/ -i^iH ^^'^ /^^ '/;■ LIBRARY THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SANTA BARBARA PRESENTED BY MRS. HOWARD T. RUNCKLE CHARLES READE ^he Morf^s of Cbarlcs IR^^be IN SIXTEEN VOLUMES PEGWOFFINGTON AND OTHER STORIES ILLUSTRATED P. F. COLLIER ^ SON PUBLISHERS : NEW YORK 13 ^ PEG WOFFINGTON Vol. y— 1 TO T. TAYLOR, Esq., MY FRIEND, AND COADJUTOR IN THE COMEDY OF "MASKS AND FACES," TO WHOM THE READER OWES MUCH OF THE BEST MATTER IN THIS tale: AND TO THE MEMORY OF MARGARET WOFFINGTON, FALSELY summed up until today. THIS " ©ramatic Storg " IS inscribed by CHARLES READE. PEG WOFFIlSrGTOlSr. CHAPTER I. About the middle of the last century, at eight o'clock in the evening, in a large but poor apartment, a man was slumbering on a rough couch. His rusty and worn suit of black was of a piece with his uncarpeted room, the deal table of home manufacture, and its slim unsnuffed candle. The man was Triplet, scene painter, actor, and writer of sanguinary plays, in which what ought to be, viz. : truth, plot, situation, and dialogue, were not ; and what ought not to be, were : scilicet, small talk, big talk, fops, ruffians, and ghosts. His three mediocrities fell so short of one talent, that he was sometimes impranstis. He slumbered, but uneasily ; the dramatic author was uppermost, and his " Demon of the Hayloft " hung upon the thread of popular favor. On his uneasy slumber entered from the theatre, Mrs. Triplet. She was a lady who in one respect fell behind her husband; she lacked his variety in ill-doing, but she recovered herself by doing her one thing a shade worse than he did any of his three. She was what is called in grim sport, an actress ; she had just cast her mite of 6 PEG WOFFINGTON. discredit on royalty by playing the Queen, and had trundled home the moment the breath was out of her royal body. She came in rotatory with fatigue, and fell, gristle, into a chair; she wrenched from her brow a diadem and eyed it with contempt, took from her pocket a sausage, and contemplated it with respect and affec- tion, placed it in a frying-pan on the lire, and entered her bedroom, meaning to don a loose wrapper, and dethrone herself into comfort. But the poor woman was shot walking by Morpheus, and subsided altogether; for dramatic performances, amusing and exciting to youth seated in the pit, convey a certain weai'iness to those bright beings who sparkle on the stage for bread and cheese. Royalty disposed of, still left its trail of events. The sausage began to " spit." The sound was hardly out of its body, when poor Triplet writhed like a worm on a hook. " Spitter, spittest, " went the sausage. Triplet groaned, and at last his inarticulate murmurs became words : •' That's right, pit, now that is so reasonable to condemn a poor fellow's play before you have heard it out." Then, with a change of tone, "Tom," muttered he, " they are losing their respect for spectres ; if they do, hunger will make a ghost of me." Next, he fancied the clown or somebody had got into his ghost's costume. " Dear," said the poor dreamer, " the clown makes a very pretty spectre, with his ghastly white face, and his blood boltered cheeks and nose. I never saw the fun of a clown before : no, no, no ! it is not the clown, it is worse, much worse ; oh, dear ; ugh I " and Triplet rolled off the couch like Richard the Third. He sat a moment on the floor, with a finger in each eye ; and then finding he was neither daubing, ranting, nor deluging earth with "acts," he accused himself of indolence, and sat down to write a small tale of blood and bombast ; he took his PEG WOFFINGTON. 7 seat at the deal table with some alacrity, for he had recently made a discovery. How to write well, I'ien que cela. " First, think in as homely a way as you can ; next, shove your j)en under the thought, and lift it by polysyllables to the true level of fiction " (when done, find a publisher — if you can). "This," said Triplet, " insures common sense to your ideas, which does pretty well for a basis," said Triplet apologetically, "and ele- gance to the dress they wear." Triplet then casting his eyes round, in search of such actual circumstances as could be incorporated on this plan with fiction, began to work thus : triplet's facts. teiplet's fiction. A farthing dip is ou the table. A solitary candle cast its pale gleams around. It wants snuffing. Its elongated wick betrayed an owner steeped in oblivion. He jumped up, and snuffed it He rose languidly, and with his tingcrs. Burned his tin- trimmed it with an instrument gers, and swore a little. that he had by his side for that purpose, and muttered a silent ejaculation. Before, however, the mole Triplet could undermine literature and level it with the dust, various interrujt- tions and divisions broke in upon his design, and, sic nos servavit Apollo. As he wrote the last sentence, a loud rap came to his door. A servant in livery brought him a note from Mr. Vane, dated Covent Garden. Triplet's eyes sparkled, he bustled, wormed himself into a less rusty coat, and started off to the Theatre Koyal, Covent Garden. In those days, the artists of the pen and the brush ferreted patrons, instead of aiming to be indispensable to the public, the only patron worth a single gesture of the quill. 8 PEC} WOKFINGTON. Mr. Vane had conversed with Triplet ; that is, let Triplet talk to him in a coffee-house, and Triplet, the most sanguine of unfortunate men, had already built a series of expectations upon that interview, when this note arrived. Leaving him on his road from Lambeth to Covent Garden, we must introduce more important personages. Mr. Vane was a wealthy gentleman from Shropshire, whom business had called to London four months ago, and now pleasure detained. Business still occupied the letters he sent now and then to his native county ; but it had ceased to occupy the writer. He was a man of learning and taste, as times went; and his love of the arts had taken him some time before our tale to the theatres, then the resort of all who pretended to taste ; and it was thus he had become fascinated by Mrs. Woffington, a lady of great beauty, and a comedian high in favor with the town. The lirst night he saw her was an epoch in the history of this gentleman's mind. He had learning and refine- ment, and he had not great practical experience, and such men are most open to impression from the stage. He saw a being, all grace and bright nature, move like a goddess among the stiff puppets of the scene ; her glee and her pathos were ecjually catching, she held a golden key at which all the doors of the heart flew open. Her face, too, was as full of goodness as intelligence — it was like no other face ; the heart bounded to meet it. He rented a box at her theatre. He was there every night before the curtain drew up ; and I am sorry to say, he at last took half a dislike to Sunday — Sun- day, " which knits up the ravelled sleave of care," Sun- day, " tired nature's sweet restorer," because, on Sunday, there was no Peg Woffington. At first, he regarded her as a being of another sphere, an incarnation of poetry PEG WOFFINGTON. 9 and art ; but by degrees his secret aspirations became bolder. She was a woman ; there were men who knew her ; some of them inferior to him in position, and, he flattered himself, in mind. He had even heard a tale against her character. To him her face was its confuta- tion, and he knew how loose-tongued is calumny; but still — ! At last one day he sent her a letter, unsigned. This letter expressed his admiration of her talent in warm but respectful terms ; the writer told her it had become necessary to his heart to return her in some way his thanks for the land of enchantment to which she had introduced him. Soon after this, choice flowers found their way to her dressing-room every night, and now and then verses and precious stones mingled with her roses and eglantine. And oh ! how he watched the great actress's eye all the night; how he tried to discover whether she looked oftener towards his box than the corresponding box on the other side of the house. Did she notice him, or did she not ? What a point gained, if she was conscious of his nightly attendance ; she would feel he was a friend, not a mere auditor. He was jealous of the pit, on whom Mrs. Woffington lavished her smiles without measure. At last, one day he sent her a wreath of flowers, and implored her, if any word he had said to her had pleased or interested her, to wear this wreath that night. After he had done this he trembled ; he had courted a decision, when, perhaps, his safety lay in patience and time. She made her entree ; he turned cold as she glided into sight from the prompter's side ; he raised his eyes slowly and fearfully from her feet to her head ; her head was bare, wreathed only by its own rich glossy honors. " Fool ! " thought he, *'to think she would hang frivolities upon that glorious head for me." Yet, his disappointment 10 PEG WOFFINGTON. told him he had really hoped it ; he would not have sat out the play, but for a leaden incapacity of motion that seized him. The curtain drew up for the fifth act, and — could he believe his eyes ? — Mrs. Woffington stood upon the stage with his wreath upon her graceful head. She took away his breath. She spoke the epilogue, and, as the curtain fell, she lifted her eyes, he thought, to his box, and made him a distinct, queen-like courtesy ; his heart fluttered to his mouth, and he walked home on wings and tiptoe. In short — Mrs. Woffington, as an actress, justified a portion of this enthusiasm. She was one of the truest artists of her day ; a fine lady in her hands was a lady, with the genteel affectation of a gentlewoman : not a harlot's affectation, which is simply and without exaggeration what the stage commonly gives us for a fine lady ; an old woman in her hands was a thorough woman, thor- oughly old, not a cackling young person of epicene gender. She played Sir Harry Wildair like a man, which is how he ought to be played (or, which is better still, not at all), so that Garrick acknowledged her as a male rival, and abandoned the part he no longer monopolized. Now it very, very rarely happens that a woman of her age is high enough in art and knowledge to do these things. In players, vanity cripples art at every step. The young actress who is not a Woffington aims to dis- play herself by means of her part, which is vanity ; not to raise her part by sinking herself in it, which is art. It has been my misfortune to see , and , and , and , et ceteras, play the man; nature forgive them, if you can, for art never will ; they never reached any idea more manly than a steady resolve to exliibit the points of a woman with greater ferocity than they could in a PEG WOPFINGTON. 11 gown. But consider, ladies, a man is not the meanest of the brute creation, so how can he be an unwomanly female ? This sort of actress aims not to give her author's creation to the public, but to trot out the person instead of the creation, and shows sots what a calf it has — and is. Vanity, vanity ! all is vanity ! Mesdames les Charla- tanes. Margaret Woffington was of another mould ; she played the ladies of high comedy with grace, distinction, and delicacy. But in Sir Harry Wildair she parted with a woman's mincing foot and tongue, and played the man in a style large, spirited, and elance. As Mrs. Day (committee), she painted wrinkles on her lovely face so honestly that she was taken for threescore, and she carried out the design with voice and person, and did a vulgar old woman to the life. She disfigured her own beauties to show the beauty of her art : in a word, she was an artist ! It does not follow she was the great- est artist that ever breathed; far from it. Mr. Vane was carried to this notion by passion and ignorance. On the evening of our tale he was at his post, patiently sitting out one of those sanguinary discourses our rude forefathers thought were tragic plays. Sedet oetemuitique Sedebit Infelix Theseus, because Mrs. Woffington is to speak the epilogue. These epilogues were curiosities of the human mind; they whom, just to ourselves and them, we call oxxx for- bears, had an idea their blood and bombast were not ridiculous enough in themselves, so when the curtain had fallen on the debris of the dramatis personce, and of common-sense, they sent on an actress to turn all the sentiment so laboriously acquired into a jest. To insist that nothing good or beautiful shall be carried safe from a play out into the street was the 12 PEG WOFFINGTON. bigotry of English horse-play. Was a Lucretia the heroine of the tragedy, she was careful in the epilogue to speak like Messalina. Did a king's mistress come to hunger and repentance, she disinfected all the petites maitresses in the house of the moral, by assuring them that sin is a joke, repentance a greater, and that she individually was ready for either if they would but cry, laugh, and pay. Then the audience used to laugh, and if they did not, lo ! the manager, actor, and author of heroic tragedy, were exceeding sorrowful. Whilst sitting attendance on the epilogue, Mr. Vane had nothing to distract him from the congregation but a sanguinary sermon in five heads, so his eyes roved over the pews, and presently he became aware of a familiar face watching him closely. The gentleman to whom it belonged, finding himself recognized, left his seat, and a minute later Sir Charles Pomander entered Mr. Vane's box. This Sir Charles Pomander was a gentleman of vice : pleasure he called it. Mr. Vane had made his acquaint- ance two years ago in Shropshire. Sir Charles, who hus- banded everything except his soul, had turned himself out to grass for a month. His object was, by roast mutton, bread with some little flour in it, air, water, temperance, chastity, and peace, to be enabled to take a deeper plunge into impurities of food and morals. A few nights ago, unseen by Mr. Vane, he had observed him in the theatre. An ordinary man would have gone at once and shaken hands with him ; but this was not an ordinary man, this was a diplomatist. First of all, he said to himself, " What is this man doing here ? " Then he soon discovered this man must be in love with some actress ; then it became his business to know who she was ; this too soon betrayed itself. Then it became more than ever Sir Charles's business to know whether Mrs. PEG WOFFINGTON. 13 Woffington returned the sentiment, and here his pene- tration was at fault for the moment; he determined, however, to discover. Mr. Vane then received his friend all unsuspicious how that friend had been skinning him with his eyes for some time past. After the usual compliments had passed between two gentlemen who had been hand and glove for a month, and forgotten each other's existence for two years, Sir Charles still keeping in view his design, said, — "Let us go upon the stage." The fourth act had just concluded. " Go upon the stage ! " said Mr. Vane ; '^ what, where she — I mean among the actors ? " " Yes ; come into the green-room. There are one or two people of reputation there ; 1 will introduce you to them, if you please." " Go upon the stage ! " why, if it had been proposed to him to go to heaven he would not have been more astonished. He was too astonished at first to realize the full beauty of the arrangement, by means of which he might be within a yard of Mrs. Woffington, might feel her dress rustle past him, might speak to her, might drink her voice fresh from her lips almost before it mingled with meaner air. Silence gives consent, and Mr. Vane, though he thought a great deal, said nothing ; so Pomander rose, and they left the boxes together. He led the way to the stage door, which was opened obsequiously to him ; they then passed through a dismal passage, and suddenly emerged upon that scene of enchantment, the stage : a dirty platform encumbered on all sides with piles of scenery in flats. They threaded their way through rusty velvet actors and fustian car- penters, and entered the green-room. At the door of this magic chamber Vane trembled and half wished he 14 PEG WOFFINGTON. could retire. They entered ; his apprehension gave way to disappointment ; she was not there. Collecting him- self, he was presently introduced to a smart, jaunty, and to do him justice, distingue old beau. This was Colley Gibber, Esq., poet laureate, and retired actor and drama- tist, a gentleman who is entitled to a word or two. This Gibber was the only actor since Shakespeare's time who had both acted and written well. Pope's per- sonal resentment misleads the reader of English poetry as to Gibber's real place among the wits of the day. The man's talent was dramatic, not didactic, or ejiic, or pastoral. Pope was not so deep in the drama as in other matters, and Gibber was one of its luminaries ; he wrote some of the best comedies of his day. He also succeeded where Dryden, for lack of true dramatic taste, failed. He tampered successfully with Shakespeare. Colley Gibber's version of " Richard the Third " is impu- dent and slightly larcenic, but it is marvellously effective. It has stood a century, and probably will stand forever ; and the most admired passages, in what literary hum- bugs who pretend they know Shakespeare by the closet, not the stage, accept as Shakespeare's " Richard," are Gibber's. Mr. Gibber was now in private life, a mild edition of his own Lord Foppington ; he had none of the snob-fop as represented on our conventional stage ; nobody ever had, and lived. He was in tolerably good taste ; but he went ever gold-laced, highly-powdered, scented, and diamonded, dispensing graceful bows, praises of whoever had the good luck to be dead, and satire of all who were here to enjoy it. Mr. Vane, to whom the drama had now become the golden branch of letters, looked with some awe on this veteran, for he had seen many Woffingtons. He fell soon upon the subject nearest his heart. He asked Mr, PEG TVOFFINGTON. 16 Gibber what lie thought of Mrs. Woffington. The old gentleman thought well of the young lady's talent, espe- cially her comedy ; in tragedy, said he, she imitates Mademoiselle Dumesil, of the Theatre Fran9ais, and confounds the stage rhetorician with the actress. The next question was not so fortunate. "Did you ever see so great and true an actress upon the whole ? " Mr. Gibber opened his eyes, a slight flush came into his wash-leather face, and he replied : " I have not only seen many equal, many superior to her, but I have seen some half-dozen who would have eaten her up and spit her out again, and not known they had done anything out of the way." Here Pomander soothed the veteran's dudgeon by ex- plaining in dulcet tones that his friend was not long from Shropshire, and — The critic interrupted him, and bade him not dilute the excuse. Now, Mr. Vane had as much to say as either of them, but he had not the habit, which dramatic folks have, of carrying his whole bank in his cheek-pocket, so they quenched him for two minutes. But lovers are not silenced, he soon returned to the attack ; he dwelt on the grace, the ease, the freshness, the intelligence, the universal beauty of Mrs. Wofiington. Pomander sneered, to draw him out. Gibber smiled, with good-natured supe- riority. This nettled the young gentleman, he fired up, his handsome countenance glowed, he turned Demos- thenes for her he loved. One advantage he had over both Gibber and Pomander, a fair stock of classical learning ; on this he now drew. " Other actors and actresses," said he, " are monotonous in voice, monotonous in action, but Mrs. Woffington's delivery has the compass and variety of nature, and her movements are free from the stale uniformity that dis- tinguishes artifice from art. The others seem to me to 16 PEG WOFFINGTON. have but two dreams of grace, a sort of crawling on stilts is their motion, and an angular stiffness their repose." He then cited the most famous statues of antiquity, and quoted situations in plays where, by her fine dramatic instinct, Mrs. Woffington, he said, threw her person into postures similar to these, and of equal beauty ; not that she strikes attitudes like the rest, but she melts from one beautiful statue into another ; and if sculptors could gather from her immortal graces, painters too might take from her face the beauties that belong of right to pas- sion and thought, and orators might revive their withered art, and learn from those golden lips the music of old Athens, that quelled tempestuous mobs, and princes drunk with victory. Much as this was, he was going to say more, ever so much more, but he became conscious of a singular sort of grin upon every face ; this grin made him turn rapidly round to look for its cause. It explained itself at once ; at his very elbow was a lady, whom his heart recognized, though her back was turned to him. She was dressed in a rich silk gown, pearl white, with flowers and sprigs embroidered; her beautiful white neck and arms were bare. She was sweeping up the room with the epilogue in her hand, learning it off by heart ; at the other end of the room she turned, and now she shone full upon him. It certainly was a dazzling creature : she had a head of beautiful form, perched like a bird upon a throat mass- ive yet shapely and smooth as a column of alabaster, a symmetrical brow, black eyes full of fire and tenderness, a delicious mouth, with a hundred varying expressions, and that marvellous faculty of giving beauty alike to love or scorn, a sneer or a smile. But she had one feature more remarkable than all, her eyebrows — the actor's feature — they were jet black, strongly marked, and in repose were arched like a rainbow ; but it was their ex- PEG WOFB^INGTON. 17 traordinary flexibility which made other faces upon the stage look sleepy beside Margaret Woffiugton',s. In per- son she was considerably above the middle height, and so finely formed that one could not determine the exact character of her figure. At one time it seemed all state- liness, at another time, elegance personified, and flowing voluptuousness at another. She was Juno, Psyche, Hebe, by turns, and for aught we know at will. It must be confessed that a sort of halo of personal grandeur surrounds a great actress. A scene is set; half a dozen nobodies are there lost in it, because they are and seem lumps of nothing. The great artist steps upon that scene, and how she fills it in a moment ! Mind and majesty wait upon her in the air ; her person is lost in the greatness of her personal presence ; she dilates with thought, and a stupid giantess looks a dwarf beside her. No wonder then that Mr. Vane felt overpowered by this torch in a closet. To vary the metaphor, it seemed to him, as she swept up and down, as if the green-room was a shell, and this glorious creature must burst it and be free. Meantime, the others saw a pretty actress studying her business ; and Gibber saw a dramatic school- girl learning what he presumed to be a very silly set of words. Sir C. Pomander's eye had been on her the moment she entered, and he watched keenly the effect of Vane's eloquent eulogy ; but apparently the actress was too deep in her epilogue for anything else. She came in, saying " Mum, mum, mum," over her task, and she went on doing so. The experienced Mr. Gibber, who had divined Vane in an instant, drew him into a corner, and complimented him on his well-timed eulogy. "You acted that mighty well, sir," said he. "Stop my vitals ! if I did not think you were in earnest, till I saw the jade had slipped in among us. It told, sir — it told." 18 PEG WOFFINGTON. Up fired Vane. " What do you mean, sir ? " said he. "Do you suppose my admiration of that lady is feigned ? " " No need to speak so loud, sir," replied the old gentle- man; "she hears you. These hussies have ears like hawks." He then dispensed a private wink and a public bow ; with which he strolled away from Mr, Vane, and walked feebly and jauntily up the room, whisding " Fair Hebe ; " fixing his eye upon the past, and somewhat ostentatiously overlooking the existence of the present company. There is no great harm in an old gentleman whistling, but there are two ways of doing it ; and as this old beau did it, it seemed not unlike a small cock-a-doodle-doo of general defiance ; and the denizens of the green-room, swelled now to a considerable number by the addition of all the ladies and gentlemen who had been killed in the fourth act, or whom the buttery-fingered author could not keep in hand until the fall of the curtain, felt it as such ; and so they were not sorry when Mrs. Woffington, looking up from her epilogue, cast a glance upon the old beau, waited for him, and walked parallel with him on the other side the room, giving an absurdly exact imita- tion of his carriage and deportment. To make this more striking, she pulled out of her pocket, after a mock- search, a huge paste ring, gazed on it with a ludicrous affectation of simple wonder, stuck it, like Gibber's dia- mond, on her little finger, and pursing up her mouth, proceeded to whistle a quick movement, " Which by some devilish cantrip sleight," played round the old beau's slow movement, without being at variance with it. As for the character of this lady-like performance, it was clear, brilliant, and loud as blacksmith. PEG WOFFINGTON. 19 The folk laughed ; Vane was shocked : " She profanes herself by whistling," thought he. Mr. Gibber was con- founded. He appeared to have no idea whence came this sparkling adagio. He looked round, placed his hands to his ears, and left off whistling. So did his musical accomplice. " Gentlemen," said Gibber, with pathetic gravity, " the wind howls most dismally this evening ! I took it for a drunken shoemaker ! " At this there was a roar of laughter, except from Mr. Vane. Peg Woffington laughed as merrily as the others, and showed a set of teeth that were really dazzling ; but all in one moment, without the preliminaries an ordinary countenance requires, this laughing Venus pulled a face gloomy beyond conception. Down came her black brows straight as a line, and she cast a look of bitter reproach on all present ; resuming her study, as who should say, " Are ye not ashamed to divert a poor girl from her epilogue ? " And then she went on, " Mum ! mum ! mum ! " casting off ever and anon resentful glances ; and this made the fools laugh again. The Laureate was now respectfully addressed by one of his admirers, James Quin, the Falstaff of the day, and the rival at this time of Garrick in tragic characters, though the general opinion was, that he could not long maintain a stand against the younger genius and his rising school of art. Off the stage, James Quin was a character ; his eccen- tricities were three, — a humorist, a glutton, and an honest man ; traits that often caused astonishment and ridicule, especially the last. " May we not hope for sometliing from Mr. Gibber's pen after so long a silence ? " " No," was the considerate reply. " Who have ye got to play it ? " 20 PEG WOFFINGTON. " Plenty," said Quin ; " there's your humble servant, there's " — " Humility at the head of the list," cried she of the epilogue. " Mum ! mum ! mum ! " Vane thought this so sharp. " Garrick, Barry, Macklin, Kitty Clive here at my side, Mrs. Gibber, the best tragic actress I ever saw ; and Woffington, who is as good a comedian as you ever saw, sir," and Quin turned as red as fire. " Keep your temper. Jemmy," said Mrs. Woffington^ with a severe accent. *' Mum ! mum ! mum ! " '• You misunderstand my question," replied Gibber, calmly ; " I know your dramatis personce, but where the devil are your actors ? " Here was a blow. " The public," said Quin, in some agitation, " would snore, if we acted as they did in your time." " How do you know that, sir ? " was the supercilious rejoinder ; " you never tried ! " Mr. Quin was silenced. Peg Woffington looked off her epilogue. "Bad as we are," said she, coolly, "we might be worse." Mr. Gibber turned round, slightly raised his eyebrows. " Indeed ! " said he. " Madam ! " added he, with a courteous smile ; " will you be kind enough to explain to me, how you could be worse ? " " If, like a crab, we could go backwards ! " At this the auditors tittered ; and Mr. Gibber had recourse to his spy-glass. This gentleman was satirical or insolent, as the case might demand, in three degrees, of which the snuff-box was the comparative, and the spy-glass the superlative. He had learned this on the stage ; in annihilating Quin he had used the snuff weapon, and now he di'ew his spy- glass upon poor Peggy. PEG WOFFINGTON. 21 " Whom have we here ? " said he ; then he looked with his spy-glass to see ; " oh, the little Irish orange girl ! " " Whose basket outweighed Colley Gibber's salary for the first twenty years of his dramatic career," was the delicate reply to the above delicate remark. It staggered him for a moment ; however he affected a most puzzled air, then gradually allowed a light to steal into his features. " Eh I ah ! oh ! how stupid I am ; I understand ; you sold something besides oranges ! " "Oh! " said Mr. Vane, and colored up to the temples, and cast a look on Gibber, as much as to say, " if you were not seventy -three ! " His ejaculation was something so different from any tone any other person there present could have uttered, that the actress's eye dwelt on him for a single moment, and in that moment he felt himself looked through and through. " I sold the young fops a bargain, you mean," was her calm reply ; " and now I am come down to the old ones. A truce, Mr, Gibber, what do you understand by an actor ? Tell me ; for I am foolish enough to respect your opinion on these matters ! " "An actor, young lady," said he gravely, " is an artist who has gone deep enough in art, to make dunces, critics, and greenhorns take it for nature ; moreover, he really personates ; which your mere 7)ian of the stage never does. He has learned the true art of self-multiplication. He drops Betterton, Booth, Wilkes, or, a^hem " — "Gibber," inserted Sir Gharles Pomander. Gibber bowed. " In his dressing-room, and comes out young or old, a fop, a valet, a lover, or a hero, with voice, mien, and every gesture to match. A grain less than this may be good speaking, fine preaching, deep grunting, high rant- 22 PEG WOFFINGTON. ing, eloquent reciting ; but I'll be hanged if it is acting ! " " Then, Colley Gibber never acted," whispered Quin to Mrs. Clive. "Then Margaret Woffington is an actress," said M. W. ; " the fine ladies take my Lady Betty for their sister. In Mrs. Day, I pass for a woman of seventy ; and in Sir Harry Wildair I have been taken for a man. I would have told you that before, but I didn't know it was to my credit," said she slyly, " till Mr. Gibber laid down the law." " Proof ! " said Gibber. " A warm letter from one lady, diamond buckles from another, and an offer of her hand and fortune from a third; rien que celaP Mr. Gibber conveyed behind her back a look of absolute incredulity ; she divined it. " I will not show you the letters," continued she, " be- cause Sir Harry, though a rake, was a gentleman ; but here are the buckles," and she fished them out of her pocket, capacious of such things. The buckles were gravely inspected, they made more than one eye water, they were undeniable. " Well, let us see what we can do for her," said the Laureate. He tapped his box, and without a moment's hesitation produced the most execrable distich in the language. *' Now who is like Peggy, with talent at will, A maid loved her Harry, /or want of a Bill ? " " Well, child," continued he, after the applause which follows extemporary verses had subsided, " take me in. Play something to make me lose sight of saucy Peg Woffington, and I'll give the world five acts more before the curtain falls on Colley Gibber." PEG WOFFINGTON. 23 "If you could be deceived," put in Mr. Vane, some- what timidly ; " I think there is no disguise through which grace and beauty such as Mrs. Woffington's would not shine, to my eyes." "That is to praise ray person at the expense of my wit, sir, is it not ? " was her reply. This was the first word she had ever addressed to him ; the tones appeared so sweet to him, that he could not find anytiiing to reply for listening to them ; and Gibber resumed : " Meantime, I will show you a real actress ; she is coming here to-night to meet me. Did ever you children hear of Ann Bracegirdle ? " " Bracegirdle ! " said Mrs. Clive ; " why, she has been dead this thirty years ; at least, I thought so." " Dead to the stage. There is more heat in her ashes than in your fire, Kate Clive I Ah I here comes her messenger," continued he, as an ancient man appeared with a letter in his hand. This letter Mrs. Woffington snatched and read, and at the same instanl in bounced the call-boy. " Epilogue called," said this urchin, in the tone of command which these small fry of Parnassus adopt ; and obedient to his high behest, Mrs. Woffington moved to the door with the Bracegirdle missive in her hand, but not before she had delivered its general con- tents : " The great actress will be here in a few minutes," said she, and she glided swiftly out of the room. 24 PEG WOFFINGTON. CHAPTER II. People whose mind or manners possess any feature, and are not as devoid of all eccentricity as half-pounds of butter bought of metropolitan grocers, are recom- mended not to leave a roomful of their acquaintances until the last but one. Yes, they should always be penultimate. Perhaps Mrs, Woffington knew this ; but epilogues are stubborn things, and call-boys undeniable. " Did you ever hear a woman whistle before ? " " Never ; but I saw one sit astride on an ass in Germany ! " " The saddle was not on her husband, I hope, madam ? " "No, sir; the husband walked by his kinsfolk's side, and made the best of a bad bargain, as Peggy's husband will have to." " Wait till some one ventures on the gay Lotharia — illi ces triplex; that means he must have triple brass, Kitty." "I deny that, sir; since his wife will always have enough for both." "I have not observed the lady's brass," said Vane, trembling with passion ; " but I observed her talent, and I noticed that whoever attacks her to her face, comes badly off." "Well said, sir," answered Quin; "and I wish Kitty here would tell us why she hates Mrs. Woffington, the best-natured woman in the theatre ? " " I don't hate her, I don't trouble my head about her." " Yes, you hate her ; for you never miss a cut at her, never ! " PEG WOFFINGTON. 2S " Do you hate a haunch of venison, Quia ? " said the lady. " No, you little unnatural monster," replied Quin. " For all that you never miss a cut at one, so hold your tongue ! " " Le beau raisonnement ! " said Mr. Cibber. " James Quin, don't interfere with nature's laws ; let our ladies hate one another, it eases their minds ; try to make them Christians and you will not convert their tempers, but spoil your own. Peggy there hates George Anne Bellamy, because she has gaudy silk dresses from Paris, by paying for them as she could, if not too stingy. Kitty here hates Peggy because Rich has breeched her, whereas Kitty, who now sets up for a prude, wanted to put delicacy off and small clothes on in Peg's stead, that is where the Kate and Peg shoe pinches, near the femoral artery, James. "Shrimps have the souls of shrimps," resumed this censor castlgatorque minorum. " Listen to me, and learn that really great actors are great in soul, and do not blubber like a great school-girl because Anne Bellamy has two yellow silk dresses from Paris, as I saw Woffington blubber in this room, and would not be comforted ; nor fume like Kitty Clive, because Woffington has a pair of breeches and a little boy's rapier to go a-playing at act- ing with. When I was young, two giantesses fought for empire upon this very stage, where now dwarfs crack and bounce like parched peas. They played Roxana and Statira in the 'Rival Queens.' Rival queens of art them- selves, they put out all their strength. In the middle of the last act the town gave judgment in favor of Statira. What did Roxana ? Did she spill grease on Statira's robe, as Peg Woffington would ? or stab her, as I believe Kitty here capable of doing ? No ! Statira was never so tenderly killed as that niglit : she owned this to me. Roxana bade the theatre farewell that night, and wrote 26 PEG WOFFINGTON. to Statira thus, — I give you word for word : ' Madam, the best judge we have, has decided in your favor. 1 shall never play second on a stage where I have been first so long, but I shall often be a spectator, and me- thinks none will appreciate your talent more than I, who have felt its weight. My wardrobe, one oi the best in Europe, is of no use to me ; if you will honor me by selecting a few of my dresses you will gratify me, and I shall fancy I see myself upon the stage to greater advan- tage than before.' " " And what did Statira answer, sir ? " said Mr. Vane, eagerly. " She answered thus : ' Madam, the town has often been wrong, and may have been so last night, in suppos- ing that I vied successfully with your merit ; but thus much is certain, — and here, madam, I am the best judge, — that off the stage you have just conquered me. I shall wear with pride any dress you have honored, and shall feel inspired to great exertions by your presence among our spectators, unless, indeed, the sense of your magna- nimity and the recollection of your talent should damp me by the dread of losing any portion of your good opinion.' " " What a couple of stiff old things," said Mrs. Clive. " Nay, madam, say not so," cried Vane, warmly ; " surely, this was the lofty courtesy of two great minds not to be overbalanced by strife, defeat, or victory." " What were their names, sir ? " " Statira was the great Mrs. Oldfield. Roxana you will see here to-night." This caused a sensation. CoUey's reminiscences were interrupted by loud applause from the theatre ; the present seldom gives the past a long hearing. The old war-horse cocked his ears. PEG WOFFINGTON. 27 "It is Woffingtou speaking the epilogue," said Quin. " Oh ! she has got the length of their foot, somehow," said a small actress. " And the breadth of their hands, too," said Pomander, waking from a nap. '•It is the depth of their hearts she has sounded," said Vane. In those days, if a metaphor started up, the poor thing was coursed up hill and down dale, and torn limb from jacket; even in Parliament, a trope was sometimes hunted from one session into another. "You were asking me about Mrs. Oldfield, sir," resumed Gibber, rather peevishly. "I will own to you, I lack words to convey a just idea of her double and complete supremacy. But the comedians of this day are weak- strained farceurs compared with her, and her tragic tone was thunder set to music. "I saw a brigadier-general cry like a child at her Indiana; I have seen her crying with pain herself at the wing (for she was always a great sufferer), I have seen her then spring upon the stage as Lady Townley, and in a moment sorrow brightened into joy ; the air seemed to fill with singing birds, that chirped the pleasure of fashion, love, and youth, in notes sparkling like diamonds and stars, and prisms. She was above criticism, out of its scope, as is the blue sky; men went not to judge her, they drank her, and gazed at her, and were warmed at her, and refreshed by her. The fops were awed into silence, and with their humbler betters thanked Heaven for her, if they thanked it for anything. " In all the crowded theatre, care and pain and poverty were banished from the memory, whilst Oldfield's face spoke, and her tongue flashed melodies; the lawyer forgot his quillets ; the polemic, the mote in his brother's eye ; the old maid, her grudge against the two sexes ; 28 PEG WOFFINGTON. the old man, his gray hairs, and his lost hours. And can it be, that all this, which should have been immortal, is quite — quite lost, is as though it had never been ? " he sighed. "Can it be, that its fame is now sustained by me, who twang with my poor lute, cracked and old, these feeble praises of a broken lyre : •' ' Whose wires were golden, and its heavenly air More tunable than lark to shepherd's ear. When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds api)ear?'" He paused, and his eye looked back over many years ; then, with a very different tone, he added : "And that Jack Falstaff there must have seen her, now I think on't." " Only once, sir," said Quin, " and I was but ten years old." " He saw her once, and he was ten years old ; yet he calls Woffington a great comedian; and my son The's wife, with her hatchet face, the greatest tragedian he ever saw ! Jemmy, what an ass you must be ! " " Mrs. Gibber always makes me cry, and t'other always makes me laugh," said Quin, stoutly, " that's why." Ce beau raisonnement met no answer but a look of sovereign contempt. A very trifling incident saved the ladies of the British stage from further criticism. There were two candles in this room, one on each side ; the call-boy had entered, and poking about for something, knocked down and broke one of these. " Awkward imp ! " cried a velvet page. "I'll go to the Treasurtj for another, ma'am," said the boy, pertly, and vanished with the fractured wax. I take advantage of the interruption to open Mr. Vane's mind to the reader. First he had been aston- ished at the freedom of sarcasm these people in- PEG WOFFINGTON. 29 dulged in without quarrelling ; next at the non-respect of sex. " So sex is not recognized in this community," thought he. Then the glibness and merit of some of their answers surprised and amused him. He, like me, had seldom met an imaginative repartee, except in a play or a book. "Society's" repartees were then as they are now, the good old tree in various dresses and veils : Tic quoque, tu mentiris, vos damnemini ; but he was sick and dispirited on the whole ; such very bright illusions had been dimmed in these few minutes. She was brilliant ; but her manners, if not masculine, were very daring; and yet, when she spoke to him, a stranger, how sweet and gentle her voice was I Then it was clear nothing but his ignorance could have placed her at the summit of her art. Still he clung to his enthusiasm for her. He drew Pomander aside. "What a simplicity there is in Mrs. Wofi&ngton," said he ; " the rest, male and female, are all so affected; she is so fresh and natural. They are all hot-house plants ; she is a cowslip with the May dew on it." "What you take for simplicity, is her refined art," replied Sir Charles. " No," said Vane, " I never saw a more innocent creature." Pomander laughed in his face ; this laugh disconcerted him more than words. He spoke no more — he sat pen- sive. He was sorry he had come to this place, where everybody knew his goddess ; yet nobody admired, nobody loved, and alas ! nobody respected her. He was roused from his reverie by a noise ; the noise was caused by Gibber falling on Garrick, whom Pomander had maliciously quoted against all the tragedians of Colley Gibber's day. 30 PEG WOFFINGTON. " 1 tell you," cried the veteran, *' that this Garrick has banished dignity from the stage, and given us in exchange what you and he take for fire ; but it is smoke and vapor. His manner is little, like his person ; it is all fuss and bustle. This is his idea of a tragic scene : A little fellow comes bustling in, goes bustling about, and runs bustling out." Here Mr. Gibber left the room, to give greater effect to his description, but presently returned in a mighty pother, saying : " ' Give me another horse ! ' Well, Where's the horse ? don't you see I'm waiting for him ? ' Bind up my wounds ! ' Look sharp now with these wounds. ' Have mercy, Heaven ! ' but be quick about it, for the pit can't wait for Heaven. Bustle ! bustle! bustle!" The old dog was so irresistibly funny that the whole company were obliged to laugh ; but in the midst of their merriment Mrs. Woffington's voice was heard at the door. " This way, madam." A clear and somewhat shrill voice replied, "I know the way better than you, child," and a stately old lady appeared on the threshold. " Bracegirdle," said Mr. Gibber. It may well be supposed that every eye was turned on this new-comer — that Roxana for whom Mr. Gibber's story had prepared a peculiar interest. She was dressed in a rich green velvet gown with gold fringe. Gibber remembered it ; she had played the " Eastern Queen " in it. Heaven forgive all concerned ! It was fearfully pinched in at the waist and ribs so as to give the idea of wood inside, not woman. Her hair and eyebrows were iron-gray, and she had lost a front tooth, or she would still have been emi- nently handsome. She was tall and straight as a dart, and her noble port betrayed none of the weakness of PEG WOFFINGTON. 31 age, only it was to be seen that her hands were a little weak, and the gold-headed crutch struck the ground rather sharply, as if it did a little limbs'-duty. Such was the lady who marched into the middle of the room, with a " How do, Colley ? " and looking over the companA-'s heads as if she did not see them, regarded the four walls with some interest. Like a cat, she seemed to think more of places than of folk. The page obsequiously offered her a chair. " Not so clean as it used to be," said Mrs. Bracegirdle. Unfortunately, in making this remark, the old lady graciously patted the page's head for offering her the chair; and this action gave, with some of the ill- constituted minds that are ever on the titter, a ridiculous direction to a remark intended, I believe, for the paint and wainscots, etc. " Nothing is as it used to be," remarked Mr. Gibber. " All the better for everything," said Mrs. Olive. " We were laughing at this mighty little David, first actor of this mighty little age." Now if Mr. Gibber thought to find in the new-comer an ally of the past in its indiscriminate attack upon the [)resent, he was much mistaken ; for the old actress made onslaught on this nonsense at once. " Ay, ay," said she, " and not the first time by many hundreds. 'Tis a disease you have. Gure yourself, Golley. Davy Garrick pleases the public ; and in trifles like acting, that take nobody to heaven, to please all the world, is to be great. Some pretend to higher aims, but none have 'em. You may hide this from young fools, mayhap, but not from an old 'oman like me. He, he, he ! No, no, no — not from an old 'oman like me." She then turned round in her chair, and with that sudden, unaccountable snappishness of tone, to which the brisk old are subject, she snarled, " Gie me a pinch of snuff, some of ye, do ! " 32 PEG WOFFINGTON. Tobacco dust was instantly at her disposal. She took it with the points of her fingers, delicately, and divested the crime of half its uncleanness and vulgarity — more an angel couldn't. " Monstrous sensible woman, though ! " Avhispered Quin to Clive. " Hey, sir ! what do you say, sir ? for I'm a little deaf." (Not very to praise, it seems.) " That your judgment, madam, is equal to the reputa- tion of your talent." The words were hardly spoken, before the old lady rose upright as a tower. She then made an oblique pre- liminary sweep, and came down with such a courtesy as the young had never seen. James Quin, not to disgrace his generation, attempted a corresponding bow, for which his figure and apoplectic tendency rendered him unfit ; and whilst he was trans- acting it, the graceful Gibber stopped gravely up, and looked down and up the process with his glass, like a naturalist inspecting some strange capriccio of an orang-outang. The gymnastics of courtesy ended with- out back-falls. Gibber lowered his tone : " You are right, Bracy. It is nonsense denying the young fellow's talent; but his Othello, now, Bracy! be just — his Othello !" " Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! " cried she ; " I thought it was Desdemona's little black boy come in without the tea- kettle." Quin laughed uproariously. " It made me laugh a deal more than Mr. Quin's Falstaff. Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! " " Falstaif , indeed ! Snuff ! " in the tone of a trumpet. Quin secretly revoked his good opinion of this woman's sense. PEG WOP^FINGTON. 33 " Madam," said the page timidly, " if you would but favor us with a specimen of the old style ! " " Well, child, why not ? Only what makes you mum- ble like that ? but they all do it now, I see. Bless my soul ! our words used to come out like brandy -cherries ; but now a sentence is like raspberry -jam, on the stage and off." Gibber chuckled. " And why don't you men carry yourself like Gibber here ? " " Don't press that question," said Colley dryly. " A monstrous poor actor, though," said the merciless old woman, in a mock aside to the others ; " only twenty shillings a-week for half his life ; " and her shoulders went up to her ears — then she fell into a half-reverie. *' Yes, we were distinct," said she ; '•' but I must own, children, we were slow. Once, in the midst of a beauti- ful tirade, my lover went to sleep, and fell against me. A mighty pretty epigram, twenty lines, was writ on't by one of my gallants. Have ye as many of them as we used ? " " In that respect," said the page, " we are not behind our great-grandmothers." " I call that pert," said Mrs. Braeegirdle, with the air of one drawing scientific distinctions. *' Kow, is that a boy or a lady that spoke to me last ? " " By its dress, I should say a boy," said Gibber, with his glass ; " by its assurance, a lady ! " "There's one clever woman amongst ye; Peg some- thing, plays Lothario, Lady Betty Modish, and what not." " What ! admire Woffington ? " screamed Mrs. Clive ; " why, she is the greatest gabbler on the stage." " I don't care," was the reply, " there's nature about the jade. Don't contradict me," added she, with sudden fury ; " a parcel of children." 34 PEG WOFFINGTON. "No, madam," said Clive humbly. "Mr. Gibber, will you try and prevail on Mrs. Bracegirdle to favor us with a recitation ? " Gibber handed his cane with pomp to a small actor. Bracegirdle did the same ; and striking the attitudes that had passed for heroic in their day, they declaimed out of the " Rival Queens " two or thi-ee tirades, which I graciously spare the reader of this tale. Their elocu- tion was neat and silvery ; but not one bit like the way people speak in streets, palaces, fields, roads, and rooms. They had not made the grand discovery, which Mr. A. Wigan on the stage, and every man of sense off it, has made in our day and nation ; namely, that the stage is a representation not of stage, but of life ; and that an actor ought to speak and act in imitation of human beings, not of speaking machines that have run and creaked in a stage groove, with their eyes shut upon the world at large, upon nature, upon truth, upon man, upon woman, and upon child. " This is slow," cried Gibber ; " let us show these young people how ladies and gentlemen moved fifty years ago, dansons^ A fiddler was caught, a beautiful slow minuet played, and a bit of " solemn dancing " done. Gertainly, it was not gay, but it must be owned it was beautiful, it was the dance of kings, the poetry of the courtly saloon. The retired actress, however, had frisker notions left in her : " This is slow," cried she, and bade the fiddler play, " The wind that shakes the barley," an ancient jig tune ; this she danced to in a style that utterly astounded the spectators. She showed them what fun was; her feet and her stick were all echoes to the mad strain ; out went her heel behind, and returning, drove her four yards for- ward. She made unaccountable slants, and cut them all PEG WOFFINGTON. 35 over in turn if they did not jump for it. Roars of inex- tinguishable laughter arose, it would have made an oyster merry. Suddenly she stopped, and put her hands to her sides, and soon after she gave a vehement cry of pain. The laughter ceased. She gave another cry of such agony, that they were all round lier in a moment. " Oh ! help me, ladies," screamed the poor Avoman, in tones as feminine as they were heart-rending and piteous. " Oh, my back ! my loins ! I suffer, gentlemen," said the poor thing faintly. What was to be done ? IMr. Vane offered his penknife to cut her laces. " You shall cut my head off sooner," cried she, with sudden energy. '' Don't pity me," said she, sadly, '• I don't deserve it ; " then lifting her eyes, she exclaimed, with a sad air of self-reproach : " Oh, vanity ! do you never leave a woman ? " " Nay, madam ! " whimpered the page, who was a good-hearted girl ; *' 'twas your great complaisance for us, not vanity. Oh, oh, oh ! " and she began to blubber to make matters better. " No, my children," said the old lady, " 'twas vanity. I wanted to show you what an old 'oman could do ; and I have humiliated myself, trying to outshine younger folk. I am justly humiliated, as you see," and she began to cry a little. " This is very painful," said Gibber. Mrs. Bracegirdle now raised her eyes (they had set her in a chair), and looking sweetly, tenderly, and ear- nestly on her old companion, she said to him slowly, gently, but impressively : '' Colley, at threescore years and ten, this was ill-done of us ! You and I are here now — for what? to cheer the young up the hill we mounted years ago. And, old Vol. 9—2 36 PEG WOFF1N6TON. friend, if we detract from them we discourage them. A great sin in the old ! " " Every dog his day." " We have had ours." Here she smiled, then laying her hand tenderly in the old man's, she added with calm solemnity : " and now we must go quietly towards our rest, and strut and fret no more the few last minutes of life's fleeting hour." How tame my cacotype of these words compared with what they were. I am ashamed of them and myself, and the human craft of writing, which, though commoner far, is so miserably behind the godlike art of speech : Si ipsam audivisses ! These ink scratches, which in the imperfection of language we have called words, till the unthinking actually dream they are words, but which are the shad- ows of the corpses of words ; these word-shadows then were living powers on her lips, and subdued, as eloquence ahvays does, every heart within reach of the imperial tongue. The young loved her, and the old man, softened and vanquished, and mindful of his failing life, was silent, and pressed his handkerchief to his eyes a moment ; then he said : " No, Bracy — no. Be composed, I pray you. She is right. Young people, forgive me that I love the dead too well, and the days when I was what you are now. Drat the woman," continued he, half ashamed of his emotion ; " she makes us laugh, and makes us cry, just as she used." " Wha,t does he say, young woman ? " said the old lady, dryly, to Mrs. Clive. "He says you make us laugh, and make us cry, madam ; and so you do me, I'm sure." "And that's Peg Woffington's notion of an actress! PEG WOFFINGTON. 37 Better it, Gibber and Bracegirdle, if you can," said tho other, rising up like lightning. She then threw Colley Gibber a note, and walked coolly and rapidly out ol' the room, without looking once behind her. The rest stood transhxed, looking at one another, and at the empty chair. Then Gibber opened and read the note aloud. It was from Mrs. Bracegirdle : " Playing at tric-trac ; so can't play the fool in your green-room to- night. — B." On this, a musical ringing laugh was heard from out- side the door, where the pseudo Bracegirdle was washing the gray from her hair, and the wrinkles from her face — ah ! I wish I could do it as easily, — and the little bit of sticking-plaster from her front tooth. " Why, it is the Irish jade ! " roared Gibber. " Divil a less ! " rang back a rich brogue ; " and it's not the furst time we put the comether upon ye, England, my jewal ! " One more mutual glance, and then the mortal clever- ness of all this began to dawn on their minds ; and they broke forth into clapping of hands, and gave this accom- plished mime three rounds of applause ; Mr. Vane and Sir Gharles Pomander leading with "Brava, Woffington I " Its effect on Mr. Vane may be imagined. Who but she could have done this ? This was as if a painter should so paint a man as to deceive his species. This Avas acting, but not like the acting of the stage. He was in transports, and self-satisfaction at his own judgment mingled pleasantly with his admiration. In this cheerful exhibition, one joined not — Mr. Gibber. His theories had received a shock (and Ave all love our theories). He himself had received a rap, and we don't hate ourselves. Grer t is the syllogism ! But there is a class of argu- ments less vulnerable. 38 PEG WOFFINGTON. If A says to B, " You can't hit me, as 1 prove by this syllogism " (here followeth the syllogism), and B, pour toute reponse, knocks A down such a whack that he re- bounds into a sitting posture ; and to him the man, the tree, the lamp-post, and the fire-escape, become not clearly distinguishable ; this barbarous logic prevails against the logic in Barbara, and the syllogism is in the predicament of Humpty Dumpty. In this predicament was the Poet Laureate. -'The miscreant Proteus (could not) escape these chains ! " So the miscreant Proteus — no bad name for an old actor — took his little cocked hat and marched ; a smaller, if not a wiser man. Some disjointed words fell from him : "Mimicry is not acting," etc. ; and with one bitter, mowing glance at the applauders, clrcum- ferens acriter oculos, he vanished in the largest pinch of snuff on record. The rest dispersed more slowly. Mr. Vane waited eagerly, and watched the door for Mrs. Woffington ; but she did not come. He then made acquaintance with good-natured Mr. Quin, who took him upon the stage, and showed him by what vulgar appli- ances that majestic rise of the curtain he so admired was effected. Returning to the green-room for his friend, he found him in animated conversation with Mrs. Woffing- ton. This made Vane uneasy. Sir Charles, up to the present moment of the evening, had been unwontedly silent, and now he was talking nineteen to the dozen, and Mrs. Woffington was listen- ing with an appearance of interest that sent a pang to poor Vane's heart ; he begged Mr. Quin to introduce him. Mr. Quin introduced him. The lady received his advances with polite composure. Mr. Vane stammered his admiration of her Bracegirdle ; but all he could find words to say, was mere general PEG WOFFINGTON. 39 praise, and somewhat coldly received. Sir Charles, on the contrary, spoke more like a critic. '' Had you given us the stage cackle, or any of those traditionary symp- toms of old age, we should have instantly detected you," said he ; "but this was art copying nature, and it may be years before such a triumph of illusion is again effected under so many adverse circumstances." "You are very good. Sir Charles," was the reply. "You flatter me. It Avas one of those things Avhich look greater than they are ; nobody here knew Brace- girdle but Mt. Cibber ; Mr. Cibber cannot see well with- out his glasses, and I got rid of one of the candles ; I sent one of the imps of the theatre to knock it down. I know Mrs. Bracegirdle by heart. I drink tea with her every Sunday. I had her dress on, and I gave the old boy her words and her way of thinking ; it was mere mimicry ; it was nothing compared with what I once did ; but, a-hem ! " "Pray tell us!" "I am afraid I shall shock your friend. I see he is not a wicked man like you, and perhaps does not know what good-for-nothing creatures actresses are." "He is not so ignorant as he looks," replied Sir Charles. "That is not quite the answer I expected, Sir Charles," replied this lively lady ; "but it serves me right for fish- ing on dry land. Well then, you must know a young gentleman courted me. I forget whether I liked him or not ; but you will fancy I hated him, for I promised to marry him. You must understand, gentlemen, that I was sent into the world, not to act, Avhich I abominate, but to chronicle small beer and teach an army of little brats their letters ; so this word ' wife,' and that word 'chimney-corner,' took possession of my mind, and a vision of darning stockings for a large party, all my 40 PEG WOFFINGTOIST. own, filled my heart, and really I felt quite grateful to the little brute that was to give me all this ; and he would have had such a wife as men never do have, still less deserve, but one fine day that the theatre left me time to examine his manner towards me, I instantly discovered he was deceiving me. So I had him Vt^atched, and the little brute was going to marry another woman, and break it to me by degrees afterwards, etc. You know, Sir Charles ? Ah ! I see you do. " I found her out ; got an introduction to her father ; went down to his house three days before the marriage, with a little coal-black mustache, regimentals, and what not ; made up, in short, with the art of my sex, gentle- men — and the impudence of yours. "The first day I flirted and danced with the bride. The second I made love to her, and at night I let her know that her intended was a villain. 1 showed her letters of his ; protestations, oaths of eternal fidelity to one Peg Woffington, ' who will die,' drawled I, ' if he betrays her.' "And here, gentlemen, mark the justice of Heaven. I received a back-handed slap : ' Peg \Yoffington ! an actress ! Oh, the villain ! ' cried she ; ' let him marry the little vagabond. How dare he insult me with his hand that had been offered in such a quarter ? ' "So, in a fit of virtuous indignation, tlie little hypocrite dismissed the little brute ; in other words, she had fallen in love with me. " I have not had many happy hours, but 1 remember it was delicious to look out of my window, and at the same moment smell the honeysuckles and see my perfidc dismissed under a heap of scorn and a pile of luggage ho had brought down for his wedding tour. " I scampered up to London, laughiug all tlie way ; and when I got home, if I remember right, 1 cried for two hours. How do you account for that ? " PEG WOFFINGTON. 41 "I hope, madam." said Vane, gravely, '-it was remorse for having trifled with tliat poor young lady's lieart ; she had never injured you." "But, sir, the husband T robbed her of was a brute and a villain in his little way, and wicked, and good-for- nothing, etc. He would have deceived that poor little hypocrite, as he had this one," pointing to herself. " That is not what I mean ; you inspired her with an attachment, never to be forgotten. Poor lady ! how many sleepless nights has she passed since then, how many times has she strained her eyes to see her angel lover returning to her? She will not forget in two years the love it cost you but two days to inspire. The powerful should be merciful. Ah ! I fear you have no heart." These words had no sooner burst from Mr. Vane than he was conscious of the strange liberty he had taken, and, indeed, the bad taste he had been guilty of; and this feeling was not lessened when he saw IMrs. "Woffing. ton color up to the temples. Her eyes, too, glittered like basilisks ; but she said nothing, which was remarkable in her, whose tongue was the sword of a vnaitre d'armes. Sir Charles eyed his friend in a sly, satirical manner ; he then said, laughingly, " In two months she married a third ! don't waste your sympathy," and turned the talk into another channel ; and soon after, Mrs. Woffington's maid appearing at the door, she courtesied to both gentle- men and left the theatre. Sir Charles Pomander accom- panied Mr. Vane a little way. "What becomes of her innocence?" was his first word. " One loses sight of it in her immense talent," said the lover. "She certainl}' is clever in all that bears upon her business," was the reply ; " but I noticed you were a 42 1'F.r, wmKINGTON. littli' shf)okrn»t<» d»'H»'rvod it. CyjKxl Heavens! to think that '.i litth' l»rut«' ' niifjht have married that ani;»-l. .-md :n'tn,illy broke faith to lose her; it is inrredil)h'; tlie ciinu' is diluted by the absurdity." '• Have you heard hini tell the .story '.' Ni> '.' 'IMien take my wonl for it you have not hoard tlie fa4-tst>t the ease." "Ah ! you are prejiulired aj;:iinst her?" "On the contniry, I like her. Hut I know that with all Women the present lover is an ani,'el and the past a demon, and .so on in turn. And I know that if Satan were to enter the women of the stage, with the wild idea ol inipairiii); their veracity, he would eome out of their minds a greater liar than he went in, and the inniM'ent darlinj^s wouhi never know their spiritual father had l)een at them." Doubtfiil wlw'ther this sentiment .ind period oould be improved. Sir Charles parted with his Iriend. leaving his stinjj in him liko a friend ; the other's reflections as he sauntered home were not strictly those of a wise, well- balaneed mind, they ran in this stylo: '• When she said : • Is not that to praise my person at the expense of my wit'." I ought to have said: * Nay, madam; eould your wit fUs^iise your person, it would betray itself, so you would still shine confessed,' and in- stead of that I said nothing ! '' He then ran over in his mind all the opportunities he had had for putting in something smart, and bitterly regretted those lost opportunities ; and made the smart things, and beat the air with them. Then his cheeks tingled when he remembered that he had almost scolded her ; and he concocted a very different speech, and straightway repeated it in imagination. PEG WOFFINGTON. 43 This is lover's pastime ; I own it funny; but it is open to one objection; this single practice of sitting upon eggs no longer chickenable, carried to a habit, is capable of turning a solid intellect into a liquid one, and ruining a mind's career. We leave Mr. Vane, therefore, with a hope that he will not do it every night ; and we follow his friend to the close of our chapter. Hey for a definition ! What is diplomacy ? Is it folly in a coat that looks like sagacity? Had Sir Charles Pomander, instead of watching .Air. Vane and Mrs. Woffiugton, asked the former whether he admired the latter, and whether the latter responded, straightforward Vane would have told him the whole truth in a minute. Diplomacy therefore was, as it often is, a waste of time. But diplomacy did more in this case, it sapienter descendebat iJi fossam ; it fell on its nose with gymnastic dexterity, as it generally does, upon uiy word. To watch Mrs. Woffington's face vis-a-vis Mr. Vane, Pomander introduced Vane to the green-room of the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden. By this Pomandei- learned nothing, because Mrs. Woffington had, with a wonderful appearance of openness, the closest face in Europe when she chose. On the other hand, by introducing this country gentle- man to this green-room, he gave a mighty impulse and opportunity to Vane's love; an opportunity Avhich he forgot the timid, inexperienced Damon might otherwise never have found. Here diplomacy was not policy, for, as my sagacious reader has perhaps divined, Sir Charles Pomander was after her h imself. U I'Kli WOFFIXUTON. CHArTKK III. Yks: Sir Charles wjif« a/trr Miss Wottinjfton. I use t ■ " •• ^»MUTic onv, HUituble to Mr. Vane's sentimcuUi were an incxpUcuble rompouml ; l>iit respect, enthusiasm, ami ileep aiiminition werr the up|K>ruiust. Tht' giKxl Sir Churli'S wus nu eui^tua : lit* hail u vacancy in his estublishnttnit — a very high .situatiun, too, fur tliose who likt! that sort of thing — thi' ht-ad of his tiible, his 1 w luMi h»* »lrov«* «l him to pursue hi>r; slow, sagacious, inevi- table, as a Ix'agle. She was celebrutfd, aud would confer great eclat on him. Th»' .scandal of posscssinj; her was a burning temjv tation. Women admin" lu'h-brity in a man; but meu ailore it in a woman. "The world." •'.•lys I'hilip, '* is !i f:iinnus man; What will not women love so taii^'ht ? " I will try to answer this question. The women will more rea«lily forgive disgusting phys- ical (lotormity for famo'.s sak«' than wo. They would embra»;e with more rapture a famous orang-outang, than we an illustrious chimpanzee; but when it comes to moral deformity the tables are turned. Had the Queen pardoned Mr. Greenacre and Mrs. Man- ning, would the great rush have been on the hero, or PEG WOFFINGTON. 45 the heroine ? Why, ou Mrs. Macbeth ! To her would the blackguards have brought honorable proposals, and the gentry liberal ones. Greenacre would have found more female admirers than I ever shall ; but the grand stream of sexual admi- ration would have set Mariawards. This fact is as dark us night ; but it is as sure as the sun. The next day the "friends " (most laughable of human substantives !) met in the theatre, and again visited the green-room ; and this time Vane determined to do himself more justice. He was again disappointed ; the actress's manner was ceremoniously polite. She was almost con- stantly on the stage, and in a hurry when oif it; and when there was a word to be got with her, the ready, glib Sir Charles was sure to get it. Vane could not help thinking it hard that a man who professed no respect for her, should thus keep the light from him ; and he could hardly conceal his satisfaction, when Poman- der, at night, bade him farewell for a fortnight. Pressing business took Sir Charles into the country. The good Sir Charles, however, could not go without leaving his sting behind as a companion to his friend. He called on Mr. Vane, and after a short preface, con- taining the words, " our friendship," " old kindness," " my greater experience," he gravely w^arned him against Mrs. Woffington. " Not that I would say this if you could take her for what she is, and amuse yourself with her as she will with you, if she thinks it worth her while. But I see you have a heart, and she will make a football of it, and torment you beyond all you have ever conceived of human anguish." Mr. Vane colored high, and was about to interrupt the speaker ; but he continued : " There, I am in a hurry. But ask Quin, or anybody 4G i'E<; \v<»i-HNt;ToN, who knows lier history, you will find sho li;is had scores of lovers, ami no one remains her friend alter they part." " Men are such villains ! " " Very likely," was the reply; "but twenty men don't ill-use oiu' good woman : those are not tin- jiiojK)rtions. Adieu ! " This last hit frightened Mr. Vane, he began to look into hiniscdf ; he eould not but feel that he was a mere child in this woman's hands; and more than that, his conscienei' told him that if his heart should be made a football of, it would only be a just and ])rolKible jiunish- ment. For there were particular reasons why he, of all men, luid no business to hnik twice at any woman whose name was WoHington. That night he avoided the green-room, thougli he eould not forego the play ; l)ut the next night he determined to stay at home altogether. Accordingly, at five o'clock, the astounded box-keeper wore a visage of dismay — there was no shilling for him I and Mr, Vane's nightly shilling luul assumed tlie sanctity of salary in his mind. Mr. Vane strolled disconsolate; lie strolled by the Thames, he strolled up and down the Strand ; and, fi'nally, having often admired the wisdom of moths in their gradual approach to what is not good for them, he strolled into the green-room, Covent Garden, and sat down. When there iie did not feel happy. Besides, she had always been cold to him, and had given no sign of desiring his acquaintance, still less of recognition. ^Ir. Vane had often seen a weathercock at work, and he had heard a woman compared to it ; but he had never realized the simplicity, beauty, and justice of the simile. He was therefore surprised, as well as thrilled, when Mrs. Wofiington, so cool, ceremonious, and distant hith- erto, walked up to him in the green-room with a face quite PEG WOFFINGTON. 47 wreathed in smiles, and without preliminary, thanked him for all the beautiful flowers he had sent her. "What, Mrs. Woffington — what, you recognize me ?" " Of course, and have been foolish enough to feel quite supported by the thought, I had at least one friend in the house. But," said she, looking down, <^now you must not be angry ; here are some stones that have fallen somehow among the flowers ; I am going to give you them back, because I value flowers, so I cannot have them mixed with anything else ; but don't ask me for a flower back," added she, seeing the color mount on his face, " for I would not give one of them to you, or any- body." Imagine the effect of this on a romantic disposition like Mr. Vane's. He told her how glad he was that she could distinguish his features amidst the crowd of her admirers ; he con- fessed he had been mortified when he found himself, as he thought, entirely a stranger to her. She interrupted him. <'Do you know your friend Sir Charles Pomander? No! I am almost sure you do; well, he is a man I do not like. He is deceitful, besides he is a wicked man. There, to be plain with you, he was watching me all that night, the first time you came here, and because I saw he was watching me, I would not know who you were, nor anything about you." ^^ •'But you looked as if you had never seen me before.