wide and lofty staircase, lined with ser- 
 ving-men so old and demure that they might al- 
 most have been mistaken for so many pieces of 
 grotesque statuary — the hall itself, with its high 
 lancet windows of stained glass, and the brown 
 obscurity of its oaken roof — the yawning chim- 
 nies with their blazing logs — the long narrow
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. VI r. 333 
 
 tables — the elevated dais— the array of gowned 
 guests — the haughty line of seniors seated in stall- 
 like chairs, and separated by an ascent of steps 
 from the younger inmates of the mansion — the 
 Latin grace, chaunted at one end of the hall, and 
 slowly re-chaunted from the other — the deep si- 
 lence maintained during the repast — the bearded 
 and mitred visages frowning from every wall — 
 there was something so antique, so venerable, and 
 withal so novel in the whole scene, that it was no 
 wonder our youth felt enough of curiosity, and 
 withal, of a certain sort of awe, to prevent him 
 for once from being able to handle his knife and 
 fork quite a la Roxburglier. 
 
 These feelings, of course, were not partaken by 
 the rest of the company, least of all, by the se- 
 nior and more elevated portion of it. The party 
 at " The High Table"" of * * *, was as usual an 
 active, and, as it happened on this day, it was by 
 no means a small one. Red faces grew redder and 
 redder as the welcome toil proceeded — short fat 
 necks were seen swelling in every vein, and ears 
 half- hid by luxuriant periwigs could not conceal 
 their voluptuous twinklings ; vigorously plied the
 
 334 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 elbows of those whose fronts were out of view ; 
 the ceaseless crash of mastication waked the end- 
 less echoes of the vaulted space over-head ; and 
 airy arches around, mimicked and magnified 
 every gurgle of every sauce-bottle. The stateli- 
 ness of the ceremonial, and the profoundness of 
 the general silence all about, gave to what was, 
 after all, no more than a dinner, something of the 
 dignity of a festival — I had almost said something 
 of the solemnity of a sacrifice. A sort of reverend 
 zeal seemed to be gratified in the clearing of every 
 platter, and the purple stream of a bumper de- 
 scended with the majesty of a libation. 
 
 In the Under-graduates"* part of the hall, the 
 feast was, of course, less magnificent ; and among 
 them the use of wine is altogether prohibited — a 
 distinction, on this occasion, sufficiently galling, 
 considering how incessantly they were passed by 
 the manciple bearing decanters to the superior 
 region. But the dinner itself was no sooner over 
 than the fellows rose from their chairs, and an- 
 other Latin thanksgiving having been duly chaunt- 
 ed, descended in solemn procession from their 
 pride of place, and followed the guidance of the
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. VII. 
 
 335 
 
 manciple, who, strutting like a Lord Mayor's 
 beadle, marshalled the hne of march to the com- 
 mon room. Thither no non-graduate eye might 
 follow the learned phalanx — there, might no pro- 
 fane ear catch the echo of their whispered wisdom. 
 
 The moment they were supposed to be beyond 
 reach of ear-shot, there arose as loud a gabble as 
 if publicans and sinners had, by a coup-de-main, 
 taken absolute possession of The Temple — leap- 
 ing, dancing, shouting in every direction — whist- 
 ling, sparring, wagering, wrestling — a Babel of 
 Babels ! 
 
 This, however, was but for a few minutes, until 
 the servants had removed the fragments, and were 
 at liberty to quit the hall along with their masters. 
 By that time they had all made up their parties 
 for the evening — all but a few pensive and disap- 
 pointed lingerers by the fire- side — and, in the midst 
 of an universal dispersion, Chisney and Reginald 
 were conducted to the apartments of Mr Stiikely, 
 where copious preparations had already been made 
 for the entertainment of a numerous, but select 
 company, of bachelors and vmder-graduates. 
 