^^ « Of course I did, when I had made up my mind to," said the actress, naively. " Sir Charles has left London for a fortnight, so if he is the only obstacle, I hope you will know me every night." „ " Why, you sent me no flowers yesterday, or to-day. " But I will to-morrow," 48 PI-:*! WnFKINr.TOX. "Then 1 ;im sure 1 hIiuII kiH)w vuur fare aguin : go<)d-hy. Won't you Hve me in the last art. and tt-ll me how ill I do it '.' " **Oh, yos!" and he hurried to his box, and art tlie atrtreas 8»K-urptl one pair of liaiids for hrr last lu-t. He rrturned t«) thr ijnMMi-room, but slio did not n'visit that v»*rdunt bower. The next ni^ht, after the usual eOIQplilUentS, s)l>' sni.i t.. liim liM.kni" duuii uitli :( swt'ff. enjfufjinjj air, "I sent a niesiieai^'ir iiitu Uu- tounlry Ui knuw .4,b»)Ut ihal laily." " What huly f " said Vane, soarci'ly believing his senses. '* That you were so unkind to nie about." ** I, unkind to you ".' what a brute I must b«' I " •• My meaning is, you justly rebuked me, only you should not tell an actresH she hai> no ht>art — that is always understoutl. Well, Sir Charles Pomander said she uiarriejl a third in two months ! " " And did she '.' " " No, it was in six weeks: that man never t^dls the truth; anelieious flattery ! and of all flattery the sweetest when a sweet creature docs flattery, not merely utters it. After this Vane made no more stniggh'S ; he surren- dered himself to the charming seduction, and as his advances were respectful, but ardent and incessant, he found himself at the end of a fortnight Mrs. Woftington th«' stage as a gay rake, and flash out her rapier, and act valor's king to the life. and seem ready to eat upeverylx)dy. King Fear ineludeft: and then, after her brilliant sally u|)on the j)ublic. .*^ir Harry Wildair canic and stood Invsid** .Mr. Vam*. Her bright skin, contriisted with her powdered peri- wig, became dazzling. She used little rouge, but tliat little made her eyes two balls of black lightning. From her high instcj) to ln-r {)olished forehead, all was sym- metry. Her leg would havr bt'cn a sculptor's glory; and the curve from her waist to her knee, was Hogarth's line itself. She stood like Mercury new liglited on a heaven- kissing hill. She placed her foot upon the ground, as she might put a hand upon her lover's shoulder. We indent it with our eleven undisguised stone. Such was Sir Harry Wildair, who stood by Mr. Vane, glittering with diamond buckles, gorgeous with rich satin breeches, velvet coat, ruffles, pictai vestis et auri ; and as she bent her long eye-fringes tlown on him (he was seated), all her fiery charms gradually softened and quivered down to womanhood. " The first time I was here,'' said Vane, " my admira- tion of you broke out to Mr. Gibber ; and what do you think he said ? " "That you praised me, for me to hear you. Did you ? " "Acquit me of such meanness." " Forgive me. It is just what I should have done, had I been courting an actress.'' " I think you have not met many ingenuous spirits, dear friend ? " PP:G WOFFINGTON. , 55 "Kot one, my child." This was a phrase she often applied to him now. " The old fellow pretended to hear what I said, too ; and I am sure you did not — did you ? " "Guess." " I guess not." " I am afraid I must plead guilty. An actress's ears are so quick to hear praise, to tell you the truth, I did catch a word or two, and, ' It told, sir — it told.' " " You alarm me ! At this rate I shall never know what you see, hear, or think, by your face." "When you want to know anything, ask me, and I will tell you ; but nobody else shall learn anything, not even you, any other way." " Did you hear the feeble tribute of praise I was pay- ing you, when you came in ? " inquired Vane. " No. You did not say that my voice had the compass and variety of nature, and my movements were free and beautiful, whilst the others Avhen in motion were stilts, and coffee-pots when in repose, did you ? " " Something of the sort, I believe," cried Vane, laugh- ing. " I melted from one fine statue into another, I restored the Antinous to his true sex. — Goose ! — Painters might learn their art from me (in my dressing-room, no doubt), and orators revive at my lips the music of Athens, that quelled mad mobs and princes drunk with victory. Silly fellow ! Praise was never so sweet to me," mur- mured she, inclining like a goddess of love towards him; and he fastened on two velvet lips, that did not shun the sweet attack, but gently parted with a heavenly sigh ; while her heaving bosom, and yielding frame, and swimming eyes, confessed her conqueror. That morning Mr. Vane had been dispirited, and appar- ently self-discontented ; but at night, he went home in a r>6 VtXi \Vr>FFINf:TOV, state of mental intoxication. His j)0«'ti<' enthusiasm, liis love, his vanity, were all gratifioil at once And all tUest', sinjjly, have conquered pnidoncf and virtue a million times. She hud confessed to him that she was dispo.sed to risk her happiness on him ; she hacl b«>p_i;ed him to Rnhmit to a short probation; and she had promised, if her (Htnti- dt.'nce and esteem remained unimpaired at the cU«e of that period — which was not to be an unhappy one — to take advantage of the summer holidays, and cross the water with him, and forget everything in the world with him, but love. How was it that the very next morning, (douds e]ia.sed one another across his face'.' Was it that men are luii»py, but while the chase is doubtful '.' Was it the letter from Pomander annouiu'ing his return, and sneerin_i,'ly impiir- ing whether he was still the dupe of I'eg Woffington'.' or was it that same mysterious disquiet which attacked him periodically, and then gave way for awhile to pleasure and her golden ilreams ? The next day was to be a day of delight. He was to entertain her at his own house; an.' to do her honor, he had asked Mr. Cibber, Mr. Quin, and other aly when (»ne is a cock-a-hoop, and desires, with permission, so to remain. '* What on earth am I to take Mrs. Wofhngton's por- trait for '.' " *' We have nothing in the house," said the wife, blushing. Triplet's eye glittered like a rattlesnake's. " The intimation is eccentric," said he. " Are you mad, Jane ? Pray," continued he, veiling his wrath in scornful words, ''is it requisite, heroic, or judicious, on the eve, or more correctly the morn, of atliuenoe, to PKG WOFFIXGTON". 65 deposit an unfinished work of art with a mercenary relation ? Hang it, Jane ! would you really have me pawn Mrs. Woffington to-day ? " *' James," said Jane, steadily, " the manager may dis- appoint you ; we have often been disappointed ; so take the picture with you. They will give you ten shillings on it." Triplet was of those who see things roseate. Mrs. Triplet lurid. '' Madam," said the poet, " for the first time in our conjugal career, your commands deviate so entirely from reason, that I respectfully withdraw that implicit obedi- ence which has hitherto constituted my principal repu- tation. I'm hanged if I do it, Jane ! " " Dear James, to oblige me ! " " That alters the case ; you confess it is unreasonable ? " " Oh, yes ! it is only to oblige me." " Enough ! " said Triplet, whose tongue was often a flail tlmt fell on friend, foe, and self, indiscriminately. '• Allow it to be unreasonable, and I do it as a matter of course — to please you, Jane." Accordingly, the good soul wrapped it in green baize ; but to relieve his mind he was obliged to get behind his wife, and shrug his shoulders to Lysimachus and the eldest girl, as who should say, 'ooila Hen une femme voire mere a voiis / At last he was off in high spirits. He reached Co vent Garden at half-past ten, and there the poor fellow was sucked into our narrative whirlpool. We must, however, leave him for a few minutes. «ir» PKO \Vt)l FINUTON. CHAPTEH V. Silt f'li Ain.Ks I'uMANDKK was detained in the country iiuich lonjjfT than hr ♦'Xpectetj. Ur wius r»'uai(l('(l hy a littU> adventure. As h»' can- tered up to Tjondon with two servants and a post-boy, all riding on horsi's ordered in relays beforehand, he came up with an antediluvian coach, stu<-k fast by the road- side. Lookintj into the window, with the humane design of (piizzin;^ tlu^ elders who should be there, he saw a youni; lady of surpassing l)eauty. This altered the case; Sir Charles instantly drew bridle and offered his serv- i'-es. The laily thanked him, and. being an innocent country lady, she open»'d those sluices, her eyes, and two tears gently trickled down, while she told him how eager she was to reach London, and how mortified at this delay. The good Sir Charles was touched. He leaped his horse over a hedge, galloj)ed to a farmhouse in sight, and retunu'd with ropes and rustics. These and Sir (Charles's horses soon drew the coach out of some stittisli clay. The lady thanked him, and thanked him, and thanked him, with heightening color and beaming eyes, and he rode away like a hero. Before he had gone live miles he became thoughtful and self-dissatisfied. Finally his remorse came to a liead: he called to him the keenest of his servants, Hunsdon, and ordered him to ride back past the carriage, then follow and put up at the same inn, to learn who the lady was, and whither going, and, this knowledge gained. PEG WOFFINGTON. 67 to ride into town full speed, and tell his master all about it. Sir Charles then resumed his complacency, knd cantered into London that same evening. Arrived there, he set himself in earnest to cut out his friend with Mrs. Wofiington. He had already caused his correspondence with that lady to grow warm and more tender by degrees. Keeping a copy of his last, he always knew where he was. Cupid's barometer rose by rule ; and so he arrived by just gradations at an artful climax, and made her, in terms of chivalrous affection, an offer of a house, etc., three hundred a year, etc., not forgetting his heart, etc. He knew that the ladies of the stage have an ear for flattery, and an eye to the main chance. The good Sir Charles felt sure that however she might flirt with Vane or others, she would nt>t forego a position for any disinterested 'penchant. Still, as he was a close player, he determined to throw a little cold water on that flame. His plan, like everything truly scientific, was simple. " I'll run her down to him, and ridicule him to her," resolved this faithful friend and lover dear. He began with Vane. He found him just leaving his own house. After the usual compliments, some such dialogue as this took place between Telemachus and pseudo Mentor : — " I trust you are not really in the power of this actress ? " '' You are the slave of a word," replied Vane. " Would you confound black and white because both are colors ? She is like that sisterhood in nothing but a name. Even on the stage they have nothing in common. They are ];uppets — all attitude and trick: she is all ease, grace, and nature." " Nature ! " cried Pomander. '' Laissez-moi tranquille. Vol. 9—3 68 VKC. WOFFINCJTON. They hiivo artifu't* — ii:itur<''s liht'l. Slif has art — nature's counter tVit." " Her voice is truth toM by musie," pried the poetical lover: *' theirs are jingling instruments of falsehood." "They are all inslninients," said the satirist; "she is rather the best tuned and played. " " Her faoe speaks in every lineament : theirs are rouijed and wrinkled masks." "Her nuisk is the best made, mounted and moved ; that is all." " She is a fountain of true feelintj." "No; a pil)e that ronveys it without spilling or hold- ing a drop." "She is an aTiL,'el of talent, sir." " She's a devil of deception." "She is a divinity to worship." " Slu''s a wf)man to fight shy of. There is not a woman in Londoti better known," eontinu-d Sir CMiarles. " She is a fair actress on the boards, and a great actress off them ; but I can tell you how to add a new charm to her." " Heaven can only do that," said Vane hastily. "Yes, you can. Make her blu^h. Ask her for the list of your predecessors." Vane winced visibly. He cpiickeued his step, as if to get ritl of this gadHy. " I spoke to Mr. Quin," said he at last, " and he who has no prejudice paid her character the highest comj)li- ment." " You have paid it the highest it admits," was the reply. " You have let it deceive you." Sir Charles con- tinued in a more solemn tone, " Pray be warned. Why is it every man of intellect loves an actress once in his Life, and no man of sense ever did it twice?" This last hit, coming after the carte and tierce we PEG WOFFINGTON. 69 have described, brought an expression of pain to Mr. Vane's face. He said abruptly, " Excuse me, I desire to be alone for half an hour." Machiavel bowed, and, instead of taking offence, said, in a tone full of feeling, " Ah ! I give you pain. But you are right : think it calmly over awhile, and you will see I advise you well." He then made for the theatre, and the Aveakish per- sonage he had been playing upon walked down to the river, almost ran, in fact. He wanted to be out of sight. He got behind some houses, and then his face seemed literally to break loose from confinement, so anxious, sad, fearful and bitter were the expressions that coursed each other over that handsome countenance. What is the meaning of these hot and cold fits ? It is not Sir Charles who has the power to shake Mr. Vane so without some help from within. There is something wrong about this man ! 70 PEG wof:'in(;ton. CHAPTER VI. Machiavel ontercd the green-room, intending to wait for Mrs. Wottington and carry out the second part of his ])lan. He knew tliat \ve;ik minds cannot make head against ridicule, and with tliis pick-axe he proposed to clear the way before he came to grave, sensible, business love with the lady. Maehiavel was a man of talent. If he has been a silent parsonage liitherto, it is merely because it was not liis cue to t;ilk, but listen; otherwise, he was rather a master of the art of speech. He could be in- sinuating, elo(pient, sensible, or satirical, at will. This personage sat in the green-room. In one hand was his diamond snuff-box, in the other a richly laced handker- chief ; his clouded cane reposed by his side. There was an air of success about this personage. The gentle reader, however conceited a dog, could not see how he was to defeat Sir Charles, who was tall, stout, handsome, rich, witty, self-sufficient, cool, majestic, cour- ageous, and in whom were united the advantages of a hard head, a tough stomach, and no heart at all. This great creature sat expecting Mrs. Wottington, like Olympian Jove awaiting Juno. But he was mortal after all ; for suddenly the serenity of that adamrrtitine coun- tenance was disturbed : his eye dilated, his grace and dignity were shaken. He huddled his handkerchief into one pocket, his snuff-box into another, and forgot his cane. He ran to the door in unaffected terror. "Where are all his fine airs before a real danger ? Love, intrigue, diplomacy, were all driven from his PEG WOFFINGTON. 71 mind ; for he beheld that approaching, which is the greatest peril and disaster known to social man. He saw a bore coming into the room. In a wild thirst for novelty, Pomander had once pene- trated to Goodman's Fields Theatre ; there he had un- guardedly put a question to a carpenter behind the scene ; a seedy-black poet instantly pushed the carpenter away (down a trap it is thought), and answered it in seven pages, and in continuation was so vaguely commu- nicative, that he drove Sir Charles back into the far west. Sir Charles knew him again in a moment, and at sight of him bolted. They met at the door. " Ah ! Mr. Triplet," said the fugitive, " enchanted — to wish you good morning ! " and he plunged into the hiding-places of the theatre. "That is a very polite gentleman," thought Triplet. He was followed by the call-boy, to whom he was explain- ing that his avocations, though numerous, would not prevent his paying Mr. Rich the compliment of waiting all day in his green-room, sooner than go without an answer to three important propositions, in which the town and the arts were concerned. "What is your name ? " said the boy of business to the man of words. " Mr. Triplet," said Triplet. " Triplet ? There is something for you in the hall," said the urchin, and went off to fetch it. "I knew it," said Triplet to himself; "they are accepted. There's a note in the hall to fix the reading." He then derided his own absurdity in having ever for a moment desponded. " Master of three arts, by each of which men grow fat, how was it possible he should starve all his days ! " He enjoyed a natural vanity for a few moments, and 72 PEd WOFFINdTON. then came nmre goniTnus fi'cliiijjs. "What sparkling eyes tliere would be in Lambeth to-day ! The buteher, at sight of Mr. Rich's handwriting, would give him credit. Jane should havt; a new gown. But when his tra^'i'die.s were played, and he paid ! El Dorado! his children should be the neatest in the street. Lysiuiachus and Koxalana should learn the Eng- lish language, cost what it might; sausagi'S should be diurnal; and he himself would not be })uffed up, fat, lazy. Xo ! ho would work all the harder, be affable as ever, and above all, never swamp the father, husband, and honest man, in the poet and the blai;kguard of sentiment. Next his reflections took a business turn. "These tragedies — the scenery? Oh! 1 shall have to paint it myself. The herot-s ? Well, they have no- body wlu) will play them as I .should. (This was true I) It will be hard wurk, all this; but then, 1 shall be paid for it. I cannot go on this way; I must and will be paid separately for my branches," Just as he came to this resolution, the boy returned with a brown-paper parcel, addressed to >[r. James Triplet. Triplet weighed it in his hand; it was heavy. '' How is this ? " cried he. " Oh ! I see," said he, " these are the tragedies. He sends them to me for some trifling alterations : managers always do." Triplet then determined to adopt these alterations, if judicious; for, argued he sensibly enough : " Managers are practical men: and we, in the heat of composition, sometimes (sic?) say more than is necessary, and become tedious." With that he opened the parcel, and looked for Mr. Rich's communication ; it was not in sight. He had to look between the leaves of the manuscripts for it; it was not there. He shook them ; it did not fall out. He shook them as a dog shakes a rabbit ; nothing 1 PEG WOFFINGTON. 73 The tragedies were returned without a word. It took him some time to realize the full weight of the blow; but at last he saw that the manager of the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden, declined to take a tragedy by Triplet into consideration or bare examination. He turned dizzy for a moment. Something between a sigh and a cry escaped him, and he sank upon a cov- ered bench that ran along the wall. His poor tragedies fell here and there upon the ground, and his head went down upon his hands, which rested on ]\Irs. Woffington's picture. His anguish was so sharp, it choked his breath ; when he recovered it, his eye bent down upon the pict- ure. "Ah, Jane," he groaned, "you know this villan- ous world better than I ! " He placed the picture gently on the seat (that picture must now be turned into bread), and slowly stooped for his tragedies ; they had fallen hither and thither. He had to crawl about for them ; he was an emblem of all the humiliations letters en- dure. As he went after them on all-fours, more than one tear pattered on the dusty floor. Poor fellow ! he was Triplet, and could not have died without tinging the death-rattle with some absurdity ; but, after all, he was a father driven to despair; a castle-builder, with his work rudely scattered ; an artist, brutally crushed and insulted by a greater dunce than himself. Faint, sick, and dark, he sat a moment on the seat before he could find strength to go home and destroy all the hopes he had raised. Whilst Triplet sat collapsed on the bench, fate sent into the room all in one moment, as if to insult his sorrow, a creature that seemed the goddess of gayety, impervious to a care. She swept in with a bold free step, for she was rehearsing a man's part, and thundered without rant, but with a spirit and fire, and pace, beyond 74 PEo woFKiNtrroN. the confN'jttioii of our poor tame actresses of 1852, theae lines : " Now, by the joys Which my soul still has uncnntrolli'd pursmul, I woulil not turn il^'hU- from my least pleasure, Thou'^li all tliy furei- were armed to l)ar my way; liut. likr the binls, great Nature's happy eonununers, Kille tin- sweet.s" — " I be<^ — your par — don, sir! " holding the book on a level with her eye, she had nearly run over. "Two j)oets inst»'ad of one." " Nay, madam," said Triplet, admiring, though sad, wretched, but jtolite, '* pray continue. Happy the hearer, and still happier the author of verses so spoken. Ah ! " '' Yes," replied the lady, " if you could i)ersuade authors wiiat we do for them, when we coax good music to grow on barren words. Are you au author, sir?" added she slyly. " In a small way, madam. I have here three trifles — tragedies." Mrs. WolHngton looked askant at them like a shy mare. " Ah, madam ! " said Triplet, in one of his insane fits, "if I might but submit them to such a judgment as yours ? " He laid his hand on them. It was as when a strange dog sees us go to take up a stone. The actress recoiled. " I am no judge of such things," cried she hastily. Triplet bit his lip. He could have killed her. It was provoking, people would rather be hung than read a manuscript. Yet what hopeless trash they will read in crowds, which was manuscript a day ago. Les imbeciles f " No more is the manager of this theatre a judge of such things," cried the outraged quill-driver bitterly. PEG WOFFINGTON. 75 " What ! has he accepted them ? " said needle-tongue. " Xo, madam, he has had them six months ; and see, madam, he has returned them me without a word." Triplet's lip trembled. "Patience, my good sir," was the merry reply. " Tragic authors should possess that, for they teach it to their audiences. Managers, sir, are like Eastern mon- archs, inaccessible but to slaves and sultanas. . Do you know I called upon Mr. Rich fifteen times before I could see him ? " " You, madam ? Impossible ! " "Oh, it was years ago, and he has paid a hundred pounds for each of those little visits. Well, now, let me see, fifteen times ; you must write twelve more tragedies, and then he will read one ; and when he has read it, he will favor you with his judgment upon it ; and when you have got that, you will have what all the world knows is not worth a farthing. He ! he ! he ! ' And like the birds, gay Nature's happy commoners, Rifle the sweets ' — mum — mum — mum.' " Her high spirits made Triplet sadder. To think that one word from this laughing lady would secure his work a hearing, and that he dared not ask her. She was up in the world, he was down. She was great, he was nobody. He felt a sort of chill at this woman — all brains and no heart. He took his picture and his plays under his arms and crept sorrowfully away. The actress's eye fell on him as he went off like a fifth act. His Don Quixote face struck her. She had seen it before. " Sir," said she. " Madam," said Triplet, at the door. "We have met before. There, don't speak, I'll tell 76 vva; woffington. you who you are. Yours is a face tliat has been good to Die, and I never for^'et tht'in." '• Me, mudiini ? " said Triplet, taken aback. '* I trust I know what is due to you b»'tt«T than to be good to you, madam," said he, in his confused way. '•To bt' sure! " cried she, " it is Mr. Triplet, pood Mr. Trijjh't!'' And this vivacious damt\ putting her book down, seized both Tri[)h*t's hands and shook them. He shook hers warmly in return out of excess of timidity, and droppnl tragedies, and kicked at them con- vulsively when th«v wi-ro down, for fear they should be in her way, and his mouth opened, and his eyes glared. "Mr. Triplet," said the lady, "do you remember an Irish orange girl you used to give sixpence to at Good- man's Fitdds, and jKit her on tin- lu-ad and give her good advice, like a goo;reat Mrs. Wuttington has deijjned to remember nu', and call me friend." Such was Triplet's summary. Mrs. Wotfinjjton drew out her mem(irandum-l)ook. and took down her summary of the crafty TripU't's facts. So easy is it for us Trij)lets to draw the wool over the eyes of women and Woffin^^tons. *' Triplet, dischargetl from scene-painting, wife, no en- gagement; four children supported by his pen — that is tt) say, starving; lose no time!" She closed her U>ok ; and smiled, and said : " I wish th»'S»' things were comedies instead of trash- edies, as the French call them ; we would cut one in half, and slice away the finest passages, and then I would !U't in it; and you would see how the stage-door would tiy open at sight of the author." " Oh, Heaven ! " said poor Trip, excited by this pict- ure. " I'll go home, and write a comedy this moment." " Stay I " said she ; '• you had better leave the tragedies with me." •' My dear madam I You will read them ? " " Ahem I I will make poor Rich read them." " But, madam, he has rejected them." *' That is the first step. Reading them comes after, when it comes at all. What have you got in that green baize ? " *' In this green baize ? " " "Well, in this green baize, then." " Oh, madam ! nothing — nothing ! To tell the truth, it is an adventurous attempt from memory. I saw you play Silvia, madam ; I was so charmed, that I came every night. I took your face home with me — forgive my presumption, madam — and I produced this faint adumbration, which I expose with diffidence." PEG WOFFIXGTON. 79 So then he took the green baize off. The color rushed into her faee ; she was evidently gratified. Poor, silly !Mrs. Triplet was doomed to be right about this portrait. " I will give you a sitting," said she. " You will find painting dull faces a better trade than writing dull trage- dies. Work for other people's vanity, not your own ; that is the art of art. And now I want Mr. Triplet's address." " On the fly-leaf of each work, madam,'" replied that florid author, •• and also at the foot of every page which contains a particularly brilliant passage, I have been careful to insert the address of James Triplet, painter, actor, and dramatist, and Mrs. Woffington's humble, devoted servant." He bowed ridiculously low, and moved towards the door ; but something gushed across his heart, and he returned with lon^ strides to her. *• Madam I '" cried he. with a jaunty manner. •• you have inspired a son of Thespis with dreams of eloquence, you have tuned in a higher key a poet's lyre, you have tinged a painter's existence with brighter colors, and — and" — His mouth worked still, but no more artificial words would come. He sobbed out, " and God in heaven bless you, Mrs. Woffington ! " and ran out of the room. Mrs. Woffington looked after him with interest, for this confirmed her suspicions : but suddenly her expres- sion changed ; she wore a look we have not yet seen upon her — it was a half-cunning, half-spiteful look ; it was suppressed in a moment, she gave herself to her book, and presently Sir Charles Pomander sauntered into the room. " Ah ! what, Mrs. Woffington here ? " said the diplo- mate. " Sir Charles Pomander. I declare I " said the actress. " I have just parted with an admirer of yours." 80 rK<; woKi-iNciTON. "T wish I could part with th»>in all." was the reply. "A pastoral youth, who means to win La \\'()fhn/rtoii by agricultural courtship — as shepherds woo in sylvan shades." " With n;itiii pipi' tiic rustii- niaiiis,"' quoth the \VotKn<,'ton. improvising. The diploniatc lau^'hed, the actress laufjhed, and said, laughingly : " Tell me what he n'ti/s, word for word?" "It will u " — " Oh I do not t«*ll nu' you have ever loved before met I could not bear to hear it," cried this inconsistent per- 8onai,'e. The otlnT weak creature needed no more, ♦* I see plainly I never loved but you," said he. ** Let me hear that t)nly I" cried she ; " I am jealous even of the past. Say you never loved but nje : never mind whether it is true. My child, you do not even yt't know loviv Ernest, shall I make you hivi- — as none of your sex ever loved — with lu-art. and luain, and breath, and life, and soul ? " With tljese rapturous words she |M)ured the soul of love into his ♦•yes; he f«)r^ot evcrythini; in the world but her; he dissolved in j)resent happiness, and vowed him- self hers forever; and she, for her part, bade him but retain her esteem, and no woman ever went further in love than she w«)uld. Siie was a true epicure : slu- had learned that passion, vulgar in itself, is godlike when biised ujK)n esteem. This tender scene was interrupted by the call-boy, who brought Mrs. \V<)tliiii,'ton a note from the manager, informing her there would b<* no rehearsal. This left her at liberty, and she proceeded to take a somewhat abrupt leave of Mr. Vane. He was endeavoring to jtersuade her to let him be her companion until dinner-time (she was to be his guest), when Pomander entered the room. Mrs. Woffington. however, was not to be persuaded; she excused herself on the score of a duty which she said she had to perform, and whispering as she passed Pomander, " Keep your own counsel," she went out rather precipitately. Vane looked slightly disapi>f)inted. Sir Charles, who had returned to see whether (as he PEG WOFFINGTON. 87 fully expected) she had told Vane everything, and AS'ho, at that moment, perhaps, ■would not have been sorry had Mrs. "Woffington's lover called him to serious account, finding it was not her intention to make mischief, and not choosing to publish his own defeat, dropped quietly into his old line, and determined to keep the lovers in sight, and play for revenge. He smiled and said, " My good sir, nobody can hope to monopolize Mrs. Wof&ng- ton : she has others to do justice to besides you." To his surprise, Mr. Vane turned instantly round upon him, and lookiug him haughtily in the face, said, " Sir Charles Pomander, the settled malignity with which j-ou pursue that lady is unmanly and offensive to me, who love her. Let our acquaintance cease here, if you please, or let her be sacred from your venomous tongue." Sir Charles bowed stiffly, and replied, that it was only due to himself to withdraw a protection so little appre- ciated. The two friends were in the very act of separating for- ever, when who should ruu in but Pompey the renegade ? He darted up to Sir Charles and said. '• ^lassa Poman- nah, she in a coach, going to 10 Hercules Buildings. I'm in a hurry, !Massa Pomannah." '• "Where ? " cried Pomander. " Say that again." "10 Hercules Buildings, Lambeth. Me in a hurry, Massa Pomannah." " Faithful child, there's a guinea for thee. Fly ! " The slave flew, and, taking a short cut, caught and fastened on to the slow vehicle in the Strand. " It is a house of rendezvous," said Sir Charles, half to himself, half to ^Ir. Vane. He repeated in triumph, " It is a house of rendezvous." He then, recovering his sang- froid, and treating it all as a matter of course, explained that at 10 Hercules Buildings, was a fashionable shop, with entrances from two streets ; that the best Indian 88 VKV, VVOFFINGTON. scarfs and shawls w»'re sold there, and that ladies kept thfir earriap's waitiiij^ an inmu-nse time- in tin' princi- pal str«'«'t, whilst tln'v wrro sujiposcd to be in the shop or the show-room. He then went on to say that he had only this morninij lu'ard that the intinuu'y between Mrs. W'otlinj^ton ami a Colonel Murthwaiti', although pulv licly broken off for prudential reasons, was still elan- ilestinely carried on. She hiid, doubtless, slipped away to meet the colonel. Mr. Vane turned pale. ''No! 1 will not sus{)ect. I will not dog her like a bloodhound," cried he. ** I will," saiil I'oniander. "You? Hy what riK'iit?" '♦The ri;,'ht of euriosity. I will know whether it is you who are injposed on, or whether you are ri^'ht, and all the world is deceived in this woinan." He ran out; but, for all his speed, when he f»ot into the street, there was the jealous lover at his elbow. They darted with all speed into the Stmnd : got a coach. Sir Charles, on the box, gave Jehu a ^'uinea, and took the reins, and by a Niagara of whiiM'ord they attained Tjambeth ; and at length, to his delight, Toniander saw another coach before hinj with a gold-laced black slave behind it. The coacdi stopped, and the slave came to the door. The shop in (]uestion was a few hundred yards tlistant. The adroit Sir Charles not only stopjted, but turned his coach, ami let the horses crawl back towards London : he also tlogged the side panels to draw the attention of Mr. Vane. That gentleman looked through the little circular window at the back of the vehicle, and saw a lady paying the coachman. There was no mistaking her figure. This lady then, followed at a distance by her slave, walked on towards Hercules Buildings ; and it was his miserable fate to see her look PEG WOFFINGTON. 89 uneasily round, and at last glide in at a side door, close to the silk mercer's shop. The carriage stopped. Sir Charles came himself to the door. "Now, Vane," said he, "before I consent to go any- further in this business, you mvist promise me to be cool and reasonable. I abhor absurdity ; and there must be no swords drawn for this little hypocrite." "I submit to no dictation," said Vane, white as a sheet. "You have benefited so far by ray knowledge," said the other, politely ; " let me, who am self-possessed, claim some influence with you." " Forgive me," said poor Vane. " My ang — my sorrow that such an angel should be a monster of deceit " — He could say no more. They walked to the shop. "How she peeped, this way, and that," said Pomander; " sly little Woffy ! "No; on second thoughts," said he, ''it is the other street we must reconnoitre ; and if we don't see her there, we will enter the shop, and by dint of this purse^ we shall soon untie the knot of the Woffington riddle." Vane leaned heavily on his tormentor. " I am faint," said he. "Lean on me, my dear friend," said Sir Charles. " Your weakness will leave you in the next street." In the next street they discovered — nothing. In the shop they found — no Mrs. Woffington. They returned to the principal street. Vane began to hope there was no positive evidence. Suddenly, three stories up, a fiddle was heard. Pomander took no notice, but Vane turned red ; this put Sir Charles upon the scent. " Stay," said he. " Is not that an Irish tune ? " Vane groaned. He covered his face with his hands, and hissed out : 90 rE(i \V()FF1N(;ton. " It is her favorite tune." " Aha I " said Pomander. " Follow me ! " They crept up the stairs, Pomander in advance; they heard the signs of an Irish orgie — a rattling jig played, and danced with the inspiriting interjections of that frolicsome nation. These sounds ceased after awhile, and Pomander laid his hand on his friend's shoulder: " I prepare you," said he, " for what you are sure to see. This woman wa.s an Irish bricklayer's daughter, and ' what is bred in the bone never comes out of tho flesh;' you will find her sitting on soin<- Irishman's knee, whose limbs are ever so much stouter than yours. You are the man of her head, and this is the man of her heart. These things would be monstrous," if they were not common ; incredible, if w»' did not see them every day. But this jMKir fellow, whom probal)ly she deceives as well as you, is not to be sacrificed like a dog to your unjust wrath ; he is as siiperior to her, as you are to him." " I will commit no violence," said \'aiic. " I still hope she is innocent." Pomander smiled, and said he hoped so too. " And if she is what you think. I will but show her she is known, and blaming myself as much as her — oh, yes I more than her! — I will go down this night to Shropshire, and never speak word to her again in this world or the next." "Good." said Sir Charles. " ' Le bruit est pour le fat. la plainte est pour le sot, L'honnete homme tromp6 s'^ioigne et ne dit mot.' " Are you ready ? " "Yes." " Then follow me." Turning the handle gently, he opened the door like PEG WOFFINGTON. 91 lightning, and was in the room. Vane's head peered over his shoulder. She was actually there ! For once in her life, the cautious artful woman was taken by surprise. She gave a little scream, and turned as red as fire. But Sir Charles surprised somebody else even more than he did poor Mrs. Woffington. It would be impertinent to tantalize my reader, but I flatter myself this history is not written with power enough to do that, and I may venture to leave him to guess whom Sir Charles Pomander surprised more than he did the actress, while I go back for the lagging sheep. 92 I'EU WOFKINGTON. CHAriER VI ri. Jamks Tuu'lkt, watfr in liis eye, but fire in liis heart, went home on win.L;s. Arrived there, lie anticiputecl curiosity l)y inlonning all hands he should answer no questions. Only in the intervals of a work, which was to take the family out of all its troubles, he should gradually unfold a tale, verging on the marvellous — a tale whose only fault was, that fiction, by which alone the family could hope to be great, paled beside it. He then seized some sheets of pa|)er, fished out some old dramatic sketches, and a list of dramatis personcp, ])re- pared years ago, and plunged into a comedy. As he wrote, true to his promise, he painted, Triplet-wise, that story whii'h we have coldly related, and made it appear to all but Mrs. Triplet, that he was under the tutela, or express protection of ^Irs. Wottington. who would push his fortunes until the only difficulty would be to keep arrogance out of the family heart. Mrs. Triplet groaned aloud. " You have brought the picture home, I see," said she. " Of course I have. She is going to give me a sitting." "At what hour of what day?" said Mrs. Triplet, with a world of meaning. " She did not say," replied Triplet, avoiding his wife's eye. , "I know she did not," was the answer. "I would rather you had brought me the ten shillings than this fine story," said she. " Wife," said Triplet, •' don't put me into a frame of mind in which successful comedies are not written." PEG WOFFINGTON. 93 He scribbled away, but bis wife's despondenc}' told upon the man of disappointments. Then he stuck fast ; then he became fidgety. " Do keep those children quiet ! " said the father. " Hush, my 4ears," said the mother ; " let your father write. Comedy seems to give you more trouble than tragedy, James," added she soothingly. " Yes," was his answer. " Sorrow comes, somehow, more natural to me ; but for all that I have got a bright thought, Mrs. Triplet. Listen, all of you. You see, Jane, they are all at a sumptuous banquet, all the dramatis persona;, except the poet." Triplet went on writing, and reading his work out : " Music, sparkling wine, massive plate, rose-water in the hand-glasses, soup, fish — shall I have three sorts of fish ? I will ; they are cheap in this market. Ah ! Fortune, you wretch, here, at least, I am your master, and I'll make you know it — venison," wrote Triplet, with a malicious grin, " game, pickles, and provocatives in the centre of the table, then up jumps one of the guests, and says he " — " Oh, dear, I am so hungry." This was not from the comedy, but from one of the boys. " And so am I," cried a girl. " That is an absurd remark, Lysimachus," said Triplet, with a suspicious calmness. " How can a boy be hungry three hours after break- fast ? " " But, father, there was no breakfast for breakfast." '' Now I ask you, Mrs. Triplet," appealed the author, " how am I to write comic scenes if you let Lysimachus and Roxalana here, put the heavy business in every five minutes ? " " Forgive them ; the poor things are hungry." 94 VK(, WOFIMNGTON. ••Th»'n let thorn !)»• himj^ry in another room," said th«' irritatod scribe. "They shan't cling round my pen, an< inich), to write acorn — com — " he choked a moment ; then in a very different voice, all sadness and tenderness, lie s^aid, " Where's the youngest — where's Lucy ? As if I didn't know you are hungry." Lucy came to him directly. He took her on his kne*-, pressed her gently to his side, and wrote silently. The others were still. *• Father," said Lucy, aged five, the germ of a woman, '* I am not tho very hungry.'' "And I am not hungry at all," said bluff Lysiniachus, taking his sister's cue ; then going upon his own tact h'- added. •• I had a great piece of bread and butter yester- day : " "Wife, they will drive me mad I " and he dashed at the pa|H*r. The second boy explained to his mother, sotfo vorc : " Mother, he made us hungry out of his book." " It is a beautiful book," said Lucy. " Is it a cookery book ? " Triplet roared ; " Do you hear that ? " inquired he, all trace of ill-humor gone. " Wife,'' he resumed, after a gallant scribble, " I took that sermon I wrote." "And beautiful it was, James. I'm sure it quite PEG WOFFINGTON. 95 cheered me up with thinking, that we shall all be dead before so very long."' "Well, the reverend gentleman would not have it. He said it was too hard upon sin. ' You run at the devil like a mad bull,' said he. ' Sell it in Lambeth, sir ; here calmness and decency are before everything,' says he. ' ]My congregation expect to go to heaven down hill. Perhaps the chaplain of Newgate might give you a crown for it,' said he," and Triplet dashed vicious- ly at the paper. "Ah!" sighed he, "if my friend Mrs. Woffington would but drop these stupid comedies and take to tragedy, this house would soon be all smiles." " James ! " replied Mrs. Triplet, almost peevishly, " how can you expect anything but fine words from that woman ? You won't believe what all the world says. You will trust to 3-our own good heart." "I haven't a good heart,"' said the poor honest fellow. "I spoke like a brute to you just now." "Never mind, James," said the woman; "I wonder how you put up with me at all — a sick, useless creature. I often wish to die, for your sake. I know you would do better. I am such a weight round your neck." The man made no answer, but he put Lucy gently down, and went to the woman, and took her forehead to his bosom, and held it there j and after awhile, returned with silent energy to his comedy. "Play us a tune on the fiddle, father." " Ay, do, husband. That helps you often in your writing." Lysimachus brought him the fiddle, and Triplet essayed a merrj- tune ; but it came out so doleful, that he shook his head, and laid the instrument down. Music must be in the heart, or it will come out of the fingers — notes, not music. 96 PEC. WOFFINLiTON. " No," said he ; " let us be serious and finish this comedy slaj) off. Perhaps it hitches because I forgot to invoke the comic muse. She must be a Vjlack-hearted jade, if she doesn't come with merry notions to a poor devil, starving in the midst of his hungry little ones." '• We are past help from heathen goddesses,'' said the woman. " We must i)ray to Heaven to look down upon us and our children." The man looked up with a very bad expression on his countenance. " You forget," said he, siillenly, '"' our street is very narrow, and the opposite houses are very high." " James I " " How can Heaven be expected to see what honest folk endure in so dark a hole as this ? " cried the man fiercely. "James," said the woman, with fear and sorrow, " what words are these '.' " The man rose, and flung his pen upon the floor. "Have we given honesty a fair trial — yes or no?" "No!" said the woman, without a mouient's hesita- tion ; " not till we die as we have lived. Heaven is higher than the sky ; children," said she, lest perchance her husband's words should have harmed their young souls — " the sky is above the earth, and heaven is higher than the sky ; and Heaven is just." " I suppose it is so," said the man, a little cowed by her. " Everybody says so. I think so, at bottom, myself ; but 1 can't see it. I want to see it, but I can't ! " cried he fiercely. " Have my children offended Heaven ? They will starve — they will die ! If I was Heaven, I'd be just, and send an angel to take these children's part. They cried to me for bread — I had no bread ; so I gave them hard words. The moment I had done that, 1 knew it was all over. God knows, it took a long while to break my heart; but it is broken at last; quite, quite broken ! broken ! broken 1 " PEG WOFFINGTON. 97 And the poor thing laid his head upon the table, and sobbed, beyond all power of restraint. The children cried round him, scarce knowing why ; and Mrs. Triplet could only say, " My poor husband ! " and prayed and wept upon the couch where she lay. It was at this juncture that a lady, who had knocked gently and unheard, opened the door, and with a light step, entered the apartment ; but no sooner had she caught sight of Triplet's anguish, than saying hastily, " Stay, I forgot something,'' she made as hasty an exit. This gave Triplet a moment to recover himself ; and Mrs. Woffington, whose lynx-eye had comprehended all at a glance, and who had determined at once what line to take, came flying in again saying : — "Wasn't somebody inquiring for an angel? Here I am. See, Mr. Triplet," and she showed him a note, which said, " Madam, you are an angel." — " From a perfect stranger," explained she ; " so it must be true." " Mrs. Woffington," said Mr. Triplet to his wife. Mrs. Woffington planted herself in the middle of the floor, and with a comical glance, setting her arms akim- bo, uttered a shrill whistle. "Now you will see another angel — there are two sorts of them." Pompey came in with a basket : she took it from him. " Lucifer, avaunt ! " cried she, in a terrible tone, that drove him to the wall ; " and wait outside the door," added she, conversationally. " I heard you were ill, ma'am, and I have brought you some physic — black draughts from Burgundy ; " and she smiled. And, recovered from their first surprise, young and old began to thaw beneath that witching, irre- sistible smile. " Mrs. Triplet, I have come to give your husband a sitting ; will you allow me to eat my little luncheon with you ? I am so hungry." Then she 7 98 PEG WOIKINGTUN. clapped her hands, and in ran Pouipcy. She sent him for a pie she j)rotVssed to have fallen in love with at the corner of the street. ** Mother,"' said Altilii:uli's, •• will the lady give me a bit of her pie ? " " Hush I you ruile boy I " cried the mother. " She is not much of a lady if she does not," cried Mrs. Woffington. *' Now, cliildren, first let us look at — ahem — a comedy. Nineteen drumutis personw ! What do you say, children, shall we cut out seven, or nine *.' that is the cpiestion. You can't briii;.,' your armies into our drawing-rooms, Mr. Dagger-and-bowl. Are you the Marl- borough of comedy ? Can you marshal battalions on a Turkey carpet, and make gentlefolks witty in platoons? "What is this in the Hrst act ? A duel, and both wounded ! You butcher ! " "They are not to die, ma'am!" cried Triplet, depre- eatingly ; "upon my honor," said he, solemnly, spreading his hands on his bosom. "Do you think I'll trust their lives with you '.' No I Give me a pen : this is the way tve run jjcople through the body." (Then she wrote " business : " Araminta looks out of the garret window. Combatants drop tlu'ir swords, put their hands to their hearts, and stagger off 0. P. and P. S.) " Now, children, who helps me to lay the cloth ? " " I ! " " And I ! " (The children run to the cupboard.) Mrs. Triplet (half rising). Madam, I — can't think of allowing you. Mrs. Woffington replied, " Sit down, madam, or I must use brute force. If you are ill, be ill — till I make you well. Twelve plates, quick ! Twenty-four knives, quicker ! Forty-eight forks, quickest I " She met the cliildren with the cloth and laid it ; then she met them PEG WOFFINGTON. 99 again and laid knives and forks, all at full gallop, which mightily excited the bairns. Pompey came in with the pie ; Mrs. Woffington took it and set it before Triplet. Mrs. Woffington. Your coat, Mr. Triplet, if you please. Mr. Triplet. My coat, madam ! Mrs. Woffington. Yes, off with it, — there's a hole in it, — and carve. (Then she whipped to the other end of the table and stitched like wild-fire.) Be pleased to cast your eyes on that, Mrs. Triplet. Pass it to the lady, young gentleman. Fire away, Mr. Triplet, never mind us women. Woffington's housewife, ma'am, fear- ful to the eye, only it holds everything in the world, and there is a small space for everything else — to be re- turned by the bearer. Thank you, sir. (Stitches away like lightning at the coat.) Eat away, children ! now is your time. When once I begin, the pie will soon end ; I do everything so quick. Roxalana. The lady sews quicker than you, mother. Woffington. Bless the child, don't come so near my sword-arm ; the needle will go into your eye, and out at the back of your head. This nonsense made the children giggle. " The needle will be lost — the child no more — enter undertaker — house turned topsy-turvy — father shows Woffington to the door — off she goes with a face as long and dismal as some peopia's comedies — no names — crying fine cha-ney oran-ges." The children, all but Lucy, screeched with laughter. Lucy said gravely, — " Mother, the lady is very funny." " You will be as funny, when you are as well paid for it." This just hit poor Trip's notion of humor; and he began to choke, with his mouth full of pie. " James, take care," said Mrs. Triplet, sad and solemn. James looked up. Vol. 9 — 4 100 PPX; WOFFINGTON. '' My wife is a gfMxl woman, nuulain," said hv. ; " but deficient in an important particular." " O James ! " ** Yes, my dear. I regret to saj' you have no sense of humor; nummore than a cat, Jane." " Wliat ! because the poor thing can't laugh at your comedy ? " ** No, ma'am ; but she laughs at nothing." '•'Pry her with one of your tragedies, my lad." " 1 am sure, James," said the j)oor, good, lackadaisical woman, ''if I don't laugh, it is not for want of the will. I used to be a very heaity laugher," whined she; *• but I haven't laughed this two years." " Uh, indeed ! '' said the Woffington. •• Then the next two years 3'ou shall do nothing els»'.'' "Ah, madam !" said Triplet. "That passes the art, even of the great comedian." '• Does it ? " said the actress coolly. Luri/. She is not a comedy lady. You don't ever cry, pretty la«ly ? Woffington (ironically). Oh ! of course not. Lunj (confidentially). Comedy is crying. Father cried all the time he was writing his one. Triplet turned red as fire. " Hold your tongue," said he ; '' I was bursting with merriment. Wife, our children talk too much ; they put their noses into everything, and criticise their own father." " Unnatural offspring ! " laughed the visitor. ''And when they take up a notion, Socrates couldn't convince them to the contrary. For instance, madam, all this morning they thought fit to assume that they were starving." "So we were," said Lysimachus, ''until the angel came, and the devil went for the pie." PEG WOFFINGTON. 101 " There, there, there I Xow, you mark my words ; we shall never get that idea out of their heads " — " Until,'' said Mrs. Woffington, lumping a huge cut of pie into Koxalana's plate, " we put a very different idea into their stomachs."' This and the look she cast on Mrs. Triplet, fairly caught that good, though sombre personage. She giggled : put her hand to her face, and said, '• I'm sure I ask your pardon, ma'am." It was no use ; the comedian had determined they should all laugh, and they were made to laugh. Then she rose, and showed them how to drink healths a la Frangaise ; and keen were her little admirers, to touch her glass with theirs. And the pure wine she had brought did Mrs. Triplet much good, too ; though not so much as the music and sunshine of her face and voice. Then, when their stomachs were full of good food, and the soul of the grape tingled in their veins, and their souls glowed under her great magnetic power, she sud- denlj- seized the fiddle, and showed them another of her enchantments. She put it on her knee, and played a tune that would have made gout, colic, and phthisic dance upon their last legs. She played to the eye as well as to the ear, with such a smart gesture of the bow, and such a radiance of face as she looked at them, that whether the music came out of her wooden shell, or her horsehair wand, or her bright self, seemed doubtful. They pranced on their chairs ; they could not keep still. She jumped up, so did they. She gave a wild Irish horroo. She put the fiddle in Triplet's hand. " The wind that shakes the barley, ye divil ! " cried she. Triplet went ho7's de lui; he played like Paganini or an intoxicated demon. Woffington covered the buckle in gallant style ; she danced, the children danced. Trip- let fiddled and danced, and flung his limbs in wild dislo- 102 PKG NVOFKINGTON. cation; the wine-glassrs danpod ; and last. Mrs. Triplet was observed to be bobbing about on her sofa, in a monstrous absurd way, droning out the tune, and play- ing her hands with mild enjoyment, all to herself. Woffington pointed out this pantomimic soliloquy to the two l)oys. with a glanee full of fiery meaning. This was enough : with a fiendish yell, they fell upon her, and tore her, shrieking, off the sofa. And lo ! wht'U she was once launched, she danced up to her husband, and set to him with a meek deliberation, that was as funny as any part of the scene. So then the mover of all this slipped on one side, and let the stone of merriment roll — and roll it did. There was no swimming, sprawling, or irrelevant frisking; their feet struck the ground for every note of the fiddle, pat as its echo, their faces shone, their hearts leaped, aiul their poor frozt-n natures came out and warmed themselves at the glowing melody; a great sunbeam had come into their abode, and these human nuites danced in it. The elder ones recovered their gravity first. They sat down breathless, and put their hands to their hearts ; they looked at one another, and then at the goddess who had revived them. Their first feeling was wonder; were they the same, who, ten minutes ago, were weeping together ? Yes ! ten min- utes ago they were rayless, joyless, hopeless. Now, the sun was in their hearts, and sorrow and sighing were fled, as fogs disperse before the god of day. It was magical ; could a mortal play upon the soul of man, woman, and child like this ? Happy Woffington ! and suppose this was more than half acting, but such acting as Triplet never dreamed of; and to tell the honest simple truth, I, myself, should not have suspected it: but children are sharper than one would think, and Alcibiades Triplet told, in after years, that when they were all dancing except the lady, he caught sight of her PEG WOFFINGTON. 103 face, and it was quite, quite grave, and even sad : but as often as she saw him look at her, she smiled at him so gayly, he couldn't believe it was the same face. If it was art, glory be to such art so worthily applied ! and honor to such creatures as this, that come like sun- shine into poor men's houses, and tune drooping hearts to daylight and hope ! The wonder of these worthy people soon changed to gratitude. Mrs. Woffington stopped their mouths at once. "No, no!" cried she; "if you really love me, no scenes ; I hate them. Tell these brats to kiss me, and let me go. I must sit for my picture after dinner ; it is a long way to Bloomsbury Square." The children needed no bidding ; they clustered round her, and poured out their innocent hearts as children only do. " I shall pray for you after father and mother," said one. "I shall pray for you after daily bread," said Lucy, " because we were tho hungry till you came ! " " My poor children ! " cried Woffington, and hard to grown-up actors, as she called us, but sensitive to chil- dren, she fairly melted as she embraced .them. It was at this precise juncture that the door was uncere- moniously opened, and the two gentlemen burst upon the scene ! My reader now guesses whom Sir Charles Pomander surprised more than he did Mrs. \Yoffington. He could not for the life of him comprehend what she was doing, and what was her ulterior object. The nil admirari of the fine gentleman deserted him, and he gazed open- mouthed, like the veriest chaw-bacon. Tli£ actress, unable to extricate herself in a moment from the children, stood there like Charity, in New Col- 104 PF.r. WOFFINGTON. lege Chapel, whilst the mother kissed her hand, and the father quii'tly droppfil t«';irs, like some leaden water-god in tilt' middU* of a fountain. Vane turned hot and cold hy turns, with joy and shame. Pomanders genius came to the aid of their em- barrassment. " Kollow my lead," whisperrd he. " What ! Mrs. Wothngton here ! " eried he ; then he advanced l)usiness- like to Triplet. "We are aware, sir, of your various talents, and are eome to make a demand on them. I, sir, am the unfortunate possessor of frescos ; time has im- pairi'd tlieir indcdicacy, no man can restore it as you can." " Augh ! sir ! sir I " said the gratitied goose. " My Cui)id's hows are walking-sticks, and my Venus's noses are snubl)ed. You must set all that straight, on your own terms, Mr. Triplet." "In a single morning all shall bloom again, sir! Whom would you wish them to resemble in feature ? I have lately been ])raisfd for my skill in portraiture." (Glancing at Mrs. Wottington.) " Oh ! " said Pomander, carelessly, " you need not go far for Venuses and Cui)ids, I suj)po3e ? " "I see, sir; my wife and children. Thank you, sir; thank you." Pomander stared ; Mrs. Woffington laughed. Now it was Vane's tiirn. " Let me have a copy of verses from your pen. I shall have five poimds at your disposal for them." " The world has found me out ! " thought Triplet, blinded by his vanity. "The subject, sir ?" /" No matter," said Vane, " no matter." " Oh ! of course it does not matter to me," said Triplet, with some hauteur, and assuming poetic omnip- otence. "' Only, when one knows the subject, one can sometimes make the verses apply better." PEG WOFFINGTON. 105 "Write, then, since you are so confident, uppn Mrs. Woffington." "Ah! that is a subject I They shall be ready in an hour ! " cried Trip, in whose imagination Parnassus was a raised counter. He had in a tea-cup some lines on Venus and Mars, which he could not but feel would fit Thalia and Croesus, or Genius and Envy, equally well. "In one hour, sir,'' said Triplet, "the article shall be executed, and delivered at your house." Mrs. Woffington called Vane to her, with an engaging smile. A month ago, he would have hoped she would not have penetrated him and Sir Charles ; but he knew her better now. He came ti'embling. " Look me in the face, Mr. Vane," said she gently, but firmly. " I cannot ! " said he. " How can I ever look you in the face again ? " " Ah ! you disarm me ! But I must strike you, or this will never end. Did I not promise that when you had earned my esteem, I would tell you — what no mortal knows — Ernest, my whole story ? I delay the confes- sion ; it will cost me so many blushes — so many tears ! And yet I hope, if you knew all, you would pity and forgive me. Meantime, did I ever tell you a falsehood?" " Oh, no ! " "Why doubt me then, when I tell you that I hold all your sex cheap, but you ? Why suspect me of Heaven knows what, at the dictation of a heartless, brainless fop — on the word of a known liar, like the world ? " Black lightning flashed from her glorious eyes, as she administered this ro3-al rebuke. Vane felt what a poor creature he was, and his face showed such burning shame and contrition, that he obtained his pardon without speaking. " There," said she, kindly, " do not let us torment ooe 106 pEf; \V()FriN(;TON. another. I forgive you. Let me make you happy, Ernest. Is that a great favor to ask ? I can make you hapj)ier than your l)rightest dream of hapj)iness, if you will let yourself he happy." They rejoined the others; hut Vane turned his back on Pomander, and would not look at him. "Sir Charles," said Mrs. Woftington, gayly; for she scorned to admit the fine gentleman to the rank of a ])ermanent enemy, "you will be of our party, I trust, at dinner?" *' Why, no, madam ; I fear I cannot give myself that pleasure to-day." Sir Charles did not choose to swell the triumph. "Mr. Vane, good day I " said he, rather dryly. *' Mr. Triplet — madam — your most obedient ! " and, self-possessed at top, but at bottom crestfallen, he l)Owed himself away. Sir Charles, however, on descending the stair and gaining the street, caught sight of a horseman, riding uncertainly about, and making his horse curvet to at- tract attention. He soon recognized one of his own horses, and upon it the servant he had left behind to dog that poor innocent country lady. The servant sprang off his horse and touched his hat. He informed his master that he had kept with the carriage until ten o'clock this morning, when he had ridden away from it at Barnet, having duly pumped the servants as opportunity offered. " Who is she ? " cried Sir Charles. '• Wife of a Cheshire squire. Sir Charles," was the reply. " His name ? Whither goes she in town ? " " Her name is Mrs. Vane, Sir Charles. She is going to her husband." " Curious I " cried Sir Charles. " I wish she had no husband. No ! I wish she came from Shropshire," and he chuckled at the notion. PEG WOFFINGTON. 107 " If you please, Sir Charles," said the man, " is not Willoughby in Cheshire ? " " No," cried his master; "it is in Shropshire. What! eh ! Five guineas for you if that lady comes from Wil- loughby in Shropshire." " That is where she comes from then, Sir Charles, and she is going to Bloomsbury Square." " How long have they been married ? " " Not more than twelve months, Sir Charles." Pomander gave the man ten guineas instead of five on the spot. Reader, it was too true ! Mr. Vane — the good, the decent, the church-goer — Mr. Vane, whom Mrs. Woffing- ton had selected to improve her morals — Mr. Vane was a married man ! 108 VFT, WorFINGTON. CllAl'TKi: IX. As soon as Pomand»^r had drawn his breath and real- ized this discovery he darted up-stairs. and with all the demure calmness he could assume, told Mr. Vane, whom he met desceiidint,'. tliat he was liappy to find his enijage- ments permitted liim to join the party in Bloomsbury Square. He then flung himself upon his servant's horse. Like lago, he saw the indistinct outline of a glorious and a most malicious plot; it lay crude in his liead and heart at present; thus much he saw clearly, that if he could time Mrs. Vane's arrival so that she should pounce upon the WolKngton at her husband's table, he might be present at and enjoy the public discomfiture of a man and woman who had wounded his vanity, liidding his servant make the best of his way to Bloomsbury Square, Sir Charles gallojiod in that direction liimself, intending first to inquire whether ^Irs. Vane was arrived, and if not, to ride towards Islington and meet her. His plan was frustrated by an accident ; galloping round a corner, his horse did not change his leg cleverl}', and, the pave- ment being also loose, slipped and fell on his side, throw- ing his rider upon the trotfoir. The horse got up and trembled violently, but was unhurt. The rider lay motionless, except that his legs quivered on the pave- ment. They took him up and conveyed him into a druggist's shop, the master of which practised chirurgery. He had to be sent for; and before he could be found, Sir Charles recovered bis reason — so much so, that when the chirurgeon approached with his fleam to bleed him, according to the practice of the day, the patient drew his PEG WOFFINGTON. 109 sword, and assured the other he would let out every drop of blood in his body if he touched him. He of the shorter but more lethal weapon hastily retreated. Sir Charles flung a guinea on the counter, and mounting his horse rode him off rather faster than before this accident. There was a dead silence ! "I believe that gentleman to be the devil," said a thoughtful bystander. The crowd (it was a century ago) assented nem. con. Sir Charles arrived in Bloomsbury Square, found that the whole party was assembled. He therefore ordered his servant to parade before the door, and if he saw Mrs. Vane's carriage enter the square, to let him know, if possible, before she could reach the house. On enter- ing he learned that Mr. Vane and his guests were in the garden (a very fine one), and joined them there. Mrs. Vane demands another chapter, in which I will tell the reader who she was, and what excuse her hus- band had for his liaison with Margaret Woffiugton. no PEG WOFFINGTON. CHAPTER X. Mabel Chester was the beauty and toast of South Shropshire. Slie had refused the hand of half the coun- try squires in a circle of some dozen miles, till at last Mr. Vane became her suitor. Besides a handsome face and person, Mr. Vane hatl accomplishments his rivals did not possess. He read poetry to her on mossy banks, an hour before sunsi-t, and awakened sensibilities, which her other suitors shocked, and they them. The lovely Mabel had a taste for beautiful things, with- out any excess of that severe quality called judgment. I will explain. If you or I, reader, had read to her in the afternoon, amidst the smell of roses and eglantine, the chirp of the mavis, the hum of bees, the twinkling of butterflies, and the tinkle of distant sheep, something that combined all these sights, and sounds, and smells — say Milton's musical picture of Eden, T. L., lib. 3, and after that " Triplet on Kew,'* she would have instantly pronounced in favor of '' Eden ; " but if we had read her "Milton," and Mr. Vane had read her "Triplet," she would have as unhesitatingly preferred " Kew " to " I'aradise," She was a true daughter of Eve ; the lady who, when an angel was telling her and her husband the truths of heaven in heaven's own music, slipped away into the kitchen, because she preferred hearing the story at second- hand, incumbered with digressions, and in mortal but marital accents. When her mother, who guarded Mabel like a dragon, told her Mr. Vane was not rich enough, and she really PEG WOFFINGTON. Ill must not give him so many opportunities, Mabel cried and embraced the dragon, and said " mother ! " The dragon, finding her ferocity dissolving, tried to shake her off, but the goose would cry and embrace the dragon till it melted. By and by Mr. Vane's uncle died suddenly and left him the great Stoken Church estate, and a trunk full of Jacobuses and Queen Anne's guineas — his own hoard and his father's — then the dragon spake comfortably, and said, — " My child, he is now the richest man in Shropshire. He will not think of you now ; so steel your heart." Then Mabel, contrary to all expectations, did not cry ; but with flushing cheek, pledged her life upon Ernest's love and honor. And Ernest, as soon as the funeral, etc., left him free, galloped to Mabel, to talk of our good fortune. The dragon had done him injustice ; that was not his weak point. So they were married ! and they were very, very happy. But one month after, the dragon died, and that was their first grief; but they bore it together. And Vane was not like the other Shropshire squires. His idea of pleasure was something his wife could share. He still rode, walked, and sat with her, and read to her, and composed songs for her, and about her, which she played and sang prettily enough, in her quiet lady-like way, and in a voice of honey dropping from the comb. Then she kept a keen eye upon him ; and when she dis- covered what dishes he liked, she superintended those herself ; and observing that he never failed to eat of a certain lemon pudding the dragon had originated, she always made this pudding herself, and she never told her husband she made it. The first seven months of their marriage was more like blue sky than brown earth ; and if any one had told 112 i'K<; woi riNCTON. Mubfl that Ikt husband was a mortal, and not an angel, sent to her, that her days and nights might be unmixed, unintermpted heaven, slu' could hardly have realized the infonuation. When a vexatious litigant began to contest the will by which Mr. Vane was Lord of Stoken Church, and Mr. Vane went up to Tiondon to concert the proper means of defeating this attack, Mrs. Vane would gladly have com- pounded by giving the man two or three thousand acres, or the whole estate, if he wouldn't take less, not to rob her of her husband for a month ; but she was docile, as she w;us amorous ; so she cried (out of sight) a week, and let her darling go, with every misgiving a loving heart could have ; but one ! and that one, her own heart told her. was impossible. The month rolled away — no symptom of a return. For this, Mr. Vane was not, in fact, to blame ; but, towards the end of the next month, business became a conven- ient excuse. When three months had passed, Mrs. Vane became unhappy. She thought he too must feel the separation. She offered to come to him. He answered uncandidly. He urged the length, the fatigue of the journey. She was silenced; but some time later she began to take a new view of his objections. ''He is so self-denying," said she. "Dear Ernest, he longs for me; but he thinks it selfish to let me travel so far alone to see him." Full of this idea, she yielded to her love. She made her preparations, and wrote to him that if he did not forbid her peremptorily, he must expect to see her at his breakfast-table in a very few days. Mr. Vane concluded this was a jest, and did not answer this letter at all. IMrs. Vane started. She travelled with all speed ; but coming to a halt at , she wrote to her husband PEG WOFFINGTON. 113 that she counted on being with him at four of the clock on Thursday. This letter preceded her arrival by a few hours. It was put into his hand at the same time with a note from Mrs. Woffington ; telling him she should be at a rehearsal at Covent Garden. Thinking his wife's letter would keep, he threw it on one side into a sort of a tray ; and after a hurried breakfast, went out of his house to the theatre. He returned, as we are aware, with Mrs, Woffington ; and also, at her request, with Mr. Gib' ter, for whom they called on their way. He had forgotten his wife's letter, and was entirely occupied with his guests. Sir Gharles Pomander joined them, and found Mr. Colander, the head domestic of the London establish- ment, cutting with a pair of scissors every flower Mrs. Woffington fancied, that lady having a passion for flowers. Colander, during his temporary absence from the interior, had appointed James Burdock to keep the house, and receive the two remaining guests, should they arrive. This James Burdock was a faithful old country serv- ant, who had come up with Mr. Vane, but left his heart at Willoughb}^ James Burdock had for some time been ruminating, and his conclusion was, that his mistress, Miss Mabel (as by force of habit he called her), was not treated as she deserved. Burdock had been imported into Mr. Vane's family by Mabel ; he had carried her in his arms when she was a child ; he had held her upon a donkey when she was a little girl ; and when she became a woman, it was he who taught her to stand close to her horse, and give him her foot, and spring while he lifted her steadily but strongly into her saddle, and when there, it was he who 8 114 PE(; W()Kfin(;ton. liad instructed her that a horse was not a machine, that gallopinj,' tir»'S it in tim«', and that gallo|)iii;^' it or. the hard road lianinu'rs it to pieces. " I taught the jjirl," thouglit James within himself. Tliis lionest silver-haired old fellow seemed so ridicu- lous to Colander, the smooth, supercilious Londoner, that he deigned sometimes to converse witli James, in order to quiz him. This very morning they had had a conver- sation. '•poor Miss Mabel I dear heart. A twelvemonth mar- ried, and nigh si.x nujiiths of it a widow, or next door." " We write to her, James, and ente/tain her replies, which are at eonsiilerahle length." "Ay, but we don't read 'em I " said James, with an uneasy glance at the tray. *• Invariably, at our leisure; meantime we make our- selves happy amongst the wits and the sirens." '' And slie do make others hapjty among the poor and the ailing." " Which shows," said Colander, superciliously, " the difference of tastes." Burdock, whose eye had never been off his mistress's handwriting, at last took it up and said. "Master Colan- der, do if ye jdease, sir, take this into master's dressing- room, do now ? " Colander looked down on the missive with dilating eye. " Not a bill, James Burdock," said he, reproach- fully. " A bill I bless ye, no. A letter from missus." No, the dog would not take it in to his master : and poor James, with a sigh, replaced it in the tray. This James Burdock, then, was left in charge of the hall by Colander, and it so happened that the change was hardly effected, before a hurried knocking came to the street door. PEG WOFFINGTON. 115 " Ay, ay ! " grumbled Burdock, " I thought it wouhl not be long. London for knocking and ringing all day, and ringing and knocking all night." He opened the door reluctantly and suspicioush', and in darted a lady, whose features were concealed by a hood. She glided across the hall, as if she was making for some point, and old James shuffled after her, crying, "Stop, stop, young woman. What is your name, young woman ? " " Why, James Burdock," cried the lady, removing her hood, " have you forgotten your mistress ? " "Mistress I ^Ti}', Miss Mabel, I ask your pardon, madam — here, John, Margery ! " " Hush ! " cried Mrs. Vane. " But where are your trunks, miss ? And where's the coach, and Darby and Joan ? To think of their drawing you all the way here ! I'll have 'em into your room directly, ma'am. Miss, you've come just in time." " AA-'hat a dear, good, stupid old thing you are, James ! Where is Ernest — Mr. Vane? James, is he well and happy ? I want to surprise him." " Yes, ma'am," said James, looking down. " I left the stupid old coach at Islington, James. The something — pin was loose, or I don't know what. Could I wait two hours there ? So I came on by myself ; you wicked old man, you let me talk, and don't tell me how he is." "Master is main well, ma'am, and thank you," said old Burdock, confused and uneasy. " But is he happy ? Of course he is. Are we not to meet to-day after six months? Ah! but never mind, they are gone by." " Lord bless her ! " thought the faithful old fellow. " If sitting down and crying could help her, I wouldn't be long." By this time they were in the banqueting-room, and 116 Vi:c, WOFFINGTON. at the {)rep;iration8 tliort; Mabel gave a start ; she then colored. "Oh! ho has invited his frii'uds tt) make ac- quaintance. I had rather \\v had Ixmh jilonc all this day and to-morrow. Hut he must not know that. No; hig friends are nit/ frii-nds, and shall he, too," thought the country wife. She then glanerd with somt- misgiving at lier travelling attin*. and wished she had hnmght one trunk with her. "James," said she, "where is my room '.' .Vnd mind, I forbid you to tell a soul I am come." "Your room, Miss Mabel ?" " Well, any rinnii wlu-re there is looking-glass and water." She then went to a door which opened in fact on a short passage leatling to a room oetnipied by Mr. Vane himself. "No, no!" cried James. "That is master's room." "Well, is not master's room mistress's room, old raan ? But stay ; is he there '.' " "No, ma'am; In- is in tin' 'miiIi n, ultli a ikiu.i- of line folks." "They shall not see nie Lili i iiave maur niysilt ;i little more decent," said the young beauty, who knew at l>ot- tom how little comparativ«'ly the color of her dress could affect her appearanee. and she opened Mr. Vane's door and glided in. Burdock's first determination was, in sjiite of her in- junction, to tell Colander; but on retiection, he argued: "And then what will they do? They will put their heads together, and deceive us some other way. No!" thought James, with a touch of spite, " we shall see how they will all look." He argued also, that, at sight of his beautiful wife, his master must come to his sen.ses, and the Colander faction be defeated: and. perlirips, by the mercy of Providence, Colander himself turned off. PEG WOFFINGTON. 117 Whilst thus ruminating, a thundering knock at the door almost knocked him off his legs. " There ye go again," said he, and went angrily to the door. This time it was Hunsdon, who was in a desperate hurry to see his master. " Where is Sir Charles Pomander, my honest fellow ? " said he. *' In the garden, my Jack-a-dandy ! " said Burdock, furiously. C' Honest fellow," among servants, implies some moral inferiority.) In the garden went Hunsdon. His master — all whose senses were playing sentinel — saw him, and left the company to meet him. " She is in the house, sir." "Good! Go — vanish!" Sir Charles looked into the banquet-room ; the haunch was being placed on the table. He returned with the information. He burned to bring husband and wife together ; he counted each second lost that postponed this (to him) thrilling joy. Oh, how happy he was ! happier than the serpent, when he saw Eve's white teeth really strike into the apple ! "Shall we pay respect to this haunch, Mr. Quin?" said Vane, gayly. " If you please, sir," said Quin, gravely. Colander ran down a by-path with an immense bouquet, which he arranged for Mrs. Woffington in a vase at Mr. Vane's left hand. He then threw open the windows, which were on the French plan, and shut within a foot of the lawn. The musicians in the arbor struck up, and the com- pany, led by Mr. Vane and Mrs. Woffington, entered the room. And a charming room it was ! — light, lofty, and large — adorned in the French way with white and gold. 118 PEC. WOFFINCTON. The table was an exact oval, ami at it everybody could hear what any one said ; an excellent arrangement where ideaed guests only art- admittt'd — which is another excel- lent arrangement, though I see people don't think so. The repast was luxurious and elegant. There was no profusion of unmeaning dishes ; each was a hnnne-bnurhe — an undeniable delicacy. The glass was beautiful, the j)lates silver ; the flowers rose like walls from the table ; the plate massive and glorious, rose-water in the hand- glasses ; music crept in from the garden, deliciously sub- dued into what seemed a natural sound. A broad stream of southern sun gushed in fiery gold through the open window, and like a red-hot rainbow, danced through the stained glass above it. Existence was a thing to bask in — in such a place, and so happy an hour ! The guests were Quin, Mrs. Clive, Mr. Gibber, Sir Charles Pomander, Mrs. Wotlington, and Messrs. Soaper and Snarl, critics of the day. This pair, with wonderful sagacity, had arrived from the street as the haunch came from the kitclien. Good humor reigned ; some cuts passed, but as the parties professed wit, they gave and took. Quin carved the haunch, and was happy ; Soaper and Snarl eating the same, and drinking Toquay, were mel- lowed and mitigated into human tiesh. Mr. Vane and Mrs. Woflfington were happy ; he, because his conscience was asleep ; and she, because she felt nothing now could shake her hold of him. Sir Charles was in a sort of mental chuckle. His head burned, his bones ached ; but he was in a sort of nervous delight. " Where is she ? " thought he. " What will she do ? Will she send her maid with a note ? How blue he will look I Or, will she come herself ? She is a country wife ; there must be a scene. Oh, why doesn't she come into this room ? She must know we are here ! Is she PEG WOFFINGTON. 119 watching somewhere ? " His brain became puzzled, and his senses were sharpened to a point ; he was all eye, ear and expectation ; and this was why he was the only one to hear a very slight sound behind the door we have mentioned, and next to perceive a lady's glove lying close to that door. Mabel had dropped it in her retreat. l*utting this and that together, he was led to hope and believe she was there, making her toilet perhaps, and her arrival at present unknown. " Do you expect no one else ? " said he, with feigned carelessness, to Mr. Vane. " No," said Mr. Vane, with real carelessness. '* It must be so ! What fortune ! " thought Pomander. Soaper. Mr. Gibber looks no older than he did five years ago. Snarl. There was no room on his face for a fresh wrinkle. Soaper. He ! he ! Nay, Mr. Snarl ; Mr. Gibber is like old port : the more ancient he grows, the more delicious his perfume. Snarl. And the crustier he gets. Clive. Mr. Vane, you should always separate those two. Snarl, by himself, is just supportable, but when Soaper paves the way with his hypocritical praise, the pair are too much ; they are a two-edged sword. Woffington. Wanting nothing but polish and point. Vane. Gentlemen, we abandon your neighbor, Mr. Quin, to you. Quin. They know better. If they don't keep a civil tongue in their heads, no fat goes from here to them. Cibher. Ah, Mr. Vane, this room is delightful ; but it makes me sad. I know this house in Lord Longueville's time ; an unrivalled gallant, Peggy. You may just re- member him, Sir Gharles ? Pomander (with his eye on a certain door). Yes, yes ; a gouty old fellow. I'JO TEG WOFFINGTON. Cibber fired up. " I wish you may evt-r be like him. Oh, the beauty, the wit, the petits-soupers that used to be here ! Longucville was a great creature, Mr. Vane. I have known him entertain a fine lady in this room, while her rival was fretting and fuming on the other side of that door." " Ah, indeed ! " said Sir Charles. " More shame for him," said Mr. Vane. Here was luck ! I'omander seized this opportunity of turning the conversation to his object. With a malicious twinkle in his eye, he incjuired of Mr. Ciliber what made him fancy the house had lost its virtue in Mr. Vane's hands ? '* Hecause," said Cibber, peevishly, ''30U all want the tnie s(7roir /aire nowadays, because there is no juste milieii, young gentlemen. The young dogs of to-day are all either uni)rincipled heathen, lik yourself, or Ama- dises, like our worthy host." The old gentleman's face and manners were like those of a })atriarch, regretting the general decay of virtue, not the imaginary diminu- tion of a single vice. He concluded with a sigh, that "the true preux des domes went out with the full peri- wig ; stap my vitals I " " A bit of fat. Mr. Cibber ? " said Quin, whose jokes were not polished. " Jemmy, thou art a brute," was the reply. "You refuse, sir?" said Quin, sternly. "No, sir ! " said Cibber, with dignity ; " I accept." Pomander's eye was ever on the door. " The old are so unjust to the young," said he. " You pretend that the Deluge washed away iniquity, and that a rake is a fossil. What," said he, leaning as it were on every word, " if I bet you a cool hundred, that Vane has a petticoat in that room, and that Mrs. Woffington shall unearth her ? " PEG WOFFINGTON. 121 The malicious dog thought this was the surest way CO effect a dramatic exposure ; because, if Peggy found Mabel to all appearances concealed, Peggy would scold her, and betray herself. " Pomander ! " cried Vane, in great heat ; then cheek- ing himself, he said coolly: ''But you all know Pomander." " None of you," replied that gentleman. " Bring a chair, sir," said he, authoritatively, to a servant ; who, of course, obeyed. Mrs. Clive looked at him and thought : " There is something in this ! " " It is for the lady," said he, coolly. Then leaning over the table, he said to Mrs. Woffington, with an impu- dent affectation of friendly understanding : "I ran her to earth in this house not ten minutes ago. Of course, I don't know who she is ! But," smacking his lips, "a. rustic Amaryllis, breathing all Maybuds and meadow- sweet." " Have her out, Peggy ! " shouted Gibber. " I know the run — there's the covert ! Hark forward ! Ha, ha, ha!" Mr. Vane rose, and with a sternness that brought the old beau up with a run, he said : " Mr. Gibber, age and infirmity are privileged ; but for you. Sir Charles " — " Don't be angry," interposed Mrs. Woffington, whose terror was lest he should quarrel with so practised a swordsman. "Don't you see it is a jest ! and, as might be expected from poor Sir Gharles, a very sorry one." "A jest!" said Vane, white with rage. "Let it go no farther, or it will be earnest ! " Mrs. Woffington placed her hand on his shoulder, and at that touch he instantly yielded, and sat down. It was at this moment, when Sir Charles found him- 122 PEG WOKl'MNGTON. self for the present battied — for he could no longer press his point, and search that room; when the atten- tion of all was drawn to a dispute, which, for a moment, had looked like a ijuarrt-l ; whilst Mrs. \Vottiii^;ton's hanil still lingered, as only a woman's hand can linger in leav- ing the shoulder of the man she loves ; it was at this moment, the door ojjciieil of its own accord, and a most Ijeautiful woman stood, with a light step, upon the threshold: Nobody's back was to her, except iMr. Vane's. Every eye, but his, was spell-bound upon her. Mrs. Wottington withdrew her haiifl, as if a scorpion had touched her. A stupor of astonishment fell on them all. Mr. Vane, seeing the direction of all their eyes, slewed himself round in his chair into a most awkward position, and when he saw the lady, he was utterly dumfounded! But she, as soon as he turned his face her way, glided up to him with a half sigh, half cry of joy, and taking liim round the neck, kissed him deliciously, while every eye at the table met every other eye in turn. One or two of the men rose ; for the lady's beauty was as worthy of homage, as her appearing was marvellous. Mrs. Woftington, too astonished for emotion to take any definite shape, said, in what seemed an ordinary tone : " Who is this lady ? " " I am his wife, madam," said Mabel, in the voice of a skylark, and smiling friendly on the questioner. "It is ray wife ! " said Vane, like a speaking-machine; he was scarcely in a conscious state. " It is my wife ! " he repeated, mechanically. The words were no sooner out of Mabel's mouth than two servants, who had never heard of Mrs. Vane before, hastened to place on Mr. Vane's right hand the chair Pomander had provided, a plate and napkin were there PEG WOFFINGTON. 123 in a twinkling, and the wife modestly, but as a matter of course, courtesied low, with an air of welcome to all her guests, and then glided into the seat her servants obsequiously placed for her. The whole thing did not take half a minute ! 124 PK«; WOIFINGTON. riTAi'iii: XI. Mr. Vank, besides being a rich, was a magiiificotit man ; when his features were in repose their beanty huil a wise and stately chara(;ter. 8oaper and Snarl had admired, and bitterly envi'd hin>. At the present nu)m«'nt no one of his gm-sts envied hira — they began to realize his position. And he, a huge wheel of shame and remorse began to turn and whirr before his eyes. He sat between two P2uropean beauties, and pale and red by turns, shunned the eyes of both, and looked down at his })late in a cold sweat of humiliation, mortification, and shame. The iron passed through Mrs. Wollington's soul. iSo ! this was a villain too, the greatest villain of all — a hypocrite ! She turned very faint, but she was under an enemy's eye, and under a rivar.-^ ; tlie thought drove the blood back from her heart, and with a mighty effort she was WotHngton again. Hitherto her liaison with Mr. Vane had called up the better ]>art of her nature, and perhaps our reader has been taking her for a good woman ; but now all her dregs were stirred to the sur- face. The mortified actress gulled by a novice, the wronged and insulted woman, had but two thoughts ; to defeat her rival — to be revenged on her false lover. More than one sharp spasm passed over her features before she could master them, and then she became smiles above, wormwood and red-hot steel below — all in less than half a minute. As for the others, looks of keen intelligence passed between them, and they watched with burning interest for the denoument. That interest was stronger than PEG WOFFINGTON. 125 their sense of the comicality of all this (for the humorous view of what passes before our eyes, comes upon cool reflection, not often at the time). Sir Charles, indeed, who had foreseen some of this, wore a demure look, belied by his glittering eye. He offered Gibber snuff, and the two satirical animals grinned over the snuff-box, like a malicious old ape and a mis- chievous young monkey. The new-comer was charming; she was above the middle height, of a full though graceful figure ; her abundant, glossy, bright brown hair glittered here and there like gold in the light ; she had a snowy brow, eyes of the profoundest blue, a cheek like a peach, and a face beaming candor and goodness ; the character of her countenance resembled " the Queen of the May,'' in Mr. Leslie's famous picture, more than any face of our day I can call to mind. " You are not angry with me for this silly trick ? " said she, with some misgiving. "After all, I am only two hours before my time ; you know, dearest, 1 said four in my letter — did I not ? " Vane stammered. What could he say ? " And you have had three days to prepare you, for I wrote, like a good wife, to ask leave before starting; but he never so much as answered my letter, madam." (This she addressed to Mrs. Woffington, who smiled by main force.) " Why," stammered Vane, " could you doubt ? I — I" — " No ! Silence was consent, was it not ? But I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen, I hope you will for- give me. It is six months since I saw him — so you understand — I warrant me you did not look for me so soon, ladies ? " " Some of us .did not look for you at all, madam," said Mrs. Woffington. 126 vva; W()Ki-in(;ton. ''What! Krncst diil not toll you he exported me?" "Nn! lie t(»ld us this banquet was in honor of a lady's first visit to his house, but none of us imagined that lady tt) ht- his wife." Vane began to writhe under that terrible tongue, whose point hitherto had ever been turned away from him. •* He intended to steal a march on us," said I'omander, dryly; "and with your help, we steal one on him;" and he smih'd maliciously on Mrs. Wottinj^ton. " Hut, madam." said Mr. Quin. "the monit-nt you did arrive, 1 kept sacred for you a bit of the fat for which, I am sure, you must be ready. Pass her plate I " "Not at present. Mr. t^uin," said Mr. Vane, hastily. "She is about to retirt' and change her travelling dress." " Yes, dear ; but you forget. 1 am a stranger to your friends. Will you not introduce me to them first?" "No, no.'"' cried Vane, in trepidation. "It is not usual to introduce in the beau inomle." " We always introduce ourselves." rejoined Mrs. Wof- fington ; and she rose slowly, with her eye on Vane. He oast a look of abject entreaty '"g to TripU»t, in HfrcuU's Huildiugs. to have her portrait finished. Had Mr. Vane und»'rstood the sex, ht* would not have interpreted her refusal to the letter, when there was a postscript. th»' meaninj: of wliich was so little enigmatical. Some three hours after the sc'ene we have described, Mrs. Wottington sat in Triplet's apartment ; and Triplet, palette in hand, painted away upon lier portrait. Mrs. Wottington was in that l.inrjuid state which comes to wom^n after their hearts have received a blow. She felt as if life wiis ended, and but the dregs of existence remained ; but at times a flood of bitterness rolled over her, and she resigned all hope of jierfect happiness in this world, all hope of loving and respect- ing the same creature ; and at these moments she had but one idea, — to use her own power, and bind her lover to her by chains never to be broken, and to close her eyes, and glide down the precipice of the future. " I think you are master of this art," said she very languidly to Triplet, "you paint so rapidly." " Yes, madam," said Triplet gloomily, and painted on, "Confound this shadow ! " added he; and painted on. His soul, too, was clouded. Mrs. Woffington, yawning in his face, had told him she had invited all Mr. Vane's company to come and praise his work ; and ever since that he had been monie et silencieux. PEG WOFFINGTON. 145 " You are fortunate," continued ^Mrs. Woffington, not caring -what she said, " it is so difficult to make execu- tion keep pace ^ith conception." " Yes, ma'am ; " and he painted on. " You are satisfied with it ? " " Anything but, ma'am ; " and he painted on. " Cheerful soul ! — then I presume it is like ? " " Not a bit, ma'am ; " and he painted on. Mrs. Woffington stretched. " You can't yawn, ma'am — you can't yawn." " Oh, yes, I can. You are such good company," and she stretched again. "I was just about to catch the turn of the lip," remon- strated Triplet. " Well, catch it — it won't run away." " I'll try, ma'am. A pleasant half-hour it will be for me, when they all come here like cits at a shilling ordi- nary — each for his cut." " At a sensitive goose ! " "That is as may be, madam. Those critics flay us alive." "You should not hold so many doors open to censure." "No, ma'am. Head a little more that way. I suppose you canH sit quiet, ma'am ? — then never mind ! (This resignation was intended as a stinging reproach.) Mr. Gibber, with his sneering snuff-box ! Mr. Quiu, with his humorous bludgeon ! Mrs. Clive, with her tongue ! Mr. Snarl, with his abuse I And Mr. Soaper, with his praise! — arsenic in treacle I call it. But there, I deserve it all. For look on this picture, and on this." "Meaning, I am painted as well as my picture." " Oh, no, no, no I But to turn from your face, madam, — on which the lightning of expression plays continually, — to this stony, detestable, dead daub! I could — and I will, too ! Imposture ! dead caricature of life and beauty, 10 146 PEG WOKFINGTON. take tluitl" and lie (lushed his palette -knife thron^'h the canvas. ''Libellous lie against nature ami Mrs. WOffing- ton, take that!" and he stabbed tlie canv;us again; then, with sudden humility: ''I beg your pardDU, ma'am," said he, " for this aj)j»arent outrage, which I trust you will set down to tlie excitement attendant upon failure. The fact is, I am an incapable ass, and n«» painter. Others liave often hinted as much ; but I never observed it myself till now." "Right through my pet dimple," said Mrs. Wottington, with j)erfeet nntirltalnnre. " Well, now I suppose I may yawn, or do wliat I like '.* " "You may, madam," said Triplet, gravely. ''1 have forfeited what little control I liad over you, mare by this time," said she to herself. "Well, I will not mope for him; I must do something. Triplet," said she. " Madam." " Nothing." "No, madam." She sat gently down again, and leaned her head on her hand, and thought. She was beautiful as she thought; her body seemed bristling with mind. At last her thoughtful gravity was illumined by a smile : she had thought out something excogitaverat. "Triplet, the picture is quite ruined!" "Yes, ma'am. And a coach-load of criticism coming." "Triplet, we actors and actresses have often bright ideas." " Yes, ma'am." " When we take other people's." PEG WOFFINGTON. 147 "Heyhe !" went Triplet. "Those are our best, madam." " Well, sir, I have got a bright idea." " You don't say so, ma'am ! " " Don't be a brute, dear," said the lady, gravely. Triplet stared. "When I was in France, taking lessons of Du'mesnil, one of the actors of the Theatre FrauQais had his portrait painted by a rising artist. The others were to come and see it. They determined beforehand to mortify the painter and the sitter by abusing the work in good set terms. But somehow this got wind, and the patients resolved to be the physicians. They put their heads together, and contrived that the living face should be in the canvas, surrounded by the accessories : these, of course, were painted. Enter the actors, who played their little pre- arranged farce ; and when they had each given the picture a slap, the picture rose and laughed in their faces, and discomfited them. By the by, the painter did not stop there ; he was not content with a short laugh, he laughed at them five hundred years." " Good gracious, Mrs. Woffington ! " " He painted a picture of the whole thing ; and as his work is immortal, ours an April snow-flake, he has got tremendously the better of those rash little satirists- Well, Trip, what is sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose, so give me the sharpest knife in the house." Triplet gave her a knife, and looked confused, while she cut away the face of the picture, and by dint of scraping, cutting, and measuring, got her face two parts through the canvas. She then made him take his brush and paint all round her face, so that the transition might not be too abrupt. Several yards of green baize were also produced. This was to be disposed behind the easel, so as to conceal her. Triplet painted here, and touched and retouched there. 1 IS PK(; WOFFFNGTON. Whilst thus occupied, ho said, in his calm resigned way, '• It won't do, madam. I suppose you know that? " "I know nothing,'' was the reply. "Life is a guess. I don't think we could deceive Koxalana and Lucy this way, because their eyes are without colored spectacles ; but when people have once begun to see by prejudices and judge by jargon, what can't be done with them ? Who knows '/ do you '.' 1 don't, so let us try." " I beg your pardon, madam, my brush touched your face." "No offence, sir; I am used to that. And I beg, if you can't tone the rest of the picture up to me, that you will instantly tone me down to the rest. Let us be in tune, whatever it costs, sir." "I will avail myself of the privilege, madam, but sparingly. Failure, which is certain, madam, will cover us with disgrace." "Nothing is certain in this life, sir, except that you are a goose. It succeeded in France ; and England can match all Europe for fools ; besides, it will be well done. They say Davy Garrick can turn his eyes into bottled gooseberries. Well, Peg Woffington will turn hers into blackcurrants. Haven't you done ? I wonder they have not come. Make haste ! " " They will know by its beauty I never did it." "That is a sensible remark. Trip. But I think they will rather argue backwards ; that as you did it, it can- not be beautiful, and so cannot be me. Your reputation will be our shield." "W^ell, madam, now you mention it, they are like enough to take that ground. They despise all I do : if they did not " — "You would despise them." At this moment the pair were startled by the sound of a coach. Triplet turned as pale as ashes. Mrs. WoflRng- PEG WOFFINGTON. 149 ton had her misgivings ; but not choosing to increase the difficulty, she would not let Triplet, whose self-possession she doubted, see any sign of emotion in her. " Lock the door," said she, firmly, " and don't be silly. Now hold up my green baize petticoat, and let me be in a half-light. Now put that table and those chairs before me, so that they can't come right up to me ; and. Triplet, don't let them come within six yards, if you can help it. Say it is unfinished, and so must be seen from a focus." " A focus ! I don't know what you mean." "No more do I; no more will they, perhaps; and if they don't, they will swallow it directly. Unlock the door ; are they coming ? " " They are only at the first stair." " Mr. Triplet, your face is a book, where one may read strange matters. For Heaven's sake, compose yourself; let all the risk lie in one countenance. Look at me, sir. Make your face like the Book of Daniel in a Jew's back parlor. Volto Sciolto is your cue." " Madam, madam, how your tongue goes ! I hear them on the stairs ; pray don't speak ! " " Do you know what we are going to do ? " continued the tormenting Peggy. " We are going to weigh goose's feathers ! to criticise criticism, Trip " — " Hush, hush ! " A grampus was heard outside the door, and Triplet opened it. There was Quin leading the band. " Have a care, sir," cried Triplet ; " there is a hiatus the third step from the door.'' " A gracilis ad Parnassum a-wanting," said Mr. Gibber. Triplet's heart sank. The hole had been there six months, and he had found nothing witty to say about it, and at first sight Mr. Cibber had done its business. And on such men he and his portrait were to attempt a preposterous delusion. Then there was Snarl, who wrote 150 PEG WOFFINGTON. critiques on painting, and guided the national taste. The unlucky exhibitor was in a cold sweat. He led the way like a thief going to the gallows. "The picture being unfinished, gentlemen," said he, " must, if you would do me justice, be seen from a — a focus : must be judged from here, I mean." " Where, sir ? " said Mr. Gibber. "About here, sir, if you please," said poor Triplet faintly. " It looks like a finished picture from here," said Mrs. Olive. " Yes, madam," groaned Triplet. They all took up a position, and Triplet timidly raised his eyes along with the rest : he was a little surprised. The actress had flattened her face ! She had done all that could be done, and more than he had conceived possible, in the way of extracting life and the atmos- phere of expression from her countenance. She was " dead still ! " There was a pause. Triplet fluttered. At last some of them spoke as follows : Soaper. Ah ! Qiiin. Ho ! Clive. Eh ! Cibber. Humph ! These interjections are small on paper, but as the good creatures uttered them they were eloquent ; there was a cheerful variety of dispraise skilfully thrown into each of them. " Well," continued Soaper, with his everlasting smile. Then the fun began. " May I be permitted to ask whose portrait this is ? " said Mr. Cibber slyly. "I distinctly told you, it was to be Peg Wofiing- PEG WOFFINGTON. 151 ton's," said Mrs. Clive. "I think you might take my word." " Do you act as truly as you paint ? " said Quin. "Your fame runs no risk from me, sir," replied Triplet. " It is not like Peggy's beauty ! Eh ? " rejoined Quin, " I can't agree with you," cried Kitty Clive. " I think it a very pretty face ; and not at all like Peg WoflBng- ton's." " Compare paint with paint," said Quin. " Are you sure you ever saw down to Peggy's real face ? " Triplet had seen with alarm, that Mr. Snarl spoke not ; many satirical expressions crossed his face, but he said nothing. Triplet gathered from this, that he had at once detected the trick. " Ah ! " thought Triplet, " he means to quiz them, as well as expose me. He is hang- ing back ; and, in point of fact, a mighty satirist like Snarl would naturally choose to quiz six people rather than two." "Now, I call it beautiful," said the traitor Soaper. " So calm and reposeful ; no particular expression." " None whatever," said Snarl. "Gentlemen," said Triplet, "does it never occur to you, that the fine arts are tender violets, and cannot blow when the north winds " — " Blow ! " inserted Quin. " Are so cursed cutting ? " continued Triplet. " My good sir, I am never cutting," smirked Soaper. " My dear Snarl," whined he, " give us the benefit of your practised judgment. Do justice to this ad-mirable work of art," drawled the traitor. "I will!" said Mr. Snarl, and placed himself before the picture. "What on earth will he say ?" thought Triplet. "I can see by his face, he has found us out." 152 i'i:<; wofi'incjton. Mr. Snarl dtlivcnHl a short oritique. Mr. Snarl's intelligeure was not continfil to liis phrases; all critics use intelligent phrases and philosophical truths. But this gentleman's manner was very intelligent; it was pleasant, ([uiet, assurerl, and very convincing. Had the reader or 1 been there, he would have carried us with him, as he did his hearers ; and as his successors carry the public with them now. '' Your brush is by no means destitute of talent, Mr. Triplet," said Mr. Snarl. " But you are somewhat deficient, at present, in the great principles of your art ; the fir.st of which is a loyal adherence to truth. Beauty itself is but one of the forms of truth, and nature is our finite exponent of infinite truth." His auditore gave him a marked attention. They could not but acknowledge, that men who go to the bottom of things like this should be the best instruct- ors. " Now, in nature, a woman's face at this distance — ay, even at this short distance — melts into the air. There is none of that shari>ness ; but, on the contrary, a softness of outline." He made a lorgnette of his two hands ; the others did so too, and found they saw much better — oh, ever so much better ! " Whereas, yours," resumed Snarl, '' is hard ; and, forgive me, rather tea- board like. Then your chioro-scvro, my good sir, is very defective; for instance, in nature, the nose intercepting the light on one side the face, throws, of necessity, a shadow under the eye. Caravaggio, Venetians generally, and the Bolognese masters, do particular justice to this. No such shade appears in this portrait." " 'Tis so, stop my vitals ! " observed CoUey Gibber. And they all looked, and having looked, wagged their heads in assent — as the fat, white lords at Christie's waggle fifty pounds more out for a copy of Rembrandt, PEG WOFFINGTON. 153 a brown levitical Dutclimaii, visible in the pitch-dark by some sleight of sun Xewton had not wit to discover. Soaper dissented from the mass. "But, my dear Snarl, if there are no shades, there are lights, loads of lights."' " There are," replied Snarl ; " onl}' thej^ are impossible, that is all. You have, however," concluded he, with a manner slightly supercilious, " succeeded in the mechani- cal parts : the hair and the dress are well, Mr. Triplet ; but your Woffington is not a woman, nor nature." They all nodded and waggled assent; but this saga- cious motion was arrested as by an earthquake. The picture rang out, in the voice of a clarion, an answer that outlived the speaker : " She's a woman, for she has taken four men in ! She's nature, for a fluent dunce doesn't know her when he sees her ! " Imagine the tableau ! It was charming ! Such open- ing of eyes and mouths I Gibber fell by second nature into an attitude of the old comedy. And all were rooted where they stood, with surprise and incipient mortification, except Quin, who slapped his knee, and took the trick at its value. Peg Woffington slipped out of the green baize, and coming round from the back of the late picture, stood in jDerson before them ; while they looked alternately at her and at the hole in the canvas. She then came at each of them in turn, inore dramatico. " A pretty face, and not like Woffington. I owe you two. Kate Clive." '■ TTho ever saw Peggy's real face ? Look at it now, if you can, without blushing, Mr. Quin." Quin, a good-humored fellow, took the wisest view of his predicament, and burst into a hearty laugh. "For all this," said ]\[r. Snarl peevishly, "I maintain, upon the unalterable principles of art " — At this they 154 PE(; WOFFINGTON. all burst into a roar, nut sorry to shift tht; ridiculo. " Goths ! " cried Snarl fiercely. '* Good-morning, ladies and ^,'entlenu'n," cried Mr. Snarl, acec intention, "I have a criticisn» to write of last night's performance." The laugh died away to a quaver. *• I siiull sit on your pictures one day, Mr. Brush." *• Don't sit on tluMu with your head downwards, or you'll addle them,'' said Mr. Brush, fiercely. This was the first time Triplet had ever answered a foe. Mrs. Wottington gave him an eloquent glance of encourage- ment. He nodded his head in infantine exultation at what he had done. "Come, Soaper," said Mr. Snarl. Mr. Soaper lingered one moment to say : •• ^'ou shall always have my good word, Mr. Trijdet." "I will try — and not deserve it, Mr. SoajKjr," was the prompt reply. "Serve 'em right," said Mr. Cibl)er, as soon as the door liad closctl ujKin them, " for a couple of serpents, or rather one boa-constrictor. Soaper slavers, for Snarl to crush. But we were all a little too hard on Triplet here; and if he will accept my apology" — "Why, sir," said Triplet, half trembling, but driven on by looks from Mrs. Woffington, "'Gibber's Apology' is found to be a trifle wearisome." "Confound his impertinence I " cried the astounded Laureate. "Come along, Jemmy." " Oh, sir I " said Quin, good humoredly, *' we must give a joke and take a joke. And when he paints my por- trait — which he shall do '' — " The bear from Hockley Hole shall sit for the head ! " " Curse his impudence I " roared Quin. " I'm at your service, ^Ir. Gibber," added he, in huge dudgeon. Away went the two old boys. " Mighty well ! " said waspish Mrs. Glive. " I did PEG WOFFIXGTON. 155 intend you should have painted Mrs. Clive. But after this impertinence " — " You will continue to do it yourself, ma'am ! " This was Triplet's hour of triumph. His exultation was undignified, and such as is said to precede a fall. He inquired gravely of Mrs. "Wofiington, whether he had or had not shown a spirit ? Whether he had or had not fired into each a parting shot, as they sheered off ? To repair which, it might be advisable for them to put into friendly ports. " Tremendous ! " was the reply. " And when Snarl and Soaper sit on your next play, they won't forget the lesson you have given them." " I'll be sworn thej' won't I " chuckled Triplet. But reconsidering her words, he looked blank, and muttered : "Then, perhaps, it would have been more prudent to let them alone ! " '' Incalculably more prudent I " was the reply. " Then, why did you set me on, madam ? " said Triplet, reproachfully. " Because I wanted amusement, and my head ached," was the cool answer, somewhat languidly given. " I defy the coxcombs ! " cried Triplet, with re'S'iving spirit. " But real criticism I respect, honor, and bow to. Such as yours, madam ; or such as that sweet lady's at Mr. Yane's would have been ; or, in fact, anybody's who appreciates me. O madam ! I wanted to ask you, was it not strange your not being at Mr. Yane's, after all, to-day ? " " I was at Mr. Yane's, Triplet." " You were ? TThy, I came with my verses, and she said you were not there ! I will go fetch the verses." " Xo, no ! Who said I was not there ? " " Did I not tell you ? The charming young lady who helped me Avith her own hand to everything on the table. What wine that gentleman possesses ! " 156 PEG WOFFJLNGTON. "Was it ii younjj: lady, Trij)let '.'" "Not more tliun two-aiul-tweiity, I sliould say.** " In a travelling-dress ? " " I could not see her dress, madam, for her beauty — brown hair, blue eyes, charming in conversation " — " Ah ! What did she tell you ? " " She told me, madam — ahem ! " "Well, what did you tell her? and what did she answer ? " " I told her that I came with verses for you, ordered by Mr. Vaue. That he admired you. 1 descanted, madam, on your virtues, which had made him your slave." "Go on," said Mrs. Wottington, encouraging him with a deceitful smile. "Tell me all you told her." "That you were sitting to me for your portrait, the destination of which was not doubtful. That I lived at 10 Hercules Buildings." " You told that lady all this ? " " I give you my honor. She was so kind, I opened my heart to her. But tell me now, madam," said Triplet, joyously dancing round the Wofhngtou volcano, •' do you know this charming lady ? " "Yes." " I congratulate you, madam. An acquaintance worthy even of you ; and there are not many such. Who is she, madam ? " continued Triplet, lively with curiosity. " Mrs. Vane," was the quiet, grim answer. " Mrs. Vane ? His mother ? No — am I mad ? His sister ! Oh ! I see, his " — " His wife ! " " His wife ! Why, then Mr. Vane's married ? " "Yes." " Oh, look there ! — oh, look here now ! Well, but, good heavens ! she wasn't to know you were there, perhaps ? " PEG WOFFINGTON. 157 "No." *' But then, I let the cat out of the bag ? " "Yes." " But, good gracious ! there will be some serious mis- chief ! " ''No doubt of it." " And it is all my fault ? " "Yes." "I've played the deuce with their married happiness ? " "Probably." " And, ten to one, if you are not incensed against me, too ? " Mrs. Woffington replied by looking him in the face, and turning her back upon him. She walked hastily to the window, threw it open, and looked out of it, leaving poor Triplet to very unpleasant reflections. She was so angry with him, she dared not trust herself to speak. " Just my luck," thought he. " I had a patron and a benefactress — I have betrayed them both." Suddenly an idea struck him : "Madam," said he, timorously, "see what these fine gentlemen are ! What business had he, with a wife at home, to come and fall in love with you ? I do it forever in my plays — I am obliged — they would be so dull else ; but in real life to do it is abominable." "You forget, sir," replied Mrs. Woffington, without moving, "that I am an actress — a plaything for the impertinence of puppies and the treachery of hypocrites. Fool ! to think there was an honest man in the world, and that he had shone on me ! " With these words she turned, and Triplet was shocked to see the change in her face. She was pale, and her black, lowering brows were gloomy and terrible. She walked like a tigress to and fro, and Triplet dared not speak to her : indeed, she seemed but half conscious of his presence. He went for nobody with her. How 168 PEG WOFFENGTON. little we know the people we eat, and go to church, and flirt witli ! Triplet hud imagined this creature an incar- nation of gayety, a sportive being, tlie daughter of smiles, the bride of mirth ; needed but a look at her now to see that her heart was a vok-ano, her bosom a boiling gulf of fiery lava. She walked like some wild errature ; she flung her hands uj) to heaven with a passionat(> despair, before which the feeble spirit of her companion shrank and cowered ; and with quivering lips and blazing eyes, she burst into a torn-iit of passionate V)itternt'ss : " liut who is Margaret Wottington,'' she cried, "that she should pretend to honest love, or feel insulted by the proffer of a stolen regard ? And what have we to do with homes, or hearts, or firesides? Have we not the play-house, its paste diamonds, its paste feelings, and the loud applause of fops and sots — hearts ? — beneath loads of tinsel and paint ? Nonsense ! The love that can go with souls to heaven — such love for us ? Non- sense ! These men applaud us, cajole us, swear to us, flatter us ; and yet, forsooth, we would have them respect us, too." "My dear benefactress," said Triplet, "they are not worthy of you." '• I thought this man was not all dross ; from the first I never felt his passion an insult. Triplet ! I could have loved this man — really loved him! and I longed so to be good. O God ! God ! " "Thank Heaven, you don't love him !" cried Triplet, hastily. " Thank Heaven for that ! " " Love him ? Love a man who comes to me with a silly second-hand affection from his insipid babj'-face, and offers me half, or two-thirds, or a third of his worth- less heart ? I hate him ! — and her ! — and all the world ! " " That is what I call a very proper feeling," said poor PEG WOFFINGTON. 159 Triplet, with a weak attempt to soothe her. " Then break with him at once, and all will be well." " Break with him ? Are you mad ? No ! Since he plays with the tools of my trade I shall fool him worse than he ha,s me. I will feed his passion full, tempt him, torture him, play with him, as the angler plays a fish upon his hook. And when his very life depends on me, then by degrees he shall see me cool, and cool, and freeze into bitter aversion. Then he shall rue the hour he fought with the devil against my soul, and played false with a brain and heart like mine ! " " But his poor wife ? You will have pity on her ? " "His wife ! Are wives' hearts the only hearts that throb, and burn, and break ? His wife must defend her- self. It is not from me that mercy can come to her, nor from her to me. I loathe her, and I shall not forget that you took her part. Only if you are her friend, take my advice, don't you assist her. I shall defeat her with- out that. Let her fight her battle, and / mine." " Ah, madam ! she cannot fight, she is a dove." " You are a fool ! What do you know about women ? You were with her five minutes, and she turned you in- side out. My life on it, whilst I have been fooling my time here, she is in the field, with all the arts of our sex, simplicity at the head of them." Triplet was making a futile endeavor to convert her to his view of her rival, when a knock suddenly came to his door. A slovenly girl, one of his own neighbors, brought him a bit of paper, with a line written in pencil. " 'Tis from a lady who waits below," said the girl. Mrs. Wofiington went again to the window, and there she saw getting out of a coach, and attended by James Burdock, Mabel Vane, who had sent up her name on the back of an old letter. " What shall I do ? " said Triplet, as soon as he recov- 160 PEG WOFFINGTON. ered the first stunning effects of this contretemps. To liis astonishment, ^Irs. Woffington bade the girl show the lady uji-stairs. Tlie girl went down on this errand. " But you are here," remonstrated Triplet. " Oh I to be sure, you can go into the other room. There is plenty of time to avoid her," said Trii)let, in a very natural tremor. " This way, matlam ! " Mrs. Woflington stood in the middle of the room like a statue. " What does she come here for ? " said she, sternly. " You have not told me all." " I don't know," cried poor Triplet, in dismay, " and I think the devil brings her here to confound me. For Heaven's sake, retire ! What will become of us all ? There will be murder, I know there will ! " To his horror, Mrs. Wothngton would not move. " You are on her side," said she, slowly, with a concen- tration of spite and suspicion. She looked frightful at this moment. '• All tlie better for me." added she, with a world of female malignity. Triplet could not make head aguinst this blow ; he gasped and pointed piteously to the inner door. *' No ; I will know two things ; the course she means to take, and the terms you two are upon." By this time IVIrs. Vane's light foot was heard on the stair, and Triplet sank into a chair. "They will tear one another to pieces,"' said he. A tap came to the door. He looked fearfully round, for the woman whom jealousy had so speedily turned from an angel to a fiend ; and saw with dismay, that she had actually had the hardihood to slip round and enter the picture again. She had not quite arranged herself when her rival knocked. Triplet dragged himself to the door. Before he PEG WOFFINGTON. 161 opened it, he looked fearfully over his shoulder, and received a glance of cool, bitter, deadly hostility, that boded ill both for him and his visitor. Triplet's appre- hensions were not unreasonable. His benefactress and this sweet lady were rivals ! Jealousy is a dreadful passion, it makes us tigers. The jealous always thirst for blood. At any moment, when reason is a little weaker than usual, they are ready to kill the thing they hate, or the thing they love. Any open collision between these ladies would scatter ill consequences all round. Under such circumstances, we are pretty sure to say or do something wicked, silly, or unreasonable. But what tortured Triplet more than anything was his own particular notion, that fate doomed him to witness a formal encounter between these two women ; and of course an encounter of such a nature, as we in our day illustrate by " Kilkenny cats." To be sure Mrs. Vane had appeared a dove, but doves can peck on certain occasions, and no doubt she had a spirit at bottom. Her coming to him proved it. And had not the other been a dove all the morning and after- .noon ? Yet jealousy had turned her to a fiend before his eyes. Then if (which was not probable) no collision took place, what a situation was his ? Mrs. Woffington (his buckler from starvation) suspected him, and would distort every word that came from Mrs. Vane's lips. Triplet's situation was, in fact, that of iEneas in the storm. " Olim et hac meminisse juvabit " — '♦ But while present, such things don't please any one a bit." It was the sort of situation we can laugh at, and see the fun of it six months after, if not shipwrecked on it at the time. With a ghastly smile the poor quaking hypocrite Wei- ll 1G2 PEG WOFFINQTON. coined Mrs. Vane, and professed a world of innocent de- light, that she had so honored his humble roof. She interrupted his eoinplinients, and begged him to see whether she was followed by a gentleman in a cloak. Triplet looked out of the window. "Sir Charles Pomander I" gasped he. Sir Charles was at the very door. If, however, he had intended to mount the stairs he changed his mind, for he sutldenly went off round the corner with a business-like air, real or fictitious. '• He is gone, njadam," said Triplet. Mrs. Vane, the better to escape detection or observa^ tion, wore a thick mantle and a hood, that conceah'd her features. Of these Triplet debarrass«'d her. " Sit down, madam," and he hastily drew a chair, so that her back wa.s to the picture. She was pale, and trembled a little. She hid her face in her hands a moment, then recovering lu'r courage, '' she begged Mr. Triplet to pardon her for coming to him. He hatl inspired her with confidence," she said; '' he had offered her his services, and so she had come to him, for she had no other friend to aid her in her sore distress." She might have added, that with the tact of her sex she had read Triplet to the bottom, and came to him, as she would to a benevolent muscular old woman. Triplet's natural impulse was to rejjeat most warmly his offers of service. He did so; and then conscicnis of the picture had a misgiving. " Dear ^fr. Triplet," began ^Irs. Vane, "you know this person, Mrs. Woffington ? " " Yes, madam," replied Triplet, lowering his eyes, " I am honored by her acquaintance." " You will take me to the theatre where she acts ? " " Yes, madam : to the boxes, I i)resume ? " " No ! oh, no ! How could I bear that ? To the place where the actors and actresses are." PEG WOFFINGTON. 163 Triplet demurred. This would be courting that very collision, the dread of which even now oppressed him. At the first faint sign of resistance she began to suppli- cate him, as if he was some great stern tyrant. " Oh, you must not, you cannot refuse me. You do not know what I risk to obtain this. I have risen from my bed to come to you. I have a fire here ! " She pressed her hand to her brow. " Oh, take me to her ! " "Madam, I will do anything for you. But be advised ; trust to my knowledge of human nature. What you require is madness. Gracious Heavens ! you two are rivals, and when rivals meet there's murder or deadly mischief." " Ah ! if you knew my sorrow, you would not thwart me. Mr. Triplet! little did I think you were as cruel as the rest." So then this cruel monster whim- pered out, that he should do any folly she insisted upon. "Good, kind Mr. Triplet!" said Mrs. Vane. "Let me look in your face ? Yes, I see you are honest and true. I will tell you all." Then she poured in his ear her simple tale, unadorned and touching as Judah's speech to Joseph. She told him how she loved her husband ; how he had loved her ; how happy they were for the first six months ; how her heart sank when he left her ; how he had promised she should join him, and on that hope she lived. " But for two months he had ceased to speak of this, and I grew heart-sick waiting for the sum- mons that never came. At last I felt I should die if I did not see him ; so I plucked up courage and wrote that I must come to him. He did not forbid me, so I left our country home. Oh, sir ! I cannot make you know how my heart burned to be by his side. I counted the hours of the journey ; I counted the miles. At last I reached his house ; I found a gay company there. I was a little sorry, but I said, ' His friends shall be welcome, Yol. 9—6 164 VKG WOFFINC.TON. right wplconip. }lo has asked thoin to welcome his wife.' " "Poor thing!" muttered Triph't. "O Mr. Trij)let ! they were there to do honor to — And the wife was neither expected nor desired. There lay my letters with their seals unbroken. I know all his letters by heart, Mr. Trij)let. The seals unbroken — unbroken ! Mr. Tri])let." ** It is abominable ! " cried Triplet, iiercely. "And she who sat in my seat — in his house, and in his heart — was this lady, the actress you so praised to me ? " "That lady, ma'am," said Triplet, "has been deceived as well as you." "I am convinced of it," said Mabel. "And it is my painful duty to tell you, madam, that with all her talents and sweetness, she has a fiery tem- per; yes, a very fiery temper," continued Triplet, stoutly, though with an uneasy glance in a certain direction; "and I have rea.son to believe she is angry, and thinks more of her own ill-usage than yours. Don't you go near her. Trust to my knowledge of the sex, madam ; I am a dramatic writer. Did you ever read the 'Rival Queens ' ? " "No." "I thought not. Well, madam, one stabs the other, and the one that is stabbed says things to the other that are more biting than steel. The prudent course for you is to keep apart, and be always cheerful, and welcome him with a smile — and — have you read 'The Way to Keep Him ? ' " "No, iSIr. Triplet," said Mabel, firmly, "I cannot feign. Were I to attempt talent and deceit, I should be weaker than I am now. Honesty and right are all my strength. I will cry to her for justice and mercy. And if I cry in vain, I shall die, Mr. Triplet, that is all." PEG WOFFINGTON. 165 " Don't cry, dear lady," said Triplet, iu a broken voice. "It is impossible!" cried slie, suddenly. "I am not learned, but I can read faces. I always could, and so could my Aunt Deborah before me. I read you right, Mr. Triplet, and I have read her too. Did not my heart warm to her amongst them all ? There is a heart at the bottom of all her acting, and that heart is good and noble." " She is, madam ! she is ! and charitable too. I know a family she saved from starvation and despair. Oh, yes ! she has a heart — to feel for the poor at all events." " And am I not the poorest of the poor ? " cried Mrs. Vane. " I have no father nor mother, Mr. Triplet ; my husband is all I have in the world — all I had, I mean." Triplet, deeply affected himself, stole a look at Mrs. Woffington. She was pale ; but her face was composed into a sort of dogged obstinacy. He was disgusted with her. " Madam," said he, sternly, " there is a wild beast more cruel and savage than wolves and bears ; it is called ' a rival,' and don't you get in its way." At this moment, in spite of Triplet's precaution, Mrs. Vane, casting her eye accidentally round, caught sight of the picture, and instantly started up, crying : " She is there ! " Triplet was thunderstruck. " What a like- ness ! " cried she, and moved towards the supposed pict- ure. " Don't go to it ! " cried Triplet, aghast ; " the color is wet." She stopped ; but her eye, and her very soul, dwelt upon the supposed picture ; and Triplet stood quaking, " How like ! It seems to breathe. You are a great painter, sir. A glass is not truer." Triplet, hardly knowing what he said, muttered some- thing about '' critics, and lights and shades." " Then they are blind ! " cried Mabel, never for a moment removing her eye from the object. "Tell me 166 PEG WOFFINGTON. not of lights and shades. The pictures I see have a look of paint ; but yours looks like life. Oh ! that she were hero, as this wonderful image of hers is. I would sp»*ak to her. I am not wise or learned; but orators never pleaded as I would ])lead to her for my Ernest's heart." Still her eye glanced upon the picture ; and, I suppose, her heart realized an actual presence, though her juilg- ment did not, for by some irresistible impulse she sank slowly down and stretched her clasped hands towards it, while sobs and words seemed to break direct from her bursting heart. "Oh, yes! you are beautiful, you are gifted, and the eyes of thousands wait ujion your every word and look. What wonder that he, ardent, refined, and genial, should lay his heart at your feet '.' And 1 have nothing but my love to make him love me. 1 can- not take him from you. Oh, be generous to the weak ! oh, give him back to me ! What is one heart more to you *.' Vou are so rich, and I am so poor, that without his love T have nothing, and can do nothing but sit me down and cry till my heart breaks. Give him back to me, beautiful, terrible woman ! for, with all your gifts, you cannot love him as his poor Mabel does ; and I will love you longer perhaps than men can love. 1 will kiss your feet, and Heaven above will bless you ; and I will bless you and pray for you to my dying day. Ali I it is alive ! I am frightened ! I am frightened ! " She ran to Triplet, and seized his arm. "Xol" cried she, quiv- ering close to him; "I'm not frightened, for it was for me she — ^frs. Woffington ! " and hiding her face on Mr. Triplet's shoulder, she blushed, and wept, and trembled. What was it had betrayed ]\[rs. Woffington ? A tear! During the whole of this interview (which had taken a tiirn so unlooked for by the listener) she might have said with Beatrice, " What fire is in mine ears ? " and PEG WOFFINGTON. 167 what self-reproacli and chill misgiving in her heart too. She had passed through a hundred emotions, as the young innocent wife told her sad and simple story. But anxious now above all things to escape without being recognized — for she had long repented having listened at all, or placed herself in her present position, she fiercely mas- tered her countenance ; but though she ruled her features, she could not rule her heart. And when the young wife, instead of inveighing against her, came to her as a sup- plicant, with faith in her goodness, and sobbed to her for pity, a big tear rolled down her cheek, and proved her something more than a picture or an actress. Mrs. Vane, as we have related, screamed and ran to Triplet. Mi'S. Woffington came instantly from her frame, and stood before them in a despairing attitude, with one hand upon her brow. For a single moment her impulse was to fly from the apartment, so ashamed was she of having listened, and of meeting her rival in this way ; but she conquered this feeling, and as soon as she saw Mrs. Vane too had recovered some composure she said to Triplet, in a low but firm voice : " Leave us, sir. No living creature must hear what I say to this lady I " Triplet remonstrated, but Mrs. Vane said, faiutl}' : " Oh, yes, good Mr. Triplet, I would rather you left me." Triplet, full of misgivings, was obliged to retire. "Be composed, ladies," said he, piteously, "Neither of you could help it ; " and so he entered his inner room, where he sat and listened nervously, for he could not shake off all apprehension of a pei'sonal encounter. In the room he had left, there was a long uneasy silence. Both ladies were greatly embarrassed. It was the actress who spoke first. All trace of emotion, except 168 PEG WOFFINCTON. ;i certain pallor, was drivon from Iter face. She spolcp with very marked courtesy, hut in tones that seemed to freeze as they dropped one by one from her mouth. ** I trust, madam, you will do me the justice to believe I did not know Mr. Vane was married ? " " I am sure of it I " said Mabel warmly. " I feel you are as good as you are gifted." '' Mrs. Vane, I am not! " said the other, almost sternly. *' You are ileceived ! " '' Then Heaven have mercy on me ! No I I am not deceived, you pitied me. You speak coldly now ; but T know your face and your heart — you pity me ! " "I do respect, admire, and pity you," said Mrs. Wof- fington, sadly ; '• and I could consent never more to communicate with your — with Mr. Vane." *' Ah ! " cried Mabel; "Heaven will bless you! Hut will you give me back his heart ? " *' How can I do that ? " said .Mrs. Woffington, uneasily; she had not bargained for this. " Thf magnet can repel as well as attract. Can you not break your own spell ? What will his presence be to me, if his heart remain behind? " " You ask much of me." "Alas! I do." " But I could do even this." She paused for breath. "And perhaps if you, who have not only touched my heart, but won my respect, were to say to me ' Do so,' I should do it." Again she paused, and spoke with diffi- culty ; for the bitter struggle took away her breath. " Mr. Vane thinks better of me than I deserve. I have — only — to make him believe me — worthless — worse than I am — and he will drop me like an adder — and love you better, far better — for having known — admired — and despised Margaret Woffington." " Oh ! " cried Mabel, " I shall bless you every hour of PEG WOFFINGTON. 169 / my life." Her countenance brightened into rapture at the picture, and Mrs. Woffington's darkened with bitter- ness as she watched her. But Mabel reflected. " Rob you of your good name ? " said this pure creature. " Ah, Mabel Vane ! you think but of yourself." " I thank you, madam," said Mrs. Wofiington, a little touched by this unexpected trait ; " but some one must suffer here, and " — Mabel Vane interrupted her, " This would be cruel and base," said she, firmly, " no woman's forehead shall be soiled by me. madam ! beauty is admired, talent is adored ; but virtue is a woman's crown. With it, the poor are rich : without it, the rich are poor. It walks through life upright, and never hides its head for high or low." Her face was as the face of an angel now; and the actress, conquered by her beauty and her goodness, act- ually bowed her head and gently kissed the hand of the country wife whom she had quizzed a few hours ago. Frailty paid this homage to virtue ! Mabel Vane hardly noticed it ; her eye was lifted to heaven, and her heart was gone there for help in a sore struggle. " This would be to assassinate you ; no less. And so, madam," she sighed, " with God's help, I do refuse your offer ; choosing rather, if needs be, to live desolate, but innocent — many a better than I hath lived so — ay! if God wills it, to die, with my hopes and my heart crushed, but my hands unstained ; for so my humble life has passed." How beautiful, great and pure goodness is ! It paints heaven on the face that has it ; it wakens the sleeping souls that meet it. At the bottom of Margaret Woffington's heart lay a 170 rK(. WUFFINGTON. soul, unknown to the world, scarce known to herself — a heavenly harp, on which ill airs of jxussion had heen I)layf(l — but still it was there, in tune with all that is true, pure, really great ami jjood. And now the flush that a }»reat heart sends to the brow, to herald great lU'tions, came to her check and brow. " Humble ! " she cried. "Such as you are the diamonds of our race. You angel of truth and gooeech was interruj>ted by 3fr. Vane's sword Hashing suddenly out of its sheath; while that gentleman, white with rage and jealousy, luule liim instantly take to his guard, or be run through the body like some noxious animal. Sir Cliarh's drew his sword, and in spite of Triplet's weak interference, half a dozen passes were rapidly exchanged, when suddenly the door of the inner room opened, and a lady in a hood pronounced, in a voice which wius an excellent imitation of Mrs. Vane's, the word, " False ! " The combatants lowered their jKjints. *' You hear, sir ! " cried Triplet. " You see, sir I " said Pomander. " Mabel ! wife ! " cried Mr. Vane, in agony. " Oh, say this is not true I oh, say that letter is a forgery ! Say, at least, it was by some treachery you were lured to this den of iniquity ! Oh I speak I " The lady silently beckoned to some person inside. " You know I loved you ! you know how bitterly I repent the infatuation that brought me to the feet of another ! '' The lady replied not, though Vane's soul appeared to hang upon her answer. But she threw the door open, and there appeared another lady, the real Mrs. Vane I Mrs. Woffington then threw otf her hood, and to Sir Charles Pomander's consternation, revealed the features of that ingenious person, who seemed born to outwit him. " You heard that fervent declaration, madam ? " said she to Mrs. Vane. '• I present to you, madam, a gentle- man, who regrets that he mistook the real direction of his feelings. And to you, sir," continued she, with great PEG WOFFINGTON. 179 dignity, " I present a lady who will never mistake either her feelings or her duty." '• Ernest, dear Ernest ! " cried Mrs. Yane, blushing, as if she "was the culprit. And she came forward, all love and tenderness. Her truant husband kneeled at her feet, of course. '•Xo!" he said, rather sternly. "How came you here, Mabel ? " •• Mrs. Vane," said the actress, " fancied you had mis- laid that weather-cock, your heart, in Covent Grarden, and that an actress had seen in it a fit companion for her own. and had feloniously appropriated it. She came to me to inquire after it.-' " But this letter, signed by you ? " said Vane, still addressing Mabel. •'Was written by me on a paper which accidentally contained ^Irs. Vane's name. The fact is, 3tlr. Vane, I can hardly look you in the face. I had a little wager with Sir Charles, here ; his diamond ring, which you may see has become my diamond ring "' — a horrible wry face from Sir Charles — '• against my left glove, that I could bewitch a country gentleman's imagination, and make him think me an angel. Unfortunately, the owner of his heart appeared, and. like poor Mr. Vane, took our play for earnest. It became necessary to disabuse her and to open your eyes. Have I done so ? " " You have, madam," said Vane, wincing at each word she said. But at last, by a mighty effort, he mastered himself, and coming to Mrs. Woffington with a quivering lip, he held out his hand suddenly in a very manly way. "I have been the dupe of my own vanity." said he. " and I thank you for this lesson."' Poor !Mrs. WoflS-Ug- ton's fortitude had well-nigh left her at this. " Mabel," he cried, " is this humiliation any punish- ment for my folly ? any guarantee for my repentance ? Can you forgive me ? " 180 PEG WOFKINGTON. "It is all forgiven, Ernest. But, oh! yo\i are mis- taken." She glided to Mrs. Wothngton, '• Wliat do we not owe you, sister '.' " whispered she. " Nothing : that word pays all," was the reply. She tlu'H slipped her aildress into ^Irs. Vane's hand, and, courtesying to all the company, she hastily left the room. Sir Charles Pomander followed ; but he was not quick enough ; she got a start, and piirposely avoideil him, and for three days neither the public nor private friends saw this poor woman's face. Mr. and Mrs. Vane prepared to go also; but Mrs. Vane would thank good Mr. Triplet and Mrs. Triplet for their kindness to her. Triplet the benevolent blushed, wa.s confused and delighted, but suddenly turning somewhat sorrowful, he said, " Mr. Vane, madam, made use of an expression which caused a momentary pang. He called tliis a den of iniquity. Now this is my studio ! But never mind." Mr. Vane asked his pardon for so absurd an error, and the pair left Triplet in all the enjoyment which does come now and then to an honest man, whether this dirty little world will or not. A coach was called, and they went home to Blooms- bury. Few words were said, but the repentant husband often silently pressed this angel to his bosom ; and the tears which found their way to her beautiful eyelashes were tears of joy. This weakish, and consequently villanous, though not ill-disposed, person, would have gone down to Wil- loughby that night, but his wife had great good sense. She would not take her husband off, like a schoolboy caught out of bounds. She begged him to stay while she made certain purchases ; but for all that her heart burned to be at home. So in less than a week after the events we have related, thev left Loudon. PEG WOFFINGTON. 181 Meantime, every day Mrs. Vane paid a quiet visit to Mrs. Woffington (for some days the actress admitted no other visitor), and was with her but two hours before she left London. On that occasion she found her very sad. " I shall never see you again in this world," said she, "but I beg of you to write to me, that my mind may be in contact with yours." She then asked Mabel, in her half-sorrowful, half- bitter way, how manj^ mouths it would be ere she was forgotten. Mabel answered by quietly crying. So then they embraced ; and Mabel assured her friend she was not one of those who change their minds. " It is for life, dear sister ; it is for life," cried she. " Swear this to me," said the other almost sternly. " But no. I have more confidence in that candid face and pure nature than in a human being's oath. If you are happy, remember you owe me something. If you are unhappy, come to me, and I will love you as men cannot love." Then vows passed between them, for a singular tie bound those two women ; and then the actress showed a part at least of her sore heart to her new sister ; and that sister was surprised and grieved, and pitied her truly and deeply, and they wept on each other's neck ; and at last they were fain to part. They parted ; and true it was, they never met again in this world. They parted in sorrow ; but when they meet again, it shall be with joy- Women are generally such faithless, unscrupulous, and pitiless humbugs in their dealings with their own sex, which, whatever they may say, they despise at heart, that I am happy to be able to say Mrs. Vane proved true as steel. She was a noble-minded, simple- ISli I'KC WOFKINGTON. iniiuied creature : slie was also a constant creatnn-. Con- stancy is a rare, a beautiful, a (iod-like virtue. Four tiyies every year she wrote a louj^' letter to Mrs. Woffington, and twice a year, in the cold weather, she sent her a hanii)er of country delicacies that would have victualled a small garris(»n. And when her sister left this earthly scene — a humble, pious, long-repentant Christian — Mrs. Vane wore mourning for her, and sor- rowed over her, but not i\a those who cannot hope to nnM't again. My story as a work of art — good, bad, or indifferent — ends with that last sentence. If a reader ac(;ompa- nies me farther, I shall feci flattered, anil he does so at his own risk. My reader knows that all this befell long ago ; that WotHngton is gay, and Triplet sad no more ; that Mabel's, and all the bright eyes of that day, have long been dim, and all its cunning voices hushed. Judge, then, wln^ther I am one of those happy story-tellers who can end with a wedding. No ! this story must wind up, as yours and mine must — to-morrow — or to-morrow — or to-morrow ! when our little sand is run. Sir Charles Pomander lived a man of pleasure until sixty : he then became a man of pain. He dragged the chain about eight years, and died miserably. ^[r. Cibber not so much died as "slipped his wind," — a nautical expression that conveys the idea of an easy exit. He went ofi quiet and genteel. He was past eighty, and had lived fast. His servant called him at seven in the morning. " I will shave at eight,'' said Mr. Cibber. John brought the hot water at eight ; but his master had taken advantage of this interval in his toilet, to die ! — to avoid shaving ? Snarl and Soaper conducted the criticism of their PEG WOFFINGTON. 183 day with credit and respectability until a good old age, and died placidly a natural death, like twaddle, sweet or sour. The Triplets, while their j)atroness lived, did pretty well. She got a tragedy of his accepted at her theatre. She made him send her a copy, and with her scissors cut out about half ; sometimes thinning, sometimes cutting bodily away. But lo ! the inherent vanity of Mr. Trip- let came out strong. Submissively, but obstinately, he fought for the discarded beauties. Unluckily, he did this one day that his patroness was in one of her bitter humors ; so she instantly gave him back his manuscript, with a sweet smile owned herself inferior in judgment to him, and left him unmolested. Triplet breathed freely : a weight was taken off him. The savage steel (he applied this title to the actress's scissors) had spared his purpurei panni. He was played, pure and intact, — a calamity the rest of us grumbling escape. But it did so happen that the audience were of the actress's mind, and found the words too exuberant, and the business of the play too scanty in proportion. At last their patience was so sorely tried that they sup- plied one striking incident to a piece deficient in facts. They gave the manager the usual broad hint, and in the middle of Triplet's third act a huge veil of green baize descended upon " The Jealous Spaniard." Failing here, Mrs. Woffington contrived often to be- friend him in his other arts, and moreover she often sent Mr. Triplet what she called a snug investment, a loan of ten pounds, to be repaid at Doomsday, with interest and compound interest, according to the Scriptures ; and although she laughed, she secretly believed she was to get her ten pounds back, double and treble. And I believe so too. IHt rVT, WOFFINGTON. Some years later Mrs. Triplet became eventful. She fell ill. and lay a-lanted an onion, but he was one of your a priori gentlemen, and could show anybody how to do anything.) Trij>let held out his hand for the letter, but the postman held out his hand for half-a- crown first. Triji's profession had transpired, and his clothes inspired diffidenee. Triplet appealed to his good feeling. He re])lied with exultation, "That he had none left." (A middle-aged postman, no doubt.) Triplet then suddenly started from entreaty to King Canibysps' vein. Tn vain ! Mrs. Triplet came down, and essayed the blandish- ments of the softer sex. In vain ! And as there were no assets, the postman marched off down the road. Mrs. Triplet glided after him like an assassin, beckon- ing on Triplet, who followed, doubtful of her designs. Suddenly (truth compels me to relate this) she seized the PEG WOFFINGTON. ' 185 obdurate official from behind, pinned both his arms to his side, and with her nose furiously telegraphed her husband. , ., He, animated by her example, plunged upon the man and tore the letter from his hand, and opened it before his eyes. . i i i^^ It happened to be a very windy mornmg, and when he opened the letter an enclosure, printed on much finer paper, was caught into the air, and went down the wind. Triplet followed in kangaroo leaps, like a dancer making a flying exit. ^ , i a « The postman cried on all good citizens for help, borne collected and laughed at him; Mrs. Triplet explaining that they were poor, and could not pay l^a:^^-^-^^^^^^^^ the freight of half an ounce of paper. She held him comnilsively until Triplet reappeared. That o-entleman on his return was ostentatiously calm and dignified. " You are, or were, in perturbation about half-a-crown," said he. "There, sir, is a twenty-pound note: oblige me with nineteen pounds, seventeen shil- lings and sixpence. Should your resources be unequal to such a demand, meet me at the ' Green Cat and Brown rrogs,' after dinner, when you shall receive your hall- crown, and drink another upon the occasion of my sudden accession to unbounded affluence." The postman was staggered by the sentence, and over- awed by the note, and chose the " Cat and Frogs, and liquid half-crown. Triplet took his wife down the road and showed her the letter and enclosure. The letter ran thus : — Sir, -We beg respectfully to inform you tliat our late friend and client! James Triplet, Merchant, of the Mmones, died last August, without a will, and that you are his heir. His property amounts to about twenty thousand pounds besides some reversions. Having possessed the confidence of ISC VVM WOKFINCTON. your liito iiiitlr, Wf shoiilfl fiM-l lioiKiri-il udiI jjratilii'il if you should think us worthy to net profi'ssioniilly for yourself. We em-lose twenty pnun(jn native talent, tliank Heaven!" The storms of KurojK' shook not Triplet. Tlie fact is, nothing that happened on the great stagr of the world seemed real to him. He believed in nothing, where there was no cnrtain visible. Hut even the grotesfjue are not good in vaiti. Many an e\e was wrt round his dying bed, and many a tear fell ui>on his grave. He made his final exit in tln^ year of graoe 1799. And 1, wli«i laugh .tt him, would h-ave this world to-ft', you sec high- hretl si'iisihility pfrsonitio!. .in«l you srr xiiiuthin.' like Latly Barbara Sinclair. Slie was a eonnectioii ut i.,<)ni Ijisili'irs, imt li.cy had not met for two years, when they eneounteml eacli other in Paris just before the comracneeinent of tiiis " Dra- matie Story,'' " Novel " by courtesy. The month he spent in Paris, near hor, was a \)right month to Lord Ipsden. A l)y-stander would not liave gathert'd, from his manner, that he was warmly in love with this lafiy, but fi>r all that, his lordship was gradu- ally uncoiling liims«'lf, and gracefully, ([uietly, basking in the rays of Barbara Sinclair. He was also just beginning to take an interest in sul>- jeets of the day — ministries, Hat paintings, controver- sial novels, Cromwell's spotless integrity, etc. — why not ? They interested her. Suddenly the lady and her family ri'turned to FLngland. Lord Ipsden, who was going to Home, came to England instead. She had not been five days in Londcm, before she made her preparations to spend six months in Perthshire. This brought matters to a climax. Lord Ipsden proposed in form. Lady Barbara was surprised ; she had not viewed his graceful attentions in that light at all. However, she answered by letter his proposal which had been made by letter. After a few of those courteous words a lady always be.stows on a gentleman who has offered her the highest compliment any man has it in his power to offer any woman, she came to the point in the following charac- teristic manner : CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 7 The man I many must have two things, virtues and vices — you have neither : you do nothing, and never will do any- thing but sketch and hum tunes, and dance and dangle : forget this folly the day after to-morrow, my dear Ipsden, and if I may ask a favor of one to Avhom I refuse that which would not be a kindness, be still good friends with her who will always be Your affectionate cousin, Barbara Sinclair. Soon after this effusion she vanished into Perthshire, leaving her cousin stunned by a blow which she thought would be only a scratch to one of his character. Lord Ipsden relapsed into greater listlessness than before he had cherished these crushed hopes. The world now became really dark and blank to him. He was too languid to go anywhere or do anything; a republican might have compared the settled expression of his hand- some, hopeless face, with that of most day -laborers of the same age, and moderated his envy of the rich and titled. At last he became so pale as well as languid, that Mr. Saunders interfered. Saunders was a model valet and factotum ; who had been with his master ever since he left Eton, and had made himself necessary to him in their journe3'S. The said Saunders was reall}' an invaluable servant, and with a world of obsequiousness, contrived to have his own way on most occasions. He had, I believe, only one great weakness, that of imagining a beau-ideal of aristocracy, and then out-doing it in the person of John Saunders. Now this Saunders was human, and could not be eight years with this young gentleman and not take some little interest in him. He was flunky, and took a great interest in him, as stepping-stone to his own greatness. 