 Mr Stukeley's rooms were among the most spa-
 
 33G IlEGINAf.D DALTON. 
 
 cious in the College, and being a young man of 
 considerable fortune, he had furnished them in a 
 style of rather more expensive elegance than is 
 common in the place. There was no want of 
 handsome sofas and hangings ; a very pretty col- 
 lection of classics occupied one end of the parlour ; 
 and over the mantle-piece were suspended some 
 comely prints — a mezzotinto of Dr Parr in the 
 " ^iya, &xviAx'' — the Chapeau de PaiUe for the 
 Ijendant — and in the centre, between the Beauty 
 and the Bluebeard, a whole-length of The Game 
 Chicken, peeled and attitudinizing. A tasteful 
 enough dessert graced the table, and strong rough 
 port, " the liquor of men," the long-established po- 
 tation of High-Church, was soon circulating with 
 rapidity, and exerting all its potent influences 
 among these future champions of orthodoxy. 
 
 There long prevailed a notion that old battered 
 soldiers were worth double their weight of young 
 and inexperienced ones in the blaze of battle ; yet 
 all history was against the absurdity. HannibaFs 
 iron-faced Carthaginians beat the Roman veterans 
 at Cannae, and were afterwards demolished by re- 
 cruits. At Pharsalia, it went much the same way ; 
 
 14
 
 I500K If. CHAP. VII. 337 
 
 and Tilly's " rough old lads," as De Foe calls 
 them, could scarcely stand for ten minutes against 
 the beardless and blooming warriors of the Swede. 
 In oiu: own day, too, both Napoleon and Welling- 
 ton have confirmed the truth. The Austrian chi- 
 valry were checked by French hoi^s at Leipsig ; 
 and Waterloo was gained by heroes who had, for 
 the most part, never heard before, and who, thanks 
 to their own prowess, are not likely to have any 
 future opportunities of hearing, the music of 
 Charles XII. 
 
 A similar, and equally ridiculous " vulgar er- 
 ror'' about drinking, ought, without farther delay, 
 to be exposed and exploded. From eighteen to 
 two-and-twenty, is the prime of a man's life, so 
 far as the bottle is concerned. There are, to be 
 sure, many and illustrious exceptions. Wedomeet 
 every now and then with a stout Septuagenarian — 
 a hoary doctor of divinity who would as soon 
 dream of flying as of flinching, a pillar of the 
 church whom no doze can shake — " a reverend 
 old man, full of years," who could, at any time, 
 either over the pulpit or the punch-bowl, lay fifty 
 Edinburgh Reviewers on their backs. In hkc 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 338 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 manner, among squires, and among farmers, and 
 more frequently still, among led captains and 
 Highland chiefs, the drinking faculty is occasion- 
 ally retained at least as long as any other. But 
 these are but the exceptions to a great general rule. 
 Poll the island over, and I fear not to assert, that 
 nine out of every ten men, at the lowest calcula- 
 tion, will give their votes in favour of the youth- 
 ful toper. Perhaps in his case, as well as in the 
 parallel one of the young soldier, the very igno- 
 rance of the danger may be in some measure the 
 source of its repulsion. But in both cases, the 
 chief part of the praise is due to nothing but 
 youth, glorious youth itself. Elastic spirits, light 
 hearts, and untouched nerves, go far in either feat ; 
 and the dancing boiling blood of the raw hero, 
 does not sustain him more triumphantly amidst 
 the smoke of his first field, than a firm, sound, un- 
 seasoned, and unbilified stomach does the young 
 Bachanalian at his initiatory symposium. 
 
 Accordingly, these young collegians acquitted 
 themselves in a manner that perhaps no commit- 
 tee of the CAPUT, however venerable for years and 
 erudition, could have rivalled. The old laws of
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. VII. ^9 
 
 potation were enforced rigidly, and, for the most 
 part, obeyed without a murmur. Two words of 
 Latin cost the unfortunate person from whose 
 lips they had slipped a bumper, and a single 
 word of Greek incurred the same penalty ; but if 
 the classical transgressor had exceeded these li- 
 mits, he was compelled to expiate his offence by 
 emptying a half-pint cup, fashioned in silver after 
 the image of a fox's head ; and, finally, if he 
 failed to do this at a single pull, that sin of sins 
 was sconced in the same measure of salt and wa- 
 ter. Such delinquencies, however, were rare. 
 Steady hands filled the brimming glasses — light 
 and happy hearts prompted toast and song — gaily, 
 freely, carelessly, kindly did they talk, and Regi- 
 nald said to himself, a thousand and a thousand 
 times over, that he had at length found the ter- 
 restrial Elysium. 
 