8 CHUISTIK .lOHNSTONE. ^o when he saw him tuniin},' pule and thin, and reading one letter fifty times, he speculated and inqnired what was the matt»T. He bruuj^ht the intellrrt of Mr. Saunders to b«*ar on the (question at the foUowing angle . "Now if I was a younjj lord with twenty thousand pounds a year, and all the world at my feet, what would make me in this way ".' " Why, thf liv»'r I Nt»thing else. "And that is what i-^ uiDin^ witli liim \ipii iii:i\ lif- pend." This conclusion arnvi d at, Mr. S;Luniltis cDolly wrot*- his convictions to I>r. Aberford, and desired that j^entU'- man's immediate attention to the case. Au hour or two later, he glided into his lord's room, not without some secret trepidation, no trace of which appeared on his face — he pulh'd a long histrionic countcnanc»'. "My lord," said he, in soft, melancholy tones, "your loni- shijt's melancholy state of health gives me great anxi- ety ; and with matty apologies to your lordship, the doctor is sent for, my lord." " Why, Saunders, you arc mad ; there is nothing the matirr with me." " 1 beg your lordship's pardon, your lordship is very ill, and Dr. Aberford sent for." * You nuiy go, Saunders." *' Yes, my lord. I couldn't help itj I've outstepped my duty, my lord, but I could not stand quiet and see your lordship dying by inches." Here Mr. S. put a cam- bric handkerchief artistically to his eyes, and glided out, having disarmed censure. Lord Ipsden fell into a reverie. " Is my mind or my body disordered ? Dr. Aberford ! — absurd! — Saunders is getting too pragmatical. The doctor shall prescribe for him instead of me ; by Jove, that would serve him right." And my lord faintly CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 9 chuckled. " No ! this is what I am ill of," — and he read the fatal note again. ^' I do nothing ! — cruel, un- just," sighed he. " I could have done, would have done, anything to please her. Do nothing ! nobody does any- thing now — things don't come in your way to be done as they used centuries ago, or we should do them just the same ; it is their fault, not ours," argued his lord- ship somewhat confusedly ; then leaning his brow upon the sofa he wished to die ; for, at that dark moment, life seemed to this fortunate man an aching void ; a weary, stale, flat, unprofitable tale : a faded flower ; a ball-room after daylight has crept in, and music, motion, and beauty are fled away. " Dr. Aberford, my lord." This announcement, made by Mr. Saunders, checked his lordship's reverie. " Insults everybody, does he not, Saunders ? " " Yes, my lord," said Saunders, monotonously. " Perhaps he will me ; that might amuse me," said the 'other. A moment later the doctor bowled into the apartment, tugging at his gloves, as he ran. The contrast between him and our poor rich friend is almost beyond human language. Here lay on a sofa, Ipsden, one of the most dis- tinguished young gentlemen in Europe ; a creature in- capable, by nature, of a rugged tone or a coarse gesture ; a being without the slightest apparent pretension, but refined beyond the wildest dream of dandies. To him, enter Aberford, perspiring and shouting. He was one of those globules of human quicksilver one sees now and then, for two seconds ; they are, in fact, two globules ; their head is one, invariably bald, round, and glittering ; the body is another in activity and shape, totus teres atque rotundus ; and in fifty years they live five cent- 10 CIIIlISTrK .TOHN8TONE. urifs, I/nrum rej Al)«'rfor(l — of thes«' our doctor wa* thi' chief. W^ h;ul hardly torn off ono k^'^^'^j «^'"' roHtnl as far as tlie thinl flowrr from the door on his lord.shijt's eariH't, before he shoutt'd : "This is my patient, lolloping in pursuit of health. — Your hand," adtlod he. For he was at tlio sofa long before hi.s lordship rould glide off it. *• Ton.i,MU'. — I'uls*' is gcKxl. — Breathe in niy fae««." •' Urt-athe in y«>ur fare, sir I how ean I do that?" (With an air of mild d«>ubt.) '' My first inhaling, and then exhaling in the direction required, <>r how can I make uequaintanee with your bowels ? " " My Iwwels ! " "The alxlomen, and the greatt-r and lesser intestines. "NVrll, nevt-r mind, I can get at tln-m anotli»'r way; give your lieart a slap, so. — That's your liver. — And that's your diaphragm." His lordsliip having found the required spot (some j)c<)ple that I know could notj and slapped it, the Aborford made a circular spring and listenufl eagerly at his shoulder-blade : the result of this scientific panto- mime seemed to be satisfactory, for h« ex(daimed, not to say bawled : " Hallo ! here is a viscount as sound as a roach. Now, young gentleman," added he, "your organs are superb, yet you are really out of sorts ; it follows you have the maladies of idle minds, love, perhaps, among the rest ; you blush, a diagiu)8tic of that disorder ; make your mind easy ; cutaneous disorders, such as love, etc., shall never kill a patient of mine, with a stomach like yours : so, now to cure you ! " And away went the spherical doctor, with his hands behind him. not up and down the room, but slanting and tacking like a knight on a ehes.s- board. He had not made many steps, before, turning CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 11 his upper globule, without affecting his lower, he hurled back, in a cold business-like tone, the following inter- rogatory : " What are your vices ? " " Saunders," inquired the patient, " which are my vices ? " " M' lord, lordship hasn't any vices," replied Saunders, with dull matter-of-fact solemnity. " Lady Barbara makes the same complaint," thought Lord Tpsden. " It seems I have not any vices, Dr. Aberford," said he, demurely. " That is bad ; nothing to get hold of. What interests you then ? " " I don't remember." " '^Vhat amuses you ? " « I forget." " What ! no winning horse to gallop away your rents ? " "No, sir!" "No opera girl, to run her foot and ankle through your purse ? " " No, sir ! and I think their ankles are not what they were." " Stuff ! just the same, from their ankles up to their ears, and down again to their morals ; it is your eyes that are sunk deeper into your head. Hum ! no horses, no vices, no dancers, no yacht; you confound one's notions of nobility, and I ought to know them, for I have to patch them all up a bit just before they go to the deuce." " But I have, Dr. Aberford." "What!" " A yacht ! and a clipper she is, too." " Ah I (Now I've got him.) " "In the Bay of Biscay she lay a half a point nearer the wind than Lord Heavyjib." 12 CHKISTIK .lOllNSTONK. ''Oh, IjoiIht lionl lliMVvjilt, :iii.l his liay of His- cay t " " With all my heart ; they have oitvn iMJthored iiu'." ".St'tul her round to (iranton Pier, in the Firth of Forth." *• 1 will, sir." 'Ami write down this pre.seription." And away he walkeil again, thinkin}^ the prescription. "Saunders," apjM'ah'd his master. '• Saunders be hanged I " "Sir!" said Saunders, with dignity, *' I thank you." " Don't tliank me ; thank your own deaerts," replied tlie modern Chestertield. "Oblige me by writing it yourself, my lord ; it is all the l>odily exercise you will have had to-day, no doubt." The young viscount bowed, seated himself at a desk, and wrote from dictation: '• Du. .Vmkkkokij's Pukscrii' Tio.N : "Make ac(iuaintance with all the people of low estate who have time to l)e lx)thered with you ; learn their ways, their minds, and, above all, their troubles." " Won't all this bore me '.' " suggesteil tiie writer. " Vou will see. Relieve one fellow<-reature every day, and let Mr. Saunders book the circumstiinces." " 1 shall like this i)art," said the patient, laying down his pen. " How clever of you to think of such things ; may not I do two sometimes ? " " Certainly not ; one pill per day. — Write, Fish the herring I (that beats deer-stalking.) Run your nose into adventures at sea ; live on tenpeuce, and earn it ; is it down ? " " Yes, it is down, but Saunders would have written it better." ''If he hadn't, he ought to be hanged," said the Aberford, inspecting the work. - I'm off ; where's my CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 13 hat? oh, there; where's my mone}- ? oh, here. Now, look here ; follow my prescription, and You will soon have Mens sana in corpore sano ; And not care whether the girls say yes or say no. Neglect it, and — my gloves ; oh, in my pocket — you will be blase and ennuye and — (an English participle that means something as bad) ; God bless you ! " And out he scuttled, glided after by Saunders, for whom he opened and shut the street door. Never was a greater elfect produced by a doctor's visit : patient and physician were made for each other. Dr. Aberford was the specific for Lord Ipsden. He came to him like a shower to a fainting strawberry. Saunders, on his return, found his lord pacing the apartment. " Saunders," said he, smartly ; " send down to Graves- end, and order the yacht to this place — what is it ? " " Granton Pier. Yes, my lord." " And, Saunders, take clothes and books and violins and telescopes and things — and me — to Euston Square in an hour." "Impossible, my lord," cried Saunders, in dismay. "And there is no train for hours." His master replied witli a hundred-pound note, and a quiet but wickedish look ; and the prince of gentlemen's gentlemen had all the required items Avith him, in a special train, within the specified time, and away they flashed northwards. 14 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. CHAPTER II. It is siiid that opposite characters make a union lKii)[»iist ; antl perhaps Lord Ipsden, dirtidi'ut of him- self, f«*lt the vahu' to liim of a creature so (litTcreut as Lady Barbara Sinclair; but the lady, for her part, was not diffident of herself, nor was she in search of her op[)osite ; on the contrary, she was waitinjj patiently to find just such a man as she was, or fancied herself, a woman. Accustomed to measure men by their characters alone, and to treat with sublime contempt the accidents of birth and fortune, she had been a little stas^gered by the a.ssur- ance of this butterfly that had proposed to settle upon her hand — for life. In a word, the lieautiful writer of the fatal note was honestly romantic, accord iuL,' to the romance of 1848, and of j^ood society ; of course she was not atfected by hair tumbling back or plastered down forwards, and a rolling eye went no farther with her than a squinting one. Her romance was stern, not sickly. She was on the lookout for iron virtues ; she had sworn to V)e wooed with great deeds, or never won ; on this subject she had thought much, though not enough to ask herself whether great deeds are always to be got at, however disposed a lover may be. No matter ; she kept herself in reserve for some earnest man, who was not to come flattering and fooling to her, but look another way and do exploits. She liked Lord Ipsden, her cousin once removed, but CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 15 despised hira for being agreeable, handsome, clever, and nobody. She was also a little bitten with what she and others called the Middle Ages, in fact with that picture of them which Grub Street, imposing on the simplicity of youth, had got up for sale by arraying painted glass, gilt rags, and fancy, against fact. With these vague and sketchy notices we are compelled to part, for the present, with Lady Barbara : but it serves her right ; she has gone to establish her court in Perth- shire, and left her rejected lover on our hands. Journeys of a few hundred miles are no longer described. You exchange a dead chair for a living chair ; Saunders puts in your hand a new tale like this ; you mourn the superstition of booksellers, which still inflicts uncut leaves upon humanity, though tailors do not send home coats with the sleeves stitched up, nor chambermaids put travellers into apple-pie beds as well as damp sheets. You rend and read, and are at Edinburgh, fatigued more or less, but not by the journey. Lord Ipsden was, therefore, soon installed by the Firth side, full of the Aberford. The young nobleman not only venerated the doctor's sagacity, but half admired his brusquerie and bustle ; things of which he was himself never guilty. As for the prescription, that was a Delphic Oracle. Worlds could not have tempted him to deviate from a letter in it. He waited with impatience for the yacht ; and, mean- time, it struck him that the first part of the prescription could be attacked at once. It was the afternoon of the day succeeding his arrival. The Fifeshire hills, seen across the Firth from his win- dows, were beginning to take their charming violet tinge, 16 CHRISTIK JOHNSTONE. a li};lit breeze ruttied the hint- w;itcr into a sparkling smile, the shore \v;is tnuKjiiil, ;iniif-{)ound note, a fresh settle- ment was effected, ami she left him. At the door she said, " And I am muckle obleeged to ye for your story and your goodness." Whilst uttering these words, she half kissed her hand to him, with a lolty and disengaged gesture. su(d» as one might expect from a queen, if queens did not wear stays; and was gone. When his lordship, a few minutes after, sauntered out for a stroll, the first object he beheld was an exact human square, a handsome boy, with a body swelled out, appar- ently to the size of a man's, with blue flannel, and blue cloth above it, leaning again.st a wall, with his hands in his pockets, — a statuette of hisouciance. This marine puff-ball was Flucker Johnstone, aged fourteen. Stain his sister's face with diluted walnut-juice, as they make the stage gypsy and red Indian (two animals imagined by actors to be one), and you have Flucker's face. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 27 A slight moral distinction remains, not to be so easily got over. She was the best girl in the place, and he a baddish boy. He was, however, as sharp in his way as she was in- telligent in hers. This youthful mariner allowed his lordship to pass him, and take twenty steps, but watched him all the time, and compared him with a description furnished him by his sister. He then followed, and brought him to, as he called it. " I daur say it's you I'm to convoy to yon auld faggitt ! " said this baddish boy. On they went, Flucker rolling and pitching and yaw- ing to keep up with the lordly galley, for a fisherman's natural waddle is two miles an hour. At the very entrance of Newhaven, the new pilot sud- denly sung out, " Starboard ! " Starboard it was, and they ascended a filthy " close " or alley. They mounted a staircase which was out of doors, and, without knocking, Flucker introduced him- self into Jess Rutherford's house. " Here a gentleman to speak till ye, wife." 28 CHRISTIK .lOHNSTONE. CHAPTER III. TiiK widow was weather-beaten and rough. She sat mending an old net. "The gentk'inan's weh^ome," said she; Init tliere wafi no gratiheation in her tone, and but little surprise. His lordship then explained that, understanding there were worthy jM'ople in ilistress, he was in hopes he might be permitted to assist them, and that she must blame a neighbor of hers if hv had broken in upon her too abruptly with this object. He then, with a blush, hinted at ten shillings, which he begged she would con- sider as merely an instalment, until he could learn the precise nature of her embarrassments, and the best way of placing means at her disposal. The widow heard all this with a lack-lustre mind. For many years her life had been unsuccessful labor : if anything ever had come to her, it had always been a misfortune; her incidents had been thorns, her events daggers. She could not realize a human angel coming to her relief, and she did not realize it, and she worked away at her net. At this Flucker, to whom his lordship's speech appeared monstrously weak and pointless, drew nigh, and gave the widow, in her ear, his version, namely, his sister's embellished. It was briefly this : *• That the gentleman was a daft lord from England, who had come with the bank in his breeks, to remove poverty from Scotland, beginning with her. • Sae speak loud aneuch, and ye'll no want siller,' " was his polite corollary. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 29 His lordship rose, laid a card on a chair, begged her to make use of him, et cetera ; he then, recalling the oracular prescription, said, " Do me the favor to apply to me for any little sum you have a use for, and in return I will beg of you (if it does not bore you too much) to make me acquainted with any little troubles you may have encountered in the course of your life." His lordship, receiving no answer, was about to go, after bowing to her, and smiling gracefully upon her. His hand was on the latch, when Jess Rutherford burst into a passion of tears. He turned with surprise. '^ My troubles, laddie," cried she, trembling all over. " The sun wad set, and rise, and set again, ere I could tell ye a' the trouble I hae come through. " Oh ! ye need na vex yourself for an auld wife's tears ; tears are a blessin', lad, I shall assure ye. Mony's the time I hae prayed for them, and could na hae them. Sit ye doon ! sit ye doon ! I'll no let ye gang fra my door till I hae thankit ye — but gie me time, gie me time. I canna greet a' the days of the week." Flucker, cetat. 14, opened his eyes, unable to connect ten shillings and tears. Lord Ipsden sat down, and felt very sorry for her. And she cried at her ease. If one touch of nature make the whole world kin, methinks that sweet and wonderful thing, sympathy, is not less powerful. What frozen barriers, what ice of centuries, it can melt in a moment ! His bare mention of her troubles had surprised the widowed woman's heart, and now she looked up, and examined his countenance ; it was soon done. A woman, young or old, high or low, can discern and appreciate sensibility in a man's face, at a single glance. 30 CHUISTIK JOnNSTONB. Whiit slie saw tlit-ro w;us enough. She waa sure of sympathy. Blie recalleri>, widow of Alexander Johnstone, for Newhavt'n wives, like great artists, change their con- ditions without changing their names, was known in the town only as a dour wife, a sour old carline. Whose fault ? Do wooden faces and iron tongues tempt sorrow to put out its snails' horns '.' She liardly spoke to any one, or any one to her, but four days after the visit we have described, people began to bend looks of sympathy on her, to step out of their way to give her a kindly good-morrow. After a bit, lish and meal used to be ])laced on her table by one neighbor or another when she was out, and so on. She was at first behindhand in responding to all this, but by degrees she thawed to those who were thawing to her. Next, Saunders called on her, and showed her a settlement, made for lier benefit, on certain lands in Lanarkshire. Slie was at ease for life. The Almighty had seen her all these years. Hut liow came her neighbors to melt ? Because a noblemau had visited her. Not exactly, dear novel-reader. This was it. That same night, by a bright fire lighting wp snowy walls, burnished copper, gleaming candlesticks, and a dinner-table floor, sat the mistress of the house, Christie Johnstone, and her brother, Flucker. She with a book, he with his reflections opposite her. " Lassie, hae ye ouy siller past ye ? " CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 37 " Ay, lad, an' I mean to keep it ! " The baddish boy had registered a vow to the contrary, and proceeded to bleed his flint (for to do Christie justice the process was not very dissimilar). Ehicker had a ver- satile genius for making money ; he had made it in forty different ways, by land and sea, tenpence at a time. "I hae gotten the life o' Jess Rutherford, till ye," said he. " Giest then." " I'm seeking half a crown for 't," said he. Now he knew he should never get half a crown; but he also knew that if he asked a shilling he should be beaten down to fourpence. So half a crown was his first bode. The enemy, with anger at her heart, called up a humor- ous smile, and saying "an ye'U get saxpence," went about some household matter ; in reality, to let her pro- posal rankle in Flucker. Flucker lighted his pipe slowly, as one who would not do a sister the injustice to notice so trivial a proposition. He waited fresh overtures. They did not come. Christie resumed her book. Then the baddish boy fixed his eye on the fire, and said softly and thoughtfully to the fire, " Hech, what a heap o' troubles yon woman has come through." This stroke of art was not lost. Christie looked up from her book, pretended he had spoken to her, gave a fictitious yawn, and renewed the negotiation with the air of one disposed to kill time. She was dying for the story. Commerce was twice broken off, and renewed by each power in turn. At last the bargain was struck at fourteen pence. Then Flucker came out, the honest merchant. 38 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. He had listened intently, with mercantile views. He had the widow's sorrows all off i)at. He was not a bit affected himself, but by pnre memory he remembered where she had been most agitated or overcome. He gave it Christie, word for word, and even threw in A^hat dramatists call " the business," thus : " Here ye suld greet "' — " Here ye'll play your hand like a geraffe." " Geraffe ? That's a beast, I'm thinking." "Na; it's the thing on the hill that maks signals." " Telegraph, ye fulish goloshen ! " " Oo ay, telegraph ! Geraffe's sunest said for a'." Thus Jess Rutherford's life came into Christie John- stone's hands. She told it to a knot of the natives next day ; it lost nothing, for she was a woman of feeling, and by intui- tion an artist of the tongue. She was the best raconteur in" a place where there are a hundred, male and female, who attempt that art. The next day she told it again, and then inferior nar- rators got hold of it, and it soon circulated through the town. And this was the cause of the sudden sympathy with Jess Rutherford. As our prigs would say, — " Art had adopted her cause and adorned her tale." CHKISTIE JOHNSTONE. 39 CHAPTER V. The fishing village of Newhaven is an unique place; it is a colony that retains disbinct features ; the people seldom intermarry with their Scotch neighbors. Some say the colony is Dutch, some Danish, some Flemish. The character and cleanliness of their female costume points rather to the latter. Fish, like horse-flesh, corrupts the mind and manners. After a certain age, the Newhaven fishwife is always a blackguard, and ugly ; but among the younger speci- mens, who have not traded too much, or come into much contact with larger towns, a charming modesty, or else slyness (such as no man can distinguish from it, so it answers every purpose), is to be found, combined with rare grace and beauty. It is a race of women that the Northern sun peachifies instead of rosewoodizing. On Sundays the majority sacrifice appearance to fash- ion ; these turn out rainbows of silk, satin, and lace. In the week they were all grace, and no stays ; now they seem all stays and no grace. They never look so ill as when they change their "costume" for "dress." The men are smart fishermen, distinguished from the other fishermen of the Firth chiefly by their " dredging song." This old song is money to them. Thus : Dredging is practically very stiff rowing for ten hours. Now both the Newhaven men, and their rivals, are agreed that this song lifts them through more work than untuned fishermen can manage. 40 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. I have heard the song, and seen the work done to it ; and incline to think it helps the oar, not only by keeping the time true, and the spirit alive, but also by its favor- able action on the lungs. It is sung in a peculiar way : the sound is, as it were, expelled from the chest in a sort of musical ejaculations; and the like, we know, was done by the ancient gymnasts, and is done by French bakers, in lifting tlieir enormous dough, and by our paviors. The song, in itself, does not contain above seventy stock verses, but these perennial lines are a nucleus, round which the men improvise the topics of the day, giving, I know not for what reason, the preference to such as verge upon indelicacy. The men and women are musical and narrative ; three out of four can sing a song or tell a story, and they omit few opportunities. Males and females suck whiskey like milk, and are quarrelsome in proportion ; the men fight (round handed), the women fleicht or scold, in the form of a teapot, — the handle fixed and the spout sawing the air. A singular custom prevails here. The maidens have only one sweetheart apiece ! So the whole town is in pairs. The courting is all done on Saturday niglit, by the lady's fire. It is hard to keep out of a groove in which all the town is running; and the Johnstone had pos- sessed, as mere property — a lad ! She was so wealthy that few of them could pretend to aspire to her, so she selected for her chattel a young man called Willy Liston ; a youth of an unhappy turn ; he contributed nothing to hilarity, his face was a kill-joy, nobody liked him ; for this female reason Christie distinguished him. He found a divine supper every Saturday night, in her house : he ate, and sighed ! Christie fed him, and laughed at him. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 41 Flucker ditto. As she neither fed nor laughed at any other man, some twenty were bitterly jealous of Willy Liston, and this gave the blighted youth a cheerful moment or two. But the bright alliance received a check some months before our tale. Christie was helluo librorum ! and like others who have that taste, and can only gratify it in the interval of manual exercise, she read very intensely in her hours of study. A book absorbed her. She was like a leech on these occasions, non missura cutem : even Jean Carnie, her coadjutor or " neebor," as they call it, found it best to keep out of her way till the book was sucked. One Saturday night Willy Liston's evil star ordained that a gentleman of French origin and Spanish dress, called Gil Bias, should be the Johnstone's companion. Willy Liston arrived. Christie, who had bolted the door, told him from the window, civilly enough, but decidedly, " She would excuse his company, that night." " Vara weel," said Willy, and departed. Next Saturday — no AVilly came. Ditto the next. Willy was waiting the amende. Christie forgot to make it. One day she was passing the boats, Willy beckoned her mysteriously ; he led her to his boat, which was called the " Christie Johnstone;" by the boat's side was a paint-pot and brush. They had not supped together for five Saturdaj^s. JErgo, Mr. Liston had painted out the four first letters of " Christie ; " he now prui-eeded to paint out the fifth, giving her to understand, that if she allowed the whole name to go, a letter every blank Saturday, her image would be gradually, but effectually, obliterated from the heart Listoniau. 42 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. My reader has done, what Liston did not, anticipate her answer. She recommended him, whilst his hand was in, to paint out the entire name, and with white paint and a smaller brush, to substitute some other female appellation. So saying, she tripped off. Mr. Liston on this was guilty of the following incon- sistency ; he pressed the paint carefully out of the brush into the pot: having thus economized his material, he hurled the pot which contained his economy, at ''tie Johnstone," he tiien adjourned to the "Peacock," and " away at once Avith love and reason." Thenceforth, when men asked who was Christie John- stone's lad, the answer used to be, '' She's seeking ane." Quelle horreur ! Newhaven doesn't know everything, but my intelligent reader suspects, and if confirming his suspicions can reconcile him to our facts, it will soon be done. But he must come with us to Edinburgh j it's only three miles. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 43 CHAPTER VI. A LITTLE band of painters came into Edinburgh from a professional walk. Three were of Edinburgh : Groove, aged fifty ; Jones and Hyacinth, young ; the latter long- haired. With them was a young Englishman, the leader of the expedition — Charles Gatty. His step was elastic, and his manner wonderfully ani- mated, without loudness. '•' A bright day," said he. " The sun forgot where he was, and shone ; everything was in favor of art." " Oh dear, no," replied old Groove, " not where I was." " Why, what was the matter ? " " The flies kept buzzing and biting, and sticking in the work : that's the worst of out o' doors I " " The flies ! is that all ? Swear the spiders in special constables next time," cried Gatty. " We shall win the day : " and light shot into his hazel eye. " The world will not always put up with the humbugs of the brush, who, to imitate Nature, turn their back on her. Paint an out-o'-door scene in-doors I I swear by the sun it's a lie I the one stupid, impudent lie, that glitters amongst the lies of vulgar art, like Satan amongst Belial, ^lammon, and all those beggars. " Now look here ; the barren outlines of a scene must be looked at, to be done ; hence the sketching system slop-sellers of the Academy ! but the million delicacies of light, shade, and color, can be trusted to memory, can they ? " " It's a lie big enough to shake the earth out of her 44 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. course ; if' any part of the work could be trusted to memory or imagination, it happens to be the bare out- lines, and they can't. The million subtleties of light and color ; learn them by heart, and say them off on canvas ! the highest angel in the sky must have his eye upon them, and look devilish sharp, too, or he shan't paint them : I give him Charles Gatty's word for that." *' That's very eloquent, I call it," said Jones. " Yes," said poor old Groove, " the lad will never make a painter." " Yes, I shall, Groove ; at least I hope so, but it must be a long time first." '* I never knew a painter who could talk and paint both," explained Mr. Groove. '' Very well," said Gatty. " Then I'll say but one word more, and it is this. The artifice of painting is old enough to die; it is time the art was born. Whenever it does come into the world, you will see no more dead corpses of trees, grass, and water, robbed of their life, the sunlight, and flung upon canvas in a studio, by the light of a cigar, and a lie — and " — " How much do you expect for your picture ? " inter- rupted Jones. "What has that to do with it? With these little swords (waving his brush), we'll fight for nature-light, truth-light, and sun-light, against a world in arms, — no, worse, in swaddling-clothes." " With these little swerrds," replied poor old Groove, "we shall cut our own throats if we go against people's prejudices." The young artist laughed the old daubster a merry defiance, and then separated from the party, for his lodg- ings were down the street. He had not left them long, before a most musical voice was heard, crying, CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 45 " A caallerr owoo ! " And two young fishwives hove in sight. The boys recognized one of them as Gatty's sweet- heart. " Is he in love with her ? " inquired Jones. Hyacinth the long-haired undertook to reply. " He loves her better than anything in the world, except Art. Love and Art are two beautiful things," whined Hyacinth. " She, too, is beautiful. I have done her," added he with a simper. " In oil ? " asked Groove. " In oil ? no, in verse, here," and he took out a paper. " Then hadn't we better cut ? you might propose read- ing them," said poor old Groove. " Have you any oysters ? " inquired Jones of the Carnie and the Johnstone, who were now alongside. " Plenty," answered Jean. " Hae ye ony siller ? " The artists looked at one another, and didn't all speak at once. " I, madam," said old Groove, insinuatingly, to Christie, "am a friend of Mr. Gatty's: perhaps, on that account, you would lend me an oyster or two." " Na," said Jean, sternly. " Hyacinth," said Jones, sarcastically, " give them your verses, perhaps that will soften them." Hyacinth gave his verses, descriptive of herself, to Christie. This youngster was one of those who mind other people's business. Aiienis studiis delectatus contem.psit suum. His destiny was to be a bad painter, so he wanted to be an execrable poet. All this morning he had been doggerelling, when he ought to have been daubing; and now he will have to sup off a colored print, if he sups at all. 46 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. Christie read, blushed, and put the verses in her bosom. " Come awa, Custy," said Jean. " Hets," said Christie, " gie the puir lads twarree oysters, what the waur will we be ? " So they opened oysters for them ; and Hyacinth, the long-haired, looked down on the others with sarcastico- benignant superiority. He had conducted a sister art to the aid of his brother brushes. " The poet's empire, all our hearts alloAv ; But doggerers power was never known till now." CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 47 CHAPTER VII. At the commencement of last chapter, Charles Gatty, artist, was going to usher in a new state of things, true art, etc. Wales was to be painted in Wales, not Poland Street. He and five or six more youngsters were to be in the foremost files of truth, and take the world by storm. This was at two o'clock ; it is now five ; whereupon the posture of affairs, the prospects of art, the face of the world, the nature of things, are quite the reverse. • In the artist's room, on the floor, was a small child, whose movements, and they were many, were viewed with huge dissatisfaction by Charles Gatty, Esq. This personage, pencil in hand, sat slouching and morose, looking gloomily at his intractable model. Things were going on very badly ; he had been wait- ing two hours for an infantine pose, as common as dirt, and the little viper would die first. Out of doors everything was nothing, for the sun was obscured, and to all appearance extinguished forever. " Ah ! Mr. Groove/' cried he, to that worthy, who peeped in at that moment; "you are right, it is better to plough away upon canvas blindfold, as our grand- fathers, no, grandmothers, used, than to kill ourselves toiling after such coy ladies as Nature and Truth." " A weel, I dinna ken, sirr," replied Groove, in smooth tones. "I didna like to express my warm approbation of you before the lads, for fear of making them jealous." " They be — No ! " "I ken what ye wad say, sirr, an it wad hae been a 48 CHRISTIE .lOHNSTONE. vara just an' spriglitly observaation. Aweel, between oursels, I look upon ye as a young gentleman of amazing talent and moedesty. Man, ye dinna do yoursel justice; ye should be in th' Academy — at the hede o't." "Mr. Groove, I am a poor fainting pilgrim on the road, where stronger spirits have marched erect before me." "A faintin pelgrim ! Deil a frights o' ye, ye're a brisk and bonny lad. Ah, sirr, in my juvenile days we didna fash wi' nature and truth, an' the like." " The like ! What is like nature and truth, except themselves ? " " Vara true, sirr, vara true ; and sae I doot I will never attain the height o' profeeciency ye hae reached. An' at this vara moment, sir," continued Groove, with delicious solemnity and mystery, ^'ye see before ye, sir, a man wha is in maist dismal want — o' ten shellen." (A pause.) " If your superior talent has put ye in possession of that sum, ye would obleege me infinitely by a temporary accommodaation, ]Mr. Gaattie." " Why did you not come to the point at once ? " cried Gatty, brusquely, " instead of humbling me with unde- served praise. There " — Groove held out his hand, but made a wry face when, instead of money, Gatty put a sketch into his hand — "there," said Gatty, "that is a lie." " How can it be a lee ? " said the other, with sour inadvertence. "How can it be a lee, when I hae na spoken ? " " You don't understand me. That sketch is a libel on a poor cow and an unfortunate oak-tree. I did them at the Academy. , They had never done rae any wrong, poor things ; they suffered unjustly. You take them to a shop, swear they are a tree and a cow, and some fool, that never really looked into a cow or a tree, will give you ten shillings for them." CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 49 ' Are ye sure, lad ? " " I am sure. Mr. Groove, sir, if you cannot sell a lie for ten shillings, you are not fit to live in this world ; where is the lie that will not sell for ten shillings ? " " I shall think the better o' lees all my days, sir ; your words are inspeeriting." And away went Groove with the sketch. Gatty reflected, and stopped him. "On second thoughts, Groove, you must not ask ten shillings ; you must ask twenty pounds for that rub- bish." "Twenty pund! What for will I seek twenty pund?" " Simply because people that would not give you ten shillings for it will offer you eleven pounds for it if you ask twenty pounds " " The fules," roared Groove. " Twenty pund, hem ! " He looked closer into it. " For a','' said he, " I begin to obsairve it is a work of great merit. I'll seek twenty pund ; an' I'll no tak less than fifteen schelln, at present." The visit of this routine painter did not cheer our artist. The small child got a coal, and pounded the floor with it, like a machine incapable of fatigue. So the wished- for pose seemed more remote than ever. The day waxed darker, instead of lighter ; Mr. Gatty's reflections took also a still more sombre hue. "Even Nature spites us," thought he, "because we love her. " Then cant, tradition, numbers, slang, and money are against us ; the least of these is singly a match for truth. We shall die of despair or paint cobwebs in Bedlam ; and I am faint, weary of a hopeless struggle ; and one man's brush is truer than mine, another's is bolder, — my hand and eye are not in tune. Ah ! no ; I shall never, never, never be a painter." 4 60 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. These last words broke audibly from him, as his head went down almost to his knees. A hand was placed on his shoulder, as a flake of snow falls on the water. It was Christie Johnstone, radiant, who had glided in unobserved. " What's wrang wi' ye, my lad ? " " The sun is gone to the devil, for one thing." " Hech ! hech ! ye'll no be long ahint him ; div ye no think shame." "And I want that little brute just to do so, and he'd die first." " Oh, ye villain ! to ca' a bairn a brute ; there's but ae brute here, an' it's no you, Jamie, nor me ; is it, my lamb ? " She then stepped to the window. " It's clear to windward ; in ten minutes ye'll hae plenty sun. Tak your tools noo." And at the word she knelt on the floor, whipped out a paper of sugar- plums, and said to him she had christened " Jamie," — " Hell ! Here's sweeties till ye." Out went Jamie's arms, as if he had been a machine, and she had pulled the right string. " Ah, that will do," said Gatty, and sketched away. Unfortunately Jamie was quickly arrested on the way to immortality by his mother, who came in, saying, — " I maun hae my bairn, — he canna be aye wasting his time here." This sally awakened the satire that ever lies ready in piscatory bosoms. " Wasting his time ! ye're no blate. Oh, ye'll be for taking him to the college to laern pheesick, — and teach maenners." "Ye needna begin on me," said the woman, "I'm no match for Newhaven." So saying she cut short the dispute by carrying off the gristle of contention. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 51 " Another enemy to art," said Gatty, hurling away his pencil. The young fishwife inquired if there were any more griefs : what she had heard had not acoounted, to her reason, for her companion's depression. " Are ye sick, laddy ? " said she. "Xo, Christie, not sick, but quite, quite down in the mouth." She scanned him thirty seconds. " What had ye till your dinner ? " " I forget." "A choep, likely?" "I think it was." " Or maybe it was a steak ? " " I dare say it was a steak." " Taste my girdle cake, that I've brought for ye." She gave him a piece ; he ate it rapidly, and looked gratefully at her. " Noo, div ye no think shame to look me in the face ? Ye hae na dined ava." And she wore an injured look. " Sit ye there ; it's ower late for dinner, but ye'U get a cup tea : doon i' the mooth, nae wonder, when naething gangs doon your " — In a minute she placed a tea-tray, and ran into the kitchen with a teapot. The next moment a yell was heard, and she returned laughing with another teapot. " The wife had maskit her tea till hersel'," said this lawless forager. Tea and cake on the table — beauty seated by his side — all in less than a minute. He offered her a piece of cake. " Na ! I am no for any." " Nor I, then," said he. « Hets ! eat, I tell ye." 52 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. He replied by putting a bit to her heavenly mouth. "Ye're awfu' opinionated," said she, with a counte- nance that said nothing should induce her, and eating it almost contemporaneously. "Put plenty sugar," added she, referring to the Chinese infusion ; "mind, I hae a sweet tooth." " You have a sweet set," said he, approaching another morsel. ■ Tliey showed themselves by way of smile, and con- lirmed the accusation. *' Aha, lad ! " answered she ; " they've been the death o' mony a herrin' ! " " Now, what does that mean in English, Christie ? " " My grinders — (a full stop.) " Which you approve — (a full stop.) "Have been fatal — (a full stop.) " To many fishes ! " Christie prided herself on her English, which she had culled from books. Then he made her drink from the cup, and was osten- tatious in putting his lips to the same part of the brim. Then she left the table, and inspected all things. She came to his drawers, opened one, and was horror- struck. There were coats and trousers, with their limbs inter- changeably intertwined, waistcoats, shirts, and cigars, hurled into chaos. She instantly took the drawer bodily out, brought it, leaned it against the tea-table, pointed silently into it, with an air of majestic reproach, and awaited the result. "I can find whatever I want," said the unblushing bachelor, " except money." " Siller does na bide wi' slovens ! hae ye often siccan a gale o' wind in your drawer ? " " Every day ! Speak English ! " CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 53 " Aweel ! How do you do ? that's Ennglish ! I daur say." " Jolly ! " cried he, with his mouth full. Christie was now folding up and neatly arranging his clothes. " Will you ever, ever be a painter ? " " I am a painter ! I could paint the devil pea-green ! " " Dinna speak o' yon lad, Chairles ; it's no canny." " No ! I am going to paint an angel ; the prettiest, cleverest girl in Scotland, 'The Snowdrop of the North.'" And he dashed into his bedroom to find a canvas. " Hech ! " reflected Christie. " Thir Ennglish hae flattering tongues, as sure as dethe ; ' The Snawdrap o' the Norrth ! ' " 54 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. CHAPTER VIII. Gatty's back was hardly turned when a visitor arrived and inquired, " Is Mr. Gatty at home ? " " Wliat's your will wi' him ?" was the Scottish reply. " Will you give him this ? " " What est ? " " Are you fond of asking questions ? " inquired the man. '^ Ay, and fules canna answer them ! " retorted Christie. The little document which the man, in retiring, left with Christie Johnstone, purported to come from one Victoria, who seemed, at first sight, disposed to show Charles Gatty civilities. " Victoria — to Charles Gatty, greeting ! (salufem)." Christie was much struck with this instance of royal affability ; she read no farther, bub began to think : " Victoree ! that's the Queen hersel. A letter fra the Queen to a painter lad ! Picters will rise i' the mairket — it will be an order to paint the bairns. I hae brought him luck ; I am real pleased." And on Gatty's return, canvas in hand, she whipped the docu- ment behind her, and said archly, " I hae something for ye ; a tecket fra a leddy ; ye'll no want siller fra this day." " Indeed ! " " Ay ! indeed, fra a great leddy ; it's vara gude o' me to gie ye it ; heh ! tak it." He did take it, looked stupefied, looked again, sunk into a chair, and glared at it. " Laddy ! " said Christie. " This is a new step on the downward path," said the poor painter. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 55 "Is it no an orrder to paint the young Frence?" said Christie, faintly. "No!" almost shrieked the victim. "It's a writ! 1 owe a lot of money." " Chairles ! " " See ! I borrowed sixty pounds six months ago of a friend, so now I owe eighty ! " " All right ! " giggled the unfriendly visitor at the door, whose departure had been more or less ficti- tious. Christie, by an impulse, not justifiable, but natural, drew her oyster-knife out, and this time the man really went away. " Hairtless mon ! " cried she, " could he no do his ain dirrty work, and no gar me gie the puir lad th' action, and he likeit me sae weel ! " and she began to Avhimper. " And love you more now," said he ; " don't you cry, dear, to add to my vexation." "Na! I'll no add to your vexation," and she gulped down her tears. "Besides, I have pictures painted worth two hundred pounds ; this is only for eighty. To be sure you can't sell them for two hundred pence when you want. So I shall go to jail, but they won't keep me long." Then he took a turn, and began to fall into the artistic, or true view of matters, which, indeed, was never long absent from him. "' Look here, Christie," said he, " I am sick of conven- tional assassins, humbugging models, with dirty beards, that knit their brows, and tr}' to look murder ; they never murdered so much as a tomcat : I always go in for the real thing, and here I shall find it." "Dinna gang in there, lad, for ony favor." " Then I shall find the accessories of a picture I have in my head — chains with genuine rust, and ancient 56 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. mouldering stones, with the stains of time." His eye brightened at the prospect. " You among fiefs, and chains, and stanes ! Ye'll break my hairt, kiddy, ye'll no be easy till you break my hairt : " and this time the tears would not be denied. " I love you for crying ; don't cry ; " and he fished from the chaotic drawer a cambric handkerchief, with which he dried her tears as they fell. It is my firm belief she cried nearly twice as much as she really wanted to ; she contrived to make the grief hers, the sympathy his. Suddenly she stopped, and said, — "I'm daft; ye'll accept a lane o' the siller fra me, will ye no ? " '' No ! " said he. " And where could you find eighty pound ? " " Auchty pund," cried she, " it's no auchty pund that will ding Christie Johnstone, laddy. I hae boats and nets worth twa aucht3'S ; and I hae forty pund laid by ; and I hae seven hundred pund at London, but that I canna meddle. My feyther lent it the King or the Queen, I dinna justly mind ; she pays me the interest twice the year. Sae ye ken I could na be sae dirty as seek my siller, when she pays me th' interest : to the very day, ye ken. She's just the only one o' a' my debtors that's hoenest, but never heed, ye'll no gang to jail." " I'll hold my tongue, and sacrifice my pictures," thought Charles. " Cheer up ! " said Christie, mistaking the nature of his thoughts, " for it did na come fra Victoree hersel'. It wad smell o' the musk, ye ken. Na, it's just a wheen blackguards at London that makes use o' her name to torment puir folk. Wad she pairsecute a puir lad ? No likely." She then asked questions, some of which were embar- CHJIISTIE JOHNSTONE. 57 rassing. One thing he could never succeed in making her understand, how, since it was sixty pounds he bor- rowed, it could be eighty pounds he owed. Then once more she promised him her protection, bade him be of good cheer, and left him. At the door she turned, and said, "Chairles, here's an auld wife seeking ye," and vanished. These two young people had fallen acquainted at a Newhaven wedding. Christie, belonging to no one, had danced with him all the night, they had walked under the stars to cool themselves, for dancing reels with heart and soul is not quadrilling. Then he had seen his beautiful partner in Edinburgh, and made a sketch of her, Avhich he gave her ; and by and by he used to run down to Newhaven, and stroll up and down a certain green lane near the town. Next, on Sunday evenings, a long walk together, and then it came to visits at his place now and then. And here Raphael and Fornarina were inverted, our artist used to work, and Christie tell him stories the while. And as her voice curled round his heart, he used to smile and look, and lay inspired touches on his subject. And she, an artist of the tongue (without knowing herself one), used to make him grave, or ga}', or sad, at will, and watch the effect of her art upon his counte- nance; and a very pretty art it is — the vird voce story- tellers — and a rare one amongst the nations of Europe. Christie had not learned it in a day ; when she began, she used to tell them like the other Newhaven people, with a noble impartiality of detail, wearisome to the hearer. But latterly she had learned to seize the salient parts of a narrative ; her voice had compass, and, like all fino speakers, she travelled over a great many notes in speak- 58 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. ing ; her low tones were gorgeously rich, her upper tones full and sweet ; all this, and her beauty, made the hours she gave him very sweet to our poor artist. He was wont to bask in her music, and tell her in return how he loved her, and how happy they were both to be as soon as he had acquired a name, for a name was wealth, he told her. And although Christie Johnstone did not let him see how much she took all this to heart and believed it, it was as sweet music to her, as her own honeysuckle breath to him. She improved him. He dropped cigars, and medical students, and similar abominations. Christie's cool, fresh breath, as she hung over him while painting, suggested to him that smoking might, peradventure, be a sin against nature as well as against cleanliness. And he improved her ; she learned from art to look into nature (the usual process of mind). She had noticed too little the flickering gold of the leaves at evening, the purple hills, and the shifting stories and glories of the sky ; but now, whatever she saw him try to imitate, she learned to examine. She was a woman, and admired sunset, etc., for this boy's sake, and her whole heart expanded with a new sensation that softened her manner to all the world, and brightened her personal rays. This charming picture of mutual affection had hitherto been admired only by those who figured in it. But a visitor had now arrived on purpose to inspect it, etc., attracted by report.- A friend had considerately informed Mrs. Gatty, the artist's mother, and she had instantly started from Newcastle. This was the old lady Christie discovered on the stairs. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 59 Her sudden appearance took her son's breath away. Ko human event was less likely than that she should be there, yet there she was. After the first surprise and affectionate greetings, a misgiving crossed him, " Slie must know about the writ." It was impossible; but our minds are so constituted, when we are guilty, we fear that others know what we know. Now Gatty was particularly anxious she should not know about this writ, for he had incurred the debt by acting against her advice. Last year he commenced a picture in which was Dur- ham Cathedral: his mother bade him stay qviietly at home, and paint the cathedral and its banks from a print, " as any other painter would," observed she. But this was not the lad's system : he spent five months on the spot, and painted his picture, but he had to borrow sixty pounds to do this ; the condition of this loan was, that in six months he should either pay eighty pounds, or finish, and hand over, a certain half-finished picture. He did neither ; his new subject thrust aside his old one, and he had no money; ergo his friend, a picture- dealer, who had found artists slippery in money-matters, followed him up sharp, as we see. " There is nothing the matter, I hope, mother. What is it ? " "I'm tired, Charles." He brought her a seat: she sat down. " I did not come from Newcastle at my age for noth- ing ; you have formed an improper acquaintance." « I, who ? Is it Jack Adams ? " " "Worse than any Jack Adams ! " " Who can that be ? Jenkyns, mother, because he does the same things as Jack, and pretends to be reli- gious." GO CHRISTIE JOHXi^TONE. " It is a female, — a fishwife. my son ! " " Christie Johnstone an improper acquaintance ! " said he : " why, T was good for nothing till I knew her ; she has made me so good, mother, so steady, so industrious, you will never have to find fault with me again." " Nonsense ! a woman that sells fish in the streets ! " " But you have not seen her. She is beautiful ; her mind is not in fish : her mind grasps the beautiful and the good : she is a companion for princes .' What am I that she wastes a thought or a ray of music on me ? Heaven bless her ! She reads our best authors, and never forgets a word ; and she tells me beautiful stories, — sometimes they make me cry, for her voice is a music that goes straight to my heart." " A woman that does not even wear the clothes of a lady." "It is the only genuine costume in these islands not beneath a painter's notice." "Look at me, Charles ; at 3'our mother." " Yes, mother," said he nervously. "You must part with her, or kill me." He started from his seat and began to flutter up and down the room. Poor excitable creature! "Part with her ! " cried he ; "I shall never be a painter if I do ; what is to keep my heart warm when the sun is hid, when the birds are silent, when difficulty looks a mount- ain, and success a molehill ? What is an artist without love ? How is he to bear up against his disappointments from within, his mortification from without ? the great ideas he has and cannot grasp, and all the forms of igno- rance that sting him, from stupid insensibility down to clever, shallow criticism ? " "' Come back to common-sense," said the old lady coldly and grimly. He looked uneasy ; common-sense had often been CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 61 quoted against him, and common-sense had always proved right. " Come back to common-sense. She shall not be your mistress, and she cannot bear your name : you must part some day, because you cannot come together, and now is the best time." "Not be together? all our lives, all our lives, ay," cried he, rising into enthusiasm, " hundreds of years to come will we two be together before men's eyes. I will be an immortal painter, that the world and time may cherish the features I have loved. I love her, mother," added he, with a tearful tenderness that ought to have reached a woman's heart; then flushing, trembling, and inspired he burst out, " And I wish I was a sculptor and a poet too, that Christie might live in stone and verse, as well as colors, and all who love an art might say, ' This woman cannot die : Charles Gatty loved her.' " He looked in her face : he could not believe any creat- ure could be insensible to his love, and persist to rob him of it. The old woman paused to let his eloquence evaporate. The pause chilled him ; then gently and slowl}-, but emphatically, she spoke to him thus : — " Who has kept you on her small means ever since you were ten years and seven months old ? " " You should know, mother, dear mother." "Answer me, Charles," " My mother." " Who has pinched herself in every earthly thing, to make you an immortal painter, and, above all, a gentle- man ? " " My mother." "Who forgave you the little faults of youth, before you could ask pardon ? " "My mother. mother, I ask pardon now for all 62 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. the trouble I ever gave the best, the dearest, the tender- est of mothers." " Who will go home to Newcastle a broken-hearted woman, with the one hope gone that has kept her up in poverty and sorrow so many weary years, if this goes on?" " Nobody, I hope." " Yes, Charles : your mother." " 0, mother ; you have been always my best friend." "And am this day." " Do not be my worst enemy now : it is for me to obey you, but it is for you to think well before you drive rae to despair." And the poor womanish heart leaned his head on the table, and began to sorrow over his hard fate. Mrs. Gatty soothed him. " It need not be done all in a moment. It must be done kindly but firmly. I will give you as much time as you like." This bait took — the weak love to temporize. It is doubtful whether lie honestly intended to part with Christie Johnstone, but to pacify his mother he promised to begin and gradually untie the knot. " My mother will go," whispered his deceitful heart, " and when she is away, perhaps I shall find out that in spite of every effort I cannot resign my treasure." He gave a sort of half-promise for the sake of peace. His mother instantly sent to the inn for her boxes. " There is a room in this same house," said she ; " I will take it : I will not hurry you, but until it is done, I stay here, if it is a twelvemonth about." He turned pale. " And now hear the good news I have brought you from Newcastle." Oh, these little iron wills ! how is a great artist to fight three hundred and sixty-five days against such an antagonist ? CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 63 Every day saw a repetition of these dialogues in which genius made gallant bursts into the air, and strong, hard sense caught him on his descent, and dabbed glue on his gauzy wings. Old age and youth see life so differently. To youth it is a story-book, in which we are to com- mand the incidents, and be the bright exceptions to one rule after another. To age it is an almanac, in which everything will happen just as it has happened so many times. To youth, it is a path through a sunny meadow. To age, a hard turnpike : Whose travellers must be all sweat and dust, when they are not in mud and drenched : Which wants mending in many places, and is mended with sharp stones. Gatty would not yield to go down to Newhaven, and take a step against his love, but he yielded so far as to remain passive, and see whether this creature was neces- sary to his existence or not. Mrs. G. scouted the idea. " He was to work, and he would soon forget her." Poor boy ! he wanted to work ; his debt weighed on him : a week's resolute labor might finish his first picture and satisfy his creditor. The subject was an interior. He set to work, he stuck to work, he glued to work, his body — but his heart ? Ah, my poor fellow, a much slower horse than Gatty will go by you, ridden as you are by a leaden heart. Tti nihil iiivitd fades pingcsve Minervd. It would not lower a mechanical dog's efforts, but it must yours. He was unhappy. He heard only one side for days ; 64 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. that side was recommended by his duty, filial affection, and diffidence of his own good sense. He was brought to see his proceedings were eccentric, and that it is destruction to be eccentric. He was made a little ashamed of what he had been proud of. He was confused and perplexed ; he hardly knew what to think or do ; he collapsed, and all his spirit was fast leaving him, and then he felt inclined to lean on the first thing he could find, and nothing came to hand but his mother. Meantime, Christie Johnstone was also thinking of him, but her single anxiety was to find this eighty pounds for him. It is a Xewhaven idea that the female is the natural protector of the male, and this idea was strengthened in her case. She did not fully comprehend his character and tem- perament, but she saw, by instinct, that she was to be the protector. Besides, as she was twenty-one, and he only twenty- two, she felt the difference between herself — a woman, and him — a boy, and to leave him to struggle unaided out of his difficulties, seemed to her heartless. Twice she opened her lips to engage the charitable " Vile Count " in his cause, but shame closed them again ; this would be asking a personal favor, and one on so large a scale. Several days passed thus ; she had determined not to visit him without good news. She then began to be surprised, she heard nothing from him. And now she felt something that prevented her calling on him. But Jean Carnie was to be married, and the next day CHKlSTiE JOHl^STONE. 65 the wedding party were to spend in festivity upon the island of Inch Coombe. She bade Jean call on him, and without mentioning her, invite him to this part}^, from which, he must know, she would not be absent. Jean Caruie entered his apartment, and at her en- trance, his mother, who took for granted, this was his sweetheart, whispered in his ear that he should now take the first step, and left him. What passed between Jean Carnie and Charles Gatty is for another chapter. Vol. 9—9 66 CHRISTIE JOHNSTOITB. CHAPTER IX. A YOUNG viscount with income and person cannot lie perdu three miles from Edinburgh. First one discovers him, then another, then twenty, then all the world, as the whole clique is modestly called. Before, however. Lord Ipsden was caught, he had acquired a browner tint, a more elastic step, and a stouter heart. The Aberford prescription had done wonders for him. He caught himself passing one whole day without thinking of Lady Barbara Sinclair. But even Aberford had misled him ; there were no adventures to be found in the Firth of Forth ; most of the days there was no wind to speak of ; twice it blew great guns, and the men were surprised at his lordship going out, but nobody was in any danger except himself; the fishermen had all slipped into port before matters were serious. He found the merchantmen that could sail creeping on with three reefs in their mainsail ; and the Dutchmen lying to and breasting it, like ducks in a pond, and with no more chance of harm. On one of these occasions he did observe a little steam-tug, going about a knot an hour, and rolling like a washing-tub. He ran down to her, and asked if he could assist her ; she answered through the medium of a sooty animal at her helm, that she was (like our universities) '' satisfied with her own progress;" she added, being under intoxication^ " that if any danger existed, her CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 67 scheme was to drown it in the bo-o-owl ; " and two days afterwards, he saw her puffing and panting, and fiercely dragging a gigantic three-decker out into deep water, like an industrious flea pulling his phaeton. And now it is my office to relate how Mr. Flucker Johnstone comported himself on one occasion. As the yacht worked alongside Granton Pier, before running out, the said Flucker, calmly and scientificallj'', drew his lordship's attention to three points : The direction of the wind — the force of the wind — • and his opinion, as a person experienced in the Firth, that it was going to be worse instead of better; in reply, he received an order to step forward to his place in the cutter — the immediate vicinity of the jib-boom. On this Mr. Flucker instantly burst into tears. His lordship, or as Flucker called him, ever since the yacht came down, '' the skipper," deeming that the higher appellation, inquired, with some surprise, wha,t was the matter with the boy ? One of the crew, who, by-the-by, squinted, suggested " it was a slight illustration of the passion of fear." Flucker confirmed the theory by gulping out, " We'll never see Newhaven again." On this the skipper smiled, and ordered him ashore, somewhat peremptorily. Straightway he began to howl, and saying " It was better to be drowned than be the laughing-stock of the place," went forward to his place ; on his safe return to port, this young gentleman was very severe on open boats, which he said "bred womanish notions in hearts naturally dauntless. Give me a lid to the pot," added he, " and I'll sail with Old Nick, let the wind blow high or low." The Aberford was wrong when he called love a cuta- neous disorder. 