 A few of the young gentlemen quitted the 
 party when the chapel-beU rung for evening pray 
 ers, but the chairman took good care that Regi- 
 nald should guess nothing of their errand. They 
 returned when service was over, and duly drank, 
 with perilous rapidity, as many bumpers as had
 
 340 llEGTNALD DALTON. 
 
 passed round the table in their absence ; and, in 
 short, the blackstrap was plied without intermis- 
 sion, until the announcement of supper, which, 
 that no time might be lost in trifles, had been 
 served up in the adjoining apartments of one of Mr 
 Stukely's company. 
 
 A small barrel of pickled oysters — some brawn, 
 veined with more exquisite red and white than 
 ever beautified a slab of Anglesea marble — and 
 sausages, such as Oxford alone can produce [for 
 though a Christina lectured at Fisa, no Dorothy 
 ever cooked at Bologna] — these formed the simple 
 repast ; but the board was adorned with such a 
 display of massive plate as might almost have re- 
 conciled one to the supper of the Barmecide. It 
 has been, time out of mind, the custom at Ox- 
 ford, for young gentlemen, in quitting the pre- 
 cincts of Alma Mater, to leave with the College 
 which has nursed them, some memorial of their 
 gratitude and affection, in the shape of cup, tan- 
 kard, or flagon. In most Colleges, but especi- 
 ally in the few that were less distinguished for 
 their loyal zeal in the time of Charles I. the accu- 
 mulation of such vessels has, in the course of so
 
 BOOK II. CHAP. VII. 341 
 
 many centuries, come to be immense. * * * Col- 
 lege was one of these, and her butler had now load- 
 ed the private supper- table of an under-graduate 
 with an array of Doctors, Masters, and Scholars, 
 i — for so, according to their several degrees of ca- 
 pacity, they are distinguished in the academical 
 phraseology — such as might have done no disho- 
 nour to the side-board of any British Peer. Such 
 a collection of College plate can scarcely be re- 
 garded without some interest ; for the chances are, 
 that every now and then the legend on the lid of 
 the piece recalls the name and glory of some long- 
 departed worthy of England ; and here, as it hap- 
 pened, the gifts of one of the greatest of ovir mo- 
 dern heroes, and one of the greatest of our ancient 
 poets, stood side by side upon the board — each of 
 them — to quote Rochester, whose own huge D. D, 
 is still the honour of Wadham — 
 
 " So large that, fill'd with England's potion. 
 
 Beer-billows to the brim, — 
 Vast toasts in tlic delicious ocean, 
 
 Like English ships might swim." 
 
 But although " mild ale" has often enough been 
 celebrated as " the milk of good doctrine," by
 
 342 REGINALD DALTON. 
 
 Tom Warton, and other bards of the Sausage 
 School, such a beverage can never expect to be 
 largely relished after the stomach has been satu- 
 rated with the more pungent stimulants of cold 
 port and hot chesnuts. Accordingly, Jem Brank, 
 a pluralist, who had for thirty years enjoyed, 
 among many other good things, the sole privilege 
 of manufacturing Bishop for the sons of * * *, 
 soon made his appearance with a most magnifi- 
 cent flagon of that never-to-be-resisted potation. 
 Wine is mulled everywhere, but Bishop is Oxo- 
 nian, and Reginald, who had never tasted either 
 Pope or Cardinal* was compelled to acknow- 
 lege, without hesitation, its unrivalled claims. 
 Mr Brank, however, did not seem to have him- 
 self any higher predilection for Bishop, than a 
 grocer usually entertains for figs, or a parson for 
 sermons. Being invited, according to use and 
 wont, to seat himself at a side-table and sing a 
 song to the juvenile company, Jem preferred, for 
 the associate of his separate board, what old Bishop 
 
 * Port, mulled with roasted lemons, is Bishop; Claret, si- 
 milarly embellished, is Cardinal ; and Burgundy, Pope.
 
 BOOK II. CHAl'.VII. 343 
 
 Andrews so happily calls " the sprite of the but- 
 tery, a pot of good ale ;'" and under its inspira- 
 tion, chaunted in a voice as rich, soft, and mellow 
 as his theme — 
 
 " When the chill Sirocco blows, 
 
 And Winter tells a heavy tale, 
 When pyes and daws, and rooks and crowsj 
 Do sit and curse the frosts and snows, 
 
 Then give me ale," &c. 
 