68 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. There are cutaneous disorders that take that name, but they are no more love than verse is poetry ; Than patriotism is love of country ; Than theology is religion ; Than science is philosophy ; Than paintings are pictures ; Than reciting on the boards is acting ; Than physic is medicine ; Than bread is bread, or gold, gold — in shops. Love is a state of being ; the beloved object is our centre ; and our thoughts, affections, schemes, and selves, move but round it. We may diverge hither or thither, but the golden thread still holds us. Is fair or dark beauty the fairest ? The world cannot decide ; but love shall decide in a moment. A halo surroiinds her we love, and makes beautiful to us her movements, her looks, her virtues, her faults, her nonsense, her affectation, and herself, and that's love, doctor ! Lord Ipsden was capable of loving like this, but to do Lady Barbara justice, she had done much to freeze the germ of noble passion ; she had not killed, but she had benumbed it. " Saunders," said Lord Ipsden, one morning after break- fast, " have you entered everything in your diary ? " "Yes, my lord." " All these good people's misfortunes ? " " Yes, my lord." " Do you think you have spelt their names right ? " " Where it was impossible, my lord, I substituted an English appellation hidentical in meaning." " Have you entered and described my first interview with Christie Johnstone, and somebody something ? " " Most minutely, my lord." CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 69 "How 1 turned Mr. Burke into poetry — how she lis- tened with her eyes all glistening — how they made me talk — how she dropped a tear, he ! he! he! at. the death of the first baron — how shocked she was at the king striking him when he was dying, to make a knight- banneret of the poor old fellow ? " " Your lordship will find all the particulars exactly related," said Saunders, with dry pomp. " How she found out that titles are but breath — how I answered — some nonsense ? " " Your lordship will find all the topics included." "How she took me for a madman? And you for a prig?" "The latter circumstance eluded my memory, my lord." " But when I told her I must relieve only one poor person by day, she took my hand." " Your lordship will find all the items realized in this book, my lord." " What a beautiful book ! " " Alba are considerably ameliorated, my lord." " Alba ? " "Plural of album, my lord," explained the refined factotum, "more delicate, I conceive, than the vulgar reading." Viscount Ipsden read from Mb. Saunders's Album : "To illustrate the inelegance of the inferior classes, two juvenile venders of the piscatory tribe were this day ushered in, and instantaneously, without the accustomed preliminaries, plunged into a familiar conversation with Lord Viscount Ipsden. " Their vulgarity, shocking and repulsive to myself, aj^peared to afford his lordship a satisfaction greater than he derives from the graceful amenities of fashionable association " — 70 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. " Saunders, I suspect you of something." " Me, my lord ! " "Yes. Writing in an annual." "I do, my lord," said he with benignant hauteur. "It appears every month — ' The Pol3'technic.' " " I thought so ! you are polysyllabic, Saunders ; en route ! " " In this hallucination I find it difficult to participate ; associated from infancy with the aristocracy, I shrink, like the sensitive plant, from contact with anything vulgar." " I see ! I begin to understand you, Saunders. Order the dog-cart, and Wordsworth's mare for leader; we'll give her a trial. You are an ass, Saunders." " Yes, my lord ; I will order Robert to tell James to come for your lordship's commands about your lordship's vehicles. (What could he intend by a recent observation of a discourteous character ?)" His lordship soliloquized. " I never observed it before, but Saunders is an ass ; La Johnstone is one of nature's duchesses, and she has made me know some poor people that will be richer than the rich one day ; and she has taught me that honey is to be got from bank-notes — by merely giving them away." Amongst the objects of charity Lord Ipsden dis- covered, was one Thomas Harvey, a maker and player of the violin. This man was a person of great intellect ; he mastered every subject he attacked. By a careful examination of all the points that various fine-toned instruments had in common, he had arrived at a theory of sound; he made violins to correspond, and was re- markably successful in insuring that which had been too hastily ascribed to accident — a fine tone. This man, who was in needy circumstances, demon- CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 71 strated to his lordship that ten pounds would make his fortune ; because with ten pounds he could set up a shop, instead of working out of the world's sight in a room. Lord Ipsden gave him ten pounds ! A week after he met Harvey, more ragged and dirty than before. Harvey had been robbed by a friend whom he had assisted. Poor Hauvey ! Lord Ipsden gave him ten pounds more ! Next week, Saunders, entering Harvey's house, fouiid him in bed at noon, because he had no clothes to wear. Saunders suggested that it would be better to give his Avife the next money, with strict orders to apply it usefully. This was done ! The next day, Harvey finding his clothes upon a chair, his tools redeemed from pawn, and a beefsteak ready for his dinner, accused his wife of having money, and meanly refusing him the benefit of it. She acknowledged she had a little, and appealed to the improved state of things as a proof that she knew better than he the use of money. He demanded the said money. She refused — he leathered her — she put him in prison. This was the best place for him. The man was a drunkard, and all the riches of Egypt would never have made him better off. And here, gentlemen of the lower classes, a v/ord with you. How can you, with your small incomes, hope to be well off, if you are more extravagant than those who have large ones ? " Us extravagant ? " you reply. Yes ! your income is ten shillings a week ; out of that you spend three shillings in drink ; ay ! you the sober ones. You can't afford it, my boys. Find me a man whose income is a thousand a year ; well, if he imitates <3 CHllISTIE JOUNSTONK. you, and spends three luuulred upon sensuality, I bet you the odd seven hundred, lie does not make both ends meet; the proportion is too great. And tivo-thinh of the distress of the lower orders is oiviiKj to this — thnt they are more madly jjrinliyal thou the rirh ; in the tvorst, loiri'st, and most dnngeroiis item of all human prodigality ! Lord Ipsden went to see Mrs. Harvey; it cost him much to go; she lived in the old town, and he hated dis- agreeable smells ; he also knew from Saunders that she had two black eyes, and he hated women with black eyes of that sort. But this good creature did go ; did relieve Mrs. Harvey ; and, bareheaded, suffered himself to be bedewed ten minutes by her tearful twaddle. For once, virtue was rewarded : returning over the North Bridge, he met somebody whom, but for his charity, he would not have met. He came in one bright moment plump upon — Lady Barbara Sinclair. She flushed, he trembled, and in two minutes he had forgotten every human event that had passed since last he was by her side. She seemed pleased to see him, too ; she ignored en- tirely his obnoxious proposal ; he wisely took her cue, and so, on this secret understanding, they were friends. He made his arrangements, and dined with her family. It was a family party. In the evening Lady Barbara allowed it to transpire that she had made inquiries about him. (He was highly flattered.) And she had discovered he was lying hid somewhere in the neighborhood. " Studying the guitar ? " inquired she. "No," said he, "studying a new class of the com- munity. Do you know any of what they call the 'lower classes ' ? " " Yes." " Monstrous agreeable people, are they not ? " CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 73 "No, very stupid! I only know two old women — except the servants, who have no characters. They imitate us, I suspect, which does not say much for their taste." "But some of my friends are young women, that makes all the difference." " It does ! and you ought to be ashamed. If you want a low order of mind, why desert our own circle ? " " My friends are only low in station ; they have rather lofty minds, some of them." "Well, amuse yourself with these lofty mmds. Amusement is the end of being, you know, and the aim of all the men of this day." "We imitate the ladies," said he slyly. "You do," answered she, very dryly; and so the dialogue went on, and Lord Ipsden found the pleasure of being with his cousin compensate him fully for the difference of their opinions ; in fact, he found it simply amusing that so keen a wit as his cousin's could be entrapped into the humor of decrying the time one happens to live in, and admiring any epoch one knows next to nothing about, and entrapped by the notion of its originality, above all things ; the idea being the stale commonplace of asses in every age, and the manner of conveying the idea being a mere imitation of the German writers, not the good ones. Men entendu, but the quill-drivers, the snobs of the Teutonic pen. But he was to learn that follies are not always laugh- able, that eadem sentire is a bond, and that when a clever and pretty woman chooses to be a fool, her lover, if he is wise, will be a greater — if he can. The next time they met, Lord Ipsden found Lady Barbara occupied with a gentleman, whose first sentence proclaimed him a pupil of Mr. Thomas Carlyle, and he had the mortification to find that she had neither an ear nor an eye for him. 74 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. Human opinion has so many sliades, that it is rare to iind two people agree. Bnt two people may agree wonderfully, if they will but let a third think for them both. Thus it was that these two ran so smoothly in couples. Antiquity, they agreed, was the time when the world was old, its hair gray, its head wise. Every one that said '• Lord, Lord ! " two hundred years ago, was a Chris- tian. There were no earnest men now ; Williams, the missionary, who lived and died for the gospel, was not earnest in religion ; but Cromwell, who packed a jury, and so murdered his prisoner, — Cromwell, in whose mouth was heaven, and in his heart temporal sovereignty, was the pattern of earnest religion, or, at all events, second in sincerity to Mahomet alone, in the absence of details respecting Satan, of whom we know only that his mouth is a Scripture concordance, and his hands the hands of Mr. Carljde's saints. Then they went back a century or two, and were elo- quent about the great antique heart, and the beauty of an age 'ttrhose samples were Abbot Sampson and Joan of Arc. Lord Ipsden hated argument ; but jealousy is a brass spur : it made even this man fluent for once. He suggested "That five hundred years added to a world's life made it just five hundred years older, not younger ; and if older, grayer ; and if grayer, wiser. " Of Abbot Sampson," said he, '' whom I confess both a great and a good man, his author, who with all his talent belongs to the class muddle-head, tells us, that Avhen he had been two years in authority his red hair had turned gray, fighting against the spirit of his age ; how the deuce, then, could he be a sample of the spirit of his age ? <'Joan of Ave was burnt by acclamation of her age, CHRISTIE JOHKSTONE. 75 and is admired by our age. Which fact identifies an age most with a heroine, to give her your heart, or to give her a Wazing fagot and death ? '•' Abbot Sampson and Joan of Arc," concluded he, " prove no more in favor of their age, and no less against it, than Lot does for or against Sodom. Lot was in Sodom, but not of it ; and so were Sampson and Joan in, but not of, the villanous times they lived in. " The very best text-book of true religion is the New Testament, and I gather from it, that the man who for- gives his enemies whilst their axe descends on his head, however poor a creature he may be in other respects, is a better Christian than the man who has the God of Mercy forever on his lips, and whose hands are swift to shed blood. " The earnest men of former ages are not extinct in this," added he. *' Whenever a scaffold is erected out- side a prison-door, if you are earnest in pursuit of truth, and can put up with disgusting objects, you shall see a relic of ancient manners hung. " There still exist, in parts of America, rivers on whose banks are earnest men, who shall take your scalp, the wife's of your bosom, and the innocent child's of her bosom. " In England we are as earnest as ever in pursuit of heaven, and of innocent worldly advantages. If, when the consideration of life and death interposes, we appear less earnest in pursuit of comparative trifles, such as kingdoms or dogmas, it is because, cooler in action Ave are more earnest in thought — because reason, experi- ence, and conscience are things that check the unscrupu- lousness or beastly earnestness of man. '•' jMoreover, he who has the sense to see that questions have three sides, is no longer so intellectually as well as morally degraded as to be able to cut every throat that utters an opinion contrary to his own. 76 CHRISTIE .JOHNSTONE. "If the phrase 'earnest man' means man imitating the beasts that are deaf to reason, it is to be hoped that civilization and Christianity will really extinguish the whole race for the beneht of the earth." Lord Ipsden succeeded in annoying the fair theorist, but not in convincing her. The mediaeval enthusiasts looked on him as some rough animal that had burst into sacred grounds uncon- sciously, and gradually edged away from him. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 77 CHAPTER X. Lord Ipsden had soon the mortification of discovering that this Mr. was a constant visitor at the house ; and although his cousin gave him her ear in this man's absence, on the arrival of her fellow-enthusiast he had ever the mortification of finding himself de troj). Once or twice he demolished this personage in argu- ment, and was rewarded by finding himself more de trop. But one day, Lady Barbara, being in a cousinly humor, expressed a wish to sail in his lordship's yacht ; and this hint soon led to a party being organized, and a sort of picnic on the island of Inch Coombe, his lordship's cutter being the mode of conveyance to and from that spot. Now it happened that on that very day Jean Carnie's marriage was celebrated on that very island by her rela- tions and friends. So that we shall introduce our readers to The Rival Picnics. We begin with Les gens comme ilfaut. Picnic No, 1. The servants were employed in putting away dishes into hampers. There was a calm silence. "Hem," observed Sir Henry Talbot. " Eh ? " replied the Honorable Tom Hitherington. "Mamma," said Miss Vere, "have you brought any work ? " 78 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. "No, my dear." "At a picnic," said Mr. Hitherington, "isn't it the thing for somebody — aw — to do something ? " " Ipsden," said Lady I>arbai-a, "there is an understand- ing between you and Mr. Hitherington. I condemn you to turn him into English." "Yes, Lady Barbara; I'll tell you, he means — do you mean anj-thing, Tom ? " Hitherington. Can't anybody guess what I mean ? Lady Barbara. Guess first, yourself; you can't be suspected of being in the secret. Hitherington. AYhat I mean is, that people sing a song, or run races, or preach a sermon, or do something funny at a picnic, — aw — somebody gets up and does something. Lddij Biirbani. Tlien perhaps Miss Vere, whose sing- ing is famous, will have the complaisance to sing to us. Miss Vere. T should be happy, Lady Barbara, but I have not brought my music. Lady Barbara. Oh, we are not critical ; the simplest air, or even a fragment of melody ; the sea and the sky will be a better accompaniment than Broadwood ever made. Miss Vere. I can't sing a note without book. Sir H. Talbot. Your music is in your soul, not at your fingers' ends. Lord Ipsden (to Lady Barbara). It is in her book, and not in her soul. Lady Barbara (to Lord Ipsden). Then it has chosen the better situation of the two. Ipsden. Miss Vere is to the fine art of music, what the engrossers are to the black art of law ; it all filters through them without leaving any sediment ; and so the music of the day passes through Miss Vere's mind, but CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 79 none remains to stain its virgin snow. (He bows, she smiles.) Lady Barbara (to herself). Insolent ; and the little dunce thinks he is complimenting her. Ipsden. Perhaps Talbot will come to our rescue ; he is a fiddler. Talbot. An amateur of the violin. Ipsden. It is all the same thing. Lady Barbara. I wish it may prove so. Tal (Grave) Zu-^ -i Bis. Bis. ~J2L fff Prestissimo T — 3-D— I ~ sr -9- -#• — (-. -#■ — -#■ -*—. — #- ^ ! ' ' i ^^ "^S^ lit _^_^_^ * i^ -S- ■•- n« ^ ■ — t- 80 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. ^^^ Miss Vere. Beautiful. Mrs. Vere. Charming. Hitherington. Superb. Miss Ve,'e. Oh, yes, how nice ! CHBISTIE JOHNSTONE. 81 Ipsden (rhetorically). A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, I^, 0, P, Q, R, S, T, U, V, W, X, Y, Z, Y, X, W, V, U, T, S, 0, N, M, L, K, J, I, H, G, F, A, M, little p, little t. Lady Barbara. Beautiful ! Superb ! Ipsden lias been taking lessons on the thinking instrument. Hitherington. He has been perdu amongst vulgar people. Talbot. And expects a pupil of Herz to play him tunes ! Lady Barbara. What are tunes, Sir Henry ? Talbot. Something I don't play, Ladj' Barbara. Lady Barbara. I understand you ; something we ought to like. Ipsden. I have a Stradivarius violin at home ; it is yours, Talbot, if you can define a tune. Talbot. A tune is — everybody knows what. Lady Barbara. A tune is a tune, that is what you meant to say. Talbot. Of course it is. Lady Barbara. Be reasonable, Ipsden. No man can do two things at once. How can the pupil of Herz condemn a thing and know what it means contempo- raneously ? Ipsdeyi. Is the drinking-song in "Der Freischutz," a tune? Lady Barbara. It is. Ipsden. And the melodies of Handel, are they tunes ? Lady Barbara (pathetically). They are ! They are ! Ipsden. And the "Russian Anthem,'' and the "Mar- seillaise," and " Ah, Perdona " ? Talbot. And " Yankee Doodle " ? Lady Barbara. So that Sir Henry, who prided himself on his ignorance, has a wide field for its dominion. 6 82 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. Talbot. All good violin players do like me ; they prelude, not play tunes. Jpsden. Then Heaven be thanked for our blind fiddlers. You like syllables of sound in unmeaning rotation, and you despise its words, its puri)()ses, its narrative feats ; carry out your principle, it will show you where you are. Buy a dirty palette for a picture, and dream the alphabet is a poem. Ladi/ Barbara (to herself). Is this my cousin Richard ? Hitherington. Slind, Ipsden, you are a man of prop- erty, and there are such things as commissions de lunatico. Lad 11 Barbara. His defence will be that his friends pronounce him insane. Ipsden. No ; I shall subpoena Talbot's fiddle ; cross- examination will get nothing out of that but do, re, mi, fa. Lady Barbara. Yes, it will ; fa, mi, re, do. Talbot. Violin, if you please. Lady Barbara. Ask Fiddle's pardon directly. (Sound of fiddles is heard in the distance.) Talbot. How lucky for you, there are fiddles and tunes, and the natives you are said to favor ; why not join them ? Ipsden (shaking his head solemnly). T dread to en- counter another prelude. Hitherington. Come, I know you would like ; it is a wedding-party — two sea monsters have been united. The sailors and fishermen are all blue cloth and wash- leather gloves. Miss Vere. He ! he ! Talbot. The fishwives unite the colors of the rain- bow — Lady Barbara. (And we all know how hideous they are) — to vulgar blooming cheeks, staring white teeth, and sky-blue eyes. 3frs. Vere, How satirical you are, especially you, Lady Barbara. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 83 Here Lord Ipsden, after a word to Lady Barbara, the answer to which did not appear to be favorable, rose, gave a little yawn, looked steadily at his companions without seeing them, and departed without seeming aware that he was leaving anybody behind him. Hitherington. Let us go somewhere where we can quiz the natives without being too near them. Lady Barbara. I am tired of this unbroken solitude. " I must go and think to the sea," added she, in a mock soliloquy ; and out she glided with the same unconscious air as his lordship had worn. The others moved off slowly together. "Mamma," said Miss Vere, "I can't understand half Barbara Sinclair says." "It is not necessary, my love," replied mamma; "she is rather eccentric, and I fear she is spoiling Lord Ipsden." "Poor Lord Ipsden," murmured the lovely Vere, "he used to be so nice, and do like everybody else. Mamma, I shall bring some work the next time." "Do, my love." Picnic No. 2. In a house two hundred yards from this scene, a merry dance, succeeding a merry song, had ended, and they were in the midst of an interesting story ; Christie Johnstone was the narrator. She had found the tale in one of the viscount's books, — it had made a great impression on her. The rest were listening intently : in a room which had lately been all noise, not a sound was now to be heard but the narrator's voice. "Aweel, lasses, here are the three wee kists set, the lads are to chuse, — the ane that chuses reicht is to get Porsha, an' the lave to get the bag, and dee baitchelars. 84 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. Flucker Johnstone, you that's sae clever, — are ye for ij;o\vcl or siller or leed ? " First Fishwife. Gowd for me ! Second ditto. The white siller's my taste. Flucker. Na ! there's aye some deevelish trick in thir lassie's stories. I shall lie-to till the ither lads hae chased ; the mair part will put themsels oot, ane will hit it off reicht maybe, then I shall gie him a hidin' an' carry olf the lass. You-hoo ! Jean Cai-nie. That's you, Flucker. Christie Johnstone. And div ye really think we are gawn to let you see a' the world chuse ? Na, lad, ye are putten oot o' the room, like witnesses. Flucker. Then I'd toss a penny ; for gien ye trust to luck, she whiles favors ye, but gien ye commence to rea- son and argefy — ye're done I Christie. The suitors had na your wit, my manny, or maybe they had na a penny to toss, sae ane chused the gowd and ane the siller ; but they got an awfu' affront. The gowd kist had just a skull intill't, and the siller a deed cuddy's head ! Chorus of Females. He ! he ! he ! Ditto of Males. Haw! haw! haw! haw! Ho! Christie. An' I'orslia puttit the pair of gowks to the door. Then came Bassanio, the lad fra Veeneece, that Porsha loed in secret. Veeneece, lasses, is a wonderful city ; the streets o't are water and the carriages are boats — that's in Chambers's. Flucker. Wha are ye making a fool o' ? Christie. What's wrang ? Flucker. Yon's just as big a lee as ever I heerd. The words were scarcely out of his mouth ere he had reason to regret them ; a severe box on the ear was administered by his indignant sister. Nobody pitied him. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 85 Chi'istie. I'll laern ye t' affront me before a' the company. Jean Carnie. Suppose it's a lee, there's nae silver to pay for it, Flucker. Christie. Jean, I never telt a lee in a' my days. Jean. There's ane to begin wi', then. Go ahead, Custy. Christie. She bade the music play for him, for music brightens thoucht ; ony way, he chose the leed kist. Opens't and wasn't there Porsha's pictur, and a posy that said, " * If you be well pleased with this, And hold your fortune for your bliss ; Turn you where your leddy iss. And greet her wi' a loving '' " — (Pause.) "Kess," roared the company. Chorus (led by Flucker). Hurraih : Christie (pathetically). Flucker, behave ! Sandy Liston (drunk). Hur-raih ! He then solemnly reflected: "Na! but its na hurraih; decency requires amen first an' hurraih afterwards ; here's kissin plenty, biit I hear nae word o' the minister. Ye'll obsairve, young woman, that kissin's the prologue to sin, and I'm a decent mon, an' a gray-headed mon, an' your liclit stories are no for me ; sae, if the minister's no expeckit, I shall retire — an' tak my quiet jill my lane." Jean Carnie. And div ye really think a decent cum- mer like Custy wad let the lad and lass misbehave thir- sels ! Na, lad ; the minister's at the door, but (sinking her voice to a confidential whisper) I daurna let him in, for fear he'd see ye hae putten the enemy in your mooth sae aerly. (That's Custy's word.) "Jemmy Drysel," replied Sandy, addressing vacancy, for Jemmy was mysteriously at work in the kitchen, 86 CHRIRTIK JOHNSTONE. "ye hae gotten a tliouc;htfu' wife." Then, with a strong revulsion of feeling: "Diiina let the blakguCinP in here," cried he, "to spoil the young folks' sporrt." Chrutie. Aweel, lassies, eomes a letter to Bassanio ; he reads it, and turns as pale as deeth. A Fishwife. Gude help us. Christie. Poorsha b<'hoved to ken his grief, wha had a better reieht ? " Here's a letter, leddy," says he, " the l>aper's the boedy of my freend, like, and every word in it a gaping wound." A Fisherman. Maircy on us. Christie. Lad it was fra puir Antonio, ye mind o' him, lasses. Hech ! the ill luck o' yon man, no a ship come hame ; ane foundered at sea, coming fra Tri-po-lis ; the pirates scuttled another, an' ane ran ashore on the Goodwyns, near Bright-helm-stane, that's in England itsel', I daur say : sae he could na pay the three thoo- sand ducats, an' Shylock had grippit him, an' sought the pund o' flesh aif the breest o' him, puir body. Sandy Liston. He would na be the waur o' a wee bit hiding, yon thundering urang utang; let the man alane, ye cursed old cannibal. Christie. Poorsha keepit her man but ae hoor till they were united, an' then sent him wi' a puckle o' her ain siller to Veeneece, and Antonio, — think o' that, lassies, — pairted on their wedding day. Lizzy Johnstone (a fishwife, aged twelve). Hech, hech ! it's lamentable. Jean Carnie. I'm saying, mairriage is quick wark, in some pairts, — here there's an awfu' trouble to get a man. A Young Fishwife. Ay, is there. Omnes. Haw ! haw ! haw ! (The fishwife hides.) 1 At present this is a spondee in England — a trochee in Scotland. The pronunciation of this important word ought to be fixed, repreaenting, a» it does, so large a portion of the community in both countries. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 87 Christie. Fill your taupsels, lads and lasses, and awa to Veeneece. Sandy Liston (sturdily). I'll no gang to sea this day. Christie. Noo, we are in the hall o' judgment. Here are set the judges, awf u' to behold ; there, on his throne, presides the Juke. Flucker. She's awa to her Ennglish. Lizzy Johnstone. Did we come to Veeneece to speak Scoetch, ye useless fule ? Christie. Here, pale and hopeless, but resigned, stands the broken mairchant, Antonio ; there, wi' scales and knives, and revenge in his uiurderin' eye, stands the crewel Jew Shylock. "Aweel," muttered Sandy considerately, "I'll no raak a disturbance on a wedding day." Christie. They wait for Bell — I dinna mind his mind — a laerned lawyer, ony way ; he's sick, but sends ane mair laerned still, and when this ane comes, he looks not older nor wiser than mysel'. Flucker. No possible ! Christie. Ye need na be sae sarcy, Flucker, for when he comes to his wark he soon lets 'em ken — runs his een like lightening ower the boend. " This bond's for- feit. Is Antonio not able to dischairge the money ? " — "Ay!" cries Bassanio, "here's the sum thrice told." Says the young judge, in a bit whisper to Shylock, "Shylock, there's thrice thy money offered thee. Be mairciful," says he, out loud. "' Wha'll mak me ? " says the Jew body. " Mak je ! " says he ; " maircy is no a thing ye strain through a sieve, mon ; it droppeth like the gentle dew fra heaven upon the place beneath ; it blesses him that gives and him that taks ; it becomes the king better than his throne, and airthly power is inaist like God's power when maircy seasons justice," Robert Haw (fisherman). Dinna speak like that to 88 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. me onybody, or I shall gie ye my boat, and fling my nets intil it, as ye sail awa wi' her. Jean Carnie. Sae he let the puir deevil go. Oh ! ye ken wha could stand up against siccan a shower o' Ennglish as thaat. Christie. He just said, " My deeds upon my heed. 1 Claim the law," says he; "there is no power in the tongue (»' man to alter me. I stay here on my boend." Sandij Liston. I hae sat quiet ! — quiet I hae sat against my will, no to disturb Jamie Drysel's weddin' ; but ye carry the game ower far. Shy lock, my lad. I'll just give yon bluidy minded Qrang utang a hidin', and bring Tony off, the gude, puir-spirited creature ; and him an' me, an' Bassanee, an' Porshee, we'll all hae a jill thegither. He rose, and was instantly seized by two of the com- pany, from whom he burst furiously, after a struggle, and the next moment was heard to fall clean from the top to the bottom of the stairs. Flucker and Jean ran out ; the rest appealed against the interruption. Christie. Hech ! he's killed ; Sandy Liston's brake his neck. " What aboot it, lassy ? " said a young fisherman, '•' 'tis Antonio I'm feared for ; save him, lassy, if poessible ; but I doot ye'll no get him clear o' yon deevelich heathen." '•' Auld Sandy's cheap sairved," added he, with all the indifference a human tone could convey. '•'0 Cursty," said Lizzy Johnstone, with a peevish accent, "dinna break the bonny yarn for naething." Flucker (returning). He's a' reicht. Christie. Is he no dead V Flucker. Him deed ? he's sober — that's a' the change I see. Christie. Can he speak ? I'm asking ye. Flucker. Yes, he can speak. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 89 Christie. What does he say, puir body ? Flucker. He sat up, an' sought a jill fra' the wife — puir body ! Christie. Hech, hech ! he was my pupil in the airt o' sobriety ! — Aweel, the young judge rises to deliver the sentence of the coort. — Silence ! (thundered Christie. A lad and a lass that were slightly flirting were dis- countenanced.) Christie. A pund o' that same mairchant's flesh is thine I the coort awards it, and the law does give it. A Young Fishwife. There, I thoucht sae ; he's gaun to cut him, he's gaun to cut him ; I'll no can bide. (Exibat.) Christie. There's a fulish goloshen. — " Have by a doctor to stop the blood." — '• I see nae doctor in the boend," says the Jew body. Flucker. Bait your hook wi' a boend, and ye shall catch yon carle's saul. Satin, my lad. Christie (with dismal pathos). Flucker, dinna speak evil o' deegneties, — that's maybe fishing for yoursel' the noo ! — " An' ye shall cut the flesh frae off his breest." — "A sentence," says vShylock, '' come, prepare." Christie made a dash en Shylock, and the company trembled. Christie. "Bide a wee," says the judge. "This boend gies ye na a drap o' bluid ; the words expressly are, a pund o' flesh ! " (^A Dramatic Pause.) Jean Carnie (drawing her breath). That's into your mutton, Shylock. Christie (with dismal pathos). Jean ! yon's an awfu' voolgar exprassion to come fra' a woman's mooth. " Could ye no hae said, ' intil his bacon ' ? " said Lizzy Johnstone, confirming the remonstrance. 90 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. Christie. "Then tak your boend, an' your ]>und o' flesh \ but in cutting o't, if thou dost shed one drop of Christian bluid — thou diest ! " Jenn Carnie. Hech ! Christie. " Thy goods are by the laws of Veeneece con-fis-oat(^ confiscate ! " Then like an artful narrator, she began to wind up the story more rapidly. " Sae Shylock got to be no sac saucy. * Pay the boend thrice, "says he, 'and let the puir deevil go.' — 'Here it's,' says Rassanio. Na I the young judge wad na let him. *He has refused it in open coort; no a bawbee for Shylock but just the forfeiture ; an' he daur na tak it.' — * I'm awa',' says he. * The deivil tak ye a'.' Na I he was na to win clear sae ; ance they'd gotten the Jew on the hep. they worried him. like good Christians, that's a fact. The judge fand a law that fitted him, for conspiring against the life of a citizen ; an' he behooved to give up hoose an' lands, an' be a Cliristian ; yon was a soor drap — he tarned no weel, puir auld villain, an' scairtit ; an' the lawyers sent ane o' their weary parch- ments till his hoose, and thf puir auld heathen signed awa his siller, an' Abraham, an' Isaac, an' Jacob, on the heed o't. I pity him, an auld, auld man ; and his doch- ter had rin off wi' a Christian lad — the}'- ca' her Jessica, and didn't she steal his very diamond ring that his ain lass gied him when he was young, au' maybe no sae hard-hairted." Jean Carnie. Oh, the jaud I Suppose he was a Jew, it was na her business to clean him oot. A Young Fishwife. A weel, it was only a Jew body, that's my comfort. Christie. Ye speak as a Jew was na a man ; has not a Jew eyes, if ye please ? Lizzy Johnstone. Ay, has he ! and the awfuest lang ueb atween 'em. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 91 Christie. Has not a Jew affections, paassions, organs ? Jean. Na, Christie ! thir lads comes fr' Italy ! Christie. If you prick him, does he not bleed ? if you tickle him, does na he lauch ? A Young Fishwife (pertly). I never kittlet a Jew, for my pairt, sae I'll no can tell ye. Christie. If you poison him, does he not die ? and if you wrang him (with fury), shall he not revenge ? Lizzy Johnstone. Oh, but ye're a fearsome lass. Christie. Wha'll give me a sang for my bonny yarn ? Lord Ipsden, who had been an unobserved auditor of the latter part of the tale, here inquired whether she had brought her book. " What'n bulk ? " Your music-book." '' Here's my music-book," said Jean, roughly tapping her head. "And here's mines," said Christie, bird-ly, touching her bosom. "Richard," said she. thoughtfully, "I wish ye may no hae been getting in voolgar company ; div ye think we hae minds like rinning water ? " Flucker (avec malice). And tongues like the mill- clack abune it ? Because if ye think sae, captain, ye're no far wrang. Christie. Na ! we hae na muckle gowd, maybe, but our minds are gowden vessels. Jean. Aha, lad. Christie. They are not saxpenny sieves, to let music an' metre through, and leave us none the wiser or better. Dinna gang in low voolgar company, or you a lost laddy, Ipsden. Vulgar, again ! everybody has a different sense for that word, I think. What is vulgar ? Christie. Voolgar folk sit on an chair, ane, twa, 02 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. ■whiles three lioiirs, e.atin an' abune a' {Iriiikin, as still as hoegs, or gruntin piiir every day clashes, goessip, ruh- bicli ; when ye are aside theiu, ye might as weel be aside a ouddy ; they canna gie ye a sang, the}' canna tell ye a story, they canna think ye a thoucht, to save their use- less lives ; that's voolgar folk. She sings. " A caaller herrin' ! " Jean. " A caaller herrin' ! " Onines. "Come buy my boimy caaller heiTJn', Six a iK'iiiiy caalli r lioiii the sea," etc. The music chimed in, and the moment the song was done, "without pause, or anything to separate or chill the succession of the arts, the fitldles diverged with a gal- lant itlunge into "The Dusty Miller." The dancers f(.)und their feet by an instinct as rapid, and a rattling reel shook the floor like thunder. Jean Carnie assumed the privilege of a bride, and seized his lordship ; Christie, who had a mind to dance with liini too, took Flacker captive, and these four were one reel. There were seven others. The principle of reel-dancing is articulation ; the foot strikes the ground for every accented note ; and, by -the l)y, it is their weakness of accent which makes all Eng- lish reel and hornpipe players such failures. And in the best steps of all, which it has in common with the hornpipe, such as the quick "heel and toe," the " sailor's fling," and the " double shuffle," the foot strikes the ground for every single note of the instru- ment. All good dancing is beautiful. But this articulate dancing, compared with the loose, lawless diffluence of motion that goes by that name, gives me (I must confess it) as much more pleasure as CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 93 articulate singing is superior to tunes played on the voice by a young lady. Or the clean playing of my mother to the pianoforte splashing of my daughter ; though the latter does attack the instrument as a washerwoman her soapsuds^ and the former works like a lady ; Or skating to sliding ; Or English verse to dactyls in English ; Or painting to daubing ; Or preserved strawberries to strawberry jam. What says Goldsmith of the two styles ? " They swam, sprawled, frisked, and languished ; but Olivia's foot was as pat to the music as its echo." — Vicar of Wakefield. Newhaven dancing aims also at fun ; laughter mingles with agility ; grotesque, yet graceful gestures are flung in, and little inspiriting cries flung out. His lordship soon entered into the spirit of it. Deep in the mystery of the hornpipe, he danced one or two steps Jean and Christie had never seen, but their eyes were instantly on his feet, and they caught in a minute, and executed these same steps. To see Christie Johnstone do the double-shuffle with her arms so saucily a-kimbo, and her quick, elastic foot at an angle of f orty-tive, was a treat. The dance became inspiriting, inspiring, intoxicating ; and when the flddles at last left off, the feet went on another seven bars by the enthusiastic impulse. And so, alternately spinning yarns, singing songs, dancing, and making fun, and mingling something of heart and brain in all, these benighted creatures made themselves happy instead of peevish, and with a day of stout, vigorous, healthy pleasure, refreshed, indemnified, and warmed themselves for many a day of toil. Such were the two picnics of Inch Coombe, and these 94 CHRISTIE .JOHNSTONE. rival cliques, agreeing in nothing else, would have agreed iu this: each, if allowed (but we won't allow either) to judge the other, would liave pronounced the same verdict, — ''lis ne sarent p(is vivre res geris-lhy CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 95 CHAPTER XI. Two of our personages left Inch Coombe less happy than when they came to it. Lord Ipsclen encountered Lady Barbara with j\Ir. , who had joined her upon the island. He found them discoursing, as usual, about the shams of the present day, and the sincerity of Cromwell and Mahomet, and he found himself de trop. They made him, for the first time, regret the loss of those earnest times when, " to avoid the inconvenience of both addressing the same lady," you could cut a rival's throat at once, and be smiled on by the fair and society''. That a book-maker should blaspheme high civilization, by which alone he exists, and one of whose diseases and flying pains he is, neither surprised nor moved him ; but that any human being's actions should be affected by such tempestuous twaddle, was ridiculous. And that the witty Lad\' Barbara should be caught by this chaff was intolerable ; he began to feel bitter. He had the blessings of the poor, the good opinion of the world ; every living creature was prepossessed in his favor but one, and that one despised him ; it was a dia- bolical prejudice ; it was the spiteful caprice of his fate. His heart, for a moment, was in danger of deteriorat- ing. He was miserable ; the devil suggested to him, " make others miserable too ; " and he listened to the advice. There was a fine breeze, but instead of sailing on a wind, as he might have done, he made a series of tacks, and all were ill. 96 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. The earnest man first ; and Flucker announced the skip- per's insanity to the whole town of Newhaven, for, of course, these tacks were all marine solecisms. The other discontented ]jicnic-ian was Christie John- stone. Gatty never came ; and this, coupled with five or six days' previous neglect, could no longer pass unnoticed. Her gayet}' failed her before the afternoon was ended ; and the last two hours were spent by her alone, watch- ing the water on all sides for him. At last, long after the departure of his lordship's yacht, the Newhaven boat sailed from Inch Coombe with the wedding {)arty. There was now a strong breeze, and the water every now and then came on board ; so the men set the foresail with two reefs, and drew the main- sail over the women ; and there, as they huddled together in the dark, Jean Carnie discovered that our gay story- teller's eyes were wet with tears. Jean said nothing ; she embraced her, and made them flow faster. But when they came alongside the pier, Jean, who was the first to get her head from under the sail, whipped it back again, and said to Christie, — " Here he is, Christie ; dinna speak till him." And sure enough there was, in the twilight, with a pale face and an uneasy look — Mr. Charles Gatty ! He peered timidly into the boat, and when he saw Christie, an " Ah ! " that seemed to mean twenty different things at once, burst from his bosom. He held out his arm to assist her. She cast on him one glance of mute reproach, and placing her foot on the boat's gunwale, sprang like an antelope upon the pier, without accepting his assistance. Before going farther, we must go back for this boy, and conduct him from where we left him up to the present point. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 97 The moment he found himself alone with Jean Carnie, in his own house, he began to tell her what trouble he was in ; how his mother had convinced him of his imprudence in falling in love with Christie Johnstone ; and how she insisted on a connection being broken off, which had given him his first glimpse of heaven upon earth, and was contrary to common-sense. Jean heard him out, and then, with the air of a lunatic- asylum keeper to a rhodomontading patient, told him " he was one fool, and his mother was another." First she took him up on the score of prudence. " You," said she, " are a beggarly painter, without a rap ; Christie has houses, boats, nets, and money : you are in debt ; she lays by money every week. It is not prudent on her part to take up with you — the better your bargain, my lad." Under the head of common-sense, which she main- tained was all on the same side of the question, she calmly inquired, — " How could an old woman of sixty be competent to judge how far human happiness depends on love, when she has no experience of that passion, and the reminis- cences of her youth have become dim and dark ? You might as well set a judge in court, that has forgotten the law, — common-sense ; " said she, " the old wife is sixty, and you are twenty — what can she do for you the forty years you may reckon to outlive her ? Who is to keep you through those weary years, but the wife of your own choice, not your mother's ? You English does na read the Bible, or ye'd ken that a lad is to ' leave his father and mother, and cleave until his Avife, ' " added she ; then, with great contempt, she repeated, *' common-sense, indeed ! ye're fou wi' your common-sense ; ye hae the name o't pat eneuch — but there's na muckle o' that mairehandize in your hams." Vol. 9—10 98 CHRISTIE .JOHNSTONE. Gatty was astonished : what! was there reallj' eommon- sense on the side of bliss ? and when Jean told him to join her party at Inch Coonibe, or never look her in the face again, scales seemed to fall from his eyes ; and with a heart that turned in a moment from lead to a feather, he vowed he would be at Inch Coombe. He then begged Jean on no account to tell Christie the struggle he had been subjected to, since his scruples were now entirely conquered. Jean acquiesced at once, and said, *' Indeed, she would be very sorry to give the lass that muckle pain." She hinted, moreover, that her neebor's spirit was so high, she was quite capable of breaking with him at once upon such an intimation; and she, Jean, was "nae mis- chief-maker." In the energy of his gratitude, he kissed this dark- browed beauty, professing to see in her a sister. And she made no resistance to this way of showing gratitude, but muttered between lier teeth, " He's just a bairn ! " And so she went about her business. On her retreat, his mother returned to him, and, with a sad air, hoped nothing that that rude girl had said had weakened his filial duty. " No, mother," said he. She then, without explaining how she came acquainted with Jean's arguments, proceeded to demolish them one by one. " If your mother is old and experienced," said she, "benefit by her age and experience. She has not for- gotten love, nor the ills it leads to, when not fortified by prudence. Scripture says, a man shall cleave to his wife when he has left his parents ; but in making that, the most important step of life, where do 3'ou read that he is to break the fifth commandment ? But I do you CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 90 Avrong, Charles, you never could have listened to that vulgar girl when she told you your mother was not your best friend." " N — no, mother, of course not." " Then you will not go to that place to break my heart, and undo all you have done this week ? " " I should like to go, mother." " You will break my heart if you do." "Christie will feel herself slighted, and she has not deserved this treatment from me." " The other will explain to her, and if she is as good a girl as you say " — " She is an angel ! " " How can a fishwife be an angel ? Well, then she will not set a son to disobey his mother." "■ I don't think she would ! but is all the goodness to be on her side ? " " No, Charles, you do your part ; deny yourself, be an obedient child, and your mother's blessing and the bless- ing of Heaven will rest upon you." Tn short, he was not to go to Inch Coombe. He stayed at home, his mother set him to work ; he made a poor hand of it, he was so wretclied. She at last took compassion on him, and in the evening, Avhen it was now too late for a sail to Inch Coombe, she herself recommended a walk to him. The poor boy's feet took him towards Newhaveu, not that he meant to go to his love, but he could not forbear from looking at the place which held her. He was about to return, when a spacious blue jacket hailed him. Somewhere inside this jacket was Master Flucker, who had returned in the yacht, leaving his sister on the island. ,Gatty instantly poured out a flood of questions. The baddish boy reciprocated fluency ; he informed 100 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. him " that his sister had been the star of a goodly com- pany, and that her own lad having stayed away, she had condescended to make a conquest of the skipper him- self. " He had come in quite at the tag end of one of her stories, but it had been suthcient to do his business — he had danced with her, had even whistled whilst she sung. (Hech, it was bonny I) " And when the cutter sailed, he (Flucker) had seen her perched on a rock, like a mermaid, watching their progress, which had been slow, because the skipper, in- fatuated with so sudden a passion, had made a series of ungrammatical tacks. " For his part he was glad," said the gracious Flucker ; "the lass was a prideful hussy, that had given some twenty lads a sore heart and him many a sore back ; and he hoped his skipper, with whom he naturally identified himself rather than with his sister, would avenge the male sex upon her." In short, he went upon this tack till he drove poor Gatty nearly mad. Here was a new feeling superadded ; at first he felt injured, but on reflection what cause of complaint had he? He had neglected her; he might have been her partner — he had left her to find one where she could. Fool, to suppose that so beautiful a creature would ever be neglected — except by him ! It was more than he could bear. He determined to see her, to ask her forgiveness, to tell her everything, to beg her to decide, and, for his part, he would abide by her decision. Christie Johnstone, as we have already related, de- clined his arm, sprang like a deer upon the pier, and walked towards her home, a quarter of a mile distant. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 101 Gatty followed her, disconsolately, hardly knowing what to do. At last, observing that she drew near enough to the wall to allow room for another on the causeway, he had just nous enough to creep alongside, and pull her sleeve somewhat timidly. " Christie, 1 want to speak to you." " What can ye hae to say till me ? " " Christie, I am very unhappy ; and I want to tell you why, but I have hardly the strength or the courage." " Ye shall come ben my hoose if ye are unhappy, and we'll hear your story ; come away." He had never been admitted into her house before. They found it clean as a snowdrift. They found a bright fire, and Flucker frying innumer- able steaks. The baddish boy had obtained them in his sister's name and at her expense, at the flesher's, and claimed credit for his affection. Potatoes he had boiled in their jackets, and so skil- fully, that those jackets hung by a thread. Christie laid an unbleached tablecloth, that somehow looked sweeter than a white one, as brown bread is sweeter than white. But lo, Gatty could uot eat; so then Christie would not, because he refused her cheer. The baddish boy chuckled, and addressed himself to the nice brown steaks with their rich gravy. On such occasions a solo on the knife and fork seemed better than a trio to the gracious Flucker. Christie moved about the room, doing little household matters ; Gatty's eye followed her. Her beauty lost nothing in this small apartment ; she was here, like a brilliant in some quaint, rough setting, which all earth's jewellers should despise, and all its 102 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. poets admire, and it should show off the stone and not itself. Her beanty filled the room, and almost made the spec- tators ill. Gatty asked himself whether he could really have been such a fool as to think of giving up so peerless a creature. Suddenly an idea occurred to him, a bright one, and not inconsistent with a true artist's character — he would decline to act in so doubtful a case ; he would float pass- ively down the tide of events — he would neither desert her, nor disobey his mother; he would take everything as it came, and to begin, as he was there, he would for the present say nothing but what he felt, and what he felt was that he loved her. He told her so accordingly. She replied, concealing her satisfaction, '' that if he liked her, he would not have refused to eat when she asked liim." But our hero's appetite had returned with his change of purpose, and he instantly volunteered to give the required proof of affection. Accordingly two pound of steaks fell before him. Poor boy — he had hardly eaten a genuine meal for a wcpk past. Christie sat opposite him, and every time he looked off his plate, he saw her rich blue eyes dwelling on him. Everything contributed to warm his heart, he yielded to the spell, he became contented, happy, gay. Flucker ginger-cordialled him, his sister bewitched liim. She related the day's events in a merry mood. ^Ir. Gatty burst forth into singing. He sung two light and sombre trifles, such as in the present day are deemed generally encouraging to the CHRISTIE JOHNSTOXE. 103 spirits, and particularly in accordance with the senti- ment of supper — they were about death, and ivy green. The dog's voice was not very powerful, but sweet and round as honey dropping from the comb. His two hearers were entranced, for the creature sang with an inspiration good singers dare not indulge. He concluded by informing Christie that the iv}^ was symbolical of her, and the oak prefigured Charles Gatty, Esq. He might have inverted the simile with more truth. In short, he never said a word to Christie about part- ing with her, but several about being buried in the same grave with her, sixty years hence, for which the spot he selected was Westminster Abbey. And away he went, leaving golden opinions behind him. The next day Christie was so affected with his con- duct, coming as it did, after an apparent coolness, that she conquered her bashfulness and called on the '' Vile Count," and with some blushes and hesitation, inquired " Whether a painter lad was a fit subject of charity." " Wh}^ not ? " said his lordship. She then told him Gatty's case, and he instantly prom- ised to see that artist's pictures, particularly " ane awfu' bonny ane," the hero of which she described as an Eng- lish minister blessing the bairns with one hand, and giv- ing orders to kill the puir Scoetch with the other. " C'est er/al" said Christie in Scotch, "its awfu' bonny." Gatty reached home late ; his mother had retired to rest. But the next morning she drew from him what had happened, and then ensued another of those dialogues which I am ashamed again to give the reader. Suffice it to say, that she once more prevailed, though with far greater difficulty. Time was to be given him to 104 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. unsew a connection wliioli lie could not cut asunder, and he, with tearful eyes and a heavy heart, agreed to take some step the very first opportunity. This concession was hardly out of his mouth ere his mother made him kneel down and bestowed her blessing upon him. He received it coldly and dull}', and ex- pressed a languid hope it might prove a cliarm to save him from despair, and sad, bitter, and dejected, forced himself to sit down and work on the picture that was to meet his unrelenting creditor's demand. He was working on his jjicture, and his mother with her needle at the table, when a knock was heard, and, gay as a lark, and fresh as the dew on the shamrock, Christie Johnstone stood in person in the apart- ment. 81ie was evidently the bearer of good tidings ; but before she could express them, Mrs. Gatty beckoned her son aside, and announcing '' she should be within hear- ing," bade him take the occasion that so hajipily pre- sented itself, and make the first step. At another time, Christie, who had learned from Jean the arrival of Mrs. Gatty, woidd have been struck with the old lady's silence ; but she came to tell the depressed painter that the charitable viscount was about to visit him and his picture ; and she Avas so full of the good fortune likely to ensue, that she was neglectful of minor considerations. It so happened, however, that certain interruptions prevented her from ever delivering herself of the news in question. First, Gatty himself came to her, and, casting uneasy glances at the door by which his mother had just gone out, said, — "Christie!" « My lad ! " CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 105 " I want to paint your likeness." This was for a souvenir, poor fellow ! " Hech ! I wad like fine to be painted." " It must be exactly the same size as yourself, and so like you, that should we be parted I may seem not to be quite alone in the world." Here he was obliged to turn his head away. " But we'll no pairt," replied Christie cheerfully. " Suppose ye're puir, I'm rich, and it's a' one ; dinna be so cast down for auchty pund." At this a slipshod servant entered, and said, — "There's a fisher lad inquiring for Christie John- stone." " It will be Flucker," said Christie ; " show him ben. What's wrang the noo, I wonder ? " The baddish boy entered, took up a position, and remained apparently passive, hands in pockets. Christie. Aweel, what est ? Flucker. Custy. Christie. What's your will, my manny ? Flucker. Custy, I was at Inch Keith the day. Christie. And hae ye really come to Edinbro' to tell me thaat ? Flucker (dryly). Oh ! ye ken the lasses are a hantle wiser than we are — will ye hear me ? South Inch Keith, I played a bowl i' the water, just for divairsion, — and I catched twarree fish ! Christie. Floonders, I bet. Flucker. Does floonders swim high ? I'll let you see his gills, and if ye are a reicht fishwife ye'll smell bluid. Here he opened his jacket, and showed a bright little fish. In a moment all Christie's nonchalance gave way to a fiery animation. She darted to Flucker's side. 106 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. " Ye hae na been sae daft as tell '/ " asked she. Flucker shook his head contemptuously. " Ony birds at the island, Flucker ? " " Sea-maws, i)lonty, and a bird I dinna ken; he moonted sae high, then doon like thunder intil the sea, and gart the water flee as high as Haman, and porpoises as big as my boat." " Porr-poises, fulish laddy — ye hae seen the herrin whale at his wark, and the solant guse ye hae seen her at wark ; and beneath the sea, Flucker, every coed-fish iind doeg-fish, and fish that has teeth, is after them ; and lialf Scotland wad be at Inch Keith Island if they kenned what ye hae tell't me — dinna speak to me." During this, Gatty, who did not comprehend this sud- den excitement, or thought it childish, had tried in vain to win her attention. At last lie said a little peevishly, " Will you not attend to me, and tell me at least when you will sit to me ? " " Set ! " cried she. " When there's nae wark to be done stanning." And with this she was gone. At the foot of the stairs she said to her brother, — '' Puir lad ! I'll sune draw auchty punds f ra' the sea for him, with my feyther's nets." As she disappeared, Mrs. Gatty appeared. " And this is the woman whose mind was not in her dirty business," cried she. " Does not that open your eyes, Charles ? " " Ah ! Charles," added she tenderly, " there's no friend like a mother." And off she carried the prize ; his vanity had been mortified. And so that happened to Christie Johnstone which has befallen many a woman, — the greatness of her love made that love appear small to her lover. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 107 " All ! motlier/' cried lie, •'■ I must live for you and my art : I am not so dear to her as I thought." And so, -u-ith a sad heart, he turned away from her, whilst she, with a light heart, darted away to think and act for him. 106 CHRISTIE J0HNST0N15. CHAPTER XII. It was some two hours after this that a gentleman, plainly dressed, but whose clothes seemed a part of him- self, — whereas mine I have observed hang upon me, and the Rev. Josiah Splitall's stick to him, — glided into the painter's room, with an inquiry whether he had not a picture or two disposable. *'I have one finished picture, sir," said the poor boy, " but the price is high." He brought it, in a faint-hearted way, for he had shown it to five picture-dealers, and all five agreed it was hard. He had painted a lime-tree, distant fifty yards, and so painted it that it looked something like a lime-tree fifty yards off. " That was viesquin," said his judges ; " the poetry of painting required abstract trees at metaphysical distance, not the various trees of nature as they appear under positive accidents." On this Mr. Gatty had deluged them with words. " When it is art, truth, or sense, to fuse a cow, a horse, and a critic, into one undistinguishable quadruped, with six legs, then it will be art to melt an ash, an elm, and a lime, things that differ more than quadrupeds, into Avhat you call abstract trees, that any man who has seen a tree, as well as looked at one, would call drunken stinging-nettles. You, who never look at nature, how can you judge the arts, which are all but copies of nature ? At two hundred yards distance, full-grown trees are more distinguishable than the animal tribe. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 109 Paint me an abstract human being, neither man nor a woman," said he, " and then I will agree to paint a tree that shall be no tree ; and if no man will buy it, perhaps the father of lies will take it off my hands, and hang it in the only place it would not disgrace." In short, he never left off till he had crushed the non- buyers with eloquence and satire ; but he could not crush them into buyers, — they beat him at the passive retort. Poor Gatty, when the momentary excitement of argu- ment had subsided, drank the bitter cup all must drink awhile, whose bark is alive and strong enough to stem the current down which the dead, weak things of the world are drifting, many of them into safe harbors. And now he brought out his picture with a heavy heart. " Xow," said he to himself, •' this gentleman will talk me dead, and leave me no richer in coin, and poorer in time and patience." The picture was placed in a light, the visitor sat down before it. A long pause ensued. " Has he fainted ? " thought Gatty, ironically ; " he doesn't gabble." '•'If you do not mind painting before me," said the visitor, *•' I should be glad if you would continue whilst I look into this picture." Gatty painted. The visitor held his tongue. At first the silence made the artist uneasy, but by degrees it began to give him pleasure ; whoever this was, it was not one of the flies that had hitherto stung him, nor the jackdaws that had chattered him dead. Glorious silence I he began to paint under its influence like one inspired. Half an hoxir passed thus. 110 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. ""What is the price of this work of art ? " "Eighty pounds." " I take it," said his visitor, quietly. What, no more difficulty than that ? He felt almost disappointed at gaining his object so easily. " I am obliged to you, sir ; much obliged to you," he added, for he reflected what eighty pounds were to him just then. " It is my descendants who are obliged to you," re- plied the gentleman ; " the picture is immortal ! " These words were an epoch in the painter's life. The grave, silent inspection that had preceded them, the cool, deliberate, masterly tone in which they were said, made them oracular to him. Words of such import took him by surprise. He had thirsted for average praise in vain. A hand had taken him, and placed him at the top of the tree. He retired abruptly, or he would have burst into tears. He ran to his mother. " Mother," said he, "I am a painter; T always thought so at bottom, but I suppose it is the height of my ideas makes me discontented with my work." " What has happened ? " "There is a critic in my room. I had no idea there was a critic in the creation, and there is one in my room." " Has he bought your picture, my poor boy ? " said Mrs. Gatty, distrustfully. To her surprise he replied : "Yes! he has got it; only eighty pounds for an immortal picture." Mrs. Gatty was overjoyed, Gatty was a little sad ; but reviving, he professed himself glad j the picture was going to a judge. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. Ill " It is not mucli money," said he, " but the man has spoken words that are ten thousand pounds to me." He returned to the room ; his visitor, hat in hand, was about to go ; a few words were spoken about the art of painting, tliis led to a conversation, and then to a short discussion. The new-comer soon showed Mr. Charles Gatty his ignorance of facts. This man had sat quietly before a miiltitude of great pictures, new and old, in Europe. He cooled down Charles Gatt}^, Esq., monopolist of nature and truth. He quoted to him thirty painters in Germany, who paint every stroke of a landscape in the open air, and forty in various nations who had done it in times past. " You, sir," he went on, " appear to hang on the skirts of a certain clique, who handle the brush well, but draw ill, and look at natiire through the spectacles of certain ignorant painters who spoiled canvas four hundred years ago. " Go no farther in that direction. '•'Those boys, like all quacks, have one great truth which they disfigure with more than one falsehood. " Hold fast their trvith, which is a truth the world has always possessed, though its practice has been confined to the honest and laborious few. "Eschew their want of mind and taste. " Shrink with horror from that profane cidte de laideur, that *love of the lop-sided,' they have recovered from the foul receptacles of decayed art." He reminded him further, that " Art is not imitation, but illusion ; that a plumber and glazier of our da^y and a mediaeval painter are more alike than any tv/o repre- sentatives of general styles that can be found; and for the same reason, namely, that with each of these, art is 112 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. in its infancy ; these two sets of bunglers have not learned how to produce the illusions of art." To all this he added a few words of compliment on the mind, as well as mechanical dexterity, of the pur- chased picture, bade him good-morning, and glided away like a passing sunbeam. " A mother's blessing is a great thing to have, and to deserve," said Mrs. G-atty, who had rejoined her son. " It is, indeed," said Charles. He could not help being struck by the coincidence. He had made a sacrifice to his mother, and in a few hours one of his troubles had melted away. In the midst of these reflections arrived Mr. Saunders with a note. The note contained a check for one hundred and fifty pounds, with these lines, in which the writer excused himself for the amendment : " I am a painter myself," said he, " and it is impossible that eighty pounds can remunerate the time expended on this picture, to say nothing of the skill." We have treated this poor boy's picture hitherto with just contempt, but now that it is gone into a famous col- lection, mind, we always admired it ; we always said so, we take our oath Ave did ; if we have hitherto deferred framing it, that was merely because it was not sold. MR. GATTY's picture, AT PRESENT IN THE COLLECTION OF LORD IPSDEN. There was, hundreds of years ago, a certain Bishop of Durham, who used to fight in person against the Scotch, and defeat them. When he was not with his flock, the Northern wolves sometimes scattered it; but when the holy father was there, with his prayers and his battle- axe, England won the day ! CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 113 This nettled the Scottish king, so he penetrated one day, with a large band, as far as Durham itself, and for a short time blocked the prelate up in his stronghold. This was the period of Mr. Gatty's picture ; Whose title was, — '^ Half Church of God, half Tower against the Scot." In the background was the cathedral, on the towers of which paced to and fro men in armor, with the western sun glittering thereon. In the centre, a horse and cart, led by a boy, were carrying a sheaf of arrows, tied with a straw band. In part of the foreground was the prelate, in a half suit of armor, but bareheaded ; he was turning away from the boy, to whom his sinking hand had indi- cated his way into the holy castle, and his benignant glance rested on a child, whom its mother was holding up for his benediction. In the foreground the afternoon beams sprinkled gold on a long glassy slope, correspond- ing to the elevation on which the cathedral stood, sepa- rated by the river Wear from the group ; and these calm beauties of nature, with the mother and child, were the peaceful side of this twofold story. Such are the dry details. But the soul of its charm no pen can fling on paper. For the stately cathedral stood and lived : the little leaves slumbered yet lived ; and the story floated and lived, in the potable gold of summer afternoon. To look at this painted poem was to feel a thrill of pleasure in bare existence ; it went through the eyes, where paintings stop, and warmed the depths and re- cesses of the heart with its sunshine and its glorious air. 114 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. CHAPTER XIII. "What is in the -wind this dark night? Six New- haven boats and twenty boys and liobble-de-hoys, hired by the Jolinstones at half a crown each for a night's job.'' " Secret service ! " " What is it for ? " "I think it is a smuggling lay," suggested Flucker; " but we shall know all in good time." " Smuggling ! " their countenances fell, they had lioped for something more nearly approaching the illegal. " Maybe she has fand the herrin'." said a ten-year-old. " Haw, haw, haw ! " went the others. " She find the herrin', when there's five hundred fishermen after them baith sides the Firrth." The youngster was discomfited. In fact the expedition bore no signs of fishing. The six boats sailed at sundown, led by Flucker; he brought-to on the south side of Inch Keith, and nothing happened for about an hour. Then such boys as were awake, saw tAvo great eyes of light coming up from Granton ; rattle went the chain cable, and Lord Ipsden's cutter swung at anchor in four fathom water. A thousand questions to Flucker. A single puff of tobacco smoke was his answer. And now crept up a single eye of light from Leith ; she came among the boats; the boys recognized a crazy old cutter from Leith harbor, with Christie Johnstone on board. '' What is that brown heap on her deck ? " CHRISTIE JOHlfSTOXE. 115 " A mountain of nets — fifty stout herring nets." Tunc manifesta fides. A yell burst from all the boys. '• He"s gaun to tak us to Dunbar.*' '■ Half a croown I ye're no blate." Christie ordered the boats alongside her cutter, and five nets were dropped into each boat, six into Flucker s. The depth of water was given them, and they were instructed to shoot their nets so as to keep a fathom and a half above the rocky bottom. A herring net is simply a wall of meshes twelve feet deep, fifty feet long ; it sinks to a vertical position by the weight of net twine, and is kept from sinking to the bottom of the sea by bladders or corks. These nets are tied to one another, and paid out at the stern of the boat. Boat and nets drift with the tide ; if therefore the nets touched the rocks they Avould be torn to pieces, and the fisherman ruined. And this saves the herring — that fish lies hours and hours at the very bottom of the sea, like a stone, and the poor fisherman shall drive with his nets, a yard or two over a square mile of fish, and not catch a herring tail ; on the other hand, if they rise to play for five minutes, in that five minutes they shall fill seven hundred boats. At nine o'clock all the boats had shot their nets, and Christie went alongside his lordship's cutter ; he asked her many questions about herring fishery, to which she gave clear answers, derived from her father, who had always been what the fishermen call a lucky fisherman ; that is, he had opened his eyes and judged for himself. Lord Ipsden then gave her blue lights to distribute among the boats, that the first which caught herring might signal all hands. This was done, and all was expectation. Eleven o'clock came — no signal fiom any boat. 116 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. Christie became anxious ; at last she went round to the boats ; found the boys all asleep, except the baddish boy ; waked them up, and made them all haul in their first net. The nets came in as black as ink, no sign of a herring. There was but one opinion ; there was no herring at Inch Keith; they had not been there this seven years. At last, Flucker, to whom she came in turn, told her he was going into two fathom water, where he would let out the bladders and drop the nets on their cursed backs. A strong remonstrance was made by Christie, but the baddish boy insisted that he had an equal right in all her nets, and setting his sail, he ran into shoal water. Christie began to be sorrowful : instead of making money she was going to throw it away, and the ne'er-do- weel Flucker would tear six nets from the ropes. Flucker hauled down his sail, and unstopped his mast in two fathom water ; but he was not such a fool as to risk his six nets ; he devoted one to his experiment, and did it well ; he let out his bladder line a fathom, so that one-half his net Avould literally be higgledy-piggledy with the rocks, unless the fish were there en masse. No long time was required. In five minutes he began to haul in the net ; first, the boys hauled in the rope, and then the net began to approach the surface. Flucker looked anxiously down, the other lads incredulously ; suddenly they all gave a yell of triumph — an appearance of silver and lightning mixed, had glanced up from the bottom ; in came the first two yards of the net — there were three herrings in it. These three proved Flucker's point as well as three million. They hauled in the net. Before they had a quarter of it in, the net came up to the surface, and the sea was alive with molten silver. The upper half of the net CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 117 was empty, but the lower half was one solid mass of fish. The boys could not find a mesh ; they had nothing to handle but fish. At this moment the easternmost boat showed a blue light. " The fish are rising," said Flucker, " we'll na risk nae mair nets." Soon after this a sort of song was heard from the boat that had showed a light. Flucker, who had got his net in, ran down to her, and found, as he suspected, that the boys had not power to draw the weight of fish over the gunwale. They were singing, as sailors do, that they might all pull together ; he gave them two of his crew, and ran down to his own skipper. The said skipper gave him four men. Another blue light I Christie and her crew came a little nearer the boats, and shot twelve nets. The yachtsmen entered the sport with zeal, so did his lordship. The boats were all full in a few minutes, and nets still out. Then Flucker began to fear some of these nets would sink with the weight of fish ; for the herring die after awhile in a net, and a dead herring sinks. What was to be done ? They got two boats alongside the cutter, and unloaded them into her, as well as they could ; but before they could half do this, the other boats hailed them. They came to one of them ; the boys were struggling with a thing which no stranger would have dreamed was a net. Imagine a white sheet, fifty feet long, varnished with 118 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. red-liot silver ; tliere were twenty barrels in this single net. By dint of fresh hands they got half of her in, and then the meshes began to break ; the men leaned over the gunsvale, and put their arms round blocks and masses of fish, and so flung them on board ; and the cod-fish and dog-fisli snapped them almost out of the men's hands, like tigers. At last they came to a net, which was a double wall of herring ; it had been some time in the water, and many of the fish were dead ; they tried their best, but it was impracticable ; they laid hold of the solid herring, and when they lifted up a hundred-weight clear of the water, away it all tore, and sank back again. They were obliged to cut away this net, with twenty pounds sterling in her. They cut away the twine from the head-ropes, and net and fish went to the bottom. All hands were now about the cutter; Christie's nets were all strong and ncAv. They had been some time in the water; in hauling them up her side, quantities of fish fell out of the net into the water, but there were enough left. She averaged twelve barrels a net. Such of the yawls as were not quite full, crept between the cutter and the nets, and caught all they wanted. The projector of this fortunate speculation suddenly announced that she was very sleepy. Flucker rolled her up in a sail, and she slept the sleep of infancy on board her cutter. When she awoke it was seven o'clock in the morning, and her cutter was creeping with a smart breeze, about two miles an hour, a mile from Xewhaven pier. The yacht had returned to Granton, and the yawls, very low in the water, were creeping along like snails, with both sails set. The news was in Edinburgh long before they landed. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 119 They had been discerned under Inch Keith at the dawn. And the manner of their creeping along, when there was such a breeze, told the tale at once to the keen, experienced eyes that are sure to be scanning the sea. Donkey carts came rattling down from the capital. Merchants came pelting down to Newhaven pier. The whole story began to be put together by bits, and comprehended. Old Johnstone's cleverness was recalled to mind. The few fishermen left at Newhaven were ready to kill themselves. Their wives were ready to do the same good office for La Johnstone. Four Irish merchants agreed to work together, and to make a show of competition, the better to keep the price down within bounds. It was hardly fair, four men against one innocent unguarded female. But this is a wicked world. Christie landed, and proceeded to her own house ; on the way she was met by Jean Carnie, who debarrassed her of certain wrappers, and a handkerchief she had tied round her head, and informed her she was the pride of Newhaven. She nexl; met these four little merchants, one after another. And since we ought to dwell as little as possible upon scenes in which unguarded innocence is exposed to art- ful conspiracies, we will put a page or two into the brute form of dramatic dialogue, and so sail through it quicker. First Merchant. Where are ye going, Meggie ? Christie Johnstone. If onybody asks ye, say ye dinna ken. First Merchant. Will ye sell your fish ? 120 CHRISTIIC JOHNSTONE. Christie. Sunor than j^ie them. First Merchant. Vou will be asking fifteen shillin' the cran. Christie. And ten to that. First Merchant. Good-morning. Second Merchant. Would he not go over fifteen shil- lings ? Oh, the thief o' the world ! I'll give sixteen. Third Merchant. But I'll give eighteen. Second Merchant. More fool you ! Take him up, my girl. Christie. Twenty -five is my price the day. 'Third Mercha7it. You will keep them till Sunday wtH'k, and sell their bones. [Exeunt the three Merchants. Filter Fourth Merchant. Fourth Merchant. Are your fish sold? I'll give six- teen shillings. Christie. I'm seeking twenty-five, an' I'm offered eighteen. Fourth Merchant. Take it. \^Exit. Christie. They hae putten their heads thegither. Here Flucker came up to her, and told her there was a Leith merchant looking for her. " And Custy," said he, "there's plenty wind getting up, your fish will be sair hashed ; put them off your hands, I rede ye." Christie. Ay, lad I Flucker, hide, an' when I play my hand sae, ye'll run in an' cry, " Cirsty, the Irishman will gie ye twenty-two schelliu' the cran." Flucker. Ye ken mair than's in the catecheesm, for as releegious as ye are. The Leith merchant was Mr. Miller, and this is the way he worked. Miller (in a mellifluous voice). Are ye no fatigued, my deear ? CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 121 Christie (affecting fatigue). Indeed, sir, and I am. Miller. Shall I have the pleasure to deal wi' ye ? Christie. If it's your pleasure, sir. I'm seekin' twenty- five schellin'. Miller (pretending not to hear). As j'^ou are a beginner, I must offer fair; twenty schellin' you shall have, and that's three shillings above Dunbar. Christie. Wad ye even carted herriu' with my fish caller fra the sea ? and Dunbar — oh line I ye ken there's nae herrin' at Dunbar the morn ; this is the Dunbar schule that slipped westward : I'm the mairket, ye'll hae to buy o' me or gang to your bed — (Here she signalled to riucker). I'll no be oot o' mine lang. Enter Flucker hastily crying : " Cirsty, the Irishman will gie ye twenty-two schellin'." " I'll no tak it," said Christie. "They are keen to hae them," said Flucker; and hastily retired, as if to treat further with the small merchants. On this Mr. Miller, pretending to make for Leith, said carelessly, " Twenty-three shillings, or they are not for me." " Tak the cutter's freight at a hundre' cran, an' I'm no caring," said Christie. " They are mine I " said Mr. Miller, very sharply. " How much shall I give you the day ? " " Auchty pund, sir, if you please — the lave when you like ; I ken ye, Mr. Miller." Whilst counting her the notes, the purchaser said slyly to her : — " There's more than a hundred cran in the cutter, my woman." " A little, sir," replied the vender ; " but ere I could count them till ye by baskets, they would lose seven or eight cran in book,^ your gain my loss." 122 CHRISTIE .lOHNSTONE. ''You are a vara intelligent young person," said Mr. IMiller, gravely. "Ye had measured them wi' your walking-stick, sir; tliere's just ae scale ye didna wipe off, though ye are a carefu' mon, Mr. IMillcr; sae I laid the bait for ye an' iine ye took it." Miller took out his snuff-box, and tapping it, said : *' Will ye go into partnership with me, my dear ? " "Ay, sir I'' was the reply. "When I'm aulder an* ye're younger." At this moment the four merchants, believing it use- less to disguise their co-operation, returned to see what could be done. "We shall give you a guinea a barrel." " Why, ye offered her twenty-two shillings before." "That we never did, Mr. Miller." "Haw, haAv !" went Flucker. Christie looked down and blushed. Eyes met eyes, and without a word spoken all was comprehended and silently approved. There was no non- sense uttered about morality in connection with dealing. Mr. Miller took an enormous pinch of snuff, and drew for the benefit of all present the following inference : MR. miller's apophthegm. " Friends and neighbors ! when a man's heed is gray with age and thoucht (pause) — he's just fit to go to schule to a young lass o' twenty." There was a certain middle-aged fishwife, called Beeny Liston, a tenant of Christie Johnstone's; she had not paid her rent for some time, and she had not been pressed for it ; whether this, or the whiskey she was in the habit of taking, rankled in her mind, certain it is she had always an ill word for her landlady. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 123 She now met her, envied her success, and called out in a coarse tone, — "Oh, ye're a gallant quean; ye'll be waur than ever the noo." " What's wrang, if ye please ? " said the Johnstone, sharply. Eeader, did you ever see two fallow bucks commence a duel ? They strut round, eight yards apart, tails up, look carefully another way to make the other think it all means nothing, and being both equally sly, their horns come together as if by concert. Even so commenced this duel of tongues between these two heroines. Beeny Liston, looking at everj'bod}" but Christie, ad- dressed the natives who were congregating, thus : — " Did ever ye hear o' a decent lass taking the herrin' oot o' the men's mooths — is yon a woman's pairt, I'm asking ye ? " On this, Christie, looking carefully at all the others except Beeny, inquired with an air of simple curiosity : " Can onybody tell me wha Liston Carnie's drunken wife is speaking till ? no to ony decent lass, though. Na! ye ken she wad na hae th' impudence !" "Oh, ye ken fine I'm speaking till yoursel'.". Here the horns clashed together. " To mCj woman ? (With admirably acted surprise.) Oo, ay ! it will be for the twa years' rent you're awin me. Giest t " Beeny Liston. Ye're just the impudentest girrl i' the toon, an' ye hae proved it the day (her arms akimbo). Christie (arms akimbo). Me, impiident ? how daur ye speak against my charuckter, that's kenned for decency o' baith sides the Firrth ? Beeny (contemptuously). Oh, ye're sly enough to beguile the men, but we ken ye. 124 CHRISTIE .JOHNSTONE. Christie. I'm no sly — and (drawing near and hissing the words) I'm no like the woman Jean an' 1 saw in Kose Street, dead drunk on the causeway, while her mon was working for her at sea. If ye're no ben your hoose in ae minute, I'll say that will gar Liston Carnie Hing ye ower the pier-head, ye fool-moothed drunken leear — Scairt ! > If my reader has seen and heard Mademoiselle Rachel utter her famous Sortez in "Virginie," he knows exactly with what a gesture and tone the Johnstone uttered this word. Beeny (in a voice of whining surprise). Hecli ! what a spite Flueker Johnstone's dochter has taen against us. Christie. Scairt I Beeny (in a coaxing voice, and moving a step). Aweel ! what's a' your paession, my boenny woman ? Christie. Scairt ! Beeny retired before the thunder and lightning of indignant virtue. Then all the fishboys struck up a dismal chant of victory. " Yoo-hoo — Gusty 's won the day — Beeny's scair-iv ye think my hairt's no in my mooth wi' you gripping yon fierce robber ? " Here a young fishwife, with a box in her hand, who had followed them, pulled Jean by the coats. •' Hets," said Jean, pulling herself free. The child then, with a pertinacity these little animals have, pulled Christie's coats. " Hets," said Christie, freeing herself more gently. " Ye suld mairry Van Amburgh," continued Jean ; "ye are just such a lass as he is a lad." Christie smiled proudly, was silent, but did not disown the comparison. The little fishwife, unable to attract attention by pull- ing, opened her box, and saying, " Lasses, I'll let ye see my presoner : hech ! he's boenny ! " pulled out a mouse by a string fastened to his tail, and set him in the midst for friendly admiration. " I dinna like it, I dinna like it ! " screamed Christie. " Jean, put it away : it fears me, Jean ! " This she uttered (her eyes almost starting from her head with unaffected terror) at the distance of about eight yards, CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 139 whither she had arrived in two bounds that would have done no discredit to an antelope. "Het," said Jean uneasily, ''hae ye coowed yon sav- age, to be seared at the wee beastie ? " Christie, looking askant at the animal, explained, "A moose is an awesome beast ; it's no like a mon ; " and still her eye was fixed by fascination upon the four- footed danger. Jean, who had not been herself in genuine tranquillity, now turned savagely on the little Wombwelless : " An' div ye really think ye are to come here wi' a' the beasts i' the Airk ? Come, awa ye go, the pair o' ye." These severe words, and a smart push, sent the poor little biped off roaring, with the string over her shoul- der, recklessly dragging the terrific quadruped, which made fruitless grabs at the shingle. — Moral. Don't ter- rify bigger folk than yourself. Christie had intended to go up to Edinburgh with her eighty pounds, but there was more trouble in store this eventful day. Flucker went out after dinner, and left her with Sandy Listen, who was in the middle of a yarn, when some one came running in and told her Flucker was at the pier crying for her. She inquired what was the matter. '' Come an' ye'll see," was all the answer. She ran down to the pier. There was poor Flucker lying on his back : he had slipped from the pier into a boat that lay alongside. The fall was considerable : for a minute he had been insensible, then he had been dreadfully sick, and now he was beginning to feel his hurt ; he was in great anguish ; nobody knew the extent of his injuries ; he would let nobody touch him ; all his cry was for his sister. At last she came : they all made way for her : he was crying for her as she came up. "My bairn ! my bairn ! " cried she j and the poor lit- 140 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. tie fellow smiled, and tried to raise himself towards her. She lifted him gently in her arms ; she was powerful, and affection made her stronger. She carried him in her arms all the way home, and laid him on her own bed. Willy Liston, her discarded suitor, ran for the surgeon. There were no bones broken, but his ankle was severely sprained, and he had a terrible bruise on the loins. His dark, ruddy face was streaked and pale, but he never complained after he found himself at home. Christie hovered round him, a ministering angel, applying to him with a light and loving hand whatever could ease his pain ; and he watched her with an expres- sion she had never noticed in his eye before. At last, after two hours' silence, he made her sit in full view, and then he spoke to her ; and what think you was the subject of his discourse ? He turned to and told her, one after another, without preface, all the loving things she had done to him ever since he was five years old. Poor boy ! he had never shown much gratitude, but he had forgotten nothing, literally nothing. Christie was quite overcome with this unexpected trait : she drew him gently to her bosom, and wept over him ; and it was sweet to see a brother and sister treat each other almost like lovers, as these two began to do — they watched each other's eye so tenderly. This new care kept the sister in her own house all the next day ; but towards the evening, Jean, who knew her other anxiety, slipped in and offered to take her place for an hour by Flucker's side. At the same time she looked one of those signals which are too subtle for any but woman to understand. Christie drew her aside, and learned that Gatty and his mother were just coming through from Leith. Chris- CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 141 tie ran for her eighty pounds, placed them in her bosom, cast a hasty glance at a looking-glass, little larger than an oyster-shell, and ran out. " Hech ! What pleased the auld wife will be to see he has a lass that can mak auchty pund in a morning." This was Christie's notion. At sight of them she took out the bank-notes, and with eyes glistening and cheeks flushing, she cried, — "0 Chairles, ye'll no gang to jail: I hae the siller ! " and she offered him the money with both hands, and a look of tenderness and modesty that embellished human nature. Ere he could speak, his mother put out her hand, and not rudely, but very coldly, repelling Christie's arm, said in a freezing manner, — " "We are much obliged to you, but my son's own talents have rescued him from his little embarrassment." "A nobleman has bought my picture," said Gatty proudly. " For one hundred and fifty pounds," said the old lady, meaning to mark the contrast between that sum and what Christie had in her hand. Christie remained like a statue, with her arms extended and the bank-notes in her hand ; her features worked : she had much ado not to cry ; and any one that had known the whole story, and seen this unmerited repulse, would have felt for her ; but her love came to her aid ; she put the notes in her bosom, sighed and said, — " I would hae likeit to hae been the first, ye ken, but I'm real pleased." " But, mother," said Gatty, " it was very kind of Christie all the same. Chi-istie ! " said he in a tone of despair. At this kind word Christie's fortitude was sore tried ; she turned away her head. She was far too delicate to 142 CHRISTIE .JOHNSTONE. let them know who had sent Lord Ipsdcn to Imy the picture. Whilst she turned away, Mrs. Gatty said in lier son's ear, — "Now I have your solemn promise to do it here, and at once : you will find me on the beach bohind these boats : do it." The reader will understand that during the last few days Mrs. Gatty had improved her advantage, and that Charles had positively consented to obey her. The poor boy was worn out with the struggle : he felt he must have peace or ilie. Ho was thin and pale, and sudden twitches came over him : his temperament was not fit for such a battle ; and it is to be observed nearly all the talk was on one side. He had made one expiring struggle : he described to his niotlier an artist's nature^, his strength, his weakness : he besought her not to be a slave to gen- eral rules, but to inquire what sort of a companion the individual Gatty needed: he lashed with true but bril- liant satire the sort of wife his mother was ready to see him saddled with, — a stupid, unsj'mpathizing creature, whose ten children would, by nature's law, be also stu- pid, and so be a weight on him till his dying day. He painted Christie Johnstone, mind and body, in words as true and bright as his colors : he showed his own weak points, her strong ones, and how the latter would fortify the former. He displayed, in short, in one minute more intellect than his mother had exhibited in sixty years ; and that done, with all his understanding, wit, and eloquence, he succumbed like a child to her stronger will : he prom- ised to break with Christie Johnstone. When Christie had recovered her composure and turned round to her companions, she found herself alone with Charles. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 143 « Chairles," said she gravely. " Christie," said he uneasily. '' Your mother does na like me. Oh ! ye need na deny it ; and we are na together as Ave used to be, my lad." "She is prejudiced, but she has been the best of mothers to me, Christie." "Aweel." " Circumstances compel me to return to England." (Ah, coward ! anything but the real truth ! ) " Aweel, Chairles, it will not be for lang." " I don't know ; you will not be so unhappy as I shall — at least I hope not." " Hoow do ye ken that ? " " Christie, do you remember the first night we danced together ? " "Ay." " And we walked in the cool by the seaside, and I told you the names of the stars, and you said those were not their real names, but nicknames we give them here on earth. I loved you that first night." " And I fancied you the first time I set eyes on you." " How can I leave you, Christie ? What shall'l do ? " " I ken what I shall do," answered Christie, coolly ; then bursting into tears she added, " I shall dee ! I shall dee ! " " No ! you must not say so ; at least I will never love any one but you." " An' ril live as I am a' my days for your sake. England ! I hae likeit ye sae weel, ye suld na rob me o' my lad — he's a' the joy I hae ! " " I love you," said Gatty. " Do you love me ? " All the answer was, her head upon his shoulder. " I can't do it," thought Gatty, " and I won't ! Christie," said he, ''stay here, don't move from here." And lie dashed among the boats in great agitation. 144 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. He found his mother rather near the scene of the late conference. " Mother," said he fiercely, like a coward as he was, "ask me no more, my mind is made up forever; I will not do this scoundrelly, heartless, beastly, ungrateful action you have been pushing me to so long." " Take care, Charles, take care," said the old woman, trembling witli passion, for this was a new tone foi* her son to take with her. " You had my blessing the other day, and you saw what followed it ; do not tempt me to curse an undutiful, disobedient, ungrateful son." " I must take my chance," said he, desperately ; " for I am under a curse any way ! I placed my ring on her finger, and held up my hand to God and swore she should be my wife : she has my ring ;ind my oath, and I will not perjure myself even for my mother." "Your ring ! Not the ruby ring I gave you from your dead father's finger — not that ! not that ! " " Yes ! yes ! I tell you yes ! and if he was alive, and saw her, and knew her goodness, he would have pity on me, but I have no friend ; you see how ill you have made me, but you have no pity ; I could not have believed it ; but since you have no mercy on me, I will have the more mercy on myself; I marry her to-morrow, and put an end to all this shuffling and manoeuvring against an angel ! I am not worthy of her, but I'll marry her to-morrow. Good-by." " Stay ! '•' said the old woman, in a terrible voice ; "before you destroy me and all I have lived for, and suffered and pinched for, hear me ; if that ring is not off the hussy's finger in half an hour, and you my son again, I fall on this sand and " — " Then God have mercy upon me, for I'll see the whole creation lost eternall}', ere I'll wrong the only creature that is an ornament to the world." CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 145 He was desperate ; and the weak, driven to despera- tion, are more furious than the strong. It was by Heaven's mercy that neither mother nor son had time to speak again. As they faced each other, with flaming eyes and faces, all self-command gone, about to utter hasty words, afid lay up regret, perhaps for all their lives to come, in a moment, as if she had started from the earth, Christie Johnstone stood between them ! Gatty's words, and still more, his hesitation, had made her quick intelligence suspect: she had resolved to know the truth; the boats offered every facility for listening — she had heard every word. She stood between the mother and son. They were confused, abashed, and the hot blood began to leave their faces. She stood erect like a statue, her cheek pale as ashes, her eyes glittering like basilisks, she looked at neither of them. She slowly raised her left hand, she withdrew a ruby ring from it, and dropped the ring on the sand between the two. She turned on her heel, and was gone as she had come, without a word spoken. They looked at one another, stupefied at first ; after a considerable pause the stern old woman stooped, picked up the ring, and in spite of a certain chill that the young woman's majestic sorrow had given her, said, placing it on her own finger, " This is for your wife ! " " It will be for my coffin, then," said her son, so coldly, so bitterly, and so solemnly, that the mother's heart began to quake. "Mother," said he, calmly, "forgive me, and accept your son's arm." " I will, my son." 146 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. " We are alone in the world now, mother." Mrs. Gatty had triumphed, but she felt the price of her triumph more than her victory. It had been done in one moment, that for which she had so labored, and it seemed that had she spoken long ago to Christie, instead of Charles, it could have been done at any moment. Strange to say, for some minutes the mother felt more uneasy than her son ; she was a woman, after all, and could measure a woman's heart, and she saw how deep the wound she had given one she was now compelled to respect. Charles, on the other hand, had been so harassed back- Avards and forwards, that to him certainty was relief ; it was a great matter to be no longer called upon to decide. His mother had said " Part," and now Christie had said " Part ; " at least the affair was taken out of his hands, and his first feeling was a heavenly calm. In this state he continued for about a mile, and he spoke to his mother about his art, sole object now; but after the first mile he became silent, distrait ; Christie's pale face, her mortified air, when her generous offer was coldly repulsed, filled him with remorse : finally, unable to bear it, yet not daring to speak, he broke suddenly from his mother without a word, and ran wildly back to Newhaven ; he looked back only once, and there stood his mother, pale, with her hands piteously lifted towards heaven. By the time he got to Newhaven he was as sorry for her as for Christie. He ran to the house of the latter ; Flucker and Jean told him she was on the beach. He ran to the beach ; he did not see her at first, but pres- ently looking back, he saw her, at the edge of the boats, in company with a gentleman in a boating dress. He looked — could he believe his eyes ? he saw Christie Johnstone kiss this man's hand, who then, taking her CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 14.7 head gently in his two hands, placed a kiss upon her brow, whilst she seemed to yield lovingly to the caress. Gatty turned faint,* sick ; for a moment everything swam before his eyes ; he recovered himself, they were gone. He darted round to intercept them ; Christie had slipped away somewhere ; he encountered the man alone ! 148 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. CHAPTER XV. Christie's situation requires to be explained. On leaving Gatty and his mother, she went to her own house. Flucker — who after looking upon her for years as an inconvenient appendage, except at dinner-time, had fallen in love with her in a manner that was half pathetic, half laughable, all things considered — saw by her face she had received a blow, and raising himself in the bed, inquired anxiously " AVhat ailed her ? " At these kind words, Christie Johnstone laid her cheek upon the pillow beside Flucker's, and said, — " 0, my laamb ! be kind to your puir sister fra this hoor, for she has nacthing i' the warld noo but yoursel'." Flucker began to sob at this. Christie could not cry ; her heart was like a lump of lead in her bosom ; but she put her arm round his neck, and at the sight of his sympathy she panted heavily, but could not shed a tear — she was sore stricken. Presently Jean came in, and as the poor girl's head ached as well as her heart, they forced her to go and sit in the air. She took her creepie and sat and looked on the sea ; but whether she looked seaward or landward, all seemed unreal ; not things, but hard pictures of things, some moving, some still. Life seemed ended — she had lost her love. An hour she sat in this miserable trance ; she was diverted into a better, because a somewhat less danger- ous form of grief, by one of those trifling circumstances that often penetrate to the human heart, when inaccessi- ble to greater things. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 149 Willie, the fiddler, and his brother, came through the town, playing as they went, according to custom ; their music floated past Christie's ears like some drowsy chime, until, all of a sudden, they struck up the old English air, " Speed the plough." Now it was to this tune Charles Gatty had danced with her their first dance the night they made acquaint- ance. Christie listened, lifted up her hands, and crying — " Oh, what will I do ? what will I do ? " burst into a passion of grief. She put her apron over her head, and rocked herself, and sobbed bitterly. She was in this situation when Lord Ipsden, who was prowling about, examining the proportions of the boats, discovered her. Some one in distress — that was all in his Avay. "• Madam ! " said he. She lifted up her head. " It is Christie Johnstone. I'm so glad ; that is, I'm sorry you are crying, but I'm glad I shall have the pleas- ure of relieving you," and his lordship began to feel for a check-book. "And div ye really think siller's a cure for every grief ? " said Christie bitterly. " I don't know," said his lordship ; *' it has cured them all as yet." " It will na cure me then ! " and she covered her head with her apron again. " I am very sorry," said he ; " tell me (whispering) what is it ? poor little Christie ! " " Dinna speak to me ; I think shame ; ask Jean. Richard, I'll no be lang in this warld ! " " Ah ! " said he, '' I knoAv too Avell what it is now ; I know by sad experience. But, Christie, money will cure 150 CHKISTIE JOHNSTONE. it in your case, and it shall, too ; only instead of five pounds, we must put a thousand pounds or two to your banker's account, and then they will all see your beauty, and run after you." " How daur ye even to me that I'm seekin' a lad ? " cried she, rising from her stool ; " I would na care, sup- pose there was na a lad in Britain." And off she flounced. " Offended her by my gross want of tact," thought the viscount. She crept back, and two velvet lips touched his hand. That was because she had spoken harshly to a friend. " Richard ! " said she despairingly, " I'll no be lang in this warld." He was touched : and it was then he took her head and kissed her brow, and said, " This will never do ; my child, go home and have a nice cry, and I will speak to Jean ; and rely upon me, I will not leave the neighbor- hood till I have arranged it all to your satisfaction." And so she went, — a little, a very, very little — com- forted by his tone and words. Now this was all very pretty ; but then seen at a dis- tance of fifty yards, it looked very ugly ; and Gatty, who had never before known jealousy, the strongest and worst of human passions, was ripe for anything. He met Lord Ipsden, and said at once, in his wise temperate way : " Sir, you are a villain ! " ' Ipsden. Plait-il? Gatty. You are a villain ! Ipsden. How do you make that out ? Gatty. But, of course, you are not a coward, too. Ipsden (ironically). You surprise me with your moderation, sir. Gatty. Then you will waive your rank, — you are a lord, I believe, — and give me satisfaction. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 151 Ipsden. My rank, sir, such as it is, engages me to give a proper answer to proposals of this sort ; I am at your orders, Gatty. A man of your character must often have been called to an account by your victims, so — so (hesitating) perhaps you will tell me the proper course. Ipsden. I shall send a note to the castle, and the colonel will send me down somebody with a mustache ; I shall pretend to remember mustache, mustache will pretend he remembers me ; he will then communicate Avith your friend, and they will arrange it all for us. Gatty. And, perhaps, through your licentiousness, one or both of us will be killed. Ipsden. Yes ; but we need not trouble our heads about that, — the seconds undertake everything. Gatty. I have no pistols. Ipsden. If you will do me the honor to use one of mine, it shall be at your service. Gatty. Thank you. Ipsden. To-morrow morning ? Gatty. No. I have four days' painting to do on my picture ; I can't die till it is finished ; — Friday morning. Ipsden. (He is mad.) I wish to ask you a question ; you will excuse my curiosity. Have you any idea what we are agreeing to differ about ? Gatty. The question does you little credit, my lord; that is to add insult to wrong. He went off hurriedly, leaving Lord Ipsden mystified. He thought Christie Johnstone was somehow connected with it ; but conscious of no wrong, he felt little disposed to put up with any insult, especially from this boy, to whom he had been kind, he thought. His lordship was, besides, one of those good, simple- minded creatures, educated abroad, Avho, when invited to fight, simply bow, and load two pistols, and get them- 152 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. selves called at six ; instead of taking down tomes of casuistry and puzzling their poor brains to find out whether they are game-cocks or capons, and why. As for Gatty, he hurried home in a fever of passion, begged his mother's pardon, and reproached himself for ever having disobeyed her on account of such a perfidi- ous creature as Christie Johnstone. He then told her what he had seen, as distance and imagination had presented it to him ; to his surprise the old lady cut him short. " Charles," said she, " there is no need to take the girl's character away ; she has but one fault, — she is not in the same class of life as you, and such marriages always lead to misery : but in other respects she is a worthy young woman, — don't speak against her char- acter, or you will make my flesh creep ; you don't know what her character is to a woman, high or low." By this moderation perhaps she held him still faster. Friday morning arrived. Gatty had, by hard work, finished his picture, collected his sketches from nature, which were numerous, left by memorandum everything to his mother, and was, or rather felt, as ready to die as live. He had hardly spoken a word, or eaten a meal, these four days ; his mother was in anxiety about him. He rose early, and went down to Leith ; an hour later, his mother, finding him gone out, rose, and went to seek him at Newhaven. Meantime Flucker had entirely recovered, but his Bister's color had left her cheeks ; and the boy swore vengeance against the cause of her distress. On Friday morning, then, there paced on Leith Sands two figures. One was Lord Ipsden. The other seemed a military gentleman, who having CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 153 swallowed the mess-room poker, and found it insuffi- cient, had added the ramrods of his company. The more his lordship reflected on Gatty, the less inclined he had felt to invite a satirical young dog from barracks to criticise such a, rencontre; he had therefore ordered Saunders to get up as a field-marshal, or some such trifle, and what Saunders would have called incom- parable verticality was the result. The painter was also in sight. Whilst he was coming up. Lord Ipsden was lecturing Marshal Saunders on a point on which that worthy had always thought himself very superior to his master — " Gentlemanly deportment." "Now, Saunders, mind and behave like a gentleman, or we shall be found out." " I trust, my lord, my conduct " — *' What I mean is, you must not be so overpoweringly gentleman-like, as you are apt to be ; no gentleman is so gentleman-like as all that ; it could not be borne, c'est suffoquant ; and a white handkerchief is unsoldier-like — and nobody ties a white handkerchief so well as that ; of all the vices, perfection is the most intolerable," His lordship then touched with his cane the generalissimo's tie, whose countenance straightway fell, as though he had lost three successive battles. Gatty came up. They saluted. " Where is your second, sir ? " said the marechal. " My second ? " said Gatty. " Ah ! I forgot to wake him — does it matter ? " "■ It is merely a custom," said Lord Ipsden, with a very slight^ satirical manner. " Savanadero," said he, " do us the honor to measure the ground, and be everybody's second." Savanadero measured the ground, and handed a pistol 154 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. to each combatant, and struck an imposing attitude apart. " Are you ready, gentlemen ? " said this Jack-o'-both- sides. " Yes ! " said both. Just as the signal was about to be given, an inter- ruption occurred. — "I beg your pardon, sir," said Lord Ipsden to his antagonist ; " I am going to take a libert;/ — a great llhertu with you, but I think you will find your pistol is only at half-cock." " Thank you, my lord ; what am I to do with the thing ? " " Draw back the cock so, and be ready to fire." « So ? " Bancj ! He had touched the trigger as well as the cock, so off went the barker; and after a considerable pause the field-marshal sprang j-elling into the air. '' Hallo ! " cried Mr. Gatty. " Ah ! oh ! I'm a dead man," whined the general. "Nonsense !" said Ipsden, after a moment of anxiety. " Give yourself no concern, sir," said he, soothingly, to his antagonist — '* a mere accident. — Marechal, reload Mr. Gatty's pistol." " Excuse me, my lord " — '' Load his pistol directly," said his lordship, sternly ; "and behave like a gentleman." " ]\Iy lord ! my lord ! but where shall I stand to be safe ? " " Behind me ! " The commander of division advanced reluctantly for Gatty's pistol. "No, my lord ! " said Gatty, " it is plain I am not a fit antagonist ; I shall but expose myself — and my mother has separated us ; I have lost her — if you do not win her, some worse man may; but oh! if you are a man use her tenderly." CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 155 « Whom ? " '" Christie Johnstone ! O sir, do not make her regret me too much ! She was my treasure, my consolation, — she was to be my wife, she would have cheered the road of life — it is a desert now. I loved her — I — I " — Here the poor fellow choked. Lord Ipsden turned round, and threw his pistol to Saunders, saying, " Catch that, Saunders." Saunders, on the contrary, by a single motion changed his person from a vertical straight line to a horizontal line, exactly parallel with the earth's surface, and the weapon sang innoxious over him. His lordship then, with a noble defiance of etiquette, walked up to his antagonist, and gave him his hand with a motion no one could resist ; — for he felt for the poor fellow. " It is all a mistake," said he. " There is no sentiment between La Johnstone and me but mutual esteem. 1 will explain the whole thing ; / admire her for her virtue, her wit, her innocence, her goodness, and all that sort of thing ; and s?ie — what s?ie sees in me, I am sure I don't know," added he, slightly shrugging his aristo- cratic shoulders. " Do me the honor to breakfast with me at Newhaven." " I have ordered twelve sorts of fish at the ' Peacock,' my lord," said Saunders. " Divine ! (I hate fish.) I told Saunders all would be hungry and none shot ; by-the-by, you are winged, I think you said, Saunders ? " " No, my lord ! but look at my trousers." The bullet had cut his pantaloons. " I see — only barked ; so go and see about our breakfast." " Yes, my lord " (faintly). " And draw on me for fifty pounds worth of — new trousers." 156 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. " Yes, ray lord " (sonorously). The duellists separated, Gatty taking the short cut to Newhaven; he proposed to take his favorite swim there, to refresh himself before breakfast ; and he went from his lordship a little cheered by remarks which fell from him, and which, though vague, sounded friendly ; — poor fellow, except when he had brush in hand he was a dreamer. This viscount, who did not seem to trouble his head about class dignity, was to convert his mother from her aristocratic tendencies, or something. Que sais-je ? what will not a dreamer hope ? Lord Ipsden strolled along the sands, and judge his surprise, when, attended by two footmen, he met at that time in the morning, Lady Barbara Sinclair. Lord Ipsden had been so disheartened and piqued by this lady's conduct, that for a whole week he had not been near her; this line of behavior sometimes answers. She met him with a grand display of cordiality. She inquired, " Whether he had heard of a most gallant action, that, coupled with another circumstance (here she smiled) had in part reconciled her to the age we live in?" He asked for further particulars. She then informed him " that a ship had been ashore on the rocks, that no fisherman dared venture out, that a young gentleman had given them his whole fortune, and so bribed them to accompany him ; that he had saved the ship and the men's lives, paid away his fortune, and lighted an odious cigar, and gone home, never minding, amidst the blessings and acclamations of a maritime population." A beautiful story she told him ; so beautiful, in fact, that until she had discoursed ten minutes, he hardly recognized his own feat ; but when he did, he blushed CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 157 inside as well as out with pleasure. Oh ! music of music — praise from eloquent lips, and those lips, the lips we love. The next moment he felt ashamed ; ashamed that Lady Barbara should praise him beyond his merits, as he conceived. He made a faint hypocritical endeavor to moderate her eulogium ; this gave matters an unexpected turn : Lady Barbara's eyes flashed defiance. " I say it was a noble action, that one nursed in effem- inacy (as you all are) should teach the hardy seamen to mock at peril — noble fellow ! " " He did a man's duty, Barbara." " Ipsden, take care, you will make me hate you, if you detract from a deed you cannot emulate. This gentle- man risked his own life to save others — he is a hero! I should know him by his face the moment I saw him. ^Oh that I were such a man, or knew where to find such a creature ! " The water came into Lord Ipsden's eyes ; he did not know what to say or do ; he turned away his head. Lady Barbara was surprised ; her conscience smote her. "Oh, dear," said she, "there now, I have given you pain — forgive me ; we can't all be heroes ; dear Ipsden, don't think I despise you now as I used. Oh, no ! I have heard of your goodness to the poor, and I have more experience now. There is nobody I esteem more than you, Richard, so you need not look so." " Thank you, dearest Barbara." " Yes, and if you were to be such a goose as to write me another letter proposing absurdities to me " — " Would the answer be different ? " "Very different." " Barbara, would you accept ? " 15S CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. "Why, of course not — but I would refuse civilly!" "Ah!" " There, don't sigh ; I hate a sighing man. I'll tell you something that I know will make you laugh." She then smiled saucily in his face, and said, " Do you remem- ber Mr., ?" Ueffrontee! this was the earnest man. But Ipsden was a match for her this time. " I think 1 do," said he ; "a gentleman Avho wants to make John Bull little again into John Calf; but it won't do." Her ladyship laughed. " Why did you not tell us that on Inch Coombe ? " "Because I had not read ^The Catspaw' then." " * The Catspaw '? Ah ! I thought it could not be you. Whose is it ? " « Mr. Jerrold's." " Then Mr. Jerrold is cleverer than you." "It is possible." " It is certain ! Well, Mr. Jerrold and Lord Ipsden, you will both be glad to hear that it was, in point of fact, a bull that confuted the advocate of the Middle Ages ; we were Avalking ; he was telling me manhood was extinct except in a few earnest men who lived upon the past, its associations, its truth ; when a horrid bull gave — oh — such a bellow! and came trotting up. T screamed and ran — I remember nothing but arriving at the stile, and lo, on the other side, offering me his arm with empressement across the wooden barrier, was " — " Well ? " " Well ! don't you see ? " "No — oh — yes, I see! — fancy — ah! Shall I tell you how he came to get first over ? He ran more earnestly than you." " It is not Mr. Jerrold this time, I presume," said her satirical ladyship. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 159 " No ! you cannot always have him. I venture to predict your ladyship on your return home gave this mediaeval personage his congeJ" "No?" " 1 gave it him at the stile ! Let us be serious, if you please ; I have a confidence to make you, Ipsden. Franklj'', I owe you some apology for my conduct of late ; I meant to be reserved — I have been rude, — but you shall judge me. A year ago you made me some proposals ; I rejected them because, though I like you " — " You like me ? " " I detest your character. Since then, my West India estate has been turned into specie ; that specie, tlie bulk of my fortune, placed on board a vessel ; that vessel lost, at least we think so — she has not been heard of." " My dear cousin ! " "Do you comprehend that now I am cooler than ever to all young gentlemen who have large incomes, and (holding out her hand like an angel) I must trouble you to forgive me." He kissed her lovely hand. " I esteem you more and more," said he. " You ought, for it has been a hard struggle to me not to adore you, because you are so improved, mon couslny " Is it possible ? In what respect ? " " You are browner and charitabler ; and I should have been very kind to you — mawkishly kind I fear, my sweet cousin, if this wretched money had not gone dov/n in the Tisbe." " Hallo ! " cried the viscount. " Ah ! " squeaked Lady Barbara, unused to such inter- jections. " Gone down in what ? " said Ipsden in a loud voice, 160 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. "Don't bellow in people's ears. The Tisbe, stupid," cried she, screaming at the top of her voice. " Ri turn, ti turn, ti turn, turn, turn, tiddy, iddy," went Lord Ipsden, — he whistled a polka. Ladij Barbara (inspecting him gravely). T have heard it at a distance, but I never saw how it was done before. It is very, very pretty ! Ipsden. Polkez-vous, viadame ? Lady Barbara. SI, jepolke, monsieur le vicomte. They polked for a second or two. " Well, I dare say I am wrong," cried Lady Barbara, "but I like you better now you are a downright — ahem ! than when you were only an insipid non-intellectual — You are greatly improved." Ipsden. In what respects ? Lady Barbara. Did I not tell you ? browner and more impudent ; but tell me (said she, resuming her sly satirical tone) how is it that you, who used to be the pink of courtesy, dance and sing over the wreck of my fortunes ? " Because they are not wrecked." " I thought I told you my specie is gone down in the Tisbe." Ipsden. But the Tisbe has not gone down. Lady Barbara. I tell you it is. Ipsden. I assure you it is not. Lady Barbara. It is not ? Ipsden. Barbara ! I am too happy, I begin to nourish such sweet hopes once more ; oh, I could fall on my knees and bless you for something you said just now. Lady Barbara blushed to the temples. " Then why don't you ? " said she. " All you want is a little enthusiasm." Then recovering herself, she said, — " You kneel on wet sand, with black trousers on ; that will never be ! " CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 161 These two were so occupied that they did not observe the approach of a stranger until he broke in upon their dialogue. An ancient mariner had been for some minutes stand- ing off and on, reconnoitring Lord Ipsden ; he now bore down, and with great rough, roaring cordiality, that made Lady Barbara start, cried out, — "Give me your hand, sir, — give me your hand, if you were twice a lord. " I couldn't speak to you till the brig was safe in port, and you slipped away, but I've brought you up at last; and — give me your hand again, sir. I say, isn't it a pity you are a lord instead of a sailor ? " Ipsden. But I am a sailor. Ancient Mariner. That ye are, and as smart a one as ever tied a true-lover's knot in the top ; but tell the truth, you were never nearer losing the number of your mess than that day in the old Tisbe. Lady Barbara. The old Tisbe ! Oh ! Ipsden. Do you remember that nice little lurch she gave to leeward as we brought her round ? Lady Barbara. Eichard ! Ancient Mariner. And that reel the old wench gave under our feet, north the pier-head. I wouldn't have given a washing-tub for her at that moment. Ipsden. Past danger becomes pleasure, sir. Olim et hcec memlnisse — I beg your pardon, sir. Ancient Mariner (taking off his hat, with feeling). God bless ye, sir, and send ye many happy days, and well spent, with the pretty lady I see alongside ; asking your pardon, miss, for parting pleasanter company, — so I'll sheer off. And away went the skipper of the Tisbe, rolling fear- fully. In the heat of this reminiscence, the skipper of the yacht (they are all alike, blue water once fairly Vol. 9—12 162 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONM. tasted) had lost sight of Lady Barbara ; he now looked round. Imagine his surprise I Her ladyship was in tears. "Dear Barbara," said Lord Ipsden, "do not distress yourself on my account." " It is not your fe-feelings I care about ; at least, I h-h-hope not; but I have been so unjust, and I prided myself so on my j-ju-justice." " Never mind ! " " Oh ! if you don't, I don't. I hate myself, so it is no wonder you h-hate me." " I love you more than ever." " Then you are a good soul ! Of course you know I always Z-esteemed you, Richard." " No ! I had an idea you despised me ! " " How silly you are ! Can't you see ? When I thought you were not perfection, which you are now, it vexed me to death ; you never saw me affront any one but you ? " "No, I never did ! What does that prove ? " " That dei)ends upon the wit of him that reasons thereon." (Coming to herself.) " I love you, Barbara ! Will you honor me with your hand ? " " No ! I am not so base, so selfish ; you are worth a hundred of me, and here have I been treating you de haut en has. Dear Richard, poor Richard ! Oh, oh, oh ! " (A perfect flood of tears.) " Barbara, I regret nothing ; this moment pays for all." " Well, then, I will ! since you keep pressing me. There, let me go ; I must be alone ; I must tell the sea how unjust I was, and how happy I am, and when you see me again, you shaU see the better side of youi cousiu Barbara." CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 163 She was peremptory. " She had her folly and his merits to think over," she said ; but she promised to pass through Newhaven, and he should put her into her pony-phaeton, which would meet her there. Lady Barbara was only a fool by the excess of her ^v'it over her experience ; and Lord Ipsden's love was 1 ot misplaced, for she had a great heart which she hid from little people. I forgive her. The resolutions she formed in company with the sea, having dismissed Ij^sden, and ordered her flunky into the horizon, will probably give our viscount just half a century of conjugal bliss. As he was going, she stopped him and said, " Your friend had browner hands than I have hitherto conceived possible. To tell the truth, I took them for the claws of a mahogany table when he grappled you, — is that the term ? Cest egal ! I like him " — She stopped him again. " Ipsden, in the midst of all, that poor man's ship is broken. I feel it is ! You will buy him another, if you really love me, — for I like him." And so these lovers parted for a time ; and Lord Ipsden with a bounding heart returned to Newhaven. He went to entertain his late vis-a-vis at the '' Peacock." Meantime a shorter and less pleasant rencontre had taken place between Leith and that village. Gatty felt he should meet his lost sweetheart ; and sure enough, at a turn of the road Christie and Jean came suddenly upon him. Jean nodded, but Christie took no notice of him ; they passed him ; he turned and followed them, and said, "Christie!" " What is your will wi' me ? " said she coldly. "I — I — how pale you are ! " "I am no very weel." 164 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. " She has been watching over muckle wi' Flucker," said Jean. Christie thanked her with a look. " I hope it is not — not " — " Nae fears, lad," said she briskly ; " I dinna think that muckle o' ye." "And I think of nothing but you," said he. A deep flush crimsoned the young woman's brow, but she restrained herself, and said icily, " Thaat's very gude o' ye, I'm sure." Gatty felt all the contempt her manners and words expressed. He bit his lips : the tear started to his eye. " You will forget me," said he : "I do not deserve to be remembered, but I shall never forget you. I leave for England : I leave Newhaven forever, where I have been so happy. I am going at three o'clock by the steamboat : won't you bid me good-by ? " He approached her timidly. " Ay ! that wull do," cried she ; " Gude be wi' ye, lad ; I wish ye nae ill." She gave a commanding gesture of dismissal ; he turned away, and went sadly from her. She watched every motion when his back was turned. "That is you, Christie," said Jean ; "use the lads like dirt, an' they think a' the mair o' ye." "O Jean, my hairt's broken. I'm' just deeing for him." " Let me speak till him then," said Jean ; " I'll sune bring him till his marrow-banes ; " and she took a hasty step to follow him. Christie held her fast. " I'd dee ere I'd give in till them. Jean ! I'm a lassy clean flung awa ; he has neither hairt nor spunk ava, yon lad ! " Jean began to make excuses for him : Christie in- veighed against him ; Jean spoke up for him with more earnestness. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 165 Now observe, Jean despised the poor boy. Christie adored him. So Jean spoke for him, because women of every degree are often one solid mass of tact; and Christie abused him, because she wanted to hear him defended. 166 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. CHAPTER XVI. Richard, Lord Viscount Ipsden, having dotted the seashore with sentinels, to tell him of Lady Barbara's approach, awaited his guest in the " Peacock ; " but as Gatty was a little behind time, he placed Saunders sen- tinel over the " Peacock," and strolled eastward ; as he came out of the "Peacock," Mrs. Gatty came down the little hill in front, and also proceeded eastward ; mean- time Lady Barbara and her escort were not far from the New Town of Newhaven, on their way from Leith. Mrs. Gatty came down, merely with a vague fear. She had no reason to suppose her son's alliance with Christie either would or could be renewed, but she was a careful player and would not give a chance away ; she found he was gone o\it unusually early, so she came straight to the only place she dreaded ; it was her son's last day in Scotland. She had packed his clothes, and lie had inspired her with confidence by arranging pict- ures, etc., himself ; she had no idea he was packing for his departure from this life, not Edinburgh only. She came then to Newhaven with no serious misgiv- ings, for even if her son had again vacillated, she saw that with Christie's pride and her own firmness, the game must be hers in the end; but as I said before, she was one who played her cards closely, and such seldom lose. But my story is with the two young fishwives, who, on their return from Leith, found themselves at the foot of the New Town, Newhaven, some minutes before any of the other persons who, it is to be observed, were approach- ing it from different points ; they came slowly in, Christie CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE, 167 in particular, with a listlessness she had never known till this last week ; for some da3^s her strength had failed her — it was Jean that carried the creel now; before, Christie, in the pride of her strength, would always do more than her share of their joint labor ; then she could hardly be forced to eat, and what she did eat was quite tasteless to her ; and sleep left her, and in its stead came uneasy slumbers, from which she awoke, quivering from head to foot. Oh ! perilous venture of those who love one object with the whole heart. This great but tender heart was breaking day by day. Well, Christie and Jean strolling slowly into the New Town of Newhaven, found an assemblage of the natives all looking seaward ; the fishermen, except Sandy Listen, were away at the herring-fishery, but all the boys and women of the New Town were collected ; the girls felt a momentary curiosity ; it proved, however, to be only an individual swimming in towards shore from a greater distance than usual. A little matter excites curiosity in such places. The man's head looked like a spot of ink. Sandy Liston was minding his own business, lazily mending a skait-net, which he had attached to a crazy old herring-boat hauled up to rot. Christie sat down, pale and languid, by him, on a creepie that a lass who had been baiting a line with mussels had just vacated ; suddenly she seized Jean's arm with a convulsive motion. Jean looked up — it was the London steamboat running out from Leith to Gran- ton Pier to take up her passengers for London. Charles Gatty was going by that boat ; the look of mute despair the poor girl gave went to Jean's heart — she ran hastily from the group, and cried out of sight for poor Christie. A fishwife looking through a telescope at the swimmer 168 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. remarked, " He's coming in fast ; he's a gallant swimmer yon " — " Can he dee't ? " inquired Christie of Sandy Liston. " Fine thaat," was the reply, " he does it aye o' Sun- days when ye are at the kirk." "It's no oot o' the kirk-window ye'll hae seen him. Sandy, my mon," said a young fishwife. "Rin for my glass ony way, Flucker," said Christie, forcing herself to take some little interest. Flucker brought it to her. She put her hand on his shoulder, got slowly up, and stood on the creepie, and adjusted the focus of her glass ; after a short view she said to Flucker, — "Rin and see the nock." She then levelled her glass again at the swimmer. Flucker informed her the nock said "half eleven," — Scotch for half-past ten. Christie whipped out a well-thumbed almanac. " Yon nock's aye ahint," said she. She swept the sea once more with her glass, then brought it together with a click, and jumped off the stool ; her quick intelligence viewed the matter differently from all the others. "Noow," cried she, smartly, "wha'll lend me his yawl ? " " Hets ! dinna be sae interferin, lassie," said a fishwife. " Hae nane o' ye ony spunk ? " said Christie, taking no notice of the woman. " Speak, laddies ! " " M'uncle's yawl is at the pier-head ; ye'll get her, my woman," said a boy. "A schell'n for wha's first on board," said Christie, holding up the coin. " Come awa, Flucker, we'll hae her schell'n," and these two worthies instantly effected a false start. "It's no under your jackets," said Christie, as she dashed after them like the wind. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 169 " Haw ! haw ! haw ! " laughed Sandy. "What's her business picking up a mon against his will ? " said a woman. " She's an awfu' lassie," whined another. The examination of the swimmer was then continued, and the crowd increased; some Avould have it he was rapidly approaching, others that he made little or no way. " Wha est ? " said another. "It's a lummy," said a girl. " Na ! it's no a lummy," said another. Christie's boat was now seen standing out from the pier. Sandy Liston, casting a contemptuous look on all the rest, lifted himself lazily into the herring-boat and looked seaward. His manner changed in a mo- ment. " The deevil ! " cried he ; " the tide's turned ! You wi' your glass, could you no see yon man's drifting oot to sea?" " Hech ! " cried the women, " he'll be drooned, he'll be drooned ! " " Yes, he'll be drooned ! " cried Sandy, " if yon lassie does na come alongside him deevelich quick — he's sair spent I doot." Two spectators were now added to the scene, Mrs. Gatty and Lord Ipsden. Mrs. Gatty inquired what was the matter. " It's a mon drooning," was the reply. The poor fellow, whom Sandy, by aid of his glass, now discovered to be in a worn-out condition, was about half a mile east of Newhaven pier-head, and unfortu- nately the wind was nearly due east, Christie was standing north-north-east, her boat-hook jammed against the sail, which stood as flat as a knife. The natives of the Old Town were now seen pouring 170 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. down to the pier and the beach, and strangers were col- lecting like bees. " After-wit is everybody's wit ! " Old Proverb. The affair was in the Johnstone's hands. "That boat is not going to the poor man," said Mrs. Gatty ; " it is turning its back upon him." " She canna lie in the wind's eye, for as clever as she is," answered a fishwife. "I ken Avha it is," suddenly squeaked a little fishwife ; " it's Christie Johnstone's lad ; it's yon daft painter fr' England. Hech ! " cried she, suddenly, observing Mrs. Gatty, " it's your son, woman." The unfortunate woman gave a fearful scream, and flying like a tiger on Liston, commanded him, ''to go straight out to sea, and save her son." Jean Carnie seized her arm ; " Div ye see yon boat ? " cried she ; " and div ye mind Christie, the lass wha's hairt ye hae broken ? aweel, woman, — Ws just a race heUceen deeth and Cirsty Johnstone for your son'' The poor old woman swooned dead away ; they carried her into Christie Johnstone's house, and laid her down, then hurried back — the greater terror absorbed the less. Lady Barbara Sinclair was there from Leith, and see- ing Lord Ipsden standing in the boat with a fisherman, she asked him to tell her what it was ; neither he nor any one answered her. " Why doesn't she come about, Liston ? " cried Lord Ipsden, stamping with anxiety and impatience. '' She'll no be lang," said Sandy ; " but they'll mak a mess o't wi' ne'er a man i' the boat." " Ye're sure o' thaat ? " put in a woman. " Ay, about she comes," said Liston, as the sail came CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 171 down on the first tack. He was mistaken ; they dipped the lug as cleverly as any man in the town could. " Hech ! look at her hauling on the rope like a mon," cried a woman. The sail flew up on the other tack. " She's an awfu' lassie," whined another. " He's awa," groaned Listen, " he's doon ! " " Xo ! he's up again," cried Lord Ipsden ; " but I fear he can't live till the boat comes to him." The fisherman and the viscount held on by each other. " He does na see her, or maybe he'd tak hairt." " I'd give ten thousand pounds if only he could see her. My God, the man will be drowned under our eyes. If he but saw her ! " The words had hardly left Lord Ipsden's lips, when the sound of a woman's voice came like an iEolian note across the water. " Hurraih ! " roared Liston, and every creature joined the cheer. " She'll no let him dee. Ah ! she's in the bows, hail- ing him an' waving the lad's bonnet ower her head to gie him coorage. Gude bless ye, lass, Gude bless ye ! " Christie knew it was no use hailing him against the wind, but the moment she got the wind she darted into the bows, and pitched, in its highest key, her full and brilliant voice ; after a moment of suspense she received proof that she must be heard by him, for on the pier now h\;ng men and women, clustered like bees, breath- less with anxiety, and the moment after she hailed the drowning man, she saw and heard a Avild yell of applause burst from the pier, and the pier was more distant than the man. She snatched Plucker's cap, planted her foot on the gunwale, held on by a rope, hailed the poor fellow again, and waved the cap round and round her head, to give him courage ; and in a moment, at the sight of this, thousands of voices thundered back their cheers to her 172 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. across the water. Blow, wind; spring, boat; and you, Christie, still ring life towards those despairing ears, and wave hope to those sinking eyes ; cheer the boat on, you thousands that look upon this action. Hurrali ! from the pier ; Hurrah ! from the town ; Hurrah ! from the shore ; Hurrah ! now, from the very ships in the roads, whose crews are swarming on the yards to look; five minutes ago they laughed at you ; three thousand eyes and hearts hang upon you now ; ay, these are the moments we live for ! And now dead silence. The boat is within fifty yards, they are all three consulting together round the mast : an error now is death ; his forehead only seems above water. "If they miss him on that tack," said Lord Ipsden, significantly, to Liston. " He'll never see London Brigg again," was the whis- pered reply. They carried on till all on shore thought they would run over him, or past him ; but no, at ten yards distant they were all at the sail, and had it down like lightning; and then Flucker sprang to the bows, the other boy to the helm. Unfortunately, there were but two Johnstones in the boat ; and this boy, in his hurry, actually put the helm to port, instead of to starboard. Christie, who stood amidships, saw the error ; she sprang aft, flung the boy from the helm, and jammed it hard-a-starboard with her foot. The boat answered the helm, but too late for Flucker ; the man was four yards from him as the boat drifted by. " He's a deed mon ! " cried Liston, on shore. The boat's length gave one more little chance ; the after-part must drift nearer him — thanks to Christie. Flucker flew aft, flung himself on his back, and seized his sister's petticoats. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. l73 "Fling yourself ower the gunwale," screamed he. "Ye'll no hurt; I'se haud ye." She flung herself boldly over the gunwale ; the man was sinking, her nails touched his hair, her fingers entangled themselves in it, she gave him a powerful wrench and brought him alongside; the boys pinned him like wild cats. Christie darted away forward to the mast, passed a rope round it, threw it the boys ; in a moment it was under his shoulders. Christie hauled on it from the fore thwart, the boys lifted him, and they tumbled him, gasp- ing and gurgling like a dying salmon, into the bottom of the boat, and flung net and jackets and sail over him, to keep the life in him. Ah ! draw your breath all hands at sea and ashore, and don't try it again, young gentleman, for there Avas nothing to spare : when you were missed at the bow two stout hearts quivered for you ; Lord Ipsden hid his face in his two hands, Sandy Liston gave a groan, and when you were grabbed astern, jumped out of his boat, and cried, — " A jill o' whiskey for ony favor, for it's turned me as seeck as a doeg." He added, "He may bless yon lassie's fowr banes, for she's taen him oot o' death's maw, as sure as Gude's in heaven ! " Lady Barbara, who had all her life been longing to see perilous adventures, prayed, and trembled, and cried most piteously ; and Lord Ipsden's back was to her, and he paid no attention to her voice ; but when the battle was won and Lord Ipsden turned and saw her, she clung to his arm and dried her tears ; and then the Old Town cheered the boat, and the New Town cheered the boat, and the towns cheered each other ; and the Johnstones, lad and lass, set their sail, and swept back in triumph to the pier ; so then Lady Barbara's blood mounted and 174 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. tingled in her veins like fire. " Oh, how noble ! " cried she. ''Yes, dearest," said Ipsden. "You have seen some- thing great done at last ; and by a woman, too ! " " Yes," said Barbara, " how beautiful ! oh, how beauti- ful it all is ! only the next one I see, I should like the danger to be over first, that is all." The boys and Christie, the moment they had saved Gatty, up sail again for Newhaven ; they landed in about three minutes at the pier. TiMK. MiN. Sec. From Newhaven town to pier on foot ... 1 30 First tack 5 30 Second tack and getting him on board ... 4 00 Back to the pier, going free 3 30 Total 14 30 They came in to the pier, Christie sitting quietly on the thwart after her work, the boy steering, and Flucker standing against the mast, hands in his pockets ; the deportment this young gentleman thought fit to assume on this occasion was " complete apathy." He came into port with the air of one bringing home the ordinary results of his day's fishing; this was, I suppose, to impress the spectators with the notion that saving lives was an every-day affair with la famille Johnstone ; as for Gatty, he came to himself under his heap of nets and jackets, and spoke once between death's jaw and the pier. " Beautiful ! " murmured he, and was silent. The meaning of this observation never transpired, and never will in this world. Six months afterwards, being sub- jected to a searching interrogatory, he stated that he had alluded to the majesty and freedom of a certain pose Christie had adopted whilst hailing him from the boat ; CHRISTIE JOHKSTONE. 175 but, reader, if he had wanted you and me to believe it ■was this, he should not have been half a year finding it out — increduli odimus! They landed, and Christie spiang on shore ; whilst she was wending her way through the crowd, impeded by greetings and acclama- tions, with ever}- now and then a lass waving her ker- chief, or a lad his bonnet, over the heroine's head, poor Mrs. Gatty was receiving the attention of the New Town ; they brought her to, they told her the good news — she thanked God. The whole story had spread like wildfire ; they ex- postulated with her, they told her now was the time to show she had a heart, and bless the young people. She rewarded them with a valuable precept. " Mind your own business ! " said she. "Hech ! y' are a dour wife ! " cried Newhaven. The dour wife bent her eyes on the ground. The people were still collected at the foot of the street, but they were now in knots, when in dashed Flucker, arriving by a short cut, and crying, " She does na ken, she does na ken, she was ower moedest to look, I daur say, and ye'll no tell her, for he's a blackguard, an' he's just making a fule o' the puir lass, and if she kens what she has done for him, she'll be fonder o' him than a coow o' her cauf." " O Flucker ! we maun tell her, it's her lad, her ain lad, she saved," expostulated a woman. '• Did ever my feyther do a good turn till ye ? " cried Flucker. "Aweel, then, ye'll no tell the lassy, she's weel as she is ; he's gaun t' Enngland the day. I cannie gie ye a' a-hidin," said he, with an eye that flashed volumes of good intention, on a hundred and fifty people ; " but I am feytherless and motherless, an' I can fa' on my knees an' curse ye a' if ye do us sic an ill turn, an' then ye'll see whether ye'll thrive." 176 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. " We'll no tell, Flucker, ye need na currse us ony way." His lordship, with all the sharp authority of a skipper, ordered Master Flucker to the pier, with a message co the yacht ; Flucker qua yachtsman was a machine, and went as a matter of course. " I am determined to cell her," said Lord Ipsden to Lady Barbara. " But," remonstrated Lady Barbara, " the poor boy says he will curse us if we do." ''He won't curse me." " How do you know that ? " " Because the little blackguard's grog would be stopped on board the yacht if he did." Flucker had not been gone many minutes before loud cheering was heard, and Christie Johnstone appeared convoyed by a large detachment of the Old Town ; she had tried to slip away, but they would not let her. They convoyed her in triumph till th-y saw the Kew Town people, and then they turned and left her. She came in amongst the groups, a changed woman — her pallor and her listlessness were gone — the old light was in her eye, and the bright color in her cheek, and she seemed hardly to touch the earth. '' I'm just droukit, lasses," cried she, gayly, wringing her sleeve. Every eye was upon her ; did she know, or did she not know, what she had done ? Lord Ipsden stepped forward; the people tacitly ac- cepted him as the vehicle of their curiosity. " Who was it, Christie ? " " I dinna ken, for my pairt ! " Mrs. Gatty came out of the house. " A handsome young fellow, I hope, Christie ? " re- sumed Lord Ipsden. " Ye maun ask Flucker," was the reply. " I could no tak muckle notice, ye ken," putting her hand before her eye, and half smiling. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 177 " Well ! I hear he is very good looking ; and I hear vQu think so, too." She glided to him, and looked in his face. He gave a meaning smile. The poor girl looked quite perplexed. Suddenly she gave a violent start. " Christie ! where is Christie ? " had cried a well- known voice. He had learned on the pier who had saved him — he had slipped up among the boats to find her — he could not find his hat — he could not wait for it — his dripping hair showed where he had been — it was her love, whom she had just saved out of death's very jaws. She gave a cry of love, that went through every heart, high or low, young or old, that heard it. And she went to him, through the air it seemed ; but quick as she was, another was as quick ; the mother had seen him first, and she was there. Christie saw nothing. With an- other cry, the very keynote of her great and loving heart, she flung her arms round — Mrs. Gatty, Avho was on the same errand as herself. " Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent; Hearts are not flint, and flint is rent." The old woman felt Christie touch her. She turned from her son in a moment, and wept upon her neck. Her lover took her hand and kissed it, and pressed it to his bosom, and tried to speak to her; but all he could do was to sob and choke — and kiss her hand again. " My daughter ! " sobbed the old woman. At that word Christie clasped her quickly ; and then Christie began to cry. " I am not a stone," cried Mrs. Gatty. " I gave liira life ; but you have saved him from death. Charles ! never make her repent what she has done for you." 178 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. She was a woman after all ; and prudence and prejudice melted like snow before her heart. There were not many dry eyes — least of all the heroic Lady Barbara's. The three whom a moment had made one, were becom- ing calmer, and taking one another's hands for life, when a diabolical sound arose — and what was it, but Sandy Liston, who, after furious resistance, was blubbering with explosive but short-lived violence. Having done it, he was the first to draw everybody's attention to the phe- nomenon ; and affecting to consider it a purely physical attack, like a coup de soleil, or so on, he proceeded instantly to Drysel's for his panacea. Lady Barbara enjoined Lord Ipsden to watch these people, and not to lose a word they said ; and after she had insisted upon kissing Christie, she went off to her carriage. And she, too, was so happy, she cried three distinct times on her way to Edinburgh. Lord Ipsden having reminded Gatty of his engagement, begged him to add his mother and Christie to the party, and escorted Lady Barbara to her phaeton. So then the people dispersed by degrees. " That old lady's face seems familiar to me," said Lord Ipsden, as he stood on the little natural platform by the " Peacock." " Do you know who she is, Saunders ? " "It is Peggy, that was cook in your lordship's uncle's time, my lord. She married a greengrocer," added Saunders, with an injured air. " Hech ! hech ! " cried Flucker, " Christie has ta'en up her head wi' a cook's son." Mrs. Gatty was ushered into the " Peacock," with mock civility, by Mr. Saunders. No recognition took place, each being ashamed of the other as an acquaint- ance. The next arrival was a beautiful young lady, in a CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 179 black silk gown, a plain but duck-like plaid shawl, who proved to be Christie Johnstone, in her Sunday attire. When they met, Mrs. Gatty gave a little scream of joy, and said, " my child ! if I had seen you in that dress, I should never have said a word against you." ' ' Pars minima est ipsa puella sui ! " His lordship stepped up to her, took off his hat, and said, " Will Mrs. Gatty take from me a commission for two pictures, as big as herself, and as bonny," added he, doing a little Scotch, He handed her a check ; and turning to Gatty, added, " at your convenience, sir. Men entendti" " Hech ! it's for five hundred pund, Chairles." " Good gear gangs in little book," ^ said Jean. " Ay, does it," replied Flucker, assuming the compli- ment. ''My lord," said the artist, "you treat Art like a prince ; and she shall treat you like a queen. When the sun comes out again, I will work for you and fame. You shall have two things painted, every stroke loyally in the sunlight. In spite of gloomy winter and gloomier London, I will try if I can't hang nature and summer on your walls forever. As for me, you know I must go to Gerard Dow and Cuyp, and Pierre de Hoogh, when my little sand is run ; but my handwriting shall warm your children's children's hearts, sir, when this hand is dust." His eye turned inwards, he walked to and fro, and his companions died out of his sight — he was in the king- dom of art. His lordship and Jean entered the "Peacock," followed by Flucker, who merely lingered at the door to moralize as f ollowk : — 1 Balk. 180 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. " Hech ! liech ! isna thaat lamentable ? Christie's nion's as daft as a drunk weaver." But one stayed quietly behind, and assumed that moment the office of her life. "Ay," he burst out again, "iAe resources of our art are still unfathomed ! Pictures are yet to be painted that shall refresh men's inner souls, and help their hearts against the artificial world, and charm the fiend away, like David's harp ! The world, after centuries of lies, will give nature and truth a trial. What a paradise art will be when truths, instead of lies, shall be told on paper, on marble, on canvas, and on the boards ! " "Dinner's on the boarrd," murmured Christie, alluding to Lord Ipsden's breakfast ; " and I hae the charge o' ye," pulling his sleeve hard enough to destroy the equi- librium of a flea. " Then don't let us waste our time here. Christie ! " " What est, my laddy ? " " I'm so preciously hungry ! " " C-way ^ then ! " Off they ran, hand in hand, sparks of beauty, love, and happiness flying all about them. ' Come away. CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 181 CHAPTEK XVII. "There is nothing but meeting and parting in this world ! " and you may be sure the incongruous person- ages of our tale could not long be together. Their sepa- rate paths had met for an instant, in one focus, furnished then and there the matter of an eccentric story, and then diverged forever. Our lives have a general current, and also an episode or two ; and the episodes of a common-place life are often rather startling ; in like manner, this tale is not a specimen, but an episode of Lord Ipsden and Lady Barbara, who soon after this married and lived like the rest of the beau monde. In so doing, they passed out of my hands ; such as wish to know how viscounts and viscountesses feed and sleep and do the domestic (so called) and the social (so called), are referred to the fashionable novel. To Mr. Saunders, for instance, who has in the press one of those cerberus-leviathans of fic- tion, so common now ; incredible as folio to future ages. Saunders will take you by the hand, and lead you over carpets two inches thick — under rosy curtains — to dinner-tables. He will fete you, and opera you, and dazzle your young imagination with epergnes, and sal- vers, and buhl, and ormolu. No fishwives or painters shall intrude upon his polished scenes ; all shall be as genteel as himself. Saunders is a good authority ; he is more in the society, and far more in the confidence of the great, than most fashionable novelists. Mr. Saun- ders's work will be in three volumes ; nine hundred and ninety pages ! 