 It may be taken for granted that the youthful 
 members of the party did not leave all the music 
 to the humble and hoary minister of their plea- 
 sures. Singing bars sconce ; so that old Mapes'^s 
 
 " Milii est propositum in taberna mori," 
 
 that ancestral canticle, which may, of itself, be suf- 
 ficient to shew how little Oxford hfe and manners 
 have altered within the last six hundred years, 
 was chaunted in full chorus, without the smallest 
 animadversion, from the master of the feast. It 
 was immediately followed by a boisterous strain, 
 celebrating certain very recent achievements on 
 Moulsey Hurst, as perhaps, in the very reverend 
 Archdeacon's own day, it might have been by some
 
 344 REGINALD DALTOX. 
 
 ballad of joust or tournament. The elegant Har- 
 ris of Salisbury boasts, indeed, with amiable nai- 
 vete, and perhaps not without more good sense 
 than the scoffers of the age are likely to acknow- 
 ledge, that, in regard to all great essentials, the 
 English youth are educated beneath those vene- 
 rable arcades now, very much in the same course 
 of study which formed the minds of their forefa- 
 thers many long centuries ago. But the style of 
 their joviality, and the sources of their merriment, 
 have, it is probable, undergone even more slender 
 mutation during the same lapse of time. The 
 change in spelling has been greater than the 
 change of language — and I have no doubt, that 
 should old Walter de Mapes arise suddenly from 
 the grave, and take his seat in an Oxford common 
 room to-morrow, he would find the subjects of 
 George the Fourth almost as able, and quite as 
 willing, to enjoy his good things as ever were those 
 of Henry the Second. What a delightful meet- 
 ing would it be, and how annihilative of Hallam ! 
 — What capital stories would he tell of knights, 
 and archers, and abbots, and nuns, and minstrels ; 
 and what charming stories would he not hear in 
 
 10
 
 HOOK II. CHAP. VII. 345 
 
 return about Captain Barclay and the Gasman — 
 
 the Bishop of , Hannah More, and Sam llo- 
 
 gers ! I am sure he would admit that Trafalgar 
 and Waterloo were finer things than the acquisi- 
 tion of Anjou and Guienne ; and how would he 
 stare, when, after indulging him in a long prose 
 about the conquest of the Lordship of Ireland, 
 we came over him with a full narrative of the late 
 royal visit to Dublin, and the enthusiasm of the 
 Curragh ! We should give him a Percival for his 
 Becket, and a Bergami for his Rosamond. It is 
 but charity to suppose, that the present occupier 
 of his archdeaconry would be the first to acknow- 
 ledge old Walter^s prior claim. A handsome wig- 
 would mask all traces of the tonsure ; and in the 
 course of a few months, Dr Mapes might rank 
 among the brightest ornaments of The British 
 Critic ; and perhaps he might be found almost as 
 well qualified for writing a Glossary of the old 
 English as Dr Nares himself. 
 
 But whatever might have been the case, had 
 Walterus Redivivus been of the party, the rules 
 of academical discipline were on the present occa- 
 sion strictly enforced, and five minutes ere the
 
 346 llECxINALD DALTON. 
 
 clocks of Oxford struck twelve, Mr Chisney, no- 
 lens volens, was expelled from * * *. His de- 
 parture broke up the symposium ; and Reginald, 
 who, with the rest, had escorted him to the porch, 
 was by this time so far gone, that, on his way 
 back, he would have sworn two lamps were twink- 
 ling in Mr Barton's window. 
 
 After blowing a sufficient quantity of asafoe- 
 tida smoke through the key-hole of an obnoxious 
 tutor's apartments, and piling a cart-load of coals 
 or two against the gates of the College-chapel, 
 the young * * *ites at length dispersed. But 
 Reginald Dalton, various as the occurrences of 
 the day had been, and sophisticated as some of 
 his facilities certainly were, did not sleep for the 
 first time in his monastic cell, without having 
 bestowed more sighs than one on the yet undim- 
 med image of Ellen Hesketh. 
 
 END OF VOLUME FIRST. 
 
 Edinburgh : 
 Printed by James Ballantyne and Co, 
 
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