182 CHUISTIE JOHNSTONE. In otlier words, this single work, of this ingenious writer, will equal in bulk the aggregate of all the writ- ings extant by Moses, David, Solomon, Isaiah, and St. Paul! I shall not venture into competition with this behe- moth of the salon ; I will evaporate in thin generalities. Lord Ipsden, then, lived very happily with Lady Bar- bara, whose hero he straightway became, and who nobly and poetically dotes upon him. He has gone into polit- ical life to please her, and will remain there — to please himself. They were both very grateful to Newhaven ; when they married, they vowed to visit it twice a year, and mingle a fortnight's simple life with its simple scenes ; but four years have passed, and they have never been there again, and I dare say never will ; but when Viscount Ipsden falls in with a brother aristo- crat who is crushed by the fiend ennui, he remembers Aberford, and condenses his famous recipe into a two- edged hexameter, which will make my learned reader laugh, for it is full of wisdom : — " Diluculo surgas ! miseiis succurrere discas ! " riucker Johnstone meditated during breakfast upon the five hundred pounds, and regretted he had not, years ago, adopted Mr. Gatty's profession ; some days after- Avards he invited his sister to a conference. Chairs being set, Mr. Flucker laid down this observation — that near relations should be deuced careful not to cast discredit upon one another ; that now his sister was to be a lady, it was repugnant to his sense of right to be a fisherman and make her ladyship blush for him ; on the contrary, he felt it his duty to rise to such high consideration that she should be proud of him. Christie acquiesced at once in this position, but pro- fessed herself embarrassed to know how such a " ne'er- CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 183 do-weel " was to be made a source of pride ; then she kissed Flucker, and said, in a tone somewhat inconsist- ent with the above, " Tell me, my laamb ! " Her lamb informed her, that the sea has many paths ; some of them disgraceful, such as line or net fishing, and the periodical laying down, on rocky shoals, and taking up again, of lobster-creels ; others, superior to anything the dry land can offer in importance and dignity and general estimation, such as the command of a merchant- vessel trading to the East or West Indies. Her lamb then suggested that if she would be so good as to launch him in the merchant-service, with a good rig of clothes and money in his pocket, there was that in his head Avhich would enable him to work to windward of most of his contemporaries. He bade her calculate upon the following results : in a year or two he Avould be second mate — and next year, first mate — and, in a few years more, skipper ! Think of that, lass ! Skipper of a vessel, whose rig he generously left his sister free to determine : premising that two masts were, in his theory of navigation, indispensable, and that three were a great deal more like Cocker than two. This led to a gen- eral consultation ; Flucker's ambition was discussed and praised. That modest young gentleman, in spite of many injunctions to the contrary, communicated his sister's plans for him to Lord Ipsden, and affected to doubt their prudence. The bait took ; Lord Ipsden wrote to his man of business, and an unexpected blow fell upon the ingenious Flucker. He was sent to school ; there to learn a little astronomy, a little navigation, a little sea- manship, a little manners, etc. ; in the mysteries of reading and writing his sister had already perfected him by dint of " the taws." This school was a blow ; but Flucker was no fool : he saw there was no way of getting from school to sea without working. So he liter- 184 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. ally worked out to sea. His first voyage was distin- guished by the following peculiarities : attempts to put tricks upon this particular novice generally ended in the laugh turning against the experimenters ; and instead of drinking his grog, which he hates, he secreted it, and sold it for various advantages. He has been now four voyages; when he comes ashore, instead of going to haunts of folly and vice, he instantly bears up for his sister's house — Kensington Gravel-pits — which he makes in the following manner : he goes up the river — Heaven knows where all — this he calls running down the longitude ; then he lands, and bears down upon the Gravel-pits : in particular knowledge of the names of streets he is deficient, but he knows the exact bearings of Christie's dwelling. He tacks and wears according as masonry compels him, and he arrives at the gate. He hails the house, in a voice that brings all the inhabitants of the row to their windows, including Christie ; he is fallen upon and dragged into the house. The first thing is, he draws out from his boots, and his back, and other hiding-places, China crape and marvellous silk handker- chiefs for Christie ; and she takes from his pocket a mass of Oriental sugar-plums, with which, but for this pre- caution, she knows by experience he would poison young Charley; and soon he is to be seen, sitting with his hand in his sister's, and she looking like a mother upon his handsome weather-beaten face, and Gatty opposite adoring him as a specimen of male beauty, and some- times making furtive sketches of him. And then the tales he always brings with him ; the house is never very dull, but it is livelier than ever when this inexhaustible sailor casts anchor in it. The friends (chiefly artists) who used to leave at 9.30, stay till eleven : for an intelligent sailor is better com- pany than two lawyers, two bishops, three soldiers, and CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 185 four writers of plays and tales, all rolled together. And still he tells Christie he shall command a vessel some day, and leads her to the most cheering inferences from the fact of his prudence and his general width-awake ; in particular he bids her contrast with him the general fate of sailors, eaten up by land-sharks, particularly of the female gender, whom he demonstrates to be the worst enemies poor Jack has ; he calls these sunken rocks, fire-ships, and other metaphors. He concludes thus : " You are all the lass I mean to have, till I'm a skipper, and then I'll bear up alongside some pretty decent lass, like yourself, Christie, and we'll sail in company all our lives, let the wind blow high or low." Such is the gracious Flucker become in his twentieth year. Last voyage, with Christie's aid, he produced a sextant of his own, and " made it twelve o'clock " (with the sun's consent, I hope), and the eyes of authority fell upon him. So who knows, perhaps he may one day sail a ship ; and if he does, he will be prouder and happier than if we made him monarch of the globe. To return to our chiefs ; Mrs. Gatty gave her formal consent to her son's marriage with Christie Johnstone. There were examples. Aristocracy had ere now con- descended to wealth ; earls had married Avomen rich by tallow-importing papas ; and, no doubt, had these same earls been consulted in Gatty's case, they would have decided that Christie Johnstone, with her real and funded property, was not a villanous match for a greengrocer's son, without a rapp ; ^ but Mrs. Gatty did not reason so, — did not reason at all, luckily, her heart ran away with her judgment, and her judgment ceasing to act, she became a wise woman. The case was peculiar. Gatty was an artist pur sang, > A diminutive German coin. 186 CHRISTIE JOHNSTOKE. — and Christie, who would not have been the wife for a petit mattre, was the wife of wives for him. He wanted a beautiful wife to embellish his canvas, disfigured hitherto by an injudicious selection of models ; a virtuous wife, to be his crown ; a prudent wife, to save him from ruin ; a cheerful wife, to sustain his spirits, drooping at times by virtue of his artist's temperament ; an intellectual wife, to preserve his children from being born dolts, and bred dunces, and to keep his oavu mind from sharpening to one point, and so contracting and be- coming monomaniacal : and he found all these qualities, together with the sun and moon of human existence — j true love and true religion — in Christie Johnstone. In similar cases, foolish men have set to work to make, in six months, their diamond of nature, the exact cut and gloss of other men's pastes, and nervously watch- ing the process, have suffered torture ; luckily Charles Gatty was not wise enough for this ; he saw nature had distinguished her he loved beyond her fellows ; here, as elsewhere, he had faith in nature, — he believed that Christie would charm everybody of eye, and ear, and mind, and heart, that approached her ; he admired her as she was, and left her to polish herself, if she chose. He did well ; she came to London with a fine mind, a broad brogue, a delicate ear; she observed how her husband's friends spoke, and in a very few months she had toned down her Scotch to a rich Ionic coloring, which her womanly instinct will never let her exchange for the thin vinegar accents that are too prevalent in English and French society ; and in other respects she caught, by easy gradation, the tone of the new society to which her marriage introduced her, without, however, losing her charming self. The wise dowager lodges hard by, having resisted an invitation to be in the same house ; she comes to that CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 187 house to assist the young wife with her experience, and to be welcome, — not to interfere every minute, and tease her ; she loves her daughter-in-law almost as much as she does her son, and she is happy because he bids fair to be an immortal painter, and above all, a gentleman ; and she a wifely Avife, a motherly mother, and above all, a lady. This, then, is a happy couple. Their life is full of purpose and industry, yet lightened by gayety ; they go to operas, theatres, and balls, for they are young. They have plenty of society, real society, not the ill-assorted collection of a predetermined number of bodies, that blindly assumes that name, but the rich communication of various and fertile minds ; they very, very seldom consent to squat four mortal hours on one chair (like old hares stiffening in their hot forms), and nibbling, sipping, and twaddling, in four mortal hours, Avhat could have been eaten, drunken, and said, in thirty-five minutes. They are both artists at heart, and it shocks their natures to see folks mix so very largely the inutile with the insipidum, and waste at one huge but barren incubation, the soul, and the stomach, and the irrevocable hours, things with which so much is to be done. But they have many desirable acquaintances, and not a few friends ; the latter are mostly lovers of truth in their several departments, and in all things : among them are painters, sculptors, engineers, writers, conversers, thinkers ; these acknowledging, even in England, other gods besides the intestines, meet often chez Gatty, chiefly for mental in- tercourse ; a cup of tea with such is found, by experience, to be better than a stalled elk where chit-chat reigns over the prostrate hours. This, then, is a happy couple ; the very pigeons and the crows need not blush for the nest at Kensington Gravel-pits. There the divine institution, marriage, takes 188 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. its natural colors, and it is at once pleasant and good to catch such glimpses of Heaven's design, and sad to think how often this great boon, accorded by God to man and woman, must have been abused and perverted, ere it could have sunk to be the standing butt of farce-writers, and the theme of weekly punsters. In this pair we see the wonders a male and female can do for each other in the sweet bond of holy wedlock. In that blessed relation alone two interests are really one, and two hearts lie safe at anchor side by side. Christie and Charles are friends, — for they are man and wife. Christie and Charles are lovers still, — for they are man and wife. Christie and Charles are one forever, — for they are man and wife. This wife brightens the house from kitchen to garret, for her husband ; this husband works like a king for his wife's comfort and for his own fame, — and that fame is his wife's glory. When one of these expresses or hints a wish, the other's first impulse is to find the means, not the objections. They share all troubles, and by sharing, halve them. They share all pleasures, and by sharing double them. They climb the hill together now, and many a canty day they shall have with one another ; and when, by the inevitable law, they begin to descend towards the dark valley, they will still go hand in hand, smiling so ten- derly, and supporting each other with a care more lovely than when the arm was strong and the foot firm. On these two temperate lives old age will descend lightly, gradually, gently, and late, — and late upon these evergreen hearts, because they are not tuned to some selfish, isolated key ; these hearts beat and ring with the young hearts of their dear children, and years CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. 189 hence papa and mamma will begin life hopefully, wish- fully, warmly again with each loved Bovice in turn. And when old age does come, it will be no calamity to these, as it is to you, poor battered beau, laughed at by the fair ninnies who erst laughed with you; to you, poor follower of salmon, fox, and pheasant, whose joints are stiffening, whose nerve is gone, — whose Golgotha re- mains ; to you, poor faded beauty, who have staked all upon man's appetite, and not accumulated goodness or sense for your second course ; to you, poor drawing-room wit, whose sarcasm has turned to venom, and is turning to drivel. What terrors has old age for this happy pair ? it can- not make them ugly, for though the purple light of youth recedes, a new kind of tranquil beauty, the aloe-blossom of many years of innocence, comes to, and sits like a dove upon the aged faces, where goodness, sympathy, and intelligence have harbored together so long ; and where evil passions have flitted (for we are all human), but found no resting-place. Old age is no calamity to them : it cannot terrify them : for ere they had been married a week the woman taught the man, lover of truth, to search for the highest and greatest truths, in a book written for men's souls, by the Author of the world, the sea, the stars, the sun, the soul ; and this book, Dei gratia, will, as the good bishop sings, — " Teach them to live, that they may dread The grave as little as their bed." It cannot make them sad, for ere it comes, loved souls will have gone from earth, and from their tender bosom, but not from their memories ; and will seem to beckon them now across the cold valley to the golden land. It cannot make them sad, for on earth the happiest 190 CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. must drink a sorrowful cup more than once in a long life, and so their brightest hopes will have come to dwell habitually on things beyond the grave ; and the great painter, jam senex, will chiefly meditate upon a richer landscape, and brighter figures than human hand has ever painted; a scene whose glories he can see from hence but by glimpses, and through a glass darkly ; the great meadows on the other side of Jordan, which are bright with the spirits of the just that walk there, and are warmed with an eternal sun, and ring with the tri- umph of the humble and the true, and the praises of God forever. NOTE. This story was written three years ago, and one or two topics in it are not treated exactly as they would be if written by the same hand to-day. But if the author had retouched those pages with his colors of 1853, he would (he thinks) have destroyed tne only merit they have, viz., that of containing genuine contemporaneous verdicts upon a cant that was flourishing like a peony, and a truth that was struggling for bare life, in the year of truth 1850. He prefers to deal fairly with the public, and, with this explanation and apology, to lay at its feet a faulty but genuine piece of work. SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. CHAPTER I. Matthew Brext, a small shopkeeper in Green Street, Liverpool, was a widower with two daughters. Deborah, the elder, had plenty of tongue and mother-wit, but could not and would not study anything on earth if it had the misfortune to be written or printed. Sarah, the younger, showed attention and application from her childhood. Her father cultivated those powers, for they are the roots of all excellence, and he knew it. He sent the girl to school, and there she learned the usual smatter- ing ; and one thing worth it all, viz., how to teach her- self. Under that abler tuition she learned to write like a clerk, to keep her father's books, to remember the price of every article in the shop, to serve the customers when required, and to read for her own pleasure and instruction. At eighteen she was Brent's right hand all day, and his reader at night. Deborah, who could only spell The Mercury, and would not do that if she could get Sally to read it out, found her level as cook, housekeeper, and marketwoman. At twenty she was very tall, supple, and muscular ; comely, but freckled, reddish hair, a very white skin, only it tanned easily. It rev^ealed its natural beauty in Vol. 9—13 4 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. her throat, and above all in the nape of her neck. This nape, snowy and solid, and a long row of ivory teeth, were her beauties. She married quite young, her father's cousin, a small farmer, and settled in Berkshire, her native county. Sarah Brent was about two inches shorter than Deborah, but a finer figure ; had an oval face full of modesty and gentle dignity. Her skin was also white, and revealed itself in her shapely hands as well as her alabaster throat. Her hair was brown, and so were two fearless eyes that looked at people full without staring. When she was nineteen, a worthy young fellow, called Joseph Pinder, fell in love with her and courted her. He was sheepish and distant in his approaches, for he looked on her as a superior being. She never chattered, yet could always answer civilly and wisely ; this, and her Madonna-like face, made Joe Pinder reverence her. Her father thought highly of him, and connived at his visits, and so they were often seen together in a friendly way ; but when he began to make downright love to her, she told him calmly she could go no farther than friend- ship. " And indeed," said she, " I would never leave my father for any young man." Joseph Pinder knew that this declaration has often preceded connubial rites, and continued his friendly assiduities ; and these two often came back from church together, he glowing with delight at being near her, and she cool and friendly. The Brents were in a small way of business, and Sarah's adorer was a decorative painter, and what is called in the trade a "writer" — one of those astounding artists who by skilful shading make gilt letters appear concave, or convex, or stand out bodily from a board or wall, and blazon a shopkeeper's name and business. On one occasion he had a large job of this sort to do in SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 5 Manchester. It took him a fortnight, and led to another at Preston. In a month he came back with money in both pockets, and full of joy at the prospect of meeting Sarah again. He found the Brents at supper, and there Avas a young man with them who had a deal to say, and made the old man smile, while the young woman often looked fur- tively at him with undisguised complacency. This was a second cousin of Mr. Brent's, one James Mansell, a painter and grainer, who had settled in the town while Finder was away. Finder's heart sank at this, and instead of exerting himself in vigorous competition, he became more silent and more depressed the more James Mansell rattled away ; in short, he was no company at all, because the other was good company. After awhile he said " Good-night." A coquette would have followed him to the door and smoothed matters ; but that was not Sarah Brent's line ; she said " good-night " kindly enough, but she never moved, and James JMansell's tongue resumed its head- long course. This was the first of many such scenes. Sarah was always kind, but cool, to her old admirer, and manifestly attracted by the new one. Indeed, it came to this at last, that Finder could never get a walk with her alone except from church. On one occasion he ventured on a mild remonstrance : " If you had not told me you would never leave your father, I should be almost afraid that James Mansell would entice you away from us all." " From everybody else ; but not from father." One would think that was plain enough, but Joe could not realize it, and he went on to ask her if she could really find it in her heart to throw such an old friend as him over for a stranger. 6 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. She replied, calmly : " Am I changed to you any way ? I always respected you, and I respect you still." " That is a comfort, Sarah. But if this goes on, I'm afraid you will like another man far better than me, whether you respect nic or not.*' " That is my business," said she, firmly. '•' Isn't it mine, too, Sarah ? We have kept company this two years." " As friends ; but nothing more. I have never misled you, but now if you are wise you will take up with some other girl. You can find as good as me." " Not in this world." " Nonsense, Joe ; and besides " — " Well, what ? " " I am one that forecasts a little, and I am afraid you will tease me, and pain yourself, and some day we shall part bad friends, and that Avould be a pity after all." '^ Nothing but death shall part us." " Yes, this door will. Father is not well to-night." The door in question was the side door of her own house. Pinder took the hint, and bade her "good-night" affec- tionately. He walked a little way out into the country by him- self, wondering now whether she would ever be his. He was dejected, but not in despair. In his class of life men and women have, often two or three warmish court- ships before they marry. Sarah was not of that sort, but this James Mansell would be as likely as not to leave the town, and think no more of Sarah Brent. In his trade it was here to-day and there to-morrow, and he did not look like the man to cling to the absent. Pinder returned home by Green Street to have a last look at the shell which held his pearl. As he passed by on the other side of the way, James Mansell came and knocked at Mr. Brent's side door. Pinder waited with a SINGLEHEART AND DODBLEFACE. 7 certain degree of jealous malice to see him excluded. Sarah came to the door and parleyed ; probably she told him her father was unwell. Pinder went on a little way, and then turned to see. The colloquy continued. It seemed interminable. The woman he loved was in no hurry now to get back to her sick father, and when she did, what was the result ? Mansell was invited in, after all, and the door of heaven closed upon him instead of in his face. The watcher stood there transfixed with the poisoned arrow of jealousy. He was sick and furious by turns, and at last got frightened at himself, and resolved to keep out of the way of this James Mansell, with whom he had no chance, Sarah's preference was now so clear. But he was too much in love to forego the walks from church ; and Sarah never objected to his company, nor, indeed, to his coming in to supper afterward. But he was sure to find his rival there and be reduced to a sullen cipher. So things went on. He did not see what passed be- tween Mansell and Sarah Brent, the open wooing of the man, the timid tumult in the woman, expanding, ripen- ing, blushing, thrilling, and blooming in the new sun- shine. But he discovered a good deal : she seemed gliding gradually away from him down a gentle but in- exorable slope. She was as friendly in her cool way as ever, but scarcely attended to him. Her mind seemed elsewhere at times, even in that short walk from church, sole relic now of their languid but unbroken friendship. The time came when even this privilege was disputed. One Sunday James Mansell arrived in Green Street ear- lier than usual. He heard where Sarah was, so he came to meet her. She was walking with Pinder. Mansell had been drinking a little, and did not know perhaps how little cause he had for jealousy. He stepped rudely 8 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. in between Pinder and Miss Brent, and took her arm, whereas Pinder had been walking merely by her side. " What sort of manners are these ? " said Pinder. "They are my manners," said the other haughtily. "She has no business to walk with 3'ou at all." " Don't insult her, at all events. She has walked with me this two year." " Well, then, now you go and walk with some other girl." " Not at your bidding, you brute." " Oh, you want a hiding, do you ? " " No : it is you that want that." James Mansell replied by a blow, which took Pinder unawares, and sent him staggering. He would have followed it up, but Pinder stopped the second neatly, and gave him a smart one in return, cry- ing "Coward! to take a man unawares." Sarah was terrified, and clasped her hands. " Oh, pray do not quarrel about me ! " " Stand aloof," said Mansell imperiously ; " this must end." Sarah obeyed the man, who was evidently her master, but implored him not to hurt Joe Pinder : he was only a friend. The truth is, Mansell had recounted such deeds of prowess that, what with his gasconades and her blind love, she thought no man could have a chance with him. He sparred well, and hit Pinder several times, but rather short. Both were soon infuriated, and they were all over the street, fighting and raging. Under similar circumstances Virgil's heifer browsed the grass in undisturbed tranquillity, content to know that her mate would be the best bull of the two. Not so Sarah Brent. She clasped her hands and screamed, and implored her hero to be merciful. Her SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 9 conscience whispered that her inoffensive friend was being hardly used in every way. Presently her hero, after administering several blows, and making his adversary bleed, received a left-handed stinger that made him recoil. Maddened by this, he rushed at Pinder to annihilate him. But Pinder was no novice either: he drew back on the point of his toe, and met James Man sell's rush with a tremendous slog- ger that sounded like a falling plank, and shot him to the earth at Sarah Bi*ent's very feet, a distance of some yards. All was changed in a moment : she literally bounded over the prostrate form, and stood between him and danger ; for in Liverpool they fight up and down, as the saying is. " You wretch ! " she cried, " to kill the man I love." It was Pinder's turn to stagger before that white cheek, and those fiery eyes, and that fatal word. " Man you love ? " said he. " I love ! I love ! I love ! " cried she, stabbing with swift feminine instinct the monster who had struck her love. Then Pinder fell back, subdued, with a sigh of despair; she flung herself down, and raised James Mansell's head and sobbed hysterically over it. Some people now came up ; but Pinder in those few seconds had undergone a change. He stepped forward, thrust the people away, and, kneeling down, lifted James Mansell up and took him under his arm. " Leave him to me, Sarah," said he. " To you ? " she sobbed. " Ay : do you think I shall ever hurt him again, now you have told me you love him ? " And he said it so finely she knew he meant it. Then he sent to the mar- ket public-house for a sponge and some brandy, and meantime Mansell, who was tough, came to of himself j 10 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. but the water and l)randy completed his restoration to society. It was Pinder who sponged his face and nos- trils, and took him to Brent's house, Sarah hovering near all the time like a hen over her chickens. She whipped into the house with her pass-key, and received her favorite at the door, then closed it gently, but de- cidedly; not that Joe Pinder would have come in if she had asked him. He did not even trust himself to say " good-night." It was all over between him and her, and of course he knew it. When she had got James Mansell safe she made him lie down on the little sofa, and sat at his head, applying cool linen rags to his swollen cheeks and a cut upon his forehead due to Pinder's knuckles. Presently her father came in from visiting a sick friend, and at sight of this group asked what was to do. "It is tliat cruel Joe Pinder been beating him, father: I thought he had killed him." " What for ? " Sarah blushed and was silent : she wouldn't own that James was the aggressor, and yet she wouldn't tell a falsehood. " Joe Pinder ! '' said the old man. " He was never quarrelsome : there's not a better-hearted young man in the town, nor a more respectable. Now you tell me what was the quarrel about ? " " father ! " said Sarah deprecatingly. "Ay ! ay"! I needn't ask," said the old man. " It was about a woman, eh ? You might have been better em- ployed, all three, this Sabbath evening." " Well, sir, Sarah was only coming home from church this Sabbath evening," said Mansell ; " but as for me, I was as much to blame as the other, so let us say no more about it." Sarah whispered, " You are very generous." The subject dropped till the old man retired to rest, and SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 11 then James Mansell, who had been brooding, delivered himself thus : *' He is not half a bad sort, that Joe Pinder. But he is one too many for me, or I am one too many for him, so you must make up your mind this night which is to be your husband, and give the other the sack." This was virile, and entitled to a feminine reply. It came immediately in what, perhaps, if we could know the truth, is a formula : not a word, not even a syllable, but a white wrist passed round the neck, and a fair head deposited like down upon the shoulder of her conqiieror. Joseph Pinder grieved and watched, but troubled the lovers no more. James Mansell pressed Sarah to name the day. She objected. Her father's health was break- ing, and she would not leave him. Mansell urged her : she stood firm. He accused her of not loving him : she sighed and wondered he could say that, but was immov- able. By and by it all came to her father's ears. He sent for a lawyer directly, and made the shop and house over to Sarah by deed of gift. Then he told her she need not wait for his death ; he would prefer to see her happy with the man of her choice, and also to advise her in business for the little while he had to live. So the banns were cried, and Joseph Pinder heard in silence ; and in due course James Mansell was united to Sarah Brent in holy matrimony. In its humble way this was a promising union. The man was twenty-seven, the woman twenty, and thought- ful beyond her years. They had health and love and occupation ; moreover, the man's work took him out of the woman's way, except at meals, and in the evening. Now nothing sweetens married life, and divests it of monotony and ennui, more than these daily partings and meetings. Mansell had three trades, and in one of them, 12 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. graining, he might be called an artist. He could imi- tate the common woods better than almost anybody ; but at satin-wood, mahogany, and American birch, he was really wonderful. Sarah was a first-rate shop-woman, civil, prompt, obliging, and handsome, — qualities that all attract in business. She gave no credit beyond a week, and took none at all. In any class of life it is a fine thing when both spouses can contribute a share to the joint income. This is one of the boons found oftenest among the middle classes. Most laborers' wives can only keep house, and few gentlemen's wives can earn a penny. The Mansells, then, upon a large and wide survey of life, were in a happy condition — happier far than any pair who do not earn their living. One day a great sorrow came, but not unexpectedly. Matthew Brent died peacefully, blessing his daughters and his son-in-law. The next day came a joyful event : Sarah's child was born — a lovely girl. Mighty nature comforted the bereaved daughter, and soon the home was as cheerful as ever. Indeed, it was not till the third year of her marriage that a cloud appeared, and that seemed a small one, no bigger than a man's hand. James Mansell began to come home Saturday night instead of Saturday afternoon ; and the reason was clear, he smelt of liquor, and though always sober, his speech was thick on these occasions. Sarah, who had forecasts, Avas alarmed, and spoke in time. She remembered something her father, an observ- ant man, had said to her in his day ; viz., that your clever specimens of the class which may be called artist- mechanics are often addicted to liquor. However, this prudent woman thought it best not to SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 13 raise an argument about drink ; she merely represented to her husband that there was now a run upon her shop Saturday afternoon and evening, and really it was more than she could manage without his assistance ; would he be so good as to help her ? He assisted readily enough, and then the Saturday afternoons became her happiest time. He himself seemed to enjoy the business and the bustle and his Avife's company. But by and by he came home very late on Monday, with the usual signs of a drop ; then she advised him and entreated him, but never scolded him. He acqui- esced and was perfectly good-tempered, though in the wrong. But one day in the week he would come home late, and mumble what is called the Queen's English, but I believe the people hold a few shares in it. Sarah was disappointed, and a little alarmed, but began to hope it would go no farther at all events. However, one Satur- day, if you please, he did not come to help her in the shop, did not even come home to supper, and she had made such a nice supper for him. She sat at the window and fretted, she went from the window to her sleeping child and back again, restless and apprehensive. At midnight, when the whole street was still, foot- steps rang on the pavement. She looked out and saw two men, each with an arm under the shoulder of a third, hoisting him along. She darted to the street-door, and received her husband from the hands of two men, who were perfectly sober. One of them turned on his heel and walked swiftly away at sight of her. But she saw him — for the first time this three years. It was Joseph Finder. 14 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. CHAPTER II. Mb. Mansell began his bibulous career with a redeem- ing quality more common in Russia than in England — good-natured in his cups. He chuckled feebly, and opposed the inertia of matter only, whilst the dismayed wife pulled him and pushed him, and at last got him down on a little sofa in the shop-parlor. Then she whipped off his necktie, and washed his face in diluted lavender-water, and put her salts to his nose. Being now on his back, he soon went to sleep and breathed sonorously whilst she sat in her father's arm-chair and watched him bitterly and sadly. At first his hard breathing alarmed her, and she sat waiting to avert apoplexy. But toward morning sleep overcame her. Then day- light coming in with a shoot awakened her, and she looked round on the scene. The room in disorder, her husband sleeping off his liquor, she in her father's arm- chair, not the connubial bed. Her first thought was, " Oh, if father could see us now this Sabbath morn I " She got up sadly, and lighted fires ; then went up-stairs, washed and dressed the little girl, and made her lisp a prayer. Then, not choosing the daughter to see the father in his present condition, she went down and waked him, and made him wash his face and tidy himself. He asked for brandy ; she looked him in the face and said, " No, not one drop." But he was ill and coaxed her. She gave him a tablespoon ful, and then ground some coffee and gave him a cup hot and strong. SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. l5 She was not a hasty woman ; she showed him a face grave and sad, but she did not tell him her mind. So then he opened the subject himself. " This will be a warning to me." " I hope so," said she gravely. " Can't think how I came to be overcome like that." " By putting yourself in the way of it. If you had been helping me at the shop, that needed your help, it would have been better for you, and for me too." " Well, I will after this. It is a warning." She began to relent. " Well, James, if you take it to heart, I will not be too hard, for where is the sense of nagging at a man when he owns his fault ? But oh, James, I am so mortified ! Who do you think brought you home ? " He tried to remember, but could not. " Well, one of them was the last man in Liverpool I would have to see you let yourself down so. It was Joe Pinder." " I never noticed him. What, was he tight too ? " " No ; if he had been, I wouldn't have minded so much. He was sober, and you were " — The man did not seize the woman's sentiment. He said carelessly, ''Oh, 'twas he brought me safe home, was it ? He is not half a bad sort, then." Sarah stared at this plain straightforward view of her old lover's conduct. She had a greater desire to be just than most women have, but she labored under feminine disabilities. She was silent, and weighed jMansell's view of the matter, but came back to her own, '' I do hope," said she, '' you will never be so overtook again — think of your child — but if you are, oh ! pray don't come home on that man's arm. I'd crawl home on all fours sooner, if I was you." " All right," said he vaguely. Then she took this opportunity to beg him to go to church with her that 16 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. morning. Hitherto he had always declined, hut now he consented almost eagerly. He clutched at a compro- mise. He said, "Sally, them that sin must suffer." The fact is, he expected to hear his conduct denounced from the pulpit. Catch the pulpit doing anything of the kind ! The pulpit is not practical, and meddles littlo with immorality as it is, and rarely gives ten con- secutive minutes to that particular vice which overruns the land. James Mansell sat under a drizzle of thin generalities, and came home complacent. His wife was pleased with him, and still more when he took her and Lucy for a walk in the evening, and they carried the child by turns. After this the man kept within bounds ; he soaked, bvit could always walk home. To be sure, he began to diffuse moderate inebriety over the whole week. This caused the good wife great distress of mind, and led to practical results that alarmed the mother and the woman of business. Mansell was still the first grainer in the place, and the tradesmen would have employed him by preference if he could have been relied on to finish his jobs. But he was so uncertain : he would go to dinner, and stop at a public-house ; would appoint an hour to commence, and be at a public-house. He tired out one good customer ^.fter another. The joint income declined in consequence, and, as generally happens, their expenses increased, for Mrs. Mansell, getting no help from her husband, was obliged to take a servant. Often in the evening she would close her shop early, leave her child under strict charge of the girl, and go to some public-house, and there coax and remonstrate, and get him away at last. With all this, she was as true as steel to him. She never was known to admit he was a drunkard. The most she would acknowledge to angry tradesmen, and that SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 17 somewhat haughtily, was that he took a drop now and then to put away the smell of the paint. But in private she was not so easy. She expostulated, she remonstrated, she reproached, and sometimes she lost heart and wept bitterly at his behavior. All this had its effect. The invectives galled Mr. Mansell's vanity ; the tears bored him ; the total made him sullen, and alienated his affection. The injured party forgave freely ; not so the wrong-doer. As he never hit her — which is a vent — this gracious person began to hate her. But her love remained as invincible as his vice. Deborah's husband died suddenly of apoplexy. Sarah dared not go to comfort her, and would not tell the reason. She begged the mourner to come to her. Deborah came, and the sisters rocked together, country fashion, crying ; though such different characters, they had a true affection for each other. By and b}^ Deborah told her, with another burst of grief, her husband had left her nothing but debt. She was next door to a beggar. " Not while I live," was the quiet reply. " Stay with me for good, that is all." The servant was discharged at Deborah's request ; she said she must work hard or die of grief. Accordingly she went about crying, but working, and all steel things began to shine and the brass to glitter, because there was a bereaved widow in the house. This was a great comfort in every way to Sarah ; she could leave the house with more confidence when her beloved had to be dragged away from liquid ruin, and also it did her good to sympathize Avith her bereaved sister. She forbore at that time to tell Deborah her own trouble ; and this trait indicates, I think, the depth of her character. 2 18 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. As for Deborah, she soon cried herself out, and one afternoon Sarah heard her laughing with the baker's man, laughing from the chest, as young ladies are ordered to sing (but forbidden by Sir Corset), and an octave lower than she had ever spoken up-stairs since she came. Sarah was surprised, and almost shocked at first. But she said to herself, " Poor Deb, she is as light-hearted as ever ; and why should she break her heart for him ? he wouldn't for her." By and by Deborah used to leave the house when her work was done, if Sarah stayed at home. She could not read, so she must walk and she must talk. She had not read a single book this five years ; but her powers of con- versation were developed. She had sold country produce in two markets weekly, and picked up plenty of country proverbs and market chaff. She soon took to visiting all her old acquaintances in the place, and talked nineteen to the dozen ; and here observe a phenomenon. Her whole vocabulary was about nine hundred words, whereas you and I know nine thou- sand and more, yet she would ring a triple bob-major on that small vocabulary, and talk learned us to a standstill. As her talk was all gossij:*, she soon knew more about the Mansells than they knew themselves, and heard that Mansell drank and lived upon his wife. This gave her honest concern. Now she held the clew" to Sarah's absences and frequent return with her husband in charge and inarticulate. She did not blurt it out to her sister, nor was she angry at her want of confidence. She knew Sarah's character, and rather admired her for not exposing her man to any human creature. Still, when she did know it, she threw out so many hints one after 'another that Sarah, who, poor soul, yearned for sympathy, made at last a partial disclosure, with many a sigh. SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 19 Deborah made light of it, and hoped it was onl}- for a time, and after all Sarah was glad she knew, for Deborah's tongue was not in reality so loose as it was fluent. She could chatter without any appearance of reserve, and yet be as close as wax. She brought home to Sarah all she heard, but she never told anything out of the house. One day she said to Sarah, "Do you know a man called Varney — Dick Varney ? " Sarah said she had never heard his name. "Then," said Deborah, "you ought to know him." " Why ? " "Because when you know your enemy you can look out for him, and he is your enemy after a manner — for 'tis he that leads your husband astray, so that young man said." " What young man ? " " I think his name is Spencer, and somebody called him Joe ; he was a good-looking chap anywa}^ I sup- pose he was a friend of Jemmy Mansell's. Somebody did praise you for a good daughter and a good wife, but one that had made a bad bargain ; then that was the signal for each to have a fling at Jemmy Mansell. Never you mind what theij said. This handsome chap stood up for him, and said the man was a first-rate workman, and meant no harm, but he had got a tempter — this Dick Varney. So then I told the young chap who I was, and he seemed quite pleased like, and said he had heard of me. Of course what he said I stood by ; I said there couldn't be a better husband or a better man — bar drink — than James Mansell." Sarah thanked her, but said, " Oh ! that we should come to be talked of ! " " Everybody is, within walls," said Deborah, " and them that listens learns. By the same token you keep your eye on that Varney." 20 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. "How can I ? I don't know him." " No more you do, and what a stupid I must be not to ask that good-looking chap more about him. I wonder who he is ; I will ask James." "No." " Why not ? " " Describe him to me." "Well, he is tall and broad-shouldered, and has light hair, and dark gray eyes like jewels, and teeth as white as milk, and a gentle, pleasant way ; looks a bit sad, he does, as if he had been crossed in love, but that is not likely — no woman would be such a fool that had eyes iu her head. Then he was very clean and neat, like a man that respected hisself ; and lowered his voice a bit to speak to a woman. There ! a duck ! " Sarah looked a little surprised at this ardent descrip- tion. However, she reflected, and, T suppose, she thought there must be some truth in it, though it had not struck her. Then she said carelessly, "What was his busi- ness ? " " I think he was in the same way as James himself." " Was his name Pinder — Joseph Pinder ? " " That, or something. The name was new to me, but Joseph for certain." "Well, if it is Joseph Pinder, I will ask you not to make acquaintance with him. You seem to be making acquaintances very fast for a woman in your condition." " My condition," said Deborah. " Why, that is where it is — I can't bear to think. I must work or talk. It is very unkind of you to cast my condition in my teeth." " I didn't mean to. Deb. There, forgive me." " With all my heart ; you have got your own trouble. Only give me a reason, why am I not to speak to this Joseph — such an outlandish name — this handsome Joe ? " SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 21 "Well, then, one reason is, he courted me after a fashion." " Oh, la ! Is that where the shoe pinches ? " " We used to walk together like two children till my man came ; then they quarrelled, and that Pinder beat him, and I can't forgive it; and the first night James was quite overtaken with liquor, Pinder brought him home, and it was like a knife in my heart." " Poor Sally ! You saw you had chosen the wrong one." " Chosen the wrong one ! " cried Sarah, contemptuously. "I wouldn't give my James's little finger, drunk or sober, for a thousand Joseph Pinders. There, it is no use talking to you. You don't understand a word I say. Anywa}', I do beg of j-ou not to make acquaintance with the man, nor let him know what passes in this house." "Why, of course not, Sally, if you. say the word. What is the man to me ? Your will is my pleasure, and your word ray law." This from an elder sister merited an embrace, and it received a very tender one. At last it came to this, that nobody in the town who knew James Mansell would employ him. Instead of contributing his share, he lived entirely on his wife, at home and abroad, and he lived ill. So the house was divided against itself. The husband, the bread-winner in theory, was doing all he could to ruin the family ; two brave women were fighting tooth and nail to save it. They were losing ground a little, and that alarmed Sarah terribly ; but then she had a reserve : sixty pounds hidden in an iron box, with a good key. She never told her husband of this. She hid it for his good. The box was a small one, but she had it fastened with strong iron clamps to the wall, and she kept sal- ables before it to hide it. 22 SLXGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. Mausell's extravagance slie fed from the till — not without comments, grave and sorrowful, not bitter; yet they embittered him. The man's vanity was prodigious ; it equalled his demerit. Whilst the brave wife and mother was thus battling with undeserved adversity, she received a new alarm. Being single-handed in the shop, it was her way to prepare, with Deborah's assistance, weighed and marked packets of sugar, tea, soda, and other things ; and one evening they had taken a lump of Irish butter out of the tub and weighed five pounds, and left it on a slab. Early in the morning a customer came for a pound. This was weighed off, and left so small a residue that Mrs. Mansell weighed it, and found there was only one pound and a half left. She could hardly believe her senses at first, but the weight was clear. She asked Deborah, with assumed carelessness, how much butter they had weighed out last night. Deborah replied, without hesitation, *' Five pounds." After that day she looked more closely into the stock, and she detected losses and diminutions. One day a slice off a side of bacon ; another, a tin of preserved meat ; in short, a system of pilfering. She shrank from the idea of theft, if it could be accounted for in any other way. She thought it just possible, though not likely, that Deborah had made free with these things for the use of the house. She told her what she had discovered, and asked her as delicately as possible whether she ever came to the shop for anything that was wanted in her kitchen. Deborah went off like a woman of gunpowder, cross- examined by a torch. " Me take anything out of your shop for my kitchen ! " " Well, 'tis my kitchen and all — 'twould only be from Peter to Paul" SINGLEHEAET AND DOUBLEFACE. 23 The Other was not to be pacified so. - Me take what does not belong to me ! Oh ! have I lived to be suspected by mv own sister ? I'd cut off this arm sooner than I would steal with this hand. I never wronged a creature of a farthing or a farthing's worth in all mv life. Send me home. Send me to the workhouse. I am not fit to be trusted, and so many things about. Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! " and down she sat and rocked- "There! there! there!"" cried Sarah, coming swiftly and sitting beside her. "Xow where would have been the harm if you had taken things for our own use ? And oughtn't I to ask you before I suspected something worse ? O Deborah, haven't I trouble enough, that you must cry and set me off too ? Oh ! oh ! You might think a little of me as well as yourself. Is it nothing to you that I am robbed and all ? Haven't I trouble enough without that ? There, give over — that's a dear, and I'll give you a new print this very day."' Deborah dried up directly, and her sentiments shifted like the wind. •• I wish I had them that rob you,'" said she, and she extended her great, long, powerful arm formidably. •• We must watch day and night, dear," said Mrs. Manseil. gloomily, and with a weary air. and she took it all to heart, even the pain she had given Deborah, whose mind was like running water, and retained no trace of the dialogue in ten minutes. Xot so the deeper nature. 3Its. Manseil brooded over it alL and when the shop was shut, she sat in the parlor — sat and suffered- James ^Manseil was out as usual She sat and looked at Lucy, and wondered what would be her own fate and her child's at the end of this desperate struggle. She became hysterical a rare thing with her. and Deborah found her trembling all over where she sat, and quit- shaken. She was despondent and exasperated by turns. 24 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. She had twitches all over her body, and hot tears ran out of her eyes. It was a woman's break-down, and Deborah, who knew the female constitution, just sat beside her and held her hand. Sarah clung to this hand, and clutched it every now and then convulsively. She spoke in broken sen- tences. " Too many things against me : drunkenness here, theft there. It will end in the workhouse. How else can it end ? I'm glad father's dead. Poor father 1 — have I lived to say that?" The talkative Deborah said never a word, so Sarah began to calm down by degrees with gentle sighs and tremors. Unluckily, before she was quite calm, Mansell knocked at the door. Sarah could tell his knock, or his footstep, or any sound he made in a moment. Her face beamed. It was early for him. He was sober, and she could tell him of this new trouble. Deborah ran to let him in. Sarah stood up smiling to welcome him. He blundered into the room, beastly drunk, neckcloth loose, eyes bloodshot; he could just keep on his legs. Sarah caught up her child with the strength of a lioness, flung one full and fiery look of horror and dis- gust right in her husband's face, then rushed majestic- ally from the room, carrying her child across her arms. Drunk as he was, the brute staggered under this tre- mendous glance and eloquent rush. He blundered against the mantelpiece, and hung his head. Deborah set her arms akimbo. " You've done this once too often," she said, grimly, and her eyes glittered at him wickedly. " Mind your own business," said he. " Why did she run away from me like that ? " " Because of the child, you may be sure. There, don't let us quarrel. Will you have your supper, now you are here ? " SINGLEHEAKT AND DOUBLEFACE. 25 " I don't want my supper ; I want my wife. You go and fetch her directly." He was excited, and Deborah, determined to keep the peace, took his message to Sarah in Lucy's bedroom. Sarah was shaking all over, and refused to come. " I dare not," said she. " I am in such a state I feel I might say or do something I should rue afterward, for I love him. Would to God I had never seen him, but I love him. Go you and pacify him. I shall sleep here beside my child." Deborah went down, and found Mansell in the arm- chair, looking spiteful. She told him Sarah was not Avell. She could not come down. " Humbug ! " roared James Mansell ; " she is shamming. I'll go and fetch her down," and he bounced up. Deborah whipped before the door. " Stand out of my way," said he, loftily, and came blundering at her. She pinned him directly by the collar with both hands, shook him to and fro as a dog does a rat, then put both hands suddenly to his breast, made a grand rush forward with him, and with the double power of her loins and her great long arms, shot him all across the room into the arm-chair with such an impetus that the chair went crashing against the wall, and the man in it head down, feet up. Mr. Mansell stared dumfounded at first. He thought some supernatural j^ower had disposed of him. He did not allow for suddeimess, and was not aware that pulling and pushing go by weight, and that strapping Deborah, without an ounce of fat, weighed two stone more than he did, owing to certain laws of construction not worth particularizing a la fran<;alse. " I never lay my hand on a woman," said he, moodily. "I'm not so nice," replied Deborah, erect, with her fists upon her hips. " I can lay my hands on a man — for his good. I've had that much to do afore now, and 26 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. I never found one could master me, bar hitting, which I call that cowardly." Then, as time was up for a change of sentiment — eighty whole seconds — she shifted to friendly advice. "Jemmy, my man," said she, "women are curious creatures. They are not themselves at times. Our Sally has got the nerves. She might fling a knife at you if you tormented her just now, sobbing over her child. Take my advice, now, that is a friend to both of you. Let her a-be. If you don't upset her no more to- night, which I declare you sha^nH, she'll be as sweet as honey in the morning." " She may," said Mansell, sullenly, " but 1 shall not. If she lies away from me to-night, I'll lie away from her a year or more, mind that." " Where ? In the union ? " " No. That is as much as to say she keeps me." "And doesn't she ? Where does the money come from you spend in drink ? " " I have got an offer of work." " Work ? It isn't under your skin." "Not here, but this is in America. Such work as mine is paid out there, and I can make my fortune, and not have it flung in my face I'm living on a woman." Deborah did not think this gasconade worth replying to. She suggested repose as the best thing for him after the hard work he had gone through, lifting mugs and quarterns all the way from the counter to his teeth. With much trouble she got him up the stairs, and took off his neckcloth and loosened his shirt-collar. Then she retired for a reasonable time, and when he was in bed came and took away the candle from him as she would from a child. He called to her, — " Hear my last word." " No sucli luck," said she, dryly. SINGLEHEAKT AND DOUBLEPACE. 27 "Hold your tongue." " If I hold my tongue, I shall slobber my teeth." " Can you listen a moment ? " " If I hold my breath." "Then mind this. If she leaves me like this, I'll leave her. I won't be taken up and put down by any woman." " I'll tell her, my man," said she, to quiet him ; then took away his candle, and went down-stairs to her own room, for she slept on the kitchen floor. She seized a feather-bed, lugged it up the stairs, and made up a bed on the floor for Sarah. " He is all right," said she, and not a word more. Then she went down-stairs, and put her red hair in curl-papers — for she was flirting all round. No. 1 had been dead six months — and slept like a stone upon a hard mattress, not harder than her own healthy limbs. 28 SINGLE 1 1 EAUT AND DOUBLEFACB. CHAPTER III. What -wonderful restoratives are a good long sleep and the dawn of day ! They co-operate so, invigorating the body and fortifying the mind. They clear away the pain and the forebodings night engenders, and brighten not only the face of nature, but our individual prospects. Tlie glorious dawn falling upon our refreshed eyes and invigorated bodies is like a trumpet sounding " Nil des- perandum ! " Mrs. Mansell was one of the many whom sleep and dawn re-inspired and reconciled to her lot that morning. She had slept in a pure atmosphere — untar- nished by a drunkard's breath. She awoke with her nerves composed and her heart strengthened. Her life was to be a battle — that was plain. But she had forces and an ally. Her forces were rare health, strength, prudence, and sobriety. Her ally was Deborah. She began the battle this morning brightly and hopefully. She was the first up, and having dressed herself neatly, as she always did, she put on a large apron and bib, coarse but clean, and descended to the parlor. She called up the spiral staircase — " James ! " Ko answer. She went into the shop, and called down the kitchen- stairs. No reply from her sister. "Lazy-bones," said she. She struck a light in the shop, and her eye fell upon a large hand-bell. She took it up and rang it down the kitchen stairs. Instantly there was a sort of yawn of distress. Then she bustled into the parlor, and rang it up the spiral staircase. Then she set it down, and took her candle into the shop and sorted and dusted and counted the goods, and cleaned the counter. SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 29 Presently in sauntered Deborah from the kitchen, with her hair in curl-papers, and a chasm in the upper part of her gown, so that she seemed half dislocated; and she adhered to the wall for support, and sprawled out one long arm and a hand, which she flattened against the Avail, to hold on by suction sooner than not at all. " Here's a (yawn) to-do," said she. " Anybody's (yawn) cat dead ? " "No, but mine are catching no mice. Nobody to light the fire and give my man his breakfast while I open the shop. Aren't you ashamed of yourself ? " " Too sleepy (yawn) to be ashamed of anything." " Then wake up and bustle." Deborah gave herself a wriggle that set her long bare arms flying like windmills, and went to work. The pair soon brightened the parlor, and then Sarah came into the shop and opened the door ; but the patent shutters outside were heavy and stiff, as she knew, so she called Deborah. " You might pull down those heavy shutters outside for me. You are stronger than I am, for all you look like a jelly-bag." Deborah drew back in dismay. "Me go into the street! I'm not half dressed." " Fine shapes don't need fine clothes. You might catch another husband on the pavement." " I'd rather catch him in church with my new bonnet." Then, to escape any more invitations to publish her curl- papers — for that was where the shoe really pinched — she ran maliciously into the parlor, screaming up the corkscrew stairs, " Here, master ! James Mansell, you are wanted ! " " Be quiet," said Sarah, coloring ; " he is not your servant. Them that do it for me will be round directly. It isn't the master's business to take down the wife's shutters." 30 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLBFACE. "I think it is then, if he is a man, for it is a man's work." Deborah spoke this at James Mansell, and at the top of her voice. The words were hardly out of her mouth when a man's hands were seen to pull down the heavy shutters and let in the light. '' Didn't I tell you ? " said the ready Deborah. " And here is one dropped from the sky express." " Why, it is Joseph Pinder," said Mrs. Mansell, draw- ing back. " La ! Your old sweetheart ! " " Never ! For shame ! Hold your tongue ! " Deborah grinned with delight, and whipped into the parlor to hide her curl-papers and listen. Sarah went behind the counter and minded her business. She made sure Pinder would proceed on his course, as soon as he had done that act of courtesy. Instead of that he came slowly and a little sheepishly in at the door, and stood at the counter opposite her. He was in a complete suit of white cotton, all but his soft brown hat, and looked wonderfully neat and clean. " Good-morning, Mrs. Mansell," said he, respectfully. " Good-morning, Mr. Pinder," said Mrs. Mansell. Then, stiffly, " Sorry you should take so much trouble." Pinder looked puzzled, so, woman-like, she answered his looks. " I mean, to take down my shutters. I pay a person express." " Oh, I heard somebody say it was a man's work." Sarah explained hurriedly : " Oh, that was my sister." "What, Deborah?" "Deborah," said she, dryly, in a way calculated to close the dialogue. But Pinder did not move. He fumbled with his hat, and at last said he was not there by accident, but had come to see her. SINGLBHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 31 " What for ? " and she opened her eyes rather wide. " A little bit of business." Sarah colored, but she said dryly, " What can I serve you ? " "Oh, it is not with i/ou ; it is with your husband." "Indeed," said she, rather incredulously, almost sus- piciously. " Got him a job." " That is very good of you, I'm sure," was the reply, and now the tone was satirical. "My husband has plenty of jobs." " Well, he used to have ; but the shopkeepers here are against him now ; they say he leaves his work." Sarah seized this opportunity to get rid of Mr. Pinder altogether. " Did you come here to run ray husband down to me ? " she inquired haughtily. " Am I one of that sort ? " said Pinder defiantly. He was beginning to take offence, as well he might. "I came to do the man a good turn, whether I get any thanks for it or not." Sarah colored and held her peace. He had taken the right way with her now. But it was hard for the good- natured fellow to hold spite, especially against her ; he went naturally back to his friendly manner, and told her that the new Rectory was being decorated by a London firm, and their grainer had been taken ill, and he (Pinder) had told the foreman he knew a tiptop grainer, James Mansell, and the foreman had jumped at him. " I've made the bargain, Sarah. London price. It's a thirty-pound job." And he looked proud. " Thirty pounds ? " exclaimed Sarah. " Yes ; it's a large house, panelled rooms, and hall and staircase, all to be grained, besides the doors and shutters, and skirtings. Only mind, these swell London trades- men won't stand — unpunctuality. Where is he, if you please ? " 32 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. " Oh, he is at home." " Then let me see him directly." "You can't just now." Deborah, who had listened to every word, chose this moment to emerge from the parlor. She had utilized her curl-papers by lighting the fire with them, and came out very neat in a charming cap, and courtesied. " Give him half an hour, Mr. Pinder," said she sweetly ; " he is in bed." Pinder looked at his watch, and said he could not wait half an hour — he was due; but he wrote a line with his pencil for Mansell to give to the foreman ; then he put on his cap and said, jauntily, " Good-morning, ladies." "Good-morning, sir," said Deborah, graciously. "And thank you, Joseph," said Sarah, gently. " You are very welcome ; I suppose you know that," said he, as bluntly as he could. When he was gone, Sarah's artificial indifference dis- appeared with a vengeance. She ran into the parlor, and screamed up the spiral staircase, " James ! James ! Such good news ! Get up and come down directly ! " " All right," said a sleepy voice. Then she turned on Deborah. " And what call had you to say he was in bed ? " " Oh, the truth may be blamed, but it can't be shamed," was Deborah's steady reply. Proverbs being unanswerable, Sarah changed the sub- ject. " And if you haven't got on my new cap ! " Deborah had no by-word ready to justify misappropria- tion of another lady's cap ; so she took a humble tone. " La, Sally ! I couldn't help it, he was such a nice young man. You can't abide him, but tastes they differ. Do yo\i think he will come again ? If he does, I really must set my cap at him." SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 33 " But not viine ; " and Sarah, who was in rare spirits, whipped her cap in a moment off her sister's head. " La ! you needn't to take ray hair and all," whined Deborah. " That's ni}^ own, anyway." " Then you are not in the fashion," was the ready reply. " Come, Deb, enough chat ; this is a busy morn- ing, and a happy morning to make us forget last night forever. Kow, dear, run and make my man his coffee — nice and strong." « I will." " And clean his boots for going out." "If I must, I must," said Deborah, with sudden languor. She never could see why women should clean men's boots. "And air him a shirt." " Is that all ? " inquired Deborah, affecting surprise. "All at present," said the mistress, dryly. "What, hasn't he any hose to darn, nor hair to be cut, nor teeth to be cleaned for him ? " " You go on, with your cheek," and she threatened Deborah merrily with a duster. Her heart was light. And now a customer or two trickled in at intervals. She served them promptly and civilly. Presently she saw her husband coming slowly down the spiral staircase. She ran into the parlor to meet him. Not a word about last night, but welcomed him with smiles and a long kiss. " Good news, dear," said she, jubilant. He received her with discouraging languor : " Well, what is up ? " But she was not to be disheartened so easily. " Wh}^, Jemmy dear ! there's a job waiting for you at the Rectory, and you are to have thirty pounds for it." " Thirty pounds ! That will be a long job." She tossed her head a little at that. "Why a long 3 34 STNGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. job ? It is not day work. It shouldn't be a long job if I had it to do, and was as clever as you are. Come, here's Deborah with your coffee and nice hot toast. Eat your breakfast and start. No, don't take it into the par- lor, Deb, to waste more time ; set it down here on the flap. I do love to see him eat." Mr. Mansell, thus stimulated, put the coffee to his lips. But he set it down untasted, and said he couldn't. " Try, dear ; 'twill do you good." " I can't, Sally ; I am very ill ; my head swims so, and my chest is on fire. Oh ! " and Mr. Mansell leaned on the end of the counter and groaned aloud. He made so much of his disease that Sarah was alarmed, and told Deborah to run for the doctor. That personage stood stock-still, and as ostentatiously calm as the invalid was demonstrative in his sufferings. "A doctor! Why, he'd make the man ill." She folded her arms and contemplated the victim. " Hot coppers," said she. "He only wants a hair of the dog that bit him." This with a composure that befitted the occasion ; but it was not so received. " How dare you ! " cried Sarah. " Yes, Deb, for mercy's sake," moaned the sufferer — " for mercy's sake, a drop of brandy ! " Deborah would have gone for it directly if she had been mistress, but, as it was, she consulted her sister by the eye. Sarah replied to that look with great decision. " Not if you are any sister of mine. Ay, that is the way of it — drink to be ill, and then drink to be well ; and once you have begun, go on till you are ill again, and want a drop to start you again on the road to beggary and shame. Drink, drink, drink ! in a merry-go-round that never halts." Then, firmly : " Yotc drink your coffee without more words, and then go and work for your daughter like a man. Come ! " SLNGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 35 She held the cup out to him with a fine air of author- ity, though her heart was quaking all the time, and he, being just then in a subdued condition, took it resignedly, and sipped a little. Then a customer came in, but Sarah was not to be diverted from her purjoose. She ordered Deborah to stand there and see him drain every drop. Deborah folded her bare arms and inspected the process loftily but keenly. He got through two-thirds of the contents, then showed her the balance with such a pite- ous look that she had compassion, stretched out her long arm for the cup, sent the contents down her throat with one gesture, and returned the cup with another gesture, half regal, half vulgar, all in two seconds, and James with admirable rapidity set the cup down empty under Sarah's eye, and so they abused her confidence. "Well done," said she; "strong coffee is an antidote, they say, and work is another. Off you go to the Rectory, and work till one. Deborah will have a nice hot dinner ready for you by then." She found him his basket and his brushes, all cleaned by herself, though he had left them foul. At this last trait a gleam of gratitude shot into his skuir. He said, "Well, you are the right sort. It is some pleasure to work for you." " And our child," said she. " Think of us both when you think of one. Jemmy dear ! if you should ever be tempted again, do but ask yourself whether them that tempt you to your ruin love you as well as we do." " Say no more, Sally ; I'll turn a new leaf. Here, give me a kiss over the counter." So they had a long conjugal embrace over the counter. Deborah looked on, and said, in her way, " Makes my mouth water, being a widder." "There," said James Mansell, turning to go. "I'll never touch a drop again until I have chucked that Vol. 9—14 36 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. thirty pounds into your lap, my girl." With this re- solve, he left the shop. Sarah must come round the corner, and watch him down the street : then she turned at the door, and beamed all over, and her eyes sparkled. " God bless him ! " she cried. " There isn't a better workman, nor a better husband, nor a better man in Britain, only keep him from drink. Now is there ? " " La ! Sarah, how can I tell ? I never saw him sober six days running ; but I have heard you say he used to be a good husband. And why not again, if he do but keep his word ? " " And he will ; he is not the man to break his word, far less his oath. He turns over a new leaf to-day, and I'm a happy woman once more." " And I'll have his dinner ready to the moment." Deborah dived into the kitchen, and was heard the next moment working and whistling tunes of a cheerful character. No blacksmith or ploughboy could beat this rustic dame at that. Mrs. Mansell was soon occupied at the counter. A cook came in, and bought three pounds of bacon at eight- pence the pound for her mistress, and ditto of best Lim- erick at eleven-pence for the kitchen — these prices to be reversed in her housekeeping book. She also paid the week's bill, and demanded her perquisite. Sarah sub- mitted, and gave her half a crown, or her mistress would have shopped elsewhere under her influence. Then came a maid-of-all-work for a packet of black lead, seven pounds of soda, two of sugar, a bar of soap, and some "connubial " blacking. Sarah said she was out of that. The slavey replied, with the usual attention to grammar, " Oh, yes, you do ! Mrs. White's servant buys it here." "Oh, that's Nubian blacking." " Well, and that's what I want ; saves a vast o' trouble." SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 37 Others came, child customers, some only just up to the counter, and man}^ of them mute. These showed their coppers, and Sarah had to divine the rest. But she had a rare eye for them ; she looked keenly at each mite, and knew what they wanted by their faces and their coin. She gave one a screw of tobacco for father, another a candle with paper wrapped round the middle, another an ounce of candy. But as it drew near one there was a lull in trade, and savory smells came up from the kitchen. The good wife must have a finger in her husband's dinner. She locked the shop-door and ran down to the kitchen fire, and when it had struck one, and everything was done to a turn, she ran up again and unlocked the door and laid a clean cloth in the little parlor, and had Lucy there very neat, that no attraction might be wanting to her converted husband and workman on his return to his well-earned meal. By and by Deborah looked in with cheeks as red as her hair to say the steak would spoil if not eaten. " But you mustn't let it spoil," objected Sarah, loftily. " He won't be long now " — then, with delight — " here he is," for a man's figure darkened the door. " No ; it's only Joseph Finder." Joseph Finder it was, and for once looking morose. He had a tin can with a narrowish neck in his hand, and put it down on the counter with some noise, as much as to say, " This time I am a customer and nothing more." Mrs. Mansell received him as such, went behind the count- er directly, and leaned a little over, awaiting his orders. " Half a gallon of turps," said he, almost rudely. Mrs. Mansell went meekly and filled his can fi-om a little tank with a tap. But Deborah, who never read books, always read faces. She scanned Finder, and said, " You seem put out. Is there anything the matter ? " 38 SINGLEHEART AND DODBLEFACE. "Plenty," said he; "more than I like to tell. But she must know it sooner or later. Serves me right, any- way, for recommending a" — He stopped in time, and turned away from Sarah to Deborah, and said bitterly, " He never came to work at all. He fell in with a tempter in this very street, and got enticed away directly." Sarah raised her hands in dismay, and uttered not a word, but an inarticulate cry of distress, so eloquent of amazement and dismay that Finder's anger gave way to pity, and he began all of a sudden to make excuses for the offender, and lay the blame on Dick Varney, a dan- gerous villain with a cajoling tongue, a pickpocket's fin- gers, and a heart of stone. He turned to Sarah now, and enlarged on this villain's vices — said he had been in prison twice, and it was he who was ruining James Mansell. But Sarah interrupted all this : " Never mind him. Where is my poor husband ? " " At ' The Chequers,' my mate says." " Give me my shawl and bonnet, Deborah." " What to do ? " inquired Finder, uneasily. " To fetch him away," was the dogged reply. Then at last the long-hidden truth came out. " Oh, it will not be the first time I have gone to a public-house and stood their jeers and his drunken anger for an hour or two, and brought him home at last. He has sworn at me before them all, but he never struck me. Ferhaps that is to come. I think it will come to-day, for he was more violent last night than ever I knew him to be. I don't care, I'll have him home if I die for it." "Not from 'The Chequers,' you won't. You don't know the place ; there are bad women there as well as bad men. Why, it's a boozing-ken for thieves and their jades. Take a man away from them ! they would soil SINGLEHKART AND DOUBLEFACE. 39 your ears and make your flesh creep, and perhaps mark your face forever. You stay beside your sister. I must go on with it now. I'll strike work at dinner-time for once in my life, and I'll bring your man home." This melted both the sisters, Sarah most, who had been so cold to her old lover. " Oh, thank you, bless you, Joseph ! " she sobbed. " Don't cry, Sally," said the honest fellow, in a broken voice ; " pray don't cry ! I can't bear to see you cry,'' and he almost burst out of the place for fear he should break down himself, or say something kinder than he ought. His boy was waiting outside ; he sent him in for the turps, and ordered him to tell the foreman to dock his afternoon time, he was gone to look after the grainer. He went down to " The Chequers," and got there just in time to find Mansell quarrelling with three black- guards in the skittle-ground. Indeed, before he could interfere, one of them gave the drunken man a severe blow on the nose that made him bleed like a pig. The next moment the aggressor lay flat on his back, felled by Joe Pinder. The other two sparred up, but went down like nine-pins before that long, muscular arm, shot out straight from the shoulder. • Then he seized Mansell, and said, "The villains have hurt you; come and be cured." And so, not giving him time to think, he half coaxed, half pushed him out of the place, and got him on the road home. Meantime Sarah sat sorrowful, and said her happy day was soon ended, and she wished her life was ended too. Deborah sat beside her, and tried to comfort her. "One good thing," said she, "you have got a friend now, when most wanted, and 'a friend in need is a friend indeed.' And to think you had the offer of Joseph Pinder, and could go and take James Mansell ! " 40 SINGLEHEAllT AND DOUBLEFACE. Sarah drew up: "And would again," said she, "with all his faults. I would not give him for Joe Finder, nor any other man." " Well, that's a good job, as you are tied to him," remarked Deborah. "Do you think Joseph will bring him home ? " " If any man can. I think ever so mucli of that chap." " Then don't let the dinner spoil, at all events." Deborah didn't trust herself to speak. She got up resignedly to attend to the possible wants of this deserv- ing husband. Sarah divined that it cost her a struggle, and tried to gild the pill. " You are a good sister to me," said she. " That I am," said Deborah, frankly. " But so are you to me ; and I was always as fond of you as a cow is of her calf." " And I haven't forgot the print," said Mrs. Mansell ; "but you see how I have been put about. I mustn't go to my safe even for you, but there's half su sovereign in the till, and you shall have it before some fresh trouble comes to make me forget." Deborah's eyes sparkled, but slie said it wasn't a fit time, there were too many sucking at her. " And that is true ; but they can't drain me. Don't tell a soul ; I make a deal of money in this little shop. I wouldn't give my Saturdays for five pounds apiece." Then almost in a whisper : " I've got sixty pounds put by in that safe there, and the safe fastened to the wall. I mustn't touch that money, 'tis for my darling Lucy. But there's an odd half-sovereign in the till, and it is for you. There are some beauties at Coverley's over the way." Dress, having once been mentioned, was, of course, the dominant substantive. Whilst she was speaking, she took out her keys and opened the till. There was much less silver in it than she expected to SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 41 fiud. She put both hands in, and turned it all over in a moment. There Avas no half-sovereign. " Come here ! come here ! " she screamed ; •' the till has been robbed." " La, Sarah," cried Deborah, " never ! " " But I say it has ; there's not a shilling here but what I have taken to-day." " When did you look last ? " " Yestereen at six, and counted half a sovereign and eighteen shillings in silver. What will become of me now ? — there are thieves about. Heaven knows how the goods go, but this is some man's work." " Then I wish I had him," said Deborah, and she thrust out her great arms and long, sinewy fingers. The words were scarcely out of her lips, and the formidable fingers still extended, knuckles downward, when James Mansell, his shirt and trousers covered with blood, was thrust in at the door by Joseph Pinder ; his own white dress had suffered by the contact. Both women screamed at sight of him, and Sarah cried, " Oh ! they have murdered him." Pinder said hastily, *' No, no, he's none the worse — only a bloody nose." " Then he is cheap served," said Deborah. " Ay, but let me tell you I came just in time ; there were three of them on to him." " Oh," cried Sarah, " the cowards ! " Mr. Mansell caught at the word " cowards." Cried he, " Let's go and fight 'em." " Not if I know it," said Pinder, stopping his rush, and holding him like a vise. " What, are you turned coward and all ? Look here, he knocked 'em all three down like nine-pins." " Then there let 'em lie," said this rational hero. " I sha'n't," said the irrational one. " I'll go and just kick 'em up again, and then " — 42 SINGLEHEAIIT AND DOUBLEFACE. But the next iirocess was not revealed, because in illustrating the first ^Ir. Mansell sat down on the floor with a heavy bump, and had to be picked up by Pinder and lectured. " What you want just now is not more fighting, but a wash, and then a sleep." Sarah proposed an amendment : " What he wants most, Mr. Pinder, is a heart and a conscience." "Is that all ? " said the impenitent. Deborah giggled. But Mr. Mansell had better have kept his humor for a less serious situation. The much- enduring wife turned upon him the moment he spoke : " After all you ])romised and swore to me this day. Good work and good money brought to your hand by one we had no claim on, either you or I, a good home to come to, a good dinner cooked with loving hands, and a good wife and daughter that couuted the minutes till they could see you eating it. What are you made of ? You are neither a husband, nor a father, nor a man." SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE, 43 CHAPTER IV. " Hold your tongue ! " roared the culprit. But her blood was fairly up, and instead of flinching from him, she came at him like a lioness. " No : I have held my tongue long enough and screened your faults, and hid my trouble from the world. What right have such men as you to marry and get children that they hate and would beggar if they could, as well as their miserable wives ? " She put her hand suddenly to her forehead as a keen pain shot through it. " He will drive me wild. If you are a sister of mine, take him out of my sight." She stamped her foot on the ground, and her eyes flashed. " D'ye hear ? Take him out of my sight before my heart bursts my bosom, and I curse the hour I ever saw him." Deborah had bundled him into the parlor before this climax came, and she now got him out of sight alto- gether, saying, " Come, Jemmy I ' A wise man never faces an angry woman.' " As for Sarah, she sank down upon a seat, languid and limp ; and after the thunder the rain. Pinder, with instinctive good-breeding, had turned to go. But now he couldn't. The woman he had always loved, and Avho had given him so much pain, sat quietly weeping, as one Avho could no longer struggle. He looked at her, and, to use the expressive words of Script- ure, his bowels yearned over her. He did not know what he could say to do her any good, yet he couldn't go without trying. He said gently, " Don't despair ; while there's life there's hope." 44 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLE FACE. She shook her head sadly, and said gently, " There's none for me now." " Oh, yes ; if that Varney could be got out of the way, he would listen to reason. He is the wicked one ; your man is only weak." "Where's the odds if they do the same thing ? But it is very good of you to make excuses for him." She then took out a white pocket-handkerchief and meekly dried her eyes ; then she stood up and said, in a grave, thoughtful way, — which he recognized as her old manner, — " Let me look at you." She took a step toward him, but he did not move toward her. On the contrary, he stood there and fidgeted, and when she looked full at him he hung down his head a little. " Nay, look at me," said she ; " you have done nought to be ashamed of." Being so challenged, he did look at her, but not so full as she did at him. It was a peculiarity of this woman that she could gaze into a man's face without either seeming bold or feeling ashamed. She never took her eye off Finder's face during the whole dialogue which follows. Said she, slowly and thoughtfully, and her eye perusing him all the time, " You must be a very good young man. Years ago you courted me honorably, and I was barely civil to you." Pinder said gently, " You never deceived me." " No, but I never valued you. Now that I am older, I have noticed that for a woman to refuse a man makes him as bitter as gall. Dear heart ! do but wound his vanity, and his love, such as 'tis, turns to spite directly ; but instead of that you have always spoken respectful of me, for it has come round to my ears ; and you have held aloof from me, and that was wise and proper, till you saw I was in trouble, and then you came to me to do STNGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 45 me a good turn in the right way through my unfortunate husband. You are one of a thousand, and may God reward you ! " By this time Finder's eyes had gradually sunk to the ground before the calm gaze and the intelligent praise of one who was still very dear to him. " Have you done ? " said he dryly, inspecting the floor. " Yes," said she ; " I have thought my thought and said my say." ''Well, then, I should like to tell you something. It makes a man better to love a good Avoman, even if he can't win her and wear her. I studied you when you were a maid, and it set me against a many vulgar vices. I have had my eye on you since you were a wife, and that has made me respect you still more, and respect virtue. You have a dangerous enemy in that Dick Varney. Against him you want a friend. I seem to feel somehow as if I was called upon to be that friend, and I do assure you, Sarah, that I am not so unreason- able as I was when the disappointment was fresh. I should have been downright happy to-day if things had gone to your mind. After all, the day isn't over yet, and I've struck work. Is there nothing I can do drink and Dick Varney can't spoil, confound them ? " Thus urged, and being beset with troubles, and feel- ing already the rare comfort and support of a male friend, she confessed she had another trouble — a small one comparatively, but not a small one on the top of the others. She was being robbed. She told him all about it, and with a workman's quickness he asked to see the lock of the till. He examined this closely, and detected at once, by abrasions in the metal, that it had been opened with a pioklock, not a key. He told her so, and she said she was none the wiser. 46 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. " I am, though," said he. " It shows that nobody in the house has done it. It's professional. I should not wonder if this was Varney and all. Why, he's an old hand at this game, and has been in trouble for no other thing. Does he ever come into your shop?" "He may. I don't know him by sight." Pinder reflected. "James Mansell tells him every- thing, you may be sure, and it's just like the scoundrel to steal in here and rob the wife at home, and ruin the husband abroad.'" Then he thought again, and presently slapped his thigh with satisfaction, for he thought he saw a way to turn all this to profit. *' If we can only catch that Varney, and give him five years' penal, — it won't be less, being an old offender, — Mansell will lose his tempter, and then he'll listen to you and me, strike drink, go in for work, and be a much happier man, and you a happy woman." " Oh, these are comforting words ! " said poor Sarah. " But how am I to catch the villain ? " " Others must do that. You go to the police station, see the superintendent, and make your complaint. I'll come after you, and talk to Mr. Steele, the detective ; he is a friend of mine, and will soon know all about it. A drunken thief is as leaky as the rest. But you must keep your own counsel ; your sister has a good heart, but she is a chatterbox, and out every evening in half a dozen houses. I don't like to go with you because of the blood on my clothes ; but if you will start at once, I will change mj^ coat and join you at the station, and bring you back." Sarah carried out these instructions with her usual fidelity. She ascertained that her husband was lying fast asleep upon the bed; she put on her shawl and bonnet, confided Lucy and the shop to Deborah, and SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 47 when the latter asked where she was going, said dryly, " There and back." With that she vanished. " There, now," said Deborah, '• I owe that to you, Mr. Pinder." " How so ? " " When they have got a nice young man to tell their minds to, they don't waste words on a sister." '' Well, you needn't grudge me," said he. " It's five years since she spoke a word to me." So then he re- tired in his turn, and Deborah had only the customers and little Lucy to talk to. The customers of this little shop, accustomed to the grave, modest Sarah, must have been a little surprised at the humors of her substitute. The first to be astonished was a gamekeeper. He came in, spruce in velveteen jacket and leathern gaiters, from the country. He stared at Deborah, none the less that she happened just then to be whistling a poacher's song. " Why, Where's the mistress ? " said he. " Gone after the master." " And where's the master ? " " Gone before the mistress." " I want a pound o' powder." " Well, money will buy it. What powder ? Emery- powder, putty-powder, violet-powder ? " " No, gunpowder, to be sure." Deborah recoiled : " I wouldn't touch it for a pension." The gamekeeper laughed. " Well," said he, " you are a pretty shop woman." " Oh, sir," said Deborah, coquettishly, " and I'm sure you are a beautiful gamekeeper." He took a considerable time to comprehend this retort; when he had mastered the difficulty, he said, " Well, let us trade. You'll beat me at talk. Powder isn't loose j it's in a canister," 48 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. " Oh," said Deborah, " you seem to know all about it. Where does she keep it ? " " Why, there 'tis, right under your nose." "Well, I can't see with my nose, can I ? " She took it and put it rather gingerly on the counter. " Now before it goes off and sends us all to heaven, or somewhere, what is the price of it, if you please ? " " Oh, the seller sets the price," said he. " All right," said she. " Ten shillings 1 See what a lot you can kill with it." "The mistress always makes it half a crown." "Ay," said Deborah, "she is a hard woman. You give me a shilling, and I'll only charge you eighteen- pence." While he was counting out the money, a keen whistle was heard. Deborah's quick ears caught it directly: " Is that for you ? " said she. "No; more likely for you." "All the better. 'Whistle and I'll come to you, my lad,'" said she, directing the invitation out into the street. " I'd step out and whistle if I thought that," said the gamekeeper, showing his whistle. " Shall I try ? " "Why not?" It's a man's part to try, And a woman's to deny. And now you'd better fly, for here comes our family sponge. Well, he does shake off liquor quick, I must say that for him." James Mansell came through the parlor, clean washed and very neatly dressed. "Mrs. Smart," said he, civilly. " Mr. Mansell, I hope I see you well, sir. It's you for quick recoveries. Bloody noses is good for the brain. SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 49 apparently," suggested Deborah, " likewise a little repose alter the fatigue of drinking and fighting." " I did take forty winks." " Well, sir, and now you are fortified, what's the next order ? Another cup of coffee, warranted to contain a little chiccory, and a deal of bullock's liver, acorns, burned rags, and muck ? " "No; after this last experience I've forsworn all liquids except juicy meat and rotten potatoes. And I should feel greatly obliged if you would prepare me a nice hot steak, and fry me some onions nice and brown, as you alone can fry them." " It is the least any woman can do for such a civil- spoken gentleman," said Deborah, and she dived at once into her kitchen, telling him to mind the shop. She little thought that his great object was to get rid of herJ He watched her out, and then went to the shop-door and looked out. It was Varney's whistle that had drawn him, and that worthy was waiting, and upon Mansell's invitation came cautiously in. Never was thief more plainly marked on a human being. His little, lank, wriggling body reminded one of a weasel, and his eye- brows seemed to spring from his temples and meet on the bridge of his nose. The eyes thus framed could not keep still a moment. They were like a hare's ears, in constant alarm. Between this man and Mansell an eager dialogue took place, rapid and low, which nobody heard but themselves. But any one who saw the speakers would feel sure those two were plotting some vile thing. Something or other was definitely settled, even in that short time, and then Varney, who was ill at ease in that place, invited Mansell to turn out at once. Mansell objected that he was famished, and dinner was being prepared. 50 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. "No, no," said the other; "I won't stay here. You follow me to Buck's dining-room ; and mind, no more liquor for me to-day. It will be a ticklish job." He wriggled away, and Mansell took his hat and called down the kitchen-stairs : " Mrs. Smart — Deborah — please come up here, and attend to the shop. I'm wanted for a job." Deborah raised no objection, but she resolved on the spot that the steak she had twice prepared for a fool should now be eaten by a rational being, and to make quite sure of this she would eat it herself. So she put a little cloth on a tray, with the steakj and two potatoes, and ran up with it all, and put this savory supper on the flap, and had just made her first incision, when in came one of the little mites I have referred to, intelligible to Sarah alone. The mite rapped the counter with a penny, Deborah left her steak and faced him. " What can I serve you, sir ? " The mite hammered the counter with his copper. " Oh, yes," said Deborah, " I see what I am to have out of you ; but what are you to have for all that money ? " Then she leaned over the child : " Is it baccy ? Is it soap ? It should be soap if I was your mother, you little pig. You won't tell me, eh ? It's a dead secret. Let's try another way ! " And she put down the likeliest articles one after another. "There, a penn'orth o' baccy for father ; a penn'orth o' soap ; a penn'orth o' lollipops." The child grabbed the lollipops in a moment and left the copper, and Deborah dashed back to her steak, mutter- ing, " Sally would have known what he wanted by the color of his hair." There was a run on the shop. For every three mouth- fuls of steak, a penny customer. Deborah despatched them how she could, then dashed back to her steak — in vain : it was an endless va et vient. The last was a SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 51 sturdy little boy who came and banged down a penny, and in a wonderful bass voice for his size cried, " Bull's- eyes." Deborah, in imitation of his style, banged down a ready pennyworth of bull's-eyes, then banged the penny into an iron basin, then dashed back and hacked away at her steak. '• Oh, dear ! " said she, " I wish a shilling would come in and then a lull instead of this continual torrent of fiery, untamed farthing pieces." She hadn't half finished her steak when Mrs. Mansell and Finder came home. " How is he now ? " was Sarah's first word. " Sober as a judge, and gone out for a job ; and if it is all the same to everybody, I ask just ten minutes' peace to eat my supper." Then Deborah caught up the tray and fled into the kitchen. She had not gone long when a detective in plain clothes looked in, and said in a low voice there was news. A female detective had been put on to Varney with rare success : she had listened in the bar of an eating-house, and had picked up the whole story — the kitchen was deserted every night ; the servant was out gallivanting ; Varney had come in through the kitchen and robbed the till, and to-night he was going to rob the safe or some- thing. " Now," said Steele, " get my men in without the serv- ant knowing, and then send her out, and we shall nab the bloke to a certainty." Pinder acquiesced, but Sarah began to exhibit weak- ness. " Oh, dear 1 " said she, '• thieves and police, and perhaps pistols ! " Steele whispered to Pinder, '' Get her out of the way, or she'll spill the treacle." Pinder persuaded her to go into James's room with the child until they should send for her. She consented very readily. Then Steele let in a policeman, and hid him behind a screen in the 62 SINGLEHEAKT AND DOUHLEFACB. parlor. Two more were hidden in an empty house oppo- site, watching every move. Then Finder put up the shutters and darkened the shop. Now the question was how to get Deborah out of the house. Finder had to go and ask Sarah if she coukl manage that. *'In a minute/' said she. She came down, and went into the kitchen with ten shillings, and told Deborah she should have her print gown in spite of them all. Then Deborah was keen to get out before the shops closed, and in due course the confederates heard her go out and bang the kitchen- door. Now there was no saying positively whether Varney was on the watch or not ; and if he was, he might make his attempt in a few minutes, or wait an hour or two. And as he was an old hand, he would probably look all round the house to see if there was danger. Every light had to be put out and the shutters drawn, and the screen carefully placed. They closed the parlor-door, and hid in the parlor. " But how is my man to get in ? " Sarah whispered. One of the black, undistinguishable figures replied to her, " Easy enough, only I hope he won't come this two hours : he would spoil all." " Not come to his supper ! Then that will be a sign he is not sober. I'm all of a tremble." " Hush ! " "What? thieves?" " No ; but pray don't talk. He'll come in like a cat, you may be sure. Hark ! " " What is it ? " " The kitchen-window," whispered Steele. Now Sarah was silent, but panted audibly in the darkness. By and by a step was heard on the stairs. Then silence — another creaking step. The watchers huddled behind the screen. SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 53 What now took place they could only divine in part. But I will describe it from the other side of the parlor-door. A man opened the kitchen-door softly, and stepped in lightly and noiselessly as a cat. He had a dark lantern, and flashed it one half-moment to show him the place. In that moment was revealed a face with a very small black mask. Small as it was, it effectually disguised the man, and made his eyes look terrible with the excitement of crime. He opened the parlor-door, flashed his light in for a moment, then closed the door. That was a trying moment to the watchers. They feared he would examine the room. Then the man stepped softly to the kitchen-door, opened it, and whispered, ',' Coast clear : come on ! " Another man came in on tiptoe. The first-comer handed him the light. " No," whispered the other, " you hold the light. Give me the key." Then the first-comer opened the bull's-eye direct on the safe, and gave the second man a bright new key, evidently forged for this job. The safe was opened by the second man. He looked, and uttered an ejaculation of surprise. Then he plunged his hands in, and there was a musical clatter that was heard and understood in the next room, and the watchers stole out softly. " Here's a haul ! " cried the man. " Come and reckon 'em on the counter. Why, there's more than fifty, I know." He put them down in a heap on the counter, and instantly the parlor-door opened, and a powerful bull's-eye shot its light upon the glittering coin. The man stood dumfounded. The other, with a yell, dashed at the kitchen-door, tore it open, and received the fire of another bull's-eye from the foot of the stairs. He stag- gered back, and in a moment was at the shop-door, and 54 SINGLEHI'^ART AND DOUBLEFACB. opened it : the key was in it that James might be ad- mitted if he came. Another bull's-eye met him there, held by a policeman, who stepped in, and bade his mate remain outside. The shop was now well lighted with all these vivid gleams concentrated on the stolen gold, and every now and then playing upon the masked faces and ghastly cheeks and glittering eyes of the burglars. Steele surveyed his trapped vermin grimly for a moment or two. He felt escape was impossible. " Now, Dick Varney," said he, " you are wanted. Hand- cuff him." The smaller figure made no resistance. " Now who's your pal ? Don't know him by his cut. Come, my man, off with that mask, and show us your ugly mug." He was going to help him oif with it ; but the man caught up a knife that Deborah had left on the counter. " Touch me if you dare ! " " Oh, that's the game, is it ? " said Steele sternly. " Draw staves, men. Now don't you try that game with me, my bloke. Pling down that knife, and respect the law, or you'll lie on that floor with your skull split open." The man flung the knife down savagely. "And now who are you ? " The man tore his mask off with a snarl of rage. "I'm the master of the house!" He rang these words out like a trumpet. A faint moan Avas heard in the parlor. " Gammon ! " said Steele contemptuously. " Ask Dick Varney, ask Joe Pinder there," said the man. " Ask anybody." ," Ask nobody but me," said the miserable wife, coming suddenly forward. "He is my husband, sir, and God help me ! " " D'ye hear ? " cried the raging villain, mortified to SINGLEHEAKT AND DOUBLEFACE. 55 the core, yet exultant in his revenge : " This house is mine, this shop is mine, that woman is mine, and this money is mine.^' He clutclied the gold, and put it in- solently into his breeches pockets. "Take your hand off that man, Bobby." " Xot likely," said Steele. " A thief caught in the act." "A thief! Why, he is my servant doing my business, under my orders : one of my servants. My wife there, she's my servant in law : collared my money and hid it away ; I ordered another of my servants to open the safe and get me back my own. He's here by my authority." " Why were you in masks, my bold blackguard ? " asked Steele. "Oh, pray don't anger him, sir," said poor Sarah. " Yes, James, you are the master. It was all a mistake : we had no idea — Oh ! " She tottered, and j)ut her hand to her brow. Steele helped her to a chair. So small an incident did not interrupt her master's eloquence. " Respect the law, says you ? Pretty limbs of the law you are, that don't know the law of husband and wife." Long before this Steele had seen plainly enough that he was in the wrong box. " We know the law well enough," said he dejectedly. " It's a little one-sided, but it's the law. Come, men, loose that vagabond." " He shall bring an action for false imprisonment." " No, he won't." " Why not ? He has got the law on his side." " And we have got his little mask, and his little ante- cedents on ours." Varney whipped out of the place, and at the same time Deborah opened the kitchen-door and stood aghast. "Come, men," said Steele, "clear out: we are only 66 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. making mischief between man and wife, and she'll be the sufferer, poor thing ! " "No," said James Mansell authoritatively. "I'm the master, and since you have heard one story, I'll trouble you to stay and hear the other. I'm the one that is being robbed — of my money, and my wife's affections, and my good name." " James ! " gasped Sarah, " pray don't say so. Don't think so for a moment." Pie ignored her entirely : never looked at her, but went on to the detective, " My wife here hid my money away from me." " To pay my master's rent, and make his child a lady," put in Sarah. " And now she and her old sweetheart there " — " Sweetheart ! I never had but thee." " They have put the mark of a thief on me in this town. So be it. I leave it forever. I'm off to America." He marched to the street door, then turned to shoot his last dart: ''With my money" — and he slapped his pockets — " and viy liberty " — and he waved his hat. " But I'll have your life," hissed Pinder, and strode at him, with murder in his eyes. But Sarah Mansell, who sat there crushed, and seemed scarcely sensible, bounded to her feet in a moment, and seized Pinder with incredible vigor. " Touch him if you dare ! " cried she. And would you believe it, mates, she had no sooner stopped him effectually than she turned weaker than ever, and sank all limp against the man she had seized with a clutch of steel ? Then he had nothing to do but support her faint head against his manly breast, and so, arrested by woman's vigor, which is strong for a moment, and conquered by woman's weakness, which is invinci- ble, he half led, half lifted her tenderly back to her seat. SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 57 This defence of her insulter was the last feat that day of uuconquerable love. The policemen went out softly, and cast looks of manly pit}'' behind them. Soon after the stunning blow came the agony of an outraged, deserted, and still loving wife. But Deborah ruslied in with Lucy in her arms, and forced the mother to embrace her child, then wreathed her long arms round them both, and they sobbed together. Honest Joe Pinder set his face to the wall, but there his conceal- ment ended ; he blubbered aloud with all his heart. 58 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. CHAPTER V. The first burst of distress was followed by the torment of suspense : for several days, at Sarah's request, the friendly police watched the steamboats, to give her an opportunity of appeasing her burglar ; and all this time her eye was always on the street by day, her ear ever on the watch for the music of the blackguard's step. She kept hoping something from paternal affection : why should he abandon Lucy ? She had never offended him. But in time proof was brought her that he had actually levanted in a sailing-vessel bound for New York. I do not practise vivisection, and will not detail all the sufferings of an insulted and deserted wife — suffer- ings all the more keen that she was a woman of great spirit and rare merit, and admired for her looks and her qualities by everybody except her husband. Public sympathy was oifered her : a Liverpool journal got the incident from the police, and dealt with it in a paragraph headed, " Every man his own burglar." The writer of paragraphs, after the manner of his class, seasoned the dish from his own spice-box. A revolver was levelled at the auto-burglar by the wife's friend ; but the wife disarmed him, a circumstance the writer deplored, and hoped that, should " sponsa-burglary " recur, even conjugal affection would respect the interests of society, and let the bullet take its course. Pinder read out this paragraph or paraphrase, and translated the last sentence into the vulgar tongue. Then Deborah revelled in it. Sarah was horrified at the exposure, and indignant at a journal presuming to SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 59 meddle with conjugalia. To hear her, one would infer that if a blackguard should murder his wife, it ought to be hushed up, all, matters between husband and wife, good or bad, being secret and sacred, and all indictments thereon founded, obtrusive, impertinent, and indelicate. A great sorrow has often compensations that do the heart no good at the moment ; but time reveals their importance, and that they would have been comforters at the time, could the sufferers have foreseen what was coming. This observation is not necessarily connected with trust in Providence ; yet the good, who suffer, should consider man's inability to foresee the events of a single day, and also that they are in the hands of One before whom what we call the future lies flat like a map along with the past and the present. Even my own brief experience of human life has shown me the truth and value of these lines, so comfort- ing to just men and women ; With stead}' mind thy course of duty run : God never does, nor suffers to be done, Aught but thyself wouldst do, couldst thou foresee The end of all events so well as He. This stor}'" is not written to support that or any other theory ; but as all its curious incidents lie before me, I cannot help being struck with the numerous conversions of evil into unexpected good which it reveals. The immediate examples are these. In the first place, before this great and enduring grief fell on Sarah INIan- sell, Mr. Joseph Pinder had a natural but narrow-minded contempt for Mrs. Deborah Smart. He saw a six-months' widow husband-hunting without disguise. To put it in his own somewhat rough but racy language, she raked the town every night for Ko. 2. But when lasting grief fell upon Sarah, he saw this imperfect widow resign her GO SINGLEHEART AND DUUBLEFACE. matrimonial excursions night after night, and exhaust her ingenuity to comfort her sister. Sometimes it was rough comfort, sometimes it was the indirect comfort of kindness and attention, but sometimes it was a tender sympathy he had never expected from so rough and ready a rustic. Thereupon Finder and Deborah became friends, and as Sarah was grateful, though sad, this wove a threefold cord — a very strong one. The second good result was one that even the mourn- ing wife appreciated, because she was a mother, and looked to the future. Seeing her deserted and in need of help, Joseph Finder became her servant, and yet her associate. For a fair salary he threw himself into the business, and very soon improved and enlarged it. Tinned meats, soups, and fruits were just then fighting for entrance into the stomach of the prejudiced Briton. Joseph pre- vailed on the sisters to taste these, and select the good ones. They very soon found that amongst the trash there were some comestible treasures, such as the Boston baked beans, Australian beef briskets, and an American ox-tail soup ; also, the pears of one firm in Delaware, and the peaches of another. Finder, who, like many workmen, was an ingenious fellow, had invested his savings in a type-writer, and he printed short notices, and inundated inns and private kitchens with the praises of the above articles, and per- sonally invited many cooks and small housekeepers to the use of his cheap American soup for gravies. " Where," said he, " is the sense of your boiling down leg of beef for gravies and stews and things ? Here are six rich. stews, or hashes, for tenpeuce, and no trouble but to take it out of a can." One day Sarah showed him, with sorrowful pride, James Mansell's "panels," as he called them. That SINGLEHEAllT AND DOUBLEFACE. 61 personage, before he took to drink, was an enthusiast in his art, and he had produced about fifteen specimens on thin panels two feet square. They were really magnifi- cent. Joseph cleaned and varnished them ; then caught a moderate grainer, and made him study them ; then put one or two of them in a window, with a notice : " Grain- ing done in first-rate style by a pupil of James Mansell." The trade soon heard, and gave the young man a trial. He was not up to the mark of his predecessor, but, thanks to the models, and Finder overlooking his work, he was accepted by degrees, and so Mrs. Mansell drove her hus- band's trade and her own enlarged. Money flowed in by two channels, and did not flow out for "drink." Finder's salary was not one-tenth part of the increase his zeal and management brought into the safe, and now there was no drunkard and auto-burglar to drain the wife's purse and tap the till. In the three years whose incidents I have decided not to particularize, and so be tri-voluminous, not luminous, the deserted wife had purchased the little shop and premises in Green Street, and had four hundred pounds in the bank, Finder having declared the London and County Bank to be safer than a safe. Lucy Mansell was now over seven, and a precocious girl, partly by nature (for she came of a clever father and a thoughtful mother), but partly by living not with children, but with grown-up people. As she inherited her mother's attention, and was a born mimic Jae seemed to strangers cleverer than she was. The sprightliness of Aunt Deborah naturally attracted this young person, and of course she admired what at any young ladies' school she would have been expressly invited to avoid — the by-words and blunt idioms that garnished Mrs. Smart's discourse. Now, having faithfully, though briefly, chronicled the small beer, I come to the events of an exciting day. 62 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. Sarah sat at the counter sewing, and ready to serve customers. Lucy sat at her knee sewing, and ready to run for whatever might be wanted. Deborah came up from the kitchen with a rump-steak and some kidneys in her market-basket, and thrust them under her sister's nose. Deborah was a connoisseur of raw meat, luckily for the establishment, and admired it when good. Sarah did not admire it at the best of times, so she said, " I'll take 3"our word." "Do but feel it," persisted Deborah. Thereupon Sarah averted her head. Deborah warmed. " Wait till you see it at table. I am going to make you a steak-and-kidney pudding." " Oh, be joyful ! " cried Lucy, and clapped her hands. " Come, there's sense in the family," remarked Deborah; "and if your mother doesn't enjoy it, I give warning at the table — that's all." " I'll try, sister," said Sarah, sweetly. " But you know an empty chair at the head of the table is a poor invita- tion to eat, and the stomach is soon satisfied when the heart is sad." " That is true, my poor Sal ; but, dear heart, is there never to be an end of fretting for a man that left you like that, and has never sent you a line ? " "That is my grief. I am afraid he is dead." "Not he. He has got plenty more mischief to do first. Now I'm afraid you'll hate me, but I can't help it. ' The u .th may be blamed, but it can't be shamed.' 'Twas the luckiest thing ever happened to any good woman when he left you, and you got a good servant instead of a bad master." " If I only knew that he was alive ! " persisted Sarah, absorbed in her one idea. Deborah's patience went, and she let out her real mind. She had kept it to herself about eighteen months, SINGLEHEAKT AND l)OUBLEFA(^E. 63 SO now it came out with a rusli. She set her arms akimbo — an attitude she very seldom adopted in reason- ing with Sarah. " If so be as you are tired of peace and comfort, and money in both pockets, you put it in the newspapers as you have bought these premises, and got four hundred pounds in the bank, and you mark my words, Jemmy Mansell will turn up in a month ; but 'tis for your money he will come, not for you nor your child." This home-thrust produced a greater effect on Sarah than Deborah expected, for, as a rule, Sarah merely defended her husband through thick and thin ; but now she was greatly agitated, and when Deborah came to that galling conclusion, she drew herself up to her full height, and said sternly, "If I thought that, I'd tear him from my heart, though I tore the heart out of my body. Perhaps you think because I'm single-hearted and loving, that I am all weakness. You don't know me, then. When I do turn, I turn to stone." As she said this, her features became singularly rigid, and almost cruel, and as a great pallor overspread them at the same time, she really seemed to turn to marble, and the gentle Sarah was scarcely recognizable. Even Deborah, who had known her all her life, stared at her, and suspected she had not yet got to the bottom of her character. Lucy gave the conversation a lighter turn — she thought all this was much ado about nothing. " Don't you fret any more, mamma," said she. '' If papa won't come home, you marry Uncle Joe." Mrs. Mansell remonstrated : " Lucy dear, for shame ! " " ' No shame, no sin ; No copper, no tin,' " said Lucy. " Marry him bang ! Here he is." " Hush ! " and Sarah reddened like fire. Pinder opened the shop-door, and came briskly in for 64 SENGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFAOB. business. " Good-morning, Sarali ; morning, Deborah ; morning, little Beauty. Made a good collection this time. Please open your ledger and begin alphabetical. B — Bennett, the new hotel, 3£ 13s. ()d. There's the money." Sarah wrote the payment off Bennett in the ledger. Pinder went on putting eacli payment on the counter in a separate paper. " Church, 1£ 5s. ; Mr. Drake, 7£ 9s." " That's a he-duck," suggested Lucy. "You're another, allowing for sex," retorted Pinder. "And now we jump to M — Mr. Mayor." " That is a she-horse," remarked Lucy, always willing to impart information. Pinder denied that, and said it Avas the great civic authority of the town, and in proof produced his worship's check for 17i6 4s. "And now what's the news here ? " he inquired. " I'll tell you," said miss, with an obliging air. " ^lamma and Aunt Deb have just had a shindy." " Oh, fie ! " cried Deborah. " It's you for picking up expressions." " Then why do you let them fall ? " said the mother. " It's you she copies. We only differed in opinion." " And bawled at one another," suggested Lucy. Deborah exclaimed, " Oh, for shame, to say that ! " Says this terrible child, " ' The truth may be blamed, but it can't be shamed.' You know you did." "It sounds awful," said Pinder, dryly. "Let us make 'em friends again. What is the row ? " and Mr. Pinder grinned incredulous. "Well," explained Lucy, in spite of a furtive signal from her mother, "mamma fretted because papa does not write ; then she (pointing at Deborah, malgre the rules of good breeding) quarrelled her for fretting, and she said, 'You put it in the papers how rich you are, and he'll turn up directly.' Then mamma bounced up and SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 65 gave it her hot (Sarah scandalized, Deboi-ah amused), and then it ended with mamma crying. Everything ends with poor mamma crying." Then Luc}- flung her arms round her mother's neck, and Finder suggested, " Little angel." Sarah kissed her child tenderly, and said, "'No — no quarrel. And do but give me proof that he is alive, and I'll never shed another tear." " Is that a bargain ? " asked Finder, quietly. " That it is." "Just give me your hand upon it then." She gave him her hand and looked eagerly in his face. He walked out of the shop directly, assailed by a fire of questions, to none of which he replied. The truth is he could not at present promise anything. But he knew this much ; that Dick Varney had gone out to New York three months ago, and had been seen at a public-house in the neighborhood of Green Street that A'-ery day. Finder got it into his head that Varney would most likely know Avhether Mansell was alive or dead. With some difficulty he found Varney. That worthy was dilap- idated, so he was induced by the promise of a sovereign to come and tell Mrs. Mansell all he knew about her husband. The sly Varney objected to tell Finder until he had fingered the money, and asked for an advance. This the wary Finder declined peremptorily, but showed him the coin. Thus distrusting each other, they settled to go to Green Street. But when he got to the door, Varney remembered the scene of the burglary, and the woman's distress ; he took fright, and wanted to go back. " No, no," said Finder ; " I'll bear the blame of this visit," and almost forced him in. The family was still all in a flutter, and Deborah bear- ing her sister company in the shop. Though Sarah had 5 66 SINGLE] I EAUT AND DOUBLEFACE. only seen Varney once, his face and figure were indelible in her memory, and at the sight of him she gave a faint scream, put both her hands before her face, and turned her head away into the bargain. " Oh, that man ! " she cried. " There," said Varney, " she can't bear the sight of me, and no wonder." AVith this remark, the most creditable he had made for years, he tried to bolt. But Finder collared him and held him tight, and for the first time this three years scolded Sarah. "Why, where's the sense of flying at the man, and frightening what little courage he has out of him, and shutting his mouth ? " " No, no," said Deborah, hastily, " if you can tell her anything about her man, don't you doubt your welcome. Let bygones be bygones." *' I am bound to answer whatever she asks me." "And I'm bound to give you this if you do," said Finder. '• Deborah shall hold it meantime." He handed over the sovereign to Deborah. Her fingers closed on it, and did not seem likely to open without the equivalent. During all this Sarah's eyes had been gradually turn- ing round toward the man, and by a feminine change they now dwelt on him as if they would pierce him. " You have been to New York ? " " Yes." SLNGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 67 CHAPTER VI. " Did you look for my liusband ? " -" You may be sure of that, and it took me all my time to find him." " Find him ! He is alive ? " "Alive! Of course he is." " Thank God ! thank God ! " She was so overcome that Pinder and Deborah came to her assistance, but she waved them off. " No," said she, " joy won't hurt me. Alive and well ? " " Never better." " And happy ? " "Jolly as a sand-boy." " A sand-boy ? " murmured Lucy, inquiringly. Sarah's next question was uttered timidly and pite- ously — " Did he ask after us ? " Deborah cast an uneasy glance at Pinder. She was sorry her sister had asked that, and feared a freezing reply. "Rather," said Varney. "First word he said was, 'How is Sarah and the kid?'" " Bless him ! " cried Sarah. " Bless him ! " Lucy informed the company that a kid was a little goat. But her innocence did not provoke a smile. They were all hanging on Dick Varney's words. " And what did you say about us ? " " Oh, well, I could only tell him what I hear of all sides, that you are doing his trade as well as your own. That Joe Pinder is your factotum. That you are as rich as a Jew, and respected accordingly." Vol. 9—15 68 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. " You told him that ? '' said Deborah, keenly. " Those were my very words." " And he didn't come back with you ? " she asked. "No." " Then he must be doing well out there ? " "I shouldn't wonder; he was dressed like a gentleman." "And he looked like one, I'll be bound," said his devoted wife. "He didn't behave like one, then, for he gave an old friend the cold shoulder." " What a pity," suggested Deborah ; " you that used to set him such a good example." Finder said that was not fair, and the man telling them all he could. Deborah said no more it wasn't, and if Mr. Varney would come with her she would cook him a bit of this nice steak. He said he should be very glad of it. "But mind, there's no brandy allowed in this house. Can you drink home-brewed ale ? " " I can drink anything," said he, eagerly. She showed him into the kitchen, but whipped back again for a moment. " There's more behind than he has told 2/ow/' said she. " I'm a-going to pump him." She ran off again directly to carry out this design, and very capable of it she was : just the sort of woman to wait for him like a cat, and go about the bush, and put no question of any importance till he had eaten his fill, and drunk the home-brewed ale, which tasted innocent, but was very heady. This manoeuvre of hers raised some vague expectations in the grown-up people, but Lucy's mind, as usual, fixed itself on a word. " Pump him ? " said she to Finder. " How will she do that, Factotum ? " "Not knowing, can't say," was Factotum's reply. " Like this. Factotum ? " said she, and took his arm SINGLEHEART AND DOXJBLEFACE. 69 and pumped with it. "Good-by, Factotum," said she, for a new word was like a new toy to her ; " I'm off to see the pumping." Pinder laughed, and looked at Sarah ; but not a smile. " Why, you are not going to fret again ? " said he. *'' You gave me your word to be happy if he was alive." "And I thought I should at the time. But now I know he is alive, I know too that he is dead to me. Alive all this time, and not write me a line ! I insulted him, and he hates me. I'm a deserted wife." "And I am a useless friend. Nothing I do is any use." He lost heart for a time, and went and took a turn in the street, despondent, and for the moment a little out of temper. She watched his retiring figure, and thought he had gone for good, and felt that she must appear ungrateful, and should wear out this true friend's patience before long. "I can't help it," said she to herself. "I can love but one, and him I shall never see again." Never was her sense of desolation so strong as at that moment. She laid her brow on the counter, and her tears ran slowly but steadily. She had been so some time when a voice somewhere near her said, rather timidly, " Sally." She lifted her head a little way from the counter, but did not look toward where the voice came from; it seemed like a sound in a dream to her. " It is," said the man, and came quickly to her. Then she looked and uttered a scream of rapture, and in a moment husband and wife were locked in each other's arms. At this moment Pinder, whose momentary impatience had very soon given way to compassion and pity, came back to make the amende by increased kindness ; and Deborah, who knew every tone of her sister's voice, flew 70 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. Up from the kitchen at her cry of joy. But in the first rapture of meeting and reconciliation neither spouse took any notice of these astounded witnesses. " My Jemmy ! my own ! my own ! " " My sweet, forgiving wife ! " " It is me should ask forgiveness." " No, no ! 'Twas the police drove me mad." " To leave me for three years ! " '* Do you think I'd have stayed away three weeks if I had thought I should be so welcome ? " " What ! you did not know how I love you ? " Then came another embrace, and at last Sarah realized that there were two spectators, one on each side of her, and those spectators not so much in love with the recov- ered treasure as she was. She said, "Come, dearest, joy is sacred," and drew him by both hands, with a deal of grace and tenderness, into the little parlor, and closed the door. Pinder and Dieborah looked at each other long and expressively, and by an instinct of sympathy met at the counter as soon as the parlor-door closed, Deborah very red, and her eyes glittering, Finder ghastly pale. "Well, Mr. Pinder," said she, with affected calm, but ill-concealed bitterness, "you and I — we are two nobodies now. Three years' kindness of our side goes for nothing, and three years' desertion don't count against him. I've heard that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and now 'tis to be seen." Pinder apologized for his idol. " She can't help it," said he. " But I can help looking on. I've seen them meet, after him abandoning her this three years, and what I feel this moment will last me all my time. I won't stay to watch them together, like the devil grin- ning at Adam and Eve ; and I won't wait to hear him say that this business I have enlarged is his, the trade SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 71 that he killed and I have revived is his, that the woman is his, and the child is his, and the money we have saved is his. No, Deborah, I'll give her my blessing and go, soon as ever I have put np those shutters for her, and it is about time. You will see Joseph Pinder in this place no more." "What, you will desert her and all ? " " Desert her ? That is not the word. I leave her when she is happy. I am only her friend in trouble." " And not her friend in danger, then ? " "I see no danger just at present." " Think a bit, my man. What has brought him home ? Answer me that." " Well, I can," said he. '' There is plenty of attraction to bring any man home that is not blind and mad and an idiot." "Ay," said she, "that is how you look at her ; but it's him I want you to read. Why, it was three years since he left, but it's not a month since that Varney told him she was a rich woman, and here he is directly." " Oh ! " said honest Joe Pinder. " I see what you are driving at ; but that may be accidental. Things fall together like that. We mustn't be bad-hearted neither. Why, surely he can't be so base ! " " He is no worse than he was, and no better, you may be sure. Crossing the water can't change a man's skin, nor his heart neither, and I tell you he has come here disguised as a gentleman for the thing he came for dis- guised as a burglar." Here she tapped the safe with the key of the kitchen- door, which she had in her hand, and that action and the ring of the metal made lier reasoning tell wonderfully. She followed up her advantage, and assured Pinder that if he did not stay and lend her his support, Sarah would soon be stripped bare and then abandoned again. 72 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. " If he does," said Finder, '• I'll kill him ; that is all." " With all my heart," was Deborah's reply. " But you mustn't leave her. And then," said she, "there's me. You that is so good-natured, would you leave me to fight against the pair ? To be sure, I am cook, and my kitchen is overrun with rats ; and one penn'orth of white arsenic would rid the place of them and the two-legged vermin and all." Pinder was shocked, and begged her solemnly never to harbor such thoughts for a moment. '• Then don't you leave me alone with my thoughts" said she, " for I hate him with all my heart and soul." The discussion did not end there ; and, to be brief, Deborah had the best of it to the end. Pinder, however, was for once doggedly resolved to consider his own feel- ings as well as Sarah's interests. He would go ; but consented not to leave the town, and to look in occa- sionally just to see whether Sarah was being pillaged. " But," said he, " if 'tis all one to you, I will come to the kitchen, not the shop." The ready-witted Deborah literally and without a metaphor licked her lips at him when he proposed this, so hearty was her appetite for a tete-a-tete or two in her own kitchen with this Joseph Pinder ; he had pleased her eye from the first moment she saw him. She said, "Well, so do. 'What the eye don't see the heart don't grieve.' Leave him the shoii and you come in the kitchen." With this understanding Pinder put up the shutters and went away, sick at heart. Deborah had half a mind to stay in her kitchen, so odious to her was the sight of her brother-in-law ; and, besides, she was jealous ; how- ever, her courage was a quality that came and Avent. She was afraid to declare war on the pair, with nobody on the spot to back her. So she temporized ; she took SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 73 Lucy into the parlor to welcome her father. The child said, " How d'j^e do, papa ? " in rather an off-hand way, and was kissed overflowingly. She did not respond one bit, and began immediately to fire questions : '•' \Miy did you go away so long, and make mamma fret? "Why didn't 3'ou write to her, if you couldn't come ? " Sarah stopped the rest of the cross-examination with her hand, and told Lucy it was not for her to question her father. Deborah never moved a muscle, but chuckled inwardly. "What will you have for supper, now that you are come ? " inquired she, with affected graciousness. "Anything you like," said James, politely. "Don't make a stranger of me." That evening the reunited couple spent in sweet remi- niscences and the renewal of conjugal ardor. Before morning, however, they had talked of everything — at all events, Sarah had, and being grateful to Pinder, and anxious to make her benefactor and her husband friends, had revealed the results of Joseph's faithful service and intelligence — the shop purchased, and four hundred and forty pounds in the bank. "At what interest ? " inquired James. " Oh, no interest. I am waiting to buy land or a good house with it." James laughed, and said that was England all over — to let money lie dead for which ten per cent could be had in the United States on undeniable security. When once he got upon this subject he was eloquent ; descanted on the vast opportunities offered both to indiis- try and capital in the United States ; bade her observe how he had improved his condition by industry alone. " But with capital," said he, "' I could soon make you a lady." " Lucy you might," said she, " but I shall live and die a simple woman." 74 SINGLEHEAllT AND DOUBLEFACE. Finding she listened to him, he returned to the subject again and again ; but I do not think it necessary to give the dialogue in extenso. There is a certain monotony in the eloquence of speculation, and the sensible objections of humdrum prudence. I spare the reader these, having sworn not to be tri-voluminous. It was about twelve o'clock next day when Pinder, whose occupation was gone, and ennui and deadness of heart substituted, found the time so heavy on his hands that he must come and chat witli Deborah in her kitchen. He looked in ; she was not there. So then he peeped in timidly at the shop-window, and there she was in sole possession of the counter. Her qualifications for that post were as well known to him as to the readers of this tale, so he looked surprised. " Why, where are they all ? " " In Cupid's bower," said Deborah, repeating a phrase out of a daily paper. *' Billing and cooing are sweeter than business." "Where's Lucy?" '•' You are the first that has asked. Well, she is asleep up-stairs. My lady found herself neglected first time this three years, so she came and cried to me, and I took her in m}^ arms and laid her on the bed. She's all right. Pity grown-up people can't go to sleep when they like and forget." At this moment the parlor-door opened, and Sarah Mansell, who had worn nothing but black these three years, emerged beaming in a blue dress with white spots, and a lovely bonnet, all gay and charming. This bright vision banished Deborah's discontent in a moment. "Well," said she, "you are a picture." Sarah stopped to be looked at, and smiled. "Well," said Deborah, "he has found a way to make us all glad he is come home." SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLBFACE. 75 Sarah smiled affectionately on her, and said she only- wished she could make everybody as happy as she was. "Why not?" said Deborah, playing the courtier to please her. "And where are you going so pert, I wonder ? " "To the bank to draw my money," replied Sarah, gayly. Pinder and Deborah looked at one another. " How much of it ? " asked Deborah. " Four hundred pounds," said the wife, brightly. Pinder groaned, but was silent. Deborah threw up her hands. " O Sarah," said she piteously, " do but think how long it has taken you to make that, and don't throw it into a well all at one time." Sarah smiled superior. " I affronted him about money three years ago, and you see what came of it." She was going out jauntily, neither angry nor in any way affected by her friends' opposition, when Pinder put in a serious word. " Well," said he, " give him a good slice. But do pray leave a little for Lucy. You are a mother as well as a wife." She turned on him at the door with sudden wrath to crush him with a word for daring to teach her her duty as a mother; then she remembered all she owed him, and restrained herself. But what a look flashed from her eyes! And the hot blood mounted to her tem- ples. Pinder was quite staggered at such a look from her, and Deborah shook her head. They both felt they were nullities, and James Mansell the master again. He let them know it, too. He had been quietly listening on the stairs to every word they had said to his wife, and he now stepped into the shop and took up a commanding 76 STNGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. position on the public side of the counter, opposite Pinder and Deborah. They were standing behind the counter at some distance from each other. It was Pinder he attacked : said he, quietly, " Are you going to meddle again between man and wife ? It didn't answer last time, did it ? " Pinder did not think it advisable to quarrel if it could be helped, so he said not a word. But Deborah was not so discreet. "Why, you have allowed him to meddle this three years. You pillaged and deserted her ; he interfered, and made her fortune. He doesn't meddle to mar." Then Pinder spoke, but in a more pacific tone. "I don't want to meddle at all," said he. "But Deborah and I have done our best for you both, and I do think your wife's friends might be allowed to ask what is to be done in one day with the savings of three years." Before these words were out of his mouth Mansell regis- tered a secret vow to get rid of him and Deborah both. He replied, with the intention of galling them to the quick, " Well, I don't know that the master is bound to tell the servants what he does with his money." " Your money ? " snorted Deborah. "Ay," said this imperturbable person. "My wife's money is mine. I thought I had made you understand that last time. Well, what I am going to do with my money is to invest it in American securities at ten per cent, instead of letting it lie idle in an English bank." " Oh ! " said Deborah. " That is the tale you have been telling her, eh? Well, I mean to tell her the truth. You a,re going to collar her money and off to America directly. Varney has been here, and split on you. You came for the money, not the woman." She flung these Avords in his face so violently that even his brazen cheek flushed as if she had struck him : SINGLEHEAKT AOTD DOUBLEFACE. 77 but ere he could reply, Sarah stood aghast in the door- way. " Oh, dear ! high words already." Then James Mansell, who, in his way, was cleverer than any of them, recovered his composure in a moment, and said quietly, " Not on my side, I assure you. But this young woman says I have come for your money, not for you. That's a pretty thing to bawl at a man for all the street to hear. Well, Sarah, I don't bawl at her, but I put it to you, quietly — how can I live in the same house with people that hate me, and are on the watch to poison my wife's mind against me ? " 78 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLBFACE. CHAPTER VII. PiNDER and Deborah both felt they had met their match. Pinder held his peace ; but Deborah couldn't. Her lips trembled, but she fought him to the last. "I shall leave this house at one word from my sister ; but not at the bidding of a stranger that's here to-day and gone to-morrow, as soon as he has milked the cow and bled the calf." With a grand sweeping gesture of the left arm she indicated Sarah as the cow, and with her right, Lucy as the calf. The tremendous words, and the vulgar yet free and large gestures with which she drove them home, made even Pinder say, " Oh ! " and so upset Mansell's cunning self-command that he came at her furiously. But Sarah stopped him. "No, you shall not answer her, James You go and take your daughter on your knee, and I'll tell these two my mind." She was so grave and dignified there was no resistance. Mansell retired with Lucy, and went up the stairs. When he was quite gone, Sarah put out her two hands and said, sweetly, "Come here, you two." Then they each took a hand, and their eyes glistened. She took them gently to task in silvery accents, that calmed and soothed them as they fell. "You have a true affection for me, both of you. Then pity me, too, and don't drive me into a corner. Do not make me choose between my husband and you ; you know which I must choose. Why, dear heart, if I spent my money on my back, you would not grudge it me. Then why not let me please my heart, and give my money where I SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLBFACE. 79 give my love, that is worth more than four hundred pounds if you could but see it." They were both subdued by her words. Deborah said, in a sort of broken, helpless way to Finder, " She doesn't understand. ■^ "What we mean is that if you part with your money, you will lose your man ; but so long as you stick to your money, he will stay with you ; and we have both seen how you can fret for him when he does desert you as well as bleed you." "Ay," said Sarah, nobly, and without anger. "You mean me well ; but you doubt, and mistrust, and suspect. No offence to either of you, but your nature is not mine. I am single-hearted. I cannot love and mistrust. Nor I could not mistrust and love." The beauty of her mind and the sweetness of her strong but sober words overpowered her old lover and tender friend. " Don't harass her any more," said he. "She is too good for this world. She is an angel." Deborah smiled, and after taking a good look at her sister, said, coolly, " She is a wonderful good woman ; her face would tell one that ; but she is a woman, you may be sure, like her mother before her. Sarah, 'tis no use beating about the bush any longer. Would you like that four hundred pounds to go to another woman ? " " Another woman ? " cried the supposed angel, firing up directly. " What do you mean ? What other woman ? " " Dick Varney saw him with a woman, and a handsome one." " Well, what does that prove ? " " Not much by itself ; but a man that leaves one woman for three years, at his time of life, is safe to take on with another." " Oh ! " cried Sarah, "' don't tell me so." 80 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. But Deborali was launched. She said, " It's all a mystery, and against nature, if there's no other womap ; but, if there's another, it's all as plain as a pikestaff. Three yeays' dead silence and neglect — another woman — you fretting in England — no other man — (Air. Finder is only a friend) — he jolly as a sand-boy in New York — another woman — she wants money (t'other woman always does) — Dick Varney tells him you've got it — he's here in one month after that, and the first day he is here he drains the cow. American insecurities ? — A Yankee gal ! " This time her rude eloquence and homely sense carried all before them. Sarah, whose face liad changed with the poison of jealousy, lost all her Madonna-like calm- ness. She was almost convulsed ; she moaned aloud : '' If it is so, Heaven help me ! " She put her hand to her bosom, and her beautiful brown eyes half disappeared upward and showed an excess of white. " sister, you have put a viper in my bosom — doubt. It will gnaw away my heart." "Heaven forbid ! " cried Deborah, terrified at her sister's words, and still more at her strange looks. Then she began to blame her woman's tongue, q,nd beg Sarah to dismiss her suspicions with contempt. But this was met by another change, almost as remarkable in its way. "No," said Sarah, with iron firmness, "I could not love, and doubt, and live. I'll put it to the test." Deborah looked amazed and puzzled. Sarah walked to the parlor- door and called up the stairs, '•' James, dear, please come here." — " Whatever vrill she do or say ? " groaned Deborah, and began to shiver. Sarah came back to her, and said, in a sort of hissing whisper, " Now, since you have taught me to suspect, and distrust, and doubt, you must go a little farther. I bid you watch my husband's face, and his very body, whilst I, that am his wife, play upon him." SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. 81 She hung her head, ashamed of what she was going to do. But Deborah said, roughly, '"Won't I — that's all." James Mansell came in, and cast a shrewd glance all round. Deborah's face told him nothing. She wore an expression of utter indifference. Pinder hung his head. Mansell was now between two masked batteries ; his wife's eyes scanned him point blank, and Deborah watched him — like a cat — out of the tail of her eye, as Sarah tested her husband. " James, dear, I have a great affection for my sister, and a true respect for Joseph Pinder, and I owe them both a debt of gratitude." James looked rather gloomy at that. " But I love you better than all the world. I can't bear to turn these faithful friends out of the house ; they comforted me when I was desolate." I\Iansell looked dark again. " And yet I can't have you made uncomfort- able for anybod}'. So, if m}- company is as welcome to you as my money, we will go to America together." Pinder and Deborah both uttered exclamations of sur- prise and dismay, but Deborah's eye never left James. He was startled, but showed no reluctance. He merely said, " You don't mean that ? " " Indeed I do ; but perhaps you don't want me. You would rather go back alone." The four eyes watched. " No," said James ; " we have been parted long enough. But would you really cross the water with me ? " " As I would cross this room, if you really wanted me." '' Of course I want you, if we are not to live together here where your friends hate me. But, Sally, if you are game to emigrate Avith me, why make two bites of a cherry ? We must sell the shop and realize, and settle in the States for life. I've no friends here, and you'll never want to come to England again, when once you have spent a summer in New York." 6 83 SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. Here was a poisoned arrow, Deborah clasped her Uands piteously, and cried, " Sarah ! " Sarah put up one hand to her to be quiet. "No," said she, as shortly and dryly as if she was